Gargoyle Boyfriend: Amadou (rough draft)

For some reason, many years ago, the building you work in was renovated by an eccentric man who liked to collect supposedly ‘cursed’ items. He had the building’s exterior made up to mimic old cathedrals, so there was lots of stonework involved. The building was a stark, dark grey thumb standing out amongst the rows of glass and brick on either side. Part of his collection was also set upon the building, which was mostly a wide array of gargoyles and grotesques. 

The building had remained sparse of life for a long time because of its exterior. Not many people wanted to run a business out of the supposedly haunted or cursed place. Eventually, the owner of the place started filling it with his own creations. He started his own businesses to fill the empty office spaces. He put a laundromat in the basement, a cafe in the entrance, in the above ground floors he started a fashion design studio, a non-profit charity organization, an app development house, a makeup company, and finally a newspaper, which was where you worked.

Since the paper was fairly new there was still a process of figuring what what it would be. For a while it only did feel good stories for a world oversaturated with bad news. Then for a time it focused on debunking news worthy myths in the world. Now, the paper is leaning towards an investigative edge, which is something that you have been working on.

Recently, you’ve been between writing assignments. The previous week you had traced stolen artwork from the local museum to the home of a billionaire businessman in the area. He claimed he was unaware the artwork was stolen and, as he put it, ‘donated’ the stolen artwork back to the museum. It bothered you that’s all you got out of the work you put into it. Not to mention your editor told you to stop digging once you figured out where the paintings had originated from. 

You were going through old unsolved cases now, but mindlessly tapping away at your keyboard while after having written another puff piece between what you really wanted to do. You lean back and glance out the window. There you see your favorite coworker.

You open the window where there is a small terrace of black iron. Hanging off the corner of the building is on the bigger gargoyles of the whole collection. You liked to call him your coworker since he was always by your desk and always there to listen.

“Good afternoon, Amadou.” You sigh.

Amadou is a beastly looking figure with his shoulders hunched forward, and arms strained as he holds onto the ledge so his muscles pop with sinew. His mouth gapes open wide so that the gutters drain from his throat. His wings flare out, hugging the corner of the building. His huge hands  with their long fingers coil around the small ledge he is placed upon, while his feet press back against the wall. 

You remove a coffee cup from the ledge and dump out all the rainwater from within. “Need a refill there?” You place out next to him your mug of untouched, cold coffee then sigh as you stare out into the distance.

“What do you think, Amadou?” You murmur. “Should I continue on that piece about those supposed new hero sightings, or should I once again do another round of interviews at Hephaestus Academy? That new kid Spite is getting attention again. Maybe him?” You look up at Amadou and his strained, horrified expression. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” you sigh. “I think stories about the academy are played out too.” You shake your head. “And I’m exhausted with hero puff pieces.” You take in a long deep breath as close your eyes. “What’s that?” You turn back to the stone figure. “You think I should continue looking into those paintings? No? You mean Solomon Savage?” 

Amadou glares out beyond you, not moving, not speaking. Part of you wishes he would respond at least once, then you wouldn’t feel so crazy. Or maybe you just don’t want to feel alone.

“But my editor told me not to.” You then look thoughtfully back to your desk. “But he doesn’t have to know about it.” You thrum your fingers on the windowsill. “It’s always bothered me since I figured out where those pieces in his collection came from. How could he not know?” You look back to Amadou. “You think there is something more there?”

Amadou doesn’t reply.

“Thanks for the pep talk. That’s exactly what I needed.” You slip back inside and go to your desk. 

Solomon Savage was an extremely well known figure. He had his own news program for a while before he retired. He now worked behind the scenes on several projects around the world. He funded quite a few research facilities, as well as a security company. He had an extensive art collection, which is what had drawn your attention before.

Ages ago your father, also a journalist, had covered the sudden disappearance of some artwork from the local museum. You had watched him work on this project, so you were already familiar with the paintings. Once you saw a glimpse of Solomon Savage’s art collection during an interview, that’s when you jumped at the chance to finish your father’s work. 

You weren’t allowed to go beyond covering his donation of the paintings back to the museum, but it always bothered you that such an avid collector like Solomon Savage didn’t know the origins of these paintings. You already had a backlog of old articles you could submit for publishing, that way, you could continue to investigate this story.

On your way home that evening, you stopped by your favorite thrift store. It was part of your destressing to go in and look around. You usually didn’t get much, but it was nice to see what was new and catch up with the owner. That evening though, you found an old newsboy hat, and for some reason, it made you think of Amadou. You also thought it was a sort of cute joke considering he was your ‘coworker’ at the newspaper. 

