by Max Walker
One of them must have bumped into the bedroom door. I heard it creak open.
“I’m coming, guys, I’m coming.”
I reached the light switch. I went to flick it on. “What the?”
The light switch wouldn’t flick. I couldn’t even press it down. It felt different, too, the texture rough, not smooth.
I leaned in, trying to see through the pitch-dark.
Thick dark duct tape covered the switch.
Realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. I stumbled backward, my blood turning to frost. I turned and started toward my door but froze in my tracks.
A shadow stood in front of the door.
Someone stood in front of the door.
“No, no, no, please.”
I stepped backward, my legs beginning to shake. I could barely see anything. The shadow started moving toward me, their steps slow. Deliberate.
And the mask. I could see it as they stepped into a sliver of outside light that broke in through the curtain.
They were wearing a ski mask.
The same one from that night.
I turned and ran, feeling the fight-or-flight instinct grab me by the neck. I ran and immediately banged against something, hitting my knee and feeling it completely pop out of place.
The pain seared hot and bright, like a burning brand was jammed straight into the socket of my kneecap. I shouted and cried as my leg gave out and I collapsed onto the ground. Even though stars infiltrated my vision, the darkness still didn’t let me see who was coming toward me.
I flipped onto my stomach and started to crawl. The pain in my leg was blinding, but my will to survive was stronger.
I couldn’t give up. Not now. Not for Derrick, not for Beckham.
Not for myself.
I crawled, and I cried, and I heard the footsteps getting closer behind me. If I didn’t feel so delusional, I could have sworn I heard someone else’s cries join mine. It couldn’t possibly be the masked figure crying behind me. It had to be the echoes of my desperation.
If I could just make it to my bedroom, I could barricade myself in there. I could open the window and shout for help. Someone would have to hear. Someone would come to the rescue.
All I had to do was crawl to safety. I could do it.
I didn’t even make it into the hallway before I felt a sharp hit against the back of my head.
The darkness swallowed me whole.
32 Beckham Noble
Rose petals covered my bed, a thick trail of them leading in from the hallway and into the room. I set about thirty candles around the room, all waiting to be lit. The sweet scent of lavender filtered into the room through a small diffuser set on my nightstand. It was a little over the top, but that was exactly the feeling I was going for. It was how Oliver made me feel on a daily basis. Like my entire life had been one big romantic movie leading up to the best meet-cute of all time, connecting two perfect souls.
Ever since I’d met Oliver, it felt like I’d been walking across a path of ruby-red rose petals, and I wanted to bring that to life for him. I knew he’d most likely end up dying of laughter. And I wanted him to laugh, I wanted tonight to be about just us two and the happiness we brought each other. Especially considering how well dinner with his parents had gone. I was nervous that I had planned all of this for the night after a potentially disastrous dinner.
But there had been no disaster in sight. It felt like I’d been welcomed into the family, and that made me one happy lad. I was especially nervous about meeting Oliver’s father. I knew that if we didn’t get along, things would be difficult between Oliver and me. But again, there was nothing to fear. After some time to get to know each other, I think we’d found that the two of us could become good friends, feeling none of the initial awkwardness from our first handshake.
I followed the trail of petals out of my bedroom, making sure not to disrupt it by tiptoeing down the edges. In my hallway, I had replaced any photo I had hanging with one of Oliver and me. Underneath each frame was a plaque with a small saying and the date the photo had been taken.
When I said I went over the top, I had meant it.
I chuckled, stopping in front of my favorite photo of the bunch.
The two of us were center in the frame, Oliver on my shoulders, the two of us offering huge smiles. Behind us, the wall art perfectly lined up, making it seem like we were surrounded by a rainbow. The sun, high in the sky, shone down like a spotlight on us.
The plaque underneath the photo read “You’re a special one.”
Our first date. It seemed like so bloody long ago, like I’d been with Oliver for years and years.
All of them being the best years of my life.
But it hadn’t been years, and yet we’d experienced a lifetime’s worth of memories already.
I smiled as I worked on getting the rest of my place ready. In my living room, I had placed five big bouquets of pink and white lilies, all of them blooming, the entire living room filled with their candy-sweet scent. I remembered Oliver telling me they were his favorite flowers, and I could see why.
The lights were on the dimmest setting possible before I started bumping into furniture. I glanced at my watch. I hadn’t realized, but it was already past the hour I had told Oliver I needed to set up his surprise. Still, maybe Oliver decided to shower and freshen up at his place. I busied myself with getting the cotton-candy grapes and the bubbling rosé ready. I filled up a steel bucket with ice and dug the bottle of expensive rosé into the center, setting the grapes on the sides of the bottle.
“Oh!”
I had almost forgotten. I grabbed my phone and connected to the sound system. I’d spent hours crafting the perfect playlist, and I’d be damned if I forgot to play the bloody thing.
Soft jazz started playing through the speaker. A woman sang, sultry and hypnotic, making me sway a little, back and forth.
“Shit!”
That was when I realized.
