Page 12

Chapter Twelve

Taz

Taz’ safe place wasn't really comfortable or even all that safe, but it carried the cold familiarity his racing mind desperately needed to combat the spiraling chaos that consumed him. He'd come here often as a teenager. Nights when it was too dangerous to go home, when he just wanted to feel protected, or simply wanted to be closer to the one place he'd felt most himself. Theo hadn't lived in this building for years, but the memories were alive and well. Memories of so many cold, quiet nights spent trying to drown out the deafening white noise that hijacked his brain.

The air was thick, lingering too long in the lungs and invading his sinuses with the pervasive aroma of damp concrete, acrid detergent, and cloying mildew. A tangle of pipes snaked over the low-hanging ceiling, occasionally groaning like a grouchy old man protesting the aging process. A staccato drip-drip-dripping sound clawed Taz’ thoughts into a rhythm that echoed the soundtrack of his past. You're such a waste of space, Timmy. I should have left you on the side of the road, Timmy. You ruin everything, Timmy.

“Shut. Up!” Taz lurched forward to clutch his hair in both fists, his eyes screwed shut to block out the flickering, seizure-inducing strobe effect of the solitary bulb swaying in a draft that brought nothing fresh to the miasma of decay. His ass ached, and not in a good way, as the cold concrete beneath him permeated his bones and exacerbated the tremors that wracked his body.

Nobody wants you. Your mother didn't want you. I sure as shit didn't want you. Do us all a favor and fuck off. Taz hiccupped on a quiet sob before struggling with the zippers of his fancy new backpack. He didn't deserve that, either. It was too clean, too new, too pristine. He’d ruin that, too. He ruined everything he touched. The white noise in his skull ramped up to a roar, similar to the hollow, haunting roar of a tornado.

By the time he got the front pocket of the bag open, all rational thought had been sucked into the tornado and his body moved on autopilot. He needed the noise to stop. He needed a moment of peace. He needed a touch stone, an anchor, a focus point to tether him to reality again before he could claw his way out of the rubble and try to rebuild some semblance of sanity. Again. Two steps forward, ten thousand steps backward. Story of his entire fucking life.

The quiet snick of the pocket knife opening made him flinch and nearly drop the blade. Tears flowed without restraint as he jerked the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his elbow to reveal the wreckage written on his skin—scars left by his monster of a father and decorated by his own hand in a desperate attempt to rewrite the misery. Each cigarette burn bore tiny hatch marks, morbid stars carved over painful memories. It was a sick and twisted game of tic-tac-toe that he refused to lose. He was utterly numb to the first bite of the blade that pierced the skin. The second brought a brief flash of clarity before the storm swept back into his thoughts. The third and fourth nicks did the trick. The handle of the pocket knife, Luke’s pocket knife, dug into his palm as he white-knuckled it, finally drawing his first full breath since leaving Elias’ house.

Time became a strange construct as the endorphins from his self-inflicted wounds swept through his system. The chaos was still there, lurking in the corners of his mind until it could pounce again, but for a brief, blissful moment, there was peace. No past, present, future. Just a suspended moment in time that was all of that and none simultaneously. A familiar knock in the now taunted at memories of then and he barely even recognized his own voice as it broke from his lips.

“Fuck off!”

Muffled voices and the scuff and scrape of the lock disengaging brought him back from the floating calm and slammed him back into reality. Disoriented, he blinked and then scowled at Theo’s frame looming in the door. It shut with a firm bang that caused him to flinch and tense and draw himself tighter, his back pressed to the crumbling concrete beneath the rusted metal shelves bowing under the weight of old bleach bottles and abandoned boxes of powder detergent gone solid with age.

“Seriously, fuck off.” Taz clutched the knife tighter, holding it flat to his chest with the opposite arm to hide the shameful evidence of how fucked up he was from the one person who knew it best.

“Taz,” came the soft, firm response.

“Go away, Theo.”

“Give me the knife.” Soft-soled shoes barely made a sound as the distance between them shrank. Theo crouched, his face clearer now, his expression strangely serene and painfully comforting—no pity, no shock, no judgment.

A manic laugh slipped from Taz’ lips as he resorted to his well-honed defense mechanism. The sound was bitter and filled with derision. “Why, so you can play the hero? Again?”

Not rising to the bait, Theo exhaled a quiet breath and shifted his stance, pivoting on the soles of his feet to land beside Taz with a grunt. He drew his knees up to rest his elbows atop them, one palm outstretched in a silent request. After a beat, his voice broke through the quiet.

“You always ran here.”

Taz’ fingers loosened just a fraction, easing his death grip on the knife handle. “Didn’t think you remembered.”

A nearly imperceptible shift brought their shoulders into contact. It was a simple press, a gentle pressure, an innocent touch that soothed the swirling chaos just a little bit more.

“T, I remember everything. I promised.” His fingertips gave a little flutter and Taz relented with a weighted exhalation. He tried to keep his hand from shaking as he placed the knife in Theo’s outstretched palm, but it was impossible. He calmly folded it closed and shifted to tuck it into the pocket of his jeans before relaxing back against the wall. There was another beat of silence before Theo’s quiet voice rose above the perpetual drip-drip-dripping background noise.

“There’s better ways to make it stop. You just gotta talk to someone. If not Luke or Birdie, talk to me. Promise?”

He let his head fall to rest temple to temple with Theo’s. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Promise me, Taz.”

“Fuck, you're so annoying.”

“T,” he warned in a low tone.

“Yeah, fine. I promise.”

“Thank—”

The strange peace around them disappeared amid a cacophony of loud, banging, aggressive knocks. Mere seconds later, the door all but fell off its hinges, slamming open to crash into the wall and reveal a pair of muscle-bound jocks wearing wide-eyed expressions. Theo and Taz both recoiled in shock, instinctively clinging to one another in a moment of fear.

