Chapter Seven

Mickey walked him into the apartment and made him sit on the couch. “I’m not an invalid,” Roger protested.

“No, but you’re going to let me treat you like one for a while.” He went into the kitchen, where he proceeded to start warming up some soup out of a can. Being a dancer only paid so much, and being an out-of-work musician paid even less, so their cuisine tended not to be very haute.  He stirred the soup and said, “You know, I’ve been thinking. Those cops attacked you that way because of your ethnicity, and that’s crap. Have you thought about filing a complaint?”

“Why? It wouldn’t get me anywhere.” He fell over onto his side to lie with his head on a pillow that was covered in fabric scavenged from old concert T-shirts. “It would just cause trouble, and I already have enough of that.”

He watched his roommate, his eyes following Mickey’s motions. He wasn’t tall, about the same height as Roger himself, but he was slight. His body was very well muscled, and he was stronger than he looked, but he also looked somehow fragile and delicate. He knew that was an illusion. Mickey was a Russian-American ballet dancer who had managed to go professional at fourteen and had been living on his own ever since. No weakling could pull off something like that, especially in a place like New York.

“How did you manage to get an apartment and live alone when you were underage?”

Mickey stopped and looked at him. “Where did that come from?”

“I was thinking about you.”

His roommate blushed and smiled, then turned back to the saucepan and his soup. “I had fake ID’s and the artistic director at the company vouched for me. Besides, at the time, I had a roommate who was legal.”

“The guy who moved out before I came?”

“No, the guy who still lives in the pantry,” he snarked. “Of course that guy.”

“What was his name?”

“Harvey.” He reached up into the cupboard and retrieved a pair of oversized mugs, which he put on the counter. “Harvey Millstein.”

“What did he do?”

He had never asked questions about Mickey’s life before, but now he felt he wanted to know more. He wanted to know everything about this person who had become his touchstone in reality. He wondered if Mickey realized how much he depended on him for almost everything.

“He was an actor.”

“Horrible name for an actor. Hardly sounds like something you’d see on a marquee.”

Mickey chuckled. “No. He had a stage name. Still uses it, I guess. He calls himself David J. Miller.”

“Odd.”

“Yeah, I don’t know where he got it from, and it’s so boring that it’s like the name equivalent of beige. It’s just… ignorable. Bland.”

Roger sat back up as Mickey poured the heated-up soup into the two mugs and tucked spoons into each one. “I’ve never heard of him,” he admitted.

“Not surprised.” He walked toward him with the mugs of soup. “I said he was an actor, but I never said he was a good one.”

He chuckled and accepted the soup. Mickey sat on the couch, his body moving and flexing in ways that bodies were never meant to move. He settled down with his legs crossed, facing Roger.

“Was he your boyfriend?” Roger asked.

He stared at him over the edge of his mug as he sipped, and he kept staring even after he’d put the mug back down to hold it in his lap with both hands. “I wouldn’t say boyfriend,” he finally said. “It was more like friends with benefits.”

“Like you wanted us to be?”

Mickey finally looked away, and he shook his head. “No. I don’t want us to be like that.”

Roger sipped his soup. It was chicken noodle, with tiny pieces of meat that bumped against his lips. He had a mental image of himself choking on the bits of chicken, and knowing how much of a clod he was, he opted not to tempt fate. He started using his spoon like a civilized person instead.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, finishing their soup and just sharing space. Roger broke the silence first.

“Thank you for always taking such good care of me.”

Mickey raised his china blue eyes to look at him, and he smiled. “You’re welcome. That’s what friends are for, right?”

“Right. But I do appreciate it, even so.”

He responded in a soft voice. “You’re my best friend. Of course I’m going to take care of you. You’d do the same for me.” He put a hand on Roger’s leg. “In all this world, we only really have each other. We have to stick together. Right?”

He felt warmed all the way through, and he smiled. “Right.”

Roger’s cell phone rang, and he found it after a brief search through the bag of his personal effects. “Hello?”

“Hey, bud.” It was Kyle. “You home?”

“Yes, finally.” He smiled at Mickey, who retracted his hand and kept sipping his soup.

“Well, I’ve got something for you that you’ll probably want. Okay for me and the boys to come over?”

He covered the phone with his hand. “The band wants to come over. Is that okay?” Mickey nodded silently, and Roger went back to the phone. “Sure, that sounds great. We’ll be here. You do know where here is, right?”

