Messalina Munroe, Jimmy Duran, Russell Holland, and any others you don't recognize are mine.
Rated R : Strong but brief violence, language, m/m sexual contact. Some scenes are intense.
Third in the 'Red Fire' series. This story includes slash, which involves sexual situations between two men. If you're uncomfortable with the idea, don't read this.
Readers of my 'Year of Time' stories may recognize Jimmy Duran, a detective in the Silver Hills Police Department who was Jen's partner. For obvious reasons, he has a new partner here.
This idea just sort of came to me - partly from a plot I'd originally had in mind for a Batman story, partly from memories of a particularly nasty kidnapping that was in the news when I was young and impressionable, partly from my desire to write "Power Rangers meets Law and Order." (No, it's not a crossover, except in spirit.) Fair warning; some scenes are quite intense; they were disturbing to write and may be equally disturbing to read. That said, there's only one fairly graphically violent scene; it's more a matter of emotional intensity.
Reviews are always appreciated.
"We are here to celebrate my son's life, not to mourn his death. To reflect on what he accomplished, on the joy he experienced, the love he gave and received, not on the way in which he left us..." Alan Collins' voice quivered just a tiny bit, but he took a breath and carried on, his grief seeming barely under control.
Eric watched him, making sure his own face showed only the appropriate solemnity. He was supposed to be mourning a close friend, after all, even if almost no one knew exactly how close he and Wes had been. He didn't have to fake the puffy eyes, the pale skin, the exhaustion in his face. A week with almost no sleep does that to you.
But he had to control the impulse to examine the faces of the mourners, had to stop his eyes from nervously darting from person to person. What were they thinking, all these people? One of them knew the truth -- or thought he did.
And especially he shouldn't be looking at the two detectives sitting across the aisle, now staring in his direction with hard, suspicious faces. Watching... the same way they had watched, and questioned, and followed, for much of the last week. Anger stirred again. Naturally, they had come after him. The upstart from the wrong side of the tracks, the guy who had pushed his way into a position of power at Bio-Lab. The guy who had every reason to resent Wesley Collins for being the boss's son, and so easily walking into an equal share of that power.
They were right about that part anyway, he reflected with an inner, rueful smile. As far as it went. He had resented Wes, at times. They had had their conflicts, including some violent ones. Eric was well aware of his own worst weakness, a temper that had often gotten him into trouble. A temper that had flared again a week ago, at Wes, the person he was supposed to love... guilt, now, making him bow his head, blinking back the sting of tears; he was just tired and over-emotional, but he didn't fight it off the way he normally would; it was good, made him look like the grieving friend, helped hide what he really felt.
Then he looked up again as Collins' speech came to an end. There were a few seconds of silence, and then his own part in this charade was announced.
"Now Eric Myers, Wes's partner and friend, will say a few words."
He forced himself to his feet, and walked forward stiffly. Only a quick glance at the coffin as he passed. It was closed, and everyone knew why; no way to make that battered and burned remnant of a human being presentable.
A moment later he took his place at the podium. Looked out over rows of faces, staring at him; a lot of people, but what did you expect for the son of the most rich and powerful man in Silver Hills? Not entirely fair, Eric reminded himself, many of these people genuinely liked Wes; a lot of them weren't faking their grief, the way he was. But many of them felt something else, too. Suspicion, some of them not bothering to hide it. Not his Silver Guardians; they were too disciplined. Whatever they were feeling was hidden behind rigidly blank expressions as they sat in neat rows at the back.
"I first met Wes in school, more than ten years ago," he began, not having to fake the unsteadiness of his voice, even if it was mostly tension. "We weren't always friends. But we always -- respected each other. Grew to be close, as we worked together over the years. I'm-" He paused, an unexpected lump rising in his throat. "I'm a better person for knowing Wes Collins."
He stopped long enough to sweep a glance over the faces before him again. Some were tearful, some impassive, some curious, some openly hostile. Most of them must be wondering how Alan Collins had allowed him to attend, let alone speak at, the funeral of the man he was suspected of murdering.
"Only a week ago, Wes was still with us. A week ago, he spent his last day at Bio-Lab, the company he had come to love. A day at his job, as co-commander of the Silver Guardians, and my partner. I never thought, when we said goodbye that night, that I would never see him again."
The two detectives had been looking around, discretely watching the mourners. Now they both glanced up at him. They knew what he was saying wasn't strictly true. Wes and he hadn't exactly said goodbye that day. Shouts and a slammed door had been more like it. That stupid argument... and it also wasn't true that it was the last time he had seen Wes.
Only a week ago, but it seemed like a lifetime. As Eric paused, the words of his prepared speed blurring, he let his mind retreat to that day, to that moment, to the way he had let bitter anger and frustration take him over. It had started with jealousy... the most dangerous emotion...
"All right. What's the problem?" Wes's voice held just enough exaggerated patience to tip Eric's annoyance into anger.
"Did I say there was a problem?" he retorted.
