Gator Boyfriend 2 (complete)

    I’ve been living in the city for almost a year now, and I’ve been bouncing from job to job ever since. Most people don’t want to hire a gator from the bayou, at least on appearance. I had left my home of Louisiana, hoping to find something better for myself, something exciting.

    A friend of mine offered me a place to stay with them, so I took them up on their offer. I was excited to try something new, get out of my comfort zone and start somewhere new. But it was a much harder learning curve than I expected.

    Back home, magic was as natural as breathing. It was everywhere. I grew up knowing witches, and necromancers. Here, it is as if people are blind to the magic around them. It’s a stark comparison. In the bayou, you are taught to respect it and treat it well. But here, where people don’t even realize it, the magic is almost stepped on and ignored. It’s shoved into a dark corner that they all call the Goblin Market.

    By chance, I have been drug there several times, taken in by the locals who have tried to trick me into their wares and alliances. I don’t consider myself a creature who is in tune with the phantasmagorical, but for some reason, the shades of the Goblin Market seem to love me.

    I’m a big guy, not hiding that. Actually, I can’t. I’m eight feet tall with a six-foot-long tail, I’m very used to being noticed and being looked at. I can brush off stares quite easy. But I’m not used to humans. Back home, as I said, I was surrounded by creatures like me. Here, it is mostly humans and ones that aren’t used to things like me.

    I’m pretty shy as it is, but working my way through the city has made me horribly aware of myself. I’ve gone on exactly one date since I got here. Everything else makes me feel like a freak of fetish, and it’s done nothing to help my self-confidence like they claim it will.

    My longest running job was at the docks, and it was kind of horrible. I’m strong and used to hard work, but this was exhausting for me. It was mainly working at night or in the early mornings too, so it only furthered my feelings of alienation. It also made me reek of fish, and one wants to hang around the giant guy who stinks like five-day-old fish.

    Whenever I can, I’ve been going out job hunting. I had applied to the nursing home, hoping to get a job there. Back home, I used to janitor for one, and I was a good job. I used to love talking to the people there, hearing their histories and learning about them. 

    I actually started volunteering at the nursing home, even when my application was rejected. My dad taught me to play the trumpet when I was little, and it’s become one of the few pleasures I have here in the city. I decided that perhaps, even if I couldn’t work there, I could still help the people. I tried to go once a week and play my trumpet for them for an hour or so. 

    Today, it was like the sky was falling. The rain was gushing down with such torrential force it reminded me of home. I was considering not going. My friend and roommate hadn’t come home. He had gone to work and told me he was going out that evening, but I never heard from him. He still wasn’t back, so I was concerned. I decided to go, telling myself he had met someone and just stayed with them.

    I find myself laughing as I drive to the nursing home, the old song “It Never Rains in California” is playing, and I can’t help but find it highly comical, given the situation. 

    Once at the nursing home, the crusty old nurse behind the front desk gives me my pass and waves me away. I don’t much care for her and her demeanor. Also, I feel bad saying this, but the way her face is, I can’t tell if the nurse is a man or woman, or even human.

    I go into the recreation room, and I’m warmly welcomed there. I greet some of the old ladies and shake the hands of some of the men. It feels good to have such a warm reception here.

    “Ok then,” I say as I take my trumpet out. “What do you want to hear today? Any requests?”

    “Judy Garland!” I hear a small voice squeak.

    I chuckle. “You always request her,” I say, licking my lips. “We’ll go with Over the Rainbow again.” I start playing, feeling like an old hat at this song by now. I’ve played it every time I’ve come here, and I’ve gotten quite good at it. Well, it and Hello Dolly, which I hate.

    As I’m playing, I feel a strange sensation crawl up my spine. I spot playing, turning my head and looking down the hallway. I see an open door, and something like smoke puffs out then falls like ashes. A moment later, a woman walks out. She glances at her hands and rubs her fingers together before going into the bathroom.

    “Why’d you stop, Marv?” A voice peeps.

    “Sorry,” I clear my throat as a prickling begins to trail down my neck and along my shoulders. I chuckle, smiling down at the small crowd. “Sorry, let me start up again.”

    The feeling persists as I play. It finally starts to dissipate after a while, right as I’m packing up to leave. Outside, the world is shrouded in such a dense, dense fog I can barely see my hand before my face. I’m not sure I can drive in this, but I need to get home and check on my friend.

    I drive slowly, keeping my headlights low so I can at least see the road. In the distance ahead of me, I see some lights flashing. Blue and red, cops most likely.

    I’m paying attention to them, trying to see what’s going on that when I look up again, I see a woman in front of my car. I slam on the breaks, and a cop slams his hand down on my hood. 

