There was a battered, stand-alone mailbox a fewblocks from Vic’s apartment. Nondescript, its dark blue faded bylong days in the sun and weather, the mailbox was unremarkable inand of itself. Like any of the dozens of other mailboxes thatdotted the streets of Richmond, this one stood at its post like asentinel, an embodiment of the U.S. Postal Service’s unflaggingmotto. Neither snow, nor rain, nor heat, nor gloom ofnight…
But this mailbox was special to Vic for the solereason that it marked the spot where, when his lover was home, themental connection they shared started to come in loud andclear.
Matt’s psychic ability was limited—he had a smallrange, and could only pick up Vic’s thoughts, which suited him justfine. More than once he’d told Vic, “You’re the only person whosethoughts I care to know about, anyway.” With a sly grin, he’dadded, “And what you’re thinking about better be me.”
But for Vic, the skill that had first alerted him tothe powers Matt’s seed gave him threatened to drown out his ownthoughts at times. It was a constant burden, like the superstrength, but one Vic eventually learned to tune out. He wasn’t thekind of guy given to deep bouts of introspection, and the lastthing he needed was to have half a million voices fighting forsupremacy in his mind. He trained himself early on to keep themind-reading ability under control. He pictured it as a hugeTupperware container in his head; he could open the top seal just acrack, let one thought or three escape, sift through them if heneeded to, but he rarely took the lid off completely. Depending onhis powers that day—if he’d recently had sex, for instance, andMatt had boosted his sixth sense—Vic had at his disposal anywherefrom five hundred yards to half the city in his mind at onetime.
This evening, the noise was down to a dull roar.However his other senses had been heightened, fortunately themind-reading one was not among them. Vic couldn’t reach very farinto the descending dusk, so it was with something akin to reliefthat he passed the familiar mailbox and opened his mind to Matt’sloving touch.
Nothing greeted him in reply.
Suddenly the descending evening felt darker, the aircolder. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and toldhimself not to panic. Matt had probably fallen asleep in front ofthe TV, that was all. Vic just had to ease into his lover’s closedmind…
Still nothing.
Not even the quick blip that happened wheneverMatt was angry or upset at him, a sound Vic had come to associatewith his power being filmed by the six o’clock news. Whenever Mattclosed off to him, he always gave Vic a quick taste of theirconnection before he sealed it shut, as if preparing him for theargument that would greet him when he walked in the door. Buttonight, nothing indicated that his lover awaited his arrival. Vicreached out, stretching his mind to its limits, for the first timepissed that he couldn’t reach out farther. ::Matty?:: hecalled silently.
No response.
Worse, there was nothing. Matt wasn’t justblocking him; Vic couldn’t even sense his lover’s presence at theapartment. Unbidden, the image of Matt tied hand and foot surfacedin his mind, a sinister suggestion.
Vic lashed out, his mind straining beneath suddenfear. ::Matty? If you’re there, say something, will you? Thisisn’t a joke. Talk to me, babe. If you can hear me…::
Apparently, he could not.
* * * *
Chapter 22
Vic’s fear lessened when he turned onto his streetand didn’t see Matt’s car. His lover must’ve run out for something,that was all—to pick up dinner perhaps, or grab a few items fromthe store. He had probably waited for Vic to get home first, butKyle held him up at the time clock and he was running a littlelate. More than likely, there was a note on the fridge in Matt’sblock handwriting, explaining where he went. Circled with a heart,too, if Vic knew his lover. Maybe even written in red ink.
Once he pulled to a stop in front of his building,Vic sat behind the wheel of his car for a moment, debating onwhether or not to retrieve the tie-down straps from the trunk. Inthe end, he decided against it—the whole bondage thing just left abad taste in his mouth. Maybe later they could talk about it, andif Matt showed interest in the idea of being tied up, then Viccould always run down to get the straps then. But he wouldn’t pushit. It had to be mutual desire, not just the by-product of his ownmind and whatever fucked up power he’d drawn this time.
He lingered on the steps leading to his building,glancing both ways down the street as if he expected to see Mattpull up at any minute. When the street remained empty, Vic hurriedinside and took the stairs two at a time in his haste to reachtheir apartment. Inside, he noticed the only lamp lit was the onein the living room, which he had turned on himself before leavingfor work. It was a three-way bulb, turned on low, which botheredVic more than he wanted to admit—once Matt got home from the gym,he always turned that lamp up to the highest setting as nightdescended. Which must mean he hadn’t been home…
No. Vic shook that thought away. It doesn’thave to mean that, not necessarily.
But as Vic looked around their apartment, he began tosuspect maybe that’s what it did mean, because the only noteon the fridge was the one he himself had left there earlier in theday, and in the bedroom the bed was still stripped bare of itssheets, and Matt’s gym bag wasn’t in its usual corner on the floorby the closet. No worn swim trunks were among the clothing in theirhamper. No damp towels hung from the shower rod in the bathroom.The porcelain in the bathtub was bone dry; no one had showeredrecently, something Matt would do when he came home. There wasnothing to indicate that anyone had been in the apartment since Vicleft that morning.
Back in the hall, Vic grabbed the cordless phone fromits cradle and listened to the uninterrupted dial tone, a signalthat there were no voice mail messages
