For Deb:

Work doesn’t feel like work when I get to sit next to you. I cannot thank you enough for your support and your stories.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

November…

It was just another day at West Side Magick. Psychic Tennyson Grimm was preparing for his next reading with a client. His 2pm appointment was with a young lady who wanted to reconnect with her husband who had tragically died in a car accident six months ago.

Tennyson had been chatting on and off with his client’s husband, a young man named Martin, and got the idea from him that this reading was more about getting Martin’s blessing on the wife moving on with his best friend than it was about saying goodbye to the husband she’d buried too soon. That was sometimes the way of things. Not all readings were filled with tears and weepy “I miss yous,” like you saw on episodes of Long Island Medium.

If only they’d give a medium a realistic television show. Tennyson would love to show viewers the real side of what his job was like. There were clients demanding to know why they’d been written out of their father’s will. Others wanting to know where Grandma Tilly had hidden her diamonds, and more who wanted to continue the family drama beyond the grave. Now that would be must see TV!

Ten sighed. There weren’t going to be television producers knocking down his door any time soon. To be honest, that was okay with him. He loved his life in the Witch City. After growing up in the very religious town of Union Chapel, Kansas, population 588, he loved his new adopted hometown of Salem, Massachusetts.

He’d escaped to New England after high school, the ink still wet on his diploma. His parents had disowned him after Tennyson confessed that he was gay and psychic. His choices of where to spread his wings had been between New Orleans and Salem. Since gay marriage had been legal in Massachusetts as of 2004, he’d caught a bus to Boston only hours after graduation and had never looked back.

Life had settled down for Tennyson and he’d quickly established himself as a working medium with his own set of clients through word of mouth and the internet. His big break had come a few months back when he’d gotten a phone call from Carson Craig, the West Side Psychic.

Carson and his brother, Cole, were the sons of Bertha Craig, the founder of West Side Magick. Bertha had passed away from breast cancer nearly two years ago and it had been her dying wish that her sons keep her legacy alive. The problem was that neither of her sons had shown any signs they’d inherited her gifts, until one night nearly a year ago when Carson had his first vision, a vision of love, in this very shop.

That vision had sent Carson on a crusade to find Truman, the man destined to die according to that first vision. They’d fallen in love along the way and now were happily married. As it turned out, Cole Craig had also started developing his own psychic powers around that same time. The brothers decided they needed a teacher and mentor to help them learn how to use and harness their new-found abilities. That’s where Tennyson had come in.

Now, nearly eight months after meeting the Craig brothers, Tennyson was a permanent member of the staff at West Side Magick and more like the third Craig brother than best friend to Cole and Carson.

“I’ll see you next Tuesday, just like always, Mrs. Salazar,” Carson was saying to a tiny Dominican woman as he escorted her out of the reading room.

Tennyson couldn’t help smiling at the two of them. Luisa Salazar was Carson’s best customer. She came in for a reading with him every Tuesday and referred all of her friends to the shop for their psychic needs. Some of those referrals had spilled over to him when Carson’s calendar was too booked to handle them all.

“There’s my Tennyson,” Luisa chirped from near the cash register. She waved before heading off toward the candle section of the store.

“She’s a peach.” Carson grinned.

Nodding, Tennyson followed Luisa’s progress through the aisles. Mrs. Salazar had been a huge support to Carson during the time he’d spent in the hospital last year. She’d organized meal deliveries to Truman’s house and even helped run the store and book appointments while Carson recovered from his injury.

“What time is your next reading?” Carson asked.

Turning to answer the question, Tennyson spotted a young man standing at the end of the counter that featured various healing stones and crystal balls. Ten took a step forward to greet the young spirit who looked nervous. “Hi, I’m Tennyson.”

The young man chewed his lower lip and looked back and forth between Carson and Tennyson. Surprise registered in his eyes.

Ten held a hand up to Carson, signaling him, as he took another step forward. The man, boy actually, looked to be about seventeen years old. He was wearing light-colored jeans and a white sleeveless, half-tank with the logo of a grunge band printed on the front. His blue eyes popped with perfectly applied liner and mascara. “What’s your name?”

The young man took a step forward and set a hand on Tennyson’s shoulder.

The psychic jolted as if he were being electrocuted. He thought he heard Carson shout his name, but that sound was drowned out by a flash of images assaulting his brain. It reminded him of a movie on super fast-forward where the pictures were moving so fast that your brain could only process a few at a time.

Tennyson couldn’t keep up with the flow of information coming at him. He tried to pull back from the man’s touch and found he couldn’t move at all. He tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t bring air into or out of his lungs. Panicking, he realized that if he couldn’t break this connection it could kill him.

The last image he saw before the world went black was of a young man’s naked body in a frozen field.

 

 

 

1
Tennyson

May…

When Tennyson cracked open a gritty eyeball at half past three in the morning, there was a young man sitting on the edge of his bed.  It was nothing new for him as he’d been getting nighttime visitations since he’d hit puberty. What was new for him was that this spirit was a repeat visitor.

Usually, he met with a spirit once and was able to respond to their unique situation. He passed on messages to their family members or was able to help the soul cross over to the other side. This spirit was different though. After several visits with the young man, Ten was still unable to figure out just what the spirit needed from him.

“Hey there,” Tennyson said gently, not wanting to startle the still nameless young phantom. 

The young man nodded in acknowledgment. 

Sitting up slowly, Tennyson made note of how the young man was dressed; torn jeans, sleeveless half-tank with the same grunge band’s logo emblazoned on it. The shirt was also stained with something, but in the low light it was hard to tell just what the stain was. It also appeared that he was wearing eyeliner, just like before.

Each of the other times this spirit had visited Tennyson, he’d been dressed in the same outfit and was wearing makeup, but as time had gone on, his image had started to change. The jeans had become torn, the shirt stained, the eyeliner streaked down his face.

The problem with this spirit was that he hadn’t yet gotten the hang of how to communicate from the other side. Tennyson called it dead speak. This had caused a lot of frustration on both of their parts. Each time they’d met, the young ghost would get so confounded by his own inability to speak to Tennyson that he’d vanish. Each time he left, Tennyson would never know if that would be the last time he’d see the troubled young man.

Ten and the young spirit had met several more times at West Side Magick. Thankfully, none of the subsequent meetings had been as dramatic as their first encounter. This was the first time the man had visited Tennyson at home.

When Tennyson had met the young man for the first time back in November, his sixth sense had been sent into overload with the amount of information the spirit had been trying to convey. He’d ended up passing out as a result. Carson had managed to catch his limp body just before it had hit the floor of the shop, saving him from a nasty fall.

When Tennyson came back around from his swoon, the young man was gone, as were most of the images that the ghost had force-fed into his mind. The one image that had stayed with him was that of a dead body in a frozen field. Ten didn’t know if the body belonged to the young man sitting on his bed or to someone else.

He offered a smile in the semi-darkness of his bedroom. “I want to help you. I’m just not sure how.”

The spirit nodded, reaching a hand forward.

Tennyson felt himself tense up. He knew it was the wrong way to respond to the flighty ghost, but it was pure instinct after what had happened the first time the ghost touched him.

Placing a hand over his heart, the spirit reached out again, this time with his index finger held out.

The gesture reminded Ten of E.T. when the extraterrestrial wanted to go home. He mimicked the gesture, meeting the man halfway. When their fingertips touched, there was no surge of images this time. There was only one image. Tennyson burst out laughing. Justin Timberlake had his dick in a box.

He looked up at the spirit who wore a mischievous grin as well. When Tennyson focused again, the picture had shifted to another image of JT. This time the singer was on stage with Janet Jackson during the infamous Super Bowl halftime show when Janet had her “wardrobe malfunction.”

“Justin Timberlake?” Tennyson said out loud.

The ghost nodded and pointed to himself with his other hand.

“Justin?” Tennyson thought he understood now. “Your name is Justin.”

The spirit nodded, looking pleased with Tennyson.

“Can you show me another picture to help me figure out your last name?” As the words left the psychic’s mouth, Ten saw an image of a volleyball with a smiling handprint on it in what looked like blood. He didn’t recognize it at first.

A memory tickled somewhere in the back of his mind. He was sure that if he got up and grabbed his phone and Googled “volleyball with bloody handprint,” he was sure the answer would pop right up.

“Wilson!” Tom Hanks’ voice echoed in his brain. The scene from the movie Castaway immediately came to his mind. “Justin Wilson?”

Nodding, the young man held his right hand out to shake with Tennyson.

Not hesitating for a second, Tennyson shook Justin’s hand. He could feel relief and a touch of pride wash through him. “Now that I have your name, how can I help you, Justin?”

The lights in the bedroom flashed on, momentarily blinding Tennyson. When his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked up to see Justin standing in the middle of his bedroom. The young man was a wreck. Both eyes were blackened, the left one was so swollen, it was nearly shut. Blood flowed from a gash in his throat to coat his concert tee and his torn jeans. The blood pooled on the floor, spreading out toward his bed and the door to the hallway.

“Someone murdered you?” Tennyson whispered.

Justin nodded. Stepping through the puddle of his own blood, he walked to Tennyson and set a hand on his shoulder.

A vision of a Wheel of Fortune puzzle popped into his mind with the letters being quickly turned over one by one before a contestant solved the puzzle. “You want me to solve your murder?”

The spirit nodded again and vanished. The bedroom light winked out, plunging Ten into darkness again. The only light in the room came from the red digits on his alarm clock which now read 4:03am.

His hand scrabbled over the bedside table for the lamp switch. When he flipped it, the blood was gone, as if it had never been there in the first place. Which of course, it hadn’t been.

In all of his years of seeing spirits and being able to talk to the dead, Tennyson had never before been asked by a ghost to help solve their own murder. It was a good thing he knew just the man for the job.

If only he and the man for the job were speaking to each other.

 

 

 

2
Ronan

Cold Case Detective Ronan O’Mara was at the end of his rope. He knew the Tyler case backward and forward. He knew it in his sleep. He could recite it line by line, but had a feeling none of his colleagues would want to sit in the front row and listen to the recitation.

All of the leads had been followed up on again. All of the witnesses that were still alive after twenty years had been re-interviewed. All of the physical evidence that was available had been swabbed for DNA and fibers and sent off to the lab in hopes that something new would be found that would help identify a suspect.

All of those things had led Ronan right back to where he started, which unfortunately, was where the Boston Police Department had ended the investigation of Rebecca Tyler’s grisly murder back in the summer of 1997.

Rebecca’s long-time boyfriend, Ralph Scott, had been the BPD’s best suspect, but he had an iron-clad alibi for the night of the murder. He was working on a fishing boat that was ten miles off the Massachusetts coast. The fishing vessel’s GPS confirmed his location.

