Night Shadows

by Greg Herren

  He usually spent Friday nights at Matthew’s.

  Maybe it’s time I start putting some distance between me and Matthew, he thought as he straightened the new Lindsey Smolensky print he’d bought that morning and hung in the living room.

  At least until he decides if he wants to get serious, or whatever it is he wants. I’m tired of waiting.

  He made dinner for Matthew on Friday night while Matthew was at the gym, and the kitchen felt like it was his in a way the one on Constantinople Street never had. In fact, he thought as he sliced onions for a salad and to put in the jambalaya, that place never felt like home the way this one does.

  He’d given Matthew a gate key, and he’d just finished putting everything into the big stock pot and given it a big stir with a big wooden spoon when he heard the key in the dead bolt just before the apartment door opened.

  “Christ, it’s hot,” Matthew said, pulling his sweaty T-shirt over his head and bunching it up in his big strong hands. Sweat gleamed on his thick muscles. He’d shaved his torso again that morning apparently, because there were red bumps in the deep cleavage in the center of his chest. “And you’re making jambalaya? Are you crazy?”

  “It’s your favorite,” Danny replied, a little resentfully. You always criticize me, he thought, nothing’s ever right enough for you.

  Matthew slipped off his shorts and underwear, coming up behind him naked. He snaked his arms around Danny’s waist and started kissing the back of his neck. “Smells great to me,” he said.

  “You’re all hot and sticky,” Danny complained as Matthew tugged at the button fly of his shorts.

  “Let’s get stickier.” Matthew slid Danny’s shorts down, sliding his right hand inside the front of Danny’s underwear.

  “Matthew—” Danny tried to push Matthew away as his traitorous body responded to Matthew’s hand. Matthew picked him up bodily, kissing him. Danny put his arms around Matthew’s neck as Matthew carried him into the bedroom, setting him down on the bed like he weighed nothing. He tried to sit up but Matthew pushed him back down on the bed, tearing off his shirt. Before Danny knew it he was naked, and Matthew was kissing him all over his chest, nuzzling at his nipples, and Danny just gave in to it, as he always did.

  Afterward, Matthew fell asleep and Danny slipped on his shorts. He opened the big window and stepped out onto the balcony to smoke a cigarette. Matthew hated him smoking, and Danny had pretty much quit but still sneaked one every now and then. He looked out at the park and relaxed. The apartment was beautiful, and the view of the park was spectacular. The live oak was far enough from the house so if it ever was blown into it, it probably wouldn’t damage the house too much—the porch would keep it away. He wondered for the millionth time where things were going with Matthew. They loved each other, got along great, the sex was amazing, and they’d been together for over a year. Why was Matthew so uninterested in taking their relationship further? If only I had the nerve to give him an ultimatum, he thought, looking in through the window at Matthew’s sleeping body, and yet again the sheer beauty and symmetry of Matthew’s muscles made him catch his breath. He turned back away from the window and watched a man playing Frisbee with a Jack Russell terrier in the park. He finished the cigarette and tossed it, slid the window open and went back into the kitchen to check on the jambalaya. It was almost ready, and when he walked back into the bedroom, Matthew was getting dressed. “I don’t think I’m going to stay for dinner, after all.”

  Annoyed, he said, “You’re going home?” He couldn’t believe it. His first night in the new apartment, he was making Matthew’s favorite meal, and he was bailing?

  “I gotta go let the dogs out.” Matthew pulled his shirt over his head and tucked it into his shorts. “You can come sleep over.” He smiled. “You can put the jambalaya in a bowl and we can reheat it. What do you say?”

  Danny bit his lip and counted to ten. It was an ongoing bone of contention between them. Matthew always used his dogs as an excuse for never staying at Danny’s, but that had been in the cramped old place—he’d thought now that he was in this beautiful new place it might be different. They had fought about it so many times that Danny didn’t feel like getting into it again. “I was hoping you’d stay with me on my first night in a new apartment.” He closed his eyes. Why had he said it? The fuse was now lit.

