by A M Huff
“Like you did last year?”
“I know,” Douglas nodded. “That’s why I’m telling you now. You’re a good friend and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Friend. Justus’ mind caught on the word. It was not the first time Douglas had called him his friend, but it was the first time he had done it dressed in boxers and little else. It seemed to make the word sound more special.
“Well, we’re being careful,” Justus said, trying to reassure him.
“I thought I heard talking,” Harrison said when he walked into the kitchen.
Justus turned to look at him and halfway expected to see Harrison in his shorts. Instead, he was dressed in jeans and one of his comfortable but worn sweatshirts.
“Morning,” Justus greeted.
“Just getting in?” Harrison asked while he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Yeah.”
“So, how did it go last night?”
“Great. I met this hot guy and he took me to his place in Cedar Mills. He showed me his huge—”
“Spare me the details!” Harrison interrupted. His face was already turning red.
“His huge house,” Justus laughed. “What did you think I was going to say?”
“Never mind,” Harrison answered.
“Well, that was huge too.”
Harrison choked on his coffee and turned toward the sink. Douglas patted him on the back.
“Damn it, Justus!” Harrison cursed when he regained his voice.
“Sorry.” Justus said and tried not to laugh. “It wasn’t all that great, just so you know. The guy was hot enough but not someone I’d want as a friend.”
“Really? Why?” Douglas asked.
“While we drove to his place, he told me he owned the house. Turned out it was his parents’ house and they were out of town for the weekend.”
“How did you find that out?”
“They came home early. We heard them. Xavier—that’s his name—panicked and had me climb out his bedroom window. He threw down my clothes and I had to get dressed in the shadows.” Justus avoided looking at Douglas. He could tell Douglas was trying not to laugh and doing a poor job of it. “Then I had to walk two miles to the nearest TriMet stop and catch a bus back downtown to my car.”
“I’m sorry,” Harrison said while he too tried to stifle a laugh.
“It’s okay, it’s not like we weren’t finished.” Justus shifted his weight on the stool.
“Well, maybe next time—”
“No,” Justus interrupted Douglas. “There’s no next times. They get one shot—”
“So, moving right along,” Harrison interrupted. “Did you find the guy and show him the picture?”
“No,” Justus answered. “But I did find a friend of his who said he’d show him the pic. I’m not holding out any hope, though. The guy was a jerk.”
“Well, maybe he’ll do it.” Harrison said.
“I hope so.” Justus took a sip of his coffee. “He said he would text me.”
Chapter Twelve
Try as he might, Justus could not stop thinking about the picture and Patrick. It had been five days and still no text from Curtis. He was beginning to think he was right, that Curtis was not going to show Patrick the picture.
Justus glanced at the flowers in the garbage can beside his desk in the file room. Dean still had not let up. Justus picked up the card and looked at the inscription again. The growing anxiety inside his chest was beginning to make him feel as if he were about to explode. He grabbed his coffee cup and headed for the break room.
The break room was located on the west side of the twenty-eighth floor overlooking the West Hills. It was not a large room, but it was not a closet either. A counter—complete with sink, microwave, and industrial coffee maker—spanned the wall to the right between the door and the windows. Several round tables surrounded by too many plastic chairs took up the center of the room. Against the wall to the left sat an uncomfortable, worn, and stained office couch with matching and equally stained chairs. No one ever sat on them anymore and Justus did not know why they were still taking up space.
Music from an easy listening station was piped in through the speakers in the ceiling and controlled by the main switch in the boss’ office upstairs. Justus was told it eliminated fighting. He did not care for the station, in fact, with everything else that was on his mind, it grated on his nerves.
Justus walked straight over to the coffee urn and filled his cup. He looked in the small refrigerator for the bottle of sweet cream and took it out. It felt light. He shook it. Empty!
“Why don’t they throw it out?” he grumbled and threw the plastic bottle into the trash. He grabbed his cup and headed back to his file room.
The telephone on his desk was ringing when he walked into the room. Justus nearly spilled his coffee while he hurried to answer it.
“Are you going to make your rounds anytime soon?” Harrison asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Justus said. “Be right there.”
He hung up the phone right when his cell phone rang. He grabbed it and answered without checking the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Justus, this is Scotty. Have you heard from Marcus?”
“No. Not since last Friday.”
“Neither have I. I tried calling his cell, but he’s not answering. It goes straight to voicemail.”
“Have you tried his work number?”
“Yes, but they said he hasn’t been in.”
“Hasn’t been in?” Justus repeated and sat down in his chair. His stomach tightened and he suddenly felt nauseous. A sense of dread filled him. “I’ll see what I can find out. Try not to worry. You know Marcus. He may have decided to take a few days off.”
“Okay. Let me know when you find out anything.”
“I will.” Justus disconnected the call and quickly dialed Marcus’ home phone. It rang and rang. He tried his cell number. As Scotty had said, the call went straight to voicemail. Justus stuck his phone in his pocket, grabbed his cart, and headed for Harrison’s office.
“I was beginning to think—” Harrison stopped when he looked at Justus. “What is it? Did you hear from that guy?”
