Highway Butcher – Chapter Fourteen

**A/N: I usually keep my chapters around 1-2K words so they’re easier to read for people like me, but this one didn’t have any good break points until the end, so this one’s around 5K. Enjoy the honker ❤

NOT EDITED

Chapter Fourteen

9:02 AM; WEST LOS ANGELES POLICE DEPARTMENT, CHIEF OF POLICE JAMAL PITMAN’S OFFICE

“Jensen. Have a seat.”

Jensen swallowed before forcing himself to cross the room. He lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of Jamal’s desk, dropping his hands into his lap. “I’m sorry for not coming by sooner. I didn’t have my phone… on me. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t urgent. But yes, if we can always have the phone on your person, that would be preferred.”

Jensen nodded. “Of course, sir.”

Jamal waved a dismissive hand, seemingly requesting Jensen drop the ‘sir’ title. “Jensen, I had you stop in because I wanted to apologize face-to-face for the way I’ve talked to you now and then. I’m truly sorry for that. It isn’t your fault, and you knowing that is important.”

Jensen watched him for a moment. “So, umm… you must know I visited Kathy then.”

Jamal’s brow furrowed. “When?”

Jensen’s chest tightened. Oh, God, he hadn’t known. Kathy had been wrong. “I’m so sorry. I just—”

Jamal held up a hand. “I never forbade you from visiting her. It’s fine. I just don’t understand why an apology is indicative of me knowing you visited Katherine. I’m apologizing because you’re an employee who did not deserve the way I’ve spoken to you on occasion. Are you all right? Did she say something to you? You look incredibly on edge.”

“N-no, she didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m not here to crucify you for visiting her or for listening to what she had to say. I’m not even here to crucify her for it. I just want to know you’re okay.”

Jensen nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Totally. Yeah. I’m good.”

Jensen was very much not good. Which giant lurking mound of evil-not-evil was he supposed to believe? Jamal’s eyes seemed more genuine, more in-tune with the words he spoke, but that didn’t mean anything. Not really. Right? He was so much older than Kathy. He’d had so much more time on Earth to practice his deception, to perfect it to a T. Kathy hadn’t. The anger in her eyes was probably from being in prison, not because of how she felt about Bo or Jamal or Jensen. Not because she was lying. Just because she hadn’t had enough time to force her eyes to mask that imprisoned anger. But Jamal had had so much time to learn. To hone. To perfect.

“Kiddo, you don’t have to tell me what she said. But if you need to talk about something—”

“Was Kathy even there at the apartment the day I was found?” Jensen asked.

“Yes. I drove her there myself.”

“Did you go in with her?”

“No, she didn’t like when I did that. I stayed in the parking lot.”

“Who brought me out of the apartment?” Jensen asked.

Jamal tilted his head to the side. “What’s this all about, Jensen?”

“M-Mister Quinn got into my head. H-he said I’m not the guy for the job because I don’t hate Kathy, and if I don’t hate Kathy, I can’t help Mister Austen. A-and then he asked if she actually saved me or if she just took the credit for it. And he told me to go talk to Kathy and look at her eyes because her eyes always give her away. So I did, and her eyes were so empty and angry and… and not the eyes of someone who loves the person they’re talking to.” Jensen forced himself to meet Jamal’s gaze. “Is my whole life a lie, Mister Pitman?”

Jamal cleared his throat, reaching up to adjust his tie. “I don’t know what you want me to say, kiddo.”

“Which one of you is manipulating me against the other?”

Jamal looked over at Franklin. “I do not know what to say.”

Franklin pushed himself to his feet and laid a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. “Walk with me, kid.”

Jensen stared at Jamal for a moment longer before standing up to follow the older man out of the room. In silence, he trailed Franklin through the station, down to the basement, through the lab, and into the file room. There, Franklin walked his fingers across several boxes before pulling one off the shelf. He set the box down on the cold metal table in the room, pulled off the lid, and slid the box over to Jensen. “Your mother’s caseload.”

“This is… this is it?” Jensen asked.

“The case went cold pretty fast. Most everything here is from the apartment itself.” Franklin pulled out a folder and set it down beside the box. “The answers you’re looking for, in regards to Kathy, at the very least, are in here.”

