D for Dylan - 19. Chapter Nineteen

What the fuck am I doing? Why am I even here?

Chilly, humid night air tidaled in and out of my lungs, as I stood in front of Liam, not knowing what exactly I was feeling. He stepped outside and gently caressed my cheek, giving me a worried look.

“Did something happen?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?”

“No…” I uttered, avoiding his eyes.

The grinding noise of the copper gates creaked eerily in the quiet atmosphere of the barren night street. Liam’s warm hand wrapped around my cheek, fingers pressed softly into my skin, and he slowly pulled me into a hug.

“Thank you for coming…”

“I can’t…” I shuddered. “This was a mistake.”

“Dylan…”

“What am I doing?..” I panted, as he pressed me tighter to his chest. “I need to go… I don’t fucking trust you…”

“Please…”

“Let me go…” I moaned, weakly fighting his grasp.

To my surprise, he did. As my body sprung away from his embrace, for the first time in many hours, I felt my heart fluttering. His steamy breath dissolved into the air, he fidgeted and a worried look on his face betrayed anxiety he was trying to conceal.

“Please stay.” he asked. “Come in for a few minutes, nobody’s home. You need to get warm.”

“Your dad?..”

“He’s on a business trip.” he explained. “Mom’s visiting gramps, he’s got into a hospital.”

I felt a sting of guilt for a second. He still didn’t know about what happened to Emma. ‘Ailing grandparents’ must’ve been an excuse she used for her sudden departure.

“So you’re all alone?” I asked.

“Yeah.” he said.

I glanced at the enormous mansion behind his back, shrouded in darkness and fog. It must’ve been sad to sleep there at nights, without any company.

“I’m used to it.” he uttered, as if sensing my thoughts.

“Still…” I whispered. “You hate staying alone…”

He gave me a somber half-smile. Ten years ago, when they first diagnosed him with meningitis, he was suffering from near constant seizures. They had to put him in a medically induced coma for two weeks, waiting for the inflammation in his brain to subside. He was afraid of darkness ever since. I remember he couldn’t stay alone at nights, so I slept with him for the next few months. I never made a big deal out of it. I always considered the fear of darkness to be the least shameful of all the phobias people could have.

“Okay.” I uttered.

I followed him inside the house. My anxiety thawed out, as the warm interior of their home relaxed me. He helped me take off my hoodie and hung it on the hooks by the entrance, while I took off my shoes. There was a ground rule Helen and Emma strictly enforced in both of our houses - no shoes were allowed inside. I slid my feet into a pair of slippers, but Liam chose to stay in his socks. He hated slippers.

“You want some hot chocolate or a tea?” he asked.

“Thank you, I’m good.”

“Does he know you’re here?”

“No.” I said. “I left after he fell asleep.”

His face darkened for a moment. I ignored it.

“Okay…” I whistled, patting myself on the hips. “Tell me.”

“Not here.”

“What?” I asked, taken back.

“Let’s go to my room.”

It was pretty dark in the hallway. Faint warm lights shone through from the kitchen, painting an entourage that felt mysterious and forlorn.

“I’m not going there.” I said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t wanna catch pubic lice from your bedsheets.” I muttered.

“I washed them.” he said.

“Liam-”

“Twice.”

I pursed my lips and gave him my most thoroughly annoyed look.

“Liam, just tell me, okay? We don’t need to play this stupid game…” I said.

“I have to show you something.”

“Show me what?” I asked, cocking my eyebrow.

“It’s on my computer.” he said.

I swallowed. It was so quiet in the hallway, that the sound of my gulp was audible. I felt my hands starting to shake a little, as anxiety creeped back in.

“Okay.”

The rattling of crickets outside accompanied us on our way upstairs. I was looking at his back, following the unique way he always swung his arms when he walked. He had a very masculine gait. I couldn’t really explain it, but the way he held his composure and moved around had always channeled inner confidence. I was nothing like him, and it used to be one of the many small things about him that fueled my infatuation. My nose flinched, picking up on a trail of his intoxicating body odor. Pathetic. Even now, at 3 in the morning, he smelled like vial of aphrodisiac. Another weird thing about him I had innate response to.

