by Lissa Kasey
“I saw blood.”
And maybe more, but hopefully his brain wouldn’t put it together. Having served and gone on actual tours in violent countries I’d seen my fair share of dead. It was never pretty. Funerals could dress it up, make it feel less horrific, but the prettiest part of war was a widow’s tears. And there was nothing pretty about that, though it didn’t stop the media from portraying it everywhere.
“I’m no hero,” Micah continued, “just a tour guide who sometimes gets feelings that point people in the right direction to see stuff they wouldn’t normally experience. What happened in the cemetery tonight was not normal. Even for me.”
Maybe it was because of me. “Maybe I attracted something there.” Maybe the thing that killed my troop had followed me here.
“Remember what I said about people influencing things because they expect it to turn out a certain way? Don’t do that.”
“But it’s funny how it’s never happened to you before and my first day it happens.”
“Coincidence. You were with me the whole time. Not sure when you would have snuck away to bust up some animals and summon something.”
“You keep saying that; summon something, summoning ceremony. You’ve seen it before? Know what it was?”
Micah shrugged. He stood, went to the door and locked it, then picked up his pile of clothes and set it on the edge of the sink. He began to strip out of the scrubs. I tried really hard not to stare, but couldn’t help it. He really was everything that pushed my buttons.
Micah’s body was slim and toned, not unlike what I’d remembered. Though he was a little more muscular than I recalled ever seeing in the videos. He was also hairless from the neck down. I wondered how much of it was due to his Asian heritage and how much was due to regular waxing. Either way, the smooth flow of his skin turned me on more than my exhausted body should have been able to at that moment.
“I’ve read about it. Even attended a few mock ceremonies put on by the historical society in alignment with the Voodoo society. I might not practice Voodoo but I can recognize the symbols just like people who aren’t Christian recognize the cross. The symbols scrawled in animal blood were summoning symbols. Like they use to call spirit guides and such. Some of the voodoo priests and priestesses still use them, but most draw them with chalk instead of in actual blood. The city sort of frowns on using anything other than chalk to mark any public area.”
He slipped into a tiny pair of bikini briefs and adjusted himself so everything lay smoothly. He probably felt my eyes on him, but said nothing, and didn’t seem at all embarrassed. He washed his hands and face, even scrubbed at his feet before pulling on the rest of his clothes, a pair of jeans and another T-shirt. He found a pair of sandals and slipped them on before turning to look at me. “You’re covered in blood,” he said.
“Sorry.” I frowned up at him, feeling inadequate, tired, and really lost. Emotionally wrung out from everything.
Micah pulled a wad of paper towels out of the dispenser and wet them down before beginning to wipe down my face. The water was cold and soothing. “You sure you feel okay? Your pupils are huge. At least it’s both and not only one. If it was only one, I’d be insisting on taking you to the ER.”
“I’m a little shaky?” I said really unsure. For all I knew it could have been him making me tremble. Or memories of something in the dark. Something that reached for him, almost took him. I wondered if that was what happened to Sarah. But that couldn’t be right. It was all in my head. Those things weren’t real. “I’m crazy,” I said. “Seeing shit in the dark.”
“You’re not,” Micah assured me. He scrubbed at my hair, but frowned as it didn’t seem to be coming clean.
“Something reached for you,” I told him. “I saw it. That’s why I pushed you.” Fuck. I’d forgotten about that. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to push you. Fuck, well I did ‘cause I saw something. But that’s all in my head. They always tell me it’s always in my head, fuck…”
“I’m fine. Let’s get you washed up some and dressed.” He tugged me to my feet and over to the sink. I scrubbed my hands, and had to strip my shirt off to rinse away some of the blood. My feet were stained brown with someone else’s blood, knees too. The stuff on my hands, face, and in my hair seemed fresher. Mine, I hoped.
