Feet on the Couch Read online

  Does he know I listen to him talk like this, from a distance?

  I should tell him. Make sure he knows that.

  But he talks to himself. I need that. It helps me figure out what he’s doing.

  I should tell him, though. It’s like eavesdropping or something.

  Oh, he knows. He knows. He’s the one who’s always telling me what my limits are. He knows I have the capability to listen to him.

  But does he know I listen when he’s not aware of it?

  Maybe not.

  At the stop light, Sandburg looked in his rear view mirror and smiled, then turned to fuss with the monkey. It was growing colder out. Sandburg was shivering, pulling up the collar of his jacket. The fingerless gloves did little to warm his exposed digits though, and he tucked his hands under his armpits while he waited for the light to change.

  Ellison glanced at the time. It was late, almost midnight. No wonder he was so tired. At least they didn’t have to wait until the crime scene was secured. Joel Taggart and his team had the situation in hand. Simon Banks said he would talk with Sandburg in the morning and get his statement then. The kid had lived next to a drug lab for a few months and he must have seen someone hanging around it. It was actually amazing he hadn’t been confronted by them before.

  The light changed and they continued to the loft.

  Does he know I can hear his heartbeat?

  I haven’t told him. It’s embarrassing.

  Why? What’s so embarrassing about it?

  Because it’s so easy. I listen and it’s there. Or if his heart isn’t beating a normal rhythm, I can suddenly hear it.

  Maybe I can actually hear it all the time, but I only notice it if it’s faster than normal.

  But why his heartbeat? Why not everyone’s? Simon? Or Brown? Or Joel Taggart?

  Maybe … maybe it goes back to being accountable. I’m not accountable for them. I’m just accountable for him.

  They stopped at another red light. Ellison rolled down his window as Sandburg got out of his car and ran back, leaning on the door as he talked.

  “Hey, Jim. I’m thirsty. Mind if we stop for a minute at the 7-11 at the next light. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “That’s fine. I’ve got some Coke and some beer at the loft, though. It’s not necessary.”

  “Yeah? You don’t mind?”

  “I don’t mind. The light’s changed, Chief.”

  Sandburg looked at the signal, then back to Ellison, a smile crossing his face. “Oops. Okay. Forget 7-11.” He ran back to the Corvair, put it in gear, and tore through the intersection. Larry screeched in dismay.

  Ellison grinned. Sandburg was certifiable.

  But he liked him.

  But he didn’t want him at the loft.

  But he liked him and wanted to make sure he was safe.

  But at the loft?

  But… But…

  I’m responsible for him. Face it.

  What I obviously need here is a good night’s sleep. I’m conjuring up delusions of grandeur. Now I figure God has entrusted people to me to take care of.

  Not everyone. Just him.

  That’s ridiculous. He’s able to take care of himself.

  He needed me two weeks ago when he fell apart at the loft.

  He didn’t fall apart.

  He did. He needed me.

  He was just reacting to Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome.

  Yes. And he needed me.

  He just needed someone to help him through it. It could have been anyone. A friend at the university. That Tomas guy could have bought him a cup of coffee and they could have talked about it. Anyone.

  No. Just me. For some reason, it’s me.

  Father figure. Big Brother.

  Maybe. No. It’s different than that.

  Friend.

  More than that.

  Lover.

  Different than that.

  Then what?

  It doesn’t matter. He’s an okay kid. He’s good for a laugh and he’s helping me with these senses.

  But why? Why is he doing this?

  Damn it. I don’t know why. Oh. Right. The paper. The doctorate thing.

  More to it than that.

  I don’t want to go there.

  But it might be important.

  That’s what he said, that first day at the loft. He seemed to want to know everything about me, everything I did, because he thought it might be important. Important to whom?

  To him.

  I might be important to him?

  I might be important to him.

  They headed up the hill. Five blocks and they would be home, he thought, relieved. Well, his home, at least. Not Sandburg’s. That wasn’t part of the deal.

