Vestige

Chapter Ten



Ornate paintings hung on the wall, and the chandelier light was low and warm; but Caleb had always found the place cold and foreboding. More like a museum than a home. He watched Dorothy watch Felix, and felt a chord of unease touch him as Felix studied a rather old oil painting, running his fingers across the frame and staring at the landscape as though transfixed. Dorothy did not pounce on him as Caleb had feared, but wandered over to the man and engaged him in conversation.



Caleb was dumbstruck as Dorothy laughed and rested a hand lightly on Felix’s shoulder. That son of a bitch could charm the poison out of a rattlesnake, Caleb thought with a small chuckle. He’s even making Dorothy love him. I’ll be God damned.



Before they had arrived at Dorothy‘s house, Felix had been nervous. He had not expressed such feelings to Caleb, but the journalist had noticed his stiff posture and silence. Usually Felix was bubbly and chatty, but on the ride over he had been deathly quiet, watching the streetlights fade out to open countryside. He had spoken only once, to point out a small farmhouse by a lake, the hillside spotted with grazing horses. “One day, we’ll live there,” he had explained to Caleb, casually.



Caleb had told him that he wouldn’t know one end of a horse from the other, and Felix had only smiled and shook his head.



It was hard to believe that pensive man was the same one now chatting up his sister, making her laugh even. In fact, he was…



“Felix,” Caleb called, rushing over to the two as Felix bent over the popped the locks on his guitar case. People were gathering around now; all of them polished and perfumed, their champagne flutes held daintily in their powdered, manicured hands. All of them come to mock and taunt his love like some roadside attraction. They would not understand his music, they would only stab him with their icy eyes and harass him with their light, pitying laughter. “Felix, not here.”



“Ah, Dorothy wants me to play her a song, amante,” Felix explained, kneeling to retrieve his guitar. Dorothy studied the instrument, even lightly plucked the strings as Felix stood with the strap wrapped around his shoulder. “It’s a lovely guitar,” Dorothy noted, “You take very good care of it. I can tell quite a bit about a man by the care he gives to his instrument.” She smiled and caught Felix’s eyes. “One would hope you treat everything you care for with such gentleness.”



“Oh, yes,” Felix agreed, eyes flicking to Caleb’s face. “I am very good to the things I love.”



Caleb felt his face heat with the words, and dropped his own stare to his shoes. He wished that the people would disappear and not stand around gawking at Felix. He wished that they could understand the man the way he did. That they could hear the passion in every chord he played; that they could marvel at the joy on his face when he plucked the strings.



Felix began, and Caleb looked around the circle of people, sure that he would catch pity and smug righteousness on their faces. But they all seemed to be enjoying the show, a few of them even weaving slowly to the music as it echoed through the grand room. Dorothy laughed and grabbed her brother, dancing with him clumsily for a moment before falling away, laughing harder than ever.



What the hell is with her tonight? She’s acting like some silly little girl.



But it was nice to see her so happy; Caleb could not remember another time when Dorothy had allowed herself to behave so carelessly. He thought of her that morning when he had met Felix; how her dark eyes had wandered the small café seeking the opinion of others, how she had let him run off without chasing after him. Too consumed by a fear that had been branded on her against her will.



Maybe this is who she really is.



Felix tapped his loafers on the carpet and played for them. Caleb could honestly say that when Felix played his music, he was the most gorgeous creature imaginable. And it wasn’t just him who thought so; every eye in the room was on the man. When the song ended, there was light applause and hearty laughter, and Caleb watched as people surrounded his lover and praised him for his talent. Last of these was Caleb himself, who lightly kissed Felix’s mouth despite the watching eyes.



“Good show, babe.”



“Ah, gracias,” Felix giggled, eyes over bright and cheeks a little flushed. “I was terribly nervous, darling. All of these rich white people. Dios mio, my heart. Boom, boom, boom.”