Working cold cases was not for the faint of heart. After shooting a suspect in the line of duty nearly a year ago, Ronan had been demoted to the cold case unit. He’d been wallowing in the squad room with no luck solving cases and had been in fear that his job was on the line until he’d teamed up with local psychic Tennyson Grimm to solve a long cold missing child case.

After that one success, his career in the cold case unit took off. Over the last two months, he’d been able to solve four other cases, without the help of Tennyson and his sixth sense.

A friend of his, Truman Wesley, had once told him that being sent to the cold unit wasn’t a demotion. There weren’t many cops who had the patience or perseverance to see these cases through. Truman knew he had what it took to make it in this unit, but Ronan wasn’t always so sure.

The Tyler investigation was a case in point of Truman’s observation. Ronan knew he was dead in the water here. All he had to do was ask for Tennyson’s help and he’d be back in the game. He knew the psychic would be here in an hour, bringing his sunny disposition and a pocketful of anxiety-busting crystals.

The psychic would chit-chat with the spirit of Rebecca Tyler and before you could say Witch City Medium, they’d all know who’d killed the young elementary school teacher on the last day of school back in ’97.

He’d had his phone in his hand half a dozen times in the last hour alone to call for Tennyson’s help, but hadn’t known how to ask. Ronan and Tennyson hadn’t spoken to each other in fifteen days, twelve hours, thirteen minutes and seven…eight…nine seconds. But, it’s not like Ronan was counting.

Their fledgling relationship had hit a few bumps in the road since they’d met each other back in January.  Chief among those bumps were Ronan’s initial skepticism over Tennyson’s sixth sense, pepperoni versus mushroom, which Golden Girl was the sauciest, and Ronan’s increasing outbursts of temper. The last of which was responsible for the silent treatment on Tennyson’s part.

Ronan didn’t need to be a psychic to know he’d deeply wounded his sensitive boyfriend with his careless words and by storming out in the middle of their discussion on whether or not Ronan needed to see a therapist. Sitting here alone at his desk with his phone in his hand, knowing down to the precise second how long he and Ten hadn’t spoken, the answer seemed obvious. He needed to see a therapist. Probably.

Solving the Michael Frye case had been what had restored Ronan’s faith in himself as a detective. Unfortunately, it also dug up a long-buried secret about his ex-husband. Ronan had been struggling over his newly-minted divorce from Josh Gatlin when Tennyson Grimm walked into his life. He’d been just about ready to commit himself to the quirky, but sweet-as-pie psychic when Josh’s secret came out during the course of the investigation, rocking Ronan’s world.

The secret had also rocked Tennyson’s world and their world as a couple, which Ronan was having a hard time admitting to himself. This was the reason he needed to call the phone number on the therapist’s card Tennyson gave him two weeks ago.

Vowing to do right by Tennyson and himself, Ronan picked up the phone and typed in his password. He was in the middle of typing in a sappy yet serious message to his equally stubborn boyfriend when a commotion in the squad room pulled his attention from his phone.

“Ronan!” someone yelled in a breathless voice from down the hall. “RONAN!” the voice yelled again.

Heads of other detectives swiveled toward him. Ronan stood up and straightened his tie. He recognized the voice now and wanted to look his best when the man yelling his name got to his desk. “Here, Tennyson.” Ronan stuck up his hand so the frantic-sounding psychic would be able to locate him more easily. Although with the high-pitch of his voice, Ronan would think Ten could find him as easily with echolocation, just like a bat.

“Jesus, Christ, Ronan, you have to help me!” Tennyson sprinted the rest of the way to his desk.

As Tennyson ran, Ronan could see that his lover looked as panicked as he sounded. It wasn’t like Tennyson to be ruffled by much of anything. It also wasn’t like Ten to just show up here in the middle of Boston Police Headquarters without calling or texting, which chilled him to the bone. “Is something wrong with Truman? Carson? The babies?”

Over the last few months, he’d gotten especially close with Truman Wesley’s family. Truman was married to Carson Craig, who was not only Tennyson’s best friend, but was being mentored by Tennyson as well. After a bit of a harrowing courtship in which Carson took a bullet which had been intended for Truman, the couple had just become parents to triplets, which had been conceived via invitro fertilization, back in February.

Tennyson shook his head no before bending double and trying to take a deep breath.

Ronan relaxed a bit. “You? Are you all right?” Hesitating for a brief second, Ronan reached out and set his hands on Ten’s shoulders, lifting him upright so he could see into Tennyson’s dark eyes. His lover looked like shit. Tennyson was about 5’9” which was about half a foot shorter than himself. Ten’s dark eyes mirrored the hurt and sleepless nights he saw every time he looked into his own blue orbs the mirror.

“What then? What is it?” Ronan cupped the side of Ten’s face with his left hand. It felt so damn good to hold his lover again, but the psychic flinched at the contact before knocking Ronan’s hand away. His eyes reflected not the anger that was there the last time they saw each other, but something else.

“Justin Wilson. We have to find Justin Wilson. He came to me last night. Was sitting on my bed when I woke up. Showed me Justin Timberlake and the volleyball from Castaway and then started bleeding all over my bedroom floor. Asked me to find his murderer and then vanished.” Tennyson sucked in a deep breath, his panicked look now replaced by one of sheer determination.

Ronan blinked a couple of times in shock. If Tennyson was saying these things to just about any other cop in the room after his dramatic entrance, they’d be calling for the paramedics and then for an open bed in a psych ward. “Come sit down.”

Obviously talk of their fractured relationship was going to have to wait for later. Ronan sat Tennyson down in the chair next to his desk before walking over to the water cooler and getting him a paper cup filled with lukewarm Poland Spring. “Take a sip and then start from the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.” He offered Tennyson a warm smile. God, he’d missed this man so much. There was so much he needed to tell him, but it would all have to wait until Ten unraveled the mystery of Justin Wilson.

Ten nodded and surprisingly obeyed. Draining the cup, he took a deep breath and fished a brightly colored crystal out of his pocket, which he rubbed between his right thumb and the side of the first knuckle of his index finger.

Not able to help himself, Ronan snorted. If he had a nickel for every fluorite crystal Tennyson had handed him over the course of their relationship, he could buy a small island in the Caribbean. Ten was forever slipping one of the rainbow-colored anxiety-busting rocks into his hand or pocket to help him find his Zen.

“This is the spirit that has been visiting me for a few months now but can’t speak yet,” Tennyson started.

Ronan remembered hearing the story a few times now. He didn’t fully understand the whys and hows of spirit communication from the other side, but remembered Tennyson saying this was the ghost who short-circuited his ability to read what the young man was try to tell him. “He visited you last night?”

“Yes. He’s learned how to speak through images and has better control over the information he’s sending me. I only got one image at a time, this time.”

Ronan studied his lover. He didn’t look unduly tired. The last time this spirit visited and Ronan had been there, Ten hadn’t been able to get out of bed all day. He’d had to baby his lover, practically spoon-feeding him chicken soup with tiny oyster crackers.

Tennyson’s work with the spirit world was a part of their daily lives as a couple and was just another stress they had to learn to deal with. Ronan was ashamed to admit it was another thing that led to their fight two weeks ago. Spirits were everywhere. Finding a person in the physical world who could speak to them was not something they found every day and they took full advantage of Tennyson.

There were always messages to relay from the other side and Tennyson was always more than happy to do it. This, more often than not, resulted in missed movie times, late dinners, and no sex. Ronan knew being upset at changes in plans was juvenile when the people they’d met were grieving, but he had needs too. Of course, none of those needs were getting met now and he was lonelier than ever before, but he was going to fix that, just as soon as they got to the bottom of who Justin Wilson was.

“Okay so he showed you an image of Justin Timberlake?” Ronan prompted.

“Right and then when I asked him if Justin was his first name, he nodded. Same with the image of the volleyball. He agreed that Wilson was his last name.” Ten took a deep breath. He had a determined look in his eyes. “Then this is where the story gets weird.”

Gets weird? If Ten were telling this story to anyone but him, it would have been weird from word one. He just nodded silently and let Tennyson tell the story.

“His clothes have been changing since I met him. It’s always the same outfit. Jeans and a grunge band tank. Over his visits, the outfit is morphing into what it looked like during his attack and then last night, what it looked like when he died. Ronan,” Tennyson reached a hand out to cover the detective’s, “this has never happened before.”

That old familiar thrill of attraction zinged through Ronan’s body. His slumbering cock started to wake up. Now was, of course, not the time for that, but there was no telling his sex-starved dick that this was a false alarm. Abort, asshole…

“What’s never happened before? The spirit changing its appearance?” From what he remembered, it was usual for Ten to see a ghost more than once unless the set of circumstances were unique.

Tennyson nodded absent-mindedly before shaking his head. “It kind of reminds me of the old Wolfman movies where the technology sucked and you’d see the time-lapse filming of Lon Chaney’s transformation from Larry Talbot into the Wolfman.”

Ronan laughed. They’d spent a week back in February after the conclusion of the Michael Frye case at Captain Fitzgibbon’s cabin on Cape Cod. There was no cable television, but there was the captain’s extensive monster movie collection. They’d watched some of the tamer flicks, which included the old black and white Universal monster movies.

“I need you to check missing persons reports to see if Justin’s name is there.” Tennyson sounded earnest, like they didn’t have a moment to lose.

Ronan’s fond smile over his and Tennyson’s week on the Cape faded. Justin Wilson was the reason Tennyson was here, sitting in his usual seat at Ronan’s desk, talking to him like this was the old days.

Nodding, Ronan shifted away from Ten and moved back to the computer, which of course was taking it’s sweet-ass time in loading the page he needed to see. Once it was finally ready to use, he typed Justin’s name into the search bar and hit the button. He had no hope that the computer would get a hit on the name.

Seconds later one search result was returned. Shaking his head, Ronan clicked on it and was looking at the picture of a young, blond man holding a small dog and smiling. “Is this him?” Ronan turned his monitor toward Tennyson.

“Jesus Christ. That’s him. What does it say?” Ten moved his chair closer to Ronan.

“Justin Wilson, born in July of 2000, so that would make him eighteen years old now.”

“He wasn’t that old when he died though. I’d guess he was about seventeen. Maybe sixteen.”

Jesus Christ was right, Ronan thought. “He was reported missing by a friend of his. Kid named Keegan Mills. There’s no address listed for him here in the report. Okay, so Justin wasn’t reported missing by his parents who live in Hamilton, which is up on the North Shore. Rich community. Which is odd.”

Tennyson looked confused. “What’s odd? That the town Justin is from has money? Or that it wasn’t his parents who reported him missing?”

