“Have I gone mad?”
“I’m afraid so, but let me tell you something, the best people usually are.”
Vegas wakes up when the doctor comes to check on Pete. He’s all stiff, everything aches and he has a bad headache, but he refuses to go home and come back later. He refuses the offer of a makeshift bed, too. Pete is still asleep; it’s the drugs they said, he’s on heavy painkillers.
Vegas only lets go of Pete’s hand during the examination, but as soon as the doctor and the nurses have left the room, he laces their fingers together again. It feels as if he cannot breathe if he isn’t touching Pete. He very quickly falls asleep again.
When he wakes up the next time, it’s because Pete’s fingers have started twitching. Blurry eyed, Vegas looks up; it’s much lighter in the room. It must be daytime, but Vegas has no clue what time of day it is. He takes a moment to stretch his aching body, and when he looks at Pete again, his eyes are open. Pete seems very dazed at first, then a look of surprise crosses his bruised face as he recognises Vegas standing beside his bed.
Vegas is so relieved, he can feel himself tearing up again. “Hello sleepyhead. About time you woke up, I was getting worried.”
Pete tries to speak but instead just coughs weakly. Vegas figures his mouth and throat must be dry, but he doesn’t dare give him something to drink without checking with the nurses first.
“Just a moment…”
He hurries to the bathroom and wets some paper towels, then goes back to Pete and gently dabs the wet paper against his lips.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know if you are allowed to drink anything yet,” he explains, and Pete smiles faintly. “You want me to call the doctor?”
Pete shakes his head and tries to speak again. This time it works, but his voice sounds very raspy.
“What are you doing here?”
“That’s an exceptionally stupid thing to ask. Where else would I be?” Vegas sits on the side of the bed and takes hold of Pete’s hand again, squeezing it gently. “You already forgot what I told you before you passed out? Superglue, remember?”
“I didn’t think you would mean it so literally… Go home and get some sleep, Vegas, you look like hell,” Pete sighs tiredly. “No need to stay here.”
“Bullshit. I’m not going anywhere, I nearly lost you…” Vegas voice trails off and he swallows hard. “I’m not going anywhere,” he repeats with quiet force, leans forward and kisses Pete softly. “They will have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming if they want to separate me from you, so you better get used to my presence here, you idiot.”
This seems to puzzle Pete. “… I don’t understand…” he mumbles, genuinely confused, and stifles a yawn.
“All you need to understand is that I love you and I can’t bear to be separated from you right now,” Vegas tells him affectionately. “Now get some more sleep; you need to heal so that you can get out of here quickly and come home with me.”
Pete’s eyes flutter shut again. “… Home…” he sighs softly, as if this is a foreign concept to him.
Vegas chuckles. The medicine really makes Pete adorably confused.
“Go to sleep, Sunshine,” he whispers gently and kisses Pete’s cheek. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Everything is going to be all right now.”
And as Pete drifts back to sleep, Vegas simply climbs up into the hospital bed and curls up next to him, careful not to disturb any of the many cables. It’s a tight fit, but it can be done, and soon both of them are asleep again.
----------------------------------------
48 precious hours.
Vegas doesn’t know how Porsche, Macau and Tankhun have managed it but Vegas gets 48 precious, uninterrupted hours with Pete. He only leaves Pete’s side to go to the bathroom. Pete drifts in and out of sleep, and now and then they’re interrupted by the nurses and doctors checking up on the wound and taking more blood samples. The IV drip is removed after 24 hours. More and more cables and machines, too. The doctor reassures Vegas that everything looks good, but that Pete will have to stay here for observation a few more days before they will release him.
Pete seems to be really tired most of the time, no wonder, he’s been through a lot. He also keeps telling Vegas to go home, and is baffled that Vegas refuses to do so. Vegas just rolls his eyes and ignores him. He doesn’t want to go home and it’s only partially because he doesn’t want to be separated from Pete. He also knows that as soon as he steps out of the hospital room, real life will come crashing down on him with a vengeance, and he’s not ready for that. In fact, he’s been very good at ruthlessly blocking out everything that has happened.
Especially when Pete tries to talk to him about what happened. “We’ll talk about it later,” he deflects, straightening the sheets on the bed without meeting Pete’s eyes. “No need to hurry, for now let’s focus on you getting better first. Just rest, Pete, everything else can wait.”
No, Vegas really doesn’t want to talk or think about the shooting. Tem’s last words are still echoing in his mind—“He’s been lying to you the whole damn time!”—and Vegas doesn’t dare to open this Pandora’s box just yet.
So Vegas is simply refusing to think about it for now, but he knows this can’t last forever.
And indeed, it doesn’t. After 48 precious hours, Porsche arrives to pick up Vegas. “Sorry, but we can’t stall any longer. The police wants to have a word with your boyfriend and I’m sure you would rather not have them finding you here. Besides, Macau says he needs to get back home, so you need to be seen leaving the mansion with him in order not to arouse your father’s suspicion.”
Porsche gets a reluctant thank you from Pete for his efforts, and Vegas—Vegas is quietly panicking. He doesn’t want to leave Pete’s side. Both of their phones have been temporarily confiscated as evidence, so he can’t even call Pete if he leaves now.
