Miles woke with a start. Bright sunlight filtered in through crooked blinds. Miles felt strange. Very strange. At first, he thought it was because of his nocturnal emissions and the vapor monster, but then it dawned on him that it was actually something else entirely.
Miles wandered out of the room shirtless with borrowed plaid pants clinging to his hipbones. He followed his nose toward the origin of delicious breakfast smells. Miles sauntered into the kitchen and found Billy busy over the stove. His glasses were steaming up from the heat and his hair fell clean and combed around his smiling face.
"Morning," Miles said, feeling almost shy about what exactly Billy's reaction would be to the previous evening. Was he aware of the strange experience with the Walrider? Did he regret allowing Miles to pleasure him in the shower? Miles rolled his eyes at himself. Acting like a goddamn school boy.
"Morning Mister...uh, Miles," Billy corrected himself, blushing. He put down his wooden spoon and walked away from the stove for a brief moment to kiss a surprised Miles on the lips. "How do you like your eggs?"
"Huh. You seem...healthy? Better?" Miles asked, staring in disbelief as the boy who had been vomiting sludge and burning with fever the day before was now bouncing around cooking eggs and bacon with a smile on his glowing face.
"Thanks to you," Billy said, smiling shyly. "Grandfather's already tended for the morning. I wanted to let you sleep in. I know you had a long night."
Miles froze in the act of sitting down at the small kitchen table. His heart was pounding as he looked at Billy. "You uh, you know about that? I wasn't sure how much you were...involved..."
"I know, taking care of Grandfather is very involved. But he told me you took care of everything, even the midnight troubles with his oxygen. I haven't slept through the night since...well, I can't very well remember," said Billy, his focus down at the stove where he was scrambling eggs.
"Oh, that's what you meant..." Miles frowned at the kitchen. "Do you have any coffee?"
"Sorry Mister Upshur," Billy said, relapsing into the formal address. "I don't like the stuff and Grandfather can't drink it so we don't have any. I have milk?"
"Well. Milk is fine I guess," Miles said settling into on of the two chairs around the small table. Before long he had a tall glass of cold milk and a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. Miles was not even sure how to react. Chris was not the type to pamper his partner, and Waylon had never truly been his partner. All other partners had been one-night-stands or drunken mistakes. "Thank you, Billy. This is...really nice."
"You look good this morning," Billy said, settling in with his own plate and digging into the steaming eggs. "Maybe I just don't get to see you in the morning. Usually you look...well, more tired."
"I am tired. And cranky," muttered Miles, picking up a piece of crispy bacon in his hand and chomping away. "I feel good today though," Miles admitted as he chewed. "It's been a while since I woke up without a hangover." Miles chewed in silence for several heart beats, chasing down the bacon with cold milk. "And no one's made me breakfast...ever." Maybe Chris had brought home something fast, and Waylon always made him coffee, but a continental breakfast was something else.
"You took care of me. It's the least I can do for you," Billy said, smiling with a mouth full of eggs.
"Do you remember anything from last night, after you fell asleep?" Miles asked casually, taking a large bite of breakfast. "Like, any dreams?"
"Oh God," groaned Billy, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did I talk in my sleep or something embarrassing? Sorry. I've never really had any overnight guests. I don't know what I'm like when I sleep. I hope I didn't disturb you..."
Miles chewed in silence, considering the boy's face. Dark blue eyes behind thick black frames were open and guileless. No one was that good of an actor. Billy was not in control of what happened to Miles the night before. So who—or what—had jacked him off?
"N-no. You didn't. You just...you tossed and turned a lot," said Miles. He had a haunted look in his gray eyes as he ate the rest of his breakfast in silence. The pair finished their food and attacked the dishes together-Billy washing in the sink and Miles drying.
"Thanks for coming back," Billy said as they worked, his forearms submerged in soapy water. "I might still be fighting through the attack if you hadn't."
