CHAPTER 48
Morning came far too soon.
The apartment was unusually quiet. Billy sat at the table with his hood up, his nose buried in Lake’s enormous hoodie, slowly stirring his coffee with a spoon.
He hadn’t touched it. He was simply listening to the faint clink of metal against ceramic, running the spoon around the bottom of the mug again and again.
Maybe it was easier that way.
If he did something familiar, he could at least pretend for a little while that last night had never happened.
Rain fell outside the window. Almost all the snow had melted overnight, turning the courtyard into a gray mixture of mud and murky puddles. The weather was dreadful for December, especially so close to Christmas. Then again, it was perfectly normal for Dumpfield.
Billy ran the spoon around the bottom of the mug again.
He had barely slept. Fragments of the previous day kept flashing through his mind: the sawmill, gunshots, fire, screams. Then Rick and Aaron, alive. Their embrace. During the night, he had accidentally overheard part of their conversation, followed by the quiet sounds of kissing behind the door.
Billy buried his nose deeper into the collar of the hoodie.
He wasn’t going to think about it.
He just needed to get through the morning, sit for a while, and see what happened next.
A door creaked softly in the hallway.
He raised his head at the sound and immediately spotted Rick emerging from the guest room.
His hair was tousled, his eyes heavy with sleep. He stopped in the hallway as though he’d momentarily forgotten why he had come out at all, then noticed Billy.
“Good… morning,” he mumbled.
Billy gave a barely perceptible nod and silently turned his gaze back to the door.
Rick heard quiet footsteps behind him and realized Aaron had come out after him. He turned around.
Aaron didn’t look any better. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his face was tired. The top of his hair had been carelessly pulled back, while the loose strands fell softly against his shoulders.
Rick looked at Billy again, but Billy only glanced away awkwardly.
He suddenly felt something warm brush gently against his shin.
“Meow.”
Olive lifted her front paws and placed them on his foot, as though demanding attention. Rick looked down and smiled involuntarily.
The cat rubbed against his leg again, and he was just about to pick her up when a chair creaked softly. Olive startled, sprang away from him, and immediately darted off.
Rick raised his head.
Billy silently stood up and took a few steps across the kitchen. Rick watched as he picked up two mugs in turn and slowly poured coffee into them. First, he set one down on the table with a soft clink, then placed the second beside it.
He sat back down in his usual spot, wrapped his good hand around the cooling mug, and looked up.
For a while, the only sounds were the spoon quietly clinking against ceramic and the rain tapping on the window.
Rick took a sip. The hot, strong coffee warmed him pleasantly from within. He stole a glance at Aaron.
Aaron was sitting right beside him, almost touching his shoulder, looking down into his mug. He took a small sip, and Rick felt their knees brush ever so slightly beneath the table.
Rick smiled faintly.
Aaron said nothing. Only the corner of his mouth twitched.
Billy stared out the window, pretending not to notice anything.
***
Fragments of words and phrases changed every second and a half, as though the television had a nervous tic of its own. Sitting on the couch after breakfast, Billy mindlessly clicked through channels, never lingering on a movie, a morning talk show, or a sitcom with its mechanical laughter.
Everything blurred into one noisy, meaningless mess that he didn’t even try to make sense of.
Olive lay beside him, unusually quiet.
Parker slipped past, slightly hunched over, clutching his things to his chest. He was getting ready in a flurry, shifting his outerwear from one hand to the other and trying to find his keys, which, as usual, had gone missing at the worst possible moment.
“Where are you going?” Billy asked quietly without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Stopping by home before work,” Rick said with a grimace and a huff. “I want to change into my own clothes. I… desperately need to.”
“Okay, then…” Billy nodded.
Rick had almost reached the door when he heard him say, “Wait five minutes for me. I’ll come with you. I need to stop by home too.”
He turned around.
“Why? Aaron said you could stay here a little longer. We’re still the first ones who have to give statements, and that’s not going to take just an hour.”
Billy shrugged.
“I know.”
He turned his gaze back to the television.
Rick lingered in the doorway.
“Are you sure you want to go?”
“Yes.”
“Billy.”
Billy didn’t even look at him.
“What?”
Rick remained silent for several seconds.
Normally, Billy would already have started arguing, making a sarcastic remark, or at least trying to prove that he was fine. Now he was simply sitting on the couch, staring at the screen as though he didn’t even notice what was happening on it.
Rick exhaled slowly.
“Okay. I’ll wait as long as you need. Don’t rush.”
Billy nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Okay.”
Rick stood in the doorway for a moment, then finally went out.
He was heading for the exit, pulling on his jacket as he walked, when he turned his head toward the television and stopped abruptly.
