The ballad of two
Part six
Revelations

/ / /

Two days ago

"Is this really necessary?"

With a sigh Rick James rubbed a hand wearily across his eyes for the second time in the last hour. The combination of jetlag from the flight into the City earlier in the day and the bright lights of the interview room made them feel like they were full of grit; their redness, he hoped that the two men opposite him would assume, caused by this. His father, after all, may not have taught him much but one lesson that had been beaten into him, literally, was that real men didn't cry.

The tears had fallen nonetheless, however, moments after he had hung up on the detective twelve hours ago.

He still couldn't believe that he had managed to keep it together during the phone-call, especially when he had heard the words that he had been dreading for nearly two years. There had been nights that he had woken up, drenched in sweat, with them still echoing in his dreams; that is on the nights that he actually managed to sleep without popping a couple of pills of course. The truth was that he hadn't needed to hear that they had found Jay's blood on a weapon of some sort to feel the coldness in the pit of his stomach; when the gruff voice on the other end of the phone, trying so hard to be compassionate and failing so miserably, had mentioned the department he worked for. That one word was enough.

Homicide.

Still, though, he managed to hold it together long enough to scribble down the name and phone number of the detective and agree to fly in to talk to the man face-to-face. There were some things, the detective had said, that needed clarified and if Rick was able to help … of course he was, Rick had been quick to state … then it could make all the difference.

All the difference?

What difference could he make now anyway? They hadn't actually come out and said it yet but, even unspoken, the message had sunk in. It had been whispering to him when he sat, arms wrapped around his knees, sobbing in his apartment moments after speaking to the detective; it had been murmuring to him while he made his way, zombie-like, to the airport and boarded his last minute red-eye flight half-way across the Country; it had been taunting him when his cab pulled up outside the austere Police Department building, its grey brick walls looking like nothing more than tombstones; and it had been screaming at him ever since he sat down across the table from Detectives Russo and Johnson in the small interview room, staring into his own haunted eyes that gazed back at him, red-rimmed, in the mirror that filled one wall.

Jay Phoenix was dead.

Until this very moment, even in his darkest times … and there had been many of those … he had always clung to the hope, faint as it sometimes was, that he was still out there somewhere. Hurt somewhere, perhaps in a coma, hospitalised while doctors and machines kept him breathing but were unable to 'fix' him; even that would be preferable to the alternative. He knew how absurd it was to wish that his best friend was injured and unconscious, unknown and forgotten about, but he prayed every night that that was the truth.

For if it wasn't … if he got the call from the police … then hope would finally be gone, escaped from Pandora's box, and his worst nightmare of the last two years would become all too real.

Jay Phoenix would be dead.

His best friend would be dead.

His lo …

"Yes, Mr James, this really is necessary." There was a terse edge to Joey Russo's voice, as he interrupted Rick James's obvious daydream. He tried to remember that he wasn't dealing with one of the typical people that sat opposite him in an interview room but this case was affecting him more then he cared to let on, and his temper – never the most calm and collected to being with – was barely held in check.

Just shy of one month ago his friend and boss, Captain Michael Silver, had passed him a file and told him that it was now his case. The fact that it was both a cold case, one that had been opened two years previously without any resolution, so while not actually active also not actually closed – forgotten but not gone – as well as a missing person's case had initially annoyed the veteran homicide detective immensely; a suspected murder weapon and a copious amount of blood, however, had not only brought the case back to attention but moved it right in the realm of homicide. Added to that was the fact that Silver had also lumbered him with a fresh faced rookie, fresh out of uniform, and for the first time in may years Russo had been forced to work with a partner.

The partner, surprisingly so to Russo, had worked out very well indeed. David Johnson may have been relatively new to the detective's badge but he had an amazingly good record in uniform and a bright and enquiring mind to boot. He had brought a different perspective to aspects of the case that Russo himself hadn't even considered.

Perspective that had lead them to knock on the door of a man known only as Ember. Russo himself had some limited experience in the wrestling ring, a way of putting himself through the academy, and had even worn a mask when competing. Unlike Ember, however, he took it off at the end of the night. At the end of the battle. Ember, as far as Russo's research led him to believe, never took the mask off. Never.

Before they could question Ember, however, his solicitor – one of the industries top earners, according to Captain Silver – had informed them that the blood soaked weapon being found in the vicinity of Ember's apartment block, and the fact that both the 'alleged' victim and his client were wrestlers, was not enough to bring him in for questioning.

