The Face in the Water, page 1
part #1 of Iron on Iron Series
THE FACE IN THE WATER
IRON ON IRON
BOOK ONE
GREGORY ASHE
H&B
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
The Face in the Water
Copyright © 2023 Gregory Ashe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law. For permission requests and all other inquiries, contact: contact@hodgkinandblount.com
Published by Hodgkin & Blount
https://www.hodgkinandblount.com/
contact@hodgkinandblount.com
Published 2023
Printed in the United States of America
Version 1.05
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-63621-065-0
eBook ISBN: 978-1-63621-064-3
As in water face answereth to face, so the heart of man to man.
—Proverbs 27:19
1
“I’m not catastrophizing,” Teancum Leon said as he wheeled his luggage into the lobby of the Santaland Resort and Convention Center, conveniently located in the middle-of-nowhere known as Auburn, Missouri. “I’m simply stating a fact: by coming to rural Missouri, we’re statistically more likely to be murdered by hillbillies.”
His husband, Jeremiah Berger, who went by Jem, smiled at an elderly couple passing them. But he said, “And.”
“And if that murder were to be preceded by events like those in Deliverance, which, by the way, I still don’t know why you made me watch—”
“Because it’s amazing.”
“—then we shouldn’t be surprised.”
When Tean paused to orient himself in the hotel lobby, Jem reached over to smooth down his collar. “And.”
“And we would likely end up being made into masks of human skin.”
“You didn’t even watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre. You said it was too scary.”
“So, you can see my point: this is objective reality. That’s all.”
Jem considered him. He seemed to be speaking to himself when he said, “We should have gotten you more tweed.”
Tean blinked. “What?”
“More tweed. You’re this bigwig—”
“I’m not and have never been a bigwig.”
“—specially invited to attend a prestigious conference—”
“Missy invited me to be on her panel, Jem, at the annual conference for a third-tier association. Most of these people are hucksters. And I’m not even the keynote speaker.”
“—and we should have gotten you those pants the horse guys have to wear, the really baggy ones. Only out of tweed.”
“Jockeys?”
Jem smirked. “Boxers, but I wanted to surprise you.” Before Tean could formulate a reply to that, Jem caught the eye of an older woman passing them. “This is my husband,” Jem said. “Teancum Leon. He’s a bigwig speaker who got invited to be on a panel.”
The woman smiled at them and gave Tean a second look.
“I’m not—” Tean began.
“You can have his autograph for five dollars,” Jem said over him.
And because he was Jem, the woman laughed. She even touched Jem’s arm as she passed.
When Jem looked back at Tean, he said, “What?”
Tean refused to answer, but judging by the grin playing behind Jem’s beard, Tean thought he already knew anyway. “And I don’t know why I have to wear tweed—”
“You’re not wearing tweed,” Jem murmured. “A problem I intend to solve.”
“—when you get to wear—well, that.”
That was a neon pink and green Beverly Hills 90210 t-shirt that fit Jem like a dream and vintage Adidas shorts (gray and purple because, well, Jem) and flip-flops.
“I seem to recall the last time I bought you a pair of shorts being told, ‘I have chicken legs,’ which, for the record, I disagree with, and I like how you look in shorts.”
“That’s not the point,” Tean said. Although he felt like he might have lost track of what the point actually was.
Because the whole Deliverance-squeal-like-a-pig thing wasn’t getting any traction, and the clothes thing had been a flop, Tean gestured at the lobby of the resort. True to its name, Santaland had gone all out with the Christmas decorations. Plastic Christmas trees, of course, filled every corner, shedding multicolored light from big, old-fashioned bulbs. Plastic reindeer perched in ornamental spaces overhead, looking down at conference-goers from where they bounded and leaped and frolicked in plastic snow. Plastic garlands draped the mantel of an enormous fieldstone fireplace, where orange plastic streamers shimmered. No actual fire in August, thank God—Tean was still soaked with sweat after the short walk from the car. Plastic elves wore jaunty plastic hats. And, of course, no fewer than eight plastic Santas were staged in various positions: one in a sleigh, of course, and another with a sack of toys over his shoulder. One appeared to be bending over and pulling down his red velour trousers. Background music played softly, and at least one of the hidden speakers had blown. It sounded like Irving Berlin had suffered a stroke. The only concession to the conference were signs and banners for the International Habitat Conservation and Protection Association.
“Do you know—” Tean began.
“You get one, so make it good.”
For a moment, Tean floundered. He went with “They have too many bucks. If these were real deer, when they went into rut, they’d trash this place.”
Jem made a face. “Really? That’s the one you picked?”
“No, hold on—”
Laughing, Jem put a hand on his nape and steered him toward the registration desk. “You’re going to have fun. You’re going to cut open snails and ride walruses and throw fish back into ponds, and one of you is going to have to wear the shame antlers, and there will be so much animal urine, you’ll be like a kid in a candy store.”
