either.
I thought I was being smart. Now, I wasn’t so sure. The more time I spent around these Lost Boys, or thinking about them, the more convinced I became that, whatever their problems were, being loved too much wasn’t one of them.
Which brought me back to Tony. In his way, he was another Lost Boy. But he wasn’t a throwaway-he’d gotten lost by himself when he decided to hide his true self and couldn’t find his way back.
I didn’t want to hide and I didn’t want to be thrown away.
I didn’t want to feel like I had to hold back on my affections. As if love were something toxic or rare that needed containment or rationing.
I didn’t ever want to be afraid to give someone that hug, the once-in-a-lifetime hug that changes everything.
I didn’t want to be a Lost Boy.
And I didn’t want to lose any of the ones around me, either.
I’d find Brent.
I’d help Lucas.
I’d convince Tony to come out. I’d give Rafi the unconditional love he deserved.
If it was too late for Adam, who I didn’t even know, at least I’d helped expose the people who put him in harm’s way. They’d never hurt another child again.
And then I’d… cure cancer. End AIDS. Stop global warming, and, uh, invent a really good dessert that doesn’t make you fat.
Ugh.
Megalomaniac much?
It was crazy. I couldn’t save everyone.
But maybe one?
It started with Brent.
Maybe if I just concentrated on him.
Focus, Kevin, focus.
Think.
What did I know?
Maybe a visual aid.
I went into my bedroom and found an old copy of the Advocate. Sure enough, there on the back cover was a full-page shot of Brent’s smiling face and bare chest, in an ad for SwordFight Productions.
Hi, Brent. It’s me, Kevin. Where are you? What are you up to? Who are you, really?
“That’s him!”
The answer came to me.
Wait.
What?
That wasn’t coming from my head.
I heard that.
There was someone behind me. He put his hands around my neck.
36
Tony leaned in and kissed my forehead as he kneaded my tense neck and shoulders. “Hey, babe, how did you find him?”
“Find who?”
“Him. That one on the magazine. I’ve been trying to put a name to that face for two days now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I thought you were… wait a minute, how could you have known…?” Tony grabbed the magazine, rolled it up, and tucked it under his arm. Then he stood up, took me by the hand, and guided me to the couch. He pulled me onto his lap. “What have you gotten yourself into this time, Kevvy?”
Tony’s lap was usually my happy place. Not tonight. Tony didn’t like it when I played Boy Detective. Some silly objection to my almost getting myself killed a couple of times.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Kevin…”
“Let me preface this,” I announced, “by pointing out that whatever I’ve ‘gotten myself into’ is a good thing.” The wrath of an angry Tony was no fun. Especially when he was kind of right.
“I mean, this helps you now, right? I’ve been looking for Brent, too. So, it’s like a, uh, happy coincidence. The best kind. I know who he is, and you know where he is. Now, we put the name with the face and case solved! You get to talk to him about whatever you need him for, and I get to find out why he disappeared off the face of the earth.”
Tony wasn’t smiling. Stupidly, I reached the belated realization that if Tony was looking for Brent, it probably meant Brent was in trouble. Or was involved with someone who was. Which might explain why he’d run.
Tony pulled me closer against his chest, resting a hand over my heart. “How well did you know this kid, Kevvy? Was he a close friend?”
“No, not really. He was a guest on the show. When I tried to call to follow up with him, I found out no one had seen him for weeks. I’ve been curious.”
“Babe.” Tony held me closer still. He picked up the copy of the Advocate that he’d put next to him and pointed at the picture of Brent. “This kid’s in the morgue. He’s my floater.”
I’d gotten increasingly nervous as Tony’s tone grew more serious. Now, I let out a sigh of relief.
“No he isn’t,” I said. I was glad I remembered the details of the case Tony’d shared with me. “You told me the body you found was of a Hispanic guy in his thirties. Brent’s in his early twenties, and he’s whiter than Wonder Bread.”
Tony’s voice was one I hadn’t heard before. It had a forced calmness to it, a practiced sympathy. I realized it was probably a manner he affected on the job, when he had to give bad news to family members.
“That was the first body we found. Three nights later, I got another call, remember? A second body. If we hadn’t been down there looking for clues related to the first case, we probably wouldn’t have found him for months.
“As it was, we were able to do a pretty accurate facial reconstruction.” He tapped the magazine. “It’s a match, honey. Believe me, I know. When I saw that first sketch-up, for one terrible moment, I thought it was you. It was crazy-I’d just left you here that morning, so I knew it couldn’t be you. But the resemblance is so strong…”
“I’ve heard that before,” I said mechanically, part of me still thinking-hoping-he’d made a mistake.
“I saw that picture and thought if something like that ever happened to you…” His voice cracked.
We were quiet for a few moments. I was trying to think of something I could say that would prove Tony wrong. Brent couldn’t be dead. Could he?
I put my hand over Tony’s. “Nothing’s going to happen to me.”
“It’d better not.” Tony ruffled my hair, trying to lighten the mood.
“Are you sure the body is Brent’s?” I asked. I thought of Lucas’s brother. “Apparently, there are a lot more guys who look like me than I knew.”
Tony nodded back toward the shirtless image of Brent on the magazine. “That tattoo on his shoulder? Our victim has the same one. And matching ones-”
“Around his ankle.” I finished his sentence. I remembered them from the videos Freddy and I had watched.
Tony nodded his agreement, and then froze. “Hey, just how well did you know this guy?”
“I watched a few of his videos.” Tony stiffened behind me. Not in the good way.
