by Jerry Cole
After Jon was done trying to contain his laughter, he offered to hold one of the old chairs. It looked like it was a point of pride for Mark now, being able to do it without a ladder. Jon opened his mouth to complain at one point, when it looked like one of the paintings had been damaged slightly, but he was quick to realize that he didn’t care.
In fact, he was pleased. If he had to have Mark be an idiot to get away with destroying the stupid paintings, then that was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
Mark stood on his tiptoes and stretched his arms up as he reached for the golden frame. He looked down at Jon, who was looking up at him, before he swallowed. “Are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to—”
“I don’t care about the painting,” Jon replied. In fact, please smash it, he thought. He decided not to say anything. Mark looked up at the painting again, bent his knees and leapt up. Jon watched, horrified, as Mark missed the painting. He saw the moment that Mark lost his footing as he was coming back down. He watched Mark fall, unable to stop what he knew was going to happen next.
Mark kicked the chair back with his foot. The corner of the chair caught Jon right above the eye, which sent him stumbling back, his hands still planted firmly on the chair.
The chair fell on his stomach before Mark landed on it, somehow managing to twist himself enough so that his knees didn’t dig into Jon’s body. He felt the chair biting into his arms as Mark rolled off him.
“Shit, oh my God,” he heard Mark saying. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
Jon felt dizzy for a second. It took him blinking a few times before he could focus on Mark’s face. “I’m okay,” he said. He was vaguely aware of the fact that Mark’s leg was still on his. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Mark replied, sighing. “I just feel like such an idiot.”
“Relax, I’m not going to fire you,” Jon said when he finally managed to focus on Mark’s expression. “Just, um, get a ladder next time.”
Mark groaned as he moved his leg off Jon’s. He sat up slowly, mirroring Jon’s movements, before he yanked the chair up and away from Jon’s legs.
“I thought you’d done this before,” Jon said, his hands on his knees.
“Nothing exactly like this,” Mark replied. Jon wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw Mark blush. “Maybe I’m too out of practice.”
“It’s okay,” Jon said. “Really, I’m not mad.”
Mark leaned over. Jon almost flinched when he noticed how close Mark’s face was to his. He hadn’t noticed Mark’s eyes before. They were huge, light hazel with speckles of gray and a dark black limbal ring. He was too busy focusing on Mark’s face to realize that Mark had outstretched his arm, softly putting his fingers on his face. Mark held his chin and brought his face close to his own. Jon wondered if he should move away, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Or maybe he did.
He closed his eyes before he heard Mark tut. “That looks pretty bad. You may need to have that looked at.”
“What looks bad?”
“Your — your eye,” Mark replied. “You may get a scar on your eyebrow or something.”
Jon lightly touched his eyebrow, where he suddenly remembered that he felt a dull pain. His wrist touched Mark’s warm skin. He tried not to act startled at the unexpected contact. “Oh, right. Yeah. I’m probably fine.”
Mark moved his face slightly, guiding it with his finger. “You probably want to get that cleaned up, at least. Where do you keep your first aid kit?”
“The utility room by the back door,” Jon replied. “But seriously, I’m —”
Mark got to his feet quickly and left the living room before Jon even had a chance to finish his sentence. Jon watched him as he ran out of the dining room.
Mark’s eyes narrowed as he finished applying isotropic alcohol on Jon’s face. Jon tried his best to look away from Mark’s face, but it was hard. He was right there. For some reason, he was also the only thing that Jon wanted to look at.
“Stay still,” Mark said quietly, pressing a bandage on Jon’s face. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jon replied. “I was fine before and I’m still fine now.”
Mark smiled at him, dropping his arms to his sides. “All done.”
“Thank you.”
Mark nodded. Jon sighed as he brushed his hair away from his forehead, trying and failing to avoid the sensitive part of his skin. He moved his face back and exhaled heavily. Mark cocked his head as he looked at the wall next to them.
Jon followed Mark’s gaze. “What?”
“What are you going to do with them?”
“What am I going to do with what?”
“The paintings,” Mark replied. “Look, you obviously hate them. What are you going to do with them? Are you going to put them in storage and forget about them? Are you going to sell them?”
Jon looked at the paintings still on the wall. “I’m — I don’t know. I guess I should have thought about that, shouldn’t I?”
Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. I just need to know where I can put them once I’m, you know, done destroying the rest of your chairs.”
Jon laughed. “You should destroy these chairs. I hate them.”
Mark shook his head and stood up. He walked over to the chair that they had both fallen over and looked at it. “I don’t think I can fix this.”
“I don’t want you to fix it,” Jon replied. “I want you to —”
“Use it as kindling?”
Jon smirked. “For what?”
They both looked up at the paintings still on the wall before they glanced at each other.
“I can’t burn these,” Jon replied. They were his mother’s, after all. She loved them. She had placed them there and left them there and now — well, now she was dead.
Mark didn’t say anything. He just stood by the chair, his feet close to the broken frame.
“I’ll take it to the dumpster,” Mark said.
“No,” Jon replied. “I want to test your theory.”
“My kindling theory?”
Jon exhaled. “Well, you know, I really do need to get new chairs.”
