Page 25 of Caroled
“That’s not what I mean,” Charles said, deciding to ignore for now Ten’s near slip of the tongue. “You’re not…. You don’t fit anywhere that you should.”
“I fit with you, do I not?”
Charles sighed. “Yeah. But I’m a misfit too.”
“You fit with me. You fit with the Leonards and with Abe and Thomas. There are over two billion sentient beings on this planet, and none of them are quite like you. You are sui generis, and that is a thing to be celebrated, not mourned. Anyone can be normal. Only you can be Charles Grimes.”
After a pause, Charles gave a reluctant nod. He stirred four spoonfuls of sugar into his tea and took a big swallow, heedless of the inevitable burned tongue. Then he returned the spoon to the cup and stirred some more, just because he liked the sound it made. It reminded him of his mother, who used to sit with him at the kitchen table while he did his schoolwork, watching him and stirring and saying little unless he asked for help. If he concentrated hard, he could recall her expression. No frustration or impatience or resentment at being stuck with this odd child. Instead she looked at him with a sort of quiet amazement, like a woman who’d been handed an unexpected and astonishing gift.
He’d never realized that until now.
“She never said she loved me.” Where had those words come from? Charles wanted to take them back.
But it was too late, and Tenrael was shaking his head slowly. “I am hardly an expert on the topic of love. But I have watched people for a very long time. I know the contents of their worst nightmares. And I know that many people show their love without words.” His voice was unusually soft, so muted that an ordinary man might not have heard it over the sounds of the other customers. As they had just established, however, Charles was no ordinary man.
The waitress brought the cake and tapioca—thankfully without comment—and gave Charles more hot water. The chill had left his bones by then, but he drank more tea anyway. While he ate, he thought about his mother, who’d taken great care to shield him from harm and who’d made sure she had enough life insurance so that after she died, Charles could afford to go to college as long as he lived frugally. She’d taught him to be independent, to survive in an often-harsh world, to keep himself together in adversity and isolation. Maybe she should have taught him some softness too. But maybe his contrary and unnatural nature would have taken that softness and twisted it into something dangerous or obscene. He’d never know.
“I’ll be right back.” Abandoning Tenrael with the empty dishes, Charles strode to the phone booth. With his sensitive ears, closing the wood-and-glass door did little to muffle the sounds from the diner, but at least Collins would hear him more clearly.
Collins had given Charles the direct number to his office so he wouldn’t have to deal with the police department operators. But when the call was picked up, the voice on the other end was unfamiliar.
“Detective Collins, please.”
“Who’s this?” The man sounded angry.
“I need to speak to Collins. Is he in?”
“Where the hell is he?”
Queasiness uncurled in Charles’s belly, but he kept his voice calm. “If I knew where he was, would I be calling his office and asking for him?”
“Look, I don’t have time for any funny business.”
“And I’m not joking. This is Charles Grimes with the Bureau of Trans-Species Affairs. Detective Collins is assisting me in an investigation, and I need to reach him.”
“Goddamn feds,” the man grumbled quietly, away from the receiver. But Charles heard him. Then, after a long pause, the man spoke again. “He never checked in at the end of his shift last night and never showed up today. We called his house, and his sister says he didn’t come home last night and she hasn’t seen him. What the fuck did you send him into?”
“Nothing. He was just checking some bars for me. Several men have gone missing.”
“Well, now Collins has too,” spat the cop.
Shit. Charles thought quickly. “Leave a message for me at the St. Francis Hotel if you hear something. I’ll see if I can dig anything up.”
The cop muttered something that might have been agreement and hung up.
After a few minutes’ consideration, Charles picked up the phone again. Abe answered, sounding sleepy. Maybe he and Thomas had turned in early. His attention sharpened, though, when Charles gave him a quick summary of events. “He hasn’t talked to you, has he?” Charles asked.
“Not in weeks. Sorry.”
Disappointing, but it had been a long shot. “All right. If he does contact you, please let him know—”
“That you fellows are looking for him. Got it. I’ll leave you a message.”
“Thank you.”
“What are you gonna do?”
“Head down to the wharf.”
