Mongrel [bxb] | Bad Moon Book III

Chapter 6: save a horse

For the next few days, Bailey took up Matt's offer of clean clothes and a warm shower. Jess was happy enough to serve him breakfast and wash his filthy things, but he went just as quickly as he came. Somehow still, he was around just when Matt needed him most and just long enough to ward Jess off.

It was almost like he had a knack for flying in at the right time and then slipping away unnoticed. Still, Matt shared only a few words with him in the days that passed—until Friday night when he came home from work to find Bailey sitting on the arm of the couch. He smelled strongly of soap, his loose wet hair tucked behind his ear. His arm moved vigorously as he sketched shapes to paper. To Matt it looked like nothing more than nonsensical shadows.

"What is that?"

"Art." When Bailey laid his book down in his lap and Matt noticed the shirt he was wearing. The same shirt that could be seen in every one of Matt's senior year photos. Save a horse, ride a cowboy, it said.

"Where'd you get that?"

"Your wife gave it to me." Bailey dug a dark, tilted line into the page. "Knew you owned a shirt like this. Felt it in my bones."

"She's not my wife. And that shirt's one of my biggest regrets."

Bailey flashed Matt that devil smirk if just for a moment. His dark eyes fell back to his page and he shadowed in a strange curve with the edge of his pencil. "I kinda like it."

"Keep it, since you have a thing for stealing my shit anyway. Why are you still here?"

"Your place has good lighting." Bailey feathered his pencil across the page, not looking up to meet Matt's eyes. "Besides, she's been waiting for you in the bedroom. Smells like candles and flavored lube. Sad you need that."

A sudden panic flared in Matt's chest and his throat tightened hard. Staring at the hallway to the bedroom suddenly felt a lot like a walk down death row.

"So what is it?" Bailey asked. "She gotta set of teeth down there or something?"

Matt dropped down onto the sofa beside him, hands raking back through his mussed hair. "It's not her, it's..." But a thought made him pause. His goal here was to learn about Bailey—make sure he wasn't dangerous. Not to spill his own secrets to the one person in this world he doesn't trust with 'em.

He looked to Bailey's sketchbook instead. "You have anything else in there?"

The hound paused, pencil still dug into the paper. After a moment of hesitance, he flipped one page back in the book and passed it on to Matt. Deep graphite marks had been poured into every inch of the paper. Lucy's black-and-white spotted face stared back at him, tongue curled up toward her nose. He'd gotten everything right, down to the ink-spattered shape on her forehead.

"When did you make this?"

"This morning," Bailey said.

He hated to say it, but Matt was impressed. He'd drawn her long lashes so prominent, her dewy eyes wet with sunlight. Her nostrils were even a bit squished on one side, just like the real Lucy. "You're good."

"I know," Bailey took the book back and stood from the couch. He had a weird way about him that never needed announcing. Always seemed to leave without a goodbye or even an acknowledgment.

Before he could go though, Matt asked, "Do you only draw animals?"

Bailey turned to look at him—cowboy shirt too short for the shape of him. Wet at the shoulder from his undried hair. "No," he said. "I draw the things that make me feel alright." There was something so different about him when he said it. Even the way he stood there threw Matt off. Maybe it was the too-tight shirt, or the baggy sweats he'd borrowed, or the way his hair looked when it was wet. But Bailey didn't seem like Bailey. He seemed like...Bailey's less-evil twin.