Read Online Walk among us by Vivien Dean - Free Book Online Page B

liked Matthew. He liked his sad eyes, the way he couldn’t quite smile even when he was completely relaxed. He liked the slope of his shoulder, how broad it seemed, how capable of holding up the world, but also how it curved over Calvin when Matthew nestled into his side. He even liked that the man still believed in God, in spite of the path his life had taken.
    The thing that made the night one of the best he’d ever had also made it worse. Because part of him didn’t want to go.
    His thoughts stayed on Matthew as he finally got on the highway to head back to Chicago. Out of curiosity, he stopped at an internet café and spent half an hour noodling around online, trying to find out if there were other incidents like the one at the graveyard.
    In twenty-seven minutes, he found nine, in and around the Chicago area. All cases had been dismissed. A couple had been labeled pranks, elaborate ruses to mess with the police. It was the most common WalkAmongUs:ACallingofSoulsstory
    explanation for bodies going missing the cops could offer. It also gave credence to everything Matthew had attested.
    It wasn’t that Calvin didn’t believe him. It was that he knew he shouldn’t. It was something out of a movie, or a horror story, or a child’s imagination. More than once, he caught himself staring at a person hunched over a keyboard in the café, wondering if he was really a demon.
    When one of them called him a fag and told him to take his staring elsewhere, Calvin decided he’d done enough snooping around.
    The clock blinked seven seventeen when he finally pushed his hotel room door open. Without turning on the light, he dropped the two sacks he carried onto the black hole of the bed and leaned his pilot case against the wall. He wasn’t tired. If he crawled into bed now, he’d be there for hours, staring up at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. He might even be tempted to call Matthew, just to assuage the dark mood slowly sweeping over Calvin at leaving him behind.
    That was too dangerous.
    People. And lights. And alcohol. That’s what he needed. He’d kill enough time so he could just drop when he finally returned to his room.
    He washed up and changed his clothes, stuffing his funeral wear into the outer pocket of his case without thought of folding them first. The shirt smelled like Matthew’s house. He’d initially intended to give the clothes away to Goodwill when he got home, but maybe he’d hold onto the shirt. For something to remember Matthew by. He wouldn’t wear it, though. The memories would be too intense.
    Calvin noticed the bag as he sat on the edge of the bed, tying his tennis shoes. The art supplies from Wal-Mart had yet to be touched. He hadn’t said a word to Matthew about his desire to draw him. The closest he’d gotten was confessing at one point to imagining him in various poses. But the itch remained, and with an entire evening on his hands, it occurred to him he could make his obsession with the man fruitful at the very least.
    He carried the whole bag down to the hotel bar. The lighting wasn’t the best, but the music was relaxing, the proximity to beer an added bonus. Ordering a draft, he took a seat at the end of the counter, his back to the door, his heart already thumping in anticipation of putting the lines to paper.
    Outlines first. Black pencil.
    He started with the shape of Matthew’s head, his chin high, looking off to the side a little in order to capture the proud profile. He just wanted to know if he could draw Matthew at all first. A study to see if it was even worth portraying him in a greater canvas. There was always the chance that the life that made Matthew glow would be beyond Calvin’s grasp. That happened. Too often for him to like. It meant there were limitations to what he could do, a cap on whatever modicum of talent he possessed.
    Art was the one thing Calvin could claim for himself. He hated it when he discovered even that was not enough