Absaroka, Wyoming
Present:
Time was a fickle mistress; one minute a man was led to believe he had it in rich supply and the next it was trickling down the hourglass. It was law enforcements' worst enemy in kidnapping cases because trails were liable to go cold and suspects would disappear like ghosts into the next city over across the state line but this was one fight Walt refused to lose. Time, odds, and anything else looking to get in his way could fuck right off to sunny down South. It wasn't just his duty to catch this son of a bitch it would be his genuine pleasure to look the man in the eyes before putting him six feet under. Although the law might take exception to that, wouldn't it? He couldn't keep wearing this badge if he killed a man in cold blood.
Walt put that notion on the back burner, first he had to find the suspect. He reckoned that the God he'd prayed to for Henry's safe return might take exception, too. He still remembers his Sunday school days with Pastor Thomas as a boy, it was spelled out clearly enough in the 6th Commandment that thou shall not kill. Walt didn't suppose Pastor Thomas' God made exceptions for those men who reveled in bloodshed and rape but that was neither here not there, not until Henry was safe. After that he'd decide what needed to be done and what commandments needed breaking.
Walt had no personal stake in the Lord's teachings but down here in the muck, far from anything celestial, he couldn't in good conscience turn the other cheek. Evil wasn't some ephemeral boogey-man hiding beneath the bed.
It walked among men, it inhabited them in the form of greed, lust, and apathy and if no one stood up it would keep on walking spreading its corruption like a venereal disease among the community, his community.
Evil was real enough, it was the idea that took hold sinking its teeth in deep, wearing down the human psyche whispering all the while, 'it's okay, you can steal from the bank the people won't lose their money they're insured,' hissing, 'it's okay, you can do that - what did she think going out in that skirt.' No, evil wasn't some abstract notion to Walt.
He saw it in the eyes of domestic abusers, murderers, and child-killers.
He remembered his church-going lessons in bygone days but it didn't change the fact that there were some men that needed killing. If the justice of this world was perfect his wife's murderer would have been caught, tried, and executed but that wasn't how it had happened. No matter how much Walt believed in the law he'd spent his life upholding he knew it to be imperfect at the best of times and something that could be rigged in the favor of bad men if their pockets were deep enough at the worst. 'Thou shall not kill' Pastor Thomas had said, his expression grave and his clouded grey eyes filled with absolute conviction as though the world were black and white and not made up of the many shades of gray that it's average, law abiding citizens had to navigate.
Walt didn't think pipe-thin Pastor Thomas had ever held the cold, dead body of a 12 year old girl killed by her meth-head father. Or watched as her mother, hopped up on drugs, walked by her corpse as though she were nothing at all.
No, somehow he does not think Pastor Thomas had done any of that but Walt had and it left deep, gouging marks in the process.
There had been justice for that little blond haired, blue-eyed girl but there were plenty others that never darkened the grandiose Halls of Justice with their sad, broken bodies; forgotten or swept aside because they weren't newsworthy or American enough to warrant the hubbub of a media frenzy.
Walt knew the shortcomings of the law but it was his job to see that the right thing was done and if sometimes the right thing required knocking skulls together and sending another body to the morgue that was a price he could live with.
He'd be held accountable when his ticket came due and he would walk into that judgment with a righteous conscience knowing that he'd done the best he could in an imperfect world. That was the burden he took up every morning when he pinned the shiny tin-star to his chest, which served as a walking target and a tangible reminder to himself about his duty to the people of Absaroka. It wasn't just his job to keep them safe, it was his duty.
It cut him up inside whenever he failed, and he had failed this time no two ways about it. He felt a dangerous kind of anger rise up even thinking about some man putting hands on Henry against his will. It made him sick. So for now he held on to the faint thread of hope that he had this figured all wrong. A case of him shoving his feet into old boots that no longer fit right. Just this once, he'd like to be proven wrong.
Walt didn't think he was reading it wrong but he could hope.
