Dust in the Basement - 5. Thursday, February 27, 2025 (IV)

After lunch, I cleared the table with Fred while Uncle Carl cleaned the stove, then retreated back to my corner bench while my uncles retired for their post-lunch nap. I googled the name Durham and found the filmmaker, along with social media profiles and a few references and mentions in credits.

But I also found articles about a Robert Durham who had been found guilty of six counts of rape and an interview with his wife. There was a couple's photo attached to the article and I recognized the woman, in fact a colleague of Mom's of sorts, except she was a real teacher at the high school while Mom had only taught there as a substitute. We'd exchanged a few words at Mom's funeral; she'd come even though she wasn't nearly recovered from her own gunshot wound.

I sank into those old memories for a bit before the sound and vibration of my phone brought me out of them under an incoming message. Unimportant advertising from the phone provider. After an annoyed eye roll, I returned to my initial curiosity and tried to find out more about the anonymous group in The Quick Cup - or, alternatively, its leader Durham.

Admittedly, Facebook is no longer the measure of all things, but apart from Gianna “filmmaker” Durham and the teacher, there were no Montana Durhams there at all. Without a good reason, I couldn't ask Nico either. I couldn't even explain why the name irritated me so much.

The whole way to the QFPD I thought about it. What kind of anonymous group this might be. Why Jack Stevenson had seemed so worried, so anxious to give this Durham a quick and at best positive answer.

In the end, I gave in to my own inner turmoil and wrote to both - teacher Britta Durham and Gianna Durham - perhaps a little tense in my choice of words, but better than nothing.

In fact, I typed the messages while still sitting in the Rover in the QFPD parking lot, because I was too early for the time Kellen, Vee, and I had agreed on anyway.

And then I flinched violently when there was a knock on the window. “Kellen!” I said, half startled, half annoyed.

He grinned and said as I opened the door: “Someone else's early. Doomscrolling?”

“No. Research. What are you doing here?” I put my phone away and tried to get out, but he stood in the way of the door; I would have had to squeeze out inelegantly and, more importantly, unnecessarily.

“What a question...” He rolled his eyes.

“I mean, they just let you into the parking lot?”

“Took a little discussion with the parking lot attendant, but yeah.” Then he seemed to realize he was in the way and stepped aside.

I got out, locked the Rover and hunched my shoulders at a gust of wind.

“What kind of research is so important that you use every spare minute for it?” he wanted to know as we started walking, and I grimaced.

“Just a feeling.”

Instead of an expected mocking remark, however, he raised a brow. “In what way?”

Shrugging I climbed over a chain barrier - for cars, mind you, not people. “Something about the way Mr. Stevenson spoke of the anonymous group and its leader bothered me.”

“I wasn't really listening,” Kellen admitted bluntly. “But do you know how many different anonymous groups there are? From alcoholics to queer to... zipper suckers.”

“Please what? Zipper suckers?” I looked at him, confused.

“I needed a Z word, that was the first thing that came to mind.” With a wry smile, Kellen shrugged half-heartedly. “And I chewed on zippers as a kid, god, even as a teenager.”

I blinked at him skeptically. “Better than fingernails, I guess,” I then said slowly. Whatever makes you feel better, right?

And then we reached the main entrance and with it, lull and relative warmth. I nodded in greeting to Detective Reynolds, who was heading out, and then stepped up to the reception desk. I myself don't have to sign in when I show up here anymore, after all, I have a contract with the QFPD, but Kellen was new around.

My greeting was drowned out by Kellen's cheerful “Hi,” and for a moment, I probably didn't even exist for Officer Lopez, because she literally had hearts in her eyes when she looked at Kellen.

“Good afternoon. How can I help you?” Her tone already said pretty clearly how she would have liked to help him.

Kellen grinned back broadly, as if he was more than willing to accept the help.

Anger crept up inside me.

“Special Inspector McAdams, requested by Lieutenant Brick, here to speak with Detective DeLaney.” Appropriately, Kellen slapped his ID and badge on the counter. “Details of my service weapon on the back.”

Lopez made a face like she needed to open her uniform to cool off. “Okay-”

“We have an appointment with Detective DeLaney,” I interjected, trying to sound neutral, and Lopez gave me a brief look of confusion.

“Oh. Sure.”

“Come on.” Without waiting for a response, I stomped off.

Just seconds later, Kellen was beside me and nudged me with his shoulder. “Jealous?”

“Where did you leave your gun earlier?” I asked back, ignoring his comment.

“In the car. Going into a hospital armed is bad luck.”

“Ah.” I wouldn't have considered Kellen to be superstitious, but if you suck on zippers...

I led him through the building to Vee and Harry's office and had to scrape together a smile when I entered and looked at Vee. “I'm delivering Special Inspector McAdams to the interview.”

“Violet DeLaney. Nice to meet you,” Vee said neutrally as she shook his hand.

