Logan (Federal Protection Agency #9)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

Logan

We crossed the next two states without incident and left the desert and mountains behind for the Great Plains. The area certainly lived up to its name.

It was great, and it was plain.

The change of scenery was refreshing at first, but endless flat green grasslands soon grew very boring.

On the afternoon of the third day of our trip, we were somewhere in Nevada, and Clay was sitting beside me scrolling through my phone for music worth listening to. I hadn’t prepared for a long road trip, so I didn’t have much ready to go, but Clay seemed to find some amusement building a playlist on my Spotify account.

“Seriously, do you pick things by just spinning a wheel. You have the most random music history.” Clay scowled at something on my phone, then started laughing. “You listened to several country songs and then immediately switched over to Rhianna. Why? What do those possibly have in common?”

Clay’s laughter was genuine, and it chased away any annoyance I felt about making such a long trip. I didn’t even care that he was finding joy in making fun of me. It was the first time I’d seen him actually enjoying something, and I wasn’t going to ruin it.

It wasn’t even the first time someone had made fun of my music choices, either. Those kinds of jokes were common amongst my friends.

I couldn’t explain it, either. When I was listening to music my mind was free to wander, and it would latch onto the most random things. A single lyric in one song would remind me of something completely different, and I wouldn’t be able to get it out of my head until I found it.

Online algorithms hated me. They could never predict what I wanted, which led to some awkward content suggestions.

Clay laughed again, this time having found a time in my history when I spent several days skipping between show tunes, barely letting one finish before moving onto the next.

It was a good thing I was driving. The task gave me something to distract myself, so I wouldn’t spend the trip just staring at him. Clay was so much more beautiful when he was happy. Even his black eye, which had faded to an ugly shade of yellow and green, seemed to soften around the edges.

I kept my eyes fixed resolutely on the road. There was no way I could avoid looking at him entirely, so I watched the clock, and allowed myself one brief glance over at him once every ten minutes.

I’d been hoping to get most of the way through Nevada by the end of the day, but the weather had other plans. Seemingly in the blink of an eye, the sunny sky turned dark and cloudy. The bright afternoon light was chased away, and we were plunged into a gloomy dark that made it feel more like twilight.

As the rain started, we pressed on, hoping the storm would pass, but soon it was coming down so hard I could barely see the road in front of me.

“We’re going to have to pull over early today,” I declared as I squinted to try and make out the road lines.

I was certain I was still on the road based on the feeling of the ground under my tires, but I couldn’t be certain what lane I was in.

Clay didn’t argue, and even seemed relieved as he directed our GPS to the nearest motel.

We were crawling down the road at a snail’s pace through the rain. Despite the nearest motel being only two miles away, nearly an hour passed before we pulled into the parking lot.

I couldn’t even read the motel’s neon sign through the downpour, and hoped they had vacancies, otherwise we’d be sleeping in the car. Until the storm passed, we weren’t going anywhere.

The car was a rental, and I hadn’t planned ahead enough to bring an umbrella, so Clay and I darted across the parking lot toward the motel’s front awning as quickly as we could.

“Stupid, fucking rain,” Clay complained once we were safely under cover. “Storms shouldn’t be able to just roll in without warning like that.”

He finger-combed the water from his hair, pushing it back out of his face. The rain had turned his hair to a dark honey color, which complimented his blue eyes well.

A drop of rainwater traveled down his neck toward his collarbone. I tracked its path for a moment, before realizing what I was doing and quickly turning away.

“Are you coming in?” I asked as I held the front door open for him.

He shook his head and started shaking out his shirt to keep it from clinging uncomfortably to his skin. “No. I’d rather stay out here. Wet clothes and air-conditioning don’t mix.”

By now, I was certain that he wasn’t going to suddenly disappear or run away, so I felt comfortable enough to leave him alone for a few minutes.

Still, I vowed to hurry back as I headed for the motel’s front desk.

The person sitting behind the counter barely looked up from their phone when I approached and just waved toward a sign with their rates posted.

It all looked standard, and I was about to request a room for the night—with two beds this time—when I noticed something written at the bottom of the sign.

