In The Absence Of Light (22 page)

Then I could sleep for days.

It was like that there in Morgan’s bed. As if for some reason, I had to wait until it was safe for me to rest.

Outside the wind blew hard enough to rock the dozens of kinetic sculptures hanging in the trees. The soft chink joined the fading fall tree frogs. I glanced at the clock, it was three a.m. I didn’t have anywhere to be tomorrow so the lack of sleep was no big loss.

My internal clock ticked and the spring wound tighter.

I wasn’t afraid or worried, just… waiting.

Morgan whimpered, and the building tension popped.

The moonlight poured into his bedroom window, illuminating things as bright as a streetlamp. Shadows made heavy outlines over Morgan’s features.

His eyebrows crunched up, and he frowned in his sleep.

Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

“Morgan?”

Another sound but it was less a whimper and more like a sob. His wandering hand made a halfhearted jump to his temple. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh—”

“Please don’t be angry.” He opened his eyes, but I knew right away it wasn’t me he saw. The hurt, pain, the weakness, was not the Morgan I knew. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

It was wrong, but I didn’t try to wake him up. I wanted to know what memory plagued his sleep. Asking him in the morning would have been the better choice. But in the light, he would be the Morgan I knew. The independent wall of wit and charm. This vulnerable Morgan would have been covered back up.

He slowly ducked his head and his wandering hand pressed against his temple. A tear slid down his cheek and smeared on my chest. “Please, please, please.” He tensed. Bogged down by sleep, it was like watching a movie in slow-motion.

It took me a moment to realize Morgan was protecting his face. “Please don’t hit me.”

God, I was such a bastard. “Shhh—” I combed my fingers through his hair. Sweat weighed down the soft curls. “It’s okay, you’re all right.”

“I tried. I tried. I’m sorry. Please, please, please stop, Dillon. I love you. I love you, and I didn’t mean to.”

“Morgan.” I shook him. “Morgan, wake up.” I reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. Morgan’s gaze was still distant. Was he asleep, awake?

Neither.

Wherever Morgan had gone was beyond the place where nightmares lay. I wanted to believe he was watching the layer of the world I couldn’t see, but this time it was different. His features held no sense of wonder, no calm, they were just… empty.

The first time I killed a man, I’d been unable to look away as the life left his eyes. The moment he took his last breath, he changed. It was as if the entire world shifted around him and he was suddenly separated from it. He’d gone from a living person, to an inanimate object.

There were nights I’d wake up with the memory so fresh I smelled the blood. My heart would pound. Sweat would soak the sheets. Fear held me hostage until I convinced myself it was in the past. A deed done. I’d have to live with it because I’d done it to survive.

I thought nothing could disturb me more.

What I saw in Morgan’s expression made looking into the eyes of a dead man insignificant. Because Morgan was still alive and yet he’d slipped into a place where only inanimate objects belonged.

I shook him again. His wayward hand made a lazy movement. Then he wiggled his fingers at the tip of his nose.

I sat up and took him with me. He flopped against my chest. Neither fighting nor going willingly. Just there and not there.

“Morgan.” I patted his cheek. “Morgan, wake up.” I shook him again, and again, and again.

Where was my phone? In the truck? Had to be. I didn’t remember it being in my pocket when I put my keys in there.

I started to go get it when Morgan dropped his hand into his lap and the living-dead expression vanished.

He blinked a couple of times. “I want to go home. Please let me go home.”

“Okay. Okay, I’ll take you home.” We were at his house, but I would have agreed to anything to lead him out from the nightmare…

“You won’t be mad?”

“No, no, I won’t be mad. Everything will be all right. I’ll take you home, Morgan.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

Morgan nodded. “Thank you.”

Then he pressed himself against my ribs and fell back to sleep.

I didn’t. I held him. Sitting there in the middle of the bed while he slumped against me, I petted him, shushed him, and prayed the nightmares would stay away.

It wasn’t until the sky outside the window lightened I dare to lay him back down. Even then I kept him tucked under my arm. I don’t know if it really did any good, but the dreams didn’t come back and I was finally able to sleep.

********

The smell of coffee dragged me out of bed and forced me to put my jeans on. In the kitchen, Morgan stared out the window over the sink.

The smooth length of his back pulled my gaze to the swell of his ass. Two dimples peeked over the edge of his boxers, divided by the very tip of his crack. His hair was wet, and the scent of soap clinging to him left me longing for another night at the movies.

Then I was forced to relive my stupidity. Now I just had to figure out a way to bring up the topic. “Morning.”

He continued to stare.

“You mind if I get a cup?”

“I was going to cook breakfast, but I’m out of bacon, and I don’t have any buttermilk to make biscuits. My biscuits aren’t all that great anyways, but I’d like some with gravy. I thought maybe you could take us to Fran’s. Their lunch is terrible, but the breakfast is good. I wonder why that is? Good breakfast, bad lunch?” Morgan sipped his coffee. “I have to be at work by two. You’ll have to bring me back here, otherwise I’ll be late. Takes at least thirty minutes for me to get there on my bike.”

Since he didn’t say no, I got a cup from the cupboard. “I want to apologize for last night. I don’t know how I forgot…” No, no that was a lie. I knew exactly how I forgot. “I got carried away. I didn’t think. But I promise you, I’m—”

“Sugar’s over the microwave with the powdered creamer. There’s milk, but it’s just milk. Some people like it better than the creamer. I like the creamer most of the time.”

