"T, brother, call me as soon as yo have a minute. I don't know what you're busy with, but I'm taking your word that you'll be ok. Call me."
As it stands, I may update chapters and add more descriptions of things. It's getting to be very chatty. But enjoy chapter six!
"T, look. I got your stuff hung up in my place. You shoulda heard her when she saw your heels. She said a girl with feet that big had to be a tranny. Anyway, let me know what you need. A ride in to town to see Dr. Goodman or some groceries… Text me."
"Hey Trevor. Listen, good news. Everything's done. She's out. I hung up your stuff in her old closet until I finish moving Tracey's things. Never had a great bachelor party. Wanna try again? Franklin's down for it. I told him you were out doing some things your therapist suggested but I don't want to keep fibbing. Let me know where you are. My house is weird without someone getting on my nerves, so… Look where the hell are you?"
"I'm gonna tell Franklin I lost track of you if you if you don't answer me by Five o-fucking-clock! I told you to stay where I could keep an eye on you! If you need to be alone, be alone of the other side of my house, but this Houdini bullshit needs to stop! We were all there that night! It was quick and scary but you can work through it with us. I swear on everything we've ever done- You better just be under some hooker!"
He put on a light gray suit and headed out. He parked… somewhere downtown… who gives a shit, he'd find his car eventually. He walked in and out of stores and other places, trying to fill time, checking his watch, pacing, rubbing his face, picking up the phone because maybe he got a text.
Maybe I should go see Franklin early. Maybe I should stop worrying.
Trevor lived for a decade without Michael guiding him. Trevor was a strong angry weed in a garden with tiny flowers. He would grow and be tall and spread and no matter what you threw at him he came back and bloomed.
He sat at an empty bus stop bench and held his head in his hands. Michael could feel himself blush a bit as he realized he was running around like a finicky hen who lost her chick.
"Mr. De Santa?"
It was Therapist Goodman. He looked disheveled. He clearly hadn't been sleeping well but he looked energetic and happy. He sat down next to Michael. "I've been trying to get in contact with you!"
"Uh… Oh. Yeah."
"Mr. De Santa. I must say, that in my years of therapy, and I know it hasn't been many years, but even though all my studies… Mr. De Santa I have never, ever met someone like Mr. Phillips!"
"Yeah I bet."
"Sir, look," He glanced through his notebook but his mind was racing and he didn't really read anything. He looked back to Michael instead. "I want you to know he is completely, 100% sane!"
The whir of cars passing was the only sound for a while before Michael said "… What?"
"Don't get me wrong, he shouldn't ever fly planes again, that woman was right. Do you hear me Mr. De Santa, NO planes, ever! He does have issues, he's lacking empathy and sympathy but it isn't all the time."
"I know-"
"And he's completely capable of rational thought!"
"Yeah, he's smart. He does dumb things but he's always been smart."
"You need to understand," He quickly sipped his coffee. "Trevor Phillips is… I believe, that is, that he is manageable."
"… Is… Is that it? It that your big finding? Is that what your parents paid your school for? Tell me I can manage him? I've been managing since we met!"
"This won't solve everything, Trevor is not a polite man, and his issues run very, very deep. But Michael… there's a reason, I think, that he attacks like he does. He has a sense of morality and he only applies it when it suits his immediate social circles, you especially,and-"
"Whats your fucking point, doc?"
His voice got quieter. "He's projecting."
"Is this about kids and fighting dolls again?"
"He told you that! Oh good. It's a start. Yes. No. See, Trevor, he…" He sat up and tried to think for a moment. "Trevor's moralities are based on things that happened to him. The abuse. So when he has something important to him, he protects it because he couldn't protect himself." He went through his notebook again, waiting for a lady to finish walking passed, then continued. "He doesn't apply it to anything outside of that though. He doesn't apply that other people might be missed or traumatized, he's trying too hard to protect what is his."