“One time,” Tean said, “I had coyote urine in my pocket one time, and it should be a lesson to you not to snoop, much less open things that don’t belong to you.”
Jem smiled at an older man passing them, and because he was Jem, the older man smiled back.
“If I’d smiled at him,” Tean said, “he would have burned me at the stake.”
“Get it all out of your system, or your friends are going to make you wear the shame antlers when you do the annual penguin dive.”
“What are the shame antlers? What is a penguin dive?”
“Like you don’t know.”
“It’s going to be three unbearably boring days, Jem. In fact, it’s going to be so boring that we should turn around right now, and we can fly back tonight, and—”
“This lady is coming to talk to you.”
“—and I’m going to tell her I’ve got giardia, and don’t you dare contradict me.”
“Never,” Jem said through a smile as the woman reached them.
It had been years since Tean had seen Missy Bennett—since grad school, actually—and she’d changed. They both had, of course. She’d gotten rid of most of her dark hair (thanks to Jem, Tean knew it was called a bald fade), and she’d opted for a baggy t-shirt and jeans that accentuated the androgynous look. The heart-shaped gauges were new, but the earbuds worn around her neck weren’t—and neither were the dark, friendly eyes.
“Missy—” Tean began, lurching into a hug when Jem propelled him from behind.
At the same time, Missy said, “Teancum—”
She laughed. Tean tried to extricate himself. Jem, when Tean glimpsed him out of the corner of his eye, was beaming.
When they separated, Missy turned toward Jem, holding out a hand. They shook, and Missy said, “You must be—”
But Jem said over her, “He doesn’t have giardia.”
It was an interesting experience, Tean thought through the distant ringing in his ears. He’d never been swallowed by a black hole in slow motion before.
Then Jem grinned and said, “I’m Jem.”
And somehow, because he was Jem—again, over and over again—Missy only laughed and said, “Missy. I’ve wanted so badly to meet you. Ever since you made Tean get Instagram.”
“He didn’t make me get it,” Tean said. “He stole my identity and created the account himself.”
Missy’s smile got bigger. “I see rings.”
“Yes,” Tean said, touching his gold band absently, “and it’s always getting caught on something. With my luck, I’ll probably get my hand ripped off during the walrus ride.”
Missy turned a look on Jem.
“He’s been under a lot of pressure,” Jem said, slinging an arm around Tean. “Walrus fever.”
Missy laughed again, as though that made sense—as though any of it made sense—and Tean decided he was going to become a hermit. Nobody ever came and bothered hermits, and if they did, hermits were legally allowed to shoot at them with .22s until they left.
“Did you register already?” Missy asked. “The desk is over here.”
She led them past a sign that said WELCOME DELEGATES AND OVERSEAS VISITORS, with the message repeated
“Nope,” Jem said as he urged Tean forward. Then, in a whisper, he added, “I know that look, Teancum Leon. You are not allowed to become a hermit.”
“I can do whatever I want.”
Jem actually snorted at that.
“Heather,” Missy said as they approached the registration desk at the far end of the lobby, “this is Dr. Leon, with the Utah Department of Wildlife Resources. And this is his…” She let the sentence trail.
“Troublemaker,” Jem said. “Jem Berger.”
Heather was an older woman, white, with a wattle of crepey skin. Her color was bad, and although it was hard to tell because she was sitting behind the table, she looked too thin, with only a hint of residual weight around her middle. She searched through the badges until she found Tean’s, and then she started putting together a welcome kit—a tote bag with a conference program, flyers from industry and academic journals, some sort of little spongy thing that was probably meant to be for stress.
“Do you know the environmental toll of printing waste—” Tean began.
Jem cleared his throat. When Tean shot him a look, he was innocently studying one of the plastic reindeer overhead, whistling “White Christmas.”
“I can connect you with your dog,” Heather said as she passed the bag over. She had a gravelly voice, and she coughed before continuing. “If that would help.”
Missy made no effort to hide rolling her eyes.
“Like, long distance?” Jem asked.
“No, thank you,” Tean said.
“How did you know we had a dog?” Jem asked.
“We’re fine, thanks.”
Heather smiled at them: yellow, crooked teeth. “I can sense him with you. A black dog. I get the feeling of bigness. Is he big? Does he have a big personality? His aura has melded with yours.” She frowned. “Did you lose him recently?”
Jem’s mouth opened in shock. “I did. How did you know that?”
“We didn’t lose him,” Tean said, taking Jem’s elbow and trying to pull him away. “You took him for a walk without a harness, and he got stuck in the McCoys’ fence.”
“He’s speaking to me right now,” Heather said, closing her eyes and touching her temples. “He misses you a great deal.”
Jem nodded at Tean with a grin, and Tean spotted the dog hair on his sleeve that had, against all odds, survived a full day of travel.
Brushing away the fur, Tean said, “If anything, he’s getting so many treats that he’s going to have diarrhea or bloat or pancreatic failure or diabetes by the time we get home. Maybe all of them.”
