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  Remy’s… I don’t think he’s coming. Do you?”

  Carl looked at Nikolaus sadly for several long seconds. Did Carl think Remy

  would be meeting them here? It was hard to decipher between hope and belief. He

  certainly hoped Remy would show up. But did he really believe that he would?

  “I dunno, Gizmo. All we can do is wait and hope.”

  “Hope for what?” Thiago’s gruff voice asked as the man walked silently into

  the kitchen from the opposite direction they had.

  Carl tried not to jump, but he just could not get used to the way Shawn and

  Thiago moved. They were so silent. It was unnerving. Carl could be quiet, but he

  couldn’t be completely devoid of noise the way the others were.

  “Remy,” Nikolaus answered quietly.

  Thiago nodded and glided over to the refrigerator. Carl watched him

  curiously.

  “How’s Shawn?” he asked as Thiago stood in front of the open appliance.

  “Did you two go grocery shopping?” Thiago asked in place of an answer.

  “No. We were exploring. Why?” Carl asked as his alarms began to sound.

  “This fucking thing is full,” Thiago said in a shocked voice.

  “What do you mean, full?” Nikolaus asked as he and Carl crowded behind

  Thiago and looked over his shoulders. The refrigerator was indeed fully stocked, and it all looked to be fresh foods. Fruits and vegetables, deli meats, sodas and beers, and even several different kinds of ice creams graced the freezer.

  “The hell?” Carl murmured as hope reared its ugly head once more. Had

  Remy been here? That would certainly be an appropriate way for Remy to let his

  presence be known. With food.

  “Do you think it was him?” Nikolaus asked in a hopeful whisper.

  “No,” Shawn said softly from behind them. All three of them jumped and

  turned around to look at him, like guilty schoolchildren being caught by the

  headmaster. Brandt stood off to the side looking at Shawn worriedly, but Shawn

  simply shrugged and gestured toward the cabinets. “I made a call, had it taken care of before we got here.”

  Carl’s heart sank with the man’s words. Hope looked to be dwindling the

  closer they got to nightfall.

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  Shawn disappeared just as quietly as he had come, and after a tense silence,

  Thiago followed after the man him.

  “How is he?” Carl asked Brandt as soon as he was sure the others were out

  of earshot.

  “If Dixie doesn’t show….” Brandt sighed and let his shoulders slump as he

  sat down at the island in the middle of the kitchen. “If Dixie doesn’t show, we’ll have to… I dunno… he won’t make it, Trigger. He’ll get careless. And he’ll get himself killed.”

  IV.

  “SHAWN? Wait,” Thiago called softly as Shawn mounted the stairs.

  Shawn kept moving though. He didn’t want another of Thiago’s talks.

  Thiago had been pissed at him, and rightly so. If he’d simply stood down when

  Thiago told him to, Remy would still be with them. But fucking hell, didn’t the man think he was suffering enough without the weekly lectures?

  “Shawn!”

  “I’m just going to lay down,” Shawn mumbled morosely as he reached the

  top of the staircase and took a left toward the master bedroom. He stopped short and stared at the hallway in horror. Thiago caught up to him, and almost ran into him, as Shawn stood frozen in the middle of the narrow hall.

  “What’s wrong? Shawn?” Thiago asked as he gripped Shawn’s shoulder and

  shook him slightly, trying to lean around him and get a look at his face.

  “Autopilot,” Shawn mumbled as he tried to back away from the master

  bedroom.

  Thiago stood behind him like a brick wall and wouldn’t let him go

  anywhere. “What? Shawn… what are you….”

  That was the bedroom he and Remy shared when they were between

  missions. That was the direction his body always went when he climbed these stairs.

  That was where his feet always took him. To Remy.

  “I was on autopilot,” Shawn murmured as he tried to get away from the

  familiar territory.

  Shawn could smell him. Remy’s scent lingered in the rooms he’d inhabited.