"You don't have to when you look at me like that." Wes closed his office door and brushed by him, putting his desk between them and sitting down, wearing an expression that clearly said how unreasonable he thought Eric was being.
He knew he should drop it, knew he should just walk out and go back to his own office at Bio-Lab to cool down. But somehow that would be giving in. "Are you really meeting that jerk tonight?" Eric demanded.
"You heard him. He wants to discuss company business over drinks. What's wrong with that?"
"Yeah, right. He didn't seem interested in discussing anything with me. Hardly even looked at me."
Russell Holland. A new addition to Bio-Lab. He had been hired as chief accountant after the previous chief had retired six months ago. Came with impressive recommendations. Was supposed to be doing a good job. Was obviously ambitious. And was also in his early thirties, tall, very handsome, blond, well-built. None of which had bothered Eric until he had begun to make an obvious and determined effort over the last weeks to get close to Wes.
Just twenty minutes ago Eric had come to Wes's office and found them deep in discussion of the finer points of Bio-Lab's overseas investments. Wes had invited him in -- but Holland had shaken hands, smiled, and then ignored Eric completely despite his attempts to join in. Eric's temper had already been at the boiling point when the two of them had walked to the door, Holland had given Wes a dazzling smile and a warm handshake, invited him out for drinks after work, nodded at Eric with an expression that implied he was surprised to see him still there, and left.
"Well, I'm sure he didn't mean to be rude," Wes said, his expression softening. "He was just a little -- tactless, I guess."
And again, Eric could have dropped it; could have let Wes soothe him out of his angry mood. But he didn't. "Drinks. That big shit-eating smile. The way he's always coming by your office, usually just in time for lunch. He wants something. And I think it's something a lot closer than foreign investments."
"Don't tell me you're jealous."
"That's not what I meant." Eric's gaze focused suspiciously on Wes's face. "But it's interesting that you took it that way."
"Well -- what did you mean, then?"
"He's just trying to use you to suck up to your father. You should stay away from him."
There was an edge of anger in Wes's voice now as he answered. "Doesn't it ever occur to you that someone might just like me?"
"Not him. Not half of the jerks around here. You're the boss's son and that's all that matters."
"Really? Is that all that matters to you?"
"Of course not. But I'm not a suck-up, like Holland."
"What makes you so sure that's all he cares about? Maybe he'd like you too, if you made any effort to be friendly."
"You're making enough effort for both of us." Eric eyed Wes coldly. "Maybe I should be jealous."
"Oh, come on. He's not even gay."
"Oh, yeah? How the hell would you know?"
"How would you?" Wes countered. "And even if he is, what difference does it make?"
"A guy who looks like that asks you for a date and you don't think it makes any difference?"
Wes's voice sharpened. "It's not a date. And you seem to be the one who thinks he's so great-looking. Maybe you're the one who wants to go out with him."
"Well, I'm not the one he's interested in, am I?"
"Look..." Wes took a deep breath. "You're mad because Russell was rude. Fine. But don't try to blame me for it."
One more time, he could have backed off. But... "If you didn't like having assholes like him hanging around kissing up to you so much, they wouldn't have the chance to treat me like shit!"
"The only one acting like an asshole right now is you," Wes muttered, just loud enough to be heard.
Eric felt his back stiffen in anger. "Are you going out with him tonight or not?"
"Don't see any reason not to." Wes stared back at him, blue-green eyes narrowed.
"Then why don't you just go ahead and fuck him, too!" Eric kept his voice just low enough not to be heard outside, and then turned, took a few steps, and yanked the door open.
"Oh right, get mad over nothing, yell at me and then walk out! You're such a goddamn bastard sometimes!"
The anger in Wes's shout stopped Eric for a moment. He saw two people in the hallway look in their direction curiously. But his temper overcame any thought of discretion as he turned back. "Yeah, I'm a bastard," he snarled. "Better than a spoiled brat who can't think about anything except himself!"
Wes had followed him. They glared at each other furiously until Wes stepped back and slammed the door with a bang.
Love. What good was it when it made you miserable? When it meant the slightest harsh word, the first sign of disinterest -- or interest in someone else -- could plunge you into the depths of despair?
"God, I'm such an idiot..." Eric murmured aloud. He was home now, pacing his small living room, after spending most of the rest of his workday in his office, hunched over his desk trying not to snap at anyone who spoke to him, hoping in vain that Wes would show up, wanting to talk. But he hadn't. And now that most of his anger had dissipated, Eric couldn't blame him.
The argument had been almost entirely his own fault, just stupid jealousy. Not even sexual jealousy, not really, but anger at the way Russell had kissed up to the boss's son so blatantly, the same thing he had seen so many times before; so many people who figured Wes was the one who counted, the one whose friendship could do them some good; so many people who ignored or looked down on Eric despite the fact that he and Wes were supposed to be equals.
