Chapter Two #2
“Patrick and Bridget moved onto the reservation with Greg, since with other tribe members they were less likely to run into trouble over their living arrangements.
You see, in the Native American tradition, there's a term we use called two-spirits. Traditionally, a two-spirit was one who had received a gift from the Creator—who we Mohegans refer to as Manto —to house both male and female spirits in their bodies.We believe that a two-spirit can see the world from two perspectives simultaneously. This greater vision is revered by tribes, and often two-spirits hold crucial leadership roles. They are treated with the greatest respect, and hold important spiritual and ceremonial responsibilities.” Niall looked over at Matt to see if he was following along.
“I had heard of the two-spirit tradition before, but never had it explained to me quite like that. It’s a shame the traditions and beliefs of your people did not survive once the Europeans took over. Society would be a lot different today.”
Niall nodded. “Sorry I went off on a bit of a tangent. Back to my grandparents. Mostly, the Mohegan tribe members considered my grandfather to be a version of a two-spirit. His love for both a man and woman was needed in order for him to find peace. My father was the biological child of Bridget and Greg but all three were his parents.”
“So you grew up in a home where three individuals shared love, and as an adult now seek what is familiar.”
“Yes, and no. It’s more than a child searching for his security blanket.
I am two-spirit, and Manto has given me more than the gift of greater vision.
Manto has answered my prayer, and shown me my destiny.
” Niall then told Matt about his entreaty as a child and his dream of several weeks earlier, then sat while Matt processed the fact that Niall believed they were destined soul mates—who only needed to find their third before their lives became whole.
Matt stood and walked over to the windows looking out over the Boston downtown skyline.
Niall’s condo was in a converted warehouse dating back to 1895 in the Seaport District near his gallery.
He watched as Matt traced the mortar sandwiched between the red bricks.
Likely his mind needed to sort and analyze all the information Niall had presented.
"I've never entertained the thought of having a soul mate out there in the universe waiting for me. But, I can't discount the instant connection I feel with you. While many would call that animal lust, I wnt to believe there is more to it than that."
Niall stood with his hands shoved in his jeans, trying to give Matt space despite the fact that he stood on the balls of his feet, waiting anxiously for Matt’s answer.
"I don't know if I can believe in your Manto or the vision? But I won't deny your heritage or the long held beliefs of your people. The bottom line is we both want the same things in life, so what does it matter?"
Matt opened his arms, and Niall rushed into them. Niall’s head fit perfectly against Matt's neck. He sighed as Matt ran his fingers through Niall's long hair.
"It's like cool silk. Do you think we’ll find him?” Matt asked.
“Yes. I’m not sure when or how, but I know he’s out there waiting for us.”
Trevor stepped off the elevator and showed his ID badge to the officer posted near the entrance to the lab.
The evidence processing demanded that the area remain secure.
The Boston police headquarters—where Trevor worked—had a forensic DNA lab, a trace evidence analysis lab, the ballistics lab where Logan worked, and across the hall was Trevor’s little slice of heaven known to the plebeians as the flick shack.
Trevor paused in the glass doorway to survey his kingdom.
Fifteen monitors measuring between seventeen and twenty-eight inches occupied the space.
Some sat side by side, and others were installed at isolated stations.
Each station had its own CPU tower that was capable of speeds the average household user would gawk at, and had software that would cause a sci-fi geek to drool.
He kept his audio analysis stations on the left side of the room and the video analysis in the center.
He reserved the right side of the room for a nine-foot by twelve-foot wall-mounted screen.
When he chose, Trevor could send any image from one of his linked stations up onto the wall from a projector with the click of a few keys.
Dark gray soundproofing material covered three walls of the room, which served two purposes.
The first was to corral the sound when Trevor was working on detailed audio analysis and had to use the installed surround-sound speakers, and the second was that the dark gray color prevented any glare on his monitors when looking at video.
The glass wall on the hall side kept the room from being too cave-like.
“Trev, do you need a moment with your toys, or is it safe to come over there?”
Trevor turned and saw Logan leaning against the doorframe to the ballistic lab with a cocky smile on his face.
