Darling (22 page)

No. His aching eardrums were soon hit with the sounds of meat tearing. They were hungry.

They were always hungry.

He backed away. When he reached the hill, he turned and scrambled up it. At the top he paused, worried about his locks. He spun around and shined his light back down onto the grating.

One of them stood at the top, its face pressed so hard against the grate that it bled. Its eyes were twin balls of green fire, its face twisted into a mask of pure rage. He thought for a moment that it was going to speak, to taunt him, to threaten him, but almost laughed at the idea. They had never spoken. They
couldn’t
speak. The idea was ridiculous.

“We’ll taste you yet, Jack.”

He ran back to the building and locked his door behind him. He couldn’t sleep and so drank and thought about Haints, and Fields of Beautifully Flowered Bones, and Black Hounds.

Black Hounds that spoke.

He waited for dawn.

* * *

The image of Sam and Dean Winchester roaring down the road in their black Impala flickered across the television screen. Mike turned the volume up and sprawled out on the sofa like a king. The feast spread out around him was certainly a royal one: pizza, hot wings, breadsticks, cola, and brownies. He shoved a slice of pizza halfway into his mouth and scratched his abdomen. Dennis was at Eileen’s tonight and, as long as Mike cleaned up afterward, he could lounge around in just his boxers and eat junk until he burst.

He felt good today, incredibly good. He hadn’t felt this comfortable in the apartment until tonight, but he finally had the sense that this place was his. It was a good feeling, an empowering feeling, and he relished it. He felt independent, as independent as when he drove his car

—
and hit that poor dog—

where he wanted, when he wanted. But this feeling was even better; he was home. He belonged here. That was a feeling worth everything he had gone through with his parents.

There was a knock on the door. He wondered if Dennis had forgotten his keys again and stood. He sat his slice of pizza down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and opened the door.

Margot stood in the hallway, wearing a snug black T-shirt tucked into the waistband of a skintight pair of jeans.

“Hey,” she said and smiled.

Mike was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was in his boxers.

“Umm...come on in.” He spun quickly and rushed toward his room. “Let me just throw some clothes on.”

He heard her giggle. “No need to get dressed on my account.”

He zipped his jeans up and slid on a T-shirt. When he walked back out into the living room, Margot stood over his food with her nose scrunched up.

“Well, I was gonna see if you boys wanted to join me for dinner, but it looks like the two of you already chowed down.”

“Um...yeah.” Mike didn’t want to admit that he had devoured all of the food by himself. “Dennis just left.” Margot smiled. “Up to no good with his lady friend, no doubt. Those two can barely keep their hands off of one another.”

“Tell me about it.”

She headed back for the door. “Well, I’ve gotta get something in me, or I’m gonna starve to death.”

Mike followed her. Before he knew it, his mouth was open and words were streaming out. “Gotta get something in you, huh?” What the hell was he saying? Since when did he flirt? He meant it to be playful and desperately hoped she took it that way.

She smiled and slapped his arm. “Mike…”

“Ya know, I’ve already eaten, but maybe we can have some drinks later.”

Did he say that? He had definitely surprised himself.

He didn’t know why he said it, or how, but there it was. It hung there, floating in the air between them, building tension as it waited for her to reject it. Reject
him
.

She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. It was slow, lingering, and incredibly sensual. His nostrils filled with her scent and he had to fight to keep from quivering.

“Forty-five minutes?” she asked.

“Um...yeah. Sure. Forty-five minutes sounds great.”

She opened the door and walked back across the hall. “I’ll have the place ready for you then.” She waved back over her shoulder as she nudged her door shut behind her with her foot.

Mike shut his own door and collapsed back onto the couch. A smile overtook him, transforming into a giggle. Had he just made a date? How did he do that? He wasn’t the kind of guy that just asked girls if he could come over for a drink. And she had said yes. What did that mean?