    “Watch it buddy!” he snaps.

    “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” The prickly comes back as they cross and road. I continue driving, relieved as the fog lifts the closer to home I get. 

    Once home, I step into the old apartment building and sigh. I feel a heaviness on me, and I’m not sure why. As I start climbing the stairs, I feel as if the fog has left the area but has found its way inside me. 

    On the third floor, it’s almost as if I taste something and it makes me feel sick and want to gag. I hesitate to go further, but as I crest to the fourth floor, I see a slouched over body. They’re twisted at an old angle, more like they were dropped than fell on their own. 

    I feel this suffocating presence around them, like thick black tar and shit, it wafts in the air, clinging to me and forcing me down. I stare, seeing the face of the person is both familiar and strange. Their eyes are black, and they looked aged. But I know them. It’s my friend.

    I collapse on the stairs, holding my head in my hands as I feel the toxic magic that has drowned them reach its disgusting fingers towards me. I stand up, stepping away and take out my phone, calling the cops.

    I wait on them at the door, trying to take in as much fresh air as I can before I have to take them back to the fourth floor.

    The cops arrive, and I shake the detective’s hand who leads the way. “I’m Detective Visage,” he says. “You reported a dead body?”

    I nod. “I’m afraid so,” my throat is choking off on its own. “It’s my roommate,” I answer.

    Detective Visage shakes his head. “That’s the third one today.”

    I furrow my brow. “Third?” I lead him up the stairs, other cops trailing behind us as they guard the door and block off the stairs.

    “Unfortunately,” Visage replies. “Not a good day, I can tell you that.” He looks up at me, seeming suspicious. “When was the last time you saw your friend?”

    “Yesterday,” I reply, not liking the way his eyes were slicing into me. “He went to work around nine. He said he had plans that evening, but then he never called me or told me where it was.” I stop at the third floor and hold myself, taking a deep breath, feeling the sludge fill my throat again. 

    I point. “He’s at the top of the next flight,” I tell Visage.

    Visage stops with me. “Can’t stomach it?”

    I look up the stairs then back at him. “He was a good friend,” I reply. “And what’s happened to him is-” my voice chokes off, and I hang my head.

    Visage walks up the stairs, and I hear him gasp. “Not again.” I then hear him turn on his walkie-talkie. “We’ve got another one,” he says. “This makes four of them. Yeah,” he stalls. “Another mummy.”

    I frown and stay still, watching as other cops come up the stairs. Afterward, I sit and answer questions for about an hour. My nerves are shot, so when I’m free to go, I’m not quite sure where I can go.

    The toxic magic still lingers in the building, even after they moved the body. I feel sick and heavy, so I just wander the streets, not wanting to go home. I go down a path I’ve never gone before, even in all my time here. It’s mostly just stuffy antique shops and hipster thrift stores. I stop and stare in the windows, looking at the vintage furniture and relics of the past.

    In one shop I see an old globe that reminds me of one my mom used to have in the living room. I would spin and spin and spin it as a kid, watching it go around and around, plopping my finger down to stop it. Wherever my finger landed, that was where I was going to visit when I grew up. I had kept a list, but between childhood and now I had lost it. 

    I turn, and from the corner of my eye, I see a neon sign. I glance back, seeing that the shop offered tarot and palms readings. I chuckle, thinking perhaps there might be a touch of magic here. But I stop again, noticing another sign above the door. 

    “Empty Night Investigations,” I read to myself. “Detective Magnus operating.” I stare across the street, seeing someone walking around inside the building.

    Without thinking I cross the street, getting a nasty car horn in the ear when I do. I walk inside, seeing a woman at the desk.

    She’s pretty, and I’m shocked to find myself thinking that. I step into the store, admiring her a little more. She’s got a sweet face, pretty lips, and dark brown eyes surrounded by thick lashes. Where I felt strange and outcasted outside, I suddenly felt safe here. Looking at her, I felt a peculiar sense of calm wash over me. 

    “Can I help you?” She sounds cautious, and a touch scared. I forgot what I looked like, so I duck my head down, trying to seem harmless.

    “Detective Magnus?” I ask.

    She tilts her head, her lovely eyes narrowing in on me. I can see the faint stain of lipstick on her mouth, but it has long since faded away. She rises slightly from behind the desk, her hair falling over her face. 

    “That’s me,” her voice has a sultry, husky timbre to it. I rather like it. 

    “Aye,” my voice cracks. “I need your help.” The words come from me, but I hadn’t planned on saying them. I had no clue on her skills or how good of a detective she was. All I know is my gut feeling, and that has rarely ever let me down. But standing here before her, there was a calm inside me. Despite everything I had seen today, with this Detective Magnus, I felt assured I was in the place I was supposed to be.

