Inhospitable Place - 5. Chapter 5

“The Hartford Menace! Could they make it sound any more ridiculous? I bet he’s jerking off to that moniker every night.” I hold out the Hartford Times and muse out loud to Hunter and Francesca, who are glaring at each other from across the kitchen table. Hunter was not thrilled when he came home to find Francesca in our apartment. And even less thrilled when I told him she was staying. But ever the gentleman, he never complained, and immediately insisted that he would take the blow-up mattress in the spare room and wouldn’t hear any arguments otherwise.

But the tension between them was palpable, as he scarfed the pancakes I made for breakfast in an unusual hurry.

“What are they saying, catch me up to speed,” Fran chimed in, taking a sip of her coffee, then petting Bruno on the head. I was happy to note that he wasn’t feisty with her. He only seemed to have an issue with men.

“Same old. No fingerprints. No leads. No witnesses. Just a stupid new nickname. They’re asking the public to help.”

“And how exactly are they supposed to do that?” Hunter asked, swallowing the last of his pancakes and chasing it down with a gulp of orange juice.

“Stay vigilant and report any suspicious activity,” I read out loud.

“I’m sure that will help them catch him,” he mocked. “Gotta run,” he said, giving me a brief kiss on the temple, waving at Fran, and ignoring Bruno altogether, before running out the door. I pondered about the last time that we kissed. Like really kissed. Lips mashing, tongues in each other’s mouths kissed. And I realized with horror that I couldn’t remember. I would need to do something to turn things around soon. I would need to get better for Hunter. For our relationship to have a chance at surviving.

Maybe a romantic dinner. Candles, home cooked food, and a pair of tight briefs would do the trick. I decide to tell Fran about it later. Perhaps she could go shopping for a few hours. Or Derek would be kind enough to host her for dinner.

Almost as if he read my mind, there was a knock on the door a moment later.

“Spray for that hot spot,” Derek said when I opened the door, handing me a bottle of dog medicine.

“Ahh, merci,” I replied. “You hungry? We have some leftover pancakes and coffee,” I asked. He hesitated for a second, then walked in.

“That sounds great,” he replied.

“You’ve met Fran, right?

“Yes, we met in the hallway yesterday. How are you?”

“Good, we were just discussing The Hartford Menace,” she replied, handing him the newspaper as he sat down in Hunter’s spot across from her.

“Ahh, our very own serial killer,” he said sarcastically, taking in the latest news.

“My sister thinks us men should be scared. Are you scared?” I asked, stacking pancakes on a plate.

“I’ve seen the pictures of his victims and judging by race, hair, height and eye color, I think I can safely say that I’m not his type,” he replied, laughing. “You, on the other hand, should be very scared.”

“See, I told you!” Fran yelled out excitedly. “This is why I came here, Derek. My brother is this freak’s wet dream.”

“I agree,” Derek replied looking at me, as I handed him a plate of food and a mug full of hot coffee. I shook my head.

“You guys are too dramatic. There’s a million brunettes in the city.”

“Do you have any theories? Is he a sociopath or what?” Fran looked at Derek, completely ignoring me.

“I don’t know,” he replied, then added, “But whatever he is, he’s very sick, and extremely dangerous.” We all fell into a long silence. I thought about the men. Raped, tortured, and murdered. And for a split second I imagined myself in their shoes. My eyes, seeing what they saw. My skin, feeling the brutal beatings. It was a horror beyond what anyone should ever have to endure.

“On another note,” I said, trying to steer my mind away from the sad subject, “Fran, you think you could dip out for a few hours tonight? I need to talk to Hunt,” I said, and she nodded.

“Of course, I’ve been meaning to check out the city anyway,” she replied.

“Feel free to drop by the shelter,” Derek suggested, finishing his pancakes. “We’ve got puppy adoption day today.” Fran lit up like a Christmas tree.

After they left, I went grocery shopping. My plan was to make a romantic dinner and have an in-depth conversation with my partner. Touch base on what was going on with us. I picked up steaks, potatoes, and vegetables for a salad, and got to work.

But when he came home, I could tell his mood was off right away. And upon thinking about it more, I realized he’d been in foul moods more and more frequently. I missed it for a long time because I was too preoccupied with my own bad moods. But ever since I adopted Bruno—because he made it painfully clear that the dog was my problem, and not his—and tried to wake up earlier in the morning to walk him, I realized something was not right with my partner. He was easily irritable, and painfully sarcastic. He was never home, and when he was, he avoided me. When asked about it, he’d deny and blame work, or lack of sleep.

After we ate the dinner in awkward silence, he thanked me then made his way to his new makeshift bedroom. I followed. I sat next to him on the blow-up mattress, hesitantly reached out and touched his back with my hand. He didn’t make a move to stop me, so I started gently rubbing it, trying to comfort him.

“Hunt?” I said cautiously. He didn’t answer. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here for you,” I continued. “I know I’ve been so immersed in my own problems I’ve completely ignored anything going on with you and with us. I’m going to try and be better about that.” He frowned, and for a second I worried that I said the wrong thing.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he replied. He seemed to contemplate going in for a kiss, but then changed his mind. “I just need to get some sleep. I’ll be better tomorrow,” he said getting under the covers and turning away from me.