Dinner at the Blue Moon Cafe

by Rick R. Reed

Were the two things related?

  Thad shook his head. He didn’t want to ponder how, during the past two full moons, Sam and his family were not around. He didn’t want to think that during both of those nights, someone was killed.

  He also didn’t want to remember—oh God, he really did not want to recall this—that he had told Sam about his “date” with Jared yesterday, told him, in fact, what Jared’s last name was and the street where he lived.

  Why did I do that?

  To make Sam jealous.

  And what if I did make him jealous? What would Sam do?

  Thad felt sick as he pictured the black body bag being removed from Jared’s building.

  Was Sam inside the bag?

  Was Sam the werewolf killer?

  He pictured Sam in his mind’s eye, naked. The man was covered in black hair, his beard thick, his eyes dark and, yes, almost feral. One could easily say he was wolfen. Thad remembered how Sam would bite him when he made love to him, how their sex could sometimes be almost brutal, like animals. He had loved Sam’s hairiness and adored the rough sex they shared. Both were hot. Exciting.

  But were both deadly?

  He couldn’t believe Sam was a killer. After the rough sex, Sam had always been incredibly tender, touching him gently, covering him with small kisses, and singing to him in Italian. And other times he was so concerned that Thad was well fed. Sam was a nurturer. Kindness radiated off him. He couldn’t kill anyone… could he?

  But what if something happened to him during the full moon, something beyond his control? What if Sam simply could not help himself? The werewolves in movies were sometimes remorseful for what they had done when they morphed into their bestial selves. Perhaps the same was true of Sam.

  Thad couldn’t stand just sitting here on his bed. The questions would torment him until he drove himself insane. He stood, shrugged into a fleece and his Kangol knit cap, and headed out the door.

  The Blue Moon Café was only a couple of blocks away. As Thad approached the restaurant, he grew apprehensive. The place was ablaze with lights. Sam had told him they would talk once the time was right. Thad could think of no time more right than the present. Even though a part of him trembled with fear and uncertainty, he forced himself to march right up to the plate glass front door of the café.

  He stopped when he saw the sign, hand-lettered, that had been affixed to the door.

  CLOSED DUE TO DEATH IN THE FAMILY

  Thad stepped back, reeling. This was all too much.

  It was Sam! It was! Everything I worried about is true!

  Thad shook his head and tried to reassure himself that he knew nothing, not with even the smallest degree of certainty. It could have been their old mother who had passed away… or even more likely, the grandmother.

  Thad couldn’t help himself. He began banging on the plate glass, praying silently to see Sam emerge from the back.

  But he didn’t get his wish. Graziela stormed toward the front of the restaurant, her hair wild, swinging behind her, her eyes ablaze with rage. Even at this early morning hour, she wore a form-fitting black dress, high heels, and her lips were a scarlet slash. She didn’t look pleased to see Thad.

  She struggled for a moment with the lock and then flung open the door, glaring at him. Before Thad could say even one word, she started in on him, “Didn’t you see the sign? We are in mourning, you silly boy. Take your puppy dog eyes and your queer face away from here… right now.”

  Thad was stunned by her words. “Was it Sam? Please tell me it wasn’t Sam….” He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. He knew it was Sam.

  Graziela’s lips seemed to disappear into a thin horizontal line of fury. “We have a tragedy here. And places to go and things to do more important than your silliness. Go away!”

  She slammed the door, locked it, and walked away from him. She paused at the other side of the room to switch off the lights in the café.

  Thad stared at the sign again.

  CLOSED DUE TO DEATH IN THE FAMILY

  Thad hunched his shoulders against the wind and walked away from the restaurant, his head hung low. If it was Sam, he supposed he would find out soon enough.

  AS HE neared his apartment, he heard the ringtone of his cell coming from his pocket. Would he never sleep? He pulled the phone out and glanced down at the Caller ID. It was Jared.

  He pressed Talk. “Are you okay? Are you home?”

  “I’m in a cab and almost to your place. I needed to talk to you face-to-face. Here I am now.”

