Dinner at the Blue Moon Cafe

by Rick R. Reed

  His ears perk up as he smells them first, then hears their footsteps coming up Pine Street. They smell young, healthy, and he knows one of them will make for a very satisfying feast. He stands up from his crouch, shakes his fur, and thinks maybe he should not limit himself to only one. After all, he feeds like this but once a month.

  He slips back into the entrance to a vintage clothing storefront and listens. The men have just emerged from a nearby bathhouse, a place called Club Z.

  “Hey! Would you wait up?”

  One man runs after the other, and the second one, the blond, is amused. Oh, to have the simplicity of being chased by a mere human being! Lover boy, you have no idea….

  “What? What do you want?”

  The man running closes the distance, and the creature listens to his rough breathing, knowing he has run for a while.

  “I just thought it would be fun to spend a little more time together.”

  “Didn’t we just do that? Back at the bathhouse?”

  “I know,” the one man whines. “And that was fun. Really fun.” His laugh is low, tainted with filth. “But I just thought maybe we could cuddle a little, you know? I live over on Denny, or we could go to your place, if you’re close. I just want to fall asleep next to you.”

  There are a few minutes of silence. Then: “I need to get up early, and I sleep better by myself. Look, I’ll give you a call.”

  Footsteps retreat. He peers around a corner and watches as one man continues east up Pine Street and the other stands immobile, watching him go. Finally the tall blond man vanishes into the night.

  The other, a tight little dark-haired guy with a moustache and dark skin, stays frozen to his spot, as if in shock, watching until long after his “friend” is no longer visible. Then he leans against a restaurant’s plate glass window and begins to weep softly.

  On silent paws, the creature creeps around a corner and disappears into an alley. There he knocks over a stack of cans to make some clatter. As he suspects, the noise draws the guy with the moustache, and he peers around the corner. The monster clearly sees the man, but the man does not see the monster. He ventures a few steps into the alley, as if curious about what made the noise.

  And the monster is upon him, fangs bared, going first for the throat so the man cannot emit even a little scream.

  JARED FELT bad. He had had an amazing time with Hector in his room at Club Z, and the pair had fucked in every conceivable position, their bodies becoming slicked with sweat, their heart rates accelerating, and their passion peaking together, but only after about a solid hour of rough sex. Even though Jared’s dance card was always full, this was one encounter that was outstanding enough to remember for a long time.

  But after, when they had slumped against each other on the cum- and sweat-drenched sheets, Hector began talking about how “special” Jared was and how he so much wanted to see him again. “You are my idea of the perfect boyfriend. I am going to call into work tomorrow so I can spend the rest of the night with you. And then in the morning, we can get up and I will treat you to breakfast.”

  He had scared Jared. Hector’s desperation and clinginess radiated off the handsome man like the scent of his perspiration. Jared had come to Club Z for the simple reason that he wanted no-entanglement sex. Casual sex. A hookup. A hot, anonymous fuck. He didn’t need—or want—a boyfriend, husband, lover, partner.

  Well, he did. But the object of his desire was taken, and Jared knew he might never become available. Quickly he put images of red hair and porcelain skin out of his head.

  But as he headed home along the lonely streets of Capitol Hill at going on 3:00 a.m., he couldn’t help but feel sad and sorry for Hector. The guy had run after him, for Christ’s sake, and when he had left him behind on the street corner, he could see the tears glistening in his eyes.

  I’m such a softie. I should just go home. I’ll only encourage him if I go back. But the sad brown eyes, dewy with tears, nagged at Jared. He had never been able to turn away a stray and was always first to play Good Samaritan if the opportunity arose. He shook his head, laughing ruefully at his own inability to be tough. He turned around and started to head back. I’ll regret this. He’ll never stop calling me. And when I do make it clear I’m not interested, he’ll get mad, just like so many others. Am I sure I want to do this?

  Jared slowed his footsteps, considering. But the pull of Hector’s pleading face and the image of him standing alone on the street in the rain left Jared no choice. He picked up his pace.