Pete seems to sense something is wrong. He gives Vegas a questioning look. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Vegas forces himself to smile. “You just concentrate on getting better, I’ll see you when you get out of here.” And then he gives Pete a long hard kiss that tastes of desperation before he turns around and walks out of the room without a glance backwards. If he casts another glance at Pete in the hospital bed, then he won’t be able to leave; he knows it.
Porsche gives him a sympathetic look, and follows him. “He’ll be okay, don’t worry. I think he was looking a lot better already. Kinn has arranged to put a discreet guard by the door to make sure that none of your dad’s goons come anywhere near him, in case you’re worried about that.”
“I’m not worried, my dad doesn’t know about Pete.” That’s correct, right? “But thanks anyway,” Vegas sighs, as they both walk through the endless hospital corridors again. He’s not ready for this. He’s not ready to face the aftermath of these traumatic events. He’s not ready for reality. But no one really cares about how he feels. Life must go on.
----------------------------------------
Guess who is suspended pending the outcome of the ongoing investigation into the death of his partner? It was to be expected really, so he isn’t shocked or upset about it. The problem is that this means Vegas has a whole lot of time on his hands now, when he’d rather bury himself in work.
The apartment is large and empty. There’s only so much cleaning he can do, this is the downside of liking it when everything is neat and organised. There’s nothing for him to do here to keep himself busy, so Vegas goes for a run. Twice, that first day. Long runs. Then he buys groceries and actually cooks instead of buying takeaway. As long as he keeps himself busy, everything will be fine, he keeps telling himself. But there comes a time when there’s nothing left for him to do, when it’s dark outside, when there are no TV programs that can keep at bay the deep ache in his heart because he’s sitting all alone on the couch, missing Pete. Vegas wallows in misery and calls it a night, but the bed is large and empty, too, without another body to snuggle up to and the sheets still smell of Pete. I can do this, he reminds himself. One day at a time. I can do this. And finally he falls asleep.
----------------------------------------
Vegas’ mind is comfortably black. Like the untouched surface of a lake during a warm summer day without even the slightest breeze. Tranquil. Dark. Silent. Blissful undisturbed sleep—until the ripples start.
… white noise…
… movement in the darkness…
… white noise…
… something shifting there…
… white noise…
… something rising in the dark…
… white noise…
… out of the darkness towards the surface…
… white noise…
… but the surface won’t be broken…
… white noise…
… something wants to surface…
… white noise…
… fighting, pressing upwards…
… white noise…
… rising…
… white noise…
… breaking through…
… white noise…
… shadows pearling off familiar features…
… white noise…
… black hair, white skin, red blood…
… white noise…
… black eyes flickering open…
… white noise…
… staring…
… white noise…
… mouth opening…
… white noise…
… black hair, white bone slivers, red blood, grey brain tissue…
… white noise…
… pale lips forming words…
… white noise…
Vegas jerks awake with a scream. He’s covered in icy sweat and trembling all over, the memories of the nightmare so fresh and vivid that he’s gasping for breath.
… Tem…
The images from that night, which he has successfully kept submerged until now, come crashing down on him. Vegas barely makes it to the bathroom before he starts throwing up violently.
… Tem…
The tears come again, and Vegas curls up on the cold tiles, crying unconsolably. “I’m sorry…” he whispers between sobs. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
----------------------------------------
‘I’m fine.’ Vegas still has no phone, but he has email. When Porsche writes to check up on him, this makes lying so much easier. ‘I’m pretty busy, doing chores, working out and such. Don’t worry. I am fine.’
He’s not hungry. He doesn’t have the nerve to cook; jarring visual flashbacks hit him at unpredictable times, and he’s already dropped several plates and glasses. Cooking doesn’t feel like a safe activity to do right now. He’s not hungry, because he feels sick to his stomach whenever those flashbacks hit him, and he’s tired of throwing up.
‘Stop fretting,’ he writes to Macau. ‘The department has organised trauma therapy already, I’m fine.’
In fact, Vegas can’t sleep without nightmares. Dead Tem haunts his dreams incessantly. This is what he deserves, so he doesn’t complain and endures it. This is his punishment for killing his best friend, and the punishment is relentless. Every night. Several times. Tem’s bloody ruined face keeps staring at him, yelling at him soundlessly. Every night. Every time he tries to sleep.
‘Yes, I’m watching that series right now, thank you for the recommendation. It really is a great distraction,’ he writes to Tankhun.
But Vegas is too tired to watch TV. He goes for endless runs to exhaust himself even more, because he hopes he will collapse with exhaustion and then be able to sleep. It doesn’t work though. The nightmares wake him anyway. After four days he starts taking sleeping pills and those knock him out good. He sleeps for 18 hours and only wakes up when an angry Macau shakes him and demands to know if he’s trying to kill himself. How did his brother get into the apartment? Oh yes, Macau has a key.
He apologises profusely and feels bad for scaring his little brother. Okay, no more sleeping pills, back to the nightmares it is. Vegas is quietly going insane. He hasn’t heard anything from Pete directly and it’s driving him nuts. Porsche is keeping him updated about Pete’s health, but Vegas aches to hear Pete’s voice. When is his boyfriend going to be released? Will he go home to his own place? Will he come here? Who will pick him up from hospital? Is he going to blame Vegas for the whole disaster? Damn. How did he allow himself to become so dependent on another person? This part of being in love sucks.
Yes, Vegas is quietly going insane. He’s sleep deprived, the guilt over killing Tem is wearing him down. He is heartbroken.