As for Pastor Thomas, well, he was a long way from his bygone Sunday school days. He'd do what needed doing when the hour was at hand. All would be well with his soul in the end, Walt was sure at least of that much.
Filled with determination Walt ploughed forward, never looking back. Having a face to pin to the crime sure would help him narrow the field of search. Knowing where the suspect went to high school even more so and that damn grey Wolverines, West Yellowstone High sweater that tied together the two, no three, cases indicated a probable age range of early twenties to thirty. While he ran down leads around town Ruby was getting in contact with the Montana school's principal; Mr. Conwell had been running the high school for the last nine years which meant there was a fair chance he knew something useful. Walt felt he and his deputies were taking pot-shots at shadows in the dark right now waiting to see if any landed on target.
Unwilling to remain stationary Walt lit out of the station like a bloodhound hot on a trail. Stuck in his head was the last place he should be and he knew it like a bear knew the scent of a fresh kill. He had to keep moving to stay afloat of the thoughts nagging at him. Sharks were the same, if they stopped swimming they lost their ability to breathe.
Walt felt a bit like them at the moment, he was okay so long as he kept moving.
Ruby was taking the lead on questioning Mr. Conwell and he was double glad for that fact. How did a person ask a principle which of his students he thought was capable of kidnapping and sexual assault? Walt shook his head, he just didn't know, there was too damn much he didn't know some days. It was unlikely the suspect was up there in years if he still fit into his old high school clothes.
Walt might still have his old high school jersey, somewhere at the bottom of a dusted over drawer that never saw sunlight, but he sure as hell didn't peacock around town in it. It wasn't becoming of a sheriff to ruminate over old childhood victories for one thing, it didn't fit proper for another. Henry may have been right about him needing to exercise more, chasing criminals just wasn't the workout it used to be in Sheriff Lucien's day.
Mostly they were slow and stupid which had made his job a whole lot easier for spell. Might have also landed him with some excess baggage he really should do something about. He wasn't above admitting that if he was going to be sweating up bedsheets with Henry Standing Bear in the future he wanted to do it a few pounds lighter. Walt realized he was taking a lot on faith but he felt certain he could put things right between them - things weren't so wrong that that bridge had been washed out. It just needed some fine tuning, same as his diet apparently.
It was just his shitty luck that criminals had to go and grow bigger brains for the kidnapping of his best friend.
Personally, he preferred when they had been slow and stupid even if it had lead to an extra hole gouged in his belt. He'd lay good odds the suspect was a young man in his late twenties with a face that women liked looking at. It was not often in Walt's line of work that the bad guys actually wore black hats like these did in cinematic movies or old westerns, oftentimes they looked like nice, normal, upstanding citizens, right until the moment they stuck a knife in another man's back when he wasn't looking.
Kidnappings in general tended to revolve around four keystone's ransom's, personal vendettas, human trafficking, or rape.
Ms. Hall being such a lovely woman, there wasn't much doubt left in Walt's mind that her would-be kidnapper wanted something more from her than her phone number but human trafficking was more of a Big City problem. People in small towns with lower population counts tended to take notice, and grievous offence, when their own people started being picked off. No, there hasn't been any of those dealing around here lately, Walt thought as he circled back to personal vendetta and rape. Now he was well aware that rape wasn't something that just happened to women but the statistics leaned heavily towards victims being female on that particular brand of violence. That, and either the victim was released after the assault was completed or they were killed their bodies dumped somewhere off the map. But he was short a body so working from that assumption Walt had to presume his friend was still alive out there somewhere, Walt just had to find him.
He had to believe that or he'd be a lot less okay than he already was. Until he had proof he was working under the presumption of life, it was the only way he could do his job.
It bugged the hell out of him that he still couldn't figure out why Henry had been taken specifically. Walt had a few notions. of course, but he didn't like any of them too much.
Henry was the complete antithesis of Ms. Hall who had been the first victim to come forward.