“Wait,” he said, a little louder than he intended. “Go back to that channel.”
Without asking any questions, Billy lazily clicked the remote back. Footage of the smoldering sawmill appeared on the screen.
Rick frowned. His heart painfully skipped a beat. He stared at the television for several seconds.
Several workshops had burned down to their foundations, leaving only twisted beams and bluish-gray smoke. Dozens of firefighters rushed about, running, dragging hoses, darting from one place to another.
Despite the torrential rain, smoldering black flakes swirled through the air.
His fingertips went cold. Yesterday, the three of them had come within a hair’s breadth of death.
His hand began to tremble. Rick shoved it into his pocket and gripped his lighter. Nausea rose in his throat. He could still remember pulling the trigger again and again, emptying his magazine into a man he hadn’t even known.
The thought alone made him sick. But the moment he remembered what would have happened to Aaron if he hadn’t fired, his doubts disappeared. If he had to go through it all over again, Rick would do the same thing.
Then the camera cut to another shot. A familiar, well-groomed face appeared on the screen. A middle-aged man with a proud, straight back and gray hair that was becoming increasingly prominent at his temples.
Billy leaned forward slightly.
“Well, of course,” he muttered under his breath. “King’s already on the scene.”
Rick snorted.
“If he ever left in the first place,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “Turn it up.”
Billy raised the volume, and the mayor’s calm, well-trained voice filled the room.
“Our city has suffered a terrible loss tonight. The sawmill was part of our history, part of the lives of several generations of Dumpfield residents.”
King paused briefly, and the camera zoomed in on his face.
“According to preliminary information, this appears to have been a deliberate act of arson. I have already discussed the situation with Sheriff Hayes. We will find those responsible and hold them accountable.”
“What a bastard you are, King,” Rick muttered, raising an eyebrow sarcastically.
A floorboard creaked in the hallway. He turned and saw Aaron standing in the doorway.
Their eyes met. Rick couldn’t help remembering the previous evening, Aaron’s confession, and their kisses in the guest room that night. He felt a little self-conscious for a moment. They both knew what was between them now, but they hadn’t quite gotten used to it yet.
Aaron smiled slightly. Rick returned the smile, then turned back to the television.
“…so please, remain calm and orderly,” the mayor continued, holding his palms out in front of him.
Rick thought King seemed perfectly at ease, as though none of this had thrown him off balance in the slightest. Even the destruction of the sawmill didn’t seem to have bothered him much.
“People are frightened,” the reporter continued. “Many remember what happened in Dumpfield in the early 2000s, when the city was swept up in gang violence. There are fears that it could all happen again. What can you tell them?”
King paused to think before answering.
“I understand their concerns. Those events left a deep mark on our city’s history. But we managed to stand firm back then because people refused to let fear divide them. Dumpfield stood together, and I’m confident we can do the same today.”
The reporter listened attentively and nodded in understanding.
“And yet many people are now afraid to go outside,” she said. “What should they do if they notice something suspicious?”
The mayor smiled faintly. Rick had the feeling he’d been waiting for exactly that question.
“If you see anything suspicious, don’t hesitate. Call the police station immediately. Our officers are always ready to listen to your concerns and look into any information you provide.”
“What?!” Billy whispered, barely making a sound.
He turned to look at Lake.
“Detective, did I hear that right?! Did he really just say that?! We won’t clear this backlog for another month! They’re going to tie up our phone lines!”
“Holy shit…” Rick breathed. “He said that on purpose.”
He looked at Aaron. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest, silently watching the
screen.
“What?” he asked at last.
Aaron turned to him.
“I didn’t think he’d go on the offensive so openly.”
Rick glanced at the television, where the mayor was still answering reporters’ questions.
“Who cares what he knows? King’s decided to keep the entire station busy with calls from frightened residents. Very convenient for someone who wants to cover his tracks under all that noise.”
Billy shifted into a more comfortable position on the couch.
“If Mr. King thinks we’ll put the investigation on hold because of this, he’s mistaken,” Billy said. “Detective, what’s our plan?”
Aaron thought for a moment.
“If the calls really do start flooding in, we’ll have to distribute them in a way that keeps the station running without losing track of what we already know.”
“So we let him think he’s gotten what he wanted?” Rick asked.
“Let him think whatever he likes. The important thing is that he doesn’t know what we’re actually working on.”
Rick nodded.
“He acts like he’s put everyone at ease, but all he’s done is add fuel to the fire,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. “Now people are going to see a suspicious character in every passerby.”
“And Mr. King will buy himself time to clean up after himself,” Billy agreed. “While we’re busy following up on every call.”
“Exactly. We can’t let him distract us like this,” Aaron said.
Rick looked at him.
