Haunted

by Irene Preston

  “I think you clipped your head on the edge of the grave.” Adam knelt beside him, still frowning, though Noel didn’t get the sense he was angry. “Are you, like, diabetic or something?”

  Noel snorted. “Nope.” If he shut his eyes and kept his head pressed to his knees, the calliope in his head slowed down.

  Enough for him to focus on the rope burns around his wrists, anyway.

  “Are you all right to wait here? I’ll go get my car.”

  The world lurched, a thunderclap of fear. Noel reached out and grabbed Adam’s arm to steady himself. “Jesus, no. Don’t leave me here alone.”

  “Hey. It’s okay.” Adam covered Noel’s hand with his own. “It’s just that you don’t look like you can walk back to my place.”

  The throbbing in Noel’s head localized to his right temple. “It’ll be… I’ll be…” All right. Panic made his heart flutter. Whatever had tried to invade his mind was still there, still present, a glutinous dark energy he couldn’t avoid. “Shit.” He rocked forward, landing on his hands and knees. “C’mon. Get me up.”

  Adam rose, offering Noel his hand. The sun’s glare made his head pound, and the change in altitude made him nauseous, but Noel made it to his feet. Gulping air, he fought the rocking sensation that threatened to send him sprawling.

  “Seriously,” Adam said, “you look like you’re about to face-plant.”

  Noel inhaled, gritting his teeth. “Just give me a minute.”

  When the swirling in his head faded to a steady ringing in his ears, he took a step. And didn’t fall. Okay then. Still clutching Adam’s arm, he took another step, and then another. “Let’s go, Professor.”

  Slowly, with two or three stops for Noel to catch his breath, they walked back to Adam’s apartment. When they passed the burned-out house on First Street, Noel stumbled. “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  Noel hung on to Adam’s arm as if his life depended on it. “Someone just hollered at us.”

  Adam raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t hear anything. What’d they say?”

  What had I heard? Noel rubbed the back of his neck. “Something about Ronny?” Stop him. Somebody stop him!

  “Who knows. I’ve about hit my maximum tolerance for weirdness.”

  “The guy who started the fire was named Ronny something, I think.” Noel shook his head, wincing because the movement rattled his brains and the pain made his nausea worse. “I need a drink.”

  “I’ve got some tequila and a bottle of red wine that’s been open a few days.”

  “Works for me.”

  With Adam’s help, Noel made it to the apartment. He didn’t bother to try to leave; he liked his Lexus too much to try to drive in this condition. And he still couldn’t shake the shreds of horror leftover from the assault on his mind.

  Whatever it was that had tried to possess him might be waiting for him to be alone to take another shot.

  “So…” Adam propped him upright on the couch. “Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on?”

  He’d brought Noel a cold pack too, and the chill on his temple felt amazing. “Like you said. I must have hit my head.”

  Adam dragged a dining chair close. “But why did you fall in the first place?” He chewed on his lower lip for a minute, as if debating how much more to say. “Also, before you fell, you were having a seizure or something.”

  Noel took another deep breath, grateful to be sitting still, where nothing really hurt. Too badly, anyway. “A seizure?” Because all he needed was some ridiculous health issue to deal with.

  “Yeah. You were pale and stiff, and I could tell you were trying to say something, but no words came out.”

  Noel shuddered, caught for a moment by the sensation of that…memory, or whatever, trying to force its way in. Or maybe Adam was right. Maybe he just had a seizure. “You said something about tequila.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s good for a concussion.”

  “Come on, my guy.” Noel shifted the ice pack to numb another section. “Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Isn’t that how that song goes?”

  “Look, I…” Adam shook his head. “Do you have heart problems? Or something with your blood pressure? Because people don’t usually keel over in cemeteries.”

  Their gazes caught, connected; the words hung between them.

  Noel licked his lips. “I must be a special snowflake.” His voice sounded raspy in his own ears. “Seriously, though, no. Heart’s fine, lungs are fine, ten fingers and ten toes. I’m good.”

  “What is it, then?”

  Noel had to look away. Fear weighed down his gut, fear and a sense of hopelessness. LA wasn’t an aberration, any more than the imaginary fire in the house next door had been. Either he needed to check into the closest hospital, or he needed to believe in his own senses. “Something…” Did he really have the balls to say the words out loud? “It’s like I’m forced to remember things.” But with somebody else’s memory.

  The chair squeaked under Adam’s weight as he shifted back. “What?”

  Yeah, he thinks you’re crazy. “It’s the truth.” He risked a quick glance in the other man’s direction. Shit. “Look, you know I used to be a cop, right?”

  Adam nodded, his eyes narrowing with…interest?

  “I started right out of college, and even though it was tough, it was a great gig.” His voice petered out, and he fiddled with the ice pack to buy himself a few seconds. I mean, if you’re going to confess to anybody, why not choose a guy who could upload your story to cable television?

