Capturing Perfection
Second Edition Excerpt
Detective Clayton Phillips stared at the screen of his ancient desktop as the words of the report for his latest bust ticked onto the screen letter by letter. He swore he had the slowest computer in the entire precinct. The letter keys were so stiff that each strike felt as if he were taking a gavel to a strong man's attraction at the local carnival. The monitor had the annoying habit of sometimes flickering colors from magenta to a greenish yellow, and he heard grinding noises from the CPU sitting on the floor at his feet. He could usually get the monitor to behave if he gave it a few hard smacks, but he'd gotten dirty looks from the IT gremlins when he suggested he try the same thing with the tower. His sergeant told him to put in a requisition request for a laptop, but Clay wasn't holding his breath of that coming to fruition anytime soon.
His frustration levels had reached maximum capacity. Of course, it didn’t help that the maintenance crew was working on the air conditioning in his South Boston station, and the air in his office was as stifling as the dankest jungle on earth. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple, and the cotton of his shirt stuck to his damp back in the July heat. A fresh cup of coffee sat on his desk. As much as he needed the caffeine after spending all last night on a stakeout, he couldn’t stomach the idea of drinking something hot. He could make it an iced coffee, but that would require the station breakroom icemaker to work, or he could beg an energy drink off one of his colleagues. Dalton usually had some stashed in his desk. However, Clay was on Dalton's shit list at the moment because he'd drank the man's protein shake the other day. To be fair, Clay bought the same brand, and he'd forgotten that he'd finished his last one. His shopping list told him to restock his supply, but he'd yet to make it to the store this week. Dalton would get over his snit when Clay gifted him a couple of replacements and throw in some goldfish crackers. The man's hangriness resembled a toddler's, but bribery worked on him just as easily.
He scrolled his mouse to the top of the report; the cursor leaving a faint white trail behind, and methodically re-read every line, double-checking the accuracy of each detail. A frustrated sigh escaped his lips as he finished reading the suspect's confession. Criminals may be getting dumber every day, or with the massive hike in inflation the last few years and the cost of necessities skyrocketing, more people were getting desperate enough to commit stupid crimes. Take, for instance, this last case. Unemployed for the past three months, a twenty-two-year-old construction worker resorted to shoplifting from a local convenience store. What could have been a Class C misdemeanor, a minor offense, escalated into a serious felony when the clerk, in a moment of heightened tension and fear, confronted the attempted thief with a firearm he had been keeping concealed beneath the counter. During their struggle, the gun accidentally discharged, tragically resulting in the clerk's death. Clay had brought the suspect in, and as soon as the man was in the room for questioning, he broke down, sobbing and explaining that his sole motivation was getting diapers for his kid. One man died, and the incident profoundly and irreversibly altered another man's life. In his heart, he hoped that the district attorney wouldn’t put the screws to the kid too badly. The circumstances made Clay sympathetic, although he knew the man had to pay for his crime.
Clay clicked the file closed and sent it off to his captain. As he did, his eyes landed on the photo of Logan, his foster brother. The photo showed Logan in full combat fatigues and field gear. Behind him was a snow-capped mountain, and beneath his feet was the arid ground of Afghanistan. On his face was a smile Clay hadn’t seen since their early college days together, before everything had changed. He touched the image in the metal frame, wishing he knew how to help Logan find that smile again.
That he and Logan once again lived in the same city—not to mention the same apartment—was a miracle. But it paled compared to old times. Logan hadn't survived his time in the service without scars. Both internal and external. A medical discharge prematurely ended his career as an Army Ranger. But had Logan contacted Clay when his injury changed the trajectory of his life? No. Had it not been for a phone call from one of Logan's platoon buddies, alerting Clay to his separation from the military and expressing concern that Logan might end up on the streets, Clay was certain he would never have been in contact with Logan again. Clay had begged for details about Logan's flight home before his teammate had finished talking.
