You Could Be My Compass

Isobel Gaskarth had the phone in her hand and was about to call the police. She really was. That was the smartest plan, after all. Any reasonable human being would be on the phone with them right then and there, no hesitation, but just as she was about to dial the number, she got this overwhelming feeling that she had to go home right now. She could call on the way. So she threw her phone in her purse, shouted to her secretary that there was a family emergency, and sprinted to her car.

It was really something, watching Isobel running in heels and a skirt. Everybody peeked out of their offices to see what the hell that clicking noise in the hall was, and when they saw that it was the sound of her heels hitting the tiles at record speed, eyebrows raised as they wondered what was going on. Her hair had fallen from its perfect bun and was loosely hanging around her shoulders, but they couldn’t see her face as she sped past. The elevator, she decided, was going too slowly, so she shoved open the door to the stairway—why was it blocked closed in the first place—and, ignoring the couple making out against the wall (honestly, this was work, not high school), she took the stairs two or three at a time, not losing her balance even once.

She flung herself into her car. For once, she was going to drive just like her son: crazily and without a care for other drivers. Her mother instincts were kicked into overdrive, and she couldn’t place what it was. All he’d said was that there was a suspicious car. Yeah, given the circumstances, that should have worried her, but she was acting crazy. It was like she sensed that something else was wrong. Really wrong.

Jack was not only her son’s best friend, but he was also like a second child to her. The idea of them both being in danger was what motivated her to glance towards the passenger seat. Underneath it, there was a secret, something she’d kept hidden for five years. Nobody knew about it, not even her husband…but all secrets have to come out into the open. She just hoped today wasn’t the day for this one. Because, like every secret, this one could be deadly.

——

“Alex,” Jack whispered, his voice so soft it was barely audible.

“What?” he hissed back. His eyes had adjusted in the couple of minutes they’d been locked in the room, and he could see the outline of Jack, along with all of the pets. They appeared to be on high alert, ears perked up and tails stiff. They knew something was up, and they weren’t happy about it.

“The, the game we were playing earlier, the question game. I have one for you.”

“Really? Now?” Of all times…

“So let’s say we’re in a tough situation,” he whispered quickly. “There’s a chance we could die. What would you want me to know?”

“Jack, we’re not gonna die,” Alex protested.

“Please,” he asked, his voice taking on a new hint of desperation. “Just answer the damn question, Lex.”

“Fine,” he murmured, trying to ignore the banging noises downstairs as the intruder looked around. He was definitely in the basement right then, not far away enough for them to be safe, but enough that he had time to talk. “I would want you to know how amazing you are, how lucky I am to have you. That you’re the best person I’ve ever met. That I’m in love with you. That I don’t care what happens next because I’m with you right now, and that’s all that really matters. That if it comes down to it, I’d take a fucking bullet for you, Jack.”

Jack sniffled a bit. “I love you too.” He tightened his grip on Alex’s hand, probably stopping the blood flow completely, but that wasn’t a concern at the moment. “But you’re abso-fucking-lutely not taking a bullet for me, ever.”

“Are we really gonna have this argument now?” Alex asked, a combination of teasing and serious.

“Nah,” Jack decided.

Footsteps thundered up the stairs. He was getting closer.

“Bet you’re in the closet, aren’t you?” The hallway closet, that’s where he was going to open first. “Pretty fitting place to hide.” The voice, in all honesty, would have scared the shit out of anybody. Alex thought of the famous Heeeere’s Johnny! scene from The Shining. It was that cold, psychotic voice that sends chills up your spine. The voice of somebody who was definitely capable of doing some seriously awful things.

They heard the door to the closet open and the sound of boxes falling. He cursed, and Alex had to fight back a laugh. All the boxes of his papers were back in the closet, precariously perched on shelves. Everyone knew than to dare try to open it. Hah!

And then he was knocking on the door to the room they were in. Why bother knocking? “If you’re in there, it’s best to just let me in. I won’t hurt you.”

Alex didn’t see it, but Jack rolled his eyes at that. It was such a ridiculous statement, I won’t hurt you. Laughable, even.

He was hitting the door harder—seriously, how the hell does one become so efficient at knocking down doors?—and it was starting to give. Jack released Alex’s hand and grabbed his face, pulling him into a hard, emotional kiss. “I. Love. You.”