To Russo's extreme ire the judges seemed to agree as his numerous requests for warrants to question Ember, or search his property, had been denied.

All that he and Johnson had been able to do was follow wild goose chases and find dead ends. As far as they could tell the reason for the case, Jay Phoenix, had simply fallen of the face of the Earth two years previously. Scheduled to take part in a wrestling tournament, against one of his best friends so the notes said, he had never shown up and had not been seen since.

The only trace of him that had ever been found was the blood soaked towel that had concealed a straightedge razor. Blood that was, so the forensics team confirmed, only a matter of days old.

So how, Russo asked himself on many occasions over the last few weeks, did you get fresh blood from someone who hadn't been seen in two years?

He thought that he had finally got the answer, that he had had a revelation, an epiphany so to speak, when Johnson, Silver and himself had been light-heartedly talking about his 'career' as a wrestler. Johnson had asked how no one had ever realised that he was moonlighting and Russo had pointed out that he had always worn a mask.

It was in that moment that he realised that he may have had the answer under his nose all the time. He hadn't been able to get a warrant to question Ember because there was not enough to link him to the crime … there was nothing, truth be told, at all to link him and Phoenix together. But what, Russo had asked himself as he ran out of his office and left his partner and captain bemused behind him, he just couldn't see the link?

What if the only thing that separated him from all the answers was nothing more than a few millimetres of material?

What if, behind the mask, Ember was …

"Ok," Rick James said as he took a deep breath in to steady himself, breaking Russo's reverie, "where would you like me to start this time?" He didn't mean for the rancour to coat his words but he also didn't bother trying to stop it either; he had already been through all of this twice today and while he would do anything to help find Jay – alive or dead – he didn't see how any of this was useful.

With a small smile Russo folded his arms across his chest, nodding to his partner David Johnson who opened his notepad to a blank page, before looking directly into the tired, sad, eyes of Rick James.

"At the start, Mr James, at the very start."

/ / /

People are used to single parents these days. In fact it almost seems the norm for mothers, and sometimes-even fathers, to have sole custody of a child; twenty years ago, in the South-western State of Arizona, it was still almost unheard of.

Now combine the fact of a woman bringing up her son alone with the fact that she also had a profession – no apron strings on her – with the fact that she decided to dedicate her life to helping people classed as a minority. Not quite lepers, of course, but in many people's eyes they weren't far removed.

So we have a single mother, with her young son in tow, who refuses to mention her husband; we have a woman who – despite her 'upbringing' - decides to become a doctor instead of a homemaker; we have a woman who lives amongst the 'Godless'. I just realised that I almost forgot to mention the icing on the cake, didn't I? On top of all her other 'faults' my mother had turned her back on her family and their faith. She had been brought up a Mormon, you see, and for the first five or six years of my life I suppose that I had been too.

That all changed though on that day. The last time that we were a 'functional' family as I suppose it would be called; Father, Mother and Son. Almost a Biblical inclination there but I am pretty sure that there is nothing in the Holy Book about the father raping and beating the mother repeatedly is there?

… or nearly killing the son?

'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us'. Isn't that how it goes? It has been a long time but I am pretty sure that I got the basic theme right, if not word for word. My father, you see, rammed words like that, down my throat day and night.

… isn't it weird that I can remember how his voice sounded, I can remember what he said, but I can't remember his face? I have tried, you know, though Heaven help me if I can explain why, but all I get is a halo of flame red hair and the sound of his voice. I never see his face; not even in my dreams … nightmares I suppose.

Perhaps I should be thankful for that.

Even though I was barely more than a baby I still remember my mother screaming in the next room, night after night after night. There wasn't enough make-up in the World to cover the bruises, the cuts, just as there wasn't enough 'forgiveness' in the World for me to ever forgive my father for what he did to her. To us. Nor the so-called 'family'. We lived in a small community, you see. Both sets of grandparents lived near enough to spit on … not that I would if they were on fire … but never once did they step in to help; never once did they stop him. So night after night he gave out his lectures from the pulpit of a never-ending bottle of whiskey … lectures of vitriolic words punctuated with calloused fists. Each and every day they turned a blind eye. Each and every night my mother turned another cheek; she had no choice you see, once one bone has been fractured you almost have to give a less painful target.

One night it all changed though. I remember hearing my mother screaming but that was nothing new. I had my head under the sheet, my bear held tightly – oh so tightly – and was praying that it would end. I still believed, back then, in the fallacy that someone was watching over me you see. When it all went quiet I even said thank you, silently, to the Lord above me. Fucking stupid kid.

