Chapter Five

Three years later and Ronald caught the scent of William’s aftershave. It was an inexpensive brand from any department store. When he smelled it on the young man sitting near him at the café, it was impossible to ignore. Instead of falling into the quagmire of nostalgia, Ronald picked up his coffee and ambled out of the shop.

The recent investigative report he’d turned in got national attention. A double-dealing senator found his banking associate had loose lips and bragged too much at a club in downtown DC. It helped Ronald had made friends with the gentleman and lubricated him with whiskey. He vetted the source, he rechecked the information, and soon afterward, Ronald’s name was on top of most of the cover story across all media platforms, from print to social media, to televised broadcasts.

But Ronald forgot to watch out for himself. Hands grabbed at him, yanked him off the pavement. The taxi whipped by them, making a hard right, right over the spot where Ronald strolled.

“Be careful,” the man said to him.

Before Ronald recovered, looking up from the phone. He’d dropped the coffee. The paper cup flattened by the taxi tires brought Ronald to his senses. “Hey, thanks—”

But the figure had moved off, dodging through the pedestrians who surrounded the intersection. When the lights changed, Ronald moved with the crowd across the street. Taxis were notorious for not waiting. If pedestrians walked against the cross-walk signals in downtown, they were fair game.

He continued with the crowd toward the club where his co-workers insisted he join them for a celebratory drink. It was Saturday night, and the story was two days old. Ancient news in real time, but still worth a few free drinks among friends.

The club was noisy and trendy, an old establishment that had ties to the political past and present in Washington. A hot spot for rubbing shoulders with politicians, and he ignored the opportunistic coworkers who thought it was a good idea to celebrate his latest piece. Since Ronald kept his face out of the news, using his words to tell the stories, no one paid him much attention.

“There’s the superstar,” Lowell Boyle said, raising a glass to Ronald.

“I think I just got saved from a taxi,” Ronald responded trying to remember the last few minutes before entering the bar. They’d ordered his first drink before he arrived. “I thought you guys were meeting at eleven. I would’ve come sooner.”

And they cheered and talked about the latest news around the office. The tittle-tattle spread out like waves from a thrown stone. Information shared among the four journalists. And Ronald continued to drink with his friends until the club closed, and they stumbled out to the sidewalk. Each had rides. A few had trips together. But Ronald was alone when the driving service showed up. He got inside, and the man behind the steering wheel never turned around.

Ronald barely looked up, never checked the ride program on his phone until he arrived outside the apartment building. “I think you picked up the wrong ride,” he said finally looking up.

“Oh, okay,” the driver said. “Well, I still got you home. That’s what the app says,” he said and closed out the tracking. “Have a good night.”

“Um, thanks.” Too drunk to argue, Ronald got out of the car. He saw the rideshare program canceled his ride because he neglected to climb into the right vehicle. He looked from the phone to the car as it pulled away from the front of the building.

Ronald held up his head and tried walking a straight line into his apartment building. Alcohol made his leg rubbery, the floor tilted underfoot.

He moved into Washington after William left. Closer to work, more comfortable to walk or ride, Ronald devoted himself to the job, and he didn’t worry about a missing boyfriend.

He got undressed once he reached the apartment. The bed eventually stopped spinning after he climbed onboard.

“Oh William,” Ronald sighed, slipping into the oblivion of the drunkard’s sleep. A place that weaved between dreams and consciousness, a place that allowed his memories to fuse with reality; it was a sad place for Ronald. “You broke my heart.” His words echoed through the small apartment on the fourth floor. But his words didn’t fall on deaf ears.

After Ronald snored lightly, a figure moved from the small closet in the hallway, and out the front door. The doorknob rattled to make sure it was locked.