I almost forgot to set up the backyard. I opened the cabinet where the rose petals were hiding and grabbed them. Outside, I left a trail of them leading up to the couches, where I had left sleeping bags and pillows and mosquito repellant, along with a bowl of chocolate bars, marshmallows, and graham crackers.
Oliver was going to lose it when I told him I wanted to sleep under the stars with him and camp out in the backyard. He loved this kind of stuff. The things that I once thought I’d been too old to do, to enjoy.
But of course, that was a lie. There wasn’t such a thing. I could enjoy whatever the damn well I pleased, and Oliver had been the one to teach me that. He lived with a permanent joy, his kid-like sense of wonder having never left him, and it made me feel the same way, too. Like his joy and positivity had rubbed off on me.
And here I was, standing in my backyard and smiling like a goof thinking about the unforgettable night that was ahead of us.
I checked my watch again. Oliver should be getting here soon. He normally texted me when he was on his way, but maybe this time he skipped that. I started to head back inside when something caught my eye.
The corner of a thick, dark blue book. It stuck out from a plastic box, one that had been mostly untouched until Oliver spotted the photo album. I hadn’t looked through those photos in… I couldn’t even remember the last time had been. I thought I’d be okay flipping through it with Oliver. I thought I wouldn’t be bothered, but the second we landed on that one photo, all bets were off. My emotions grabbed control of the reins, bucking like a wild bronco. I needed to cut that trip down memory lane short, because the photo had sent me on a spiral.
I reached for the book. The box’s contents rustled and rearranged as I tugged the photo album out.
A deep breath filled my lungs. The photo album was heavy in my hands. And it should be—it held a ton of photos. This wasn’t the only photo album from my childhood either. My mom loved to make these. There had to be at least twenty more somewhere, locked up in storage. This was the only one I had taken
with me. The one I kept with me everywhere I went, like some kind of fragile anchor to the past. Back when the innocence of the world seemed infinite. Like there was so much good and potential in the future that nothing could ever go wrong.
How little did I know.
I walked to the small round table and pulled out a chair. The night air kissed my skin the same way it did the palm trees, which gently rustled above me.
I opened the album, somehow managing to open it to the same damn photo I had shut it on days ago.
My dad and I were smiling back at me. His arm was around me, his cheeky grin resembling mine. If I remembered correctly, this had been taken the day of my dad’s birthday. Only days before I was to be kicked out of the house.
Of course, that wasn’t reflected in the photo. There was only happiness and love. Sure, we had other issues growing up, and his love of the bottle wasn’t always easy, but one thing I could say was that he always loved us, me and my mom. His drinking never affected his ability to provide or his ability to love.
It was me coming out that did that.
“Dad.”
I spoke out loud, into the night, into the past.
“Why? Why’d you mess everything up?”
I felt stupid. I went to close the book, but something stopped me. Maybe closing it was the stupid move. “I needed you, Dad. When I needed you and Mom the most, I was pushed out. We could have fixed things. Could have had a family.”
The words I spoke echoed in my head. I dwelled on what “could,” and that was my mistake.
“I’m good now, Dad. I’m the best I’ve ever been. I found someone, and he makes my world bright. I was living in sepia, and he comes in with a blast of technicolor… I wonder… did you feel like that with your love? With Arnold?”
I felt an irrational swell of anger rise inside me.
“I would have liked to meet him. I would have loved to have been part of your life.”
The anger gripped my chest. It was aimed toward me.
“I should have picked up your call. Maybe you would have told me. Maybe I would have listened.”
I took a deep breath, trying to cut those chains of resentment toward my actions.
“Look at me. I’m here talking to an old photo like a fool, thinking someone is listening right now… If you are listening, Dad. If you’re somewhere out there, holding hands with Arnold up in the sky, dancing across a rainbow, then I want you to know… I forgive you. I do. For everything. I can’t hold on to this anger, this resentment—I can’t hold on to it any longer. Everything happened in my life for a reason, and that all led me to this. To being with Oliver, and to having a great career, and to living a good life. So, I forgive you.”
A tear fell down and splashed onto the glossy covering over the yellowing page.
“And I wish you were here to see this.”
My doorbell rang. Oliver did always have perfect timing. I closed the photo album, feeling like something in my spirit had been fixed, after years of being neglected. I couldn’t really explain it, except that I felt good.
Beyond good.
I gave my place one quick look-over, making sure everything was set up. I forgot to light the candles but I’d distract Oliver with some rosé first and then sneak off to add the finishing touches to the room. In the mirror next to the door, I made sure I had nothing in my teeth and that my hair wasn’t doing anything unruly.
I opened the door, my smile instantly shifting into a confused slant.
“Will? What are you doing here?”
33 Beckham Noble
Will stood in front of me, his face flushed pink and his pupils blown. He looked frantic. Instantly, I knew something was terribly wrong.
“What happened?”
“Have you seen Oliver? Please tell me he’s here.”
I shook my head. Will dropped his into his hands. “Shit. Shit, shit.”
“Will, what’s going on? I need an answer.” Frustration bubbled in my like grime from a sewage grate.