“Yes, all of that but also that this is a handsome, white boy that went missing and I don’t remember hearing anything about this on the local news. Do you?” Without bothering to wait for an answer, Ronan pulled up an internet browser and started a search for the young man’s name. “Nothing. No search results returned at all.”

Tennyson still looked confused. “What does that mean?”

“To my cop brain, it means a couple of things: drugs or homophobic parents with a runaway gay son.”

 

 

3
Tennyson

It was odd for Tennyson to be back at Boston Police Headquarters. He hadn’t been here at the precinct since his final rounds of interviews wrapped up for the Michael Frye case.  During the last stages of that investigation, Tennyson had been kidnapped from this very building by the boy’s deranged killer.

The events that followed his abduction were what led, in his mind anyway, to the state of his and Ronan’s relationship now. Even still, Ten couldn’t help grinning when he’d thought back to the way they’d met in January.

Ronan had been at the end of his rope on the Michael Frye case. The five-year-old boy had gone missing from his South Boston front yard in October of 2010 without a trace. The case had been cold for seven years when it had been assigned to Ronan.

With no leads left to process or witnesses left to interview, Ronan had taken the unusual step of consulting a psychic to help find the missing child. Tennyson, for his part, had just assisted the Scituate Police Department with a missing child case of their own. With that boy back safe in his parents’ arms, Ten’s face had been all over the local news.

It hadn’t been love at first sight when the detective walked into West Side Magick to ask for Tennyson’s help. Ronan had been defensive and skeptical of Tennyson and his gifts. That attitude had softened over time, while the wildfire attraction between them had exploded into a full-fledged conflagration.

They’d each had their own healing to do after the Michael Frye case ended in dramatic fashion, but Ronan had seemed unwilling or somehow unable to do the work necessary to find himself again. It hadn’t been easy, but two weeks ago Tennyson had made the decision to walk away from Ronan and the relationship they’d been building together.

He didn’t anticipate seeing Ronan again so soon after issuing his ill thought out ultimatum, but he couldn’t let Justin Wilson’s spirit suffer when he knew Ronan was uniquely qualified to help. Whatever was or, more to the point, was not going on between the two of them could wait until they figured out what the story was with Justin.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” Tennyson tried to refocus on Justin’s situation and not his own. “You think my nighttime visitor was a street kid who met a bad end?”

Ronan shot Ten a sad look. “What other reason is there for wealthy, white parents to not have raised a human cry for their missing son?”

Tennyson knew his own parents wouldn’t have looked for him either if he’d run away after they’d disowned him. “What’s our next step then?”

Reaching out a tentative hand, Ronan set it on top of Tennyson’s. “I know this hits close to home for you.”

Ten nodded, comforted by Ronan’s touch. That didn’t matter right now. What mattered was Justin Wilson.

“Did you get any idea from Justin in any of your meetings with him where he died?”

“The only thing I can remember from his picture dump into my brain was seeing a naked body in a frozen field.” Tennyson shivered, despite the warm temperature of the squad room.

“That doesn’t give us much to go on.” Ronan pulled his hand back from Tennyson’s. He went back to his computer and started hunting and pecking on his keyboard.

Tennyson watched Ronan’s face while he worked. He knew his former lover was looking for John Doe bodies dumped under similar circumstances. The only break, so far as Ten could see, was that the body he’d seen in the vision from Justin was in a frozen field, which limited when it could have been placed there.

“Jesus Christ,” Ronan muttered, getting to his feet and hurrying over to the printer.

That didn’t sound good. Ten watched with interest while Ronan collected a stack of papers and walked back.

“There are twenty-five John Does,” Ronan said with defeat in his voice.

“From when to when?” Tennyson realized his question sounded ridiculous, but knew Ronan understood him.

“The missing person’s report said the last time Justin Wilson’s friend saw him alive was two days before he was reported missing. I used that as my starting date and yesterday as my ending date.”

“Sweet Jesus.” Twenty-five unidentified young men with no one to claim their bodies.

“And that was just in Boston proper.”

“What do you mean?” Even though Tennyson had lived in Massachusetts for twelve years, he still wasn’t a master in Bay State geography.

“Well, I looked within Boston city limits, but there are other small towns that make up Boston as a whole. There’s Roxbury, Dorchester, Southie, East Boston, Charlestown, Jamaica Plain…” Ronan trailed off. “See what I mean? I used Boston as my jumping off point because that’s where the report was filed.”

Tennyson knew there were more small towns that made up Boston as a whole: Roslindale, Allston, Brighton and Hyde Park, just to name a few more. “So, there could be more bodies?”

“There are always more bodies, Ten.” Ronan shook his head. “That’s the first thing you learn at the Police Academy. Crime never sleeps, never takes a day off.”

Tennyson knew there were always more bodies. More spirits to be exact. Eventually, they all made their way to him.

“There are also more towns. Just because the missing person’s report was filed in Boston doesn’t mean that his body was dumped in the city. Hell, I can’t think of too many wide-open fields here in Boston.”

“We’re going to need to work this case together then.” Tennyson knew he was stating the obvious. What he didn’t know was if his always stubborn, sometimes illogical, former lover would agree to work with him again.

Ronan looked at Tennyson with his head tilted to the side as if he were measuring the words he was about to say very carefully. Under any other circumstances, Tennyson would laugh at the look on Ronan’s face, but with the state of Justin Wilson’s soul and physical remains in the balance, there was a lot riding on the next words to come out of Ronan’s mouth.

“You think that’s wise? Us teaming up again.” The look on Ronan’s face said he didn’t think that was wise at all.

It was a fair question. “Justin came to me because he knew I could help him. I came to you because I knew you could help me. I know we’re going through some tough shit right now, Ronan, but I know you’re the kind of man who steps in to help when innocent victims need you.”

“We were able to work the Michael Frye case because it was assigned to me by Captain Fitzgibbon. I can’t imagine he’s going to want me to go off on this wild goose chase about Justin Wilson when I haven’t solved Rebecca Tyler’s twenty-year-old murder yet.”

Tennyson’s face broke into a wide grin. “Well if that’s all that’s holding you back from agreeing to work with me then the answer is simple.”

“Oh, is it now, Nostradamus?” Ronan grinned around the old nickname he’d given Ten.

“The boyfriend killed her.” Tennyson made a motion like he was dusting his hands off.

Ronan shook his head. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Witch City Medium, but Ralph Scott was on a fishing boat, ten miles out to sea when Rebecca was killed. We have sworn affidavits from every member of the crew of the Lucky Lucille to attest to the fact that Ralph was on that boat.”

“I know,” Tennyson said to the thin air next to him. “You’d think that after I solved a murder case for him single-handedly, he’d listen to me.” Tennyson shrugged. “Watch this.” He waggled his eyebrows at the empty space next to him before turning back to Ronan. “Roger Scott was on the Lucky Lucille. Ralph Scott was murdering his girlfriend, Rebecca Tyler. He used his favorite haddock filleting knife to kill her.”

“I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch. Twins?” Ronan looked stunned. “That’s the oldest cliché in the book.”

“Just because it’s a cliché doesn’t mean it isn’t valid. Now that your case is solved, Columbo, what do you say to working with me to find out what happened to Justin Wilson. Partners, again?”

Ronan snorted, looking more sure of himself. “Partners again.”

 

 

 

4
Ronan

Three days later, Ralph Scott was locked in a cell at the Suffolk County Jail awaiting arraignment on murder charges. It had taken a little convincing on Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon’s part, but after Ronan played up how Tennyson had solved another cold case, the captain finally agreed to allow Ronan some time to look into Justin Wilson’s disappearance and possible murder.

Ronan had grown up in a single-parent family. His father had skipped out on him and his mother when he was little. Life had been a struggle, but growing up with Erin O’Mara had been a blessing. His mother had been there for him when he’d come out, hugging him close and promising to support him no matter what.

It hadn’t been like that for Tennyson. Ronan knew the psychic had grown up in a more privileged household in terms of money and had a bedroom full of toys, but when push had come to shove, both of Ten’s parents had shoved him out of their home and out of their lives when he’d worked up the courage to come out to them.

Ronan had made a pretty big leap assuming that Justin Wilson was a gay teenage runaway, but it would explain a lot of things, chief among them why his parents had not reported him missing, and why a friend had. Street kids were notorious for banding together and keeping a close eye on each other.

Ronan took a deep breath as he turned his red Mustang down the familiar streets of Salem, Massachusetts. In the two weeks he’d been away, more of the winter snow pile had melted and the trees lining Essex Street had started to come into bud. It wouldn’t be long before spring would be in full bloom. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d be around to see it.

The answer to that question was in his own hands and Ronan knew it. All he had to do was spend a couple of sessions with a therapist. Hell, it wouldn’t even be that hard and to have the chance to be back with Ten would be worth baring his soul to a total stranger.

Pulling into a free parking spot in front of West Side Magick, Ronan shut off the car and gathered all of his courage. Not only did he have to face Tennyson, but all of his -their- friends as well. The crew of West Side Magick was more of a family than a group of friends and they’d welcomed Ronan with open arms.

Walking into the shop now after breaking Tennyson’s heart wasn’t going to be easy. Not that it was going to stop him from putting on his big boy pants and doing it. Justin Wilson needed his help and nothing was going to stop Ronan from doing everything in his power to help the young man’s soul find peace.

The bell over the shop door tinkled when Ronan stepped inside.

“Ronan!” Truman Wesley greeted warmly, walking out from behind the counter of the bakery he co-owned with his best friend, Cassie, who just happened to be married to Cole Craig. He wrapped the detective in a warm hug. West Side Sweets occupied the store space next to the psychic shop. The common wall between the stores had been opened up so that shoppers could browse easily between both stores.

Ronan wasn’t expecting this kind of a welcome. Truman was supposed to be home with his ten-week-old triplets, but here he was hugging the life out Ronan. “What are you doing here?” Ronan managed when Truman let him go and he could breathe again.

Truman laughed. “Luisa Salazar and her sister, Inez, are home with the babies. Carson suggested the idea of me Skyping in for this family meeting, but I wanted to be here to see you in person.”

Feeling humbled, Ronan tried to reign his unruly emotions back in. “Truman, I-”

“I know what you’re going to say. Save it. We both know you and Ten are just going through a relationship hiccup. Carson and I went through the same thing. Did you know I actually broke up with him?”

“You did?” Ronan had never heard this part of the story before.

Truman nodded. “Carson never told me about the visions he’d had about me and the gunman until I walked into this store with Cassie who had a reading scheduled.”

“It all worked out in the end though.” Ronan couldn’t imagine Truman and Carson not being married and not being fathers to those babies.

