Welcome to the last chapter. Stay around after the end for the epilogue. Don't worry, there won't be any deep revelations after this one, just some thank you and thoughts on the story.
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NOTE: Check out my other stories in the Sci-fi / Fantasy Section Crown Vic to a Parallel World From Whence I Came Stolen Love
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Wasted Life a Law Edwards Mystery by Sam Stefanik
28 The End...
A shiny new circle of brass stood out like an amber searchlight on the grimy and tarnished office door that still bore my name. The circle was a new lock that proclaimed my eviction. My insides heaved and lurched as I leaned on the lamppost in front of what used to be my home and livelihood. I could look in, and see my desk, the door to my room, all the trimmings of a business that didn't make me wealthy, or even comfortable. A sick little business that barely supported a sick little life.
What do I do now?' I wondered. I'm almost forty-four years old. I've got nowhere to live. I'm a tired, worn-out, nothing. Why the fuck did I even come back here? Raw habit, I guess. Nine years is a long time to live in a place.'
"How did it go today?" A voice asked from above.
I looked through the glare of the streetlight to find the source of the voice. It was Walt. He was leaning out of an open window. He wore a crisp, white apron. I watched as he lifted the bottom of it to wipe his hands on. My mother used to wipe her hands on the bottom of her apron. I wondered why I thought about my mother just then. Walt didn't look like her. Walt was a man, a big, broad, strong man in a crisp, white apron.
I answered the question Walt had asked me. "It's all over, solved, finished, done with." I replied and probably drove the point harder than was necessary.
"Good." Walt said and smoothed his apron back down. "What are you doing now?"
"Thinking."
"Think up here." Walt beckoned me with his big, strong right hand. He beckoned me with the hand that had rested among the no man's land of my stomach not that many hours earlier. I'd loved the feeling of that hand when he'd touched me with it. He beckoned me again and added to his invitation. "The landlord gave me your stuff. He also let me have Bea's stuff. Come up, dinner's almost ready."
I refused, the way I'd refused his every offer. I shook my head and obstinately folded my arms over my chest. "I can't."
Walt set both his hands on the window ledge and leaned far out. He insisted I join him. "I made dinner for both of us. I refuse to waste half of it."
I didn't fight anymore. I didn't have any fight left in me. I shrugged, pushed off the post, and crossed the sidewalk to Walt's door. I climbed the stairs and entered his apartment. It looked the way I remembered it and it smelled like cooking. My mouth watered, but my insides lurched in angry protest.
I entered the kitchen to find Walt waiting for me by the table. He pulled a chair out and offered it to me. I ignored the chair and stayed on my feet. "I'll only stay the night," I mumbled miserably, "sleep on the sofa."
Walt's face squeezed down until he looked like a fallen cake. The tone he used was his `funeral tone,' so named because he only used it in instances of profound sadness. "Tell me what you're afraid of."
I was honest with Walt. It was too late for lies, too late for avoidance, too late for anything but the whole truth. "I'm afraid of every wrong choice I've ever made. I'm afraid of my anger and violence. I'm afraid of being useless. I have nothing. I own nothing. I have no job, no prospects, and no skills that anyone wants. I've ruined my life. I'm afraid if I stay, I'll ruin yours. I'd rather die than hurt you anymore than I already have." I dropped my face in my hands and wished I could disappear.
Walt picked out one of my statements to focus on. "You'd rather die than hurt me?" He asked in a small voice that barely sounded like his.
"Yes." I admitted to my palms.
Walt yanked my hands from my face and shouted into it. "DOES THAT MEAN YOU LOVE ME?"
"OF COURSE, I LOVE YOU!" I shouted back. "If I didn't, I wouldn't care if you drowned with me."
I realized what I'd said but it was too late to suck the words back in. What have I done?' I asked myself. Two voices sounded in my mind. One was the small voice from the night before. This time, instead of a whisper, it spoke at a roar. It shouted encouragement. LET HIM LOVE YOU AND LOVE HIM BACK!' It screamed. The other voice was the negative one. That one was louder as it howled a warning of destruction. `YOU'RE NO GOOD FOR HIM! YOU'RE NO GOOD FOR ANYONE!' It cried.
I was caught between them. I wanted to run, to get away from both voices and from Walt's desperate plea for understanding. Walt clamped a powerful hand on each of my shoulders. He did it as if he'd sensed my impulse to flee and decided to hold me still. "Make me understand." He commanded.
