by C. S. Poe
“Hmm?”
“How’d a pig’s heart get under the floorboards, Neil?” I asked while turning. “I didn’t put it there, and I was the one to close up last night. I didn’t forget to lock the gate or set the alarm.”
“It was probably a prank,” he said simply, shrugging.
“A prank?” I echoed. “By who?”
“I don’t know. Kids—teenagers. Someone sick in the head. Come on. You’ve been busy as hell at the Emporium. You and Max can’t keep an eye on everything all the time.”
Again, what Neil said could have very easily been true. Minus today, we had been slammed since before Thanksgiving. There was always a handful of customers roaming about at one time, inventory coming in, items going out for auction—I couldn’t always watch everything.
“But what’s the point?”
“What’s the point of a hotdog-eating contest?” Neil countered with a laugh. “People do stupid things sometimes, Seb.”
“I guess. It’s a little dramatic, though. ‘The Tell-Tale Heart.’”
“The what?”
“Poe,” I said. “It is the beating of his hideous heart!”
“Oh, yeah, I think I remember reading that in school,” Neil replied thoughtfully.
“An old man with a blind eye is murdered and cut up. The murderer thinks he hears the heart under the floorboards where he put the body,” I explained. “He goes mad with guilt while the police are there looking into a possible disturbance.”
“Well, damn.”
“Good thing I’m only legally blind,” I said sarcastically.
NEIL AND I watched some police procedural drama while we ate, which really was just Neil complaining for forty-five minutes that the forensics team was handling the scene incorrectly, and no one got DNA results back that quickly. Disgruntled, he ended up channel-surfing before finding Home Alone and settling on that.
“I always wanted to do this,” he said as we sat in the dark, sipping wine later in the evening.
“Be Macaulay Culkin?”
“Catch bad guys,” Neil replied.
“You do,” I pointed out. “Just with big-boy toys. You’re a little too old for tar on the stairs and BB guns.”
Neil wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and I got comfortable in his embrace. It was nice to be enjoying the evening together and not fighting about stupid shit. Neil must have been thinking the same thing, because he leaned close and kissed the top of my head.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Hey, what?” I responded, looking up. Believe it or not, my vision was considerably better in the dark. Neil’s finer details were easier for me to see here.
“Why don’t we hightail it out of here?”
“To where?” I laughed.
“The next room over.” Neil leaned forward, setting our glasses on the coffee table before getting to his feet.
I stood, taking Neil’s offered hand, and let him lead me into our cramped bedroom.
He stopped to put my bag against the wall and shut the door.
“Afraid someone will see?”
He paused before turning to look at me. “To keep the cold air out, Seb,” he corrected in that voice I’d come to learn as the Sebastian, you’re being irrational tone. I did not like it, because he used that tone on me whenever a discussion of his sexuality reared its ugly head.
Neil reached out, grabbed my waist and the back of my head, and kissed me hard. He tasted a little sweet and a little bitter, which about summed up our relationship. He had lost his suit coat and tie since arriving home, but I quickly helped with the remaining shirt and trousers. Neil was busy tossing aside my slacks and sweater when he laughed against my mouth.
“What?”
“You dress like a grandpa,” he whispered.
“I like that sweater.”
“It’s older than you.”
“I’m not trying to win a fashion contest.”
Clothes shopping was stressful for me. Department stores were so bright, and there was apparently a concept of clashing colors. My idea of adding new options to my wardrobe was heading out to secondhand shops with Pop, letting him grab a dozen items in dark colors he says won’t hurt anyone’s eyes if I mix and match, then we’re out in ten minutes.
“We’ll get you a nicer sweater,” Neil said, kissing my neck.
“I like that one,” I replied.
“It’s from Goodwill.”
“So? I don’t need some three hundred dollar Ralph Lauren sweater when that one does a fine job of keeping me warm,” I said defensively.
