Bad Blood

by Ren Hamilton

  Joey wore wire framed glasses, and Patrick scoffed. Joey didn’t need glasses, had always had perfect eyesight, so they were clearly for theatrical effect. Of course they were flattering, giving him a more serious air.

  His hair looked to have grown out a bit since Patrick saw him last, but it was probably because he’d retired his jell slicked businessman coif. The black locks framed his perfect face, curving under his cheekbones. His eyes glowed like pale blue gems against his tanned skin, accentuated by the plain white dress shirt he wore with a pair of faded jeans. The top two buttons of the shirt were left open, exposing a strand of colorful beads, a la Shepherd.

  The look was diversity perfected. Joey was every man. He was the scholar, and he was the hippie. He was mature, and he was young. He was gay, and he was straight. Patrick glanced around the bar, seeing all eyes focused on at least one of the screens. Pool games had stopped. Chatting had ceased. Drinks were frozen in hand midway to mouth. Most of the clientele here knew Joey, if not personally, they’d seen him drinking and playing pool.

  “Let’s get right to the question on everybody’s mind, Joseph,” the reporter said. “Did the Virgin Mary speak to you?”

  Joey’s expression was blank. “Well, Tara, I’m not really comfortable saying it was the Virgin Mary. It was the other witnesses who made that particular claim, which I’m afraid I cannot confirm.”

  Brilliant, Patrick thought. The statement implied a skepticism in Joey himself, lending him credibility as a man unwilling to make wild assertions right out of the gate. But not only that. While Christians might claim the apparition as their own since it appeared on one of their churches, Joey’s leaving the identity of the thing wide open invited speculation from other faiths, or non-religious people simply curious about the origin of the apparition. Patrick could almost hear Shep scripting it, molding the narrative to reach the widest possible audience.

  “If not the Virgin Mary, then who appeared to you on that rooftop?”

  Relaxed and handsome, Joey flashed one of his million-dollar smiles. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch her name. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

  The bar crowd at Monty’s chuckled at the comment. “God, he looks good,” Kelinda said. Patrick couldn’t argue. A blind fool could have sensed Joey’s magnetism.

  “Was this an elaborate hoax?” the reporter asked bluntly. “Many people believe it was.”

  Casting his gaze down, Joey’s dark lashes fluttered. “No,” he said softly, then took a deep breath. “No, I don’t think it was a hoax. I can’t be certain of course. But in my opinion, it was real.” He shuddered for effect. “Sure felt real to me.”

  Fuck you, Joey, Patrick thought. Fucking liar. Not only was Joey lying through his perfect teeth, he was damn good at it. It made Patrick wonder how many times Joey had lied to him in the past. Like when he promised he’d refuse Shep and not be part of this. He’d seemed so sincere that afternoon. So believable. Just like he did now, acting all emotional and traumatized by the event.

  “All right,” Tara Shane continued. “Tell us this then. Were you planning to take your life that night? Were you going to jump off that roof before the apparition materialized?”

  Joey breathed a long sigh, removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He stared into the distance, appearing to ponder the question. You could have heard a pin drop in Monty’s bar. The patrons stood like statues in front of the screens. There was something eerie about their stillness. Even through the circuits of television, Joey could command people’s attention.

  “To be honest with you, Tara,” Joey said, “I’m not sure what was going through my head that night. I’d been through a lot of shit. Oh, I’m sorry. Can I say that on TV?”

  The bar crowd laughed. The station bleeped out the word “shit” but the message had gotten through. Joey was a regular guy. He was completely credible. And Patrick felt like he was going to vomit. The program went to commercial, and he ordered another beer, with a shot of tequila this time. Kelinda used the bathroom. When she returned, Joey was back on.

  “What did the vision say, Joseph? Did it speak to you?” The woman was hammering her questions out with force now. “You can at least tell us that. Did this…being give you a message? And if so, what was it?”

  Joey appeared to become uncomfortable with the question. “I don’t feel right about discussing that until I’ve figured out for myself who the vision was. And what their message meant. I’m still confused by it, so for me to release any message without fully analyzing its meaning would be irresponsible.”