Chapter Three
Mark tried to watch the fire. It felt like embers were going to get in his eye any second now. He also found that he preferred to look at Jon. He wanted to be discreet about it, but he found it increasingly difficult. He had never been unable to control himself around men he found attractive, but there was something about Jon McIntyre that drew him. Mark shook his head, chastising himself for being childish. Of course he liked Jon.
Jon was attractive, nice and there.
That was all he was. The way Jon was looking at the fire, the way his eyes flickered, even the way he was leaning, those things didn’t matter.
“So how does it feel?” Mark said, leaning over so that Jon could hear him.
“I don’t really know,” Jon replied. “I thought the air would smell a bit more like paint, I guess.”
Mark nodded, ignoring the knot in his stomach. “I thought this would be cathartic,” he said, quietly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Jon to hear him.
Jon turned his head so that he was looking straight at him. He didn’t say anything. Mark guessed that he wanted an explanation.
“You said to change your house,” Mark said. “That’s what I’m doing.”
“Yes. But why did you think it would be cathartic? Have you done this before?”
“No,” Mark replied. “I’m too poor to be able to do anything like this.”
Jon nodded, saying nothing and turning to look at the fire again.
They stayed like that for a few minutes. Mark wondered what Jon was thinking about as he watched the fire.
Jon spoke first. “Do you want a beer or something?”
“I’m at work,” Mark replied, holding back the urge to wink at him.
Jon shook his head, laughing. “Not after five.”
“Then yeah, sure.”
Jon stood up and walked into the hou
se, leaving the back-door open. The creepy mansion looked way more imposing at night. The tall bonfire, made entirely out of scary paintings and old Victorian chairs, wasn’t helping. Alone, Mark was worried about how exposed he was. Whether it was ghosts—which were not real, he told himself—or a serial killer, he had no way to defend himself. The wind whistled and the house shook. Despite being right next to the fire, he could feel the cold seeping into his bones. He hugged himself, not hearing Jon’s footsteps as he approached Mark.
“Hey,” Jon said, putting his hand on Mark’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He handed Mark a can of beer. “Yes. Just gets kind of creepy here at night, doesn’t it?”
Mark nodded before he popped his beer open and took a long swig. The cool beer was a relief, at least. Or maybe it was the fact that Jon was there, talking to him.
“I don’t know how you can live here,” Mark said.
Jon chuckled. “You live here.”
“Yeah, but I get paid for it. I meant like, how you live here by yourself.”
As he spoke, he watched Jon. He had a drink, too, but it wasn’t a beer. It was just a bottle of water. If he had known he was the only one that was going to drink, he would have declined. He probably should have declined, he thought, as he brought the beer to his lips again.
Now he had to finish it. Doing anything else would be extremely rude.
“It was hard,” Jon replied. “I didn’t live here by myself for that long. I’m on the road a lot, too, so that helps.”
“So how long—”
“A month and five days,” Jon said. “Since my mom died.”
Mark swallowed. He was never good around grieving people. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Thanks,” Jon said, shrugging. “I’m not. To be honest, it was kind of a relief.”
“Oh. Cancer?”
“Alcoholism. Very, very bad. I got her the best caretakers, literally flew people in from Japan, Sweden, Ireland — I sent her to the best specialists and rehab centers in the world. She didn’t want that, though. She wanted me to look after her. Whoever was here wasn’t as good as me. They were never as good as me. Except, you know, she hated me, so I have no fucking idea what she was talking about. All I know is that, if I was on tour and it took me a while to get back, things would get a lot worse.”
Mark nodded. He was trying to understand, but he didn’t. Jon’s mother sounded awful. From what Mark could see and from his insanely high salary, he knew that Jon had a lot of money.
“That sounds really hard,” he said. It was probably better that he kept his judgment to himself, he thought, as he finished his beer.
“Yeah,” Jon replied. “It’s one thing to care for an aging parent, I guess everyone does it at one point. But I just — God, I hated her so much. I know it sounds really fucked up, but I was so relieved when she died. There were so many times I had to, ugh, clean her up. And it wasn’t because she was sick. I mean, I know she was sick, it’s just like, it was her own doing. And I was so angry all the time. I thought I would be less angry when she died, but…”
Mark sat back before he spoke. “Is that why you’re not drinking?”
“Yes,” Jon replied, chuckling dryly. “You noticed? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything like that.”
“You didn’t. I was hoping I wasn’t making you uncomfortable.”
“By drinking? No. Not at all,” Jon said. “This place makes me uncomfortable. You’re helping, remember?”
“Right,” Mark said. “So far, I’ve injured you and convinced you to burn your property. So overall, I can tell I’m really helping.”
Jon tutted. “If you’re angling for a promotion—”
“So why don’t you just leave?” Mark heard himself say the words before he realized they were coming out of his mouth. He put his hand over it before he started to apologize, his words muffled by his palm. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that. I mean, you can do whatever you want, it’s just that—”
Mark was relieved to see that Jon was laughing. Maybe it was at his pathetic attempt at an apology. He hoped it was that instead of how awkward his question had been.