Ms. Hall was all California Girl blond right down to her pink manicured fingernails and her Western twang. Henry was distinctly Cheyenne, dark skinned, dark eyed, older than Ms. Hall right down to the faint scatter of grey at his temples which wasn't all that noticeable unless a person had reason to be leaning into his personal breathing space, and of course he was a man.
Walt was too tangled up in his own feelings to be completely subjective but he figured Henry was still a handsome guy to some, if not many people of both persuasions, a testament supported by the fact that not all the eyes that tracked Henry when he was working the bar were female. Being Cheyenne made Henry seem like a low risk target to criminals on account of his non-white ethnicity but the suspect took a bigger risk attacking a 167 pound man than a petite woman who couldn't be more than 60 pounds soaking wet, which begged the question why the change in victimology? Walt sighed. It was possible Ms. Hall was just in the wrong place at the exact wrong time.
Maybe she wasn't the suspect's preferred type at all.
Which meant that Henry was the right type. Possibly. Assuming this crime had a sexual component, and he wasn't sure about that one yet, he didn't want to be sure about that angle just yet - but it was possible. Which also meant that Walt's suspect was either gay or bisexual, and most likely harbored some kind of fetish for people with a non-white ethnic heritage. Walt had seen the kind before. Possibly, maybe, dammit, I don't like all this guessing, I need facts! Walt thought to himself. If he'd known about the sweater that connected events maybe it would have changed things sooner. Dammit! It doesn't matter. What was done, was done. He'd just have to make the difference up by not fumbling the ball at the half-mark. Having gone from zero suspects to more than he could handle with two corroborating witness testimonies gave Walt a place to start. He could make this work.
He had done more with less in the past. He had caught the son of a bitch's scent now.
Hunting fever was racing in his blood but his head was cool. This suspect was as good as caught, the rest was details. It was only a matter of time. Walt strode over to the Miltons' General Store which had been in the Milton family for over three generations. Walt knew that when Johnathon Milton had taken over the running of the business he had installed quality security to keep any down-on-their-luck types from thinking to make easy cash on his dime. He bet if the security camera was a bust that Mary saw something even if she didn't know the particulars. She had a crush on Henry the size of Texas that she'd been nursing since high school.
Walt had never figured out if Henry was oblivious to her feelings or just being kind when she fumbled her way through awkward conversation and tame come-ons at the Red Pony. Walt suspects she'd have had better luck if she'd dispensed with the tameness and just gone for what she wanted outright. Might have gotten her a night of fun to remember later if she played her cards right. He happened to know for a fact that Henry had a weakness for strong women. And my hat, Walt mused with a note of nostalgia softening the sting of the past memories rising to the surface. They'd had themselves some nights, him and Henry. The kind that would have made Casanova blush.
Walt pushed the door to Milton's store in with enough force that the bell jangled, sharp and bright. "Mary, Johnathon, I need to have a word."
"It's important," he said, meeting their eyes directly and with a sweeping gesture motioned toward the back office where they could have a private word.
"Of course, sheriff. What can we do for you today?" Johnathan asked, a furrow digging between his brows.
"I need to ask to see your footage, any cameras with a view of the Red Pony to be exact. It would have been three weeks ago," Walt said, holding up a hand to forestall any legal hum-drum Johnathon was going to enact.
Walt held out the photo of his suspect to Mary. "I'm trying to locate Henry Standing Bear and I need your help. Have you seen this man in the store or around town?"
Mary's face when corpse white, her hand clamped over her mouth in shock. "Dad, you'll give Sheriff Walt Longmire what he needs won't you? The man seems familiar, but I can hardly be sure - we get a lot of customers you know, and it's been a while. I just can't be sure," Mary admitted and there was a film of tears in her brown eyes.
Walt gave her a moment to gather herself while her father shifted closer, awkwardly patting her shoulder in consolation.
Jonathan was clearly uncomfortable with her show of feminine emotions as he quickly busied himself with taking the photo from her shaking hands and squinted down at it through his steel-gray, bi-focal wire-frame glasses.
