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Trenton had destroyed a couple thousand dollars worth of equipment, and Gage had no way of replacing it, not now or for a very long time. It wasn't a top-of-the-line camera, but it was a damned good one, and it had taken him almost a year of saving to afford it used. The phone was not very old; he'd bought it new this year on a payment plan which he would still have to pay for another six months even though he no longer had the phone.
Gage wondered about his car as it hit him that it was still parked on the side of the road near state forest land. If it got impounded, Able would find out the truth of this night and his involvement with the DuCane Coven. His only option was to call the only friend he had. Friends were difficult for Gage. Having grown up in the Zen bar community, few parents wanted their kids hanging around with him.
His friends consisted of Eddie Boone and Joe Banks, two odd fellows much like him. They were a little older than Gage but had worked together at the Italian Restaurant for a few months and forged a loose comradery.
He hadn’t had much contact with Eddie since he married that vampire soldier and moved in with him at the DuCane estate. He totally lost contact with Joe when he hooked up with the Frenchman and moved overseas. Thankfully he still had a landline in the apartment, and he could reach it from the bed because there was no way he could muster the energy to get up.
Gage checked the time and decided to give him a call in the morning and take his chances on Able not finding out. He doubted Eddie's husband would appreciate him getting a call to pick up a car in the middle of the night, and he didn't want to get on the wrong side of any more vampire guards. Visions of Trenton flashed in his mind, and he winced, reliving the brutal punches and kicks, all disturbingly strategic to produce the most pain with the least physical damage.
He closed his eyes and tried to rest, relaxing his body and focusing on how to come up with the money to buy a new camera. Another job or ask Able for more hours. He would look into it once he was back on his feet. Sleep came gradually like a heavy warm blanket that blocked out the day’s events and quieted his mind.
CHAPTER TWO
Just before dawn, Lieutenant McKay stopped by his office to submit his report regarding the trespasser. "Sit down." He instructed once McKay had entered the room. Deacon remained seated behind his desk. He'd spent several hours going over CCTV footage of the Northern quadrant and contemplating if new security measures were in order.
He caught sight of Trenton leading the young offender away. The guy was much smaller than he had imagined. Deacon switched off the screen, seeing the young man in Trenton's custody gave him a sinking feeling. He'd been angry when the call came in, reporting that the trespasser had returned, and he took his anger out on that young man. It made him feel small in retrospect, but what's done is done, and the young man was far from innocent in the matter.
He only half listened to Lieutenant McKay as he was already aware of the incident and most of the details. “Trenton reported that he delivered the offender to his home following punishment.” McKay finished the report covering all the facts with no opinion of his own.
“What does that mean?” Deacon wanted details as to the offender’s return home.
"For a soldier like Trenton, that means Gage Montague was pushed or tossed from a moving vehicle into the vicinity of his home. He is most likely recovering on the side of a road somewhere or in a front yard." McKay did not pull punches on the delivery, and suddenly a shadow of judgment appeared.
"Don't stop there," Deacon ordered. "You have permission to speak your mind." He sat back in his chair and readied himself for some truths which he deserved.
"Gage Montague, although irritating, was no threat to us. He was a photographer taking pictures of badgers, and the badger's den was on coven property." McKay stiffened his back and looked straight ahead at his commander. "He needed firmer handling than just a talking to, but that could have been achieved through involving the Sheriff, which is normal procedure. It is my belief that Gage Montague did not deserve to be handed over to Trenton."
“You don’t like Trenton?” Deacon knew he was being an ass but wasn’t ready to admit his mistake with Gage Montague. He’d asked for McKay’s opinion, and he got it, unfortunately.
"Trenton is a good and loyal soldier who lives and thrives upon orders and will do anything without question. He'd pistol whip his own mother if you order him to do it. Trenton will never be a leader. Trenton is a tool, and it is our responsibility to use him correctly." McKay finished and sat in a stiff silence as Deacon contemplated his response. He'd been taken to task in a very few and clearly spoken words, and he was feeling every one of them.
"So noted." He stated, then stood up, and McKay did likewise. "You may go."
“Yes, sir.” McKay turned and was leaving when Deacon made a further comment.
"Contact medical services and follow up with Gage Montague to make sure he made it home." Deacon knew he had a responsibility to the young man, and his anger was no excuse for losing prudence in this case. McKay nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Deacon felt the weight of shame coming down upon him but managed to push it aside. He was doing his job, and although harsh, the punishment was not lethal, and the young man had broken their laws repeatedly. He wasn't proud of how he handled the situation, but he wasn't going to beat himself up about it either.
Finally, he gave into the urge and headed out to the blockhouse, also referred to as the exterior cells, to check the aura and get a feel for what Mr. Montague suffered. He hoped it would put the matter to rest in his own mind, and he could get on with his work.
It was nearing dawn when he punched in the code, and the door to the blockhouse opened. He stood outside for a few seconds readying himself to enter, knowing full well that the young man had suffered at the hands of Trenton Shift.
The room was used for corporal punishment, so the floor was solid smooth tile, and the walls were concrete blocks. There was a large drain in the center of the room, and the floor sloped very slightly toward it. A hose hung on the far wall is used for cleaning the area quickly and efficiently.
The room had not yet been cleaned after Trenton had used it. The air reeked of fear and pain, and the tile showed areas of blood spatter. He moved further into the room and took a deep breath; something was telling him to stay even as his better sense was urging him to walk away. The young man would heal, and Deacon would learn to better control his anger in the future.
One step after the other slow and thoughtful, brought him to the right corner of the room. The floor there was covered in blood spatter, and the emotions emanating from the walls reached out to him. He took several deep breaths hoping the sensations running through him were wrong, a misunderstanding, and simply situational effects, but the burning in his mind and the heaviness in his heart told him what was true. Deacon got down on one knee and touched the dried blood on the floor, and it called out to him.
He got back to his feet and walked over, grabbed the hose from the wall, and turned it on. In several sweeping moves, he washed the blood from the floor, where it was concentrated in the right corner and along the back wall. He had to remove the essence that was torturing him, and washing it away seemed the only remedy.
When finished, he returned the hose to the wall and walked out of the block house, locking the door behind him. The sorrow and the pain of that room was tearing him apart, and he needed to get somewhere private before he lost all control and went after Trenton Shift in a murderous rage.
He couldn't say the words. He couldn't admit it to himself until he reached his quarters on the second floor east wing. He had no neighbors in the apartments directly to his right and to his left, so his breakdown would not be overheard. He closed the door and instantly put his fist through the wall of his foyer and then repeated the action in his living room, punching a hole through the wall by the couch. His heart was breaking, and his breath was choking him.
The discovery that the young man, Gage Montague, was, in fact, his Fated beloved was something that hit him like a sledgehammer and left him crushed by the realization that he'd ordered his beloved beaten to a bloody pulp. His mind refused to process the truth when it hit him at the blockhouse, but his heart was shattering with the aura of fear, pain, and sadness that permeated that room. Washing the blood and the tears away did not lessen the agony of his discovery, and he found himself unsure of how to move forward and if it were even possible.
Deacon pulled his fist from the wall, fell onto the cushioned leather chair next to the couch, and dropped his head into his hands. Fate had screwed him over to the point that he may never know the love and attachment of his Fated beloved. After years of watching and waiting for his beloved to appear and Fate sends him disguised as an enemy.