Kyle laughed. “Nope. That was something I was hoping you could help us with.” He chuckled and provided them with the address, and his bandmate said, “Okay, great. See you in a few.”

He hung up and looked at his roommate. Mickey asked, “You’re not going to play here or anything, are you?”

“No, of course not. We’ve not got Kyle’s drums or any… Good Lord!”

“What?”

“Where is my guitar?” He looked around the apartment, even though he knew his bass was not there. The last time he’d had it, he’d been standing outside Erik’s gate.

“I don’t know.” Mickey sighed. “Maybe it’s still at Erik’s.”

“It probably got left lying there when they took me away… whoever took me away.” He frowned. “Was I taken away by the police, or in an ambulance?”

“Ambulance.” He finished his soup and stood up. “They called for it when they were done kicking the shit out of you.”

Roger drained his own oversized mug and carried it into the kitchen. Mickey took it from him with a little smile. “Well, at least they didn’t shoot me, right?”

“Thank God for small favors.”

“Do you think Dave put them up to it? Or do you think he made the call?” He ran a hand over his head, then down to squeeze the back of his own neck. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

Mickey finished loading the dishwasher and said, “You’re not paranoid if there’s really somebody out to get you. I already knew the guy was bent from that list on his refrigerator. These notes he’s been leaving for you prove that he’s completely unhinged. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Roger pouted.

“Do you want reassuring or do you want honest?”

“Honesty, of course.”

“Then I honestly think you should watch your ass, or have someone else watch it for you.” He suddenly broke into a naughty grin. “I’ll volunteer.”

He laughed. “You’re going to be my bodyguard?”

“Sure. Why not? As long as no attacks take place during class, which is from ten to noon, or during rehearsal, which is one until six, I’ve got you covered.”

They laughed together and sat down on the couch again. Mickey asked, “Is your headache really bad?”

He shrugged. “Well, it’s been worse, but it’s certainly been better.”

“Here. Let me see if I can help you at all.” He scooted closer and began to massage Roger’s scalp and temples in firm but gentle circles. “This usually works better for tension headaches, but it might still help.”

Roger closed his eyes and smiled. The massage was a little strange, because he’d never had anyone massage his skull before, but it was quite pleasant. He was aware of how close Mickey was sitting, and how their legs were touching. He wondered if Mickey knew how seductive he could be without even trying.

I have got to stop thinking that way right now.

The massage relaxed him, and with his eyes closed and his body still recovering from the beating, he started to slip away into sleep. Slowly, Mickey stopped rubbing his temples, or he stopped noticing, and he began to drift… at least until the healthy pounding on their front door that announced the arrival of his bandmates.

Mickey got up and opened the way for them. “Try to leave it on its hinges, okay?” he scolded mildly.

Kyle and Rich came in together, and the drummer was holding Roger’s guitar case.

“Oh! There it is. Thank you so much!”

Roger hurried over to retrieve the instrument, and he all but hugged it as soon as Kyle handed it over. Behind them came the sound of thumping, and then Erik hobbled into view on his crutches.

“Gotta love old buildings with no elevators,” the blond said.

Mickey closed the door and set the locks. “Well, we think the building has charm and character.”

“And cockroaches and ghosts, probably,” Rich commented.

The dancer smiled. “That, too. Can I get your coats?”

The musicians all relinquished their jackets to their host, and the Viking sat down beside Roger. “Mind if I put my foot up?”

“Not a bit.”

Kyle grabbed a chair from the kitchen and brought it in so Erik could prop up his injured limb. “Your roomie is really the hostess with the mostest,” the drummer commented.

“Yeah,” Roger said, smiling fondly.

“I heard he told the doc he was your partner,” Erik said.

“Yes, he did that so that he could stay with me.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Roger blinked at him, confused. “Why ever else?”

The blond shook his head. “Wow… you really are a special kind of stupid, aren’t you?”

Rich chuckled as Mickey came back into the room. “Would anyone like anything to drink? We have tap water, which I don’t recommend, and bottled water, and I think we might have some diet soda.”

“Water is fine,” Erik commented. “Thanks.”

Kyle announced, “I’ll help.” He followed Mickey into the kitchen.

Roger turned to his bandleader, still confused. “What do mean, I’m stupid? Is there something I should know?”

He shook his head again. “If you can’t figure it out on your own, I’m not going to tell you.”