“How?”

“There are detailed accounts in there from every officer and detective that was at the scene that day. That would include your appearance and… retrieval. If you want to know how true Jamal’s story is, or how true Kathy’s story is… Well, aside from time travel, this is the best way to find out.”

Jensen tentatively picked up the folder. “Can I…? I don’t know if I can open it.”

Franklin laid a hand on Jensen’s arm. “Take it home with you. Think on it. Decide if you’re ready for whatever may or may not be in there. I’ll have Jamal sign it out so you can take it without causing any sort of stir.”

“Thank you.” Jensen hugged the folder to his chest. “I never thought you were a monster, Franklin. I-I’ve always known you were one of the good guys.”

Franklin offered a soft smile. “I prefer to be… good when the situation allows it. This one does.” He put the lid back on the box and tucked his hands into his pockets. “I know it’s easier said than done, but try not to let Kathy into your head. It’s what she does. Whether it’s with the truth or with lies, she makes sure to get in there and fuck around, mess things up for you, turn your world upside down. I was forced to stand idly by while watching her do it to Jamal over and over again. I will not do the same if she’s doing it to you. So. Is she?”

Jensen tapped his fingers against the folder still hugged tightly to his chest. “I guess we’ll see.”

11:50 AM; LOS ANGELES, SLICE OF LIFE DINER

Bo lowered himself into one of the booth seats with a soft grunt. David sat down across from him, sliding a coffee cup over to the blonde. “Should you really be having coffee?” he asked.

Bo picked up the cup and took a sip. When he didn’t immediately die, he gestured to the cup with his free hand. “Looks like it’s a-okay.”

David rolled his eyes. “Ass.”

Bo took that as another sign that he must have been masking everything okay. At the very least, well enough to skate by. That look David kept giving him hadn’t made an appearance yet this morning. That had to be a good thing. Anything that wasn’t David looking at him like he was bleeding out on the sidewalk was an improvement.

“That our gal?” David asked.

Bo lifted his gaze to follow David’s vague coffee cup gesture toward the counter. “Yes. She should be off shift in about ten minutes.”

“What’re you thinking is our best method of approach?”

“I feel like that’s your department.”

“Rude. Now we can’t brainstorm together?”

“I kind of… feel like I’ve done most of the brainstorming?” Bo raised a brow. “And most of the algorithm-ing. And the finding the victims and their friends… ing.”

“Rude. We can’t all be algorithm geniuses, Bo.”

Bo snorted, turning to look out the window as he took a sip of his coffee. Whatever smile had been on his face faded.

He was in the parking lot. His fake reporter stalker. His ‘kindred spirit’. His maybe-real-maybe-a-hallucination hospital bathroom lurker. ‘Jensen’. He hadn’t even tried to hide himself today. Rather than hidden toward the back like he usually was when Bo spotted him, his car was parked in the middle of the parking lot. He wasn’t slouched down and hidden away in the front seat. Instead, he sat on the hood, leaned over his phone.

Maybe… today was a coincidence? Maybe he simply wanted a coffee and happened to be at the same shop Bo and David were? Surely that was a possibility. There had been stranger conicidences.

But still. The man had been stalking him for six months. A coincidence seemed nearly impossible.

Bo pulled his attention back to David, who was typing on his phone. “Who are you texting?”

“Your mom.” David glanced up at him. “Like, for real. She wanted to know how you were doing.”

Bo nodded, turning to look back out the window. “Do you talk to her often?”

“As of late, yes.”

“How far back is, ‘as of late’?”

David blew out a breath. “I dunno. When the manhunt for Dallas began, I guess. Thereabouts.”

“Mostly about me?”

“And her fudge recipe.”

A little smile tugged at one corner of Bo’s mouth. “Thank you for… I don’t know. Taking care of her wellbeing, I suppose. Making sure she knows I’m okay. Knowing I’m okay does more good for her than I’ll ever be able to myself.”

“You underestimate how much she loves you, not just the idea of you. Same with your dad. I know you have that… fear of them leaving you, but those people, Bo, they’re never going to get sick of you.”