Caleb laughed and kissed his mouth again, this time with a little more force. “Everyone loves you. I’m a little surprised. Not that you’re not completely loveable,” Caleb quickly amended, giving a mischievous smile as Felix glared at him, “Just that you’re… different from them.”



“Ah, but I’m different from you as well, and you found a way to love me.”



“I didn’t find a way, it was like being blinded by the sun. You were too beautiful and bright to look away from.”



Felix rolled his eyes and jagged Caleb lightly with the headstock of his guitar. “Such a poet, you should switch careers, get away from all those gristly articles you write.”



“When we met you said my articles were ‘intense,’” Caleb reminded.



“I was trying to flatter you, Caleb. You’re awfully gorgeous.”



“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” Dorothy suddenly said from Caleb’s elbow, smiling at them. “He looks like his mother. She was a tiny, pale woman. But, she had an awful lot of fire in her. That explains his temper.”



“What?,” Caleb growled.



“See what I mean,” Dorothy chided, shaking her finger at her brother. “Temper, temper.”



“He’s a lost cause,” Felix murmured.



“Oh, both of you can go to Hell,” Caleb snapped, throwing his hands up as Dorothy and Felix laughed.









“He’s something,” Dorothy told Caleb as he lingered with her in the kitchen. The guests were gone, and Felix had sensed the siblings needed some privacy. He loitered in the living room, gazing at the paintings and rugs with some astonishment. Caleb could see him from where he leaned against the counter, and was troubled by the nagging urges Felix summoned in him. He had never been so desperate for another person. “Not like the other ones at all,” Dorothy continued, handing Caleb a cup of coffee and leaning a hip against the counter. “He isn’t pretty like they were.”



“What the hell are you talking about?,” Caleb demanded, “He’s gorgeous.”



“Yes,” Dorothy agreed, waving her hand in the direction of the musician, “But not pretty. Not vapid and silly like the others. He has a good head on his shoulders, and he knows what he wants. I can respect a man like that. The real question is, what do you want?”



“Him,” Caleb said simply, shrugging a shoulder and taking a slow sip of coffee. “Just him.”



Dorothy looked at him curiously, the corners of her lips tilted up in a slight smile. “What?,” Caleb asked, feeling like a little boy in front of her, scuffing his feet on the tile. “Oh, nothing,” Dorothy murmured, “It’s just sort of adorable. I’ve never seen you in love before. I’ve seen you in numerous states of lust, mind you, but never love.”



“There wasn’t anything before him,” Caleb sighed, pulling his large body onto the counter, feet dangling like a child. “I was just playing games,” he finished softly, studying the contents of his cup as though it held some ancient secret; too nervous to look up. He felt Dorothy’s fingers brush against his cheek, her palm cool and soft on his skin.



“Don’t play games with this one,” Dorothy whispered to him, “Life is too short, Caleb Bennett. Trust me.”







His sister had always been known for her parties, and Caleb noted the time as he cruised down the two-lane road, careful for grazing animals that might wander too close. It was almost two in the morning by the time he and Felix left, but Caleb felt satisfied with the evening. Dorothy and Felix had taken to each other instantly, and by the time they had left her sprawling estate, Felix had been hopelessly charmed by the woman. Judging by Dorothy’s smile and the lingering hand she kept at Felix’s shoulder, Caleb could see she had been charmed as well.



“She’s like one of those women you see in old movies,” Felix explained as Caleb drove, “Very glamorous and lovely; very refined. But there was a certain sadness about her too. Like she was searching for some lost love. Very romantic.”



Caleb wasn’t sure he appreciated Felix’s philosophies and analysis when it came to his sister. Certainly not when he was speaking of love and romance. The idea that Dorothy could be romantic gave him acid indigestion. “I don’t know about that,” Caleb told him, “She’s been married for fourteen years. I doubt there’s any romance.”



“Ah, then she must be with a younger man. Poor, probably. With nice hair and pretty blue eyes. I can see her with a man like that. A man with a lot of strength in his hands and gentleness in his smile.” Felix seemed to almost be swooning, his head tilted back and his eyes shimmering in the light of the dashboard. “Can’t you see her with a man like that?”



