Call Out Your Name Ch. 05

I knew who Chad was. Jesse's favorite cousin, the one who knew he was gay and bought us the beer for our second-month anniversary. "Hello?" he asked, and I could hear the strain in his voice too. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and suddenly I could barely swallow.

"My name is Shane," I whispered, "Jesse's best friend. Is he there? He didn't show up for school this morning."

Something close to a sob caught in Chad's throat. "Shane... uh, there's been an... uh..."

More background interference, and an unfamiliar male voice called, "Chad, the cops want to ask you a few..." The rest of the sentence was cut off by the sudden chatter of a walky-talky radio, the kind the police wear.

Police at Jesse's house? All of a sudden suspicion punched me in the gut and filled me with dread. I think I yelled something like, "Tell me what happened to him," into my cell phone. Jesse! I was only peripherally aware of kids in my end of the quad coming to a standstill to stare at me.

I was running. Running and crying. I remembered to pick up my backpack from the lunch table and I was out the gate, tearing across the asphalt to my Chevy and then speeding through town to the Capps' house. Something awful had happened to my baby there and I wasn't going to wait around until after school to find out. I started to shake and I kept passing the back of my arm over my eyes to brush the tears away but it was useless and they just kept coming. I couldn't stop the hopeless panic filling my heart.

Nobody noticed me immediately when I brought my car to a stop next to the neighbor's hydrangea bushes and killed the engine. In front of Jesse's house the street was bedlam. Crime scene tape all around the edge of the yard, four Santa Barbara County Sheriff's cars sitting at weird angles at the curb, one from the Highway Patrol, and people everywhere including more cops than I'd ever seen outside of a television program. A group of sobbing relatives huddled around Jesse's mother sitting stoically dry-eyed on a lawn chair on the porch.

Jesse's Jeep was parked on the dirt driveway with the driver's door gaping wide open, and I sprinted towards it. "Son," I heard someone say as I ducked under the yellow plastic tape. "You can't go through there."

I didn't acknowledge him. My focus was on the Cherokee surrounded by several police officers but their bulk couldn't obscure the swaths of black-red flung against the silver paint and the side windows. More of it was puddled on the ground next to the open door. Lots more. It pulled me like a magnet. Oh my god, Jesse.

"Son, stop," the man shouted.

I heard rapid movement behind me and then I was abruptly tackled to the ground by a burly officer in khaki green. I didn't really feel any pain on impact, just the rapid whoosh of air being knocked out of me and the agony of trying to suck more in. I was aware of flailing in the cop's arms, of painful pressure in my chest and being told to lie still. Crying hysterically as I called for Jesse.

In my dimming vision I stared at two pair of black boots approach me. The knot of people had rushed into the yard from the porch. One of the nearby deputies asked, "Ms Capps, do you know him?"

A male in his early twenties answered for her. "That's Shane Elliott, Jesse's boyfriend." I presumed this was his cousin Chad, and if I could have breathed, I would have giggled over how Jesse hadn't kept his secret very well. He was going to be so stunned to discover his family already knew he was gay and didn't seem to care. But then darkness swirled in to tug at me, and I passed out.

I regained consciousness to find myself strapped to a paramedic's gurney with a handcuff on my wrist. Before I even opened my eyes I heard Jesse's sister, Jenna, pleading with the deputies. "Shane called at lunch asking to speak to Jesse, and Chad talked to him. Didn't anyone telephone the school and tell them what happened?"

"No, we've had a busy morning, Jenna." The voice was familiar from a faraway memory of a night at the ball park when Jesse and I were doing something illegal in public. "We were hoping to avoid leaking the news until we had a clearer grasp of the situation. If the suspect is a student we didn't want to alert him or her."

"But surely, you can understand how much of a shock this must have been to him. Mom says he's a nice kid and devoted to Jesse."

"He should have stopped when he was told to," Deputy Erickson said.

They continued to haggle for a short while longer. I guess it's a big deal to stumble into a crime scene and not obey the cops when they warn you to stay out. However, Jesse's family finally prevailed upon the Sheriff's office to let me go and not file charges.