“No,” Justus answered and shook his head. “Scotty called. He hasn’t been able to reach Marcus.”
“Is that normal?”
“Sort of, but he said he called Marcus’ work and they told him Marcus hasn’t been in all week.”
“Oh.”
“I’m worried.”
“Well, when was the last time you saw him?”
“Friday night at CC’s. He left with a guy.”
“You don’t think—”
“No. Scotty said the guy was blonde. The other man was dark haired.” Justus sat down on the corner of Harrison’s desk.
“Well, what do you want to do?” Harrison asked.
“I don’t know. Can we go by his house on our way home?”
“Of course.”
Justus looked at the clock. It was a quarter after three. “Can we leave now?”
Harrison looked as though he were about to object but then turned to his phone. He dialed a number Justus knew was the staffing office upstairs.
“I need to take Justus home early,” Harrison said into the receiver. “He’s not feeling well. No, he can’t take the bus. Okay, code it however you need. See you tomorrow.” Harrison hung up the phone. “Done.”
“Thanks.”
On the drive to Marcus’, Justus sent Scotty a quick text to let him know what he and Harrison were doing. Scotty acknowledged with a Thumbs Up emoji.
Marcus owned a two-story 1908 house in the Belmont District of Southeast Portland. The past November, he completed a two-year remodel project that included having a new foundation installed to bring the house up to code. He had hosted his first party two days after Christmas. With the house decorated to the nines, his guests showed their approval by showering him with the appropriate ooo’s and ahh’s.
Harrison pulled up to the curb in front of the house behind a Toyota Camry. He parked and turned off the engine.
“Looks like he’s home,” Justus said from the passenger seat of Harrison’s Honda CR-V. “That’s his car.”
“But there aren’t any lights on inside,” Harrison said.
Justus turned and looked at the front of the house. The large picture window to the left of the front door and the two second-floor windows were indeed dark.
“Maybe he’s in the kitchen or upstairs in his den, it’s on the back,” Justus speculated. “Let’s go see.”
He did not wait for Harrison to reply. He opened the car door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. He walked over to the gate in the picket fence and opened it. A large spring attached to the gate let it close by itself. Justus headed for the front door.
The small front lawn appeared neatly trimmed and the flowerbeds at the base of the front porch and around the lawn were picture perfect. Marcus had hired a gardener to take care of it all. Justus wished Harrison would do the same. He hated pulling weeds and raking the mountain of leaves that fell off the old oak trees in the front of Harrison’s house.
When he reached the front door, Justus pressed the doorbell. The melodious sound of chimes rang out from inside. He listened quietly but heard no movement.
“Try it again,” Harrison urged from behind Justus.
Justus did a quick three rings and listened. He noticed Harrison standing in front of the living room window to the left. His hands were cupped on either side of his face while he peered inside.
“It doesn’t look like he’s home,” Harrison said, turning back to Justus. “Are you sure that’s his car?”
“Positive,” Justus said and pulled a key from his pocket.
“You have a key?” Harrison asked, but it sounded more like a statement.
“Marcus gave it to me when he went off on that gay cruise last summer. He wanted me to keep an eye on the contractors while he was gone,” Justus explained.
He slipped the key into the lock and gave it a turn. It clicked and they were in.
“Marcus?” Justus called out. “It’s Harrison and me, Justus.”
Justus looked to the left of the foyer at the living room. Marcus leaned toward minimalism with his choices in décor. Even though the room was large, there was only a sofa that was slightly larger than a love seat, two glass-topped side tables, and a chair placed around a shaggy white area rug. The walls, painted an antique parchment color, were bare except for a single, large framed poster of a Harlequin clown that hung across from the entry.
“Marcus?” Justus called again and headed for the kitchen door at the end of the foyer. He pushed the swinging door open and looked inside. Everything was in its place. The marbled-quartz countertops were clean and bare. There were no dishes in the sink.
Justus turned around and bumped into Harrison.
“He’s not there. Maybe he’s upstairs.”
Harrison stepped back out of the way to let Justus pass.
“Should we be doing this?” he asked, following Justus to the foot of the stairs.
“Why not? We’re his friends. We’re worried about him,” Justus said and started up the stairs.
“Yeah, but from what I know of him, he tends to be a little OCD when it comes to his privacy and home. He wouldn’t want us going through—”
Justus turned around when Harrison suddenly stopped midsentence. He looked at the expression on Harrison’s face and was not sure what he thought. “What’s the matter?”
“Do you smell that?”
“Smell what?” Justus asked and took a deep breath. “I don’t smell anything.”
Harrison rushed up the stairs and quickly started opening doors. The two doors directly across from the staircase were the bathroom and a linen closet. The door to the right, toward the back of the house, was a bedroom-turned-office.
Justus watched him, confused. A moment ago he had the impression Harrison wanted them to leave; now he was racing around checking every door.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Harrison opened the last door, the door to the left of the stairs at the front of the house. He stepped into the room and stopped. “Oh my god!”
Justus felt his pulse begin to race. He rushed up behind Harrison and nearly pushed him deeper into Marcus’ bedroom.
“Wha—oh my God!” he screamed. “Marcus!”