When the sheet was pulled off me I think that I screamed, but I am not sure, but I do know that when I saw him standing over me – his eyes crazed and blood streaking his naked body – I did wet myself. I can still smell the ammonia reek and feel the warmth of my own piss as it ran down my leg … but I can't remember his face.

Like I said, weird.

I know that he grabbed me, in fact if you look at the x-rays you can still see the faint scar where he broke my ankle, but I don't know what else he did. I don't want to know to be honest. All I remember is screaming out for God to save me, for anyone to save me. For my Mother to save me. That was the last time that I prayed, the last time that I believed; it was answered, though.

I didn't know what I was seeing at the time, but I figured it out a few years later. We never talked about it, my mother and I, but we didn't need to. She was standing over me, one eye completely closed and her nightdress clinging to her body – around her thighs and stomach. I remember thinking to myself that she had wet herself too, I remember thinking that Daddy must have scared her like he did me. It was only later on that I realised that it was the wrong colour; that it was her own blood that dripped down her legs.

… it was much later on that I realised just what he had done to her to make her bleed like that. To bleed … there.

She pulled me into her arms and staggered out into the night. She didn't pack anything; she didn't bring anything that I remember – not even Mr Teddy, and I still miss him sometimes – just ran into the night and got into the car. She tried to shield my face, she didn't want me to see I suppose, but I think that I saw him lying there, in my room. He was face down beside the bed and he looked smaller I think, he looked different. I can't be sure, of course, but it may have been a knife sticking in his back.

Anyway, we ended up in Flagstaff, on and Indian reservation of all places. A small room above the medical facility there was our new home and that is when I think that I was born. Again. For the third and final time.

Everyone is born once, of course, that is pretty natural. Pretty easy to understand. In the Mormon faith, however, we are also 'born again' into our Spiritual life when we are Baptised. So up until that point I had been born twice, you see.

When I woke up, my body aching, my leg in plaster, in that strange place, in a strange bed, with the heat visible outside my window and noises that I couldn't place – I later found out it was a Tribal song to welcome the new day – ringing in my ears I felt free. I didn't know it then, of course, I didn't realise that I really was free but my spirit – if you will – seemed to guess it. My life had started again. I had been reborn.

/ / /

Two days ago

"Do you need a break, Mr James … a drink of water perhaps?"

"No, I am fine, you asked to know about me and Jay, so I am telling you how it started."

/ / /

Native Americans are still called a minority you know. The original people in this little Country of ours who, at one time, were the only people here but now they are almost a memory.

Growing up there, in the reservation, I was the minority. The little white child, the Ghost as they called me, or later on the White Shadow when I met Jay, I stood out like a sore thumb. It was hard, don't get me wrong, it was a harsh land and a harsh childhood. My mother had to work long hours and travel for many miles and so I was alone more often than not. Being schooled on the reservation wasn't what most kids would have been ready for either.

… but I loved it.

I was bullied, I was picked on, and I was even occasionally beaten. It was kids doing it however; it was people only a little older than me.

… and my mother never screamed in the night.

Next to what I had gone through, what we had both gone through, however it was paradise.

And then I met Jay and even paradise got a little better.

I know that you probably think that I am mad, but that is simply because you can't understand just how much one person can impact on another; just how much one person can change another person's life for the better. If you could, if you had ever experienced your own guardian angel firsthand, then you would understand what he meant to me.

… what he means to me.

His parents had both died a couple of years previously and he had been brought up by his grandfather from that moment. All the other kids treated him differently too, you know. Not because he was 'white' or an outsider, like me, but simply because his grandfather was the most important man in the World. At least in their World which, at the end of the day, is all that we each have.

He was the Shaman of the tribe, you see, and just by being his Grandson, by being trained to follow in his footsteps, Jay was an important man even when he was just a boy. On top of that, though, there was always something 'special' about him. The tribe had a legend that each generation there was a warrior spirit who would be reincarnated … someone who exemplified everything that they held to be the best. Jay, due to the date of his birth perhaps, or maybe because in a tribe of dark-haired and dark-eyed people he had auburn hair – bright like the Sun – and green eyes, so dazzling, was seen to be that person. That spirit.

The Eternal Flame they called him … and because of that, because of who they thought he was more than who he actually was, they held him apart from themselves. Yes, he was held on a pedestal, he was given everything that he wanted and treated as close to royalty as you could get but still he was as alone as I was.

I think that is what brought us together.