  “So the apparition did speak to you,” Tara Shane said with a smug ‘gotcha’ smirk.

  Joey’s cheeks actually flushed. Unbelievable. Shifting in his chair, he chuckled nervously. “Guess I let that one out of the bag. Kind of tricked me with that question.”

  The reporter raised an eyebrow. “Certain religious organizations are angered by your silence.”

  Joey nodded, looking humble and ashamed. What an actor, Patrick thought. “I know that, Tara, and I plan to address this issue in due time. I’m seeking a small group of knowledgeable, open-minded people to join me on this quest to uncover the truth behind the apparition’s message. The qualifications required for such persons are listed on my website.”

  The screen flashed a web address. Patrick and Kelinda looked at each other. “Did he just…” Kelinda started to formulate the question. “What the hell is he doing?”

  “Uh…not sure. But I think he just invited every nut job in America to join his loony bin. Have you seen enough?”

  “More than enough. This is freaking me out. Let’s get out of here.”

  They were climbing off their barstools when they heard the reporter say, “Let’s talk about Patrick Obrien.”

  Patrick stilled, glancing up at the screen. “No,” he whispered. “Let’s fucking not.” Kelinda gently squeezed his shoulder.

  Joey looked directly at the camera and let his eyes fill with tears. “Patrick Obrien is my best friend. I know the whole thing has been hard on him. He won’t return my calls. I can’t say I blame him. He was trying to help me that night and then…I can’t imagine what he’s feeling about what happened. But I can’t bear thinking I’ve lost his friendship. Dealing with this alone has been hard, and I…I just wish he’d call. It’s killing me, to be honest.”

  Joey let tears slip down his cheeks, and Tara Shane handed him a tissue, looking pleased with herself. The screen flashed the image of Patrick carrying Joey out of the church. Patrick felt like he was going to faint.

  Kelinda squeezed his arm. “Come on. You look like you need a scorpion bowl. Let’s go get Chinese food.”

  “Yeah. Okay. I need to stop home and change my shirt first. I’ve been sweating since we walked through the door.”

  “Charming,” Kelinda said, and led him out of the pub.

  When they arrived at Patrick’s apartment, his phone pinged with a voicemail. “I’m not getting that,” he said, setting his phone down. “It’s probably my mother calling to tell me what a bad Christian I am. Be right back.”

  He went into his bedroom and changed his shirt. When he returned, Kelinda was standing at the kitchen island, staring down at his phone. She looked up quickly. “I wasn’t snooping. But it’s Joey who called. I saw his name pop up.”

  Patrick scowled. “He’s got some stones, calling me now.”

  “Aren’t you curious what he has to say? I’m curious. You should listen to it.” She twirled a strand of chestnut hair around her finger, giving him a shy smile. “Okay, I’m nosy. Come on, listen to it.”

  He returned her smile, warmed by her beauty. “Should I?”

  “Only if you put it on speaker so I can hear.”

  “Okay. Let’s bite the bullet.”

  He played the message, Joey’s disembodied voice making him flinch. “Come on, Obrien. I’m gonna keep calling until you pick up. I know you’re getting my messages. Just call me back!”

  Moments later, his phone
rang again. “God damn him.”

  “You gonna answer?” Kelinda asked.

  “Fuck it.” Patrick picked up the phone. “That was a lovely interview, Joey.”

  “Do you think so? I thought I looked kind of fat. I guess the camera adds ten pounds.”

  “That was the most hypocritical, shameful thing I have ever witnessed.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? You fucking lied your ass off on national TV! And now gullible people are gonna believe you received some…divine message. Like you’re some kind of prophet. You’re a fucking accountant for fuck’s sake!”

  Joey sighed. “You’re right. I should be ashamed of myself. I need guidance. Maybe if you’d consider coming out to Forest Bluffs…”

  “Forget it, Joey.”

  “I have your room all set up. I know you’re not working right now. We could really use a marketing specialist.”

  “I’m not working because of you, Joey. And it looks to me like you’re doing a pretty good job of marketing yourself. Goodbye.” He hung up and circled the room.