Miles glanced at Billy out of the corner of his eye, but continued to dry the skillet in his hands. "I'm not really sure what I did. If my hand jobs could cure illness, I would never get sick, so that couldn't be it..."
Billy laughed at that, dropping a fork back into the sink as his shoulder shook. "That part was nice but...no I just meant, you being here. Something about the swarm and your presence. It likes you. A lot. It makes it a little difficult for me to know where the desire it feels and I feel ends and begins."
"You think the Walrider would get jealous if we moved our relationship forward?" Miles asked, and Billy laughed as though he were making some strange joke but Miles remained deadly serious.
"What? I don't think it works that way..."
"But the other night, you got drunk, and you were using your abilities to seduce me," Miles pointed out.
Billy coughed to cover his own embarrassment. "Uh, sorry, I had been drinking. I've never done...well anything before, so not that either, but the swarm and the buzzing it was just, insistent. It wanted to touch you...I did too."
"You said if we went forward it might try to make some kinda claim on me, keep me as a mate or something," Miles said, placing the dried pan down on the counter. "I just didn't know how much of a ...separate relationship...I would have with the swarm."
Billy drained the sink, passing over the last couple forks for Miles to dry. "I guess I really don't know," Billy admitted.
"Would your grandfather know?"
"No one would I don't think. I'm the first of my kind, it's the first of its kind, right?" Billy pointed out. Miles hummed at the sense of it, but he still felt disquieted. Did what happened last night already count as moving the relationship forward? Was Miles already claimed by the Walrider? Would the Walrider get mad if he made some kind of move on Billy?
Why was his life so fucking strange and complicated? Miles felt miserable.
"Why did you come back?" Billy asked as they worked in companionable silence.
Because this story is the only thing I have left in my life, Miles thought. He dried in silence for several moments until he realized he had been drying the last fork for much too long. He set it down and saw Billy watching him with an anxious expression. "I told you I would," Miles said finally.
"I have a surprise for you," Billy said, a childish smile lighting up his face as he grabbed Miles' hand and led him into the living room. Miles was apprehensive, even after Billy gestured toward two moldy boxes. "Tada"
"Black mold, just what I always wanted..." Miles said.
"They're all that's left from Grandfather's files," Billy explained, smiling. "They were in the crawl space. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news but, most of the notes are in German. I hope you can at least find something of use in there for your investigation."
"So you actually do want to help me with my investigation? You're not afraid I am going to blow your cover?"
"Would you do that?" Billy asked, his smile falling from his face.
"No," Miles said immediately. He knelt down and lifted the lid from one of the boxes. It was filled entirely with manila folders and papers. The other box was the same story. Miles hummed to himself. "I really need to get some work done for my day job. You guys don't have internet out here. I probably need to get back to my motel."
"I understand," Billy said, though his face looked like someone had just kicked his puppy.
"I'll come back. Just like last time," Miles gave a reassuring smile. "I might just quickly look over this stuff if you don't mind. Is it alright if I record some of these? I have my camcorder and laptop in the Jeep."
"Whatever you need, Mister...Miles," Billy said, correcting himself. "I really need to get out to feed the cows. It will probably take a few hours. Will you be gone by then?"
"Yeah, probably," Miles said, standing up and walking toward the door as Billy followed. "I'm not sure how much work I will have since I can't seem to receive emails out here. My phone acts funny..."
"Yeah, cellphones do not like me," Billy said, shaking his head.
"Then how have I been calling you?"
"We have a regular phone line," Billy explained.
"You have a land-line? You guys are decades behind out here, huh?"
"Nah," Billy said, stopping as the pair reached Miles' jeep. "I'm decades ahead." Miles chuckled to himself but was cut off when Billy slid a hand behind his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. Billy had obviously been paying close attention because the movement of his lips and tongue were much more controlled and intriguing. Miles returned the kiss, cupping Billy's cheek and getting momentarily lost in Billy's taste and warmth.
