Unspeakable Words

by Sarah Madison

  “I was doing okay the old-fashioned way. I don’t want to be a superhero. Oh God, you think this is going to be permanent, don’t you? Of course you do.” Flynn was still tense, but he latched on to the new safer subject with relief.

  Jerry said nothing but put the remnants of the vegetables in the trash and wiped the counters.

  “Okay, you’re right,” Flynn said with a sigh, relaxing ever so slightly. “We need to figure out how this thing works and how to control it so I can go back on the case. I’m just glad to know that Emily Marsden was already dead when we arrived last night. I don’t think I could’ve forgiven myself if we could have prevented her murder but failed because I was so fucked up.”

  He held up a hand when Jerry would have spoken. “I know, not my fault, but that doesn’t make any difference in the end. She’s still dead.”

  Don’t think about his sister, don’t think about his sister. Jerry winced when Flynn thinned his lips into a tight line. Sorry, he thought in Flynn’s direction.

  Flynn gave him a sort of rueful smile, which he took to mean apology accepted.

  “I appreciate you covering for me with Harding too. I know you went out on a limb to do that, and…. Well, I know you don’t normally do that for anyone.”

  “Well, it occurred to me that we need to be logical about this,” Jerry began as he added the rest of the ingredients to the soup and turned down the heat to let it simmer.

  “No, really?” Flynn said with a ghost of his usual smile.

  Bite me, Jerry shot in his direction without heat and smiled when Flynn snorted.

  “Okay, this is what I mean. We need to determine your limits. I need to work on blocking. We need to know if you can be blocked. We need to decide if we’re going to tell anyone.”

  “No.” Flynn was vehement. “I mean, the implications….” He trailed off, an agonized expression on his face.

  Jerry nodded. He could picture Flynn being forced to spy for the government and the terrible things that could result from the information he gathered in this fashion. Despite the fact that he loved his country, some things were just not fair in love and war as far as Jerry was concerned. Not to mention that Flynn would be seen as a potential threat to almost everyone out there. No doubt a concentrated effort would be made by someone to kill him. A vision of the field office imploding on itself from a bomb in the basement leapt to his mind.

  “Jesus, do you really see everything in worst-case scenarios?” Flynn looked a little pale. Jerry grimaced and shrugged in return.

  “We have to keep this a secret from everyone while still using it to our advantage.” Jerry chewed on a lip as he thought about the best ways of doing just that.

  Flynn gave him a funny look. “You really are going with the superhero thing, aren’t you? Hide the ‘talent’ but use it to solve crime. You’re assuming that I’ll ever be able to leave your apartment. What if I can’t cope with it?”

  An image flashed into his mind of walking into the apartment and finding Flynn’s body in a pool of blood next to his weapon, and he quashed it thoroughly. But not soon enough. Flynn rocked back a little on his heels, nostrils flaring as he breathed hard through his nose and looked a little sick.

  “You’ll be fine. I’ll help you,” Jerry said with confidence he didn’t feel. “Now, go on, get out of here and take a shower, get dressed. I want to tell you about….”

  “You think I was being set up with the Marsden interview? Interesting theory. And you’re right—if she wasn’t tortured, then that really doesn’t fit with the other deaths, but the killer might have been pressed for time if he was trying to silence her before she spoke with us.” Flynn nodded, looking thoughtful. “No, that makes sense. Emily could have just ‘disappeared’. Then we….” He broke off, looking embarrassed. “Um, sorry.”

  “Well, it is customary to let the other person say something on occasion. You’re going to have to control the impulse to finish everyone’s thoughts for them. But just think of how impressive your Holmes routine will be now.”

  “Holmes wouldn’t tolerate an idiot.” Flynn’s words seemed to come out of nowhere.

  “What?” Jerry asked, giving his head a little shake.

  “Holmes,” Flynn said slowly. “Not the sort of man to tolerate fools gladly. So it only stands to reason that Watson was someone he liked and respected.”

  “Huh.” Jerry blinked and cleared his throat. “Okay. Well. You’d better hurry up. Dinner will be ready soon, and the soup’s best hot.”