Sixteen years ago, Clay's youthful recklessness had caused a significant rift in his relationship with Logan, a fracture that still resonated. Over time, Clay had come to accept the heavy weight of guilt he carried for driving his best friend away. Nine years had passed since he'd last seen Logan, and though he'd striven to progress and rebuild his life, a persistent and unshakeable hollowness lingered within him, a void that no amount of forward momentum could ever seem to fill. However, regardless of time passed and the turmoil of a strained relationship, there was no way he'd turn his back on Logan. With Logan now living in his home, Clay was resolute in his commitment to aid Logan's recovery from his injuries and, equally important, to restore the deep bond they had forged since their shared arrival in the Shelby household at thirteen.
Clayton and Logan, the deadly duo as Mrs. Shelby had once called them, had been inseparable throughout their teen years. When their individual worlds had exploded, the foster system had thrown together the two teenagers, and they'd forged a bond thicker than the blood of those relatives who’d mistreated them. Being foster brothers in a house filled with love but meagre means, it was second nature to share everything. When Clay had suspected he differed from their peers, it prompted the first secret he’d kept from Logan. In high school, it had been easy to put off any unwanted advances of the female variety. They’d always been busy with one sports team or another. They’d known scholarships were their way to college since they had no family to pay the way. As much as the Shelbys loved them, there was no extra cash to pay college tuition for a couple of kids they’d taken in from social services. When Clay and Logan weren’t practicing or competing, they’d hit the books with uncharacteristic teenage zeal.
Eventually both of them earned enough need and merit based funding to make up the bulk of the tuition for the University of Massachusetts. The financial aid office helped them apply for loans to make up the difference and they'd enrolled. Without the support of the Department of Children and Families, Clay and Logan navigated life on their own. The Shelby's kept in touch, but Clay and Logan tried not to take advantage of their generous hearts. As their world expanded with new friends and opportunities on campus, Clay found it difficult to suppress his private longings. A quiet battle waged beneath the surface of his daily routines. By sophomore year, restless and yearning to experience an intimate connection with another person, he'd been ready for a change. However, life was a cruel bitch because while his dick would twitch at the hot guys in the classes or at the gym, his heart only beat for one man. Logan. Clay believed revealing his sexuality to Logan would inevitably reveal his feelings for him. Clay loved his foster brother, but knew Logan's history meant his love would never be reciprocated.
So here he sat in his cramped office with probably a hundred hours of work that needed his attention, but his mind drifted through time back to that night at the end of their spring semester sophomore year…
He sat on the couch in their cramped, nearly uninhabitable apartment watching a movie. He looked over at Logan, who was reading the chapter assignment for their Policing the Urban Milieu class.
"So … I have a date this Friday," he stated.
"Really? Since when have you sought a girlfriend?"
"I didn't say it was a girl," Clay said under his breath.
Logan slammed his book shut and stared in shock. "Clay?"
He shut off the TV and faced Logan. He rubbed his hands across his face several times and took a deep breath. "I'm gay. I've known it for a long time, but never said anything because I wasn’t ready to deal with it. Not to mention, with everything you went through, I figured you wouldn't want to hear about it. I'm tired of sleeping alone. I'm tired of being alone."
"I didn't think either of us were alone."
Clay winced at the hurt expression in Logan's eyes. Those smoky blue eyes that could pull his deepest darkest secrets from him with a simple look or make his heart race in a saccadic rhythm faster than the beat of a hummingbird's wings. Admitting to Logan his proclivities towards their sex was one thing; it was quite another to confess why his breath caught every time Logan touched him. Or why his cock thickened when he caught Logan dashing into their bedroom, fresh from the shower. It was completely impossible to declare, when on the rare occasions he heard Logan jack off at night in the twin bed across the room, Clay wished it was his hand wrapped around Logan's cock or his mouth tasting the salty essence as he found release.
"I don't mean alone, alone. I just mean, I'm tired of not having someone to touch. Someone to touch me. I love you, Logan, but that's something we could never have."
It was something they could never have. To think otherwise would lead both of them down a road ending in disaster, and he couldn't put that on Logan. He couldn’t hurt the one person who’d stuck with him. His drunken father never had cared enough to feed him, let alone show love; his mother had run off before he’d turned three. Clay couldn’t even remember her. But from the time Logan showed up at the Shelby's, he'd never abandoned him.