The way he said the words, I knew I'd either have to explain or fight him. Walt was bigger than me, stronger than me, but I knew he could never beat me in a physical contest. He could never match my violence. Walt was too kind to fight like a cornered animal. I didn't want to fight him, though. I wanted to love him, and I wanted him to love me. I wanted to wake up with him every morning for the rest of my life, like I had that morning, but I couldn't. I didn't dare.
"I want you." I said as I got ready to squeeze my heart out for Walt. "I've wanted you since the diner in Passyunk. When you asked me what I wanted, that time I hinted around about Whitman, I lied to you. I wanted a partner, but I was terrified of what I would do to you, to your kindness, to your nice life. I'm angry, violent, irresponsible, and selfish. I could have overcome that, maybe. It doesn't matter. None of it matters now. I can't be your partner, not now."
"You haven't told me why." Walt insisted.
"I have NOTHING TO OFFER!" I exploded at Walt's persistence. "You're so perfect. You've got a great job, a great place, you're handsome, and smart, and talented, and caring, and responsible, and good, and kind. I'm NOTHING, a fucking gelding on a stud farm. A partner has to have something, he has to add. What could I give you?"
Walt squeezed my shoulders. "Oh, Law, you poor, miserable man. Give yourself to me. That's all I ever wanted."
His words hit me like a physical blow. My stomach knotted and heaved with blinding intensity. I couldn't breathe. My knees buckled and I started to fall. Walt's arms surrounded me, held me to him while the pain flared like fire in my guts. His arms kept me against him while the agony twisted my body.
"I'm here for you." He whispered in my ear.
"You...really...wa-want...me?" I gasped between spasms.
"I really want you." Walt assured me.
The pain moved out of my stomach. It reached up and squeezed itself around my heart. I burst into desperate wracking sobs. Walt pulled me even tighter. I returned his embrace as strength came back to my limbs. "NO ONE EVER WANTED ME!" I howled.
A river of sadness flowed from my soul as I realized the gravity of the wrong I'd done to Walt. It bore down on me like falling sheet-lead. I wept for all the long time that I ran from him, hurt him, refused his affection. I wept for the life that I wasted and the happiness we could have shared if only I would have stood still instead of fleeing. I wept for myself, a broken, wreck of a man living in a hell of his own making.
Walt's grip didn't fade as my tears soaked his apron and the shirt-front underneath. He supported us both like the bedrock under a skyscraper. I don't know how long he held me. It was more than a moment, but less than a lifetime. Eventually, I calmed, soothed by his warm, caring presence. He lowered me into the chair. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.
"I'm sorry I kept us apart." I whispered to the bottom of Walt's apron. "I'm sorry I hurt you. If you really want me, you can have me. I give myself to you. I...I love you, Walt."
Walt smoothed the top of my head with his big, caring hand. "I want you. I accept you. I want to be where you belong."
If I'd have had any tears left in me, I would have wept again. All I'd ever wanted was to have someone want me, someone to accept me. That was all I ever needed. "Thanks." I whispered because I was unable to say anything else.
"Welcome home."
"Thanks." I said again and raised my eyes to his.
Walt leaned down, held my head in his hands, and kissed me gently. He leaned his forehead against mine and peered inside me. "You're a good man, Law. I want you and I love you. Believe that and everything else is details." He pulled away and stood up. "Get cleaned up. Dinner is almost ready." He smoothed his rumpled apron and moved back toward the stove.
I sat for another minute, to look around at my new home, my new life, then I went to clean up.
There were still loose ends, decisions to be made. I needed a job. I needed to learn how to be in a relationship. I needed to learn to let Walt love me and how to love him back. I needed to learn what to do with my past, how to deal with a lifetime of rejection and indifference.
There was a lot of work to do and much of it was in unfamiliar territory. For the first time, I wouldn't have to do it alone. Walt would help me. We would work on it together. I'd given myself to him. I had to put my faith in him and in the life that we would build for each other. For the first time in a long time, I looked forward to the next moment instead of dreading it. That was a start.
That start, the first step on a new path, had taken me a long time to be ready to take it. It had taken a lot of grief and pain. It had taken a difficult case, spending time with a woman, and a hard look at my life. That last one was something no one likes to do.
It had been an emotional day. I'd seen a man killed. I'd seen a woman cry. I said `goodbye' to an illusion. A part of me died, so another part could live. My old life had ended. A new one had just begun.
The Beginning _____________________________________
Epilogue
Hello there everyone, Sam the author here. If you're reading this, I can only assume you enjoyed the story. I'm glad.
I love mystery novels, especially those from the golden age back in the 1930s to the 1950s. Some of my favorites are Raymond Chandler and his Philip Marlow mysteries, Dorothy Sayers and her Peter Wimsey mysteries, and Dashiell Hammett and his various heroes / anti-heroes.