“Well, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And that’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Mickey and Kyle came back with cold bottles of water in their hands. “What’s sad?” the dancer asked.

“It’s sad that Roger got his brains so scrambled,” Rich answered. “He’s not thinking straight.”

“Well, none of us think straight,” Kyle joked. He sat down beside his partner, and Rich put his arm around Kyle’s waist.

Roger had no idea what Erik was talking about, and his head hurt too much to spend more time mulling it over. He abandoned the subject and accepted a bottle of water from his roommate. When he took it, he looked up into Mickey’s face and smiled. Mickey winked.

“How long have you two been roommates?” Erik asked.

Roger and Mickey looked at one another, and the dancer replied, “Only about four months, but we met about a year and a half ago in London.”

“I was living there, of course, and Mickey was on a sabbatical with the King’s Ballet Company. We hung out in London, got to know one another… When Mickey had to come back, I decided to come with him.”

“You must be pretty good, then, huh?” Kyle asked. “I mean, they don’t send crap dancers overseas.”

Mickey blushed, but said, “Yeah, I do pretty well. I’m a soloist with a national company, so that’s pretty good.”

“More than pretty well,” Roger objected. “He’s actually quite brilliant.” Erik looked at him and shook his head again. “What?”

“It’s a miracle you can tie your shoes.”

His roommate said, “It’s sort of a miracle that I was able to convince him to go through all the hoops and make the jump over the pond. He hates to travel.”

“No, I don’t hate it… I’m willing to travel, obviously. I just don’t enjoy airports.”

“Ooh, bad news,” Kyle said, his tone absolutely serious.

“Why?”

“We start our tour in January. It was supposed to have been in November, but it seems somebody broke Erik’s leg…”

Roger hid his face in his hands. “Oh, God.”

“I told you. You’re never going to live this down.”

“It’s okay,” Erik said. “I needed more metal in my skeleton, and it gives us more time to rehearse.”

“God knows we need to iron out some rough patches.” Rich ran his hand over Kyle’s back. “And it’ll give you guys a chance to write some new material. Maybe we’ll even be able to get some studio time in.”

“Don’t get too ambitious,” their lead guitarist warned, adjusting his propped-up leg. “We’ve only got a few months.”

“Long enough. We recorded the first CD in two weeks.”

“It was an EP of covers. Not the same thing.”

“Well, whatever,” he shrugged.

“London is a romantic city,” Kyle said, leaning closer to his boyfriend to encourage more back rubbing. “I mean, Paris gets all the credit for being the city of love and stuff, but we had a great vacation in London when we started dating that really sealed the deal.”

“That wasn’t because of London,” Rich disagreed mildly. “That was because it was our first chance to really be alone. We could have stayed home and had the same result.”

“No, we couldn’t. We had to be away from all the familiar stuff so we wouldn’t be interrupted or distracted.” He poked Rich in the side. “Don’t argue with me.”

Mickey chuckled. “You two are adorable.”

“Thanks! So are you and Roger.”

An awkward silence fell over the room, and Mickey stammered, “I… we… we’re just roommates. We’re not together together. You know?”

“Wow… I just…” Kyle shrugged. “Well, that’ll teach me to make assumptions.”

Roger looked at Mickey, really looked at him, and he thought he might have known why Erik kept shaking his head.

A special kind of stupid, indeed.

***

They sat and chatted about inconsequential things for an hour or so, talking about everything and nothing at the same time. Erik was just gathering his crutches for the long hobble down six flights of stairs when the land line rang. Roger grabbed it.

“Hello?”’

“Nice little get-together you’re having. Is one of those guys the one you stood me up for?”

He felt chilled, but then annoyance flared up as well. “Listen,” he grumbled, “stop calling me. I’m sorry I upset you, but this is getting ridiculous. Just go your way. I don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

“Which one are you fucking?”

“Ugh! You’re a bastard and a pig, and if I find out you sent those officers after me, I’m going to have your badge.”

On the other end of the line, Dave chuckled. “Unlikely. And we’re not done. Not by a long shot.”

“Is that a threat?”

The line went dead in his hand, and he looked up to see all of his companions watching him with matching looks of concern. Mickey fussed, “That was him again, wasn’t it? He’s watching us.”

“Yes. So it seems.”

“That is crazy!” His roommate hurried over to the window in the living room, peeking around the closed blinds. “How is he even watching? Where is he?”

