Let the magic flow
PALMS sweaty, pulse racing, Tikron leaned against the brick wall outside Richard’s apartment and fidgeted with a button on his shirt. He knew most people would think he was an obsessed stalker, and they’d probably be correct. The big difference was he wasn’t deranged, nor was he following Richard for anything malicious or perverse. He supposed in the eyes of the law his reasoning wouldn’t matter, but that didn’t deter Tikron. He needed Richard, and more importantly, Richard needed him. Tikron was sure of it at his core.
The clock was counting down his life, and yet extending said life was no longer the main cause of his urgency. Richard’s happiness was. The loneliness he’d witnessed in those beautiful hazel eyes shredded Tikron’s heart. He knew what it was like to be lonely, even in a room full of people. He also knew sometimes it was a choice. For years and years he’d walled off his heart. That’s not to say he didn’t love his mom and Ry; he did. But it wasn’t the same. Not at all.
The reason behind his self-imposed loneliness was understandable, at least in his mind, but what about Richard? What had caused him to make that choice? Had he been hurt, felt undeniable grief, been bullied? Whatever the reason behind it, Tikron was resolute on making Richard happy. On seeing that hint of a smile on full glorious display.
His racing pulse kicked up a notch when he spotted Richard walking through the door. He was dressed in khaki slacks, a brown sports jacket, and a matching argyle sweater, and looked good enough to eat. God, the man was so adorable. He might dress the nerd part with his thick black-rimmed glasses and muted clothes, but Tikron was 100 percent positive that beneath that conservative attire was a fun-loving, exciting, and dynamic man. He just needed to figure out a way to let that little treat of a personality come to the surface. Hopefully with what he and Ry had planned, he’d be one step closer to that goal.
Tikron approached a stunned Richard. He held out his hand. “Good morning, Richard. I was hoping I’d meet you here.”
“Wha…. What….” Richard huffed out a breath and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Mr. Amorith, your presence here is unexpected and inappropriate.”
“Mr. Amorith? Ouch,” Tikron said. He laid his hand over his heart. “It’s Tikron, and I have a perfectly innocent reason for being here.”
“And just what is that? Stalker training?” Richard asked snidely.
Tikron reached into his pocket and pulled out Albert’s collar. “I wanted to return this.”
Richard’s eyes went wide. “That’s impossible.” With a shaking hand, Richard reached out and took the collar. He studied it carefully, then repeated, “That’s impossible.”
“Nothing is truly impossible,” Tikron assured him.
“How did you get this? I just left Albert thirty seconds ago, and he was wearing this.” He met Tikron’s gaze, held it for long moments, and then his eyes narrowed. He held out the collar. “Remarkable replica.”
“I assure you it’s real. Oh, wait, I forgot, you were on your way to work. I’ll return it to Albert for you.” Tikron waved his hand and the collar disappeared.
Richard took a step back, scanning his hands critically. “How did you do that? I didn’t even feel you pull it out of my fingers.”
“It’s magic, Richard.”
“You mean trickery, sleight of hand, whatever you want to call it.”
“I call it magic, and I promise you, I’m not trying to trick you.”
Richard frowned, looking back and forth between his hands and Tikron, no doubt trying to figure the trick out.
He didn’t have to figure it out; Tikron would show him. “It wasn’t a replica and it wasn’t a trick. I’ll prove it to you, and then maybe you’ll trust me.” Tikron waved his hand.
“NO need—” Richard took a step and nearly fell on his face. “What the hell!”
He stood frozen, jaw nearly hitting the floor. This isn’t possible. He reached out a shaking hand and poked the wall. It felt real enough, but how? Albert lifted his head from where he rested on the couch, his red collar secure around his neck.
Richard’s knees began to shake so violently he worried he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up. He dropped his messenger bag and propped himself up against the wall. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, willing the illusion to dissipate. A couple more deep breaths and he opened his eyes. He was still standing in his apartment.
“It’s a dream. That’s it. I’m dreaming.” He was lying in his bed waiting for the alarm to pull him out of this craziness.
Any time now.
Any minute.
He tapped his foot impatiently. “Dammit, wake up!” After several ticks of the clock, the vision before him didn’t dissipate, and he glanced around then pinched himself.
“Ouch.” He rubbed his throbbing arm.
Okay, so he wasn’t dreaming. But what else could explain what happened? He checked his watch and frowned—six thirty-three. Hadn’t he left at six thirty? He frowned harder, then threw his head back and huffed out a breath. God, he was an idiot. He’d been so focused on not thinking about Tikron his brain had short-circuited and sent him on a wild ride of daydreaming.
He turned to grab his keys and wallet from the table next to the door, but they weren’t there. He patted his pockets and found his wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket and his keys in his pants pocket. Okay, so apparently I picked them up during my delusional moment. No big deal. He waved behind him. “Bye, Albert. See you after work.”
He stepped out of his apartment and sighed in relief when he didn’t find Tikron standing there waiting for him. Hopefully the same no-show would be waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He locked the dead bolt, pocketed his keys, and made his way slowly down the stairs. With each step he repeated in his head, Don’t be there. Don’t be there.
