by A N Bond
JOSEPH IS gone by the time Ryan wakes up the next day. He showers, dresses, and goes to catch the subway. To his surprise, his local subway station is closed. A small group of people are standing outside, looking a mixture of angry, irritable, and resigned; some of them are arguing with the harassed-looking MTA dude standing in front of the closed gate.
“Fucking suicides.” A guy in a suit turns around, addressing his comment to Ryan, his eyes narrowed and face dark with anger. “It’s fucking rude is what it is. Okay, so you wanna kill yourself, how about you do it in a way that isn’t gonna ruin my day.”
Ryan gives him a wan smile and turns away. Sighing, he turns up his collar and starts to walk.
It takes him almost an hour to walk the forty blocks to midtown, taking a shortcut through Central Park, then getting held up in the crowds of commuters and traffic. It’s around 8:30 a.m. by the time he finally makes it to the office, and the place is eerily quiet. A couple of desk phones ring unanswered and desks sit empty. Even Estelle’s workstation is empty, and Joseph’s office door stands open with no Joseph in residence. The only other sound is the TV in the break room. Usually kept turned down low, it’s been turned up loud, the morning announcer delivering some local news story.
Almost everybody, Joseph among them, is standing in the break room staring up at the TV screen. Some of the women have red eyes and tear tracks on their faces.
“What’s going on?” Ryan whispers to Krista at the back of the crowd.
“That person this morning, on the subway,” she says, her voice cracking. She swallows, and a tear escapes and rolls down her face. “It was Fiona.”
Ryan’s blood runs cold. “What? No! No way. I can’t believe it.”
In front of him, Estelle turns around and regards him steadily. “It’s true.”
“But I only saw her last night! We worked on the brief together. She was… she seemed fine. When did it happen?”
This time it’s Joseph who turns around to look at him. “This morning. Early.”
“Oh God,” he whispers.
Joseph looks at him for what feels like a long time, his expression sympathetic, his face drawn. He looks older than he did last night, the harsh, bright light in the break room doing him no favors this morning. Joseph clears his throat, raises the remote in his hand, and turns down the volume on the TV. Everybody seems to stir, blinking and staring white-faced at each other.
“This is a truly horrible thing to have happened,” Joseph says. “And I know that you will all need to take some time to deal with it. Fiona was one of us, a trusted and valued member of this team. She will be missed, and she will be hard to replace.”
Ryan thinks of all the people who have come and gone in the four months he’s been working here, all of them so easily replaced. Fiona was good at her job, but really, she’s just like everybody else and she’ll be easily replaced too. But around him, everybody is swallowing the lie, nodding and sobbing quietly, tears flowing more freely, as if Joseph has finally given them leave to show emotion. Ryan’s own eyes are still dry, and his heart is beating fast. He’s still not processing it. The idea that Fiona—Fiona who last night had seemed so—so….
He thinks back to last night, to Fiona’s abrupt departure. She had left suddenly, and she’d—it’s obvious now in hindsight but he’d been too distracted at the time to really notice—but she must’ve found something, she must’ve seen something on one of those CDs they’d been given to look through. But he’d been so preoccupied with his own issues that he’d let her go, so busy wallowing in his own fuck-ups and getting hard over Joseph. And so Fiona had left, and gone home, and been killed by a subway train the next morning.
This is the second death since he’s been at this firm. Two people involved with the McNeil case are dead: Phil Cartwright hanging from a beam in his garage and Fiona under a subway train. Of course, they could be coincidences, and with Phil Cartwright there was plenty of evidence that he was unhinged enough to kill himself, but with Fiona….
“They’re calling it an accident,” Krista sobs. “That’s what they said on the news—an accident.”
“An accident? But I thought—people said a suicide.”
“No, it was an accident, Ryan.” Estelle glides into view. Even she looks shaken, her customary resolve and steeliness missing. “Witnesses reported her tripping and falling onto the line. It’s so terrible, just… just awful.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Joseph places a hand on her shoulder, cutting her off. He squeezes gently. “Don’t think about it. It’s okay.”
