Erase and Rewind (Full Book)

Chapter Twenty Six: Ants

Tricking Noah into giving up his full name was easier than living with him.

He was not, by a long shot, a lousy flatmate. On the contrary, he was polite as ever, impeccable when it came to general neatness, and gave Malik space. Which was what gnawed at Malik; he gave him too much space. The odd questions were what bothered him next. Noah would ask if he intended to lock the apartment or if he was allowed to eat or if it was alright to use hot water for showers. Malik didn't know if these questions were the outcome of their fractured trust or living on the streets or something far more sinister.

Malik had the feeling it was Noah's first time to live in close proximity with someone. Although Malik had fucked his fair share of hot guys, he made sure to haul ass the next morning. He didn't want to find himself mired in complications. But every rule, every wall he'd put between himself and men, seemed to topple like a house of cards around his fragile nerd. It took strength not to stare at Noah's naked ankles or his shy, lopsided smiles or take him right there and then when he borrowed one of Malik's too tight sweaters.

By day three they had come to a silent agreement; distraction. Noah took it upon himself to clean the pigsty Malik had made of the apartment. The apartment, room by room, began to shine under his capable hands. Malik decided in turn to unravel the threads of the cluster fuck.

While Noah was scrubbing the kitchen, Malik was cross-legged in the living area pouring over his laptop. He made a list titled What we know so far.

The boy Sarah had confirmed was locked in the psych ward was Noah Christopher Davis, not his Noah Carlisle Montgomery. Which explained how there could've been a mixed-up yet didn't explain why Sarah would keep photos of him. There was also the tattoos the college students with the viral video had, the Cartier watch Ugly had stolen—

Baxter. The owner according to the records kept at Eugene's store was called Darius Baxter. And the folder on Sarah's tablet was labeled Baxter.

Too much of a coincidence.

"I think I'm gonna head out," Malik said after he wore sneakers and threw a short coat over his jeans. "You need anything?"

Noah looked up from the floor, a mop tight in his hand. "No. Thank you."

His lips were no longer the alarming shade of blue they were that awful night when Malik picked him at the station. He could've died for the cold or the person who stole the rest of his paycheck could've done more than just steal cash.

And I pushed you away, Malik bitterly though.

He cleared his throat. "If you change your mind...you know...call me?"

Noah's eyes dropped back to the bucket. He nodded.

Malik sighed and grabbed his keys. He didn't lock the apartment.

The snow had stopped falling and the streets were smoother to navigate. Malik grabbed a coffee from the café using his student discount and paid for extra cups for the homeless to pick up. Funny how he didn't notice the Café provided such a gesture until then.

Alone in the Jetta, Malik tried different combos on his phone. He searched for his sister's name. Glowing residency testimonials from various hospitals popped. The dates, however, were not clear cut and gave no inkling of her current place of work.

Carlisle Montgomery was an explosion of different people. Adding Noah's name contributed nothing to the mix.

Darius Baxter was even more frustrating because the information was useless trash. He was a philanthropist, an avid art collector, and a rich dude with a terrible fashion sense. His wardrobe was primarily black blazers and pants. It was a real shame since his earlier photos showed a dashing guy, models draped on his arms. One of them in particular was a petite straw blonde with delicate features and light ocean blue eyes.

Malik sputtered coffee over the steering wheel and his sweats. It couldn't be...could it?

A short drive to the gallery later, Malik was still confused. The gallery was more crowded than his previous visit. Antique crystal chandeliers had been installed, illuminating the expanse space instead of modern spotlights.

The special exhibition for artist Patricia Davis was on display on the top floor.

There were sculptures that looked like melted potatoes, paintings that had fading animal heads while other paintings were a smattering of color over charcoal...or were they called stencils?

The visitors muttered appreciatively, snapped pictures with their phones, and squandered several minutes staring at the "pieces of art". Malik was about to call it quits when just around the corner, he hit the jackpot.

The painting was canvas and oil. The brush strokes were gentle shades of blue framed by spots as yellow as fields of wheat. The painting was titled: François.

"Excuse me," Malik motioned to a woman with cropped hair who had the gallery's name tag clipped to her crisp white shirt. "Do you know anything about this painting?"

The woman smiled. "Excellent choice. It's breathtaking, no?"

It was another dull thing an eighth-grader could do. "Yeah. Fascinating. Almost as if it's keeping a secret."

The woman's smile widened. "Ah, so you've heard the rumors." She glanced around the room. "They're true."

Malik lowered his voice as if they were sinking their teeth in a delicious conspiracy. "Which ones?"

The woman gasped. "Why all of them! François was their muse. She was very French in every way. Baxter and Patricia's marriage didn't survive after her disappearance."

Malik's head was spinning. "You're saying she was...?"

"The bridge. The glue. She was what ants were to Salvador Dali."

He wished there was an interpreter for the artsy-fartsy jargon. "She up and left?"

"Well," the woman drawled, "some say it was Baxter's jealousy. That François loved Patricia more. Others say she fell in love with a Parisian artist." She shrugged.

"I see."

Someone waved the woman over. "I've got to dash. Do try to make it this Friday. There is an event."

"What kind?"

The employee pointed at a painting of stars and constellations. "A celebration of the appulse."

Malik nodded. That he understood, because once upon a time a boy called Jude had told him an appulse was the closest two celestial bodies or more could get.

***

Malik grabbed a hearty serving of fish and chips from the shop in his apartment building. He was going to have to run an extra mile to avoid getting a pooch. He kicked his shoes by the door and draped the coat on the couch.

"Noah," he called. "Food." Malik started taking out the Styrofoam plates on the kitchen counter. The kitchen was the cleanest it has ever been since...ever.

Noah appeared, gaunt and pale. "Thank you...I'm not hungry."

Malik tried to hide his disappointment. "Did you eat?"

"Um..." He bit his lower lip. "Can we talk after...you're done?"

Malik put the lid back on the chips. "We can talk now if you like?"

"I...maybe you want to sit down?" He clenched his hands into fists, the look on his face was that of a lost puppy. If he wasn't worried, Malik would've said he looked adorable.

"Couch?" Malik moved and sat.

Noah remained standing out of arm's reach, a slight tremor went through him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I killed him."

Not rats again. "Killed what?"

Noah's knuckles turned white at his sides. "I killed your brother."

Author's Note: 

Salvadore Dali was a surrealist painter who used ants as a symbol of death and decay but also overwhelming desire in his work.