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My two babies looked at me like I was a freak before both plopped onto the ground for some belly scratches. I knew it was a trap, though, so I scratched each with one finger, avoiding their sharp claws that were at the ready for the second my hand landed on a belly.
I got my keys and locked up. There was a feeling settling over me, like I was doing the right thing. After my freak-out with Beckham, I realized I needed more than just therapy. I needed closure. And one of the ways I could get that was… well, figuring out who killed Derrick. The police had spent a couple of months investigating but ultimately found nothing, and at times were even hostile toward me when I started asking questions. It put me off digging any further at the time. I was young and scared and so, so terribly hurt.
Not today. There was a fire in me, and I was going to keep it burning for Derrick.
My car was a mess of receipts and textbooks, random binders of all different colors on the floor. I wasn’t the most organized, that was for sure, and for some reason my car was ground zero for all my junk. Only one more year, I reminded myself, and then I could put all the notes and textbooks into a big box and sink it down to the middle of the ocean. On top of the mess, I set a well-kept binder holding all the documents I had from the assault and murder.
On my way to Stonewall Investigations, my phone rang. For a split second, I let my hopes run ahead of the seventy miles per hour I was currently pulling down the highway.
Of course it wasn’t Beckham somehow finding my number.
“Hey, Will,” I said as the call connected to my car.
“Hey,” my friend’s voice came through the speakers. “You’re coming today, right?”
“Ugh, shit, I can’t, Will. I’m doing something down in Miami.”
Today was our usual lunch at a taco place near our apartment building. We’d go to the beach and jog our pico de gallo–fueled sins off. It was one of the only things that kept me level-headed when school got too stressful, especially at the start of vet school.
“That’s fine. You going to be down there for long?”
“I’m staying at my brother’s for a few, yeah. I think I want to find Derrick’s killer.”
“Oh, whoa.” The surprise was obvious, even through the phone. “Shit, man. All right, yeah, go do that. You know I’ve got your back. But, wait, you’re not doing it yourself, right? Like going Batman or some shit?”
I laughed at that. Outside, the open farmlands had transformed into communities filled with spacious two-floor homes.
“No, no. I’m getting help for that. Going to my brother’s detective agency.”
“All right, well drive safe, then, and keep me updated.”
“Will do, Will.”
“Talk later.”
The call hung up and was replaced by a kick-ass Taylor Swift song. I lowered the windows and upped the volume, letting my inner Swiftie flag fly as I tapped on my steering wheel and sang out the song, adding words to whatever lyric I didn’t know.
By the time I pulled into a parking spot, I had belted out a song from each of the pop divas, further enhancing my gay superpowers in preparation for what was ahead.
Stonewall Investigations was already an immediately inviting building. A shaded walkway cobbled with stone led up to the main entrance, the bubbling sound of a fountain surrounded by bright green plants adding a sense of calm. A rainbow flag waved in the soft salty breeze that carried in from the ocean, only a few streets away. I knew my brother had found a job here after his time as a police officer, but he didn’t talk much more about his job. It could be because he had fallen deeply and madly in love with a fellow detective at Stonewall and was most likely still shy about it, knowing my brother. So all I knew walking in was that the detective agency helped any person who walked in through those doors, but was an exceptionally safe space for LGBTQ+ folk like me.
I’d spent time giving interviews in police stations. Spent time under the stony and cold glare of a police captain as I cried about losing my boyfriend in my own arms. Talking to detectives who could be overhead chatting nonchalantly about the pussy they were bagging later in the night.
It was gross and demeaning, and a lot of times, I didn’t feel like many in that station had my back or the back of my murdered boyfriend. Some officers did, and some were overly kind with me, and those few left their marks. But some were openly hostile toward me during a time when I needed help the most.
I didn’t want to play Russian roulette with finding help. I knew everyone at Stonewall Investigations would be open and willing to help me, and so I felt quite assured and safe walking into the main waiting area, immediately being greeted by a curly-haired girl sitting behind a long desk, her smile as bright as all the natural sunlight that filled the warm space. Her white blouse dotted with tiny flowers made her teeth seem almost reflective with how white they were.
“Hi, welcome to Stonewall Investigations! I’m Holly. How can we help you today?”
Her positivity was nice. It helped relieve pressure from my shoulders. I was definitely feeling anxious about this entire thing, and second thoughts did occur on the drive over, but for some reason I couldn’t quite place, stepping into Stonewall felt like the exact right thing to do.
“I’m actually looking to speak with a detective. I’ve got some questions that need answering… wow, does that sound like I’m a mob boss or what?”
Holly laughed at that, snorting toward the end of her laugh fit. “You know, you kinda look like—”
“Jonah Brightly? Yeah, he’s my older brother.”
“I was actually going to say a younger Neil Patrick Harris, but yeah, now that you mention it, I can see you and Jonah have the same nose.”