Honestly, by the time their conversation ended I could've cared less whether I went to jail or not. Listening to them made my insides turn to ice, and I felt like I was being crushed. All I could do was sob and count my inhales and exhales as I tried to keep breathing.

Jesse was dead.

Last night after returning home he had been approached by someone with a blade. In the gloom of the front yard he either got caught up in an altercation or was taken by surprise. Or maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There were no witnesses. It was so eerily quiet way out here in the boonies at night, so totally black around his house because of the broken porch lamp. As usual his family had slept soundly, mindless of the assault until his body had been discovered by his sister early this morning when she was leaving for work.

Jesse had been stabbed four times in the chest. The deputies, perhaps to make it less traumatic for the family and me, said it appeared that he had died almost instantaneously. Talking of how one wound must have passed through his ribs directly into his heart. The assailant was unknown, and they were collecting evidence and asking for information from family and friends. They hoped the perp had left something of himself behind to process DNA from and promised there would be an arrest.

Once I came to and one of the detectives assigned to the case found out that I was the last person to see Jesse alive, they were all over me with questions. Where we'd been, if Jesse had seemed concerned, what time he departed. I was numb. I must have been in shock because I had no problem telling these officers, strangers all except for Mr. Erickson, that Jesse had shown up at my house around 8:15 and we spent two hours alone in my bedroom studying and fucking.

I answered every single invasive query like a robot. I never felt I was a suspect—my breakdown made it evident that I was oblivious to the tragedy here—and the men were very respectful towards me and probed carefully. They gave me a few minutes to collect myself each time they sensed I was going to fall apart. Someone pushed a cold can of Dr. Pepper into my hands that I couldn't even open. It's Jesse's favorite soft drink.

I brought up the threatening notes Jesse had been receiving and they were keenly attentive. I talked of why he initially suspected me because of the coincidence of my starting week of school, the distinctly homophobic flavor of them and how often they appeared. I asked about his backpack because the last note was inside and said that Jesse had it with him the night before. One of the deputies found it on the floor of his Jeep.

The sight of Jesse's binder made me start crying again, made it all too real. Latex-gloved hands withdrew the latest printed threat just where I'd seen him place it yesterday, and the officer carefully opened it. "That's the last one," I sobbed. "There are lots more in Jesse's locker at school."

It was all too late to matter anymore, but pushing through my daze was that by letting Jesse persuade me to keep the notes a secret made me somehow to blame. I couldn't bear it if this was partially my fault but it sure felt like it was. I should have told somebody months ago. I should have stood my ground after spring break when we realize the stalker wasn't going to quit. Or last month after I discovered he was hiding them from me. One fucking day! It all boiled down to Jesse having to babysit his nephew yesterday afternoon.

A deputy asked his mother about the notes, and she said Jesse had talked to her in April about being harassed but claimed it wasn't a big deal. He hadn't mentioned it recently. My mouth dropped open in astonishment, but I guess I should have expected it. He had just shined me on, lied to all of us and did it to shut me up. I shook my head, disagreeing with what Jesse had told her. No, there were at least a dozen warnings spanning five months. The family totally crumpled in on themselves recognizing too late that Jesse had kept so much vital information to himself.

This all seemed to be happening to somebody else. Maybe my brain was trying to protect me from overload by shunting my pain aside and burying it so I couldn't feel. I didn't want to imagine Jesse alone in the dark, in pain and bleeding out. What were his last thoughts of... probably of his family, maybe of me too? Did he regret not taking my advice or were they pleasant ones of how much we loved each other? It felt too raw to wonder if he'd known he was going to die.

But helping the deputies provided me a temporary strength. I discovered deep rage too, fueling the urgency to avenge Jesse by catching his killer. The animal who had stolen something precious from me. I gave the officers everything I could think of about the particularities of finding each note. What I could recall of people like Mark Butler and his gang who had tormented Jesse at school.

Two of the detectives took me to Calberia High to retrieve the threats from Jesse's locker, and wouldn't you know it, class had just been dismissed. There's a certain amount of infamy involved in walking through the main gates of a high school trailed by two uniformed officers, and I tried to ignore the stares. Students quickly shuffled out of the way to make room for us and I could only imagine their conclusions.

