Ghosts that Watch Us

22

Ellory stopped just short of exiting, hand on the wall to steady himself. The airports in Mexico were a bit different from the ones in the States. Often the result of overcrowding, many of the planes had to disembark passengers onto the tarmac, paths cordoned-off to guide them into the airport itself. This time was no different, no welcoming air conditioning to help ease the transition for Ellory.

Already he could feel a balloon of heat seeping into the still cold airplane. He brought the ice pack to his neck with a nervous swallow.

"You okay?" Sean asked from behind him, sounding like he was bending to speak close to Ellory's ear. Ellory didn't have the focus to tell him to back off.

"Fine," he said quietly and took his first step around the corner and out of the open door, a metal staircase latched onto the side of the plane.

"Hope you enjoy your trip," the flight attendants said in unison, smiling and ushering them out.

"Thank you," Ellory gasped, closing his eyes as the heat hit him full in the face, like a wall of pulsing fire. He faltered on the first step, hand shooting out to grab the burning rail. And then an arm was around his shoulders, pressuring him gently to keep moving. Sean was there, and Ellory let him lead the way down the steps, ice pack pressed to his mouth and chin.

"I just...I just need a few moments to—to adjust. It's too much sometimes." Sean said nothing, only tightened his fingers on Ellory's shoulders, maneuvering their way through some stragglers by the entrance. They pushed through the glass doors and were enveloped in air so crisp and cool that Ellory moaned, sagging in relief. Sean led him to some chairs and dropped down next to him.

Sweat slipped down Ellory's face, and he wondered vaguely if there was something he could fan himself with, when Sean suddenly reached over, as if on instinct, to swipe the beads of sweat with the hem of his shirt. Ellory flinched away and Sean snatched his hand back, an apology rolling off his lips in a hurry.

"Dr. Waylon?"

They both turned to the young man standing there. He wore khaki pants and a blue shirt emblazoned with some taxi company logo. Ellory nodded and the man smiled.

"I am Santiago. Miss Delia made arrangements for you to be picked up and delivered to your hotel." His accent was as thick as the flight attendant’s, his Spanish transforming the quietest words, like Delia, into bursts like flowers.

Sean whistled. "She's good."

“Of course she is,” Ellory said half-heartedly, trying to control the well of nausea bubbling in his stomach. He introduced himself to Santiago, adding Sean’s name as a sorry afterthought.

“Miss Delia described you to me. It’s how I found you.” The young man grinned, as if he’d solved a great mystery. Ellory liked him immediately.

“Thank you, Santiago. I’m ready to go now.” Ellory stood and felt Sean stand up with him.

Santiago’s brows puckered. “Miss Delia said it would only be you?”

“Oh,” Ellory said. He glanced back at Sean, who hovered close by. He had that wide-eyed expectant look about him, slightly lost and unsure. It made Ellory pause.

But Sean’s face immediately closed off, as if sensing Ellory’s hesitation had more to do with his dislike of Sean than with anything else.“I can find my way to a beach in the next day or two. Maybe I can crash at your hotel tonight and get out of your hair tomorrow.” Ellory nodded after a moment, too preoccupied with the heat and the fatigue of travel to think too much on it. 

They both followed Santiago through the main terminal, going down escalators and to the luggage claim. He and Sean loomed over nearly everyone, their heads catching quick gazes from those around them. Everything was an assault of colors and sounds and scents. Lights flashed from raised Teleprompters and store signs, music and announcements in Spanish squawked from overhead speakers, and the richest aromas permeated the air from the restaurants lining the entire expanse of the main terminal, Sean's mouth watering as they sped past. He couldn’t help but crane his neck to try and catch sight of everything, eventually jogging to keep up with Ellory, who strode quickly through the crowd, wanting the solace and quiet of his hotel room. Bags in tow, they piled into the red taxi Santiago had parked at the curb, emergency lights flashing. A car honked behind him and he spat out a flurry of Spanish words, slapping their hood twice. The heat was making Ellory dizzy again, so he handed Santiago his bags and slumped into the backseat, Sean following suit.

Santiago slammed the trunk and got behind the wheel, humming to himself. “Welcome to Tenochtitlán,” he said, pulling into traffic, a Spanish song blasting its tinny melody from the radio.