Michael listened but the erratic behaviors of the Doctor made him unsure. "Yeah?"
"Anything outside of this bubble," he scribbled a stick figure in a circle. "That's all like his parents and brother to him. It's the friends he tried to make but couldn't growing up. It's teachers and bullies. It's all potential for him to get hurt."
Michael hadn't stopped looking at the circle. "Whats the use? He thinks we hate him. Me and Franklin and anyone who is nice to him."
"That's perfectly normal. Many people who hate themselves are lead to believe everyone hates them. They anticipate it."
"Then why does he protect us?"
"He hasn't told me everything. Many times he comes and talks and its just like a long phone conversation about nothing new no matter how I try to pry that out. He's still capable of care, I believe he loves very deeply. He definitely wants to. I can tell you for certain though, despite his self serving tendencies, its you," He pointed his pen at Michael. "who are at the center." He drew a smaller circle under the stick figures hand.
"Now, at first, I thought maybe he was projecting his inner self onto you, and that's why you were so important. And it have been that at some point, but it's not anymore. I have theories but that's confidential for now. They may be all wrong, but if he doesn't open up more I can't ask."
"I'm right in the eye of the storm."
"You'd you rather be on the outside?"
"Not for a second. So a lot of his hang ups-"
"Are just his defenses going up to protect him from repeat attacks. It's like how he hates the word 'motherfucker' or people he sees as betrayers. Somehow, that's all residue left by feelings he never understood."
"Yeah, yeah. Speaking about that, feelings, ah… do you have any explanations for, um…" Michael got real quiet. "Did he talk about dresses?"
"Openly. Now I'm not saying that wasn't triggered by abuse, but I'll be honest, it's the last thing on my mind. It's a non issue. The root could be an issue, maybe, but not that. Many men wear women's clothing. As a fetish, or for comfort, or some kind of feeling of beauty men don't often have directed at them. Men and boys are always pushed to be tough. Some men just like it and I cant figure out why." He glanced over at a man across the street, accidentally giving away that, whoever that guy was, he also had this habit.
"Professional, doc." He sat up.
"Can I just ask, Mr. De Santa, that when you deal with him, you just remember that under all the bombastic behavior… he is a clear thinker. The drugs bring out this veil of insanity and impair his judgement, that's another big reason why he can do things like… like eat p-people…But I mean it, there is a bright individual there and that comes through no matter what."
"You talk about him… like he's normal. Nothing about him has ever been or stayed normal."
"The worst thing you could do is have him believe that you think he is crazy. Crazy-wild is fine, but not insane. Can you promise me that you'll remember that? He's trying, really, but he has to break through this phobia towards everything about life."
"He does. Th-Thanks, Goodman."
The man smiled, seemingly more relaxed and a little more tired. He soon got on the next bus.
Michael watched it leave.
Michael wasn't sure Goodman was a real therapist.
—-
The look on Michael's face said "Don't ask, just drive" as he held out Trevor's dress for Chop to sniff. Franklin didn't, he just sped his way to Sandy Shores. "I'm gonna cage him up with a shock collar when we find him."
"He'd probably like the collar."
"I'm getting tired of babysitting him."
"Imagine how well behaved he wasn't in his twenties." Michael turned to look at Franklin. "You don't have to come. If you have things to do, then I can handle Trevor. I just need Chop-"
"Man, stop talking. You can't handle Trevor cause Trevor ain't handling Trevor. Or maybe he is. Guess we'll see."
"… So… why are your hands all bandaged?"
Franklin's serious face was broken by his laughter. "Little jackass named Trevor. He's a poodle. Not even the big kind."
"Shit, Franky."
"I was on his turf. He lashed out at people. I got cocky and he got me. But you can't back off. You come in closer. They either relax or tire themselves out. Run through what the dude said to you about circles one more time, I don't get it."
