Red Fish, Dead Fish

by Amy Lane

  “Ellery! Here! I’ve got him! Give him to me!”

  Ellery squinted. “Kryzynski?”

  “You couldn’t have fucking waited?” But Sean Kryzynski, newly minted detective, was reaching for Jackson, taking the weight from Ellery’s arms, and Ellery was so grateful he could have cried.

  “She was screaming,” Ellery gasped. “She was screaming, and he was killing her.”

  “Yeah.” Kryzynski hauled Jackson up onto the patio and stripped off the Kevlar while he lay there, unresponsive. Without another word he started lifting and lowering Jackson’s arms, but no water spit out of his lungs.

  Ellery pulled himself out, panting, “It’s his heart. Water’s freezing, and he’s burning up.”

  “Fuck!” Kryzynski pulled his radio off his belt, screaming for backup and for the ambulance to pull around and for the world generally to unfuck itself and come make Jackson Rivers breathe.

  Ellery didn’t have time for that shit. He fell to his knees, propped his hand behind Jackson’s neck, and then pinched Jackson’s nose and tilted his chin, giving two quick deep breaths. His skin still raged with fever, because he’d been under less than a minute, but his mouth stayed unresponsive, full lips parted and blue.

  Fuck him. Fuck. Him. Ellery laced his fingers, found the magic spot above Jackson’s sternum, and pushed. And again. And again. And four. And five.

  Kryzynski was kneeling by his head by the time he was done, and as Ellery stopped, he gave two quick breaths.

  And again.

  And again.

  Ellery screamed at him as he pushed. “Tell me I’m your life? Move into my house? Saddle me with your fucking cat? And you’re going to do this? Save my fucking life, motherfucker, and you’re going to do this? Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Breathe, you fucking asshole, fucking breathe!”

  “Ellery!” Kryzynski panted, shoving at his arm. “Ellery! He’s breathing! He’s breathing!”

  “Oh God.” Jackson’s chest pushed up under his hands. Ellery shoved under the sodden sweatshirt and T-shirt and flattened his palm over Jackson’s left nipple.

  He felt the throb of blood under the skin, buried his face in Jackson’s neck, and cried.

  Wet, cold, trembling fingers massaged through Ellery’s hair.

  Jackson rasped, “That’s my sore shoulder, you prick,” and Ellery cried some more.

  KRYZYNSKI HAD a patrolman take Jade’s SUV to the med center.

  Ellery, covered in a thermal blanket and clutching his clothes and shoes to his chest, got loaded in the ambulance next to Jackson. He let the paramedics work on Jackson first, administering adrenaline for his heart and anti-inflammatories with antibiotics for his fever and the infection in his shoulder. When they’d shot pretty much everything they could into the IV in his arm, they let Ellery crouch by his side while they numbed and irrigated Ellery’s arm.

  Ellery stroked the wet hair back from his brow and looked dismally at his chest. They’d cut off Jackson’s sweatshirt, and in the back of his mind, Ellery wondered if he even had another one at the house. God. All his shit was still in the duplex garage.

  There was nothing to cover the bruises on his body.

  The purple, black, and bleeding mess of his shoulder, the gaping slices through skin and muscle on his stomach from when the knife found its way through. The way his chest labored through the sickness in his lungs.

  Jackson fumbled with the O2 mask they’d put on him and gave Ellery what should have been a smile.

  “They fix you up?” he asked, his voice barely more than a memory.

  The young medic who had worked on him answered Jackson’s question. “He’s going to need stitches once we get to the hospital, but he’ll be able to go home. You, on the other hand, shouldn’t have been running around in the first place.” He had a shaved head and a handlebar mustache sprinkled with gray. He managed to make that last thing sound severe, like a warning from the gods.

  “I’m okay,” Jackson said, because God forbid he not.

  “I’m not,” Ellery admitted—one of them had to say it. “Jade said she watched you die once. That’s twice now, Jackson. How many lives do you think you have?”

  “One where you and me get a little peace,” Jackson said, closing his eyes. “That one would be nice.”

  Ellery helped him put the O2 mask back on and kissed his temple.

  “Sounds like he’s learned his lesson,” the medic said mildly, swabbing at Ellery’s wound with deceptively gentle fingers.

