The Colors of Hate - 47

It was mid-morning before Dean awoke. Once again it took him a second to figure out where he was, until he remembered Kirby bringing him over to Jim’s house. As soon as he was inside, Carrie had led him to the spare bedroom and he’d collapsed on the bed, barely taking time to kick off his shoes before he fell asleep.

He sat up, listening for any sounds that would tell him Jim and Carrie were still there. Hearing nothing, he headed to the bathroom, took care of business, finger-brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, and then went down the hall to the living room. Since it was vacant, he moved on to the kitchen. A pile of clothes sat on the table with a note on top telling him to use whatever fit.

He wasn’t about to protest. He felt as if he’d been wearing what he had on for days, even though he knew it had only been late yesterday afternoon when he’d put them on. Luckily for him, he and Jim were close to the same height, although Jim was a bit more muscular. He found a pair of jeans and a shirt that would do and changed into them, smiling when he realized one of them had thought ahead and added a pair of socks to the pile as well.

Now I feel almost human. He folded the clothes he’d been wearing, found a plastic grocery bag to put them in, and went back to the living room to call a cab.

* * * *

Reid scowled at Kirby. “It is not our job to babysit him. And before you get pissed, I know he’s important to you but that’s personal. We have more than enough cases to keep us busy. Beef up the patrol cars around the theater if it makes you feel more comfortable then let’s get to work on what’s considered ‘our’ job.”

Kirby would have protested but he knew Reid was right. Their job was catching killers, not stopping harassment by some fringe group who was doing nothing more than sending Dean messages. So with a sigh, he started to call Dean. “Shit,” he muttered seconds later. “I’m losing it.”

“Now what?” Reid asked, looking up from a case file.

“Nothing. Just stupidity on my part.” He scrolled through his numbers, finding the one to Dean’s office phone at the theater, and dialed. Four rings and it switched over to the theater’s main line. When someone answered he asked if Dean was around.

“I haven’t seen him, but hang on and I’ll check if anyone else has.” The woman put him on hold, returning a couple of minutes later to say Dean hadn’t come in yet. “But it’s only eleven,” she pointed out.

After thanking her, Kirby called Carrie. She told him Dean had been sound asleep when she and Jim had left and gave him the number to Jim’s home phone. He called it, getting no answer from Dean. You had better be in transit. In frustration he hung up and opened a case file, staring at it blankly for a minute before concentrating on what he was being paid to do.