  And Thad turned to see the yellow cab making its way down his street. He stood watching—gratefully—as Jared exited the cab. They must have given him time to dress, because gone was the blanket ensemble he had seen him in earlier. Jared wore a pair of jeans, a hooded University of Washington sweatshirt, and a white fleece jacket. His blond hair looked clean, catching the morning light. He seemed, at least at this moment, no worse off for what had happened to him.

  Thad smiled as Jared approached him. Thad pulled Jared close, hugging him tightly, almost as if he wanted to squeeze all the trauma Jared had been through recently right out of him. He held Jared close for several minutes, not thinking about anything beyond this moment and not caring either what the neighbors must be thinking. At last he held Jared out from him at arm’s length and regarded him. “You’re really okay? Tell me you’re okay. That’s all that really matters.”

  “I’m okay, Thad. Really. Can we go in? It’s cold out here.”

  “And you need to tell me everything.” Thad led him inside.

  Once Thad had put on the coffee and some comforting Joshua Bell on the violin in the background, he sat down with Jared.

  “So?”

  Jared settled back into the couch and closed his eyes. He took a few breaths, deep, even ones, before beginning. “It’s over. I’m safe. The monster is dead.”

  The words sent an icy shiver through Thad. He could not help but wonder if he was intimately acquainted with the “monster.” The handwritten sign on the door of The Blue Moon Café flashed in his mind: Closed Due to Death in the Family.

  A queasiness, twisting his gut, followed up the icy chill. He tried to be happy for Jared, to rejoice in the fact that he believed he was now out of danger, but the fear that somehow Sam was involved in all this persisted.

  “What do you mean? The monster? Do they know who it was?”

  Jared opened his eyes and leveled his gaze upon Thad, smiling. “They do. But what’s more important is that I do. And I did the minute I saw those eyes from hell looking in my kitchen window at me, like I was the beast’s next meal.”

  Jared told him the whole story about his night with TJ, about waking up later, and the noises and the terror—the dogs growling and alert. About the wolfen creature on his back landing. And the gunshot that felled him.

  “That was TJ? I mean, who shot the wolf?”

  Jared nodded. “I think so. Whoever did it was out of the building so fast, I didn’t get a chance to see. But my neighbor, Grace Wallensky, looked out her window after the shot, and she saw a black man in a leather coat running like hell down the street.” Jared swallowed. “I think it was him. I think he might have even seen the wolf as it was heading to my back door and wanted to protect me.” All at once Jared’s features twisted into pure terror, his eyes sparkling with it, and his lips parted to draw in small panting breaths. “If he hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would have happened.” Jared fell silent. “Well, actually, I do. I would have ended up like those other guys—shredded and partially eaten.” A shiver, almost like a seizure, coursed through him. He hugged himself tightly.

  Thad threw an arm over his friend’s shoulder and pulled him close. “It’s over now. You are safe, and you’re here with me.” Thad waited. He let Jared’s breathing return to normal before he asked his next question. He had to know. “So when they carried the wolf out, was it—”

  Jared suddenly sat forward, turning toward his friend. “That’s it! That’s t
he thing I haven’t told you! They didn’t carry out a wolf.” Jared paused. “They carried out a man.”

  Even though he knew, in some weird instinctive way, precisely what he meant, Thad asked anyway. “What do you mean, ‘they carried out a man’?” I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear it.

  “It was just like in the movies, man. The thing morphed. One minute I was looking at this salivating, dying, big old nasty-ass wolflike thing, and the next thing I know, I looked again and there was a naked man lying there on the floor at my feet. With a bullet hole in his head.”

  “You dreamed this.” Thad was not above grasping at straws.

  “What? Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?”

  “Yes. I just don’t know if I want to believe it.”

  Jared regarded him, eyebrows raised. It was obvious this reaction was not what he had expected. “What’s with you? I don’t get it. I thought you’d be happy for me, happy this whole shitty nightmare was over, and yet you seem—I don’t know—suspicious?”

  Thad drew in a quivering breath. “It’s not like you think, sweetie. I’m not suspicious. I’m worried.”

  “Huh?”