“Are you done, Sebby?” Neil asked, pulling back to stare at me. “Do you really want to argue right now?”
I didn’t, of course not. I was sick of fighting, tired of every conversation ending in one of us getting frustrated with the other. Staring at Neil in the near dark, a familiar and awful thought came to mind again.
I wasn’t what he really wanted.
It was stupid shit like the sweater. What did it matter if I wore something a little frumpy? He wanted to have me wear something chic and fashionable, like the damn car.
“Seb?”
I shook my head, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed Neil, trying to get back into the mood.
When was the moment our relationship turned?
He pushed me down onto the bed, kissing and sucking down my chest and stomach.
When we moved in together, maybe.
I was turned onto my belly, and the snap of a bottle preceded a warm, oily finger pressing into me.
When had I grown so defensive? So bitter and resentful toward my partner?
Neil’s hands were on my hips, raising me up before he pushed in roughly.
I gritted my teeth as he started thrusting.
I didn’t like who I had become.
Chapter Two
“WE’RE EXPERIENCING record snowfalls for New York City in December,” the meteorologist on television said the next morning.
I sat at the little table just outside the kitchen, watching the TV screen from across the room while eating a bowl of Lucky Charms and drinking coffee from my Cheshire Cat mug. When hot liquid was put inside, the cat on the outside vanished, leaving only his grin. It’s the most curious thing!
“—thirteen inches overnight, with an expected ten to sixteen more throughout the day. We urge residents to stay inside. Winds will reach speeds of forty miles per hour across Manhattan and the outer boroughs, with speeds up to sixty on Long Island.”
I grunted at the woman and took another bite of soggy marshmallows. I had already texted Max and told him to forget coming into the city. The MTA had halted service of the buses and subways after the mayor cited safety concerns. The City That Never Sleeps was at a standstill.
I picked up a book I’d left on the table the other day, opened it to the bookmarked page, and read with one of my many magnifying glasses.
Neil came out of the bedroom while pulling his suit coat on. “Mysteries and cereal?” he asked with a frown.
“Sure,” I muttered before looking up from the page. “Murders don’t wait till after breakfast, Watson.”
Neil made a face. “You’re not Sherlock.” He motioned to the bowl. “That’s pure sugar.”
“I’ll remember to make an appointment with my dentist,” I replied before taking another bite.
He didn’t rise to the bait of another argument. “You’re staying home today, right?”
“Yeah. Max can’t get into the city anyway.”
I was going to use the day to go through the boxes of inventory that were stacked up here, like I had told myself I would do the night before. But I just hadn’t been feeling that old thrill, the excitement I got from going through the untold treasures and mysteries inside each new shipment of antiques. It was like someone put a cup over a flame and snuffed out the oxygen. I missed the rush.
I didn’t feel like the same Sebastian I had been even earlier in the year. Not since Neil moved in.
“Something similar m
ust have happened to Mike,” I said offhandedly. I set the magnifying glass down and opened the cereal box to refill my bowl.
“What?” Neil was adjusting his hair in the mirror on the wall near the door.
“If the detectives who are investigating his break-in are the same that were called to the Emporium yesterday.”
“Drop it, Sebby. You’re just wasting energy thinking about it.”
“How can you not find it strange?”
“I do, but Detective Lancaster is right. There wasn’t a crime.”
“Someone broke in.”
“We talked about this yesterday.”
I stirred the cereal into the milk. “Just a quick conversation with Mike would put it all into perspective.”
“Seb, I’m serious,” Neil said as he turned to stare at me. “If you go over there, I’m not bailing you out of jail when you get arrested.”
“Well, it’s good to know where you draw the line in this relationship.”
Neil shook his head and grabbed his shoes and coat. “I’m leaving.” He looked back as he zipped up. “Don’t go over there.”
“Yes, warden,” I said while raising my hand to mock salute him. “Will you call to make sure I don’t break curfew too?”
“Cute, Sebby.” He opened the door. “Be good.”