"Billy," Miles whispered when the kiss finally broke. "I meant what I said. Casual."
"I know," Billy said, not sounding the least bit offended. "I just really wanted to kiss you, casually."
Miles grinned as Billy walked toward his pickup. Miles opened his Jeep and retrieved his electronics and returned to the house to work on his investigation.
Billy had been right. Most of the handwritten notes were in German, but the majority of the computer print-outs from Murkoff were in English. There were files crammed full of cost analysis reports. All of the line items were coded so it was impossible to tell what they were without some kind of key. They could be ordering two hundred pounds of uranium and Miles would have no idea. The notes in German were irritating because not only were they in a different language, the handwriting was illegible in any language. Miles doubted he could even make out the words enough to run it through a translator. The faded, poor condition of the papers also did not help the situation.
One of the files contained black and white photographs that had faded and warped at the edges, but were otherwise intact. Miles photographed them all with his camcorder, though he had trouble making sense of them. It looked like giant machinery being put together with a mountain of tubes and wires. The entire area seemed to be the size of a football field. Another one of strange spheres filled with tubes and wires. The harmless nature of the first photographs left Miles shocked when he came to the last dozen.
The photographs showed bodies with numbers instead of names and the word autopsy handwritten in ink at the top of each one. The people in the photographs seemed inhuman. Some had wounds that looked like their entire face had suddenly bloomed with giant tumors. Another cadaver had an arm that ended in a large, deformed club rather than a hand. A few of the bodies were vivisected on the table with tiny flags pinned at certain areas to highlight certain internal irregularities. Miles had never taken an anatomy class, but he was pretty sure people were not supposed to have protruding organs overrun with growths.
Miles threw the photographs down with a disgusted grunt and stopped his recording. Wernicke was a scientist, what had he expected? They were experimenting on humans under dangerous, unethical conditions. Hadn't he said that Billy never developed tumors or bronchial issues? These must be the aftermath of the unlucky souls that did.
One of the last random files that he sampled contained a jewel case with a CD inside. Miles grinned at the antiquated technology. Waylon had made fun of him when he had purchased a refurbished computer for cheap because it was so outdated it still had a CD/DVD player. He temporarily considered calling his friend and bragging about how his old computer had saved the day—until he remembered that he and Waylon weren't talking. Miles sighed as he opened his laptop up and stuck the strange CD into his computer.
One file. Hmm, that was odd-and it was some type of unknown extension. Shit. Waylon would know how to access it. Miles wished he could search the internet. He attempted to open it using every audio program he had on his laptop with no results. As a last ditch effort, he attempted to open it in a video program.
"Yesssss," Miles hissed as he watched the file open on his laptop. It was short, just under five minutes. Miles put his player on repeat and made it full screen before leaning back and pressing play.
Black and white images immediately began dancing in front of his eyes. Peculiar. Like some kind of Rorschach test flashing and changing. Sometimes Miles would catch a glimpse of something else. He found himself squinting in an attempt to see behind the images at something that seemed just out of his view, dancing in his peripheral vision. Then he saw it, clear as day. Hidden behind the strange, flashing images was a clear view of a flipped car in a ditch. The picture made Miles' stomach turn. It was the same make and model as his parents' car when they had the accident. But, that seemed an impossible coincidence.
Another sequence seemed to take on the shape of an unusual face. As he watched, the face seemed to be smiling at him. Miles squinted at the face for a long time until he realized why it looked familiar. Chris was different with his head shaved, his forehead a mess of gore, and bloody slits where his nose used to be. Miles realized that he was not actually smiling. Chris had no lips leaving his teeth bared and was simply staring without emotion.
A buzzing was growing inside of Miles mind—the same sound he often heard when Billy was around. The images were twisting and changing and each time Miles felt like he was getting a glimpse of something he desperately wanted to forget. His parents' crash. Starving children. Bodies piled up for burning. Chris' break down. Waylon bleeding and bruised. Miles did not want to see those things, but he felt helpless to turn away until he could have sworn he heard something through the buzzing...it almost sounded like his name...