When the doorbell rings after a week, he’s glad for any interruption, even if it is only the mailman or some door-to-door salesperson. What he gets it so much better though, because in front of his door stands Pete, right arm in a sling, looking exhausted.
“Sorry, I forgot my key,” he apologises, with a faint smile.
Vegas looks at him and wants to weep with gratitude. Instead he simply opens his arms and Pete walks right into his embrace. Both of them sigh deeply and just hold on to each other; Vegas feels as if the world has realigned itself and everything will be all right now.
“I missed you so damn much,” he whispers against Pete’s hair. “You have no idea how much I missed you.”
Yes, with Pete around he will be able to cope.
----------------------------------------
“You’re going to drive me crazy.” A few days later Pete is caught between exasperation and fondness, and Vegas feels himself blush. “I’m not an invalid, I can walk. It’s the shoulder that was injured, not my feet. So if you don’t start relaxing, I’ll move back into my apartment,” he threatens.
All right, so perhaps Vegas is overdoing it a bit when it comes to caring for Pete, but he can’t help himself. He feels that it’s his fault that Pete got shot, and he wants to make it up to him.
“Don’t leave,” he begs, because the thought of not having Pete around is too scary to contemplate. “I’ll try to tone it down, I promise.”
Pete arches an eyebrow at him; it’s very clear he doesn’t believe it even for a second.
“You better. Just stop fussing already. I’m fine. You saw the wound, it’s healing well. The doctor said to take it easy, he did not say bedrest. If you’re so worried I will pass out, you can come along, but I’m going for a short walk now. If you keep me locked up here, I’ll start screaming and that will upset your neighbours.”
Vegas thinks that his neighbours must be used to strange noises from his apartment by now but he doesn’t say that out loud. Instead he glares at Pete and then goes to get his shoes. With one arm in a sling, Pete needs help tying the shoe laces.
“Fine. But only a short walk. We can go to the little café at the corner and have an ice cream.”
“Yes, mom,” Pete chuckles. He ruffles Vegas’ hair affectionately while his shoes are getting tied. “I appreciate what you are doing for me, Vegas, but you need to give me some space. You understand that, right?”
Yes, Vegas understands, but he doesn’t like it. “Sorry. I will try not to be too clingy.”
They head off for some ice cream, and Pete is right, he’s doing much better. He doesn’t even get tired during this outing. But Vegas worries nevertheless. He came too damn close to loosing Pete and now he’s having the worst kind of separation anxiety. On the outside he’s all smiles, but deep inside he’s a bundle of raw nerves.
----------------------------------------
… white noise…
… black hair, white bone slivers, red blood, grey brain tissue…
… white noise…
… pale lips forming words…
… white noise…
… VEGAS…
The nightmares won’t stop. They’re Vegas’ constant nightly companion nowadays. Dead Tem is haunting him unforgivingly, calling out to him, trying to speak through the white noise. At this point, Vegas can’t even cry anymore, he just shudders silently in terror every time the dream confronts him with his friend’s ruined, bloody face. He’s started to sneak out of the bedroom as soon as Pete has fallen asleep to sleep on the couch, because he doesn’t want to disturb him
“Vegas…”
He whimpers in his sleep. I’m so sorry. So sorry. Please forgive me, Tem. I’m so damn sorry.
“Vegas…”
Someone shakes him awake and he’s disoriented for a moment, almost falling off the couch as he sits up. In the dim light of the living room he can make out Pete, standing beside the couch, looking down at him with a frown.
“Care to explain to me why you’re sleeping on the couch, Vegas?” his boyfriend asks him softly.
Oops, caught. “Sorry?” Vegas sits up straight and tries to give him a smile, but in the aftermath of the nightmare it proves impossible.
Pete sighs deeply. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” And that’s very true. Vegas would rather keep pretending that nothing ever happened. If he doesn’t talk about that night, maybe the memories of it will fade away eventually.
“Too bad, because I want to talk about it.” Pete sits down beside him. For a while, both of them stare silently into the darkness. “Do you want a drink or do you want to talk about it while being sober?”
“I suppose that means you are going to ignore my wish not to talk about it?”
Of course. Pete has donned his psychologist mask, which means Vegas is screwed. Damn. With a frustrated sigh, Vegas leans back on the couch and rubs his tired eyes.
“I don’t think getting drunk will make this easier, so no thanks.”
“Fine.” Pete leans back too, and there is another long pause in the conversation. “Do you have the nightmares every night, Vegas?” he eventually asks. “I’m not an idiot, I’ve noticed that you’re always sleeping on the couch, you know.”
“Sorry,” Vegas apologises again. “I didn’t want to wake you.” Another pause. “Yeah, I am not sleeping too well these nights.”
What an understatement.
“What are you dreaming about? That night?”
“Not exactly. Are you going to be pissed off when I tell you I dream about Tem?” Because that is a very real possibility as far as Vegas is concerned; Pete has a very jealous streak, and he has a feeling that Tem being dead doesn’t change that.
“It’s to be expected; it was a very traumatic event,” Pete shrugs, surprising him. “Have you talked to anyone about that night?”
“I talked about it during the initial interview directly after it happened, but I haven’t talked about it since.”
“You can’t avoid it forever, Vegas. You need to talk about it, I’m sure you have a lot of questions and thoughts about what happened.”