  “I can’t, you know that.” Matthew shook his head. “I’d still have to go let them out in the morning.”

  “Fine.” Danny walked back into the kitchen and turned the burner off. I won’t cry, I won’t cry, I won’t, he repeated over and over to himself as he took the stock pot off the burner and started spooning it all into a plastic bowl. When Matthew tried to kiss him good-bye, he turned his face and Matthew’s lips brushed his cheek.

  “Whatever.” Matthew rolled his eyes and went out the door. Danny shut the door behind him, pleased he’d resisted the urge to slam it, and turned the dead bolt. He opened a bottle of wine and found an appropriate play list on his iPod—Anita Baker, Toni Braxton, and old Gladys Knight—and hit “shuffle.” I’ll just stay by myself in my beautiful new apartment and drink a bottle of wine and have myself a good cry with my girls, he told himself. It was getting dark out, so he went around and turned on the lights. The dark had always made him uncomfortable. He wasn’t afraid of the dark—but being alone in it always made him nervous. When the apartment was sufficiently lit, he sat down on the couch with the wine.

  A few hours later he sat up on the couch. The wine bottle was almost completely empty and his head was spinning. I shouldn’t have drunk all that on an empty stomach, he thought, staggering into the kitchen. The plastic bowl with the jambalaya in it was still sitting there on the counter. He ate a few spoonfuls—it was pretty good, if he did say so himself—and drank a glass of water. Still a little bit drunk, he walked around turning off the lights in the apartment. He went into the bedroom and picked out his clothes for the gym the next morning, draping them over a chair, and put his shoes on the floor in front of the chair. After plugging in his Mickey Mouse night-light, he got undressed, sliding naked into the sheets that still smelled of Matthew’s musk. He wrapped his arms tightly around himself and turned off the light on the nightstand.

  The alarm clock glowed 3:17 when he sat up in bed groggily. Why did I just wake up? he wondered as his eyes adjusted to the light. Was there a noise or something? He sat there, still, listening. Nothing. He heard nothing.

  Then he realized the only light in the room was the reddish glow of the alarm clock.

  He turned on the light, annoyed. If the bulb in the night-light was blown, he didn’t have another. He climbed out of the bed and walked over to the socket.

  “What the fuck?” He leaned over. The night-light was lying on the floor. He knelt down and picked it up. He distinctly remembered plugging it in, the warm glow it cast as he had closed his eyes. How could it have worked itself loose in the night? He plugged it back in. Once again, Mickey lit up, and he got under the covers again. He listened for a few moments, but heard nothing but the occasional car driving past on Camp Street.

  He turned out the light and went back to sleep.

  It seemed like he had just fallen asleep when the alarm started its highly annoying buzzing. He smacked at it and got out of the bed. He half staggered into the kitchen and started the coffeemaker before walking into the bathroom and brushing his teeth. His head ached a bit, so he started the shower—he always felt better after a shower—and walked back into the bedroom. He glanced over at the night-light, which was still securely plugged in. I must have been REALLY drunk and didn’t push it all the way in, and the vibration of cars driving by worked it loose during the night, he thought, making another mental note to always make sure it was securely pushed all the way into the outlet. He got a fresh pair of underwear out of the dresser and walked back into the kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee and walked into the bathroom, yawning. He got into the shower and felt the hot needle spray start to wake up his body. Once he
washed thoroughly and vigorously, his fair skin turning red not only from the heat of the water but from the scrubbing he gave himself, he got out, dried himself off, and walked into the bedroom to get dressed, then sat down on the chair to put his shoes on.

  He picked up the right shoe and stared at it.

  “What the fuck?” The entire back of the shoe had been gnawed away. Angrily he threw the shoe across the room. It hit the wall with a loud thud and made another, softer thud when it landed on the floor. He picked up the other shoe—it was fine.

  No wonder the rent was so cheap.

  Rats.

  He got another pair of workout shoes and headed to the gym.

  He called Linda the minute he got back from the gym.

