Chapter 23 #2
Ciaran tilted his head. “But you believe in a church ceremony and a contract that is simply a legally binding document?”
“It’s not simply a legally binding document,” Sawyer mumbled.
“Human religious constructs are so fascinating to me,” he mused. “But, my love, if you want a wedding ceremony, I will be more than happy to stand in front of everyone and say, ‘I do.’”
“I certainly don’t want it if you think it’s garbage,” Sawyer said, unable to stop the hurt in his voice or the hurt Ciaran could surely feel.
“No, no,” Ciaran said quickly, turning in his seat and taking Sawyer’s hand in both of his. “If you want that, we will do it. Anything you want. Anything at all. I will make it happen. Fray can be the minister, or priest, or whatever. He’ll totally do it.”
Sawyer could feel how sorry he was, and he was all too aware they’d have some differences to iron out.
But still, he couldn’t help but feel a little petulant.
“I know it’s different for you, but for me, as a human,” Sawyer said, trying to help him understand.
“As a gay man, the right to marry isn’t something we were always afforded, especially in this state. So, yeah....”
Ciaran shook his head and his breathing changed. “I hurt you. Such careless words, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Sawyer, I’m sorry.”
Sawyer squeezed his fingers. “I know you are. It’s okay. We’re still learning.”
He nodded, still frowning, still feeling bad. “I will do better, I promise.”
Ciaran was so pouty and cute, and Sawyer couldn’t help but smile. “For what it’s worth, I don’t need a church service. I’m not a religious person. So please, please don’t give Fray any ideas about dressing up as a priest.”
That made him smile, and Sawyer felt immediately better. He nodded out the windscreen to the wooden sign next to the overgrown drive. “Come on, let’s go see what you can’t tell me about.”
Sawyer began the slow drive down the very overgrown track that was Mr Brown’s driveway, and he could feel Ciaran watching him.
“I knew you’d get it,” Ciaran said. “Join the dots, I mean.”
“Is it a pact? Like a treaty, or something?”
Ciaran smiled. “Something, for sure.”
Jeez. He really couldn’t talk about it.
“Okay, got it. So like if treaties were apples, you’d be totally unable to say anything related to apples. Or even say the word apples, right?”
Now he grinned. “Correct. All discussion on apples, or anything pertained within the apple, is forbidden.”
Sawyer nodded and couldn’t help but smile a little. “But apples are good, right?”
“Very good. I love apples.”
“Right. Got it. Message received loud and clear. Apples are a good thing.”
Ciaran chuckled. “Look at us learning more about each other.”
Yes, look at us learning, indeed.
Sawyer stopped the cruiser near the old rundown shack and cut the engine.
The place looked deserted. “There’s no smoke coming from the chimney,” Sawyer noted.
“Is he....” Sawyer got out of the cruiser, rushing to get inside.
Being up here in this cold and constant damp was not good for a man of Mr Brown’s age.
Sawyer fully expected to find Mr Brown deceased—
“Sawyer, wait,” Ciaran said, grabbing the box of groceries out of the back of the cruiser with no sense of urgency at all.
“He’s fine.” Then he nodded to the side of the house, to the tree line, where an old, gnarled figure emerged, walking stick in hand, a pipe in his mouth, a long grey beard, and a very pronounced lean to the left.
“Give him some time,” Ciaran said. “He’s not a spring chicken. Doesn’t move like he used to.”
“I heard that, boy,” Mr Brown said.
Wait... he heard that?
But Ciaran was grinning as Mr Brown walked over, and Sawyer realised then they had a history, and Sawyer had to wonder just how long it went back.
“Ah,” Mr Brown said as he got closer. “Sergeant Detective Sawyer, when I said you were welcome back anytime, I didn’t expect you so soon. Nor did I expect you to bring this riffraff with you.”
Ciaran laughed. “You missed me, old man.”
“Missed you? Believe me, if there comes a day when I have to take a shot at you, I won’t miss.”
Ciaran held up the box of groceries. “Courtesy of Otis.”
“Ah, yes. My favourite boy. At least one of you is decent.”
Ciaran grinned some more. “Want me to put it inside for you?”
Mr Brown nodded. “Would appreciate it, thanks.”
When Ciaran disappeared into the small shack, Sawyer figured it was his turn to talk. He noticed his silver necklace again, seeing it more clearly this time. It looked like hammered patterned silver, and it looked old. It looked tribal, almost. No, not tribal... Pagan, maybe?
“Sorry for bringing the riffraff.”
Mr Brown met him with a smile of grandfatherly fondness. “So... a little birdie told me you two are...”
“Yes, we are,” Ciaran said, walking back out onto the porch. When he stepped down, he stood next to Sawyer, putting his hand on Sawyer’s lower back and a proud smile on his face. No one said the word “bonded,” but it appeared they didn’t have to.
So, Mr Brown knew about cephamorphs, then. Ciaran was definitely at ease here. Happy, even.