It wasn’t so bright in his place, this time around. The windows were curtained, the dim light from the floor lamp in the corner and the table light by the computer painted his room in a rather dramatic way.

“I see you got rid of Pamela Anderson.” I said, nodding to the empty space on the wall.

He chuckled.

“She deserved her retirement… and a good 401K.” I added, catching his smile.

“I took her off a few years ago, actually.” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” he sighed. “Trish hated her.”

“No way…” I gasped theatrically. “You can’t be serious.”

“Yeah…” Liam smiled, flashing his big teeth.

“She made you break up with Pam?”

“Yup.”

“What a bitch.”

This time he laughed. It felt weird, having a semi-normal conversation with him in this room, years later, and laughing together as if nothing had happened. Truth be told, I just needed to dampen the tension brewing in me.

“You always had a great sense of humor, you know?” he said.

“You haven’t met Elle.” I threw back.

“No, but I’m serious…” he said. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed it.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Nobody ever made me laugh as much as you did.” he said.

I looked around his room. Last time I was here a few days ago, the smell of fish in the air teared up my eyes and prevented me from taking a good look around. Not much has changed. He still had his childhood collection of mini-cars on the top shelf. There were a few more prize cups from championships he and his team won over the past few years. His bed was the same.

“You sure you sterilized the sheets?” I asked, approaching it.

“I swear on my life.”

I looked at him suspiciously, took a leap of faith and sat on the mattress. It was just as springy as I remembered. For a tough guy, he was a big fan of extra plush padding and a nice memory foam. A few funny moments from the past came back to me in flashes, as I kept grazing over his room, looking at items I almost forgot were there. He still had a lava lamp on the bedside nightstand. There was also a framed picture on it. I crawled towards it, to take a closer look.

It was us. Liam and me, almost 5 years ago. Scrawny 13-year-old version of me from the past was hugging 15-year-old Liam, as he grinned, standing next to a rollercoaster at Six Flags.

“I like that photo.” he said. “You almost shit your pants on that ride…”

“You never had it framed like this…” I mentioned, scratching the back of my head.

“Mom put it in there a few years ago.” he explained.

Now it made more sense.

“I never took it away.” he added.

“You deserve a medal for it.” I spat out in contempt.

“I didn’t mean it that way…” he hurried to explain. “It’s just…”

I gave him plenty of time, but he swallowed his tongue.

“Why didn’t you throw it away?” I uttered, feeling like I was doing him a favor by asking.

He sat in his Herman Miller chair and rubbed his face with both hands.

“I don’t know.” he said, resurfacing with reddening cheeks and glancing at me. “It never bothered me…”

“Too bad the real thing did.” I said, pointing at my face.

He bit his lip and folded his hands at his knees, slouching forward.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered.

“You don’t have to keep saying it.”

“I do.”

“Trust me, you don’t.” I insisted.

“Why not?” he asked, raising his eyes on me. “I fucked up. I want to keep saying it.”

“It’s annoying.” I sighed.

“I’m sorry.”

“Say it another thousand times…” I whispered, breathing out. “Doesn’t make it sound any more sincere.”

The look on his face was good enough to sell me a box of cookies. Embarrassment and hurt, as if I’d just pierced him through his chest with a katana.

When I realized that his pain made me feel good, I turned away.

A few more moments of silence imbued the climate in the room with a sense of hopelessness and heartache, but I wasn’t the one spoiling the air with those feelings.

“You said it’s on your computer.” I reminded. “What is it?”

He glanced at me and I could read the hesitation on his face.

“What did Jake tell you?” Liam asked.

“He said his name was Daniel.” I said. “Is it true?”

“Yes.”

“He said it happened at a party.” I continued.

“True.”