  He was a little relieved to find Hector no longer standing on the corner where he had left him. Perhaps the guy was stronger than Jared had thought. Maybe he had gone home, or back to Club Z, to start looking all over again. Jared could relate to that, having done the same himself on more than a few occasions.

  A sound issued forth from the alley… like a snarl, followed by a whine. Was a dog back there? Was it hurt?

  Jared! Jared! Go home right now! I don’t need another rescue animal! Two dogs in a one-bedroom! I have enough!

  But just like the pull of Hector’s tear-soaked eyes, Jared couldn’t resist the thought of an animal in trouble.

  He hurried to the alley’s mouth.

  Jared gasped. Some kind of beast, its eyes glistening black and feral, looked up at him, the fiery gaze pulling Jared right into what he felt were the depths of hell. A scream lodged in his throat, terror and breathlessness holding it there, a silent hostage.

  Jared began to tremble as he heard the low growl of the creature taking form in the darkness, almost like an apparition. The growl was a warning, and Jared finally could see why. An arm, a human arm, hung out of the beast’s mouth. Blood and bits of flesh dripped from the limb. The rest of the body, shredded, black blood pooling on alley bricks beneath, lay at the monster’s feet.

  It all seemed unreal. Dizzy, Jared grabbed on to some bricks for support.

  What was this thing? It looked like a wolf but was too big for a wolf, and its pose suggested a crouch, almost like a human form.

  Jared’s mind went blank from shock and horror. He watched, frozen, as the creature dropped the half-eaten arm from its mouth, stared slack-jawed as it hunkered down on its haunches, poised to spring.

  Finally, as his awe- and dumbstruck brain hurriedly smashed the pieces of the puzzle together, Jared screamed and turned to run.

  The creature’s breath was hot on his heels.

  Chapter 8

  THAD EXPERIENCED a miserable night of sleep. Tossing and turning, mind racing, the few moments here and there he drifted off had been destroyed by nightmares, the dreams so terrifying he awakened several times drenched in sweat, gasping, or even emitting a muffled scream. Only images remained from the dreams, but they were powerful enough to chill Thad. Pictures of moons, claws, fangs, and blood tortured him until finally, at about 6:00 a.m., he forced himself to get up from his sweat-soaked sheets. Trying to sleep was pointless.

  Edith snored softly atop the pillow next to his head, curled into a tight ball. At least someone isn’t plagued by nightmares… and doubt… and disappointment.

  As Thad ground coffee beans and poured the grounds and a carafe of water into the coffeemaker, he had no doubt from where his restlessness and vivid bad dreams had come: Sam. Where had he been last night? Why hadn’t he told Thad he would be taking the night off? And where was the rest of the family? If they were all going to be away, wouldn’t that be a remarkable enough fact that Sam would find it worthy of mentioning to his boyfriend?

  Unless….

  Unless Sam was hiding something.

  Oh, please don’t get started with the paranoia again! I always do this. Have a little confidence in Sam and our relationship. Have a little confidence—for once—in myself.

  Thad poured himself a mug of coffee and sat at his little breakfast bar, heaping three teaspoons of sugar into the steaming black liquid, along with a dollop of half-and-half.

  Sam will probably supply the answers I need in short order. On
ce he gets back. From wherever it is he went… from wherever he couldn’t be bothered to let me know he was going….

  Thad shook his head and stirred. Sure, there might have been a logical reason for Sam and his whole family to disappear on a busy-for-the-restaurant Saturday night, but what could it be? An emergency? The grandmother in Queens had fallen ill? A sudden urge to visit the Olympic Peninsula, to see the mountains and ocean by the light of the full moon? Thad laughed out loud, but there was no mirth in it. He felt alone and excluded.

  Insecurity and doubt ate at him, and he had to wonder, really, if Sam wasn’t hiding something from him. Why else would he disappear without a word?

  But what? Another lover? A wife? Was Graziela really not his sister? Were they, in fact, Domenic’s mother and father? Did they have some sort of arrangement Sam didn’t yet have the courage to share with him?

  That’s crazy. Why, after two months, wouldn’t he tell me? And why would that cause the whole family to disappear? But what else could he be hiding? Something darker?

