wait, was that him, no, this love was simple, not as complicated and convoluted and tumbling as what he felt for George
—meanie, he will pay, I promise, love you?—
who was that, the anger was clear, the love, traces on the minds of the arthropods, traces that should not be there, they could not feel like blobs did, had no concept for it, everything he saw was always already an interpretation of something alien, he never left anything with them, or did he, so hard to tell
—love, love, so warm?—
what was love, they didn’t know, whoever had made this impression did though, he had to follow, to find the source, could it be here, the garden was so vast, the house a huge block of wood and concrete
—love, meanie, love?—
it came from everywhere, he tried to follow it through the bees to the silverfish in the house, in his opinion the most reliable informants, not today, the trace went cold, popped up in a moth on a tree, jumped to a spider weaving her net between the azaleas, never standing still, buzzing around like a blue bottle, searching, searching, what, he didn’t know, he was getting tired, torn in too many directions, he wanted to go back, back to George, to the in and out, the waves, the warmth, he wanted to sleep?—
“Andi? It’s okay, I’m here.” George’s voice, soft and soothing, self-assured, he always was, had to be because Andi needed him. “Are you back?”
Andi shook his head a bit, trying to clear his mind. A few bees were buzzing close to them, hovering around George’s head, an anchor of sorts. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m back.”
“What did you find?”
“Not as much as I hoped.” He sighed. “I could sense this other presence. They were definitely here, but I wasn’t able to follow. They could be working here, be a guest, anybody, basically.”
“But the person was here?”
“Regularly enough to leave an impression that is not tied to killing somebody.” While he spoke, Andi realized that this was more of a lead than he had originally thought. “This is the first place where I don’t get murderous vibes.”
George nodded thoughtfully and kept on stroking Andi’s shoulder where it met his neck. An older man, not aged enough to be a resident, so a guest, most probably because he wasn’t wearing any kind of uniform that might tie him to the nursing home, walked past them, throwing George’s hand a dirty look. Andi could feel his animosity not only in the obvious disdain of his expression but also in his pheromones, a sour taste, the rapid firing of his electric field, always an indicator of stress, no matter the cause. What Andi couldn’t determine was whether the man’s hatred was for the fact that they were two men touching each other or for the fact that George was a Black man in a nursing home with mostly white residents or for a combination of both, a culmination of disapproval, so to speak. In the end, it didn’t matter. Andi held the man’s gaze until he looked away first. The small victory was nothing to write home about. He usually wasn’t that petty, no energy, but he was protecting George.
“You think whoever it is has some kind of base here?”
“Probably. Perhaps. I’d need to see other places where the person has been to determine how often they have to be there to leave the kind of impression I’m getting, but if I had to guess—which I have to—I’d say they are here more than just occasionally.”
George groaned. “You know how much I love working with assumptions.”
“I do.” Andi leaned forward just a bit to graze his lips over George’s jaw. He was still getting used to showing affection, and George’s reaction—a soft sound at the back of his throat and his entire being lighting up in a kaleidoscope of colors—was all the positive affirmation he needed.
“Let’s get back to the hotel and call it a day. I hope Randy gets this appointment with the director as well as permission from Rosalie Byrnes till tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I could do with some sleep. And food. I think I should eat.” The connection to all the arthropods in the garden, most of whom had been either eating or trying to find/catch food, had reminded Andi that lunch had been some time ago.
They returned to their hotel after they had gotten takeout from an Italian place with incredible ratings. As always, George had studied the menu very carefully in an attempt to find the best—meaning the healthiest and most nutritionally valuable—options. Andi didn’t really have an opinion on the topic. He wasn’t picky at this time of day, but when his request for panna cotta had been met with a scowl, he had to put his foot down. Eating healthy was fine and dandy, but it got tedious without any highlights. Panna cotta with berry sauce was a treat he wouldn’t deny himself. The containers with the food were spread on the table they had in their room, and they were just about to start when George’s phone rang. He looked at it and the silverfish under the skirting board started to stir.
“Who is it?”
“Daniel.”
“You should probably take that call.”
“We were just starting to eat.” While he said it, George reached for the cell, which hadn’t stopped ringing. “Yes?” He put the device on the table between the carton with the tossed salad and the vegetable lasagna. Daniel’s voice filled the room.
“Hi, brother dearest. I can hear myself, so I assume Andi is here as well?”
“Hi, Daniel.”
“Hi, brother-in-law.”
“Daniel.” George hissed like a viper about to strike. He glanced at Andi apologetically. “I’m sorry. My brother knows no boundaries and obviously lacks even the barest minimum of tact.”
“Just to hear you going all haughty and condescending, bro. I love it.” Daniel cackled.
