by Lissa Kasey
“I hope Sky got home okay in her queen dress,” I said. She had still been flouncing around in it when we had left for the tour.
“Lukas sent a text to say he was going to walk her home,” Micah said. “You must have missed that in all your people watching. Did you get any good pictures? I saw you take a few.”
“I haven’t even looked.” I pulled my phone out of my pocket and flipped it open, sending Lukas a quick text to tell him I was staying with Micah tonight. Maybe he was finally making good with Sky. “Made it through the whole tour without freaking out,” I said. “Even after seeing a ghost. I’m pretty proud of myself.”
“I’m proud of you too. Usually it’s uneventful. Where did you see a ghost?”
“At the Market. Did you feel something at the voodoo place?”
“Yes, but it was mild.”
I flipped through the pictures. Sure enough, at the Voodoo Museum, in the picture of the window beside where Micah stood, there was something. I wasn’t sure what, but there was something. I tugged him to a stop and showed him the picture. “You see that? Or is it me?”
He examined the picture, brows knit together in thought that made me think I was seeing something in the picture he wasn’t seeing either. “Sort of looks like a person. Almost like those Slender Man stories. Though those are all from a fiction piece that started about a decade ago, so not really long enough to even be an urban legend. I sometimes wonder if it is people’s belief in things that create an alternate reality of some of these creatures.”
“So you do see something. In the window?” I clarified.
“Yes. Mostly an outline. We can post the picture to the Facebook group. Let them debate it. There are legends of voodoo spirit guides that linger near where the veils are thinnest. Some of them would fit the description and this photo, but it’s all hearsay. Stories of someone’s best friend’s brother’s neighbor’s wife… Did it feel dangerous to you?”
I had to think about that as we continued walking. “No? Not really. But the whole building seemed to glow.” Which none of the pictures captured.
“Spirit guides aren’t something that is supposed to be dangerous. Quite the opposite actually. I didn’t notice a glow. Did it show up on camera?”
“Nope.” Which irritated me. Did that mean my eyes were weird? Or my perception of reality?
“Did the LaLaurie Mansion glow?”
“No. It was dark. Black. Dead.” Like a wormhole dropping into nothing, I thought. “Made my stomach hurt though, even if I didn’t see anything.” It was really nice to actually talk to someone about this stuff and not pretend everything was normal.
“Hmm,” Micah said as he unlocked the gate to enter the garden surrounding his condo.
I got to the picture from the French Market. Yeah, there was something in that picture too. One of the ten I took, but clear enough to see the shape of a person in the distance. “Well, fuck. Maybe I am some kind of psychic live wire or something.” I showed the picture to Micah.
“Could be a person,” he said. “It’s pretty far away.”
“But you can kind of see the ground through the legs, right?”
He enlarged the picture and moved it around a little. “I guess. Another one for the group.” He gave me back the phone and we headed down the little path that would lead around the house to his place.
“I don’t know how you can be such a skeptic when you experience so much,” I said. “Therapists taught me to question everything, especially myself, and even I am at a loss for what this stuff is. Lukas says I don’t need to understand it to accept it. Is that how you look at it?”
“I try to not look too deeply at any of it. Focusing on any of it seems to draw them in.”
“But the idea of ghosts doesn’t scare you. You walk around town where all the haunted places are and point everyone toward things they wouldn’t normally see. And they don’t scare you at all?”
“Ghosts can’t hurt you. If that’s what they even are. Ghosts by definition are in the past. A memory, or an emotion, or an old history, it’s all before. The things people take pictures of are often the same. Repeating history? High emotion? I’ve done these tours for years and no one has ever been attacked,” Micah said.
Or vanishes, I thought. But the noises outside his house late at night scared him. Memories of a different kind, much like that night in the desert.
“Ghosts sometimes touch people,” I pointed out. “I’ve read about it.”
