Chapter Ten: Cry Me A River
They waited out the rest of the week. Murray improved, and was moved out of the ICU.
“He's devastated,” Sang laughed quietly to Dash on the third day. They were in Murray's room, and Murray himself was dozing. “His blood-work came back. He has iron deficiency anemia.”
Dash blinked. “Is that bad?”
“It causes sensitivity to sunlight and the urge to eat inedible things...like blood.”
The two of them started giggling uncontrollably, only stifling themselves when Murray drowsily asked, “What's so funny?”
On the sixth day, Murray came off the morphine completely. He was a little testy, but the pain wasn't unbearable.
Then he started to walk. The doctors told him every day how lucky he was to be able to, to not even need therapy.
Nine days after he went in, they reluctantly let him check out with the numbers of no less than twenty qualified psychiatrists and a promise to see one of them.
“I don't need to,” he said softly as they left the building, slipping his hand into Sang's.
#
“I don't understand why you won't just turn him in,” said Sang. “You'll be running from the fucking cops for the rest of your life.”
Dash shook his head. “If I turn him in, it'll put me right in their hands. And he wouldn't confess, you know he wouldn't. And then Ganymede...”
“I'll take care of Ganymede, remember?”
Dash bit his lip, then nodded. “Fine. I don't like it, but you're right. At least this way, I have a chance at being cleared. I'll go to the Gallery, but I want you to follow me, just in case something goes wrong.”
“Yeah. I'll tail you in my car. Here,” Sang went into the kitchen and reached behind the bottle of vodka. He pulled out a grey .357 Magnum Desert Eagle and handed it to Dash. “My eighteenth birthday present. Just in case something goes wrong and I can't get in there in time.”
Dash nodded, taking the gun.
#
“Okay,” said Dash, leaning into Sang's window a block down from the Gallery. “I'm gonna go in there and act like I'm going with him. When we're about to leave, I'll say I forgot something in my car. When I come out, call the cops and I'll keep him inside. If he comes out with me, tail us. If I'm not out in twenty minutes, come after me. Lock the door behind you so nobody interrupts us. You have your cell, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Be ready to call.”
Sang smirked. “Good luck, Sanam.”
“Thanks.”
Sang watched Dash walk up the street and disappear into the blank storefront.
#
The bell rang as Dash walked through the door. It was so surreal to be in the Gallery again. He glanced at the photographic prints lining the walls as he made his way to the back room. Plants, landscapes, buildings, but no people.
“That you, baby?”
Dash laughed as he rounded the corner past the tiny half-bath.
He leaned in the door to the back room. “Yeah, it's me.”
Steve smiled at Dash from the bedside. The room was exactly the same as it had always been, dark, warm, the air thick with cigarette smoke and expensive cologne. Steve stood up, took three slow steps, and wrapped Dash up in his arms. The smoky atmosphere intensified.
“Sang's outside,” whispered Dash. “He'll be in in about twenty minutes.” He drew back, biting his lip like a child who had broken something. “He caught me talking to you and I couldn't shake him...but I'll scare him off.”
He showed Steve the gun.
Steve laughed. “Didn't I give that to him?”
“Yeah.”
“One hell of a gun. Cost a goddamn fortune. Well, good thing you got it now, baby, I wouldn't want anybody else to.”
Chuckling, Dash shoved the gun back in his pocket.
“So, we got twenty minutes?” asked Steve with a filthy smirk, grabbing Dash by the back of the neck and shoving his tongue down his throat. Dash groaned and settled his hands into Steve's back pockets. Tall as Dash was, Steve was taller, and twice as broad, as powerful. Before he knew what had happened, he was on his back staring up at the drop ceiling.
Things fell into place again.
Nothing had changed in all their time apart.
When they heard the bell ring again, Dash signaled to Steve to stay where he was, and stood a few feet away, by the door.
Footsteps. Close. Closer. Coming around the corner.
Sang stepped into the room, his phone in his right hand and a pocket-knife in his left.
“You alright, Sanam?”
Dash smirked. “Just fine. Everything's going as planned.”
Dash cocked the gun and pointed it at Steve's head.
“Cover him, Sang.”
Steve looked from Dash to Sang and back. “Now just what the hell--”
“Shut up!” said Sang, sliding the knife under Steve's throat.
“Alright, now hand me your phone,” said Dash. “Pat him down. Make sure he's not armed. Don't bother with his back pockets, there's nothing in them.”
Steve's eyes widened. “You little bastard! You--”
“I said shut up,” hissed Sang. He tossed his phone to Dash over his shoulder and patted the older man down.
“Come on, now, baby, you know you're too old for me,” Steve spat nastily.
Sang ignored him. “He's got nothing.”
“Drop the knife.”
Sang turned. The gun was aimed squarely at his chest.
“What--”
“Put it down. Now. And get on the floor.”
“You've got to be fucking kidding me,” Sang breathed incredulously, dropping to his knees and letting go of his pocket-knife nonetheless.
“You had to keep pushing, didn't you?” said Dash coldly. “If you had let me go, that would have been the end of it. Did you lock the door like I asked?”
“So you wouldn't be interrupted? Smooth, Sanam. Are you gonna kill me? Or you gonna let him do it for you?”
Dash's mouth twitched. “I am.”
Sang bristled like a cornered animal and spat, “Why not?! He's so damn good at it! He hasn't gotten caught yet over Chrysippus!”
“HE DIDN'T--FUCKING--DO IT!” Dash screamed, his finger shaking on the trigger, pulling it in ever-so-slightly.
“I did.” Steve sighed with his confession.
“What?” Dash scoffed, not really processing the idea. “No, you didn't.”
“I didn't mean to let it go that far, I didn't mean for him to die, but he did, and I couldn't stop it once it happened.”
Sang let out a humorless, barking laugh laced with harsh panic. “You gonna believe that, too, Sanam? You gonna let him feed you that lie? If he didn't mean to, why did he build that room in the basement?”
“I was just gonna keep him there, I couldn't let him go--”
“Oh, come the fuck on! You were keeping Ganymede against his will, too. You're telling me you couldn't keep an eye on both of them?”
“I couldn't--”
“BULLSHIT!”
“Stop,” whispered Dash. Neither one of them dared speak over that tone. “If he says he didn't mean it...I-I believe him.”
“Really, Sanam?”
Dash's hand was shaking on the gun, but his aim was still true. “Close your eyes, Sang.”
“I was right!” shouted Sang defiantly. “That fucking scumbag did just make you his little protegé, didn't he?!”
“Just do it, baby,” Steve said. “You don't have any choice. He doesn't understand us. None of the others did, either. You were always just different, baby. Just like me.”
Dash's brow creased. “Just...” His lip trembled, and he whirled around, his hand suddenly steady.
“Baby...?” Steve's pupils dilated. Nothing left but a thin blue line.
The sound of the first shot mingled with Dash's scream, hoarse, vengeful. “NO! I'M NOT! I'M NOT! I'M--”
It became a chant, each word punctuated with a shot. His eyes were closed, but every single one hit home.
And long before he hit the ground, long before the trigger only clicked dully, Steve was dead.
One more and the epilogue to go and I'm done. I'm thinking of tracking down Poppy Z. Brite's publisher. (Prolly the only one that would publish this)
Ugh...Emmy and Cass are dating-ish. It's real obnoxious.
And they're not officially dating...but they are.