“What if we tried using this to our advantage? There’ll be plenty of calls anyway. Surely some of them will contain something genuinely important. Someone might notice something suspicious without understanding what it is, and that little detail could be useful to us.”
“That would require people to sort through the calls. But…” Billy paused briefly. “Things are already tense at the station.”
He fell silent for a moment, as though considering something else.
“And if Kowalski really was leaking information, King might have known what we were doing long before the investigation even began.”
Rick frowned and turned to Aaron.
“What did Hayes say?”
“What do you think?”
“I think she wasn’t thrilled.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Aaron said with a wry smile. “She’s already suspended Kowalski and launched an internal investigation. They’ll check his official communications, file access, and reports. They’re keeping everything quiet for now so they don’t scare off anyone else, if there are others.”
“Which means that until we find out what he managed to pass along, we can’t assume our plans will stay within the department,” Rick concluded.
Aaron nodded.
“So for now, we stick to the original plan. But we work on the assumption that King might find out what we’re doing.”
Billy lowered his gaze to his cast, then looked back at Aaron.
“Got it… So where do we start?”
Rick held his gaze for a moment.
“First, we figure out what you can actually do with that arm,” he said. “Then we’ll divide up the tasks.”
“I can work, you know,” Billy scoffed. “It’s just a stupid arm.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Rick replied calmly. “I said we’d divide up the tasks.”
Billy pressed his lips together. His jaw muscles tightened, but he didn’t argue. He simply nodded.
Aaron slipped his hands into his pockets.
“All right. Let’s get moving, then. We’ll figure out how to organize everything at the station.”
***
Saturday passed in a blur.
Despite Kowalski’s suspension, someone had managed to take advantage of the chaos and wipe away evidence at the station. Footage from some cameras had disappeared, while others had stopped working altogether. The database had been wiped clean, notes were missing, and the access logs looked as though they had never existed.
After King’s television appearance, things only got worse.
The phones on the desks rang nonstop. Frightened residents reported suspicious cars, strangers outside their neighbors’ houses, and people who had simply stood at a street corner for too long. Visitors crowded the lobby, whispering, arguing, talking over one another. The smell of wet jackets and cheap coffee mingled with the stuffy air and mounting irritation.
Real cases were drowning in the flood. They were put aside for later, but somehow no one ever got around to that elusive “later.”
After his interrogation on Saturday, Hong was put on medical leave. Of course, he protested, grumbled, and insisted he was fine, but Hayes stood her ground. Rick didn’t object. Billy had been through more than enough already, and his grandmother and Julie were waiting for him at home. At least there, he wouldn’t have to sit amid an endless stream of phone calls and pretend he was capable of working as usual.
Rick himself had been buried in reports about the shootout since morning. The deaths had raised even more questions: they needed to establish who had opened fire and under what circumstances, reconstruct the actions of everyone involved, and figure out what had happened during those ninety minutes.
The paperwork kept piling up, while the answers grew fewer.
He and Aaron had barely seen each other over Saturday and Sunday. Yesterday had been spent giving statements and explaining what had happened. Lake had already been to see the sheriff today and was now in his fourth hour of questioning with Internal Affairs.
Again.
Rick glanced at the clock. Christmas Eve was approaching, and there was still no end to the work in sight.
He stretched in his chair, straightening his stiff back. Several vertebrae gave a dull crack. Then he looked around.
The station had been decorated for Christmas: strings of lights blinking wearily beneath the ceiling, fir arrangements with bluish-gray branches, and a small artificial tree in the middle of the lobby. Beneath it stood a little table with presents for Secret Santa.
Everything looked cozy, almost homey. And completely at odds with everything happening around them.
At the reception desk, Maria was rubbing her temples as though trying to massage away the last of her patience. Mrs. Hunter and the other local “neighborhood watch” types had probably decided their moment in the spotlight had finally arrived, and were now telling her everything they knew. Along with a couple dozen things they merely suspected.
Rick rose with a heavy sigh. He patted his pockets, found his pack of cigarettes, and squeezed it in his hand. The cardboard was long since crushed, and the cigarettes themselves had warmed against his body.
He headed for the exit.
He needed some air. Even if only for a couple of minutes. A chance to escape the endless phone calls, other people’s voices, and the paperwork that seemed to multiply before his eyes.
Outside, he was met by freezing rain.
The whole city had been decorated for Christmas, but instead of snow, rain poured from the sky as though winter had decided to give up on being beautiful and take its frustration out on everyone at once.
Rick shivered and pulled his scarf tighter. The fabric smelled of home, warmth, and something so familiar it was almost ridiculous. He breathed in the scent and closed his eyes.
