Irreconcilable Distance
Josh - Day Zero/Day One
That was it. Nothing else. Terry wasn't there when I got home. No message about working late. After three hours I began to panic. I called his boss. We didn't get along that well, but I was desperate. Terry had left work at 5. I called Jon. I called Peter. I called every couple and every single we knew either socially , sexually or both. I called the Christmas list. I called every one of his old, old boyfriends I could remember, and find. Thank God for Harold. He's Jon's lover. He's also on the police force. They came over after I called Jon again at 8.
"No, damn it, we didn't have a fight," I told Harold. He was trying to help, but asking all the wrong questions as far as I was concerned.
He called in a favor or two and got an informal APB out on Terry's car. Told me to sit tight, that he'd be checking back. Jon stayed. Harold went to talk to Terry's boss, in a professional capacity (even though it wasn't really).
That brought some surprises. Things Terry hadn't told me. He'd been made a partner over two years ago. (I wasn't as up as maybe I should have been on things at his work. Early on I'd learned that the boss man didn't appreciate Terry shoving his gay partner in his face. He'd taken me to the first Christmas party after we started dating. Terry kept asking me to go to company events with him. I just didn't want the hassle.) Seemed that now Terry was in a position where he had both his salary and commission income. It was a percentage deal related to the value of the contracts he negotiated. Those commission checks were deposited by the firm directly into an account I knew nothing about. I couldn't figure why he'd kept these secrets. Wasn't sure I even wanted to know why. It was the secrecy the bothered. Not the money. We had no financial problems so it wasn't like he should have been contributing more.
It did raise more questions. Questions that got answers in the morning. Our joint checking account was about half of what was recorded in our checkbook. The monthly bills had all been paid. They weren't suppose to tell me, but we, maybe just I, had a friend in senior management at the bank. Terry had liquidated both his retirement account and that special account for his commission income. Since becoming a partner my lover had also become rich as hell, based on the bank's figures on how much he had drawn out. It was obvious, Terry was running away. But, from what? Me? Why?
His car was found. Long term parking at the airport. It was just luck. Harold called to let me know. He went to check it out. Harold called again and didn't tell me anything, just said he'd be dropping by. He and Jon had stayed over. I'd called in sick to work. Jon answered the door.
"He didn't take a thing with him, did he?" Harold stated as he sat in the beige overstuffed chair.
"Told you already. No, he just had the clothes he was wearing, unless he hid stuff in the car. How, without me knowing? And, there's nothing of his missing from his closet, his drawers."
"Everything to identify Terry was in the glove compartment of that car." Harold's face was grim.
"What, what do you mean, everything? What does that mean?"
"His passport, his credit cards, his drivers license, his Social Security card, even his birth certificate. Anything, everything someone would need to be, or become, Terry Eberhard."
I staggered into the bedroom and started a frantic search in Terry's dresser drawers. I'd been wrong, He had taken things out, sometime. There had been a small book of photos from our vacations, and a few holidays, right there with his passport. Both were gone.
Harold was at the door. "To answer your second question. I'd say it means whomever you knew as Terry Eberhard is now someone else, and maybe was someone else before he was Terry Eberhard. Maybe he's gone back. Maybe he's disappeared forward. I can have the validity of that birth certificate checked, as well as the social number. That'll tell us if Terry's for real. But for that you'll need to make an official Missing Persons report."
"No!" I let the silence build. "If he wants to be gone, let him be gone." My tone was bitter, and firm. But it was an act. Inside my gut was heaving. My head was pounding, ready to explode.
It had all been a dream. I sat on the bed and shook my head in disbelief. Harold dropped a envelope with Terry's papers on the bed. I let Harold and Jon go home. Told them I'd be O.K. Said I needed time alone to think, to let the truth of what had happened sink in. Somehow I fixed a meal. Ate. Cried. For the first time in ages, I took two OTC sleeping pills. They were so old I didn't know if they'd still work, but I needed something. I washed them down with a stiff shot of good Kentucky Bourbon.
I slept. Not particularly soundly. There were ugly dreams. No nightmares. Just Terry dissolving into a puddle like the Wicked Witch. Terry being pulled off me in a harness linked to a helicopter that soared up and up and up. Stupid shit like that.
CONTINUE
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