“No, I’ll just read the inquiry notes eventually, that will be enough.” Denial is bliss.
“Bullshit.” Pete is calling him out. “Go ahead. Ask me. I know you must have thought about it. Ask me.”
Vegas sinks deeper into the couch. “I have nothing to ask. It’s over and done with, nothing is going to change what happened. Reading the official report will be enough.”
“Reading the official report won’t give you the answers you need, don’t be a stubborn idiot. You know that the report won’t contain the entire truth.”
Damn it, Pete is really determined to push this issue. “So you are saying you lied during your interview?”
Pete smirks in the darkness. “Of course I did. As did you. The only ones who know what happened that night and why it happened are you and me. And we both have our reasons not to tell the entire truth.”
“You shouldn’t have lied,” Vegas reminds him automatically, the cop part of him irritated about sabotage to the official procedures.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
“I’m really in no rush to loose my license because of our relationship,” Pete points out. “Besides, you probably neglected to tell them about Tem’s jealousy issues too, am I right? And for obvious reasons.” He sighs, sounding slightly annoyed. “Don’t be a coward, Vegas. Ask.”
“I don’t want to know, all right? Stop pressuring me, Pete.” Vegas is getting vexed, because he really doesn’t want to revisit that horrible night, and there are certain facts he simply doesn’t want to look into any closer. “It’s enough that he haunts my dreams, I’m feeling guilty enough already. What do you want? An apology from me? Fine. I’m sorry my jealous friend tried to kill you. I’m so damn sorry I got you into this mess. And I’m sorry for killing him too. I’m sorry for everything, I don’t know how many more times I have to repeat myself.”
“No one is blaming you, Vegas. That’s not the point.”
“He is blaming me! Every damn night he is blaming me, looking at me with those accusing eyes, calling me, trying to talk to me!” Vegas clenches his hands into fists because he’s upset and frustrated and tired and that makes it so easy for the anger to rise. He doesn’t want to be angry with Pete, that would be unfair.
“You don’t know that he is blaming you; it’s just a projection of your fear that manifests as a nightmare, because you have no idea what he was talking about during that night, isn’t that right, Vegas? You got stuck in your little bubble of silence again as soon as I was shot, and so all you have to go on is what he said before everything turned quiet, and the snippets of the conversation beforehand. And without the right context, this is scaring you. You’re feeling so guilty for shooting him, you haven’t even dared ask me what actually happened.”
Wow, Pete is brutal and unfortunately quite right. Vegas flinches.
“Ask me,” Pete once again demands. “I can tell you exactly what he said. Ask.”
“Can we please drop this?” Because Vegas remembers a few things Tem said before everything turned silent, and he really doesn’t want to delve into this any further. Ignorance is bliss.
Fat chance of Pete allowing this, though. “Let’s see… I got a text message to meet you downtown, and when I went to park in the parking garage there, Tem was waiting for me. I instantly had a bad feeling, because your partner wasn’t supposed to be in the city, he was supposed to be on leave. It was easy to see that he was very upset, and I found this alarming. That’s why I decided it was better to be safe than sorry, and made the hidden call to you …”
Vegas swallows hard and closes his eyes. They’re really going there, huh? Well, fuck.
“I asked him where you were, because at this point it was obvious that he used you as bait. He started talking about how he had it all figured out, that I was a bad person, that he would make sure that I’d stay away from you from now on, and that you deserved better.”
That does unfortunately sound very much like something a jealous Tem would say. Vegas sighs, he really does not want to hear this but it’s useless trying to stop Pete now, he knows that.
“I told him I had no time for his antics, that I would leave because I didn’t want to listen to his nonsense. Then I told him I was going to make a call. I pulled my phone out of my pocket, because I knew you’d hear me better this way. And that’s when he pulled the gun on me.” Pete turns his head to give Vegas a thoughtful look. “I managed to warn you about the gun before he smacked the phone out of my hands. But I was fairly sure you’d get the hint and come to the rescue. As you did.”
“I just don’t understand what got into him to act this way…” Vegas says quietly, once again reliving the terror he felt after getting that phone call. “Do you have any idea how terrified I was…?” His voice breaks and he just shakes his head.
“You thought it was your father, didn’t you?” Pete asks, sympathy in his eyes.
Vegas nods silently.
“I’m so sorry, Vegas. That must have scared the hell out of you. You weren’t the only one scared, it was rather unsettling to have a gun pointed at me, I can tell you. Tem handcuffed me, took my phone, stuffed me into the back of my car and took me across town.” Pete pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts.
“You know, I called to check on my father,” Vegas tells him meanwhile. “I called my brother and probably scared the hell out of him. I also thought it might have been Tawan who’d snatched you…”
“I see. So what did you feel when you figured out where I was being taken?” Pete asks him quietly.
Vegas can’t suppress a shudder. “I have never been so scared in my life, Pete. I was so damn scared, I think my mind froze. I thought I would be too late. The traffic was so bad, no matter what I did, it still took 40 minutes to catch up with you. You have no idea how terrified I was.” Vegas leans forward and buries his face in his hands. “40 minutes. I thought you were at the mercy of this madman for 40 minutes…”
“I’m so sorry, Vegas,” Pete apologies as if it is his fault that he was kidnapped. “Honestly, I was just confused when I realised where Tem was taking me. It didn’t make any sense. And when I saw the flowers on the stairs, I thought that maybe he was an accomplice, but that didn’t make any sense either.”