  “The fact that you think that? That means he’s just saving up the bitching for later,” Ellery told him. He rested his chin on his fist, close enough that every jostle of the ambulance rubbed his knuckles against Jackson’s cheek. “I’ll know he’s okay when he’s whining like a tomcat on a fence.”

  The medic chuckled because he thought Ellery was kidding, and the ambulance rolled on.

  THEY WHISKED Jackson away as soon as he arrived, and Ellery was taken to an ER cubicle while they worked on his arm. Kryzynski walked in just as they gave him a set of scrubs to wear and his ruined suit in a plastic bag.

  The trench coat had a big bloody slice in the sleeve, but it might help keep him warm in the meantime.

  “Looks like you’ve got yourself some war wounds,” Kryzynski said, his smile holding nothing of the crush he’d had in August and everything of the tired, dispirited detective.

  “How’s Dakin?” Ellery asked. Owens’s “studio” had been as eerily divided as Owens himself. The “living area” had looked like a single man’s apartment—a futon, a dresser, bedding, a kitchen that had been cleaned in the past two days.

  The bedroom had been where Owens took his victims, patterned with old blood, featuring hooks and chains dangling from the ceiling, the walls broken and crumbling from abuse. Dakin had been suspended by her wrists from a leather strap hooked to the ceiling and apparently used as a punching bag. She’d been a mess—slices networking her chest, her stomach, her cheeks. Signs of sexual trauma marked her bare body, and bruises, black and terrible, showed the abuse of her flesh.

  Ellery cut her down with a knife from the kitchen, then used a piece of rope and a T-shirt he’d found in the “living quarters” of the apartment to bind her arm, which sported the worst wound. He’d helped her drag on the rags of her detective’s suit before they’d made their escape.

  She’d shown grit then—in pain, terrified, but running as quietly as she could. He’d helped her through the hole in the fence, before shoving his phone and keys into her hand, and telling her where to find the car. He’d turned around to see how he could help Jackson as she’d disappeared around the oleander hedge, and Owens had been right there.

  “Dakin is….” Kryzynski pinched the bridge of his nose and tilted his head back. “She’ll be lucky if she can work again,” he said bluntly. “What happened to her….” He shook his head.

  “Jackson was right,” Ellery mumbled. “We should have moved faster.”

  “How?” Kryzynski shrugged. “He didn’t know until she was taken. Even if we’d moved on the house the night you called me, how would we have found her? You did your best. Both of you. Told me. Told the department.” Kryzynski’s eyes grew bright and red rimmed. “He almost died. I remember when you told me to give him a chance, and I thought, ‘Yeah, sure. Cramer’s got a hard-on for this guy, but he’ll see. He’ll see Rivers is trouble. He’ll see.’”

  Ellery let out a gasp of laughter. “Yup. He’s trouble.”

  “He’s a good man,” Kryzynski said soberly. “That’s going down in my report. Which it will take me at least a week to write, by the way, ’cause this has been a big fucking deal.”

  “Maybe he’ll be out of the hospital by then,” Ellery sighed. Then, “Hey—did Dakin give you my phone?”

  “Nope. It’s probably in your ride. We found her hiding in the SUV when we got to the scene. She’s the one who said you needed help.” Kryzynski reached into his pocket and pulled out the keys. “Please tell me you’ve go
t a way to get home.”

  From outside the curtain, a blessedly familiar, terrified voice cut through all of the bullshit a hospital could throw.

  “Do not tell me I don’t have the right to see either of them, because I don’t even fucking care, do I, Mike?”

  “The lady has zero fucks.”

  “And none to fuckin’ give. You heard me—Jackson Quentin Rivers or Ellery Stick-up-his-ass Cramer, Esquire. Where in the hell are they?”

  The nurse—poor man—stuttered for an answer, and Ellery put the ER out if its misery. “I’m in here, Jade. Stop terrorizing the health-care professionals.”

  Jade didn’t wait to get to the curtain to start scolding him. “I have seen your mother in action, asshole, and I am not even coming close. What happened? Why didn’t you call me? Where in the fuck is Jackson?” She stopped, and her expressive brown eyes grew big and shiny. “You’re hurt! You’ve got a bandage, and you look like hell! Jesus, Ellery, if you’re hurt, how is he?”

