Sky Full of Mysteries

by Rick R. Reed

  He patted his back pocket, making sure his wallet was still there. He hoisted himself up from his seat and left the train’s air-conditioning for the humid night. There were several trains in the station, all huffing and puffing as they idled, reminding Cole of dragons. Even this late, there were still people hurrying to and fro on the platform.

  Cole headed for the stairs and hurried down. Home was only a ten-minute walk from the station, and Cole was now actually grateful for the nap. If that boy’s not up when I get home, he thought with a grin, I’ll just have to poke him awake.

  Cole was certain Rory wouldn’t mind.

  When he reached the courtyard of their building, the exhaustion Cole had felt on leaving work entirely vanished. He was ready to howl at the moon. He wished only he’d thought to stop off at a convenience store or something so he could have brought Rory a little surprise, maybe a box of Swedish Fish or a roll of SweeTarts. He’d have to find other ways, he supposed, to thrill his sugar-loving man. He’d give him some sugar, all right.

  Cole unlocked the front vestibule door and headed into the cool tile lobby of their building. He loved the 1920s vibe of the lobby and the building in general, glad no one in all the ensuing decades since it had been built had decided the gem of a vintage building needed updating. He loved the mica-colored wall sconces and the Mediterranean floor tile. He even loved the battered brass mailboxes along one wall.

  He stopped to check the mail, found the box empty, and headed for the elevator.

  Out front, Cole hoped Rory had left the door unlocked for him. No such luck. He fished his keys from his pocket and quelled his first impulse, which was to shout, “Honey, I’m home!” at the top of his lungs. If the poor guy was asleep, Cole reasoned, let him sleep. There were subtler and much more pleasurable ways to wake him.

  As he made his way through the living room and toward the bedroom, he dropped clothing as he went. He also shut off the lights Rory had thoughtfully left on for him. By the time he reached the closed bedroom door, he was smiling and sporting an erection.

  He opened the door slowly. It took his eyes a moment to adjust. They had, in fact, thumb-tacked a sheet over the sole window, so the room stayed pretty dark.

  Cole groped his way to the bed, suppressing a giggle.

  But when he got there, the giggle died on his lips. He felt around the surface, up, down, left, right, as though his own hands deceived him. He frowned and then turned to the light switch on the wall and flicked it. The room filled with warm yellow light. No Rory. Cole hadn’t expected that, and he cocked his head. Absurdly, he looked around the room, thinking maybe he’d find Rory sitting on the chair they used to pile their clothes on before hopping into bed for the night. Maybe he’d rolled out and was fast asleep on the braided rug they’d positioned beneath it.

  But the room was empty. Unusually neat—the bed made and no clothes lying on the chair in the corner. Cole crossed the room and opened the door to the single closet. Maybe Rory was hiding from him? One of the things they both loved about the apartment was the size of the bedroom closet. It was walk-in, with rods on either side, shelving above, and even a window that looked outside. Rory could be weird. Maybe he lay within, naked and waiting, ready to pull out all the stops on yet another fantasy.

  But the empty closet mocked him.

  Where was he?

  Cole retreated from the bedroom. “Rory? Babe?” Cole made a quick tour of the small apartment, knowing as he did it that the search would be wasted effort. And it was. Rory wasn’t in the living room, the dining room, kitchen, or bathroom.

  Cole returned to the bedroom and ran his hands along the top of the dresser. Rory usually left his wallet and keys on top of it. But just like the rest of his search, this maneuver was only an empty gesture. Rory’s keys and wallet were gone, indicating he was still out there somewhere.

  That was odd. Cole glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and saw it was approaching twelve thirty. Cole knew Rory had to be up early for work in the morning—he had flex hours at his job and liked to work the earlier spectrum—usually seven thirty to four. And Rory loved his sleep! Sometimes he dragged Cole to bed as early as nine o’clock. Cole never complained.

  So what was he doing out so late on a school night?

