Emory stared at the ceiling of his old bedroom, at the tiny phosphorescent stars he and his dad had painted years ago. They were faded now, but they still comforted him. Jeff lay sleeping at his side, breathing on a shared pillow like a neck-tickling breeze on an exertive night.
Although Emory sensed sleep lurking nearby, he couldn’t quite find it. He pulled his naked body from beneath the covers and exited the room with such a light footfall, Sophie didn’t miss a single step in her dream running at the foot of the bed. He drifted into the living room, the cozy space glowing in the faint embers of a fire that roared with a ferocious fever just two hours earlier. He collected his clothes scattered about and dressed himself again, along with his shoes. He saw his holster hanging from the arm of the couch, thought about putting it on but didn’t feel like carrying the extra weight. He retrieved his jacket from the back of a chair in the kitchen and left the house.
Emory walked over the fading snow and through the moon-glimmered mist to the fence at the edge of the woods. He took a moment to smile at the handful of visible stars before resting his forearms on a lateral plank and facing the hazy trees. Eyes wide open, he reveled in his current elation. “Jeff,” he whispered. Emory had known he wanted the handsome PI from the moment he first saw him through the windshield of his car, but he was not the type to give temptation a second thought, much less surrender to it. Each encounter with the green-eyed man had started with a conscious effort not to think of him in that way. Concentrate on the work, no matter how difficult he made it. Now those efforts were moot.
Thoughts of work slammed the door open to anxiety. What will tomorrow be like? How will we work together? What’s going to happen once this case is over? Was tonight just a one-time thing? Should it be? Oh god, it’s happening – just what I was afraid of. Emory had mastered his life and had it under control, but his actions tonight had made him vulnerable to self-doubt, like rust eating at unpainted steel. What the hell have I done?
Emory didn’t have long to contemplate. A woman’s scream pierced through the fog. His first instinct was to reach for his gun, which wasn’t there. He cursed himself for leaving it in the living room, but no matter, he had to act. He leapt over the fence and raced into the woods.
Without a flashlight, he had to slow his pace after a few steps. His eyes were now dependent on the deceptive moonlight diffusing through the fog, but even that light couldn’t penetrate the soupiness below his knees. Each step from here on out had to be gauged on the probability of hidden obstacles.
Speed-walking deeper into the woods, he heard the distant cooing of a mourning dove. He stopped to listen for anything human, and he could hear faint rumblings coming from the same direction as the bird’s call. He pursued the voices, stumbling over tree roots and the occasional pine cone as he course-corrected more than once. Even when the voices became more distinctive, he couldn’t understand a thing they were saying.
Emory saw a glow up ahead, and as he moved closer, he entered a small clearing. In the center stood a modest shack with a double-sloping roof attached on its longest sides. Erected adjacent to the house was a barebones outhouse. Light spilled from the only window on the side of the house. Emory crept closer. As he peered through a lower corner of the window, he could see it wasn’t a home at all, but a church.
He saw a woman in front of a pulpit, writhing on the floor like a possessed sidewinder. Encircling her were seven men, each with one hand on the woman and one hand raised as if taking an oath. Another man danced around the seven men while clutching three rattlesnakes in his right hand. Each time the dancing man passed a table, he drank a clear liquid from a mason jar atop it. In the pews, congregants performed a choreographed modern dance – many with eyes closed and gripping a Bible in an angry fist, while some flailed their arms above them like they were swatting at a flying terror. Except for the woman being healed, everyone inside the church was chanting nonsensical languages.
As he watched, a face popped up before him. On the other side of the glass, a woman with dark eyes and a scornful glare was looking into his eyes!
Startled, Emory stumbled back from the window, tripping over his own feet and falling onto his butt. Hearing something from his right, he jerked his head around. A scowling man approached him from the outhouse. The man didn’t say a word, but he was stomping his way closer.
Emory jumped to his feet and bolted for the woods. He could hear the snow crunching as the man pursued him.
Within seconds, Emory tripped over a root and went tumbling forward. He parted the thick lower layer of fog as he crashed to the ground. He turned himself around, but the approaching footsteps gave him no time to get to his feet and run.
Emory lay himself down with his back on the ground and allowed the fog to pour over him. He could hear the man just feet away now, but the fog that now concealed his body also kept him from seeing where the man was. Please, don’t step on me! A boot clomped down within inches of his head. He squeezed his eyes shut.