"He's a good man, Henry." Jonathan finally said, "I'll help in any way I can, of course, it's only right. My daughter is correct however, we have had a lot of people walk through those doors. I pride myself on knowing my regulars but, well, I can't say that I know every face as well as I should," Jonathan admitted with a tired sigh.
"Whatever you do, don't get old Walt. It's a plain nuisance," Johnathan said startling a laugh from Walt who found himself smiling in spite of the black mood dogging his steps.
"Well now, I think that ship has left port," Walt said.
Johnathan snorted and ushered Walt into his office which was a small room with pale turquoise walls, an authentic cedar wood computer desk, a tan filing cabinet and a landline phone hooked to the wall. There was hardly room enough for two men to strand comfortably but Walt wasn't going to order Mary around in her own store.
Johnathan waved him over. "Well, come on then, sheriff. Let's have a look at what I've been paying for."
"This would have been back to three weeks ago," Walt said as Jonathon typed away on the keyboard.
"There, that's him - that's the suspect," Walt said watching as the man he was tracking loitered outside the Red Pony, throwing his bud-lite bottle on the ground when he'd finished.
Walt ground his teeth. He hated litterers.
Three minutes later Henry exited the bar with his back to the street as he lugged a garbage bin out the door.
"Shit," Walt said.
Henry had left himself wide open for ambush with his back to the street. Walt's suspect took one look at Henry's vulnerable back and like the coward he was struck out by grabbing him in a choke hold.
Henry put up a damn good fight but the other man was bigger, meaner. The two bodies on the screen hit pavement hard, Henry pinned under his assailant who knocked him out cold with a single blow to the temple.
"Hell of a thing to happen, right outside his own door...right outside my store too," Johnathan muttered. "Hell of a thing."
Johnathan squinted, leaning forward into the screen.
"Johnathan?" Walt asked, going completely motionless with anticipation. The older man clicked his tongue shaking his head.
"Well, I'll be damned. I do know that face, I'm sorry to say. He's been through here a few times…" Johnathan paused and Walt did not miss the surreptitious glance towards Mary who was still standing quiet as a mouse and pale in the doorway.
"Sugar, I heard the front door, won't you check for me?" he asked.
Mary nodded, composing herself with a sunny-smile for her waiting customers and made her way to the store entrance her stride confident and pleasant. If she knew her father wanted to speak with Walt privately she didn't let it show. Walt might never have known she'd been crying if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes.
With a swish of her skirt she disappeared from view leaving the two men alone.
"He always bought condoms, canned goods and foods that could be microwaved or cooked on a grill. That and Marlboro cigarettes," Johnathon explained, having abandoned the security footage to pull up a record of sales. "That struck me as strange - the boy didn't stink like ash and smoke the way a-pack-a-day users do."
"He was buying them for someone else, someone that's staying with him maybe," Walt muttered more to himself than Johnathan as a clearer picture began to crystallize.
Walt paced, treading over the same brown strip of carpet with his fist under his chin as he thought. His suspect bought cigarettes from Milton's but he didn't smoke, canned food, and condoms. He was highly impulsive, the attack on Mandy Hall proved that much but it remained unclear if the suspect had been waiting to confront Henry after hours or if he merely made use of the opportunity fortune provided.
Walt's suspect number had just doubled, he wasn't looking for one son of a bitch. He was looking for two men and possibly a woman. What were the chances that one of the men had gotten a girlfriend involved? He knew he was grasping at straws throwing an unknown female into the mix but if the condoms weren't for a girlfriend then there was a high probability that this was going to be a kidnapping and sexual assault crime.
Walt rubbed the bridge of his nose, there was a pink elephant in the room he didn't want to consider before but he had little choice now. He slammed his hand against the wall. Johnathan startled, backpedaling a few steps. Walt blew out a harsh breath. Shit, there's no wiggling around the facts now - two male kidnappers, long term captivity, condoms, and Henry? I can't imagine how this isn't going to turn out to be a rape crime. I wish...I wish I could. Wouldn't it be something if there is a girlfriend involved - I don't think either of us have ever had that kind of luck, Walt thought to himself dread pooling in his gut.
