Tempest (Playing the Fool #3)

by Lisa Henry

  Yeah. Who’d have guessed in a million years that it wouldn’t be from a fucking overdose?

  There was a floral arrangement on top of the casket. A wreath of purple and yellow flowers. Henry blinked and saw Remy instead. The hole in his skull, the blood soaking the carpet behind his head. Flowering across his shirt.

  Carson sat hunched in the front pew, twisting a handkerchief between his nicotine-stained fingers. He was unshaven. He didn’t look up.

  Henry wanted to grab him around the throat and shake him. Demand to know what the fuck he was doing here when he’d only ever been an asshole to Remy. Wanted to punch him and kick him and make him feel worse than Henry did.

  He didn’t.

  He sat down instead.

  They all fit onto the front pew. A paltry group.

  Henry stared at his shoes.

  The funeral director began to speak. He didn’t hear the words over the pounding in his head. It didn’t matter anyway. The words, like the place, were impersonal. They weren’t Remy. Weren’t his smile or his laugh or his quick, deft fingers. Weren’t the way he flicked his lip ring with his tongue when he thought, or the way he danced. Weren’t the way he’d lived.

  What was happening here, in this room, had nothing to do with Remy.

  He almost believed that, almost kept his distance, until Stacy reached into her purse and offered him a tissue. He clutched it in his right hand while Mac held his left tightly. Then he started to cry.

  And became aware that he wasn’t the only one. At the end of the pew, Carson was snuffling into his handkerchief. Henry wondered what he regretted most: that Remy was dead, or that he’d treated him like shit for so long.

  The funeral director finished speaking, then led them in a prayer.

  A prayer? He didn’t remember agreeing to that, but he didn’t remember exactly what he had agreed to. Cheap. It had to be a cheap service. Cremation. No little plaque on a tiny vault in a cemetery wall. Those things always reminded him of mailboxes anyway. No urn. Just ashes in a box, which he’d never collect anyway. What the fuck was he supposed to do with ashes? He wanted Remy, not ashes.

  Ashes were just adding insult to injury.

  He wiped his nose, and Stacy gave him a fresh tissue.

  After the brief service, the funeral director served coffee and pastries in the foyer. Henry stood in front of the window and stared out at the garden beds and the street. Wondered if he was supposed to take a deep breath and get on with his day now, with his life. If he’d had his hour of grief, and he was good to go. Wondered how that was possible.

  He remembered reading somewhere about the production that was bereavement in Victorian times. How you started in black clothes and took a year to work through the grays and the browns until you were back to regular colors. How people knew, just from looking, how recent your loss was, how heavy your grief. A part of him liked the idea of that. A ritual. A yardstick. Another part of him wanted to weep and wail. Tear his clothes and fling himself onto the coffin. Wanted to make a fucking spectacle of himself.

  He didn’t.

  Just sipped his coffee and stared out the window.

  “You okay?” Mac slipped an arm around him.

  “I’m tired.”

  “We can go whenever you’re ready.”

  “Okay. I should talk to Stacy first.”

  Mac nodded and released him.

  Henry set his coffee cup down on the side table and walked over to where Stacy was standing with Jo. “I’m going.”

  “Are you in trouble, Henry?” Jo asked. “You need to disappear?”

  “No. Mac’s okay. He’s not arresting me or anything.”

  Jo hugged him. “A few weeks ago I would have kicked your ass if you’d hooked up with the law. But I guess none of that matters today, right?”

  “It doesn’t?”

  “Hell, no. You keep in touch, Henry. Promise?”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ve got a new phone number for you,” Stacy said. “Don’t leave here without it, and don’t let your boyfriend see it. It’s in here.” She reached into her handbag and passed him an envelope. “And that’s from all of us.”

  He opened the envelope and saw bills. “What’s this for?”

  “For today. Remy was one of us. We take care of our own.”

  “I thought you’d never want to see me again.” Henry could feel fresh tears coming.

  Stacy hugged him tightly. “Listen to me.” Her voice was low but fierce. “You are the son I never had. You are the son I never wanted, but I got stuck with you anyhow, and nothing is going to change that.”

