Page 2 of The Voice of Wild Places
“Yes,” he said, completely genuine.
“Only on Saturdays, so it’s your lucky day.”The pianist winked again, then took another sip of his drink.In the precious seconds before the liquid met his lips, the corners of his eyes hardened and his jaw tensed, a preview of the man without the mask.
Something about him was unsettling, disorienting, but Watt couldn’t put his finger on why.He couldn’t accuse him of being too kind, although that was the only thing he could think of to blame it on.Regardless, exhaustion and desperation paired together to negate Watt’s need to err on the side of caution.
“Would you be able to tell me if someone was a regular here?”Watt asked, tracing a finger over the rim of his glass.
He hummed, and caution fell like a curtain over his dark eyes.“Looking for someone?”
“A friend of mine, but I’m not sure if she’d come here.”
He chuckled softly.“Ah, yes.It is quite the gentlemen’s club, but we don’t mind sharing with the ladies too.Over there.”He nodded to a corner of the room partially obstructed by those on the dance floor, and Watt caught glimpses of women through the haze of cigarettes and reckless abandon.
It was then that he finally noticed.
The intimacy the women shared with each other, bodies pressed close and smiles full of desire.Men leading men on the dance floor, hands wandering and noses brushing, eyes bright with pleasure.Endless skin, endless shades of black, brown, and white.
Watt looked over at the pianist.The Italian’s rosy lips curved into a smaller, knowing smile.Watt cleared his throat, pushing away from the bar.“I don’t think she’s here.Thank you.”
“Good night, angel.”The pianist called after him, fingers waving loftily through the air.
Watt kept his eyes down as he retreated, not at a walk so much as a barely restrained run, the room too small and the smoky atmosphere too thick.Prickling heat flashed over his neck and down his spine, causing the edges of his vision to darken in time to his throbbing pulse.The sensation was so arresting, and Watt’s panic so rampant, that he made the ultimate mistake.He walked straight into another patron.
Liquid courage and glass crashed to the floor, followed by a cry of outrage at the loss.Kept upright by those around him, the offended person whirled around with a fist raised.Upon seeing Watt, the man faltered.
Something like recognition and fear widened his bloodshot eyes, and his lips parted in a way that reminded Watt of childhood.But what tipped Watt over the edge and into impossibility was a mole beneath the man’s left ear.Dark and round, the size of a pencil eraser.Watt’s fingers twitched at his sides.He could not restrain his tongue, or his inevitable curiosity.It's what nearly ruined him time and time again, after all.Asking whatif.
And today was no different.He whispered, “Annie?”
The patron laughed, and it was so damn glacial that Watt's blood froze.
“Nah,” he said, and punched Watt in the face.
Watt’s nose suffered for his mistake, fracturing beneath the impressive force behind the other man’s knuckles.First blood spurred fights between those who had nothing to do with the matter and those who did, giving those itching for release the excuse to do so.
The man’s aggression didn’t wane, and neither did his attempts to land another blow.He was paced and methodical, but his favored left leg betrayed his weakness.Watt clung to defense, but it was a struggle to stay out of the man’s reach.Despite the man’s size he was quick on his feet, and he nearly landed several blows.Hot blood trickled down the back of Watt’s throat, and the white hot pain in his nose was a brilliant reminder that his heart wasn’t as dead as he once thought.
“Enough!”Watt shouted.
His opponent said nothing, only growing more furious with each missed opportunity.If there was one thing Watt was exceptionally good at, it was avoiding bloodshed.Unfortunately, avoiding violence required a knowledge of how to inflict it in the first place, and God knew he’d done enough of that.
“Hey!I’m sorry!”Watt tried again.
Again, the man said nothing.He came at Watt like his life depended on it, his eyes like knives glinting beneath the bar’s dim lights.His hair had been slicked back, but now it hung over his forehead in sweaty impressions of curls.Perhaps if it were longer, the curls would be more pronounced.
There was something wild about the way he moved, his limbs cut through the air with a deftness that threatened to distract Watt.Unable to deflect a particularly vicious wallop aimed for his kidney, Watt shouted and the man growled in response like a feral animal.Watt spun around, prepared to block again, but his opponent had forfeit.He slipped through the chaos and further into the bar, curses rolling off his tongue in French and English.
Watt staggered forward, hands opening at his sides.He paused, then shook his head and opted for escape.He fled in the opposite direction his enemy had gone, and within moments he stumbled out onto the street, which was twice as loud as when he had left it last.Blood oozed from his nose onto the wooden pavers, the leakage at a slower pace than before.A siren wailed at the opposite end of the narrow street, followed by shouting.
Fear was a belated guest, riding on the heels of the realization about the type of place he’d been, the consequences of his presence there.Not only a speakeasy, but one with an eccentric crowd that could be arrested for simply existing, let alone drinking.
“And you’re not one of those filthy fairies, are you?”
Watt limped back the way he came, doing his best to bury his father’s voice and avoid confrontation with others wandering home and elsewhere.He did his best to keep the hotel in his mind’s eye, but it was a difficult task considering that a massive fucking headache, a bruised kidney, and whirlwind thoughts dogged his every step.Nonetheless, he prevailed in this venture, at the very least.The late hour ensured Watt made it through the hotel’s lobby without incident, and a generous tip kept the concierge from asking questions regarding his battered face.
He encountered no one else, the narrow halls were dim and the overwhelming silence broken only by his keys jingling as they slid home.He glanced over his shoulder at the door directly across from his, then shook his head.She didn’t need to be woken up at this hour with his personal problems.Watt entered the cool darkness, and shut the door behind him.
For a moment, only worrying silence welcomed him.Then the bed frame groaned, and a long yawn followed.He sighed with relief and proceeded to cross the room, settling down on the edge of the bed.He peeled his shoes off, eyes adjusting to the dark.Maggie rubbed against Watt’s side, inhaling the places he’d been from his clothes and skin.She huffed against his neck where she discovered the night’s events and licked his cheek, then sneezed her dismissal when he flinched away in pain.Maggie returned to her very important job of warming up the bed, and Watt’s lips quirked at her nonchalance.Oh, to be a dog.She was a typical German Shepherd, with more black fur than brown.White and grey peppered her thick coat, and a plethora of minute scars decorated her snout.Her eyes, a soulful brown, spoke of many years.