"In a second. I gotta ask…" They turned a sharp corner so Michael stopped until they swerved past an oncoming car and kept driving. He could see Franklin's was face was calm, but his grip on the wheel had been firm this whole ride. "Trevor isn't easy to be around. He's poised to strike at anything even if it hurts him. Why are you so ready to come help?"
"All the bullshit we went through, you think I'm gonna have that all be in vain because he shoots up too much one day? Trevor is part of why I started my little business. Him and that weird Retriever I told you I met. If I could survive Trevor, shit, might as well make money fighting other people's Trevor."
"You don't need money."
"No, I need a challenge. Something I can't fix by shooting at it. T has me cracking up sometimes, for real, and maybe I just really got past a lot of his creepy bullshit, but he grows on you. Like a virus or mold. I owe T like I owe you, but I aint doin' this because I owe y'all. I like Trevor. Doesn't need to be explained anymore than that. Shit, having Trevor around makes shit crazy, but that feels normal now, don't it? Fuck, I'm ready to swing at him though. Boom! Beat the stink out of his mouth."
Michael wasn't satisfied with the answer, but the recklessness of Franklin's driving kept him quiet. Michael sank into his seat and shook his head.
"Why do you do it?" Franklin said more quietly after an awkward silence. Another sharp turn. "Besides the fact that his ass would pop up all the time anyway. Stalk us and show up uninvited. Why did you stay friends with him after you got to know him?"
Michael watched Franklin, unable to think of an answer. He searched for something better then "Its complicated" or "we were kids" or "I don't know". When he couldn't, Franklin rolled his eyes and laughed. "Guess there is someone out there for everyone."
—
Trevor's run down home was empty. They had broken in to be sure. There was a thin layer of dust forming on everything, making them believe no one had been in here for sometime, including Trevor. "Don't mean he aint strung out somewhere else," Franklin mumbled, annoyed. "Try again, Chop."
When they stepped back out, it had started to rain.
"Will Chop still be able to smell him?" Michael asked.
"Man, I don't know," He tried to hold on to the leash as he followed, but Chop was pulling hard. "It's Trevor though, I'm surprised me can't smell him right now."
Chop gave them a few false leads before he finally made it to the dive bar. The red-haired owner lady started yelling at them about "No Dogs!", and to Franklin's surprise, Michael pointed a gun at her without even turning her way. "Not now. We're here to collect Trevor Phillips. Where'd he go?"
"Take him," she sighed. "Please. Him and his friend over there." She waved her hand before walking off into some back room. They walked through the small cramped bar and quickly found Trevor. He didn't look thin, or tweaked out, as he slammed down an abandoned beer from an empty table, cigarette butts and all. We walked crookedly back to his seat next to someone they didn't recognize.
"T!"
Chop pulled his leash free, got on the table, and excitedly greeted Trevor. He lickd dry blood from Trevor's cheek and nose. The stench of booze masked his usual funk.
"And heres the two I wush tawkin about'," Trevor slurred. "Mikey! Mikey. B-Mikey bikey. And Trevor. Tr-Trikey. I should get a tricycle… will, will you ride it with me, F-F-franky baby?"
Franklin face palmed with his bandaged hand, before pulling Chop down. "No, fool! Man where you been!?"
"I wus, erm, jus jus jus heeere Franklin, just laying low from Angry Amanda."
Michael gestured to the bloodstains on Trevor's clothes. "That's a lovely shade of horsecrap you got on. Why didn't you answer your phone?"
"I don't got it. I thought… I did. But isssss in your house…"
Michael grabbed at his own hair, his other hand in a fist and shaking. "I'm taking you back," he said, his lips even thinner from anger.