Taking his hand again, Alex smiled. “Love you too, Jacko.” At the sound of his nickname, the orange cat Jack-o-Lantern scampered over to them but retreated quickly.

And then the door was falling open. “There you are, Jack. I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You really shouldn’t have escaped, you know that. I was going to let you go. It was only a few months until your father would’ve had you paid off, and we could’ve all gone back to normal and pretended this never happened. But you just couldn’t wait, could you? You had to bring attention to me and the situation, had to run. You saw what happened to Anne. Should I do the same to you?”

Jack shook his head, unable to speak.

“Your father is out of the way. Your mother, well, she’s a fool that loves him too much to speak out against him, even when he’s dead. Anne is dead and gone. You, you’re the last one on my list.” There was a manic gleam in his eyes, like he was enjoying this. Like the fact that he’d killed two people and obviously planned on killing a third had no effect on him.

“Why?” Alex asked.

“What?” he snapped, looking appalled that one of them was even talking at all. In his mind, they should’ve been catatonic by now, leaving Jack an easy target. Who was this second boy that Jack was clinging to so tightly? “Wait, you’re that Gaskarth boy, aren’t you? The one from the news.” He snorted. “Pretty stupid decision, don’t you think? I’m out on the loose, and you have them put it on the news that you’re home? Broadcast it to the entire world, myself included, that you’re right back where you started, making it so easy to get you again. God, I thought your parents had more brains than that.”

“But why?” Alex asked again, his tone that of somebody that wouldn’t be ignored, insisting that he get an answer. Jack gave him a look that said what the hell is your angle here? Alex ran his thumb over the back of Jack’s hand, a gesture that was meant to say calm down, don’t worry, I’ve got this. No matter how much Jack trusted Alex, it wasn’t very reassuring. But he didn’t have another choice. “Why is it so critical to you that you hurt Jack? You’ve kind of already fucked up his life. What else do you want?”

“Let me tell you a story,” he said, leaning against the wall casually, like he fucking owned the place or something, like he was an invited guest that came there all the time. Yeah, it kind of pissed Alex off.

But not as much as it pissed somebody else off. There was a flash of grey, a shout of ”Ow, fucker!”, and a loud hissing noise. Jack the Ripper had attacked, not liking the unwelcome visitor one bit. Jack smirked at the fresh cut down Adam’s arm as the cat jumped in his lap, purring proudly. Alex suddenly had a newfound appreciation for the beast. “So, what’s the story?” he prodded.

“My brother was my best friend. I know, it’s cliché, but I don’t want to hear it. Steven and I were very close growing up. Our father left when we were very young and our mother was an alcoholic. Even though he was only a couple years older than me, he dropped out to help me, make sure I had a better life than he did. I swore I’d do everything I could to repay him one day.”

The story was making him seem almost human. But not quite. There was still the inflection in his speech, the heartless voice of somebody who didn’t care what impact their actions had on others.

“Your father,” he directed to Jack, though it was Alex who’d asked. “Killed him. I never really got the chance to repay him for what he did for me while I was in high school, and for making sure I never got hurt during deals. He was my brother, the person that meant more to me than anybody. After that, I vowed that I would one day make Bassam feel the same way, make him know what it’s like to lose the person you care about the most. It wasn’t his wife, obviously, because the divorce wasn’t an issue.”

“You’re wrong,” Jack said quietly but firmly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re wrong,” he repeated. He raised his voice, confident in what he was about to say. “I don’t mean anything to him. Nobody does—well, did, I guess. He never cared about anybody but himself. Even if he was still alive, killing me wouldn’t really effect him at all; he’d only be concerned with what impact it would have on his business. That’s all that ever mattered to him. When you killed him, you killed the person that mattered most to him.”

“Pretty badass speech,” Alex whispered in his ear. He swore Jack the Ripper was rearing back, ready to strike again.

Adam took a moment to process this. “Well then…what if I kill the person that means the most to you, Jack?” From the inside pocket of his jacket, he pulled out a gun, pointing it at Alex. “Would that be better?”

“Yes!” Alex yelled at the same time Jack shouted “No!”

He pointed it at the small gap of space between the two of them. “Who should it be? Which one of you is going to live the rest of their life with the guilt of being the survivor, just like I did? Who’s it gonna be?” His finger was on the trigger, moving it slowly between the two of them, both equally ready to die in place of the other.

A single shot rang out.