A World Apart

by Mel Gough

  Donnie shifted with a wince, then nodded. “Tried to clean up…” He waved at the trash bags. “Smell makes me feel real sick.” He gave a shudder. Ben frowned again. Donnie’s discomfort was like a physical pain in Ben’s own gut.

  “Where is Floyd now?”

  “No clue,” Donnie whispered, sounding breathless. “Probably gettin’…gettin’ drunk somewhere…”

  Ben suppressed a sigh, took a fresh tissue from a box on the table, and reached out. He meant to dab at the cut on Donnie’s eyebrow, from which a small trickle of blood was running down to his eye. But when Donnie realized what Ben had in mind, he flinched away, looking panicked. Then his indigo blue eyes grew opaque and he doubled up with renewed pain.

  Ben leaned forward, trying to catch Donnie’s gaze. “I’ll be real careful, I promise. Let me wipe the blood away before it gets into your eye.”

  Donnie looked down at Ben’s hands for a moment, then gave a small nod. With one hand, Ben took Donnie’s chin and dabbed at the gash with the tissue as gently as he could.

  “I think you need stitches, Donnie. And those ribs are definitely broken. We gotta get you some proper painkillers.” The thought of how brutal his brother must’ve been to hurt Donnie this badly made Ben’s blood boil.

  Donnie shook his head. “No…no narcotics. An’ no hospital. I’ll be sore a few days, is all…” Then he stopped and looked at Ben, eyes feverish. “Ya were worried ‘bout me…” He sounded heartbreakingly surprised.

  Ben couldn’t look away from this gaze full of gratitude. Donnie’s eyes were so blue, he sank right into them. He looked sadly at the left one, bruised and swollen, and a great gentleness rose in him. The hand still on Donnie’s chin slid down, and he gently stroked the other man’s throat. Then, before his brain had even quite processed what he was doing, Ben leaned forward and kissed Donnie carefully on the mouth. Donnie froze, then pulled away with a hiss.

  Ben drew back, startled. “I’m sorry, Donnie. I-I misunderstood…”

  But Donnie shook his head. “Ya didn’t.” He took Ben’s hand that wasn’t holding the tissue and clutched it hard. “It’s just…”

  “Did I hurt you? Your lip?”

  After a moment, Donnie nodded, then touched the cut on his mouth. “Is…is it bleeding?”

  “No,” Ben said, and Donnie looked relieved. But he was starting to shiver, and Ben got up quickly. “Lie back down. If you don’t want to go to the hospital, then I’m staying here with you.”

  “Ya don’t have to…,” Donnie said as Ben helped him stretch out on his right side.

  “But I want to. You’re in bad shape. I can see how much you’re hurting. You shouldn’t be alone. Now, have you eaten anything since this happened?”

  Donnie shook his head.

  “Then I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

  “Go…go wash yer hands first.”

  Ben frowned. What an odd request. But he nodded, loath to upset the injured man more. “Okay.”

  “Bathroom’s at the back,” Donnie wheezed.

  As Ben rinsed and dried his hands in the dingy little bathroom, he thought about what had just happened. He had known since high school that he was attracted to both genders, and in his first year in college, before he and Helen had gotten together, Ben had slept with several guys during what he now considered his rebellious phase. He had enjoyed the sex, but nothing had ever progressed past casual friendship.

  His feelings for Donnie were already different. There was physical attraction, oh yes. Those broad shoulders and the slim waist, the tousled strawberry-blond hair and the intense indigo blue of his eyes made for a mix of sultry and boyish good looks that Donnie seemed completely unaware of. But the main thing in Ben’s heart when he thought of the man lying out there on the sofa, hurting and struggling to catch a breath, was gentleness.

  Ben thought of Donnie’s eyes on him, how his gaze would go so soft. Nobody had looked at him that way in much too long. If Helen had looked at him at all these last few months, it had been either with impatience or because she was angry about something.

  When Ben returned to the living room, Donnie was lying curled up, his legs drawn all the way against his belly. Ben didn’t like how wheezy his breathing sounded; there was a tiny whimper on every inhalation, and a shudder went through Donnie every few seconds. Ben crouched down by the sofa and gently stroked Donnie’s hair. The other man looked at him, surprised.

