Whispers of Home (2 page)

Jaron looked away from his friend, not saying anything. If he said anything back he might get sucked into Brian’s needs and Jaron couldn’t let that happen. Jaron really wanted to be everything Brian needed him to be. The problem was Jaron was none of the things Brian needed. Brian just hadn’t realized that yet.

Something bigger was waiting for Jaron. He just had to get away from here first. This town would suck him up until there was nothing left but an angry resentful old man. Worst of all, it would be Brian he resented the most. And Brian was the only person who really did love him in this whole world.

“I’ll call you. I promise.”

“Don’t bother.” Brian clenched his jaw. His eyes held resignation. “Unless you plan on coming back.”

Jaron had tears in his eyes when he walked away. He didn’t want to lose his only friend that way, but he wasn’t going to let Brian guilt him into staying either. He was alone in this town and if he stayed for Brian’s sake he would still be alone. Despite the promise of coming out, Jaron seriously doubted Brian would do it. Brian could have come out in seventh grade, when Jaron was thrown out of the closet and he didn’t. It would have taken some of the pressure off of Jaron if he had.

The darkness swallowed him up as he made his way to the bus stop, providing comfort with its concealment.

Jaron McAllister smelled like greasy meat, not that he wasn’t used to it by now. The smell of the greasy food clung to him like a ditzy blonde cheerleader, not letting him go even after he showered. That was the worst thing about working in the small restaurant. Jaron pulled the hood of his sweater up around his head and shoved his hands in to the pockets at his side, trying not to think about the smell. Instead, he told himself that at least working at the restaurant was a legitimate job. He wasn’t selling his ass anymore and he was grateful for that. He hadn’t done that in years, not since Bobby, his son, but the scars left behind from those few times he bent over for some nameless, faceless stranger still haunted him. Bobby changed everything for him. The little blond-headed, blue eyed boy saved him from himself, gave him a purpose.

He had to take care of himself for his son now. It was as simple as that. The self-preservation instinct was much greater now, compared to when he first moved away from home. Okay, when he ran away from home was probably a more accurate statement. But that had been a long time ago.

It was dark by the time he left the restaurant. He had this job for eight months now and it had always been dark when he got off work. Always dark and always gray. Everything was gray here. Gray all over, like Kansas in the Wizard of Oz movie, even though this city was the furthest thing from Jaron’s idea of Kansas as a person could possibly get. Big red buildings swallowed him whole, allowed him some anonymity amongst the chaos of millions of people. The alley-ways between the buildings were darker still and always left him feeling a bit breathless, making him want to run the mile and a half home. He hated the dark and always had.

He hated being scared more, but that was a feeling he got used to over the years. When he first arrived in the city it seemed too big for him, like he was swimming in the dark and didn’t know what was under the water. In the seven years he had been in the city, he had learned a lot, gained some sense of right and wrong when applied to a highly populated area. He learned some of those things the hard way and had a scar on his hip to prove it. One of the most important things he’s learned was how to love someone more than himself. It hadn’t taken a goliath city to teach it to him. No, he learned that from his small son.

He rounded the corner and saw his one room home. He went to Tracy’s apartment first and tried not to dwell on their current relationship. Tracy had been the one constant in his life, had always been next door from the first day moving in to the cheap, craptastic one room apartment six years ago. They had been best friends. Or as close as best friends could get when one of them had a drug problem and the other did not. Her drug problem had scared Jaron at first. How did you help someone who destroyed themselves by such slow painful increments it was hard for them to even see their own selfish destruction? Now, he just felt an indifference toward her, as if she destroyed something inside him too, making him numb to her drama.

When Jaron knocked on her door he noticed it wasn’t latched all the way. The doors were pieces of crap anyway. At one point he tried to ask the superintendent to do something about it, but nothing ever happened. The more he hounded the guy the less of an effect he seemed to have. The apartments were the type you entered from the outside, which probably warped the doors considering they were made of cheap wood. At one point, a couple years ago everything was painted white, but now it had scars and dirt marks that covered the surface.