On the last step, Richard squared his shoulders, took one last deep breath, and opened the door. The breath rushed out of him and his heart skipped a beat. Dammit!
“I told you I returned it,” Tikron announced with a wide, satisfied grin on his all-too-handsome face.
Richard’s head began to spin, or was it the world that had suddenly started to spin? As reality hit, his knees buckled. Tikron grabbed him and steadied him before his legs gave out. Richard clung to Tikron’s shirt. Something screwy was going on. He could easily explain the vanishing collar. It could have been a reproduction. Tikron had spent plenty of time with Albert to get a good look at the collar. Just because Albert was wearing his collar didn’t mean it was the same one Tikron had handed him. Ending up in his apartment was a different story. If he hadn’t been daydreaming, if he hadn’t been distracted, how in the hell had it happened? Early dementia? A brain aneurism? As soon as he got to the office, he was making an appointment with his primary care physician.
Richard took in a deep breath and inhaled a rich, spicy scent. Crap. He was still clinging to Tikron. He jerked and his back slammed into the door. “Sorry.”
Tikron ran his fingers through his hair, then winked. “Don’t be. I was rather enjoying the moment. You smell really, really good.”
The way Tikron raked his gaze up and down Richard’s body was almost as disconcerting as the unexplained event. Almost. “I…. Ummm…. Yeah. I need to get to work.” He pushed his glasses back up on his nose and went to adjust his messenger bag, only to find it wasn’t there. He checked the other side, then remembered he’d dropped it on the floor of his apartment. “Dammit, I forgot my bag.”
“This?”
Richard stood there gawking at the bag in Tikron’s hand. He could have sworn he’d dropped it. Then again, his head was throbbing and he really wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Hell, it was still quite possible he would wake up soon and have a good laugh over his morning smoothie. At least he really hoped that would be the case, because he had no explanation for the freaky morning if not.
Richard reached out to take the bag, but Tikron wouldn’t release it. “Have dinner with me?”
“Dinner?”
“Yes. Shall we say seven?”
“Okay, sure.” I swear I dropped that bag. He wiggled his toe and winced. He had the injury to prove it. So how had Tikron gotten it?
“Bye, Richard. See you at seven.”
Richard waved over his shoulder without looking back. There was no possible way Tikron had run up, broken into Richard’s apartment, retrieved the bag, and returned within the time allotted. Richard walked down the sidewalk, his head in a fog as he tried to find some logical explanation for the strange events of the morning. If it wasn’t dementia or an aneurism, then surely there was some other physical or psychological reason behind his delusions.
He needed a doctor. He pulled his keys from his pocket, let himself into his office, and shut the door behind him. He found himself scanning the area, looking for Tikron. As ridiculous as it was—the door had been locked—he wouldn’t put anything past Tikron. He’d be a fool to underestimate Tikron. He might not have an explanation yet for the abnormal things that happened when Tikron was around, but with some quiet time to think, he was sure he would. But first, aspirin.
He removed his coat, hung it on the hook near the door, then took a seat at his desk. He rummaged through the top drawer. The aspirin bottle was empty, but he found a battered foil packet of ibuprofen. He swallowed them down dry, then regretted his decision as they stuck in his throat. He tried several times to get them unstuck, but it was no use. It took several glasses of water, then a bite of an old stale granola bar he found at the back of a drawer before the irritation in his throat was finally rectified.
After flipping on his computer, he went through his schedule, finding his day was pretty slow. Perfect. He picked up the phone and dialed Dr. Psaki.
“Dr. Psaki’s office, this is Jada. How may I help you?” the receptionist asked after the second ring.
“Hi, Jada. This is Richard Beaumont. I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Psaki right away.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beaumont, the doctor is out of the office until this afternoon. If you’re experiencing a medical emergency, please go to the nearest emergency room. May I call an ambulance for you?”
“No, not unless they are wearing little white suits.”
“Excuse me?” Jada asked, sounding confused.
Richard ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s not that kind of emergency. It’s kind of personal, and I’d like to discuss it with the doctor. Is there any chance he could see me today?”
“If you’d like to come at one, we can try to fit you in. Although you may have a considerable wait.”
“I’ll be there.”
“See you at one,” she said pleasantly.
He returned the phone to the cradle, then leaned back in his chair. He chewed on the end of his pen. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d mentioned the men in the little white suits. He was sure he was losing his mind. It was as if he whole world had been turned upside down. Nothing made sense anymore.
“Well, better get something done before they come and take me away.” He leaned up and dropped the pen on the desk. Ink oozed from the end. He wiped at his blue-smudged lip with his fingertips. “Great, this day just keeps getting better and better.” If Dr. Psaki didn’t have him thrown into a padded cell, he’d go home, lock his door, pull out the brandy he’d received as a gift three years ago, and with any luck, he’d be too stinking drunk to care. More than likely puking and passing out, since he had zero tolerance for alcohol. Straitjacket or alcohol-induced haze—either way, he was putting this day behind him.