Chapter 22
CHASE
After ruminating on it for approximately forever, I give my brother a call. It has nothing to do with the fact that he’s the most forgiving—or so I tell myself. Parker barely lets half a ring go by before he’s answering. “Hi, big brother. What’s up?”
I attempt to clear away the guilt of falling off the planet, choosing to try and focus on the path forward. “Hey, Parker. Just wanted to call you, see how things are going.”
He’s either unaware of how terrible of a brother I am or is simply choosing to pretend otherwise.
“Well, if you’re asking about me specifically, I’m doing okay.
I’m currently heading to pick up Cami. We’re going to some party tonight.
I have no idea who for or why, but she wants to go, and it’s Em’s night with Sage, so why not?
If you’re asking for a general rundown of everyone, well, it depends on who you ask, I guess.
Logan is going to sprout a gray hair about Mom and Dad.
Mom is doing okay until you see her, then it’s iffy.
Dad started picking up extra shifts because hanging around the house is like going to a viewing for a funeral.
Emerson is doing better than he was, but he misses you the most. Sage is exceptional, obviously. ”
Hearing this twists the knife permanently lodged in my chest. “I thought she was okay. I’ve talked to her a few times. She’s been texting Easton.”
Parker sighs. “Yeah. To be fair, we thought she was hanging in there too. But you know how she can be. She pretends she’s fine until the illusion comes crashing down. Hence Logan playing meteorologist trying to predict when the hurricane will hit land.”
“I’m sorry. If I’d been more involved, I would have noticed.”
I mean it down to the soles of my feet. I should have known that things were hard for them too and not been so focused on myself. “Can I be real with you for a sec?” Parker asks suddenly.
“Yeah, of course, Park.”
He doesn’t hesitate for even a moment. Parker may be the younger one out of the two of us, but he’s always been the bravest. “I don’t know why we’re mean in your head, dude.
We love you. No one is mad. When we talk about you, it’s not like we’re dogging on your trauma processing skills.
We’re all grown up enough to miss you but not blame you for it. ”
“What is with everyone dropping heavy truths on me and fucking up my worldview lately?”
My brother laughs warmly. “Sounds like Brady is at it again. But maybe your worldview needs to be fucked up a little. You have a tendency to internalize everything and it eats at you. It kills everyone who loves you to see you doing that to yourself. The only difference from that and the cigarette burns on Easton’s arm is that we can’t separate you from yourself. ”
“Goddamn,” I croak. “That was an insane call out, little brother.”
“Said with love, so that makes it okay. Don’t worry too much about Mom. It’s been a lot but she’ll even out again, and we’re all on her ass enough that she’s not going to get away with getting too deep into it. You should text Emerson, though. He hated leaving Seattle without saying goodbye.”
“What would I do without you to direct me?”
“Ha. Good thing you won’t have to find out.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Have fun tonight.”
Parker assures me he will and we hang up.
About ten pounds of weight lifts off my chest, though I’m trying really hard to not be insulted with that bit about my worldview needing to be fucked up.
Something about falling in love with my best friend’s little brother before he got kidnapped and attempted to kill himself is really exposing all my insecurities, which is incredibly odd to me.
I’ve spent years carefully compartmentalizing everything down to a perfect little science, and it worked fine.
Until one day, they started exploding like land mines.
I’ve made damn sure to never leave myself in a position to be this raw and vulnerable.
But love—whether familial, friend, or romantic—has a way of leaving you with nothing left but smoke to hide behind as you watch who you thought you were go up in flames.
It’s all right if the ones left standing in the rubble beside you help rebuild. However, the task is daunting alone, and it’s probably a good thing it took this long for the kindling to catch.
I do text Em, and not just because Parker suggested it. I don’t know if telling him I appreciate him coming to look after me while Easton was missing will fix his hurt feelings entirely, but it’s certainly a start.
Sometimes even the smallest amount of progress is a shit ton of work, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t need to be done.
Blakely texts me that my presence is required for a family meeting, and when I go downstairs, I find our little group gathered in her office. I don’t know how this many colors don’t give her a headache after days on end. As long as she’s happy, I guess.
“Oh, good. There you are,” she says upon my entrance. I join Easton on the couch while Brady sits opposite of her looking grim. “I’ve got bad news.”
My heart drops. That something better not be that kid’s body. “I already hate it,” Brady mutters, and based on Easton’s face, they’re in perfect agreement.
She frowns. “I have the autopsy for one of the boys Aaron had before Easton.” Oh, fuck.
That is bad. “There’s a couple of levels here that concern me,” Blake continues.
“Obviously that would mean that he’s committed murder before, so he’s likely to do it again.
However, according to this, the boy was starved to the point of death, then he was strangled. ”
Easton’s breath is careful and measured, like he’s having to think about how to do it.
I wrap my arm around him and pull him to me.
He comes easily. “What’s his name?” he asks after he’s gotten himself back together.
In record time, I might add. I’m no expert, but I’m almost positive art heals him in places nothing else could reach.
“Oliver Darlington. He was fifteen when he was taken and approximately twenty when he died. Chief Brooks sent me the file that they have on Aaron to confirm, but he was on my radar already. I just couldn’t get ahold of the autopsy report until now. He was found almost five years ago.”
The math is unfortunately quick. “So he killed Oliver then took Easton to replace him?”
Easton shivers. “I think you were the missing link here, lovebug. The FBI has been trying to track him down for a long time, and when Chief Brooks was able to tell them about Asher and you, they had a lot of information to share. Apparently, it’s not uncommon for him to balance two victims at a time, but hangs onto them for a long time.