We passed two of Jesse's drama friends who made startled eye contact with me. That was all it took; I started blubbering again and faltered on a crack in the sidewalk. One of the cops kindly put his arm around my shoulders to shield me from everyone else's observation and make sure I stayed upright, and the other deputy announced, "Nothing to see here, kids."

We disappeared into the main office, and the principal was called out of his cubicle. Upon hearing the tragic state of affairs, Mr. Peabody gave immediate permission to open Jesse's locker but we had to wait for a secretary. Fidgeting impatiently, I watched three senior girls who had overheard the request glance between my drawn, wet eyes and the cops' grim expressions, and at that point the truth must have slapped them across the face. Distressed, they slipped out of the room.

The secretary finally arrived with her list of combinations to the lockers, and I sighed because I could have supplied this without the delay. All things had to go through the proper channels I suppose. En masse, the principal, secretary, cops and I headed outside to find almost as many students still milling around as before. No one had left.

Bad news brings out the curiosity in people. Lots of the girls were crying; even some of Jesse's male friends had tears in their eyes, and oh my god, the whispering. Jesse's name was on the wind. My face turned mutinous, and I felt a definite urge to slug someone and tell them to shut the fuck up and stop talking about my boyfriend.

Another set of latex gloves came out, and I wasn't allowed to touch anything. The cops and principal talked about preserving fingerprints and keeping the chain of evidence intact. I pointed to the zip-lock bag under the hoody in the back of the locker. It was now bulging with notes. When I brought up the fact that some of them had been passed through the locker vent, the detectives asked the principal if he'd allow a fingerprint team in. I wondered what they hoped to find with seven hundred students floating through these halls every day?

I looked at Mr. Peabody who seemed to have aged twenty years in one afternoon. "I've tried to get Jesse to take them seriously," I hiccupped, tears pouring down my cheeks. "But he won't. Wouldn't." He touched my arm and told me I wasn't responsible, but who else was there? Jesse would still be alive if...

It suddenly hit me full force that there was no more Jesse. No. More. Jesse. All he had been to me, all we had lived for as a couple was gone except for memories. I wanted to collapse against the pillar holding up the roof overhang and give in to bawling like a baby. But I mostly held it together, cognizant of still being watched by students who kept their distance but couldn't help circling like vultures. It didn't even bother me how my misery was virtually announcing that we had been lovers. What did it matter now that Jesse was gone?

The sheriff's car took me back to the Capp's neighborhood to retrieve my Chevy. I think the shock had begun to wear off because I started sobbing in the back seat of the patrol car. Yesterday I had a boyfriend; today I didn't. Yesterday at this time we were arguing about the intimidating note on his car; today it appeared that Jesse's procrastination, and mine, I might add, had cost him his life. I felt traumatized and helpless, and I wished I could curl up into a ball and die too.

The cops were concerned about me and advised me to get checked out by a doctor and get some kind of medication to help me cope. I told them I just needed to process what happened and, while I wasn't fine by a long shot, I would rather work this out on my own. I know they disagreed, but there was nothing they could force me to do. They asked me about parents and I lied and said there was someone sympathetic at home I could discuss my grief with.

Once we returned to Jesse's, a detective asked if I would mind stopping by the substation and answering more questions to which I agreed. Jesse's mother walked up and held me a tight hug before I left for downtown. It was only natural that being consoled by someone who loved him as I did and had lost just as much as me set me off again.

"I'm so sorry," I sobbed on her shoulder. "So sorry. This is my fault. I begged him to tell you and when I asked him later, he acted weird and wouldn't discuss it. I should have known he was lying and followed up."

"No, no honey." She pulled me back to look me in the face, and I saw her own sorrow etched in tears and the deep lines around her eyes and mouth. "Don't blame yourself or it will make you crazy with guilt."

I looked for recrimination and found none, but I wasn't going to let myself off the hook that easily. "But there are so many things I should have done. Forced him to go to the authorities from the beginning or stolen the letters out of his locker or..."