“I know that. I mean, on a surface level, I’m aware of it. But deep down, it still doesn’t feel like a reality where I can exist.” Truthfully, there was no reality Bo felt he could exist in these days. He tried very hard not to think about his time in the hospital after his suicide attempt, but David and Bridget’s faces while he was bleeding out on the sidewalk were still horrifically fresh in his mind. The faces of his parents when he’d woken up after surgery. He could not be the reason for those faces again. Even if it meant staying in a world he didn’t belong in.

What other damn choice did he have right now, while the damage was so fresh?

“Our victim has a tattoo on her ankle,” Bo said, clearing his throat as he turned away from the window again, back toward David. “I wouldn’t be surprised if our barista is able to successfully identify it. Travis has a picture of the tattoo, which is in your case file there. If she can give us a ‘yes’ based on the tattoo, then she doesn’t have to come to the station.”

“And we don’t have to go to the station,” David said.

Bo offered a smile. “You caught me.”

“For what it’s worth, no one would be angry to see you at the station. Except maybe Travis, but that would sorta bring me great joy.”

Bo snorted. “You are not a teamplayer, David Quinn.”

“Ah, if I was, how would you have ever gotten stuck with ‘babysit Detective Quinn’ duty, eh?”

“Once upon a time, I got ‘stuck’ with babysit Detective Silver duty too, you know. It might just be my thing, babysitting.”

“Yeah, adult men, anyway.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a rude dig or simple fact-stating.”

“It can be both,” David assured.

“Rude.” Bo nudged the case file a little closer to David. “I’m going to, uh… go to the bathroom. You can talk to her, yes?”

“Of course.”

Bo nodded, sliding out of the booth seat. He hated himself for it, but he just couldn’t do… this. There was a time when Bo would have never turned down the chance to sit in on any sort of investigative work with his chosen detective. But now he felt like sitting in on it risked ruining everything, as though his very presence would somehow make the barista unwilling to speak to David or tell him the truth about anything she knew. As though his presence would shift the very foundation of the case.

True or not, Bo had no intention of destroying the case for David. Ruining the chance of justice for the victims.

David watched Bo head back toward the bathrooms. He knew the blonde well enough to know there was no way in hell he actually had to pee again, but needing to excuse himself from the investigation made sense, unfortunately. Bo had utterly no faith in himself left, and one needed at least some faith or trust in themself in order to fully investigate a homicide or two. He would try to talk to Bo about it later. Gently. If he could coax his true feelings out of him without having to shove his own thoughts on the situation down Bo’s throat first, that would be best. He just wasn’t certain he could make it happen. But he’d try.

Right around noon, when the baristas switched out and their victim’s friend hung up her apron and came out from behind the counter, David slid out of the booth and met her before she could reach the door. He offered a smile. “Hi, ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you. I’m Detective Quinn with the LAPD. I was hoping I could show you a picture and see if you can identify something for me?”

She clutched the strap of her purse, brow furrowing. “I-is everything okay? I-I mean, what kind of picture? Like, a body?”

“It’s a tattoo.”

“Umm… o-okay.”

David pulled the picture out of his folder and held it out to her. “This is a tattoo on the ankle of a Jane Doe. Do you recognize it?”

“Oh, my God. Judy,” she whispered, carefully taking the picture from him. “I-it’s my friend’s tattoo. Judy Crane.”

“You’re certain it’s hers?”

She pulled up her sleeve, exposing the tattoo on the underside of her wrist. “We got matching tats when we turned eighteen. W-we share a birthday. We’ve been… attached at the hip f-for as long as I can remember. We were born in the same hospital. Our moms were… were just a few rooms apart. We were born within minutes of each other. Oh, my God.”

“Here, come sit down,” David said, his voice soft. A hand on her elbow, he guided her back to his booth. “I know you’ve kind of put the pieces together on your own, but… to confirm, Judy is dead. And I am so incredibly sorry for your loss.”

“Was she…? What happened?”

“Judy was murdered.”

“Jesus,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry. Is it all right if I ask you a few questions about Judy?” Gaze on the photographed tattoo clutched in her hands, she nodded. “What did Judy do for work?”