“It did and I’m sure the same thing will happen with you and Tennyson.” Truman’s green eyes turned serious. “Listen to his concerns, Ronan. He cares about you so much. We all do.”

Ronan sighed. He knew how much Tennyson cared about him. “I’ll listen. I promise.”

“Come on. We’ve got breakfast set up in the reading room.” Truman grabbed his elbow and steered Ronan toward the back room where Tennyson, Cole, and Carson conducted psychic readings.

On his way past the healing crystals, Ronan grabbed a fluorite crystal for his anxiety. It was through the roof. Even with Truman’s easy forgiveness, he could feel his heart pounding and had already sweat clean through the undershirt he wore beneath his white button-up. He still had to face Carson, Cole, and Tennyson.

“Look who I found!” Truman crowed, squeezing Ronan’s shoulders, as he walked the detective into the room.

“Hi, Ronan,” Cole and Carson said together.

“I’ll add the crystal to your account, detective.” Tennyson raised an eyebrow in challenge.

“I was just borrowing it. I didn’t mean to-”

Tennyson burst out laughing. “I’m kidding. Come sit. I got you a coffee and your favorite passionfruit muffin.”

Carson rolled his eyes.

Ronan didn’t miss the frosty reception he was getting from Tennyson’s best friend. He didn’t blame Carson one bit. He’d been a dick to Ten, no doubt about it.

“So,” Cole said, taking a giant bite out of his muffin. “Where do we start with this investigation?”

“We?” Ronan asked with a smile. He broke his muffin in two while he studied Carson’s younger brother, who thankfully didn’t seem to be holding a grudge against him.

“Yeah, we,” Cole said with a bit more force. “The last time we let you work with Ten, you broke his damn heart.”

Well, so much for Cole not holding a grudge. Before Ronan could defend himself, Tennyson stepped in.

“Guys, what’s going on between Ronan and me is between Ronan and me.” Tennyson glanced around the table at his friends. “I appreciate the support here, but what’s important is Justin Wilson. Ronan and I will figure things out along the way…or not.” Ten shot Ronan a challenging look.

“Agreed.” Ten’s parting shot hurt more than he was willing to acknowledge at the moment. There was no time for hurt feelings now. They needed to get to work. Too much time had been lost already.  “I’m hoping the three of you can contact Justin. I need to know where his body was left.”

“Why?” Carson openly sneered at Ronan.

“Jesus Christ, Carson, cut the shit,” Truman rolled his eyes. “If Ten is okay working with Ronan again then that’s his business. It’s our job to do what we can to help find this missing teenager.”

“Is that so, husband?” Carson raised an eyebrow at his husband.

“Yes, it is, wife.” Truman shot back with heat in his voice. “Christ, we have three ten-week-old babies at home that I need to get back to. I don’t have the time or the energy to squabble with you. Our babies need me.”

“No, they don’t!” Cole said with obvious glee. “Look!” He flipped his iPhone around to show Truman the nanny cam video feed. The Salazar sisters were singing a Spanish lullaby to the babies who were sleeping soundly.

“Thanks, Cole,” Truman said from behind gritted teeth.

“Getting back to business,” Tennyson interrupted, “why do we need Justin to tell us where his body was placed?”

“So that we can find it, then claim it from that town’s medical examiner’s office, and have it autopsied again for evidence,” Ronan said softly.  He loved the men sitting around the table, but they had very little experience with murder victims. That kind of wide-eyed innocence was a good thing in most cases, but when it came to murder investigations hearing this kind of detail could be a shock to the system.

“Jesus, so you mean he’s a John Doe out there somewhere? Alone in some morgue?” Carson asked. “God, I’m an asshole, Ronan.”

Knowing better than to agree out loud, Ronan took a huge bite of his muffin.

“Plus, there are parents out there who will want to know what happened to their child and lay him to rest,” Tennyson added.

“Exactly,” Ronan said. “We need to find out what happened to this boy before he died so that we’ll know how to approach his parents. Then we need to know what happened to him after he died and where the killer left his body.” Ronan hoped Tennyson understood what he was asking for. He wasn’t really in the mood to explain that Tennyson needed to ask if the spirit had been raped as well as murdered.

“And you wanted to meet here since Justin has visited Tennyson here in the store so many times?” Cole asked before taking a sip of his coffee.

“That and because I was missing Cassie’s muffins.” Ronan grinned at his friends, missing the old banter between them before he’d gone and messed up the best thing in his life.

Cole snorted. “Yeah, you look like you’ve dropped a little weight there, pal.”

Cole had a point. He hadn’t been sleeping or eating much since Tennyson dumped his stupid ass, but now wasn’t the time or place to drop that little gem on the group. “Nah, this shirt just makes my shoulders look smaller.”

It was Tennyson’s turn to laugh. “Eat up, everyone, so we can get to work. The quicker we can get to work; the quicker Justin’s soul can rest in peace.”

 

 

 

 

5
Tennyson

Tennyson knew Ronan was full of shit. He’d mapped the stubborn detective’s body out like a cartographer. He knew every inch of skin, every blemish, every freckle. Ronan had definitely lost weight. If they gave out awards for deflecting, Ronan would be the world champion.

Be that as it may, Ten knew Ronan was just trying to keep everyone focused on Justin Wilson. He would be bringing up the state of Ronan’s body and soul later on when they were alone in the car together and Ronan couldn’t storm out on him again.

He sat quietly at the reading table while Ronan and Truman cleaned up the remains of breakfast. Taking some deep, cleansing breaths, Ten fought to regain his center and bring his racing heart back under control. It wasn’t like him to be nervous before a reading, but he felt like there was so much more at stake. Justin Wilson had come to him for answers. He felt responsible for finding out what happened to the young man.

When everyone was once again sitting around the table, Tennyson reached out to Justin’s spirit. After a few minutes of not getting a response, he relaxed back against his chair.

“Nothing?” Ronan reached out to Tennyson, but pulled back at the last minute when Carson half-growled at him.

Tennyson shot Carson an annoyed look. He loved his friend like a brother but it wasn’t his place to scare Ronan off from touching him. “He’s not here right now.” Sometimes that happened. Spirits weren’t like dogs, they’d didn’t always come when you called them.

“Maybe we could help?” Carson suggested looking at his brother.

“It’s worth a try,” Tennyson agreed.

The brothers linked hands and closed their eyes. They were much more powerful together than either of them was alone. It amazed Tennyson how far they’d come in the year he’d been working with each of them.

“Hello, Justin,” Tennyson greeted. The spirit appeared behind Ronan and was curiously observing the detective, who he’d never seen before. “This is my friend, Detective Ronan O’Mara.”

Justin gasped and stepped back.

Tennyson rose out of his seat slowly. “He’s here to help you, Justin. Please don’t go. Ronan is my friend.” Tennyson set a hand on Ronan’s shoulder. “Actually, he’s more than my friend. He’s my boyfriend.”

Ronan stood up slowly and slung an arm around Tennyson’s hips before pressing a kiss to the side of Ten’s head. “Hi, Justin.”

Thank God for Ronan playing along. Justin seemed to visibly relax. “I’ve worked with Ronan on other cases before. It’s, ah, how we met actually. When you said you wanted me to solve your murder, I knew Ronan would be just the guy to help us.”

“In order to help you, Justin, we need to ask some hard questions. Are you up for that?” Ronan asked gently.

Tennyson was impressed. Ronan had come a long way since he’d interviewed five-year-old Michael Frye. He’d scared the boy so badly the first time, the boy had vanished.

Justin nodded.

“He’s ready to help.” Tennyson looked up at Ronan. He couldn’t help noticing the light was back in his ex-lover’s eyes. Guilt swamped over him. He knew this little bit of playacting wasn’t good for Ronan, but it was helping Justin feel more at home. Just one more thing to talk to Ronan about later when they were alone.

Pulling back from Tennyson, Ronan reached for his flip notebook and pen. He took his seat and flipped to a blank page. “Tennyson told me that one image you sent to him was of a body in a frozen field. Was that your body, Justin?”

Jesus Christ, straight to Final Jeopardy… Tennyson watched Justin bang the toe of his sneaker against the tile floor in a nervous gesture before nodding his head.  “He says yes.”

“Thank you. I know that was a hard question to answer. You’re doing great.” Ronan smiled before writing something down. “I know this might be a hard question to answer, but do you know where that frozen field is? What town?”

Justin stepped forward, holding his hand out to Tennyson.

Carson got up and moved forward toward both of them, but Tennyson’s upheld hand stopped him in his tracks.

“We’ve got this, right?” Ten smiled at the spirit, who nodded. He held up his hand to Justin who touched their fingers together, just as he had done last night. One image came through clearly. It was a town line sign. “Welcome to Newburyport,” Tennyson read.

Ronan kept writing. “That’s wonderful, Justin.” He looked up at Tennyson and shot him a troubled look as if he weren’t sure how to say what he needed to say next. “About your family…”

Justin pulled back from Tennyson as if he’d been burned.

Tennyson had a feeling that would be the teenager’s reaction to any mention of his family. “What the detective is trying to say is that we are going to need a way to identify your body and DNA is the best way to do that.”

Justin drew a question mark in the air with his finger.

“He wants to know why?” Tennyson figured this answer would be better coming from Ronan than from himself.

“For two reasons, actually. First, we need to be able to identify you so that we can conduct a forensic autopsy to look for any clues that will help us identify your killer. Secondly, so that your parents will be able to lay you to rest.”

Justin started to wildly shake his head no. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Tennyson soothed. “Did you run away from home?”

Justin shook his head no.

“They kicked you out?” There was heat in the question. Ten felt his hands ball into fists at his side.

Justin nodded.

“For being gay?” Ten asked gently.

Justin’s tear-filled eyes blazed with anger. He didn’t need to nod. Tennyson knew the answer to his question. “Me too,” Tennyson set a hand over his heart. “They kicked me out on the day I graduated from high school.”

Justin’s look turned angrier. He swiped at the tears falling down his face before setting a hand on Tennyson’s shoulder.

The image that came through was unmistakable. It was a picture of Julia Roberts dressed in a red gown with Richard Gere holding a jewelry box open to her. It was a scene from the movie Pretty Woman. “You were a male prostitute after your parents kicked you out?”

The teenager nodded again.

“Was the man who killed you one of your johns?” Ronan asked.

Another nod from Justin before he sent Tennyson another image.

Tennyson snorted. He couldn’t help himself. The picture Justin sent was of the electric chair. “We’re going to find this guy, Justin. I don’t know how, but I promise you we will find him.”

 

 

 

6
Ronan

It had been ages since Ronan had driven this far north up Route 95. His ex-husband had been more of a city guy, but Ronan managed to convince him to take a three-day weekend trip to Hampton Beach just over the state line into New Hampshire the first summer they’d been married.