  He could hear the easy laughter and feel the smile against his face. Remy was

  everywhere, and yet Shawn couldn’t touch him. Couldn’t speak to him and hear his

  voice, save for in his memories. Shawn tried to back away again, and Thiago wrapped his arms around Shawn’s shoulders and held him close.

  “I can’t go in there,” Shawn finally croaked. “Please, don’t make me.”

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  Thiago pressed into him and growled wordlessly. “Goddammit, Shawn, get

  hold of yourself and be a fucking man!” Thiago ordered angrily as he shoved Shawn toward the bedroom.

  Shawn saw red as memories and pain invaded his senses, and when he

  calmed once more he was holding Thiago backward over the railing of the stairs.

  Thiago’s feet didn’t touch the ground and he balanced on the one-hundred-year-old railing, gripping Shawn’s clutching hands and staring at him with wide blue eyes.

  “Fuck you, mate!” Shawn yelled as his hands tightened around Thiago’s

  neck. If he hadn’t been trying to strangle him, Thiago would already have dropped.

  The chandelier hanging in the stairwell swayed from the force of their movements

  and Shawn growled wordlessly as he tried to decide how best to kill the man. Drop or strangle; oh, the choices this business forced him to make.

  “You’re not the only one who lost him, Shawn,” Thiago managed to say as

  Shawn tried to choke the life out of him.

  Shawn’s hands loosened their grip as he realized just what it was he was

  doing, and Thiago scrambled for something to grab onto as he started to fall

  backward. Shawn cried out in alarm and grabbed the falling man by the shoulders,

  pulling him back over the railing and falling back against the wall with Thiago

  clasped tightly in his arms.

  “Boludo,” Thiago panted as he rested his head against Shawn’s shoulder.

  “Sorry,” Shawn mumbled as he looked at the railing warily, as if it had had

  something to do with Thiago’s near-demise. “I can’t go in there, Thi,” Shawn

  whispered with a sideways glance at the bedroom. “He’s in there. I can’t face him yet.”

  “Okay,” Thiago agreed hoarsely. Neither of them moved for long seconds,

  they simply breathed heavily and stared at the railing accusingly together.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” Shawn finally asked with dread.

  The least he could do was listen to a lecture after almost killing the man.

  “I wanted to see if you were okay,” Thiago said as he rolled to his knees and

  stood up shakily. He looked down at Shawn and offered him a hand. Shawn took it

  and let Thiago help him up, unable to meet the Argentinean’s piercing blue eyes.

  “M’okay,” Shawn mumbled with another glance at the master bedroom. He

  edged sideways away from it, and Thiago seemed to take pity on him and stepped into his line of vision.

  “We’ve got about five hours before we even need to do a dry run,” he told

  Shawn gently. “Why don’t you show me around? What about the other bedrooms?

  You can nap in there.”

  Shawn nodded and shuffled his way down the hall toward the other three

  bedrooms. He realized w
ith some chagrin that he’d never been in any of these rooms.

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  At least that meant no memories would assault him here.

  “I don’t wanna talk, Thi,” Shawn said before Thiago closed the door behind

  them and turned to look at Shawn pointedly.

  “You need to, though,” Thiago said.

  “No. No, I think you need to. I think it makes you feel better to give me these little talks, but you know what, Thi? Every time you come to me and tell me ‘I told you so,’ Brandt comes in after you and ties me to the fucking bed to make sure I don’t kill myself!” Shawn yelled angrily. Thiago looked fairly shocked by his outburst, but Shawn continued anyway. “I’m tired of being tied to the bed, Thi!” Shawn shouted as he got close to hysterical thinking about another night tied to the bedposts with his guns and knives out of reach. “Why can’t you people just let me kill myself in peace, eh? What the fuck does it matter to you?”

  Shawn swatted at Thiago as the man tried to take hold of him, and he

  continued to rant as he stalked around the room.