“I can’t leave. I’m trapped.”
“Wait, are you like a ghost or something? Because I can exorcise you if you want.”
“No,” Jon replied, smiling at Mark’s poor attempt to lighten the mood. “Then I could actually walk through walls, and I only trick people into thinking I can do that. I’m trapped by something much spookier—paperwork.”
“You’re trapped by paperwork?”
“Yes,” Jon replied. “I didn’t grow up in this house, you see. My mom’s grandmother owned it. My mom inherited the house after her grandmother died when I was a toddler. There was a huge fight over the estate. That meant that as soon as I turned eighteen, the estate was transferred to me. And we moved here. Together.”
“Okay…”
“So I told you I’m an entertainer, right?”
“You said you were a magician,” Mark replied.
“I am. So like, when I was growing up, we lived in Pittsburgh. In this tiny apartment right downtown, right? And it was just the two of us. My mother was a great mother. We were poor, but she enrolled me in every class I wanted, took me anywhere I wanted, I don’t know. She was amazing. My career was kind of taking off by the time I turned eighteen, and we knew that I wasn’t going to go to college so when she told me to move in with her and flip the house.”
“That sounds—”
“Awful, I know,” Jon replied. “But I needed some, like, stability in my life. I didn’t realize that she had been hiding a pretty serious drinking problem until we were here. I also didn’t realize what she meant by renovate.”
“I still don’t understand what this has to do with you being trapped here by paperwork,” Mark said. “Not that I’m not, you know, entertained.”
Jon raised his eyebrows. Mark thought he had to stop himself from smiling. “So I’ve been living here for almost ten years, but my mother was a reclusive alcoholic and I, you know, basically never interacted with anyone from town. Then, I don’t know, I made a mistake. I came home still in costume, and I had gotten drunk right before, and someone saw me fumbling with my keys. And you know, small town, so as soon as that happened, everyone knew that there was someone kind of famous living here. And to them, kind of famous is the world’s biggest deal. As far as they were concerned, I’m Hollywood’s biggest star.”
“But you’re a magician.”
“My point exactly,” Jon replied. “So now I can’t sell the house. I’m the only person that lives here and home sales are public record. There are ways to get around it, but I’m — I’m not doing that well anymore. Like I can’t afford to shell out a few hundred grand because a lot of my money is tied into the estate. And I, I don’t know. I guess part of me feels like this is the house that my mother fought so hard for all her life. This is her legacy. And then as soon as she dies I’m just going to throw that away because it makes me a little tense?”
Jon didn’t sound tense to Mark. He sounded traumatized. “That must be very difficult.”
Jon nodded. “It is. I’ve never looked forward to going on tour this much. It’s grueling but it’s so, so much better than this. You know, at least then I can have a few drinks and not feel like a freak. And then there’s, you know, girls.”
Mark’s heart dropped. So much for that. It wasn’t as if he expected Jon to be into him, but he thought that there was something there. Of course he had been wrong. He was always wrong about stuff like that.
“I don’t,” Mark finally said. “Know anything. About girls, I mean. I know some other, unrelated, things.”
Jon looked him up and down. “You look like you’d know things about girls.”
Mark laughed, throwing his head back. “Yeah, that’s what people thought when I was in high school. I’m not —”
He hesitated before he continued speaking. He didn’t know w
hy he had said anything about it in the first place. He had no problem being out. He was perfectly comfortable with the fact that he preferred men over women. But Jon was his employer, he lived in a small town, and he had his own issues to deal with. He was worried now. That moment, the moment right before he revealed he was gay, it was always awkward. Sometimes, it was a little scary. He had never found it confusing before.
“You’re not what?” Jon said.
“I’m not into girls,” Mark replied. “I’m gay.”
He stopped breathing for a second as he saw Jon’s mouth twitch before he spoke. “Oh,” he replied. “Okay.”
Mark swallowed. He could feel his heart beating fast in his chest. Jon’s response had been fine; it had been acceptable. Mark didn’t understand why it seemed to upset him.
“So,” Jon said. “Do you mind if I ask you something personal?”
“I guess it’s only fair,” Mark said.
“Right. I did just tell you my entire life story and I really, really want to stop talking about myself.”
Mark smiled. “Okay. Shoot.”
“Why are you here?” Mark wasn’t sure that he had heard Jon’s question right. He hoped it wasn’t an attempt to convert him to something. He didn’t think that Jon would do that, but people could get strange after he had just come out to them. Especially people in small, weird, Southern towns.
“I don’t mean alive,” Jon replied, rolling his eyes. Mark wondered if Jon could read his mind for a second before he realized he was being ridiculous. “I mean, why are you in Cleary?”
“Oh, right. Well,” Mark took a deep breath before he started telling his story. “You know I’m living with my Aunt Rosa, right? Or was.”
“I did my homework,” Jon said. “I wasn’t going to bring a stranger into my house without making sure they wouldn’t—”
“Murder you in your sleep?”
“Sell my picture to the press. Or, yeah, that one,” Jon replied. Mark wondered if he was going to ask him another question to get him to keep talking, but he didn’t say a thing. He just waited.