“Let's hope in a nice way, our collaboration is brief,” Kellen returned, but in his cheeky-boy way, so it was clear he meant it in a really friendly and professional way.

“I hope so too, even if I have nothing to do with it,” Harry said, nodding at Kellen from his desk. “Harry Gregory, DeLaney's partner. While she's busy with your case, I'll have to work alone.”

“You're a big boy, Harry, you can handle it,” Vee replied with an encouraging nod and Kellen grinned.

“Like I said, I'm not going to drag this out artificially.”

At this point, I wanted to start and familiarize Vee with the case so she understood why we were interested in the cellars and tunnels in the first place, but there was another knock and without waiting for an answer, someone entered.

Nico. “Hey, Harry, I've got- oh. Hi.” He eyed Kellen and as his gaze slid to me, he began to grin, then turned back to Kellen. “Nico Parker. Tech-lab. Dust's cousin. Kellen McAdams, right? I've heard about you.”

I gave Nico a murderous glare, but he ignored me.

“Only good things, I hope.” Kellen and Nico shook hands briefly.

“Mostly spicy things.”

“Nico!” I hissed angrily, but Kellen laughed.

Luckily, Vee beat him to a reply. “That's one of those things we don't discuss in the office. Thank you.”

The two men chuckled almost conspiratorially, but wordlessly Nico handed a few documents to Harry, waggled his eyebrows meaningfully in my direction and then retreated.

Harry snorted a small, quiet laugh, while Vee sighed in annoyance.

“So. Your magical incident. Spit it out.”

And that's what we did. Afterwards, Harry wondered how long a fuse for such a magic bomb could be - then the thing could have been placed above ground completely inconspicuously already in summer.

“Without going into how magic bombs work, it's quite possible,” Kellen replied slowly. “But age-altering magic doesn't exist, shouldn't exist. If someone did create some and wanted to experiment with it, why wait so long?”

“Maybe the timer was set wrong?”

“Yeah but then why not come back and fix it? It could even be done relatively inconspicuously.”

“Maybe it didn't matter. Just a live experiment on the side, so to speak.”

“And maybe it wasn't a bomb, but an accident.”

“But the radius of effect is so perfect, it couldn't have been an accident.”

“And what were they experimenting with to produce magic like that as an accident?”

“What if the Stevensons wanted to protect themselves from exactly that? From the magical experiments? What if Jack Stevenson is involved and is making the home cellar system available?”

“Then Dust's intuition could be right and this anonymous group is just a code word.”

The four of us had a lively discussion, Harry's actual task seemed to be forgotten. I liked their input, especially Harry's non-magical approach, which, combined with Kellen's experience as a battle mage in the CID, led to thoughts I would never have had on my own. But I didn't want to think about things like “testing ground for civil terror” either.

Then the conversation came to a standstill and a thoughtful silence spread. In the meantime, Kellen and I had taken a seat in the visitor's chairs and the way he was now leaning back in his - eyes closed, deep frown, hands clasped behind his head - made my mind wander in a direction which had nothing at all to do with the case.

Like earlier in the café, I felt the need to climb onto his lap.

A phone pinged. Someone must have walked past in the corridor with fresh coffee, because the smell hit my nose.

“Has there been an answer from the building authority yet?” Kellen then asked so suddenly I flinched and felt caught.

Vee made a noise somewhere between a snort and a grunt. “They called me and politely told me they are very sorry, but both of the responsible employees are not available. One is on maternity leave, the other is out of the office. There might be an answer tomorrow or the day after when the gentleman is back from his out-of-office assignment.”

“Great,” I sighed.

Kellen also made a disgruntled sound. “Paper authorities are horrible. As soon as there's a problem, no one's in charge anymore.”

“What can I say?” Vee shrugged helplessly. “I've explained the situation, but you know the drill: not enough staff, not enough money, poor infrastructure.”

“Blah blah blah.” Kellen nodded and rubbed his face.

“That's the only approach we have,” I said slowly. “The Stevensons aren't likely to let us rummage through their basement just because we think there used to be a door on their floor plan.”

“No, hardly.” Kellen gave me a somewhat critical glance.

“Sorry.” Again, Vee made a helpless gesture.

“Oh no, it's-” I interrupted myself as a jazzy saxophone solo played.

“Sorry.” Kellen mumbled and jumped up from his chair, already pressing his phone to his ear. “Ma'am?” He hurried out.

The prospect of sitting again dumb and helpless in my office, while so many people were affected by this crazy magic, some suffering greatly, was paralyzing. What if our ideas all came to nothing? Would someone from higher up send over a magebreaker or were we too insignificant? After all, we had been sent a magic-less battle mage...

“Dust... how serious is it really?” Vee wanted to know quietly, she had probably gathered more from my expression than intended.

“Serious,” I replied gloomily. “There's this family... the parents are in their forties, but now suddenly they're both ancient old folks. The children are actually teenagers, but one is now somewhere in his thirties himself and the other is an infant.”

