The Ending Hour
by Maya Tawipart four
"I've sold out every memory
I have borrowed, I have bought from you
These pictures run like water
To dilute me, lay me over you"
--Moist, "Better Than You"
NOVEMBER -- CANADA
It was dark when Harrison woke again, alerted by the sudden silence from the engine. No action seemed imminent, so he took a few minutes to wake up completely, scrubbing sleep from his eyes and cracking the kinks out of his neck.
Isaac let the procedure pass without comment. He was dangling a lit cigarette out the open window, occasionally taking a puff. Harrison took a quick look around; they were parked off a dirt road, half-hidden by a stand of tall weeds, with no lights visible for miles in either direction. The only illumination came from overhead, moonlight painting eerie blue-white highlights on Isaac's face and casting his eyes into deep shadow.
Harrison cleared his throat. His voice felt hoarse from too much smoke and too little sleep. "Where are we?"
"Bumfuck, B.C.," Isaac said without looking at him. "Welcome to the Great White North."
Harrison couldn't see what was so great about it. Or so white, for that matter. The north part, at least, he couldn't dispute. He squinted out into the unrelenting darkness and asked, with just a touch of sarcasm, "There a reason we're stopped, or did you just feel like taking in the sights?"
"Ask your dad," Isaac said, and nodded out the windshield.
"Not really on speaking terms right now," Harrison muttered, following his line of sight. For the first time, he noticed a darker shape against the near-black landscape, a small cabin set about a hundred feet back from the road. It was some ways ahead; Isaac had stopped before the sound of the engine would alert anyone inside. He couldn't see Richard's car. Probably parked around back.
"He just went in. Did you know about this place?"
Harrison glanced back, eyes narrowed. "Yeah, Izzy, I knew and I never bothered to check it out. 'Cause I'm just that dumb."
"Dumb but pretty," Isaac said.
Shades of Jack and his crack about dumb blonds. Harrison had mostly managed to repress the memory, but every so often it popped up again, just to make his life hell some more. Kind of like Jack himself.
He turned back to the cabin before Isaac could notice his reaction and said, "Title ain't in his name, I know that much. Believe it or not, I did check."
"Chill, Harry. I get the point."
They sat in silence for a few more minutes.
"So," Isaac said at last. "You wanna go in, or what?"
Harrison thought about it. He did; he really, really did. He practically itched with the need to get out, to go in there and do something. Three days behind bars and however goddamn many hours in the car hadn't taken the edge off his rage, just given it a chance to simmer and harden. Richard was in that cabin, alone, and he wanted to go.
Without a weapon, or a plan, and if he went now, he'd never know why his father had come all this way, to this tiny cabin in the middle of nowhere. And Richard wouldn't be answering any questions this time. This time, he'd probably kill Harrison on sight.
File that one away for the Christmas cards.
"How long's he been in there?" he asked at last.
Isaac checked his watch. "Five, ten minutes. Not long. Dragged in all the luggage, too. I think he's settled in for the night."
Harrison nodded, decision made. "So we wait. See what happens."
"Agreed," Isaac said, and started the car.
Harrison grabbed for the keys, and Isaac smacked his hand away. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, rubbing his stinging knuckles.
"We passed a bed and breakfast a couple miles back," Isaac said, as he put the car in reverse and backed down the dirt road. "Seemed like prime waiting ground to me."
"I meant we wait here, dumbass," Harrison said. "Kinda hard to surveil from a couple miles back."
"Is that even a word?"
"Pretty sure. Are you even listening?"
"Dude," Isaac said-- slowly, patiently, like talking to a particularly dim five-year-old-- "I am not spending the night in a fucking Geo. Deal."
Harrison opened his mouth to protest some more. Then he thought about spending the night in a fucking Geo.
"Okay," he said instead. "Point."
"Thank you."
The place actually was an honest-to-God bed and breakfast, and a damn fancy-looking one at that. "Um," Harrison said, and bit his lip.
Isaac sighed. "What now?"
"Just a little matter of me still not having any money." The court had taken his credit cards along with his license, on the theory that it would prevent him from skipping bail. It was a pretty good theory. Not everybody had an Isaac.
"Dude, you already owe me fifty grand plus plane tickets. I don't think half a hotel room's gonna break the bank."
He reached for the car door, and Harrison grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "Hold it right there, Santa Claus. A room?"