Another shiver runs through Vegas. “I nearly lost it when I saw the flowers. I really thought I’d find you dead at that point, horribly disfigured, and that it was all my fault for taking too long to get to you.”
“Oh Vegas…” Pete sighs and reaches out to gently ruffle Vegas’ hair. “No wonder you have nightmares, I’m so sorry. I promise I will help you get over this trauma.”
Vegas just swallows hard. “Did Tem say anything about the flowers?”
“No. He just chuckled when he saw my shocked reaction to them. It was rather unnerving.” Pete gives Vegas a faint dimpled smile in the darkness. “I have to admit when he started tying me to the pillar I started to get rather worried. But I knew you’d come for me, so I tried my best to keep him occupied and distracted. Which wasn’t all that difficult really, it was rather easy to push his buttons. As you could see from my bruises…”
They both fall silent, lost in thoughts. Vegas has questions he doesn’t dare to ask, the memory of Tem’s voice running circles in his head—‘It’s all a big fucking lie’—no, he really doesn’t want to go there…
“Ask.” Pete breaks the silence. “Just get it over with and ask, Vegas.”
“I don’t want to,” Vegas admits. “I’m so damn scared of the answer, I don’t want to ask.”
“You’re scared that what he said is true, that I lied to you.”
There it is, the elephant in the room, the unexploded bomb that Vegas is determined to stay away from as far as possible. The words that have been gnawing at him in the back of his mind ever since that night. Vegas swallows drily, but stays silent. He wants to run from the room, he hates himself for feeling this vulnerable about his feelings for Pete.
“If it weren’t so tragic I’d laugh…” Pete sighs again. “It was all a big fucking misunderstanding, Vegas. The thing that triggered him was a damn misunderstanding. When he told you that I had been lying to you the whole time? He was talking about Tawan.”
Vegas draws a startled breath and looks at Pete. He did not expect this. What does Tawan have to do with all this?
Pete meets his eyes and smiles helplessly. “Tem thought I was cheating on you with Tawan. That’s what he meant. Apparently he was snooping around in my background, stalking me while we all thought he was taking care of his sick grandmother. He must have found out about Tawan somehow and drew the wrong conclusions, just like you did at first. It was all a damn misunderstanding.”
Stunned doesn’t even come close to describing how Vegas feels right now. No way. This is it? This whole damn nightmare happened because of a misunderstanding? No way. Fuck.
“I’m so sorry, Vegas. I tried to explain it to him but he wouldn’t believe me. And then you showed up and you looked so damn upset that it made me angry. And I didn’t want you even more upset, so I tried to make Tem shut up about his stupid theories, but that backfired spectacularly.”
Vegas groans softly. Knowing all this makes it better but also so much worse.
“I was a bit out of it afterwards, but Tem got really upset at you for pointing your gun at him. He kept telling you about Tawan and you didn’t react to it which is logical because you didn’t hear him, but he didn’t know that so he simply got more upset. I suppose he thought you were siding with me against him. If it’s any consolation, I think you really saved my life when you took the shot. It sounded as if he was about to put a bullet in my head to remove me from your life once and for all.” Pete falls silent.
And Vegas… Vegas tries to come to terms with all the new information.
“What a fucking mess…” he whispers, shaking his head in defeat. “What a fucking mess… Why did Tem have to be so damn jealous? He should have just let me go, then he would be alive now. Shit. I shouldn’t have encouraged him back then… this is all my fault, I shouldn’t have let him fall in love with me… this is all my fault…” And the tears are back again, running down his face. He’s already cried so much this past week and yet there seems to be no end in sight.
But this time he’s enveloped in a tight, warm embrace. Pete pulls him into his arms and holds him close, stroking his back softly. “It’s all right, let it all out. You’ll feel much better afterwards. Go on, have a good cry. I’m here. It’s okay to fall apart now, I’ll catch you.”
And Vegas falls apart. He’s been holding it together in front of Pete, he didn’t want to be a bother, but now he just pours out all his grief over Tem and his anxiety about Pete dying; the sheer amount of emotions within him is unreal. When did he allow himself to care so much about other people? He should have known better. His father has taught him the hard way what caring for other people will lead to, and just look at the mess that it’s caused. If only he hadn’t allowed himself to care for Tem. If only he wasn’t so desperately in love with Pete that it would make him shoot his best friend without hesitation. If only… And Vegas cries and cries for the longest time, and true to his word, Pete is there, catching him, holding him together.
----------------------------------------
They get their phones back a few days later. Both of them have come to the agreement to treat these days off like a regular vacation, and they soon notice that neither of them has a clue what to do with quality time. Two workaholics with too much time on their hands, forbidden to do actual work. There are no chores to be done, the apartment is spotless, they can’t renovate or paint anything because Pete is supposed to take it easy.
Out of sheer desperation they decide to check out the local museums, and that keeps them more busy than either of them expected. Bangkok has a lot of museums. The last time Vegas was at a museum was with his mother, so that was a very long time ago. Pete grew up in an orphanage but says he visited some museums while studying abroad. Both of them are pleasantly surprised by how much fun they’re having. It’s wonderfully distracting. They’re worn out but happy in the evenings, and sleep comes easily. Even the nightmares lessen; Tem doesn’t visit Vegas’ dreams more than once per night.