Ronan had loved the wide-open spaces the New Hampshire seacoast had offered, while his ex had whined about missing Boston. He had a feeling Tennyson would love Essex County, Massachusetts. It was artsy and gay friendly. Gloucester was filled with art colonies and one of the oldest active ports in New England. Essex and Ipswich were known for their mouth-watering seafood. Hamilton and Wenham were known for being wealthy bedroom communities for Boston businessmen who were tired of city living.

He wished they were making the drive for pleasure, rather than business, but maybe they’d be back this way again if he ever managed to get his head out of his ass and apologize to Tennyson.

“You were really good back there,” Tennyson said, breaking Ronan out of his thoughts.

“Oh, with Justin, you mean?” He remembered Ten chastising him not too long ago for being easily frustrated with spirits.

“Yeah, I was impressed.” Ten’s tone was genuine.

Ronan laughed. “Well, you kept telling me what a dick I was with Michael Frye, so I worked on my delivery a bit since I had some free time on my hands.”

“Ronan, I-” Tennyson looked like he had a whole mouthful of things to say.

“No, it’s fine. I didn’t mean it like that.” Shit, he’d gone and stuck his foot in his mouth. Again.

“I know you’re not eating or sleeping well,” Tennyson’s voice challenged.

Sighing, Ronan took his eyes off the highway to look at Tennyson. Stubborn as always. “Fine, I’m not eating or sleeping well. I miss you. Happy?” Fuck, that hadn’t come out the way he intended it.

“Care to rephrase that?” Ten grinned.

“Damn psychic, yes, I would care to rephrase that.” Ronan shook his head. How the hell did you win a fight with a man who could read your emotions like a book? By telling the truth, he supposed. “I’m struggling.”

“This is where we left off two weeks ago,” Ten said wearily.

“I know it is. Josh fucked me up good and I’m not sure I can come back from that, Tennyson.” Ronan sucked in a ragged breath. “The man raped and killed someone so that he could start our life as a married couple on a clean note. I mean, I get that I need to speak to a therapist about that, but how in the fuck do I ever get those words out of my head? He killed an innocent person thinking that act would kill his own sickness. Jesus Christ.” It always came back to this. Ronan had a feeling it always would.

“I’ve seen the toll this has taken on you, mentally and physically,” Tennyson started.

“I was doing the one day at a time thing from when I was in rehab, you know?” Ronan had battled a drinking problem after Josh had divorced him. Thankfully his ex’s confession hadn’t sent him running for the nearest bar, but it had sent him into a downward spiral of depression and endless rounds of the “what if” game. “Then I lost my shit, and lost you and our friends and…” Lost the will to live… He’d be damned if he let those words slip past his lips though. Ten didn’t need to know how far he’d sunk.

Glancing over at Tennyson, he could see the guilt in his ex-lover’s dark eyes.

“Look, this isn’t meant as a guilt trip. I don’t want that for you. I just haven’t been taking very good care of myself and that’s on me. I promise I’ll do better. We just had this thing we were building… and then it was gone.”

“There’s blame here for me too, Ronan. I didn’t handle things the right way either. I just thought if I shocked you a bit, you’d get some help. I don’t know why I thought that, you’re so god damned stubborn you could give lessons to a pig-headed mule.”

Ronan did the last thing even he thought he’d do at Tennyson’s words. He laughed. Hard. So hard, he had to pull off to the side of the road. Tennyson joined in with him. It felt like the old times with the two of them laughing like loons together. “God, that felt good.” Ronan’s soul actually felt lighter.

“It did.” Ten set his left hand on Ronan’s thigh, the place it usually rested when they drove around together. “How are we going to tell Justin’s asshole parents that we think their son is dead, when we know he is? How are you going to explain that you’re a Boston Police detective working with a psychic? How are you going to resist punching both of them in their asshole faces?”

Ronan barked out another quick laugh, as he pulled the Mustang back onto the street. “You mean how am I going to keep you from punching them in their asshole faces?”

Tennyson nodded. “Yeah, that too.”

“Why don’t you let me do the talking when we get there, huh?” Ronan had been mulling around similar questions as they drove through the quiet streets of Hamilton, Massachusetts. The closer they got to Justin’s former home, the bigger the houses got.

“I’ll never understand how parents can just kick their kids out of their families for something beyond their control.” Tennyson shook his head.

“Some people don’t think it’s beyond our control. You should know that from all those years you spent in the pews at Union Chapel Baptist Church, right?” There was nothing Ronan hated more than those ignorant fucks who thought that the gay could be prayed, brainwashed or beaten away.

“Yeah, but shouldn’t biology trump some book? Or the words of some fire and brimstone preacher?”

“It should, but we live in the real world. We know it doesn’t.” Ronan was thinking back to an incident a few months back where some drunk assholes had given him and Tennyson a hard time when they’d kissed each other on the way out of a restaurant in South Boston. As liberal as Massachusetts was, there were still closed-minded assholes willing to open their mouths and let their hate spew out. “What’s that line about the way to heaven being paved with good intentions?”

Tennyson half-growled. “Do you think that was my parents’ and Justin’s parents’ intentions? To scare us back into the fold by forcing us out into the big scary world with only our wits to get by on?”

Ronan parked the Mustang in front of an impressive looking set of gates leading up to an even more impressive looking mansion. “Let’s ask these pretentious pricks.” Ronan waggled his eyebrows at Tennyson. “After we collect their DNA.”

 

 

 

7
Tennyson

It never failed to impress Tennyson how quickly doors were opened to them when Ronan flashed his badge. Five minutes after Ronan had shown his shield to the video monitor at the Wilson’s gate, they were being ushered into an enormous sitting room overlooking the patio’s inground swimming pool.

“Mrs. Wilson will be with you momentarily,” the stuck-up sounding butler announced.

“Christ, this room is bigger than my entire apartment,” Ronan half-whispered.

“Mine too, and who the hell has a butler nowadays?” Tennyson rolled his eyes.

“Detective O’Mara, is it?” a grey-haired man dressed in an expensive suit asked as he stepped into the room from a side door. He was escorting a much younger woman at his side who looked like she’d just returned from a tennis match.

“Yes, and this is my partner, Tennyson Grimm.”

“You are not with the Boston Police Department.” The platinum blonde turned down her pixie nose at Tennyson. “I seem to remember hearing that you are charlatan of some sort, Mr. Grimm.”

No wonder Justin hated his parents. Tennyson felt his hands balling into fists at his sides. He tried to remember what Ronan said about letting him handle talking to the parents. He released his hands and tried to take a deep breath.

“Mr. Grimm is a consultant working with the BPD, Mrs. Wilson,” Ronan said. “He’s played a critical role in helping our department in the past.”

Tennyson could sense the anger rolling off of Ronan. He couldn’t help feeling a bit giddy that part of the anger was on his behalf. Back home, no one had ever stood up for him before, but then again, there was no one like Ronan O’Mara back in Union Chapel, Kansas.

“Well, I suppose if your lieutenant doesn’t mind being conned…” Mrs. Wilson narrowed her icy blue eyes on Tennyson.

“My captain, is quite pleased with Tennyson’s work.” Ronan arched an eyebrow. “We’re here to speak with you about your son, Justin.”

“We no longer have a son,” Mr. Wilson said in a matter-of-fact tone.

Tennyson felt his hands balling into fists again. This was going to be a long interview if he felt like punching Mr. Wilson every time the man opened his asshole mouth.

“Which state agency did you surrender your underaged son to, Mr. Wilson?” Ronan asked quietly.

The Wilsons exchanged confused looks with each other. “We didn’t surrender the boy to anyone.”

“So, you’re both confessing to child endangerment?” Ronan reached for his handcuffs.

“Wait a God damned minute! You come into our home and accuse us of committing a crime?” Mr. Wilson’s face was turning beat-red.

“No, sir! You wait a minute!” Ronan exploded. “You kicked your sixteen-year-old son out of your home for being gay. Left him on the streets to fend for himself without a dime to his name, which is a felony offense in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts.” Ronan shook his head. “Jesus Christ, you have a police officer standing in your living room and haven’t even asked me what I’m doing here.”

Wilson waved a hand in the air. “I assume the boy’s been arrested for a crime of some sort and you’re here to make us pay for the damages. How much do we owe you? Darling, get the checkbook, would you?” Wilson sounded as if the talk of money was beneath him.

These rich assholes were all the same, thinking their shit didn’t stink and that everything was about money. Tennyson was appalled by what he was hearing. He had no doubt that this is exactly what would have happened had a cop come knocking on his parents’ door back in Kansas. It was time to end this insanity. “Mr. and Mrs. Wilson, your son is dead.”

Both Wilsons looked at him with their mouths hanging open but didn’t say a word.

“I’m sure neither one of you believe in what I do for a living, but your son’s spirit came to me several months ago and attempted to communicate. I believe he’s having difficulty crossing over to the other side because of how brutally he was murdered. Not that either one of you seem to care about that.” Tennyson shrugged.

He had a feeling Ronan was going to lay into him for his impassioned speech later, but right now, he had zero fucks left to give. “Justin asked me to find his murderer and that’s exactly what I intend to do. I’ve got the full trust and backing of the Boston Police Department’s Cold Case Unit. One of the images that your son was able to communicate to me was of a naked, dead body dumped in a frozen field. Justin was able to tell me where that field was. We need samples of your DNA to prove the body the Essex County Medical Examiner has in their cold storage morgue matching Justin’s description, does in fact belong to your son.”

“You’re saying my son is dead?” Mrs. Wilson asked sarcastically. “I don’t understand. Why were we never notified? When did this happen?”

“You were never notified because you never reported your son missing!” Tennyson shouted. He shut his eyes for a moment and did the one thing he swore he’d never do. He read Justin’s mother without her permission. His dark eyes popped open and he took two steps toward Mrs. Wilson. “It happened the night you were hosting the annual Daughters of the American Revolution banquet. You remember that five thousand dollar a plate dinner where the money raised went into a fund for next year’s gala?” Tennyson sucked in a rough breath. “The son who you’d carelessly tossed out onto the street like yesterday’s paper was being beaten, raped, and murdered and you were eating caviar on toast points with your rich bitch friends.”

Mrs. Wilson gasped and turned to her husband.

“Ten.” Ronan set a hand on his shoulder before turning to the Wilsons. “We need your DNA so we can positively identify your son’s remains.”

“I-Is what this man said true?” Justin’s father asked Ronan. There was a crack in the man’s previously unshakable demeanor.