  “You want me to stay, right?” Ben asked quietly. Donnie nodded, his eyes so full of disbelief, a terrible sadness went right through Ben.

  “Wha’ ‘bout…home, tho?” Donnie gasped between painful breaths.

  “Nothing needs my attention there right now,” Ben said. This wasn’t the time to go into detail about his own troubles. Donnie needed looking after, and Ben wanted to be nowhere but with him.

  “I…I dunno what ta say,” Donnie whispered.

  Ben smiled at him. “No need to say anything, buddy. You get some rest now, let me worry about everything else.”

  Chapter Seven

  BEN WENT INTO the kitchen and heated a can of chicken soup, the only thing he could find that Donnie would be able to eat with his sore mouth. After Donnie had eaten, Ben helped him to bed and dosed him up with as much Tylenol and Advil as he thought was safe.

  Donnie slept through most of the afternoon, and when he woke in the evening, he looked less pale and didn’t sound so wheezy anymore. Ben brought him tea and another bowl of soup and helped him sit up in bed. Soon after Donnie had finished the soup, his eyes began to droop again.

  Brushing away the other man’s protest, Ben stayed the night. He lay down on the sofa, keeping the door to Donnie’s small bedroom open, alert for his charge needing anything during the night. He woke once to shuffling feet and went to help Donnie to the bathroom. Donnie accepted the kindness with wordless gratitude; when they were back in his room and sat on the side of the bed to rest, Donnie leaned into Ben with a grateful sigh, intertwining their fingers in his lap.

  The next day, Ben had to go back to work but promised to return in the evening. That night, on his way to Donnie’s house, Ben bought groceries and more painkillers. The injured man was up and moving around more easily when Ben arrived just after half past five. The smile that lit up Donnie’s eyes when he opened the door warmed Ben to the core.

  The bruises on Donnie’s face were starting to turn a lighter shade of purple and green, and his eye looked a little less swollen. But the overall severity of the injuries still gave Ben pause.

  When he had stepped through the door, he turned around and cupped Donnie’s chin, studying each cut and graze carefully. “How’re you feeling?”

  Donnie shrugged. “S’okay,” he said, then gave a small smile. “Better now that yer here.” He looked at the brown paper bag in Ben’s arm. “Ya brought me food?” He blushed a little and pulled away from Ben’s hand. “S’not necessary, y’know.”

  “You gotta eat, buddy,” Ben said, “and with your mouth right now, the stuff you got in the cupboards isn’t any good. I brought more soup, yogurt, and soft bread.”

  Donnie nodded, his face still red. Then he motioned to Ben to follow him into the kitchen. “It’s real nice, that ya care,” Donnie said quietly as he watched Ben put away the groceries. “Not many people do.” He stepped close, took the milk carton out of Ben’s hand, and intertwined their fingers.

  For a moment, Donnie looked down at their hands. Then he leaned in and gave Ben a small chaste kiss on the cheek and leaned his forehead against Ben’s shoulder with a sigh. “Thanks.”

  Ben put a hand gently on Donnie’s neck and drew small circles with his thumb. Donnie sighed. It would take time for him to get used to this, to them. But Donnie’s small gesture of gentleness gave Ben butterflies. Standing in that shabby kitchen on the cheap linoleum floor, he felt happier than he had in months.

  That night, at Donnie’s insistence, Ben went home. “I’m fine, jus’ sore now. I’ll take it easy for the rest of the
week. Ya got yer work and Laura.” Ben had told Donnie that he had a daughter but hadn’t gone into any further detail.

  “If you’re sure…”

  “Am sure,” Donnie said, and smiled that shy smile that made Ben feel all strange inside. They exchanged phone numbers, and Ben promised to look in again the next night.

  But the next morning, Helen asked him if he could pick up Laura from school, and Donnie was very understanding when Ben called him during his lunch break to explain. The day after, a late arrest made Ben’s shift overrun, and when he phoned at ten, Donnie told him to go home.

  “I’m just about to drop off,” he said, sounding sleepy. “It’s fine, I’m feeling much better. Arthur was here today. He brought me food. Let’s talk on the weekend, alright?”

