The Way You Say My Name

Jamie sat with Dillon in the sheriff’s office, waiting as patiently as he could manage while Brandon chugged down a gallon of coffee. When he realized they were both watching him, Brandon looked up with an apologetic grin.

“Sorry about that. I was up all night trying to wrap up this case.”

“I know. Nate called me.” Dillon gave Jamie a hesitant glance before continuing. “He also said you had something to tell us.”

“Yeah, and I appreciate you coming down here before school. I know it’s damn early, but I wanted you to hear this from me before Morgan decides to make another little ‘announcement.’”

Jamie cringed, remembering all too well Dan Morgan’s last nasty surprise. “Did you ever figure out how he knew about Ben?”

Brandon made a face. “He and I had a discussion about that very thing. Morgan claims he heard it through the student grapevine. After ever so politely telling him I think he’s full of shit, I had a nice long chat with Morgan about what will happen the next time he leaks information about an ongoing investigation.”

Dillon grinned. “Translated, that means you ripped him a new one.”

“Let’s just say I made no secret about my displeasure, or the fact that I’ll take great joy in locking his ass up for obstruction if he does it again.” Brandon sighed. “But that doesn’t mean he won’t. Guys like Morgan think they know everything and have no problem sharing what little knowledge they’ve actually gleaned with the rest of the world. That’s why I wanted you to hear this from me first.”

Jamie’s whole body went rigid. He felt Dillon take his hand, but, as comforting as that was, Jamie didn’t even look at him. All his attention was focused on the sheriff and what he was about to say.

Brandon didn’t waste any time getting to the point. “As soon as we found Ben’s body, I contacted every auto-repair shop within a three hundred mile radius, asking them to get in touch with me if anyone came in with extensive front-end damage and/or a story that didn’t quite add up. Yesterday evening, I got a call from a shop over in Naperville, a place called Clyde’s Customs. A guy had popped in early Monday morning, almost the minute the owner, Clyde Shire, got the doors open. He was driving a Ford Taurus, and claimed he’d hit a dog which was lying in the middle of the street. The minute Clyde saw the amount of damage to the guy’s grill, bumper, and undercarriage, he felt sure the man was hiding something, but he had no idea what. He might have just dismissed his suspicions altogether if it hadn’t been for the man’s behavior. He was nervous, agitated, and insistent on getting the work started that day. When Clyde told him it would be a week before he could even get the parts, the guy freaked out and took off. That’s when Clyde called me and gave me the guy’s tag number. The guy never did give Clyde his name.” He paused long enough to take another swig of his coffee before looking to Jamie again. “Now, before I tell you the rest of it, you need to know that this investigation is far from closed, so I’m only gonna be able to give you the details that the D.A. is releasing to the press this afternoon. I got permission to go ahead and give Ben’s friends and family an advanced warning. I’ve spoken with Nora already, so now it’s your turn to here this, as unpleasant as it is.”

Dillon gripped Jamie’s hand tighter as Jamie said, “I understand, Brandon, and I’m grateful for the heads up.”

“Like I told Dillon, Nate and I want to help you guys any way we can, James.” He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “That having been said, here are the details I can give you. My men traced the tag number to a woman named Marcy Sledge.”

Jamie wondered if he looked as confused as he felt. “I thought you said a man brought the car into Mr. Shire’s shop?”

“I did. Marcy Sledge may be the registered owner of that car, but there’s no way she was driving it.”

“How do you know?”

“Mainly because she’s been dead for seven months. We at the Reed County Sheriff’s Department frown on deceased persons operating motor vehicles. They tend to veer to the left.” Brandon reached for the top file on a stack of about twenty located on the right side of his desk. “Marcy Sledge may not be with us any longer, but her son is.” Brandon removed a picture from the file and handed it to Jamie. “Meet Mr. Barry Sledge, age forty seven.”

Jamie’s free hand shook as he took the picture. “He’s the one who--”

Brandon’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Yes. Technically, the investigation is still ongoing, but he’s the one who hit Ben. There’s no doubt.”

Jamie felt Dillon lean over to better see the photo, but Jamie’s eyes never left it. He searched every inch of the ordinary face in the mug shot: the slightly crooked nose, the brown eyes, the graying hair. It was plain from his deep wrinkles and many scars that Barry Sledge was no stranger to hard living, but nothing in the photo indicated that the man was a killer. He looked just like someone you’d meet on the street or in a bar. Nothing sinister about him. For some reason, that angered Jamie. This guy was responsible for taking Ben’s life. How dare he look so normal?

