The Intersection of Purgatory and Paradise (14 page)

“I’d have hung out with him. I know that doesn’t count for much,” Jackson said with a self-depreciating shrug. “But Daniels would have, too. And the other guys might have gotten used to him if you’d given them a chance instead of hiding him away out here.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything,” Doug said, though even as he formed the words, he realized that was exactly what he’d done. He’d been so wrapped up in accepting the negativity from everyone in town, and so determined to shelter Christopher from it, he’d held Christopher at arm’s length whenever they were out in public. And he’d avoided suggesting anything that would force them to interact with his coworkers because he’d assumed the worst of them all. “That’s exactly what I was doing, wasn’t I? No wonder he hated it here.”

Jackson looked at him with quiet sympathy. “I am sorry, man.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Doug whispered. “That’s done. Life goes on. At least, life will go on once we haul this mess to the dump.” He closed the tailgate of Jackson’s truck and dug out his keys.

Jackson looked around at the empty ranch: the locked barn, the overgrown fields, and the fences that were beginning to crumble. “I’m not so sure sulking out here counts as ‘life.’”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you, either.”

T
HE
S
HERIFF
’
S
Department looked abandoned. Christopher had seen it deserted before, when every officer was called upon to help direct traffic around a major accident, leaving only a single detention officer in charge of answering phones for the jail and patrol offices, and watching their usual one to two prisoners.

“Hello!” he shouted, passing through the gate built into the counter and wandering back into the tiny charge room. The half-dozen desks in the room were vacant.

The teal-green door leading to the detention center was propped open with a brown rubber doorstop. Christopher wandered through to the booking platform and discovered there wasn’t a single prisoner name scribbled on the white board with cell assignments. Without a single prisoner, it looked as though they hadn’t left a solitary detention officer in the office. “Seriously?” he said aloud.

“Hello? Can I help you?” Sheriff Daniels huffed up a set of stairs Christopher had never noticed before. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Uh, yeah. You left me a message,” Christopher said, waving his cell phone. “To come in and talk about my week.”

“I’m afraid the boys you need to talk to are out playing detective at the moment. Everybody else has been run ragged these last few days, so I’m holding down the fort.”

“All by yourself?”

“I’m here so they can be out there doing their jobs. Or resting, as the case may be. I’ve got the phone set up to ring down in the records room,” Daniels said simply. “And it isn’t like I’ve got to worry about somebody busting out. We’re empty. There’s nothing like a messy homicide to make folks stay in and obey the law.”

Christopher had to admit it made sense. Before Sheriff Daniels had stepped up and taken over his current position last year, he’d been in charge of the jail. He’d been a corrections officer. A good one but still more used to sitting behind a desk than out tracking down leads.

“I’m not even sure if they’re going to need to talk to you anymore. Heavy Runner provided you with a hell of a well-documented alibi.”

“Documented?”

“Gas station receipts matched to his credit card and yours, hotel receipts with you registered as a guest,” Daniels explained. “I’ll let them know you’re back in town so they can give you a call.”

“All right. Is Doug around?”

“He headed out a few hours ago.”

“I guess I’ll go look for him out at the house. Or is it still closed?”

Daniels shook his head. “We finished with the scene a couple days ago. Crime scene cleanup finished this morning.”

“Okay. Thank you,” Christopher said with a nod.

He went back to the counter and took one more look at the deserted office. Even knowing the sheriff was in the back room, the empty station made Christopher feel like he’d walked into a cheap horror movie.

“They could at least put up a sign,” Christopher muttered to himself.

The bell over the door chimed as it swung open. A frightened pale-looking young man inched inside. His eyes flashed with panic when he saw Christopher, but a moment later he relaxed with a deep sigh.

“Oh. Mr. Hayes, it’s just you.”

“Nate, right?” Christopher asked, even though he’d recognized him.

“Yeah. I was checking to see if my dad was around. I guess they’re still really busy.”

“Busy?”

