Window Watcher

by Matt Converse

  “A garbage can? How does a body even fit?” I ask, crinkling my nose.

  “He cuts them up,” he tells me. “He kills them and then chops up all their body parts, arms, legs, head…”

  My mouth drops open. “Oh my God. That’s insane. Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t hear about it.”

  “Like I said, you need to come out of that writing cave you’re always saying you’re in. There’s a whole world going on out here.”

  “Yeah and it sounds pretty terrifying. I’d say I’m much better off in my writing cave.”

  “Anyway, everyone is freaking out and looking twice now when someone hits on them at the bar. It’s pretty spooky knowing there’s someone out there like that.”

  “See, maybe I’m not so bad off just staying inside with my TV and computer.”

  “And your man in the window,” he says, raising his brows.

  “Oh, I saw him again later that night with another guy.”

  “Another guy already? Did he put on another show?”

  “Actually, he did.”

  “And?”

  “Same thing, he pulled down the shade right after they started going at it. It was just a little teaser, like the last time. I think he gets off on knowing someone could see him at the beginning—it’s like a little show he’s putting on for whoever might be looking. But I had a weird dream about him later. A nightmare, really. It started out sexy, but then turned really scary— terrifying actually. The lights all started flickering, there was lightning and thunder, and then there was blood splattering everywhere and dripping down his blinds. Then at the end he looked down at me, and the way he looked at me was so chilling— a look of pure evil.”

  “Creepy, like the books you write,” he says.

  “Yeah, but in my books, you can usually kind of see it coming. This was so out of the blue, it just went from sexy to scary so fast, like someone flipped a switch. I always wonder about dreams like that. I wonder if they mean anything.”

  “It means that’s how you think; that’s the kind of stuff you write about it, it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “How’d you get so smart?” I ask him with a smile.

  “I was born that way, baby!”

  I laugh and walk over to the window and pull up the shade. I look up at the window. The shades are both down.

  “Sunday, the day you said the first guy was killed, I still had my shades down. You said two more were killed the next day, that’s the same day I saw him with two different guys.”

  “So you think he’s the killer because he fooled around with two guys that day? Wow, talk about jumping to conclusions.”

  Icarus walks over to the window and looks up too.

  “Lots of guys in the city have sex with more than one guy in a day, it doesn’t make them a murderer. Do you really think the guy living right there just killed three guys and then chopped them up? And do you think if he did he’d be parading them in front of an open window before he did?”

  I turn away from the window and toward Icarus.

  “You never know, someone did,” I say. “I guess it’s because of the bloody dream. And that was before you even told me about the murders. It just seems weird.”

  “Yeah something’s weird alright,” he says, giving me a look.

  “That dream just went from hot to dark so fast, and now you tell me about the ‘gay killer’. It just seems like too much of a coincidence.”

  “Key word: coincidence. He’s just a hot neighbor you wouldn’t even know existed if you hadn’t pulled up your blind that day.”

  “Yeah, I know you’re probably right. Oh wait I just thought of something. You said they found them in garbage cans. Oh my God! I forgot to tell you the garbage thing— I saw him carrying two big bags of garbage out of the building in the rain the next morning. Or at least it looked like garbage— he had two big garbage bags filled with something. Then two more a few minutes later— again in the pouring rain. All our garbage bins are in the back. Why wouldn’t he have left them there?”

  “Who knows? Maybe it was laundry or something.”

  “No, it was something really heavy, you could tell by the way he was carrying them. Besides, we have washing machines and dryers in the building. And when he came back he didn’t have them. It just seems like an odd thing for him to be doing in the pouring rain no matter what it was. It’s something you wouldn’t do then unless you had to get rid of it right away.”

  “You really think he’d be carrying their dead bodies chopped up in garbage bags in broad daylight?”

  “Yeah, it’s pretty hard not to think that’s what might have been in them isn’t it? I didn’t even have to say that’s what I thought it might be and you thought the same thing. No one seeing him knows what’s in the garbage bags— and they don’t know we have garbage bins in the back like I do. No one would think anything of it. So, yeah he actually could have been carrying dead bodies in those bags in broad daylight.”

  “Well, speak of the devil,” Icarus says.

  I turn and see the blind is now up and he is partially visible in the window, you can just see part of his back, head and shoulder. I turn back toward Icarus.

  “Yeah, I guess it is pretty unlikely he is actually the killer,” I admit. “Seeing him now makes me realize the only scary thing that happened was in my nightmare— it was just a dream, probably nothing more. And you’re right— that is just the way I think and the type of things I write about. I’ve always had a pretty vivid imagination. His garbage bags could have been full of things he was donating to charity for all I know.”

  “Definitely, that’s what happens when you spend so much time alone and then staring out the window like that. You start to imagine things. I keep telling you to get out more, then maybe your imagination wouldn’t have so much time to run wild like that.”

  “Well, I do need my imagination for my writing,” I tell him.