Micah handed me a pair of boxers and gave me the courtesy of turning his back while I stripped out of the flimsy pants and into the boxers. I also had an oversized T-shirt in black, a pair of dark green shorts, and a pair of flip-flops. I tugged everything on, feeling marginally better even if I still felt grimy. My manbun had turned into a giant poof at some point of the evening, looking more like a poodle’s tail than a ponytail. But since my hair was soaked in my own blood, it was no use trying to fix it.
Someone knocked on the door again. “It’s Lukas,” Lukas said from the other side of the door. Micah opened it for him. Lukas glanced at me, looking me over hard, gaze finally landing on my forehead. “You sick at all?”
“No.”
“I don’t think he has a concussion,” Micah said. “Though really he should have been looked at by an EMT.”
Lukas frowned. He knew better than to suggest I go to the hospital. “I can’t leave. I’ve got a murder to investigate. People to question, videos to review.” He sighed. “You really shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“I’m fine,” I promised him. “Just really tired. Little bit of a headache.”
“He can come to my place,” Micah said. “You can pick him up in the morning. I can watch his head, make sure he doesn’t start throwing up or anything.”
Lukas looked at Micah. “That’s not all I’m worried about.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him. Often having one flashback, meant that if I went to sleep, I’d be prone to waking in the middle of another. The whole process often left me floundering in a roller-coaster of emotion and flashbacks for a few days afterward. “I’ll go home and lock myself in.”
“He’s fine with me,” Micah insisted. “I’m stronger than I look.”
“Sometimes he’s not himself,” Lukas insisted.
“Does he know anyone else in this city? Perhaps you’d like Sky to look after him? Or take him to the hospital?”
“No hospital,” I reiterated.
Micah stared at Lukas, something passing between them. “I think I’ve experienced firsthand what he can do, and his instinct was to protect me rather than hurt me. You’ve already assured me a dozen times that even during his flashbacks he’s never been violent,” Micah said.
“That we’ve seen so far.”
“Why would that change now?” Micah asked.
“You both could have been shot tonight,” Lukas pointed out.
“Because of shitty police training. He didn’t do anything. He fell. I tried to help him up and he held on to me.”
“Which the police took as possible violence against you.”
“Because they’re stupid,” Micah argued. “He was hugging me, begging me to stay with him. He was trying to protect me.”
I blinked at them, not recalling any of that. “Was that all I said?”
“You said ‘Don’t go, you’ll die. Please stay here,’” Micah said.
The memory always had me saving one of my fellow soldiers. I couldn’t even remember his name anymore. When I asked, I’d been told a handful had survived. Not even who. I think they didn’t want me talking to anyone about what really happened that day. Had I saved him? Or was that something my memory had created to ease my survivor’s guilt?
Lukas sighed. “Fine. I’ll pick him up in the morning. Let me find a rookie to drop you guys off. Do not give him any medication. He reacts to damn near everything. Even aspirin.”
“Sorry,” I said again, feeling awful that they felt they had to be so careful around me.
“Nothing to be sorry for,” Micah said. He packed up the bag and handed Lukas the scrubs before tugging me out of the bathroom. Lukas went to find us a ride home. Sky had vanishe
d somewhere. I hope she got home safely too.
“I’m okay going home,” I told Micah. “I don’t want to be a burden to you.”
He studied me for a minute while we waited in the lobby area of the police station. Since it was almost midnight, it was pretty quiet, even though it was a full moon. “If it’s okay with you, I’d rather not be alone tonight.”
It took me a few seconds to catch up. But I realized in that moment that while I hadn’t seen the body, Micah had. And he hadn’t spent a few years in the military trying to desensitize himself to corpses. He looked tired, and gripped my arm tightly. He had also protected me from the police and likely been interrogated like I had. And still he stood in front of me looking calm and collected. Was it all a front?
“Sure,” I said instantly, wanting to take care of him if I could. At the very least I owed him, though in reality I would have taken care of him anyway. It was instinct, and all my supposed “white knight” buttons were pushed with him, even if he really didn’t come across as any sort of victim. “Kind of a crazy night, right? Probably more so than your norm.”
He gave me a tight smile. “Yes. Much crazier than my normal evening.”