“Oh God.” it came from Harry tonelessly.

Vee shook her head in bewilderment, her face agonized.

“There are a few other families in a similar situation. A single mother is stuck in a toddler's body, her two primary school children are in their late fifties. A young couple with newborn twins - the children now teenagers, the mother an old woman, the father a toddler.” It choked me up just to have to tell them about it. There was nothing I could do and yet everyone was pinning their hopes on me.

The horror on the detectives' faces didn't make it any better.

Kellen came back, seemed to take in the atmosphere and then said quietly, “I need to get into an online meeting. Let me know if there are any developments.” He picked up his jacket and disappeared.

I stared at the door for a moment. I had hoped for help. How much, I only realized now, when even four intelligent minds didn't know what to do. Kellen's magic wouldn't have helped us either.

~

I had just shut down the computer to call it a day when my phone rang.

Vaughn Thompson. Quen's lawyer. That rarely boded well.

“Good evening, sir,” I greeted, glad that the coughing fit was on the other end of the line and not directly in my face.

“Dustin,” Mr. Thompson gasped, ”I'm sorry. It's-” - he gasped again - ”urgent.”

“Oh. What happened?” I squeezed my eyes shut and immediately had horror scenarios in my head.

“Two things. Quentin's in trouble again.” He coughed dry. “This time, the judge in charge is not at all pleased and has revoked his probation. One more incident and he'll get a few more months.”

I had to wait with my answer until another coughing fit had subsided, otherwise Mr. Thompson would hardly have heard me. “My brother's been in trouble since he started kindergarten. What is it this time?”

“Fighting in the jail yard.”

“That's nothing new...”

“No.” Mr. Thompson croaked, clearing his throat. “The real problem is that I can't stand in for him any longer. My lungs need warm sea air if I want to live a few more years. Early retirement is waiting.”

Great, I thought, while another cough pounded in my ears. Knowing my brother, he would end up with some defense attorney and then very soon sit in prison, probably for a long time. Mr. Thompson was a friend of Dad's and good at what he did.

“Dustin,” Mr. Thompson gasped, “Quentin's a good boy. But he needs to get out there and take his chances. See that you get him a new lawyer that he'll accept and-” - coughing fit - ”and that he behaves himself at least until-”

“Sir, Quentin is absolutely stubborn. If he'd ever listened to anything I said, he wouldn't be where he is now,” I objected and got a sigh back.

“Are you giving up on him? Because of petty things?”

“Even petty things add up, but no, of course not. I'm just saying that I don't see much hope.” And where did I get a good, affordable lawyer whom Quen would accept?

“Good, good. I won't drop him as a client, don't worry, but my health won't last much longer.”

“I'll take care of it,” I promised, staring at the black screen after a few polite phrases of goodbye. It probably wasn't fair, but if I could have swapped Quen for Nico as my brother, I would have.

~

With the thought of how this had been an absolutely shitty day, I pressed my face into the pillow. I was simply overwhelmed, I could easily admit it. What I was somewhat ashamed to admit was that Kellen's appearance also overwhelmed me to some degree.

God, the man had matured visually into, yes, a god and I knew he was one in bed too and- ugh!

But what had made that night back then so special had been our magic, which, despite being so different, had interwoven so harmoniously, sharing and amplifying our sensations and creating a deep feeling of connection. I had never met anyone else whose magic harmonized so well with mine, sang the same song.

Sexually, Kellen had ruined me. I mean, my experiences before had been very limited- what kind of opportunities are there in a Montana backwater- but afterward? Real satisfaction was a looking different and it had ruined my two attempts at a relationship thoroughly. With the cop - for whom I had only been the fling and whose name we won't mention - I had put up with mediocre to bad sex, simply because I wanted a boyfriend at all, and had therefore been doubly disappointed in the end.

So, yes. Jerking off to old memories was one thing, but maybe I should just sleep with him again- now that he was magic-less, disillusionment was bound to set in. It should set my head straight, level my expectations.

Instead of disillusionment, though, the thought simply caused my hand to wander into my pants. My memories mingled in my imagination with Kellen's new looks. Strong arms to my left and right, pinning my hands to the wall above my head while his magic held me in the air. A well-toned chest with yummy pecs in front of me. Sizzling magic like a cocoon around us.

My post-orgasmic bliss was slightly disturbed by a ping from my phone. As it wasn't that late, I couldn't convince myself to just ignore it. So I cleaned myself up and then picked up the annoying black thing.

“Breakfast tomorrow at eight in your office? My treat.” Kellen wanted to know.

The first thing to cross my mind was that I would have preferred breakfast in bed, but I certainly wouldn't write that. So I just sent back a thumbs-up emoji.

And now that my sexual appetite was sated, I gave in to more romantic daydreams to help me fall asleep.