The phone call came at 8 o'clock in the evening. It was an event destined to become forever imprinted upon my psyche, although at the time there was no way for me to understand that my life was about to be forever altered. This wasn't an ordinary phone call and the sequence of events that had been set into motion seemed surreal and only a quirk of fate prevented them from becoming fatal.

I was a young man trying to figure out the ways of the world when I met Big Mike. He'd been the positive roll model I needed, but it ran deeper than that. He had proved to be a good friend that I could trust and depended upon when I needed help. He'd been there for me during my most difficult moments, but this time it wasn't me needing his help but him needing mine.

His voice had been different, haunting, troubling. It wasn't what he said but how he said it as well as what he had left out. He spoke two short sentences and hung up.

"I need you. Can you come over?"

There was only one answer but he was gone before I could say the word. He left me to stare at a phone that had gone dumb and with no idea what was going on. I was sure this couldn't be good. It was the chill on my spine and the slow halting words that at first had me straining to recognize the voice, and once I recognized it was Big Mike, there was that annoying hum from the broken connection.

Big Mike was intelligent but uncomplicated and mostly predictable until now. We'd lived together several times during the eight years we'd known one another. We'd laughed together, loved some of the same people, and he knew me better than anyone ever had. I liked to think I knew him but he was nine years older than I was, being more worldly and much more sophisticated than I ever hoped to be. I was more the student and he the teacher, introducing me to such things as Greek dining at the Astor and foreign and art movies at Janus 1 & 2, not to mention the incredible world of satellites and computer technology. My steady diet of burgers and the Ranch Drive-Inn Theater were augmented on occasion with foreign cuisine and the Seven Samurai.

He'd taken me to see my favorite movie, "Harold & Maude", two months earlier after lobster tale and Feta cheese salad. Everything had been fine. Our time together fit in with the same light hearted times we'd often shared. It was relaxing and without intensity or tight schedules. Big Mike was the most predictable person I'd ever known. For the first time I didn't have a clue to what was going on or why he needed me.

I must admit I was disturbed by what that call made me feel. My first thought was he wasn't well. He didn't sound well. Maybe he had cancer or heart trouble? My mind raced through the too many combinations of ills that could so swiftly inflict someone?

Little did I know that heart trouble would be the least of it. I ran other complicated scenarios through my brain; rather they raced through the conduits of my mind uncontrolled as I drove the thirty miles to his apartment in Riverdale. Had it not been for a chance meeting at a local mall a few weeks before, I wouldn't have known where he had moved. Up until now it had always been nice to be with Big Mike, but I dreaded what I would find this time. Not one of the many complicated combinations I'd considered was remotely close to the truth of the matter that would too swiftly be placed before me.

Big Mike was a rock of stability but the phone call came from a shaken man. It seemed to me, it was as if he were hanging on the edge and could easily plunge into the abyss at any second. That's what was so unnerving. He was the most in control person I knew. I replayed the voice in my brain over and over again as I drove. There was a distinct nervousness in the sound, and I detected a quivering quality that might or might not have been there. He spoke haltingly in what seemed to be an attempt to maintain what little bit of control he had left?

That made sense and it would also explain why the call was so short. He couldn't talk about what was wrong, but why? Why would he be so close to losing it? Having a lot of time to think and very little information wasn't a healthy combination for me. I kept running the call and all the possibilities through my brain over and over. The one thing I knew was, this was as far out of character as Big Mike had ever been and it made for one apprehensive friend.

The scene when I arrived was right out of a bad Stephen King movie. It was pitch black against the woods where I parked. Every drape in every apartment was drawn closed with no light escaping to illuminate the grounds, leaving the area in deep shadow. Big Mike's apartment was easy to find. It was the end unit in the rear.

The only thing missing was a slight mist or fog and a cold wind suddenly picking up to blow newspapers and cats about as I came out of the car. What wasn't missing was someone near the sliding glass doors of Big Mike's apartment. He was standing in the shadows close to the corner of the building. The figure didn't move.

I stood there not moving and wondering, what comes next? I searched for some other sign of life that would make my safety more likely. I was alone in the back parking lot, except for the shadowy figure that I thought might be facing me.

Mike's apartment was full of light behind the curtains but there wasn't enough light escaping to help me put an identity to the immobilized figure standing too near the sliding glass doors where I would enter. Big Mike would have come to greet me or at least called to me, and so who was this standing there and why didn't he move or acknowledge my presence? The mysterious phone call, the long drive, and now this was more than I needed for one night. We stared at each other before I decided to lock my car door. Big help, I thought. If he's a car thief, he can get in and be gone faster than I can with the key. Why didn't he say something or at least move?