From the moment that he got between me and six other boys, all of them bigger than either of us, and fought them down … each and everyone of them … we were inseparable. Well, to be honest, at the start that was mostly because I never let him alone. I am not ashamed to admit that I worshipped the ground that he walked on, back then, but then again who wouldn't?

He was brave, he was strong, and he was beautiful … he saved me from a beating in the same way that my mother had saved me; the same way that she had never been saved. I followed him everywhere; I was his little White Shadow. That was the nickname that some of the other kids called me. I know that they meant it as an insult but I didn't hear it that way. I wore the name like a badge of honour, like a medal.

Jay put up with me for a long time and then even began to talk to me more. I know that he was just as lonely as I was and what started off as just him wanting to break that lonely silence ended up being something more, something wonderful. We became each other's best friend; we became each other's confidante. We became, for want of a better word or a blood tie, each other's brother.

Through all the years between then and now … between then and when he disappeared … that bond only ever got stronger. He was there for me when my mother died, when I thought that I was going to die myself. He got me through that. I was there for him when his grandfather disowned him for giving up a shot at the Olympics for a career in the wrestling ring.

We went through college together and life together.

We … I …

/ / /

Two days ago

"… loved him." Rick James, with that whisper, lent his head forward, holding his face in both hands as he tried to surreptitiously wipe the tears away. Even after all this time he still couldn't get some of his father's stench of him; even after all this time he was still obeying his commands and trying to be a 'real' man.

Both Joey Russo and David Johnson, who had sat quietly as Rick had related his childhood years, looked at each other and gave Rick the time he needed to gather himself. When he looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, they deliberately ignored his minor breakdown, realising and honouring his unspoken wishes.

"You say that you loved him?" Russo asked, gently, but couldn't help one eyebrow rising quizzically. Rick James' eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he struggled to find the right words. A faint blush appeared on his cheeks as he stammered and stuttered.

"Yes … I mean … like a brother," he finally managed to get out, barely above a croak, "… like a brother. A brother."

"… and the last time that you saw him was nearly two years ago?" Russo asked, deliberately ignoring Rick's obvious backtracking.

"Yes, the night before he was due to face Dave Hurst." Finally back in territory that he was comfortable with Rick relaxed slightly as he cast his mind backwards to that time. "We had dinner together – Jay made some joke about ordering duck of course – and then we went back to the hotel. When I went to collect him the next morning, to get in some last minute training, he was gone."

"Gone?" David Johnson asked, looking up from his notepad. "What do you mean 'gone'?"

"I mean he wasn't there. His bed hadn't been slept in and his clothes were all still there," Rick said, sharply as he slammed his hands down on the table between them, "but he wasn't!"

"… and he hasn't been seen since?" Russo asked, interjecting himself back into the conversation before it could escalate into an argument. "And you were never able to pinpoint anything that may have hinted that he was in trouble of any sort – nothing unusual at all?"

"I went through all of this two years ago, Detective Russo," Rick pointed out in exasperation, "Jay lived for the business, he loved it, there was no way in Hell that he would voluntarily drop out of it, and no there was nothing unusual at a …" Rick suddenly stopped, his eyes widening as he seemed to think of something.

"What is it?" Russo asked, leaning forwards across the table and staring intently into Rick's face.

"Oh nothing really," Rick said, almost embarrassed, "I just remembered that on the way out of the restaurant a sign fell off the wall and hit him. I thought that he was hurt, knocked out or something, but he bounced back up and was all smiles right away …" His voice trailed off as his face still showed concern.

"But?" Russo prompted, sure that there was something more, something that even Rick himself hadn't thought was important.

"… but he was acting a little stranger right after that," he admitted, his face going pale, "I am pretty sure that he had been knocked out for a few seconds and once he came around he told me to book an ambulance for after his next match … to book it for Dave."

"Is that unusual," David asked, "I mean I know that the wrestling business can be a little cut-throat after all?"

"It might be," Rick pointed out, archly, "but Jay was never like that. He never even deliberately hurt his enemies in a match, let alone a friend like Hurst." His voice sounded strained and his eyes tightened as he bit on his lower lip.

"Is there something else?" Russo asked, quietly, "Something that you didn't think was important then … something that you didn't even think about until now?"

"Yes," Rick admitted quietly, "I never mentioned it because it was so brief, so fast, that I thought that I was mistaken but when he stood up, when he laughed and threatened Dave like that, I looked into his eyes …"

"Go on." Russo prompted, holding up one hand to quiet Johnson before he could say anything. "Go on."