“She was between jobs, umm… most recently. She had been doing transcription work, and the hospital decided to downsize the department. Or do away with it? I don’t know. She was let go though because of it. She’d been out of work for about two weeks, I think. I was trying to get her to apply here, but she hated dealing with the public.” She laughed, soft and light. “Who could blame here, right?” she asked, brown eyes flicking up to David’s face.

“I certainly couldn’t do the work you do,” David agreed. “I’m sorry that this is kind of a sensitive question, and I’m pretty sure I already know the answer. But, uh… was Judy doing any sec work? Online or in person? Anything like that?”

She shook her head. “No. We used to joke about doing feet pics.” She laughed, shaking her head again. “But we never actually did anything. And JuJu wasn’t big on sex anyway. She thought maybe she was asexual, or that maybe her meds were affecting her libido. Or both.”

“Do you know what kind of meds?”

“I don’t know the same. Something for pain.”

“Acute or chronic?”

“Does it matter?”

“I like to be as thorough as I can.”

She nodded. “Chronic pain. She was in a minor car accident when we were in high school, and the pain afterward just never really went away. The doctors brushed her off left and right and eventually just called it chronic pain syndrome, which is basically just a bullshit catch twenty-two thing for when they don’t give enough of a shit to dig into it more. She’s been on probably every damn pain med they can prescribe a person. None of it really helped, but this most recent one was helping reduce the frequency of her super bad flair days.” She fiddled with the photo for a moment. “You don’t think that was a factor or something, right?”

“Not… necessarily the medication, no. But knowing that she was a chronic pain patient opens up a few new paths for investigation. Every open a path is another chance at finding her killer and bringing her justice.”

She nodded. “Well… ask any questions you have, then. I’m an open book. I want the bastard who took JuJu out of this world to pay.”

“You and me both. Let’s see how many paths we can find, yeah?”

She offered another nod, gaze still on the photo. “Let’s.”

Out in the parking lot, Jensen ignored yet another call from Jamal and messaged Frank instead to ask if the old man could please just give him a damn lunch break without introduding on it. Though Jensen still hadn’t worked up the courage to dive into his mom’s case file, he still felt like his whole world had been flipped upside down. Like his whole life had been a lie. Like everything had been a lie. And whether Jamal liked it or not, he was a part of that lie. No matter who was the actual villain in Jensen’s life, Jamal had been part of that lie since day one. So had Kathy. They both had their hands in his life, swirling around the water and making everything all murky.

So he just wanted one damn lunch break that didn’t revolve around Jamal fucking Pitman.

Jensen slid off the hood of his car, shoved his phone into his pocket, and tossed his mostly uneaten sandwich in the garbage. Sandwiches were apparently something Jamal could ruin for him too. Or Kathy. He wasn’t sure which of the two were ruining sandwiches today. Jensen unlocked the driver’s side door, but before he could pull it open, he was pushed against it. He grunted as his attacker yanked one arm behind his back, keeping his hand off his gun. A firm hand wrapped around his wrist kept his other arm pinned at his side.

“How blind do you think I am?”

Shit.

“Wow. Talk about a kawinkydink, huh? All the little diners in L.A., and we’re both at this one,” Jensen said.

Bo tugged on his arm just a little harder. “Don’t think for a goddamn second that surgery will stop me from kicking your ass, Jensen. You’ve made me feel out of my mind crazy for months. What the hell do you want from me?” He kicked Jensen’s feet apart, like a cop preparing for a pat down. The lab geek had seemingly spent just a hair too much time following his detective buddies around over the years. “I want a real answer this time. Not your reporter bullshit. You’re a horrific liar.”

“First… rude. I’m an excellent liar.”

“Even that one has liar written all over it,” Bo said.

Jensen grunted, turning to look over his shoulder as far as he could. “You look nice. Showered. You washed your hair. That’s good.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t feel like an answer.”