  “I killed him! He’s not showing up this week because I don’t bloody well

  miss when I aim! I killed him, and you know what, Thiago?”

  “Shawn, calm down.”

  “No! I killed him, and I mean to follow him! I never did right by him when I

  had the chance, the least I can do is rid the world of myself before I go and kill anyone else I love! Christ! I almost pushed you down the fucking stairs!” Shawn

  yelled as he gestured toward Thiago and turned around to face him.

  “Shawn, just– what?” Thiago asked as he froze in mid-step.

  “What?” Shawn asked in wary confusion, unsure of what he had said that

  would make Thiago look so shocked.

  “¿Qué dijo? ” Thiago asked with a slight smile.

  “I don’t know. Why?” Shawn asked warily as he backed away further.

  Thiago advanced on him and pointed a finger at him. “You just said you

  loved me,” he said with a sly smile.

  “I did no such thing,” Shawn protested as the backs of his thighs hit the

  mattress. He glanced backwards, looking for something to use as a weapon in case

  Thiago had lost his mind.

  “Yes, you did. You said you loved me,” Thiago said as he closed the

  distance between them. “That means you can’t kill yourself,” Thiago said softly as he took Shawn’s face in his hands.

  “Can so,” Shawn replied weakly.

  “No. Brandt loves you; he wouldn’t tie you to the bed if he didn’t. Carl and

  Niko love you. They worry about you, more than you know. I love you,” Thiago

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  admitted hesitantly. “And you love us back, you just admitted it. So you can’t kill yourself.”

  Shawn glared at him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want logic or

  professions of love. He wanted to wallow in misery and self-pity like he had been for the past month. That had been nice and masochistic and he wanted to go back to that.

  Thiago was saying that he loved him. That the others loved him and cared for him.

  That Shawn wasn’t alone like he thought he was and that it wasn’t as bad as it

  seemed. Shawn didn’t want that, damn it! Why couldn’t they just let him be miserable and die like a good little spy?

  “I’m sorry for all the… what was it you called them? Lectures?” Thiago said

  softly.

  His voice wafted over Shawn like a soothing balm over a wound, but Shawn

  fought the feelings it gave him. He didn’t deserve to feel that. He didn’t deserve to feel comforted and happy.

  “I was trying to get you to… to feel something. Anger. Rage. Something

  besides self-loathing. I was baiting you, hoping you’d fight back. It finally worked.

  You stood up for yourself.”

  “You’re a bastard,” Shawn whispered as his eyes welled with tears.

  Thiago nodded in agreement and kissed him gently. Shawn’s entire body

  went limp when Thiago’s lips touched his, and Thiago held him close as Shawn

  groaned pitifully and let his eyes drift shut.

  “It’ll be okay,” Thiago whispered against his temple.

  “How?” Shawn asked desperately.

  “He’ll come, Shawn. I can feel it,” Thiago assured him gently as he pressed

  their foreheads together. Shawn squeezed his eyes closed and breathed in Thiago’s scent.

  “Oh, God,” he moaned, sounding as if he were pain as he clung to Thiago.

  “What?”

  “You smell like him, Thi,” Shawn whispered sorrowfully.

  Thiago made to back away from him but Shawn gripped him hard and kissed

  him once more as the music from the darkening streets wafted to them. He closed his eyes and breathed in Thiago’s scent deeply. It did smell like Remy, but it was

  different as well. It was earthier, like Thiago smoked Remy’s cigarettes and then played in a sandbox.

  He clung to Thiago tighter and whimpered slightly as he forced himself not

  to cry. He was a fucking pussy, is what he was. Remy would hate him if he saw him behaving like this.

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  V.

  NIKOLAUS stared worriedly at the doorway through which Shawn and Thiago had

  disappeared as Carl and Brandt conversed.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked them.

  “What?” Carl asked as he and Brandt stopped talking and both cocked their

  heads to listen.