"… I knew Jay since we were both kids, I shared more with him than anyone else in the whole world," Rick murmured, almost to himself, "more even than with my own mother. I knew him completely but when I looked into his eyes, at that moment, I didn't know him at all."

A small shudder, a shiver, passed over Rick and he looked back up into Russo's face, staring deep into the wide set eyes.

"… I looked into the eyes of someone who was closer to me than my own blood," he said as tears filled his eyes, "… and I didn't recognise him at all."

/ / /

Now

"That was the weirdest 'cowboy and Indian' story I have ever heard." Johnson pointed out across the small table, nodding his thanks to the young woman who set a steaming cup of coffee down in front of him. "Did you get anything out of it?"

Sipping at his own cup of coffee Joey Russo thought about the question for a few seconds, savouring the bitter aroma that coated his tongue before setting the cup down and placing one hand over its edge. He couldn't remember when he had first started doing that, but it had become almost like a mantra to him; drinking the coffee was the icing on the cake, in his mind, but the cheery on the icing was the disc of heat in the centre of his palm as the steam hit it.

"Yeah, I did," Joey finally said with certainty as he looked into the earnest eyes of his partner. So different to Rick's Joey thought to himself, so carefree and 'young' still. The memory of the pain and loss in Rick's eyes from the day before still stayed with Joey and he couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the broken hearted young man. He couldn't even admit to himself Russo mused just what he had actually lost.

"… and?" Johnson asked with a smile, breaking his partner out of his thoughts.

"And," Russo repeated with some irony, "I now know the sort of person that this Jay Phoenix was and that Rick James had nothing to do with his mur … his disappearance."

"You were going to say murder, weren't you?" David pointed out, noticing the hastily corrected statement.

"I was, yes," Russo admitted, "but that was just the job talking. This isn't a murder case, Davey, I would bet my career on that."

"… what?" David almost choked on his coffee and had to cough to clear his throat from the scalding liquid that did its best to choke him. Reaching out for a napkin he wiped at the traces of coffee from his mouth and nose and then stared at Russo in evident confusion. "What do you mean it isn't a murder case?"

"Well it nearly was," Russo grinned evilly, "I nearly killed you with your own coffee."

"C'mon Joe," David stated seriously, "don't leave me hanging like this. What do you mean?"

"I mean," Russo said quietly, his eyes clouded, "that not only don't I think that Phoenix was murdered I don't even think that he s dead."

David Johnson was very glad, in that moment, that he had put the coffee cup down because he felt his jaw go slack and knew that if he had had a mouthful of coffee when Russo had said those words that he would have dribbled it all over his forty dollar shirt. He tried to speak but, for a couple of seconds, no sound would come out. Finally he managed to croak one word.

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Russo said through a laugh, though with no humour evident in the sound or in his eyes, "that is pretty much how I felt when I figure it out."

"Fuck!"

"You have already said that Davey."

"… but how," David stuttered, "what … fuck!!"

"Are you sure that you came top of your class in the detective exams?" Russo joked, sarcastically, as he leant across the table and slapped Davey around the side of the head before forcibly closing his mouth with a push under the chin. "Now close your mouth before a fly gets in and let me explain what I mean."

Without conscious volition David Johnson found himself obeying Russo and he closed his mouth and sat back, expectantly. He didn't know what was coming, he couldn't even begin to guess what Russo had figured out over the last month that he had been investigating this case, but one thing that he had learned … though he would never admit it verbally as he knew that Russo's ego was big enough already … was that he was in fro a lesson in police work; he knew that the explanation he was going to hear was sure to be amazing.

"Ember IS Jay Phoenix."

David Johnson blinked. The again. He stared at Russo, waiting for the older man to begin. His eyes had seen the man's mouth move, his ears had even heard the words, but his brain just refused to process the information. He was expecting a revelation; he was expecting something deep and mysterious to be expounded upon. He wasn't expecting four, short words. He wasn't expecting what he had just heard.

"What?"

"C'mon Davey, seriously," Russo said with a growl, "pull yourself together. It isn't rocket science you know. This Phoenix guy disappeared two years ago … Ember started wrestling two years ago, give or take. No one has seen Phoenix since that time … no one has ever seen Ember's face at all. They are both wrestlers, and from what I understand both pretty similar in build and style too. Phoenix has been missing for two years but we find blood, fresh blood, not far from Ember's apartment. To top it all off Ember is in the very same tournament that Phoenix was in when he disappeared."

"You had me for a moment there, Joe." David said with a laugh, and then stopped as he realised that Russo wasn't laughing. "Oh, hang on, you are serious aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am. Why?"

