“Uh, hi.” Julian forced himself to smile. His eyes shifted from the oddly shaped growth on the guy’s wide forehead to the inside of the house. “Is Bruce Hunter here?” The protuberance on the guy’s face pulsed an ugly purple. “He’s a witness to an accident.”
“Hunter ain’t here.”
From inside, another voice called, “Eric, hurry, the show’s about to start.”
“I’m not sure I have the right place. He’s late twenties, sandy hair with a purple streak. Is that who lives here?” Julian asked.
Knotty-headed Eric looked at Julian. “Yeah, that’s him. Come in if you want to.” He gestured into the house.
Julian wasn’t sure he wanted to, but maybe this guy knew something. He followed him down the narrow hall and into a green-carpeted living room/kitchen area. The room held only a love seat, a small armchair, and an ottoman. The kitchen was defined by a high-top table that served as a counter.
“Who’s this?” The guy on the love seat squinted at him.
“A friend of Hunter’s,” Eric said. “Name’s…”
“Julian.” Damn. He hadn’t meant to give his real name. Eric’s pulsing growth distracted him. He also hadn’t said they were friends, but he went with it.
“Cool. I’m Derek.” The guy on the love seat was easier on the eyes, tall, slender with longish dark hair and blue eyes. “Eric, get me a beer, would ya? You want a beer, Juli?”
“Julian,” he said. “But sure, that would be great.” These guys had to be college jerks. Beer at eleven in the morning? He sat gingerly in the small armchair, pleased that he’d picked up on the use of Hunter’s last name. “Do you know if Hunter will be here? Anytime soon?”
“Gods, if I know, dude. We’re crashing for a while,” Derek said. He had an easy grace in his movements, almost hypnotic. He squinted again at Julian. “You looking at something?”
“Ah, no. Sorry. I—” A can of Bud Lite was handed to him. “Great thanks. So you guys friends of Hunter’s?”
“Friends of friends,” Derek said, his voice mellow. Once again, Julian was drawn in by the man’s almost perfect symmetry.
His mind drifted, floating to a place he hadn’t been to in a long time. A hillside above the town of Hoboken, the view of the factories belching out black smoke, the stink of the oil refineries. His arm around the blond girl from government class, Julian hung languidly in the memory. Her hair smelled of stale cigarettes and citrus shampoo. What was her name? He couldn’t remember. Only that they’d fooled around in the back seat of his old Camry before he dropped her off, and even that was hazy. But this moment—sitting on this hill, watching the night sky, the feel of her warmth under his arm—this tiny second of time filled him with a euphoric high. He wanted more of it.
Eric’s voice jerked him to the present. “Derek, stop it. Here he comes.”
Julian blinked. He looked over where Eric and Derek sat together, watching the TV. The flat-screen was on, but it was the streaming company’s screensaver. A rumble sounded upstairs.
“What was that?” Julian asked.
“Oh dude, wait. You’re in for a treat.”
The rumble increased to a dull roar, and the building started to shake. Julian gripped the arms of the chair, hoisting himself up.
“It’s okay, man. Relax. It’s just Barry.” Eric’s growth pulsed again as he pointed to the door facing them down the hall.
Julian realized the two had been watching the door, not the TV. The door cracked open and then slammed shut, muffled curses emanating from behind it. The two guys grinned like kids about to get on a carnival ride. The door opened again. Closed again. Then with a vicious crack, it opened all the way.
The cursing was louder now, clearer with the door open, but Julian couldn’t see who it was. The doorframe was stuffed with clothes from floor to ceiling.
Eric hooted in laughter and slapped his knee. Derek’s grin was wide as he leaned to the side to see better. “Come on, Barry. Do it,” Derek said.
“I cannae do it.” The pathetic words drifted from behind the clothes and blankets blocking the door.
“Yes, you can,” Derek said. “We showed you how last night, remember? One step at a time.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Julian asked.
“Who’s that?” Barry said, suddenly suspicious. “You dinnae call Abraham, did you?”
“We wouldn’t do that. It’s a friend of Hunter’s. Come out and meet him.” Derek spoke in a coaxing voice, and once again Julian fell under the lull of it.
Suddenly he was ten, and his Uncle Jack had taken him up in a glider out of West Jersey. Nothing but air and wind and the scenery below. Julian was flying, his laughter ringing out in the tiny cockpit.