The only good thing about this turn was he had a better idea of why Henry might still be alive. Barring one of the suspects being a necrophiliac he still had a shot at finding Henry alive but time was running out. Walt could feel the hourglass in his head bleeding sand with each second. Tick-tock and another moment wasted as Henry teetered between living and dying.
"Here, I made some coffee," Mary said, startling Walt from his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed her quietly slipping back into the room with two mugs held out in her hands.
"Oh, uh, thanks," Walt said and downed his fifth cup of coffee of the day. By now he had more caffeine in his veins than blood.
Walt stopped pacing when Johnathan huffed out a small breath. "There you are!" Johnathan exclaimed his narrowed gaze startling in its intensity, "I have a name for you, sheriff."
Walt's lip curled in a feral smile, white teeth glinting in a wild bearing of fangs. If he kept pulling at threads eventually he'd find the right one, the one that would lead him straight to Henry Standing Bear.
Walt stared down at the suspects name and when he spoke his words were a rumbled growl. "Mitch Holden."
"Go get your man, Walt" Johnathan said.
Walt almost dropped the mug he was holding and decided he had definitely had too much caffeine and not enough food. Johnathan was talking about Holden, of course, but addled by caffeine and the rushing anger churning up his blood that wasn't how Walt had heard it. Wasn't how Walt wanted it, either.
"Right, thanks" Walt said, numbly handing off his empty mug and strode out of Milton's General Store with less force than he's slammed in with. Stepping out onto the pavement Walt looked up at the sun shining down and cutting holes through the grey thunderclouds threatening rain. Walt tipped back his Stetson letting the faint warmth hit his face. It was a good day for a hunt.
Walt caught sight of his deputy. Ferg was jogging toward him, red faced and eager. "Ruby, Ruby found something," he gasped out, hands on his knees as he stopped, dragging in a lungful of air. High tension levels and anxiety could increase breathing rates and, often, lead to hyperventilation when a person exhaled more than they inhaled, swallowing an excess of air.
Ferg was going to give himself aerophagia if he kept that up.
"Talking with Mr. Conwell was a bust. Ruby spoke to her book club, just in case? And showed the photo around because they meet up at the Half-Moon Café, see a lot of people come and go, you know?" Ferg said talking so fast his words ran together.
Walt didn't speak but the steely look he had fixed on Ferg encouraged him to come to his point. "Anyhow, her gal-pal Sue spoke to a man that looked like our suspect. His name is Mitch Holden, that's the good news. The bad news is that he doesn't have a fixed address."
Ferg gulped another lungful of cold air wiping the sweat beaded on his forehead. "Ruby, however, is an angel. She talked to someone who had talked to someone else...you know how it is in small towns? Point is, Holland Fayne saw him check into Motel 6, some weeks back."
"Okay, Ferg, tell Ruby that was some good detective work. Maybe I should give her that badge," Walt said flicking the copper tin star and Ferg went red right up to his ears.
"Keep asking around, Ferg. Talk to the DMV and see if we can't get a lock on a vehicle for Holden. Put out a BOLO on this son of a bitch, too."
"Got it," Ferg said, pulling out his phone and walking away, "I'll let you know when I get something."
"Hey! Watch where you're goin', deputy."
Ferg put a hand over the speaker and looked up. "Oh, sorry, man. I didn't see you," Ferg said to the man he'd almost shoulder-checked in his rush to get moving. "I'll buy you a drink down at the Red Pony next time I see you, again, sorry, man."
"I'll take that deal," the man said laughing. "No harm done, deputy. You have a good day now," the man said, tipping his ball-cap and crushing the butt of his cigarette under his boot heel.
Ferg nodded absently, "thanks, you too, man."