"Mister Upshur!" Billy said, shaking Miles violently by the shoulders.
"Billy," Miles stuttered, the dancing images still playing with his eyes and causing Billy to look distorted as though his flesh were crawling. Miles mashed the escape button and slammed his laptop shut. He squeezed his eyes shut to stop the terrible spinning feeling. "I thought you were going to take care of the cows."
"I did," Billy said.
Miles managed to pry one eye open and he saw that Billy was still wearing the jeans and flannel shirt from that morning, but they were soiled with mud and probably other cow products. His face showed signs of dirt and sweat. "That was quick?"
"I was gone for almost four hours. I thought you had to go and do work?"
"I...do," Miles said, feeling confused and disoriented. Four hours? He had only watched the clip for a few minutes at the most. He glanced at his laptop and saw that the low battery light was flashing. It had been full before, or close to it. Miles felt dizzy and when he shut his eyes he saw the moving images again. "I need a drink."
"What do you want to drink?" Billy asked, his tone concerned.
"No, a real drink. I have to...I need to leave. I'll see you in the morning," Miles said, grabbing his camera in one hand, laptop in the other, and shambling toward the door.
"Miles! What's wrong with you? You don't seem like yourself," Billy said, following Miles out the door. "Was it something I said?"
"No, it's not you at all, it's...I'm feeling weird. I'll be here in the morning. I'll bring breakfast," Miles said, loading up his Jeep and hurriedly starting the engine. He gave a weak wave to Billy as he pushed the Jeep into reverse.
The motel room was the same as he remembered. He had checked in with the lackey at the front desk, and stopped by the liquor store, before shutting himself up in his room for the night. With an open bottle of bourbon on the cheap desk beside his laptop, Miles prepared to open the last couple days' emails.
To his surprise, Miles felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as he settled into the terrible motel chair. It was Waylon. Miles had wondered when he would try to call. Except then Miles realized that he actually had over two dozen missed calls, and almost as many voice-mails. Apparently, there was no reception when around Billy. Miles thought it was best he had not been tempted by those calls the previous day. After the unsettling night and morning, Miles easily pushed aside the heavy task of speaking with Waylon.
The writing was boring work, made sloppy by drink. Miles had to return calls and emails. There was a potential new client inquiring about rates and requesting a meeting. Would he be back in Denver by next week? Miles honestly did not know. Drinking while working was a double edged sword. On one hand, Miles felt relaxed and motivated to continue to set up posts for all of his clients. On the other hand, the work was probably less than perfect. He made a note to check for spelling mistakes and typos in the morning. Miles' head was swimming.
He stared at his computer, seeing the disturbing video on his recently viewed files list. Miles felt strange thinking about the vivid and haunting images he had seen while hypnotized by the video. He quickly deleted it from the list, only to see it replaced with another familiar video. Miles groaned and pushed away from his computer. He flopped down on the bed unceremoniously.
Miles would not claim his physical or mental health were better because of the alcohol, but he could say that he felt more like himself. Whatever depressing thing that said about him was a worry for another day. He put the bottle up to his lips and drank, barely recoiling from the sting. He loved it. The burn was guaranteed to take the pain away.
Miles was pleasantly numb and clutching a half empty bottle when his phone began to vibrate on the bedspread next to him. "Upshur," Miles said, answering the phone on drunken impulse.
"Miles," said his favorite voice in the world. "Thank God, Miles." Waylon's voice broke and Miles knew his friend would be tearing up. Fuck. Miles had not wanted to answer his phone; he definitely had not wanted to hear Waylon sob over their fight. How was that going to help? Miles considered ending the call. "Are you okay, Miles?" Waylon asked finally in a tremulous voice.
"I'm fine, Park," mumbled Miles, sitting up and setting down the bottle. He held his forehead in his hand as he listened.