He knew what it meant and his pants grew tighter. He jumped to his feet, shed his clothes, and ran to the bathroom. He started the shower running as he squirted some toothpaste onto his brush and went about his usual grooming ritual.

When he finished he glanced at the Felix the Cat clock he had hung over the toilet. Dennis hated the thing, but conceded to Mike’s point that it was funny to have a cat staring at you as you pissed. It read 9:22. What time had Margot come over? Maybe half an hour earlier? He rushed to dry off. He rubbed on deodorant, splashed on a little too much aftershave, washed it off, reapplied it, and went looking through his closet for something to wear.

He had never had much in the way of clothing and was now regretting that fact. He thought about borrowing one of Dennis’ shirts, but anything Dennis had would swallow him whole. So he opted for a blue dress shirt with a clean pair of jeans and his one pair of nice, brown loafers.

He looked at himself in the mirror and, while the outfit looked fine,
he
looked awkward. Of course, that was nothing new for him. He had never looked at himself without feeling that he looked awkward. But tonight that feeling was more analytical than instinctual and, while it hovered around his thoughts, it never sank into the pit of his stomach like it usually did. He still felt good.

It was a strange feeling and he didn’t know how to deal with it. It took him a long while before he realized that what he felt was confidence. It was such a foreign situation that he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. He had never felt confident about anything his entire life.

You felt confident about dumping that dog’s body.

He shook it off. Why think about that? What’s done is done.

You felt confident that no one would ever discover it. Ever find out it was you.

Shut up.

What if that’s why Margot came over? She was going to tell Dennis. That fucking bitch, she was going to say “Hey, Dennis. Your piece of shit roommate killed the Turner kid’s dog and dragged its body to the supermarket. He really thinks he can get away with it, that’s how stupid he is. Look at his awkward little face with his ratlike nose and—”

“Shut up!”

He took a deep breath and looked around the room, embarrassed at his outburst. He was alone, of course. Nothing to be embarrassed about, he reminded himself. The feeling of confidence wavered, threatened to flee, but he grabbed hold of it and pulled it tight like armor against his usual onslaught of self-doubt. Forget about the dog. Margot doesn’t know, Dennis doesn’t know, no one knows. Margot came over for one thing.

He locked his door behind him and crossed the hall.

Chapter Twelve

The bar rose and fell with the mechanical precision of well-oiled pistons. It slowed toward the end, his muscles finally protesting the strain.

He ground out another rep, sucked in a full breath, and squatted deep one final time. His hamstrings and glutes were on fire, his knees shook like they were going to dislodge from his legs, and for a moment he was afraid that he would be stuck in that bottom position. The thought of four hundred twenty-five pounds across his back pinning him to the ground sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He pulled the cold iron tight against the back of his neck, pressed his head back into it hard enough to form stars at the edge of his vision, and grunted out of the hole. The movement lasted an eternity and he wasn’t entirely confident that he could get more than half way.

So this is how I die.

It wasn’t a thought so much as an animal’s instinctual sense of its own end. He was in a place where words and logic no longer came to him. He was purely physical at that moment and glad for it. Another grunt and he stood upright, re-racking the weight onto the hooks and stepping back. The rack shook from side to side and he wondered how much weight it would take to rock it to pieces. He took a deep breath, took another step back, and nearly toppled over.

He waddled like a drunk to a nearby bench and collapsed. His legs felt more imagination than flesh, strange ephemeral limbs that he could
almost
feel, and then only if he concentrated. What had come over him? He never doubted himself like that, especially when he was under the bar. That was dangerous. Your mind had to be fully committed to lift that kind of weight. He had never had a problem before, but today...

Shit. Not just today. The past week or so. Ever since he had kissed Karen in the laundry room. That brief moment spent with her had stolen his equilibrium. He was no longer sure where he stood or what he desired anymore. He had avoided Eileen since then. Sure, he spoke to her on the phone and exchanged e-mails. They had even had lunch yesterday. But his hectic schedule became a handy reason for avoiding any kind of intimacy. She didn’t notice anything wrong, or at least she wore a good poker face.