  Henry closed his eyes for a few seconds as all the breath was squeezed out of him.

  “Nothing, you hear?”

  “Yeah,” he croaked.

  Stacy released him. “Good.” Her eyes shone with tears. “Now get back to your boyfriend before he barges over here and starts asking awkward questions, like where I was on the night of the twenty-fifth.”

  “I have no recollection of that,” he said automatically.

  Stacy reached up and patted his cheek. “Good boy.”

  She hooked her arm through Jo’s and moved away.

  Henry walked back to where Mac stood waiting for him.

  Sometimes fear pushed harder at Viola now than it had the day of the storm. She had been afraid then, but she had been able to put it aside, because Sebby had needed her. Now she had bad dreams sometimes about people with guns. She was glad she got to stay at Mac’s house with Sebby, or with Cory’s grandparents when Mac and Sebby needed alone time.

  Sebastian said she was a hero. And a genius. “I would have died without you. Mac too. You were so great, Vi. Amazing.”

  Val had given Viola a medal. Because Viola was brave, and she’d done a great service to the FBI.

  Viola didn’t feel brave, though. And Sebby had still gotten shot, even though she’d tried to help him.

  Mac said all the bad people were locked up now. But there were always more bad people. She just hoped they stayed away from her and Sebby. And Cory, and Mac, and Ian, and Ana. And Brian and Libby.

  Sebastian came into Mac’s spare room one morning to talk to her about what would happen next. Where she would live.

  “I don’t want to go back to St. Albinus.” The words came out so loudly they surprised her.

  “Not there,” Sebby promised, sitting next to her on the bed. “Mac found a really nice place. Between Altona and Indianapolis. So Mac and I can visit a lot. And Mac’s family.”

  Visiting sounded good to Vi. But it also sounded like she would have to go back to living on the inside—shut away from the big, exciting world Sebby lived in. The world she was scared of, but that she didn’t want to miss out on. “I could stay with Cory’s nana and papa,” she said. “Cory would like that.”

  “I know she would. But . . .” Sebby looked guilty, and Viola felt guilty too. She wanted to tell him she would go to the new place, just so he’d stop looking like that. “But we need to make sure you get the care you need.”

  “Cory’s grandparents took care of me.”

  Sebastian closed his eyes briefly, like that hurt him. “It would just be hard for them to do it all the time.”

  Viola reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “I want to see you a lot,” she said.

  “You will. Vi, I promise. I’m going to do better with—”

  “I want to go visit other places.”

  “Like where?”

  She remembered what Cory had said. “California. The Exploratorium.”

  “We can do that.”

  “Really?”

  Sebby nodded. “But this place, Vi, this new place. We’ll go and see it this afternoon. Mac’s taking time off from work so—”

  “How come you get to stay with Mac and I don’t?”

  Sebastian froze for a second, his mouth still open around the words that Vi had stopped with her question.

  “It’s not fair.” She smoothed the pages of the Cl
ub Werewolf book Cory had loaned her. It was the one with the dumbwaiter, and Vi felt good knowing what it was without having to ask someone.

  “I know it’s not,” Sebastian whispered.

  Vi put a hand on his face to steal away some of the sadness she saw there.

  “Nothing is ever fair.” His voice hitched.

  Vi’s heart hurt a little. She leaned close to Sebastian so their foreheads touched. “Do you want my medal from the FBI?”

  Sebastian made a sound that was a little bit like a laugh and a little bit like a sob. “No. You should keep that.”

  “You were braver than me. You ran out into a storm, Sebby.”

  This time it was definitely a sob.

  Viola put her arms around him. She rocked him back and forth gently, just like she had when they were little, and Sebby had been afraid.

  “It’s okay,” she told him. “It’s going to be okay.”

  On the way back from Grove Hill, Henry was quiet. Mac glanced at him a few times, trying to decide if he was freaking out. His packet of M&M’s sat unopened on his lap, which had to be a bad sign.

  “You okay?”

  Henry nodded.