  “I’m telling you, Danny, that there are no rats in the building.” Her voice was so sweet and honeyed over the phone he worried he might develop diabetes. “Pest control comes out once a month. No one has ever reported mice, rats, or even roaches in the building, and you know how rare it is not to have roaches in an old building like that.”

  “Would you like me to bring my shoe over to your office?” Danny felt himself starting to get angry. “I’m telling you, something chewed the back of my shoe off.”

  “Maybe it happened in your old apartment, or at your friend’s. Didn’t you tell me he had dogs?”

  “I think I would have noticed when I got the shoes out last night.” But she had him doubting himself now—Matthew’s dogs did chew things all the time; he’d often had to rescue shoes and other things from them.

  “Maybe you would, maybe you wouldn’t have.” She went on. “Did you pay that much attention?”

  He started to say of course I did, you moronic bitch, but stopped the words before they came out. Maybe he hadn’t paid that much attention—he’d drunk almost an entire bottle of wine. It was possible that it could have happened in the old apartment—after all, who knew what all got into the place after the tree smashed the building open? It could have been Matthew’s dogs. He hadn’t been to the gym the entire time he’d stayed at Matthew’s.

  But he was almost completely positive the shoe had been fine the night before.

  “I’ll call the exterminators out, if it’ll make you feel better.”

  He knew he was being patronized, and as much as he wanted to tell her to fuck herself, he didn’t. “That would be fine, Lisa,” he said, hoping his tone was as smooth and honeyed and phony as hers, and hung up.

  He spent the afternoon running errands, and Matthew called him while he was picking up his dry cleaning. Sounding contrite for a change, Matthew actually apologized for running out on him and offered to take him to dinner at their favorite restaurant—Byblos on Magazine—to make up for it, and to a movie afterward.

  Maybe—maybe he’s starting to come around, he thought as he drove home.

  It was a happy thought.

  He was on his second margarita when he felt sufficiently relaxed to tell Matthew about his shoe.

  Matthew frowned. “Did you have the shoes at my place?”

  He sipped his drink. He loved margaritas, and licked at the salt on the rim. “Of course I did—everything that was salvageable was at your place.”

  “Toby might have done it. He’s been chewing things lately.” Matthew frowned. “I don’t know why he suddenly started doing that.”

  “Then it looks like you owe me a pair of shoes.”

  Matthew smiled at him and rubbed his foot up Danny’s calf. “Care to take it out in trade?”

  They never made it to the movie.

  It was almost midnight when Danny got home from Matthew’s. They’d had a fight, again. Matthew wanted him to stay over, and for the first time, Danny had refused. He was proud of himself. He hadn’t given in the way he always had before, and stuck to his guns. The drive home had calmed him down a little, but he still felt some righteous indignation.

  He walked into the kitchen and opened a bottle of wine. The pleasant buzz he had been feeling from the margaritas—and from the post-sex joint they’d smoked—had been burned off by the anger.

  Why should I stay here when you won’t stay at my place? Danny had asked as he got dressed.

  I can’t stay because of the dogs. You KNOW that.

  Fuck the dogs.

  Matthew had exploded then, screaming obscenities. And even though Danny was also angry, he struggled to stay in control and not shout back at him. He actually felt a little triumphant. Matthew was usually so calm and cool, nothing ever bothered him—but tonight Danny had finally gotten through his reserve and touched a nerve. As he filled a wineglass, he smiled to himself. Nice move, not losing your temper. He patted himself on the back. Now he’ll feel like a complete ass and have to apologize. He walked into the bedroom, kicking off his shoes in the process, set the glass down and began to undress. He picked out his clothes for Sunday and laid them over the chair, then got out another pair of shoes and set them in front of the chair. He sipped the wine and went over to plug in the night-light.

  It wasn’t there.

  He frowned. He looked on both sides of the dresser, behind it, and finally underneath it. There was no sign of it anywhere.

