The Wrathful - 1. The Wrathful

The cab coasted to a stop in front of his building, and Brendan stole a final breath of artificially-cooled air. “How much?”

“$16.50.” The driver printed a receipt from the taximeter. “How long have you been gone?”

“Six months.” Brendan squinted into the folds of his wallet and pulled out two tens.

The driver whistled. “Long time to be away from home.”

“This isn’t home.” He handed the cash forward, grabbed his backpack and duffel, and threw the door open. The humidity took his breath away. Heavy clothing had been appropriate in Santiago. In Ft. Myers, he’d be lucky to get across the tiny courtyard to his apartment without suffering heatstroke. He cut through browned, brittle grass to the sidewalk. Withered shrubs and limp palms met him at his door.

“You picked a heck of a time to come back,” the cabbie called. “Been running over a hundred degrees all month, and we haven’t had rain in three goddamn weeks. Feels like the ninth circle of hell.”

“The ninth circle isn’t hot,” Brendan said, sifting through his keys.

“Whatsat?”

“It’s encased in ice. According to Dante, anyway.”

The driver leaned out his window, sun-bronzed face squinting in confusion. “Say again?”

Brendan waved him off without turning and pushed from thick heat into the musty cool of his living room. Slatted sunlight cut the gloom, piercing the cheap white mini-blinds and illuminating the dust swirls Brendan’s entry had kicked up. He stood with his back to the door, eyes flicking over the shadowy shape of the futon. The sheets were still twisted from the last time he’d slept there, half draped over the pile of books he used as a nightstand. On the opposite side of the room, a stack of moving boxes lined the wall. Material possessions from a different life, not this rootless one.

He touched his throat and massaged the bare skin there. Six months suddenly felt like six minutes. He couldn’t wait to leave.

The compulsion to flee wasn’t strong enough to keep him away from Eden’s End. Familiarity counted for something. Off the beaten path and too seedy to attract the tourists, the bar drew a mixed crowd of locals—the rich, the poor, the conservative, the liberal—the owner wasn’t picky as long as cash changed hands and moved in the general direction of his bank account.

Brendan grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a Michelob. He’d forgotten how the smell of fried calamari clung to every surface in the place. Even the frosty surface of his bottle reeked. “Where’s Joe? I thought he worked Thursdays,” he said to the unfamiliar guy behind the bar.

“Don’t know any Joe.” He lifted Brendan’s bottle to mop up the condensation with his stained rag. “I’ve only been here a couple of weeks.”

Brendan took a swig of beer and digested that silently. Mouth dry, he asked, “What about Wade? Has he been in today?”

The bartender shrugged. “Don’t know a Wade either.”

Brendan couldn’t hide his surprise. “Seriously? Wade Forrester? He practically lives here.”

“Not anymore. Never heard of the guy.”

New not just to the job, but to the area as well. Who didn’t know Wade? Ft. Myers was his city. His fingers were in every pot on the table: real estate, construction, insurance, health care, and those were just the most lucrative. He was Midas, the city’s golden boy, gliding along the edge of the law like a professional figure skater. As his companion and lover, Brendan had seen his fair share of questionable deals.

He peeled the bottle’s label in narrow strips and let the stilted conversation die. The bartender moved off, and somebody queued up Good Vibrations on the jukebox. With a long, resigned sigh, Brendan ran the sweating bottle over his forehead. There was no escaping the past, insidious here in a way it hadn’t been at his apartment. It clung to the bamboo furniture and paper umbrellas.

He fumbled in his pocket for a five dollar bill and slid it under his empty bottle. Exchanging a nod with the bartender, he slid off the stool. That would have been the end of things if he hadn’t glanced up then, catching sight of someone in the mirror that hung behind the shelves of cheap whisky and vodka. The man staring back was as Brendan remembered him, his clothing expensive and carefully disheveled. Tall, with a slight frame and a tendency to move with regal grace, he’d always reminded Brendan of a gazelle. Slack-jawed and wide-eyed, the man blinked once, then again. “Brendan?”