Lukas pointed a duo of cops in our direction. They headed our way. “Looks like our ride.” I offered Micah my hand. He took it and gripped it, then let out a long deep breath like he’d been holding it a while.
Chapter 8
Micah’s home was a little garden apartment broken off from one of the giant houses in the Garden District. It was behind a gate and down a path that curved around the back of the house. Attached to the house, it had its own little entrance and sat on the corner, giving the two sides facing outward walls of windows out to an elaborate garden. Inside, the curtains were drawn so we couldn’t see in. Outside there was a tiny patio with little multicolor fairy lights installed on the square canopy set over the patio furniture. A handful of potted plants bloomed, mixed with fun lawn ornaments like light up mushrooms, and waving zombie gnomes. The entire area looked like it took a lot of time to maintain. Did Micah somehow manage that? Or was it a perk of living in the little house next to the giant mansion?
The attached house was huge, and dark. It could have starred in a haunted mansion movie, or one of those gore-fest movies that kids who’d never seen real violence seemed to love. During the daylight it probably looked like a grand old home. But the silence of the early morning hours added a chill to my bones that had me searching the corners for shadows that didn’t quite fit.
Micah unlocked the door and leaned in to turn on a light, then held it open for me. Inside was a bit of a surprise. It was small, there was no way around that. It might have been a drawing room or part of a ballroom or something in the house at one point with the high ceiling and thick crown moldings. It had a tiny loft area overhead, and a cottage ambiance with colors painted in white, pale blue, and sand that didn’t feel at all New Orleans, but did make the place homey. His kitchen was little more than a corner with a tiny fridge, a single burner stove, a microwave, and a mini-sink. There was also a large appliance stuffed next to the sink that I suspected was one of those all-in-one washer and dryer things.
A small two-seater table was pressed against the wall next to the front row of windows. The rest of the space was a living area filled with bookcases, a futon/couch in a bright colored pattern, and a small flat screen TV mounted on the wall in the back. He didn’t have a lot of furniture and what he did have was very minimalist, though some of the decorative items were really elaborate.
One overhead chandelier-looking light illuminated the whole space with LED crystals. Since the switch on the wall was a dimmer switch, I was sure it could be brighter. Tucked in the back corner under the window was one of those freestanding air-conditioner units. Thankfully it seemed to be working well because it was cool inside despite the soupy humidity outside.
If not for the loft, the place would have been a tiny studio. Maybe 400 square feet. Yet it felt homier than Lukas’ place did, more lived in and personable. The stairway up to the loft was little more than floating bookshelves coming down the far wall. Architecturally it was stunning, but I worried I’d fall if I had to navigate those stairs in the dark.
“It’s cute,” I told Micah. “I bet in the morning the sun through the windows is nice.”
He nodded, kicking off his shoes by the door and dropping the bag in a chair beside the door. I closed the door and flicked the lock out of habit, then took off my shoes and put them beside his.
A thump came from above, making me glance up toward the loft. A few seconds later a black cat came bounding down the stairs like it had done it a thousand times. It came our way, rubbing across Micah’s legs in greeting.
“Hey, Jet,” Micah said to the cat. Up close the black coat of the cat looked striped, with little rosettes in multiple shades of dark gray. He was also male and huge, maybe close to twenty pounds, sleek and muscled, not fat, and had short hair. I didn’t know enough about cats to determine the breed, although I couldn’t remember seeing a regular house cat that big before.
“You’re not allergic, are you?” Micah asked me.
“I don’t think so.” I bent down and offered a hand for the cat to sniff, wondering if he’d bite me or maybe run away because I probably still smelled like blood. Instead he bopped his head against my hand and let me scratch him. “Never had a cat. He’s friendly.”
“Not to everyone.” Micah looked around. “I think I’m going to jump into the shower, then I can make up the futon. You should probably shower too.”
I thought for a minute of showering with him, but let that pass without speaking it. Okay, so sometimes my filter worked. “Do you want me to make up the futon? While you shower?” Were there sheets somewhere?