Jaron called out, “Hey, Trace?” He peered around the door cautiously. He knew better than to walk right in with the way things were between them lately, even though he was just there to pick Bobby up. He saw her on the bed and saw the bright red stain under her head almost immediately. She was naked from the waist down, the sheet partially covering her breasts and abdomen. Her eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling like it was something interesting. It smelled like body fluids—feces and blood.

His body grew rigid as he realized all at once that Tracy, his son’s mother, was dead. Not sleeping and not passed out high, but dead. He took in the fact that her torso and legs were hanging half-on, half-off the bed. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the pain started in his chest and he was forced to release it in one big gasp. He couldn’t stop the tears that fell or prevent screaming Bobby’s name.

He saw Bobby come out of the bathroom, his little face ashen. “Daddy!” Bobby tried to crawl across the bed to get to him. Why he didn’t go around it was anyone’s guess.

Jaron’s legs finally moved as he practically ran the couple steps to get to his son. Jaron scooped the boy up in his arms before Bobby could reach Tracy’s body. Running out the door, he shielded Bobby’s face against his chest. He couldn’t let death touch his precious little boy. Jaron doubled over when he finally got outside, just about dropping Bobby as he tried to get him away from the stomach contents splashing against the pavement.

It took the cops a full twenty minutes to get there. By the time they did Jaron had packed everything they had in two duffle bags, including all of Bobby’s toys. They weren’t staying there. He sat on the curb with his bags next to him and Bobby asleep in his arms. Cops went in and out of Tracy’s apartment like flies buzzing around. Jaron turned away when they brought a gurney into Tracy’s space. Thank God Bobby was asleep in his arms by then and didn’t have to witness it.

A uniformed cop spoke to him at some point, asking him all the questions one would expect. Where was he all day? When did he see the victim last? Does he know of anyone who would do this to her? He hardly remembered answering them. They seemed very clinical about the whole thing. Maybe it was just that they were desensitized to death itself. Regardless, the attitudes of the police angered him enough that he didn’t want to talk to any of them anymore. The dispassionate way they just traipsed all over his world made him clench his teeth and his eyes flashed with anger.

A cop in a business suit and a badge around his neck sat next to him, on the other side of his bags. “I’m Detective Martinez.” The man paused briefly, as if waiting for some negative reaction to his presence. “So what’s your story?”

“I don’t have a story.”

“Everyone has a story. When did you meet Ms. Benson?”

Jaron sighed. “When I moved in to the apartment next door six years ago.”

“Were you friends?”

“We have a kid together, so yes. Very good friends. Well, until a few months ago.”

“What happened?”

“She wanted things that I couldn’t give.”

“Like what?”

“Like a sexual relationship. And before you ask. Yes, Bobby is my son. My name is on the birth certificate. It’s all legal. But we never had sex. You can figure that out for yourself.”

Detective Martinez raised his hands up as if in surrender. “I’m not here to take away your son. I promise you that.” He lowered his hands and went on with his questions. “So who’s the biological father?”

“I have no idea. Probably some john she screwed for drug money. Maybe her drug dealer. I know they were fu—” Jaron looked down at Bobby’s sleeping face. “I know he sometimes gave her drugs for...things other than money. Personally, I don’t care who provided the sperm, I’m his father.”

“So why didn’t you want a romantic relationship with her?”

“I’m a very gay man, Mr. Martinez. I couldn’t get it up for her even if I tried.”

Martinez smiled. “I understand. So, she used?”

“Oh yeah. She was always trying to quit. Since she had Bobby anyway. She loved him. She even quit the whole time she was pregnant with him, but then she went right back to using.”

“Must have been hard to watch her go through that.”

