The Tiffany Box- ONC 2021 Shortlister

9- Bury the Past

Haven's dust-covered coat and scarf were hung on a hook by the door. He knew the red-brown dirt created a film over his ashen hair but he had little time for dusting that off now. The stranger was his main priority. Washing his hands and face, he looked through the window at the wind-storm causing havoc outside. No one in their right mind would have been caught outside when the wind began to pick up.

At his feet, the kitten mewled and rubbed against his leg. "Hey, you're my next patient, ok?" Haven smiled at the tiny ball of fur. "I've got to tend to his wound." Then he added worriedly, "It looks pretty bad." Filling a bowl with warm water, he grabbed a clean dishcloth and returned to his bedroom.

On his bed, covered in a sheet of dust, the teenager lay. Haven lingered by the door, worry furrowed his brow. What happens when he wakes up? He thought. What if he's like them? Haven felt his heart thud with anxiety. Maybe he's not like them. Perhaps he is nice – a kindred soul. But Haven knew that few people were close to kind in a town like Los Demonios. Biting his lip, he took a hesitant step over the threshold as he headed to the younger man's side.

Setting the bowl on the nightstand, Haven began to clean the blood and dust off his guest's face. Gentle strokes washed the teen. With each rinse of the cloth, the water turned darker until it became a deep reddish hue, the same shade creatures looked as they died. When he had finished with the stranger's face, Haven touched the cloth to the teen's neck. With slow, swirling motions, Haven reached the other's collarbone; working around to the back of his neck then upwards. When he went to lift a lock of dark hair away from the younger man's ear, he gasped when saw the black star tattoo. Looking at it in part shock part awe, he went to set the cloth down in the bowl but it fell onto the floor. Gingerly, he ran the tip of his finger over the star. "I know what you are," he whispered. Haven's thoughts traveled to a time and place so far back he'd almost forgotten about it. Closing his lids at half-mast, he allowed himself to be carried into the past.

An older man, somewhere in his early forties, entered Haven's mind. The man's hair was black with wisps of white along the temples. The inky tendrils fell ruler-straight to the man's shoulders. Faint lines crept around the man's smiling almond-shaped brown eyes. When he lifted a finger and brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, a black star tattoo appeared. Around the man was a blinding sunset, blasts of light flashed behind a veil of pink and tangerine. Under his bare feet, the sea rippled teasingly. When the man looked up, Haven felt as though he were looking right into his soul.

The kitten leaped on the bed popping Haven's recollection like a bubble. Sliding his hand away from the teenager, he collected the cloth and bowl and left the room.

Standing over the sink, Haven bowed his head. Unable to shake his past memory, a long-buried hurt blossomed inside him. He thought of how everything he had ever seen or done remained within him as if his mind held lockers full of tarnished treasure and things he'd rather not recall. "Ryo..." he uttered into the silent kitchen. The man's name felt odd on his tongue for he had not uttered it in decades. But the emotion he carried for his old lover poked at him painfully. Though Ryo was not his only lover or his last, he had been the one Haven had loved the best. When Ryo died, it left a hole in Haven's soul that nothing could fill.

Shaking his head, particles of dust rained into the basin. Haven swallowed down a sigh and reached for the Osaricus. "Of all the sorts," he said to himself, "I had to have a Dream Seller sprout in my garden like some weed. I'd rather it have been pock-face." But when he uttered his last sentence, Haven froze. "I take that back," he spitted out gripping the plant so hard it began to bruise. "I take it back." Haven's heart thudded and he felt himself struggling to breathe. Realizing what a stupid thing he said, he cursed himself.

Haven would have continued swearing but the cat bumped into him and let out a long, off-key meow.

"Oh, God," Haven said looking at the kitten. "I haven't fed you, have I?" Releasing the Osaricus, he noticed pink marks on his hand from the rough way he was clutching the leaves. Pursing his lips, he set the plant down. Haven headed to the fridge, took a plate of yesterday's sardines and set it on the floor.

With a happy sound, the kitten followed its nose to the food and began to eat.

Thankful for the little creature's interruption, Haven returned to the plant and began getting some balm ready for both the wounded teen and the sightless cat. 

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