Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
FADE
Concentrating on my work is more difficult than it should be. I didn’t know Alice. Erez rarely brought her up. I only knew she existed because there’s a picture of her in his room at Poison Ink and hanging on the wall in his apartment.
I knew she was dead because he once mentioned the anniversary of her death. He didn’t offer how she died, and since I couldn’t fathom how I’d cope with the death of my own brother, I didn’t ask.
The truth is far more horrific than I could ever imagine. Those paintings. I can still see them when I close my eyes. They’re so fucking vivid, terrifying, and painful.
Erez hasn’t been back to work since he found them. He’s taken a leave of absence, and his colleagues are filling in for him as best they can.
Sitting in my studio, I glance at my phone again. My text chain with Erez is up since we’d been exchanging texts this morning. He hasn’t responded in the last hour, though. I don’t know what he’s doing. I’m worried about him.
Today, I have a podcast appearance to talk about a couple of the books I’ve been narrating recently. I wasn’t sent questions ahead of time except for my pronouns, which is my least favorite way to be interviewed. I’m much better at coherent answers when I can be prepared beforehand.
Stretching to relax my muscles before I get comfortable at my desk, I take a few calming breaths as well. Then some sips of hot tea to soothe my throat.
At five of, I hit the connect button on the video call. He answers right away.
“Hey, hey,” Rodney greets with a wide smile. “Thanks for taking the time to talk to me.”
I incline my head. “Thanks for having me.”
“Anything you want to discuss before we start recording?”
“As long as you don’t get personal, I think I’m okay with most questions.”
He grins. “No worries. This is all about books. Queer books in general but also the projects you’re working on.”
“Cool. Then I’m ready when you are.”
Rodney nods, and then I see a notification flash across my screen telling me that the host is recording now.
“Hey, lovelandia. This is Rodney Reads Queer—he/him—and For the Love of Balls Podcast, episode eighty-seven. Today is an exciting episode. Joining me is narrator Callum Frost—he/they. Thanks for being here, Callum.”
“Thanks for having me. I’m always down to talk books.”
“That’s why the book community is the best community in the world.”
“I can’t agree more.”
“Let’s get right to the goods. Tell me what you’re working on.”
For the next ten minutes, I talk about the two books I’m currently finishing up and the one I’m getting ready to begin.
“What I’m hearing is a common theme of friends to lovers,” Rodney says. “Coincidence, or is that a preference?”
I’m surprised by how the question hits me in the chest. Unbidden, my eyes drop to my phone. The screen is still on, and my conversation with Erez is still up. Only, he’s finally responded.
Erez Deth
Yes, please. I’d like lunch. I’ll pay today if you want to pick me up.
My stomach jumps, and I inhale deeply, trying to calm the butterflies dancing in my gut. “It’s a coincidence,” I answer.
“Where does this trope land on your favorites list?”
I lick my lips as I stare at the text exchange. It’s not a date. He’s too oblivious. It’s not a date.
“I don’t know,” I answer and look back up to my screen with Rodney’s face.
“To be honest, I both love it and hate it. In a lot of ways, tropes are wishes of the heart, right? How many of us have had a friend that we’ve fallen in love with and dreamed about what it might be like if they actually reciprocated those feelings? ”
Rodney snorts. “More than once.”
“I think that’s where tropes come from. They’re wishes. Romantic wishes. Sexy wishes. Redemption wishes. Revenge wishes. But something in them fulfills a longing deep inside us.”
“I haven’t thought of it like that, but I can see where you’re going with this idea.”
“Friends to lovers is a trope I both hate and love. I hate it because the reality is that rarely does it end with a happily ever after. Even if they get together for a while, I’d be willing to bet that it doesn’t end happily. It’s not forever.”
“That’s kind of doom and gloom for the romance genre.”
I laugh. “Probably. No one said we had to write the story until the break-up, though. We end far before that with a happily for now.”
Rondey chuckles. “Fair enough.”
“I also love the trope because it serves as a form of hope for all those romantics in the world. Everyone who is in love with their friend. Maybe their best friend who is so damn oblivious that he doesn’t recognize when you blatantly hit on him and have taken him on more than fifty romantic dates over the last five years.