Roger joined him at the window. There was nothing outside but the alley and the apartment block next door. All of the windows on the other building were dark and their curtains closed. He could have been in any of the apartments, or on the roof, or across the street with a sniper scope… a thought that frankly terrified him. He closed the blinds and guided Mickey away from the glass.

“I don’t know where he is, and I don’t care.”

Kyle snorted. “Bullshit you don’t care. You’re white as a sheet…. Well, virtually. You know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean.”

“While we’re on the topic, who are we talking about?” Rich asked.

He sighed. “There’s a man I slept with once, and he wanted to get together again, but I accidentally stood him up. He’s been sort of threatening me ever since.”

“Call the cops,” Kyle advised.

“He is a cop.” He sighed. “And there’s nothing I can do about it, is there? I can’t call the police and say, ‘I say, chaps, there’s one of your brothers in blue giving me a bit of a hard time. He’s out there somewhere in New York. Could you stop him?’ They’ll laugh me half to death.”

“Well, you’ve got to do something,” Rich said.

“He can’t do anything right now.” Erik spoke quietly, but everyone looked at him. “Until this dude actually does something illegal, there’s nothing they can do.”

“You’re a legal expert now?”

He gave Rich a scathing look. “My last boyfriend was a cop. I learned about things, okay?” He gripped his crutches and stood up. “I’ll look for him when I get to ground level and see if I see him, if you want. What does he look like?”

Roger hesitated, then said, “I can’t let you get involved. It might become dangerous…”

Mickey gave him an impatient look, then said, “His name is Dave Campbell. He’s a doe-eyed bastard, about six feet tall, with dark hair and blue eyes with the most ridiculous eye lashes you ever saw. He’s gorgeous and he knows it, but he’s a complete and total asshat.”

Kyle chuckled. “Someone you really like a lot, then?”

“I hate him.”

The vehemence in Mickey’s tone was almost startling. The bandmates looked at each other, and Rich commented, “Well, I’d hate to be him if you caught him in a dark alley. I know how strong dancers’ legs can be. You’d probably kick him to death.”

“Not probably,” Mickey growled.

Roger put a hand on his arm. “Hey, now. It’s all right. No use getting so worked up.” He turned to his colleagues. “Thanks for coming over, and for bringing my guitar. Be careful going home. Erik, will you be all right on the stairs?”

“He’ll be fine, because we’re going to carry him,” Kyle announced.

Rich looked askance at his partner. “We are?”

“Totally. Piggy back.” He clicked his tongue. “You can carry the crutches.”

“How about I just go down the stairs after you guys so if I fall you can catch me?” Erik suggested. “I can do this, by the way. It’s not that hard.”

“Suit yourself,” Kyle shrugged. “I get a lot of people telling me they’d like to ride me…”

“They’re not talking about piggy back rides, and they only say that because they don’t know you,” the singer teased.

Rich nodded. “He’s got you there.”

With laughter, the three of them departed, leaving Roger and Mickey alone. They closed the door and Mickey put on the chains, pushed the button in on the doorknob and threw the deadbolt into place. He started to pick up the empty water bottles from around the living room, and Roger put a hand on his wrist to stop him. His roommate looked up at him with a guarded look in his blue eyes.

“Hold up,” Roger said softly. “I think we need to talk.”

Mickey sat beside him on the couch. “That sounds ominous.”

He smiled nervously. “Maybe, maybe not. Uh… when you suggested a while ago that we should be ‘friends with benefits’…were you serious?”

“I wasn’t playing with you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

He took a breath and tried again. “I mean, were you hoping I’d say yes, and that it would be something more?” He looked at the other man’s lips, trying to screw up the courage to ask. “Do you…”

“Oh my God!” Mickey exclaimed. “You are so dumb sometimes!”

He leaned forward and gave Roger a firm, assertive kiss. He was so surprised that he almost didn’t react, but he recovered enough to return the kiss before Mickey pulled away. He scooted forward and wrapped his arms around him, holding him closer as he continued to press his lips to Mickey’s.

It felt right. He might have supposed that it would be odd, kissing a friend, but now that they were here, he realized how much he had been wanting to do this all along. Mickey sighed against his mouth, his lips softening, pliable, welcoming. Roger deepened the kiss, and he earned a soft groan in response. He put his arms around Roger and clung to him, opening his mouth to him and letting his tongue plumb its depths.

