Eclectic Mix Tape

Chapter 4

Chapter 4The next day, Beast awakened Beau early, bearing another tray of food. Beau sat up, feeling much better than he had. His sleep had been heavy and dreamless, reparative. He smiled. “You, sir, are going to spoil me.”

Beast set the tray of food—oatmeal with blueberries and maple syrup, a pot of tea, a sectioned grapefruit—on the bedside table. “The pleasure is mine. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone to care for.”

Beau wondered why the man stopped speaking so abruptly, wondered if it was emotion choking him. “Did you once?”

Beast’s voice emerged, soft—and Beau knew. “Did I what?”

“Have someone to care for?”

“Eat your breakfast. Take a shower. I was able to find you some clothes and thought maybe you’d like to go outside. It’s a rare clear and sunny day and the mountains look gorgeous.” Beast hurried from the room.

Beau watched after him. Now, in addition to wondering what had happened to his own self, he wondered what had happened to Beast as well. Although he couldn’t see the man’s face, he could feel his pain.

Beau picked up the tray and set it on his lap.

* * * *

When Beast returned an hour or so later, Beau was waiting for him, showered and smelling of shampoo. Just getting clean somehow made everything hurt less. He didn’t know how, but it was true. The warm spray of water had energized him, making him feel more alive than when he had first waked in this strange place.

Beast held out a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, a pair of athletic socks, and a gray hoodie with a purple University of Washington insignia embroidered across its front. There was even a pair of beat-up, but serviceable, running shoes placed on top of the clothes.

“These will never fit me,” Beau said, taking the clothes from Beast’s outstretched hands and sizing up the man again. Where Beau was slight, Beast was a giant. “Not if they’re yours.”

“They’re not mine.” Before Beau had a chance to ask any questions, Beast was hurrying from the room, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Beau slipped into the T-shirt, jeans, and sweatshirt and found they all fit his thin, wiry frame perfectly. Even the shoes, half a size too small, were not so tight as to impede his wearing them.

There’s no way these clothes could belong to the Beast. So whose were they? Was there someone else in the house? Had there been someone else in the house?

Beau stood, testing his balance in the shoes, and wondered if Beast would answer his questions. If Beau couldn’t be privy to his own background, he could at least know about Beast’s.

Beast opened the door. “Feel up for a little walk?”

* * * *

Outside, the air was crisp and cold. Beau was grateful. The mountain air was invigorating and had a sweet cleanliness to it that didn’t exist in Seattle. Breathing in deep, surrounded by pines and snow-capped mountain peaks, Beau immediately felt stronger, more whole, as if the air itself was cleaning and healing him from the inside out.

They walked for almost an hour in silence, even though Beau had many questions. But every time he attempted to ask one, Beast made it clear he wouldn’t offer up any information. Beau felt he could have gone further, but Beast said, “We don’t want you to overdo things on your first time up and around. Let’s head back.” Gently, he took Beau’s hand. Beast’s hand was so large, Beau’s own felt lost in the warmth of it.

He also felt safe.

Beau’s hopes to find out more about Beast continued to be dashed as they walked along the trails, the pine trees towering over them, making the air nippy, revealing slashes of sunlight and shadow and glimpses of blue skies and clouds, up high, moving fast.

Beau felt as though he was in another world. And, in a way, he was.

Once back at the house, Beau removed the down jacket, hanging it on a hook in the great, walnut-paneled foyer. “Beast, all during our walk, you’ve said next to nothing. Are you sure you don’t want to tell me a little bit more about you? Like where these clothes came from? They’re certainly not yours.”

Beast sighed. They were silent for a very long time and Beau began to wonder if he had crossed a line again, if Beast would retreat into the silence with which he had originally given him.

When the prolonged quiet grew awkward, like it had done several times during their walk, Beau felt he had indeed made a mistake in pressing Beast again. He turned toward the curving staircase and started to ascend, head and heart heavy, such a reversal after the freedom and closeness he had felt on their walk through the mountain woodland.

“Wait,” Beast called after him. “Come back.”

Beast disappeared into the room off the foyer and Beau followed. The room was what, in a gothic romance novel, would be called a drawing room, filled with antique furniture, high beams, a fieldstone fireplace, all lit warmly by sunlight streaming in through floor-to-ceiling windows, a pair of each on every wall.

Beast stood by the fireplace. Beau, nervous, sat on the edge of a red velvet settee, waiting.

With both hands, Beast began to tug on the base of the mask, pulling it over his head. Beau stared in wonder, breath suspended.

When at last the mask came off, it was Beau’s turn to be at a loss for words. All he could do was suck in a gasp and look away, his eyes filling with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” was all Beau could manage to say, barely able to find enough breath to put behind the words.

Beast had moved toward the window, staring outside at the sunlight, the craggy peaks of the mountains, the snow and pines. His shoulders heaved. “Just go away,” he said so softly Beau was not sure he heard right.

Beast repeated, “Just go away.”

And Beau did.