Chapter 2
Anthony sat up most of the night, thinking about the man at the café. He wasn’t sure what about the conversation had upset him so much, but he’d left in a hurry and without even exchanging names. That’s probably why he didn’t have many friends, come to think of it. He was about as good with people as he was with perspective (was he really still upset about that? Just pick up and art book and shut up about it!)
Jarvis was curled up at the end of the bed, its fat stomach heaving with the deep breathing of good, solid sleep. In a fit of jealousy, Anthony nudged the mound with his foot. The cat began to purr loudly.
Anthony stretched out and wondered if he should just try to sleep in – catch up on the rest he hadn’t gotten that night. His mind rejected the idea, refusing to let his eyelids stay closed, and demanding coffee. Slowly, he got up, rubbing the various knots in his back. He needed to get a new mattress. This one didn’t quite count as one anymore, existing solidly between waffle iron and brick. It would be nice to wake up and not have knots more intricate than a sailor’s.
A new mattress. That would be the first thing he bought when he was a billionaire.
God, his head hurt. He felt like he had a hangover. Or, at least, what he thought a hangover would feel like. He wasn’t really all that big on drinking; even in college he’d avoided it. He’d never been black-out drunk, and sometimes he wondered if he was missing out. Maybe a walk would do him some good. He’d head down to the park – people-watch, feed some ducks, get hot tea at a small café… Not that café, though. Just in case that man was there again. He didn’t feel like explaining his rude disappearing act from yesterday.
After tugging on some shoes and dropping some wet cat food on a plate, he checked the time and darted out the doors. It was a nice day – a little cloudy – but warm and breezy. The park had that nice, autumnal smell about it, and Anthony was content enough to sit on a bench and sip at the tea he’d purchased at the grocer’s.
A lot of people seemed to have had the same idea as him, filling up the little walkways of the park and setting up picnics on the grass. Anthony closed his eyes, enjoying the snippets of conversation of the passerby. Then someone said ‘Hello, again,’ much closer than he was expecting and boy, did that voice sound familiar. Opening his eyes, he found himself face to face (well, face to crotch, really) with the man from yesterday.
“Mind if I join you?” The man said, motioning to the empty portion of the bench.
“Depends,” Anthony started, before he had time to think about it, “Are you following me?”
The man looked as though he was considering it for a moment, then he smiled and turned back to the other, “I might be. What would you do if I were?”
Anthony honestly didn’t expect the man to be so honest about it. He furrowed his brow and frowned a little, but, before he could say anything, the man was sitting next to him. Instinctively he moved a little, giving the man more room to sit. For a moment or two there was silence. Not quite uncomfortable silence, but certainly a little tense. Anthony closed his eyes again, determined to relax like he came here to do. He listened in on more conversations, occasionally hearing the man shift or sip at a cup of coffee Anthony hadn’t realized he’d had.
Anthony shifted his attention, picking up on a conversation between two women. They were going on about Jaime, poor sweet Jamie, such a good boy, didn’t deserve the hell he went through. The younger woman spoke next, asking what had happened and Anthony could almost picture the look of faux sadness on the elder woman’s face. No doubt she was truly heartbroken over Poor-Sweet-Jaime, but this story had become hers to tell and, far away from the danger that Poor-Sweet-Jaime had faced, it was just another way to get attention.
“Got himself a POW with another member of his platoon. Out in Afghanistan, they say.” Anthony’s heart lurched.
“POW? What’s that then?”
“Prisoner of war. Got captured by one of them extremist groups. Hear tell that his buddy got killed. Jaime got away, but not before getting blown to bits. Say he’s got a prosthetic leg now.”
Anthony had stopped listening around ‘blown to bits’, too busy trying to remember how to breathe. That was a weird sensation. It felt like his heart was trying to beat its way through his chest, like the ground was disappearing around his feet and the piece he was standing on was slick with oil; one wrong move and he’d slip and fall into the abyss. His breath came quick, slipping into his mouth, touching the back of his throat, then escaping before it reached his lungs.