It was listed so matter-of-factly that I hadn’t even noticed at first, but apparently the motel also offered rooms that could be rented by the hour.

There was only one reason to rent a room in such a way. People either brought their partner here for a clandestine affair, or they brought someone that they’d paid for.

How many hours had Clay spent in places just like this?

The question slipped into my mind like a highly trained assassin. With no warning, my thoughts took on a dark edge, and the once normal looking motel took on a sinister outlook. The staff behind the desk, who barely looked at me, now seemed to be leering at me out of the corner of their eye, and I swore I could feel the shadows in the corner of the room creeping closer.

I quickly paid for a single night, not even looking at the price as I handed over my credit card, and returned to Clay outside as soon as possible.

He wasn’t alone. While I’d been gone, a man had approached him, and was now leaning way too close into Clay’s personal space as he spoke.

“Ah, come on. I’ve already bought the room for us. You can’t change your mind now.”

Clay backed away from him and looked to be only moments away from punching the man. “You’ve got the wrong person. I’m not here for you.”

Instead of taking the hint, the man only pushed closer.

“Don’t be like that, Angel. What? You find a better client or something? I’ll match whatever they’re offering.”

I expected Clay to shove him away, maybe even hit him, but instead Clay stood completely unmoving as the man’s hand started trailing up his thigh.

Snapping out of my own shock, I grabbed the back of the man’s jacket and pulled him away. “Hey! He told you to leave. Get lost.”

I tossed the man out into the rain so he landed in a puddle and stood in front of Clay’s frozen figure so the stranger wouldn’t be able to see him.

Clambering off the ground, the man threw water everywhere as he puffed up like an angry bull.

“Bastard. I was here first, and I already paid upfront. You can’t just steal from me.”

As a detective, a concealed-carry permit came with my job. I took advantage of that benefit now and pulled out the gun I kept hidden in a secret pocket inside my jacket.

“He already told you that you have the wrong person. So, start listening and fuck off.”

The moment the barrel of the gun pointed toward him; the man’s anger instantly deflated. Holding up his hands, he slowly backed away.

“Hey, man. It’s cool. You can have him. I’ll just… go somewhere else.”

“I’m not—” I started to say, but the man had already left. He probably wouldn’t have believed me if I tried to argue with him anyway, so I let him go and turned back today.

“All right. He’s gone.”

Clay didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring blankly into space as if his muscles had suddenly turned to stone.

“Hey, Clay.” I waved a hand in front of his face. “You okay?”

Still no response.

At first, I thought Clay might be reacting to the sight of the gun and quickly hid it away again, but even once the gun was out of sight, Clay’s reaction didn’t change.

Then it hit me.

Angel.

The man had called Clay “Angel”.

Jordie had warned me about using that word. I knew Clay hated the name, and for good reason, but I hadn’t realized his reaction would be this bad.

He was completely catatonic.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a victim triggered by something that reminded them of their trauma. In fact, those kinds of PTSD reactions were unfortunately common. However, that felt like more than just trauma resurfacing. The reaction had been too sudden, like a switch had been flipped.

It felt… like a conditioned response.

“Hey, Clay. It’s okay.” I put my hand on his shoulder, hoping to snap him out of whatever flashback he’d fallen into, but the moment my hand made contact he lashed out and shoved me away.

“Don’t touch me.”

Holding up both my hands, I backed away, but that only distressed him even more.

“No, wait.” He grabbed my sleeve and pulled me back. “Don’t leave. Sorry… I’m not…”

“It’s okay,” I said again, keeping my voice as low and smooth as I could. “I’m not going anywhere. Let’s just get out of the rain and somewhere warm. Okay?”

He nodded but didn’t say anything as he continued to cling to my sleeve. I didn’t dare touch him again, not knowing what kind of response I’d get, so I used his grip on my sleeve to bring him with me as I fetched our stuff from the car and headed for our room.

There were two beds this time, luckily. I wasn’t sure how he would react to sleeping in the same bed right now, and I couldn’t risk upsetting him further.

Leading him over to the other bed, I detached his hands from my sleeve and handed him his own bag.

