Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,17

with mine. “Get down right now, ask nice, and maybe I’ll let you suck me off in the bathroom when David’s out of there.”

“Fuck you,” Mason mumbled.

“One-time offer.”

“Fuck you,” he said more forcefully, and then he slammed my head against the wall again. The world went slippery. His fingers tightened, and for an instant, I couldn’t breathe.

Then the door opened, and Tamika stepped out into the hall.

“What the fuck is going on?” she asked.

Mason’s fingers loosened, and he stepped back.

“Hey Tamika,” I said, leaning against the wall like it had been my idea all along. “Mase and I were just having a special moment.”

Mason was taking huge gulps of air; sweat glistened on his forehead, fat drops of it, and he looked sick.

“Isn’t that right, Mase? He asked me on a date. Isn’t that cute?”

Tamika looked at him.

Rocking from side to side, Mason looked like he might puke or fall over. Then he wiped his face and pushed past Tamika, mumbling something as he headed back into the room.

“What the fuck was that?” Tamika asked me.

“My next hookup.”

“Bullshit.”

I just grinned, and then David came out of the bathroom, still wringing his gloved hands. We went back into the room together.

But when we sat down, when Zahra went through her spiel about Ray, when we moved into our regular material, when I gave my update—something off the cuff, a few details about throwing the can of La Croix and cleaning up the broken glass, just enough truth that the lies weren’t visible—through all of it, Mason stared at me, his mouth working soundlessly, his eyes fixed and glassy, a tic in his cheek flashing on and off, his body jerking from time to time as though he were starting awake from a nightmare.

Something was really, really off about him. He’d been weird the last few weeks at group. He’d been weird when he and his partner had shown up at Ray’s. But today, he was acting crazy. At first, I tried to meet his gaze. He just stared through me, and every time, I looked away first. After that, I kept my gaze on the floor. I had one hand on my phone. Who were you supposed to call when a cop went psycho on your ass?

As soon as Zahra ended the meeting, I shot out of my seat and went for the door, praying Muriel would already be waiting at the curb.

Rapid footsteps followed, and I glanced back to see Mason jogging after me.

“Hey,” he called. “Hold on!”

When I got outside, the sunlight blinded me for a moment. I staggered down the steps, clutching the rail, hoping I wouldn’t fall. The door flew open behind me, crashing against the stop, and Mason tumbled out.

“You fucking son of a bitch,” he shouted. “Stop right there.”

I glanced back.

He had a gun.

DAG (10)

Mary Ann had bailed again, so I was sitting at the curb outside DuPage First Methodist, waiting to pick up Mason. I didn’t feel like pretending with the Escort’s A/C, so I had the windows down; the October day was warm, with just a hint of a breeze off the lake. A really nice orca track had just started when I heard shouting. I looked in the rearview mirror.

Elien was racing down the steps. Behind him, Mason was waving a gun and shouting.

Throwing open the door, I jumped out of the car and sprinted to the sidewalk. The big, red-brick bulk of DuPage First Methodist framed Mason. He was still shouting, still waving the gun. I understood the words he was saying, repeated variations of “stop” “hold it” “freeze,” but the way he was saying them was off, like he was reading them from a page without any idea what they meant. His eyes were wide and rolling; a tic pulled at his cheek. Even in the church’s shadow, Mason’s blue eyes seemed to catch the light. I thought of a dead man in a Moulinbas apartment.

“Mason,” I called. “Hey, buddy, what’s going on?”

Mason swung the pistol to aim at Elien; when Elien glanced back the next time, he stumbled. His knee caught the brass support of the handrail, and he cried out and fell, rolling four steps until he came up against the next support. I kept my gaze fixed on Mason, only peripherally aware of Elien wiping a hand across his face, of something that might have been blood.

“Hey, Mason. Hey!” I jogged at a diagonal up the stairs. “What’s going on? Put the gun down.”

The muzzle dipped an