Rory sat on the edge of the bar, looking towards the entrance and repeatedly checking his cell phone. Every time he did so, his disappointed sighs grew more and more resigned. He had tried calling and sending text messages, without success. Where the hell was Jack?
"What's the matter, gorgeous?"
Rory looked up as an attractive man slid onto the barstool next to him, smiling warmly.
"Have you been stood up?" the man asked.
Rory nodded.
"Have a drink with me then. Let me cheer you up."
No.
Rory stood.
"Thanks for the offer, but I'm not interested. I think I'll head home. I'm pretty tired."
The man reached out and put his hand on Rory's shoulder.
Don't! Take your hands off him!
"Come on. Just one drink. It breaks my heart to see you so sad. I just want cheer you up, that's all."
No, Rory.
Rory gave the man a small smile.
"One drink."
RORY!
I woke up, sheets clinging to my body, my pillow wet with tears. I pressed my hands to my face and made a sound that was half a sob, half a groan. I had the dream again... It had been a couple of months since the last time I had it. But that's the way it always was; it always came when I least expected it. I sat up, tossed the sheets aside and staggered towards the bathroom.
The warm water from the shower cascaded over me. I stood still under the spray, allowing it to cleanse me, wash away the cold sweat and tears that always came with that dream. In the beginning, the dream came every night, then it came less and less, but it was always just as painful. And it would never completely go away.
Rory... I never knew exactly what happened that night, but my dreams would mercilessly show me scenario after scenario of what may have happened. All I know for a fact is that I failed him; I wasn't where I was supposed to be, and because of that I lost the love of my life.
"Victim number three" is what they called him. It felt so cold, so casual. To me he was everything, my whole world, and now he was gone. Because I wasn't there. Because I had forgotten. And because of I had forgotten, a monster was able to take my Rory. A monster with no conscience who managed to take two more lives before finally caught. But this isn't about him. This is about Rory... and me.
They all said it wasn't my fault: cops, shrinks, our friends, my family, his family... they all said it. His parents hugged me at the funeral and said that no one blamed me, and I shouldn't either. But no matter what anyone said, I still did. I felt like absolution could only come from one person, and he wasn't here to give me that. Every night I cried and asked him forgive me, but how could I know if he heard me?
I hated myself, just as much as I hated the killer. I wanted to die. The pain inside my heart, soul and gut already made me feel like I was dying, but I wanted to speed up the process. But every time I wanted to do it, the one thing that stayed my hand was the knowledge that Rory wouldn't want me to. That much I knew.
So I took it: the pain, the nightmares... they were my punishment. My purgatory. Part of me even welcomed the nightmares. In my dreams I could always see Rory so clearly. In my waking hours I would sometimes struggle to remember what he looked like. The image of him in my head would be unclear and blurred. When that happened I would panic and I would take out every photo of him that I had, staring at them for hours trying to imprint his face onto my soul.
Stepping out of the shower I grabbed a towel and started drying myself. I glanced towards the mirror; the reflection was not pleasant. Tired green eyes stared sadly back at me, my dark brown hair which had once been neat and short now reached down past my shoulders, and my face hadn't been shaved in a couple of days. I was still in good physical shape, though, as I often went running. That was the only time when I could really let go and feel peaceful. It was as if I ran away from myself. I shrugged and turned my back to the mirror.
After dressing I called in sick. I was in no shape to go to work and I had somewhere I'd rather be today. I made a sandwich for breakfast, but I had no appetite so I put it back in the fridge and just had coffee. And as I sat there, miserably slumped over the table, my thoughts returned to Rory. They always did.
******
I was twenty-two when Rory and I met. He was a year younger than me. Some friends of mine were having a party. I had a sneaking suspicion that they were planning on fixing me up with someone. I wasn't very keen on the idea, but I went to the party anyway. Almost as soon as I stepped inside the house I noticed him: a gorgeous brown-eyed creature with messy light blonde hair, average height and build, wearing figure-hugging faded black jeans and a vintage band-tee, along with a smile that could melt Antarctica. And in a for me uncharacteristic stroke of luck it turned out he was the one my friends wanted to introduce me to.