Unfortunately, it seemed as though Jensen wasn’t going to get any time to practice his lie before he tested it on the man himself. He’d have to go for a little more honesty than he’d hoped for. “My mom was murdered when I was young. I-I was trapped in the apartment with her for days before someone called the cops for the smell. Kathy Baker worked the case and then she adopted me and now I think it was some weird power-play against Jamal Pitman, a-and it feels like my whole fucking life is falling apart. There’s no one in this world that can help me fix everything that’s going on or help sort through whatever shit Kathy and Jamal did or what bullshit they pulled me into, b-but if there’s someone who can solve my mom’s murder once and for all, it’s you. I-I’ve spent years reading about the cases you’ve worked, what you’ve done for the victims, what you’ve done for the living family members and friends. My mom was a nobody. She wasn’t rich or famous or a hot blonde they could bring in the pity party for, s-so she slipped through the cracks, and the only person who still gives a shit is me. But if there’s one person out there who will give a shit too, it’s you, a-and I need… someone else to give a shit about her, just this once. Please.”

Bo stayed silent for what felt like far too long before releasing his hold on Jensen and taking a step away from him. Jensen turned to face him, one hand instinctively falling to where his gun should have been if Bo hadn’t stolen it from his damn holster. Bo cleared his throat, tucking the gun into the back of his waistband, like it was a totally normal and natural thing for the lab geek to do.

“I’m sorry about your mom, I really am. But my crime-solving days are… Well, they aren’t these days. I’m not the person you’ve read about. I am… a shell. A ghost. Waiting for my body to finally die and join the rest of me. I’m not who they used to write stories about. I haven’t been him in a very long time.”

Jesus. Most of Jensen’s ‘bodyguarding’ didn’t involve listening to Bo’s conversations or intercepting his texts and emails. He hadn’t quite gotten the insider scoop on his state of mind. But Jamal was right. Going like he was, there wouldn’t be a world with Bo still in it for much longer.

Jensen cleared his throat, nodding back toward the diner. “You came here today with your detective friend. Based on how long he’s been questioning the waitress, I’d say whatever intel you gathered for him was spot-on. I don’t think you’re the washed-up has-been you think you are. I think there’s still a genius crime-solver tucked away in that head of yours. And if you’d let him out, I’d love for the genius to help give my mom the justice she never got when she was cleaved to death in our kitchen.”

Bo lifted his head, blue eyes finally meeting Jensen’s gaze. “Cleaved?”

“He… Yeah. He had a meat cleaver. H-her face was….” God, could he really do this? Use his trauma — use his mom — to get to Bo? Was there any chance digging all of those memories back up wouldn’t fuck him up for the rest of his life?

“I’ll need her name and the date of her murder so I can get my hands on the case file,” Bo said.

“What?”

“The case file? So… that I can see what evidence was gathered during the investigation?

“N-no, I… I know what the case file is. I just… You’ll help me?”

“Consider me intrigued by the details at hand,” Bo said. “So?”

“I-I have the… the case file.”

Bo raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so stalking isn’t the only crime you partake in?”

“It was more like observing.”

“Yes, observation via stalking.” Bo pulled a pen from the pocket of his jeans. “My old house hasn’t been bought yet. We can meet there. Do you know the address, or do you only know how to get there when you’re ‘observing’ me as I go there?”

“Umm…”

“Mmhmm. Thought so.” Bo grabbed Jensen’s hand — and just why did Bo’s have to be so nice and warm? — and wrote out an address on his palm. “I will meet you there. And I’m holding onto your gun in the meantime.”

“When?”

“When David and I are done. Given how much time you spend ‘observing’ me, I have a feeling you don’t really have anything else important going on to worry about a specific time.”

“Rude.”

“I’m not sure it’s all that rude if it’s true,” Bo said.

Jensen honestly wasn’t sure either. “I will… see you, umm… eventually, then. Today, though, right?”

Bo nodded. “Today. Wouldn’t want you ‘observing’ your next target without your gun. Which you’re very much not well-equipped to use, by the way.”

“You’re just a faster gun nabber than I am.”

One corner of Bo’s mouth lifted. “Apparently so.” Fingers wrapped around Jensen’s wrist, he held his hand up, address facing Jensen. “Keys are in the mailbox. There’s nothing in the house for food or drinks, so if you’re going to be hungry or thirsty, I’d grab yourself a snack on the way.”