  “I’m fine,” Ellery said, surprised to recognize concern when he saw it. His voice lowered then, because this was still hard. “He was stable when they took him off the ambulance, but not fully conscious.” Ellery let out a snort of pure exasperation. “Probably asleep more than anything else, but….” He bit his lip and met Mike’s sympathetic gaze.

  Kryzynski cleared his throat and nodded, waving to let Ellery know he’d be back a little later for a statement.

  In the meantime, “How bad was he?” Mike asked, letting Ellery finish.

  “He and Owens fell into the swimming pool from the second-story landing. Owens hit his head on the way down—”

  They both grimaced, and Jade said, “Ick.”

  Ellery had to close his eyes against the mental picture. “You have no idea,” he said, swallowing hard. “But Jackson… the water was so cold, and he was feverish and running his ass off.” He swallowed and closed his eyes. “He wasn’t breathing, Jade. I pulled him out of the water and we had to do CPR and….”

  She threw herself into his arms and hugged him tight. He hugged her back, clinging to one of the handful of people who would recognize the stark terror Ellery had lived through in those moments.

  “Scared the hell out of you, right?” she whispered, whole body shaking.

  “I don’t know how you’ve done it,” he admitted.

  She pulled back and wiped her eyes delicately with her thumb. Mike, ever practical, grabbed a tissue from the supply station at the cubicle and handed it to her even as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders for comfort.

  “Same way you’re going to,” she said, a half smile on her face. “One fucking battle at a time.” She swallowed visibly and closed her eyes. “But you’re going to have to win, Ellery. I couldn’t win. He didn’t love me like he loves you.”

  Ellery nodded. Jackson had never said it—not those words. I got attached. That one. That one is mine. But the words he’d used—those had been close enough.

  “I need to tell Langdon he’s out until after Thanksgiving,” Ellery said, leaning back against the bed.

  “Oh, I will tell him for you. Are you and Jackson coming to the duplex? Kaden and Rhonda will be.”

  Ellery sighed. He’d made those plans for Jackson just assuming…. Jackson hadn’t even yelled at him for it.

  “I have tickets to Boston,” he said apologetically. “Both of us. My parents.”

  Jade stroked his temple, like he’d once seen her do with her brother. “I’ll have an early one for us,” she said generously. “Tell me when you’re leaving. We’ll do it the day before.”

  He smiled, his throat tight. “He’d better be out of the hospital by then.”

  She rolled her eyes, but they were both so worried the expression didn’t carry as much disgust as he once thought. “He’d better. He’ll be insufferable if he’s not.”

  AT FIRST Ellery thought Jade was wrong.

  Mike ran to Ellery’s house to grab them both clothes and pajamas, and Jade and Ellery were eventually allowed into Jackson’s room.

  He didn’t even look like hell anymore. He looked like he’d been through hell and had come out on the other side looking like shit-bugger-fuck-cock-ass.

  Jade’s exact words after she’d caught her breath, and Ellery had known them for her attempt to stay strong.

  He’d never seen someone with that pallor survive. Jackson’s eyes were sunken, and the bags under them practically swallowed his cheekbones. He lay shirtless and bandaged—not just his shoulder, but his ribs and the stitched cuts on his stomach as well.

  “I take it I’m not winning any beauty contests,” Jackson said dryly. Then he’d grinned, his smile as wicked as it had ever been. “Did Ellery tell you he bruised my fucking ribs?”

  “I did not!” Ellery clapped his hand to his mouth in horror and then winced as he stretched his own stitches. “I bruised your ribs?”

  Jackson laughed as Ellery pulled up the chair next to the bed. Jade grabbed another one and sat next to Ellery. “You did. I guess you know a guy’s nuts about you when he commits assault.”

  “You were….” Ellery closed his eyes. “You were….”

  “Sh….”

  “You were dead,” Ellery whispered, embarrassed to break down in front of Jade too.

  They were on the side with the undamaged shoulder, and Jackson reached out and cupped his cheek. “You fixed that, though,” he said. His eyes were closed, but he was smiling faintly.

