-One-

"Fifth case of abuse she’d reported in the last month," John said and chucked the file onto Daniel’s desk. He raised his eyebrows speculatively. "You would’ve thought that social services would have gotten involved by now."

"Consider her record," Daniel answered; he had yet to stop going over another file on his desk. Late night hours at work at the office were wearing him down, making him wonder why he’d ever gone into criminal justice at the university. He leaned back in his chair with a grimace, pulled off his glasses, and chucked them onto the desk atop both files. "She’s reported these so-called ‘abuse’ cases to us how often now? Come on, John, Peter can only cry ‘wolf’ so many times."

"That doesn’t mean we couldn’t have at least investigated it a little more," John protested sadly. His expression was crestfallen. "I… I feel responsible for this."

"You shouldn’t," Daniel told him firmly, then stood up. He popped his back, winced, then grabbed his overcoat from where it hung behind his chair. "You had no way of knowing that her husband was going to pull a Ted Bundy on us. You were out of town, on your honey moon no less." He tried to smile. "Just think of it this way: you can help the kids get back on their feet."

"No," John replied miserably. "I can’t."

Confusion. Daniel’s expression faltered slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I’m… being reassigned," John said with a helpless gesture. At Daniel’s shocked stare, he pursed his lips. "Marie thinks it’s better if I don’t put myself in such dangerous situations anymore. She always had a problem with it while we were dating, and I don’t want my job to get in the way of our relationship."

"John, this is what you do," Daniel said desperately. He came around the desk and grasped his partner by the shoulders. "You save lives, John, you change them, you give people a second chance! Why in God’s name does Marie want you to stop doing that?"

"Because of what happened to William—" John began, but caught himself. Daniel became a statue before him, his face fractured.

Daniel stepped back, but John recovered quickly and stepped after him. "Daniel, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything—"

"I’ll close up here," Daniel interrupted brusquely and went back to his desk. He didn’t look up at John again, but placed his thin-rimmed spectacles on his nose and gathered the files together. "Have a nice evening, John."

"Daniel…"

Silence.

John sighed and bowed his head. This wasn’t the first time that mentioning William had caused Daniel to close up on him like a clam. He didn’t even know the details surrounding the former investigator’s death, but he knew that it had hit Daniel harder than anyone else at the bureau. They had been closer than work associates, closer than mere acquaintances—they had been brothers, almost. John’s keen perception of their relationship alluded to something more, but he would never voice his suspicions aloud, especially in this work environment.

John knew that it would have been impossible for him to replace William in Daniel’s eyes. He was a rookie, ostensibly, too sentimental, and married. And there was never a deep connection between the two of them. But he would have at least liked to be able to call himself Daniel Ingram’s friend. Daniel Ingram’s partner. Just a guy to golfing with on Saturdays, to watch football with, to maybe invite over for a barbecue in the summer.

"Good night, Daniel," he said sadly and turned, walking out of the office. Best to cheer up; it was a long drive home.

Daniel hadn’t intended to be as coarse with John as he had been; on the drive home, lingering guilt made him hope that the phone company had gotten he slightly late bill, just so he could call John up and apologize. The kid honestly had no idea how devastated he’d been over William’s death—and how could he? As far as Daniel knew, John had never known about his relationship with William. They had done their best to keep it secret from his work associates, but somehow Daniel always got the impression that John picked up on more than what was before his eyes. He was a smart kid.

Maybe, one day, he would tell John the whole story.

But not today.

Traffic was backed up for at least two miles; rain hurled itself against his windshield in thundering, metallic sheets, and the deep boom of someone’s bass caused his teeth to rattle. Irritated, he flipped open the glove compartment and fumbled around until he found his cigarettes. Far ahead of him he could see the barest glimpse of what might have been a green light, but it didn’t matter anyway. By the time it was his turn to chug forward, the light would be red again. He stuck one of the cigarettes in between his lips and reached for his lighter—only to realize that it was sitting on his desk back at the office. Beside the file that he had forgotten to take home as well.

"Fuck," he swore darkly. With a miserable moan, he leaned forward and let his forehead rest against the steering wheel. He did not sit up again until behind him, cars were honking. Sitting up lethargically, he noticed that traffic was beginning to pick up. He shifted out of neutral and gunned the engine, sweet talking his age old Honda into a hobble after the cars in front of him.

It was two o’clock in the morning before he was able to reach the exit he was looking for. Evidently a huge, eight-car pile up at the fifth exit had been the problem. Daniel had to force himself not to look at the accident; from what he could tell by the flashing lights of several emergency response vehicles, there had been several casualties, perhaps a few fatalities. In his youth, he and his mother had been involved in an accident not quite of that caliber, but it still managed to leave a traumatizing imprint on him. Anxiously, he drove by, eyes fixed on his exit.

So. John was being reassigned. ‘To what department?’ he wondered thoughtfully. Ever since the squirt had first turned up at the bureau, he had made murder investigation his life. It was what drove him to improve himself, just like writing used to drive William. Daniel couldn’t help but scowl. If Marie loved her new husband as much as John seemed to think that she did, then she wouldn’t have forced him to quit doing what made him happy.

‘Oh leave me alone, Mother.’ He snorted wryly. The plump little woman’s words rang true on more occasions than he was willing to admit. Perhaps that was a sign from her God that he should be moving on.

Whatever.

Despite the rain, he was given a small smidgen of good fortune as he pulled into the parking lot. A free space was open right beside the putrid building, partially covered by the small roof ten stories above the ground. He pulled his coat over his head to shield him, kicked open the door, and made a run for the breezeway. The landlord had never been wealthy enough to have elevators installed in the building, and so to reach his sixth-floor apartment, Daniel had to bound up the slippery steps, hoping that he didn’t trip.