I felt a chill coming from the thick woods behind me and then I noticed the slight breeze that blew the front page of the Post across the driveway in front of me; maybe the fog would come next. I could hear the traffic on BW Parkway on the other side of the trees a short mile away. I moved across the parking lot to the sidewalk rather than walking directly to the apartment and confronting the shadowy figure. We did keep facing one another, I think. In this way I could glance at him as I walked to see if he posed any threat.

There was still no movement I could detect. Mike knew my car. I knew, ordinarily he'd have come over to greet me when he was expecting me. This just wasn't ordinarily. Who was this guy? I turned to walk toward the apartment with trepidation, having had too much time to think about why I was there. There was no avoiding the shadow man showdown. It was past the time when I needed answers. I'd take my chances.

As uncomfortable as I'd been during my journey that night, nothing could have prepare me for what was to come. My life was mostly full of routine because that kept me in control without needing to work at it. The fewer curves the better it was for me. Routine was key to keeping up my optimum daily performance level. Routine was about to be turned upside down and inside out in little more than an instant.

I'd had enough tragedy over the previous four years. My lover left me on New Years Eve four years earlier, and the following year my girlfriend and closest confidant was almost killed, ending up permanently injured in a automobile accident, and my father died a slow death of lung cancer a year later. Each time I took a life altering hit, routine became key to keeping my life in order.

During my senior year in high school, one of my childhood friends was killed in an automobile accident, the only gay guy I had ever known hung himself, two of my classmates drowned the week of graduation, and my grandfather died a short time later. Predictability and continuity were king with me. Consistency was good. I liked my routine. I didn't like people coming and going from my life, especially when the going was forever. I didn't like the shadow man or the mystery he stood in front of.

I had a bad feeling that nothing was going to prepare me for what I'd find out there. No matter what I set up around myself to protect me, it couldn't possibly change the nature of the call that had brought me there. With just those few words Mike spoke, in just those couple of seconds it took him to speak them, I already knew whatever it was, it was bad. Big Mike would never have called me like that if it weren't something he couldn't handle alone, and I'd yet to find anything he couldn't deal with on his own. That meant if the most stable person I knew couldn't deal with it, how would I handle it?

As I closed the distance to the shadowy figure, I reasoned he was about Big Mike's size. I could tell by the shoulder slump that his hands were jammed down into his pants pockets, which made him look less threatening. It was a cold night, probably in the thirties by now, but I could see he wore no coat. Why hadn't he spoken or come out to meet me? Why stand out in freezing temperatures in bare feet and an insubstantial cotton shirt? What was it all about? "Rick," he said, grabbing me and hugging me like he was a drowning man in an angry sea.

His voice was weak and straining when he said my name. I could feel him shaking as he held on to me as though I was the only thing keeping him from falling off the face of the earth. I think there was a sob as we stood there holding on to one another. My heart sunk and I didn't want to know what it was that could have driven him so low. I longed for the strength of the man I knew to help me keep control of myself.

"Kevin!"

The word spoken as though it was the entire explanation, a name spoken as though it were a volume in and of itself. There was desperation to the way we held one another. My mind shut down and I waited for an eternity for him to continue. There would be a lot of waiting that night.

"Kevin is dead."

He whispered in my ear softly, like he didn't want to say the words loud enough for his own ears to pick up.

Kevin and Big Mike had been together for five years. Mike brought him to my apartment the first night they met. He wanted to talk to me about it and get my advice on a delicate situation. Kevin was under age. He had run away -from a foster home after being placed there by the courts because he was out of control at home. Big Mike wanted to take him back to the foster home, be his friend, and help him in general so he didn't get in any more trouble. It was the kind of thing Big Mike did.

I could easily remember the first time I saw him because Kevin was such a presence even at sixteen. It was easy to see how Big Mike became involved with him. As I remember that first night, Kevin became incredibly agitated each time the subject of him returning to foster care came up. Mike would either take him in or take him to the Interstate.

The trouble with Kevin was, he was gloriously handsome with auburn hair and green penetrating eyes. He had Howdy Dowdy freckles and narrow shoulders hung above a tiny waist. He was over six feet tall but he had a thin build. He didn't look like much at first glance but he wasn't small at all. When you studied him, and everyone eventually did, he was perfectly proportioned with incredibly well defined muscles you could only see when he was dressed down. Kevin stood straight as an arrow and walked like a man. He wasn't someone you could ignore if you became aware of his presence. When he said he wasn't going back, you could believe that's what he intended.