"I heard a clank. You're drinking. You're safe right, Miles?" Waylon asked.
"Yes," Miles answered, louder than necessary. "Yes, Park, I am safe. I'm back in Leadville. Making progress with my source."
"Why are you drinking?" Waylon asked, still concerned.
"I have had a really rough time since I returned. My source was...ill, and I stumbled upon some strange Murkoff relic that left me feeling strange. And worst of all, I have convinced myself that I need to avoid your calls, and keep some distance for a while," Miles answered, the bitter truth coming out thanks to the bourbon.
"You sound upset. You shouldn't be drinking when you're upset," Waylon said.
"I am upset. You know what else upsets me? It upsets me that Eddie Gluskin leaves bruises on my best friend. It upsets me that you stay and refuse to address the situation. And most of all, it upsets me that I let you slip out of my fingers and into such a horrible situation."
"Shove it, Miles," said Waylon. Miles could hear the sniffles Waylon tried to muffle, and the thickness in his voice. "That's what I can't figure out most of all with you. You...you went through so much trouble to...to push me away. You put up every obstacle you could between us. And then you tried to reverse your stance only after I got someone new."
"Because I'm a dumbass," Miles growled into the phone, picking the bottle back up and taking a loud swig. "I was blind and stupid and holding onto an impossible relationship."
"You still are," scoffed Waylon, laughing bitterly through tears on the other end of the line. "You are still after Murkoff, no matter how many times I told you to drop it, for your own sanity." Waylon sniffled during the pause."You're out of town right now on a lead to hurt the company you feel hurt Chris. You say it's over. You witnessed everything. But you still haven't let him go—not really. He was always looming over our relationship, and you can't let go even when it's been over for an entire year. He's...he's in a place where he can get help."
"How do you know? How do any of us know?" Miles snapped, laying back down on the bed. "They won't let me in. Chris was getting worse and worse there. God, you're judging me for holding onto him, but you tell me: when is a relationship fucking over when one of you just...drifts away. He's not dead-he's sitting in a goddamn asylum. He needs me more than ever. And I'm...I just...I had to leave him," Miles finished, holding the phone away from his face as he exhaled long and loud.
"It's a shit situation," Waylon said when Miles brought the phone back up. "But it's not worth giving up on the rest of your life. Chris wouldn't want that for you. He wouldn't want you to be this miserable. Maybe if you could have moved on, maybe then we could have had a chance, but..."
"Look, just because I want him to be safe-just because I cannot stop trying to protect him...it doesn't mean that I don't love you," Miles stopped, realizing his drunken slip. The words he had not said since that night. Well, he had gone that far and there was no reason not to push further.
"I'm sorry I denied it and caused you pain. I hid behind my defunct relationship because I was afraid of losing the only person left in my life. I'm a walking curse," Miles sighed. There was nothing but continued breathing and silence on the other end of the line. "I wish there was a way to take back all the ways I hurt you, but I can't. Right now...you need to give me space. I'm not...I'm not a danger to myself right now."
"You're alone and drinking and somewhere I can't save you. I worry," Waylon said.
"I'm...I'm not like alone alone. I had some work to do," slurred Miles. "I did not have to sleep alone."
"Do you say that because you think I will be jealous?" Waylon asked, his words coming fast. "Is it that hard to believe that maybe I would just be happy for you? That seeing you in a relationship that made you happy, would make me happy for you. Just because you're hung up, doesn't mean I am. I'm glad you have someone to nut on, Miles."
Miles laughed drunkenly into the phone. "Ha, I knew it. You are jealous."
"We need to talk about what happened, in Denver, that night...but I can't right now. Eddie's coming home any second now," Waylon said, sighing.
It was Miles' turn to feel jealous. "How's the brute? Bashed anyone's face in lately?"
"Miles, promise me you will call me. Soon. I'll stop calling you, I will, but...call me soon."
"I will."
"Take care of yourself," Waylon said softly.
Beep.