He didn’t remember hitting the ground, but when he finally managed to focus, there was a crowd of people around him and the man was calling his name. (Except he was saying ‘Tony’ over and over again and, Jesus, no one’s called him that since his mom died when he was twelve.
“Tony, look at me. I need an answer, Tony. Do you need an ambulance?” Anthony furrowed his brows again and considered it. No, probably not. He seemed to be breathing better now (possibly because of the firm hand of his chest) and his heart was only skipping a few times. He shook his head and took a deep breath. “Alright, take it easy. How about I get you home, hm? You’ll have to direct me, but here, I’ll help you walk.”
And then they were standing and the man was wrapping Anthony’s arm around his shoulders, those broad, angular things supporting his weight with ease. The crowd dispersed, allowing them to walk, slowly, towards the exit of the park.
It wasn’t until they were about halfway to Anthony’s apartment that he realized he could probably walk just fine on his own. He mentioned this and they parted on the condition that the man be allowed to walk with him, just to make sure he got home alright.
The man followed him up the steps and Anthony welcomed him into the small apartment (despite the warning in the back of his mind that he wouldn’t be able to run away this time.)
Jarvis woke with a start and darted under the bed, an unusual response to company for the lazy cat. He usually flourished when they had visitors, demanding extra attention from all humans for the entire visit, and for days after.
“Jarvis, it’s just a guest. You’re never this fidgety.”
“Jarvis?” The man gave Anthony a questioning smile, accompanied by a tilt of his head.
“Er.. Yeah, ‘Just-A-Really-Very-Irritating-Stray.” Anthony explained, returning a sheepish smile. He was embarrassed for both of them that he hadn’t come up with something better when he found the cat.
“Ah,” he chuckled, “J-A-R-V-I-S. Cute name.”
Anthony smiled. Speaking of names, “I never caught yours.”
The man’s smile deflated a little. Anthony could tell (he wasn’t sure how) that he was trying to come up with a believable lie. It happened in a flash, a little quirk of his lips, or one too many blinks, Anthony wasn’t sure. The man sighed in resignation.
“Loki. My name is Loki.”
“Like the Norse god of mischief?” Tony chuckled, reaching for a glass and filling it with tap water.
“Just so.” Was the short reply. “And you’re Tony, right? I saw it on your debt card yesterday at the café. Please forgive me, I was curious.”
Anthony gave a quick, nervous smile, “It’s Anthony, actually. Only my mom called me Tony, and that stopped when I was twelve.” He sipped at his water, then added, “Car accident,” on a whim.
“Oh,” the man frowned, “My condolences.”
There was another moment of silence between the two, then. Anthony sat on the bed and sipped at his water, wondering if he should go to the hospital. Maybe he’d had a heart attack, or a stroke, or something else very serious. It had felt serious. The man, Loki, had wandered over to the window and was peering down at the street with that look people get when they’re reminiscing.
“Do you have a heart condition?” Loki asked, turning. Anthony frowned. It was a little late to be asking, and what was the deal with all this mind-reading, anyway?
“Well, not last I checked. I don’t think I even have a family history of it. I suppose I could ask my dad…”
“Your father is alive?” There was that head tilt again. Anthony was too distracted by the bizarre question to notice.
“Well, uhh, I suppose, in a way. If you can call it living.”
Loki looked taken aback, as if he hadn’t intended to say it out loud. He rubbed his forehead with long, graceful fingers, sighing.
“Please forgive me. My head’s not where it should be. Guess I’m still frazzled by your little incident at the park.”
“How do you think I feel?” Anthony chuckled. Wasn’t he the one who had the ‘little incident’? “Still trying to figure out if I should go to the hospital.”
Loki eyebrows furrowed at that, “Whatever would you need to go to the hospital for?”
“Uhh, mystery ailment that just caused me to stop breathing and collapse in the middle of Bryant park?” The other man gave a short chuckle.
“Haven’t you ever had a panic attack before?”