Chapter 14
Chapter fourteen
Patrick
I had a lot to think about as we headed for Sam's address.
I'd always taken Raphael's animosity at face value and punched back. I guess it would kind of suck to be on a project for a long time and have some new guy brought in over you. Especially if you could really use the raise.
That wasn't my problem, of course. I hadn't done anything wrong.
But maybe I could have been a teensy bit nicer, tried a little bit harder to be agreeable.
Instead, we'd set up an immediate cycle of snarking at each other that had only dug the hole deeper and turned what was initial resentment on Raphael's part into a fixed enmity.
I really thought he hated me because I was gay.
The fact that the real Raphael was apparently nothing like the guy in my head made me question my own powers of observation. Or… honestly? My willingness to give a shit enough to look deeper.
"You okay?" Gray asked.
I turned to look at him and felt a stab of longing. Was I really in the car with this man? The doctor who had fixed my leg and fixed my foot, who'd examined my head with such a gentle touch. Was I dreaming?
I felt like, at any moment, I might wake up like Dorothy did and realize my tin man was really just the farmhand. This night had a magic feel to it, as if it might all disappear like mist in the morning.
He smiled. "You're thinking awfully hard. You should rest that brain a bit, given your concussed state."
"Just wondering if you're real." I took his hand—a bit awkwardly since I had to reach over with my right.
He raised an eyebrow and his look grew warm. "Maybe we should run a test later."
"For scientific purposes," I said seriously.
"It's important to gather evidence." He chuckled, raised my hand to his lips, and brushed his mouth across my knuckles. It was a bit of a stretch since I had to lean over. But, oh, please, do it again.
He put my hand gently back in my lap though.
"Gray, it means a lot to me that you're tracking down this craziness with me. It's so above and beyond."
He looked amused. "I've never been able to close the book before I see how the story ends. So, tell me about Sam."
Right. Krampus. First, dispose of the curse, then it'll be safe to climb all over the hot doctor.
"Sam is chief nerd on our team," I said. "He's tall, looks like he hasn't seen the sun or a gym in a decade, and he has collectibles everywhere in his cubicle. Oh, and he lives with his mother. He's nice in a clueless kind of way."
"Are you guys friends?"
Why did that question make me feel a pang of guilt? "Suuure," I said. "I mean, we don't hang out. But we get along fine."
Gray watched me with what felt like too much understanding.
"I told you. The me that is not concussed and bone-broken is more… self-contained. When I'm at work, I usually have my headphones on, head down. Focused. You know?"
He reached over to cup the back of my neck and kept his hand there. Not squeezing, just… holding space. He didn't have to say he understood, that he worked hard too. I'd seen it myself.
The GPS broke in. "In a quarter mile, turn right on Jackson Street."
We were nearly there.
The houses in Sam's neighborhood had actual lots, though small ones.
The homes were older. Some had been fixed up.
There was some gentrification going on as younger professional couples moved in.
Sam's house was not one of those. The exterior siding was a dull, long-faded pink, and the steps to the porch looked dubious.
The low, wrought-iron fence around the postage-stamp yard needed paint and rust removal.
A Hyundai was parked in the driveway that ran along the side of the house.
Sam's car, I assumed. I had no idea what he drove.
We got out of Gray's car and surveyed the place. The curtains were open in the front window and a Christmas tree, all lit up, twinkled white lights on the other side of the glass.
"Looks like they're up," Gray said. He checked his watch. "It's 10:30."
"Good. Then I won't have to start a fire to smoke 'em out."
Gray gave me a look.
"I'm kidding!" I stuck the crutches under my arms and headed for the house.
I rapped. Sam opened the door. The smell of cinnamon rolls and chili wafted out on a warm gush of air. Sam was wearing flannel PJs that were white with Pac-Man shapes in green and pink all over them. I managed not to laugh.
His face lit up. "Patrick! Hi." Then he seemed to realize how odd my visit was. His smile faded and he glanced between me and Gray. "Merry Christmas?"
"This is my boyfriend, Gray," I said—yes, it was daring, and yes, it made my stomach flutter, but I said it anyway.
"Oh! Hi, Gray." Sam shook his hand.
"Nice to meet you, Sam," said Gray with, I swear, a little more color in his cheeks than had been there a moment ago.
"Can we come in?" I asked. "It's kinda cold."