“He described it as an accident.”

I didn’t ask him if it was true or not. I didn’t get the chance, because his nervous smirk gave it away.

“So it wasn’t…” I concluded.

“No.” Liam uttered, “It wasn’t.”

“How do you know?” I asked, repositioning myself up on outstretched hands to sit deeper on his bed.

Liam stood off the chair and approached me. He was slow, as if making sure his movements won’t freak me out. He sat on the bed next to me and leaned on his arm.

“I spoke to dad about him.” he said. “After I saw him with you, it was like I recognized him somehow...”

“I’m not surprised, your families are close.” I deduced.

“Yes. I’ve seen him years ago, I think we visited their house when I was a kid.” he explained.

My earlier theory was proving to be perfectly accurate.

“So…” I dragged, registering shakiness in my voice. “What did uncle Hank tell you?”

“He told me to stay away from him.”

My lips pressed into a thin line and I nodded, swallowing a ball of nerves forming in my throat.

“I see.” I wheezed.

“Dylan…” he whispered, covering my hand with his. “It’s a little more complicated than you think.”

“Why?”

“His mother is a… Well, she’s sort of my dad’s biggest partner.” he explained. “He doesn’t like her, but he doesn’t really have a choice. They have to protect each other.”

“Liam, what are you trying to say?” I asked, getting confused.

“My dad helped them deal with it.” he said. “When Jake killed that kid…”

My eyebrows slowly creeped up in surprise.

‘There were only a few people who knew. His dad was one of them.’

So that’s what Jake meant.

“Shanice was in our house that night.” Liam said. “I remember it, she came in with her husband very late. Mom told me to stay put, but I still heard them talking downstairs.”

He looked me in the eye, trying to figure out my reaction.

“What did they say?” I asked.

“I don’t remember. Dad told me it happened at a party in someone’s apartment downtown. He made a few calls, his people came over to that place and got everyone out.” he said. “Jake was locked up in the bathroom with that kid.”

“How did they know what happened?” I asked.

“He called his parents.”

“From the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“I thought he was out of it…” I whispered.

“Out of it?” Liam repeated, confused.

“Yeah, he told me he was high on drugs.” I said. “Said they had a fight, he just pushed him and the guy cracked his head on the bathtub.”

“That’s bullshit.”

I sighed loudly, rubbing my face and feeling like I was getting progressively more confused.

“Did he tell you who the guy was?” Liam asked.

“He said it was a friend.”

“Just a friend?”

“Yes.” I answered, uncertainly.

Liam took a deep breath and gave me that penetrating look again. There was more behind it. He was clearly not saying something.

“What’s on the computer, Liam?”

“There’s a footage.” he said. “From that party.”

“Okay…” I sighed. “How did you get your hands on it?”

“My dad got it.” he said. “He had everything cleaned up, but kept all the copies here.”

“What copies?”

“Police report, surveillance footage, the autopsy report and coroner’s examination, hospital records from Jake’s ER visit that night.”

“Wait… what?”

“Dylan, there’s nothing there. They erased all traces of it.”

“But Jake told me they opened a case in DA’s office…”

“He lied. Nobody found out.”

I dropped my head on my hands. This was rapidly turning into a fucking nightmare.

“So nobody knows?”

“Only my dad and that boy’s family.” Liam said.

I glanced at him. Liam Henderson never struck me as a complete moron, but the fact that he told his stupid girlfriend about something like this, was simply beyond idiotic. Did he actually think that Jessica would keep her mouth shut? He told her about Jake, he told her I loved him, I wondered what else he blabbed about in her ear over the past two years.

“Why did your dad keep the records?” I asked.

“Just in case.” Liam said. “He thought they might come in handy one day.”

“But he was in on it, he helped them clean it up!”

“Yes, I know…” he uttered. “Dylan, I told you it’s complicated.”

I didn’t know what to think. Liam’s hand squeezed mine a little tighter, and it prompted me to look at him.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he asked.

