BLACK VELVET (11) (Patreon)

(Incoming Message) Charlie-Anne:
I love learning about neutron stars. Have you read about when binary neutron stars coalesce?

(Incoming Message) Charlie-Anne:
I'll send you a link.

—
I've spent longer than I'd like to admit in the parking lot of the police station; a battle between morality and self-preservation is warring inside my head, and I'm hoping that I haven't made the wrong choice.

I told Tobias I'd pick him up —

Which is fine, really, quite the neighborly thing to do—

I guess.

It's a step better than grappling on the wet grass of my yard or giving each other mutually threatening looks, but I can't help but berate myself.

Why hadn't I asked him what he was here for?  Or, better yet, asked if I was some sort of alibi for a crime he'd committed— or if quite possibly I'd be posting bail. I've brought 200 dollars, just in case — which now that I think about it, probably isn't exactly bail bond material.

I sigh. Maybe I should've watched more crime dramas growing up.

—
I was hoping to wait in my car — but I come to the conclusion shortly after walking my way up the gravel drive that I have no way of alerting Tobias to the fact that I've arrived.

So, in a weird turn of events, and probably moronic faith that I won't somehow end up in jail as well, I stand in my raspberry purée covered khakis and baggy white sleep shirt outside the front door of Jameson's police station.

I prop open the glass door and shimmy my way inside, occupying my fidgeting hand by scraping at the dried fruit on my leg with my thumbnail —

Fantastic.

The police station is mostly empty towards the front; two uniformed men and one woman occupying the desks with computers.  They keep their heads down, the woman in the corner almost gnawing her No.2 pencil in half in boredom.

I approach her, trying to calm my jittery composure — and hoping that I look more out of place in a police station than 'hey, I'm crazy and a danger to everyone's safety, arrest me immediately.'

"Hi."  I squeak, and the woman's head bobs up, her tightly drawn bun pulling her forehead skin into a taught line.

"Hello, how can I help you?"  She asks, but her tone is curt and fatigued. There's yellow pencil paint on her chapped bottom lip.

"I got a phone call— uh, from my neighbor. He said I needed to pick him up or something... I'm not used to this — " I wave my hand in the general direction of all things security-related,  "I don't know where to go."

"... I don't suppose it's a bad thing not to be familiar with the police department,"  She tuts,  "Is your friend, by chance, Tobias Amadeus?"

"Are you allowed to say that?" I blush, stammering back— "I mean, yes — my friend. He is that.  Great friend."

She smirks, gathering her papers.

"Jameson is small; no one else is here tonight but him.  Quit fretting."

I deliver a quick nod, feeling a bit bad for lying.  I couldn't quite say that Tobias and I were even remotely close to passing into the frenemy border — I guess maybe the best label would be aggressive acquaintances who got in each other's personal space too often.  I find that I'm still worried about him, though.

"He's down the hall, near the cells."

I nod dumbly, yet again, and wander further in. I'm barely acknowledged as I turn down the left side of the building.  I use my fingers to brush the hair away from my forehead, sighing helplessly, and trying to satiate the nerves building in my stomach.

I have little time to worry over how ridiculous I might look with bedhead and unwashed pants because a while past the men and women in their desks — there's Tobias...

Near a holding cell.

I almost wonder why he hasn't been placed in the holding cell yet, and blanch at the thought of actually paying bail — or maybe that he had used me as an alibi and —

Then I stop.

I take a moment to absorb the sight of my neighbor, and my stomach is rolling with empathy.  He's almost unrecognizable through the amount of blood that's trickled from both his nose and a shallow cut on his forehead — and there's a forming bruise along his jaw and cheek line.

The dark-haired man's arms are cuffed behind him as a police officer hunches towards him, murmuring.  The serviceman waves his hand around flippantly as he speaks, appearing more like a father scolding his son. He's casually perched against his desk, ankles crossed. Tobias' eyes are averted, and he keeps rubbing dried blood from his face onto his henley with awkward angling of his neck.

