13 Brandon #2
“I am innocent,” Brandon says. “We’re all innocent. Even Jon.”
Nicole raises an eyebrow. “We don’t know that yet.”
“You need to eat, too,” Ollie says. “Let me order pizza. Sleepover!”
“I am not sleeping over,” Nicole says flatly.
“Well, at least stay for pizza,” Ollie says. “Oh! And I want to show you my—”
“Murder board,” Ian interrupts.
Brandon snorts. Then he feels like crying again.
His stomach rumbles. He hasn’t eaten since last night, and it’s close to six.
They spent a few hours packing stuff up and took a while to get out here.
At least he doesn’t have to be at the hotel until nine.
Maybe food will help his mood stabilize enough for work.
Ollie gives them a full tour, each room more violently white than the last to the point where Brandon wishes he’d brought his sunglasses.
Pete follows them around, and Brandon wonders how this little dog can live in this pale house without getting dark fur everywhere.
The game room on the second floor is amazing.
They could throw a great party here. As long as there was no red wine.
When the pizza arrives, Ollie checks the camera on the door before opening it, which makes Brandon feel a little safer.
They eat in the kitchen, Ian typing away on their laptop and sometimes watching a tutorial video on how to hack, which Brandon didn’t know existed.
Nicole goes back to work after one slice of pizza, and Ollie is texting a lot, sometimes looking up at everyone and smiling, making sure they’re eating.
“I’m just so happy we get to hang out,” Ollie says. “I wish you didn’t have to work. We could watch a movie. Can you call in sick?”
Brandon opens his mouth, about to say yes.
“Nicole said to act normal,” Ian says first, eyes still on the laptop. “And I’m going to be at this all night. This isn’t a slumber party, Ollie.” They say it so coldly that even they flinch and glance up at Ollie. “Maybe tomorrow night?” They offer an uncertain smile, and Ollie nods, satisfied.
“Definitely tomorrow,” Brandon says, reaching out and squeezing Ollie’s shoulder. It could have just been a slumber party if not for what he’s gotten them all into.
“If we live that long anyway,” Ian says, turning back to the computer.
Brandon washes up and packs up his suit for work.
Act normal, Nicole said. So he’ll do that, even if it’s terrifying.
She’s giving orders, asking around. Ian is hacking.
Even Ollie is making a murder board. What is Brandon doing, aside from worrying about everyone—Jon included?
He feels useless, he realizes. Not just the one who got them all into this, but the one who can’t do anything to get them out.
He needs to help out more. Maybe there’ll be something at work.
“Got it,” Ian says, when Brandon is almost ready to leave.
He rushes over to the kitchen counter, where Ian has the phone and computer hooked up.
“I’m going to set up a VPN before I let it connect to the internet, hold on…
” Brandon watches Ian open a few programs, set some dots around a globe.
“That’ll keep anyone tracking it from finding us, at least for a little bit.
I think we should connect it to the internet for only, like, two minutes at a time. Otherwise, Airplane Mode, okay?”
Ollie and Brandon nod, looking over Ian’s shoulder as they turn the phone’s internet on. They wait as Ian scrolls through files, texts, contacts. But there’s nothing. It’s all empty.
“Did you mess it up?” Ollie asks quietly. “It’s all right if you did, you’re new to this and—” He stops talking as the phone dings. A small icon on it lights up. It has a little red notification in the corner: 1
Brandon gasps, unwillingly and loudly enough that Ian snorts.
“It’s a virtual phone number,” Ian says. “Works even without the SIM. This is just coming in even though it’s from yesterday, so he hasn’t logged in with this number anywhere else.”
“Does that mean he doesn’t have a phone?” Brandon asks, worried.
“What’s the message?” Ollie asks. Ian clicks.
PRIVATE NUMBER
You can still make this right
“Well, that’s ominous,” Ian says.
“It’s from right around when that guy got shot, too,” Ollie adds.
Ian looks up at Brandon. “Sorry, sweetie, looks like your boy is definitely part of this.”
Brandon feels his hands tingle, and he clenches them into a fist and shoves them in his pocket. “Could just be a coincidence. We don’t know what that message is even about.”
Ollie and Ian exchange a look, and Brandon knows what they’re thinking, but he refuses to believe that Jon is a criminal. It just doesn’t make sense. And Brandon wouldn’t feel that connection with a criminal, right?
