“I might know a little, sure,” Tobias said. It wasn’t the first time someone had said he looked unreal. It was just that often people didn’t seem to like that about him any more than they liked anything else. “You’re rather sculptured yourself.”
“Yeah. I hear that sometimes. Pretty as a picture and stuff like that. Shit’s tired, man.” Mooncricket smiled, but it was not an altogether happy smile.
“I am sure it’s exhausted,” Tobias said.
“Huh?” Mooncricket blinked at him, head tipped to the side, eyes narrowed in thought. Then he laughed. “Oh, yeah. Shit’s tired. Gotcha. Not what I meant though. I meant—”
“I know, I was making a joke. I’ve been told I’m rather awful at that.”
“You could use some work, yeah,” Mooncricket said. He drank more water. “So, hey, not to be nosy or nothin’, but why are you all dressed up? Aren’t you hot?”
“No,” Tobias said. “I am not hot. To answer your other question, I am dressed up because I am going to work shortly.”
“Cool, I guess,” Mooncricket said. “What do you do?”
“I’m an undertaker and assistant director at a Greene’s Funeral Home here in Sparrow Falls,” Tobias said. For a town that size, there were lots of funeral homes and the cemeteries to match. “I would say you should come visit us sometime, but I fear that would be misconstrued.”
Mooncricket thought about that a moment then snorted soft laughter.
“Maybe I will come visit you one day,” he said. “Coffins don’t scare me.”
He didn’t sound at all like he was joking and it confused Tobias: Did he mean he might drop by or did he think he might die soon? The boy, pretty as he was, did look a little rough around the edges, like he had been ill-treated much of his life. The split in the corner of his mouth was fresh, but the bruise around his eye was faded. Layers of injuries, one after the other. Tobias could sense a pattern there, he thought he might be looking at the marks and remnants of that pattern.
Tobias decided it would be prudent not to pursue that line of conversation. His social skills were lacking, but they were not so bad he didn’t understand how rude it was to pry into a stranger’s personal life in such a way.
“I like your tattoo,” Tobias said, gesturing to the great horned owl perched on the top of Mooncricket’s arm. It stared out from his skin with huge amber marble eyes, watchful and cruel.
“Thanks,” Mooncricket said. “It’s one of my first tats. I got it back when I had a job, so it’s kinda more like… ya know… elaborate, I guess.”
“It’s very nice.”
“I’ve always liked owls,” Mooncricket said. “You got any tattoos?”
“Me? No,” Tobias said. “My brother has a couple though.”
“Your brother look anything like you?” Mooncricket’s smile was… What was it? Tobias thought about it for a moment and determined that it was flirtatious. How interesting.
“Yes and no,” Tobias said.
He and Hylas were fraternal twins, but they bore a close resemblance to one another in regards to their facial features, height and body type. They had the same hair color, though Hylas kept his shorter and looked like he didn’t often bother to brush it. It was really a result of his sudden and frequent bouts of napping; genuine bed-head that he didn’t have to work at for hours with styling products. Their eyes were different colors; Tobias’s black and Hylas’s deep sea blue. Hylas had a rich, warm tan where Tobias looked like an ice sculpture due to the skin condition no one had ever been able to diagnose.
“If you’re in town long, you’re likely to bump into him. Or trip over him, though I hope not,” Tobias said when he realized the silence had gone on for too long.
“Trip over him?”
“Hylas sleeps a lot,” Tobias said.
“Oookay,” Mooncricket said. “That’s… weird.”
“He’s adjusted to it fine,” Tobias said.
“All right,” Mooncricket said. “Well, I hope I don’t trip over your brother or nothin’ like that.”
“He probably wouldn’t mind,” Tobias said. “Hylas says without accidents, life would be boring.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Mooncricket said. His stomach growled loudly and he grinned. “Sorry. But uh… Is there anywhere to eat around here?”
“Yes,” Tobias said. He pointed to his left. “Just over there is Glynn’s. They make great po-boys. I also have to say that their French fries are excellent.”
“Cool,” Mooncricket said. He sat at the table another moment, tapping his fingers on the edge. “I should go eat something.”
“You should,” Tobias agreed just as Mooncricket’s stomach rumbled again. The boy was just shy of being too thin. “It was pleasant speaking with you, Tristan.”
