HOPE EVERYONE IS STAYING SAFE AND HEALTHY. I WILL TRY TO UPDATE THIS SOON. ENJOY!

When Matthew stepped through the front door leaving Carlo brooding on the porch, he could hear Ma immediately. "Well, if it's not the prodigal son! I told you 'go find Carlo' not 'go get yourself lost.'"

"I found him, Ma! Come on. He's out on the steps." Matthew whined.

Ma unsurprisingly persisted with nagging. "On the steps? What he is doing on the steps?"

"I don't know! He's on the steps! He's doing what you do when you're on the steps. Ask him!"

"Matthew, I'm gonna smack you. Tell him to come in. I have lasagna. Go tell him and get your plate."

"Carlo! Lasagna!"

Fuck, Matty's getting mouthy, Carlo thought and stuck a cigarette in his mouth as he dug around in his pocket for a lighter.

"Don't let your mother see you." His father's voice from the driveway caught him off guard.

Carlo smiled, pulling out his pack. "Want one?"

Tony lifted his hand and in it was a tantalizing-looking cigar. "Want one?" He asked in response.

Carlo swiped the unlit cigarette from him lips and met him at the bottom of the porch steps. Tony passed him the cigar he'd gotten started and began to light another.

As Carlo took his first few puffs, he felt his father's eyes on him.

"Too quick, boy. Hold it in. Taste it."

Carlo did. It tasted like coffee beans with a hint of new leather. He felt good. Very good. Too good.

"I'm going to get Nicky, Pop. Enough's enough."

Tony took a long drag from his cigar and nodded. "I'm coming with you."

"Then Ma will want to come." Carlo sighed, wishing he'd just left immediately upon getting back to the house.

"No. She doesn't need to see him like that."

"Pop, we don't know what he's going to look like when we bring him back. She's seen more than you know. Damn it. It's always with the secrets in this family. It's why we're so fucking torn apart." Carlo stuck a hand in his pocket and impatiently fingered his keys.

"What's that supposed to mean? What secrets?" Tony asked. His face looked weary and guilt-ridden.

"Forget it! Let's just go before rush hour starts. I don't want to be sitting in bumper to bumper traffic."

Tony picked up an ashtray and laid it on the cement railing post for Carlo's cigar. "Don't you dare stamp it out. The smell. Your mother will kill me." After a long drag of his own cigar, he said gruffly: "Fine. You go. But I want to make one thing clear: this isn't your fault, kid."

Carlo felt his heartrate quicken. "What if he's done something, huh? We shouldn't have let him go."

"I was the one who told you to let him go on. You were right, son. I should've let you handle it your way." He gripped Carlo's shoulder. "He's like me. He's stubborn. He'll find a way through."

"Pop …" Carlo choked. "I don't want to push you out. It's not your fault either."

"I shouldn't worry your mother. You're right. I'll slow you down. You're his brother. Brothers know each other. It'll be harder for him – coming back – if I'm there."

The way his father was shrinking from the task of bringing Nicky home made the pit in Carlo's stomach grow. He couldn't let this conversation go on. He couldn't spend another minute in Jersey City. He couldn't escape the feeling that he was running out of time. He set his jaw, dropped his cigar in the ashtray, and pulled out his keys. "I'll bring him home." The words were said affirmatively enough that it echoed in his ears as he descended down the driveway, started up his car, and again as he accelerated from the on-ramp onto the highway.

Nicky could smell blood: his blood, and he remembered why. Though he hadn't the mobility in either of his arms due to their dislocation, he could feel blood from his lifeless knuckle soaking his chest. The finger which used to fit quite comfortably there was now presumably laying somewhere on his bedroom floor. He was used to leaving socks there. Dryer sheets, receipts, dirty laundry that he was too lazy to pick up. Now among them was his finger and the thought made him begin to gag.

A noise came from his throat as he struggled to control the reflex. It was then that he could hear movement outside the closet door and in the darkness, he remembered how tight the space was around him.

"Oh good, you're awake again." It was Julian's voice, but it took Nicky a moment to remember. It's likeness to his father's – the coach – was suddenly apparent and dawning on him and his heart began to thud.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Nicky cried, letting his head droop against the door.

"You know why." Julian growled.

He couldn't take it. The air in the closet was stale and though Nicky had never before felt claustrophobic, he felt a new surge of panic like he was being buried alive in his tiny closet. He pushed on the door, which he knew would be futile. "Please. I can't breathe!"

"You need to give me what I want!"

"I can't do that. You know I can't, man. I'm not like you. It's not who I am."

"You think I want to have sex with you? You're not my type, Nick."

Nicky was drenched in sweat, but his chest felt a little lighter at hearing this. "Then what's your end game? Why are you doing this to me?"

"This can go only two ways. You either have a confession for me or things will get ugly."

Nicky was overflowing with frustration. He hit his head against the door again and again. "I have nothing to more to tell you! I don't fucking get it!" He roared as snot dripped from his nose.

There was silence. It was a long enough silence that Nicky wondered if he'd left the room. But then Julian spoke and his voice sounded like it was in his ear. "Well then … I'm disappointed. And so will you be because I'll have to remind you of what it's like to be used."
Nicky shimmied away from the door as if he could avoid Julian's disturbing voice. "What are you talking about? What do you call this if not using me?!"

A powerful slam against the closet door caused Nicky to jolt upright. "You got to walk away. You got to live a life. Is that fair? I've asked myself that my whole life. Listen to me, boy. No one will ever hear your name again and think what a respectable young man, what a hard-working detective. But what about the truth? You hurt kids. Like poor, little Shawn." He pounded his fist against the door once again. "Confess."

Nicky would've crossed himself had he the mobility in his arms. It might've brought him comfort. This was certainly like no other confessional he'd ever been in. It was hot and his skin was slick with sweat. "What do you want me to say?" Nick's voice was a whisper. He thought for a moment and when he spoke again, he barely got out the words without choking. "You want me to tell you about Shawn."

Nicky's mind was racing. There was merely a sliver of light poking into the closet from beneath the door.

"Your right about Shawn." His voice was shaking. "He was used as you put it."

There was scraping noise outside the door like chair legs being dragged across the floor. "Yes." Julian's voice sounded closer and his excitement was evident as he spoke at an octave higher. "Tell me."

Nicky shimmied further from the door. "He was beaten …" Nicky's voice trailed off as a wave of nausea rose over him. "By his father."

"And so, what did you do?"

"I investigated. It was my job. He reported it to me."

Julian slammed his fist against the closet door. "That's not what you're supposed to confess!"

"I knew there was more to his story." Nicky continued, buying his time.

"And?!"

"And I was right. I thought it was Jon." Nicky chuckled to himself, thinking back to his first few meetings with Shawn and Jonathon. "His own brother. Of course, it's hard to keep track of a kid when they live in a trailer park. But his own brother?"

Julian's voice was low and cold when he spoke again. "Get to the part where he shows up at your apartment alone."

Nicky thought. "Oh that. What can I say about that? Nothing I haven't told you already. He showed up depressed. Tried to kill himself a month ago. God knows I'm fucking depressed, yet he thinks I can save him. I think he figured out that I can't when he found me drunk off my ass tonight. To him, I'm the only one who gets it: being raped. And that's a shitty person to be. He left disappointed so … fuck it. If I even survive tonight, maybe I'll end up killing myself after all."

Again with the fucking silence. Minutes pass before Julian says anything more. "Do you know what your partner's investigating right now?"

Nicky sat a little straighter. "Chris?"

"A missing boy last seen climbing into a brown-panelled station wagon. You've been for a ride in a brown-panelled station wagon, haven't you?"