Pete insists on buying a souvenir from every museum, and soon Vegas finds his apartment riddled with colourful decorative objects. They’re having endless discussions about necessary vs unnecessary items and their fair share of laughter about it as well. Vegas never thought being suspended from work could turn out to be this enjoyable, but with Pete by his side it feels as if he’s opened the doors to a whole new world. They’re both like kids in a candy store, gleefully exploring the in and outs of being in a relationship and doing ‘normal’ things together as a couple. Vegas is still careful not to show his affection too openly when they’re in public, but he can feel that Pete is wearing him down. Maybe he really is overestimating the threat his father poses.
Then Vegas’ phone rings and reality catches up with them again in a most unpleasant way.
“Vegas, I’ll text you an address, meet me there. I think we got another one, but this one is a bit different. Oh, and you are no longer suspended, I cleared it with the captain. Now hurry up.” And then Arm just hangs up again without waiting for a reply.
Vegas gives Pete an alarmed look; they were just about to go grocery shopping. “Shit… seems we ran out of time.”
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When Vegas pulls up in front of the junkyard, it is with no small amount of trepidation. He’s on his own; he’s left a fuming Pete behind at home, ignoring all of his protests. Pete will make him pay for this, that much is for sure, but Vegas doesn’t care. His boyfriend is still on sick leave, he can’t come along. End of story.
This is the first time Vegas actually sets foot in a junkyard. He has only seen them on TV until now. Definitely an interesting experience. It’s located in yet another industrial area, but this one is bustling with life. Arm wasn’t kidding when he said that this crime scene is different. This place is so lively it is freaking Vegas out.
Wrecked cars are neatly stacked over each other in row after row. There are enormous piles of various rust covered car parts everywhere. The hot air tastes like rusty metal, machine oil and dust. What’s new is that there are four patrol cars parked by the entrance and the officers are currently very busy keeping curious bystanders at bay. Some of them seem to be in a heated discussion with a small group of men. Part of the initial anxiousness drains out of Vegas and he slips back into his cop persona as he approaches them. He flashes his badge and arches an eyebrow. “What is going on here?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have asked that, because now he finds himself the unwilling centre of attention. “How much longer is this going to take? I have work to do,” complains one of the men wearing a worn tool belt.
“You can’t just lock out our customers like this, we’re losing business,” another interjects with frustration.
“If I’d know it would cause this much disruption, I wouldn’t have called you.” The third man doesn’t look like a mechanic; perhaps he’s the owner of the place.
Vegas holds up his hands to stop them for a moment. “I’m sorry this crime scene is causing so much trouble for all of you, these friendly officers here will write a report about your complaints that you can then submit and see if there’s the possibility of compensation.”
His colleagues give him the evil eye for placing this work burden on them, and Vegas just grins and excuses himself after asking for the whereabouts of the CSI team.
Is he worried? Yes. Because if Arm is correct about this, and he usually is, the dead person will be someone associated with him. So yes, Vegas is worried, but since all the people he cares about most are safe, he keeps telling himself that he will be able to handle this. Also, he simply can’t imagine a truly gruesome murder scene here. There are just too many people around; the killer would have had no time for elaborate, horrifying arrangements.
Vegas walks deeper into the labyrinth of the junkyard, following the directions he got. It’s loud here too, he can hear the sound of cars driving past, and assorted machines at work somewhere nearby. Rounding another stack of gutted cars, he finally spies Arm and Pol further ahead. As he walks towards them, the stacks of corroded car wrecks turn into stacks of neat ‘hay bales’ of compacted cars.
The crime scene seems to be centred around one of those metal ‘hay bales’. It’s sitting on the dirty ground a few meters away from a larger machine that Vegas assumes to be a car crusher. This one has seen better days; it looks just as old and dirty as the surrounding metal scrap. Arm and Pol are fully suited up, overalls and all. Vegas stops at a distance to them and waves hello. “Do I need to suit up as well?”
“Oh, there you are, Vegas. No, don’t bother, this scene is a mess anyway, about a hundred people have been all over it, one more person won’t make a difference. Come here, let me show you what we’ve got.” Arm adjusts his glasses and beckons Vegas to come closer.
The first thing Vegas notes when approaching cautiously is the familiar stench of decomposition. Hell, this one smells ripe. No wonder, they’re out in the open. In these temperatures, decomposition will be rapid. And since they’re out in the open, he knows what this also means—flies. Oh, hell.
The second thing he notices is that the compacted car in front of them is a good deal larger than the stacked car bales. Interesting.
“Why is this another size?” he asks Arm as he steps closer. “And what exactly am I looking at here?” So far this really doesn’t look like any of the nightmarish crime scenes he’s been to before.
Arm gladly explains everything to him; sometimes Vegas wonders if Arm likes hearing himself lecturing other people. “The car crusher over there broke down over a week ago with this here stuck inside. Pol and another technician took a look—it seems to have been deliberately sabotaged. This salvage yard has another, more modern crusher, so repairing this one was not a priority. Today, the service technician finally dropped by and opened up the crusher. The workers removed this nearly compacted wreck here. Then they noticed the smell. They took a closer look and called it in directly. I didn’t think much of it first but well… go and have a look yourself and you’ll understand why I called you.”
In all truth, Vegas does not want to find out where that smell comes from. He has a very active imagination, and by now a fair idea of what probably transpired. It can’t be helped, he needs to take a closer look. The smell makes his stomach heave, but a quick glance at Arm, who is watching him closely, and he knows he better not show any signs of nausea if he values his life.