“Dude, come on,” Mooncricket said. “Call me Mooncricket.”
“I’ll try,” Tobias said. The name felt wrong in his mouth; not only was it absurd, it was not real. He’d always had trouble with nicknames.
Mooncricket nodded and stood up. “Thanks for the water,” he said. “And like, if I see you again, would it be okay if I said hello?”
“Of course,” Tobias said. “I so rarely get to talk to strangers.”
“Awesome,” Mooncricket said. “Later then.”
“Farewell,” Tobias said.
He smiled at Mooncricket who smiled back then turned to leave.
“Whoa, watch it pretty boy,” Dawn Marie said.
Tobias heard her voice and looked over toward her. She had her food in hand and looked annoyed, though she slowed down long enough to give Mooncricket a very obvious once-over. Mooncricket smirked at her and strode on his way. Dawn Marie stopped to watch him go, head dipping down to get a better look at his narrow ass.
“Who was that, Toby?” she asked as she sat down. “Because damn.”
“That was Tristan.” Tobias cleared his throat. “Excuse me. He prefers to be called Mooncricket.”
“That’s fucking stupid,” Dawn Marie said as she pulled her po-boy out of the bag. “But I don’t care. I’ll call him whatever he wants me to.”
“Really, Dawn Marie?” Tobias asked.
“Well, I’m a slut for pretty boys and thing is, I know like every pretty boy in this town,” she said. “One is like my damn brother though, so that’d be gross and weird even if Hylas didn’t fall asleep on me. Then Nick and Wes are well, taken. With each other. Then there’s you. I mean, there are a few other hot guys around here, but they’re mostly assholes. Like Mike. Mike is an asshole. You know he said he was going to leave his wife for me? How fucked up is that? But anyway. Mooncricket. Tell me more.”
“There’s not a lot to tell. He sat down and started talking to me,” Tobias said.
Dawn Marie had been about to take a bite of her sandwich, but she put it down to stare at Tobias. “Seriously?” she asked. “Toby, that’s great.”
“Is it? It does happen from time to time and usually such individuals are disturbed,” Tobias said.
“Did he seem disturbed?”
“No, just sad and perhaps a touch lonely,” Tobias said. “He was also overheated.”
“So, what, are you trying to tell me the heat fried his anti-Tobias receptors and the poor bastard didn’t really understand what he was doing?” Dawn Marie said. “Because that’s crap, man.”
“I said nothing of the sort, though it is possible,” Tobias said. “You remember Brittany; she was terrified of me when she was sober, but she absolutely adored me when she was high.”
“Brittle.” Dawn Marie spat the name out with a twist of her lips. “Brittle was a needle freak, you can’t hold those fuckwits up to any kind of standard. Bitch OD’d like three years ago, did you hear?”
“No,” Tobias said. “Was it a fatal overdose?”
“Hell no,” Dawn Marie said. “She OD’d, got clean and found Jesus. Bitch is even more irritating now. I saw her in Papa J’s not too long ago—I swear I told you this—and she cornered me over by the co
olers, asking me if I’d heard ‘the good news’. Who fucking talks like that? I hate her. Hate.”
“Because of Ben, yes, I know.”
“He left me for that strung-out skank.” Dawn Marie shook her hair back from her face, which then settled back right where it was to begin with. “Then… then he had the nerve to tell me it’s my fault because I’m distant. Me. Distant. So I got close to him.”
“You hit him with a tea kettle and knocked out three of his teeth, dear,” Tobias said. “I don’t think that was the closeness he was looking for.”
“Yeah, well, fuck him,” Dawn Marie said. She picked her sandwich up again, contemplating the roast beef po-boy like it held the secrets of the universe. Then she shook herself off. “Whatever, I’m over it. Tell me more about Mooncricket.”
She took a bite of her sandwich, moaned lewdly and snickered when Tobias frowned at her for it. He lit a cigarette and tried to think of something to say about Mooncricket. There wasn’t much.
“He has pretty eyes,” Tobias came up with at last. Dawn Marie was a sucker for pretty eyes and her nod said she had noticed that. Mooncricket’s eyes were electric-bright, they did jump out at a person. “He walked here from Stony Point, is apparently staying with someone there because he mentioned a ‘he’ when he was talking about how long the walk was. Said that ‘he’ must have thought it was a shorter jaunt than it was or something. He doesn’t think I look real and… Hmm… What else… Ah, yes. He likes tattoos.”