  But the memory of Adam’s strength, the warmth of his mouth, his sweet salty taste, steadied Noel. He either had to trust him or shut the fuck up. And maybe go crazy for real.

  Giving himself a long inhale to decide, he kept talking. “A couple years or so ago, things started getting weird. At first, I’d get these feelings, at odd, random times. You know, the sort of chill like when someone walks over your grave?”

  Adam nodded.

  “This one day, I’d gone to an old apartment building to talk to the mother of a kid who’d been murdered, and when I knocked on the apartment door”—the gates of hell opened—“this energy swamped me”—his lungs hurt at the memory of being dragged under—“and I…and I…when I woke up, I was on the floor in the hall, and some neighbor had called the medics.”

  Nothing had been bruised or broken, but it felt like his soul had been hit by a truck. “They kept me in the ER for almost a whole twenty-four hours, running every kind of scan, but sent me home healthy.” He glanced at Adam again, relieved by the practiced empathy in his expression. Dude was probably used to people telling him wild shit.

  Digging deeper, Noel tried to explain why his wild shit was different. “Did you ever wrestle in high school?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know when you’re pinned to the mat, and there’s nothing you can do to shake the guy off you? That’s how this is. Something, some kind of spirit or ghost or whatever, just…jumps me and tries to take over, and it takes everything I got to fight it off.”

  “Is that how it feels to you?” Adam asked, sounding like a two-hundred-dollar-an-hour therapist.

  Believe in your senses, Chandler. “Don’t patronize me. It’s not like I can run around telling people I’ve been mugged by a really pissed-off ghost.”

  “Sorry.” Adam lifted his hands, showing Noel his palms. “I get what you’re saying. Here”—he stood—“let me get some tequila.”

  Noel’s eyes slid shut, and for a moment, he simply breathed, tracking Adam’s movements by the floor’s squeak and the clink of glasses. He didn’t open his eyes until a tumbler knocked his knuckles. “Thanks.”

  “L’chaim.” Adam settled back in his chair, close enough that their knees bumped.

  “L’chaim.”

  They tapped glasses, and Adam cleared his throat. “If I was interviewing you for a show, this is where I’d hit you with questions.”

  Shaking
his head, Noel swallowed half the tequila in his glass. “Fuck you and your horse.”

  “Yeah, you’re not cable material anyway.” Adam raised his glass. “You’re safe from me and my crew, so I’ll stick with what I’m most curious about. Why’d you leave your job in LA? You were kind of a hotshot detective.”

  Noel rubbed his mouth with the palm of his hand. Anger bubbled up, along with old frustration at the anonymous blogger who’d “reported” on a certain police detective’s brush with the supernatural, a story his gut said Adam had read. “Because if I can’t trust my senses, I can’t do the work.” He spat the words and slapped the couch’s seat with an open palm.

  “I mean, interviewing a victim’s mother isn’t a huge stressor, but what if I blacked out when shit got real?” A familiar despair swept over him. “I can’t take the chance of going under at a critical moment.”

  To his credit, Adam didn’t argue or condescend or get snarky. If he thought Noel was crazy, he didn’t say so out loud. They sat quietly for a few moments, Noel adjusting his ice pack and tapping a tattoo on his thigh.

  “It’s odd, you know?” Adam interrupted the silence. “We go down there to check out an unusual event, and you get broadsided by…whatever it was.”

  Noel cleared his throat, choking on gratitude. “Yeah.”

  “Are you interested in a little investigation? Because I know a couple of other places around here with, well, unusual stories attached. I wonder what would happen if you visited them.”

  Noel gave the ice pack another tug. “I should probably get a football helmet first.”

  Adam reached over and took Noel’s hand, interlacing their fingers. “Hey, something happened, and whatever is going on, you’re not in any shape to deal with it. I’m not comfortable letting you leave with that bump on your head either.” He gave Noel’s fingers a squeeze. “Why don’t you chill here for the night, and we’ll come up with a strategy when I know your brain isn’t swelling.”

  “Sounds good.” Noel held on, balanced on a point between the fear and despair he’d been living with and a thin sliver of something that looked like hope.

  Chapter Nine

  Adam

  Of course, the next morning, Noel took off.

  Adam woke to the sound of the door closing in the next room. He made it out of bed and across the apartment in time to catch a glimpse of Noel disappearing around the side of the main house.

  Adam let him go.

  So that was it. No good-bye. No note.

  Adam refused to admit he was disappointed. Really disappointed. He made coffee, tried not to brood for the next hour, then checked his phone. No text asking to meet up later.

  More trouble than he was worth, Adam reminded himself. Probably faking to mess with the ghost hunter; otherwise, he would have stuck around for a few scientific tests of his alleged ability.

  Or crazy. Crazy was a distinct possibility.

  The gris-gris had disappeared too. Adam couldn’t remember which of them had it last. He sat at his desk and stared across the fence at the house where he had met Noel two whole days ago. He’d spent longer getting to know guests for his show. The Reddit-post guy a few blocks away, for example.

