Book II – Chapter 12: Fossils

Posted On May 31, 2015

A clatter in the living room woke Ferris with a start. Images of dirt, bare feet, and car trunks dissipated as every sense in his body centered on the bedroom door. He reached for the nightstand, aiming the handgun that rested beside the alarm clock. His heart raced, churned, ready to launch into orbit, to snap every muscle into action. He could see nothing but the blurred surface of the door, hear nothing but muffled footsteps past the wood.

The safety clicked off, his hold tight enough to imbed the grip panel’s texture into his palm. He listened, his pulse still pounding, eyes desperately trying to focus.

A voice came through, one loud and bright, one much too cheerful for such an early hour. Someone was singing. Singing — in a exceptionally British accent.

Ferris lowered the gun, burying his face in his hand. “Seamus.”

The song continued amidst more clanks and steps. Apparently the Brit was cooking something. Daisy Bell. He was singing Daisy Bell.

It was only then Ferris noticed it was raining. He went to the nightstand once more, trading the firearm for his glasses. They slipped up past his nose, bringing the room into clarity. Droplets of water trailed down the windowpane, trickling past a haze of gray. A lovely day for work.

Finally gathering the strength to stand, Ferris shambled into the living room. Past the kitchen island he could see Seamus had wasted no time exhibiting his finest skill — making a mess.

“Could you maybe hold off on the singing until I leave?” Ferris said, making a groggy attempt to scratch the back of his head.

Seamus cracked another egg on the counter, only managing to get half of it into the frying pan. “Well good morning to you, too.”

“I can see you found my kitchen.”

“You told me to make myself at home.”

“I was delirious from a lack of sleep. No one in their right mind would ever say that to you.”

“Well, half of this is for you. How d’you like your eggs? Over hard?”

Ferris squinted at the mess of eggs in the pan. It would be a wonder if Seamus could manage anything but ‘unintentionally scrambled.’

“I have to get ready for work. You at least made coffee, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Took me a few tries to figure out this old-timey pot you got.”

“Its a moka pot,” Ferris said. “Demos gave it to me.”

“Yeah, I thought it looked fuckin’ Italian.”

“Just clean everything up when you’re done, okay?”

Seamus snorted, scraping the mass of eggs onto a plate with some turkey bacon. “I’m a guest, not your wife. You want me to cook you dinner, too?”

“You’re an unemployed miscreant whose housing status is dangling by a thread. And I’ve got plans after work, so you’re on your own for dinner.”

“On my own? The hell am I supposed to eat?”

“There’s a brisket in the fridge,” Ferris said, heading to the bathroom. “Heat it up first.”

Seamus waved a hand at his host. “Yeah, yeah. Got it, mum.”

Ferris closed the bathroom door, catching sight of his reflection and immediately regretting it. He had only managed two hours of sleep, and it showed. Luckily, Seamus hadn’t inquired about his plans. The last thing he needed was to be teased about having a date at a museum.

The Southport Natural History Museum wasn’t what most would call romantic, yet Ferris couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard such affection in Alex’s voice. She had transitioned into a child, racing him up the steps and straight to the Hall of Meteorites.

“Hey, these are iron. Fe, like you.”

Ferris could feel his heart swelling to uncomfortable proportions. Alex glanced at her date, who had somehow lost his capacity for speech.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I… I just—“

“Oh, look at the fusion crust on this one!”

She held his hand through the halls of ocean life and North American birds, not letting go even when they reached their final destination — the Fossil Halls.

Alex gazed at the two entrances, rubbing her chin in serious contemplation. “Should we start with Ornithischian or Saurischian?”

“Well, I like to save the best for last.”

“Ornithischian it is.”

By the time they got to the theropods, the museum was dangerously near closing time. It was then that the simple gesture of hand-holding had turned into something of a desperate tug. Alex dragged him past a set of glass cases, making a beeline for the apex of the Fossil Halls — the Carcharodontosaurus and Spinosaurus display.

“Hurry,” she said. “Before we get kicked out.”