He didn’t—this time. The door to his apartment was the eleventh down on the left, and a small yellow flier was stuck damply to the doorknob. An advertisement of some sort. He ripped it off and fumbled with his keys.

He hated his apartment.

It was small, at best—a cubicle realistically. There were four rooms, all roughly the same size. A bedroom that had, at one time, had functioning electricity; a bathroom with faulty plumbing; a kitchen that worked decently, despite the oven’s uncanny habit of charring everything placed inside it to a crisp; a living room that was large enough for a small black and white television, an uncomfortable couch, and a fold-up table. Heating in the winter and air conditioning in the summer were things that he only dreamed of. His "heating system" consisted of two quilts and a heating pad used for sore muscles. His "air conditioning system" was a pair of windows and whatever else he managed to utilize as a fan or something similar.

Never the less, it was home. And coming home to it had, at one time, been the best part of his day.

William had always managed to make his day better, despite the slum-like environment that they lived in, despite Daniel’s meager pay, despite everything that they went up against every day. William didn’t care about the drip of the pipes. William only wanted to make what was wonderful about the apartment stand out. And so he lit candles at night and played soft music on the old cassette player and spent what extra money he did have on a movie or two every month.

And it was wonderful.

When William was there, the walls didn’t rise up above Daniel, threatening to swallow him and destroy him. The shadows were just shadows, and they didn’t house his childhood demons. The food wasn’t lukewarm, the coke wasn’t flat, and what little view of the sunset was available was undeniably beautiful—especially when reflected in William’s eyes.

No sunset could ever compare to his eyes.

After ‘the accident,’ all of that vanished, and the apartment once again became his insane asylum. What little pleasure he had once found in lighting a candle alone was gone; it only reminded him more and more as the months passed that William was gone, that William would never light a candle again. Certain songs made his fists clench, his anger flare like a bottle rocket. It had been months since he’d beaten their old cassette player into oblivion in a fit of rage. He couldn’t stand to be near the parking lot outside of Blockbusters; he’d first seen William there.

Sunsets only caused him pain.

Now work was hell, and coming home was even worse. He was confronted every day with the absence of William—a chair he used to sit in to read the paper, a coffee mug he used to fill with, of all things, chocolate milk, the window they would sit at on Sunday mornings and simply… talk.

The bed they had shared since college…

In his dreams, occasionally, there had been no accident. In his dreams, there was no late night shoot-out in the park, and William had not taken the short way home. There was still happiness in the cramped apartment, there were still those quiet Sunday mornings and those impassioned Saturday nights that no one but he and William had ever been privy to. Everything was the way it had once been, everything was beautiful and enrapturing, and why? Because William was still alive. He wasn’t buried under eight feet of polluted city soil in a cemetery that would, one day, be desecrated and built upon for the sake of progress. In Daniel’s most secret and sacred dreams, William was not decaying in a box of poor quality because Daniel could afford no better.

But he couldn’t dream all the time. Eventually, he had to wake up and realize that he was alone. And it was the same every morning at three o’clock: he would sob.

Needless to say, Daniel Ingram hated his apartment.

Pushing the door open, he was greeted with a little red flashing light from his answering machine; he had messages. He sighed and flipped on the one dim light that illuminated his living room, tossed his coat onto the couch, and walked over to his machine. He punched play.

YOU HAVE FOUR NEW MESSAGES.

"Terrific," he muttered.

MESSAGE ONE: "Hey, Danny, it’s Amanda. Just calling you up to say hi—"

Next.

MESSAGE TWO: "Howdy, kiddo, it’s Kyle—"

Next.

MESSAGE THREE: "Hi Dan. It’s Charlamaine. Listen, we need to talk—"

Next.

MESSAGE FOUR: "Good afternoon, Mr. Ingram. This is Robert Greene with—"

‘Wait,’ he hesitated, ignoring the current message. ‘Charlamaine?’ He tapped the back button twice. ‘What in the name of God is he doing calling me after so long?’

MESSAGE THREE: "Hi Danny. It’s Charlamaine. Listen, we need to talk about… you know. Wills."

Daniel smiled ruefully.

The message went on, and Daniel listened to Charlamaine’s effeminate voice. "I know we haven’t talked in ages, and I wouldn’t blame you for deleting this message. I did behave like a bitch last time we talked. You’re not obligated to listen to me, or anything. But… we’re all that’s left of ‘us’ in Connecticut, Danny. Ian and Matthew went for France a few months ago to begin a year-long tour of Europe. Cassie moved back to Vermont to be with her grandmother—she’s ill, you know. Has congestive heart failure or something like that."

"What do you want, Charlie?" Daniel muttered. He paced away from the machine, into the kitchen. The machine kept playing.

"I might as well get to the point. You’ve shut everyone out, Danny. You’ve shut out me, you’ve shut out your brother and sister, you’ve shut out your parents—there’s no one left for you but you, in your eyes. But we’re all here, Danny. We’ve always been here, and we’re not going away." A pause. Daniel could hear the humdrum music of a club resonating in the background of the call. Then, "You’ve got my cell number. Give me a call sometime." He hung up.

‘And do what?’ Daniel thought bitterly. ‘Chat? I don’t want to "chat" about anything, Charlie. I just want William back.’ He pulled a beer out of the fridge, then stalked back into the living room.

Another night, another day of hell. Talking to Charlamaine wouldn’t change any of that.