“Laugh all you want, but I’ve seen you caress those guns of yours when you think nobody’s looking.”
“Touché. Are you still trying to clean up that video from the double homicide the other day?”
“No, I got that over to the captain last night before I left. Today I’m gonna work on the analysis of the audio caught by the tourist’s cellphone from the shootout in Chinatown the other night.”
“I’ve got to work on the same case, looking at the collected rounds and trying to get a match in IBIS. Then I need to test fire all the weapons confiscated in the drug raid last week and enter them in the system.”
“Wanna do lunch? We can go to Eli’s,” Trevor finished in a sing-song voice.
Logan moaned and rubbed his stomach. “I wish I could, but I promised Clay I’d meet him over at his station for an in-office picnic.”
Trevor closed his eyes with a sigh, clutching a hand over his heart. “That’s so damn cute I may puke,” he said, deadpanned.
“Shut up, runt.”
Trevor stuck his tongue out at Logan. “It’s just as well. I made a detour and picked up some barbecue last night on my way home. I can’t blow my budget on any more takeout till payday.”
Logan’s stance became rigid, and a scowl crossed his face.
“Did you walk home last night? I thought you said you’d get a ride from Carmichael.
Trevor, it was thirty degrees when I left and there was hardly any moon out.
I know you’re a self-sufficient kind of guy, but I’ve talked to you about taking stupid chances.
You could catch pneumonia or get mugged or worse.
I would think with all the shit we see every day you would know better—”
“Logan! Chill, man. I asked Carmichael, but he was going to the opposite side of town to see his folks. I was here until eight o’clock. What was I supposed to do? Call you up and interrupt your and Clay’s night to beg for a ride?”
Logan raked his hand over the top of his head. “Yes! We’re your friends, Trev. That’s what friends do for each other.”
Trevor was a little surprised by Logan’s vehement declaration. Trevor thought of Logan as a friend, but more of the work-friendly variety. Not the ‘ I can call you up in the middle of the night because I’m scared ’ variety.
“I’m sorry, Logan. I promise next time it’s freezing cold, and I have to get home late, I’ll call.”
Logan nodded. “Good.” He looked at his watch and then back at Trevor. “So, I’ll expect to hear from you in ten hours.”
“Smart ass,” Trevor said, under his breath.
“Better a smartass than an ass that smarts.”
“Okay, Milton Berle, we’ve both got jobs to do.”
“Milton Berle? What generation do you belong to, Mitchell? You realize you are twenty-eight, not eighty-eight, right?”
“Don’t knock the classics, Callen.”
Logan shook his head with a smile. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Trevor Mitchell, a technophile with a passion for all things pre-1960. You are a walking contradiction.”
“I prefer to think of myself as multifaceted. You never know which one of my personalities may show up. It keeps all my friends on their toes.”
Logan leaned in and whispered, “Your personalities don’t talk to each other, do they? If so, I can recommend a great psychiatrist.”
Trevor laughed, but quickly sobered when he remembered why Logan could give him such a referral. “How are your sessions with Dr. Lincoln going?”
“Really good. I haven’t had a flashback in weeks, and I’ve cut down on the anxiety meds.”
“I’m glad, Logan. You look good. I’ve noticed that your—”
Captain Fredrick stuck his head outside his office and yelled down the hall, “Callen! Mitchell! Get your asses to work!”
Trevor jumped and smiled at Logan. “Busted.” He glanced down the hall and saw Fredrick’s lean face with permanent worry lines etched in his forehead looking at them. “Yes, sir. Sorry.”
“Ass kisser,” Logan said under his breath.
“Kisser of ass,” Trevor retaliated
“These lips only kiss one ass in this city, baby.”
Trevor gave a shiver. “Please, I don’t think I could handle hearing about you guys’ bedroom gymnastics. A single homosexual’s brain can only take so much stimulation before we explode.”
Logan shook his head. “I’m not even going to touch that one. Now you heard the captain, get to work.”
Trevor saluted Logan, then turned and entered his lab to begin another workday.