by Dale Mayer
When a knock came on the door, he groaned and looked through the tiny window to see it was the doorman. “Harry, what’s the matter?” he asked, as he opened the penthouse elevator door.
Harry gave him a smile. “Parcel came for you.” He handed it over.
“You could have called me. I would have come down.”
“I considered it, but I saw you come up, so I was afraid that you might not be feeling so well.”
“I’ve got this damn ringing in my ears. It’s pissing me off.”
“Oh, my dad had tinnitus. It was really, really a terrible thing. It drove him crazy.”
“Yeah, that’s what it feels like, but it just started today, so I don’t know what it could be. But it’s got me spun out very quickly.” He stood here in his sweatshirt and track pants, heaving, as he accepted the parcel from him. “I didn’t order anything.”
“I didn’t know that, but it’s got your name on it.”
“Great. I sure as hell hope it’s not from Caitlyn.”
Harry frowned, as he looked at it.
Of course it’s from Caitlyn. “Did she pay you to bring it up?”
“No, no, no, no.” Harry held up his hands and backed farther into the elevator, the only place he could go. “Sorry, sir. If you want me to take it away, I will.”
Simon shook his head. “I’ll deal with it. I’ve told her to leave me alone, but she’s been pretty insistent.”
“You were quite the number for a while. She probably wants to rekindle it.”
“Yeah, well, what she pulled after we were done means I’m not at all interested in rekindling that craziness.”
Harry gave him a conspiratorial grin. “Got it. Did you get any food, or do you need me to order something for you? You’ll need some protein after a workout.”
“Yeah, I was just going to have a shake. This ear thing is really bugging me.”
“There’s a really good little Portuguese place that just opened a couple blocks from here.”
“Portuguese?” He stopped, looked at Harry. “I don’t know that I even would recognize Portuguese food.”
“It’s good. They’ve got some great dishes there.”
“Like what?” he asked.
“It’s hard to even describe, but lots of seafood, sausage, rice. Some great pastries. You could order in, if you didn’t want to go anywhere.”
“Yeah, but I should get out more, and who knows? That might help my ears.”
“Think about it. Then come on downstairs. If you’re interested, I’ll give you the address. It’s good. Trust me on that.”
“You haven’t steered me wrong on food yet,” he said, with a smile.
“Nope, not when it comes to food.” Harry patted his very ample belly. “And don’t let my wife see you working out. She’ll never leave me alone.”
At that, Simon burst out laughing. “I hear you. The good news is, you’re already safely married, so nobody else can nab you.”
“She would probably say that she’ll put me up for sale, if I don’t start listening to her.”
“Nah, you’re too precious, and I know without a doubt that she believes that.”
“Hey, we’re twenty-four years now this weekend.” His smile beamed.
“Good for you,” Simon said. “Not many can say that. Congrats.” He waved, closed the elevator door, headed back inside, then dropped the parcel on the kitchen counter.
“What the hell are you up to, Caitlyn?” he said out loud.
And he was sincerely happy to hear Harry’s news about his anniversary because he really liked the guy. Ever since Simon had moved into the place, Harry had been polite, not overly subservient, yet not too familiar. Just the perfect balance so Simon could be friendly, yet not feel like he had to put himself out and be overly so, especially if he was in a shitty mood. It was simple enough to give him a hand wave. It’s not like Harry would take offense, as some of Simon’s friends would.
Grabbing a knife, Simon slashed open the tape on the side of the package, and, when he opened the box, he found a very expensive bottle of wine nestled inside. “What the hell?” He noted it was the same wine they had shared on one of their more intimate evenings, when they were celebrating, probably like six months together or something. Then he stopped, frowned for a moment, and winced.
“The night I asked her to marry me.” He stared at it. The last thing he wanted was to touch it. He groaned and sent her a text. Thanks for the gift, but no thanks.
She immediately called him. “Hey, it was just a thank you, for finding my nephew.”
He hesitated at that. “You’re welcome for that, but you don’t have to send expensive gifts like this.”
“I just wanted to remind you of a better day,” she said quietly. “I know I was shitty to you. I wasn’t thinking of how it would feel.”
“Yeah. It doesn’t bring back happy memories because you gave me six months of shit afterward. Thank you. That’s enough now. So leave off, will you?”
“Hey, what if I want to see you again and just be friends, instead of this nastiness between us?”
He sighed, loud enough for her to hear it.
She said, “Come on. I’m not trying to get back into a relationship with you or anything. It just, it feels wrong to have this animosity between us.”
He snorted.
“I know. I know,” she cried out. “It’s my fault. I did this. I get it, but I’m trying to undo it.”
“Some things you can’t undo,” he said quietly.
She groaned. “You don’t have to be so literal. Obviously I can’t go back and erase everything that I did. I wish I could, dammit. I really wish I could. But I can’t, so I’m doing the next best thing and trying to make amends. Just let me make amends.”
“Fine. You’ve already thanked me. You’ve now sent a gift, and that’s enough, okay?”
“Seriously, you really don’t even want to hear my voice anymore?”