    She stands up, walking towards me from behind her desk. I’m used to people being shorter than me, it’s rare I meet anyone my size. But for some reason, even though she barely came up to my chest, I felt small before her.

    “How?” She asks, her voice is confused but trusting.

    “My friend is dead,” I answer her. There is a pit in my stomach again. “I went home and found him dead on the stairs.” My hands start to shake so I stuff them into my pockets as quickly as I can.

Then, when I look at Detective Mangus, I saw something written across her face. She’s shocked, a little horrified. But the way her eyes widen and mouth is agape, I can tell that she knows already what I am going to say.

She closed her mouth and swallows. “Did you call the police?” Her hand goes up, touching the little trinket around her neck.

“I did,” I shake my head. “But they don’t see it.” My voice cracks again. I’m so desperate for someone to understand, to see like I see. I want her to know so I will have that confidence.

Her eyes look at me with empathy. She knows. “Even though it was suffocating?” her voice warbles slightly. 

I can’t describe how grateful I feel in that moment. I swallow back my heart and nod. “Yeah,” I answer. “I felt sick standing near him. I couldn’t even touch him if I wanted to.” I have to take a deep breath as I feel that overwhelming sensation flood me again. 

Detective Mangus goes back to her desk and opens a drawer. Inside she pulls out two crystal tumblers and a bottle of scotch. She pours, and I grow excited about it. 

“Here,” she says, extending her arm up. 

Once she hands it to me, I look down at the amber liquid and sniff it. My mom always used scotch to clean our scraps and bruises as kids, so the smell was a comfort for me. Another reason to be grateful to this Detective Magnus. 

“Thanks,” I take a small sip, hoping to make it last a little. I don’t know where to begin or what to say, but her eyes linger on me, so I know I have to tell her something, anything. So I just decided to start at the beginning.

“I grew up in Louisiana,” I just have to laugh at myself for a moment. “I know that sounds silly, but growing up there I saw magic there, all kinds.” I look away, glaring out the window for a moment before looking back at the scotch.

“What I saw on my friend…” My voice quakes and I have to still myself from shaking again. “It wasn’t anything good. I have seen darkness before,” I whisper. “I have felt evil magic. But this-” I have to close my eyes for a moment. I can feel that toxic magic struggling to claw at me. “I saw your signs,” I open my eyes on her. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

Detective Mangus glances away for a moment. “I need to know something,” she sets her glass aside and steps towards me. “Did your friend look much older than they actually were?”

I tilt my head and look into her eyes. “Aye, cher,” I whisper. “How’d you know?” Her eyes pull me in, and the prickling rises up again. Her brown eyes remind me of the old glass jars my mother used to have. They pull me in, make me want to be close to her. I feel something kindred between us.

“Two other bodies have been found in that condition. Maybe more,” she whispers “Your           friend could be the victim of a serial killer.”

“Well fuck,” I growl, thinking she doesn’t know there’s a fourth.

“Yeah,” she crosses her arms against her chest, holding herself.

I hold my hand out to her and watch as her arms uncoil from around herself. “I’m Marv.”

“Hi Marv,” she takes my hand, and I’m cautious of how small it is. “I’m Andromeda. But you can call me Andy.”

“Interesting name,” I reply, letting go of her palm. 

She shrugs. “I’ve been told that many a time.” She then shudders and goes back to her desk. “Your case is going to be leading into a much, much bigger investigation,” she tells me. “In fact, it may lead into some very dark places.” She sits down, pulling out some files and folders.

I look around her office, wondering for a moment if she was alone. “Do you work with anyone?” I ask.

She glares up at me for a moment. “No. I’m alone here.”

I step towards her desk, watching her as she pulls out some papers for me to sign. “I want to help with this,” I tell her.

Andy looks at me, closing her mouth into a small, tight line. “Listen, Marv, this could get dangerous, and I don’t want-”

“My friend was killed by this,” I tell her. “You said there were two similar deaths, well the cop I talked to said there was four.”

Andy’s expression shifts for a moment, but she looks away to cover it.

“I can sense it, and you can too. We may be the only people in this city who can tell what a threat this is right away.” I place both palms on her desk and lean down.

“I want to help you,” I whisper.

Andy looks back up at me, her mouth pressed into a determined line. “Lord knows I could use the help,” he groans. “I just don’t want-”

“Me getting hurt is my fault. Not yours. I’m asking for this. And I’ll follow you whether you want me to or not.” I narrow my eyes at her, watching her expression melt a little.

    Andy looks aside then back at me. “Ok,” she agrees. “Welcome aboard Empty Night Investigations.”