  Cole plopped down on the bed, head in his hands. Don’t panic. Don’t even worry. It’s most likely nothing at all. Maybe he got over his aversion to gay bars and is down on Halsted Street, living it up, downing shots backed up by beers. The thought made him chuckle, as that scenario was about as likely as Cole being on a jet bound for Paris, France. Still, in spite of its improbability, the notion did cause a stab of jealousy to jab at Cole—right in his solar plexus. Sure, Rory might be one of the few gay men their age Cole knew who actually didn’t like to go out to bars, but he still could have. It was possible, as he might say if queried on a witness stand in some court of law. Cole felt sick to his stomach as he allowed himself to think what was lurking at the back of his mind, like some black shadow. It was also possible that Rory had gone out and hooked up with someone and lost track of time.

  Cole licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. He had a lot of gay male friends and acquaintances and knew fidelity was a fairly rare thing, even among the ones who claimed to be in committed, monogamous relationships. Why, some of those fellas had even come on to Cole when the boyfriend was out of town or just out of the picture.

  Maybe their relationship wasn’t as solid as Cole thought? Rory could have been tempted. It was possible. He was a cute guy who didn’t know it, which made him even cuter. He could see him being hit on—and maybe if he was lonely or bored, he might have given in? Are any of us truly immune to temptation?

  No. Not Rory. Cole knew in his heart of hearts that Rory would never cheat. He just didn’t have it in him, literally or figuratively.

  So where are you? Cole stood and began pacing. He pulled aside the sheet tacked up over the window to look outside, hoping against hope he’d see Rory down there on the beach. He did see someone, a guy, sitting on the sand at the edge of the beach, his feet pushed into the waves. But even from up there, Cole could tell the guy had at least fifty pounds on Rory, if not more. And he was smoking….

  A woman walked by. A big dog, maybe a pit bull, dashed ahead of her, splashing at the edge of the surf. Cole could see the leash in her hand. She called the dog back, and it sounded to Cole like its name was Pashmina.

  There was no one else on the beach this late.

  He turned away from the window. The bedroom’s emptiness made him feel even sicker, bad enough that he veered toward the bathroom, afraid what little he’d eaten that night might come up.

  Now you’re just being silly. Whatever’s going on, there’s a logical explanation. And Rory would probably be home any minute now to tell Cole what it was.

  Cole left the bedroom and went into the living room. He turned on the TV and then flicked it off again. He sat down on the couch and smacked himself in the head. Of course!—Rory had told him he was going to visit his mom and dad up in Wilmette. He’d probably just lingered after dinner. Rory’s family loved playing cards, especially hearts and canasta, and sometimes their games could get contentious—and go on for hours.

  Sure, Rory had just lost track of time. He snagged the cordless off the end table and punched in Rory’s parents’ phone number and listened to the ringing.

  His mom sounded sleepy when she answered. Not a good sign.

  “Hi, Greta. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” Cole continued to pace, the phone pressed too hard against his ear. Rory’s family, he knew, were not his biggest fans. Although they were never anything but completely nice to him, he had the impression—and this was probably more a result of his own self-questioning coming to the fore—that they thought he wasn’t quite good enough for their only son.

  “Cole?”

  “Oh yeah,” Cole laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me. I should have said so.”

  Greta sounded a little more
awake. “It’s okay, honey. Is everything all right?” Gently chiding, “It is kind of late, you know.”

  “I know, and I apologize. But, uh, I had to work late at the store tonight, you know? And, um, I didn’t get home until around midnight, and, um, well, Rory wasn’t here. Isn’t here. He told me he was coming up to see you guys since I was working tonight—”

  Greta cut him off. “He’s not there?” There was the subtlest hint of alarm in her voice. Was she about to tell him Rory left their house hours ago? All the horrible things that might have befallen Rory in those intervening hours came crashing into Cole’s consciousness, causing his already upset stomach to churn even more.

  “No.” Cole moved to the window and looked outside at the black night. Where are you? “Can you tell me when he left?”

  “When he left?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Honey, he was never here. Mr. S. and I were out this evening. We went to dinner in Evanston and to see a movie. We didn’t get home ourselves until about an hour and a half ago.” A nervous giggle escaped her. “Now you’ve got me worried.”

