“Jesus,” I said on an exhale.
“What? What is it?”
I didn’t want Oliver to see. I didn’t want his nightmares fueled with more gasoline.
“What is it, Beck?”
But he had to know. This involved him as much as it did me. I decided to be as vague as possible in my description. “It’s a pig’s head.” With its eyes bulging and red. “It’s facing up and there’s a note snagged on its tooth.” An artificial grin given to the poor pig with some kind of knife. “The note says, ‘Call off the Hunt.’”
Another benign detail that I felt needed to be shared: “There’s a pink collar here, too”.
Oliver shot off the couch. “What?” He grabbed the sandals by the couch and hurried to my side, the glass breaking under his steps mixing with the heavy breathing making a macabre soundtrack for the moment.
“There was a pig that came into the clinic. Kiko. We had to put her down today.” I could see Oliver trying to muster up the courage to look into the bag. I knew I couldn’t shield Oliver from this, especially if he could tell me where this pig’s head had come from.
I held the bag open. Oliver leaned over, looked inside. He reeled back, whatever color that had been left in his face drained. “That’s her. That’s Kiko.” He gagged before getting back onto his feet. “I’m gonna be—”
He rushed to the bathroom. When he came back out, I had already called the police.
“I can’t stay here tonight,” Oliver said, shaking his head. He was close to tears. I felt like the glass shards all around us had been picked up and dumped right into my heart. I pulled him close and held him. I held him until the police showed up, and I held him as they were leaving, finding nothing and promising nothing as well. They said that there were no cameras and no eyewitnesses in the area, although I don’t know how they automatically figured there weren’t any witnesses since I didn’t see either of the two cops knocking on doors and asking neighbors.
I’d do that first thing tomorrow morning. For right now, Oliver needed me. He was trembling like a leaf. I could practically feel the fear in the air like it added another layer to the humidity filling the room from the open window.
“Come over to my place,” I offered. “Bring Mason and Jar and stay over for a little.”
“Thank you, Beck.” He looked up at me, eyes glistening wet. “That sounds good.” This was bringing him back to that moment when he lost Derrick; I could see it reflected in the tears that streaked his cheek.
Oliver went to the bedroom and worked on getting Mason and Jar ready. While he did that, I rummaged around for the broom and dustpan. By the time Oliver came back into the living room, most of the glass was sitting in the pan.
“It needs a good vacuuming, but I think I got most of it.”
“Oh, Beck, you didn’t have to.” He came over with the hot-pink cat carriers, holding the big things with both hands while struggling with a heavy backpack. I hurried and grabbed the cats, Oliver thanking me again. I told him the last thing he needed was to thank me for anything. It made me feel like I was doing someone a favor, which I wasn’t.
“This isn’t a favor,” I said, holding Oliver’s hand. “This is just teamwork.”
Oliver seemed like he was about to cry but swallowed it down at the last second.
“Can we stay at a hotel, just for tonight? I’m scared we’ll be followed. And I want to be high up on, like, the fourteenth floor, with security in the lobby and preferably a moat surrounding the property too.”
“Of course, Olly. I’ve got a place we can stay at. It’s on the beach. We can try to relax for tonight.”
“Let’s do that.” Oliver’s smile didn’t waver this time as he leaned up to kiss me. “Teammate.”
* * *
In the hotel room,things seemed a little calmer. I had to admit it felt good knowing that there was a lobby with security. Even I was slightly shaken from the sequence of today’s events. The evacuation at Stonewall already had me on edge, and then the incident at Oliver’s only served as icing on this fucked-up shit cake. I didn’t think the two were related, but the timing certainly didn’t help anyone.
“Jesus, what a day,” Oliver said, opening up the blinds to show off a view of Miami Beach, the ocean dark and infinite. Clouds covered any light from the moon, making it seem almost as though the water were reflecting the pitch-black night back toward us. Mason and Jar were already sitting on the couch, cuddled up together and watching us as we settled in.
I looked away, my gaze landing on Oliver. He still looked shaken, and I didn’t blame him. But he was a strong one. He was already getting back to his radiant self. I could feel it like the sun cresting over the horizon. I went over and wrapped an arm around his torso, pulling him into me, letting the heat from our bodies serve as a comfort.
“Olly, why didn’t you bring up that homophobic tit, Mario Reyes? The landscaper? I spoke to Greg and he told me about the time Mario spat at you. That could be significant.”
Oliver separated from me. He looked out the large window.
“If I listed out every homophobic asshole I interacted with throughout my life, then you’d never figure out who attacked me and Derrick that night. I… I don’t know. I don’t like talking about it, I guess. I don’t like living in that negative space. In even being reminded that it exists.”
I put an arm across Oliver’s shoulder and pulled him back into my side. I kissed the top of his head, feeling his soft hair against my lips. “If I ever see anyone even giving you an ounce of attitude, I swear I’ll send them spinning as much as the London Eye.”