  One of Thad’s nightmare images—fangs coated in blood—rose up to chill and torment him. He had no idea what this image had to do with his fears and suspicion regarding Sam.

  The coffee, even in spite of the sugar and cream, tasted hot, sour, and acidic as it went down. It served only to make him more jittery.

  He needed to talk to someone. The sky outside was only a dull gray, the sun just beginning its journey up and over the Cascade Mountains. He glanced at the clock and saw it wasn’t even six thirty yet. Who could he call at this hour? Who could he phone who wouldn’t bite his head off for waking him at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday morning?

  Thad smiled. Jared. If he knew Jared as he thought he did, Jared would just be getting in. Jared may have crawled into his own bed after a night of debauchery, but Thad was willing to bet his friend had not yet drifted off to sleep.

  He grabbed his cell and pulled it toward him, held down the three button to be connected with Jared.

  But all he got was his voice mail. Jared never liked to stay long at any one-night stand’s place and never permitted them to hang around for breakfast when he brought them home to his own apartment, but this Sunday must have had an unusual outcome because Jared was not answering.

  A pang of totally unexpected jealousy shot through Thad. Great! Now I can wonder where someone else is!

  He shook his head, grabbed his coffee, and went over to the small area defined as a living room by the love seat and TV on a stand. He picked up the remote and pointed it at the TV, hoping to obliterate his fears with the morning news.

  And there, right before his eyes, was horror so extreme, it immediately jolted him from his cocoon of lethargy and despair. His heart thundered in his chest as the anchor’s calm voice recounted the grisly details of yet another killing. Once again a man had been brutally murdered in Seattle’s gay neighborhood, Capitol Hill. Where Jared lives! Where Jared was out prowling around last night! Thad shivered, straining to hear the anchor’s voice over the pounding of blood in his ears. Once again the murder had all the hallmarks of a beastly slaying—replete with partially eaten flesh—yet no one recalled seeing any bears or coyotes roaming around loose in the very urban and very populated neighborhood. As a precaution, police and wildlife authorities were planning on conducting a search of Capitol Hill’s Volunteer Park later today.

  Perhaps the most chilling detail of the whole report was not only the fact that this was the third killing of what appeared to be gay men, but that “the victim’s identity is being withheld pending notification of the family.”

  The coffee Thad had drunk swirled around in his stomach, morphing into acidic bile and making him nauseous.

  After pacing the studio for what seemed like hours, Thad took Edith out for a quick walk around his block and decided he couldn’t just sit and wait for Jared to call.

  He’s probably okay. I mean, what are the odds?

  Thad felt himself pale at the thought of those same odds. There was some maniac targeting gay men. Jared was gay. The maniac had killed last night. In Jared’s ’hood… and Jared was out last night. Thad tried to tell himself there were hundreds, if not thousands, of other gay men out last night, many of them in the same Seattle neighborhood where the killing had taken place. Any one of them could have been the victim.

  Not Jared. Please not Jared.

  Thad found he was sweating and realized suddenly how much he cared about his new friend. Bad enough to hear news of a fellow human being, and fellow gay man at that, being savaged, but when it was someone you knew, someone who made you laugh, and someone you cared about…. Well, it made Thad’s stomach churn.

  In spite of the early morning chill in the air and the gray sky and mist, Thad felt hot, his heart racing. He couldn’t recall a time when he had been this worried about someone.

  He dispensed with fretting over bus schedules and the hit-or-miss of getting one to take him down to Capitol Hill early on a Sunday morning. Even though financially it was out of his reach, he took Edith back to his apartment and called a cab. Emotionally, he couldn’t afford not to make use of what he considered, under other circumstances, an extravagance.

  He was too worried to bother with a shower or, really, any personal grooming. While he waited for the cab, he threw on a pair of old Levi’s, a flannel shirt, and hiking boots. All the while he tried to imagine a sleepy Jared opening the door to him, wondering what had brought him to his apartment at this early hour on a Sunday. And all the while he tried to keep his terror at bay. He fought with himself not to imagine the door going unanswered. Fought not to picture in his mind a grainy newspaper photo of Jared on the front page of the Seattle Times with a headline proclaiming “Latest Victim.”

