Or was my inherent wrongness as obvious to them as it was to Camp Green Hill and the pedestrians who refused to give me money when I begged?
If, while they were poking around under my skin, they found the piece of me that was wrong, could I ask them to cut it out as well?
When all the poking and prodding and cutting was over, I was finally left alone. I still couldn’t move, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to. A few times people came by to talk to me. Well, they talked at me, or in my general vicinity, but since I was the subject of conversation then I figured it was the same as if they were talking to me.
I tried to tell them my name, but it took everything I had just to create any sound at all, and my mouth refused to form the right shape. Then I tried to tell them Eli’s name. That was the only other name worth mentioning. The only genuinely good person I knew. My mother was the only other person I could generate positive emotions for, but now I wasn’t sure whether she was truly good or not.
No, there was no point trying to tell anyone about my mother. She was dead anyway. Bringing her up now wouldn’t do any good. Still, the noises I managed to make barely even sounded like human speech and I couldn’t tell them either my name or Eli’s name.
So, I stopped trying.
What was the point?
I had nothing worth waking up for, and everything was easier when I was asleep. I didn’t hurt any more, and I didn’t have to think about all those damned memories that were better left forgotten.
For a long time, I let myself be consumed by the blackness. I didn’t even dream. It was like floating out in the middle of the ocean at night, completely empty in every direction without the slightest hint of other life. Occasionally, something would threaten to disturb my peace. When my body was moved, or someone spoke to close to my ear, a small sliver of my consciousness would return. I caught a few names like Newt and Frankie, and even heard something about investigations and lost brothers, but I always managed to fall back asleep before I could focus on these things enough to form an actual thought.
Then, after an indistinguishable amount of time, something changed. It was such a small change that I barely noticed it at first. A new voice appeared, speaking right next to me. Their tone was strong yet intimate, like we were trading secrets while lying in bed together. It was magnetic, and I instinctively drew closer, waking up more than I had in a long time. I even tried to tell this new voice my name. Still no luck, but after a few attempts I did manage to relay Eli’s name. That felt right. The comforting voice and the name of the only good person I knew deserved to be brought together.
The comforting voice returned many times. Each time it left, I feared it would disappear for good, and each time it proved me wrong. I started to long for the moments when the comforting voice would visit and simultaneously became more aware of my surroundings. I realized that the comforting voice was a man, who would regularly sit by my bedside reading to me or talking to me, or sometimes even helping the nurses with my care.
By now I could recognize even the slightest change in tone or shift in timber of this man’s voice, but I had no idea what he looked like. With each new visit, a flame of desire burned a little brighter in me. I wanted to meet him. He seemed like a goodman. I’d known so few good people in my life, I couldn’t miss out on this one because I was stuck asleep.
I wanted to wake up.
No, Ineededto wake up.
I just didn’t know how.
I was about to give up and resign myself to never meeting the comforting voice. Maybe the sound of that voice was all I would ever get. All I would ever deserve. If I met that voice he would probably realize there was something wrong with me, and he would avoid me just like so many others had before.
Yes, staying asleep was probably for the best. Then, I could at least take comfort in that voice without any risk that he would ever know how wrong my existence was.
I might have stayed dreaming forever, but then a new voice joined the comforting voice. It was unfamiliar. I’d never met or even heard this person before, but the voice caught my attention. This voice was different than every other voice that had visited me.
It was the kind of voice I never thought I would hear again.
Young, innocent, and so happy. It struck a chord way back to the days of my childhood. I’d sounded just like this voice at one point, when I was still my mother’s perfect child. Before I put on male clothes for the first time and chased my mother to her death. Back when the path of my life still seemed like a happy one.
This time, I didn’t even need to think about waking up. Meeting the owner of this innocent voice was such an instinctiveneed, there was simply no other option.
My eyes opened whether I wanted them to or not.
CHAPTER 13
Auggie
After the breakwe’d gotten with our previous investigation, there was a lull in new cases. This was a good thing. It meant there were no new victims for the time being, but it also meant I had very little to do. My hours at the office were mostly spent catching up on paperwork—which never seemed to end—and trying to get to know the rest of my coworkers. I’d never been the most social person, so small talk and idle conversation came as unnaturally as flying to me, but I managed to form enough of a favorable impression that I was no longer seen as the “new recruit”. I could now finally list all of my coworkers by name, but even so, the one I remained the closest with was still Roland.
He couldn’t stop talking about his partner, a younger man named Tyler, who was finally making the long trip to move in with him. I was happy for him. I knew how hard a long-distance relationship could be, but it was a bittersweet feeling that turned more bitter than sweet with every conversation. No matter how happy I was for him, watching someone else succeed in the sametype of relationship that I’d failed at was still a heavy blow to take.
The only solace for me was Melody. I’d finally got my apartment completely set up and the custody arrangement with Chantal arranged so that Melody could start staying with me more often.
We started with a single weekend when I knew I didn’t have to work. I picked Melody up on Friday night and agreed to drop her back off with her mother on Sunday night. That left two whole days and nights just the two of us, father and daughter, to do whatever we wanted.
The first night was spent getting Melody’s room set up just right. I’d already arranged all the furniture and brought over her stuff, so I hadn’t thought getting her settled into her space would take so long. That was my first mistake. I never realized the arrangement of stuffed animals was such an exact art. Some belonged on the bed, some belonged on the floor, some had to be near each other, while others apparently didn’t get along. Like a queen arranging the officials of her court, Melody had an exact placement for everything, and I, her serf, had to make it happen.
As I repositioned the blue stuffed bunny for the third time—because it was too close to the bed, and apparently, this toy was afraid of heights—the smile never left my face. We could rearrange the room a dozen times, and I wouldn’t care, I was just happy to know she was comfortable in my home. It meant I hadn’t failed as a father, even if I had failed as a husband.