"Nobody is to blame here except the person who killed Jesse," Sandra stated firmly, her mouth set. "Nobody."

"If only..."

"Shane, listen to me," she said, and she commanded my attention by gently grabbing my upper arms and giving me a little shake. "Until you entered my son's life Jesse was living behind a false smile. He has always been a good boy, but he had this secret, and it burdened him. The past four months were the happiest he's been since he was little. He adored you. From the joy I saw every day in his eyes, I know you loved him too.

"I found out he was gay when he was sixteen," she stated, wiping her face. "Maybe I should have told him then. But I wanted Jesse to be ready to share it with me, not feel forced."

"He was getting ready... getting ready to tell you," I choked out. "He worried only about his grandpa finding out because he didn't want him to be angry." It suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't seen his grandfather anywhere around.

Sandra saw the question in my eyes. "My father went to pieces this morning once Jenna... once..." She shook her head, clearing the violence seen. "He's resting at my nephew's house because this has been such a strain on his heart. But he already knew just like I did. And then we saw Jesse's dance on Monday." She smiled.

I smiled too, remembering with all the joy I could drum up the sultry routine he'd sung just for me. How could Monday night, not even forty-eight hours past, feel like so long ago?

"We always had each other's back," I agreed quietly, "because our love together was the one thing we could count on. He was helping me because I've been so scared to come out, but Jesse... he was making me brave. My parents... my mom and dad..." I cleared my throat, unable to verbalize how much being rejected hurt. "He was everything to me. What will I do without him?"

She hugged me hard again. "You will find a way to go on and make him proud of you. We all will. We have to."

I was suddenly surrounded by Jesse's sister, Jenna, cousin Chad and other family members, all holding on to each other and crying, like a group grief session with everyone comforting each other. His family was so different than mine, willing to let their feelings show without shame and so accepting. If only Jesse had been aware that they knew he was gay and still loved him. Would it have made a difference?

I spent two hours downtown with the detectives answering their questions, trying to remember every little detail about the threats or anyone that Jesse might have mentioned that hated him, but nothing more came to mind. I cried through most of it. They were alarmed by my anguish and repeatedly asked if anyone was at home I could talk to. Having no idea what my father's plans were, their worry made me uncomfortable, so I told them I would be alright. It was six o'clock when I left the station, and as I walked to my car, my cell phone chimed. It was Uncle Carl.

"Shane," he shouted and I had to pull the phone away from my ear. "I just heard about Jesse. Are you okay?"

His voice was, while excited, was empathetic, and I almost broke down again. "Yeah, I'm hanging in there."

"Do you need anything? To come over? Elaine will make you dinner, and you can talk... or be silent, whatever helps you the most."

What I wanted most was to be alone. To gather my thoughts and let the events of the past six hours wash over me so I could make some sense of it. My loss was unimaginable, and I had to regroup.

"I'd rather not, Uncle Carl, but thanks. I'm on my way home, and I'll be okay. I have to study for finals."

I bit my lip, knowing that was the most lame-ass excuse on the planet, but it was true. Finals began the next day, although I had no idea how I was going to get through school in my condition.

"If you're sure." Carl sounded doubtful with my decision. "You shouldn't be by yourself, Shane."

"I won't be," I lied. "Dad will be home soon. Really."

We chatted a few minutes longer while I reassured him that I was managing and I needed rest more than anything. Convinced that I had no intention of going off the deep end, he eventually said goodbye.

The house was predictably vacant when I unlocked the door. Dad would be at Jillian's, although he, like everyone else in Calberia, had probably heard of the murder by now. It was on all the television channels, at least the local ones. In this close a town, every single person should be affected by the tragedy in some way. Despite that, I seriously doubted it would cause the smallest wrinkle in my father's life because he didn't have any empathy or the capacity to be bothered with my reaction. He probably didn't even remember me saying that Jesse was my friend.

I stripped off my clothes and fell into bed, the same bed that Jesse and I had made love on last night. I could still smell him... his shampoo and a trace of his cologne on the pillow. I let the tears come as I wrapped my arms around it and drew it close. Imagining it was Jesse beside me, I cried myself to sleep.