When I set out to write the book that became `Wasted Life' my first task was to figure out who my main character would be. I didn't want to simply copy one of the classic detectives and make him gay. I wanted a man with nuance, with depth. I wanted a hard-boiled man. Someone for whom life had lost its luster. Someone who'd been living in the sordid world of crime for a large portion of his life.
The next question I had to answer was the era to set the story. I am a big fan of early 20th century American history. I am fascinated by the World War II era. The rule of `write what you know' is a good one. As such, I set the story in 1944.
Once I had a middle-aged man in 1944, much of what would become Law Edwards fell into place. Creating him as a battle-scared veteran of what was at the time known as `The Great War' was a logical step. It gave him a built-in backstory, one full of senseless violence and tragic loss.
As I understand the aftermath of the conflict that would eventually be known as WWI, it was the first war that dashed the promise of the valor of battle. The meatgrinder of mechanized warfare and the deprivation of life in the trenches swallowed up hopeful youth and spit back hardened men for whom Victorian morality no longer held sway. They were confused and embittered by the carnage they'd witnessed and participated in.
Law Edwards is the poster child of these veterans. On top of his shattered sense of morality, we add the savage wound of being rejected by his father and his family and by society at large. To have him invalided out of the army and taken up by a big city police force seems darkly comical, especially at the height of the roaring twenties and the lax morality of the Prohibition era.
What does Law do during this period? He wallows in it like a hog in warm mud. Indeed, why shouldn't he? The clichŽ of eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die' seems an appropriate phrase for this period in both national history and in Law's personal history. The perverse carnival of Madam Mitchell's saloon and brothel is the perfect setting for him to celebrate his fantasies. The fact that the Madam calls him her Hero of Law and Order' is just so much corrupt icing on the cake.
And what happens? Like all drunken orgies, the party eventually must end. The thirties came and with them The Great Depression. From there Law experienced a long slide into poverty and anonymity. His brief sense of belonging and eventually his every pleasure is slowly taken from him by the crushing march of time. Even his livelihood becomes impossible for him to maintain. This is where we meet our protagonist as he chomps on a stale cigar and screeches the unlubricated works of his swivel chair while he growls at young Bea Arlott.
What happened after that, you well know, or you wouldn't be here.
A man with nothing to lose is a very compelling character for me. That man can be anything. He can do anything. He is completely free of all responsibilities and obligations. He is especially compelling if he has given up on his life because no action would be too drastic for him.
The other beauty of a character in this position is that often, because he's so downtrodden, any step he takes is a step up. He is also in the perfect position to learn and to grow and to evolve because he can no longer remain static. Law Edwards, unlike many of the classic detective characters, is dynamic. He isn't the same man at the end of the story as he was at the beginning.
That is what makes Wasted Life' different from many of the other books I mentioned, the fact that Law grew as a person. This story is his redemption, his return to the human race, his Pinocchio transformation from a static archetype into a real boy.'
That, dear reader, is the point.
So, the question for me to answer is, `now what?' Well, I'm working on a sequel. I think there is more story to tell. Because Law is a dynamic character, he cannot go on and on and on like Philip Marlow could, because at some point the transformation is complete. Once a caterpillar is a butterfly, the story is over. That said, our friend Law still has a way to go, and perhaps, so do the people around him. There's at least enough there for one more story, perhaps two.
In the meantime, dear reader, I hope you enjoyed our time together. Before I sign off, I would be remiss if I did not issue a couple of thank yous. The first is to Earth-Boy. Earth-Boy is someone I met on Nifty who read my work and offered insightful comments that helped me as a writer. Earth-Boy taught me brevity.
The next thank you is to Jeremy. Jeremy is another person I met on Nifty. Jeremy taught me to let the setting of the story take shape around the main character instead of making him report on every new setting he steps into before the action starts. His advice allowed my writing to reach a new plateau.
Beyond those special thank yous are the massive thank you I would like to say to all the people who read and enjoyed this work. To all those silent readers who added to the GayDemon reader count, thank you. To all those who read on Nifty, thank you. I appreciate that you spent your precious time with me. To those who emailed and commented, THANK YOU!
Like everyone, I love to be appreciated, but even more than that, I love nuanced comments. I love when people guess at the next step in the story, or tell a story of their own experience that parallels that of the characters, or express an emotion that the writing brought about within them. Those comments illustrate engagement and that tells me I'm producing good material. That is the most important thing to me. So once again, THANK YOU ALL!
Until next time,
Yours very sincerely,
Sam Stefanik