Young Writers Society

Bitter, an Oracle, has agreed to help Mike Murphy find his missing brother, Kyle. They're visiting his place looking for something she can use to Scry his current location. To know more, read Chapter 11.

Kyle Murphy’s place smelled of disuse, of the rotting matter cluttering the pipes and of dust. It was on the first floor of a small building over on Main Street. I was surprised when Mike turned on the light. I wasn’t sure what I had expected, but this wasn’t it.

The place was messy – very messy, a little stuffy too. Logically, this being the first floor, the windows were barred, but the shutters were also down, the curtains drawn over them. Considering the number and variety of lamps in the apartment, it looked like it was always the case.

It wasn’t a typical ‘guy’ place in my experience. The decoration wasn’t especially tasteful, but there was way more furniture than in Sakes’s apartment. My friend from Carmen’s seemed to think that chairs were an extravagance. We had to sit on pillows whenever he invited us over.

“Come in,” Mike told me.

He bolted the door behind us. I made a note of the twelve locks. Overkill much?

“M-make yourself comfortable.”

Hm. Kyle’s apartment was about the size of mine. You came in through a big living room with a small kitchen area behind a long metallic counter. Then, there was the small bedroom with its attached bathroom.

While Mike did the dishes, I ventured into the bedroom. It was a chaos of clothes and discarded books. The bathroom was even worse. After checking over my shoulder that Mike wasn’t watching, I opened a drawer, then another.

Kyle kept a box of condoms and a bottle of lube in his bedside table. Both had been opened. There was no trace of a woman in his apartment – no trace of anyone else, period. Hard to make sure of that, though, because of the mess.

I tried to conduct a methodical search, but it was hopeless. Even Kyle’s tastes in books were all over the place. They ran from classical SF, like Isaac Asimov and Philip K. Dick, to cheap space operas. It didn’t help matter when I picked his copy of “The Naked Sun” and “Paradise Lost – Book 5” by John Milton fell out, along with a couple of photographs. I wondered where the other books had disappeared to and whether being lost made them “Paradise Found”.

It made me snicker to myself.

I stopped laughing when I realized the scale of Kyle’s habit of stuffing things inside his books. I found money there, receipts and seemingly important work documents. The chaos extended beyond those pages.

I found a jewelry case at the bottom of what had to be Kyle’s underwear drawer. I opened it, mostly because I was feeling creepy going through a stranger’s briefs. I froze, fingers tingling.

“Look at that,” I whispered to myself as I caught sight of the chain of real silver inside. A delicate, old-fashioned pocket watch hung on it. It was beautiful, elegant, probably expensive as hell. I opened it, discovered an engraving inside the lid, “Every hour of every day. A.”

Romantic, I thought, but a little unusual. Mike had made no mention of a committed relationship. Could it be a memento left by some past fiancée?

I wrapped the chain around my wrist, closing my fist around it. The mechanism ticked rhythmically inside my hand. I wasn’t fond of corny comparisons involving beating hearts, but it was like I held something alive. I knew at once that I needed no more to Trance for Kyle Murphy. I still stepped back into the living room, curious to hear the story as Mike knew it.

He was done cleaning his brother’s leftover dishes and was curled up in the sofa under a tall bookcase. He looked like a forlorn little boy. His eyes drifted to me, then widened when I raised my hand, dangling the fob watch in front of him.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“His…Oh, r-right, he didn-n’t want it back. Kyle w-wanted to gi-ve it away. B-but, then, he lost-t it.”

“I’m not surprised. What’s the watch’s story?”

Mike looked away. “It’s-s complicat-ted.”

My eyebrows took a hike up my forehead. What the hell? Was Magic Mike holding back on me?

“I know all about complicated, Mike. Whatever it is, no matter how bad you think it is, I’ve done, thought or heard worse.”

He carefully folded his hands together, piecing his composure back together. His eyes were now on his knees. “He-He-Mom d-doesn’t know.”

“I’m not going to tattle to your mother,” I told him, exasperated.

“He’s…Kyle’s…K-K-Kyle’s gay.”

“Oh.” Talk about earth-shattering. I shrugged. “Honestly, he could fuck goats, and I wouldn’t care. I’m here to find him for you, that’s it.”

He nodded and, tentatively, smiled.

“Now, who gave your brother the watch? A former boyfriend?”

Again, he nodded – albeit very enthusiastically. “A-Arthur Me-Menn.”

“When did they break up? Was it amicable?”

He shrugged. “I don-n-n’t kn-” Falling quiet, he shook his head, then apparently resolved to try again. “Didn’t like him. Loo-ooked down on me. Too old too.”

“How much older?”

He raised nine fingers. Nine years older, then. Which made this Menn guy thirty-eight. Not an old geezer either.

I pondered the watch for a second, then asked, “He’s got money?”

“Some. Executive t-type.”

“You think you’ve got a picture somewhere around here?”

He glanced around, considering, then he nodded. The more we talked, the less he stammered, but he was still more comfortable doing than speaking. He stood up and started rummaging through the shelves. I settled in for the long wait. It actually didn’t take him that long. After a couple of minutes, he came back with a pretty rose-wood box.

It contained a pile of pictures. Most of them included Kyle, usually surrounded by friends or family. Mike flipped quickly through them, pulled out a photograph and handed it to me.

A different Kyle stared out of it, stripped of his charming confidence and sporting a sophisticated, urbane polish that suited him much less. His dashing tuxedo displayed a tall, toned body, and he was beaming at another man in the picture – Arthur Menn, I assumed.

The ex was attractive, I suppose, but I wouldn’t have gone for him myself. He looked like he spent more time than I did on his hair. Nature didn’t produce blacks this dark and unmitigated. He also had artic-cold eyes, a slightly crooked nose and a stern slant to his mouth.

Too serious, I thought, and it was before I took in the expression on his face as he looked down at Kyle. I read approval there, and a patronizing sort of tenderness. He saw the younger man as his creation, his slightly lesser half. If this was love, it was an outshoot of self-love.

“Mike?” I said, because he had drifted away and was now leafing through a photo album.

He looked my way and, unexpectedly, grinned.

“What?” I asked.

“M-Mike. Does that me-mean we’re friends now?”

I hesitated. I didn’t normally befriend weaker beings. I wasn’t good at coddling people. I was too selfish. Easier to have relationships where the other person could hold me in check. I didn’t think that Mike would have either the gumption or the guts. I tried to find the words I needed to warn him off.

His smile dropped, his eyes filled with an old sadness. He had probably received the exact same gentle brushoff dozens of times. It wouldn’t have stopped me, but a sudden realization struck me.

For all Mike Murphy could barely talk, he had gotten me there, doing something I knew full well I didn’t want to. Even Colleen and Sakes couldn’t do that. It wasn’t weak. And I could hardly teach lessons when it came to hanging onto one’s brother. I had never hung on to anyone or anything. Maybe I was the weak one.

“Yes, alright,” I agreed. “Should be interesting.” I changed subjects before his obvious delight could translate into embarrassing effusions, “I think I’ve got everything I need.” I tucked the watch and the picture into my pocket. “I’ll keep those a few days. I’m not ready to Scry yet. Could take a while before I fall into a Trance. Let’s go.”

Bitter is ready to Scry for Kyle Murphy. To find out what happened to him, read Chapter 13.