Jaron shrugged. “After a while I just got tired of it. You know what I mean.” Wasn’t that the understatement of the year? He had been beyond tired of the whole thing. It consumed her entire being until she just didn’t make sense without the drugs. On more than one occasion she stole from him. It got so bad that he couldn’t even leave Bobby with her most of the time, unless he absolutely had no choice, like today. They fought like they were going to war with each other.

“My father was an alcoholic. So, I know what you mean.” Jaron looked up at the other man then, not expecting a cop to share something so personal with him. From their sitting position it was hard to tell but Jaron didn’t think Martinez was that much taller than him. Maybe a couple inches at best. He spoke with a slight accent. Jaron thought Spanish was probably the first language Martinez ever learned, given his last name and dark good looks. His eyes said more than he ever could verbalize though. As a cop, Martinez probably saw many painful things. But unlike the rest of the cops swarming around, Martinez cared and he probably carried around baggage because of it. “You got a place to stay?”

“No. I was just going to get a hotel room somewhere. I can leave town right?”

“Yeah. Just leave your number with me. I may have more questions later.”

Jaron got the detective’s number, as well. “Call whenever. And let me know where you end up.”

“Why? I’m not a suspect, am I?”

“No, they already verified where you were. You’re all clear.” Martinez looked down at Bobby. “Believe it or not, most cops care what happens to people.”

It took Jaron all of five seconds to decide he really liked the guy, deciding to trust him. “I’m going back home. I think.”

“You think?”

“No. I am. It’s just...I haven’t been home since I left and haven’t stayed in touch with anyone, including my mom. Not sure how well that’s going to go.”

“How long has it been?”

“A little over seven years.”

“Wow. So, why didn’t you call?”

“My mom never gave a crap while I was living there. Why would she care now that I’m gone? No one else in that town gave a crap whether I lived or died either.” As much as he loathed the thought of going home, he had to start over somewhere. He was going to need help. He would ask Brian for it and see how that went. He had no one else to ask.

Jaron didn’t make friends very easily. If there was anything his childhood years had taught him it was not to trust anyone until they’ve earned it. Jaron fully admitted he had some abandonment issues thanks to his absent father, which probably contributed to his distrusting nature. He would let people in just far enough to make a connection and then pull back again. At least that was his pattern with most people, Bobby, Tracy, and Brian not included.

It turned out that Brian was the easiest person to call, given that he did exactly what he said he was going to do and that was work for his father, so his business phone number was easy to find, getting patched through to Brian’s office was even easier. “Jaron! Oh my God, is that really you?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, we thought you were dead,” Brian yelled through the phone. Jaron could hear the tears in his voice.

“Why would you think I was dead?”

“You never called anyone or came home to visit. We tried to get someone to look for you once. But we didn’t know where to start looking. Where the hell did you go?”

“Doesn’t matter now. I need to come home. Will you help me?”

“When are you coming?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Let’s meet at the diner.”

Jaron looked through the window of the diner from across the street. His mother’s hands gripped a mug, probably full of coffee. Jaron thought he was meeting Brian but apparently Brian had other plans. Brian always did think he knew best, the bastard. Jaron was fully aware his oldest friend had set this up, probably getting in touch with Gloria McAllister right after Jaron had called the first time, telling her when Jaron would be here. Brian had never understood that the relationship Jaron and Gloria had wasn’t like the relationship Brian had with his own father.

Looking at his mom through the glass was like watching a movie of her. He had never felt the connection with his mom that he thought he should, even as a small child. Maybe that had been his fault. That he wasn’t quite what she wanted in a son and therefore kept just enough distance to make it seem like miles. Which was why he was confused she had come instead of Brian.

When he was eighteen years old he had thought he left because of a burning desire to fit in somewhere, because he certainly hadn’t fit in very well in Pickleville. He needed that connection to another human being, that knowing he was so important to another human being they just couldn’t live without him. Ironically, it was a five year old boy he felt unconditionally connected too. Now that he knew the unconditional love a parent felt for their child, he wondered at his mother’s parental instincts.