Walt observed the exchange for a moment. He didn't recognize the man, but then, he did not actually know every soul in his county. It would probably make his job easier if he did. The gears turning in Walt's head turn back to the case and he's left wondering if he ought to know why Fayne remembered Mitch Holden. Running into a stranger at a motel three weeks ago? At least he knew where to find Holland, he worked the 8-5 shift at Beards & Shears.
Walt ran his hand over the stubbly bristles shadowing his jaw and decided he needed a shave.
Good thing he knew a place and maybe he and Holland could have a little chat, too. Before leaving he snagged the cigarette off the floor and threw it into the green barrel shaped garbage can. He never could see why people felt the need to just throw things on the floor, it didn't take much effort to put things where they belonged and cigarettes belonged in the trash.
"Well, look who the cat dragged in, Sheriff Longmire," Holland said steering Walt to a free seat as though they weren't all empty. It was lunch hour so they had the place to themselves for the moment. "A little birdy told me you would be visiting."
"A red, ruby-shaped birdy, I assume." Walt studied the other man and decided he looked better now than the last time he'd seen him, drunk off his ass making a public nuisance of himself.
"You're looking well."
"I feel well," Holland readily agreed. "Sobriety suits me, and is better for my liver. Or so my doctor tells me. I have you and Henry to thank for that. I have not forgotten."
Holland closed the door behind Walt and flipped the sign to 'closed' before pulling out a chair and seating himself across from Walt. "Ask your questions."
Walt didn't let his surprise at Holland's boldness show on his face. "Holland, can you tell me why you remember Mitch Holden and his short lived residence at Motel 6?" Walt asked watching as the man across from him closed his eyes in resignation.
Holland tied his raven-black hair back in a pony-tail with a leather tie. A nervous tic he'd learned from his father. Holland could thank his mother, Sarah Little Deer, for his swarthy good looks. He had her dark, deep-set eyes. Walt could see them lose some of their bright animation with the mention of Holden.
"You're not in any trouble that I can see, but I'm working a case and you might have the answers I need. That's all," Walt said hoping to set the other man at ease.
Holland drew in a sharp breath. "We were having sex, that is how I knew him, that is how I knew where he was staying."
"Same-sex, uh, affairs have been legal in Wyoming since February 1977," Walt said to break the silence after Hollands confession. "But I'm sure you know that already."
"Do you know where I can find Mitch now, Holland?" Walt asked, leaning forward to bridge the distance between them. "He's got himself into something and the only way this ends peacefully is if I can bring him in."
"You think I would protect him? No, you have this all wrong Walt," Holland growled surging out of his seat, temper flaring hotly in denial.
"Okay, okay, tell me how it is. You said you owed Henry, well it's time to make good on that debt and help me find Mitch," Walt said swivelling his chair to face the other man who stood in the middle of the shop with his arms fisted at his hips, nostrils flaring and breath puffing like an angry bull.
"Henry? What does Henry...Oh," Holland said and suddenly all the anger drained right out of him leaving his dark skin pallid and washed-out under the shop's halogen lights.
"Oh fuck," Holland muttered covering his face with his hand as he collapsed into a chair like a marionette with its strings rudly cut.
"Whatever you're thinking? You need to tell me now, Holland," Walt said, snapping his fingers in Holland's face when he remained unresponsive.
"Hey! Talk to me, okay?" Walt said crouching in front of Holland who had rested his head in his hands. "I don't have time for this, you need to get it together."
"I cannot help you and I am sorry, Walt. I broke it off with Mitch five weeks ago, he became obsessed with...he became intense in a way I no longer enjoyed," Holland folded his arms across his chest and leaned away from Walt adopting a clearly defensive posture.
"No, see you're wrong, there's things you know, things you might know, important things that could help me get to the bottom of this," Walt explained. He backed up two paced to give Holland more space letting him relax without Walt's looming.
"Holden was staying at Motel 6 but what room, do you remember?" Walt asked and paused before asking his next question, which allowed Holland time to think. "And when you two, um, hooked-up, did he ever mention other people? Friends?"