Prominently exhibited at the end of the hall was a massive arrangement of towering bones and teeth. The fossils had been positioned in battle, a snapshot of a violent duel between two of the largest predators to ever walk the earth. Ferris had seen the display on countless occasions, yet each time he found himself staring in reverence. That evening, however, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes away from Alex. She was talking with her hands, each gesture a tribute to the passion in her voice.

“This plaque is bullshit, Carcharodontosaurus would have so kicked this thing’s ass.”

Ferris folded his arms, egging her on with a simple shrug. “Well, Spinosaurus was bigger. It actually had arms, unlike those little baby limbs your guy has.”

“Those sizes were just estimates.” Alex gave him a dangerous glare. “Spino had fish teeth. For eating fish!”

“What’s wrong with eating fish?”

“Oh, right. You like fish, too. And you’ve got that long nose — you two are like brothers.”

“And I’ve seen you tear into a lamb chop, so I can understand why you’re so fond of that thing.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him,” she said. “Look at that fragile skull. I could probably punch a hole right through it.”

By then, Alex was bristling. Her brow had tightened and Ferris could have sworn he could hear her pulse. He could hear his own, as well. With a swallow, he took notice of mouth — set into a frown with the slightest hint of amusement at the corners. The museum lights, a brilliant white, seemed dull against the temper in her eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time such a warmth had dared to reach his face.

She was too good for him.

His palm moved before he could stop it, taking the side of her face to draw her in for a kiss. Her hands stilled in midair. Their figures were suspended in the moment, caught in time like the fossils that loomed behind them. An era passed, or perhaps a mere moment, before her mouth drifted from his own. Her next breath grazed his skin.

Alex opened her eyes. “Was that to shut me up?”

“No,” he said, keeping his forehead against hers. “Keep talking.”

“About dinosaurs?”

“About dinosaurs.”

“Okay.” She leaned back in, smiling against the corner of his mouth. “After this.”

A voice chimed over the museum speakers as she tilted her head against his, yet neither of the two paid any attention to the closing announcement. As far as they were concerned, they had all the time in the world.

The rain had gotten worse. The pair huddled under one umbrella, despite having two at hand. They stood shoulder to shoulder, sleeves brushing as they considered their next move.

Ferris eyed the rushing gutters. “Do you still want to go to that cafe?”

“I think I’d rather just go home and eat pizza,” Alex said.

He gave her a sideways glance.

“If you’re willing to join me,” she said, returning the look. Droplets began to dot on her arm, as the umbrella wasn’t quite large enough for two figures. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I don’t know, you got pretty scary back in the fossil halls.”

“I promise not to murder you and bury you in the woods.”

Ferris’ laugh was much too forced. He sucked in his next breath, wondering if his face was as red as it felt.

“Really,” she said, offering her little finger. “Pinky promise.”

He considered her for a moment. They had gone one step further that evening and now, Alex was offering another. He wondered how many steps they might take before she figured it out, what might happen to that fondness in her voice — that trust. He knew exactly what he should do — to tell her, to give her a chance to get away while she could. It would be the right thing.

It was a shame Ferris rarely did the right thing.

He smiled before hooking his finger with hers. “Lead the way.”

Once they were in Alex’s apartment, the pizza was utterly forgotten. The umbrella clattered to the floor, spilling drops of rainwater on the entrance tile. Ferris found himself forced backwards past the kitchen, his mouth caught in hers. Their awkward waltz was only interrupted when a mess of fur bumped Ferris’ ankle. He narrowly avoided tripping, glancing back just in time to see a vague shape dart beneath the sofa.

“Oh, sorry,” Alex said, momentarily allowing him to breathe. “That’s my cat — she’s a coward.”

“What’s her name?”

“Nye.”

He leaned back in, speaking against the warmth of her lips. “You fucking nerd.”

She returned the kiss, deepening it as she reached for his shirt. Her hands fumbled with the damp cloth, only freeing one button before he tensed beneath her.

Ferris caught her wrists, barring her from moving further. His skin felt suddenly cold, as if his blood has frozen solid in his veins. He said nothing, only staring down at the button — the one button that hung loose over his belt.

Alex looked equally panicked. “What’s wrong?”

He was still for a while, attempting to put the words together in his head. In the last two years, only one person had seen him without a shirt. Ferris had forgotten how to explain it.