  Flynn gave a little unexplained laugh and walked out of the room.

  THEY practiced for another whole day. As it was Friday afternoon, unless a new lead broke in the Marsden case, they could reasonably expect to have the weekend off and let SFPD work the evidence. Jerry thought it would be best if they went slow, took a few trial runs out of the apartment, and saw how Flynn did before taking him back to the office. With a fresh murder case on their hands, Jerry had been forced to be creative about Flynn’s continued absence, so they were running out of time. They were going to have to put Flynn’s ability to control his telepathic abilities to the test, the sooner, the better. Word had gotten out that Flynn was crashing on Jerry’s couch, and Tom Fielding, the agent who’d replaced Jerry on the El Capitan case, had suggested that Jerry must have made him sick with his cooking. Several of the other agents had thought this was a riot, and it burned Jerry up inside that his culinary habits were just another gay joke around the office.

  He’d worked the case himself, touching base with Flynn frequently by phone, but he knew they’d need to get the witnesses in again for Flynn to interview them himself. He took the precaution of setting the witnesses up with the warning that they’d be asked in again for further questions, hoping to avoid the accusation of harassment. He’d been down to King’s precinct and found that, because he’d gone to visit her in the hospital, he was welcomed with rather more warmth than the average FBI guy could expect. A very pretty, chic redhead named Jennifer Kelly from the DA’s office had stopped him in the hallway and tried to wrangle Flynn’s location out of him, though for herself or for King, Jerry couldn’t tell.

  They’d worked on having Flynn focus on a single person’s thoughts, weeding out one voice among the many. They’d taken short field trips down to the laundry room and out onto the street when Jerry got home from work. Whenever Jerry could see that Flynn was getting overwhelmed, he’d snap his fingers and tell him to focus, whereupon Flynn accused him of treating him like a dog. However, it seemed to work. Flynn still watched a lot of television. Jerry suspected him of using it as a shield. Flynn had found his DVD collection, and Jerry had entered the living room more than once to discover Flynn sitting in the dark, watching Jerry’s entire collection of The Closer in some sort of weird marathon.

  Jerry had walked in on a bizarre conversation at one point. He’d gone down to the lobby for the mail, and on his return, Flynn was leaning in the open door of the apartment, talking to the woman from down the hall. She’d had a little Chihuahua on a leash at her feet, and Flynn had looked relaxed and was oozing charm.

  “I’m just saying,” he’d drawled, flicking a negligent finger in the direction of the dog. “Look at the way you dress him.”

  Jerry had glanced down at the dog. The dog had looked up at him, blinking with watery brown eyes. He’d been dressed in a little pink hoodie and was wearing a glittery rhinestone collar. His toenails had been painted an aggressive blood red.

  “He wets on everything because he doesn’t look like a dog. He’s afraid that another dog will mistake him for a squeaky toy instead.”

  “But he’s so cute in his little clothes.” The woman had pouted.

  “Now, come on, Amy.” The wickedly handsome smile made an appearance again. “He’s a dog, not a baby. If you want him to stop peeing on everything you own, you’ve gotta treat him like a dog.”

  Jerry had reflected on the fact that he’d been living in this building for over six months and he’d never lear
ned Amy’s name, even though he saw her and the dog in the corridor all the time.

  “Try it my way for a couple of weeks. Lose the clothes and the bling. You’ll see. He’ll stop peeing in the apartment. Oh, and another thing.” Flynn had winced. “He doesn’t want to be called Precious. He really hates it.”

  “And what do you suggest I call him?” Amy had asked with a trace of tartness.

  “Spike.” Flynn had looked down at the dog in a conspiratorial fashion, and the Chihuahua had wagged his tail vigorously, giving a sharp bark. “See?”

  “I hope you charged her for that,” Jerry had said drily as Amy and Precious/Spike had moved on toward the elevator.

  “Don’t you know?” Flynn had raised an eyebrow at him in apparent seriousness. “The first reading is always for free. That’s how you reel them in.”

  Jerry had gaped at him until Flynn had begun to laugh. It was the first time Jerry had heard the donkey laugh since the transformation had occurred, and it was oddly reassuring.