“Sure. In the drawers under the futon are some sheets and blankets.” He glanced up at the loft. “There is no bed up in the loft. Too hard to get a mattress up there. I use it as a reading and craft nook, plus it gets really warm up there in the summer. Lots of pillows though. So if you want to grab a stack of pillows and some blankets and throw them down that would help.”
I looked at the futon and realized that meant we’d either be sleeping in the same bed or I would be sleeping on the floor.
“It’s bigger than it looks. Queen-sized sheets fit it.” His cheeks pinked. “Sorry. I spend a lot on the shop. Would rather invest in that than a home I don’t spend much time in since I work six days a week.”
“Oh, hey, no judgment. I think this place is nice. Small, but nice. Never would have thought a place like this was in that giant house.”
“They remodeled the whole thing after Hurricane Katrina. The entire house is made up of condos. This is the smallest of the bunch and the only one that has its own external access. I didn’t want something that felt like an apartment. I also don’t need as much space as a lot of people do. This was the smallest unit, and the cheapest.”
“You rent or own?”
“Own,” Micah said. “All the units are homesteads, no renting allowed. I wanted a place I could set up with space to work on my craft projects, and since the ceilings are so high in here, I thought the loft would work great for that.”
That made sense. I wondered what the other condos looked like. “Are you okay sharing the futon with me? I can sleep on the floor. The rug looks soft and comfy.”
“And full of cat hair,” Micah said. He made his way to a wall that opened magically into a dresser that had been invisible moments before, pulling out clothes. “I don’t mind sharing the futon. Sky stays over sometimes. She’s a bit like sleeping with an octopus, legs and arms everywhere. But I’m used to her being around.”
“Are you and Sky a thing?”
“Nah. She’s really into your brother, and not quite comfortable with herself yet. I’m more into guys than girls, even transitioning girls. She’s a bit too girly for me. She’s saving up for top surgery so she doesn’t have a place of her own. Does a lot of couch surfing. She’s h
ere probably two or three nights a week. Most of her stuff is actually at her cousin’s place. They butt heads a lot, so she doesn’t stay there much.” He pointed at a door that seemed to lead to the bathroom. “I’ll be out in a few.”
“Sure,” I said. He disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door, and I pulled open the drawer below the futon. There were half a dozen different sheet sets in the drawer, some of them very colorful and interesting, including a set with cactuses, and another with cat mermaids. Jet examined the contents of the drawer with me, glancing back in my direction with that cat judgment on his face.
“What?” I asked him. “I promise to keep my hands off.” For tonight at least. We both could use some sleep.
I chose the mermaid cats and had to shoo him out of the drawer before closing it and figuring out how to get the back of the futon to lay down. A few seconds later it was flat, I stripped off the colorful wrap that appeared to be decoration over the plain brown cover, and pulled the sheet onto the bed.
I glanced at the loft and the stairs again, sucking in a deep breath before making the climb on my hands and knees, clinging to the small railing on every other stair. Tiny houses were a thing. I knew somewhere in the back of my head that they were a big thing in some parts of the country, maybe the world. Lukas watched a lot of random home improvement shows on the rare occasion he was home and wanting to get his mind off work. Sometimes they featured tiny houses. Micah’s house was much like the tiny houses I’d seen on those shows. Only his space was more wide open, less focused on narrow room stacking and more one big simplified space with the loft. Having lived in Tokyo, Japan, likely Micah was used to living in small multifunctional spaces. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it yet though I’d spent plenty of time crammed into tents with a bunch of other soldiers. It was different to have all the amenities of a normal home in such a small area.
The loft was exactly as Micah said, narrow, with a small section open to the rest of the condo. It was really just a big shelf built into the curve of the ceiling above the windows. There actually was a handful of short windows off to the side, also covered in thick window treatments. I could see how the sun might bake the space in the morning. A plush rug softened the wood floor, and small bookcases lined the area, some filled with books, others filled with fabric and yarn. There was a sewing machine on a short table near one wall, and a cat bed beside it, which was covered in black cat fur.