The Riddle of the Coaxial

Marcus stood on the ladder, the coaxial cable heavy in his hands like a dead snake. Another installation, another suburban house that looked exactly like the last one. The woman downstairs—Karen, she'd said—had been flirting with him, her wedding ring conspicuously absent, her smile a little too desperate. Marcus had seen it before: loneliness wrapped in casual conversation, testing the waters.

Her golden retriever had followed him from room to room, its wheaten coat matted with age, eyes cloudy with cataracts. The dog reminded him of his ex-wife's dog, the one she'd taken when she left, taking everything except his quiet despair.

"You know what you're doing," Karen had said from the doorway, leaning against the frame. "I like a man who knows his way around... cables."

The double entendre had landed with the subtlety of a brick. Marcus had just nodded, focused on the connection, on the task at hand. It was easier that way—better to disappear into the work than face the messy complications of human connection.

Now, in the attic, he found it: an old wooden crate pushed into the corner, covered in dust. Something about it made him pause. Inside, wrapped in yellowed newspaper, was a small bronze sphinx. Its face was worn smooth, the wings detailed and delicate, the paws crossed as if guarding secrets older than this house, older than the neighborhood, older than the loneliness that drove people to seek temporary comfort in strangers.

The sphinx seemed to ask him something without speaking. What did he want? Who was he, really, without his work, without the routine that kept him from thinking too hard?

He ran the cable through the wall, his hands steady despite the sudden tremor in his chest. The dog waited at the bottom of the ladder, tail thumping slowly against the floorboards, a simple creature content with presence, with being seen.

Marcus climbed down, the sphinx heavy in his pocket where he'd slipped it, though he knew he shouldn't have taken it. He'd return it tomorrow, when he came back to finish the job. But tonight, he needed something to wonder about, something that asked questions without expecting answers.

Karen was waiting in the kitchen. "All done?"

"Almost," Marcus said. "I'll be back tomorrow."

He walked to his truck, the dog watching through the window, and for the first time in months, he wondered what might happen if he stopped running from what he couldn't explain.