Ronan took the DNA swab out of the package. “Open,” he demanded, and when Mr. Wilson complied, swabbed the inside of his left cheek. “Oh, so now you care?” Ronan looked the man in the eye. “Yes, it’s true. Tennyson is never wrong about what spirits tell him. Of course, we will be able to confirm all of these things once we’re able to claim Justin’s remains and perform a forensic autopsy.”

“What happens after that?” Mrs. Wilson asked after Ronan swabbed her cheek.

“I guess that is up to you, ma’am. Either you’ll do what’s right for you son and you’ll find a peaceful final resting place for his remains, or he’ll end up in an unmarked grave in a potter’s field.” Ronan packed away the DNA swabs and signaled Ten that it was time to leave.

Like hell Justin will end up in an unmarked grave in unconsecrated ground… Tennyson thought to himself. If he had to pay for the funeral himself, Justin would have a proper funeral and a beautiful headstone. 

 

 

 

8
Ronan

“That was one hell of a performance you put on back there,” Ronan said, once they were back in the car and heading north to Newburyport, where the Essex County Morgue was located. They were going to hand-deliver the DNA samples to the lab at the medical examiner’s office.

“You’re not angry at me for stepping over the line?” Ten sounded nervous to hear Ronan’s answer.

“Are you kidding me?” Ronan snorted. “What you said was tame compared to what you could have said, and no one got punched in the mouth.” Ronan felt practically giddy. He had a feeling what Tennyson did say had been percolating for years after the way his own parents had kicked him out of his house back in Kansas.

Tennyson grinned. “Yeah, but those people have money. I’m sure they’re on the phone with some high-priced dream team of Boston attorneys right now hatching a plan on how to own your pension and my third share in West Side Magick.”

“I don’t think so, Ten. If that dream team knows Massachusetts law the way that I do, then they know what the child endangerment statute says and how it fucks their clients three ways from Sunday.”

“You realize being gay is their fault,” Ten said quietly, turning to stare out the window.

Ronan’s heart pinched in his chest. He knew full well that being gay wasn’t a choice he’d made, but rather the way he’d been made. His mother had known that too, but not all kids had been as fortunate as he’d been. He reached out a hand, setting it on the crook of Tennyson’s elbow. “I know.”

There had been theories about the so-called “gay gene” tossed around scientific circles for decades, but no one had been able to prove or disprove its existence, so far. “Biology is a funny thing, Ten. Blond hair, blue eyes, giant ears, hawk nose. You never see parents having guilt trips over handing down those traits.”

Ten was quiet for a minute. “You think that’s why Justin’s parents kicked him out, because they were ashamed they’d created a gay kid together?”

“Come on, Ten, don’t be naive. Wilson had at least twenty years on his wife and I’d bet you a year’s salary that she’s not his first wife. I’m betting he traded the first one in for this newer model when she started to sag and show her age.”

Tennyson’s mouth gaped open, but he didn’t say a word.

“He was wearing a five-thousand-dollar suit with a twenty-thousand-dollar Rolex. That haircut cost a hundred bucks and his cologne is a thousand bucks a bottle. Everything to do with that man is all about appearances. A gay son would ruin the perfect family portrait.”

“It didn’t have to,” Tennyson grumped.

“You’re right, it didn’t,” Ronan agreed. “Some people can’t stand anything less than perfection.”

“Justin didn’t deserve the way his parents treated him.” Ten’s voice was small and full of emotion.

“Neither did you.” Ronan squeezed his shoulder.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about Justin. Someone murdered him and left his broken body alone in a field. We have to find him, Ronan. We have to find who did this to him and then we have to lay him to rest.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” From the little bit of time Ronan had spent with Tennyson and his friends in Salem, he knew what an amazing LGBTQ community they had there. Carson and Truman wouldn’t hesitate to throw a fundraiser for Justin. “Hell, you even have a connection with that gay reporter from Channel 5. I’m betting if you gave him a call he’d come out and cover whatever fundraiser we put together.”

“We?” Tennyson asked, turning back from the window.

“I can’t be the only one thinking that the two of us being apart is only temporary, right?” Ronan crossed his fingers and held his breath.

Tennyson snorted. “Seriously, that’s your play?”

“I know I fucked up, Ten. I need help dealing with Josh and what he did and how that affects me today.” This wasn’t how he’d intended to say it, but it was from his heart and that’s what mattered.

“Wow. Two weeks ago you didn’t think it affected you at all. I’m impressed.”

“Two weeks is a long time to be without you.” That was the God’s honest truth. It had felt like two years.

Tennyson rolled his eyes. “You mean two weeks is a long time to be without my mouth on your dick.”

“No. Two weeks is a long time to be without the way you laugh at my ridiculous jokes. It’s a long time to be without your hugs that last half an hour, and it’s too long to be without my best friend. I could go the rest of my life without your mouth anywhere near my dick so long as I could pick up the phone and hear the sound of your voice.”

“Damn…” Tennyson trailed off. “Guess I’m the dick now, huh?”

As a matter of fact, he was, but Ronan sure as shit wasn’t about to say that out loud.

 

 

9
Tennyson

Tennyson didn’t need the DNA results to tell him that the John Doe body in cold storage at the Essex County Medical Examiner’s Office belonged to Justin Wilson. He’d know it the minute he walked into the building.

He half expected Justin to be waiting for him in the lobby of the building, but as he had explained to Ronan before, spirits didn’t tend to hang out in places like this.

Ronan was chatting amiably with the lab technician while he signed the DNA into evidence, which gave Ten some time to think about what Ronan had said in the car. Were the two of them only apart temporarily?

When he’d given Ronan the ultimatum, he hadn’t really expected the detective to walk out the door. Ten figured Ronan would agree to go see a shrink for a few sessions, talk about Josh and then they could get back to whatever it was they had been building together. Ten hesitated to say it out loud, but he thought they had what it took to be in it together for the long haul like Carson and Truman.

His boyfriend had been famously stubborn since the moment they’d met, so it shouldn’t have come as a huge shock when Ronan grabbed his pants and slammed the door behind him.

What had come as a surprise was Ronan’s heartfelt confession in the car. Ten had missed the hell out of Ronan too. And not just the sex like he’d intimated. He’d missed all the little things like falling asleep on Ronan’s shoulder and lazy Sunday mornings sharing the newspaper and bites from each other’s bagels.

None of the other men he’d dated had ever understood or accepted his job as easily as Ronan. Hell, here they were sitting in the medical examiner’s office trying to identify the physical remains of a ghost who’d visited him in the night. How many men would be at his side through something like this?

The answer was none. Every man that Tennyson had ever dated had grown sick and tired of playing second fiddle to dead people. Tennyson understood where those guys had been coming from. It was never easy when your boyfriend dashed away from the table in a fancy restaurant to deliver a message from Grandma Thelma to startled diners across the way.

Even still, this was his calling in life. Any man he was with for better or for worse needed to understand this was all part and parcel of loving Tennyson.

Did Ronan love him?

Maybe. Maybe Ronan had been on the way to allowing his still battered heart into letting Tennyson inside and he’d gone and ruined it with his ultimatum, which, now that he thought about it, was something straight out of General Hospital.

“Why do you look like you just swallowed a mouthful of shit?” Ronan asked with a smile, taking the seat next to Tennyson.

Ten felt himself blush. “This probably isn’t the time or place to talk about it.”

Ronan looked around. They were the only people sitting in the hard-plastic chairs near the lab. “Who’s going to overhear us?” Ronan looked around again. “Are there spirits here? Gossipy grannies, maybe?” Ronan’s grin was full on.

Tennyson missed this version of Ronan, joking and laughing like he didn’t have a care in the world. He hadn’t seen much of this Ronan lately. “No, there aren’t any gossipy grannies.” Tennyson sighed. “I was just thinking what an asshat I was.”

“Oh? Do tell.” Ronan’s blue eyes sparkled under the florescent lighting.

“The ultimatum was stupid. You’re a proud, stubborn man. Given the choice between leaving and therapy, of course you were going to leave.”

Ronan snorted. “You were doing good with the part where you said the ultimatum was stupid. The rest… eh!” He laughed. “But, you may have a small point about everything else you said.”

Tennyson had more than a small point, but he’d be crazy to bring that up now and risk trampling on Ronan’s ego and this bond they were building here in the morgue. “I knew how hurt you were and I just felt like I couldn’t help you anymore. Like I wasn’t enough to heal you.”

Ronan bowed his head, letting it drop between his knees. “You’re always enough, Ten. It’s just…”

Tennyson knew this was a bad idea. Talking about their feelings in a public place, even though they were the only two here. He knew Ronan would get emotional. “We can finish talking about this later, when we’re alone. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

Ronan shook his head. “Is my light still white?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

A few months back, after meeting Ronan’s toxic ex, Tennyson had remarked that Ronan had such a pure, white soul. It had amazed him that after spending so many years with his ex-husband that Ronan had come out whole and unblemished on the other side.

Ronan was worried now that Josh’s confession that he’d been a rapist and a murderer would somehow affect his own soul. Tennyson stood up. “Come here.”

When Ronan stood, Tennyson pulled him in for a tight hug. He noticed the lab techs giving them funny looks through the glass, but Ten just shot them a look of triumph, as if to say, “Look what a lucky bastard I am!”

“Of course your soul is still pure. Nothing that man did or said could ever tarnish you.”

Ronan took a deep breath as if he were about to object.

“Even if he says what he did, he did for you.” Tennyson pulled back to look Ronan in the eyes. “You know that’s just bullshit, right? Josh did what he did for himself. He was just trying to drag you down with him.”

“It’s not going to work.” Ronan’s voice sounded stronger.

“Damn right, it’s not,” Tennyson agreed, with heat in his voice. “Now, go pretty up in the men’s room. The lab techs are staring at us.”

Ronan grinned, his eyes darkening. “Should we give them something to really stare at?”

Tennyson wanted that more than anything, but he wanted Ronan to kiss him because Ronan wanted to kiss him, not so they could show off in front of lab techs at the morgue.

While Tennyson was debating with himself, Ronan settled the matter by kissing him.

Sparks of attraction raced down Tennyson’s spine, straight to his cock. He moaned against Ronan’s lips. It had only been two weeks since the last time they’d done this, but it felt like it had been years.

“Christ, this show is gonna turn X-rated if we don’t stop now,” Ronan said, breathlessly.

Tennyson laughed, blushing down to the roots of his hair.

“I’ll go clean up.” Ronan kissed him hard and headed off, giving the lab techs two thumbs way up.

 

 

 

10
Ronan

Six hours later, they got the results they’d been waiting to hear. The John Doe in cold storage was indeed Justin Wilson.

Tennyson insisted on sitting with the physical remains of the young man until a van from the Suffolk County Coroner’s Office could come to transport the body back to Boston. Tennyson said he needed to stay with Justin because the teenager had been alone long enough.