"Dude,"  I pipe up, suddenly agitated, "could you not give him a tissue or something for that?" My bravery dies in my throat as the police officer spins around and gives me a hard look that almost looks like it's bordering on amused. "He has blood all over him— that's just rude."

And unsanitary.

Tobias' head snaps up as well, dark eyes shifting to where I stand.  There's a ghost of shame to him, relief quickly muddled in his embarrassment.

"... I assume you're here to pick him up?" The older officer asks, stretching back on his haunches as he pulls out a small set of keys.  I nod, and he undoes the cuffs on Tobias' wrists.  "Sorry, kid,"  he tells Tobias with a guilty grimace, "let your friend take you home and maybe play some games or something, cool your head.  Maybe find somewhere quiet to stay for the night."

"Uh, so —" shift from foot to foot, tugging a hand through my hair,  "that's it?"

"All done."  Ramirez is printed on his uniform top.  I lift my eyebrows at Tobias, feeling awkward after my outburst that had bordered on caring. He won't meet my eyes.

"Uh," I nod towards the door, "I have kleenex in my car. You can use it — the whole box, I mean. Probably.  No charge."

—
"So... Home?" I ask this after Tobias has finally settled into my passenger seat.  I can smell the warm waft of his cologne, but also the remnants of alcohol — and it's almost too strange to be so close to him in my tiny car. Given, it's hard to feel too anxious about the proximity when he looks like hell warmed over — and given that the man only looks worse under the barely-there light of the building.  "The tissues are in my glovebox."  I add, "I have a water bottle somewhere on the floorboard — and a blanket in the back."

Tobias nods, still quiet as ever as he props open the little grey compartment.  He takes a moment to dab at his forehead, eyes hard and narrowed on the road in the rearview, like somehow the dead of night has personally offended him.  The blood doesn't budge, caked, and crumbling.

"I can't go home."  He says. "... Drop me off at the motel."

I tell myself that I should've expected a cryptic lack of an answer, but still, I sigh.

"Or just come to my house?  Maybe —"   I try to reverse while in neutral, car bellowing with a loud vrmmm.  I give an anxious smile, shifting into the right gear, and pulling out.  "Uh, Nic's on some sort of class trip — oh, but — I'm sure he wouldn't mind... You can stay in his room; it still smells like paint fumes."

"Okay." 

I frown at his dull response, but he doesn't seem to prove to be any more of a conversationalist.

A few minutes pass, and the drive from the station feels longer than I remembered it being on the way in — but likely due to the fog of nerves.  I bite back a grimace at the awkward lack of verbal communication.  The road-lights are harsh on the sharp angles of Tobias' face, and his tired eyes look wary — lost in another world. 

I hit concerned an hour ago, and now I'm downright nervous. I've never seen him like this.

"So,"  I click my nails over the center console, and then flick my gaze from the dark road and over to him — then back again.  "The silence is cool and all — we can totally revert to it — but are you okay?  You look like a car hit you."

"Thanks."  The dark-haired man snarks, narrowing his eyes slightly.  He doesn't seem to be offended by the comment. "... Feel like it."  He adds on, for tact I suppose, but likelier to keep me from prodding to a greater extent.

"I'm serious, like— ah — should we actually be going to the hospital?" I shrug forward, readjusting myself in my seat as I watch the dark road ahead of us, shielded by trees,  "It's okay if that's what you need. What happened— what happened to you?"

"Nothing."  He shrugs. This is, of course, a blatant lie and obvious fuck off. I do, for about point two seconds. "Don't need the hospital."

"Nothing..."  I begin, ignoring the man's loud sigh, "Like FBI agents tell their spouses, nothing?  Like, are you secretly a violent criminal?  Or is there some sort of dastardly villain after you?"  I swallow at the uncomfortable look on his face, and my voices softens, "... Or is it something else? I mean... Is it worse?"

Tobias slides his hand along the window. His knuckles are rough, and his skin is broken.  He glares at me, but there's a sheen to his eyes.  I pause, thumbs skittering over leather as I chew my lip.

Worse.

--

Previous Chapter  | Next Chapter  |  First Chapter