“It’s Olly. I think someone’s taken him.”
It felt like I’d been shot in the chest with a shotgun.
“I went to his apartment just now to pick something up. He told me he’d be home for ten minutes, so I rushed from my place to his. I got there, and his car was parked outside. But I could see the lights in his place are off. I went upstairs and I knocked, and the door opened by itself. He’d never leave the door open like that.”
“Where were Mason and Jar?”
“I don’t know. I stepped inside and called out Oliver’s name, but when no one answered, I turned and left. I knew something was wrong. I called the police and they were going to send a cop to check the place out, but I knew I had to come to you. I had to let you know.”
“Right, thank you, Will.” My vision tunneled. I had to focus on my breathing. This was a nightmare coming to life. “And you’ve tried calling him?”
“Over and over again. He doesn’t pick up. That’s not like him.”
“No, not at all.”
“Please, Beckham, you’ve gotta find him.”
I turned and grabbed my keys and wallet off the shelf. Every second wasted was time I could spend searching for Oliver. Will stepped out of my way as I locked up my place, all thoughts of rose petal surprises left behind the door.
“I’m going to his place,” I said to Will, who looked like he was on the verge of tears. Panic resided in his almost jet-black eyes. “You can come with me. It could help having two pairs of eyes searching for clues.”
Not to mention, I want to keep an eye on you.
Oliver was adamant about me not suspecting Tyra, and I could imagine he would feel the same way about me suspecting Will. Still, something felt off, and I didn’t become a detective to piss around.
“That’s a good idea.” He nodded and started walking down the path to my driveway. Something caught my eye. I looked down at the hem of Will’s black pants.
A tuft of orange cat hair clung to him like a stowaway. It was big, too.
“I’m going to meet you there,” he said, stopping next to his car, the red paint on the Toyota chipping away from the sun. The floodlight above my garage door cast long shadows on the pavement. “I have to go back to my place first. I ran out so quick, I can’t remember if I left the stove on.”
If there weren’t any red flags on the field already, he just dumped a bucket of them.
“Will, you said you didn’t see Mason or Jar, correct?”
He nodded, saying, “I didn’t see them anywhere.”
“But you went inside Oliver’s apartment, right?”
Another nod. His eyebrows came together, a crevice forming down the center. “Why?”
“You have a ball of cat hair stuck to your leg.” I pointed down at the leg where the orange hair gleamed under the white of the floodlight.
Will kicked it off. He looked at me and shrugged. “I must have picked it up as I was leaving.”
I measured up the man standing in front of me. Oliver had considered him a best friend for years, even traveling with him across the world on holiday. If it weren’t for Will, Oliver and I may not have even ever met. He never gave me any reason to either like or dislike him. He always treated me fine and always seemed to have Oliver’s back…
Maybe a little too much?
I didn’t have a chance to answer. Will, seeming to remember his “stove,” unlocked his car and got into it in a hurry. Before the window was down, he was already pulling out of the driveway. He yelled out of the car, “I’ll meet you at his.”
His car let out a puff of exhaust as he drove down the street.
“You won’t take the piss outta me, mate.”
Something felt entirely wrong about Will, and I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight. I got into my car and sped out of my garage. I had already memorized Will’s license plate, a trick I’d gained after years of reading plates, and I knew exactly what crusty car he drove. I spotted the red Toyota two streetlights
away from my house.
I slipped into surveillance mode. The night was young, and there were plenty of people out in Miami Beach, meaning there were plenty of cars for me to hide behind as I tailed Will.
There were a couple of risks involved with this. One, I could end up losing my chance at finding something in Oliver’s apartment since I was using my time to track Will. Another risk was Will spotting me, recognizing that I was following him. This could anger him, and if tonight were all some kind of innocent mix-up and Oliver was really out getting a midnight pedicure somewhere, then maybe Oliver could end up being angry at me, too. He was pissed when I’d even suggested that Tyra could be involved. I didn’t want to see how he’d react to finding out I followed his best friend without more evidence than a gut feeling and a thick knot of cat hair.
And yet, even with those risks weighed, I couldn’t let Will out of my sights. Not yet.
I grabbed my phone. Will stopped at a red light three cars up from me. All around us were nightclubs with their neon signs lighting up Ocean Avenue. Music thumped from the two-story nightclubs, vibrating against my windows. There were lines of people, all dressed to the nines, all waiting to get in to dance the night away.
The phone call connected to my car. Anya’s voice competed with the music from outside. “Sup, Beckham.”
“Anya, I need you to do me a huge favor. Are you by a computer?”
“Pfft, I’m always by the computer. Am I by a computer?” I could hear her typing something in the background. “Bitch, I am the computer.”
That got a chuckle out of me. “All right, Ms. Hard Drive, can you look up a name for me? I have their license plate, too.”
“Sure, shoot.”
I repeated the plate number and Will’s full name, the light turning green. “Give me ever—”
“William Stevenson, goes by Will, lives on Seventy-Fourth and Kendall Drive, has two parents, both alive and both loaded as fuck. Hmm…”