“Yes.” I said.

“It won’t be pretty.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that…” I uttered.

He nodded, got up from the bed and sat in front of his computer. He touched the mouse and his large monitor came alive, blinding me with its brightness. I approached the screen and sat next to Liam at the piano stool.

He clicked through a few different folders and located a video file buried in one of them. I took a shuddering breath when he clicked it open, but when the footage started playing, I made sure to give that screen my undivided attention.

The quality wasn’t the greatest, it was mostly black and white with occasional greenish tint, but it was decent enough to make out individual faces in the crowd. The camera was set somewhere in the corner of the room on the second floor, overseeing the large loft space downstairs, where a crowd of drunk-looking folks danced their feet away.

Through an eye of the scotopic vision, I managed to locate a guy I knew, dancing in the company of someone else.

“Is that-”

“That’s him.” Liam cut in, pointing to Jake on the screen.

He was wearing a half-unbuttoned black shirt, smiling, clearly having a good time. Daniel was dancing next to him, and apart from shoulder leans, bust downs and occasional, particularly cringy attempts at billy-bouncing, Jake’s behavior didn’t appear to be out of ordinary.

“They’re just dancing…” I said, more to myself, than to Liam.

According to Jake’s truth, he was high as fuck and his friend was about to pull him away from the crowd to the bathroom. Instead, I saw the 16-year-old version of my boyfriend, acting suspiciously well-coordinated for someone who was inebriated out of his mind.

“Oh fuck…” I gasped.

My hand covered my mouth and I instinctively rolled back on the stool, distancing myself from the screen. On it, the guy who was about to die, was kissing Jake right there on the dance floor.

“Dylan…” Liam uttered, but I shushed him away with a finger gesture.

I looked closer. Jake was holding Daniel in his arms, they both slowed down and kissed passionately in front of everyone.

“What the fuck…” I gasped again.

No way. No.

No-no-no-no…

“He wasn’t just his friend.” Liam stated the obvious.

“But he told me…” I muttered, “He said he was… He said…”

As the two of them kissed on the video, I sat there, shaking. Daniel pulled away, they slow danced for a few more moments, and then I saw him lean against Jake’s cheek and say something in his ear. There was no audio, and the whole scene must’ve been too loud to distinguish individual conversations, but whatever it was that Daniel said to him, it changed everything in a instant.

Suddenly, Jake stepped back from him. Daniel looked like he immediately regretted saying whatever he did and hurried to explain himself, but Jake wasn’t looking very pleased. His movements and body language have changed, I could clearly see that he tensed up and got defensive.

After a quick back and forth, apologetic Dan tried to kiss Jake again, but it didn’t go the way he hoped. Jake shoved him, Dan tried again, but 16-year-old grabbed him by his wrist and dragged him out of the dance floor.

“No way…” I moaned. “No…”

The two disappeared behind the edge of the screen, and the footage cut to the hallway camera, showing Jake forcing Daniel to follow him, pulling him by the arm. He pushed him into the bathroom and closed the door.

The video ended.

I jumped up from the stool, accidentally sending it for an impact with the feet of the table. I stepped back, wobbling on my feet, feeling a nauseating dread setting its grip on my chest.

Sensing my distress, Liam shut down the monitor and hurried to follow me.

“Dylan…”

“How long did you know?” I asked, starting to hyperventilate.

“A few months.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I asked, bucking away.

“Dylan…”

“You knew he killed his own fucking boyfriend and you didn’t tell me?!” I shouted, stumbling on the corner the bed and falling down.

“Dylan!”

I rubbed the back of my head and crawled away from him on the floor, as he knelt down to help me.

“Stay away!” I hissed, kicking him in the chest with my foot.

Chaotic, disorganized thoughts were swirling in my brain like a swarm of wild hornets. I was terrified, disgusted and angry. I felt like a fool that fell into a honey trap.

“I tried to tell you…” he said, reaching out to me with his hand.