  “What did the man look like? You know, the dead one?” Just saying “dead” when Sam’s image floated in his mind made Thad want to puke. He felt torn between elation that his friend had been spared a gruesome and grisly death and the very real fear that a man he thought he loved was in fact a monster. A monster that could kill his best friend….

  A monster that’s now dead.

  “He looked… good. I mean, he was kind of hot. That’s weird for me to say, isn’t it?”

  Thad reared up and stood in front of Jared. I have to know. “Did he have a beard? Was he hairy? Muscular? Olive complexion?” He sucked in more air, but it seemed the supply of oxygen in the room was rapidly dwindling. “Did he have a tattoo?”

  Thad waited.

  Jared scratched his head, and Thad could see him thinking, his brows furrowing in concentration. “Yeah—yeah, he did. How did you know?”

  Thad wished he didn’t know. He bit his lower lip hard as several emotions coursed through him—grief, sadness, terror, horror—all mixed up in a potent brew that made him both want to cry and to laugh hysterically. I have to know. “I just do. Tell me what that tattoo looked like.”

  Or don’t. Maybe I don’t want to hear the answer. Thad felt like the next words to come out of Jared’s mouth were akin to a train hurtling toward him. He was trapped on the tracks and had nowhere to escape to.

  “Weird. I really couldn’t see it that well, but now that I think about it, it looked like a—”

  Thad cut him off. “Like a wolf? Suckling two baby boys?” Thad sat down hard on the couch next to Jared. He leaned forward, covering his face with his hands.

  “That’s right.” Jared’s voice was full of wonder. “You knew.” Thad felt Jared gently push him back against the couch and then tug Thad’s hands away from his face so Jared could look at him. “How did you know that, Thad? Tell me.”

  Thad couldn’t get his brain and tongue to function together. He wanted to answer Jared but couldn’t, not right at this moment. He wondered if what he felt was what one experienced when going into shock.

  Jared went on, “You couldn’t have guessed that.” Jared pulled at Thad’s face so their eyes met. “You know who this was, don’t you?”

  Thad nodded. “I’m going to be sick.” He got up and rushed into the bathroom, where he knelt before the toilet and vomited. His eyes got bleary; his nose and throat burned. His face slicked over with sweat.

  Jared stood behind him. Thad didn’t know if he could talk to him, didn’t know if he could tell him the man he loved was the man who almost killed him.

  Both of them froze as they heard knocking—more like pounding, really—on Thad’s front door. Edith raised a chorus of barks at the sound. Jared looked over his shoulder, back at the door. “Expecting company?”

  Thad allowed himself a few tentative swallows, making sure he was done retching. He stood on shaky legs, gripping the sink for support. He mumbled in response to Jared, “Fuck if I know. No, no company.” He hunched over the sink, splashed cold water on his face, and rinsed out his mouth. When he rose and saw his reflection, he almost gasped. He was ashen. Dark circles underlined his eyes, eyes that were shot through with red. He looked like hell.

  Why shouldn’t I? The man I thought I loved is dead. He tried to kill my best friend. He probably killed other gay men in Seattle. My dead love was a werewolf. Why shouldn’t I look like I’ve gone through the wringer? I have. For Christ’s sake, I have.

  The knocking sounded again, this time even more insistent. Edith continued to yap, now leaping at the door, stopping to claw at it.

  “Want me to get that?”

  “No.” Thad did the routine with the water again and ran damp fingers through his hair. He hurried to where the pounding sounded once more. He wondered what fresh hell was this, nudged Edith gently out of the way with his foot, and flung open the door.

  Sam stood there.

  Chapter 18

  HIS HAND was still upraised, poised to knock again, and as Thad looked him over, Sam’s beard and heavy brow failed to hide the flurry of emotions crisscrossing and colliding with one another on his handsome features. He rubbed his hand over his face, as though he were just waking up. He smiled.

  Thad felt, probably for the first time in his life, like he was going to faint. This wasn’t happening. This was a figment of his imagination. This was a ghost. Or no, there actually was someone standing at his door, but it was not Sam. Rather it was a detective from the Seattle Police Department, come to tell him he needed to ask him a few questions. This could not be Sam. Sam had been killed in the stairwell of Jared’s apartment building.