“Do you remember the shit you pulled? My keys that you gave away and the tapes? The tapes you have not returned.”
“I told you that I deleted them.”
“Yeah, you told me a lot of things, but how am I supposed to believe you?” She hesitated, and he went on. “You blackmailed me into helping find your nephew with those tapes, and then you told me that you didn’t have them anymore.”
“I never took any. It seemed wrong.”
“At what point in time did you think it was wrong?” he asked. “We were in my house, in my bed, and you were taping my nightmares. Thanks for that. I can never trust you again. So, if I can’t trust you, I don’t want you in my world.”
“Oh,” she whispered. “I never thought of it like that.”
“No, of course not.”
She said, “I would have done anything to help get my nephew home.”
“Yeah, have you looked after him since?”
“No. My sister won’t even let him out of her sight for a minute.”
“I wonder why?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” she said.
He just waited for reality to seep in.
“Look. Okay, I didn’t keep as close an eye on him as I should have. I get that, and, believe me, I’ll be trying to convince my sister that I’m sorry for the rest of my life. But, at the same time, I don’t want to be punished for it forever.”
“Nobody wants to be punished forever,” he said quietly, “but what you also have to understand is that some things are forgivable, and some things are not. And, sure, all the shit you pulled on me since we split up, it’s forgivable, but I can’t trust you, and I don’t want people I can’t trust in my world.” And, with that, he hung up.
Of course it made him feel like shit afterward, but how else was he supposed to get the idea across that she wasn’t coming back into his life—no matter what? It didn’t make him feel any better to know that he was being a shit about it, but the message did seem to finally get through to Caitlyn.
Plus, what he’d sa
id was true. If he couldn’t trust someone, they wouldn’t be invited into his world. And, after what she’d said about the tapes, yet another version, he still wasn’t sure she was being truthful.
But he wasn’t certain how the hell he was supposed to find out. It’s not like he could ask her for the tapes again, since she’d just say she didn’t have them. And again, that just reinforced the fact that he couldn’t trust her. The simple act of speaking to her would be seen as, Let’s get back together.
He sighed, as he sat here for a long moment, staring at the bottle of wine. Then he brightened. He quickly changed and decided he’d have a shower later. For now, he would walk downstairs, maybe go for a run, and stop for takeout at the new little place around the corner after all.
With that in mind, he grabbed the bottle of wine, still beautifully dressed up with ribbons, and carried it downstairs. When he saw Harry, Simon walked over, put the expensive bottle of wine on the desk in front of him. “Harry, this is for you and your wife. Happy anniversary to you both.”
Harry looked at him in shock, staring at the wine in awe. “Oh, my God, that’s got to be a couple hundred bucks.”
Simon snorted. “It’s a hell of a lot more than that, but wine is only good for drinking. Please don’t just put it in the cupboard and admire it. I want you and your wife to enjoy it, every last drop.” And, with that, Simon lifted his hand in a wave and headed out. In the distance, he could still hear Harry’s profuse thanks ringing in his ears, which was a nice change compared to the noise that had been driving him batty earlier. But thankfully that seemed to have stopped, and he felt so much better.
As he raced outside, he picked up the pace and dashed off into the night. Almost immediately his sense of smell came alive, like a wave of some strong sweat or body odor slamming into his brain. Shuddering, he ran faster and faster, and the smell just seemed to chase him down the street. He ran until the demons could no longer get him.
Chapter 9
Kate went for judo practice after work. It’s almost as if her instructor had seen that she had been playing it safe each and every time, and tonight he decided to kick it up a notch. But he hadn’t forewarned her, and, by the time she was done, she laid on the mat, gasping for air.
He reached a hand down and pulled her to her feet. “That was much better.”
She shook her head. “That was deadly.”
But she felt like a million bucks by the time she’d made it home. Exhausted, worn out, and basically brain-dead, but her heart hummed with joy, her muscles were pumped with power, and even her skin had cooled down and felt enlivened. She didn’t know how the hell it worked, but she felt better than she had in a very long time. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but she’d take it because, dammit, something good must be found in all this.
As she walked in, she headed straight for the shower and, when she came back out with a towel wrapped around her, she was hungry. Except she had yet to go grocery shopping. No food was in her house, and, although she could pick up food, the last thing she wanted to do was even get dressed, much less leave again. So ordering in was her only option.
When her phone buzzed, she groaned, then looked at it to see a message from Simon, saying he was on his way over.
She shook her head at that. “What if I don’t want to see you?”
The trouble was, she did want to see him. She hated to say it—but she had this fear of starting something she would end up getting hurt over. A fear of starting something she couldn’t even begin to open up enough to complete. And he had the ability to affect her on a very deep level.
Grabbing a sports bra, a pair of leggings, and a sweatshirt, she dressed quickly. That was as far as she would go. She put her hair into a braid. She padded barefoot to the door, opening it just as he arrived there, preparing to knock. He looked at her attire in surprise. “I just came back from a workout. I’d barely gotten out of the shower when you texted.”
“Good, at least you got a shower. I feel like I’m running from demons.”