We never did get the entire story out of him, or if we did I no longer remember the details, but something had happened to him at the foster home, and he'd left and no amount of talking was going to get him to go back. It seemed logical that we could reason with him later, but letting him stay that first night meant he couldn't return without being faced with more trouble.

The decision was made for them to stay the night at my apartment so we could sleep on it. Our thinking was that maybe we could talk some sense into him the next morning. Of course, we didn't know Kevin then. His idea of good sense had nothing in common with our idea of good sense. Each time the subject of returning him to foster care came up, he'd say, "Take me to the highway."

I don't know what Kevin had done to get himself thrown out of his house but we spent a lot of time with him over the next few days, and except for being disagreeable about returning to the foster home, he was otherwise a perfect gentlemen. I do recall that he made every effort to eat me out of house and home. We were constantly getting groceries in a futile effort to keep him full.

If he was psychotic, neurotic, or if he had some invisible neurosis or psychosis, or if he simply had a problem with authority, we never saw it. After being around him a day, we stopped looking if the truth be known. We simply had a good time and Kevin fit right in with the things we normally did. He was a happy go lucky sixteen-year-old with a sense of humor that was disarming.

When Big Mike was around, Kevin was glued to him, although he kept his distance from me the first few days. They developed a bond you couldn't miss. Big Mike was someone Kevin came to trust. It's not the kind of thing you can try to develop with someone. I knew to violate that trust would have done more harm to him than we were doing by offering him sanctuary from whatever demons, imagined or real, were chasing him. Kevin was a boy that obviously needed someone to care about him, and Big Mike did care, and in turn, Kevin cared about him without conditions.

Big Mike never said he had decided to keep Kevin. He never had to tell me. I knew after a couple days that Kevin wasn't going anywhere. I could tell they both furnished the other with something important. The answer had come with no one needing to ask the question. Some things are just right no matter how unconventional they seem.

At times Kevin was capable of becoming quite a handful. He wasn't a bad kid but he was an active one. He had more energy than should be legally allowed. He was also delightful, funny, and charming when he wanted to be. He was never purposely difficult and I was in a position to know since they stayed with me for several weeks, and over the course of several years, when we weren't living together, we lived near one another as Big Mike and I often since we'd met.

If Kevin was handsome at sixteen, he got even more so as he matured. He was one of the most stunning people I've ever encountered. When we were out in public, you could see the heads turn when we passed. I always enjoyed being around him if only because he was someone nice to look at. He was stunning when he was at his best and too attractive for words at all other times. Kevin seemed bold as brass at times but at the same time there was a naivete to him that added to his charm. He feared nothing and had an insatiable curiosity which led to him getting in over his head at times, but he never again got into any real trouble that I know of.

I don't know that the trouble that led him to foster care and subsequently to Big Mike was his trouble or someone else's. Except for that youthful energy, there was seldom anything unpleasant or disagreeable that came out of him. I would imagine this had to be one of the more successful rescues of a teenager in trouble in this age of social services and government intervention.

For me, thinking of Kevin being dead was an obscenity. He had only just begun to live. He had incredible potential but now it was over; his indomitable energy terminated; his wit and charm silenced; his curiosity stilled, and his beauty left to wane and wither. I did not want to be a believer. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps he was still out there somewhere.

Mike fought back a sob as he held me away from him by my shoulders so he could look at me as he repeated, almost like he was trying out the words, "Kevin is dead."

He apologized quietly in my ear as the words forced us to hug each other again. When he realized he was upsetting me, he made every effort to regain his composure. He said he was sorry twice while the reality of it hung over me like some dark apparition as I considered the emptiness in the very thin air around us. The chill turned to ice and the night was suddenly hollow and bleak.

Mike was speaking to me about Kevin but his words were only spurs used to dig the truth into me. I was no longer completely there; hanging on some fragile ledge of life that seemed to be trembling under me. Consciously nothing Mike said registered. I saw his lips moving and heard him speaking to me, but I didn't understand anything he said. My mind did a rapid chronology of all the times I could remember seeing Kevin. It seemed important for me to picture him to be sure he once existed. Perhaps if the pictures became vivid enough, he'd appear to let us know he was okay and how the nonsense about his death was some big misunderstanding.

"I'm sorry. I didn't have anyone else to call that would understand," Mike said, sliding the glass door to one side, which brought my mind partially back to that place and time.

Big Mike stood back for me to enter first, his dark glassy eyes shinned in the light that poured out, causing him to look like a deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing truck. I forced myself forward, making every effort to regain control of some part of my mind. The numbness was pervasive but I made every effort to hide it while trying to reconnect to some logical behavior.

