SULLY TOSSED his fountain pen across the room. Okay, that was probably not the best way to deal with being unable to translate a Slovak idiom, but when the pen hit the closet mirror and cracked a corner, he felt better. Like his actions mattered and amounted to something. Once his breathing caught up with his thoughts, he realized Artie would be mad at him. A few other workers had once trashed their rooms after a really bad night, and Artie had to sit them down to talk out their problems.
People never destroy something for no reason. If someone is acting ridiculous, you’re merely missing the context. Figure out the logic, even if it’s faulty, and everyone’s actions make sense.
Sully sighed. He supposed the same was true for translating. By understanding the context the idiom was used in, and the random bundle of words in the sentence no longer seemed out of context. Understand the comparison between the situation, the verbs, nouns, and suddenly idiom makes sense.
More or less, anyway.
Sully rose from the bed and picked up his pen. After his conversation with Chaz, he’d been furious. He couldn’t figure out why, after being outed as a vamp, Chaz couldn’t just come to see Sully. Even if he now had to contend with charges against him, he obviously didn’t do anything. And with Athena, a literal goddess on his side, wouldn’t it all be taken care of? But Chaz had made it sound like he was never coming back. Ever. Why couldn’t all of this go back to normal? Chaz didn’t have to pretend to be a human anymore, so why couldn’t they fuck around and have fun? Maybe they could be in a relationship, whatever that meant. Sully had never had one before. How were they supposed to go? Dates were out of the question and they’d already had sex and discovered a body together. What else was there to do?
Sully thought of Tom’s words again. If they buy you now, they’re always going to think they can. Sully went over all their former conversations and realized everything had been a goddamn exchange. You do this, I do that. Suddenly, Chaz’s offer to pay Sully for coming with him to a safe house made sense.
And so does my anger about leaving. We were both acting within the proper context. We were both acting how we’ve always acted. Only Sully didn’t want to be part of an exchange anymore. He wanted something more, and the wanting was far more painful than realizing he’d been bought once again.
Sully struggled to remember the other half of the conversation Artie had had when workers destroyed their room.
I understand your rage. This is how you dealt with anger before now. But in my house, I want you to find new ways to express anger. You can talk. Use your words. Count to ten. Even better, you can be vulnerable. I know vulnerability was often linked with violence in your past. It takes a long time to unlearn it; it is almost in your blood. But I assure you, it is possible to be vulnerable without it being a bad thing.
Sully retraced his steps with Chaz over and over again, trying to find those vulnerable moments and how they expressed them. But Sully only saw the present. He couldn’t envision a future, at least not one where Chaz dragged him along like a sidekick, like someone he kept in a room that he locked every night. He wanted to be partners, where his Czech knowledge and listening to a Slovak opera was something he shared because Chaz wanted to hear about it, not because he was using Sully as a means to an end.
Sully flopped on his bed. Artie said he didn’t have to work tonight if he didn’t want to because he’d been visibly shaken up when Chaz’s image had been splashed all across the news. The TV in one of the worker’s rooms had been blasting the story all night. Sully had ridden the elevator up and down, trying to drown out the words, until he felt safe enough to go into his room. Now he turned back to the novel to try to give this translation a second shot.
On the page the author talked about the sun and flowers. Happy, pretty things. And yet this idiom seemed so dark and came out of nowhere. Hovoriť piate cez deviate. The literal English was “speak five over nines.” What does that even mean? Sully was so determined to not use an online dictionary, because they missed the nuances of the language, especially the older version of Slovak he was using. Instead he went to his CD player and put on the opera. Each time he played it and rolled the words over in his mind, the more it became his own. Gradually, as he worked through the opera in his head, he realized a different context for the verb he was struggling with in the novel’s version of this scene. He wrote out the new line—and it all made sense. Speak five over nines was when someone said a story in a rush, scrambling it, and rambling on so it made no sense. With the idiom on place, the scene fell together. He was done. He did something.