Marcus lay on his bed, with a pale-blue satin sheet twisted around his waist that left his torso and legs bare. There was a sickly yellowish hue to his skin. His head and shoulders hung lifelessly over the edge of the bed. His once beautiful blue eyes were clouded and gray, staring blindly at nothing.
“Don’t touch anything,” Harrison said, grabbing Justus by the arm.
“I only want to cover him up,” Justus protested, tears beginning to cloud his vision. “We need to cover him.”
“No. We have to get the police.” Harrison’s words were soft and gentle, but all Justus heard was the sharp tone of his father.
“Why?” Justus snapped and pulled his arm free.
“Because they need to see what we do,” Harrison explained. “In case this was—”
Again, Harrison stopped himself. Justus stared at him while he pulled out his cell phone and walked back onto the landing.
Murder? Justus’ mind filled in the blank. He turned back to Marcus. Marcus’ blonde hair was disheveled and matted in places. Dried vomit crusted his mouth and stained the area rug beneath the bed.
“Marcus,” he groaned. Uniformed men coming into Marcus’ bedroom had been one of Marcus’ biggest fantasies. The thought of them seeing him in this state caused Justus’ hands to tremble. He wanted to put Marcus back in bed, untangle the sheets and make it look as if he were asleep, but Harrison’s words restrained him. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He turned away.
Everything about the room appeared to be normal. Marcus’ shirt was draped over the back of the dressing chair in front of the window nearest the closet. His jeans were neatly folded and lay on the seat of the chair. Two shoes—
“That’s odd,” Justus murmured and wiped the tears from his eyes to get a better look. Beneath the chair sat a pair of mismatched shoes, one black Nike running shoe and one larger brown Adidas tennis shoe. Justus turned around and took a closer look at the bedroom.
“The police are on their way,” Harrison said, stepping back into the room. “We should wait for them downstairs.”
“You go ahead. I need a minute,” Justus said.
“Okay, but really, Justus, do not touch anything.”
Justus waited for Harrison to leave before he turned back around to his friend. “Oh Marcus,” he said quietly. “What happened?”
Justus looked at Marcus’ outstretched arm that hung over the edge of the bed. He looked at the floor and saw a small, brown bottle. It lay on the floor under the edge of the nightstand. It must have rolled there when Marcus dropped it. Justus picked it up and turned it over to read the label but it had been torn off. It did not matter, Justus knew what it was.
The sound of cars coming to a stop on the street below caused Justus to start. He dropped the vial and rushed back down the stairs.
Two policemen walked up on the porch. Justus let Harrison take the lead. He listened while Harrison told the police how they had come to check on their friend and what they found.
“And you have a key,” the officer said and eyed Justus.
“Yes, he was my friend.”
The policeman asked for everyone’s name and scribbled it in a small notebook he carried before he asked Harrison to show him where the body was located.
Justus wrapped his arms around himself while tears pressed against his eyes. “Don’t cry,” he heard his mother’s voice. “Boys don’t cry, especially in public.” Still one tear, followed by another and another, escaped.
Curious neighbors came out of their houses and gathered across the narrow street in front of Marcus’ hou
se. One brave boy on a bicycle, who looked to be about fifteen, tops, rolled up to the gate. Justus stared at him. In the dimming evening light, the boy resembled Marcus, with light blonde hair, blue eyes, and a gentle face.
“Did something happen to Marcus?” he asked, his voice quivered and sounded fearful.
Justus did not answer. Seeing the pained expression on the young boy’s face caused his throat to tighten and choke his words.
The boy must have understood. His face contorted slightly. He looked back at the cluster of neighbors and then at the house. Tears had begun to dampen his cheeks. For a moment Justus thought the boy was about to rush up the walk and into the house. Justus looked at the boy’s feet. Too small. Thank heaven. Suddenly, without a word, the boy turned around and pedaled away as fast as he could.
Strange.
“Justus,” Harrison said, standing right outside the front door with one of the officers beside him.
Justus looked at him.
“What?”
“The officer wants to know if Marcus had any medical issues?” Harrison asked.
“No, not that I know of,” Justus’s voice sounded more like a raspy whisper. “Except for getting tested each year, he never saw a doctor.”
“Tested?” the officer asked.
Justus looked him over. Under different circumstances, the officer was totally Justus’ type. He was the butch-daddy type with touches of gray in his short dark hair, a nice neatly trimmed beard, and an athletic V shape body with the broad shoulders and small waist that guys spent decades in the gym to achieve.
“HIV testing,” Justus answered.
“Oh,” the officer said and made a note in his book. “We found this.” He held up the empty bottle. “Do you have any idea what was in it?”
Justus felt his heart skip. He glanced at Harrison before looking back at the officer. “Poppers,” he answered and noticed the officer’s confused expression. “Rush. Amyl. Some guys use it in the club and when having sex to get a bit of a high.”
“I know what it is,” he said in a judgmental tone. Instantly, he changed from hot to not in Justus’ mind. “I’ve radioed for the coroner to come and collect the body,” the officer continued in the same tone. “Is there any next of kin we should notify?”