From you, we know that he likes to break people down psychologically first, which is fairly time-consuming.
Since he’s surviving off fake identities and impressive financial fraud, when anyone starts sniffing around about those things or paying too much attention to his ‘boyfriends,’ he ditches all of it and starts over somewhere else. Rinse, repeat.”
Brady tugs at his hair from the roots. My jaw aches from how hard I’m grinding my teeth together. How much longer would Easton have survived if he hadn’t randomly stumbled onto that engagement?
“Where did I fall in the suspected timeline?”
After a few clicks, she has an answer. “Before Oliver, there was Gabriel LaFontaine. That’s the first person they can tie to Aaron. They were kidnapped within a year of each other, like you and Asher.”
“That was enough time to get me under control. He trusted me to stay home when he left by then. Before, he would obsessively check on me even when he was just at work. Wanted to know exactly where I was and what I was doing. He was only happy with me when he knew I was inside the apartment.”
A growl tries to force its way out of my chest. I manage to shove it back down, but only barely. “Where were the first two found?”
A few more clicks. Given the pallor of her face, she hates knowing these things, but it’s better that we all know exactly what we’re dealing with.
“Gabriel was found in northern Michigan, but from the looks of it, they were living in Detroit. Oliver was in Illinois. Probably had them living in the same city, though, if it was the same as Easton and Asher. More convenient, I guess.”
“Does that mean the total is two dead, two alive?” Brady asks, jaw setting afterwards.
“That we know of. If there are others, they either didn’t make it out or never filed police reports about him. Probably would have had to change their names too, knowing him. I certainly hope there aren’t more, though.”
All eyes slowly shift to my Chaos, who has gone concerningly quiet.
He sets the tone here. If this is too much for him, we’re all jumping ship.
Leave it to the professionals and focus only on how we move on.
He tugs restlessly on the hem of his pants, but doesn’t dig his nails in.
Certainly a step in the right direction.
“However many there are, that’s all he’s going to get.
Me and Asher are coming out of this, one way or another. ”
There we go then.
Easton slinks off, back to his former bedroom—now art studio—after reassuring us that he’s okay. I’m choosing to believe it. Brady doesn’t wait long before dragging me back to our newest project. I hate him a little more with each passing day.
Well, that’s what I tell him, at least. He doesn’t seem worried. Such a dick.
By the grace of some higher authority I’m not in contact with, the damn gazebo is actually coming out okay. Maybe we learned from our unrecoverable mistakes with his deck. That thing still lives in my nightmares, knowing it's still in shambles waiting on us to do the impossible.
My problems are diverse in nature.
We work in companionable bickering for a while, nothing of significance until Brady has a horrible realization. “Paul must think I died,” he says suddenly.
“Who?”
My friend rolls his eyes. “You know Paul. You’ve come to lunch with us before. He’s the guy who stays close by the office. I haven’t seen him since Easton came back. What if something happened to him?”
It’s so violently Brady that I struggle not to laugh. That spark of good in him is fucking resilient, I’ll give him that. I’ve missed this side of him more than I can put words to. “We can go see if he’s still around. Easton and Blake are busy, and one afternoon off won’t derail anything here.”
He practically sags in relief. “You think so?”
I yank my gloves up and stand up. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”
We make quick work of the cleanup and alert the others of our impending departure so Blake can set the security alarm for the doors.
In the car, Brady looks three shades less gloomy than his normal as of late.
It’s nice to have a little reassurance that he’s not giving up either.
I need him and Easton to be the sunshine so there’s some balance to my natural state of gloom.
Or as Parker describes it—Eeyore. Easton still brings that up occasionally—rookie mistake telling him about the comparison—but he sure finds it funny.
Finding a guy who doesn’t have an address or phone number is a little hit or miss.
It involves a fair amount of driving around aimlessly, keeping your eyes peeled, and some wandering around popular camping spots.
We find a family friendly addict that hides the crack pipe when kids walk by outside a grocery store, where we each leave a twenty, but as time goes on with no sign of Paul, Brady grows increasingly worried.
“It’s his bad knee. I just know it. I keep telling him to go to the clinic before it starts getting cold, but he hasn’t, and now he’s seriously hurt.”
“And you know this because your spidey senses are acting up?”
Knowing he rolls his eyes doesn’t require visual confirmation. “No, asshole. Because healthcare is difficult to access and these fucking streets are hell on my very healthy joints, much less Paul’s.”
Very good point. My quads are fucking burning. “We’ll find him. What is the tracker thing they put on orcas? We could ask if he’d keep one of those in his pocket to make locating him easier.”
Brady huffs a half-hearted laugh. “You’re being purposefully ridiculous to distract me from being worried.”
“Is it working?” I ask, knocking my shoulder against his.
Brady considers it. “Kinda. I think we should check Seattle Center. He goes there sometimes. He likes the performers.”
“Your car is, like, five blocks away. That way.” I indicate with my finger.
“Nah, we can walk. It’s nice out and I don’t want to backtrack that much.”
I gape at him. “Walk? After starting by the grocery store, going down to check by the pier, and then coming back up the stairs of hell? You want to walk? Do you hate me?”
Brady chuckles affectionately, like I’m joking. “You’ll be fine. Cardio is good for you.”
I shake my head. “Maybe it’s good for you, but I’d rather snuggle a boa constrictor. Less chance of premature death.”
“You’ll thank me for this when we’re seventy and everyone we know has had a hip replacement except us. In fact, you’re welcome in advance.”
He’d drag me to the finish line of anything kicking and screaming just to show me I could do it. I don’t know what I’d do without him. If one thing is certain, he won’t let me find out, and I’m grateful for that.