Rain pattered against rooftops, windowsills, and metal pipes. The gutters gurgled under the flow, and reflections of streetlights spread across the asphalt. Rick stood there for a while, listening to the steady rush of water. Gradually, the voices and ringing phones behind the door receded into the background.
He had always preferred warmth and sunshine. Rain had never been one of his favorite things, and yet something about it had changed in Dumpfield.
Here, the rain had become almost familiar.
In it, he didn’t have to pretend everything was all right.
The door creaked behind him.
Rick didn’t startle. The corners of his mouth lifted on their own. He knew who had come out after him.
Not from the footsteps or the voice. He just knew.
“I knew I’d find you here,” Aaron said quietly, holding the door with his elbow so it wouldn’t slam.
Aaron came to stand beside him and held out a cup of coffee.
“Thanks,” Rick mumbled, taking it.
The narrow awning left little room. Their shoulders were almost touching, and Rick couldn’t help noticing just how close Aaron was standing.
He looked exhausted: pale, rumpled, shadows beneath his eyes. Rick let his gaze linger on his face before turning back toward the street.
The warm cup felt good against his fingers.
“They kept you there a long time today,” he remarked. “You look… worn out. How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” Aaron said, taking a sip of coffee.
“Yeah, of course you are.”
The corner of Aaron’s mouth twitched.
Rick took one last drag. He pressed the cigarette butt into the bottom of the outdoor ashtray, took a sip of coffee, and looked at the rain.
He wanted to do something simple. Take Aaron’s hand. Lean his shoulder against his. Kiss him the way he had the night before, behind closed doors, when they didn’t have to think about other people watching.
Rick glanced at Aaron. He was looking out at the street, holding his cup in his left hand. His right arm rested at his side. A crease sat between his brows, not even a faint smile quite enough to hide it.
Rick moved his hand closer without drawing attention to it. Their fingers touched.
Aaron turned his palm slightly, and Rick hooked his little finger around Aaron’s. A moment later, their fingers were intertwined.
Rick kept looking at the rain, trying not to smile too obviously. His thumb slid over Aaron’s knuckles.
He gave the street a quick glance, then looked at the camera beneath the awning. The red indicator wasn’t lit. He turned to Aaron.
“What are you…” Aaron began, but Rick rose onto his toes and kissed him.
It came out a little awkwardly: the coffee cup was in the way, and Aaron clearly hadn’t expected things to take this turn. For a moment, he froze.
“The camera isn’t recording,” Rick breathed without breaking the kiss.
And the very next second, the kiss softened.
Aaron kissed him back, tilting his head slightly, and for a moment Rick forgot about the rain, the station behind them, and the people who could walk out the door at any moment. All that remained was the warmth of fingers against his cheek and the familiar closeness he had missed so much.
He pulled away first, even though he didn’t want to.
They both looked away.
Aaron took a sip of his coffee.
“How do you know?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.
“I was helping Reeves an hour ago,” Rick said with a shrug. “He’s on camera duty today.”
Aaron glanced sideways at him.
“Reeves, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“And what was Wilson doing?”
Rick had already raised his cup to his mouth when he froze and turned toward Aaron. A smile slowly spread across his face.
“Well, well,” he drawled. “Are you jealous?”
Aaron said nothing and looked away.
“Seriously?” Rick blinked at him in surprise.
Rick touched Aaron’s fingers again. Aaron laced them together, tucking their joined hands between them, behind the edge of their jackets.
“A little,” Aaron finally admitted.
“You don’t need to be,” Rick replied.
He wanted to say something else, but the door creaked behind them. Rick startled and released Aaron’s fingers.
A young man in a cap came outside carrying a large box.
“Good evening! I’m looking for Mr. Lake. I was told I’d find him here.”
“That’s me,” Rick blurted out. “Richard Lake. How can I help you?”
He froze, realizing what he had just said.
Heat rushed to his face, but a pleased grin was already playing on his lips. Rick glanced sideways at Aaron.
Aaron said nothing.
At first, he stared at Rick in undisguised surprise. Then his eyes narrowed slightly. Rick knew that look far too well.
Rick bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a laugh. He could have stayed quiet and let Aaron handle the delivery himself. But no. His tongue had outrun his common sense, and now it was too late to
back out. Besides, he wasn’t all that eager to.
“Excellent! Mr. Lake,” the courier repeated, holding out a form. “Sign here… here… and here, please.”
“Of course.”
Rick tossed his empty coffee cup into the trash can, bent over the form, and signed, trying not to look at Aaron. He was doing a terrible job of it: he could feel Aaron’s gaze on him, and with every passing second, he regretted more and more that he couldn’t sign paperwork and hide his face behind the box at the same time.
The young man took back the form and handed Rick the box.
“Here you go. Have a good evening!”