  He wasn’t sure where all these thoughts were coming from. He felt like he was on a case, putting together the pieces, trying to figure out where his ‘gut feelings’ fit in. All the analysis in the world couldn’t explain gut feelings. Oh, sometimes there would be an attempt to explain it away as simply a detective making use of all his knowledge and skill and experience, and processing all the clues so quickly that it appeared — even to him sometimes — like it was a hunch, rather than a rational, fast-as-light process.

  They turned down his street, Sandburg parking in the first available spot while he drove around to park in the back. It was unfortunate that he didn’t have more time to prepare for Sandburg moving in. He needed more time to think this out.

  It’s only for a week. It’s not like it’s forever.

  But why does it feel like he’s coming home?

  The thought frightened Ellison. Few things did. Mind and heart argued. Intellect and soul fought for his attention.

  He’s coming home.

  It’s only for a week. Be firm. He won’t want to stay, anyway…. Why do I feel like he’s going to take off on me?

  Maybe because I either treat him like a child or like a nuisance.

  He is, though.

  No.

  Okay, not a child. But there’s this innocence about him. It scares me.

  Why?

  Because I don’t want to be the person who destroys that.

  And he’s a nuisance?

  No. He’s just different. And different, well, — I hate this word — but it scares me. Sometimes.

  He’s moving in.

  For a little while.

  That’s good.

  Is it? I may end up killing him.

  I may end up admitting that I care.

  But for now, I need to be firm. In control. I need to be clear about the boundaries. What he can and can’t do. I need to be crystal clear that he only stays seven days. I have no intention of him staying a moment longer. The loft is not set up for guests.

  *

  In the loft not even five minutes, and already his plan was falling apart.

  “You bought a bed?” Sandburg exclaimed.

  Ellison stood at the door of his study staring at the futon couch he had purchased a few days before. “I got a good deal on it. A guy at the station was moving and needed to get rid of it, so I thought it might be a good idea to have something in here.”

  It had been a spur of the moment decision, actually. Heinzman had asked him if he knew of anyone who needed a sofa bed or dresser and Ellison had bought them off of him. It had been years since he had purchased anything for the loft. When Carolyn had left, she had taken most of the furniture, except for their bed, and Jim had gone to the local furniture discount store and rented the couches and a table and chairs. Simple. Practical.

  So what? So he bought a futon bed. Good timing, that’s all.

  Good timing.

  “Wow.” Sandburg deposited his suitcase on the floor and looked around the small office. “Thanks. If you hear of another deal, let me know; my mattress is shot, man. That’s another thing I’ll have to buy. And another couch. Major water damage there. I guess the television is dead, too.” The dollar signs were starting to add up for Sandburg. Ellison didn’t bother t
o ask him if he had home insurance. Who would have signed a policy for a warehouse?

  “Let me get you some sheets for the futon.” Ellison left the room before Sandburg could see his look of confusion. The timing of the explosion, and his buying the bed for the study, was eery. And to top it off, when he had picked up some groceries just the day before at the large everything-under-one-roof supermarket, he had detoured into the linen section and had put a set of sheets, a pillow, a blanket, and a comforter into his cart. At the time, his rationale had been that if he had purchased a bed for the office in case someone needed to spend the night, it would probably be a good idea to have some sheets to put on it, and all he had were the sheets for his own bed. He had picked up some extra towels, too, but he decided not to mention that.

  When he came out of the bathroom, the Barbary ape was yelping in the living room where they had deposited the cage, and Sandburg was kneeling down beside it, talking quietly to a rather distraught Larry. Rather than disturb him, Ellison went into his office and made the bed up quickly, disposing the plastic packaging in the trash. Pulled away from the wall a bit, the sofa opened to a full sized bed, more than adequate for Sandburg’s needs. Ellison glanced around the room and unhooked his obsolete computer, removing it from the desk and leaving the surface clear. He never used it anyway. It was Carolyn’s old computer and he had never gotten around to setting it up. It was easier just using the one at the station, with its idiot-proof navigation setup. He could find what he needed there.

