Paternity Case

by Gregory Ashe

“He didn’t do it,” Dusty said, breathing heavily. “If you want to take somebody in, you can take me.”

  “We don’t want to take anybody in,” Somers said in exasperation, “not yet. But we do want to know why this was outside near the heaters.”

  Dusty’s eyes moved to Frank’s face and then dropped to the kitchen floor. Neither boy spoke.

  “I don’t know,” Dusty finally said, eyes still fixed on the ground. “It must be what you said: I went outside and dropped it. But that’s all that happened. Neither of us wanted to hurt Hadley. Can you go? Can you just go now?”

  “Did you see anyone else out there?”

  “Half the party was out there at one point or another.”

  “Anything else you can tell us? Anything strange?”

  “I don’t know.” Dusty’s eyes flicked to Hazard and Somers and Frank and then back to the thick white cotton socks he wore.

  “That’s a lie.”

  “Look, can you just—hey.”

  Interrupting Dusty’s answer, Frank wriggled free and started down the hall.

  “Hold on,” Hazard said, and without waiting for an answer, Hazard strode after Frank, his huge stride eating up the space between them. Frank barely had time for one panicked glance over his shoulder before Hazard had reached him. One of Hazard’s big hands caught Frank’s wild hair, and the other hand got his shoulders, and Hazard steered the slender boy to the end of the hall and spun him so that they faced each other.

  “He’s not going to—” Dusty said.

  “No. He won’t hurt him.”

  But what the hell was he doing, Somers wondered.

  Hazard spoke to Frank in a low voice, so low that Somers couldn’t make out the words. At first Frank shook his head. Then he tried to push past Hazard, with the result that Hazard slammed him back into the wall hard enough to shake dust from the light fixtures. Dusty took a nervous step, and Somers caught his sleeve. Still speaking, head bent low, Hazard was taut with some kind of internal force. This time Frank seemed to listen, and after almost a minute, he nodded.

  When Hazard returned, Frank stayed right where he was, staring at the three of them like he’d sailed around the world in the last two minutes: a little wobbly, a little crazily, like he’d never see the same things the same way again.

  “You finished?” Somers asked, hoping his tone sounded neutral.

  Hazard grunted.

  “You think of anything else you want to tell me,” Somers said as he stuffed a card into Dusty’s hand, “you call. Whatever you’re worried about it, it can’t be worse than letting a murderer go free.” He slid the chain into his pocket. “Until then, I’m keeping this.”

  Together, Hazard and Somers left the two boys in the silent, freezing darkness of the house, with nothing for warmth but the yellowed light bulbs. The snow had settled. The wind had dropped. Their footsteps, as they followed the walk, raised the crackle of old, hard snow. There might have been nobody else in the world, and they were leaving those boys in a cold, black ocean. Somers felt his stomach flip over.

  Once they were settled in the VW, as Hazard pulled away from the curb, Somers said, “They didn’t do it.”

  Hazard grunted derisively.

  “But they know something. They saw something. They’re scared, maybe. But they’re keeping something back.”

  No response from Hazard.

  “What’d you say to him? Frank, I mean.”

  The silence felt as brittle as the crust on the old snow. A moment later, the VW’s heaters kicked on, and the only noise was the whoosh of stale air.

  “Ree.”

  Nothing.

  “Ree.”

  “What?”

  “Did you—the two of them, you know. Did it make you think?” Somers wanted to say more, but the rest of the words were stuck in his throat. Did it make you think about us, he wanted to say. About how things might have been. If I hadn’t been afraid. If I hadn’t been such a bastard.

  “I thought we just agreed they didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “That’s not—I mean, did they remind you of anything?”

  Hazard shifted too hard and too fast, and the little VW lurched and croaked. The town blurred around them as they drove into the darkness.

  INSTEAD OF TAKING THE VW INTO THE PARKING garage at the Crofter’s Mark, Hazard pulled up to the curb. He turned too fast. The car clipped the cement and bounced. He hit the brake too hard. The VW snapped his head forward and then back. He was doing everything like shit tonight, everything, and he locked his hands on the wheel because they were still shaking.

