Promptings from Valhalla - 14. Homecoming

Homecoming

Erik closed the door behind him with a heavy shove, swearing under his breath about the fact that Harry hadn’t bothered to fix it while he was gone. It was on the list, along with several other neglected repairs. His arms ached with the fatigue of travel and the strain of holding his suitcase, satchel, and carry-on bag. He let them fall to the kitchen floor with a loud thud. The house was conspicuously silent. He figured Harry must be asleep. Erik’s delayed flight had frazzled his nerves, but he was happy to finally be home.

He wondered why the noise hadn’t brought his husband out of their bedroom. He was a notoriously light sleeper. Then the stench hit his nostrils. He waved his hand in front of his nose as he moved through the dining room to determine the source of the acrid stench. He found it on the dining room table. The bowl of fruit he kept full for his health conscious hubby now contained moldy, wilted puddles of former oranges and apples. A cloud of small insects buzzed around the earthy, citrusy goo.

What the fuck? Erik’s heart thudded in his chest, echoing throughout his head as his pulse beat in time with his throbbing headache. Where was Harry? He ran to their bedroom, dreading what he might find. Or not find. Harry had been acting strangely for a few months. Erik wondered if he was cheating on him, but couldn’t fathom his straight-laced hubby doing so. Maybe he was unhappy in their marriage and didn’t know how to express it? Erik couldn’t imagine losing Harry, despite their issues.

Sweat coalesced on Erik’s brow when he stopped before their bed. It was as pristine as the day he left on his business trip two weeks ago. Harry was horrible at making the bed. He left wrinkles and the blankets and sheets crooked. It offended Erik’s sense of order, so one of his chores was making the bed every morning. Harry had not slept in this bed for two weeks.

Erik wiped the cold moisture from his forehead and rubbed his clammy hands on his blue jeans. Fuck. He grabbed his hot pink iPhone with shaky hands and pressed Harry’s number. He jumped when the phone buzzed on the dresser behind him. “Dammit, Harry! How could you do this to me!” he yelled. In the ensuing silence, an out-of-place noise drew his attention. Someone was running their garden hose. The sound of running water and the splash it made as it hit their bedroom window was unmistakable. Plus the hook up was right under their window.

Erik decided he wanted some protection before he went outside to confront whoever was using their hose. He was a prudent man and assuming that it was Harry using the hose outside could get him killed if it wasn’t. He opened their closet door to grab one of Harry golf clubs and flinched and shielded his eyes when the bedroom light glared off the sea of aluminum foil draped over hangers, filling their walk-in closet. He abandoned the golf club idea and sprinted to the back sliding door of their house, throwing it open and rushing outside. He tripped over Harry’s favorite garden ornament—a white concrete chubby little cherub with outstretched wings, pitted with gray dots from the weather—and landed face first in a mud puddle. He stood, sputtering brown liquid, and attempted to wipe the watery earth from his face and clothes, but only succeeded in smearing it further.

He looked toward the area of the hose-hook up and froze. It felt as if time stood still as he took in the sight of his naked husband sitting in the middle of a large puddle of water. Harry was muttering to himself as he smeared mud on his body with one hand and hosed it off with the other, causing the splashing noise Erik had heard in their bedroom.

“Harry? Honey? It’s me… please stop,” Erik stated as he approached his distraught husband. Flashes of Harry’s family history echoed through his mind, chilling him. His husband had a significant family history of schizophrenia, and Harry was at the age where symptoms first manifested. He gently reached for the hose, only to be greeted with a loud scream from Harry, and ice-cold water blasted his face, taking his breath away. Erik backed off, allowing the poor man some peace. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. Tears fell on the screen as he tapped the numbers 9-1-1.

Thank you to Cole for another fun morning writing prompts. I hope you all enjoy them as much we did writing them.