“Okay.” Jensen offered a smile. “Thank you, Mister Austen. For… for being willing to look at her case. And, y’know, not shooting me with my own gun.”

“Well, I’m more bark than I am bite. And don’t thank me yet. Willing to look at it is one thing. Bringing her justice is another.”

“Maybe so, but I have faith in you.”

“I suppose it’s good that one of us does.”

“I have enough for both of us,” Jensen said.

Bo shook his head, taking a small step back. “I’ll meet you after David and I have gotten through whatever else we need to today. I make no grand promises about your mom’s case, but I do promise to meet you today and look at her file.”

“Thank you.”

Bo offered a nearly imperceptible nod. “I’ll see you later today.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

1:15 PM; LOS ANGELES, SLICE OF LIFE DINER, PARKING LOT

David found Bo in the parking lot, seated on the ground, leaned back against the passenger door of David’s car. His knees were pulled up toward his chest, one arm resting across them, a cigarette held between his fingers. David had known that the glimpses of ‘old Bo’ were just a facade, but he had hoped and prayed and begged whoever the hell was out there listening that the facade would carry Bo through the day with at least some ease. Needing to leave before the interview and spending an hour in the parking lot with a cigarette gave him more than enough to know there was no ‘ease’. Not for Bo. Not now. Probably not anytime soon.

But as long as he was alive, they could work through it. They could help mend the pieces of him that weren’t quite put together the right way anymore. David knew it wouldn’t be easy or quick, but he’d walk through Hell to help Bo if he’d let him, and he had every intention of walking through those rusted iron gates every damn day if he had to in order to pull Bo back to the surface.

David sat down beside him on the asphalt. Without lifting his head or opening his eyes, Bo lifted his arm and held the cigarette out to David. David grabbed it, took a drag, and slipped it back between Bo’s fingers. Blowing out a curl of smoke, David leaned his head back against the car and closed his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m all right.”

“You’ve been out here an hour.”

“I’ve spent longer in worse places.”

“Yeah,” David whispered.

Bo cleared his throat. “What did you find out?”

“She positively identified the tattoo. It’s a matching tat. They got them together for their eighteenth birthday.”

“Jupiter. That’s… rough.”

“Yeah. Judy was a chronic pain patient. She had recently started on a new medication to help manage the really bad flair days, but before that, she had been attending a pain support group. I don’t know how likely it is that someone at a chronic pain support group is out here brutally killing women, but I think it’s worth seeing if anyone there was good friends with her, see if anyone knows anything that maybe she didn’t share with anyone not suffering with pain.”

“It’s not a bad idea. There are undeniably certain things that people only share with specific groups of people. I do agree that it’s unlikely anyone in the group is the killer, but my killer radar isn’t exactly well-intact.”

David stole Bo’s cigarette, taking a long enough drag to give himself time to come up with a good response. “What Dallas did or didn’t do wasn’t and never will be your fault. Not beng able to detect what he was doing when he was off the clock isn’t your fault either. Dallas was damn good at tucking that part of his life away from anyone and everyone that knew the other part of his life. I hate to bring her up again so soon, but the only person out there that really should’ve known was Kathy. They shared everything in the end. A job, a house, a bed, a family. Your husband disappearing for hours at a time on random nights and a Hangman murder always being displayed that same night has to set off every damn red flag in the book.”

“Maybe. Or she was like me and was too obliviously in love with him to know. Or care. Sometimes I wonder if I knew about it, deep down. If I just pushed it aside because I loved him. Ignored it because I loved him.”

“Kathy isn’t obliviously in love with anyone. You were right, about her and Travis. That she’d sleep with anyone if it served her in some way. I just… don’t know what she got from Dallas.” David had theories, of course, the ‘sleep with Hangman so he’ll kill my husband’ of which he had already accidentally let slip. He had no intention of letting it out a second time. Not to Bo, anyway. That theory would always hurt Bo far more than it would help him.

