The Magic in Your Touch Ch. 02

“But?”

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

Brandon looked over to where Sasha lay sleeping on the edge of the blanket. “I won’t, but I can’t speak for Sasha.”

Nate smiled. “You and that dog. O.K. The reason I didn’t want us to move in together is because I wanted us to wait about having sex. I wanted it to be special.”

“You mean, you never—”

“No. Oh, we fooled around a little, touching and grouping, but nothing any more intimate. Rick wasn’t real happy about it, but he agreed to wait. We dated for almost eight months. Then, on Rick’s twenty-second birthday, I did something really stupid. I asked him to marry me.”

“Wow.”

“Wait. It gets worse. He said yes. Then he insisted we invite both sets of parents to dinner and tell them the good news, never mind the fact that neither of our families even knew we were gay.”

“He doesn’t sound all that bright.”

“Yeah, well neither was I. We invited our families out to dinner and told them all of it, right in the middle of the prime rib. My dad threw one of his tantrums, to which my mother replied, ‘Now see there, you’ve upset your father again.’ My brother, who was sixteen at the time, just looked at me like I was a slug that had somehow crawled through the door of the restaurant. Rick’s parents never said a word; they just got up and left, demanding that Rick go with them. The next day, I got a restraining order from my parents and a phone call from Rick informing me that his folks were going to cut him off finically if he didn’t stop ‘acting gay.’ He transferred to another school and that was the end of it. Three months later, I read in the society section of the paper about his engagement to the daughter of his father’s business partner.”

Brandon reached over and took Nate’s hand. “For what it’s worth, I think they’re all idiots.”

“Thanks. And thanks for sharing this place with me. And for listening.”

“My pleasure.” He glanced down at his watch. “Damn, It’s after one o’clock. Let’s head back to the house.” He stood up and helped Nate to his feet.

The walk back to the house was silent, but it was a comfortable silence. Sasha walked between them again, watchful as ever. When they got back to the house, Sasha went to her massive pillow-bed near the fireplace in the living room, while Brandon and Nathan went upstairs.

Bran dropped Nate off at the door to the guestroom. “If you don’t want Sasha to end up in bed with you, make sure the door is closed up tight. She might have gone quietly to her pillow like a good little doggie, but that doesn’t mean she’ll stay there.” Then, before Nate had a chance to protest, Brandon leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on Nate’s check. “Good-night, Baby. Sleep well.” Without another word, he went to his room, leaving Nate standing and staring behind him.

* * *

Brandon reached over and hit the snooze button on the alarm clock, but the noise didn’t stop. He hit it again, but it just kept ringing. Ringing? It took him a full minute to realize it was the phone. The person on the other end was persistent. The phone was still ringing when he finally picked it up.

“Yeah.”

“Bran?”

“Sam?”

“Yeah, buddy, it’s me.”

Brandon looked out the window and saw that it was still dark outside. “Jesus, Sam. What time is it?”

“It’s around four. Consider it my revenge for leaving me on the interstate last night surrounded by future McNuggets.”

“Some revenge. What are you really doing calling me here at four in the morning. You weren’t on duty last night.”

“No, but I got a call an hour ago about a possible break in at the McCoy Apartment complex.”

“I take it you found something or you wouldn’t be calling me.”

“I found something, alright, but you’re not gonna like it.”

“Go ahead.”

“It was Dr. Morris’s apartment, Bran. The whole place has been ransacked, but that’s not the worst part.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s more gay-bashing.”

“You got it. Whoever did this spray painted the windows and doors with words like ‘fag’ and ‘queer.’”

“Fuck! I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Gottcha. Oh, I tried to notify Dr. Morris, but I haven’t been able to locate him.”

“That’s O.K. I know where he is.”

Brandon hung up the phone and got out of bed. He pulled on his jeans and crossed the hall to the guest room. He started to turn the knob, but stopped when he saw the door was half-way open already. At first he panicked, thinking the person who trashed Nate’s apartment might have come after him here. His heart resumed a steady beat when he saw the reason why he door was open.

Nate was lying on his side, with Sasha curled up to his back. Her long body took up more than her fair share of the double bed, but Nate was sleeping too soundly to care. Bran couldn’t believe it, but he was actually jealous of his dog. He shooed Sasha out the door and sat down on the side of the bed next to Nate.

“Nate, wake up, buddy.”

Those big chocolate eyes that Brandon was becoming so fond of opened slowly and struggled to focus.

“Umm. What time is it?”

“A few minutes after four.”

Nate huddled deeper into the covers. “Damn. Do you always get up this early?”

“No, but something’s happened.”