It’s not a rejection because he’s oblivious, right? ”
“We’re talking the beloved himbo character, right?”
“Eh.” Erez isn’t a himbo. While I don’t mean to make this personal, words keep spilling from my mouth before I can stop them.
“Not necessarily. Maybe the guy has a lot of past trauma that he hasn’t healed from.
He’s always turned inward. Love isn’t important because of the pain he struggles with every day. ”
“Ahh,” Rodney says. “The broken boy we all want to wrap up to protect him and beat the author with a stick until they promise to treat the character right.”
A bubble of laughter bursts out of me. In this scenario, maybe I’m the author. “Yep. That’s it.”
“I can’t tell if you’re referencing a book or a story that you have to tell,” Rodney pokes, a grin spreading across his face.
“Neither do I,” I lie. “In reality, probably fifty percent of friends-to-lovers books have this kind of build-up, don’t they?”
“A little bit of pining. A little bit of one bed forced proximity to spark some chemistry,” Rodney offers, nodding along. “I can see that.”
I nod in agreement and wonder when my forced proximity trope with Erez is going to begin. Perhaps we can be stormed in or something.
My interview lasts another forty-five minutes, and while we continue to circle back to my projects, when Rodney asks a general question, I find that most of my answers circle around my situation with Erez.
By the time I’m off the call, I fall back in my chair as if I just hiked up a mountain after having never hiked a day in my life. In a way, I laid myself bare. I confessed my love for my best friend, even if no one knows.
I send a text to Erez, telling him I’ll pick him up at twelve thirty.
He sends me back a thumbs up and tells me he’s at his parents’ house.
I’m not surprised. I think he’s been sleeping there again, back in his childhood room, as he drowns himself in his sister’s paintings.
Sinks deeper and deeper into a dark past that she couldn’t escape.
On a whim, I stop at the flower shop and grab a small bouquet. Not because I think flowers are going to make him realize my feelings—they won’t, I’ve tried—but I think they’ll at least make him smile.
Erez is sitting outside when I pull up. His helmet is sitting beside him, though it’s not his usual one.
I’ve come to realize that he has a helmet stashed in his trunk, just so he’s never without one if I show up and want to ride.
Once, I’d convinced myself that it means he might also have feelings for me.
I’m less convinced of that these days. Erez is just always prepared.
His smile is tired when he sees me. I can practically see him struggling to get to his feet.
“You’re not sleeping,” I comment.
Erez doesn’t try to deny it. He shakes his head but doesn’t comment.
Once he’s on the back of my bike, he practically leans all his weight on me.
If it weren’t illegal, I’d have him slide around to face me as we ride so I can hold him securely.
It’s not like he’d catch a hint that I’m in love with him in that position either.
At this point, I’m pretty convinced that I could press my hard-on against him and he’d just laugh it off.
A part of me loudly screams that he’s not oblivious. He’s just not interested. This is his way of letting me down easily without ruining our friendship.
I was going to take him for tacos, but instead, I decide to head to the café down the road so we can grab some things to go. Then we’ll go to the park and lie in the grass under the trees.
Erez never questions what we’re doing or where we’re going.
Either his trust in me is complete, or he’s far too caught up inside the storm in his head for there to be room for curiosity.
Even as we’re walking through the park with a paper bag each in hand, Erez doesn’t comment or question.
When I pull us to the ground under a big tree, Erez follows.
Immediately, he lies back and closes his eyes.
Unable to stop myself, I brush the hair from his forehead. His eyes squint open just a little. The corners of his lips curl up slightly. Then they’re closed again.
“You okay?” I ask.
Erez sighs. “No. I knew that there was a message to find. I’m still not entirely sure what the message is, but finding the secrets she hid…”
“Do you think she actually wanted you to find them?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer for a minute. “No,” he says eventually.
“I don’t think she did. Matty says her ghost isn’t lingering, and I believe him.
That man knows shit, and it’s freaky as fuck.
He can only know that if we take into account a paranormal source—like ghosts.