  “I know, but if he were a killer would he let you see him in the window with the people he killed? And wouldn’t he take those garbage bags out at night if they were filled with bloody body parts? I don’t think a murderer is going to be parading things like that around for everyone to see, it just doesn’t make sense.”

  “Yeah, I know you’re probably right,” I agree.

  “Of course I’m right. There is a gay killer out there somewhere, but it being him is a million to one shot. There’s just no way…”

  Just then, Icarus’s eyes widen. The expression on his face changes. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

  “Oh my God,” he says. “Heston, look!”

  I turn and see what he is seeing: the window man is cleaning something with a rag. And that something is a saw. I get an instant chill and look at Icarus and can see he is feeling the same way. We stand frozen watching him. And when he finishes he then starts cleaning an axe! More chills go down my spine. Goosebumps go up and down my arms. I look over at Icarus and he stares back at me.

  We both start backing away from the window at the same time.

  “Ok, go back and start at the beginning again and tell me everything about that nightmare you had,” Icarus says. “And what you think it means.”

  Thargold

  After going over my dream turned nightmare in detail, Icarus now believes like I do that it did mean something. Maybe it isn’t just a coincidence, maybe it is some kind of foreboding warning.

  “It’s creepy to think a killer could be living that close to you,” Icarus says, looking up at the window.

  “I know, it makes you think. He is out there in the city somewhere, and people here tend not to know their neighbors at all. There are all these people living around me, and I have no idea who they are or what they do.”

  His eyes dart around in all directions and then back to the window.

  “Yeah, it’s kind of strange that it’s the norm here in the big city. This guy lives in your building, but you don’t even know his name or anything about him. Have you ever seen him coming in
or out before? Ever walked by him and said hello?”

  “No, I never saw him until just the other day. A woman lived there before. A lot of people move in and out of this building; it seems like quite a few people move after a year or even six months.”

  I can see Icarus thinking.

  “Isn’t your last name and first initial on your mailbox?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And doesn’t the same key unlock all of the outside front door gates?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, give me your keys and I’ll find out his name in two minutes.”

  “Oh yeah, you’re right. I didn’t even think of that.”

  “Well I’m here and I’m thinking. I’m not just a dumb blond, Heston. Do I have to keep telling you that? Now give me your keys,” he says, putting his hand out.

  “You’re so bossy. I love it,” I say with a laugh, and toss him my keys. “Be careful, Agent 99, just in case.”

  “Agent 99?”

  “I forget how young you are. Just be careful, ok?”

  “I will be,” he says, then dashes out the door.

  I smile to myself thinking about him playing detective. He really is adorable. But should he be snooping around someone’s place— even if it is just his mailbox —who we think might be a killer? I walk over to the front windows and look out the one on the far right, toward the direction Icarus would go to get to the mailboxes. I stare for a few moments then pull myself away from it and just sit down on the sofa. I’m anxious to hear what Icarus finds out. He is back, as promised, in about two minutes.

  He swings the door open and runs in.

  “L. Thargold. L. Thargold is his name!”

  I smile at him, he’s so excited. I love his enthusiasm, and the fact that he so quickly figured this out. He really isn’t just a dumb blond. It’s not that I thought he was, but I may have sold him short, just a little bit.

  “So what’s my next assignment, Maxwell Smart?” he asks with a knowing smirk.

  I squint at him, wondering how he now knows that. He smirks even more seeing the surprised look on my face.

  “The internet is a wonderful thing. I looked up Agent 99 on my way back. It’s called multitasking. You should try it sometime, like being a writer and having a boyfriend at the same time. It’s not so hard. So what’s my next assignment, boss?”

  I have to laugh at the way he slipped that boyfriend part in there. He truly is no dummy.

  “I think that’s it for now. Good job.”

  He seems pretty proud of himself and I can tell by the look on his face he loves the way I’m looking at him right now. He knows he’s impressed me.

  “Thargold, huh? That’s a weird name. It sounds made up,” I tell him.

  “Oh my God, that’s what you said when you first met me. I’ll never forget it,” he says, and then imitates me.

  “Icarus, that’s an unusual name— and then you looked me up and down —it sounds made up.”

  I laugh.

  “No one ever said anything like that to me before,” he says. “It’s the kind of thing someone might say behind my back, but you were saying it to my face. I didn’t know what to think.”

  “I remember the look on your face; I know what you thought,” I say, smiling.

  “You’re right, I thought you were a bitch!”

  I laugh again.

  “But then you did that— you laughed,” he says. “And I thought, ok, that was pretty funny. But what a thing to say to someone you just met.”

  “Well, it’s what I thought,” I say. “Or at least, what came to mind. But I also thought you were hot as hell.”

  He smiles.

  “Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

  “Oh, I know you think you’re hot as hell too,” I say, laughing again.

  “You know what I meant,” he says, playfully smacking my shoulder.

  “Yeah, and I also know you,” I tell him.

  He laughs and so do I, and then we start wrestling on the sofa. I get on top of him and look down at him.

  “You’re so damn cute,” I say, smiling.

  “I feel the same way.” He laughs. “Oh wait, didn’t we just cover that?”