“Conjecture,” Micah stated unfazed by the idea of some wraith accosting him in the dark. “Plus why do they only come out at night or in old abandoned buildings? Why do we have to have all this special equipment to see them? I think because most of it is in our heads.”
“We’re all crazy,” I supplied, suddenly feeling bad about myself again.
“Some more than most,” Micah agreed.
I sighed, wondering if I should just go home. I was reasonably sure I could find my way back to it.
“Stop,” he said.
“What?” I replied more lost in my thoughts than focusing on him.
“Thinking bad things about yourself.”
“You just agreed that I’m crazy,” I pointed out.
“We’re both crazy. If seeing things makes you crazy, then me disappearing without a trace and coming back to hear strange creatures in my garden makes me crazy.”
“That’s a very specific type of crazy.”
“Yeah?” He asked. “You studied types of crazy?”
After several long psych ward stays, I sort of felt like I had. “I’m not sure anyone really does, as much as locking it away.”
“But you’re not locked away now,” Micah said. He turned and put his hands on my face, and I looked at him. “Stop putting yourself in that cage. It’s okay to think, question, analyze, and even be afraid. It’s what makes us human.” With his warm fingers on my face some of the racing thoughts vanished, and having him right there was all that mattered.
“Live life, right? Instead of running away from it?”
He nodded and stepped away, instead reaching out to lace his fingers between mine. I gripped his hand as we walked through the array of pots. He paused and frowned. Some of the zombie gnomes were knocked over. They hadn’t been like that when we had been by before going in to work. I stepped off the path and Micah gripped my arm.
“I’m going to stand them back up,” I told him.
“We can do it tomorrow. Let’s go inside.”
“It doesn’t have to be paranormal,” I told him. “It could be a wild animal, or one of those stupid reporters. Who all has keys to the outside gate?” He might not fear ghosts, but whatever haunted his garden terrified him.
“Everyone in the building,” Micah said, waving his free hand at the house. “Most don’t come around the back of the house since they have a courtyard in the center of the house.”
“Could have been one of them too. Maybe it was someone new who didn’t know where the second path leads.” I turned the flashlight function of my phone on. “Let me check the yard really quick.”
Micah tensed, his hand squeezing mine hard enough to hurt.
“How about I walk you to the door first, then I’ll check?” No reason to leave him standing on the sidewalk alone in the dark.
“No. Just no. What if it takes you?” And this was the core issue. Not fear of something being there, but fear of something being taken from him.
“Nothing is going to take me. I don’t feel anything right now.” And I didn’t. No doom or skin prickles. Just the quickly cooling night air, exhaustion, and irritation at the thought that someone might have been creeping around his house. “Jet couldn’t have gotten out, could he? Do you ever let him outside?”
“No. And he’s never tried to get out.”
“Maybe it was a big squirrel or something then.” I tugged at his hand. “Let me walk you to the door.”
“No. I’m going with you.”
“Micah…” I could
tell he was terrified about standing there on his own damn sidewalk this close to midnight. But he wasn’t letting me go. “Okay. Turn your light on too. We’ll cover more area.” He agreed and turned on the light from his phone. With the two of them it was a bit like having a flood light spanning the entire yard. There were no unexplainable shadows, and when I righted the gnomes, no footprints or tracks in the dirt beneath them. Nothing else seemed disturbed, though the tension in Micah’s shoulders didn’t ease until we got to the door and he unlocked it with his key to let us inside.
Once inside, Jet mer-owed in greeting and Micah locked the door behind us. It was only then that I noticed he was shaking hard and breathing like he’d run a marathon. I shoved my phone into my pocket and wrapped my arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” he whispered. “Fucking Lukas does it all the time. He’d sleep on the floor, and I’d wake him up at the first sign of noise, only he wouldn’t hear anything, but would then go racing out into the darkness. I’d be left in here, pacing, worrying. All my nightmares replaying over and over until he reappeared. Thinking, what if he vanished? How would I explain that? He’s a cop. If they treated Tim horribly, and he’s a damn boy scout, how would they treat me if a cop goes missing on my watch? And can you imagine how heartbroken Sky would be? And now I know you. If you vanished Lukas would go nuts. Even before I met you, I knew he would. You’re all he talked about for a long time. He was so proud of you. If you were gone… Fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I was thinking less about actual boogeymen and more about the real sort of prowler kind. I didn’t notice an alarm system earlier. Do you have one?”