The compacted car wreck looks like Vegas expects it to look, based on what he has seen on various TV shows.
“So I assume the crusher was stopped mid-work on purpose? To keep this car from being compacted completely?”
Slowly, he makes his way around the huge rectangle of metal. He was right about the flies, they’re buzzing around lazily, a whole cloud of them lifting when anyone gets too close to the car remains. Vegas can see maggots in various sizes as well, crawling through the dust surrounding the metal bale. Ewww… disgusting!
“It appears that way,” Arm agrees and points down at something Vegas can’t see from where he’s standing. “Take a look at this.”
While Pol is collecting maggots with tweezers, Vegas rounds the smelly car wreck to be able to see what Arm is pointing at. Bloody hell. “Is that… a hand?” He needs to double-check with Arm because while the thing sticking out from between the sharp metal edges has the rough outline of a hand, it certainly doesn’t look like a hand anymore. This might have to do with the missing fingertips, and the fact that the flesh that still remains attached to the bones and tendons is discoloured and crawling with maggots. Yuck!
“Bingo,” Pol mumbles from the side.
“I need more maggots from inside the crusher,” Arm reminds his assistant coolly.
“Am I correct in the assumption that the rest of the body attached to this hand is inside this compressed pile of car junk?” Just that hand wouldn’t smell that badly. “I admit this is unusual, but why do you think this is one of ours?”
“I’m afraid you need to look closer at the spaces between the metal, Vegas.” And then Arm adds sternly, “Try to hold your breath, no throwing up on my crime scene, remember.”
“Yeah yeah yeah…” The things he has to endure as a cop… Vegas sighs and leans down to take a closer look, trying very hard to breathe as little as possible.
Another cloud of flies lifts and buzzes around his head and face, and it’s very hard to resist the urge to swat at them. Arm is right, there is something stuck between the metal; and not just in one place, but several. What is this? It looks blackish, kind of melted? Arm hands him a spotlight and when Vegas turns it on, his stomach drops. Flowers. Wilted flowers. Very familiar wilted flowers.
“Shit.”
“There was a card too,” Arm adds quietly.
What the fuck?! “A card? Are you kidding me?” This is new. Is this an escalation? For a moment he wishes Pete were here to give his professional opinion.
Arm holds out a plastic evidence bag. Inside of it is a small card, the size of a business card. It seems to be one of those cards you can order to go along a bouquet of flowers. The side facing Vegas has little balloons printed all over it. Then Arm turns the bag around so that Vegas can see the back of the card. ‘You’re welcome’ is neatly printed on it. Shit. The sheer nerve of it. Vegas can feel himself getting angry. “What an asshole,” Vegas growls.
“Pretty cheeky, yes.” Arm seems to find this amusing. “I wonder what he’ll do next…”
“And I hope there won’t be a next time, because that would mean that yet another innocent person got murdered,” Vegas reminds him, visibly irritated. “What are your plans now? Do you even have space for this in your lab? How are you going to transport the wreck, by truck?”
“I’ll borrow one of the trucks from here and then we take the wreck to the harbour. I already made a call to a friend who works at Customs, we’ll run it through one of their Container X-Ray machines there. Based on those images it’ll be easier for me to take the thing apart bit by bit then. It will take a while though, I’m sorry.” Arm doesn’t sound sorry, he sounds delighted with the challenge this poses.
Vegas sighs deeply and swats at the flies. “I am so tired of this shit. Anything else you need me for right now? If not I will put those good colleagues of ours at the entrance to work canvassing the area, I bet this time we’ll have an abundance of CCTV and dash cam footage to go through.”
“Go ahead, knock yourself out. Go back at least 10 days. Up to 14 days, just to be safe.” Arm shrugs, already back to taking notes on his tablet. “You can tell them I need another hour and then they can help me with the removal of this, so that everyone can go back to work.”
“All right, give me a call as soon as you find out more, I’m curious to know what the X-Ray will show.”
Vegas waves goodbye and heads back towards the entrance of the junkyard. A car crusher. Seriously? Where does their killer get his inspiration from, horror movies? And that card. He has a feeling this card will be pretty significant. What worries him most is the body. Who will it be? How was that person connected to him? I’m sorry, Vegas thinks tiredly. One more person is dead because of him. He’s turning out to be quite an angel of death and all against his will. Vegas left his family to get away from all the violence and the killings, but apparently this is his destiny and nothing he can run away from.
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“I come in peace, bearing gifts.”
Cautiously, Vegas enters his apartment, carrying the bag with the take-away food. Pete was pretty irritated with him when he left, which means it’s better to be prepared for some sort of retaliation. All is silent. Vegas doesn’t know if he should be relieved or worried. And to be honest, deep down he finds this rather exciting.
Tiptoeing forward, he takes a peak into the living room. Oh, dear. Pete is sitting on the couch, reading. Wearing glasses. Vegas heart happily skips a beat. So cute. Even in anger he’s cute, because Pete must still be irritated, otherwise he would have answered Vegas when he called out.
“I bring peace offerings?” Vegas takes a step into the room, on guard.
Pete very slowly lowers the book and studies Vegas and the bag dangling from his outstretched hand as if they’re alien visitors. Vegas feels a shiver of trepidation mixed with excitement running through him. No, Pete still hasn’t forgiven him.