Dawn Marie glanced back toward Glynn’s, looking for Mooncricket, but not finding him. Tobias thought he must have gone inside, he had been badly overheated and there was air conditioning in the dining room.
“Maybe I should offer him a ride home,” Dawn Marie said.
“No,” Tobias said. “We have to work and I don’t like you driving my car.”
“My driving is not that bad,” she said.
“Yes, yes it is,” Tobias said. “It’s wretched. That’s why you ruined your brakes so soon, which is why I am driving you around until your car is done at the shop. A major consolation of the entire thing is that at least this way, you won’t be late for work.”
“Ugh,” Dawn Marie said. “Grandma.”
“Mhmm,” Tobias said. “I worry, that’s all.”
“I know you do.” Dawn Marie reached across the table to take Tobias’s hand and give it a squeeze. “Thanks, Toby.”
“You’re welcome,” Tobias said. He lifted his hand to lick the smear of au jus Dawn Marie had left behind.
She laughed around a mouthful of food and it made Tobias smile. Dawn Marie was as beautiful as she was trashy and Tobias loved her. It was not quite platonic love, but it wasn’t really romantic either. He didn’t know what to call it, only that it confused him sometimes.
“So, who do we have on the docket tonight?” she asked, mouth still half full.
“Ms. Connie Wilson and young Mr. Brandon Mason O’Connor,” Tobias said.
“The kid that got run over?” Dawn Marie asked.
“Yes,” Tobias said.
“Shit,” Dawn Marie said. “Dead kids make me sad.”
“They all make me a little sad,” Tobias said. “However, we are professionals.”
“And we soldier on, I know,” Dawn Marie said. “I’ve heard Mr. Greene’s speech, too, you know.”
“I do know,” Tobias said agreeably.
“And wait. Isn’t Connie Wilson that woman who was always so goddamn mean to you when we were kids?”
“Yes,” Tobias said. “She would practically throw my Halloween candy at me when I trick-or-treated at her place.”
“I remember that,” Dawn Marie said. She shook her head, expression warring between a smile and a frown. “You’ve always been a charmer.”
“It’s not my fault,” Tobias said.
“I know that, honey. I do think you’re charming,” Dawn Marie said. “Ms. Wilson was just a hysterical fucking bitch. End of.”
“That she was,” Tobias said. “She hit me square in the face with an orange one year.”
“Is that the year your dad finally lost his shit with her?”
Tobias’s smile was small and quietly pleased. It had been glorious—and gloriously embarrassing at the same time. Tobias remembered standing there in his little cowboy costume and holding his dad’s handkerchief to his bleeding nose while his old man ripped Ms. Wilson a new asshole. He’d felt pretty good about that, but also bewildered. She’d actually thrown the orange at him and he was just a kid. He’d never done anything to her, especially not something so bad he deserved that.
Every year after that, Ms. Wilson had left a huge bowl—actually a prop cauldron—on her porch with a sign that said, Please help yourselves, but don’t be greedy!
Tobias had always taken a double handful from her cauldron; a tiny rebellion that felt like triumph, like payback for having taken citrus to the face.
Dawn Marie finished half of her sandwich and folded the paper up over the other half then shoved it back in the bag.
“Let’s get to it then,” she said as she stood up.
“Yes, let’s.” Tobias didn’t like thinking about his childhood much. It was a lot of bad memories with only fly specks of happiness.
Tobias disposed of his trash then rejoined Dawn Marie to make the walk back to his car. He offered his arm and she took it, leaning against his side with a smile.
“Who says chivalry is dead?” she asked, always charmed by Tobias’s gentlemanliness.
“Everyone,” Tobias said.
Dawn Marie tipped her head back, pouring her throaty laugh up into the mercilessly blue summer sky.
4
A hummingbird breathed bright flames across the back of Mooncricket’s left shoulder, its ruby throat aglow with the furnace burning inside of it. Jeremy licked the tattoo, following the forked tongue of fire back to the long, slender beak, tracing his way down to suck at the blistering inferno. Mooncricket was covered in tattoos of winged things; the owl on his arm, the hummingbird on his shoulder, an array of wicked looking moths and butterflies swirling up his calf in a cyclone of razor-sharp wings and needle antennae. There was a bat on the nape of his neck. At the base of his spine, a weeping angel knelt, teardrops dripping through the spaces between its fingers, great wings drooping and heavy with sorrow.
