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“Will do, Bear.”
Barrett clipped the radio back into its little socket and pushed his chair even further back, until the purples and pinks and oranges of the setting sun were all he could see. His body felt heavy after a long day of staring into the woods, and his eyes drifted shut.
A thump outside had him sitting upright, his mind foggy from an ill-advised nap. The tower was now pitch black save for a slice of moon rising over the trees. Shit. He’d fallen asleep, and he had maps to finish for Jacques for the new trails they were extending into acreage that had been gifted to the parks service. Barrett knew the tower like the back of his hand but discombobulated as he was, he lurched forward and bumped into the radio table. It rattled as he regained his balance. “Shit.”
Another thump. This one louder, duller. Almost like something hitting wood. But now it was closer. Barrett wheeled, his heart hammering in his chest. He turned once, twice, catching sight of all the windows. Sweat ran down the back of his neck and suddenly the tower felt stifling, closed off. Rangers didn’t carry weapons outside of stun guns and bear mace (sadly both were sometimes needed), but in the tower there was a locked gun safe with a shotgun and a box of shells. Why his thoughts immediately went to the gun, he wasn’t sure, but something prickled at his senses.
A warning.
Barrett quickly, silently moved to the western side of the tower, pressing his back into the corner and sliding down the wall. This angle gave him the best view of the tower’s windows. Reinforced glass meant to withstand high winds and heat and the battering of ice and snow they got every winter. He scanned the darkness, searching.
Minutes ticked by. In the dark. In the humidity. His breaths evened out but he still pulled the gun safe key off his belt and gripped it tightly. Its little teeth bit into his hand.
Barrett didn’t know how long he sat there, but when the prickling at his neck went away, he stood, unlocked the gun safe, and drew out the shotgun and the box of shells. He’d checked the gun, cleaned it, kept it unloaded, per their safety regulations as part of his opening procedure for the tower. And he wasn’t agun guy. But the security of having it near and unloaded made turning on the lights less daunting.
Horror movie scenarios straight out of the nineties flooded his brain. A message in blood on the windows, maybe, or a hang up phone call. Thank god there wasn’t a garage door with a doggie flap. When he got the lights on, there was no message, nothing jamming the doors. No evidence of anything except his own rampant imagination.
“Fuck.” He ran a shaking hand down his face and thumbed on his phone with the other. He hit the speakerphone as it rang. “Hey you.”
“Hey.” Ambrose’s voice was soothing his jangled nerves with just one syllable. They weren’t far apart physically, but they hadn’t been out of each other’s company for months. A few miles felt like nautical leagues. “You sound out of breath. You okay?”
“I…I think I just spooked myself. Happens sometimes, up here in the dark.” He laughed. “I feel so stupid.”
“Well, first of all, it’s not stupid. And secondly, did anything happen?”
Barrett relayed the story and at the end, he said, “I seriously went through every horror movie I’ve ever seen in my head.”
“Hmmm. Killer set on fire only to come back from the grave?”
“Definitely.”
“Running up the stairs with no exit strategy?”
“Considering I’m up six flights, yep.”
“Oh no, not the doggie door.”
“Sadly.”
“You mean fabulously gruesomely.”
Trust Ambrose to make him laugh and stave off a panic attack. “I didn’t know you were so bloodthirsty.”
“Get me doing something competitive and you don’t stand a chance.”
Barrett flopped down on the bed and stared up at the ivory mosquito net. He wanted to see Ambrose under it, shadows and sunrise playing about his pale skin like brushstrokes. He wanted to take his time, take Ambrose apart way up here where the sky felt touchable and the breeze always smelled like pine. “Hmm, I’ll have to think of something good.”
“Well, Dandi and I already have competitive eating down. She wins every night but you can’t expect me to compete with something as cute as her.”
In the background, Dandi boofed in acknowledgement and they laughed. “I miss you,” he said softly, letting the words curl into the speaker.
“I’ll be up in two days.”
“That’s a very long forty-eight hours.”
“Well, I do have a favor to ask. Is Miss Sparklepants still half done?”
Barrett’s mind screeched to a halt. “What?”