Brandon leaned forward and took the picture from Jamie’s hand. “I know that look, James, and I know what you’re feeling.”

Jamie doubted that. “You do?”

“Yeah, I do. You were expecting the man to be some kind of monster, maybe have red eyes or some horns. How could a normal, average Joe have taken Ben’s life? You’re thinking there must have been some kind of mistake.”

Okay, so he did know. “Yeah. It doesn’t fit.”

Brandon put the picture back in the file. “Let me tell you something, kid. Between my time with the F.B.I. and my stint here, I’ve been a cop for almost nine years. I’ve arrested more people for more crimes than I can even count, but I have to tell you that I haven’t seen a perp yet who fit that ‘monster description.’ Oh, I’ve arrested some truly evil bastards, but not a one of them looked the part.” He moved the file back on top of the stack and leaned forward, his hands clasped in front of him. “Because any arrests and/or convictions a suspect has that don’t fall into the juvenile category are a matter of public record, I can tell you that Barry Sledge is the epitome of the town drunk. Three D.U.I. convictions--the last one of which landed him in jail for twenty-two months--six arrests for public intoxication, two mandatory commitments to a state-funded drug rehabilitation center, and a five-year suspension of his driver’s license. The guy’s a walking statistic.”

And now Ben was a statistic, too. A dead one. Jamie shook himself, wanting to free his body of the grief and anguish, but it didn’t help. Ben’s death meant nothing, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Brandon spoke again. “Look, James, if you’re not ready to hear the rest of it, this can wait.”

“No, Sheriff, please. I need to hear this.” Jamie felt Dillon squeeze his hand.

Brandon nodded. “As soon as I ran the plates and found out that Marcy Sledge was dead, I looked for her next of kin. That’s how I found out about Barry. I showed his mug shot to Clyde Shire who made a positive I.D. The actual arrest was text book. Sledge was still living in his mother’s house, so we didn’t even have to hunt him down. We found the Ford in back, behind an old shed and covered over with a tarp. Good old Barry was in the house, stone drunk. We impounded the car, hauled Sledge down to the station, and then waited for the guy to sober up. The minute Barry Sledge’s head cleared, he was ready to cut a deal. He gave a full confession, and we have several witnesses who saw him tossing back tequila shots in a bar not far from the accident scene. So, with any luck, this thing is a done deal, and we won’t have to take it to trial.”

Jamie’s head shot up. “What do you mean it won’t go to trial?”

Brandon sighed. “I figured that was gonna be a sticking point for you. James, the court system is so flooded these days--even in a small town like Reed--the District Attorney will do anything he can to lighten the case load. A jury trial could take weeks and cost into the thousands, not to mention the time it will take just to get to trial. With Sledge pleading guilty, all the D.A. will need to do is set-up a quick allocution hearing where Sledge will admit to his crimes and the judge will pass sentence.”

Jamie’s eyes flashed, his anger so potent he crushed his fingers into Dillon’s hand without realizing it. Dillon grunted, and Jamie let go altogether. He mumbled a quick, “Sorry” to Dillon before turning back to Brandon. “A sentence that will be less than what he would get from a jury. Because he’s pleading guilty, he gets to cut a cushy deal.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it cushy, kiddo. The charge is vehicular homicide. With his previous convictions, Sledge is looking at a mandatory twenty-year sentence before he can even be paroled.”

Jamie stood up, his body lance-straight. “What? I’m supposed to feel sorry for the guy cause he’s a falling down drunk and gets twenty years in prison? So he gets twenty years? So what? At least he’s got twenty years left. What does Ben have? A date with the worms?”

Dillon stood and approached Jamie with caution. He reached out for him, his voice soothing. “James, I know you’re upset, but Brandon’s doing his best for us, and for Ben.”

Jamie knew Dillon was right, but it didn’t help. He ignored Dillon’s outstretched hand, but did offer a weak apology. “Sorry, Sheriff. This is just hard for me, you know?”

“Yes, actually, I do. I lost a close friend myself, once. The bastard who did it--” Brandon broke off and looked away, but not before Jamie saw the fine sheen of moisture in his eyes. When he finally turned to face them again his eyes were clear. “I know how hard this is, kid, but I think at least knowing what happened will give you some closure.” He stood up. “Speaking of closure, Nora wanted me to let you know that Ben’s body has been released for burial. She’s having him cremated, so there won’t be an actual funeral. A memorial service is being held Saturday night starting at six, at the First Christian Church.”