Roger pushed him down onto the couch, pressing him into the cushions and settling down on top of him. Mickey hooked his legs around Roger’s, holding him in position, groin to groin. They were both getting hard, and Mickey rubbed up against him, pressing their burgeoning penises together.

It was Roger’s turn to moan, and he ran his hand down Mickey’s chest. He knew how fit his roommate was, how strong his muscles had become from a lifetime of physical discipline, but it was thrilling to touch them and feel how firm they really were. He tugged Mickey’s T-shirt out of his jeans and pushed it up, not breaking the kiss even as his hands ran under the thin fabric to caress the defined musculature of his torso. Lats, pecs, six pack… they were all strong and toned, hard but soft, like steel encased in suede. His fingertips brushed against his nipple, a hard little nub surrounded by golden curls, and he gently teased it, his nimble fingers finding a new way to play. Mickey sighed into him and melted.

They continued to kiss even as their heartbeats quickened and the growing flesh inside their pants started pressing for release. Roger unbuttoned Mickey’s fly and reached inside, his hand sliding over the wonder he found inside white cotton briefs. He palmed him gently, his fingers gently stroking over his covered sac, and his friend sighed jaggedly, his breath hitching in his throat.

Roger finally broke the kiss so he could look into his new partner’s eyes. “Yeah?”

Mickey nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you want…”

“Rog, if you don’t fuck me now, I will never forgive you.”

He straightened, then stood, holding his hand out for Mickey to take. He didn’t hesitate. With a smile, Roger led the way toward his bedroom.

“Nuh-uh.” Mickey pulled back. “My room.”

He grinned. “Right. If you insist.”

“Oh, I do.”

They went into Mickey’s room, and Roger took him in his arms again where the dark and quiet rose around them like a third participant in their embrace. Mickey reached down and opened Roger’s jeans, pushing them down over his hips and allowing his erection to spring free.

“Dude,” the dancer whispered, amazed by his discovery. “You’re hung.”

“Oh, no. I’m actually quite average.”

Mickey took him in his hand and stroked. “Nothing average about this.”

He sank down onto his knees and looked up at Roger through long, gold-tipped lashes, his face innocent and seductive at the same time. He licked his lips, and Roger found himself tingling in anticipation.

He didn’t have to wait for long, but what little wait there was had been worth it. Mickey slid his lips over the head of his cock, holding him steady with his hand as he worked his mouth up and down his throbbing length. Roger sighed in happiness, the pleasure rolling through his body all the way to his toes. He gently cupped Mickey’s head, then finger-combed his thick blond hair, not guiding him, not controlling him, simply enjoying this moment to the utmost.

The way Mickey worked his lips and tongue in concert was mesmerizing, and Roger tipped his head back on his shoulders, too blissed-out to keep his eyes open. He basked in the feeling of his cock being lavished with affection, and he realized that affection was exactly what he’d been looking for in all of his shallow hook-ups.

“Mickey,” he groaned.

His partner left him with a wet swipe of his tongue, releasing Roger’s cock from his mouth. The head glistened with moisture, and Roger would have done almost anything to win Mickey’s attention back. His partner, though, had other ideas.

He rose from his knees and grasped Roger’s shirt, pulling at it. Roger lifted his arms above his head, helping his lover remove the garment. Mickey threw it aside, then kissed him deeply. They wrapped one another in a tight embrace, holding on as if they never wanted to let go. Roger had waited a lifetime for this feeling of acceptance, and he hoped he wasn’t premature to think it felt like love.

Mickey kissed his way from his mouth to the corner of his jaw, then down his neck to his chest. Roger wasn’t blessed with chest hair, but Mickey didn’t seem to mind. He took one nipple in his mouth, then the other, sucking and licking the little buds until they were erect and straining like his cock.

Roger tugged on Mickey’s shirt, and a moment later it joined Roger’s shirt on the floor. Mickey pushed him to sit down on the bed, and while he watched, he stripped the rest of his clothing away, revealing his perfect dancer’s body.

“You should always be naked,” he told him. “You’re too beautiful to stay covered all the time.”

Mickey laughed. “I’d get cold.”

“I’d warm you up.”

He lowered himself onto his knees again, and he stripped Roger’s jeans and underwear away. When he was fully nude, as well, Mickey seemed satisfied, and he sat back for a moment to admire him.

