Page 9 of Strange Lights

Eldi climbs from my lap over to Calvin, surprising us all, given her prickly tendencies toward anyone who isn’t me. She tolerates Calvin, but she’s never sought him out before. She places her hand on the tablet screen, and a brilliant green light, laser-like, shoots from the top and scans her face up and down.

“That there!” the mom yelps. “It does that every time Dante tries to use it!” She gestures to her youngest, the two-year-old, who appears roughly the same age as Eldi does on the surface.

The screen of the tablet unlocks, and the opening credits of Chicken Little scroll across the screen as Eldi peers at it.

“It’s never done that before,” the mom whispers, clearly unnerved. “We don’t even have anything installed because we couldn’t ever unlock it.”

Eldi looks unconcerned and watches her movie in silence.

The mother won’t accept payment for the tablet.

“I’m half convinced it will show back up once you leave. Plus, I feel bad giving you something that might be dangerous.”

I tell her not to worry, and as we leave, I pop into the mailbox an envelope with enough cash to cover the device.

“Where do you get money to do that?” Calvin asks. “Supernatural investigation isn’t exactly a well-paying profession.”

I wave my hand. “I’ve told you. Investments, stock markets, and stuff.”

Calvin has had his suspicions about me since we met. Probably before, actually, given how much he likes to research. It must annoy him to no end how little he can find about me. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why he sticks around. He can’t stand to leave the mystery of me unsolved. The truth is, I came by my riches rather unethically by some standards. But it’s justifiable in my view.

I worked a few cases for a billionaire a while back. The kind of person who has so much money they don’t even notice when someone funnels away enough to live off for the rest of their life. Or if they notice, they don’t care. I’m not sure which version of the story I’d prefer to be true. I refuse to feel bad about it, because the things they asked me to do were more than unethical. Nobody comes by that kind of money honestly.

The way I see it, the best penance is using what I can for good in the world. It allows me to live in obscurity too. It’s a rare person who digs enough into my life, like Calvin, to even deduce I’m well off. My Robin Hood lifestyle is what made Calvin change his mind about me. It’s the only bit of truth about my past that I can afford to let him know. And I didn’t even mean for him to find out.

5

Meet Uncute

Calvin and I had a less than auspicious start, as far as friendships go. The better part of a decade ago, I’d left Eldi to her own devices for the night and gone out to a bar. Babysitters aren’t really an option, and Eldi can take care of herself anyway. My primary concern is appearances. The last thing I need is a worried citizen calling the police, so usually I bring Manny the mannequin up from the basement and let him have the run of the Winnebago while I’m gone so, from a distance, it looks like an adult is present.

Calvin and I met in this little hole-in-the-wall, a monster-themed bar, up in Washington state wine country. I was investigating a spate of lake-monster sightings and was trying to hear the local gossip. I’d heard about Calvin; his podcast was really taking off, and he was getting a ton of traction and listeners. A majority of his fan base follows him for his engaging yet stringent scientific methods. But a segment of his fans follows him for a less pure reason. I’m ashamed to say I’m in both camps, but I lie and tell Calvin I never listen to his show, and I follow his social media with a fake profile.

His podcast is his main thing, but he does live streams on his social pages sometimes when he works on his research, and I wasn’t lying when I said he’s hot. He pretends he doesn’t know, but he’s always posting subtle thirst traps on his personal pages, wooing online fans with Hozier and Noah Kahan covers on his banjo. He knows more Chappell Roan lyrics than I do. Then he invites everyone to listen to his podcast and breaks out the nerd glasses and science talk for his Debunker video episodes. Someone started calling him “Data Daddy,” for fuck’s sake. I’ve seen him scoping out themed merchandise to capitalize on it. I should really get the jump on him and start selling it myself on the sly.

But the bar in Washington was early days, and while I’d heard of him, I didn’t recognize him when he hit on me, as I’ve never been great at remembering or recognizing faces and am even worse at reading facial expressions. And he hit on me first, for the record. I wasn’t expecting or looking for a hookup, what with Manny and Eldi waiting for me at the Winnebago, but then I’m not one to turn down casual fun, either, so it wasn’t an immediate no.

Calvin didn’t play any games, just walked right up and⁠—with a pointed up-and-down look⁠—said, “Have time for a beer?”

“How presumptuous of you,” I said.

“As if you weren’t checking me out from the minute I walked in.”

“That obvious, hmm?” I replied. I try to be more subtle, checking out men when I’m rolling with my he/him self like I was that evening. Not that I can’t hold my own, but there are a lot of assholes in the world to watch out for.

“Maybe, but I notice details. And we’re in a gay bar.”

“Ah,” I said, taking a second look around. “Well, you might be observant, but apparently I could do with practice.”

When he started to pull back, I quickly clarified. “Don’t worry, I’m not straight. Not entirely sure where you’d place me on the gender and sexuality spectrum.”

Calvin only shrugged like it didn’t matter, and that was when I got my first hint he was much more than a pretty face. That was when I fell the tiniest bit in love with him. That was when I began seriously plotting. Maybe I could convince Eldi and Manny to spend the night in the basement.

“Calvin St. James,” he said then, by way of introduction. My plotting screeched to a halt. I snorted my beer up my nose and knew immediately there could be no casual for the two of us.

“Reggie,” I said, trying to recover.

“Reggie,” he said with a frown, suddenly pulling back and repeating my name. I watched him look me up and down a second time in a much different way, saw the gears turning in his head.