Latest gay erotic stories: Safe Deposit – Chapter 2
Thomas, bless him, shifted focus. “You never told me the story of how you got this stuff,” he said. “I mean, I know how you got it. But the actual story. I haven’t heard it.”
He was right. Sam had gone out of his way to avoid talking about that part.
“Uh,” Sam struggled to gather the words. “I was…I was reading the paper. Well, several of the papers. Back in Pittsburgh, I mean. Not here. Obviously.”
“The obituaries section. Sometimes they put notices in there, like…looking for relatives. So I was reading that part.”
He waited for Thomas to ask about that, to ask why, but he didn’t.
“So I saw it — I saw my name.”
“You saw your name on an obituary?”
“No.” He huffed out a laugh. “In the relatives and friends section. Where they’re looking for people. My name was there.”
“Wow.” Thomas looked pensive, but didn’t say anything more.
“Yeah, wow. I about had a heart attack, because I thought – ” Sam took another deep breath and steadied himself. “I thought it was about someone else. But then I see the guy’s name, Harold Myers. Says he’s named me as a living friend or relative, and that I should call this county number to get the information.”
“They said he had left stuff for me, in a safe deposit box.”
Thomas cocked his head. “But if you hadn’t met, how did he even know you existed?”
Sam shrugged. “Who knows? But he’d left money for his own cremation, and they had the ashes and this box of stuff…”
The silence stayed for a while.
“What did you do with the remains?” It was almost a whisper. His hand hadn’t left Sam’s forearm, and right then, Sam was glad.
“In the car.”
He didn’t look at Thomas; he didn’t need to be told how crazy it was. Harold hadn’t left any notes about what to do with his own fucking ashes; he’d just dumped them on Sam’s lap.
C’est la vie.
“Okay.” Thomas sounded cautious again, but not in the same way as before; now he seemed like he was trying to keep Sam calm. Sam had never felt gratefulness and resentment simultaneously, but this had been a year of firsts.
“Okay?” Sam chuckled. “That’s all you have to say about this? Okay?”
Thomas puffed his cheeks and blew the air out. “Yeah, I mean…” He shrugged. “Here we are.”
He didn’t know how to reply to that, so he just stayed quiet, fiddling with the stuff in the box. The small box of stationery was at the bottom and Sam was careful not to touch or look at it.
He didn’t like it.
“So what’s all in there?”
“Just the stuff we talked about.” He was unspeakably relieved to be asked a question he could answer without shaking. “The snow globe, the knitting needles.”
He swallowed loudly.
The words were strained but at least his voice hadn’t cracked. He’d have had a hell of a time explaining tears over dime-store stationery. He couldn’t even explain it to himself.
“There were some old batteries, too? Don’t know why hell he kept them in a safe deposit box. I didn’t bring those.”
Sam beat around the bush for a while, telling Thomas again about how the snow globe had been manufactured in Switzerland and only available from one shop that didn’t ship, and how that must have meant Harold went there at some point. The knitting needles too were handcrafted, though when and by whom, Sam hadn’t been able to find out. Harold’s unpaid tickets. That stationery that was nice to look at, but not unique.
He left out the part about not being able to examine it without wanting to cry or vomit.
“Why are you here?”
Thomas had interrupted him mid-sentence and he stopped short. He’d been rambling and was beginning to feel a little hysterical.
This guy really knew how to hit him where it hurt, Sam realized. He had seemed like a chirpy ditz when Sam had first walked in, but it didn’t track with how he’d been on the phone. There was a reason Sam had called him fifteen times.
Apart from the voice thing, of course.
“There are keys,” he said. He held up a chain with three hanging from it. “Not specially crafted or anything. Kwiksets. Can get them anywhere, so I didn’t know where to look.” He sighed, staring at his hands. “So I thought maybe his house would have some answers. Maybe there’s a safe, or — ”
Thomas laughed, and the sound was so bright that it forced Sam to look up.
“There’s a door,” Thomas said. He’d been sitting cross-legged like a yogi on the couch, but he bounced to his feet in one go. The weight of his hand vanished from Sam’s arm and he almost reached to pull it back. “It’s a little door, like a roof access panel, but it’s on the floor. I couldn’t open it before, I had no key, but…”
Thomas went around a corner, still talking, but Sam couldn’t hear him. His head popped back around the corner, looking impatient.
He found he didn’t have the strength to stand up; his legs felt like water. The dread had returned with a vengeance, and he considered making a run for the door, jelly-legs or none. Thomas’s expression softened and he padded over, sitting down next to Sam again. He was much closer this time; their thighs were pressed together and Thomas was holding his arm between his hands.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice low and soft.
His mouth was too close to Sam’s ear.
Sam’s heart rate was slowing, and the feel of Thomas’s breath on his neck was helping. He was a quite exhausted; the last few weeks had been such a roller coaster of emotion that he felt like he had a hangover. He let his head fall back against the couch cushion, closing his eyes.
“I’m sorry I’m like this,” he whispered. This couch was a cloud and Thomas’s weight was comforting next to him. “I don’t know why, I just…can’t get it together about this whole Harold thing.”
Sam felt him scoot closer and leaned into him. He knew what it must seem like to Thomas, him leaning in and closing his eyes. If Thomas was going to kick him out, he’d do it now. If not, well.