Sean bent to whisper at Ellory, “What’s that?”

Ellory’s lashes fluttered, his great attempt to roll his eyes. “It’s what Mexico City was called when it was the capitol of the Aztec Empire, before Hernan Cortez conquered it. The old names for places are still widely used among the population and academic scholars.”

“Ah,” Sean said, and buckled himself in. “You don’t get car sick, do you?” He looked Ellory up and down, curled up against his door, wet forehead pressed to the glass.

“No,” he gasped, wincing when the car hit a pothole. “I just get heat sick.”

Sean looked around their seat until he found the ice pack that had rolled away in all the commotion. He pressed it to Ellory’s neck and Ellory thanked him quietly, taking it in his hand.

As Santiago maneuvered through traffic with the kind of reckless dexterity that came from living on these streets, he babbled on about the city and all the great spots they would probably like to visit—a variety of historical and art museums, the floating gardens of Xochimilco; the Bosque Chapultepec and Polanco, where Sean was intrigued to hear included zoo, an anthropology museum, and a castle.

“But don’t go at night, señores. You call me and I will take you, okay? Two big Americanos like yourselves, no, no.”

Sean opened his mouth to say something, probably that Ellory wasn’t technically American, when Ellory pinched his arm. In the same Spanish, Ellory asked how far the Catedral Metropolitana was from their hotel. Sean cut him a sharp glare when he changed languages, but Ellory ignored him.

“Ten minutes, señor,” Santiago said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. “I take you. You need me, I take you.”

Ellory blinked slowly, making a big effort to stay alert. Sean could hardly stand to see him suffer like this.

“Just take it easy,” he whispered. “I’m right here. I’ll make sure things are okay.”

Ellory glanced at him and seemed to consider his offer. And then he nodded with barely suppressed fatigue and relaxed back against the seat, head lolling with the motions of the car. Minutes passed, and then he moaned, startling awake, eyes glassy. Sean observed him, clearly unsure how to help. Rubbing at the back of his neck, Ellory said, “Just…just give me water. And stop looking at me like I’m going to break.”

“Well it sure looks like you’re going to break, if you don’t melt first,” Sean mumbled under his breath, bending to look in Ellory’s bag. Ellory was fumbling with his jacket, taking it off and folding it over his lap. His shirt was drenched already, and he accepted the bottled water with relief.

Their taxi snaked onto a road filled with bumper-to-bumper traffic and Ellory leaned his head back on the seat again, closing his eyes in what probably looked like prayer. Sean watched him, watched the long line of his throat, the jutting Adam’s apple, the sweat beading on the pale skin there, and he remembered the taste of Ellory when he’d bitten down just before coming hard all over him.

“Hey, mate,” he said to Santiago. “Can you raise the air a bit?”

Santiago turned one of the knobs on the dash and a blast of air rushed over them.

“How the f*****g hell were you considering even doing this alone, Ellory?” Sean muttered, taking the wad of napkins the flight attendant had given them and pressing them to Ellory’s neck. Ellory waved him away half-heartedly, but Sean smacked his hand lightly. “You come to a burning place like this and you have heat sensitivity?” He shook his head, eyes narrowed in disapproval.

“Look, I usually never come alone, alright? Delia has always been with me. She knows what to do.”

“Why come at all?” Sean insisted, scooting an inch closer. He patted Ellory’s forehead. “You aren’t supposed to be in a place like this.” With your fair skin and hair, looking more like some woodland sprite than a college professor. Sean didn’t say that.

“This is where my work is. The places I study and teach about just happen to be in the most humid, hot places imaginable.”

“That’s what the internet’s for.”

“It most certainly is not,” Ellory bit out. “It’s not the same. It’s never the same compared to looking up at the crumbling frescoes of a five hundred year old nave and realizing your size in the world.”

Sean stayed quiet, wondering if Ellory’s heat exhaustion was also frying his brain, or if he spoke like this all the time. He figured it was probably the latter, the damn brainiac. Ellory eventually fell into a semi-doze, chest rising with shallow breaths. Sean kept the napkins pressed to his forehead, dabbing down gently to his temple and neck, realizing that if he had all his wits about him Ellory would never let Sean touch him so freely, so much. And they weren’t even to the hotel yet. Ellory was going to spend a whole week here?