“I’m sorry, this is stupid.” He took a breath, closing his eyes to avoid seeing her reaction. “Do you think we could turn off the lights?”

“Why, do you have some kind of horrible scar under there?”

“Yes.”

Alex stiffened, nearly choking on her next breath. “Oh. Holy shit, I’m sorry, I—“

“It’s fine.” Ferris shook his head. “It’s just… it’s pretty ugly. It might ruin the mood.”

It was then he realized the mood was probably long gone. Fortunately, Alex seemed keen on rekindling it. She eased her wrists from his hold, returning her fingertips to the second button.

“I want to see,” she said. “If you don’t mind.”

Ferris gave her a wary look. “You sure?”

She nodded. With a light sigh, he allowed her to work at the next button. He looked away as the shirt parted, only aware of her when he felt hands trail over his waist. The sensation was lost as her fingertips found the burn scar, the skin dead and rutted beneath her touch.

“It’s beautiful.”

Ferris scoffed through grit teeth. “You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not,” she said. “I want to know every piece of you — even the bad parts.”

There was no winning against her. He weakened, closing the space between them to touch his mouth to her forehead.

“No,” he said, closing his eyes. “You really don’t.”

The next morning, it was Alex who woke first. There was a sound coming from the living room — an unfamiliar ringtone. She glanced back at Ferris, still throughly unconscious against her back. He hadn’t stirred at all, clearly too exhausted to be roused by a simple phone. It would be cruel to wake him now.

She carefully slipped out from under his arm, dropping her bare feet on the cool, wooden floor. The apartment was swathed in blue, the windows still spotted with droplets. It seemed the rain hadn’t stopped.

Ferris’ bag had been discarded in the living room, with several of its contents lying scattered across the floor. One of these was a phone, buzzing over the planks like a child’s toy. She struggled to find the proper button, hoping to silence it before it woke him. With a faint click, the ringing stopped, dropping the room back into a pleasant silence. It was then her eyes adjusted, the letters on the screen focusing in spite of her half-conscious haze.

4 missed calls — Demos Giorgetti

Alex stared at the name. “Giorgetti?”

She shook her head, lifting the bag to slide the phone back into the front pocket. She returned his keys as well, only stopping when her hand found a plastic bottle. A handful of pills rattled against the bottom, the side bearing the name in plain block letters — Paxil.

She was quiet as she gazed at the letters, only looking away when she heard a voice from the bedroom.

“Ah, fuck.”

Alex shoved the bottle into the bag. “Ferris? You okay?”

“Your cat is beating me up,” came a groggy voice in response.

Sure enough, she returned to the bedside to find Ferris weakly fending off a calico, who had chosen that moment to walk up his shoulder and halfway across his head. He grimaced as Nye began to knead the side of his face, her throat rumbling with aggressive purrs.

“Oh, she likes you.” Alex sat on the edge of the bed, too amused to come to his aid.

“Wonderful,” he said as a paw flattened over his eyes. “I — wait, what time is it?”

“Almost 7.”

“Shit.” He sat upright, sending the cat tumbling onto the duvet. “Oh, shit, I have work.”

He hurried from the bed, nearly tripping over the sheet that had tangled itself around his ankle. In a crouch, he began to pick up every piece of discarded clothing from the floor.

Alex winced. “I’m sorry, I forgot about—“

“Don’t be sorry.” He sat beside her, taking both of her hands in his own. “Not even a little. Yesterday was incredible — you’re incredible.”

The concern in her features softened. She watched him for a while, tightening her fingers over his.

“But seriously,” he said, then gave her a light kiss. “I have to go.”

She watched as he managed to dress himself in yesterday’s clothes, fumbling with a spare toothbrush and half a glass of water. He made it to the front door without a second to spare, yet still paused to give her one last look.

“I’ll see you soon.”

“If you’re lucky,” she said. “Now go account those moneys.”

“It’ll be thrilling. I’ll tell you all about it.”

The door closed behind him, leaving her with only a cat pawing hungrily at her side. She stared at the entrance, somehow maintaining her smile long after he was gone.

“…Even the bad parts.”