“I don’t know. I like to think she truly did love Dallas. Does love Dallas. I want… I know you hate him, and I understand why, but I want to believe that he had a family with someone who loved him. Had kids with someone who loved him. Ran away with someone who truly loved him. I don’t want Dallas to be just another one of her pawns, someone she uses when it suits her and throws away when they don’t. He deserved to finally be loved, and I want to believe he found it.”

Though he assumed Bo’s eyes were still closed, David nodded. “Maybe he did.” He opened his eyes, placed the cigarette back between Bo’s fingers. “The waitress didn’t have any ideas of people who would hate Judy enough to kill her, especially so brutally. She said Judy didn’t really go out of her way to interact with people but was always polite and friendly when she had to be around others.”

“I think a lot of chronic pain patients are. You see the stereotype of the grumpy old man whose in pain and takes it out on everyone else, but most of them just suffer in silence because telling your peers you’re in pain isolates you once they realize it isn’t temporary. That you aren’t going to feel better soon or ‘get over’ it. I’m not too shocked she was that way too.”

“Are you… that way?” David asked.

Bo shrugged, opening his eyes long enough to watch as he tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette. “My pain isn’t physical. But… less so these days. I don’t care if I chase off my peers or isolate. I just… don’t want to cause anyone else any pain.”

“Which is why you’re only passively wishing you were dead instead of doing something about it.”

Bo blew out a sharp breath. “Wow. Hard hitter.”

“Sorry,” David whispered.

“It’s all right. I’m aware it’s still a form of suicide ideation. I know it isn’t healthy, and I know being aware that I do it is…” Bo cleared his throat. “I know it’s hard for you.”

“It’s harder for you. You’re the one living with it.”

“I’m numb to it. I’m aware I don’t want to be here, and I no longer care that I feel that way. I’m not yet numb to the way it affects you or my parents. Or the look on Jacob Mason’s when he asked me about it. Or the look on Bridget’s face when I was stabbed. Even the bartender I told about my end of life intentions. I’m numb to how it makes me feel. But I’m not sure there’s a numbing to the way I feel knowing how… the rest of you feel.”

“So that’s what’s keeping you alive?”

“Right now? Yes. When you grieve the end of my life, it won’t be because I took it with my own hands. I can’t be the person responsible for making you all look the way you looked while I was bleeding and when I woke up in the hospital, or the way you looked after I woke up from the overdose attempt. I can’t be the reason people I love experience that kind of anguish again.”

“I wish… so goddamn desperately that you wanted to be alive just because you love life so much. But for right now? I’ll take any reason that keeps you here.” David cleared his throat. “Maybe that’s selfish. I don’t know. I just… I don’t know how I’d survive without you.”

“You’ve done it before. Most recently, when I was in Clinstone.”

“Yeah, I, uh, definitely harrassed that detective there until he told me you were okay.”

Bo opened his eyes, finally turning toward David. “Jacob?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why he wanted to be friends?”

David shook his head, brow furrowed. “No. God, no. I wouldn’t do that to you. By the time the lieutenant finally told me which detectives you were working the case with, he’d already been trying to befriend you for days. He said you were playing hard to get.”

Bo chuckled softly. “I suppose I was.” He took one last drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the pavement and grinding it beneath his shoe. “Do you still talk?”

“He texts me every afternoon to see if you’re okay.”

“What do you tell him?”

“That you’re alive.”

After a moment, Bo nodded. “Well, it’s accurate, at least.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for all the extra… paperwork I’ve given you.”

“You didn’t give me shit. I handed that over to Jamal days ago.”

Bo shook his head. “Not literally. Not about the stabbing. Just the… extra work, I suppose. Having to tell my mom and my dad and Jacob I’m okay. Or alive. However you want to phrase it. I’m sure you talk to Bridget about me now too. Having to field texts and inquiries about me like you’re my babysitter. You’re not… You aren’t a babysitter.”

“You were my babysitter once. I’m okay with being yours right now if you need me to.”

Bo reached out and squeezed David’s arm, more than enough to let David know he wasn’t going to get an actual response on that one. “Now that we have our positive ID, let’s go check our victim’s house.”

David blew out a breath, but he nodded. “Yeah, let’s roll.”

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