  For a moment, there was a trace of furtiveness in the other man’s voice. Ben gave himself a mental shake and rubbed his face. This was madness. He had to stop overanalyzing everything Donnie said.

  “Okay,” he agreed. “I’m working Saturday, but if you need anything, just call and I’ll come by.”

  “Thanks, Ben. Speak soon.”

  There was a niggle of disappointment when Ben hung up the phone. All day, he’d been looking forward to seeing Donnie. But they would see each other again soon. He just had to be patient. It was surprising how hard that was, because one thing was clear: Ben was definitely falling in love with Donnie. It really was a nice feeling.

  HE WAKES, SWEATY and scared. Tendrils of a dream still cling to him, and he shudders.

  Was there a sound in the living room?

  Donnie gets off the bed gingerly, cradling his ribs. He told Ben he’d be okay on his own, and he is, mostly. He can even bend down again and tie his own shoelaces, or he could if he really had to. He’s been at home all week and hasn’t needed shoes.

  The days are okay. It’s the nights that make him jumpy. The empty house, he’s not used to that at all. Asleep, his brain is forever convinced Floyd’s about to come back.

  Donnie pads out into the living room, the freezing cold seeping through the soles of his naked feet. He starts to shiver, and his teeth chatter. That makes him wince because his jaw still hurts. He hurries over to the window and peeks past the cheap nicotine-yellowed net curtains that came with the house.

  There’s nobody there, and Floyd’s bike is still missing.

  Arms wrapped around himself, Donnie hurries to the sofa and curls up under a blanket. Most nights this week, he ended up here, and he can sometimes even go back to sleep. The thought that Floyd might come barging in is easier to bear when he’s out here, and ready. But wherever he lies down, he hates the dreams that come as soon as he closes his eyes, those nightmare scenarios full of fear of his brother.

  Before he drifts off, Donnie makes up his mind. He’ll go to the station tomorrow and talk to Ben. Tell him what’s going on, that Floyd is sick and needs help, and that Donnie can’t cope with the uncertainty any longer.

  Chapter Eight

  “AND WHAT DO you want?”

  Jason, standing next to Ben, fidgeting and playing with his phone, sounded hostile and belligerent. Ben looked up from the files spread out on the reception desk, and his heart skipped a beat. There, a few feet from the desk, stood Donnie, looking at Jason with narrowed eyes. Worried that the two men would start in on each other at any moment, Ben stepped between them.

  “Mr. Saunders,” he said, fixing Donnie with a look that was warning and apology at the same time. “How can we help?”

  There was a flicker of hurt in Donnie’s eyes, then resignation. It gave Ben a stab to see it. He would have to explain to Donnie later that, for the time being, they couldn’t let on what had happened between them. The last thing Ben needed right now was gossip at work.

  “Officer Griers,” Donnie said. There was a tremor in his voice. “My brother…he disappeared.” A shadow crossed his face, and Donnie lowered his eyes, staring at his feet.

  Ben pressed his lips together hard, trying his best not to show exasperation. Several times, he had tried to raise the topic of Floyd with Donnie while he had been at the Saunders’s house. He’d been furiously angry with a man he didn’t know as he watched Donnie struggle to get up out of bed, holding his ribs and groaning. But Donnie’s gaze had slid off him then, and those shutters had come down. After a few attempts, Ben had given up.

  So why had Donnie come to the station? He’d refused to tell Ben what was going on in private, but was willing to make a scene here?

  Get a grip. This isn’t about you. It’s not about what’s happening between you and Donnie. The disappearance of his brother was undoubtedly unsettling for the other man, and if he wasn’t thinking clearly right now, then Ben shouldn’t blame him for it. The worry about Floyd had evidently become too much to bear alone. Ben would have to be gentle.

  He appraised Donnie. He still looked unwell, even fragile, and very confused. Ben turned and motioned at him. “Come this way. I’ll take down the details.”

  He led the way into the incidence room and over to his desk, where he pulled a chair over for Donnie. Then Ben tapped his computer to wake it from sleep mode, all the while ignoring Jason who had trailed them and now sat down at his desk opposite, his eyes flitting from Donnie’s bruised face to Ben and back again.