  Hadn’t he?

  Apparently not, because as much as Thad tried to tell himself this was not his flesh and blood boyfriend standing there before him, the reality of him—his height, his dark eyes, his beard in need of a trim, the muscles testing the endurance of the pressed white shirt he wore, and yes, even the smell of garlic and basil coming off him—was undeniable. Sam was here. He wasn’t dead.

  Ergo Sam was not the killer.

  Thad was not coordinated enough to put tongue, breath, and brain together to say anything. But he was in command of himself enough to step outside the door, grab Sam, pull him close, and revel in the simple living, breathing solidity of him. He grabbed him and clung to him so desperately, he feared squeezing the life out of him. But he didn’t care.

  Sam was alive!

  Totally unexpectedly, Thad began to weep. He allowed his tears to flow onto Sam’s chest. Sam quietly stroked Thad’s hair and let him cry. Finally he gently pulled back, his arms remaining on Thad’s shoulders.

  “We need to talk. I think it’s time you knew the truth. All the truth.”

  Thad nodded and just then remembered Jared was still there. He turned to look over his shoulder and saw his friend standing just inside the doorway, watching the scene with a blank expression. Thad figured the poor guy had witnessed so much the previous night and this morning that he was in some sort of sensory overload. He also wondered, as he grasped Sam’s hand to lead him inside, what to do with Jared. His friend had been through a lot, and Thad didn’t want to ask him to leave to be alone after so much trauma. But his apartment was a studio. He couldn’t ask Jared to wait in the bathroom while he and Sam talked. Yet he knew Sam would most likely want to be alone to have this discussion….

  And what would be said?

  Thad shivered as he thought of the possibilities. He also thought that all his imaginings were wild. But how would Sam explain the similarities between him and the dead man in Jared’s apartment building? How would he explain the tattoo? Surely this was too much of a coincidence.

  After Thad introduced Jared and Sam, the three of them stood awkwardly in the studio. Each eyed the other with wariness. Since it was his place, Thad reali
zed it was up to him to make the next move, but he still didn’t have a clue as to what he should do or say next.

  Fortunately Jared—God bless him—had the presence of mind to speak. “Looks like you guys could use a little alone time. I’m gonna make myself scarce.” He peeked out the window. “The sun is actually shining, and I think I could benefit from a walk around that gorgeous lake.”

  “Are you sure?” Thad tried to pick up something from Jared’s eyes, some reassurance that he would be okay.

  “I’m a big boy. I’ll be okay. You guys talk, whatever. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” Jared hurried out before Thad had a chance to protest.

  At last he was alone with Sam. His excitement and relief at knowing the man had not been killed had begun to dissipate, but he now realized that he really loved Sam. His joy and elation at seeing him alive told him so. “Let’s sit down.”

  They sat side by side on Thad’s love seat. Edith glowered at Sam from the corner, her eyes practically bulging. Thad wondered if he should put her in the bathroom and decided not to. She would have to get used to him someday, somehow. That is, if what Sam was about to tell him didn’t change everything.

  Thad turned to Sam and kissed him, taking in his smell, his firmness, the taste of his mouth, and then forced himself to pull away. He knew it would be too easy to simply lose himself in the physical, to let the kiss lead to more… and more. To never talk. He wasn’t really sure he wanted his wish to know the truth to come true. In the back of his mind, Jack Nicholson thundered, “You can’t handle the truth!”

  Thad wasn’t sure he could. But sometimes life took on its own momentum, regardless of whether we were prepared for where it would take us. Thad let himself settle back into the couch and said, “Tell me.”

  Sam stared forward, facing the window. He didn’t say anything for several minutes, but Thad could see him thinking. The effort of it showed on his furrowed eyebrows, his lips pressed into a thin line, and the way he breathed… a little faster. Finally he turned to Thad. What he said next shocked Thad so much that he again felt a woozy sensation that caused him to fear he would faint.