And there was no one around to share it with. Sully closed his book and slid it under his bed before going to the elevator again. When he got off on the second floor, he went right to Trinity’s room. She was Trina, still dressed in her same outfit from earlier, but now she smacked gum between her pink lips and gave Sully a sympathetic smile.
“Oh, sweetie. What’s up?”
“You busy?”
“No, not at all. Someone was just leaving.”
An older man with curly gray hair did up his fly as he waddled to the doorway. He kissed Trina on the cheek. Out of his view, she rolled her eyes. She waited until the man was in the elevator before she huffed.
“Good. Thanks for scaring away Mr. Bad Back Hair.”
“Not at all.”
“So what’s up?” Trina leaned back on her messy sheets. A few new posters hung around her bed, all with Lisa Frank designs and neon colors. Makes her think of the 1980s. A nostalgia trip. She changed the posters when she wanted to be Tom, usually to 1950s cars and movie stars like Marlon Brando.
Sully sat in her desk chair across from the bed. He didn’t say anything in response to her question.
She sighed. “Come on. It’s about the boy.”
“Maybe.”
“It is. Hard not to when he’s plastered all over TV. He was supposed to come tonight, right?”
“We don’t have a set schedule.”
“But you’re dating him now.”
It wasn’t a question, and really, Sully wasn’t sure he could answer it. He knew she meant dating in the romance way. The sex was easy. The emotional labor was even easy as soon as Sully got the hang of it. The third aspect of a relationship, the elusive romance, was something he had no clue how to do because sex work didn’t always provide it. Trina could have sex with Mr. Bad Back Hair. She could even listen to his problems. But romance? She would always roll her eyes when he went to kiss her and say he’d leave his wife for her.
Sully used to be exactly like her. He laughed, in the privacy of Trina’s room, about every single john or jane who made promises about saving him. It was stupid and ridiculous because for once, Sully didn’t need to be saved. He still didn’t. But when Chaz had asked him, he considered it. He’d never done that before, and though he still didn’t want to be saved by anyone, the lingering absent feeling of Chaz not being there ate away at him like a stomach ulcer.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Sully said. “And please don’t lecture me about that.”
“About what?”
“If they buy you now, they’re always going to think they can.”
She laughed. “Oh, right. That was Tom, though. Tom doesn’t want to have emotions.”
“Wow, you’re confusing.”
“I’m fluid. There’s a difference. And we’re all a little fluid. We change our minds about what we want. We react one way one night, and then we’re back to it again the other. I can blame my stuff on magic, but humans do it too.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Like how much sleep have you had?”
“Considering it’s one in the morning now and he left at….” Sully did some math. He’d stayed at Chaz’s until he had to go into work, and that was not even twenty-four hours ago. Everything piled up in his head, and he realized how exhausted he was. “Not much, honestly.”
“Exactly. How much have you had to eat?”
“Um. Coffee at a café.”
“Not a food group.”
“Kit Kats. Haven’t gone grocery shopping in a while.”
“That’s bad. You need to eat better because that does affect your mood. And that’s all I mean. So many of the human guys I see want to find some magical cure for why they’re not into their wives or why they’re suddenly into me when I’m Tom. They want to find reasons for their fluidity, and they think it has to be magic. But man, so much changes us from the moment we get up. Depending on what damn breakfast you had could mean the difference between yelling at someone you love or embracing them.”
“I don’t love him.”
“Uh-huh. I think you’re fluid on that too.”
Sully didn’t say anything for a while. He was a fool. He’d said “I love you” when they were together and thought he could write it off. He saw Chaz’s parents and thought it meant that they were destined, because both of their families abandoned them and so it must be love. But then the TV news happened, and he felt so, so alone when Chaz hung up and disappeared. So love must be stupid and it only got people hurt. Then he heard Chaz’s voice on the phone and fell in love again, only to argue about his feelings. If this relationship really was about an exchange—then Chaz had to tell him he loved him too. He had to say it back, but he hadn’t, and maybe that was why Sully was mad. He’d been shortchanged.