He had planned to devote the week to catching up with

Mike, but his roommate had become a ghost. Signs of Mike’s passing littered the apartment—dirty dishes, toothpaste on the sink, a note about groceries or the bills—but no sign of Mike himself. Dennis hadn’t bothered calling him. Something felt off and he didn’t want to push his own insecurities onto his roommate.

Loneliness had settled in after a few days. Dennis found himself doing exceedingly smaller loads of laundry almost daily, grasping onto any excuse to walk by the pool when he could, but he had failed to see Karen. He knew he shouldn’t wait for serendipity, should simply knock on her door, but what would he say?

He chided himself for the thought. Life wasn’t a romantic comedy. And what about Eileen? He loved Eileen. She loved him. But is love exclusive? Should all relationships be meant to last forever, or are some short bursts of passion that remind you of life and reconnect you with the world?

The way that he saw it, it was a Catch-22: either destroy the love between him and Eileen for what could end up being a meaningless fling, or never explore what he could have with Karen and damn the entirety of his life by hanging that “what if?” around his neck like an albatross. Why couldn’t there be a better way?

He stood to remove the plates from the bar. He could imagine Karen bringing it up over a load of laundry (he found that most of his fantasies with her occurred in the laundry room): “Well, Dennis, I have a perfect idea. The last thing I want is to come between what you and Eileen have. But I don’t see why that should stop us from exploring what could possibly be the greatest thing that ever happened to either of us. So we’ll take it for a trial run, a test drive, and see how it goes.”

He took the last plate down and slid it back onto the rack. His fantasies were taking hold of him and, after his performance with that last set of squats, he decided to call it a day and force his head back into reality. He took a shower, changed clothes, and drove home. During the drive he found his fingers tapping against his cell phone. He didn’t want to go home alone. Should he call Mike? Or Eileen?

He hated that his choices were so limited these days. All of his old friends had moved away after college and he hadn’t gone out of his way to make new ones. Why was that? He wasn’t sure. He was personable enough and comfortably traded jokes with coworkers, but had never bridged the gulf between superficialities and actually forming any type of lasting, meaningful bond with anyone.

There was nothing he hated more than people who were consumed with self-loathing and pity and here he was barreling down that road. He had always fought hard to avoid those feelings. It had consumed him after his mother’s death, and certainly after Allison’s. He wasn’t going to allow himself to plunge back into that depression just because he felt confused and lonely.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Eileen’s number. Maybe spending the night with her would clear his head.

Her voicemail picked up. He didn’t bother leaving a message.

Dusk had dropped an orange-purple curtain by the time he pulled back into Raynham’s parking lot. His legs were weak from the workout and he struggled up the steps. Even his gym bag hung heavy on his shoulder and it couldn’t have weighed more than a few pounds.

He glanced at a
LOST DOG
flyer on a light post. Was that Lucy? That’s a shame.

He hoped Eileen would see he’d called and call him back soon. He was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t see the man walking down the sidewalk. The floodlights had yet to register nightfall and the courtyard was painted with deep swathes of darkness. Only the man’s movement gave him away. He was otherwise a shadow gliding amongst shadows. Dennis wasn’t sure who it was, but hoped they weren’t in a mood for conversation.

He nodded a greeting and stepped aside to make room for the man.

No one passed.

He stared up the sidewalk toward the front of the building. There was only cold brick and a few tiny leaves dancing in a breeze on the gray steps. He glanced behind him. The only movement was a mottle-coated tabby darting under one of the cars.

It was just him and the statues. He looked up at one, a nymph playfully hiding her breasts beneath her hands. She smiled, her stone eyes narrow with ecstatic mischief. He usually avoided giving attention to the statues. They bothered him on a deep level. Intellectually, he always brushed the feeling aside. But his instincts were disturbed by the still figures, especially at night. During the day they were tacky, almost comical, but in the dark they were alluring and unsettling.