“I’m not twelve, Neil,” I called, but he shut the door as I spoke.
My phone rang from the tabletop not more than a moment later, the caller ID flashing “Dad.”
“Good morning, kiddo,” said William Snow cheerfully. “Some storm we’re having, huh?”
“Hey, Pop.”
“I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“No. How are you?”
“A little restless. Maggie and I couldn’t go for our walk. Staying home today?” he asked.
I hummed in response around a mouthful of cereal. “Not much point in opening the Emporium, I figured.”
“Neil home too?”
“No, he had to work.” I looked back at the television. “Any plans for the day?”
“Nah,” Dad replied lazily.
“Mind if I come over?”
“Of course not, but there aren’t any taxis out.”
“That’s all right,” I said while standing and bringing my bowl to the kitchen sink. “I’ll slip and slide my way over there.”
“Everything okay, Sebastian?”
“Sure,” I said, as if saying it out loud would convince me it was true. “I’ll see you soon.” I said good-bye and hung up.
I went back into the bedroom and pawed through the pile of laundry on the floor of the closet. I tugged on a pair of faded Levi’s and pulled on a probably white, maybe gray, T-shirt. In the bathroom I stared at my face in the mirror and rubbed my cheeks while I considered shaving.
Not worth the effort.
I ran my fingers through my hair a few times, washed my face and brushed my teeth, put on deodorant, and then popped in my red-tinted contacts. They made my—according to Pop—hazel eyes a very dark brown, but they were a great protection that made wearing my regular, prescription sunglasses possible.
I regretted the decision to go out the minute my boots sank into the unplowed sidewalks. The snow was still coming down hard, and the city was frighteningly quiet. I passed a few other brave souls who were trudging through the storm as I made my way downtown toward my father’s apartment.
The streets were empty, the rumbling of snowplows echoing nearby. Nearly everything was closed, save for a lone dry-cleaning shop and the café next door to it. I stopped in long enough to make a purchase of fresh donuts to use as a peace offering for when Pop inevitably started griping about my lackluster appearance. Twenty-five minutes later, which on any day that wasn’t Snowpocalypse should have taken about fifteen, I finally reached my dad’s building.
I stood on the doorstep, waiting to be buzzed in while shaking snow from my coat and scarf. I grew up in this building. It was one of those architecturally gorgeous, prewar complexes. Dad had been a tenant since he was a teenager and was one of the lucky folks to have a rent-controlled home. Otherwise he probably would have been forced into the outer boroughs after his recent retirement. The buzzer rang and the door unlocked. I hurried inside, took the stairs up to the fourth floor, and knocked.
“It’s open!”
I pushed the front door open in time to be assaulted by a huge pit bull. She jumped on her back legs and licked my face and sunglasses. “Oh, Maggie, come on, every time!”
“Down, girl,” my father said sternly. “You only ever do this to Sebastian,” he chastised quietly when his princess hurried to his side, tail wagging happily.
“Hey, Pop,” I said with a huff while shutting the door. I took off my coat and scarf, hanging them up before removing my sunglasses to wipe them clean on my shirt.
“I was worried you got lost in the wild, arctic tundra,” Pop said with a chuckle.
“Yeah, nearly,” I answered. I retrieved my glasses from my coat before setting the box of donuts on the counter.
Pop looked sideways from filling the coffee machine with grounds. “What’s that?”
“From Little Earth.”
“My favorite.”
“I know.” I pulled out a tiny bag inside the box to reveal two dog biscuits. Besides being locally famous for their killer donuts, Little Earth was every pup’s favorite stop on walks because of their homemade treats. “Promise to stop jumping on me?” I asked Maggie.
She obediently sat, looking up with anxious excitement.
I held the biscuits out, and she snatched them both in one bite. “Sure,” I told her. “You’ll jump again.”