  “I do not sound like a donkey,” Flynn had said crossly, poking him in the arm.

  They’d also worked on having Jerry block him out, which frankly was a relief when he figured out he could. He’d pictured himself in a soundproof booth and watched as Flynn’s expression became puzzled and then relieved as well.

  “I can pick you up the easiest though,” Flynn had confessed at one point. “I don’t know if that’s because I’ve spent more time with you or because you’re so loud. Oh, I know,” he held up a hand, stopping Jerry before he could speak. “You think of yourself as a quiet kind of guy, not the sort that says much, but in here?” Flynn tapped the side of his head. “You’ve got a filibuster going on.”

  Jerry had thrown a sock at him for that one, but it made sense after that for Jerry to send his focus commands silently.

  He’d also taken a photo of the artifact with his cell and spent some spare time looking up more information online and asking questions at the museum. The new curator suggested that the artifact didn’t really belong with the other pieces in the collection. It had been part of a donation to the Weir on the death of a patron. Unfortunately, the person to ask about its origins was Emily Marsden. No one else seemed to have any problems handling it. In fact, the staff at the Weir had looked at him funny when he’d asked if it had any sort of power source. Online, he could only find some vague references to items with similar geometric designs. Many of the links were no longer functional.

  The plan this morning was coffee and bagels at a nearby deli. There would be a comfortable Saturday morning crowd but still smaller than on a typical workday. It was within walking distance, and Jerry felt reasonably sure he could get Flynn back to the apartment quickly if there were problems. He’d rehearsed the plan over again in his head. It was solid, and Flynn had professed confidence in his ability to do it.

  Flynn had long since run out of clothes and had told Jerry that he’d intended to have his things sent out if it had looked like he’d be in town for longer than a few days. Jerry had sent his suit to be dry-cleaned and loaned him some casual clothes, tossing Flynn’s things in with his own when he went down to do laundry. Though he was a bit taller and thinner than Jerry, the borrowed sweats and jeans had worked okay on him, despite his refusal to wear a belt and his frequent need to hitch up his pants at the waist. His shirttail often hung out of his jeans, and there was a tantalizing gap of skin at the small of his back when he bent over. A flash of hipbone as he slouched on the couch made Jerry wonder if his body just naturally wanted to shrug his clothing off. It also occurred to him that Flynn had to have gone commando that day, as there was no evidence of any briefs in sight.

  The soundproof booth had come into play a lot.

  “You ready to go?” Jerry asked as he knelt to put on a pair of track shoes.

  “As I’ll ever be.” Flynn looked cool and laid back, the typical San Franciscan headed out for his morning coffee. He was wearing a red-and-black flannel shirt over jeans so faded they appeared nearly white in places. Sporting a two-day beard and with his thumbs hooked into his pockets, he had Jerry’s morning paper folded under one arm. Only because Jerry knew him pretty well by now, could he tell that Flynn was not as sanguine as he was pretending. The tightness around the corners of his eyes gave him away.

  “Now, who’s playing Holmes?” Flynn asked, giving him a friendly-but-firm punch on the shoulder. “Oh, it didn’t hurt that much, you big baby,” he added.

  In the elevator down, Flynn said, “So, I think we should go to the Weir this afternoon, and I should try touching that gizmo again.”

  Jerry freely let the Are you insane? thought roll through his head before speaking. “You already touched it a second time. That didn’t reverse anything.”

  “Maybe it was recharging,” Flynn said as the elevator doors opened, and they crossed the lobby for the exit. “Maybe if I touch it this time, I’ll get another zap, and I’ll be back to normal.”

  “Remind me to start carrying a pocket defibrillator whenever I go anywhere with you,” Jerry said sourly. Flynn rolled his eyes at him.

  The day was sunny and pleasant again. Flynn quickly fished out sunglasses from his hip pocket and put them on, and Jerry suppressed all thoughts as to how cool he looked.

  “You know,” Flynn said, pausing to look over the brim of the glasses at him, “when you start shouting ‘soundproof booth!’ I can pretty much tell you’re thinking about me.”