Nate sat up in an instant, wincing as the pain from his sore face returned. “What is it? Is it Amy and Mike? Are they O.K.?”

Brandon put his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Relax. This isn’t about Amy or Mike. This is about you.” God, he hated having to tell him this. “Nate, somebody trashed your apartment.”

“What about the office? Did they hit there too?”

“Not that I know of, but I’ll send someone to check.” He picked up the bedside phone and sent one of his deputies over to take a look. When he was finished, he turned back to Nate. “Are you O.K.?”

“I don’t know. Ask me again after I’ve seen my apartment.”

While Nate dressed, Brandon went downstairs and started a pot of coffee. He’d just gone back up to his room when Nate came out, dressed and ready to go.

Knowing that the best way to keep a man’s mind off his troubles was to keep him busy, Brandon said, “There are a couple of travel mugs in the cabinet above the sink. Would you see if the coffee’s ready yet and fill them up?”

A few minutes later, Brandon went downstairs to find Nate sitting at the kitchen table stroking Sasha’s head. Nate looked so right sitting in his kitchen, petting his dog; Bran had to force himself to make his presence known and disturb the tranquil scene.

“Hey,” he said around the tightness in his throat. “I thought I told you to close your door last night.” He walked over to where Nate sat and rubbed Sasha up under the chin the way she liked. “Did you know you had company in bed last night. And I don’t mean me.”

Nathan managed a weak laugh, but Bran was willing to take what he could get. “Actually, I did close the door, but Sasha woke me up about two-thirty scratching to get in. I guess I felt sorry for her.”

Brandon gave his dog a mock frown. “So, you found yourself a soft touch, huh?”

Nate said, “She’s a good dog. She certainly kept me from being lonely last night.”

Bran laughed. “If I’d know that was what you wanted, I’d have volunteered for the job myself.”

Nate’s blush was followed by a quick change in subject. “The coffee’s ready. I wasn’t sure how you take yours, so you’ll have to fix it the way you like it.”

Bran grabbed his travel mug off the counter and headed towards the mudroom. “I used to take it with milk and sugar, but now I drink it black. I guess all those years working cases for the bureau taught me to appreciate the merits of strong coffee.”

“The bureau?”

“Yeah. I worked for the F.B.I. for a while.”

“You were an agent?”

“I was a profiler.”

“Don’t you have to have a degree in psychology for that?”

“’Fraid so. My field of expertise is forensics.” Before Nate could ask anymore questions, Brandon said, “Let’s get going. Sam, my deputy, will wonder where I’m at.” He looked Nate over carefully as he stood up and grabbed his coffee. “Are you sure you’re up to this. I could go by first and check it out.”

“No. I’m going to have to see it sooner or later. Might as well get it over with.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

* * *

The apartment was worse than he expected, surprising since Nate had been imagining all kinds of terrible things ever since Brandon told him about the break-in. The minute they pulled into the parking lot, Nate saw the slurs panted on the doors and windows. The apartment was the townhouse type, with its own porch and patio. The person who did this had broken several pieces of the porch’s railing. The screens had been ripped from the windows, and a couple of the panes were broken. The door was hanging awkwardly on its hinges and the chairs Nate had sitting by the front door were smashed.

Brandon left Nate standing among the wreckage of the porch while he went inside to talk to his deputies. A few minutes later, he came back and led Nate into what was left of his apartment.

The furniture had been slashed with a knife; bits of fabric and stuffing littered the floor. His television and computer were both smashed to bits, as were all the dishes and glassware in his cupboard. The pictures from the walls now lay on the floor in piles of splintered wood and broken glass. Even the glass shower doors in the downstairs bathroom had been shattered. One of the deputies commented on the fact that no one reported hearing anything, but Nate wasn’t surprised. His place was an end unit and the apartment next to his was empty. The person who did this had done his homework.

While Brandon talked to one of his men, Nate made his way up the stairs. More broken knick-knacks littered the upstairs hall. The spare bedroom, which Nate used as an office, was a mass of strewn files and broken furniture. In every room he’d seen so far, including the bathroom, words like “pervert” and “freak” glared at him from the once pristine, white walls. The spare room was no exception, only here the vandal had gotten a little more creative and called him an “ass-fucking slut.”

After finding the upstairs bath in a state similar to the one downstairs, Nathan made his way to the master bedroom. All his clothes lay in piles on the floor, covered in what looked like red paint. As he got closer, he could smell the metallic scent of blood. As a doctor, Nate was used to that scent. Now though, knowing that someone had covered his clothes in the thick mess, was enough to make the coffee he’d drunk in the car come back up. He ran to the bathroom and was quietly ill. He was still leaned over the commode when he felt something wet and cool on the back of his neck. Brandon was holding a damp cloth to his heated skin.