Brendan sank back onto the stool, awash in good memories for once. “Jeff.” Jeff swallowed a soft gasp, and Brendan’s shoulders tensed, but he cracked a smile. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” Jeff drawled, recovering his swagger, though his face remained pale. “About six months or so. Where the hell have you been?”

“In South America.” Brendan frowned. “Chile. Rebuilding. It’s been two years, but in some communes it still looks like the quake hit yesterday.”

“Right.” Jeff signaled the bartender for a beer, pointing at Brendan as well. Brendan let the gesture pass without comment. “That sounds like you. Running off to feed starving orphans in Africa or teach English to impoverished kids in India.”

“China,” Brendan corrected automatically.

Jeff’s wry smile let them both know the mistake had been intentional. “Your exploits are pretty impressive. Wade used to like to brag he’d scored his own Indiana Jones.”

Brendan rolled his eyes. “Wade has a habit of making things sound more romantic than they really are.”

Jeff dropped his gaze. “That is a gift of his.” He frowned into his beer before taking a sip.

Brendan had never deciphered Jeff and Wade’s relationship. Jeff had money. There was kinship there, but Jeff’s quiet ways and soft smile had no place in the shark tank Wade usually swam in. They’d been friends since school—Wade had shared that much.

“He’s been treating me like a black sheep for years,” Wade had grumbled to Brendan one night shortly after they’d met. “Now all of a sudden, he’s my best friend. Judgmental prick. I should tell him to fuck off.”
Brendan kept his answer to a neutral smile, secretly hoping Wade’s ego would vanquish his desire for retribution. It did, of course, and Jeff had stayed.

Now, Jeff offered a brittle smile, flushing with some mysterious sentiment. He settled a hand on Brendan’s arm. “I’m glad to see you. Really.”

They turned to their drinks, Jeff in obvious embarrassment and Brendan in confusion. “I didn’t have time to let everyone know I was leaving. The opportunity came up quickly and I snagged it.”

Jeff chugged a mouthful of beer. How he managed with his lips mashed into such a thin line Brendan had no idea. He steeled himself and asked, “Where’s Wade, by the way? The new guy behind the bar didn’t even blink when I said the king’s name.”

Jeff met his gaze in the mirror. Through that filter, he said, “Wade’s gone, Brendan. He’s missing. You didn’t know?”

“Missing?”

“Disappeared.”

Miraculously, Brendan’s voice didn’t give out. “How long?”

Jeff lifted the bottle to his lips, drinking deeply as he swiveled on his stool. Brendan made himself shift to face him. “About six months.” Jeff cocked his head. “He vanished the same time you did. Right off the face of the earth.”

Brendan shut the door behind him and turned the deadbolt. The apartment was little more than a glorified studio, with almost no furniture and only two closets. There wasn’t any place to hide. He walked the circuit anyway, pulling the mildew-stained shower curtain back to look behind it before pacing back to the living room and stretching out on the futon.

“It’s been long enough that people are stuck between suspicion and boredom,” Jeff had said. “His condo was half-packed, like he was moving, but he’d been talking about scooping up a foreclosure on Sanibel, so that didn’t raise any red flags at first. Most of us thought he’d taken an impromptu vacation. What’s got everybody wondering is why he left the boat. You know, just sitting there. Tied up at the marina, lights and TV on, champagne open and on the counter… like he’d run down to the Circle K for cigarettes.”

Brendan had said nothing until the silence between them grew uncomfortable. “I can’t believe Wade would leave his boat.” That was the truth. Paradiso was Wade’s pride and joy, a 40-foot single-masted Bermuda rigged sloop he’d decked out like a palace and owned free and clear. The main cabin with its king-sized extra-firm mattress was his favorite place to fuck, a fact Brendan didn’t share. “Do they have any leads?”

Jeff squinted at him. “Who?”