Another flash of panic lit Nate’s blue eyes. “You didn’t hear about it from Mr. Heavy Runner?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “Mr. Heavy Runner and I haven’t talked in a few days. But I was called in to give a statement. Of course, then I show up and no one’s here.”

“Oh. They called you in? I guess they’d have to since it was out at your house.” Nate shrugged and tried to smile. “Sorry.”

“Not a big deal. And not my house. Are you okay?” Christopher asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m just….” He stopped and his mouth hung open for a moment. “I haven’t been feeling good for the last few days. Caleb…. We were friends. My dad might not want me to admit it anymore, but we were. My dad doesn’t want people to talk, you know?”

“Weren’t you and Jeff friends, too?”

Nate huffed and shoved his hands into jeans pockets. “Yeah, right. My dad wanted me to hang out with Jeff, but he was a dick. He teased Caleb from middle school on, and everybody sat there and watched it. Everybody did. We pretended it wasn’t a big deal. I remember thinking how I’d make it up to him when we were adults. I imagined I’d come home after college with some kick-ass job and an awesome car, and I’d find him and make it all up to him.” Nate’s eyes shimmered.

“You wanted to make it up to him?” Christopher asked.

Nate squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah. I went to his place and tried to apologize. That didn’t go so well. I don’t know if I brought up too many bad memories or what, but—”

“No,” Christopher said immediately. “Don’t let yourself think those thoughts. Don’t say it. It’s normal to feel upset, even angry, when someone you care about decides to take their own life. But it was his decision. Blaming yourself for it isn’t going to do you or him any good.”

A choked sob escaped from Nate’s throat. “But what if it was my fault?”

“Does wondering about it make him any less dead? It doesn’t make it hurt less, I promise you that.”

Nate shook his head, his expression lost, almost vacant. “You’re right. Nothing I can do is going to bring him back. But Jeff…. I couldn’t care less about him. You know he was an asshole. If anybody in this town would think Jeff got what he had coming, I figure it’d be you. It
should
be Caleb’s parents, but it’s not like they ever cared what happened to him.”

Christopher took a deep breath and let his smile drop. “He was a kid. He threw a rock. I understand it probably feels like Jeff teasing Caleb contributed to his decision, but bullying isn’t exactly a capital crime.”

Nate sneered. “Feels like? Whatever.” He spun around, threw the door open, and rushed off.

Christopher stared after him, resisting the urge to chase him. A year ago he’d already be sprinting, but the time off had started to dull the automatic prey drive that small terriers and police officers seemed to share.

He wandered back out to his car and out of town. Doug was likely home, and even if he wasn’t, Christopher would rather wait for him out at the ranch than try and find him in Elkin. Since he’d spent most of the last two days on the road, he was too tired to deal with Doug with the detached tactfulness their relationship demanded when they were in public.

Brittney’s Miata was in the driveway, but the house was dark. He surveyed the ruins of the garage and the stacks of charred boxes sitting outside. There was a bucket and a stack of empty cleaning products beside it, and all of it was covered in greasy soot. From the scattered items around the front of the garage, Christopher imagined Doug had stopped in the middle of sorting through all that remained of the stored contents.

Christopher knelt down beside one of the boxes, tried to move it, and gave up as the soggy cardboard shredded beneath his fingers.

He wandered back to the front porch and sat down on the patio swing. He was going to find a way to sit still and wait patiently for Doug to come home, and to come to his senses, if it killed him.

T
HE
RUMBLE
of a diesel engine woke Christopher after dark. Doug’s white truck bumped down the dirt road and stopped near Brittney’s Miata. In the yellow glow from the headlights, Christopher watched her climb out of the truck, her steps slow and hesitant. Before he could ask if she was okay, she climbed into her car and sped away.

Across the curved driveway, Doug stared at Christopher’s car and ran his hands through his hair. He scanned the yard from the empty car to the distant barn.