  “Me too!” Cole said, pushing down the lump that formed in his throat. “The only thing he told me earlier was that he thought he might come up and see you guys tonight, since I was working so late.”

  She explained that Rory did call, but that she’d turned him down since they’d already had plans. In the end, she sighed and said, “I’m sure things are okay.” She didn’t sound convinced. There was a quivery edge to her voice. To Cole, her certainty about things being okay seemed designed more to calm her than him.

  “You’re probably right,” Cole said, even though at the moment he was the one lying. He looked over at the clock on the VCR to find it was after 1:00 a.m. He gnawed at a hangnail that had sprouted out of his thumb.

  A voice grumbled in the background, and Greta whispered “Hang on” to Rory’s dad. “Listen, Cole, you call me when he gets home, okay? No matter how late it is. And if he doesn’t get home in the next hour or so, call me, okay?”

  “That’s not gonna happen,” Cole said. “I’ll let you know when he gets in.” He repeated that he was sure there was nothing to be alarmed about and said goodbye.

  His mouth felt dry. He felt restless and couldn’t imagine sitting down. Continuing to walk in an endless loop around their apartment, he pondered his next move.

  Should he start calling area hospitals? Maybe Rory had fallen, been hit by a car, mugged. Things like that happened every day, probably every hour in a city as big as Chicago. But where to begin? And did he really want to hear bad news if one of them had some on Rory? Yes, yes, of course he did. Anything was better than not knowing. Well, maybe one thing wouldn’t be better. But maybe if he’d gotten hurt, they were fixing him up and he’d head home soon.

  Okay. But why wouldn’t he call? Or have someone call for him?

  Should he phone the police? Rory was a grown man, and Cole had always heard the old saw about the police not filing missing person’s reports until at least twenty-four hours had passed. Or was it forty-eight? Cole shrugged. It didn’t matter. Unless there was some evidence of foul play, he was sure the cops wouldn’t be interested in his missing grown man boyfriend who was out past his bedtime—and didn’t leave a note.

  Should he go outside and look for him? What? Search Chicago? Yeah, good luck with that.

  Finally Cole flung himself down on the couch and simply shut his mind off. If he kept up with his worry, he was going to be physically sick. He threw his head back on the edge of the couch and forced himself to close his eyes. But when he did, images of Rory rose up—of him lying in the street, or next to a dumpster somewhere, or with a gunshot wound to his forehead, or worst of all, in bed with some muscly guy sporting a dick twice as big as Cole’s. Cole’s eyes shot open. He certainly hoped he didn’t suppose the last image was the worst. What kind of person would find that the worst possibility? But in his own heart of hearts, the thought of Rory in bed with some other guy did make him feel the queasiest, because Cole knew it was the most commonplace, and therefore the most likely, explanation.

  The clock now told him it was going on 2:00 a.m. It was too late to call his big sister, Elaine, even though Cole knew she might still be up. Her insomnia was a constant complaint whenever he saw her. But it would be just Cole’s luck to wake her from a rare good night’s sleep.

  At a little after two, Cole jumped and gave out a little scream when the phone rang. He snatched it up, hoping against hope it was Rory. It had to be Rory. Now, whatever had happened, things could start to get back to normal.

  It wasn’t Rory.

  “Cole? It’s Greta, Rory’s mom.” As if she had to make it clear. Cole shook his head but hoped she had some news.

  “Have you heard something?”

  “No, honey, I wish I had. I’m guessing you haven’t either. Mr. S. and I are worried sick over here. Tell me Rory’s there, sweetheart, and you just forgot to call me.” She sounded on the verge of tears, and that made tears well up in Cole’s eyes as well. If Rory’s absence wasn’t so damn out of character, Cole imagined he wouldn’t be this upset.

  “Ah, I wish I could. But I haven’t heard a thing.” He stood and looked out the window to the courtyard, praying he’d spy Rory coming in through the gate. But the courtyard was empty. “He’s not home either.”