The man stood still for a moment, waiting for any sign of movement. When none came, he turned around and walked back the way he had come.
After several undisturbed minutes, Emory’s head and upper body rose from the fog like a zombie from the grave. He looked all around before rising to his feet. He started walking back to his old house when a flashlight’s beam slapped him across the face.
Emory raised his forearm in front of his eyes to shield them from the perfusing light.
“What are you doing?” the light bearer asked.
“I was…” Emory began before the voice clicked in his head. “Jeff?”
Jeff shined the light onto his own face. “Who else would it be?”
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh-uh. I asked you first.”
“I was taking a walk.”
Jeff cocked his head to the right. “Don’t lie to me.”
“How did you find me?”
Jeff pointed the flashlight down and stirred the fog with his foot to expose the snowy ground. “I followed your tracks. From all the zigzagging, I thought you might be out here with a bottle of whiskey in your hand.”
“No drinking. Just fresh air.” Emory started walking again. “Let’s go home. I hate it here. Bad things always happen in the woods.”
“Okay, but you still haven’t told me what you were doing.”
As they retraced their steps, Emory told him everything that happened, after which, Jeff threw an arm around his shoulders. “I’m glad you’re okay. I woke up, and you weren’t there. I started to worry.”
“You were worried?”
Jeff pinched together his index finger and thumb. “Just a little bit. You are my ride home.”
The next morning, Jeff again woke up alone – except for Sophie, who was snuggled under the blanket with her head hogging the pillow. The dog opened her eyes a moment after Jeff, and the two found themselves in a staring contest. Sophie broke it when she closed her eyes for a big yawn, prompting a laugh from Jeff. “Not a morning person?”
He got out of bed and walked into the living room, where he found Emory on the couch reading a book. “What’s your aversion to beds?”
Emory smiled up at him. “Good morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Great.” He leaned over the back of the couch and kissed Emory. He ran his hands down Emory’s wet hair. “You showered already?”
“Yeah, and I’ll make us breakfast in a second.”
Jeff plopped his naked body on the couch beside him and glanced at the cover of Emory’s book. “The Bible? Atoning for our sins?”
Emory snickered. “You’re on your own with that. No, I’m just doing a little research. Listen to this: ‘And these signs shall follow them that believe: In my name shall they drive out demons; they shall speak with new tongues. They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.’”
“Is that the passage snake handlers use to justify their practices?”
“It is. I think they coined the term, ‘literally.’”
Jeff groaned. “I hate when people say that. They almost always use it incorrectly. I want to make saying ‘figuratively’ a thing just so people will be correct when they use it.”
Emory placed the book on the floor. “You should get dressed. My parents could be home any minute.”
“Damn. Why didn’t you tell me?” Jeff hopped up and scrounged around the room for his clothes. “Can I take a shower?”
“Of course.”
Jeff picked up the long-sleeve pullover shirt he had worn the day before to see that it was now ripped in two places. “You killed my shirt.”
Emory smirked at him. “You can always pick out a shirt from my old clothes.”
“From your old wardrobe?” Jeff pointed at him. “That was your intent all along, wasn’t it? My poor shirt was collateral damage in your plan for revenge.”
“That’s not true. It’s an unexpected perk. Paul Bunyan.”
Jeff picked up the rest of his clothes. “All your old clothes can’t be that bad. I’ll find something that I can make look good.” With determination, he eyeballed Emory as he left the living room.
“Good luck!” Emory yelled after him, laughing.
When Jeff entered the kitchen about twenty minutes later, he found Emory setting the table with breakfast. The PI was wearing a bowling shirt with a retro design. The short sleeves were, of course, tight around his biceps, and he had the top two buttons undone, exposing the hairy trench between his pecs.
Emory’s eyebrows perked up. “Wow, it looks good.”
“Not bad, huh?”
“I don’t remember that shirt.”
“It’s your dad’s.” Jeff sat at the table. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”
Emory sat next to him. “Oh yeah, I’m sure it’s fine.” Seconds later, he added, “Maybe just keep your coat closed when we pick him up.”
Jeff took a bite of his eggs. “I thought your mom was driving him home.”
“She called while you were in the shower. They’re releasing him a little later than they thought, so Dad told her to go on to church without him.”
“She didn’t ask you to go with?”
Emory took a sip of peach juice. “I told her I went last night.”