  Still. After fifteen minutes, he still felt like he was holding on to one of those electronic bucking broncos, one of those mechanical bulls that tried to throw you clean off.

  It had been ok until the end when he had pressed that dark-haired twink into a corner and told him, just straight-out told him, that he was making a mistake. And then the shaking had started. Maybe he was sick. People got like this when they were sick, didn’t they? He’d had the flu as a boy—not the stomach flu, the real flu, influenza—and he remembered lying in bed, covers tucked under his chin, shaking like he was going to work all his screws loose and fall apart.

  “Are you sweating?” Somers said.

  The engine rumbled. The heaters whooshed. Somers still hadn’t gotten out of the car because he was Somers and couldn’t make anything easier. When they’d walked out of the house, when they’d gotten into the VW, when they’d pulled away from the curb, they could have left it at that. But Somers had to ask. Somers had to put it into words. Did they remind you of anything?

  Bad enough to have to see that, wasn’t it? Bad enough to have to see those two kids. Hazard had never watched the Twilight Zone, but he knew the general idea, had picked it up from imitations, from pop culture references. The Twilight Zone. That’s what he’d gone into. He just walked through a door, just like on that show, walked through a door and into a dark, freezing house, and he’d seen this other world. This whole other fucking world where he might have been happy. And that’s what he’d told that shivering twink with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. You’re being stupid. What he really wanted to say was you’re being a fucking moron, but he said you’re being stupid.

  “So,” Somers said, drawing out the word. “Are you going to park?”

  “No.”

  “Are you ok?”

  No. Not even close. How could he be ok when he’d gone through that damn door and come out like this, with his head spinning, seeing that other life? If he and Somers had been born twenty years later, would they—

  You’re being stupid. That’s what he’d said to the kid. Why couldn’t the kid see it? He was lucky. He didn’t have any goddamn idea how lucky he was.

  “I’m going over to Nico’s.”

  “We should probably talk about—”

  “I’m going to Nico’s.”

  “All right. Yeah, we can pick this up in the morning.”

  Then nothing.

  “Get out of the car.”

  “Right,” Somers said with an easy laugh. “I just thought . . .”

  Again, that enormous silence.

  “Ree,” Somers said. “Do you want to talk?”

  Hazard shook his head.

  “All right, we’ll hit this hard tomorrow morning.”

  “Hit what?”

  Somers leaned back. “What do you mean? The case.”

  “Yeah? What’s next?”

  “I—”

  “Who do we talk to? What do we do?”

  “What are you talking about? We do what we always do: we keep looking, we go back over everything, we start at the beginning and work our way through it all over again.”

  “There’s nothing left to look at. We’ve got no forensics—whatever they collected, we can’t get to it because we’re not working a real case. Our witnesses can’t tell us shit about what happened. Nobody can a
gree on anything: did he have a gun, did he have a bag, who said what. It’s all a mess.”

  “It’s always a mess. And we always work through it. What’s going on with you?”

  “There’s nothing logical about this. There’s no rational explanation for why anyone would have tried to kill your father or Hadley. We had one lead, one solid lead with that recording, and then we turn around and the mayor starts asking us to investigate. Boom. There goes the only real motive we have, out the window. All we’re left with are feelings, suggestions, innuendoes. It’s a—it’s a quagmire. It’s like quicksand. There’s nothing to hold on to.”

  “So, what? You want to give up?”

  “Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

  “Forget that. We’re talking about it right now.”

  Hazard kept silent.

  “That’s it?” Somers didn’t sound angry so much as he did confused. And hurt. “You’re not going to tell me anything?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, Ree. Tomorrow. You’re good at that. We can always push it off a little bit longer, right?”

  Hazard locked his gaze on his hands.

  With a disgusted noise, Somers got out of the car. Then Hazard drove to Nico’s. He didn’t remember the drive, only the sense of movement, rocketing through the dark until he stood outside Nico’s door, his knuckles rapping an unsteady rhythm.