“You’re really into this,” Caleb muttered, shaking his head, “You really think my sister is being unfaithful to her husband? And if you do think that, you could try to be a little less excited about it.”



“Her husband is a rich banker. He’s prone to long nights and extended vacations. He hasn’t put his hands on her in months, and when he does, there is no fire, mi amor. There is no passion. He doesn’t see her as some wonderful enchantress like the poet does.” Felix seemed to consider his words, folding his lips between his teeth and looking out into the darkness. “The poet sees her. He doesn’t re-invent her like her husband, or like your father did.”



Caleb felt cold fingers press on his heart, his eyes flicking to the man sharply to the man before turning back to the road. “I don’t know what the hell you’re babbling about. What do you know about my father?”



Felix shrugged a shoulder and leaned his head against the window. “I know a lot of things I have no business knowing,” he whispered. His hand reached out and touched Caleb’s knee in the darkness, squeezing there gently. “A lot of things, Caleb.”



“So, what, are you some kind of psychic or something?” When his mind had formed the question, Caleb had found the notion ridiculous, and his voice had been meant to mirror his feelings. But he only sounded curious and hesitant, as though he already knew the answer was yes.



“Some kind,” Felix murmured.



“You’re just teasing me, now.”



“No, I wouldn’t tease you,” Felix told him. His eyes turned back to his lover, very dark and very intense. “Just like your nightmares, my ability to see things… to know things, is quite real.”



Caleb gripped the steering wheel tight enough to turn his knuckles white and felt the twitch in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. He was not angry, in all honestly, he didn’t know what he felt. Everything was swallowed by shock and unexplainable guilt. Those eyes bore into him, and looking into them was impossible. He could sense the hurt and unrest in his lover; but what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t have told Felix about the visions. He felt that they belonged to him. Surely something was still his own, even something so horrible and shattering.



“You wake up screaming,” Felix murmured, finally turning his eyes back to the countryside. “And then you tell me nothing. You lie there with me and you give yourself to me and you lie to me. And I want so badly to help you, Caleb. But I’m too tired now to philosophize. And I’m too old to stay with a man who can’t trust me.” Felix sat up restlessly, looking at the blonde indignantly. “Do you want me to stay with you?”



Caleb was sure there was no time for hesitation or backpedaling, and less time for a change of subject. “Yes,” he answered quickly. “I want you to stay.”



“So let me tell you something. I see things, and I know things. I don’t know how I know them, only that I have these feelings from time to time. And I trust them. Do you trust me?”



“Yes.”



“Tell me about the nightmares.”



“Felix, I don’t want---”



“This isn’t about what you want,” Felix bit, and Caleb was shocked at the venom in his voice. “And this isn’t about what I want either. This thing that we have together, it’s bigger than both of us. Can’t you at least try to have a little fucking courage for it?”



Caleb fell silent, watching the road unravel in front of him, the headlights bouncing along the blacktop. He wished that he could be angry, or summon some other emotion to his breast than raw, blistered shame. He could feel the gentleness beneath Felix’s words, like some strange touch that was acid on top and feathers underneath. That kind of dichotomy was almost enough to send Caleb over the edge; and then Felix was touching him, fingers stroking the back of his neck. “There can’t be anything for us until we learn how to give in to each other,” Felix said softly to him, “It takes a certain amount of strength to give every ounce of yourself to someone, and to trust them with every delicate, fragile part of you. You can’t just make love to me in the night and think that you’ve surrendered. You can’t just give me half of your heart Caleb. I can’t live with that.”



“The nightmares, or whatever the fuck they are, started when I was six years old,” Caleb said suddenly. He could feel some part of him cry out in denial at the words, but Caleb overrode that selfish voice easily. Dorothy had said that life was too short, and she was right. There was not enough time to love and be loved by this man. There was no longer enough time to be satisfied with being afraid.



