I left the church hurriedly. I had gone there seeking peace, but the strange woman had only made me question things. I was there to find some cheer, not to be burdened with the heavy sorrow of a crying woman. It was better to just get drunk and grab some cake.
As I walked out into the crisp air, I spotted Samuel Waltzman in the distance, my friend and colleague, walking with his wife and two children. He looked tamed, like a sweet cat, dressed in a vintage coat that I could only assume his wife, Anne, had carefully selected. The coat looked a little out of place on him—like someone had chosen it from a fashion catalog without asking for his opinion. His trousers, too, matched that odd vintage flair.
Anne was practically beaming, her hand intertwined with his arm, looking relaxed as she basked in the holiday joy. Their two children, also dressed in the same red sweaters, tugged playfully at their parents' sides. They were all smiles, the picture of family bliss.
I watched them from a distance, feeling a sharp pang in my chest. Samuel, the younger one of us, was a family man. He'd settled into this life that seemed so far removed from my own. Anne's face, usually wreathed in tension and worry, had transformed into something warmer, something close to joy as she held onto her husband's arm. She was lost in the moment, absorbed in the small, precious miracle of family.
The sight of them was a strange one for me—partially laughable, given the way they looked, as though they'd stepped out of an old holiday postcard, but also undeniably cheerful. There was something comforting about seeing them, their small world spinning happily in a corner of the bustling streets, untouched by the turmoil I had just left behind in the church.
I couldn't help but envy them, even as I dismissed their happiness as something naive. They had found something I had abandoned long ago. Maybe it was peace. Or maybe it was just the simple bliss of not having to deal with the chaos of the world the way I did.
Samuel, with his vintage coat and carefully cultivated family life, was an enigma I couldn't quite place. Was he content, or had he just accepted a role, like a cat who's been fed enough to forget its wildness?
Either way, I was no longer interested in pondering it. I turned away and continued on my way, my mind fixating once again on the cake and the drink that would help drown the unsettling thoughts of the day.
I soon walked off along the crowd alone, hoping to blend with the Christmas bustle. I wanted to disappear into the sea of people, a faceless figure in the holiday chaos. Samuel would never see me—too close, yet too far to notice me in this crowd.
"Hey," I heard him shout, cutting through the noise of the bustling streets.
I was startled. I had to stop in my tracks, reluctant to face the familiar but unwelcome interruption.
"Hi, Sam," I muttered, turning around to greet him.
"Didn't you see me?" he asked, a playful note in his voice.
"No, there was a lot of crowd. So, you went unnoticed. I mean—" I hesitated, unsure of what to say next. "It's easy to get lost in a crowd like this, you know?"
He chuckled, looking at me with that same easygoing smile, the kind that never seemed to waver. Samuel, the man who had his life all mapped out, family and all.
"Well, lucky for me I'm not as easy to miss," he said with a grin, his eyes bright with amusement. He had that way of making everything feel light, as if life was some great, unfolding story.
I nodded, unsure of how to respond. I didn't want to make this more than it was. I wasn't the type to get caught up in small talk or forced camaraderie.
"So, what are you doing out here? Where's Anne and the kids?" I asked, changing the subject to avoid the awkwardness that had settled between us.
"They're grabbing some hot chocolate down the street. Just wanted to stretch my legs," he said, his gaze shifting toward the direction his family had gone. "But you're out here alone, huh?"
"Yeah. Just... taking a walk," I replied, my voice quieter now, as I realized how alone I really was in that moment. It wasn't a rare feeling, but for some reason, standing there with Samuel, it felt more pronounced.
"Well, we should grab a drink sometime, just the two of us. Catch up. I mean, I know things have been... busy," Samuel said, his smile softening, as if reading the quiet beneath my words.
I felt a fleeting moment of gratitude toward him—he wasn't one to push, and yet he wasn't oblivious to the distance I kept.
"Maybe," I said, keeping my tone neutral, but the thought lingered in my mind.
Anne returned to Samuel, her gaze drifting to me as she pressed her body against him. She had this way of making everything feel just a little more... intimate than it was.
"Oh, hey, Mr. Loren," Anne greeted, her smile wide as she leaned into Samuel, clearly feeling the warmth of the moment.
"Oh, hello, Anne," I replied, giving a curt nod. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," she returned, her tone laced with something playful, almost as if she were savoring a quiet victory. "So, any plans? Or are you as lonely as ever?"
"As lonely as ever," I said, my voice dry.
She chuckled a bit, as if she'd just won some unspoken battle, and I couldn't help but feel a small flicker of annoyance. Her teasing was like a challenge, but I wasn't sure why I bothered to entertain it.
"I'm with my family... family reunion," she said, pressing even closer to Samuel, a subtle, proud gleam in her eyes. "My cousins will be eager to know about a well-paid, attractive single detective like you."
I had no interest in her family, not in the slightest. If Anne was a vixen, I could only imagine what her relatives might be like—either just as charming or maybe worse.
"Ah... Anne... quite the matchmaker, aren't you?" I replied, my words deliberate, a little cutting. "As for the matchmaking, though... you look very beautiful tonight too. Why not give your hand to me for a little dance?"
My voice was more mockery than flirting, but it was an offer she'd never take.
"Ah..." Anne responded with a forced smile, "I'm well... taken." She chuckled softly, as if delivering some clever punchline. "And a man who smokes like a chimney? Not exactly husband material, are you?" She smirked, as though her words had struck a blow.
She laughed again, her laugh more for show than anything else. A carefully crafted, sophisticated jab, one that only she could pull off with such ease.
I kept my expression neutral, not giving her the satisfaction of reacting too much. "I see," I said flatly, letting the words hang in the air for a moment before I turned my gaze away, as if the conversation had already been put to rest.
Samuel observed the tension between us, his brow furrowing slightly as though sensing an invisible tug-of-war. "I think we should go and leave our poor friend alone," he said, his tone light but deliberate, attempting to cut through the strained air.
"The kids must be tired," Anne replied, her gaze fixed on me for just a moment longer, as if daring me to respond.
"Bye, Loren," Sam added, his hand resting gently on Anne's back as he led her
I waved my hand and forced a wide smile, watching them disappear into the crowd. As soon as they were gone, the grin faded, replaced by a sigh of relief.
I shoved my hands into my pockets to fend off the chill, only to feel something unexpected. My fingers traced over smooth, familiar edges. Cards—thin, glossy, and embossed with bold, cursive letters.
The Cathouse.
The Cathouse card was matte black with a sleek gold silhouette of a lounging cat in the center. Below it, The Cathouse is embossed in bold, elegant gold letters, with a subtle tagline: "Where desires meet discretion."
I froze for a second, staring at the name. How long had these been there? And why now, of all moments, did they seem to weigh heavier than the coins and keys in the same pocket?
I tucked the old card into my pocket, its edges worn but the gold lettering still gleaming slightly in the dim light. Despite the passing of time, it had somehow survived, hidden away in my old coat, waiting for me to rediscover it. As I held it in my hand, I wondered what significance this small, seemingly insignificant card held.
Shaking my head, I clenched the cards tight and started walking again.