  “As long as the ‘what’ remains a mystery, I’ll die a happy man,” Jerry said.

  Flynn snorted. A trio of young, pretty women came out of a shop onto the street, chattering and fluttering like a colorful flock of birds. Jerry noted that the brunette in the middle gave Flynn an appreciative once-over and then a sultry smile as they passed. Jerry glanced back over his shoulder and saw the women looking back at them and giggling.

  “What was that about?” he asked when the women were out of earshot. Flynn stared at him with a raised eyebrow and leaned in for a closer appraisal.

  “Huh,” Flynn said, peering at him a moment before straightening again. “You really do have amazing blue eyes.” He dropped his glance and craned his head around to look at Jerry from behind. “And a nice ass too.”

  “What?” Jerry whipped his head around to look first at his ass and then at the departing women.

  “And apparently it’s a pity that we’re both gay,” Flynn added drily. “But then what do you expect in San Francisco? All the good-looking guys are gay.” His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Sorry about that.” Jerry winced. On the inside, though, he couldn’t help a little thrill of pride. Someone thought he was attractive. And attractive enough to be with someone as hot as—

  “Soundproof,” Flynn said in a singsong voice.

  Jerry smacked him on the arm with the back of his hand. Flynn smacked him back with the folded newspaper. Things were about to disintegrate into a slapping match when suddenly Flynn’s head popped up like a hunting dog on a scent, and he started to charge forward toward the bus stop about twenty feet ahead, where a small group of people were waiting for the next Muni bus.

  Jerry grabbed Flynn by the arm. “Whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

  The look Flynn turned on him was unnerving. Though his eyes were shaded behind the glasses, his smile was tight and brittle. A little frisson of unease rippled through Jerry. It was not a nice smile.

  “I’m going over there to tell that guy if he ever hits his wife again, I will hunt him down and kill him.” He indicated a tall man in a gray turtleneck, checking messages on his phone.

  Jerry didn’t let go. “Okay, look,” he spoke rapidly. “Think this through. What did we say about situations like this? You have no proof. If you go barreling up to him with an accusation like that, what’s he going to think? He’s going to think his wife told you. You don’t want that, right? You don’t want to make things worse for her.”

  The hand gripping the newspaper began to crumple
it up. “I can’t just do nothing, Jerry.”

  “Of course not. We know he lives around here. We’ll figure out who he is. I’ve got a friend at one of the women’s shelters. We’ll get information to the right people. You know I’m right. This is the way we’ve got to do it.”

  “What if she won’t leave him?” Flynn looked determined to go over to the bus stop anyway.

  Jerry sighed. “Look, we’ll do the best we can, okay? But you’re just going to have to accept the fact that not everyone’s going to want your help.”

  Flynn slowly nodded and then frowned. “How are we going to get his name?”

  “Simple,” Jerry said. “Wait here.” He walked up to the crowd, flashing his badge. “FBI. Let me see some ID.”

  Startled, the group of people automatically began reaching for billfolds and wallets. “What’s this all about?” said the man in the turtleneck, full of self-importance. He showed Jerry his ID anyway. Jerry studied his face and memorized the address on the driver’s license.

  “A matter of national security,” Jerry said abruptly. He lingered over the man’s ID and then looked up at his face again. “Hmmm,” he murmured speculatively. The small group of people began to edge away from the guy.

  “What?” the man said, starting to turn red.

  “I wouldn’t do anything to call attention to myself if I were you,” Jerry warned. He held up a hand when the man began to splutter. “We’ll be watching you,” he said with a squint. He turned sharply on his heel and marched away.

  “Oh, that was good,” Flynn said sotto voce as Jerry returned. “Why, Special Agent Parker, who knew you had it in you?” Flynn sounded remarkably Southern, his voice higher pitched than usual. It took Jerry a second to realize Flynn was imitating Kyra Sedgwick as Brenda Leigh Johnson. It had been a decent imitation, and Jerry couldn’t help but laugh when Flynn added in a lilting tone, “Thank you, thank you all so much.”