"I see. Well then, congratulations. I hope you find what you’re looking for."
Clay had watched as Logan opened his book and started reading again. That was it? No comment? No questions? No yelling? Oh shit … no yelling. He knew when Logan yelled he was just letting off steam, but when he went silent, watch out because he was really pissed off. “Logan?”
"Yeah?" He didn’t take his eyes off the page of the book.
"I’m sorry I didn’t tell you."
“It’s fine.”
“No, you’re quiet. That means it’s not fine.”
“Drop it, Clay.”
He swiped the book from Logan’s hand. “Look at me, Logan.” He winced when the eyes that only a moment ago had been soft and pliant with hurt, now burned with fury.
“Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You’re gay. You’re going out on a date because you wanna get laid, and you don’t need me anymore.”
Clay moved closer and attempted to pull Logan into his arms, but Logan jerked away and jumped off their lumpy saggy sprung couch. Logan backed across the few feet of their living, dining and kitchen area with his hands out. “Don’t touch me!”
Clay’s heart shattered at the distrust in Logan’s voice and stance. He knew Logan had issues with homosexuality. He wasn’t a bigot. He was a victim, and all those fears and memories were clearly rearing their ugly head. Clay tried to tell himself that it wasn’t him Logan was running from; it was the past, but that didn’t stop the pain.
“That’s not it at all! Yes, I want to date, and yeah, I wanna get laid. Don’t tell me your right hand doesn’t get tired from time to time. But to say I don’t need you? That’s ridiculous. I’ll always need you.”
“Well, maybe, I don’t want you anymore.”
A searing pain ripped through Clay’s chest as Logan stared daggers at him for a few seconds, then walked out of the apartment… After that confrontation, Clay remained in bed for two days, the sheets damp with tears and his thoughts heavy with regret. Logan had never returned to the apartment, but Clay had hoped to see him at the exam for their Sociological Methods class. However, when he’d arrived and Logan was conspicuously absent,his professor informed him that Logan had pleaded to take the exam earlier that day. Clay came home to find the apartment devoid of Logan's things; his clothes and books were gone, leaving behind an unsettling vacuum. Logan left no note, and Clay knew his confession had turned the love of his only steadfast supporter into hate.
Now, sixteen years later, Logan was back, and the adult who lived with him was a shell of the young man he’d loved. In the month since his discharge, each moment of silence that stretched between them was agonizingly painful. He knew Logan was trying to adapt to his limitations after his injury, but God, Clay missed him.
The ringing of his phone sliced through his melancholy thoughts, startling him from his reverie. Before he lifted the receiver to his ear, he took one last look at the photograph, his eyes lingering on the smiling face captured within.
“Hello?”
“Detective Phillips?”
“Yes.”
“This is Lieutenant Armstrong over in district A-1. We received a call from Ho Yuen Bakery in Chinatown. It appears that a man by the name of Logan Callen is causing some type of disturbance in the establishment. We ran his name in the system, and it came up that your addresses match.”
Clay stood and looked around his desk to make sure he had his badge, weapon, wallet, and keys. “He’s an old friend crashing with at my place for the foreseeable future. What’s going on? Logan’s not violent.”
Clay crossed his fingers for the small fib. Logan had a nasty temper when pushed, and Clay suspected the things Logan had seen and done in the Rangers would make most people avert their gaze, like watching a horror film. However, Logan wasn’t violent by nature.
“All I know is that some patron called the police saying Mr. Callen suddenly screamed, and now he won’t speak to anyone or move.”
“Shit. I’m on my way. Can you tell the uniform not to engage? It’s possible he’s having a flashback, or some kind of anxiety attack. They recently medically discharged him from the Rangers because of a combat injury. As far as I know, this is the first time he’s gone over two blocks from the apartment by himself. Also, Logan has a severe hearing loss in both ears, so he can’t actually hear someone speaking to him. I’ve taken up stock in Post-its since he came home.”
“I’ll do what I can, detective, but I suggest hauling your ass to Chinatown as fast as you can.”
