Yesterday upon the stair

I met a man who wasn't there

He wasn't there again today

I wish that man would go away.

Hughes Mearns, "Antigonish"

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Brian…

Leather seats and the silent ticking of too much time stalled…

I am afraid to speak. I am afraid to speak and it's his nightmare.

We stare straight ahead. The ability to move has deserted us. We don't talk, we don't move. We don't have to. One look, one glance in my direction and I might fall apart. "Jus…."

"Don't. Stay like this, stay just. Like. This." His voice is flat, toned and pleading. God, I just want to hear his voice.

No words, the slight hesitation of my feet and his hand on mine. He smiles and stops walking, our presence hidden by brick walls and the upsweeping illumination of filament and life.

The roof is unclaimed territory, neutral space.

We stand at the ledge, suspended above the living, the dying... the indifferent. "Do you hear that?" he asks as he looks out at the night, a smile playing on his features. I pull a cigarette from my pocket and light it, the flame straining against the wind.

The music from the surrounding buildings spreads along the air currents. He shakes his head. I don't answer. I pull the cigarette from between my lips and pass it to him. He slides his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders, refusing.

"What?" I ask after we have been standing for what feels like decades. I look at the end of my cigarette and flick the eaten embers from the tip. He lets out a slow, shuddered breath as he turns to look at me. He smiles.

"Silence," he says as he leans his head back, looks towards the sky and slides his eyes closed. "Complete and total silence; there is nothing more worth amplifying."

He leans his head against the glass, his arms tight around his shaking body, the effort to suppress the tears choking through his nerves. "Do you still think it's true?" I press. I can't meet his eyes and he doesn't try to meet mine.

This night has gone on for far too long.

He shrugs his shoulders and leans into me, our chests bare and pressing. "What is the truth? Why is it so sought after, so important?"

I thread my fingers through his hair, the sweat-soaked sheets uncomfortable beneath me. "Everything you're afraid to say, whatever you refuse to acknowledge and the things you need to hear the most," I answer.

He sighs, accepting the answer and then challenging. "But why, why is it so important?"

The answer is intimate, the setting between him and me.

Sitting here, enveloped in it, do you still want to hear it, feel it?

Quiet.

He wraps his arms tighter around his body, trying to fold inside of himself. Beg the seat to swallow him whole. "It's the only thing I hear," he answers. A rouge tear trails a path across his skin.

The engine is cooled. My limbs are coming to life.

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Justin…

I said I wouldn't cry again.

I don't wait for his strength. I slide out of the car, off of the leather and into the air. My body doesn't wait for him to follow. My momentum is linked with his. I climb the stairs. The lift is too closed, too tight, too wanting. I need space and air.

"Come on old man, you're not too old to climb the stairs, not yet," I say weakly, my voice holding onto anything tangible. I refuse to cry but my heart is pumping tears. I reach the landing first and wait in front of the door. I have my own set of keys, my own way inside.

Brian steps into place beside me and slides his key into the lock.

Thanks," I say as I put the key in the lock, opening the door.

"I would sure love to see some of your pieces," he says with all sincerity. A numbing tingle of apprehension flashes through me and then it's gone.

I should know better. I do know better.

"You coming in, or you gonna stand out here all night?" Brian asks. I focus my eyes on his and force myself to smile. He stands to the side and I walk ahead of him, slowly.

The walls around me seem to swell and relax in the pace of one breath. I turn to Brian, my thoughts tilting on the edge of my vision. I want to tell him so much. I want to reassure him. I want to scream and cry.

I swallow a lump and step into Brian, closer to his smell and lean in, my arms letting go of pride and pretense as they snake their way around his body and under his jacket. I press him into me and start to cry.

Hot tears, free and uncommitted, pull from me. I hear him close the door.

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Detective Jorge Ramirez…

I open the refrigerator. I open and close it, gently tapping the pen in my hand against the front.

"You gotta admit," Josh says as he makes his way across the hardwood floors, trailing his eyes over paintings left unfinished, "the boy is talented." I nod my head.

"Yeah, I've seen his work before," I say as my thoughts walk over every inch of the studio, my brain working overtime. Josh continues to talk, his voice providing a distraction to the quiet. He moves around, snapping pictures, re-documenting.

I don't want to take a chance.

"In a gallery in… Chicago, I think," I add.

Ronnie Jr. …

I crawl off of him, making my way across the studio and over to the kitchen. There's nothing here, save for some wine and a couple of bottles of water. I turn the water on, as hot as possible.

I slip my wedding ring from my finger and sit it on the countertop. It was always too big. I plunge my hands into the water, pausing to pump soap into my palm from the bottle next to the sink.

My wedding band catches the sun and my head snaps up. My spine stiffens as I slowly turn my body to face the counter, all the air abandoning my lungs. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus, for my fingers to stop trembling and for my body to process my commands to move forward.

"Son of a bitch," I whisper. Josh walks up next to me, camera in hand.

"What?" he asks. "Did you find that needle in the haystack?" He turns his attention to where I am looking, my jaw set and my eyes determined. "Fuck!"

I nod. I nod and I sigh and I smile as he starts to snap pictures.

"Congratulations," I say, "we just found probable cause. I want him in our custody before lunch." Josh doesn't answer. He is on the radio before I can finish my sentence.

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Brian…

My skin is heated and welted red where he scratched and clawed, trying to get closer, closer. I sit up and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. I hear him sigh and I turn to look at him before getting up and walking silently to the bathroom.

I flush the toilet and look into the mirror as I wash my hands. "Morning," he says as I walk out of the bathroom. His eyes are rimmed in red and soaked in old tears. I smile.

"You okay?" I know the answer already, but it's customary to ask.

"Yeah," he says sarcastically, "I'm merry fuckin' sunshine." He wipes the sleep and tears from his eyes and struggles to sit up in the bed.

I walk down the stairs and he follows me, lining up his pills on the counter and taking a drink from the bottle of water that I hand to him.

This day has just started and it feels too long all ready.

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Jordan…

I pause at the bottom of the stairs, the glare of the noon sun slicing through the upstairs window and the plastic tarp moving with the wind. My senses focus in all directions, the hair on the back of my neck standing up.

The phone starts to ring as I stare up the stairs. I move down the hall reluctantly, my heart gradually slowing to an even pace.

I can't shake this feeling, this nervous feeling that is pressing in on me. "Hello?" I answer as I pick up the phone.

"Hey, babe, I'm in between meetings, just calling to check in." I hear my husband's voice and I smile sadly, missing him.

"Hey," I say as I pause to listen. I can almost swear I hear something. I'm being paranoid. "I miss you. Any chance you're coming home early?"

"I wish I could."

I nod, I understand. "It's okay," I say, "I miss you."

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Ronnie Jr. …

I retreat into the empty bedroom, boxes of furniture, unopened and lining the walls. I lean against the wall and wait. I wait for the right time, my blood chilled with anticipation.