  “Right, then.” Ben looked at Donnie. “Since when has…your brother been missing?” He barely caught himself before saying Floyd’s name, which he shouldn’t yet know—or the answer to most of the questions he would have to ask.

  “Since last Sunday.”

  “Did he tell you where he was going?”

  “No.”

  “Has he been in touch this week?”

  Donnie shook his head.

  “Is this normal, for your brother to go off the grid?”

  “He’s never done it before. He tells me where he goes.”

  Ben waited with the next question until he was sure that he had Donnie’s attention. When Ben didn’t speak, Donnie finally looked at him properly. His eyes were full of misery, and Ben could see the exhaustion in them. This had to be the first time Donnie had left the house this week, and the short drive had clearly exhausted him.

  I’m real sorry, man. Ben tried to put this into his gaze. “Did something unusual happen Sunday night?”

  “We…” Donnie swallowed, his hand pressing into his ribs. “We had a fight.”

  Sudden anger flared in Ben. A fight, my ass, he thought with venom. He beat you to a pulp, and you didn’t even fight back. Ben had wondered about that the whole time he’d been at the Saunders’s house. He had seen no marks on Donnie’s hands or arms that would indicate that he had defended himself, or even tried to stop Floyd. But that topic, and why Floyd had turned on Donnie in the first place, had only been met with silence then, so Ben didn’t ask again now, praying that Jason wouldn’t second-guess him on that point later.

  Instead, he took down Floyd’s vital data—name, age, address, occupation (Not currently employed)—and asked Donnie a few more questions about Floyd’s acquaintances and usual habits. Nothing useful came to light.

  “Have you got a recent photo of your brother?”

  Donnie reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an old hunting license. It had expired over four years ago. “Only this.”

  Ben studied the picture. It showed a man in his late forties, according to the date of birth, but he looked ten years older than that. Life had not been kind to Floyd Saunders.

  “Alright if I keep this?”

  “Sure.” Donnie shrugged.

  Ben clipped the license to the file he had just started, then faced Donnie again and fixed him with a level gaze. He had to be the cop now and not let his emotions show, but it wasn’t easy.

  “Mr. Saunders, we will look into your brother’s disappearance. But I have to tell you this: A man in Floyd’s…situation, it’s likely he doesn’t want to be found.”

  Donnie’s eyes were so sad Ben had to look away for a moment. “I know,” Donnie sa
id quietly. “Jus’…try?”

  Ben steeled himself and nodded. “Of course we will. We’ll check all the hospitals.” At that, Donnie’s expression turned dark with fear. Ben frowned. Surely the other man must have known that, unless Floyd had decided to disappear on purpose, the most likely scenario was an accident. Ben was suddenly glad he hadn’t mentioned morgues.

  He felt Jason’s curious eyes on them and pressed on. He wanted this over with as quickly as possible. “Is there anything else you can think of that might help us track Floyd down? Anything that might make him memorable?”

  An aura of furtiveness and fear seemed to emanate from Donnie, but then he just shook his head. Ben really was at the end of his tether now. What was Donnie not telling him? Something was definitely off here.

  But he merely said, “Alright. We’ll be in touch if we hear anything.”

  For a moment, Donnie didn’t move, just chewed the inside of his mouth, his expression one of desperation. Then he got up with a mumbled thanks and left.

  Jason watched Donnie walk from the incidence room, then turned to Ben, leering. “A hundred bucks.”

  Ben forced his gaze away from Donnie’s retreating back and looked at his partner. “What?”

  “A hundred bucks says he put on that show for us. Guy knows where his brother is. We should go dig up his yard right now, not waste tax dollars on looking for another useless bastard.”

  Ben glared at Jason. When had his partner become so callous? Or maybe Jason had always been like this, but it had never hit so close to home for Ben. “Do your paperwork, Jason, before the captain gives you another official warning.” Jason often was the last one in the office, cursing the mountains of files on his desk he somehow never managed to get ahead of. He scowled at Ben but then pulled a stack of reports toward him without a word.

  Ben finished off the missing person’s report and went to scan the old photo of Floyd to add it to the electronic file. When he came back to his desk from the office scanner, his phone was flashing with a new message. Ben tapped the little screen.