Isaac narrowed his eyes. Harrison released his grip. He'd forgotten Isaac could still scare him sometimes.
"Remember who's paying, little boy," Isaac said. "If you're good, maybe later you can sit on Santa's lap."
He got out of the car, and Harrison followed slowly, tasting dread like cold metal in the back of his throat. Half of him thought maybe Isaac really was just being frugal. Half wondered if it would be so bad if he wasn't. Half wanted to just grab the car keys and drive back out to the cabin for the night, comfy bed be damned.
Math had never been his strong suit.
The place was empty, and the owner seemed cranky at being roused to deal with actual paying customers. She didn't bat an eye at two men sharing a room, though, and Harrison had to admit that maybe Canada had some things going for it after all.
She didn't have any double rooms free, but she gave them the honeymoon suite, at no extra charge. Harrison thought of mirrored ceilings and heart-shaped beds and managed not to laugh in her face. It took effort.
"This all right with you?" Isaac asked once they'd found the room, not looking at Harrison as he unlocked the door of the suite.
Harrison raised his eyebrows. "Since when do you bother asking?"
"Since you started saying no."
The door swung open, and he pushed past Isaac into the room without answering.
The honeymoon suite failed to live up to his name: no mirrors and no novelty mattresses, just dark blue wallpaper and a king-sized bed. Harrison made a beeline for the bed and flopped down face-first without even taking off his boots. Despite his nap in the car, he was still bone-tired.
From too close above him, Isaac's silky voice purred, "Is that an invitation?"
Harrison buried his face in a pillow and didn't respond. It was one of Isaac's favorite games, the "And what will you do for me?" come-on, the innuendo of the favor. It had been just such a pretense that had first gotten Harrison's mouth wrapped around his dick. For a guy who brokered in information, it was a fitting kink. If nothing else, Harrison had no doubts that Isaac enjoyed the hell out of his work.
Gave a whole new meaning to the phrase job satisfaction.
The thing was, no denying it: sex with Isaac had always been great. But for all his games, he'd never flat-out demanded sexual favors in exchange for ordinary ones, and that was the way Harrison liked it. Maybe he got off on the idea, sometimes, but the reality would be something else, something colder and starker, that would cross some invisible line Harrison was never sure really existed until he bumped right up against it. And after Jack and then Tom, he didn't think he could take any more line-crossing any time soon. Like, any time this decade, maybe.
This wouldn't be crossing that line. Isaac had made that much clear, in his own roundabout way. But after the past few days, Harrison just wasn't in the mood. Saying so might break some kind of unspoken Guy Code, though, so he let his tense muscles speak for him, and hoped they were projecting a sufficiently "fuck off"-ish vibe.
Even as he felt the mattress dip beneath Isaac's added weight, he didn't move. He expected the hand on the back of his neck, though that didn't prevent him from tensing even more; he even expected the warm breath over his ear. He was working up to a droll Not tonight, dear, I have a headache when he was cut short by the one thing he didn't expect: Isaac's actual words.
"What the fuck's going on, Harry?"
After a few seconds, Harrison started breathing again. He turned his head to the side, just enough to free his mouth from the folds of the pillowcase, and growled, "Get your fucking hand off me."
Isaac's fingers froze. Then, with exaggerated care, he removed his hand and sat back. Harrison risked a glance at him and felt a slight chill; Isaac's face was colder and stonier than he'd ever seen it before.
Shit. He couldn't piss off Isaac. Isaac had paid his damn bail.
But before he could apologize, or even decide if he really wanted to, Isaac said quietly, "Harry. You haven't seen your dad in years. You've never even talked about him. Now suddenly he turns up, and you get busted for trying to kill him. You gotta know that's pretty fucked up."
Harrison closed his eyes. So what else is new.
"Look, I know you two didn't really get along--"
Harrison snorted. "What do you know about it?"
Isaac's voice was calm. "Only what you told me. That's why I'm asking, Harry. I've been helping you out here, no questions asked. I want to know why."
Now Isaac wanted answers, after everything? Harrison couldn't decide whether he wanted to laugh or hit something. He was exhausted and confused and emotionally raw, and after spilling his guts to Meredith, he didn't think he could stand to go through the whole thing again, much less deal with Isaac's reaction to a story he'd never believe.
"Trust me," he said, "you really don't."