“You and me both.” She shook her head at not only the synchronicity of his visit but of his wording. “Come on in.” Then she stopped, sniffed the air. “Oh, my God, food. What is that?”
“I’m not even sure,” he said half apologetically. She frowned at him. He shrugged. “My doorman said that a new Portuguese restaurant had opened around the corner, just a few blocks from my place. So I went for a run and stopped to pick up some takeout, and somehow I ended up here.”
She smiled. “And you know what? Somehow you ending up here works for me too. After my workout, I needed to eat, but I still haven’t bought groceries—and the last thing I wanted to do was go shopping tonight. So takeout delivered by you is perfect.”
“It seems so, but, in this case, I had no idea what to order, so it will be an experience,” he said, stepping in. “Grab the plates. I’m starving.”
She laughed and raced into the kitchen and pulled out a couple plates, while he put the bag on the counter. As he opened it, she watched him rear back. “Is it hot?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, it’s hot, but I’ve had the weirdest set of symptoms these last few days.”
“Are you sick?” She stopped where she was.
He looked over at her. “No, and I’m not contagious.”
She shrugged. “It’s probably too damn late if you are anyway,” she muttered. “That night was probably still within your infectious period, if it’s a contagious thing …”
He snorted at that. “If that’s what you call it.”
“It is what I call it, but, if you’re not sick, all the better.”
“I’m not sick at all. When I said symptoms, I just meant—” He stopped, hesitated. “Never mind. Just more weirdness.”
“So normal for you, so go ahead,” she said, bugging him good-naturedly.
He just rolled his eyes at her.
“Come on. Tell me what’s up.” She pulled out the containers. They had cardboard tops on them, so she had no idea what was inside, and, when she pulled out more, she sniffed the air appreciatively. “Whoa, what an aroma. So what is this anyway?”
“I am not sure, but I think it’s chicken in some curry sauce or I don’t know.” He raised both hands. “All kinds of unknown food is here.”
She found an interesting potato dish and an interesting vegetable dish and then meat on skewers, maybe deep-fried. She wasn’t even sure, but she quickly loaded up two plates and still quite a bit was left in the containers. “I don’t know how much you ordered, but it looks like they were generous.”
He nodded. “Honestly, there was a language issue, so we made do with pointing.”
She laughed at that. “At least you can probably count on it being authentic.”
He shrugged. “I was so damn hungry that it didn’t seem to matter.”
She nodded. “I hear you there.” As she sat down and picked up a forkful, she watched as he leaned over hesitantly and sniffed it. “So tell me. What’s going on? You don’t normally look like that, when you’re about to try new foods.”
“My sense of smell is off the wall, as in seriously powerful. And it makes no sense.”
“What? Like just suddenly? I don’t think that’s a symptom of being sick, at least not of anything I’ve ever heard of before.”
“I know it doesn’t make any sense.”
“I got it.” She shrugged. “Sometimes these things don’t make any sense.”
“Yeah, I know. This one is particularly bizarre.” But he dove into the food, forking up the first bite.
“Is your sense of taste affected?” she asked, wondering at the look on his face.
“It’s heightened. Everything tastes better.”
“But in a good sense?”
“Exactly.” He pointed his fork at her. “But my sense of smell is making things worse. Like, I would go down an alleyway and cut through to the other side to save myself going around a block, but the scent of urine just wrecked me, so
I had to take the longer route to avoid it.”
“Ha. You have a fair bit of experience with alleyways, so your olfactory senses should be used to it.”
“I thought so, but, honest to God, the smell was so intense, I couldn’t handle it.”
She frowned. “Did anything happen? Did you get hit over the head or fall and hit your head? Has anything weird happened that could have caused it somehow?”
He shook his head. “Nothing that I know of.”
She hesitated, wondered about asking, and then finally decided to do it. “I might as well ask, since I don’t know jack shit about this stuff,” she said in her typical style, “but is it psychic?”
He looked at her and then laughed. “Is what psychic?”
“I don’t know.” Feeling stupid, she glared at him because it was his fault she felt that way. “You’re not allowed to laugh at me when I ask questions like that. Remember?”
He smiled. “Right, I forgot that golden rule.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know about that, but, when you think about it, if I don’t ask, I won’t get an answer.”
“No, you’re quite right. Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed at you.”
She nodded with grace, even though he continued to grin at her. “So I’m not asking if your nose is psychic but if it could be a symptom of a psychic session or some vision or something.”
“I have no idea.” He looked surprised. “I didn’t even consider that because there’s no connection to a person that I can see.”
“Right, and I guess that connection thing is what you’re all about, isn’t it?”
“Well, that and numbers. I keep telling the victims out there in the world that I don’t want anything to do with them,” he said in a harsh voice.
Her eyebrows went up, as she listened to the tone of his voice. Quietly she spoke. “It’s really getting to you, isn’t it?”
He slowly put down his fork. “Think about it. You know you can’t do anything but sit there and watch as other people suffer in the most terrible ways, and you don’t have any way to stop it. You have absolutely no way to get the word out that this unidentified person needs help, and you’re just supposed to watch it, like it’s a movie or something. Who the hell wants that shit?”