Jeremy had learned enough about Mooncricket to know that once he had been a rich kid with disposable income and a little side job in an alternative clothing store. Then the drugs got him, Mommy and Daddy cut him off and he was left adrift on the cracked streets of New Orleans. Say bye-bye to any new tattoos that weren’t done with razor blades and India ink.
Mooncricket made soft, stoned sounds of contentment as Jeremy licked and nibbled at his back. He ran his hand down the sharp protrusions of Mooncricket’s ribs and when he reached back for Jeremy, movements clumsy and lazy from the heroin, Jeremy caught his arm and bit lightly at the fresh track mark in the crook of his elbow, tasted the faint salt of blood, the contaminant bittersweetness of heroin. Mooncricket’s smile was sleepy, his eyelids heavy, the shining blue of is irises turned to blown glass disks in his lax face.
“I’m sleepy,” Mooncricket said.
“I know,” Jeremy said. “Rest a while.”
“What about you? Don’t you want…” Mooncricket trailed off, lost inside his own head.
Jeremy did want, he wanted very much to scratch his own itch, but it wasn’t that bad. He was a casual drug user, not a junkie like dear Mooncricket was. Jeremy’s fix could wait a while longer; he had more important things to do.
“Later,” Jeremy said.
Mooncricket didn’t seem to hear him.
Jeremy got out of bed, pulled on his clothes and left Mooncricket staring up at the ceiling. He could’ve been dead if not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, the livid redness of his sunburn and the fresh bruises on his face too bright for him to be a corpse. It didn’t look right to Jeremy and there was the urge to correct the scene, to pl
ace a pillow over Mooncricket’s head and hold it there until he stopped thrashing. Then the colors would fade from his skin, his chest would be still, his pinprick pupils would be fixed and dilated, letting all of the light into his blind eyes.
He wouldn’t do that though. At least not yet. He liked Mooncricket; he was fun to play with and even more fun to look at. Jeremy had brought him home to keep for a little while. There were many boys and girls just like Mooncricket, all of them with a monkey on their back and eyes like marmots starving for the plague. However, not many of them were as exceptionally lovely as Mooncricket; androgynous, angular, willowy and tall with long legs that wrapped around Jeremy’s waist just so. So, no, Mooncricket’s time at the fair was not up just yet.
Jeremy walked away, leaving him to his half-waking dreams to go out to the barn. His dog, a soot-black Caucasian Ovcharka named Barghest, fell in step with him, panting in the heat. Jeremy reached down and patted the dog’s head, barely having to lean to the side to manage it because Barghest was so large.
The huge padlock on the barn door glinted in the moonlight and Jeremy slid the key into its base with long-practiced ease. He walked inside, shut the door and locked it from the inside again with the same padlock. Something whimpered in the darkness, small and afraid. Barghest chuffed and padded away into the gloom to go sniff out the source. He was well acquainted with all the oddities of the barn and only growled softly when he found what it was.
Jeremy lit the candles set all around the wide open space of the barn. He’d long since removed the stalls, leaving only the open hayloft and office at the far end of the barn. It was a wide open space, rich with the scent of the tall grass that grew where the dirt floor had once been. The grass got sun from the skylight he’d had installed in the roof of the barn years ago, much to the bemusement of the people he had hired to do so. Then he’d sown the seeds for the inside lawn and in the spring, wildflowers grew in tangled profusion among the tall grass.
“Hello, Corey,” Jeremy said to the young man he had tied up in the center of his field.
Jeremy smiled down at the frightened young man who looked back at him with sweet baby blue eyes. His hair was bleach blond and splayed in drooping spikes across the cold stone of the altar, each spike tipped in a different color. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet in retina-searing shades created a neon rainbow. Jeremy stroked over a lock of hair tipped in blue and tangled with a few strands of orange. Corey lay on a raised platform hewn of black granite. It was another of those things that had gotten him odd looks when he approached a stone mason about carving it for him. Everything needed to be right though, he’d long since decided that and if he was to do his work the way it was meant to be done, then an altar was needed.
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