Stray Fears - Gregory Ashe Page 0,67

was doing the box step. He kept looking at me and looking at the smoldering remains of the curtain. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Elien still behind the reception desk.

Enrique looked like he might be losing focus, so I pointed at a smoking wisp of fabric and said, “Fire.”

“Holy shit,” Enrique said and blasted it again.

When I risked a glance, Elien was leaning against the wall near the elevator, watching us like we were putting on a show.

Which, I guess, we kind of were.

I didn’t want to step on Enrique’s lines, so I let him get out a few more “Holy shits.”

Then he looked at me and said, “Did you see that?”

I nodded and said, “That was some shit.”

And that got Enrique going again with his holy shit mantra.

Running footsteps announced hotel security: a paunchy little guy with a hairpiece and a tall, thin, ascetic-looking man whose name was probably Crookshanks or Jeeves or something like that. I told Enrique I was freaked the fuck out and made my way to the elevator.

“Usually,” Elien said, pressing the up button, “I like a little more variety in my dialogue.”

I shrugged.

“That’s my only note, though. Otherwise, it was perfection.”

When the elevator dinged and the polished bronze doors opened, we stepped inside. The doors shut, and Elien jabbed the button marked 15.

“I’m going to tell you one good thing about you for every floor,” Elien said. “That’s step one in my plan to make you not hate me forever. One, you’re tough and brave. You faced down the hashok in the woods without even blinking.”

“Stop.”

“Two, you’re sweet—”

“Please stop.”

“I’m going to have to talk really fast to catch up if you keep interrupting me.”

“Elien, I saw Richard. He was in the restaurant. He was with a guy.”

Leaning against the elevator’s rail, Elien wiped his hands on his pants and said, “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, but I thought you should know. They were obviously, um, more than friends.”

Instrumental music played over hidden speakers. Chopin, maybe. Not whale songs. I would have killed for a beluga right then.

“Well,” Elien said, and then he stopped. He tried again. “Well, it’s an open relationship.”

“I know.”

“I mean, I was going to fuck you the other night, but you weren’t interested.”

“I remember.”

“And it’s open, you know, both ways.”

I nodded.

“It’s fine,” Elien said. He was staring so hard at the elevator doors that I thought they might melt. “It’s totally fine.”

I put my hands in my pockets.

“I guess some guys would be embarrassed,” Elien said, laughing now, the backs of his hands against his cheeks where a blush burned.

Now, I pulled my hands out of my pockets and gave him a hug. He pushed back at first, hands on my chest, shoving. Then he made a noise that was kind of a sigh and kind of a grunt and collapsed against me. Tightening my hold, I held him there, his face hot and wet through my shirt.

“It’s ok,” I said.

“It’s not ok,” he mumbled into my chest. “Why am I so fucked up? Why is everything in my life so fucked up?”

“Let’s check on Zahra,” I said. “And then let’s get you home.”

“I can’t go back there,” he said, sniffling into my sleeve. “I’m never going back there.”

I didn’t say anything, but I stroked that massive blowout of windswept hair until we hit the fifteenth floor.

“All right,” Elien said, pushing away from me and wiping his face. “Here we go. Time to find out if my shrink is really also a monster.”

“That sounds like the beginning of a Yelp review,” I said.

With a soft laugh, Elien stepped out of the elevator, and I followed.

1517 was at the end of the hall. Elien knocked once, waited, and knocked again.

When he looked at me, I shrugged.

He knocked once more.

No one answered.

“Do we go?” I asked.

Shaking his head, he pulled out a keycard and dipped it into the lock. The light flashed green. Behind us, the elevator dinged again.

“Now or never,” I said.

Elien pushed into the room, and the smell of death met us. Every light was blazing. First was the bathroom on our right, with mirrored doors and a collection of toiletries and cosmetics spread out on the counter. Then the bedroom. Zahra lay with her head at the foot of the bed; like David Bass, she had been gutted in three broad slashes.

“Excuse me,” a voice said behind us, and I glanced over my shoulder to see the two guys from security standing in the doorway. I realized now