I moved a small stack of mail out of my way so I had room to fix my coffee. “If you want, I can go to the health clinic in town and get tested again. What about you?” I hated to ask, but I had to.

“Never gone bareback. I get tested twice a year. Haven’t had more than a blowjob in the john at Toolies in two. So? Biscuits and gravy?”

I propped my hip against the counter. “You sure make for interesting morning conversation.”

“I’ll go get dressed.” Morgan put his empty cup in the sink. “I made sure to leave you some hot water, but it won’t stay hot for long. Unless the water heater has caught up. It’s a good heater so it might have. I bought it for fifty bucks. Berry had it on sale. Has a gouge in the side, but it’s only aesthetic. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” He started out of the kitchen but paused in the doorway. “No.”

“No, what?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Talk? Last night. He meant last night. “I hadn’t really thought about asking.”

Morgan nodded. “You would have. So I’m just telling you now.”

“Okay. I promise not to ask.”

“Good. You should hurry. She makes the biscuits fresh, and they go quick.”

Morgan was already in the truck by the time I was showered and dressed.

I opened the driver’s side door.

“You’re late.”

“Had to shave.”

“Still late.”

“Had to wash too. And get dressed. Unless of course you expected me to go naked.”

He cocked his mouth to the side. “Is that a question or an option?”

I rolled my eyes.

“You should get a watch.”

“I have a watch.” I showed him.

“A better watch.”

“This one cost five hundred bucks. I can’t afford a better one.” I started the truck, and it belched a cloud of white smoke.

“You’re burning oil. Need to get Jenny to take a look at it.”

“I already looked at it. It’s nothing serious.”

Gravel crunched under the tires. Every so often, we’d hit a rut and bounce on the seats.

“Shocks are bad.”

“What’s with you this morning?”

Morgan flicked thoughts. Then he did something I’d only seen him do when he had the run-in with the truck driver. He rocked. Over and over, Morgan flicked thoughts and rocked in his seat.

I stopped the truck. “What’s going on?”

“You really should take better care of your truck. You’re lucky to have it. If I had a truck, I’d fix an oil leak, no matter how small.”

I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “Then maybe you should get Jenny to find you one. I’m sure she could get good deal.”

“Can’t drive.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“Can’t tie my shoes either. Or tell left from right. Neither one of those is hard.”

He had me there. “And I can’t make the beautiful works of art like you.”

Morgan fell still. “I could teach you.”

“I’m not sure it would work, but I could try, I guess.”

He nodded.

“Would you like for me to give you some driving lessons?”

“Can’t drive.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“You sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

“Hasn’t gone well before.”

“Well, maybe this time it will.”

He nodded. He kept nodding. Then he went back to rocking in his seat.

“Morgan?”

“We should get going, or they’ll be out of biscuits.”

“What’s wrong?”

“If they run out of biscuits, we’ll have to settle for waffles.”

I put the truck in park.

“We’ll be late.”

“Then you’d better start talking. About something besides biscuits and the fact my truck leaks oil.”

His shoulder jerked.

“I told you I’d go get tested.”

A high-pitched cry ticked out of the back of his throat. It snapped off with another hard twitch that jerked his entire torso.

I watched helplessly as Morgan fought with the onslaught of tics. I wanted to comfort him, but I was afraid it would only make things worse. The rumble of the truck engine kept us company for a good five minutes. His body calmed until he was only rocking and flicking thoughts.

A tractor drove by on the road in front of us, carrying a round bale of hay.

Morgan pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. Wrinkles covered the surface. He held it out to me.

I took it and opened it up. The letterhead was from the Alamo Prison Facility. It was a notice of a parole hearing.

“They sent me a letter.” Morgan’s voice was flat. He no longer rocked, but his hand remained close to his temple. “They’re gonna let him out.”

“That’s not what this means.”

“They’re going to let him out.” He thumped his fist against the door. “After everything they promised.”

“It’s a hearing. It doesn’t mean they’re going to grant him parole.”

“He’ll come back here.” Morgan’s shoulder jerked. “He’ll come back here, Grant.”

“You can contest it, you know.” I glanced at the piece of paper. “You’ve got six almost seven months. You could take time off from Toolies. I’ll even drive you there.” Atlanta was a good four hours away, but I’d do it.

“I can’t.”

“They have to let you dispute it.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t. I can’t, Grant. I just can’t.” The flush in his cheeks hardened his features. “He knows I can’t. Everyone knows I can’t.”

“Do you have a lawyer?”

Morgan flicked thoughts.

“Do you have a lawyer?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll get you one.”

“They cost money I don’t have.”

They were expensive. The good ones were really expensive. My retainer with Harriet Price was a hard hundred grand. And I hadn’t even needed her beyond a phone consultation yet.

“I’ll make some calls.” I’d have to use my standard account. There wasn’t much there, thirty grand maybe. If Harriet wanted more, then I’d be shit out of luck. Touching the offshore accounts would be like ringing a dinner bell. Jeff and all his frat boys would be on my doorstep by morning.

“No.”

“Look, you need a lawyer. I have a lawyer.”

“No.”

I slammed my hand against the steering wheel. “Yes.”

Morgan fell still again.

“I’m sorry.” I scrubbed my jaw. “I didn’t mean to yell, it’s just…” I took a breath. “We all need help sometimes, Morgan. Everyone. I want to help you. Please, let me.”