Ronan understood where he was coming from and even if he hadn’t, he wasn’t about to destroy the peace between them.

While Tennyson sat shiva, Ronan spoke to the Newburyport Homicide Detectives who’d worked Justin’s case. They had been only too happy to hand the file off to him, claiming all the leads they had were dead.

“What happens now?” Tennyson asked quietly. His faced was bathed in the flashing blue lights from the coroner’s van parked in front of Ronan’s Mustang.

Ronan knew how hard this was on Tennyson. The psychic was used to dealing with spirits of the departed. Seeing their physical remains after they’d been murdered was a new thing for him. Murder was never pretty, even after the remains had been cleaned up and put back together. Couple that with the fact that Justin had been in cold storage for months and the results were horrifying to look at.

Guilt stabbed at Ronan’s heart. He was the one who’d brought this kind of sorrow into Ten’s life. “While our ME examines Justin’s remains and does his own autopsy, I’ll be going over the copy of the case file the Newburyport detectives gave to me.”

“I want Vann Hoffman, Ronan. He treated Michael Frye’s remains with respect and care. I want him to be the doctor who works with Justin.” Tennyson sounded adamant.

A twinge of jealously briefly flared in Ronan’s gut. While Vann was the best medical examiner in Suffolk County, he also had a reputation for being a tom cat. Not that Ronan blamed him. The man looked like the actor who played Doctor Sheldon Hawkes on CSI: NY.

When he and Tennyson had met back in January, the ME had made it very obvious he was interested in more than Tennyson’s ability to speak to dead people. “I’ll make a call but this isn’t like an out-call massage, Ten. You can’t order up the medical examiner of your choice.” 

Tennyson shot him the hairy eyeball. “You been calling out for massages while we were apart?”

Shit… Open mouth, insert foot. “God, no. All I did was work myself into an early grave while we were apart. I didn’t have time to think about getting off with other men.”

“Damn it, Ronan. I’m sorry.” Tennyson shook his head. “I’m just feeling vulnerable right now.”

“Yeah, well, I hate to break this to you, but we’re not going back to Boston with Justin.” Ronan had known where their next stop had to be the second the DNA results had come in, but he’d held that information back from Ten for a long as possible.

“We’re not?” Ten asked sharply. “Where are we going?”

“To notify the Wilsons...” Ronan trailed off. Meeting Justin’s parents this morning had not gone well. He had no reason to believe this meeting would go any better. Gay or not, they were going to tell Justin’s parents that their now positively identified son was dead.

“Jesus Christ,” Tennyson muttered.

Ronan didn’t know if that was a curse or a prayer.

 

Half an hour later, they pulled back into the semi-circular driveway at the Wilson home. He’d half expected to be turned away at the front gate, but they’d been buzzed right in.

Instead of the butler, Mr. Wilson opened the door to them. “Detective O’Mara. Mr. Grimm. Please come in.” Gone was the superior attitude of this morning. In its place seemed to be a much humbler Cliff Wilson. Also gone was the expensive suit and the Rolex, as if Mr. Wilson didn’t feel the need to put on airs now.

Ronan and Tennyson followed the man into the sitting room they’d been ushered into this morning. Gloria Wilson was waiting for them. She had changed out of her tennis whites and was now wearing a sedate black pantsuit instead, that made her look much older than her years.

“Mr. and Mrs. Wilson,” Ronan started.

“Please sit,” Mrs. Wilson offered, straightening her spine.

Ronan nodded and indicated to Tennyson to sit. Once they were settled into the buttery leather sofa, Ronan turned back to the Wilsons. “The DNA samples you gave us this morning confirmed that the John Doe at the Essex County Morgue is your son. I am so sorry for your loss.” Ronan was gearing up for a fight if the Wilson’s claimed Justin was no son of theirs, but instead they both began to cry.

“We thought it was a phase,” Mrs. Wilson said between her tears. 

“Thought what was a phase?” Tennyson asked, sounding stunned. 

“The gay thing,” Gloria Wilson sobbed.

Ten opened his mouth to answer, but Ronan tapped his knee to keep him quiet. He had no doubt that what Tennyson had been about to say would have been scathing and right on the money, but that wasn’t what these people needed to hear right now. “Tennyson stayed with your son until the Medical Examiner from Suffolk County could pick up his remains for transport.”

“I don’t understand,” Mr. Wilson started. “If Justin was murdered in Newburyport, how is this case in Suffolk County’s jurisdiction?”

Ronan had a feeling this man had spent time on the phone with his attorney after they’d left. His knowing about jurisdictions confirmed it. “Justin was living in Boston at the time of his disappearance. He was also reported missing in Boston.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question, detective.” Wilson’s voice had an edge to it.

“Your son has been visiting me for a few months now,” Tennyson said quietly.

Gloria Wilson gasped.

Tennyson straightened his own spine and turned to face Justin’s mother. “I realize you think I’m a charlatan, but-”

“No, no, I spoke to Jacqueline Frye after you left. She claims you are a true talent and can be trusted.” Gloria Wilson gave her husband a pleading look, as if she expected him to object to her words.

That was a curveball Ronan had not seen coming. Jackie Frye was the mother of the missing boy whose case he and Tennyson had investigated together back in January. Thanks to Tennyson, Jackie had been able to speak with her murdered son.

“I don’t have the same kind of blind faith as my wife, but I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, Mr. Grimm.”

Ronan grinned at Tennyson. He wanted to whisper “Showtime!” but knew he’d be overheard.

“Most spirits learn how to communicate with spoken words after they cross over. I can have conversations with those spirits just like we’re speaking now. Justin, however, is having some difficulties mastering dead speak.”

“Dead speak?” Cliff asked, sounding angry again.

“That’s what I call the method of communication.” Tennyson turned his attention back to Justin’s mother. “The first few times Justin came to me, he sent me a jumble of images which I wasn’t able to interpret, but last time we interacted, he was able to send me one image at a time and that’s how I learned his name and that he’d been murdered.”

The Wilsons stared at each other. 

“This is the reason I asked my captain for jurisdiction over this case,” Ronan jumped in. “Tennyson is going to be able to keep communicating with your son. We’re hoping that once we have the autopsy results back that we’ll have more clues, but in the event that we don’t, we have a witness that a traditional detective team wouldn’t have.”

“My boy,” Wilson stated.

Tennyson nodded. 

Ronan could feel his anger rising at that statement. Justin hadn’t been “his boy” when he’d kicked the sixteen-year-old out of the house for what they’d hoped was a phase.

“Can I speak to him?” Gloria asked. “Jaqueline said she was able to speak with her boy through you. Can I speak to my son?”

Tennyson studied her for a second. He seemed to be measuring his words. “You turned your vulnerable sixteen-year-old son out of your home because of what you thought was a phase. Because of that, he was homeless and living on the street. Justin ended up turning tricks to keep body and soul together and one of those johns killed him. What the hell makes you think he wants to speak to you?” Tennyson shot each of the Wilsons a withering look and walked out of the house without looking back.

Ronan wanted to high-five Ten, but that would have to wait until later. He took a deep breath and watched the stunned look on the Wilson’s faces turn to horror. 

“I promise you that we’re going to work our hardest to find out who murdered your son and make sure he pays for his crimes.” Ronan dug into his wallet and pulled out his business card which he set on the coffee table in front of Justin’s parents. 

He started walking toward the door intent on following Tennyson out to the car, but turned around at the last minute. “Oh, just so you know. It wasn’t a phase. Being gay is who Justin was always going to be. All you had to do was hug him and tell him it was going to get better. All you had to do was be his armor in this cruel world, but instead, you were the sword that struck him down.” Ronan turned around and walked out the door, feeling better than he’d felt in months.

 

 

 

11
Tennyson

“You said what?” Truman’s mouth gaped open. He was sitting on one end of the sofa feeding Stephanie her bottle, while his tiny Yorkie, Sadie, sat curled up on his feet.

Carson laughed and tried his best to mop up the barf baby Bertha had spewed all over his jeans while feeding the infant with the other.

Tennyson, who was rocking a sleeping Brian, still couldn’t believe the audacity of his parting line to the Wilson’s. “They deserved it and more besides.”

“Maybe so,” Truman agreed, “but Jesus, you’d just told them that their son was dead. I would think the moment called for a bit more tact.”

“Swear jar, husband.” Carson grinned.

Truman rolled his eyes.

“Tact? This is the son they forced out of their house and into a life of prostitution.” Tennyson couldn’t believe Truman was taking the Wilsons’ side, but then again, his parents had welcomed his coming out story with open arms. Truman never had to deal with hate in his own home.

“Swear jar, Uncle Tennyson,” Carson crowed.

“Prostitution is not a swear.” Christ, at the rate he was going, these kids were going to have their tuitions paid for before they were out of diapers.

“It’s not a word my precious babies should hear either,” Carson said, smiling at his daughter who’d been named after his late mother.

“Well, Ronan was proud of me, and his parting shot was better, although I wasn’t there to hear it.” Tennyson dearly wished he had been there to hear Ronan’s words to Justin’s parents.

Truman and Carson exchanged knowing smiles. “Oh, Ronan was proud of you. Was he?” Truman asked casually.

“Cut the crap, Truman.” Tennyson beamed at his friends, happy that he’d controlled his language and saved himself some swear jar money.

“Bertha and I want to hear all about the kiss!” Carson laughed at the surprised look on Tennyson’s face.

“I thought you were working on those blocking exercises?” Tennyson raised an eyebrow at Carson. His friend hadn’t always had his psychic powers. They’d come on only about a year ago. Carson was still learning how to control them and one of the lessons Ten had been teaching him was how to block the flow of information.

“Yeah, well you weren’t getting to the good stuff fast enough, right sugar plum?” Carson pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead.

“What kiss?” Truman sounded concerned.

Ten loved that Truman had remained Ronan’s loyal friend while they’d been apart. Tennyson knew the worry on his face now had more to do with not wanting to see Ronan get hurt than it did with Truman thinking Tennyson would be the one doing the hurting. “We talked a bit about what an idiot I was to give him an ultimatum and we sort of made up with a kiss.”

If Ten concentrated hard enough, he could still feel the press of Ronan’s lips against his own.

“So, what happens now?” Truman asked, raising the baby to his shoulder to burp her.

“We have to wait for the autopsy report from the medical examiner, but I think we’re going to go over the police report in the morning. It looked pretty thin though. The Newburyport detectives didn’t have a lot of leads.”

“I could give two shits about case files and North Shore detectives,” Truman muttered. “What happens now between you and Ronan?”