“Yes, well, if you’re worried about him—” Heather opened her eyes and fumbled for a card. “—I also perform remote healings.”
“No,” Tean said.
“I’m interested.” Jem snagged the card. “Very interested. Thank you so much.”
“Heather,” a woman snapped. “I told you: this is a professional organization, and there’s no place for that kind of nonsense here. If you’re going to bother the participants, I’ll have someone else staff the registration table.”
The speaker was a broad-shouldered, big-chested woman, her skin dark and lined from the sun, and she looked militant in a khaki shirt with epaulettes. The only thing missing, Tean decided, was a riding crop.
As she approached the table, Tean tugged Jem backward until they’d joined Missy. The woman planted herself in front of Heather. “What’s the status of my room?”
Heather’s shoulders curved in, and she sank down in the seat, not meeting the other woman’s eyes. “The resort staff say it’s all cleaned up, but they don’t know how the cats got in—”
“Cats,” the woman said and gave an unpleasant laugh.
“That’s Yesenia,” Missy whispered. “She’s the president of the association.”
It looked like Yesenia might have said more to Heather, but at that moment, screams erupted from the front of the lobby. They all turned to watch as two Santaland security guards—whose street cred, Tean considered, was probably undermined by the red jackets with white piping—dragged a struggling young woman toward the doors.
“No!” she was screaming as she kicked the air and writhed in their grip. “No! Let me go! It’s not real!” Her labored breathing had the quality of real panic. “It’s all a lie! I have to tell them!”
The automatic doors slid shut behind her, and the muffled screams slowly faded into the distance.
“Jesus,” Jem said under his breath.
“I have to see to that,” Yesenia said, striding toward the doors. “Don’t let me catch you again, Heather.”
Heather, still shrunken in her seat, sent a gray-faced scowl after the other woman.
“Uh.” Missy gave an unsteady laugh. “Sorry about that, Jem. There are always people who show up at these kinds of events. The ones who think we’re not doing enough. And the other side, who think we’re doing too much already.”
When Jem looked a question at Tean, he gave a tiny shake of his head: a silent answer of Yes, but not like that.
“I think we’ll get our room,” Tean said. “Grab our luggage, unpack.”
“I’m so happy you’re here,” Missy said, wrapping him in another hug that, once again, Jem propelled Tean into. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s really—”
“No, seriously, thank you.”
Tean wondered if wriggling was ineffective; maybe he should duck and try to slip under her arms.
“It means so much to me,” Missy said, and she sounded, all of a sudden, on the brink of tears. She released him then, stepping back, blinking rapidly. “Go on, get your room. But please, we have to grab dinner one of these nights. We have so much catching up to do. And I want to get to know Jem—I mean, I don’t even know what you do.”
“Real estate,” Jem said. “I’m literally the most boring person you’ll ever meet. Ask me about escrow accounts.”
Tean couldn’t help the laugh that erupted, and he changed it into a fit of coughing when Jem whapped him on the back.
They got the card keys to their hotel room and retrieved their luggage from the rental car. Even though it was evening, the air was so hot and humid that it felt like they were swimming in a broth of skin cells and off-gassing decomposition and redneck conservatism. Tean was explaining this to Jem in the elevator, at length, until he saw the smile on Jem’s face and made himself stop.
Their room was clean, small, and cool, with the mini-split AC churring happily. It had a connecting door that, Jem checked, was securely bolted from their side. More importantly, they had a big bed, and even though they’d been together years, Tean blushed when Jem bounced on the bed, reclined on an elbow, and waggled his eyebrows.
“Come on,” Jem laughed and flopped onto his stomach. “I want to call the girls.”
Tean joined him on the bed as Jem placed the call. A moment later, the video started, and a giant, wet, black nose snuffled across the screen. Squeals of laughter filled the background.
“They thought that would be hilarious,” Hannah said. Tean’s friend—and co-worker at the DWR—appeared a moment later as Scipio, their black Lab, moved away from the camera. “Here they are. Scipio says hi, by the way.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Tean said. “We could die in a fiery plane crash—”
He grunted when Jem elbowed him, and then the girls were there.
Sofia was ten, her hair still in the braids that Jem had done, and she was filled with a ten-year-old’s outrage. “It’s my turn on the Switch but Anahí won’t let me have a turn even though she died and Hannah said when she died it was my turn!”
“Hi, sweetheart,” Jem said and laughed.
The patter of feet announced Anahí, and Sofia sprinted away—doubtless, Tean decided, to reclaim the Switch. Anahí was only six, her dark hair short, a bow in it already falling halfway out. She was holding a slice of pizza—well, a fraction of a slice of pizza, since Hannah had clearly cut it in half for her.
“We’re having pizza!” Anahí screamed and then ran away.
“Are you being good?” Jem called after her, but excited screams were the only answer.