“At first, I didn’t think much of them. I was only six, remember, so I did the typical little kid stuff. I ran to my parents and slept between them. But even then, I knew that what I was seeing, what I was feeling wasn’t normal.”



He paused, letting Felix stroke the back of his neck, feeling the horrendous patience of his touch. He thought of himself spooned between his parents, quivering and crying against his mother’s shoulder. She had told him they were harmless. She had been insistent on that. But she had been wrong.



“The first nightmare I had, I saw a building on fire. I could smell the smoke and the bodies burning. I could see people running through the windows with their hair on fire and their faces melting. And there were shadows, like faces, only… they looked terrible. They were laughing, or screaming, or both.



The next day, a house down the street burned down. The family burned to death.”



Felix squeezed the back of Caleb’s neck, a comforting touch, but remained silent. Caleb appreciated both the touch and the silence. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if Felix offered him cheap words of consolation or sympathy. Felix seemed to understand that no words were needed.



“They got pretty bad. At one point, I woke up clawing at the walls, and my fingernails were all busted and bloody. My mom told me I was having one of my nightmares, and I was crying that there were people back there. Trapped or something. There was a story on the news later about a mine collapsing in town, and thirty miners died. My mom started to think I was precognitive. My dad started to think I was insane. So he sent me away to the nuthouse. I was eight then. I remember the tiny room I was in, and the voices of the people echoing in the hall, always in whispers. And their eyes. How they were cold and cruel and treated me like a diseased animal. That’s why I don’t need to believe in Hell. I spent two weeks in Hell when I was eight years old. I don’t need to go back.”



“Were the dreams only precognitive?,” Felix asked him, fingers gently curling in Caleb’s hair. Caleb could hear the tears in his voice, and his hand briefly squeezed his lover’s thigh before returning to the wheel.



“They started out that way. At first, I could only see the vaguest of what was going to happen. And then they got clearer and more violent. And then.” Caleb sighed, “They just stopped. No more dreams, no more visions, no more small rooms with people prodding at me like I was livestock. They just went away.” He swallowed and gripped the wheel even tighter. “Until I met you.”



“Me?”



“I don’t see the future. That’s one thing I can’t get a fucking grip on since you entered my life. What I see is… I don’t even know. It’s beautiful and it’s awful. It’s some place with obelisks and marble and crumbling steps and sprawling jungles. It’s some place that’s ancient and ageless at the same time. It’s like you. It’s beautiful and damn hard to figure out.”



“You started having visions of this place when you met me?”



“Yeah.” Caleb thought of Felix falling limp in his hand, and the blood, and had to suppress a sob. He settled for a shaky breath. “Right when I met you.”



“What do you think it means?”



“I don’t know, Felix,” Caleb sighed, “I really don’t know. But they’ve stopped again. I haven’t had… one of them, in about a week. So maybe it was just…”



“Being afraid.”



“Yeah,” Caleb agreed. “Being afraid of you and what you do to me.”



Felix leaned into him, pressing a kiss to Caleb’s cheek, lightly nuzzling his nose into his curls. He was sure that he could still see the little boy Caleb had once been in his eyes. Still that same old fear and hurt and confusion. “Are you sorry you met me?,” Felix asked against Caleb’s ear, his voice trembling.



“No,” Caleb whispered. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing when I’m with you. But I’m pretty sure I want to keep doing it.”



“Then let’s not stop.”



“I don’t think we have a choice,” Caleb told him, feeling Felix’s face shift against him, resting on his shoulder. “I don’t know how to live without you.”



“You’ll never have to find out,” Felix told him, and Caleb could feel the warmth of his breath against his shirt, and the curve of his body on his side. He was sure that his entire life had been leading up to this moment, to this man, to this body pressed against him. He was overwhelmed by the enormity of it, and deeply touched by the simplicity.



He was in love with Felix Morales.



It seemed to be the only truth that mattered.