"What happened?" I asked, knowing twenty-one year olds don't just die.

Standing up straight as though he were gathering in some reserved strength he'd been saving, his chest heaved once, taking in a large gasp of air as he made some effort to answer me. His mouth moved as though there was an imminent reply on the way to address the inquiry I'd made, but instead, he turned to close the sliding glass door we'd just stepped through.

He became his usual meticulous self, locking the door, setting the bar carefully on the track before smoothing out the curtains until they hung straight before turning back to look at me. My mind was still whirling around what he'd said, and I was unable to focus on anything but the three words that made me sick. I felt like the deer in the headlights must feel at the moment of truth. Mike forgot my question and did not go back to it. I didn't want to ask again. I knew the answers would come in time and I wasn't really sure I wanted to know, or what it would change when I did know.

He pulled out a chair from the table so I could sit across from where he sat. His eyes were hollow and his face lined with ten years aging since I'd seen him last, only a few weeks ago. I wondered if all of it came on him that afternoon. He looked tired and empty. I could hardly hold back the tears for him, but to cry would mean I believed him and I wasn't ready to be a believer yet. Maybe there was still a chance I could wake up. I didn't want to know any more. It was all too painful to believe.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me get you something to drink," he said, jumping up to fix something for both of us.

His motions seemed to be without purpose as he pulled out the ice trays, banging the ice into two glasses before he turned to look around the apartment with one long sweeping glance before his eyes settled on me. It was as though he'd just noticed I'd arrived and he wasn't sure why I was there. The blank stare gave him away before he looked to see what he was doing. He leaned on the sink, letting his head drop down below his shoulders with an exhaustion that suddenly seemed to come on him.

"What was I doing?" he asked me, after a long time, seeming distant and confused.

"Drinks," I said.

"You want a beer?" he asked. "I know you don't drink liquor. I don't know why I'm getting ice. Did you want ice?"

"Yeah, beer would be fine," I said, hurting for him as he took two Budweiser from the refrigerator and brought them to the table.

"Remember that first night I met him?"

"Sure," I said. "How could I forget the first time I saw him."

"How long ago was it?"

"Exactly Five years, Mike. What happened to Kevin?" I said, finally needing the answer to the final question.

Big Mike sipped from his beer and looked around the room. His eyes settled on Kevin's bed up under the staircase. They hadn't slept together in some time because Kevin turned and twisted so much at night. They had bought the bed to put downstairs for Kevin to sleep in whenever he decided it was something he needed to do, which was seldom. He would start the night out upstairs and end up downstairs.

There had always been a restless nature to Kevin. He only needed a few hours sleep a night. He mostly went to bed because people expected it. He preferred to read and listen to music while everyone else was down for the count. Had he known there wasn't much time? Was he getting all he could out of twenty-one too short years?

"I need a cup of coffee. You want some coffee?" Mike said, setting down the almost full beer.

"Sure, Mike," I said, feeling helpless.

He pushed his beer aside and went back to the sink, dumping out the ice cubes before filling up the same tired green percolator he'd been using since I'd known him. He scooped two huge scoops of coffee into the basket and stopped, staring into the sink for a time. He scooped two more large scoops into the basket, bringing the pot to the table and plugged it in.

"A few days ago I had a nightmare,"

He went to the cabinet to get out cups and he brought back the sugar and milk, collecting some spoons on the way. The percolator belched out its rhythm as the aroma of the coffee strengthened in the room. He sat back down and watched his hands as he spoke to them.

"I woke up in a cold sweat a couple of nights ago. Kevin was calling my name and I couldn't find him. I didn't know where he was but he kept calling to me, "Mike, help me." When I found him I knew he was dead but I couldn't see his face. I don't know how I knew he was dead, I just did. I was so scared by the dream that it woke me up and I ran downstairs shaking. I had to look for him. There he was fast asleep. I was hysterical. It scared me so bad, Rick. It seemed so real. I grabbed him and hugged him and I held him tight enough to wake him up. You know how deep he sleeps when he finally does go to sleep.

"He asked me what was wrong. He could see how upset I was. I think I was crying the dream was so real. I told him I had a bad dream and it scared me and I just needed to hold him close for awhile. He didn't ask any more questions and he went back to sleep in my arms. I went back to bed after I calmed down, being grateful that he was okay.

"Last night ... I had that same dream. He kept calling to me, "Mike, help me" but I couldn't find him. When I found him he was dead. I still couldn't make out his face I could never see his face. I just knew it was him and I knew he was dead without checking. I came down stairs and found Kevin in his bed as before, only this time I knew it was a dream and I knew he would be there when I got to the bottom of the steps. I stood and looked at him for awhile, thinking how lucky I was to have him in my life.