  “Sounded like a shout. A cry, maybe,” Nikolaus whispered as he strained to

  hear.

  “Better go get the ropes,” Brandt mumbled unhappily as he turned to head

  back out to the car.

  “Wally, wait,” Carl said sympathetically. He reached out and grabbed Brandt

  by the arm, and Nikolaus ducked instinctively. It had become a habit of Nikolaus’s lately, to flinch when someone else was touched.

  If you touched Thiago, someone got yelled at. If you touched Shawn,

  someone got hit. If you touched Brandt, something caught fire. Carl and Nikolaus had resorted to sleeping in the same room every night just so they could touch each other without fear of one of the three happening.

  Waking up on fire was not high on Nikolaus’s to do list.

  “If Zed’s yelling at him again, we’ll need to Beignet-proof this entire fucking

  house,” Brandt said testily as he turned around to look at Carl. “No razors, no glass, no scissors… anything club-like; candlesticks, screwdrivers, even the fucking

  chandeliers. Christ, the fucking balconies. We’ll have to take his belts, his shoelaces, anything electric in that fucking toilet. Find all the rat poison, Drano, window

  cleaner… cling wrap, tin foil, those little plastic things drinks come in. Not to mention the knives, guns, and all my fucking C4! Can’t you keep that bastard under control and tell him to stop yelling at him?”

  “Yeah. About as well as you can keep Shawn from trying to slit his wrists

  with a safety razor,” Carl spat back.

  Nikolaus rolled his eyes and groaned inwardly. Another night, another fight.

  “He’s a sneaky fuck, all right?” Brandt yelled. “You try to keep a trained

  killer from killing himself, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Did you think of maybe not physically restraining him every night? Give

  him some space, some time to grieve.”

  “What would you know about grieving, Trigger?” Brandt shouted angrily.

  “How many mother’s sons have you killed without a second thought?”

  “Bitte,” Nikolaus cursed under his breath.

  He watched Ca
rl’s handsome, pleasant features morph into a hard, cold mask

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  and he wondered whether he should hide under the table, hide in a cupboard, or run for help. He sure as fuck wasn’t going to interfere.

  VI.

  EVEN as the words left his mouth, Brandt knew he had made a mistake. A big

  mistake. A life-threatening mistake. Carl was no longer Carl. He was flat and lifeless and brimming over with anger; Brandt knew he was in danger.

  “Trigger, I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

  Carl moved so quickly that Brandt didn’t even have enough time to throw up

  his hands to defend himself. He hit the ground hard and sucked in a great breath of air. He tried to, anyway. The side of Carl’s hand had connected with his windpipe and it felt as if it had been crushed. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak to apologize.

  He couldn’t cry for help.

  Carl wrapped his arms around Brandt and picked him up off the ground by

  his neck. Brandt gasped and flailed, but Carl didn’t seem bothered by the resistance, and he slammed Brandt face first into the closest wall.

  “How many?” Carl hissed. It wasn’t Carl’s voice. This was something

  different and evil.

  Brandt tried to speak, but it still only came out as a strangled gurgle. Carl

  took Brandt’s arm and twisted it, pinning it behind his back, and Brandt sank to his knees as pain flared through him. This was not the good kind of pain.

  A blade came to rest against the pulsing vein in Brandt’s neck and Carl

  whispered, “You can count them when you get to Hell.”

  “Carl!” Nikolaus’s panicked voice cried as the blade cut into Brandt’s neck.

  “Kick his ass, Carl, but don’t kill him! Please!”

  The blade remained where it was, but the tension in the body holding Brandt

  slowly ebbed, and finally Carl released him and Brandt fell to the ground with a

  thump. He sucked in air with difficulty and let his cheek rest against the cool tile of the kitchen floor. Never had cold felt so good.

  “I never have second thoughts,” Carl said in a calm, icy voice.

  When Brandt finally got the strength to look up, Carl was seated calmly at