Chapter 2

Victoria lived on the second floor across from Zeb’s room. Nolan seldom saw her, although sometimes he heard her moving about in the middle of the night. The twenty-six-year-old had rarely used the kitchen, sometimes showered at the house, and mostly slept elsewhere. Nolan knew she was in love with a downtown lawyer that she spent nights with. He also knew that if it were up to Victoria, she’d be the lawyer’s wife if he asked. Victoria, like most tenants at 1287 Medford, was temporary. Mr. Lawyer would soon scoop her up and she would vanish from Nolan’s life and the brownstone. Not that he minded, of course, since he believed that everyone had the right to their own lives.

Zeb Thursday moved in a month ago. He arrived on June 3 during a horrendous rainstorm. An Army duffle bag hung over his right shoulder, possibly his only belongings, Nolan believed. Nolan interviewed the young man rather quickly and discovered him to be docile, rather charming, and impeccably mannerly. Two months’ rent was handed over up front—Zeb paid with twenties. A monthly contract was signed by both parties. Within an hour after meeting the young man, Zeb was settled in upstairs, enjoying the furnished bedroom, a dry place to sleep, and his seclusion.

Nolan kept a close eye on the young man for a number of reasons, but mainly because he was sexy as hell with his bright blue eyes and muscular frame. When Zeb wore a ball cap, thin and blond tufts of hair hung out at the back. He was also intrigued by the stranger’s timid behavior. Zeb always kept to himself and rarely, if ever, left his rented room. When the woebegone young man first moved into the brownstone, Nolan judged him as having a secret of sorts, but couldn’t exactly determine what it was. After following him around Erie, he determined that Zeb was a loner, enjoyed walking, and liked to visit local bookstores and the Dolling Library on Cashner Street. Not once did Nolan witness the young man selling or buying drugs. Nor was he a prostitute. Instead, sometimes he discovered Zeb entering the Vivo Cineplex on Mercer Drive where he watched foreign movies. Other times he was spotted inside Canter Coffee on Rossdale Street in downtown Erie. Never did Nolan see the tenant with a bunch of friends, a boyfriend, or even a girlfriend. Zeb was the epitome of a lone wolf, quiet and subdued, without a pack to follow or be a member of.

* * * *

How uncanny it was for Nolan that he believed that Zeb resembled his precious and lost Peter. Both had the same color of bright blue eyes, blond hair, and frames. Both were the same age—Peter was twenty when he passed three years ago. Both enjoyed movies and reading. Both desired their alone time and privacy. And both were interesting on various levels. At points in his daily life, Nolan believed he was spying on his lost boyfriend opposed to the tenant who lived on the second floor. How strange it seemed that Zeb Thursday entered his life some three years (almost to the day) after Peter’s demise. How inexplicable

On July 4, Nolan was discovered inside his kitchen with a half empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s and a shot glass, though it wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning. Zeb walked into the kitchen with his Mets baseball hat on, a tight long-sleeved sky-white shirt, and sheer black gloves over his hands. He made eye contact with Nolan. The tenant had found his way downstairs in search of his breakfast, Nolan imagined, which was a rare occasion—a bowl of cereal with skim milk, sometimes adding a sliced banana. He stood frozen in front of the Kenmore refrigerator and displayed his muscular chest. Rounded pecs and pointed nipples were outlined in the cotton material. He said to Nolan, “You’re drunk.” His deep voice echoed within the room, which resembled an older man with much experience regarding life.

Nolan looked up from his empty shot glass and whispered, “You’re a ghost. You should stay away from me. I really think I’m afraid of you.”

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I mean no harm.” The young man spun around and lifted his right arm to open the Kenmore’s door. It was the first time Nolan saw the scar at the top of his back, which ebbed into the cotton material of Zeb’s white shirt. Pink lines that looked like mesh etched over the young man’s skin. The pattern resembled something like fish scales. Layers of skin had obviously once been removed from the tenant’s shoulder and back. A nasty skin graph of sorts had seemingly occurred at one point in the young man’s life. Scar tissue that looked like the woven metal of a chicken fryer basket was left behind. The young man’s skin was a purple-pink hue and bumpy in places. When Zeb flexed his shoulder muscle, wrinkles appeared along the scar tissue. The scales seemed to move like a snake, coiling together.