The Mystery of Nevermore (22 page)

Calvin nodded and stood, bringing his plate to the sink to wash.

“Want to hear something else?”

“I’m not so sure.”

I brought my plate over, standing beside him. “African greys can learn to mimic words or sounds within a day if it’s easy or something they like. That lady’s bird, he can very well be repeating some of the last words heard in her apartment.”

“This guy screaming for the book.”

“
Tamerlane
.”

“Right,” Calvin said, putting the plates away. “But if Greg was the guy, why would he show his hand and mention
Tamerlane
to me?”

I wasn’t sure. “Desperation?”

Calvin shook his head. “I agree that something is off about his story—”

“Whoever came into my apartment this morning came for my books,” I interrupted. “If you noticed.”

Calvin turned back to me, crossing his arms. “I did. Are you certain it wasn’t in your possession?”

“No. But now how am I supposed to know? If it was, it’s not there now. I checked. Someone thought I did have it, though.”

“Look, baby, I hate to bring it up again, but of all people, Neil knew you had some of the estate sale at your home. And he had a key.”

“But the things Greg said…. I don’t think this is over. Call it gut instinct, but I’m pretty convinced the book wasn’t in my possession. This guy is still looking for it.”

“Does Greg know where you live?”

I made a face. “You know as well as I do that information like that is hardly a secret these days.”

Calvin nodded and left the counter, tugging his tie loose and tossing it into a small hamper near the television. He started to unbutton the cuffs of his shirt next.

“What about the phone call that Greg claims he got?” I asked.

“I’m still working on it. These things don’t move as fast as—”

“On television,” I finished. “I know.”

Calvin turned around as he pulled his shirt off, his pale and freckled chest there for me to see but not touch. He tossed it into the hamper. “You don’t mind if we go to bed, do you? I’m… kind of tired.”

I remembered finding him asleep on the stairs, waiting for me. I got the impression that Calvin didn’t easily admit to any sort of weakness, even being
kind of tired
.

“Sure.” I grabbed my bag. “I’ll go use the bathroom.” I left him half-naked, most regretfully, and shut the door behind me. I changed into some dark-colored checkered pajama pants and a presumably black T-shirt. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and took out my red-tinted contacts before leaving.

Calvin stood in the middle of the room, scrolling on his phone. He still didn’t have a shirt on, but had what
looked
like Christmas-themed pajama pants on. Maybe my vision was really failing me there.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Hmm. Yeah, just checking a few e-mails.” He turned it off and set it down on the nightstand before going into the bathroom. He came back out a moment later with his toothbrush hanging from his mouth. Calvin moved by me as he returned to his phone.

He smelled good.

He looked good.

He was definitely wearing pajama pants with little Santa men and reindeer on them.

“You look quite jolly,” I teased.

He glanced up, brushing absently. “What?” he asked around the toothbrush before looking down at himself. “Oh.”

“Waiting on something important?”

“I’ve been requesting research on the
Tamerlane
book,” he mumbled. “Haven’t gotten it yet.”

“I’m going to the library tomorrow. I have an appointment to inspect the copy of
Tamerlane
that they have.”

Calvin turned to me in surprise.

“I thought it’d be useful.”

“Did you plan on telling me?” he asked after taking the toothbrush from his mouth.

I shrugged. “Probably.”

He frowned and walked back to the bathroom. “You’re not a cop.”

“I don’t need to be a cop to go to the damn library.”

When Calvin returned, he stepped close enough that the smell of mint and man made my head spin. “We’ll discuss this later.”

“Fine, whatever.” I wasn’t going to fight about a trip to the library. I was really only half listening to him anyway, not that it could be helped when he stood so close that I could count his freckles. I reached out to touch the fine, light-colored hair on his chest and followed it down.

Calvin reached under my chin and lifted it. “Go to bed.”

“Uh, are you coming?”

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Cal, you’re not sleeping on the floor in your own home. Come on.” I tugged him to the bed, threw the covers back, and slid over to the side against the wall. “See? Plenty of space.”