The next morning, you came into work and sat at your desk. You took the newsboy cap from your bag and felt silly for how excited you were to dress the statue. 

“Amadou, I have you a gift.” You slip out onto the terrace and place the cap on his head. “Oh yes, very handsome!” You remark with a smile. You take the coffee cup left on the ledge, fully expecting the old, cold coffee to be filled with bugs and debris. Instead, there was nothing in it except a couple of coffee stain rings.

You look to Amadou then back at the mug. “Did you...no!” You scoff and go back inside and set the empty mug on your desk. Someone must be playing a joke on you, you think to yourself as you set to work. You have big plans for that afternoon, so you set to work right away. You want to interview Solomon Savage again. It was probably a pipedream now, after all, he had become secluded after he said he wanted to focus on his family. 

You made a call to the same place you did when you were researching the artwork. A woman answered. “You’ve reached Savage Industries, how may I help you?”

“I’m hoping to meet with Mr. Savage again,” you say. “I mean, I have before. I’m the reporter who covered the artworks in his collection that turned out to be stolen.”

“I remember you,” his sharp, steely voice comes over the phone. It’s a shock at first, how had he known?

“Mr. Savage,” you try to remain bright when you’ve just been terrified to your core. “It’s good to speak with you again!”

“Are you still on these artworks?” He chuckles. 

“I just wanted to do a follow up.” My throat grows thick as my nerves start to rise. “See what you’ve done with your current collection, perhaps anything that’s happened since the paintings were identified.”

“Slow news day, I take it?”

“A lot of people are curious, Mr. Savage.” You anxiously tap your pen to the desk. “And I would be remiss if I didn’t follow up on our last interview. It felt quite open ended to me.”

“Because of you I had to give away some of my prized pieces. I understand it was the right thing to do, but also understand I am quite aggravated.” His tone is cutting but then he starts to laugh. “I joke of course. Journalists like you are a dying breed. In fact, the whole news field is dying out.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” You glance back to Amadou, for some reason he makes you feel better. 

Solomon then sighs. “There’s nothing much to talk about, I’m afraid. I’ve yet to replace the paintings, been busy with my family all this time. And I told you before everything I knew about those paintings. I’m afraid I have nothing else to give you.”

“It doesn’t have to be about artwork this time, Mr. Savage.” You know this might be stupid, but you’re willing to throw yourself into anything at this point. “Perhaps we could discuss something else, something you’d be more interested in.”

He’s quiet for a long pause. “I don’t think so. Not at this point. I have nothing to talk about that the world doesn’t already know about. So for now, and hopefully a long while, I don’t have to hear back from you. Have a good day.” The line cuts off and you hang your phone up. 

You glance at your computer screen and get an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach. You get up and go, heading towards the museum. Using your father’s article, you track down the leads from back then. The museum director is happy to talk with you about that night the paintings were stolen, back then, they had been a simple curator at the museum. 

It gets late, but you continue your interview. You ask hard questions, making the director think hard about the events that transpired. You take them down the hallways they speak about from memory. You both run as if chasing the culprits. 

Eventually the director has to go to the bathroom, so you sit before the paintings. You study them, thinking about the routes that the director told you about. As you’re sitting there the lights suddenly cut off.

“Hello?” You call out. “I’m still here!” You stand in the shadows, the only light comes from the dim security lights at each corner. You follow the red glow of the exit sign when you see something move in front of you. It darts across your vision and you jump back.

“Hello?” You call out agan. “Someone is still in here!” Something moves behind you and you scream. You drop your phone which you had been using to record the interview. You then run, sprinting down the halls, following the glow of the security lights which flash on as you run past them. You heard something behind you breathing and hissing. It hits against the walls, bouncing off them as it follows behind you. 

Somethings wrong! None of the alarms are going off. Whatever is following behind you should be setting them off, but there’s nothing! You dash into the main showroom where a collection of antique jewelry and gowns is on display. In the shadows all the mannequins look like people in wait. You turn around, not seeing what is chasing you, but in your gut you know it's still there watching you. 

You try to calm yourself so you can breathe. Reaching into your pocket you rub the can of mace on your keychain between your fingers. You hear something guttural in the shadows and you pull the mace out, holding it before you. 

The sound becomes a laugh, something sinister and malicious. You look around, shaking when one of the mannequins moves. You runs and lunges at you and you strike it with the mace before it tackles you to the ground. It hisses and spits in your face, the mace burns you but you keep spraying it at your attacker. 

Suddenly, they’re knocked away. There’s someone else here now. Two of them! You get up from the ground, every orifice of your face is burning from the residue of the mace. You get up and try to run away, but your vision is impaired and with the darkness you’re basically blind. You trip and fall, crashing down into one of the displays. 