“What the actual fuck?!” Taz recovered first, his temper flaring as it always did when he was confronted by things that go bump in the night.

“We got a problem,” Connor croaked, his movements jerky as he manhandled the door before physically lifting it back into the frame it no longer fit in.

“Huge problem. DEFCON Five level problem.”

Theo’s trembling was evident in the touch points between them as Taz impulsively tightened his embrace. The brief respite from his chaotic thoughts disappeared into the ether as a fresh wave of emotion crashed over him.

“What? Are the kids—”

“Kids are fine. I already called Ma.” Connor strode across the room, his long legs eating up the distance before he crouched down in front of them. “Listen, Teddy. We need to get you out of here.”

Taz’ arms squeezed even tighter.

“What do you mean?” Theo’s tension sloughed off him in palpable waves. Taz could taste the fear in the back of his throat.

“You're being framed.” Luke stepped forward and turned his phone toward them. Taz recoiled. Theo deflated. On the screen was an FBI bulletin with Theo’s face front and center. Cybercrimes, espionage, domestic terrorism. Taz nearly choked on his tongue before rage boiled up to overwhelm every other emotion.

“No, fuck that. That’s bullshit!”

“Shh, I know. Shh, baby.” Luke extended his hand to brush his fingertips under the hood of Taz’ sweatshirt and through his hair.

“Teddy, we can't let them bring you in. If they get their hands on you before we can figure this out, y’ain’t coming back. Do you understand?”

“Call Marissa! Didn’t you say we could trust her?!” Taz balled his fists tighter in the folds of Theo’s baggy crop top, as if he could somehow keep the horrors from happening by holding on harder.

“I did, T. She's fucking fuming, but this came down from the NSA. The CIA claims they have evidence of him working with the German fucking Chancellor.”

“Bahrenburg? What the fuck… I haven't… I haven't seen him in years! I went into the hospital when he came for a State dinner.” Theo’s head whipped back and forth, his gaze darting between Luke and Connor. “I don't understand! I've never even spoken to the man!”

“Teddy,” Connor blurted, clutching Theo’s cheeks in his hands to quell the evident rising of his panic. “I know it don't make sense, baby. It's never made sense. You been their target from the beginning. That's why we need to get you out of here. You need to trust me.”

Taz gripped Theo’s shirt like a lifeline as he watched the man crumble before his eyes. It felt like he was crumbling right alongside him.

“Theo, someone is on the way to get you somewhere safe. Birdie dropped off your bug-out bag with them. She and Dad are taking the kids out of town with the Secret Service. Connor got the Director to pull some strings and cover it up. But we need to get you out of here now.” Luke crouched down beside Connor and everything suddenly felt claustrophobic as fuck. Taz had to work hard not to give in to the urge to pickpocket Theo’s inhaler just so he could breathe. Judging by the short, shallow gasps Theo was taking, he needed it a hell of a lot more, though.

“Y-you just… decided all this?!” Theo roughly pulled himself free from Connor's grip.

Connor’s expression was the definition of crushed. “Yeah. Yeah, we did. Far as I can see, there ain't many other options. Baby, I can't—”

He didn't need to finish the sentence that his strangled sob cut short. They all knew exactly what he was referring to. Every single time one of the Alphabet Agencies promised to keep him safe, he nearly died. A creeping numbness tiptoed up Taz’ spine to engulf him in its punishing claws.

The silence that descended was cold and horrible and impenetrable. Enraged, no longer drowning in his own selfish misery, Taz shuffled to his knees and shoved at Connor and Luke both, taking the former by surprise enough to knock him clear on his ass. Luke had enough time to counteract the movement, twisting to catch his fall with the palm of his hand planted on the dank, water-stained floor.

“Fuck you both!” Incensed with fury, he balled his hands into fists and struggled to prevent the tears from taking over. “You're both hamfisted, half-wit assholes! You can't just muscle in and manhandle him into this! How fucking dare you?!”

“Timothy!” Luke’s voice tore through the thick, mildewed air like a crack of thunder.

“Fuck you!” His shout came out in a tangle of sound that was more sob than scream as he folded in on himself, crushed beneath the weight of guilt and shame and paranoia and the desperate, feral need to protect himself and Theo both. It wasn't rational. It wasn't reasonable. It was raw and reckless and wholly overwhelming in a way that left him floundering.

“T, it’s… it is wh-what it is.” Theo’s shaking hand landed on Taz’ shoulder and added just enough weight to completely topple his last defenses. “I need you t-to remember the promise.”

“Which one?” Taz snarled around a hiccup of a cry.

“All of them.”

“You c-call, I answer. No matter what.”

Theo’s nod was shaky. “No matter what.”

“Never forget.”

“Never. And the last one?” Theo leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Taz’.

“Talk to someone.”

Their arms flew around one another simultaneously, the embrace a merciless vice that was entirely too tight and would never be tight enough. Theo broke first, stifling the sounds of his weeping as he allowed Connor to help him to his feet. They needed a moment of their own. Taz was selfish to think otherwise. Hell, he needed a fuckton of moments of his own with Luke in the aftermath of this catastrophe and he wasn't even the one being spirited away by dark of night. As soon as they departed, the door hanging limp and useless from the hinges in their shadow, the tidal wave hit and the tornado returned. If Luke hadn't been there to catch his fall, he'd have face-planted the concrete and let himself waste away to become another stain on the ground of his hideaway from the world. A fitting end, he thought, if Luke weren't so fucking stubborn. He clung just a little bit tighter to his lifeline as the tears became a flood of biblical proportion.