"Oh. Yeah! Yeah. Come on in."
Inside, I looked around in amazement. The outside of this house wasn't much, but the inside was a freaking museum.
The Christmas tree was loaded with LED lights and retro gaming-themed ornaments.
There were shelves on every wall. Light tape ran along every surface, providing soft ambiance, and smaller strobes were placed here and there, highlighting favorite statues and collectibles.
Raphael had been right. The figures on display here were not the kind of thing you could pick up at a comic store.
There were antique mechanical toys, old tin banks like the kind where a monkey would put a coin in a slot when you pressed a button.
A row of small clocks had figurines that moved as part of the display—shepherd boys and little Dutch girls and dastardly villains.
There was a section of animatronics featuring magicians with cards, top hats, rabbits, and spinning wheels.
"Holy crap, Sam. Where did you get all this stuff?" I asked.
He looked shy. "I started with my dad’s collection.
He was really into animatronics. It sort of grew from there.
Now I know collectors all over the world.
Shops. So, they contact me if they run into anything interesting.
Sometimes, I can even afford it." He laughed.
"I guess I'm sort of an Indiana Jones of resin and pine and tin. "
"Geez." I couldn't help wondering how much money was tied up in this stuff.
"They increase in value over time," Sam said hurriedly, as if reading my thoughts. "It's a good investment. I mean, if I ever need to sell."
“Patrick?" I looked around. Gray was across the room. He motioned his head. He was standing by a shelf that held carved wooden figures. I walked over to him.
He met my gaze with a grimace as if to say, See?
I did see. The carvings looked old. They were not typical grandma collectible stuff, like Hummel figures.
These were older, rawer. There were religious figures, like Jesus and Mary but also some Indian and Greek gods.
There were children, but not cutesy ones, serious, life-like ones.
One shelf held figures of Pan and centaurs and other fantasy creatures. They reminded me of Krampus.
"Those were my dad's," Sam said, coming up alongside us. "I haven't added much to them. These carvings are from the 1800s and they're unique, not mass produced. Each is a one-off. I can't afford what these are selling for nowadays."
"What about this? What did this cost ya?" I took Krampus from my coat pocket and set him on the shelf with the Pan figures. Honestly, it didn't look exactly the same. My Krampus was smaller and not as raw as these or as detailed.
"Oh, hey, your secret Santa gift!" Sam smiled at the figure. But Gray and I weren't smiling, and he looked between us, then said, "What?"
"Were you the one who gave Patrick that Krampus?" Gray asked, using his professional doctor’s voice, the one that brooked no argument.
Sam blinked. "What? No. I told you, Patrick. It wasn't me."
"Seems like a pretty big coincidence." I waved my hand around the room. "No one else on our team is into this stuff."
Sam looked around, as if expecting to find something new. He looked back at me, looking confused. "Okaaay. What's going on? Why are you here?" He looked me up and down, "And why do you look like you were in a car accident or something?"
His innocent act was good, but I wasn't buying it just yet.
"Swear to me you had nothing to do with Krampus," I said darkly, staring at him as ferociously as I could.
Sam looked at Gray with a frown as if to say, What's he on about?
But Gray just folded his arms over his chest and rose to his full height, face stony. "Why did you give the Krampus to Patrick?"
"I didn't! I swear!" Sam did a weird Scout's honor, two-fingered hand gesture. "Why does it matter, though? Why do you care? What’s this all about?"
I looked at Gray in frustration. I'd thought we were so close. But Sam didn't seem to be lying. I felt a vague urge to cry.
Gray put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and picked up the ball. "If you didn't give Patrick the Krampus, you'll have no objection to helping us out. You seem to know a lot about antique figures."
"Well, yeah. I mean, sure." Sam flapped his hands. "I told you it was old, Patrick. What else do you want to know?"
"How about why it's cursed!" I blurted out bitterly. "Krampus is cursed, Sam. Traya found a whole thread on Reddit about it, and I've had three separate accidents tonight, not to mention being mugged. God only knows what's next."
"Oh." Sam's eyes widened and got a spark.
"Oh! Seriously? I've never seen a legitimately cursed object before.
Hang on!" He ran to a little side table and pulled out a pair of latex gloves, put them on.
He ran back. "Can I take a closer look?" His purple-gloved hands hovered above Krampus like hopeful birds.
"Be my guest." I sighed.