  “Hey, man. Thanks.” Sandburg leaned against the doorframe, eyeing the bed longingly. “I really appreciate this and I promise we won’t be any trouble at all.” He saw the cleared desk and looked quizzically up at Ellison for an explanation.

  “I, uh, thought you might need some more room for your papers and that little computer you have.”

  “It’s called a laptop, Jim, and that’s really cool of you to do that, but I don’t want to put you out any more than you are already.”

  “Think of it as doing me a favor if you keep all your stuff in this one little room rather than spreading it all over like you had it at the warehouse.” Ellison glanced at his watch. “It’s almost one a.m. I’m going to have a quick shower and head off to bed — Is there anything else you need?”

  “No. Thanks.” Sandburg pulled off his jacket, his nose wrinkling at the smoky smell. “If I find this disgusting, it must be really bothering your senses, huh?”

  “My sinuses feel clogged,” Ellison admitted. “I figure the shower will help.”

  “Good idea. Mind if I have one after you? My hair stinks.”

  Ellison nodded. “There are towels in the bathroom cupboard. Help yourself.” He started in that direction, then stopped as a thought occurred. “Where did you shower before? There’s nothing at the warehouse.”

  “I used the showers at the university, in the gym locker area,” Sandburg said, pulling some clothes from his suitcase and sniffing them. “These all stink of smoke.”

  Ellison went into the bathroom and grabbed his robe from the back of the door and tossed it to the kid. “Strip out of your clothes and we’ll wash them all so you’ll have something to wear tomorrow and I won’t have to smell smoke for the next few days.”

  “Is there a laundromat near here that’s open all night?”

  “No, I thought we’d use my washer and dryer,” Ellison said, a little imperiously, bringing an empty laundry basket into the room. “It’s easier.”

  “You have a washer and dryer? Where?” Sandburg poked his head into the main room, glancing around.

  “Downstairs in the basement. You put one of your boxes of books on top of the dryer.”

  “Oh. Right. I wasn’t really paying much attention.” Sandburg emptied his suitcase into the laundry basket, then started peeling off several layers of clothes while Ellison went over to glare at the whining monkey. “Larry’s just a little freaked right now!” Sandburg called out. “It’s not every day the place he’s in blows up. He’ll go to sleep soon. Really.”

  Since glaring hadn’t impressed the monkey one way or the other, Ellison returned to Sandburg’s room and gathered up the young man’s clothes scattered around the floor as Sandburg wrapped himself in the bathrobe. “I’ll put these in the washer. You go have your shower.”

  “No, thanks, I appreciate it, but I’ll wait until you’re finished—” Sandburg started to say, then hushed as Ellison waved him silent.

  “Take it now. Just leave me some hot water.”

  “Thanks. Uh… Could I use your shampoo? Mine’s at the university.”

  “Help yourself.” Ellison waited until the shower came on before heading downstairs with the smoky laundry basket. By the time he had the washing machine on and Sandburg’s boxes neatly stacked to one side of the portion of the basement he owned, Sandburg was out of the shower, one towel wrapped around his head and the other draped around his skinny waist. Good thing I bought more towels. This kid is high-maintenance — I can tell already.

  It was two in the morning before Ellison finally made it to bed, sinking back into the cool covers and enjoying the difference in temperature between them and his shower-heated skin. Eyes closed, he pulled the comforter up to his neck and listened to the sounds below him. Larry was sitting in his cage, emitting a questioning yip every two or three minutes. Near him, on the couch, still wearing the too-big bathrobe, Sandburg was trying to get a comb through his tangled hair.

  I don’t usually buy conditioner. Sorry, Fabio.

  He could hear the slight acceleration of Sandburg’s breathing as he fought with the knots. The monkey was pushing its paws through the bars, trying to convince Sandburg to let him out.

  *“Go to sleep, Larry. Please!” Sandburg whispered. “I’m too tired to deal with you, okay? Please?”*

  His pleading fell on deaf ears as the monkey became more insistent.