  “I talked to your doctor,” Ellery told him, trying to find the irritated place, the sarcastic and angry place, but only finding this place, raw and open and tender. “He said you’re here for a week—fluids and medicine to keep the fever down and more PT for the shoulder and antibiotics. They’re not letting you out of here until you can run five miles again.”

  Jackson groaned. “Goddammit—did you bribe them or something?”

  Ellery snorted. “As. If. They were jumping for an excuse to strap you to the bed and declare you mentally incompetent.” He was only exaggerating a little. Dave and Alex, Jackson’s nurses from his last two stays in the hospital, had made dire threats about getting bondage equipment from home.

  “Well, when are you getting out?” Jackson demanded. “You had to get stitches.”

  “Yeah, ten of them. A little kid gets that when he falls off the swing. I could leave now if I wanted to, but Mike’s going to go feed your useless cat.”

  “You could leave now? Are you kidding? You got stabbed!”

  “Ooooh!” Ellery held up both hands and shook them like he was afraid. “A stab wound! How awful!” He glared. “Your heart stopped, asshole. You’re going to be running stress tests until I get you on the fucking plane. We’re never traveling anywhere without nitro tabs—you know that, right? You are going to have scar tissue on your heart for the rest of your life!”

  “And the ribs are gonna hurt when it rains,” Jackson finished, cackling weakly.

  Ellery’s mouth opened and closed in outrage while he searched for words.

  “Hey,” Jackson said smugly, “Counselor, come here.”

  Ellery leaned over the bed then, close enough to see the flecks of darkness in Jackson’s crazy-bright green eyes. “What?” he asked, still cross.

  Jackson kissed him, softly, with more sweetness than Ellery ever dreamed of.

  “I love you.”

  Ellery shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and taking the words inside so they could be a part of his heart. “I love you too.”

  “Now find a way to get me out of here early.”

  Ellery opened his eyes and showed all his teeth. “Not on your life, Rivers. Not for any sexual favor you could offer. Not even if you threaten to take away your cat.”

  Jackson glared at him feverishly, weak body struggling to sit up even as it failed him… “But… but… I love you.”

  “Yup. And if I have my way, you’re not getting out of that by driving yourself to an early grave.”

  Jackson pouted, irritate
d but not hurt. “I take it back.”

  “I won’t let you.”

  “Jade, get me an AMA….”

  “Get out of bed and do it yourself, asshole. Oh, wait—you’re attached to an IV and you’re too weak to stand. So never mind. You stay right there.”

  Jackson opened his mouth to respond—and yawned instead. “Goddammit!”

  “Why?” Ellery asked, taking the combativeness out of his voice. “Why do you have to go so bad?”

  “I hate hospitals,” Jackson told him, eyes bright and shiny with it. “I hate them.”

  Oh.

  “I know you do—”

  Jackson shook his head and took a breath to try to calm himself down—but it didn’t look like it worked. “I thought it was bad before, but after this summer….” He turned pleading eyes to Ellery. “It feels like the whole building is pressing down on me.”

  Ellery sighed and grabbed his hand. “Baby, you are sick. Your heart stopped. You have a raging infection and—apparently—bruised ribs. You can’t come home yet. But don’t worry. You won’t be alone.”

  Jackson squeezed his eyes shut tight. “I really am a weenie,” he muttered. “I take it back. I’m fine. Don’t worry. Dave and Alex will come visit, and it will all be okay.”

  Ellery couldn’t help it. He smoothed Jackson’s hair back from his brow and just looked at him, even though Jackson was doing his damnedest to look away. “Do me a favor,” he said, closing his eyes against the vulnerable curve of Jackson’s jaw. “Just close your eyes and feel what I’m doing here. Breathe deep and even with me. I’m not going anywhere. If we grabbed a doctor right now and checked you out and took you home—”

  “Ellery!” Jade hissed, looking panicked.

  “As. If!” he mouthed, and she relaxed too. “You wouldn’t be out of here for an hour. Two, most likely. So we’re not even going to mess with that. We’re just going to sit here and do what you promised in the ambulance.”

  “What’s that?” He sounded softer, less manic.

  “You promised me peace, remember? Said it was time for you and me to get some peace.”