So I believe him when he says that Alice isn’t here.
But I wonder if someone is and they wanted me to find them.
I’ve been in Alice’s room… thousands of times since she died.
At least once a day, almost every day, since she died.
That door was never ajar. I forgot it was there.
I had to wrestle it open the rest of the way once I moved the furniture from where it was blocking the door.
Something opened it enough that I’d see it.
Alice didn’t want me to find them, but someone does. ”
“She’s not the victim in all the paintings,” I say carefully. “Sometimes, she’s the observer.”
Erez nods. “I’ve gathered that too. Different angled perspectives.”
“I think, given the… events… of the paintings, it’s not a far-off assumption that Alice isn’t the only, uh…” It’s a fine line between careful consideration and getting my point across.
“Dead victim?” he supplies.
“Yes. Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve thought of that too.
Matty hasn’t said there’s another dead hanging around.
He says there are dead in our house from time to time, but none of them talk about Alice.
He’s said more than once that her room was a dead zone.
” An amused smile flickers across his face.
“Even the dead he brought home with him from Dark Island won’t enter her room.
He said it’s as if there’s a wall they won’t pass through. ”
“They can’t or they won’t?” I wonder.
Erez shrugs. “Dunno. Sometimes he uses the words interchangeably. I’m not sure he knows.”
“I feel like I’m talking about a movie when I say this, but if ghosts can’t or won’t enter Alice’s bedroom for whatever reason, can they get inside the dormers? Is that how they pushed the door open?” I ask, feeling absolutely ridiculous.
“That’s what I’m thinking. I kind of wonder if they’ve been working on that door for a while.
It was swollen shut. Maybe painted shut.
I don’t know. What I do know is that it wasn’t always cracked open.
Having said that, I’m not sure how long it’s been cracked open, either.
I can see every single detail of that room when I close my eyes.
I’ve been in there so often… Maybe it’s been open for months, but I didn’t notice because I wasn’t expecting to see a change in the room. ”
“Maybe,” I agree. “But I don’t think that’s the case. I think they finally managed to break through.”
“I feel stupid because I need more. I need something clearer,” Erez says.
“You said that Alice didn’t want you to see these, right?” He nods. “But you still think that she left you something to find?” He nods again. “Then whatever is there from Alice to you is still hidden.”
Frustration colors his voice. “Fade, I’ve torn that house apart! I can’t find anything.”
“But that doesn’t dissuade you from thinking she left something,” I hedge.
Erez sighs in irritation. Minutes pass. I slide down alongside Erez and slowly bring him to my side until he’s resting his head on my shoulder with his eyes closed.
Eventually, he says, “In my gut, I feel like Alice wouldn’t leave like that without leaving me a goodbye at the very least. Ten years and I haven’t found it, so maybe I need to accept that it’s wishful thinking instead of truth. I don’t want to believe she’d leave me like this, but… maybe she did.”
I hug him, trying to take away some of his pain. My interview with Rodney flutters through my head. Friends to lovers. Forced proximity. Oblivious male protagonist. I sigh.
“I think maybe you need to look again, but look in the least obvious places.”
“I have, Fade.”
“Look again. I didn’t know Alice, and I think I only know the surface of the situation, but from what I’ve gleaned, I don’t think she’d leave you without a goodbye, either.
So few people who take their lives do, from what I understand.
They always have a message. They leave an explanation. Why would she be different?”
Erez doesn’t answer again. This time, he doesn’t answer at all.
We lie in silence for a long time. Eventually, we sit up and eat our lunch.
Conversation moves to random topics. I tell him about my podcast interview and even repeat some of what I talked about with Rodney. Specifically, the points about him.
He listens with an amused smile. Erez isn’t a reader. He has listened to a few books that I’ve narrated—in support of me more than interest in books of any kind—which I appreciate.
Sometimes, I toy with the idea of writing a book about our friendship.
Make it so fucking clear that these two characters are us that there’s no fucking confusion then deviate the ending.
Go down a path we haven’t walked. Make the HEA happen.
Then I’ll ask him to listen to it and see if he figures it out then.
Somehow, I don’t think he will.