“Did you just roll out of bed?” Pop asked as he finished starting the coffee, only to turn and stare at me with an unhappy expression.
“I brushed my teeth,” I replied while leaning back against the counter and looking around.
The apartment hadn’t changed much in thirty-some odd years. It was one big, open space, with the long, well-equipped kitchen on the right just as you walk in. There was a small dining table near the large bay windows, and a couch in the middle, surrounded by bookshelves stacked to capacity and a decent entertainment system I had helped Pop set up a few years prior. The bathroom was down the hall, as was my old bedroom, now an office Dad hardly used since his retirement. The master bedroom stood just behind him, at the end of the kitchen. The curtains all around the room had been closed in preparation of my visit, and the lamps were all switched to the lowest settings.
“Well, you forgot your hair,” my dad said. He got my attention when he reached out to pat down stray strands. “And didn’t I teach you to shave?”
I laughed quietly, rubbing my cheeks. “It’s my unexpected day off.”
He grumbled something and retrieved two mugs from a cupboard and a plate for the donuts. “Maggie was supposed to have training today, but all of the shelters are closed.”
“That’s probably for the best.”
Dad was sixty-three and just recently retired after thirty years of teaching American Literature at New York University. He couldn’t handle the free time, and before he had cracked, I suggested adopting a dog. Enter his little princess, Maggie. Pop and she now spent their spare time volunteering, helping to rehabilitate other rescued pit bulls in the city.
Maggie ran across the kitchen carrying a squeaky toy, stopped at my side, and held it up.
“New toy?” I asked while taking it and tossing it gently across the room.
“It’s good to get new toys,” Pop said. “Dogs can get bored.”
Maggie brought the toy back, squeaking away. I tossed it again before watching my dad. I looked like him. He had aged with a grace I hoped was hereditary. We had the same dark brown hair, he said, though his was actually more gray at this point, and I don’t just mean according to my eyes. We both had strong eyebrows and what my ex-boyfriends called cute and dorky facial expressions. Sexy was not an adjective my dad and I heard, put it that wa
y.
“Coffee?” Pop asked.
“Sure.”
He put some cream into both mugs. “You sounded upset on the phone.” He started pouring fresh coffee.
“Did I?” I asked, taking the cups and walking to the table with them.
“How’s everything with Neil?” Dad asked next.
I slowly sat, then turned back to watch him come over with the plate of donuts. “Fine.”
Pop eyed me critically while taking a seat. “Really.” It wasn’t a question.
“Things are okay,” I amended. “It’s been a bit up and down, that’s all.”
“Mostly down,” Pop said. He broke a donut in half and took a bite.
I didn’t argue as I took a donut for myself.
“It’s not healthy, Sebastian.”
“The donuts?”
Dad didn’t think it was funny. “You went through enough crap in school. You shouldn’t have to deal with this drama in your thirties.”
“Dad, I got shit in school for my wardrobe, not for being gay. Remember that time I accidently wore purple pants with a yellow shirt?” I still didn’t understand why that was such a fashion no-no, though.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said while waving a hand. “But you’re an adult. I’m not going to sit here and chastise you on your choice in partners.”
“I appreciate that,” I muttered. I wiped my hands together before leaning back and resting them behind my head. “Something strange happened at the Emporium yesterday,” I said, steering the conversation far, far away from Neil.
After I regaled my story to Dad, he asked, “‘The Tell-Tale Heart’?”
I laughed quietly. “That’s exactly what I thought.”
Pop knew his literature inside and out, especially such a gifted, tortured soul as Edgar Allan Poe. We had him to thank for the modern detective story, Dad would always tell me growing up. He helped to shape science fiction as we know it today and made coded messages popular. Pop could go on and on about American writers and their contributions to literature.
“It’s weird, right?” I asked.
“Definitely not in the holiday spirit. How’d it get in your floor?”
“I don’t know. Neil figured someone pulled a prank the other day, and Max and I were too busy to take notice.”
