Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,9
getting his toy taken away. I’m really glad that means there’s no problem.”
The sound of our steps on the treads filled the stairwell.
“Because you could have fooled me,” I said. “I could have sworn Mason has a really big fucking problem with me.”
“Deputy Comeaux—”
“I know his name is Mason. I know him from our support group, ok? And just because he’s got his balls in a twist about me, it doesn’t mean I’m making this up.”
We had reached the landing at the top of the stairs, and I turned to face LeBlanc. He was about my height but built with a lot more muscle. He had legitimate biceps. Very legitimate. Like, cuff those fucking sleeves, big boy.
“Does he hate fags or something?” I asked.
LeBlanc face was very serious as he looked at me. “No.”
“I think that’s what it is. He’s been acting weird as fuck around me lately, and I think that’s what it is.”
“Well, I came out to him when we were in high school,” LeBlanc said with a shrug. “I thought maybe that would send him running, but he’s like a cockroach.”
I was suddenly very aware of the clock ticking inside Ray’s apartment.
“This is him?” LeBlanc said, nodding at the partially open door.
“Yeah.”
“Mr. Ray Field?”
“That’s right.”
LeBlanc jiggled the handle, although the door was open and the chain was visible. “And how do you know Mr. Field?”
“From the support group. The same one Mason goes to; Mason knows him too.”
“Mr. Field?” LeBlanc called. “Are you home? This is Deputy LeBlanc from the DuPage Sheriff’s Department.”
The clock seemed even louder.
“Mr. Field, we’re just checking if you’re ok. If you’re home, could you please respond?”
I shoved my hands in my pockets; LeBlanc smelled like talcum powder and something else, woodsy, that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I was starting to think I should have taken my chances downstairs with Mason.
“You told the dispatcher that you’ve been trying to make contact for days?” LeBlanc asked, glancing over his shoulder at me.
“Yeah.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know. Three or four days.”
Very soft brown eyes, the color of sandalwood, stared at me. I wondered if I wasn’t as good of a liar as I’d always believed.
“I could cut the chain,” LeBlanc finally said.
“Yeah, please. If he’s mad, I’ll pay for it.”
“Right,” LeBlanc said, thick eyebrows shooting up as he took in my tank and jersey shorts.
“I can afford to pay for a chain.”
“Of course, sir.”
I laughed. “And I’m definitely not old enough that you should be calling me sir.”
LeBlanc didn’t laugh, though. He didn’t smile either. “I’ll get the cutters.”
“I’m twenty-two,” I called after him. “In case you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t,” he said without looking back.
When he returned, he had a pair of bolt cutters as long as his arms. He hooked the jaws around the chain, and his big hands compressed the handles. The chain folded and parted like butter.
“Mr. Field?” he called again, giving the door a push. It squeaked as it caught against the floor, and LeBlanc gave it another, stiffer shove that forced it open the rest of the way.
The lights were on throughout the apartment. The clock was ticking. The smell of shit was much, much stronger. LeBlanc stepped inside, and I followed.
“Please stay on the landing, Mr. Martel.”
“Sure.”
We’d gone two more steps before he turned and said, “Mr. Martel.”
“Loud and clear, big boy.”
The look of frustration on his face only lasted an instant, and then he turned and advanced into the apartment. Ray’s unit wasn’t quite a studio, although the living area and the galley kitchen occupied most of the area. In the kitchen, one of the burners was on, the coil orange under a kettle that must have boiled dry. Across from us, the bathroom door was open, and the light was on in there too. A trickle of water ran from the tap; on the sink, a brown prescription bottle stood with the cap next to it. No sign of Ray. The only place left to look was the bedroom, which was separated from the main area by a short wall that gave the illusion of privacy.
LeBlanc must have reached the same conclusion because he put one of those big hands on my chest, stopping me, and he made sure I was staying put before he started walking again. He looked around the dividing wall, grabbed his shoulder radio, and called for an ambulance.
I moved toward the opening; LeBlanc grabbed for me, but he was still talking into the radio, and I dodged. I slid past him,