  Mac tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and tried to figure out what it might be. Grove Hill was nice. The facilities were clean and open, and there were other young people with acquired brain injuries there as well. The staff had assured Henry there was nothing they couldn’t handle, and Mac had believed them.

  “Did you see the photos on the bulletin board?” he asked. “They get those people with dogs in once a week.”

  “Therapy dogs,” Henry said, toneless.

  “She’ll be fine. She’s got your number, my number, my parents’ number, and Val’s number. It’s a nice place. It’s not going to be another St. Albinus.”

  “Yeah.” Henry stared out the window.

  They drove back to Mac’s place in silence.

  “Stir-fry for dinner?” Mac asked as they went inside.

  Henry let the door slam behind him. “Oh yeah? What’s that gonna cost me?”

  “What?”

  Henry stomped up the stairs.

  “Don’t you dare!” He followed him. “Henry! You don’t get to drop that bomb and walk away. What the hell are you talking about?” He pushed into the bathroom behind him.

  Henry spun to face him. “It’s a nice place, Mac! Real fucking nice! And how the fuck am I supposed to afford it? I don’t have a college degree. I don’t even have my fucking GED. I can’t just walk into a job! So I guess it’s back to turning tricks downtown, right?”

  “How the fuck did we get from putting Vi in a nice place to you turning tricks downtown?”

  “Money!” Henry yelled back. “I’ve got a couple of grand, Mac, stashed in a couple of places. How the hell am I going to make that last? How am I going to stay here, with you, if I can’t pay for Grove Hill?”

  “We’ll make it work,” he said. “We’ll find a way to cover it until you can get a job—”

  “You mean you’ll cover it!”

  “We’ll cover it. We’re a team, aren’t we? Mac and Cheese?”

  Henry growled and turned away. He stared at his face in the mirror and dragged his fingers through his hair.

  “You’re cute when you’re angry,” Mac offered.

  “Mac.” A warning tone. “This isn’t a joke.”

  “Are you sure?” He shook his head. “Because two weeks ago I thought we were both dead. I thought everyone I cared about was dead, and now here we are arguing about something as stupid as money?”

  Henry sighed. “Real jobs need—” He waved his hand dismissively. “Paperwork and stuff.”

  “You have paperwork. Or you can get it.”

  “I have more paperwork than you can poke a stick at, but I’m supposed to be going straight.”

  “Well, go straight.” He frowned slightly. “What about Sebastian Hanes? He’s only got a juvenile record, and that’s sealed. Could be for shoplifting, for all anyone knows.”

  Henry shook his head.

  He stepped forward and took Henry’s hand. Turned him to face him. “Listen, maybe it’s time Sebastian was in charge for a while?”

  “Jesus, Mac, I’m not Sybil!” Henry snorted, and then pitched his voice higher: “Can Sebastian come out now?”

  “Okay, that’s creepy.”

  Henry smiled for the first time since they’d left Viola at Grove Hill.

  Mac sighed. “I didn’t mean it like that anyway. I meant . . . I meant that maybe it would be good for you to get rid of the aliases for a while. Work out who you really are.”

  Henry titled his head. He pulled his hand free, and gestured to himself. “This is who I am.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No.” Henry stared at him. “This is who I am. They’re names, Mac. They’re words. Constructs. Henry is as real as Sebastian, or Richard Falstaff, or John Blunt, or Antony Clifford. Or Brad.”

  “Jesus. One day I really am going to need a list.”

  “No, you’re not.” Henry put his palm against his chest. “Just words.”

  “A rose by another other name?”

  “Now you’re getting it.”

  “So I keep calling you Henry.”

  “You can call me anything you want. Henry, Sebastian, Sugar Lips. But Henry’s the guy you . . .”

  He caught Henry’s gaze. “The guy I what?”

  Henry smiled. “Whatever, Mac. It’s just words.” He stood on his toes and kissed Mac, and Mac sank into the kiss.

  “I like words,” he said softly when they parted. “And Henry’s the guy I fell in love with.”

  “Oh.” Henry shook his head pityingly. “The mushy stuff. It must be near the end of the episode.”