“You should’ve tried harder!” I yelled. “You could’ve told me three days ago when I came here!”

“I wanted to!”

“Oh really? Is that what it was?!” I scolded.

“No, but… Dylan, I…”

“What? What the fuck was it, Liam?”

“I was scared!” he shouted.

I looked at him like he was the biggest moron that ever walked the face of the earth.

“Scared? You?..” I asked. “Scared of whom? Of him? Of his mother?”

“No.” he whispered quietly. “I was scared of your reaction. I didn’t know how you will take it.”

The confusion boiling in me was starting to reach ridiculous levels at this point. He must’ve noted baffled look on my face, there was no way I could hide it anymore.

“What he did to that boy…” Liam explained. “It’s was something…”

He clearly struggled to express what he had on his mind. My teeth were clenched, burning air scratched the back of my throat, as I was wasting final drops of my patience.

“It was similar to what I’ve done...” he uttered in a hoarse, breaking voice. “To you.”

I felt like a dog chained on the leash, furious and foaming, dying to jump on my offender and rip his throat apart.

“The things he did to him…” he continued. “Dylan, when I looked at those photos, I couldn’t…”

His eyes were glistening again. The moisture on his lower lids reflected in warm lights from the table.

“Show me.” I said.

“No.” he said, “Please...”

“Show me. You owe me this.” I reminded.

Liam looked at me and snuffled, wiping his face with the sleeve of his white shirt.

“Okay.”

He stood up from his knees and gestured me to follow him downstairs. Our steps echoed through the walls of their abandoned house as we made it to the parlor. Liam approached a rack in the corner, pulled out a few books and exposed a strongbox safe concealed behind them. He typed in a code, opened it and took out a red folder.

I heard my heartbeat pounding in my ears, as I sat down on the carpet by the fireplace. It was the only source of light in the room, the heat radiating off the flames comforted me to some degree, but the anxiety railed back up when Liam sat down next to me, crossing his legs. The folder was shaking in his hands.

“Dylan, I really don’t think you should…”

I whisked the folder from him, never letting him finish. As I flipped through the pages, I paused on the printouts from the hospital EMR, containing records about Jake’s ER visit. There were a few X-rays, a CT scan of the brain, some blood tests, a serum chemistry panel. I glanced at the urine drug screen. It was negative for all substances. There was a separate urine fentanyl and ketamine screens, both of which were negative as well.

I let out a nervous chuckle.

“What is it?” Liam asked.

“Nothing.” I said.

Jake told me he was high, he made it all seem like a fucking accident, and there was the truth, hidden in a nondescript folder locked inside Hank Henderson’s safe.

I quickly brushed through a very vague police report, mentioning a body of unidentified teenager, the address, the time of a call and their arrival. Even on that, not a single mention of Jake’s involvement.

Coroner’s exam and a pathology report came next, and that was when I lost it.

Gruesome, gut-wrenching photos of a 17-year-old boy fell off my hands and ricocheted off my lap all over the carpet. Dancing lights bouncing off the flames in the chimney illuminated close-up shots of his mauled face. Multiple teeth were knocked out, jaw crooked at an unnatural angle and fractured, one of the blood shot eyes strobing to the side, nose turned into a mush. His face looked like an elaborate prop from a horror movie. Full body shots revealed multiple bruises, he was covered in dried, crusted blood.

“Oh my God…” I groaned, unable to hold my tears.

“Dylan…”

“Jesus, what the fuck…”

I left the papers from the folder scattered on the floor and crawled away from them in terror. My arms were shaking, I felt a sudden bolus of vomitus roll up to my throat, but managed to hold it back. Unable to bear the stress of what I saw, I broke down entirely. Tears streamed down my face as I began sobbing, wrapping my arms around my aching stomach.

“Oh my God…” I gasped, shaking.