“The police.”

“There are no police. Not yet. Like I said, no one can really agree whether it’s a crime, a tragedy or, you know…”

“A blessing?”

That earned him a sharp look. “His business partner is starting to make some noise though. Wants an investigation opened. I guess he can’t turn a penny without Wade.”

Brendan bet not.

“So what happened between you guys?” Jeff asked. “You were hot and heavy, right?”

That’s what people would have seen—what Brendan had wanted them to see. Hearing it thrown back at him though, and by Jeff of all people, had made the beer gurgle dangerously in his gut.

At nightfall, he got up, yanked the sheet off the futon and draped it over the mini-blinds. It was plenty large enough to cover the entire window. In the pitch black, he stumbled to the kitchen alcove and punched on the stove’s overhead light and exhaust fan. Then he retrieved one of the small boxes from the living room and popped the folded cardboard top.

He stared at the contents for some time before stooping down to grab a large frying pan from the cabinet. One by one, he lifted pages from the box. The topmost were stories about Wade, printed off the Internet. Some detailed his business ventures. Most were gossip. As it turned out, the gossip had held more truth than the financial articles.

Next he pulled out a thick sheath of bound papers. A thousand dollars worth of background checks. Nauseating reading. Brendan burned each page, taking his time, making sure every scrap was reduced to ashes.

The easy part was done.

With shaking hands he removed the last item, a stack of letters bound with a rubber band, and set the box aside. He slid the letters free one at a time, holding them over the lighter’s flame before the temptation to reread them won.
Dear Brendan, he saw on the first before the yellow flames licked the words away, I’ve met someone.

“I need to get aboard the Paradiso.”

Brendan reared back when Jeff jerked upright in his bed. “What the—Brendan?”

“Yeah.”

When Jeff reached for the lamp by his bed, Brendan stayed his hand. “No.”

Jeff froze, fingers halfway to the switch. Brendan put a little pressure into his grip, and Jeff allowed his hand to be drawn back toward the bed. “Brendan. What the hell are you doing here?”

Testing a theory he hadn’t allowed himself to consider before now. “I need to talk to you.”

Under his fingers, Jeff tensed. “Now?”

“Yes.”

“What about?”

Brendan broke their contact and settled cross-legged on the floor next to the bed. Jeff rolled to his side. Less than two feet separated them. “I want to tell you a story,” Brendan said.

Jeff’s Adam’s apple bobbed, but he nodded. “Okay.”

“Once upon a time, there was this punk kid who got in trouble a lot. Then someone gave him a second chance, taught him a few things, and he turned it around. Went to college. Got a degree in English. Went back and got another in teaching. These days he gets his kicks out of traveling around the world and lending a hand where he’s needed. Believe it or not, the pay’s not bad, especially if you don’t mind getting dirty.”

“I think this must be the condensed version of the fairy tale,” Jeff whispered, matching Brendan’s quiet tone. “You’ve got more layers than that.”

“Maybe. But that’s all prologue. This story’s not about me. Not all about me.” He sat through a wary silence, and finally Jeff nodded.

“Keep going.”

Brendan took a deep breath. “So this kid—”

Jeff touched his face. “Stop.” He rose onto his elbow. “Skip the bullshit. You want to spill your guts, at least have the balls to put yourself in the story where you belong.” The fingers slid across Brendan’s cheek and away.

“You sure?”

“I can handle it.”

Brendan believed him. “Okay. My mom got busted for dealing when I was twelve. I ended up in the system, but got lucky. A lady named Mandy Kingon agreed to foster me. She had a soft spot for us, you know?” No need to specify the “us,” not in this company. “A bunch of kids came and went over the years. Boys. Girls. Black. White. Hispanic. I guess being gay was one of the only things we had in common.”

Jeff settled onto his pillow with his palm against his cheek. “You were the only one who stayed with Mandy through high school and college?”