  “I thought Mac and Cheese was a movie now.”

  “It’s a TV series that spawned a movie.”

  “Well, I don’t think our viewers will be satisfied unless you say it back to me.”

  Henry raised his eyebrows. “Do we film in front of a live audience? Will they ‘awwwww’ when I say it, and then ‘ooooooh’ when we make out?”

  “There might even be a few tears.”

  Henry snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  Mac cupped Henry’s face. Passed his thumb over Henry’s cheekbone and waited.

  “I love you,” Henry mumbled, ducking his head.

  Mac moved his hand to the back of Henry’s neck and eased him closer. Encouraged him to meet his gaze again. “C’mere,” he whispered. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard.”

  Henry huffed against Mac’s lips. Arched his back and pressed his body into Mac’s. “You’re gonna fuck me?”

  “Can I?”

  Henry grinned and widened his stance. Drew Mac’s hand between his legs. “Why don’t you find out?”

  He rubbed Henry’s cock through his pants.

  Henry exhaled. “You want some of this ass, Mac?”

  “I want all of that ass. And the smart-mouthed sidekick it’s attached to.”

  “I am the best sidekick ever.” Henry went up on his toes, eyes falling shut briefly. “My action figure would sell more than yours.”

  “Oh.” Mac stepped closer to him, backing him against the bathroom sink. Henry squirmed as Mac tugged his belt open. “There are action figures now?”

  “Action figures.” Henry shivered as Mac ran his lips up the side of his face. Not quite a kiss. Something more visceral, as though he were trying to capture Henry’s scent. “And, ah, lunch boxes. Trading cards. And PEZ dispensers.”

  Mac grabbed the hem of Henry’s shirt and drew it over his head. “That’s a lot of merchandise.”

  “Sure.” Henry closed his eyes again as Mac bent down and followed the line of his collarbone with his tongue. Mac rubbed the wet spot at the front of Henry’s stripy underwear, listening for the catch of breath he loved so much. “But these are the things you have to do if you want a private island in the Bahamas.”

  “Is that what you really want?�
�� Mac straightened up and ran a hand through Henry’s hair.

  “No. Kind of okay with things just like this.” Henry leaned in close, his breath hot against Mac’s ear. “You can totally fuck me, Mac.”

  Mac drew back so that he could look him in the eye. “You mean that?”

  Henry flushed, then frowned, then tried for a smile that didn’t quite land. “Yeah, I mean, sure. I want to. For you. I mean with you. But it’s, like, not a big deal or anything, right?”

  Always deflecting. “I love you too.”

  He expected some snarky reply, but when Henry answered his voice wavered.

  “Whatever happens . . .” Henry moistened his lips with his tongue. “In the future, I mean, whatever happens, and whatever shit comes between us—”

  “Henry.” Mac pressed a finger against his lips. “Not now. Let’s just have the moment, okay, with no qualifiers. I love you.”

  “Mac, I’m just—”

  “I love you,” Mac said again. He raised his eyebrows.

  Henry sighed and opened his mouth again.

  “Love you!”

  Henry visibly fought a smile. “Not going to let me win this one, are you?”

  Mac shook his head.

  “Fine.” Henry flung his arms around Mac’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “I love you too. You flappy-armed bastard.”

  There was inevitable fallout at work, but it was nothing Mac and Val couldn’t handle. After all, it was hard for OPR to kick Mac’s ass for running when, if he hadn’t, one of their best and brightest would have framed him for everything from nailing his witness to Lonny Harris’s murder. Mac felt it was a bit too early to joke about the fact that he was only guilty of one of those things, but it didn’t stop Val from doing it. In private, at least.

  “So, here he is,” she said when he came in to collect his pay slip. “Don fucking Juan.”

  Mac’s enforced leave while the investigation wound up was driving him stir-crazy. To say nothing of being stuck in the house with Henry all day. Sometimes—most of the time—Mac loved it. And sometimes he wanted to smother him with a cushion.

  “Hey, Mac, we need eggs.”

  “Hey, Mac, can you guess how much money you could save by using your neighbor’s wi-fi?”