“Despite our... differences,” Ciaran finished.
Mr Brown laughed like the sound of wind through the trees. “Differences, huh? I bet you do have yourselves some of those.”
They bantered, bickered, and laughed for a few minutes, and Sawyer was happy to watch the exchange, reading between the lines all the things that weren’t said and, in particular, the questions Ciaran asked him.
Because he was trying to give Sawyer information.
“How’s the family?” he asked.
“Good, good,” Mr Brown replied. “And yours?”
“We’re doing okay. And how’s the mountain treating you?”
“All’s well here. I should be asking you how the water is down there?”
Ciaran did a small head tilt that said more than the spike of unease Sawyer felt from him. “Ah, you know how it is. Always something happening. The wind hasn’t been talking to you again, has it? Telling you our secrets again?”
Mr Brown smiled and took the pipe from his mouth. “She always whispers.” Then he winked at Sawyer. “Told me of a newcomer to town. Said change would come in with the tide.”
Wait, what?
“Me?” Sawyer asked. That was so weird. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh... tell the wind I said hello.”
Mr Brown smiled at Sawyer before giving Ciaran a shrug. “Now I’m not sure this is who she meant. He is your mate, yes?”
Ciaran didn’t miss a beat. “Yes.”
“He cannot cause you harm?”
Ciaran blinked in surprise, and Sawyer beat him to the chase, his heart rate spiking at the mere thought. “I would never. I could never.”
Ciaran rubbed his hand up Sawyer’s back, reassuring and calming, his eyes sincere. “I know.”
Mr Brown nodded slowly. “So... someone else.”
Ciaran raised an eyebrow. “Another newcomer?”
The old man turned and looked back at the trees. “She tells all kinds of stories, but you gotta know how to listen.” He put his pipe back in and pointed a gnarled finger at Ciaran. “And not all monsters come out of the dark, young man. But there will be more bonds. You’re not the last.”
Ciaran scrutinised him for a beat, then nodded slowly as if to say, “Message received.” They chatted some more, but Sawyer’s mind was spinning.
“Okay, well, we’ll leave you be,” Ciaran said. “Give my best to your family.”
“Will do. Give mine to yours,” Mr Brown said.
Oh, it was time to go, Sawyer realised. “We’ll be back. Let us know if you need anything brought up from town,” he offered.
Mr Brown’s eyes, old and dark, sparkled with knowing. “And you stay out of the water,” he said. “And the forest. No good will come from either.”
Sawyer stared at him, and Ciaran nodded toward the cruiser, signalling that they should leave.
Stay out of the water.
Stay out of the forest.
There was no way he could have known about Sawyer going into either, Sawyer realised.
And why did Ciaran mention Mr Brown’s family, not once but twice, if not for Sawyer’s benefit?
When Mr Brown lived very much alone and had no phone or television.
Or electricity, for that matter. But then Sawyer remembered Ciaran mentioning some folks who lived in the mountains and never came to town.
Ever.
Ciaran had warned him not to visit them.
They got into the cruiser, the doors closing out the wind and sound, and Sawyer wasn’t quite sure how to explain how much safer he felt.
Was he scared of Mr Brown?
No.
He was scared of the pieces he was putting together.
He put the cruiser in reverse, and Ciaran gave Mr Brown a wave as they pulled away. “Nice old guy, huh?”
The small bubble of laughter that escaped Sawyer sounded a little too close to crazy for his own good. “Sure.”
Ciaran laughed, far too relaxed, as they headed back toward the road. “So...”
“Yeah, so,” Sawyer said. “He’s not human, either, is he?” He wasn’t sure why he posed that as a question when he knew it was true. “And his family are the folks in the mountains you mentioned before who don’t come to town very often, and they’re not human either.”
Ciaran grinned at him.
Of course he couldn’t agree or disagree because of whatever treaty they had in place....
“So are they, like....” Images of Mr Brown flashed through his mind: his long beard, his old wise eyes, his gnarled fingers, his old and twisted walking stick. He was the embodiment of earth and trees and damp undergrowth. “Jesus. Are they like tree people? The Ents from The Lord of the Rings?”
As soon as he said that, he knew it was ridiculous, and wrong. Ciaran snorted, and Sawyer shot him a look of bewildered realisation.
He couldn’t help but be a little sarcastic. “Yeah, okay, like that’s soooo much more ludicrous than cephamorphs existing. The old man looks like was forged on the forest floor from twigs and leaves at the beginning of time. I mean, tell me I’m wrong.”
Ciaran grinned at him, his eyes dancing with copper and light. “You’re not wrong.”
So that was... that was true?
“Christ, is he like some forest sprite? Like, he morphs into Puck, and his walking stick becomes his antlers or something, because that’s no more fantastical...”
Ciaran’s eyes met his, and Sawyer knew. He fucking knew he was right.
Oh.
“Holy fuck.”
Ciaran laughed and lifted Sawyer’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “Those apples really are delicious.”