“There was another kid. Dennis. He stayed on like I did. Annoying little shit. Followed me everywhere, mouth running nonstop. I kind of wanted to step on him in the beginning.”

Jeff grinned. It pulled an answering nostalgic smile from Brendan. “Sounds like a typical little brother.”

“He was a good kid.” The words got stuck after that, and finally Jeff’s fingers returned to stroke his face. It helped. “The thing about Dennis was… is… he’s not that smart. That’s cruel, right? But it’s true. Mandy got him into college with blood, sweat, and tears, but he didn’t last a semester. He’s got a good heart. But he’s never had a good head on his shoulders.”

“Dennis.” Awareness lit Jeff’s face. “Wade’s Dennis?”

Brendan closed his eyes.

“Jesus. Wade was totally infatuated. The kid was…” Jeff faltered.

“Gorgeous, I know. And eager to please.” Some things never changed. Even when they led to ruin over and over again. “So you remember him.”

“You could have just asked. Any time you could have asked me. You know that, right?”

No. Because it would have gotten back to Wade eventually. Surely Jeff understood that. Brendan tried not to take the exasperated tone to heart.

“May I interject with something here?” Jeff leaned over the bed until he was close enough for Brendan to feel warm breath against his cheek. “Your plan sucked. How were you going to handle it if Wade recognized who you were? Surely your brother mentioned you at least once or twice. You don’t exactly live an ordinary life, Brendan.”

“It was never the plan to–”

“Fuck the information out of him?”

Brendan bit the inside of his cheek. “Deceive him. That’s not my style.” He ignored Jeff’s arched eyebrow. “I was going to confront him.” Said now, Brendan realized his folly. Jeff confirmed it with a sarcastic laugh.

A car passed on the street below, and they both watched the headlight beams race across the ceiling. Jeff’s bitter amusement faded with the car’s engine. “Dennis was with Wade for a few months. I last saw him around Christmas, year before last. When Wade showed up on New Year’s Eve with a new boy toy, I figured the kid had moved on.” His brow furrowed. “What makes you think he didn’t?”

“His emails stopped. In the last one, he was still here in Ft. Myers. Still with Wade.”

Jeff leveled a finger at him. “Maybe he just got busy and stopped writing.”

“No,” Brendan said, digging his fingernails into the plush carpet. “He always kept me in the loop.” In case he got in over his head. They’d developed a routine over the years.

“Always?”

“Let me put it to you this way. He woke me up out of a sound sleep one night in high school to give me a play by play of his first BJ.”

Jeff barked a laugh.

Brendan shook his head, grinning. “Dennis has no filters. He tells me everything.” His hand crept up to touch his throat. “He complained about Wade’s possessiveness.”

“Yeah, that’s true, and Wade doesn’t usually do jealous. He kept your brother on a tight leash. Which was strange. Like you said, Dennis was cute and sweet, but Wade likes a little more substance in his partners. He prefers them worldly. Educated, but a little rough around the edges.” He rolled his tongue over his teeth. “You were a perfect fit for him actually.”

The tension returned with a vengeance. “Lucky. Me.”

“You can’t stand him, can you?”

Brendan shook his head. “Sorry. I know he’s your friend.”

“My friend.” Rolling onto his back, Jeff pressed both hands over his eyes and laughed. “I hated the bastard.”

It wasn’t the time to point out Jeff had used the past tense. In fact, Brendan felt confident he could overlook it for just about forever. “You had a funny way of hating him.”

“Did I?” Jeff asked the ceiling.

“Christ, yes. You followed us everywhere.”

Jeff rolled his head until they were eye-to-eye again, and the silence that fell this time pressed on Brendan until he couldn’t breathe. “Oh,” he whispered. He clasped his hands in his lap. “You never let on.”

Jeff smiled sadly. “You were in a relationship.”

Yes, Jeff was old-fashioned that way. Too honorable for the times. It left even more to regret, and that mountain was already unfairly tall. “Jeff—” Brendan whispered.

“That’s not the end of the story, is it?”

