Grace and Reason
Howlynn
Chapter 4: Plenary Indulgence
Summary:
Robbie follows his own calling.
Sorrow can be alleviated by good sleep, a bath and a glass of wine.
Thomas Aquinas
Robbie put his key in the lock and turned the knob to find the door still locked. He fiddled with the lock several times before determining that it must have been unlocked in the first place. Well, he reasoned, the boy was in a hurry this morning, got in a smash up over it, left his door open on accident.
He stopped in the landing and closed his eyes taking a deep breath. He could smell James. It made him think of alter candles, in that his intention was to pray him into heaven just like the candles did for believers. James was sacred to Robbie and this scent was just an ephemeral whiff of the life that would soon fade. Like Val, the scent of his skin would dwindle from the world, never to return.
Robbie crossed to the kitchen slowly, brow furrowed at the mess. He righted a chair, picked a pillow off the floor. Someone had been here. His heart pounded at the thought of this intrusion. Who would come here? How dare they? His family hadn't even been notified yet. At some point he would have to snoop into the boy's life and make those horrible calls. Maybe Father Andrew could help.
He poured himself a generous glass of the whiskey he and James favored when he was getting cabbaged with his Sergeant turned friend, after a case. It had been a while since James was his anything, but it was still in the cupboard, waiting for him. He felt more than a little regret at the way things had turned out.
They had never been quite the same after his long Spanish walk. When Robbie had come back, he hadn't felt very welcome on that first case. The dynamics had changed. Robbie had to bite his tongue and walk on eggshells at times, keeping Hathaway as his equal and not his Sergeant. Part of it was that he'd retired and come back just to help, part of it was that he and Laura were giving it a go and part of it was that Hathaway had a Sergeant of his own now who he owed his time to. James had been very generous with including him in he and Lizzy's pub time and all, but it wasn't just the two of them any longer. James was in some ways, more playful at times, but he was also more distant at others. They no longer had the sleepover dynamics of before Robbie's retirement.
He'd sat the take-away on the counter and it was just so normal that he expected a snotty quote to be spewed at him any second. The flat was silent without James.
Robbie leaned on the counter and slowly crumpled to the floor in the kitchen. Just for a few moments, he gave into his pure sorrow for the first time. He'd held most of it in while he was in the Gent's and he sure hadn't let anyone see anything like this on scene. He didn't take long or give into gasping moans of why, but he quietly hissed out quite a few tears and developed a little tick of jealousy. He wished it had been him in the boy's place. Robbie had lived his life and when it came time for him to join Val, Morse and now James, he had no intention of fighting. The first chance he had to get out of his old bones, he was slipping off without so much as a blip. His kids were grown and he didn't want to be a burden.
Laura would have given him a bollocking for this line of thinking, but at the moment he just couldn't help it. He was tired of being left behind.
Now he was abandoned again and all he wanted, in that second, was to go too. He sat on the floor as his mind whirled moment after moment of the last few years. His imagination melded their first meeting and he could almost picture James carefully drawing his name on a bit of parchment to hold up for him the second he joined him. A small smile slowly crept on his face until the witness accounts began to seep into his sweet visions.
Hathaway's estimated speed was double the posted limit. He'd been driving erratically and if he'd lived would have been arrested for dangerous driving. Robbie wondered if there was some explanation. Resigned, he knew he needed to get into some hot water and dry clothing, make a phone call, get some food in himself and then get his heart ready for a bit of a snoop.
In the bedroom, he knew he'd find a choice of clean dry clothes. They had long ago begun leaving things to wear at each-others, because it was just more convenient. The Whisky was still there and he'd bet after all this time, he still had a drawer in the dresser, untouched and waiting for him to have a cabbaged kip at Hathaway's again.
The bedroom was a tip.
He stood there and grew angry. Someone had searched the lad's room and hadn't been very careful about it. The wardrobe hung open and all of Hathaway's suits had been slung to the floor, still on the hangers. One by one, Robbie picked them up and gently hung them back in the wardrobe.
One caught his attention, it was a deep black, velvet collared formal morning coat with chalk stripe trousers. He'd never seen it on him, but assumed that James wore it for the odd formal occasion. Lewis hung it on the front of the wardrobe, set aside to be sent to the undertaker, though Robbie could barely admit the significance of his actions. He smoothed a bit of lint off the collar and added a white satin waistcoat, an expensive looking white shirt and then he selected and rejected a matching white tie for James' ridiculous pink one.
He smiled as he hung that silly tie through the hanger. He often wondered if the pink one really was James' favorite or if he just wore it so often to rile his off-the-peg, traditional cut and colors, old Guv. He suspected that it was a bit of both. He'd not worn it since he'd made DI.
A tear escaped as his vision blurred, remembering how he'd fretted over what to bury Val in. 'Definitely the pink tie, Sergeant, unless you have any objection?" If heaven or hell were crowded, he'd be able to spot his bagman straight off and if he were looking down, somehow near, it would be a last little joke between them.
"There now, soft lad. Send you off proper and see if they let pink tie wearing sods past the gates," Robbie murmured to the empty room, just in case some bit of James was near. It would explain why Robbie felt the boy with all his heart.
He'd known when Val was gone. He'd felt something odd when Morse died too, almost like someone childlike had sprinkled a flash of confetti and joy. With Val, an empty misery had settled in him, but he could swear James was not gone at all. He had felt him on the bridge, but he felt him stronger now, as if he were silently watching, waiting for something. Robbie even looked superstitiously into the mirror expecting to see a cliché' Hathaway shaped mist hovering behind him.
He sighed and dismissed these morbid flights of imagination. Robbie gathered his change of clothes and shook his head. He wondered about the family. They would probably swoop in and disapprove of his clothing choice.
He wondered about the boy's guitar. Would they squabble over it or just sell it straight away, not having any idea what it meant to him. He'd want that more than anything, for sentiment, though he knew it was worth a bit of money too. He'd pay whatever they asked.
He was well acquainted with the transformations people went through, from human being to vulture, as soon as the word of someone's death got out. He decided that he would take the guitar home for now, so it didn't sneak out the door during the confusion. He was surprised that whoever burgled the boy had left it.
He found the door to the loo locked. He knocked and demanded that if anyone were in there that they come out at once. Feeling foolish he tried to force the handle but his temper got the better of him and suddenly he kicked the door, cracking the frame and doing a lot of noisy damage in the process.
The first thing he saw was a red handprint on the white tub. The smell of blood and sick hit him next and confused he stepped into the small room and found a familiar shoe slung over the side of the porcelain fixture.
It was filled with a familiar foot with a familiar bony ankle attached. His heart beat wild and thunderous as his eyes fell on the battered face of an unconscious man. The face looked monstrous with blood smeared around like paint, but he would know the man anywhere. He blinked his eyes trying to get the vision to swim away. His hand reached out to touch the impossible hallucination, expecting it to fade, but instead he felt the warm skin and clammy sweat of Detective Inspector James Hathaway.
There now, did it just get a bit better? Any thoughts? I do love reviews and all that jazz.