The Son of Every Man

Chapter 5.4

Of course it would show up on a Saturday night, when he was trapped at home. It was out there now, he knew, perched on the rail like some horrific, wingless bird. Gabe had arrived home from the beach hours ago, slightly sunburnt but admittedly better off for having gone. He had walked in feeling mostly at ease, calmed by the sun and the water. That was why it surprised him so much when the foul, stacked vertebrae appeared around nine in the evening, fading in below the back of a skull that glowed like a tiny moon over the balcony floor. Gabe had propped a pillow against the wall and lay reading, but when it appeared, he rose instantly to his feet.

"Turn around," he dared it. It presented itself in such an earthly way this time that he could not see its face unless it turned toward him.

The thing barely flinched when Gabe spoke. Then its own voice came, prying directly into Gabe's brain. "That night, out in the desert—he raped you."

Gabe dropped his book to the floor. "Turn the fuck around." He wanted to see it, as it could clearly see him.

"You were raped."

"I wanted it, too. Don't you see that?" Gabe realized he was yelling. "I wanted him."

"Do you think he believed that?"

It sat there just as a human would. It occupied the same physical space as Gabe did. He wondered what might happen if he stormed out, if he confronted it. What if he pressed against that bare white shoulder blade, tried to shove it off the edge? "Leave me alone," he demanded.

"You think he actually knew what you wanted?"

"Yes. Now go," Gabe pleaded, eyes welling with tears. "Get out." He fell back to the carpet, squeezing his eyes shut. When he reopened them and looked through the balcony door, the bare metal of the balcony railing gleamed in the moonlight. He was alone again. A few minutes went by, during which he came to realize just how badly he needed company. Being alone was no longer an option. He went over to the phone and called Eddie. Gabe wouldn't take the man from his family—not after everything he had already done—but Eddie would know how to contact Miguel.

His boss picked up with a gritty hello. Gabe was slowly learning to mine that voice for its obscure tenderness. "I was wondering," he asked, "do you have Miguel's phone number? I never got it from him."

Eddie told him, and he scrawled it across the cover of a notepad stuck to the receiver. "Thanks."

"You're welcome, Gabe. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine."

Eddie said goodbye and hung up.

Gabe hesitated for a moment before calling Miguel. Was there still a surcharge on the northern area codes? Probably not. But maybe it was it too late to call. He sighed. What was he doing making excuses? He held his breath, dialed slowly. The rings added up, and Gabe soon decided Miguel must not have an answering machine. But right as he was about to hang up, the message clicked on. Miguel's cheery, tongue-in-cheek greeting made him smile. He hated that the young man's voice soothed him so much. He became so swept up in it that he was caught off guard when the beep sounded. It was too late to hang up. Say something. Say something now. "Hi, I was just wondering—this is Gabe, by the way—just wondering if you were home tonight...and if so maybe I could come over. Or maybe you want to come over here. Anyway, don't worry about it, if you get this late." No, that wasn't assertive enough. He did not want to be alone. "I'm...uh...I'm just having a bad night," he added. He listed his phone number, then said, "Okay, goodbye."

He hung up. His heart pounded furiously in his chest. He supposed it wasn't the worst message he had ever left on someone's machine. He sank to the floor below the phone, then crawled slowly back over to his book.

No more than ten seconds passed before the phone rang, startling him so much that he bumped his head against the wall. He drifted slowly toward it, as if to convince himself that the call was not something he urgently needed. As he pressed the phone against his ear, Gabe couldn't help but feel as if he were passing through a one-way door. He could no longer feign indifference toward Miguel's presence—not when he had been the one to summon it. Not as he had just made it clear that he sought comfort, that he trusted in Miguel to provide it.

"Hello?" Miguel's voice probed the fuzzy silence of the telephone line. It was softer now than it had been on the machine, and more serious.

Gabe was so flustered he had said nothing after picking up the phone. "Hi. Sorry."

The line fell silent again. "Hey, so why don't I come over there—if you're having a bad night, at least you'll still be in a familiar place."

"All right," said Gabe. "That sounds good."

"How do I get there?"

"Just transfer to Emerald at Central," said Gabe.

"I don't remember your station."

"Market South," Gabe told him. "Look for the stairs leading up to San Carlos. I'll meet you at the top."

"Okay," Miguel replied softly before adding, "Glad you called."

"Yeah."

"See you in an hour or so."

"See you."

Miguel hung up.

Gabe scanned the dim room. Once again, he would be welcoming Miguel into this sad, empty house. There was nothing for them to do here. He wished he had suggested going to Miguel's place instead. He didn't care that it was less familiar. In fact, this place was probably worse in that regard; too many memories still hung in the air, drifting at will among the particles of dust. He even thought about calling Miguel once more to change plans, but decided against it. Miguel had probably already left.

Gabe had put off emptying the linen closet; he found it stuffed with spare blankets and pillows, which he dragged out and stacked in a messy pile at the edge of the living room. He sat back down against the wall and resumed reading until he could bear it no more and left for the station.

As he walked, he felt reasonably sure the thing crept along a parallel trajectory. Should he dare glance down a connecting alley, it was certain to reveal its sickly grin, bound to bare the faint blue light from deep in those empty sockets, ready to close the gap between itself and Gabe without an instant of hesitation. So Gabe did not allow himself to look.

He waited for over twenty minutes at the station, braced against a stained brick wall at the top of the stairs. He had left hopelessly early, had walked far too quickly. What a shame it would be if Miguel were the one waiting on him, he had reasoned. But Miguel's estimated travel time had been casually optimistic. Gabe wasn't fooling anyone but himself. He sat cross-legged on the concrete with his back against the wall for a while, then stood again and dusted the backside of his black jeans. At this hour, people came and went from the station in droves, and if the thing still crept around, haunting him from the shadows below shop awnings, he didn't care. You don't scare me, he had whispered sharply, several times over, until he forgot about it completely.

He anticipated Miguel's presence like a gift he hardly deserved. A flutter of anxiety swirled up from the pit of his stomach. It was the first time the young man had elicited such a nervous response in him. Of course, telling Miguel about his father had also made him nervous, but at least then he had been backed by a purpose, was still operating via external command. Tonight, his request for Miguel's attention had come from within. It was a personal invitation, one he couldn't put on Eddie, not this time. When Miguel arrived, Gabe would have to answer for it.

And he wanted to. He longed to own these feelings, but the thought of doing so left him terrified.

Finally, Miguel bounded up the stairs, locking eyes with Gabe, closing in fast. Gabe's muscles tensed at first, then released. Clearly Miguel was happy to see him. He should not have been worried.

;-;