Still calm, but now with an added layer of steel: "I just dropped fifty grand to get your ass out of jail. You don't get to decide that anymore."
Finally, the expected threat. Harrison cracked one eye open and glared. "So take your fucking money and go, then."
Again the mattress shifted, this time as Isaac stood. "Okay," he said.
Harrison sat up, his anger dissolving into panic. "Okay?" he echoed in disbelief.
"Okay."
"What the hell, okay?"
Isaac stopped at the door, one hand on the knob, and glanced back. His smile was all teeth and no affection whatsoever. During all the years Harrison had known him, he'd never seen that smile before. It turned his guts to ice water.
"Okay," Isaac said, "I'm taking my fucking money and going, okay. Have a nice life, Harrison."
He opened the door.
Harrison didn't stop to think. He hurtled off the bed and slammed the door, yanking Isaac away from it in the same frantic movement. Isaac spun, eyes flashing, and Harrison had just enough time to think Oh shit and brace himself before he was shoved against the wall, hands pinned on either side of his head.
"Decision time, Harry," Isaac said in a low voice. "The truth, or I walk."
The smile was gone. The cold, distant ruthlessness was not.
Harrison swallowed hard and licked his lips, his mind running through his options at lightning speed. It wasn't just about money, though with Isaac gone, he'd be flat broke. He would also be carless, because Isaac still had they keys. And as soon as he got back to Seattle and revoked the bail-- and that ruthlessness told Harrison that was exactly what he intended to do-- Harrison would officially be a fugitive, instead of just off the radar. He'd spend the rest of his life either on the run or in a prison cell, Richard would be free to do whatever he'd come here to do and then disappear again, and worse than that, Richard would know that he'd won.
Or Harrison could tell the truth, and Isaac wouldn't believe him anyway, and he would still leave.
Or he could try to think up a plausible lie, but Isaac always knew when he was bullshitting, and he'd see right through it.
Or....
He swallowed again, closed his eyes, leaned forward, and crossed the line.
Isaac's mouth was hard and stiff against his at first, and for a moment Harrison thought he'd miscalculated, that it was too little too late. Then Isaac's lips parted-- grudgingly, but no less willingly for it-- and he found himself crushed back against the wall again, this time with a very different intent.
Harrison kept his eyes shut and let it happen, tried to shut down his brain and just react, to pretend it was still three years ago and they were still playing games and his entire future didn't rest on keeping Isaac around long enough to use him some more. He felt like shit. He felt like a whore. He almost felt glad Tru was dead, because if she were still alive, he didn't think he'd ever be able to look her in the eye again, not after this. Good intentions, all shot to hell.
It was worse than with Tom, worse even than Jack, because this was calculated, and he knew it, and he knew Isaac knew it too. Even as rough hands wrenched open his jeans and he started to respond despite himself, he could feel the resentment burning between them, the beginnings of a rift he wasn't sure they'd be able to bridge. He knew Isaac's weaknesses, knew how to exploit them, and he didn't think Isaac could ever forgive him for putting that knowledge to use.
So much for not thinking about it.
Harrison almost protested when Isaac turned him around to face the wall, but self-preservation stopped the words coming out. Preparation was minimal-- spit-slicked fingers, a pre-lubed condom-- and it hurt, but not as much as he wanted it to. He braced his hands against the dark, tasteful wallpaper and let his head hang down, panting and shuddering as he rode it out.
It was over before Harrison had a chance to even get close to coming. Isaac pulled out with a soft, wet pop, and Harrison rested his hot forehead against the cool wall, listening to Isaac's heavy footsteps on the hardwood floor, trying to work up the strength and the nerve to turn around.
He heard the bathroom door open, then close. Bedsheets rustling. The creak of the mattress. The room door stayed shut, and Harrison told himself that was all that mattered.
When he finally straightened, Isaac was a still shape on the far side of the bed, his bare back stiff. The only movement was the slow rise and fall of his chest.
Numb, Harrison hiked up his jeans and shuffled into the bathroom. Cold water took the edge off; hot water got him clean, as clean as he could be under the circumstances.
He caught sight of himself in the mirror, once, and just for an instant, he thought he saw his father's face staring back.
He could be ruthless too.
MAY | NOVEMBER (1) | NOVEMBER (2) | NOVEMBER (3) | DAY 1 | DAY 2 | AFTER | EPILOGUE Email: mayatawi@populli.net