Authors: Jack L. Pyke
“Jack?”
I backed him up against the wall, pressed in so close, and ran my hands through his hair.
“Jack?”
The first kiss was just a need to taste, the second, to take everything from Jan and hold it on my breath, keep it there, yet at the same time give everything back on the same breath and breathe life into him. He looked like he needed life breathing back into him.
Taking his hands, I eased them up above his head, fingers interlocking, holding, but not keeping him there. Kissing came at his throat, his jaw, wanting to mark, to claim—take everything those bastards had tried to rip from under me, but at the same time not damage, not rush, not hurt. Those bastards had fucked with his body, his head, and now he just needed holding.
Hands slipped from underneath mine, falling to my waist, then up to my back, gripping so tight at my shirt as he came in just to be held. Snaking my arms around his neck, I screwed my eyes shut, feeling my shoulder soak up his grief as I tugged him in close.
“I’m here, baby,” I whispered against his ear. “Takes me a while, but I get there in the end.”
A cry went into my shoulder, and Jan held on for fucked-up life before resting cheek to cheek with me. “Christ, Jack,” he whispered heatedly. “They told me... everything that’s been going on. Just need to know...” He kissed at my lips, nearly taking me back a few steps. “I need to hear it from you. Are you okay?”
Pulling back slightly, I wiped hair from his eyes, catching a tear with my thumb. “No, you ass, I’m far from okay. So are you.” I found his mouth, then his cheek, then mouth again. “But admitting it is half the battle won, or so Halliday’s psycho, bastard nutcase sessions keep telling me.”
Jan choked a laugh, and I grinned, loving the fucking sound of it as I pulled him close and took such a long breath of just who this soft soul was. “I get my head sorted, I’m coming for you.” I screwed my eyes shut, a hand running through his hair and gripping tightly. “Body, soul, fucked-up mind, no matter how much you’re hurting, I’m running the fuck away with you and saying one big fuck you to life and everyone in it.”
Jan went quiet and I pulled back a touch. It was there in his eyes, the questions over Gray, then Halliday’s warning over asking too much, too soon.
“Screwed up so badly with him, Jan,” I said quietly. His gaze searched mine, so quick to start off with, that damn smart head of his picking up on so much before he was suddenly back in, kissing hard, tongues clashing.
“Loves you, Jack,” he whispered quietly. “Gray. He just needs reminding. You get out, you come for him too.”
Something kicked in, just a slight drift of something against the senses, and I pulled back from Jan. Not to startle, but enough to try and calm the panic hitting my system as sickness overrode any sense. Somewhere by the door, an alarm sounded, and Jan looked over.
“Not enough,” he said quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Not nearly enough time.”
I went back in kissing him deep. “More than enough, baby,” I said against his lips. “I know you’re here, and I’m sorry, so fucking sorry.” It was spilling out fast. “For everything. Know I fucking love the bones off you and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it right.”
Jan hissed, grabbing my hair, not to hurt, to force focus. “Nothing to apologise for, Jack. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t us.”
“Jack.” Craig was in the lounge now. “Time.”
“
One more fucking minute
.” But it was there, that rush of sickness, and I broke away from the kiss, twisting my head and closing my eyes.
“S’okay, baby,” whispered Jan, and a brush of fingers touched my cheek. “More than fucking okay.”
He moved away, picking something up and handing it to Craig.
“The things you asked for, Jack,” he said quietly. Then he was gone, leaving nothing behind but a fading scent that even the breeze wanted to steal from me. I took a breath, so fucking deep, and kept it inside for as long as I could before breathing out.
“Jack? You okay?”
Looking back, I gave Craig a nod. “More than,” I said quietly. His look seemed to double check, then he held the things Jan had brought. Looking down at them, I took the top one, then asked Craig to put the others in my room.
“Where are you going with that?” said Craig, eyeing up what I held.
“To say sorry,” I said, heading out of the lounge.
Joe was propped up in bed, a box of tissues sleeping on the covers by him as his chest rattled out the heavy flu. Cheeks were flushed, his nose taking a good Rudolph stance too as he lay curled on his side. He’d been out of it for a few days, his coughing and spluttering waking even my ass up in the night. Family had been allowed in, but only briefly, socialising even seeming to pull him down into depression at times too.
After pulling up a chair, I sat down, content enough to watch some TV until I picked up on how he’d opened one watering eye and was watching me.
“Hello, Joe,” I said quietly.
“’Lo Joe, Jack,” he replied, rubbing tiredly at one eye as the other came open. “Joe feels sick.”
“Yeah.” I reached over to the unit and poured him some juice. “Need a drink, Joe?”
He was quiet for a moment, just watching, then he eased up. “Joe thirsty.”
I handed him a straw from the ones on offer and he dropped it in his cup.
“Joe, I bought you this.” Waiting until he finished his drink, I offered something over. “I wanted to say sorry.”
Frowning, Joe took it off me, and after a moment, he offered over a slow smile. “Jack not like CDs, Jack likes vinyl too?” He turned the record over in his hands. God knows how Jan had found it, but he had. “Joe not got this one of Don Williams. How Jack find it?”
“I have a very good friend who knows how to look at art and old—”
“Classics, Jack says classics with Don.”
“Classic old things.”
Joe chuckled. “Jack says sorry to Joe?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, and Joe lost his smile. “Because of nasty Jack?”
I gave a heavy sigh. “Yeah. He doesn’t mean to take it out on you, okay?”
Joe nodded. “Jack say sorry to his dad too?”
I frowned.