  “Are you okay?” Kelinda asked.

  “Fine. I’m fine,” he said. But he wasn’t. He was angry and conflicted. Ten years of friendship made it difficult to remain stony, especially when he spoke to Joey directly. He had to keep reminding himself that Joey was completely full of shit, and had betrayed him and set him up. Put him in danger, gotten him fired, and shat on his reputation all based on a lie.

  A small part of him wanted to forgive Joey, and go running out to Forest Bluffs just so he could hang out with him again. Seeing him on the television had been almost physically painful. In spite of everything, he missed his friends terribly. Or at least he missed who he’d thought they were. It was embarrassing to acknowledge, but over the past decade they’d become his whole life. He wanted that life back.

  He wanted to rewind time, and bask once again in the warmth of that friendship. That unconditional support, the knowledge that no matter what happened, he had two people in his life that would always be there for him if he got into trouble. What was he supposed to do now that those two people were the trouble? He felt untethered and completely lost.

  It was like a bad breakup. Worse. He’d never experienced loss like this. It was heartache he was feeling, the hurt far stronger than the anger. Joey and Shep were the source of all his problems right now, yet still, he longed to be with them.

  But he couldn’t, because his friends had done something appalling. He couldn’t condone it without going against every moral fiber of his being. More importantly, he couldn’t be associated with it. It was bad enough he kept getting dragged into the public eye with Joey. He wasn’t going to do anything to make it worse. Avoidance was the only option. Avoid, and wait for it to blow over. Then find a way to move on with his life. Without them.

  “You don’t look fine,” Kelinda said. “Any way you can put it out of your mind tonight?”

  “I’ll try but…shit. What if my mother saw that interview? All my relatives? This is so fucked. That fucking picture of me carrying him out of the church with my expression all anguished. That picture alone adds credence to their bullshit, and now I’m a part of it! I just want this to go away.”

  “It will.”

  “What if it doesn’t? What if I go for a job interview and get recognized? I need a new job. My savings isn’t gonna last forever. I’m gonna have to move to Guam or something. Do they have finance jobs in Guam? Maybe Antarctica. Or the moon.”

  “Stop! Just stop, you’re getting all flushed, you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack. Are you hungry?” Kelinda grabbed her purse off the couch.

  “Not really. But I could use a drink.”

  “Then I say we go out for Chinese appetizers, get a giant scorpion bowl, and not talk about Joey or Shep for the entire evening.”

  “That’s the best idea I’ve heard in weeks. Let’s go.”

  * * * *

  They were seated in the restaurant with a giant scorpion bowl and a tray of egg rolls and crab Rangoon between them when Patrick spotted the man at the corner table. He was sitting alone, reading a newspaper. Patrick nearly spit out his egg roll.

  “What’s wrong?” Kelinda asked.

  He leaned in close. “Do you see that guy with the black hair sitting diagonally behind me? The one sitting alone.”

  Kelinda glanced over. “Yeah, I already noticed him. He kind of reminds me of Shep. Except for the hair color.”

  “Yes!” Patrick said. “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought when I saw him on the train. He’s not as dirty now, though.” Patrick looked back and watched as a waiter brought the stranger a piece of chocolate cake. “I think he’s following me!” Patrick whispered to Kelinda.

  Kelinda wrinkled her nose, her cheeks pink from the booze. “Following you? Come on.”

  “I’m serious. He was on the train with me, and then I saw him in front of your house. Now he’s here.”

  “Patrick, I know you think you live in the hub of the universe, but Boston can be a very small city. He probably lives in the neighborhood.”

  “He was carrying a notebook with my name on it.”

  Kelinda spit a spray of scorpion bowl into her napkin as she broke into peals of laughter.

  “What are you laughing at? I’m serious.”

  “Paranoid much?”

  “I swear, I didn’t imagine it. I don’t think.”

  She continued to giggle until he had to laugh himself. A notebook with his name on it. It did sound paranoid. “Hey, look!” she said. “Now there are two of them.”

  “Yeah, very funny.”

  “No, Patrick, I’m not teasing. There really are two of them now. Look.”

