Blue Murder Stories

Jamie Runaway

Devon Blake didn't wonder who it was that rang the buzzer of his apartment. He kept hacking ice for a few more moments of his own idle pleasure, in which perhaps Jamie would begin to worry about whether Blake hadn't heard his ring or wasn't home. Blake smiled just for himself as he filled his crystal tumbler with ice, then left it and the pick back on the bar, wiped his hands on his cotton shirt, and went across the room to answer the call box.

'It's...it's me,' Jamie said in a small voice of relief. He took a few awkward moments of silence before breaking back through the static of the speaker. 'I should've told you I was coming. I'm sorry, honest. I... I told mum and dad I was leaving for good, and the only place I could come was here...'

'It's alright,' Blake said with a gentle laugh, 'I'll let you up. You know I love to see you.'

He went back across the room and built a vodka soda in his glass while waiting for the sound of the apartment door. He stood back by the rough paint textures of some Shapinsky studies—originals, all of them—on the wall above the bar.

When Jamie opened the door he was gaunt, pale, and seemed to be working on the empty vapors of anxious energy. He had nothing but a light drawstring bag over his back. He apologised again as he came inside with his shaggy head hung.

'It's okay, sweet,' Blake said. 'You're not catching me in anything, after all. Maybe I'd have liked just a little warning. I like to make myself look nice if I know I'm going to be spending time with you.'

'I was going to, I swear.' Jamie sputtered a little. Blake patted a hand on his shoulder to try and calm him. 'I was going to let you know I wanted to leave home and maybe stay here for a little while if I could. But, my dad found out first. We had this big tiff—he was so angry at me, I was yelling back at him... I wish he didn't know about me and you, but my bag was already packed so I just ran out of there...'

'Shh, it's alright.' Blake laughed again. His hand coursed up from Jamie's shoulder and patted the back of his neck, then journeyed farther and rested in his hair. 'Honestly, don't think so much about it. You know I'd love to take you in here with me. You know I love to be with you.'

Jamie looked at him, but only quickly. His nerves were still fraught, his muscles tensing at the touch of Blake's gentle caresses. He escaped by sitting on the white sofa.

'Would you like a drink?' Blake said. 'I was just hacking some ice. I've got some terrific imported stuff, you'll love it.'

Jamie was looking at the floor, but shook his head. 'That's okay.' His shoulders were hunched and his thin fingers clutching and pinching at each other.

'Anything else you want? I like to provide for you, you know that.'

'I don't know.'

'Oh, my sweet thing.' Blake bit his lip. 'Little Jamie runaway. I bet your dad was so angry at me, called me all number of hateful things...'

'It's none of his fucking business at all,' Jamie said suddenly.

'Of course not. It's just you and me. He probably calls me nothing but a dirty old man.'

Blake could see Jamie's look turn and darken; a clear but silent indicator that what he had been called was worse.

'Listen,' Jamie said as he half-turned around the sofa, 'it's okay that I came here, right? I mean—I don't have to stay here with you if you don't want me to. I can try somewhere else...'

'Oh, stop it, please. I love that you're here. I was waiting for you to get a little older and maybe I would've asked you about moving in here anyway. Just so people's heads wouldn't turn so hard, I mean.'