“I… uh,” Sully stuttered, not wanting to say all of what he’d just run through in his mind. “I don’t know if I love him. But when I said it, he didn’t say it back.”
“Is he capable of saying it?”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s a vamp now. A public vamp. Can you express love without it sounding like he’s a fiend who wants to corrupt you? Can he risk admitting it to himself if he thinks you’re going to be taken away?”
There it was: the context for the fight. Chaz wasn’t not saying “I love you” because he didn’t love Sully and only wanted to throw money at him. He didn’t say it because he did love him, and he wanted Sully in front of him, so he didn’t lose him when he said it. They were fighting about the same goddamn issue using different words. They were fucking it up because they wanted each other, but too much was at stake.
“Shit.”
“There you go! See! Fluidity saves the day! That’s why I can’t keep a partner, really. I can’t date. But it works for some people, as long as you realize there’s a little polyamory in the monogamy. Some mornings, you’re gonna hate that person because they don’t make the bed. Then you love them for the same thing. Silly, silly emotions. I like mixing things up.”
Sully sighed. Fluidity was magic, and it was also translation. He’d known the answer all along, but wanted Trina to back his play. Now that he had her vote, he didn’t know how to repay her. He rose from the seat and wrapped her in a hug. She smelled like bubble gum.
“Oh wow. That’s a fierce hug you have there. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” Sully said, pulling away. “So…. Can I get you something? Like a chocolate bar?”
“Or do my laundry?” Trina beamed and batted her long eyelashes.
“Sure. I’ll do your laundry this week. That’s easy.”
“Cool. But you don’t have to pay me for advice. I’m your friend.”
“Right. I still will, because I said so. But I will keep the other stuff in mind.”
“Good.” She nodded, her blonde bangs bouncing. “So what are you going to do?”
“I have no idea where he’s going. But he’s with Imogen, so—” Sully laughed for a minute. He remembered the cards Trina had read for him. Imogen holding the World. The spell for him getting what he wanted. It was all true, all real. He wanted to sweep Trina into another hug, but her coy smile seemed to register their shared realization.
“If he’s with Imogen, he’s safe.”
“I figured. I can call her, maybe, or get Artie to call her. Worst case, I write a letter.”
“Oh, old school. I dig it. Words have a lot of power. Good luck, sweetheart.”
“Thanks.” Sully got off the bed and was surprised when Trina hugged him again. This one lingered a lot longer, almost as if they were saying good-bye. Sully pushed the thought from his mind and squeezed her extra tight.
He took the elevator up to his floor to get his jacket, since the fall chill air was already beginning. There was a convenience store around the corner where he could pick up stamps and an envelope. The idea of writing a letter struck Sully as perfect. He could even include some of the passage he translated with his long and rather complicated response that translating was an act of understanding and piecing together context, and maybe this way, he could be understood. He’d try to make it more poetic, obviously. He’d had enough practice to do that now.
With his mind made up and jacket on, he walked down the stairs and out into the red-carpeted foyer.
“Oh, Sully!” Tabby called. “There you are. There’s someone here to see you.”
Sully’s heart lurched, thinking it was Chaz and that he’d beat him to the punch on being romantic. Detective Gallagher sat on the couch, his hands folded over his knees. The standard-issue trench coat was gone. He looked dressed down in a sweater and slacks. In spite of his casual attire, his back was pin straight. His presence threw Sully for a moment, but then he remembered his translator status had been revoked. To the Toronto police, he was a sex worker.
“Hi, Sully,” Declan said, rising from his spot. “Is there a chance we can have a spare minute to talk?”
“No, sorry. I’m heading out right now.”
“Please. It’s about Chaz Solomon.” Declan walked forward and grabbed Sully’s arm, carefully out of range of Tabby. Sully had dealt with enough men like this to understand there was no such thing as no. “I think you’ll be happy to hear that I believe you about Chaz’s alibis, but I need to verify his whereabouts during the murders.”