  Patrick glanced back. Another man had joined the curly haired stranger at the table. He wore the same dusty ankle length coat with jeans. His hair was in chin length curls as well, but his was pale blond, about three shades lighter than Shep’s. The blond looked back at Patrick, saw him staring, and turned to whisper to his companion. The quick glimpse revealed that he had a face very much like the dark haired one. A face very much like Shepherd’s. Patrick’s head swam. He felt like he was losing his mind.

  “Huh. That’s weird,” Kelinda said, nibbling on a crab Rangoon. “They must be brothers.”

  Patrick looked back at the table. The two men were whispering to each other. The dark haired one caught him looking, and went back to his newspaper. Patrick noticed now that the newspaper was upside down.

  “You’re staring, Patrick,” Kelinda said. “Let it go. We’re supposed to be having fun.”

  “It’s just so strange, though. It’s like Shep is haunting us.”

  “Shep can’t be haunting us, because Shep isn’t dead. Here, you need to drink more scorpion bowl.”

  Patrick looked down at the bulbous ceramic bowl between them. The orange liquid was nearly gone. He looked at Kelinda. “Did you drink all that?”

  She giggled. “Oops. I guess we’d better get another one.” She was drunk, and did not seem accustomed to being so.

  “I don’t think we need another one, Kelinda. You’re a mess.”

  She leaned across the table. “I may be a mess. But you have people following you.”

  Patrick grinned. “How do you know they’re following me? They could be following you.”

  Kelinda stood. “I’m gonna ask em. I’m gonna ask em if they’re following you, or if they’re following me.” She giggled and started toward the corner table.

  “Kelinda no!” Patrick whispered harshly, but she was gone. She wobbled over to the table where the two men sat huddled over an upside-down newspaper and one piece of chocolate cake. They looked panicked when they saw her approach. She leaned over and spoke to them, but Patrick couldn’t hear the words. In one swift action, the two jumped from their chairs and sprinted out the door of the restaurant.

  “Hey!” Kelinda called after them. “You didn’t answer my question!” She giggled, using the table to steady herself.
r />   Patrick retrieved her and led her back to their seats. “Stay here, Kelinda.”

  He bolted out the front door after the two strangers. On the sidewalk, pedestrians strode casually up and down the street, but the bizarre Shep-alikes were nowhere in sight. He turned to a young Asian man who leaned against the building with a cigarette pinched between his fingers. Mouth agape, like something had startled him, the young man stared down the road. “Hey, excuse me,” Patrick said. “Did you see two guys with curly hair come running out here?”

  The guy nodded. “I saw someone, but they were moving too fast for me to get a good look. Shit! I’ve never seen anyone move that fast!”

  An old Chinese man came bounding out of the restaurant looking furious. He pointed to Patrick. “You! Go back inside and pay your bill. Your girlfriend just vomited on the floor! Pay your bill, and then don’t come back here. Ever!”

  Patrick followed the man inside, shaking his head. This had turned out to be another lovely evening.

  On the drive home, Kelinda threw up all over his leather upholstery. He dropped her at home, tucked her into bed, then went home to clean out his car. When he finally went inside, he bypassed his bathroom duties and went straight to bed, weary and exhausted.

  He’d been having nightmares every night since the apparition. Each nightmare involved saving Joey from some terrible fate. The night before, he’d dreamed he was belly-down on the top of Saint Mary’s church, clinging to Joey, who hung off the ledge by his fingertips. Patrick struggled to hold onto his wrists. Joey’s ice blue eyes looked up at him. “You were supposed to protect me, Obrien,” he said, then his hands slipped free. Patrick had watched helpless as Joey tumbled to the ground, cracking his skull on the cement steps of the church.

  He’d awoken drenched in sweat, a terrible pain dancing in his temples, the little scar above his wrist throbbing like a newly singed burn. He dreamed again this night. This time Joey was being attacked by hundreds of poisonous snakes. They were all over him, their jaws wide and suctioned onto his skin. Joey screamed for Patrick to help, but when he tried to move, he found his feet and hands were bound with rope.