Estelle nods, turning a pale, shaken face to him. They exchange a look—something passes between them—and then she’s pulling away from Joseph and heading back to her desk. Ryan blinks and Joseph gives him a faint smile of acknowledgment before he’s turning away again and going to comfort some more people. He tells them all to go back to their desks; there’s still work to do, and that’s the best way to take their minds off things.
Ryan takes the advice and goes slowly back to his office. It’s in the same state as last night. The cleaners know better than to touch anything when they’re working a big case. The coffee mug Fiona was using last night is still sitting on the edge of his desk, the piles of CDs and papers she was working on are heaped up beside it. He stares down at them; there’s an empty CD case on top of the pile and he picks it up. This was the one she was looking at, the one she had in her laptop when she left.
A knock on the door has him spinning around. He quickly drops the empty CD case back onto the desk behind him and looks up to see Joseph standing in the doorway. Joseph comes inside and pushes the door closed behind him.
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I know you two were working on something together. I know you were probably one of the last people to see her alive.”
Ryan blinks back at him, not sure how to respond to that. Joseph looks genuinely sympathetic. He approaches Ryan slowly, almost tentatively. He raises his hand and cups the side of Ryan’s face. His thumb strokes over Ryan’s cheekbone. Ryan nuzzles into his hand, taking in the scent of Joseph’s skin. Joseph’s palm smells of soap and his skin feels dry. He turns his mouth into Joseph’s palm, opens his lips, and bites down on the heel of his hand. Joseph hisses and surges forward, pressing his body up against Ryan’s, falling between the V of his thighs. Ryan unclenches his teeth and slathers his tongue over the bitten flesh. Joseph’s hand is sticky and red and shiny from his saliva.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not sure why I did that.”
“It’s okay. It doesn’t hurt,” Joseph says, dropping his hand.
“I can’t believe it. I mean, last night, everything was normal, and then—”
Joseph pulls away from him, taking a step backward and straightening his clothes. “Horrible things happen. They happen all the time. Accidents.” He trails off, and Ryan remembers Joseph’s father, the road accident that killed him.
“I guess,” he says slowly, “but I just think….”
“What?”
“There was something. Last night. I think she might’ve found something. I don’t know, but it’s kind of a big coincidence. Don’t you think?”
Joseph raises his head. “What do you mean?”
Ryan feels behind him for the empty CD case. “This,” he says, waving it between them. “Whatever was on this—and there was something. Her whole attitude changed all of a sudden, soon as she noticed it. We were just talking before, just talking normally, and then she noticed something and she just clammed up and practically ran out of here. Whatever it was, it shook her up.”
“But she didn’t say anything? Didn’t tell you what she’d noticed?”
“No,” he says regretfully. He blows out a breath and picks up Fiona’s coffee mug. “This was hers. She hadn’t even finished her coffee. She left so quickly she didn’t finish it. She loved coffee; she always finished it.”
“Ryan, what exactly are you suggesting here?” Joseph’s tone is that same careful one, his e
xpression, shuttered and professional, giving nothing away.
“I don’t know. I mean, did they find her laptop? Was it… was it with her when she—”
“I don’t know, the police didn’t give me any details.” Joseph sighs. He comes forward again and lays one hand on Ryan’s arm. “Listen to me: don’t think about it. It was horrible and tragic, but dwelling on it isn’t going to help.”
“Joseph, she was crushed to death by a fucking subway train!”
“I know, I know that,” Joseph says and the expressionless façade is breaking. He sounds frustrated, worn-down. He licks his lips again, moves in close, letting his forehead rest against the side of Ryan’s face. He breathes in and out for a couple of beats and Ryan feels his own body loosen a little. “How about we do something tonight? Like, something normal… something normal people do. You want to catch a movie, Ryan?”
It’s so apropos of nothing that Ryan kind of wants to laugh. He can’t imagine the last time Joseph took time out for something as normal as going to see a movie.