“Fine.” He walked over to the front door to check the lock and shut the lights off.

I leaned over to put my glasses on the nightstand, then turned onto my side, back to Calvin as he silently climbed into bed. It took all of my self-control not to curl up beside him, but he’d been firm in his decision with me, and neither of us were doing so well when it came to no more touching and nicknames. Someone had to stop first.

The bed shifted, and Calvin drew up close behind me. He snaked an arm between mine and wrapped it over my chest, holding me tight.

“Calvin,” I said with a sigh. I rolled over to face him. “You can’t keep being so sweet and touchy with me if I’m not allowed to have you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t help myself.”

“It’s not fair.”

Calvin removed his hand. “I know. I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t help but imagine that Calvin, with the way he touched—so gentle and as if it were the greatest experience of his life—had been denied intimate contact for a long, long time.

“I’m not asking you to wave a rainbow flag around,” I said. “You don’t have to announce to everyone you work with that you’re fucking a guy.”

“There’s more to it than that, Sebastian,” Calvin replied. “I’m… not a good choice for a partner. There’s a lot wrong with me that I don’t want to burden another person with.”

“Sounds like an excuse.”

Calvin laughed. “Believe me, baby, it’s not.” He reached out to touch my cheek. “I’m sorry.”

I pushed his hand away and moved closer, firmly holding him. “Every time you call me baby, I’m going to hug you.”

“What’ll that accomplish?” he asked while planting his fingers in my hair.

“You drop it constantly, so maybe if you get enough hugs, you’ll warm up to dating. I don’t know.”
I just know I want you and can’t bear the thought of losing you.
But I didn’t say that out loud.

I HAD
fallen into a sleep that I don’t think even the dead can obtain. It had been great until I got punched in the face and knocked into the brick wall. I startled awake, the entire left side of my face hurting and the wall scratching uncomfortably on my back. I think I cursed, but it was drowned out by Calvin’s screams. It took me a second to realize he wasn’t being killed, though if I had been going by sound alone, that’s what I’d have suspected.

I sat up, reached over the bed, and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Calvin!”

He was thrashing in a nightmare—there was no other explanation for me having been slammed so hard. His skin was clammy and damp to the touch.

“Calvin! Wake up! Jesus—!
Calvin
!”

He woke up with a start, sitting up and struggling to breathe. He was shaking and quickly covered his face with his hands as he sobbed uncontrollably.

Oh God. What was happening?

I removed my hands from his shoulders, and they sank while he cried.

His side of the bed was damp with sweat as I moved to climb off.

These were night terrors. True, actual terrors that could wake a man—a man who I suspected was stronger and braver than anyone I had ever known—from a deep sleep and reduce him to an emotional mess in seconds.

It was then that those little things I’d seen Calvin do started to connect. The moments he’d been startled—Max dropping the box, when I said his name while he was half-asleep, the squawking African grey…. And the twelve years of military service that Calvin refused to talk about.

It made sense now.

PTSD.

“Cal? Honey, you’re okay,” I said loudly, trying to be heard over his crying. “You’re in bed, in your apartment in New York. You’re here with me. Everything is okay,” I insisted.

The moment was surreal, to see such a powerful man reduced to nothing but raw and bleeding heartache.

What had he been dreaming about? What haunted him? The war in the Middle East had gone on so long that many Americans just sort of forgot about it, myself included. Now that soldiers were home, just exactly how many of them were coming back with invisible wounds that the public still discriminated against out of sheer ignorance?

What can a man bear to see before he’s seen too much?

“Cal?” I said again. I hastily grabbed my glasses so I could see what the hell I was doing before taking his wrists and gently tugging them down to reveal his face.

The dark was my friend, and I could see him in better detail. Calvin’s eyes were bright with tears, his cheeks wet, and his hair a mess. He looked old. He looked vulnerable and broken. It made me realize that receiving the Medal of Honor and countless other awards issued by the police department and military did not make him invincible.