  Nico opened the door an inch and leaned against the frame. This was it: a hundred percent Nico. Thick, dark hair spilling to the middle of his ears, coppery skin exposed by a ratty In-and-Out t-shirt, mesh gym shorts that barely came halfway down his long, muscled thighs. And those movie-star good looks that disguised intelligence and compassion and vulnerability. Everybody that had fucked this boy had also managed to fuck him up. Hazard understood that: Alec and Billy had done the same to him. Hazard’s hands were still shaking, and he put one on the doorjamb.

  “No,” Nico said and started to shut the door.

  Hazard slid his foot into the crack, wincing as the leather compressed. Planting his other hand on the door, he said, “I want to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “You asked me a question.”

  For a moment, it looked like Nico might continue to fight him. Then, with a sigh, he stepped back and let the door swing open. He walked deeper into the apartment, past the kitchen, past a pile of dirty clothes, past a plate with a half-eaten grilled cheese, past a mountain of beer bottles. Those were new. Hazard took up his place near the brown glass. Nico kept moving until the sofa stood between them.

  “I don’t want to hear your shitty explanation,” Nico said, folding his arms across his chest. His eyes, dark like the black edges of butterfly wings, glistened.

  “You asked me a question.”

  Nico laughed, the sound broken and hitched. “All right, fine. I do want to hear your shitty explanation. You came over here. What? You want to break up with me? Fine, I’ll save you the work. We’re done. This is over. I’m going out of town anyway. I’ve got a job. Just a few days work for a shoot, but I’m going to stay in the city until classes pick up again.” He kicked something, and a roller suitcase inched into view, already half-packed with Nico’s normal messiness, the clothes looking like the aftermath of an explosion. “So you did it. You can go home. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll—”

  “Can I say one goddamn word?” It came out louder than Hazard had meant it to, and Nico jumped backward, bracing himself in the bedroom doorway like he expected Hazard to charge.

  Nico nodded, but his fingers were white where he clutched the jamb.

  “You think I’m in love with Somers.” Hazard’s eyes dropped to the sofa, to the tufted buttons pulling free, to the floorboards.

  “You are in love with him. And if you say you aren’t, if you even fucking try to deny it, I’ll—Jesus, I don’t know, Emery. I’ll go crazy.”

  The worst part was making himself meet Nico’s eyes. The worst, hardest part, but Hazard made himself, dragging his gaze up, across the sofa, across the holey t-shirt and the flat planes of Nico’s chest, up until their eyes met. Those eyes were like bottomless wells, and Nico was really crying now, but his breathing was steady as though this, no matter how much it hurt, was better than what he’d been feeling before.

  “I do.” Those were the two hardest words Hazard had ever said. Twenty years of hiding, twenty years of lying—to himself, to the world, to everyone that had ever mattered to him—twenty years of fear, but now he’d said it. Now it was out there. “It’s messed up. I can’t explain it. I should hate him. For a long time, I did hate him. But I came back, and he was different, and what I felt for him when I was a kid—” He broke off, but he kept his gaze locked on Nico’s face. Nico was crying harder now, but still silently. That was worse, somehow. Worse than screaming, worse than ragged sobs. “It doesn’t make any sense, but I do. I love him. I wish I didn’t. I wish I didn’t feel any of this. I think about what he did to me, and I hate him. But—but it’s like that was someone else. And the one here, the one with me, the one that’s my partner, he’s different. He’s better.”

  “All right,” Nico said in a muffled voice, slashing at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m really happy for you. I wish you guys the very fucking best—”

  “I’m not done. It doesn’t matter how I feel about him. He’s got a wife and a little girl. He’s got a life. And I’m happy I fit into part of that life. I like being his partner. He’s a good detective. We’re a good team. But I don’t want to ruin the rest of his life just because I have a crush on him.”

  “It’s more than a crush.”

  “Maybe.” Hazard shrugged. “But I care about you too. You’re sweet. And you’re funny. And you—you put up with me. Somers tells me that, and I’m not stupid. I know you don’t want to watch documentaries on the weekend. I know you don’t want to sit around the apartment and read. But you do it. And you’re thoughtful. You bring dinner to the station when I’m working late. You throw in a load of laundry when I’m caught up in work. You remember things I like and buy them for me. Pomegranate juice. I said one time that I liked it, and you always have it in the fridge.” This wasn’t working, Hazard realized. He could make a list of all the things he liked about Nico. He could do it all day long. But it was missing something. It didn’t get to the heart of it.