We hit it off right away. I had always had a thing for adorable shy guys, and Rory certainly fit into that category. I thoroughly enjoyed myself making him blush in various ways (seductively crowding his personal space, whispering in his ear, letting my hand "accidentally" brush against his ass, etc.). When we danced I asked him to come home with me, expecting a no, silently roaring with joy when he said yes. We took a cab to my apartment and made the bedsprings creak until we both fell asleep from exhaustion.
I don't really know what my expectations were when I took Rory home that night. I wanted more than one night, that was for sure, but I definitely didn't expect to fall for him as hard as I did. It took little more than a week for me to realise that I loved him, another couple of days for me to tell him out loud. He said he loved me too, and after just a month he moved in with me.
It was the happiest time of my life. We were great together. The sex was mind-blowing. Rory had a hard time admitting it, but he had a tremendous appetite, and could go on for hours sometimes, which suited me just fine. We could talk or be quiet, go out or stay in - it didn't matter what we did, we were almost always perfectly content and happy. I say "almost" because like with all couples things weren't always perfect. We could both (usually me) screw up and act like jerks at times. But at such times our problems were always quickly resolved, forgiveness always granted, and we would come out of it with a better understanding of each other than before.
We were together a year and a half. And then it happened. We had both been busy that week and agreed to go out after work on Friday. But when Friday came, I simply forgot. I ran into an old friend and went for a beer with him. We sat shooting the shit for so long, that when it occurred to me to call Rory I was already two hours late. I had switched off my phone earlier when I had made a stop at the library and idiotically enough forgotten to switch it back on. After listening to the messages he had left me, wincing when I heard the disappointment and irritation in his voice, I tried calling Rory. When he didn't answer I called the bar where I was supposed to meet him, but he wasn't there anymore. I went home but he wasn't there either. I called around but no one knew where he was.
At this point I was getting really scared. Even if he was pissed at me, Rory wasn't the type to run off and not let anyone know where he was. Our friends helped me look for him. We went to the bar, and the bartender remembered Rory, but couldn't remember seeing anyone speak to him or anything that might help. We drove around, asking people if they had seen Rory, and called everyone we could possibly think of, but when there was no sign of Rory all that was left to do was to go to the police.
Three days later our worst fears came true when Rory was found. He'd been violated, strangled and then discarded like trash. I remember clearly the moment when they gave us the news. We understood the second the police set foot inside the house. We could see it in their faces. Still we waited for them to say it, clinging to the last ray of hope that Rory was still alive. Rory's best friend Tammy was holding on to my arm. There were bruises from her fingers afterwards, but I felt no pain at the time. And then the words came. The words that made everything final. There were screams. Weeping. My parents hugged me. And I kept thinking:
It's not true. There's been some mistake. Not Rory. It can't be true.
******
The sky was fittingly grey. It could start raining any moment, but I didn't care. There was no wind and not particularly cold, so a little rain wouldn't matter. I passed headstone after headstone, the red rose in my hand swaying as I walked. Up ahead I could see my goal: "Rory King -- Always in Our Hearts".
There were fresh flowers on Rory's grave. Pink carnations. These were from Tammy. She always left pink carnations. I sat down beside the grave. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
There were sounds of footsteps approaching. I wiped away the tear that had trickled from the corner of my eye. As I looked up I saw a tiny, white-haired little old lady. Her figure seemed so frail, but there was a lot of energy in her walk. When she saw me, she stopped and smiled, peering at me over thick spectacles.
"Hello," she said.
"Hello." I managed to return her smile.
She glanced at the grave, then at the rose I still held in my hand.
"Someone you loved," she said.
I nodded. More tears escaped my eyes, but this time I didn't bother to wipe them away. The old lady stood next to me. She placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. It felt soothing; her comfort didn't seem to come from pity, but from understanding.
"I never got to say goodbye," I said. "I would give anything if I could just..."
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm myself down. I felt the lady carefully wipe away my tears with her fingers.
"I know, Jack. I know."
I looked up in surprise.