"It was room sixteen. The doorknob was a constant annoyance - it had to be jiggled and shoved hard to open. We discovered early quiet entrances were not possible," Holland said with a sad, wistful smile that quickly faded. "Friends? I cannot say for sure, talking was not our strong suit. Mitch got a ride back with someone named Hank, no, Hector, a time or two because his truck kept breaking down and money was tight."
"Okay, that's good. You said before that Holden became obsessed, what was he obsessing over?" Walt asked, pausing when Holland's eyes flicked away, down. Deflecting.
"Or should I ask, who? Oh," Walt said and felt like cursing a shit ton of fuck's himself at this revelation.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. This right here had been what he'd been afraid of, and here was confirmation staring him in the face. Holden had a thing for Indian men. Walt did not like the direction this case was taking but he had to see it through for his friends sake. Why hadn't Holland said anything? If not him the sheriff, then to Henry. A suspect with Indian fetishization who had kidnapped the object of his desire? The son of a bitch is probably alone with Henry right now...the suspects have been alone with Henry for three weeks and there's no changing that now.
Walt ground his teeth hard enough that his gums ached as he shoved his personal feelings aside, digging deeper into his analysis. Henry was older than Holland but factoring in the psychological cross-race effect which made it difficult for people to accurately ID those of another racial group an emotional transference could have happened. A sudden break-up would increase the likelihood of Holden acting on his fixation. Fuck. Walt felt his gorge rise, sickness curdling his belly.
Suddenly a suspect buying condoms at the Miltons' General Store didn't seem so innocent. As if it had ever been.
"It was Henry. Mitch fixated on Henry." Walt snarled, grabbing Holland by the jacket and yanking him to his feet. Walt held him in place by the collar of his shirt, giving him a rough shake as though Holland were a disobedient pup.
"And you didn't think to mention? Why? You were embarrassed, afraid, what? Tell me, make me understand how you couldn't say a Goddamn thing!"
Walt snarled wordlessly and shoved the younger man away in disgust. "If anything happens to Henry..."
Walt didn't finish his sentence and he didn't need to.
Holland slumped against the wall the picture of abject misery. "Is this why Henry has not been at the Red Pony? Shit! Walt, be reasonable. How could I know Mitch would - would actually do something?" Holland asked, his eyes, so dark and troubled with emotion begging Walt to understand.
"I don't suppose you could," Walt conceded, his face still set in an ill-tempered scowl. "I know that, that the, uh, kind of relationship you were involved in with Holden might have had something to do with your not wanting to say anything to anybody. I understand Holland, I do. But I still would've thought you knew I wasn't that kind of bastard."
Holland sighed, "I know that, sheriff. But there are some things that are not so easy to share. Still, you are Henry Standing Bear's oldest and best friend, I should have trusted you."
"Yeah, you should've," Walt said and brushed past Holland. He didn't have it in him to be any kinder than that. Holland had let fear rule him and it might cost Henry his life, if not that it was still going to cost.
Henry had been gone for three weeks. Assuming he was still alive there was no way the man was going to walk out of this without some serious scarring.
Walt paused at the door, looking back at the young man watching him walk away with sad dark eyes. For a split second a vision struck Walt and Holland's image was overlaid with Henry's.
Walt's heart softened and the heat of his anger sputtered down to smoldering embers.
"I will find him, and that's a promise," Walt said and without another word left the establishment without ever looking back but he could feel Holland's eyes on him the whole time.
He got into the Bronco quietly shutting the door. He had a name, a face, and a motive, three more pieces than he'd had when he'd rolled into town four hours ago.
The picture forming in his head was almost complete and it was ugly but he refused to overlook a single detail in his head-long rush into finding Henry. All of this was on him. His fault. He'd stuck his head in the sand and called it duty. Afraid to confront this thing sparking up again between him and Henry at the Red Pony late one night. It had been the easiest thing in the world, letting late-night wanting spill over into action. Walt could blame too much alcohol and not enough restraint but that was a flat out lie. He had just wanted, consequences be damned.