“I couldn’t save them,” he whispered. “There was so much fucking blood. I couldn’t—I couldn’t reach them.”

I was sitting on my knees in front of the bed, staring up at him. It hurt to see this, hurt like nothing I’d ever experienced. I pulled him down, and Calvin slid off the bed. He sat on his knees in front of me, clinging fiercely and hugging me so hard that I could barely breathe.

I rubbed his back. “You’re safe,” I insisted.

“I let them die,” Calvin cried.

I moved my hand up to his head and gripped his hair. “No. Don’t think that. Please don’t.”

“I let that little boy die.”

I maneuvered Calvin back enough so I could hold his face in my hands. “Calvin,” I whispered. “Everything’s going to be okay.” I didn’t know what else to do or say, and it was scary.

It was terrifying.

He was starting to calm down, though. Calvin wasn’t shaking anymore and was wiping his eyes dry.
This
must have been the issues he didn’t want to burden me with. How many nights a week did he wake up alone in utter fear and panic? Was he getting help?

“Calvin?” I asked quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, avoiding eye contact. “I didn’t think this would happen tonight. I’m just… stressed.”

I wasn’t sure what to do or say. I didn’t want to set him off again. “Can you stand?” I asked. He nodded after a beat, and I helped him to his feet. “How about you go take a quick shower to cool down? Do you have clean sheets?”

“What?” He looked back at the bed, realizing he must have sweat so much I needed to bring it up. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. Don’t worry.” I gently pushed him toward the bathroom. “Go take a shower.”

I waited until Calvin shut the bathroom door behind him and the water turned on, then went to the closet and felt around for a bit before finding folded bedsheets and pulling them out. I quickly remade the bed, tossing the old sheets in the hamper as Calvin came out of the bathroom, wet and naked. He changed into a clean pair of pajamas before sitting on the edge of the bed.

I crouched down in front of him. “Can I get you something?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he muttered.

“Please don’t apologize.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.”

“I thrash around. I don’t mean to.”

“Cal, I’m okay,” I insisted, not bothering to bring up the fact he had actually hit me pretty hard in his sleep.

He rubbed at his jaw in an agitated manner.

“Do you… need to talk about anything?” I asked quietly. “You can trust me, if you need to get something off your chest.”

“No,” he immediately answered.

“Calvin—”

“No, Sebastian,” he said again, harder. “I’m not—I don’t want to talk about it.” Calvin’s voice got thick again, and he covered his eyes with a hand.

I got up and sat beside him on the bed. “All right, all right. You don’t have to.” I reached over, took his free hand, and linked our fingers together.

He gripped my hand hard for several minutes. His hold eventually began to loosen as he seemed to mentally talk himself down from whatever ledge of memories he was looking off.

“Have you seen a doctor?” I asked quietly. My answer was silence, so I took it as a
no
. That worried me. “What about a VA hospital? They’re trained to help with this sort of thing.”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Calvin retorted angrily. “Seb. Please, just—stop.
Please
.” He still held my hand and turned to look at me.

I’ll be honest, it scared the shit out of me knowing that Calvin was suffering from some pretty intense PTSD that was apparently untreated, but it was the middle of the night and not the appropriate time to argue about seeing a doctor.

“Do you want to try to get some more sleep?” I asked. When he didn’t respond, I leaned around him to set my glasses down again and lay back on the bed. “Cal, come here.”

He obediently turned and lay down beside me, putting his head on my chest and wrapping himself around my body. I tugged the comforter back over us, and we were both quiet. I petted his head for a long time, and eventually his breathing evened out and I allowed myself to chase after sleep with him.

THE NEXT
time I woke, I wasn’t on the receiving end of a punch to the face, which was nice. It was still dark out, but I could tell from the subtle change in light through the closed blinds that it was about time to get up.

“Morning,” Calvin grumbled.

“You’re awake already?” I asked before yawning.

He grunted.

“Did you sleep much?”

“A little,” he agreed after a moment. He rolled away and onto his back.

I moved on my side, leaned over, and kissed his chest.