The First Christian Church? That was where Brandon and Nate went. Jamie knew that because Megan and Dillon had both mentioned it. Since Ben and Nora didn’t go to church at all, Jamie knew without having to ask that the service was Brandon’s doing. Jamie said, “Dillon, could I have a second alone with the Sheriff, please?”

If Dillon was bothered by the request, he didn’t show it. “Sure. I’ll go down and start the car, let it warm up a little bit.” He gave Jamie a wink and walked out.

As soon as Dillon left, Jamie walked over to where Brandon stood and held out his right hand. “I just wanted to, uh . . . say thanks. For what you did for Ben, I mean. I know you were probably the one who set up the memorial service.”

Brandon shook Jamie’s hand. “No big deal.”

“Yes, it is. Ben didn’t have a lot of friends in this town. Truth be told, he only had one real friend. Me. I’m the first to admit, he wasn’t the easiest guy in the world to get along with, but the only reason people didn’t warm up to him is because they couldn’t see how special he was.” Damn. His eyes were getting watery again. Better finish this before the blubbering started in full. “Anyway, thanks.”

Brandon shrugged. “All I did was make a couple of phone calls. Nothing major. I was glad to help, James.”

“Call me Jamie, and please tell Nate and Megan that they can call me that, too, if they’d like. It’s what all my friends and family call me.”

Brandon propped himself in a sitting position on the corner of his desk. “I’ve noticed that Dillon calls you James. Doesn’t he fall in the ‘friend’ category? You guys seem a bit more touchy feely than you did before all this happened.”

Jamie stared down at his feet. “I don’t know what category he’s in, to tell you the truth. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“No offense, kid, but I’ve seen less manure than that in my grandpa’s cow pasture.”

Jamie looked up, but he saw no mockery in Brandon’s eyes, only understanding. Still, he wasn’t ready to admit to anything. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you do. You loved Dillon once. In fact, I think you still do, but that isn’t the point. You loved him, and you lost him. Just when it looks like the two of you might finally have a chance to make things work, after all this time, you lose your best friend, only on a permanent level. Now you’re afraid to put yourself out there again, afraid history is just going to keep repeating itself. How close am I, here?”

Jamie didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to. Just the look on his face was confirmation enough that Brandon was dead on.

Brandon ducked his head so he could look Jamie in the eye and crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t say I know what you’re feeling on this score, kid, but I can say that I’ve talked to Dillon, and I believe he’s sincere when he says he wants to make a go of it with you. Coming out to his parents was a damn good start.”

“I know.”

“There’s something else that’s holding you back, isn’t there? Something besides Ben’s death.”

Jamie’s cheeks burned, but he answered, anyway. “Yes, but I’m not sure if I can talk about it. It’s kinda . . . personal.”

Brandon raised a brow. “Sex?”

Jamie nodded, but he refused to meet Brandon’s eyes. He heard Brandon draw in a deep breath and mumble, “Damn. This is Nate’s department, not mine.” Louder, he said, “Does this have anything to do with the way Dillon was before? Taking without giving anything back?”

“Sort of.” Jamie felt uncomfortable discussing his sex life with a guy he barely knew, but at the same time, he really needed someone to talk to. “See, the thing is, I don’t really think that Dillon would treat me like that again. Would use me, I mean. He actually kissed me the other day, in front of everybody.” When Brandon nodded, Jamie said, “Right. You already knew that. Anyway, he kissed me, and he’s been holding my hand and being pretty damned open about it. But still, there’s a big difference between a couple of kisses and actual, uh . . .”

“Sex, kid. It’s called sex. Intercourse. The horizontal mambo. Bumping Uglies. The grind--”

“I get the point.”

Brandon tried not to grin, but it came through anyway. “Sorry. I get carried away. Look, Jamie, I’m not exactly an expert on the subject of young love, but if Dillon cares about you the way I think he does, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Jamie brushed his hair back from his forehead. “I know that, logically, and I’m with you. I really don’t think Dillon would use me like that again. But at the same time, I have no idea who he’s been with--or what he’s done--since we broke up. I’m afraid he has all these experiences to fall back on, and I . . . well, I don’t. Dillon’s the only guy I’ve ever been with, and that was two years ago.”