Swallowing, Brendan said, “No. You haven’t heard the climax.”

Jeff absorbed that with more grace than Brendan expected. He threw the covers back and scooted over towards the center of the bed. “That sounds ominous. Why don’t you get the fuck off the floor and come tell me then.”

Brendan didn’t wait to be invited twice.

The Paradiso was lit like a Christmas tree. In the main saloon, the television was tuned to the latest matchup between the Caps and the Flyers. Brendan stepped aboard, stomach churning, and made his way inside.

“Wade?”

The crowd on the TV roared as the Flyers scored. Brendan moved through the cabin and into the bedroom. Empty. The head was open and dark. “Wade?”

Gone for cigarettes probably. Brendan didn’t let the opportunity pass. Wade kept the most sensitive of his papers on the boat, a sentimental decision with a bit of reverse psychology thrown in. Security on the Paradiso was nearly non-existent. Who would expect to find anything here?

It took him ten minutes to scan the three file drawers and rifle through the built-in desk. Nothing. Nothing of interest to Brendan anyway. He was upset when he left, hurrying down the short hall back to the saloon. Wade’s presence escaped him at first.

“Hey, baby.”

Brendan stopped dead.

Wade shrugged off his jacket. “Find what you were looking for?” He dug in his pocket, came up with a pack of Marlboros, and tapped them smack smack against his palm.

Brendan hated himself for being afraid. “No. I didn’t.”

“Sorry about that. Thirsty?” A bottle of Dom sat nestled in ice on the black granite counter. Wade waved at it and turned to the hockey game. “Why don’t you open that for us?”

It would buy time, so Brendan obeyed. The champagne bubbled up the head of the bottle, but didn’t spill. Mind racing, he poured into the two waiting flutes. From the corner of his eye, he saw Wade slide close and pick up one of the glasses. “Do you need something, Brendan? Money? Cause you know I’ll take care of you.”

“I don’t need money.”

“No, I didn’t think so. You don’t seem the type.” Wade took a sip, leaving a thin line of moisture across his lip. “You know how to take care of yourself. You’re a crusader.”

Brendan fingered his champagne flute, watching the bubbles surface and pop, then reached up behind his neck and unfastened the chain there. He laid the necklace on the counter. “I’m here about Dennis Callery,” he heard himself say, and the relief to be able to finally, finally bring it into the open left him lightheaded.

Wade eyed the pendant. He took several seconds to answer. “What about him?”

“What happened to him?” Brendan growled, meeting Wade’s piercing eyes for the first time. The counter and champagne separated them, not that it mattered. Brendan had seen Wade direct whole armies across large rooms. His power lay in his eyes.

“Jesus.” Wade sagged. “That’s what this is all about? That kid?”

“That kid is my brother,” Brendan clarified. “Where is he?”

Wade looked genuinely shocked. “How the hell would I know?”

“Because the last I heard from him, he was here with you.”

Wade set his champagne down. The glass made no sound when it touched the granite. His hands gripped the edge of the counter. “This never meant anything to you?” He wagged one manicured finger between the two of them.

“Not what it meant to you.”

Fury flared in Wade’s eyes before fading to a simmer. He hung his head. “You want to know about Dennis? Fine. I liked him. Sweetest thing I ever….” Wade shrugged. “He got clingy, and that’s one thing I don’t have the patience for. I told him it was over. When he fussed, I sweetened the deal. Gave him a car. A Mercedes Roadster, red metallic. Told him to go see the world, and he drove off into the sunset without looking back. Guess I found out what he liked most about me, huh?” He raised doleful eyes to Brendan. “I haven’t seen him since.”

“Is that so?”

Wade pursed his lips. “It is.” His phone trilled, discordant with the television’s cheering crowd and the slap of water against the dock. Eyes fixed on Brendan, he fished it from his pocket. “Jeff.”

It was only six strides to the cabin door. Brendan pictured himself taking those steps. Leaving and never looking back.