“Nate? Are you gonna be O.K., sweetheart?”

Nate managed to nod. When he was certain he wasn’t going to gag again, he said, “I’m usually not such a wuss. I guess all that blood was too much for me.”

Brandon helped him up, but didn’t let go of him. “If it makes you feel any better, Sam is pretty sure it’s animal blood.”

“It does.” He shook himself. “I guess I should go back in there and see the damage.”

“Only if you want to. Sam and the boys have already dusted for fingerprints, but I doubt they’ll find anything. My guess is, the guy that did this is a professional.”

Nate reached up and removed Brandon’s hands from his shoulders. “Come on. I want to see just how bad it is.”

Nate walked back into his bedroom, with Brandon right behind him. He deliberately avoided looking at the bloody pile of clothes and focused instead on the rest of the room, or, at least, what was left of it.

All his college awards and trophies were crunched up in a pile in the corner. The dresser mirror was shattered, as was the window that overlooked the courtyard below. His mattress had been ripped to shreds, but the worst of it all was the damage done to the quilt that Grandma Morris made for him. He picked up the torn remnants of the log cabin quilt and cradled it to his chest. Brandon came up behind him and put his hand on Nate’s arm.

“Nate?”

“My grandmother made this quilt for me. It’s the only thing I took with me when my parents washed their hands of me.” His voice fell to a whisper. “It’s the only thing I wanted.”

Bran pulled the fabric from his hands and guided him out of the room. They were almost to the bedroom door when Nate stopped him. “Wait. Bran, did you read that message on the wall?”

“Yeah, but you don’t need to look at it. My men took pictures. That’s enough.”

“No. It was meant for me. I want to read it. Maybe I can pick up some clues about who might have done this.”

Nathan turned around and gave careful consideration to the message scrawled on the sheetrock, not in paint this time, but in blood. “God is coming. All of Sodom will perish.” He turned and walked out, feeling sick all over again.

* * *

Rage welled up inside of Brandon as he settled Nathan into the passenger seat of the SUV. The amount of hatred it took to do something like that was almost inconceivable to him. He had just eased into the driver’s seat and closed his door when the radio sounded.

“Sheriff, you copy?”

Bran pushed the com button. “Yeah, dispatch. Go ahead.”

“Dewey just reported in from that check he did over at the doctor’s office. Looks like the office got hit, too.”

Brandon hit the stirring wheel hard enough to make the horn sound. “Fuck!” He took one look at Nate’s white face and forced himself to calm down. He mashed the com button again. “Dispatch? Tell Dewey I’m on my way over now. Sheriff, out.”

By the time they were finished surveying the damage to the office, Brandon was ready to explode and Nate was dead on his feet. The office was an echo of the damage done to the apartment: more threats and slurs, scattered files, and ripped furniture. Equipment had been smashed and medicine bottles were lying broken all over the floor. They stayed until Nate started shaking. That’s when Brandon insisted they leave.

He drove them back to the farmhouse, ushering Nate inside and letting Sasha out so she could run. She surprised him by refusing to go. Instead, she walked over to where Nate was sitting on the couch and put her head n his lap. Brandon felt his eyes getting moist as he noticed the dejected look on Nate’s face.

“Are you hungry? I think I’ve got a can of biscuits in the refrigerator.”

“No, thanks. I’m still a little nauseous.”

“Understandable, under the circumstances.”

“Yeah. What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

“Oh. What about Amy? And my patients?”

“I’ve got my office trying to locate Amy, but so far there’s no answer at the number you gave us for Mike’s aunt. None of the hospitals in Atlanta have a patient by that name, either. It’s possible they’re on their way back here, but we’ll just have to wait and see. As for your patients, Cindy’s referring them all to a doctor in Chicago until we can analyze the crime scene and get someone to come in and clean it up.”

“I need to call my insurance company. I have renter’s insurance on my apartment, and the office is fully covered.”

“You can do all that later. First, we need to have a talk.”

Nate sighed. “Why do I not like the sound of that?”

“Because I think you know what I’m about to say. Nate, don’t you think it’s just too much of a coincidence that on the same night you receive a blow to the head, Amy and Mike, the only friends you have in town, are called to the bedside of a sick aunt over seven hundred miles away. The very same night that your apartment is trashed and your office is vandalized.”

“You aren’t suggesting that Amy and Mike had something to do with this?” Nate looked ready to do battle, even as tired as he obviously was.

“Of course not. I believe the man who hit you set it up so that Amy and Mike would get that call and leave you with no choice but to go home to your apartment. I think he went there to kill you, Nate.”