“No.” His hands gripped my shirt, like it was the only way he could stop them from trembling, and he pressed his nose to my collar breathing in the scent of me. I held him, rubbed his back, whispered apologies, though the whole thing made me a little angry. Not at Micah. None of this was his doing. More at the circumstances. At night he lived like a prisoner in his own home. Terrified of unexplainable sounds that not everyone heard, and stalked in the darkness by something he couldn’t see. I’d been thinking my own existence difficult, plagued by memories and dreams of a single nightmarish day in my past, while he lived in fear every day, tormented by something almost nightly. Dreaming of thriving while struggling to survive.
“Maybe we can take Jet and go to Lukas’s place for the night. I don’t think he’ll mind,” I said.
“It won’t matter,” Micah said as he pulled away and toed off his shoes to leave them beside the door. “I could be here or home with my parents and it follows me. Before Jet it would pull at the door knob, sometimes rattle the windows.”
I looked at the cat who licked his paw like there was nothing important about him.
“Did you know that cats have historically been used to keep ghosts and all sorts of demons at bay? Across a dozen cultures and spanning through history all the way back to ancient Egypt. I think that’s why Tim gave me Jet. Said he found him in the gutter somewhere. But Jet came to me chipped with Humane Society paperwork and a full medical record. Though I think he picked a cat because I don’t have enough time for a dog and cats are more independent,” Micah said.
It made me think better of the guy. Sure their relationship may have exploded from all the shit they’d both been through, but Tim seemed to be trying his best to still help out a friend. “He’s a good guy.”
“No reason to be jealous of him,” Micah said. “Tim and I are over.”
“I’m not jealous.” I was jealous. Tim and Micah had a whole history, and so far Micah and I were what? A spark?
“You hungry? I can make pancakes or eggs or something. No dairy. I’m pretty allergic, but I can cook rice about a dozen ways. Potatoes too.”
“Are you making ethnic jokes about yourself?”
“A little.” He began picking up small things I hadn’t noticed and putting them away. “I’m Asian but don’t like sushi. So that one doesn’t fit. I’m Irish and love potatoes. That one fits. Hungry?”
“Not hungry,” I told him, watching him move. It was methodical. Like putting emotions into a box with each item he picked up. And perhaps it was. A way for him to build the wall around the anxiety that made his heart pound while we stood in the garden. “Tell me what I can do to help?”
He sighed. “I don’t know?”
“Are you hungry?” I tried. I knew nothing about the layout of his kitchen or the possible contents, but I could cook and didn’t have any food allergies that I knew of. Living on military rations sort of meant eating whatever you could.
“I don’t know?” He asked again, unsure of everything in that moment. “I think I’m going to shower.”
The only thing I’d seen him eat all day was part of a bagel and a few bites of sausage from the meal Lukas had ordered for me. “If I cook, will you eat?”
“Maybe?” He looked at me like a frightened bird, beautiful and injured. Micah needed focus too, I realized. Something beyond the fear.
“Where is your crochet? The one you were working on?” I tried to recall his closet layout and where he’d put it.
He shrugged. “It’s one of many unfinished projects.”
“Okay, what if I ask you for something? Give you something to focus on and finish? Will that help? I’ll try to make us something to eat and you can start on the project.”
He blinked at me like my words weren’t quite making sense. I’d spent enough time overseas and in a psych ward to learn body language. His fight or flight mode was shutting down. Too much stress did that sometimes. Had that happen to me a time or two, so overwhelmed that I couldn’t function, even breathing was hard when that happened. Sort of like a panic attack, only silent, a mental collapse inward.