Something grabs your ankle and you scream, but then there is shouting and fighting behind you. Your ankle is released and you jump up to run again. 

“I’ve got you, it’s safe,” a deep voice says as you lifted from the ground. A window shatters and you’re flown out into the night. There is a flapping of wings and you cling to whoever, or whatever, is holding you.

You’re set down upon a roof and you scramble away from whoever is holding you. You can barely make out their shape as your eyes still burn from the mace.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” they coax. You notice they have a slight french accent as they talk.

“What’s going on?” You snap. “Who are you?”

“That’s going to be hard to explain.”

You want to rub your eyes so badly, but you know that will make things worse. You ball your fists up tight, trying to focus on the pain of your nails digging into your palms rather than the pain in your eyes and throat. “I’m so sure!”

“You were attacked by Rabid,” they say gently. 

You spit, hoping to get some of the mace out. “Rabid? The villain?” You balk. “What the hell would he want to attack me for?”

“Cam down and I can explain.”

Your vision is slowly returning. You can see them standing before you as more than an amorphous blob. They’re dark grey in color and they look monstrous in size. You see long legs, a narrow waist, huge shoulders. Are they wearing a cape? Or is that wings? They’re standing in shadow, but the glow of streetlights is just between you.

You close one eye and squint the other one, able to see from it. “Step into the light.”

He moves into the glow, and you can take him in. His large hands, his powerful shoulders, the great big wings on his back, the newsboy cap on his head.

You go to open your eyes but that only hurts them more and you wince in pain.

“Easy now, easy.” He approaches you and places his hand on your arm. “Let me help.”

“I must be seeing things!” You huff. “This mace is doing more damage than I thought. It can’t be.” You take hold of his wrist, turning his monstrous hand over to see all sides of it. The long fingers, the sharp nails, the small extra nub at the wrist. It’s just like his.

“When you didn’t come back, I got worried.”

You glance up, his face is blurry but when you touch it you can feel the horns, the elongated ears, the small, squished nose.

“Amadou?” You whisper in awe.

“It’s me,” he says assuringly. “I’m here to protect you.”

“Holy fuck.” You take both hands and feel his face. It isn’t stone, but velvety skin that’s cold to the touch. His horns feel like bone, and there is sinew and muscle as your touch his chest. “Holy fucking fuck!” You pull back in alarm. “You’re THE Amadou?” You blurt. “The one on the window? The one I give coffee to?”

Amadou lowers himself down and smiles. “I appreciate that, by the way. Do you know how hard it is getting anything looking like this?”

“Oh!” You clutch your hands around your head and pull at your hair. “You’re alive!”

“Technically,” he says with a shrug. “Only at night, but I at least have you to thank for that.” He then holds out his hand. “Let me take you home, I’ll keep watch over you tonight.”

“I have so many questions!” You blurt out. “This is crazy! You and Rabid? Just because of some paintings?”

“You’ve poked your nose into the wrong hornet’s nest I’m afraid.” Amadou takes your hand and pulls you back into his arms. He holds you like a princess and your confused brain stills for a moment. “Hold on tight, I’m about to take off.”

“Take off what?” You turn to look up at him and he smirks. He flaps his wings then jumps into the air, he flies into the night sky and you cling to tight to him, burying your face in his impressive peck cleavage.

You soon start to look out, watching the city twinkle below you. You look back to Amadou, so many questions run through your head, but they all go quiet as you look at him. He was always the bright spot to your day, who knew he was even brighter at night?

Amadou eventually sets you down on the roof of your building. “You’ll be safe here. Too many people live in this building, so there are too many witnesses.”

“For Rabid?” You gasp. “Why is he chasing me?”

“I can’t be certain, all that I know is that somehow him and Solomon Savage are linked. I think he’s sent Rabid after you now.” Amadou touches your temple and gently tucks your hair behind your ear. “Not to worry, I’m going to watch out over you during the evenings. Hopefully, during the day, you’ll be safe.”

You swallow, finding your throat is still raw from the mace. “Why only at night?”

“Those are the rules,” he chuckles. “For now at least.” He takes your hand into his. It’s a lot to explain, but right now is not the time. I’ll go to your window, get inside and lock all your doors, don’t answer it for anyone.”

“So the gargoyles on the building are cursed?” You exclaim, almost excited. “I always knew there was something remarkable about you!”

Amadou chuckles shyly. “I’m trying to protect you, now is not the time.”

All you want to do is race up to him and study every facet of his face and body. He’s beautiful as a statue, he looks even more stunning now. But this is no time to be getting starry eyed, after all, there is a villain after you.