"… because it is ludicrous Joe!" David started to tick points off on his fingers as he stared Joey down. "First of all why would he do something like that, second of all how would he manage to pull something like that off, and third of all what about the blood? Why would he leave a straightedge razor, coated in his own blood, in an alleyway?"

"… and more importantly than that, my friends, what fuckin' drugs are you guys on?"

Both David Johnson and Joey Russo visibly jumped as the sibilant voice interrupted them. They had only met the speaker once before, had barely shared more than a couple of paragraphs worth of words with him, but his distinctive voice was instantly recognisable. Looking to the next table they stared, in shock, at a grinning Ember who gave them a nonchalant salute.

"Morning detectives," he grinned, "how's it hanging?"

"What the Hell are you doing here?" Russo growled, the vein in his forehead starting to pound as his eyes tightened. He didn't like surprises at the best of times – as Mike Silver had found out when he tried to throw the secret birthday bash for his fortieth birthday and ended up having to pay for the damages to the bar door when Joey made his exit after the first syllable of 'SURPRISE' was shouted – and to find the man who was at the centre of his current investigation seemingly stalking him did not count as the best of times.

"Just popping in for a cup of coffee my friend," Ember said amiably, "same as you. I would have said 'hi' earlier but you both seemed engrossed in such an interesting conversation that I thought it would be rude to interrupt."

"… and just how much did you hear?" David Johnson took a sharp breath inwards as he heard the calm tone in Russo's voice. He may not have known the man long but he had seen him angry enough times to know that for him to sound that calm it could only mean that he was ready to explode in fury.

"Enough to know that you are as stupid as you look, you oaf," Ember said with a wicked grin, "enough to hear that you think that I am that waste of space Phoenix." It was at that moment that David Johnson realised that he was wearing a different mask, one that only covered the top three-quarters of his face, leaving his mouth and chin exposed. Glancing down he noticed the cup of coffee in Ember's gloved hand and started to mention it to Russo. He didn't get the chance.

With more speed and agility than should have been possible for someone his size Russo almost seemed to fly out of his chair as he launched himself across the table to seize Ember by the throat. The momentum, and combined weight of the two, sent them sprawling to the ground, Russo on top of the much smaller man who did nothing to defend himself from the stinging slaps that impacted against his face and head. Russo didn't notice the few customers in the coffee shop back away from him any more than he noticed that a couple of them were taking photos on their mobile phones. He didn't hear a mobile phone ring behind him either, or another familiar voice cry out in shock near the entrance to the shop. All he noticed was the red haze that covered his eyes as he held one hand tightly around Ember's throat; all he noticed was the man who seemed to be at the centre of the case that wasn't a case lying on the ground laughing at him … laughing!

"Do you want to know a secret?" Ember croaked, his throat raw and closing as Russo's ham-fists squeezed the life out of him. "You were so close, you know, my friend, so close to the truth." Ember's barely audible words drifted up to Russo and Russo alone, and for a split second he relaxed his grip. That second was more than enough. Twisting his legs up and under him, Ember pushed Russo backwards and then grabbed his jacket, pulling himself up close enough to whisper into his ear.

"I am not Jay Phoenix," Ember said, his tongue brushing against Russo's ear, "but you were nearly there. Just a few seconds of difference and you may have got it right. I am not him, just his brother … just his brother."

Russo reached up and grabbed Ember by his shirt and, even sitting down on the ground, had enough power to launch him away from him. Before he could, though, Ember managed to spit out one last retort.

"… and just because I KNOW that you can never prove it," Ember snarled, "I will let you drown in the knowledge that I killed him … I killed Jay Phoenix!"

As he landed in a heap a few feet from Russo Ember heard three things at once, he saw two things happen at once, and he realised something too.

He heard David Johnson shout out to Russo as he held a cell phone to his ear.

"Joey, they have found a body … they think, no they are sure … it is Phoenix's!"

He saw a figure barge into David Johnson and reach behind him, coming up with a gun held in one shaky hand.

He heard the figure call out, in a small and broken voice, one poignant word.

"JAY!!"

He heard David Johnson; as he looked up in horror at the figure holding his gun, cry out to the man.

"Mr James … Rick … don't!"

He realised, a revelation as he stared directly into the never-ending blackness of the gun barrel from only a few feet away, that one other man had heard the words that he had whispered to Russo, that he had intended to be heard only by Russo.

He saw the flash of light …

/ / /

To be continued