"I was grateful I had him and now he's gone. I didn't know what it meant. I just thought ... anyway, I went back to bed. This morning I got up and went to work, I didn't even notice him except I knew Kevin was sleeping there in his bed.

"I came home from work this afternoon, leaving there about four which is important for the police. Two plainclothes police officers were parked in a car near where you parked. I noticed them but didn't pay any attention. They watched as I came into the apartment. Five minutes later they knocked. I opened the door and the only thing unusual was the P-coat one of them held out toward me. It looked like any P-coat. You can't tell them apart without looking closely.

"He said my name and then asked if that's who I was. I told him, yes. He held out the P-coat. He said I should look at it. I did. It was my P-coat, but I thought it was in the downstairs closet, so I went and looked, but it wasn't there. Then I thought to look at the nametag on the inside of the lapel and my name was written on it. I told them, yes, it is mine. They said they knew it was because of the nametag. That's how they identified me, found me. Looked me up in the Riverdale section of the Prince George's phone book. Topflight police work don't you know. They're probably sergeants or something by now.

"I didn't know what they were doing with my coat. I tried to figure out where I might have left it, and then I realized these were two Prince George's County cops standing in my doorway, and they don't do delivery service on lost and found. A simple phone call would suffice."

Mike's words were evenly paced. He seemed to be recounting from memory each detail of the story as he was telling it to me. There was no emotion and it was as though he was merely recalling a series of facts for me as though they were of no more importance than giving directions to the Interstate. He waited for the coffee to finish perking as though he could hold off the ending of the story if he just avoided saying any more words. He carefully added milk and sugar to my coffee as he'd done for me a thousand times before. He sipped from his cup and looked toward the door as though he'd find the rest of the story there. He seemed to be in a trance, no longer aware of my presence. Then, the story continued.

"Do you know a Kevin Browning, the big cop asked me? Yes, I said, only realizing then that Kevin would have had the coat. Then, I thought, what would they be doing with it if Kevin had worn it out that day? I told them Kevin lives here. He's my roommate. He asked me if Kevin would have cause to be wearing this coat, and he took the coat from me while we talked about it. I told him that it was in the closet and Kevin had access to it and could wear it any time he wanted, including today.

"They both stared at me, I suppose they were waiting for me to ask the twenty-four dollar question. I had no idea what was going on. Maybe I was afraid to ask. I don't know. Then I did ask, is Kevin okay? Had he gotten into some kind of trouble? Did he have an accident or something? I still couldn't figure out what they were doing there with my coat. It made no sense at all to me. I was scared by then and didn't want it to make sense, I guess. Why wouldn't they just come out and tell me what their purpose was? What did any of it have to do with me? It was totally unclear what they wanted from me and they stared at me, just stared like I should read their minds or something."

Big Mike took a long sip from his cup, holding it with both hands as though it was warming him on a freezing night. He took a couple of deep breaths before looking at me across the top of the cup, making eye contact for the first time. My coffee was still too hot to drink. He spoke even more slowly as he continued. I had to lean forward to hear all the words. There was a weakness as he looked for the strength to get it out. His eyes focused on the spot where he learned the news of Kevin's death.

"At two thirty seven this afternoon Kevin Browning's body was found on a path in a wooded area near the old Glendale hospital. The shots were heard and reported about two fifteen, give or take five minutes or so and two Prince George's County police cars responded. This coat was found on his body. We traced it to you. I need to know where you were between one and three o'clock this afternoon?" he said, like it didn't mean anything at all for me to hear it like that. I told them I was at work. They said it could easily be checked. I gave them the home phone number of the man I was working with, figuring they already knew my work number.

"They said they would call him. I asked if I could have my coat. They said I could not. It was evidence in a murder investigation now. They asked me would I take a lie detector test. I said that I would do anything they wanted if it would help. I followed them to the police station where they questioned me further, checking out my alibi while they kept me there. I was told not to leave the area and they would be in touch with me as the investigation was conducted. I came home and called you. I didn't know who else to call."

"I'm sorry, Mike. But I'm glad you did call me. I can't believe Kevin is dead. He was so alive. Who would kill him? He didn't have any enemies. I don't know anyone that disliked him," I said, searching my mind for an answer that might ease the pain.

"I don't know who did it but I intend to find out. When I do, they'll wish I hadn't," he said slowly and calmly with a resolve in his voice that was unmistakable.


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm@yahoo.com

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"Browning Incident" Copyright © 1 November 2012 OLYMPIA50. All rights reserved.
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