Christopher stepped out of the shadow of the porch roof and jogged toward him. He stopped a few feet short, uncertainty wrapping around his spine like ice.

He’d spent two days on the road and driven over a thousand miles on the off chance that once Doug had calmed down, they’d be able to talk, finish the conversation that had freaked Doug out in San Diego. If Doug really did want to end things, Christopher would have come all this way for nothing. He couldn’t read anything from the grim expression on Doug’s face, but Christopher wasn’t going to let what he and Doug had together go without trying to save it.

“Uh, I know I probably shouldn’t have—”

Doug’s hands snapped out and grabbed Christopher’s jacket, hauling him off the ground and dragging him forward. He crushed Christopher against him, wrapping his arms around him so tight, he could hardly breathe. He felt Doug trembling.

Christopher relaxed, letting the solid heat of Doug’s body reassure him. He didn’t need to be able to analyze and interpret Doug’s feelings or his expression. The shaking desperation told him Doug needed him just as much as he needed Doug.

“We can’t stay here,” Doug whispered into his hair.

“The fire damaged the house?”

He felt the rumble in Doug’s chest, a laugh that sounded almost like a painful cough. “That too. You still got a bag packed?”

“It’s in the car,” Christopher said.

“Pop the trunk?” Doug released him and hurried to Christopher’s car, grabbing his duffel bag. He carefully set it in the backseat of his truck, then returned to Christopher and tugged him toward the passenger side door. “A building inspector’s supposed to come out in a few days to figure out whether or not the rest of the house is safe. I’ve got a hotel room in town.”

“You don’t mind?” Christopher asked, sliding into the seat without waiting for an answer.

In the light from the truck’s cab, Christopher saw that Doug was in heavy work clothes. His forearms were covered in streaks of soot, and his clothes looked like they belonged on a coal miner. He’d obviously had a shitty day, but he still managed to smile at Christopher like his question was ridiculous.

Doug leaned close and set his forehead against Christopher’s. “Never. I need a shower, and you look like you need sleep, but I’d rather do both with you.”

Christopher nodded against Doug’s forehead. “Sitting there on the swing was the longest stretch of sleep I’ve had in days,” he admitted.

Doug trailed a few chaste kisses over the line of his jaw. “We can fix that.”

In less than an hour, Christopher and Doug stumbled out of the shower in a room in the same hotel Christopher had stayed in when he’d first come to Elkin. It felt like déjà vu falling into bed beside him again. But the last time, Christopher had been emotionally broken, reeling from learning all the gruesome details of his brother’s suicide. Now it was Doug who was shaken, but Doug’s stoic facade made it hard to tell.

Christopher rolled close to him, not hesitating to use Doug’s shoulder as a pillow. “It was bad?”

Doug squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered. “Worse than bad. For months at a time this town lulls me into thinking the worst thing that can happen here is domestic abuse, and then there are things like this. And I can’t do anything about it.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sidelined on this. Sheriff Daniels is a great guy, he really is, but he’s never investigated something like this.”

“I was wondering about that,” Christopher said. He quickly explained checking in at the Sheriff’s Department when he got back into town, only to find the sheriff working in the jail just like he had for most of his career.

“At least he knows he doesn’t have the experience to tackle this case. But because the body was found out at my place, I can’t even hear about the case. So he’s relying on Marshall, Glenn, and Harris, and they’re….”

“Fuckups?” Christopher suggested, knowing it was true.

“Lazy,” Doug said quickly. “They’re lazy. They’re the reason our department takes an average of half an hour to respond to a call when it only takes five minutes to drive across town. It’s frustrating as hell, because they’re spending hours trying to look like they know what they’re doing, but they’re ignoring statements that could help them find who did this. They haven’t even found the actual murder scene yet. Brittney told me there was no way the boy died in my garage, and the forensics team is sitting in the City Center Cafe waiting to be called out. And when Brittney asked if they should look into that Owens kid’s suicide to see if it might be connected, they made jokes about it.”