Death Becomes Him - 6

Rory’s parents hadn’t heard from him, which surprised neither them nor Trent when it came right down to it. They asked, once they knew what was happening, that Trent keep them appraised of the situation and even offered to come down to New Orleans if he thought they could help look for their son. Knowing that being gone could affect Mr Mathieu’s business, he told them that wouldn’t be necessary.

“Not that I couldn’t use the moral support,” he said, which led to his having to explain what he was almost certain they’d already figured out, that he and Rory were involved again, the way they had been in high school.

“Just find out where he is,” Rory’s mother had pleaded. “That’s all we ask.”

“And damn it, when you do find him, tell him to call us,” his father had added. “That boy”—he sighed—“should grow up and… never mind. Just find him, Trent.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Trent promised before hanging up.

He filed the missing person’s report. The officer who took it said they’d add it to their list. He explained, much to Trent’s dismay, that on any given day in the U.S. over two thousand people went missing and New Orleans had their fair share of them. “So as much as I hate to say it, don’t get your hopes up. We will check with the morgue, local hospitals and our jails, to see if he’s shown up at any of them, but beyond that there’s not all that much we can do.”

At that point, Trent felt he’d done all he could. It didn’t make him feel any better. If anything he was even more depressed. He had thought, with what he considered good reason, that he and Rory had something going on between them. That sooner or later their relationship would become permanent because they cared for each other to the point that he was willing to admit he loved Rory. He thought Rory felt the same.

Days passed into weeks. Rory’s employees found other jobs. The place that had been the tour company’s headquarters was re-rented and turned into a small art gallery. After two months, Trent gave up hope of ever finding out what had happened to the man he loved. The man who had inexplicably vanished as if he’d never existed. He kept in touch with Rory’s parents—sporadically—hoping they might have heard from him.

Six months later Trent moved out of his small house into a larger one. The hotel was prospering and his paycheck reflected that. He also got a dog, a stray from the local pound. It was definitely a mixed breed, with shaggy black and brown hair and a tail that wagged a mile-a-minute. They hit it off immediately and though he was larger than Trent had been looking for, he couldn’t resist adopting him. After careful consideration, all five minutes thereof, he decided to name him Beauregard. Beau for short.