  The ride from Green Lake to Capitol Hill seemed to take hours, with Thad wringing his hands the entire way. He tried to swallow and found his mouth was dry. He even resorted to whispering prayers to himself. He silently prodded the cab driver to go faster, the very scenery to blur.

  He had to know.

  The ride itself took only ten minutes, but Thad was ready to leap from the cab before it even came to a complete stop in front of Jared’s redbrick apartment house. He threw some cash on the seat beside his driver, told him to keep the change, and jumped from the vehicle.

  The cab driver pulled away quickly, as if he were afraid Thad would change his mind about the big tip.

  Thad looked up, praying he would see something at one of Jared’s apartment windows. But the darkened windowpanes mocked him. He saw no movement, no signs of light.

  No signs of life, I mean. Oh, don’t be so melodramatic! Just get up to the front door and ring Jared’s buzzer.

  Thad followed his own advice, leaning on the buzzer beneath the little label that read J. Holmes again and again, for what seemed like ten minutes. The silence he got back in return taunted him, ratcheting up his worry. Suddenly he was certain Jared, with his promiscuous, careless ways, was the latest victim of this maniac savagely targeting gay men in Seattle.

  Thad hung his head in defeat. There was little more he could do, save for sit here on the front stoop and hope to look up and see Jared coming down the street, whistling a happy tune, hands in pockets, filled with recent carnal memories and oblivious to the horror of last night.

  Just then he got a break. A young woman, loaded down with a laundry basket, pushed open the front door. Thad moved aside to let her pass, then snatched the plate glass door before it closed and locked.

  Taking the stairs two and three at a time, he rushed up the three stories to Jared’s front door. He pounded on the wooden surface, knowing it was hopeless, yet hoping Jared had simply not heard the buzzer or was busy with a trick and was ignoring it. He didn’t care if he interrupted slumber or sex. He just wanted to know Jared was alive.

  When Jared opened the door just a crack and peered out at him, relief coursed through Thad, so intense it was like he had been injected with a drug. Jared’s blue eyes were wild, a
nd his skin looked pale and clammy. He wore only a pair of faded boxer shorts and a Seattle Sonics T-shirt.

  What was wrong? He looked at Thad like he didn’t know him for a few seconds. Then when he realized who it was, a glimmer of a smile passed over his features. Shaky, but the smile was there. He opened the door a little wider and then stuck his head out into the hallway to give a quick surveillance in both directions. Grabbing Thad roughly by his forearm, Jared pulled him into the apartment and slammed the door behind him.

  Jared was trembling, and Thad couldn’t get over how pale he looked. Thad wondered if his friend had gotten into drugs. Crystal meth was a pretty common scourge of the gay community in Seattle, and with the kind of lifestyle Jared led, it wouldn’t have surprised Thad if the guy had added speed to his sexual repertoire. Still, Jared was such a gentle soul; it just didn’t seem like him. And from how Jared had regaled him with his almost constant stream of sexual escapades, his friend didn’t seem to need any mood enhancers. Still, what else could be causing the obvious paranoia, the shaking, and the clammy, pale skin?

  Terror?

  “Did you see anything weird outside?”

  Thad shook his head and took a few more steps into Jared’s one-bedroom apartment. One of his dogs, a pit bull mix, came out to greet him, panting and jumping up on him. Absently, Thad patted the dog’s head and struggled to maintain his balance.

  “Get down, Jack!” Jared’s voice was sharper than Thad had ever heard it, and the dog scurried away. Thad could hear it join the other dog—a rat terrier—in the bedroom.

  “Well, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t see anything except one of your neighbors carrying a bushel of laundry. That’s not weird, is it?”

  “Come in. Come in.” Jared led Thad over to a couch he had positioned beneath a picture window that looked out on a large pine tree in the backyard. The sky was light and pearl gray. The outdoor scene, almost serene, seemed at odds with the anxious mood inside. Jared flopped down on the quilt-covered couch, pulled a pack of Marlboro Lights from the coffee table, and with shaking fingers, lit one up.