  And what was the heart of it? What was the thing he couldn’t put into words, the thing that he felt for this beautiful, intelligent, caring young man? “I like how I feel when you’re around. I like that you make me want to be better. I like the way you feel under me, the way we fit together.” Hazard’s face felt hot, and he stumbled. “Fuck. I’m shit at this.”

  “No,” Nico said. “You’re doing all right.”

  And everything shifted. The tension in the air had changed, no longer a storm brewing, but something else. Something burning at the bottom of Hazard’s belly. He knew that look in Nico’s eyes. He knew what the boy needed. Hazard picked his way around the sofa, over the luggage, past the dirty clothes.

  “We can’t keep going the way we’ve been,” Nico said.

  Hazard kissed him. Hard. And Nico melted against the door jamb, his body wrapping around Hazard’s. The hardness of his muscles. The hardness between his legs.

  “All right,” Hazard murmured, breaking the kisses.

  “We aren’t watching those dumb documentaries all weekend anymo—”

  Hazard trailed kisses down the side of Nico’s neck. Nico moaned and thrust against him.

  “All right.”

  “We—we—”

  Hazard’s teeth had found Nico’s collarbone, scraping over the skin, pulling it gently taut.

  “We—we—we’ve got to go out sometimes.”

  Drawing both hands up Nico’s chest, Hazard seized the In-and-Out t-shirt and ripped it in half. It fell away, exposing the planes of lean muscles.

  “Oh fuck,”
Nico groaned as Hazard trailed kisses across his pecs. “Oh fuck. You’ve got to make time for me, you’ve got to talk to me, you’ve got to tell—” This time, he wailed as Hazard’s teeth tightened over the stiff tip of a nipple. Hazard stayed there, his tongue massaging the bruised flesh, teeth flicking open and shut as Nico moaned and thrust against him. Hazard yanked the shorts down. No underwear. The boy was a fucking underwear model and he still went commando half the year. If that wasn’t irony—

  “You’ve got to be honest,” Nico said, his voice a ragged echo of its normal confidence. “You’ve got to talk to me.” They didn’t sound like a list of demands anymore. Nico was begging. His long fingers tangled in Hazard’s hair, pulling Hazard’s mouth tight against his savaged nipple, while Hazard’s hands stroked the inside of Nico’s thighs. The boy puled, thrusting again, trying to achieve some form of contact while Hazard teased him, staying just out of range.

  “I know,” Hazard said, relenting to the sound of the boy’s tortured cries, taking Nico’s hardness in his hand as the boy collapsed into him. His breath was hot as he whispered in Nico’s ear. “I will.”

  NICO WAS ASLEEP, and his breathing was soft. Hazard lay next to him. For a long time, he lay thinking, and then he rose and carried his clothes into the kitchen and shut the bedroom door. He splashed water from the sink on his chest and cleaned up with a paper towel and then he dressed and went out into the cold.

  Tonight, like all nights, was about emptiness. Emptiness between Hazard and the slushy streets. Between the streets and the city. Between the city and the wildness around it. Emptiness out to the stars. The only sounds were the granular crunch of Hazard’s footsteps, and the VW’s clunky turn-over, and the soft snow under the tires.

  He drove back towards the old part of town, and his thoughts were divided: behind him, Wroxall College, the new developments of coffee shops and clothing boutiques and trendy bistros, and Nico; ahead of him, Market Street, and then Jefferson Street, and the Sheriff’s Department, and—

  —Somers—

  —the case.

  Instead of parking on Jefferson Street, though, Hazard wove through the back alleys until he found a stretch of curb to leave the VW. He trudged through the snow. Security lights splashed white cones across dumpsters and chipped brick. A convex mirror gave back Hazard’s warped reflection, looming closer and closer and then shrinking back as he passed it. Even here there was a great deal of emptiness, even in these tight brick corridors, even with a tent of sodium lights blocking out the stars.