I reached him in two long strides and pulled him into my arms, touching him, forcing him to feel me, breathe me in. “I’m here,” I said. “You’re not alone.” His trembling hadn’t eased. I thought about what therapy had taught me. Grounding, was one of the best ways to pull a person out of panic. That was all about the senses, but I’d always been very touch oriented. Which was why the weighted and textured blankets had worked well for my anxiety. I wasn’t sure Micah had one in the menagerie of his crafts.
The second-best option was water. So I dragged Micah into the bathroom, stripping off both our clothes as we went. He didn’t protest at all, which worried me, but his skin was cold beneath my hands and he shivered, even as I turned on the water to find it already hot.
It took a few buttons to figure out how to change the showerhead to use all three heads and more of a waterfall mode. Then I pulled Micah under that spray with me, wrapping my body around him for warmth and comfort. Letting the water trickle over our skin in a gentle rain. It wasn’t sexual in that moment, though I doubted it would have taken more than a few basic thoughts to get me hard and ready for Micah. Everything about him appealed to me. Not just how beautiful and delicate he was, but how much my need to protect was fulfilled with him. Stupid white-knight syndrome. Why did Lukas always have to be right?
“You’re safe,” I promised him. “I’m here.”
Micah clung to me like I was a life preserver keeping him afloat. The shivering slowed as I ran my hands through his wet hair, feeling it slide through my fingers. He accepted the small kisses I planted all over his face. And I wasn’t sure he was hearing anything I said. I found his scrubbing sponge and added some body wash to it before working it to a lather and gently applying it to his skin.
He relaxed in inches along with my gentle washing. His shoulders, then his arms and inch by inch lower. He wasn’t aroused, but neither was I. Instead he rested his head on my shoulder, eyes half lidded, exhaustion sapping the last of the panic from him. His breathing even, matching mine. I kept talking, nonsense really, but it didn’t seem to matter.
“That’s right, easy breaths. We’ll get clean then find some food,” I told him. If he didn’t fall a
sleep first.
I turned off the shower and reached for the towels hanging on the drying racks. Micah didn’t move, and almost seemed to be sleeping in my arms. I dried us both as best I could, still gifting him with small grounding touches and tiny kisses to the tip of his nose or ears. I should have thought to bring clothes with me when I knew I would be staying over.
“Do you have any clothes big enough for me to borrow?”
“Lukas has some stuff in the dresser. Bottom drawer,” Micah mumbled.
“Do I need to ask again about you and my brother?”
Micah huffed at me, but I wrapped the towel around him and went in search of basics. “Sometimes I get afraid to be here alone. Lukas stays over if I text him and he’s not working. Tim sometimes, too. I try not to ask them too often anymore because I don’t want them more annoyed with me than they already are.”
Lukas wouldn’t have been annoyed at all by helping Micah to feel safe. I didn’t know Tim well enough to judge that about him, but suspected it was much the same. Two years and still Micah didn’t feel safe in his own home. I wondered if it was due to the nightly noises, or something more psychological. I suppose it could have been a little of both. I still clenched up when the wind howled. If it happened every night would I have grown immune?
I found a clean pair of boxers for me and an entire drawer of very adorable undies for Micah. I stared at the contents of the drawer for a minute, taking in the lace, fun patterns of super heroes, and even food stuffs, before grabbing the first pair near my hand. They were pale blue with colorful macarons on them.
When I brought them back to him, he slipped them on without comment or much thought. Bikinis. Very nicely fitted. Micah held out the towel for me, which jogged the slow-moving cog in my brain that said maybe I shouldn’t be staring at him. I returned the towel to the drying rack and went to the kitchen to find food. Micah laid the bed back down and curled up under the blanket much like I often would when alone.