"Excuse me," said the stranger slowly. "I was just treating him to this, fine, fine bit of drink. Sit a while, you boys are soaked." They looked at him. He was very tall, that was apparent even as he sat. His hair was a muted red and gray, and he looked at them through the glasses that sat on his face. For a moment, Michael could have sworn he was looking at Jack Nicholson, strange eyebrows and all, but the face was longer, thinner. His nose was off somehow, like it had been broken and healed wrong. He had a smug confidence that radiated. "Trevor tells me you're in films I believe? I dabble myself, love cameras. And you," He smiled nicely at Franklin, but his features just became somewhat spooky. "You must be his son."
"Yeah," Franklin said. "Can't get enough of dear ol' dad." He was trying to be sarcastic, but it seemed like the man still believed him. "Pops disappeared a while ago and forgot to tell me where he was going."
"Oh how unfortunate! You must have been worried. Well, he's fine. More than fine. Sit, sit. I refuse to have you go back out in this rain." Chop tilted his head and the old man started petting him. "A drink?"
"No, I'm driving." Franklin said. Michael tried not to scoff. "Whats your name?"
"Archaimbaud. Archie is fine."
"You… You know our Trevor from someplace?"
"New acquaintance. He… assisted me out of a bad situation. Trevor, he's a force."
"That bastard aint double crossing aaaaaanyone. Anymore." Trevor laid his head on the table. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the oncoming migraine.
"I had a bit of an altercation with a gentlemen." Archaimbaud continued. "A thief, it turns out, robbery…"
"Green as fucking grass," Trevor growled.
"We had an agreement. I would watch his little boy while he went off to do his work. His wife had no idea. Poor child only stayed with each parent a month at a time, little cherub of a boy. Like a son to me. But his daddy was suspicious when one of his jobs want bad. People were expecting him. He got out, but blamed me. I was the only one who knew his plans," he pointed a finger at Michael. "But I never said a word to anybody. Would have been going back out of state to help him collect his boy right now. I got tired of his accusations. I took my pay and tried to leave. But my, my. We we're good friends once. He wouldn't let me leave with my money and tried to get it back. Ran me all the way out to this lovely little town."
"Then he met me," Trevor smirked. "So I saved Archie here. We been getting to know each other."
"And I appreciate you, showing your uh… appreciation." Michael said to Archie. "But you should take your suitcase and go home."
"Afraid I have no home to go to. See, I'm a drifter. I ran with my friend wherever he needed to go."
"He's gonna stay in the Shores." Trevor said. "Gonna train him. Fit him right in to TP Industries. Ron's been getting on my nerves."
"Are you kidding me?" Michael asked. "All your shit's at my place. I don't know where you have your phone plugged or why the ringer is off, but I'm sure Goodman's been trying to get a hold of you. I'm sorry, sir, but TP Industries is going to close."
"Fuck you, Michael!" Trevor slammed the table, making everything shake.
The next hour didn't go great. Glasses were broken and insults flew like birds. The bar lady had given up on trying to make them leave. Chop took some quick small bites at Trevor, trying to get him to calm down. Somehow, despite Franklin's protests, Michael ended up in a compromise he didn't want. Archie would stay at Michael's house for a while. Trevor wouldn't go any other way.
-
Franklin pulled up to the house. The rain was still coming, cold and hard. Archie tried to make a small joke about his driving, but Franklin turned and said "Look, man. The deal was to bring you here. I did. And I can bury you here too."
"Franklin," Michael knew Franklin had enough. "Get some sleep. Here." He handed a box to him. "This is a thank you."
"And you." Franklin directed at Trevor. "Im going to see you, Father's Day. I better get a good report from Michael." He pocketed the box.
The three men got out. "He's… protective, that boy." Archaimbaud stated as they walked towards the door. "He must really love his family."
"Yeah." Michael said, unlocking the door. "He got brought up well. As you see, he's a 'force', too."
"Mmm. But he get's that calculated self control from you." He gave a small chuckle. "You must be proud, Mr. William Fioravanti."
"Kiton K-5." He corrected, and went to pour himself a scotch. He heard Trevor call out "Just a douche-suit," before he passed out on the sofa.