“He was with me, yeah. What else do you really need to know? What position we fucked in?”
Declan’s gaze bore into him, sharp and unrelenting. He broke it when he looked toward the stairs. “Nothing so personal. But you were at the crime scene for Alan Ramirez. I should verify what you two were doing that day, then before. So how about you show me upstairs? In an interview room?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
Sully tried to shoot Tabby a look as they walked past the desk, but she was sunk behind a magazine. Declan kept hold of his elbow all the way, and Sully led him upstairs. Sully quelled his panic and remembered Artie’s lessons from before. As soon as they stepped into his room, he hung his jacket outside his doorknob. He shut the door afterward before Declan could notice.
“Please take a seat at the desk.”
“Not the bed? Surely this is where you entertained Chaz.”
Sully shrugged, his face stoic. He stood against his door, his arms crossed over his chest. “Is this really what you want to talk about? You know he was with me. You also know what I do. I can give you the 411 on my specialties, but somehow, you don’t strike me as the kinky type.”
“I’m not. But clearly you do more than just lie on your back. You translate. I can see that.” Declan picked up the book Sully had worked so hard at finding. Sully held his breath, hoping Declan wouldn’t damage it. When he added it to the pile of papers on the desk, Sully breathed again. He would have kicked Declan’s teeth in if he destroyed The Night Walkers. His anger settled deep in his gut. He kept it there, ready to come forward whenever Declan made a move.
“Hmm, this novel appears to be a romance,” Declan commented. “Maybe you can translate on your back. Or with your mouth full.”
“You’d be surprised what I can do. Now, let’s cut to the chase. You wanted to know where Chaz was, and he was with me. But now? Chaz isn’t here. And my guess to his whereabouts is as good as yours.”
“I know. He got a special friend to help him out. I’m glad about it.”
“Really? Even if he’s the killer you think he is?”
“Yes. Because having a killer out there, one that everyone despises, is an easier story to swallow. Evil is evil is evil. Understanding is hard.”
“And what are you doing? What should I understand?” Sully inched closer and closer to his desk drawer as Declan spoke, hoping he wouldn’t notice. The more Declan touched Sully’s stuff and ranted about nothing, the more Sully got The Bad Feeling. Things were about to go sideways. If he could only get to his drawer—
“Tell me, Sully.” Declan’s eyes were sharp and focused as he gazed at Sully. “Are you clean?”
“As clean as they come.”
“You’re lying. You may be human, but you’re not pure.”
“I’m going to tell you a secret, Declan. Purity is a myth. Everyone’s done something they shouldn’t have. But I can be whatever you want for the next half hour. Then the other half, you can rant about your fake gods all you want.”
“God is dead. Nietzsche wrote that. The only thing that counts in his world is monsters. When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back.” He sighed forlornly. “And I don’t want sex. Not anymore. I only need justice.”
“And you’ll get that through me?”
“Yes.” Declan stood as he spoke, his actions sharp and fast. “Because I’ll make you what Chaz couldn’t.”
Sully jumped on the bed away from Declan. His drawer was half-open and from his vantage point, he saw no knife inside. No fucking knife? Why…? The blood drained from Sully’s face when he remembered he’d given it to Chaz, and it was long gone at the crime scene of Alan Ramirez. Probably locked in evidence. Declan noticed the drawer was only filled with Kit Kats and condoms, and laughed. A sick, mocking laughter that made Sully’s stomach flip.
“You’re mine, Sully. All mine.”
Declan’s teeth flashed. His incisors turned into fangs. His white skin turned pink as he panted, like he was a dog in heat. Sully’s anger grew inside of him. This was the monster who killed his friends. Who destroyed the passageway and made his home less safe.
“You asshole,” Sully said.
Declan lunged on the bed, but Sully anticipated his movements. Without a weapon, he did what he knew best: as soon as Sully had a shot, he kicked Declan square in the nuts.