“Speaking of beautiful,” he whispered. “Roger… you’re … Wow.”

It was awkwardly spoken but the most genuine compliment he’d ever received. He smiled warmly. “Thanks.”

He held out his hand for Mickey, but the dancer pulled away, taking a step backward. “Let me get what we need.”

“I need you,” Roger told him.

“And you’ll have me, but give me a second.” He retrieved lube from a drawer and brought it over to the bed. Mickey put some of the silicone gel onto his fingers and reached around himself to prepare his own opening. Their gazes locked as Mickey fingered himself, and his cheeks flushed at the rush of pleasure he was making himself feel. It was the most erotic thing Roger had ever seen.

“God, Mick,” he breathed. “You are so…”

He lost the will to speak when Mickey got more lube and began to stroke it onto Roger’s shaft. He was uncut, and his foreskin rubbed back and forth in time with the motions of Mickey’s hand. When he was coated and slick from the lube and the first drops of his own pre-cum, Mickey crawled onto the bed and straddled him.

Their eye contact never wavered. Roger pointed himself toward his body, but Mickey took control, guiding him into his hot, needy hole. The first penetration was quick and smooth, and he was glad for a lover with experience. His lover eased his body down, swallowing him in, taking him all the way to the root. He stopped moving then, with their gazes locked, they took a moment to revel in the feeling of being so united. Then Mickey tightened internally around him, Roger moaned, and the time for stillness had passed.

Mickey put his hands on Roger’s stomach, steadying himself as he rose and fell, fucking himself on Roger’s rampant cock. He took him in completely again and began to rock his pelvis, angling the entry to his liking. Roger watched as his lover rode him, his own erection bouncing and needy, and he took Mickey in his hand. He stroked him in time with the beating of his own heart, and he shuddered as his lover squeezed around him once again.

“Oh, my God, Mickey…”

He smiled down at Roger, and his face in that moment was beatific. He had never seen a man as beautiful.

No. It was definitely not too early to think this felt like love. Nothing else could ever possibly feel so right. Mickey smiled softly down at him, and Roger dared to hope that maybe, just maybe, his partner was feeling the same way.

He put a hand on Mickey’s thigh, enjoying the feeling of the muscles working as his partner began to accelerate his motions. Unable to contain himself any longer, Roger started thrusting up to meet each downward slide of Mickey’s body, and moment by moment the intensity grew. Soon they were given over to the sensations in total abandon, their bodies working together in pursuit of the climax that was coming ever closer for them both. The sound of sex filled his ears, and Roger shivered in delight.

Mickey moaned and tipped his head back, and then there was a brief hitch in his rhythm, heralding the ecstasy to come. Roger watched him in admiration and something like awe as his entire body shuddered, his abdomen shivering.

“Roger…”

His name floated from Mickey’s lips in a heated, desperate whisper, and then he was spending his passion on Roger’s stomach, shooting thick streams of cum that painted his brown skin. Roger stroked him harder, faster, encouraging him to even more heights of orgasm, knowing that he himself would not hold out for much longer.

Mickey fell forward onto his hands, and Roger shifted to hold his hips, driving up into his quivering hole. He could hear their bodies slapping together, and the sound added to the pleasure, and he shouted out as he came, filling Mickey with his seed. He shook in the madness of his pleasure, his hands still on his partner’s hips. Mickey rested on top of him, his softening cock caught between their bodies, and they both smiled like drunken angels.

Mickey pillowed his head on Roger’s shoulder, and he angled his hips again so that there was no way they could separate. He was keeping Roger exactly where they both wanted him to be, motionless and hot, and it was glorious.

As he drifted off to sleep, Roger heard Mickey mumble something in Russian, but he didn’t know the words. He resolved to ask him about it in the morning and surrendered to slumber the rest of the way.

***

In the living room, the front door knob rattled softly. The pushbutton popped out of the locking mechanism, and the knob turned slowly. More soft clicks came, and then the deadbolt flipped, clicking loudly as it opened. The door began to move.

The opening of the door was stopped abruptly by the combination of three chains holding it shut. A hand slipped in to the narrow space, then was retracted. A knife blade slid in between the door and the jamb and pulled at the chains, but they held fast. The knife slid back out and the door closed again.

There was nobody to see the opened locks. There was nobody awake to hear the footsteps traveling down the hallway from the door. The break-in had been discouraged…

This time.