“He’s here,” Wade said into his phone. “He’s apparently a lying, deceiving piece of trash, but he’s here.” He cackled. “Don’t bother. I doubt he’ll be around much longer.”

A barrage of questions, too low for Brendan to hear, followed, but Wade didn’t acknowledge them. “So,” he said, ending the call, “you got the information you wanted. Does that mean you’re leaving me, baby?” The regret was so artfully done, Brendan almost smiled.

He pushed the champagne away and braced himself. “I was never with you. Baby.”

They’d begun on opposite sides of the bed. They ended the story together at the center, Jeff’s fingers sifting through Brendan’s hair.

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s bought off a clingy lover,” Jeff mused. “Though that’s not how I remember the dynamic between them. If anything, it was the opposite. I wonder if he was telling the truth.”

“He wasn’t.”

“How do you know?”

Brendan spoke into Jeff’s shoulder. “Because Dennis can’t drive.”

Jeff reacted with shocked silence.

“We grew up in Brooklyn. I could ride the subway in my sleep, but I didn’t get behind the wheel of a car until my junior year of college.”

“If you knew he was lying…” Jeff floundered. “Why would he lie?”

Brendan pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the hollow of Jeff’s throat.

Breathless, Jeff pulled him closer. “What do you need on board the Paradiso?”

“I left something there. It means a lot to me, and I want it back.”

Brendan hesitated at the edge of the dock. “We’re just going to walk onboard?”

“Why not?” Jeff jangled something silvery in the dark. “I have a key.”

“Because— Jesus, Jeff.” Brendan planted his feet, steadying himself on the rail.

Hanging globes illuminated the jetty. Jeff walked back through the pools of yellow light until they were face to face. “Did you do anything wrong?”

“No,” Brendan breathed after nearly a minute.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

He’d never pegged Jeff as naïve. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Jeff’s answer was a sharp gesture to follow. Heart slamming in his chest, Brendan did. They reached the Paradiso’s slip without incident, and Jeff stepped to the cabin door, fitting the key into the lock. “What did you leave that you can’t live without?”

“A pendant necklace. Dennis gave it to me.”

Jeff unlocked the door without further comment, and diffused light filtered in, giving the room a ghostly glow. Brendan’s gaze went immediately to the counter, sliding over the dark granite. A layer of dust marred the ice bucket’s shiny surface. The Dom sat neck down inside, but there was nothing else. His heart seized. “I don’t see it.”

“It’s in the knife drawer.”

Rather than react to Brendan’s shocked expression, Jeff moved through the gloom, slid the drawer open, and retrieved it himself. “Here.” He held the necklace out.

Brendan closed his fist around the chain. “How…?”

Jeff’s hands clamped onto his shoulders. His voice broke. “I thought you were dead. Did you know that?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Brendan knew this pain firsthand.

“I came here looking for you.”

The silver pendant cut into Brendan’s palm. He took a deep breath before speaking. “And that’s how you knew where this was. You saw it when you came to look for me.”

“Yes. But you were already gone.”

“So you went home.” Brendan said it firmly, with enough conviction to satisfy them both. It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t want an answer.

Shifting shadows preceded the warmth of Jeff’s body against his. “Why is that thing so special anyway? Just because Dennis gave it to you?”

“Partly.” He fumbled with the clasp, fingers clumsy in the dark until Jeff took over and fastened it around his neck. “It’s a Saint Brendan medal. He’s the patron saint of travelers, one of them anyway, who discovered the Isle of the Blessed. He found Paradise. The Garden of Eden. So the myth goes.”

Jeff nodded once, a world of understanding in the gesture. He led them out of the saloon, and they stepped off the boat together. Brendan stopped him under one of the spotlights. “Mostly, though, I’m keeping it because I believe we’re going to find each other again one day. And when we do… I can return the favor.”

He turned the medal over, and Jeff leaned forward to read the inscription.

Safe Journey, Brother