“Uh, okay. Okay, that could be good.”
“Awesome.” Joseph sighs again, then pulls away from him. “I should go. So much to do.”
“But we are going to the movies, right? You’re not going to stand me up?”
“Count on it,” Joseph says, and he smiles, sudden and blinding and really out of place. “Man, it’s been freaking years since I went to the movies. Pick something good.”
He stares after Joseph’s retreating back as he goes, leaving the office door open behind him. He takes a seat at his desk, drops his head into his hands, and sighs heavily. He feels lost and confused, and he suddenly wants more than anything to call Daisy. When his mom broke her leg, when he failed the bar exam the first time, when his dad lost his job, whenever anything bad used to happen to him, his first port of call was always Daisy. Daisy with her soft, sympathetic voice and big brown eyes and warm unconditional love; Daisy who would cook and clean and look after him when he was killing himself with study; Daisy who always expected so much from him; Daisy who’d wanted a version of him that he knew he’d never be able to live up to; Daisy whose heart he’d ripped to shreds and stomped over; Daisy who’d destroyed every item of clothing he owned and hated his guts.
He feels a wave of grief, of loss—for Fiona, for Daisy, for what he and Daisy had—for his own stupid, horrible behavior.
Was it all worth it? Is being with Joseph that important to him? Joseph doesn’t know him. Joseph doesn’t love him or understand him or support him like Daisy did. He’s not even sure if Joseph likes him. Sure, Joseph likes fucking around with him. Joseph likes his body and his cock and seems happy to tolerate his company when he’s not working (which isn’t that often), but Joseph doesn’t know him. And sure, maybe things with Daisy weren’t as good as they used to be. Maybe he wasn’t ready for marriage or kids or all that commitment stuff that she’d been longing for; but right now—right now—when the shit’s hit the fan and he feels like crap and one of his coworkers has died in one of the most horrific ways possible—right now—he wants to call Daisy and have her reassure him and tell him everything’s okay and she forgives him.
But he can’t do that anymore. So he does the only thing he can do—he goes back to work.
THEY SEE The Last Seduction. Joseph is enthralled by the movie, though he seems almost as enthralled by the enormous tubs of buttery salty popcorn Ryan buys them.
“That stuff was freaking delicious,” he says afterward.
“Man, I can’t believe you never had it before,” Ryan says, unable to stop smiling at the look on Joseph’s face.
Joseph shrugs. “I have. Probably. Back when I was thirteen or something like that. Which was a long time ago.” They’re sitting at the bar of a pizza restaurant around the corner from the movie theater, waiting for a table to come free, sharing a bottle of red wine. “The movie was great. Good choice, Ryan. I can’t believe I’d never seen it before. I usually dig that noir stuff. Plus that chick was hot and crafty. I always appreciate that kind of forward planning.”
“Hmm, yeah,” Ryan says. There are a couple of girls at the other end of the bar, also waiting for a table, and they keep looking over, checking them out, or at least, checking Joseph out. Joseph seems oblivious to it, though he could equally just be ignoring them. Joseph is no doubt pretty used to people checking him out.
“We should do it again,” Joseph says, taking a chug of his wine.
“Like, another date?”
“Is this what this is, then? A date?” Joseph raises an eyebrow; he looks amused.
“I don’t know. You tell me. Are we dating?” Ryan feels audacious saying this out loud, looking directly into Joseph’s face and remembering suddenly that this guy is his boss, the person with the power to fire his ass and fuck up his career if he feels like it.
Joseph picks up an olive from the saucer on the bar between them. He pops it into his mouth, swallows it, then sucks the vinaigrette off his fingers one by one, his eyes on Ryan the whole time. “Do you want to?” he says, using that careful tone of voice again.
“I don’t know. I mean, yes, I guess. But after everything with Daisy….” He trails off and shrugs. “I don’t want this to just be some dumb rebound thing.”
“Aren’t rebound things supposed to start after the previous relationship finishes? Not during?” Joseph says.