“Here. You need to get out of those wet clothes and dry off. I’m going to go change in the bathroom.”

Once his fingers wrapped around the handle of his bag, I grabbed my own stuff and locked myself in the bathroom. I wanted to take a shower to chase away the chill after getting soaked, but I also couldn’t leave Clay alone for too long in his current state.

Drying myself off with a towel, I slipped on a new set of clothes and returned to the bedroom, only to immediately turn around again.

“Clay, what… are you doing?”

I should have been more specific with my instructions. He’d stripped himself out of his wet clothes, but now stood naked in the center of the room, looking lost and vacant.

With a sigh, I kept my eyes averted as I sidled up closer to him without looking directly at him.

“Clay. Get dressed.” Bending down, I managed to grab his bag and hand it to him, but after that I didn’t hear any movement.

When nearly a minute had passed with seemingly nothing happening, I snuck another look at him, focusing only on his face.

He held his bag of supplies, looking at it with clear confusion, like he knew he needed to do something, but couldn’t figure out how to navigate the maze of his own body to make it happen.

Then he gave up and dropped the bag to latch onto my sleeve again.

I sighed. This was going to be a long night.

It was a small room, so the beds weren’t too far away. I was able to pull the blanket off of one without leaving Clay’s side and wrapped it around the younger man like a warm dry cocoon.

“There,” I said as I used the towel I’d brought from the bathroom to dry his hair. “That should feel better.”

He responded by leaning his head against my chest. There were only a few inches of difference between our height, so he had to duck a little for his head to fit under my chin.

I expected him to cry. He certainly had plenty of reasons to cry. However, instead, he wrapped his arms around me tightly and screamed against my chest.

Even with his voice muffled into my shirt I could still hear his shouting and feel the vibration in his voice. His screams mixed with sobs, twisting into a tortured sound that would haunt my nightmares for years to come.

I didn’t react, and just continued to hold him, even as his pain overflowed into his fists. He beat against my chest and shoulders, still screaming the whole time.

I was going to have bruises there in the morning, but I bit my lip and forced myself to keep quiet. I could handle a few bruises. It was a worthwhile price to pay if it helped Clay express even a fraction of the pain and anger that must be poisoning him from the inside.

His outburst lasted for several minutes before he finally fell silent and stood slumped in my arms. At a higher-end hotel someone would have probably called security on us by now, but that was one of the only good things about our current location.

No one was going to complain about the sound of screams.

“Sorry,” Clay said with his face still lying against my chest. “I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t… I just… Sorry.”

His whole body was trembling in my arms. He was exhausted, but he was still trying to keep himself standing.

I led him over to one of the beds, helping him lie down while keeping the blanket cocoon safely tucked around him.

“It’s fine. Don’t apologize for having emotions. You should feel free to be as sad or as angry as you want.”

The sight of his blue eyes peeking out of the blanket was unbearably cute.

Or it would have been if his eyes weren’t red-rimmed from crying.

His face wasn’t covered by the blanket, but his voice still sounded very quiet when he spoke up. “It doesn’t make any sense. I shouldn’t be angry now.”

I sat next to him on the bed, keeping to the edge so some space remained between us. “You’re allowed to be angry.”

Clay snorted and looked away. “Yeah, maybe. But I shouldn’t be. There’s no reason for that guy to upset me so much. It’s certainly not the first time someone’s gotten handsy with me, and it’s not even the first time I’ve been called… that name. I don’t know why it affected me so strongly this time when I’ve never broken down like that in the past.”

He re-settled himself, so his arms were outside the blanket. A few scars curled over the tops of his shoulders, and although I couldn’t see them properly, I was certain they extended further down his back.

The thin lines looked like whip marks.

I turned my eyes away before I was caught staring and refocused on the conversation.

“You said you never got so upset before. Maybe that’s why. All those negative emotions have been building up with nowhere to go.”

He huffed, and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to turn away from me, but he didn’t. “Why now? I should be happy I’m finally getting away from that life. What’s the point in getting upset about everything now that I’m leaving it behind?”