“Jack not called him yet. Good or bad, Jack’s not called home.”
I dropped my gaze to the bed. No. I hadn’t called my old man at all.
“Jack?”
Joe took my attention.
“Seen Joe’s teeth?”
Laughing, I stood and kissed Joe on the head. “Sorry, Joe. I’ve not seen your teeth.”
“Jack sure?”
“Jack’s positive,” I mumbled.
Craig stood at the door, and I patted his stomach as I headed out. “You know I’m no longer on fifteen minute obs, right?”
Craig grinned at me. “Somebody has to love you, Jack.”
“I’m loved,” I said, adding a little hurt to my look. “Sometimes.”
“Yeah? Just have to remind them, huh? Well, tell it to Halliday,” he said holding the door open for me. “Speaking of which.”
“Cock and ball torture time already?”
“Get them up there,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“There a please in that?”
He gave the finger.
“Oooh, left one this time. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“That I’m not going to miss your sorry ass if ever you get out of here?”
“That you’re never letting me out of here. You love me.”
“Fuck.”
“Craig told me how the visit went with Jan,” said Halliday as I sat down in his office.
“Really?” I said, looking at Craig as he sat down next to me. “I was with Joe how long, and you still managed to come up here and rat on me?”
Craig tapped his head. “Psychic link,” he said winking at Halliday.
“Yeah, right.” I was back with Halliday, watching him mess with the DVD player. We hadn’t done this side of the therapy since the last time, the need to take it back a step meaning with this shit too. Things had started to calm, right up until Halliday pulled out the black case and sat there with the hazard light switch, remote control, and the photo of Gray, there right by him.
“Jack, you’re at a good place, certainly the calmest I’ve seen you in weeks,” said Halliday. “It’s a good point to do this. The more relaxed you are, the better.”
I glanced towards the TV. No image was onscreen yet the blackness of it looked alien, making it a lot worse, like black, slick eyes of a gas mask.
“Mercedes. Mercedes Benz,” I said quickly, “I don’t want to see any shit to do with Vince and the branding.”
Halliday put the remote down and gave a click on the hazard switch. It instantly had that calming effect and I breathed a little easier.
“Jack, do you remember I told you that I would let you know when and if we would be viewing anything to do with Vince?”
I nodded, a little numbly.
“Good. This video here. It’s nothing to do with Vince.” Halliday sat forward slightly. “The last video you saw of you at Cutter’s house party, it was enough to trigger memories. Especially those surrounding Martin in particular. You were close to seeing how he was made. You heard him for the first time during that last session, but I don’t think you’ve seen him, what triggered who and why he is.” Halliday eased back. “You are coming to recognise your absences and some of your blackout triggers. If you know what triggers Martin, it might help you recognise and avoid triggering him in the future.”
I frowned at Halliday.
“Are you happy to continue? You’ve called your safe word, and I won’t do anything else until you tell me you’re happy to continue or finish this session, no matter how long it takes.”
Nineteen... That was the first time I’d been aware of Martin. But that was only after Gray had left for two months and not called. He always called. Some serious shit had gone down, but every attempt to look back and figure it out was met with black scenes like the TV over there. Maybe doing this would press play on those memories too? I needed to know why Martin pissed him off so much, why the hell Martin pissed off everyone so much. I’d woken up in a few strange beds, mostly women’s, and they’d all had that strange look, like they’d been doing something really sick, and they wouldn’t look at me, not wanting to remember.
Gray had had that same look that morning I’d woken in his bed, back when I was nineteen. Yet even though I’d shared his bed for a year and a half, he hadn’t “slept” with me until I was twenty. So what the fuck had gone on between him and Martin?
Rubbing at my head, I nodded. “S’okay. Just thought... Doesn’t matter. I’m okay to go on.”
“Sure?” said Craig.
“Yeah,” I mumbled. “I need to see the bastard, or at least try and understand what the hell he does to piss people off.”
Halliday had picked up the remote. When he pressed play, it came with the click of the hazard light, and the image of Steve grabbing at my arm was back on screen. We were back at Cutter’s party, just before I’d gone into the back room and Cutter had taken a razor between my legs, before he, Smithy and his other mate fucked me.
“A few weeks before you met Gray,” said Halliday. “After this party, you said you’d woken at yours, slept with the young man you’d just assaulted, then gone to the garage. Your mother was upstairs in your father’s office, sorting accounts.”
“Hm,” I mumbled.
“That was where you saw your mother cut herself, where you felt her wipe her blood on your cheek, where she stopped you wiping the blood off your face.”
I frowned.
“Steve came in, and you left, but not before he caught up with you at the bottom of the stairs. You’d pinned him to the wall after he asked whether you were cutting yourself again.” Quiet. “Jack, what happened after that?”
I shivered. “Felt so fucking weird all night after that.”
“Describe weird?”
“Just... rattled, on edge.”
“Did anything happen that night?”
Levelling my gaze on Halliday, I laughed. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?” It had been the night of the wholesale job, the whole shit that attracted Alan Shaw to the deal, and ultimately, the bastard in Gray.
Jack. Age 18
“Come on. Move your fucking asses.” The booze wholesaler’s building sat with its back to the A1003, just off High Road and a fucking bitch of a drive from home. Cutter had arranged for a simple 7.5 tonne truck to load the booze on. Pulling up close to eleven at night, when Mase said his old man sometimes had deliveries, was supposed to be to our advantage, but the pitch blackness that nestled so fucking closely to the building still didn’t hide the pratts I worked with. “What’s the fucking holdup?” I hissed quietly.