Ryan huffs out a breath and watches Joseph help himself to another olive. “I guess.”
Joseph nods, licks off his fingers again, and pushes the saucer toward Ryan. “You should have some of these, ’cause I promise you, I will sit here and eat them all. I fucking love olives.”
Ryan laughs and takes a swig of his wine, eying Joseph over the rim, munching on yet another olive. He feels a soft swell of affection for him, low and warm in the pit of his stomach. He glances around the restaurant, at the girls still watching them at the end of the bar, the couples and groups at their tables eating their pizza. He wonders if they’re looking at him and Joseph and seeing the truth—that they’re not just a couple of buddies out for pizza together, but something more than that. His stomach churns at the thought. He looks back at Joseph, who’s watching him closely, a curious look playing across his face.
“Are you okay?” Joseph asks. His voice is steady, maybe even a little concerned.
Ryan licks his lips. “Yeah. I just….” He stutters to a halt, not sure how to explain it. He thinks he’s having his own little moment of gay panic. He’s simultaneously terrified, ashamed, and flattered to think that people might be looking at the two of them and seeing them as a couple.
“Promise you won’t freak out,” Joseph says, and then before Ryan has time to say anything, he slides his hand around the back of Ryan’s neck and pulls him into a kiss. He tastes of olives and red wine and salt, and Ryan’s body reacts instinctively, licking into Joseph’s mouth with everything he possesses, feeling Joseph reach forward and grasp a handful of his coat in one sticky-fingered hand.
They break apart and Joseph raises his eyebrows, looking immensely pleased with himself. “You got to learn to relax. This is Manhattan, Ryan, not Texas. No one’s going to give a shit.”
He bows his head, feeling his face flush, his lips hot and sticky. He puffs out a breath, shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”
He glances over Joseph’s shoulder toward the girls at the end of the bar. They’re watching them with even more interest now. One of them catches his eye and grins at him. He blushes and looks back at Joseph, who regards him with something almost like affection.
“You’re real cute when you blush,” Joseph says.
He blushes harder and Joseph grins. It’s wide and delicious and most definitely self-satisfied, and Ryan has the sudden crazy urge to lean over and kiss him again, to be the one to instigate it this time. Unfortunately, or fortunately (he’s not sure which), a waiter appears at this moment to seat them, looking completely unperturbed by their little display of gay affectio
n. The guy ushers them to a quiet, private table in the corner of the crowded room, carrying their wine and Joseph’s precious saucer of olives. The table is small and cramped and their legs tangle underneath it. Joseph presses his calf against Ryan’s and curls his lip up when he meets Ryan’s eyes.
The pizza is hot and cheesy, and it smells and tastes amazing. They order another bottle of wine and more olives, and Joseph relaxes and laughs and tells Ryan a couple of crazy frat stories from his time at Harvard. Ryan laughs and tells a couple of his own college stories. They deliberately don’t talk about Fiona, and it’s only after they’ve left the restaurant and are walking past the subway that Ryan suddenly remembers her. His stride falters; a prickle of ice-cold fear flickers down his spinal cord as he thinks of it—the press of the crowd, the train screeching through the tunnel, Fiona tumbling over the edge, the blinding lights—
“Ryan?” Joseph calls him. He’s got a cab, and his hand is resting on the open door as he waves Ryan over. “Ryan, here! Get in.”
Ryan swallows, shakes himself, and hurries to slide into the back of the cab beside Joseph. He leans back in the seat and lets his eyes fall shut. He feels the play of the streetlights against his closed eyelids as the driver takes them uptown.
Chapter 7
“I’VE BEEN notified by Fiona’s family that the funeral will be held next Monday,” Joseph tells the assembled team. “Those of you who want to attend the funeral please feel free to do so; I’m planning to go myself. As for Fiona’s workload….” He pauses. “Everything Fiona, Ryan, and Krista were working on will be transferred to Sean. Ryan, I’m moving you onto other projects—”