Carson opened his mouth, most likely to remind Truman about the swear jar, but Truman held up a hand to his husband before he pointed to Tennyson.

He and Ronan hadn’t discussed what came next. To be honest, he didn’t really want to tell that to his friends now. Ten looked down at Brian who was sleeping peacefully in his arms. He loved holding little ones like this. They didn’t have any spirits glommed onto them and their auras were pure. For Tennyson, it was like he was wearing noise cancelling headphones at a rock concert. It was the only true peace he got.

A teardrop splattered against Brian’s blue fleece sleeper. A second one joined it, and then a third. “I don’t know,” Tennyson managed before the tears started in earnest. He guessed that Ronan not discussing where they stood now was more upsetting that he originally thought.

 

 

 

12
Ronan

Ronan’s lungs were burning. This was the first time since the end of the Michael Frye case, back in February, that he’d been out for a run. He felt like he was breathing fire with each step he took. It was a good feeling though, like he was finally taking back the reins to his own life.

As he pounded past the JFK Library at Columbia Point in Dorchester, he couldn’t help but think back on the events of yesterday. So far, he hadn’t gotten an angry text from Captain Fitzgibbon, which meant the Wilsons hadn’t reported his or Tennyson’s behavior. Yet…

Ronan knew both he and Ten had been way out of line with the way they’d spoken to Justin’s parents. That just wasn’t the way things were done when you were making a death notification. In Ronan’s defense though, he just hadn’t made a notification like that one before.

He wasn’t a naive man by any stretch of the imagination. He’d been a cop now for twelve years and had been to more homicide scenes than he could count. People murdered people for all kinds of reasons, but this was one crime that did not have to happen.

Justin Wilson should have been more concerned with normal high school things like taking a Chemistry final or the chemistry going on between himself and his handsome lab partner, rather than how many tricks he needed to turn just put food in his belly and find a warm place to sleep for the night.

Now, thanks to parents who’d been convinced that tough love would force the gay out of their son, he and Tennyson were going to have to dig into a sub-culture few knew anything about: street kids. Hell, Ronan had no idea where to start looking for Keegan Mills, the teenager who had been the one to report Justin missing.

Maybe Tennyson would have some better ideas on where to start looking, thanks to his gifts. One thing was for sure, this was going to be a tough case for Tennyson since it paralleled his own coming of age story.

Making the turn around the Library, Ronan headed for home. He’d asked Tennyson to meet him there so they’d be able to start the day already in the city. Knowing him, he’d come loaded down with passionfruit muffins from Truman’s bakery and some of his heavenly coffee. Ronan could sure use a cup.

He’d spent part of the early morning hours staring at the ceiling, which wasn’t unusual for him after the way the Michael Frye case ended. What was unusual for him was that he was finally able to admit to himself last night that Tennyson had been right about his needing a little outside help.

Not that it was any excuse, but cops always gave each other shit when they had to see shrinks for mandated things like officer-involved shootings. Ronan had done his time with the department shrink for his shooting of Manuel Garcia last summer. Thankfully, it had come after his time in rehab, so he’d known the drill. Known exactly what to say to get his gun and shield back.

This was different though. Going to see a counsellor that wasn’t department mandated was different. It was like having to admit there was a problem within himself that needed fixing. Ronan knew now that there was a problem. A tiny one, but a problem nonetheless.

Said problem was keeping him and Tennyson apart and right now, that was all that mattered.

Ronan turned the corner onto his street and sure enough, Tennyson was sitting on his front stoop. A bag from West Side Bakery was sitting next to him on the steps.

“Wow, I guess you were serious about getting back at it again.” Tennyson was looking Ronan’s sweat-soaked body up and down.

“Quit looking at me like I’m on the menu, Grimm.” Ronan could feel himself blushing.

“Oh please. I’m trying to figure out how a man your age can run like that without having a heart attack. You’re fueled by muffins and coffee half the time.”

“Don’t forget I’m also powered by no sleep and the disappointment of my boss.” Ronan grinned. “Come on, I need a shower.” Ronan jogged up the stairs, just to give Ten an up-close view of his tight ass.

“How are we going to find this teenage runaway?” Tennyson asked.

“I was hoping you could help with that. You know, reach out with your Spidey senses or something.” Ronan held his wrists out like he was going to shoot Ten with webs.

“My Spidey senses?” Tennyson asked, sounding incredulous. “Ronan, I’m a psychic, not a metal detector for lost people.”

Ronan stopped at his door and spun around to face Tennyson. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just hoped there was something your sixth sense could do to help us find him.”

Ten tilted his head to the side. “I love that you have all of this faith in my abilities, but we’re going to have to use old-fashioned detective work here. You know, hit the streets and canvas neighborhoods looking for these kids.”

Ronan snorted, turning the key in the lock. “You sound like an episode of Law and Order.”

Ten grinned. “Why mess with perfection?”

Ronan opened the door. He ushered Tennyson inside. Why mess with perfection indeed. Ten was wearing skinny jeans that hugged his slim hips and tight ass. He had on an old Red Sox tee and a whimsical scarf even though it was seventy degrees outside. “I’m gonna hop in the shower. Try not to listen at the door.” Ronan waggled his eyebrows at Ten.

“As if!” Ten looked positively offended.

Ronan would bet a year’s salary, Ten would have his ear against the door and his dick in hand before Ronan was even wet.

 

 

 

13
Tennyson

While Ronan had been in the shower, instead of having his ear pressed to the door, as he’d previously done, Ten had spent his time more constructively. He’d been looking up ads for male companionship on the internet.

“I didn’t even know RentBoy.com existed,” Tennyson started once they were in Ronan’s Mustang.

“Excuse me?” Ronan turned to Tennyson with his mouth hanging open.

“It’s a website, where men offer a wide range of services to other men. You know, things like hand jobs, blow jobs, even make-out sessions or boyfriend experiences,” Tennyson explained in a patronizing voice, as if Ronan had no idea what a rent boy was.

“Jesus Christ, Ten! I know what those websites offer! I had no idea you were in need of their services.” Ronan pulled out into the street, screeching the Mustang’s tires.

“For God’s sake, Ronan! I don’t need a rent boy! Do you really think I’m that hard up?” Ten rolled his eyes. “I was looking for ways to make dates with these street kids so that maybe we could find this Keegan Mills. I’m hoping we can find out where they hang out in the city too.”

Ronan snorted. “Guess I’m a little on edge.”

“You think?” Tennyson caught movement out of the corner of his eye and jumped a mile when he saw Justin Wilson sitting in the backseat of the Mustang. The young spirit was laughing. “We have a stowaway, Ronan.”

“Oh good. Maybe Justin can help us find his friends.” Ronan looked up into the rear-view mirror as if he could see the teenager. “How’s it going, man?”

“He’s waving at you,” Tennyson said. What a long way Ronan had come in a short time. He remembered back to how awkward Ronan had been around the spirit of Michael Frye. Now, only four months later, he was chatting to spirits like it was something he did every day.

Justin was pointing back and forth between Ten and Ronan. He reached out to Tennyson and transmitted a series of images.

Tennyson started to laugh. He recognized the mini-movie instantly. Justin was sending him the opening theme to Days of our Lives.

“What? What’s so funny?” Ronan sounded genuinely interested.

“Justin thinks the two of us are better than an episode of Days of our Lives.” The kid had a small point, but that was all Ten was willing to admit.

“Christ, we just might be. You’re certainly dramatic enough.” Ronan shot Ten a devilish grin.

“Excuse you? You’re the one who thought I was searching the internet for a good time!”

“I’m still not convinced you weren’t.” Ronan batted his eyes at Tennyson in a teasing fashion. “Can you ask Justin where his friends hang out, so that maybe we can find Keegan.”

“You just asked him yourself.” Ten turned back to Justin who had a contemplative look on his face.

After a few seconds, he reached out to Tennyson again.

“He’s sending me an image of a statue, but I don’t recognize it.” Ten shook his head. He had lived in Salem for the entire twelve years he’d been in Massachusetts, but wasn’t really familiar with any other parts of the state with the exception of the lighthouse out in Scituate.

“What does it look like?” Ronan asked.

“It’s made of stone and is really tall with a woman on the top of the marble with men standing beneath. I have no idea what it is.” It looked like any other memorial type of statue that you see everywhere, but never pay any attention to.” Ten shrugged, knowing he was being of no help at all.

Ronan shook his head. “Neither do I. Is it in Boston?”

Justin nodded his head.  He reached out to Tennyson again.

“Boston Common. He’s showing me a map.” Ten was trying to concentrate on the street names. The map of Boston with its winding streets reminded Tennyson of a pot of spaghetti thrown on the floor. Whereas the streets of Union Chapel, Kansas were all laid out in a perfect grid. You never needed to drive south to go north like you sometimes needed to do in Boston.

“The Soldiers and Sailors Monument?” Ronan asked on a laugh. “It certainly is a fitting spot.”

“Why are you laughing?” Ten looked back and forth between Justin and Ronan.

“What better place for young gay prostitutes to hang out then at a place memorializing soldiers and sailors?”

“Justin is laughing too. Is that where your friends will be hanging out today?”

The young man nodded.

Ronan’s demeanor sobered. “Did you know the man who killed you?”

“He’s shaking his head no,” Tennyson said.

“Was he ever a customer before that night?” Ronan sounded sympathetic, but determined all the same.

“Still shaking his head no.” Tennyson sighed. With Justin not able to communicate with words, this was going to be much harder than he’d ever imagined. He had to hand it to Ronan though, the detective didn’t seem phased by the lack of evidence.

“Do you boys ever trade customers?” Ronan parked the car and turned around to look into the empty back seat.

Justin shrugged and looked down at his feet.

“Hey,” Tennyson said softly. “It’s okay. Ronan and I aren’t judging you at all. We’re both so proud of you for doing what you had to do to survive.”

When Justin looked up, he was crying again. He reached out to touch Tennyson.

The image he transmitted was the one of him in the frozen field. “The way you died doesn’t matter. You fought up until the end, didn’t you?”

Justin nodded.

“That makes you brave in my book. In Ronan’s too.”

“We’re going to figure this out. I promise you, Justin. I get that your friends might not want to talk to a cop or a psychic, but if there’s anything you can do to smooth the way, I’d sure appreciate it.” Ronan smiled.

Justin brushed away his tears and started preening in the rear-view mirror before he pointed to Ronan and started fanning his face.

Tennyson started laughing. Justin thought Ronan was hot, did he?

“What’s so funny?” Ronan was back to grinning again.

“Justin thinks you’re quite the looker. Play that up with his friends and they might be more willing to talk to you.”

Ronan snorted. “What? You mean flirt?”

Justin was mouthing the words “Work it, honey.”