That was the first time Clay had talked about his relocation as a permanent change. Until now, he always spoke like he was visiting his brother. Just a temporary guest that would go right back to the status quo of their life when the visit was over.

To hear him talk about getting away and leaving everything behind caused something tangled in my chest to unknot.

“Well…” I thought about a good answer for a moment, and I could only come up with one thing. “Hopefully, getting upset know means you feel safe enough to express those emotions.”

Clay was silent, biting his lip as he got lost in thought.

“You are safe.”

His words were distracted, like he was only half paying attention to them. Some other thought was bouncing around in his head. I could almost see the thoughts passing behind his eyes, but I didn’t ask. Instead, I sat in silence, listening to the room’s old analog clock ticking away each passing second.

The minute hand must have gone around several times before Clay finally spoke again.

“Bell ringers.”

I had no idea what that meant, but didn’t ask, certain that he would explain.

He did, but it took him an obvious amount of effort to get the words out.

“That’s what they called themselves. The Bell ringers.”

“You mean the people who kidnapped you?”

“Yeah.”

He laughed, a sad, pathetic little sound that made me want to hug him again, but I refrained.

“Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.” His laughter trailed off and something dark settled behind his eyes. “That’s what they said, but that wasn’t where the name really came from. It’s about how they found us.”

“How they found you? When you were kidnapped?”

Clay didn’t look at me. He barely even seemed to remember I was there as he revealed the truth he’d been carrying around for almost a decade.

“They started back when door-to-door salesmen were a thing, but now they use any excuse to get into someone’s house. Handymen. Surveys. They’ll even pose as Mormons or Jehovah’s Witnesses for an excuse to knock on people’s doors. I think their favorite is pretending to be surveying gas meters. That’s how they scoped me out. No one questions a person in a uniform with a clipboard, so they can come and go as they please and get all the info on their target.”

I tried not to react, but there must have been a strange expression on my face. When I’d initially investigated the pedophile ring that kidnapped Clay, I’d never been able to figure out how they found their victims. There seemed to be no crossover or similarities between the victims, other than their physical appearance, and without this crucial piece of info, the investigation had stalled.

I’d also never known they had been operating for so long. Based on Clay’s description, they’d probably been targeting kids for decades. Long enough for them to give themselves a title, as if they were a legitimate organization.

In their twisted minds, they probably were.

Breathing deeply and biting the inside of my cheek, I controlled my reaction so I didn’t startle Clay. He likely didn’t realize the importance of what he’d revealed. He didn’t need that added stress on top of everything. Investigating criminals was my responsibility and I would handle it.

Clay’s eyes were drooping. Although he was trying to stay awake, after his emotional outburst, he no longer had the energy to continue that fight and was quickly succumbing to sleep.

After wishing him a good night, I stood to leave, already reaching into my pocket to grab my phone so I could pass on the information I’d just learned.

Before I could make it even a foot from the bed, something tugged on my sleeve. I looked down to find Clay nervously glancing at me from the corner of his eye, like he couldn’t bear to stare straight at me.

“Could you… could you stay?”

“Stay?” I eyed the empty side of his bed. “Is that a good idea?”

“I just?—”

His expression suddenly smoothed out, like someone had ironed all the emotion out of his skin leaving nothing but blank thoughtlessness behind. “Never mind. It’s stupid. You’ll be more comfortable in your own bed.”

At the sight of that blank look on his face, all my doubts vanished. Without another word, I turned off the room lights and slipped under the covers beside him. The bed was big enough that we didn’t have to touch so long as we each kept to our side, so I moved the pillow as close to the edge as I could without falling off.

At first, Clay didn’t even acknowledge me, and I was content to be ignored the rest of the night. However, after a few minutes, tentative fingers gripped onto my shirt.

“Thanks.”

That was all he said, though it was already more than I expected. There were plenty of phone calls I would need to make in the morning. I should at least call Roland, as he had worked the “Bell ringer” case with me and would be able to get started investigating the new information immediately, and it would probably be a good idea to tell Sebastian as well, since he was pursuing a similar case.

For tonight, however, I was happy to play the role of guard dog.