“Turning off the internet,” Ian says, putting the phone in Airplane Mode. “I changed the code to three, two, four, six—fags. Easy to remember.” They grin.
“I was sure there’d be another clue,” Ollie says, disappointed.
“I’m going to see if I can find out who made the reservation,” Brandon says, deciding it suddenly. They’re all doing so much. He has to do something .
Ian and Ollie look at him, evaluating. “Is that allowed?” Ian asks. “Or is that something you could get fired for?”
“It’s on the computer. I have access; I just need to make sure no one notices. And I got us into this, so…I should try.”
Ian smiles. “Good luck.”
“You’d better go. Remember, hop on the train last second.”
“Right,” Brandon says, nodding at them both and heading out the door.
****
Getting to work isn’t so hard. He gets on the train at the last minute like Ollie told him to, only tripping a little as he steps on, looking all around him, but he doesn’t see anyone following him.
But would he? He doesn’t know. Probably not.
He’s never been aware of anything before.
He’s stumbled into more walls than a woman in a rom-com.
So, if he’s being followed, he won’t know it.
He looks around at everyone on the train, trying to see if they’re looking back at him.
One old man glares at him. Or maybe that’s just his eyes.
Brandon quickly looks away, swallowing, sweating.
The old man doesn’t get off at his stop, so maybe it’s just paranoia.
Brandon doesn’t know at this point, but at least at the hotel, he’ll be behind a counter.
He has a good view of the room. And no one is going to come for him in such a public place, right?
At work he puts on his suit and stands behind the desk with Amber, who smiles at him expectantly.
Is she in on this somehow? Did Heart-Eyes pay her to watch him?
“Do anything fun this weekend?” she asks.
Brandon almost laughs but manages to keep his face calm as he shakes his head.
“I saw that art exhibit. You know, the—” She leans forward, whispering, “Nudes.” He blinks, wondering if this is code, then remembers it’s just Amber. She’s not watching him. She wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret.
“You don’t have to whisper it. No one is even in the lobby.” He gestures at the empty waiting area.
“Oh.” Amber leans back, pouting a little.
“Fine. Well, it was really interesting. And erotic ,” she says loudly enough that it bounces off the mirrors.
Brandon sighs. He needs to get her out of here to grab a look at the computer alone.
Amber takes his sigh as a request for elaboration and continues.
“They were all modern artists, a mix of photography and oil and charcoal. Even some sculptures. Anything, as long as it was a naked body.” She giggles.
“Sounds like my dating profile. You think I should be an artist’s model? ”
Brandon smiles weakly. “I’m glad you had fun. I’m going to restock the water bottles.”
There’s still plenty of water left, but there’s another computer in the back office, and the night manager usually doesn’t show up until ten.
The back office is painted white with a plain desk, somewhere between the fancy lobby and the blank burrows under the hotel.
But the computer isn’t logged on. Brandon has no idea what the password could be.
He tries Bergamot , and then the night manager’s name—Tod, ugh—but neither works.
He tries them again with 123 after each of them, but nothing.
brANDON
Ian, how do I figure out the manager’s computer password?
IAN
What kind of computer is it?
brANDON
A mac. Older, but not like really old.
NICOLE
So we’re all just becoming criminals. Cool.
IAN
Look at his calendar or in his drawers, then? Sometimes people write them down.
Brandon checks the calendar and then opens the desk, where he finds a neat little card with the password on it.
brANDON
Thanks!
OLLIE
You know, we’d make a great detective agency
Brandon ignores that and goes into the reservation database, finding Jon’s information.
There’s a credit card on file, but he can’t access that without another password, and he’s already been in here long enough that Amber must be getting suspicious.
Instead he just takes a photo of the screen—the contact phone number he called, the name Jon Engel, and the check-in and -out dates with a note in the comments: checked out early due to work schedule change.
Well, that’s good to know. If it was work, then it wasn’t because of Brandon, and maybe he’ll text back and—
Brandon shakes his head, remembering everything that’s happened.
Still, maybe it’s all just a series of misunderstandings.
Jon will think it’s so funny when they find him and Brandon tells him everything.