  A comb was dropped to the carpet with a muffled curse. *“Shit.”*

  Ellison opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling.

  The monkey gave a short demanding screech, and Ellison could hear the door to the cage opening.

  *“Please, Larry. Not tonight. Just go to sleep.” The whisper was soft but he could still hear it if he concentrated. “I don’t have any other options right now. We’ve got to be quiet. I don’t know what else to do.”*

  The monkey made a little sniffling sound.

  *“I know. You’re scared. Our place blew up. I’m sorry. I’m not feeling too swift about it all myself right now.”*

  Another sniffling sound.

  But this time it wasn’t the monkey.

  Ellison waited until everything was quiet before getting out of bed and heading down the stairs. Sandburg was asleep on the couch, the monkey sitting on his chest, staring up at the detective. As gently as he could, Ellison picked it up and put it in the cage. He pointed to the little pillow and Larry went over to it and curled up into a tight little ball.

  Hoping he was on a roll, Ellison crouched beside Sandburg. “Hey, Chief.”

  Sleepy eyes opened to look at him, then narrowed in confusion. “Jim?” Memory connected and Sandburg sat up quickly, one hand going to his head as dizziness hit. “What?”

  “Your bed is in the other room. Why don’t you try using it?” Ellison asked, making sure to keep a smile on his face. He helped Sandburg to his feet, navigating him around the furniture and into the bedroom.

  “I was going to check on the clothes in the dryer,” Sandburg mumbled.

  “I’ll take care of it. Just get some sleep.” Ellison left him sitting on the edge of the bed and padded down the stairs to the basement. The dryer had stopped, the full load only half done. He set the timer again and went back upstairs. Sandburg had managed to lie down, still wrapped in the bathrobe, the comforter pulled up and around his neck. He was already asleep.

  Ellison watched him, mentally comparing the picture with the one a week ago. Clean mattress not a mildewy one. New bedding not a collection of old m
oth-eaten blankets. Warm enough; Sandburg didn’t need to sleep in his clothes and wearing fingerless mittens. Safe. No rats. No bombs going off.

  Of course, he was inconvenienced by having a house guest.

  Maybe he could live with that.

  *

  The next morning, Ellison woke to an unexpected sound — or absence of sound.

  No heartbeat.

  Well, that wasn’t one hundred percent true. When he searched the loft, he could hear the monkey’s heartbeat, but Sandburg’s was conspicuously absent.

  Ellison pulled on some sweatpants and went downstairs. Definitely no sign of Sandburg. He wasn’t in his bedroom or anywhere on the main level. Make that — not in Ellison’s office/guest room. On the way to the bathroom, he stopped and glanced to the front door, then waited until a key fit into the lock and Sandburg entered.

  “Oh, hi.”

  “Where’ve you been?” Ellison asked. “A bit cool for a morning run, isn’t it?”

  “Who? Me?” Sandburg laughed. “Not likely, man. Hope you don’t mind; I used your key. I just make a quick trip to the little store on the corner to get some conditioner and some fruit for Larry.”

  “I have fruit here and —”

  Sandburg’s raised hand stopped him. “Thanks, Jim, but I don’t want to be freeloading on you. I didn’t have enough money left for shampoo, though, so I hope you don’t mind me using yours again today.”

  “No problem. I get first dibs on the shower, then it’s all yours.”

  Sandburg nodded, then went into the kitchen to cut up the food for Larry. Ellison took his shower, and by the time he left the bathroom, Sandburg was ready for his turn. “When do we have to be at the station?”

  “I’m going in soon, but you can show up whenever you’re free. Simon said anytime today is fine for the statement.”

  “Super. I’ll do some work on my project with Larry, and then come in. Oh,” he exclaimed, turning back to the cage. “I almost forgot.” Sandburg grabbed a video and popped it into the VCR. “Do you mind if I turn the TV on for Larry?”

  “How much television does he watch?” Ellison asked, heading up to his room.

  “Twelve to fourteen hours a day.” Sandburg pushed the play button and turned on the TV. The same show they had been watching the night before came on.