  Where is it? he wondered, opening drawers to see if it had maybe somehow fallen inside one of them. Every morning when he unplugged it, he always set it on top of the dresser so it would be easy to find that night, even if he was shitfaced falling-down drunk. This was the first time it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. He went back out into the hall and turned the light back on. Tomorrow, I’ll have to get a new one.

  He got into bed. Damn, I’ve had Mickey since I was a kid was his last thought before falling asleep.

  Matthew called and apologized the next morning, and while Danny accepted the apology he turned down the dinner invitation that came with it.

  “I think I need some time to myself,” he said, his voice level and reasonable. “You really scared me last night.”

  “I’m sorry, Danny, really.” Matthew sounded like he was going to start crying at any moment.

  “I know, Matthew,” Danny replied before hanging up.

  He smiled.

  He spent the day shopping at the mall in Metairie. He had lunch at the food court and splurged on some new clothes at Macy’s, a new outfit to wear to the office the next day. He bought himself some other things courtesy of his Platinum MasterCard, and went to see a movie before treating himself to dinner at Houston’s.

  It was getting dark when he climbed the steps. The staircase light was out. He fumbled for his keys in the darkness, and when he managed to get the door unlocked he stumbled over a box. Putting his packages down, he picked it up. It was a Nike box. He opened it up, and nestled in the wrapping paper was a pair of incredibly expensive workout shoes he’d been coveting for a long time, but had never been able to justify spending that much money on shoes. He smiled and was reaching for the light switch when he heard the sound from the bedroom.

  It was a small thump.

  Not much of a sound, kind of like the sound of a shoe falling off a shelf, and his blood ran cold. He opened his mouth but his throat was completely dry, his vocal cords frozen, useless. Someone’s in the apartment was his first fevered thought. But how could they have gotten in? Everything was locked up, and the apartment was too high up for someone to have climbed up the porch and come in through the front windows. Facing a busy street the way the house did, surely someone would have noticed…He reached for the cordless phone and stepped back out into the hallway and called Matthew.

  “There’s someone in my apartment.” he blurted out in a whisper as soon as Matthew said hello.

  “What? Danny?”

  “There’s someone in my apartment,” he whispered furiously. “I just got home and opened the front door and I heard a noise from the bedroom. Twice. I heard it twice! I just grabbed the phone and came back outside!”

  “I’m coming over. Call the police.” Click, dial tone. Feverishly he dialed 911, gave the details to a b
ored-sounding operator, and tiptoed back down the steps to wait for the cavalry.

  *

  “You’re sure you heard something?” The cop was overweight and had a mustache. He looked down at where Danny and Matthew’s hands were entwined, and momentarily sneered before his cop mask dropped back in place.

  “I heard a noise, twice.” Danny dropped Matthew’s hand.

  “Well, all the windows are shut and latched from the inside. No sign of forced entry on the outer door, and you said yourself no one has come down the stairs since you called us.” The police officer scratched his head. “Are you sure you didn’t just think you heard a sound?”

  “I heard it twice.” Danny’s voice rose, and he realized he was shaking.

  “All right then.” The officer turned to Matthew. “You might want to stay the night with your friend, he seems to be nervous.”

  “He can’t. He has dogs.” Danny spat the words out, walked past the police officer and up the stairs. He passed another police officer on the stairs. The apartment was ablaze with light. He walked inside, resisting the urge to slam the door and let out a primal scream. Instead, he went to the refrigerator and got the wine bottle. He was on his second glass when the front door opened.

  “What the fuck is going on around here?” Matthew’s voice was soft, gentle. He walked toward Danny. “First you pitch a hissy fit about some shoe being chewed up. Then you won’t stay over last night. And now this!”

  “What are you trying to say?” Danny took a big gulp of wine and poured more into the glass.

  “Are you mad at me for not asking you to move in with me?” Matthew stepped closer to him. “I didn’t ask you not because I didn’t want to—I just know how you feel about the dogs, and—”

  “Get the fuck out of here.” Danny set the wineglass down carefully, trying to keep his hands from shaking.