Just before I crumbled on the carpet, Liam took me in his arms. I was rapidly losing strength. The cold doom of this dreadful night drained all the strength out of me, and all that was left was a shell, broken and weak. He wrapped his arms around my back and pressed me to his warm body, as I lost it, whining on his shoulder.

He brushed my back and stroked my hair, trying to calm me down, but it wasn’t working. Pictures of that poor boy’s beaten, mauled-out face were stuck in my mind, and I couldn’t stop but draw a line between him and me. And when that line became clear, I finally gathered enough strength to push Liam away.

He buckled, almost losing his balance, as I shoved him. I wiped my tears and runny nose, I tried to stand up, but stumbled, falling on the hard floor. He lunged towards me, but I blocked him with my hand.

“No! Stay b-back!” I shouted, sobbing. “You’re n-not fucking better!”

“Dylan…” he wheezed on the verge of tears.

“This…” I whistled, pointing to the photos on the carpet, “This is me one year ago at the prom!.. Two more minutes and you would’ve done this to me…”

His face turned into a grimace of pure devastation, and Liam Henderson started weeping right in front of me. Shuddering and sobbing, he folded himself forward and hid his face between his knees. The sounds of his cries echoed through the walls of the parlor, as the flames softly crunched in the chimney.

As I watched him weep, frantically wiping his tears, I wanted nothing more but to feel good about it. He was choking, shoulders shrugging, the whole body shaking and trembling. I’ve never seen him like this. Broken down, defeated, sobbing in despair, hitting one of the lowest points he could’ve gotten to.

“Stop it.” I whispered.

He couldn’t.

I crawled to him on my knees, touched his cheek and he raised his eyes on me, whimpering. His face was puffy, tears were streaming down the tip of his nose, and for the first time in years, it felt like I was looking in the eyes of my Liam.

“I-I’m s-sorry…” he gasped, slobbering.

“It’s okay…”

I couldn’t see him like this. It didn’t make me feel better. This wasn’t the Liam I wanted to punish. This was a reverie, a distant memory of an old friend. A ghost that was so strikingly similar to the guy I loved, that I simply couldn’t watch him suffer so much.

Not him. Not this Liam.

I crawled in closer and he pulled me in, sharply, like a breath of air he was dying to take. His arms clasped around my back, forcing our chests to collapse.

“Shush…” I whispered in his ear. “It’s okay…”

“I l-love you…” he sobbed.

“I know...”

Through the blur of my tear-filled eyes, I glanced at the clock. It was almost 4 in the morning. The crushing fatigue was setting in my muscles, filling my bones with lead. I couldn’t stop crying, but my tears dried out a little, and for the next few minutes Liam and I just hugged each other, trying to calm ourselves down.

“I’m tired.” I exhaled, fighting a syncope encroaching on my toes.

My head was spinning, burnt out emotional span collapsed into a vacuum, leaving me empty and numb. Liam showered the side of my neck with soft kisses, stood on his feet and lifted me up in his arms. I felt like a little kid, resting my head on his shoulder, as he carried me upstairs.

I passed out a few times on our way to his room, but I kept resurfacing for short moments. I remembered how he carefully laid me on his bed and helped me undress. Exhausted and withdrawn, I crawled towards the center of his bed, and a few moments later he joined me there. Our clothes were scattered on the floor, leaving us only in boxers, reminiscent of the last time we slept together like this. His warm, bare chest pressed against my back, his big arms enveloped my belly, as he spooned me. Our legs intertwined, I felt his lips grazing my neck, leaving a few soft kisses along its way, until his bristly cheek pressed itself against mine.

I felt safe in his embrace, wrapped in his arms, his warmth pulsating through me, keeping me cozy. Drowsiness got me to fall through the cracks of my consciousness. As the final fleeting thoughts made their way through the pathways of my disoriented brain, a random memory flashed in my mind seconds before it shut down.

It was a fuzzy fragment of a text on the autopsy report. Withered out page with a coffee stain, a date of birth, and a full name typed in the corner.

Daniel Ricardo Vasquez De Costa.