Beau and the Beast
Page 5
But Beau had.
As he lay alone, yearning, he realized how much he wanted Jeanne-Marie to return, wanted to feel the warmth and power of his embrace.
But morning’s light eventually filtered into the room and Beau awakened from a troubled slumber exhausted. He rose and moved to the window, where outside he saw a silver pickup truck parked in the drive that circled in front of the house. A grizzled man, in jeans and plaid flannel jacket, leaned against the truck, smoking a cigarette.
JeanneMarie’s words came back to him, hurting as much as the pain he had suffered when he had first awakened here, after the beating he had taken… My driver will take you back to Seattle and I will have some money for you, so you can get back on your feet.
Beau dressed himself in the same clothes Jeanne-Marie had so recently brought him, slowly, hoping against hope that JeanneMarie would return, that the door would swing open and he would stand there, framed by the arch, smiling and explaining that he could never let Beau go. He simply loved him too much.
But Beau completed dressing, even taking time to wash his face, comb his hair, and brush his teeth in the adjoining bathroom.
The house was still as he made his way down the corridor, then the curving staircase into the foyer. On the oak pedestal table there, Beau found an envelope bearing his name. He opened it. Inside were ten twenty dollar bills and four one hundreds. There was also a note tucked inside that said only one word, “Love!”
Beau felt the hot prick of tears at the corner of his eyes and he brushed them away, feeling both devastated and sad, all at once.
Beside the door was a new pair of boots and, folded neatly next to them, a down jacket and multi-colored scarf and gloves.
“What? No hat?” Beau asked, hoping for some response, but there was nothing.
He slid the boots and outer garments on and was just about to open the door when he remembered something.
He raced back upstairs. He found the drawing he had done of Jeanne-Marie and he placed it, face up, on the bed, using a book at the upper left hand corner to pin it into place.
He hoped Jeanne-Marie would realize, when he saw Beau’s work, how he looked to Beau.
Slowly—and finally—he exited the room and headed downstairs.
Outside, the wind was brisk. Gray, bruised-looking clouds hung on the horizon, obscuring the mountains. The somber sight of the sky and theclouds matched Beau’s mood.
“You ’bout ready, sir?” The driver called from beside the truck.
“Guess so.” Beau didn’t look at the man as he crossed behind the truck and then hopped inside.
The driver joined him, turning on the heat and upping the fan to combat the frigid wind. “Them clouds over there—they’re full of snow. We better get you back to the city before they decide to open up.”
Beau said nothing as the driver put the truck into gear and they lurched into motion. He turned in his seat to watch the house as it receded behind them, feeling like the days he had spent there were already taking on the aspect of a dream.
Just as he was about to turn back around, eyes facing forward and the future, his heart leapt as he saw the house’s front door swing open and Jeanne-Marie run outside. He began to dash after the truck and Beau could see he held a piece of paper in his hand.
“Stop! Stop!” Beau tapped the driver impatiently on his arm. “Stop the truck right now.”
The man slammed on the brakes and stared at Beau, confusion causing his brow to furrow. “Forget somethin’?”
Beau didn’t reply. He flung open the door and practically tumbled down from the cab. Snowflakes had just begun to dance in the air as he darted back toward the house—and Jeanne-Marie, who stood waiting on the stone front steps.
Although there were only a couple of hundred yards between them, Beau felt like it took forever to cover the distance, his heart ratcheting up with hope with every step he took.
Finally, he stood in front of Jeanne-Marie. Breathless, he blurted, “You want me to stay.” It wasn’t a question.
JeanneMarie didn’t respond with words. He simply held out the drawing Beau had done of him and Beau took it, looking back and forth from paper to face and back again. He smiled. “It’s you.”
“You did that?” Jeanne-Marie asked and Beau felt a frisson of worry, wondering if JeanneMarie didn’t like the drawing or was somehow offended by it.
“Yes. You were asleep and the light coming in was so beautiful. I just wanted to capture you.” Beau paused, reining in his breath. “I wanted you to see yourself the way I do.”
Jeanne-Marie smiled then and Beau knew he had worried needlessly. “This is really the way you see me?”
“Yes.”
“You’re very good. You made me look beautiful, something I was long past hoping I could even come close to.”
“My drawing was a camera.” Beau wasn’t sure how to explain himself. He looked up at the darkening sky; the snow was coming down heavier now and he knew, regardless of the outcome of this encounter, he would not be coming down off the mountain today.
“Camera’s don’t lie.” Jeanne-Marie said softly.
“Neither does my hand.”
“I know.” Jeanne-Marie reached out, gesturing for Beau to return the drawing to him. Beau did and Jeanne-Marie stared down at it, as if seeing it for the first time, then he said something Beau had heard before, “It’s like you saw into my very soul.”
Beau gnawed at his lower lip, trying to hold back the rush of emotion threatening to erupt. He nodded. “Exactly.”
“You really see me this way?”
“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to. I’ll start to think you’re fishing.” Beau stepped closer and now, only a few swirling snowflakes separated the two men. “What made my eyes see you as you really are is that one word you wrote on the note you left forme.”
“Love?”
“Love!”
There was nothing left to say and Jeanne-Marie stepped forward. Within a split second, they were in one another’s arms. After a frenzy of kissing, Beau whispered in JeanneMarie’s ear, “I’m staying.”
Jeanne-Marie smiled and Beau could see only the beautiful face he had drawn, the face he loved. Beau said, “It’s cold.”
“Let’s go inside, where we can get warm.” Jeanne-Marie turned and gestured for the driver to be on his way, then threw his arm across Beau’s shoulders to guide him inside.
RICK R. REED
Rick R. Reed is the author of dozens of published novels, novellas, and short stories. He is a two-time EPIC eBook Award winner. His work has caught the attention of Unzippedmagazine, “The Stephen King of gay horror”; Lambda Literary, “A writer that doesn’t disappoint”; and Dark Scribemagazine, “an established brand— perhaps the most reliable contemporary author for thrillers that cross over between the gay fiction market and speculative fiction.” He lives in Seattle.
To learn more about Rick and his various titles, visit his website or his blog…
http://www.rickrreed.com http://rickrreedreality.blogspot.com
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Someone—or something—is killing Seattle’s gay men. A creature moves through the darkest night, lit only by the full moon, taking them, one by one, from the rain city’s gay gathering areas.
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