When the hot fervor of passion dissipated and he was staring up at the ceiling with a warm, strong body pressed against his side he started thinking and worrying as reality set in. He and Henry had had sex and it had been a hell of a good time but it was more than that, too. It was always more with Henry. That was that part that had Walt turning circles in his head. The last time they'd touched like this there had been three people in the bed and now there were two men and the ghost of what once was hanging over his head like the Sword of Damocles.
He hadn't been ready. Walt only realized what he should have done later, 'I'm sorry, this happened too fast' that's it. Henry wouldn't have pushed for more than he could give, Walt knew that. It wasn't in his nature. That would have done the job. Instead he chose the path of least resistance pretending it never happened. It was not the worst decision of his life, but it was up there in the Top 10.
Walt didn't know what Henry thought because he never asked, quietly let himself out of the room while the other man slept. It had been an underhanded thing to do. Slipping down the stairs quiet as a mouse, skipping the fourth step that always creaked. Sneaking out the back door as if they'd done something wrong, something dirty. That hadn't been it at all but Walt figured that was how Henry took it. He knew it was how he might have seen it had the shoe been on the other foot. Leaving things like that between them afraid the night they'd shared? It was one of the stupider decisions he'd made.
Some Sherlock he'd proven. The spirit world had been talking to him. Whispering 'danger!' and the whole while he'd deafened his ears and why? Because he was a coward, afraid of letting himself feel, afraid if he opened that door he'd fall right back into old habits and his best friend's bed.
It was the easiest thing and the hardest, wanting Henry. He was most himself when it was Walt and Henry - being Walt and Henry and Martha had come easy as breathing but he'd been down that road and it had cost him so he'd closed his eyes, but he couldn't close them now. He was haunted by dream visions that wouldn't let him sleep that leave him feeling cold and numb inside. He'd wake up alone in his bed feeling hollowed out, like someone had taken a peeler to an apple and cored out the middle, except it was not an apple, it was his insides that had been gutted.
Everything inside his head was laid bare on the outside, everything he should have done exposed to open air. He carried bitter regret, cradling it to his chest even as it gnawed at his heart. They were his burden to carry now.
He should have asked God for more. Walt concedes maybe it wasn't his place to ask for anything at all seeing as he's not a devout Sunday church attendee these days. He's not sure what the protocol would be in these matters, or for a person of his diverse beliefs. People prayed all the time, to all kinds of Higher Powers, for all kinds of reasons. Walt didn't imagine there was anything inherently wrong with praying for Henry now. He'd like to believe that those unknowable Higher Powers of the world would, in their infinite wisdom, understand his very human situation.
Henry. His...best friend?...lover?...partner?...The only man he'd ever loved like this, was gone and the hard fact was he'd kneel at any altar, sacrifice to any God if it shifted the wind in his favor just this once. Henry disappearing from his life was not acceptable - there were a lot of things Walt knew that he couldn't change but he refused to allow this to be counted among them. Henry dying before him was not something Walt was prepared to deal with. It was not okay, nothing would ever be okay in his world if that happened.
He was the sheriff, dammit. If anyone was going to journey into that black night and the eternal mystery of the final rest it was him. All he'd asked of God was that Henry be alive. He wanted Henry to be so much more than that.
Henry deserved so much more than that, too.
But alive would be good enough. It was a place to start. God willing, Walt was prepared to spend the rest of his life making this right.
Don't be dead, that's all I ask. Please, Henry, I…. Walt thought, wishing that he could reach out across the distance and speak to his friend - tell him everything he'd been too afraid to say that night as Henry slept beside him. He knew what he really wanted to say, the soft words he held back, behind his teeth and wrapped around his heart in sparking silver cords that would never unravel. Yes.
Walt knew what he should have said now that there's no one but the ghosts in his head to listen.