Another cautious step forward and Pete throws one of the decorative pillows into his face. Hard. Oww. Vegas nearly drops the bag with the food.
“Oh, come on… Yellow curry rice… with extra chillis…”
Another pillow hits his head before he can duck away. Pete has very good aim. Vegas checks to make sure he’s throwing with his left hand; he wouldn’t want Pete to strain his injured shoulder after all. There are a lot of pillows left to throw.
“… Honey…”
This time he manages to duck to the side and the pillow sails past his head and hits the wall behind him. Pete still hasn’t said a word, although his eyes narrowed ever so slightly when Vegas called him ‘Honey’. Hmmm…
“… Sweetie…” Vegas feels like a matador, taking a step towards the couch and at the same time sidestepping the angry bull elegantly as another pillow swooshes past him.
He’s slowly making his way towards Pete. “… Sugar…” It’s difficult to keep the laughter out of his voice as another pillow hits his side.
“… Cutie…” He tries to calculate how many more steps he needs, and how many pillows are left on the couch. Pete glowers at him but Vegas can see his lips twitching slightly.
“… Babe…” Vegas makes a dash for it, ducking beneath another pillow, and then he’s standing right in front of Pete, smiling down at him. Pete glares at him, but the usual darkness is missing from his gaze. In fact, he appears irritated but reluctantly amused.
Their eyes lock and Vegas feels the all familiar heat unfurl in the depth of his stomach.
“Don’t be angry with me, Sunshine,” Vegas pleads softly. “I’m sorry.”
Pete just huffs with irritation, and he looks so damn adorable in his anger that Vegas drops the plastic bag without a second thought and straddles him. The glasses are cute but in the way; Vegas plucks them off Pete’s nose and carelessly drops them somewhere to the side. “Let me make it up to you.”
And then he dives in for a kiss. Just one or two kisses to placate Pete, he tells himself. That should work. But Vegas still hasn’t learned that there is no such thing as ‘just one or two’ when it comes to Pete. The second their lips touch all reason disappears from his mind just like a popping soap bubble. Poof, gone. Vegas digs his fingers into Pete’s hair as desire sweeps over him like a storm surge.
“Vegas…” Pete protests breathlessly.
“Later…” Vegas mumbles heatedly, and there is more urgent kissing for a while.
“I’m still angry…” Pete mutters between kisses.
“Later…” Vegas nips playfully at Pete’s throat and starts to unzip his pants.
“Don’t think you’ll distract me with this…” Pete warns him and then groans as Vegas’ hands dive into his underwear, going straight for his cock.
“Later…” Vegas goes for another deep kiss as he starts to stroke Pete’s cock.
“Later…” Pete agrees with a moan.
And then they’re busy; the food gets cold, the anger is forgotten, there is just the two of them, once again caught up in the seemingly bottomless sea of lust and desire that exists between them.
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… white noise…
… black hair, white bone slivers, red blood, grey brain tissue…
… white noise…
… pale lips forming words…
… white noise…
… VEGAS…
… white noise…
… VEGAS…
… white noise…
… VEGAS YOU HAVE TO…
With a gasp, Vegas jerks awake, his heart racing like crazy. Go away. Leave me alone Tem. I’m sorry, but just leave me alone. All I want to do is to live my life. I’m sorry. Just go away. He snuggles up against Pete and goes back to sleep.
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Arm has sent the X-rays, and Vegas spends his first day back at work alone in his office, typing up the crime scene report while consulting Pol’s photos and video footage. A box in the corner holds a large amount of CCTV tapes and dash cam memory cards that he will need to go through over the next few days. He will certainly not be bored, that much is sure. Which is good, because the office is awfully empty without Pete or Tem.
First thing this morning Vegas emptied Tem’s desk. That hurt badly. Now he just wants to forget and move on, ignore the way everyone at the police station is looking at him. His colleagues are talking behind his back as well, but that’s nothing new, he can live with that—he’s lived with it for years now. Vegas Theerapanyakul, Mafia heir turned cop. He’s ignored the gossip in the past, and he will do the same thing now. Work will keep him busy.
On the way home from work, Vegas does an emergency grocery run; apparently Pete has discovered cooking tutorials on YouTube, and is determined to put Vegas through ‘How spicy can the food be before Vegas gets blisters in his mouth’ hell. They will need to have a talk about this soon because Vegas really really doesn’t like spicy food.
He parks his car in the garage and unloads the large paper bags with vegetables. Did he really get everything Pete texted him? He has the feeling he forgot something. Frowning, Vegas lifts one of the bags to glance inside it while making his way towards the elevator. That moment of distraction is all it takes.
Something hits him in the back, and immediately all of his muscles spasm. A wave of shooting, excruciating pain floods his entire body. The paper bags fall to the ground as Vegas looses the ability to move his arms and hands, the vegetables rolling over the ground. His body jerks as all the muscles contract. He feels frozen; he falls and there is nothing he can do about it. Vegas hits the concrete hard, unable to do anything, incapacitated by the agonising pain. He can’t speak. He can’t think. He’s completely stunned.
“Gotcha.”
Someone enters his field of vision, but everything is blurred by pain, so Vegas can’t process what he’s seeing.
The person snickers softly. “Say goodnight, Vegas.”
And then something hits the side of his head hard, and everything goes dark.