  I squeeze his face and then plant a big kiss on him. He cups his hand behind my neck and kisses me deeper. He moans. I smile. He’s so sexy. And he really is pretty witty and clever, especially for his age. When I first met him I thought he was just a pretty boy who liked labels and fashion. He seemed like a hot as hell guy that would be a very fun fling. But the more I get to know him, the more I like him. It might not be love, but it’s something.

  An Unexpected Twist

  I wake up to a kiss on my cheek the next morning. Icarus spent the night, which is pretty rare for me. Usually after sex I show them the door; it’s nothing personal, I just want to be by myself. I also prefer sleeping by myself, I’ve never been one to want someone next to me while I sleep.

  “Your usual for breakfast?” he asks.

  “Sure, thanks.”

  I smile and reach over and mess up his hair.

  “Hey, I had it looking just right!” he exclaims.

  “I know,” I tell him with a smirk, “and now it looks even better. You might even say perfect—at least in my eyes.”

  He wasn’t happy about me messing up his hair, but that last line gets him and he giggles.

  “Funny,” he deadpans, walking back into the kitchen as he fixes his hair.

  He has gotten into the habit of making me breakfast when he spends the night. I’m one of those people who has the same thing for breakfast almost every day, so he knew what I wanted before even asking. Knowing him, he probably already had it started and was just waiting for me to wake up. After we finish our eggs, potatoes and toast, I finish my juice and talk turns to the man in the window. That leads to action as I pull up the shade and look up at his windows. Both the shades are down.

  “I wonder what he’s doing,” Icarus says.

  I crack a small smile because before he was saying I was looking because I had nothing better to do and needed to get out more, and now he is all interested himself. (Never mind that he probably did have a point about why I started looking!)

  “Who knows? I mean, we’re probably being ridiculous thinking what we’re thinking,” I say. “You may have been right that it’s just the kind of thing I write about so that’s why I think this way. The odds of the murderer living right up there seem pretty improbable. Do we really think this guy is the killer?”

  “I didn’t until I saw the axe and saw,” he says. “I mean, who has a saw and an axe here in the city?”

  “A lot of people do, just maybe not our friends.” I laugh. “Well, maybe my friend Gladys.”

  Icarus laughs, but it’s true. My lesbian friend ‘G’, as I sometimes call her, is probably the most likely friend of mine to own a saw or an axe.

  “And she’s not a killer,” I tell him.

  “That you know of,” he kids. “How many times have you peered in her window?”

  “That’s true, I guess you never know.”

  Icarus goes into the kitchen and brings back an espresso. His comment makes me think. I wonder what people would think of me if they peeked in my window and saw my every move? We all do some things in private that we would never do in public. Wouldn’t we all appear to be a little strange if people saw all our little eccentricities?

  “Three teaspoons of sugar, right, Sir?” he says with a knowing smirk.

  I take a sip.

  “Perfect, as usual,” I say. “You’re making yourself hard to live without.”

  “That’s the idea,” he says. “Let’s face it, things are a little better when I’m around. Why fight it?”

  I smile and then give him a smirk.

  “Yeah you’ve turned yourself into a real Girl Friday haven’t you?”

  “I guess so,” he says proudly.

  Although I suspect he might also be too young to know that expression, I’m completely sure if
he doesn’t he’ll be googling it shortly.

  “Isn’t she the one a guy can’t live without? The one who saves him and gets him out of trouble. The one who’s always there by his side?”

  “That’s the one,” I say. “But he never ends up marrying her or even being her actual boyfriend, does he? Strange isn’t it?”

  “Queer,” he says, turning away from me and looking toward the window.

  “I’m just messing with you,” I tell him. “I appreciate the espresso. It’s sweet of you.”

  He turns back toward me and smiles with that twinkle in his eye that tells me he’s crazy about me. Even though I’m not looking for a boyfriend, it is nice to be wanted so much.

  I notice his eyes drifting away from me and looking toward the window. His eyes widen in surprise.

  “Well, the plots thickens,” he says.

  I look back toward the window and there he is, putting on a little show for us again, but not the one we might have expected. This time, his partner is a leading lady. He’s kissing a woman.

  “Oh my,” I say. “The plot sure does thicken. I didn’t see that coming.”

  “And you call yourself a writer,” he says playfully.

  He unbuttons her red blouse and slips it off. He cups the front of her black bra as he kisses her neck.

  His shirt is already off and the muscles in his biceps bulge as he rubs her breasts through the bra. He begins to gyrate against her with his groin and she throws her head back in exhilaration.

  “Don’t you think it’s odd he’s always doing this right in front of the window?” Icarus asks.

  “I did at first, but now I think it’s obvious he does it on purpose— he gets off on the possibility that someone might be looking. It turns him on.”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right. But now that we see him with a girl, does this mean he’s not the gay killer after all?” Icarus asks.

  “I guess he’s not,” I say, scratching my eyebrow. “I mean, he sure isn’t looking like the gay killer now. I guess it was our imagination after all. But I have to say, he still puts on a pretty good show.”