  “Cole, you can tell me. Is this like him at all? Does he go out sometimes, like to those gay bars? I mean, I know kids don’t tell their parents everything. And if he does, I mean, it’s okay.”

  “I wish I could tell you I thought he was at a bar. But Rory’s never been too keen on the places. He’d rather go out to dinner with some of our friends, or go see a movie, or do a museum—almost anything over a bar.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Greta said. “Um, one other thing crossed my mind.”

  “Okay.”

  “Uh, I don’t mean to pry into you guys’s business, but has there been any trouble lately? Maybe a little lover’s spat?”

  Cole wanted to sob. “The truth is—really—Rory and I have never fought, Greta.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Oh, we might have a disagreement over what to have for dinner or what to watch on TV, but fights? No. And certainly there was nothing wrong earlier when I talked to him on the phone. We were looking forward to seeing each other when I got off from work.”

  Greta fell silent, and Cole didn’t know what to say next. He knew that to admit to a big fight would have been reassuring to Rory’s mother, for obvious reasons. It would make his absence a lot less mysterious.

  Finally Greta said, “Well, again, please call when he comes home or if you hear from him.” She sounded defeated, and that caused a hole to open in Cole’s heart. “Don’t worry about what time it is. We’ll be up.”

  This isn’t good. It can’t be.

  Cole hung up the phone and sat very still on the living room couch, his hands in his lap, staring straight ahead. He was not sleepy. He was not hungry.

  He was numb.

  He sat unmoving on the couch until the gray light of dawn began to illuminate the room. Cole sighed. He couldn’t just sit there any longer. When morning came in full, he’d call Elaine—he could always rely on her for her common sense. He’d call Rory’s parents again.

  But right then he had to do something, worthless as that something might be.

  He wandered into the kitchen, where they had a small legal pad and a pen for jotting down items they were out of so they’d know to get them on their next grocery store run. He wrote:

  Hey, honey… I don’t know where you are, and I’m worried. I’m going to take a walk around the neighborhood just to keep myself busy, I guess. Maybe you’re out there somewhere? Anyway, if you’re reading this, it means you’re home now. Two things: Stay put. Call your mom and dad. And just wait—I’ll be home soon.

  Cole signed the note with a row of x’s and o’s and took it into the living room, where he left it out on
the coffee table, where he hoped Rory would immediately see it upon opening the door. Cole prayed he would. Cole prayed for stupidity—for failing to see a logical reason for all this, something that was staring him in the face the whole time but he just didn’t get it.

  And then he grabbed his keys out of the bowl on the table by the front door, put them in his pocket, and headed outside.

  Dusk. Quiet. Cole walked first along usually busy Sheridan Road, which was remarkably still that early, just a few lonely cars heading north and south with lots of space between them. A city bus, nearly empty, headed for Lake Shore Drive.

  The air had a cool dampness. Tendrils of fog hung low to the ground, stirred up when a vehicle did pass on the road. Rogers Park had the feel of a party that had either just happened or was about to occur. Cole thought a little of each was true.

  He walked a couple of blocks to where the apartment buildings along the lakefront opened up at Touhy to reveal a green park, a playground, a broad expanse of beach, and the lake. There was a band of orange light just over the water, and Cole would have thought it beautiful under different circumstances. Waves were a little bigger today, and their crash against the shore and, a little farther south, the breakwater sounded paradoxically angry and comforting.

  Cole cast his eyes both left and right as he walked slowly south, thinking maybe, just maybe, he’d see, if not Rory, a clue. Maybe his wallet lying on the ground. Hell no, that would be really ominous.

  He had to be honest with himself—he wasn’t going to find Rory out there, at a convenience store, buying a Payday, his favorite candy bar, or strolling along the beach. He thought how walking south could be all wrong. He should be walking north. Or west. Or east. Or he should be pacing up and down Chicago’s ubiquitous alleys. Or at home, waiting for the phone to ring….

  He wanted to kick something, he felt so frustrated.

  He turned toward the walkway that went through the park at Touhy and headed down to one of the benches facing the water. He passed two that were already occupied, both by sleeping homeless people.