Wes always acted as if he didn't notice, or just shrugged and laughed it off. Always tried to joke Eric out of his anger. That was frustrating, annoying, as if his feelings didn't count for anything... but, to be fair, he knew Wes did it because he hated to see Eric unhappy. Wes understood... just didn't see the use of getting angry about something no one could do anything about.
That was a basic difference between them; Eric understood the purpose of anger and revenge. Let someone get away with doing you harm and they'd only do it again, and worse. Wes rarely got angry, tried to avoid it, tried not to think badly of anyone. Yes, they were very different, all right, like night and day: dark and blond, bitter and cheerful, poor and rich, pessimist and optimist, cynical and trusting.
And yet they had fallen in love despite the contrasts, or perhaps because of them. Each of them had seen qualities in the other that he felt were lacking in himself. It occurred to Eric that it was about six months now since they had become lovers. And this was the first time they had had a serious fight. His mouth quirked into a reluctant smile. Not bad at all, for a relationship that included him -- and his temper.
Eric looked at his watch, sighing, feeling another twinge of anger as he wondered if Wes was still on his little date. Had to stop thinking that way; Wes was right, there was no reason to be jealous. Eight o'clock. Wes might be home by now. Before he could think about it too long and possibly decide to wait until morning, Eric picked up the phone.
Ringing -- long enough to tell him that Wes wasn't going to answer. Maybe he had turned off his cellphone in the restaurant or bar, or maybe he was driving. Eric took a deep breath as the voicemail service picked up.
"Wes. We need to talk. Call me."
He put the phone down gently. He could wait. Wes would call soon. He'd be happy and relieved. Maybe he'd even want to come over, so they could make up in person... Eric smiled.
Nine o'clock. Wes was always forgetting to pick up his messages. Eric dialed the number again, and again listened to empty ringing and the sound of voicemail picking up.
"Wes..." He trailed off; then spoke again abruptly. "Look, I screwed up. Just call me, okay?"
Ten o'clock. Eric refused to think too hard about why Wes hadn't called. Must have had a couple of drinks too many, yeah, he was upset and had gotten a little drunk... Must have forgotten all about turning his phone back on, Eric thought, as the ringing ended with voicemail again.
"Don't you check your messages?" He paused, throat tightening. "I'm home. Waiting. Call me."
Eleven o'clock. Wes had to be home by now. Unless... but Eric's mind refused to go there. Wes would never do something like that; wouldn't be with someone else, and certainly not someone he hardly even knew. Would he? No, he must still be angry; this was his way of punishing Eric. And it was working beautifully. He picked up the phone, this time dialing Wes's private line at the Collins house. More ringing... and then the answering machine picking up.
"Wes, I know I was wrong. I guess you're still mad, but please call me tonight. I'm -- I'm sorry."
Midnight. Eric put down the phone. He had checked with the hospital and with the Silver Guardians, trying to sound casual, as if he was just bored and wondering if anything was up. No reports of any accidents or unusual hospital admissions. Of course not. He just wasn't going to call...
"Dammit, it's midnight. We should've been done an hour ago."
"You're the one who wanted to bring him all the way out here."
"And you're the one who said it would be easy to dig this fucking thing up."
Wes could hear the voices, blurry and indistinct. Coming from somewhere nearby. Along with strange sounds, faint grunts of exertion, and then a patter of something falling... He could feel air move over his face, cool night air, bringing the smell of freshly-dug earth. His eyes cracked open, but it didn't seem to make much difference -- it was dark. A light overhead. The moon. Outside, he realized vaguely. He was outside. Hard ground underneath him. There were more unidentifiable sounds, then the voices again, a little clearer now.
"Okay, we're ready."
"Finally. Let's get it down there."
The sound of something heavy being dragged, then a thud and cursing. Wes tried to turn his head, succeeded in looking far enough in that direction to see more light. Some kind of lamps, or flashlights.
"Is everything in? Now him..."
They were coming. Two of them, dark forms coming closer, looming over him as he blinked up, trying to see. Moonlight glimmered over blond hair and a face he knew... Wes tried to talk, tried to ask them, his tongue thick and uncooperative. All that came out was a mumble. "Russ... Wha... Wha... happen'g..."
"Shit! He recognized me! Goddamn it!"
"I've got him." The other man, shorter and darker, bent over him. Light reflected for an instant from metal; something sharp jabbed into Wes's arm. "That'll do it."
"But he saw me!"
"Come on, let's just get him in there."
Coldness was spreading from the place where the needle had pierced his skin. Wes gasped in fear, unable to resist as two sets of hands grabbed him. He was dragged roughly over grass and dirt, held over empty space, and then dropped. A whimper was all he could manage as he hit a hard surface after a brief fall.
"You idiot, you let him wake up!"
"Will you relax? He's so out of it, he won't be sure of anything. Come on, just get the nails."
The coldness and numbness were spreading up his arm, his mind was spiraling down into the blackness that awaited it. Wes made a last effort to move, to escape, even just to cry out for help. But it was no use. All he could do was make another small sound as darkness closed over him.
TBC...