You left your phone, I wanted to give it back, we saw a guy get shot, but then the body disappeared! Oh, they’ll laugh and laugh.
Brandon logs out of the computer, grabs a case of waters, and walks back out to the front desk.
“That took a while,” Amber says.
“I just needed a moment,” Brandon says, trying to keep his voice deadpan like Ian does. “After you talking about your naked body.”
Amber looks shocked for a moment. “Aren’t you gay? I would never talk about this stuff with a straight guy.”
Brandon sighs again, wishing he were straight. “I was kidding.”
“Oh.” She forces a laugh that becomes a real laugh. At least he got some information. They can find Jon now, maybe. Or at least get closer. He watches the doors for anyone coming in, anyone outside the glass windows watching them, but people walk by without even glancing at him.
Amber goes on about her trip to the art show as Brandon tries to tune her out.
Sunday nights are usually pretty quiet. A lot of people check out on Sunday morning, but not many check in late on Sunday night.
Just one older man clearly here for business who complains about his flight delays.
Otherwise it’s quiet. Brandon texts the photo to the group when Amber is on a break.
brANDON
Do we know anyone who can trace a phone number?
NICOLE
I can maybe ask my boss
OLLIE
I mean we do sort of know someone with access to databases
IAN
No
OLLIE
You said you saw him!
IAN
Yeah because I thought he’d broken into our place. I screamed at him. I don’t think he wants to help us out right now.
NICOLE
I will ask my boss
IAN
Great, I’m going back to bed and putting my phone in sleep mode this time
OLLIE
I guess I should go to sleep too. You remember the code on the lock to get back in Brandon? I pulled out the bed in the den for you and put down sheets and pillows.
brANDON
Thanks! I’m good, don’t wait up for me.
OLLIE
Night everyone!
No one responds, and Brandon pockets his phone.
The rest of the night goes by the way it usually does—slowly, dully.
No weird tattoos, no ominous phone calls, no one watching him with any particular interest. Maybe all this paranoia is for nothing.
He tries to think of reasonable explanations for what he saw: Jon is a movie star, and they were shooting a crime drama.
It was part of a globe-spanning game of paintball Jon plays with his wealthy friends who have too much time on their hands.
Something. Brandon knows it wasn’t paintball though.
But he also knows Jon couldn’t be involved in anything really bad.
The man Brandon met that night was kind and funny.
You know a person after you make love to them, right?
Your souls intertwine or something? He’d never say that aloud, but it feels true.
He intertwined with Jon. He’s a good guy.
And Brandon just wants to see him. The thing that makes him feel craziest is Jon just leaving, like there wasn’t something between them.
There had to be. Otherwise, what is all this chaos leading to?
With everything that’s happened, it has to be true love. Heimweh.
He gets off at six in the morning and rides the train home surrounded by men going to work.
He really has to get on a better shift. In the huge white house, everyone is still asleep.
Ollie doesn’t have to walk the dogs for a while, and Ian doesn’t have a bookstore shift until later and isn’t performing at the Wreck Room until Thursday.
Just Brandon awake in the house, and Pete, who ran downstairs when Brandon came in but thankfully hasn’t barked, just stares at him in the dark, that weird chew toy of his dangling from his mouth.
He pats Pete once on the head, hoping that will appease him, but Pete keeps staring. Brandon swallows and walks past.
The phone—Jon’s phone—is still on the kitchen counter.
They probably shouldn’t have left it out.
Brandon takes it. It’s his, sort of. It’s Jon’s, but Brandon has to be the one to return it—that feels right.
It’s his glass slipper. He goes to the den, where the white sofa is now a big white bed with fluffy pillows.
Brandon strips down and gets under the covers.
This is more comfortable than his bed at home. That’s not right.
He puts Jon’s phone on the nightstand next to his.
Then he takes it in his hand, slides it open.
Ian said they could connect it to the internet for only a few minutes, but maybe something will come in.
Maybe Jon is out there somewhere, under the same stars, thinking of Brandon this very moment, and if they could just connect—
Brandon turns the phone’s internet on. Nothing. He stares at the screen a moment. The wallpaper is a sleek black marble pattern with a gold border. Kind of reminds him of the hotel lobby.
Then a text comes in—sent earlier tonight.
AVERY
Excited to see you!
And a photo. Well, that’s something.