The light went on in Brandon’s head. “You’re worried because you think you may be too inexperienced for him?”

Jamie squeaked out a yes, eyes still focused on the worn tile floor. Brandon said, “Jamie, look at me.”

Jamie obeyed, albeit reluctantly. Brandon gave him an encouraging smile. “Finally, you’ve hit on an area where I have at least a little bit of experience.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Nate and I met, he was a virgin, kid, and I do mean a virgin.”

Jamie couldn’t believe it. “Doc Nash?”

“One and the same. Whereas you’ve gotten a good head start on the whole sex thing with Dillon, Nate had zero to fall back on. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I could have cared less. Nate was all I wanted, and I wouldn’t have cared if he’d been with one guy or a hundred. I’m willing to bet Dillon feels the same way.”

Jamie shuffled his feet. “I hope so, but even if he does, I’m not sure it’s the right time to even be thinking about sex.”

“Why not? You’re eighteen-years-old. At eighteen, I was a walking erection. Thinking about sex was pretty much my main occupation.”

His too, but Jamie wasn’t gonna say it. Instead, he said, “Yeah, but Ben’s been gone less than a week. It wouldn’t be right to fall into bed with Dillon. Would it?”

“That’s a pretty broad question, but like I told Nate when he was grieving for his friend Amy, you’re the only one who can answer it. Personally, I think sex is an affirmation of life, especially between two people who love each other, but that’s something you have to work out on your own. My best advice is to take it slow and see what happens.”

Jamie blew out the breath he’d been holding. “I was hoping you could give me some magic formula so I’d know when the time was right.”

“No such luck, kid. ‘Dear Abby,’ I’m not.”

Jamie actually smiled over that one, despite his inner conflict. “Maybe not, but she couldn’t have helped me any more than you did today. Thanks, Brandon. And thanks for what you did for Ben.”

“Like I said, Jamie, anytime. Now, get out of here before school starts. And, Jamie?”

“Yes?”

“I know you’re upset about Sledge cutting a deal, but Ben’s killer will get what he deserves. I’m sure of it.”

Jamie nodded to be polite, but something deep inside told him that Brandon was wrong. Dead wrong.

#

Dillon’s first day back at school since the big out coming wasn’t at all what he’d expected. He’d dropped an unusually quiet Jamie off at the door to his home room and then headed to his own class. Except for a couple of whispered comments and one ‘faggot’ thrown at him by Rooster Carmichael, most everyone who’d spoken to him had been positive, even downright friendly, about his newly established orientation. One kid asked him to join the G.S.A., and another patted him on the back and said, “Way to go.” A couple of girls whom he’d never really paid attention to before were looking at him like he was fresh meat, probably planning on trying to convert him. He and Jamie had taken Megan to Hailey’s for lunch, and, even there--away from Dan Morgan’s ‘gay utopia’--the climate had been nothing but pleasant among adults and students alike. He’d also managed to avoid even a glimpse of his mother, something he was in no way ready for. Now, here he sat, in his last class of the day. He’d almost convinced himself he was home free when Dan Morgan’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Matthews?”

Dillon’s English teacher said, “Yes, sir?”

“Send Dillon Carver to my office, please.”

Dillon’s heart sank as he gathered up his books and went to answer the summons. And here he thought he’d made it. Damn. He should have known better.

The Principal’s office was just a stone’s throw away from the English department. Dillon forced himself to knock on the door. He almost bolted when Morgan called out, “Come in,” but he made himself open the door, anyway. Better just to get it over with.

Morgan stood when he saw Dillon. “Ah, Dillon. Good, you’re here. Please, close the door and have a seat.”

Dillon took the chair across from Morgan’s desk and dropped his books onto the floor. While Morgan seated himself, Dillon took the opportunity to look around. He’d only been in this office once, in his freshman year, when Mr. Foley had been the principal, and Dillon had gotten busted for lobbing water balloons from the gym balcony. Mr. Foley had decorated the room with pictures of his wife, kids, and grandkids. Morgan, on the other hand, had painted the gray cinder block walls a rich brown to match the stylish mahogany desk. Framed art prints graced the walls, and an oriental rug covered the vinyl floor. The only artwork on Foley’s walls had been crayon drawings and educational posters. Morgan’s office looked more like that of a young executive than that of one belonging to a high school principal.

Morgan sat back in his chair and laced his hands together, his index fingers forming a steeple that he pressed to his lips. “I supposed you’re wondering why I called you down here.”