  He should let this go and concentrate on work that didn’t come with a restraining order or get him sued. The suffragette was a good angle and included a witness who was excited to be on the show.

  Noel had been so fucking white yesterday. And when Adam touched him…

  The smell of rot, black eyes, and the wail of a terrified woman.

  The power of suggestion, just like in the woods with his cousins. Or maybe crazy was contagious.

  The Reddit guy didn’t have a shred of skepticism about what had happened last August. He also didn’t have bedroom eyes or go sharp and hard over the fact that no one had ever called in the incident to see if maybe it wasn’t a ghost who needed help in Lafayette Cemetery No. 1.

  Adam pulled up a web browser. Thanks to the unexpected detour the last ten years of his life had taken, he knew all the best search terms. Depending on who you talked to, Noel’s feeling of being pinned could be a panic attack, a serious heart condition, or the night hag sitting on his chest. Adam had heard all the explanations. Was he really going to rehash all the possibilities?

  He stared at the search box. Almost a decade of doing the research and letting the audience make up their own minds while he moved on to the next story. Why was this different?

  Because he wanted Noel biting and cynical, or mouthy and angry, or sleepy and tousled, not fucking white and terrified. He wanted his sharp intelligence. He wanted to get to know what was going on under the designer bedhead when he got quiet and thoughtful.

  He didn’t want to believe the guy who had turned his world inside out yesterday was crazy.

  Noel had been a hotshot detective in one of the largest police forces in the country, and something had made him walk away from a job he obviously loved. Last night, he had trusted Adam with the one thing that scared him most, and Adam…

  Adam hadn’t even been able to manage I keep an open mind.

  No wonder the guy hadn’t stuck around. Adam stared at the search box for a long time, not sure where to start, until the obvious occurred to him. Research. Facts. History.

  His relationship with Annemarie hadn’t survived the Cothron ghost. By the time he got there, Aunt and Uncle Cothron were definitely the ones keeping the ghost lively. Adam had busted them red-handed. But Annemarie’s experiences as a child hadn’t followed the standard wails and knockings that entertained the B&B’s guests. The distinction hadn’t seemed important at the time. It seemed a lot more important now.

  Maybe crazy really was contagious, but he was starting to think contagion would be better than being sane while the people he liked most in the world were all nuts. He was tired of saying he kept an open mind and then dismissing the things people he respected told him. So he started with a new premise. Systematic error caused by bias in testing. He had never been looking for ghosts, had he? He’d been looking for the history, and later the story, but not the ghosts.

  He picked up his phone and sent a text to Annemarie.

  I’m an asshole.

  Then he went back to the beginning. The least likely ghost. The thing three kids in the woods made up one summer…and the one ghost he had never investigated.

  ~⚜~

  Noel

  Noel sat at his desk, tossing the small fabric bag from hand to hand. He’d stolen it from Adam’s apartment, pretending he meant to return it to the house. Sure thing. Guess I knew I’d need a souvenir.

  The thing still had power—or something—but it had faded. He felt a mild shock when it hit his palm, enough to keep him awake, but not enough to burn. “Yeah, little gris-gris, you’re losing your juice.” He whispered the words, then laughed at himself. There were half a dozen other investigators within touching distance from his cubicle. “Maybe one of them can tell me what it’s for.”

  “What what is for?” Bergeron leaned against the partition between Noel’s cubicle and the one next door. He’d taken Casual Friday to an extreme, wearing basketball shorts and a black-and-gold Saints hoodie.

  “This.” Noel dangled the pouch from the string holding it closed.

  Bergeron reached out, hefting the bag in his palm. “Protection spell?”

  “No clue.”

  He let go and crossed his arms. “Don’t lose it. I got the feeling you can use all the help you can get.”

  Noel chucked the gris-gris in his desk drawer. “Did you just stop by to be an asshole?”

  Bergeron grinned. “Gotta play to my strengths.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Seriously, though. Your boyfriend is here. I made him wait in the lobby while I tracked you down.”

  “Boyfriend?” Noel’s heart lurched. Adam?

  “That ghost-hunter dude. Adam Morales.”

  Noel shot to his feet. He’d been ashamed to call Adam after the way he’d ghosted, so this might be his last c
hance. “Not my boyfriend”—he patted Bergeron’s cheek—“yet.”

  “Wait. What?” Bergeron pivoted, reaching for Noel’s arm. “You got something you need to tell me?”

  “Let’s just say he is all man.” Noel threw an extra layer of sass in his words and scooted by Bergeron with a laugh.

  Which meant he was still smiling when he hit the lobby. Adam’s sober-professor drag—blazer and white button-down over jeans—showed off the breadth of his shoulders and his thick thighs. He carried a laptop-size leather folder and a Big Five sporting goods shopping bag.

  Their gazes crossed, and Noel froze. Adam’s smile flickered, as if he was uncertain about his welcome.

  “What’s going on? Shall we go to a conference room? Or there’s a coffee shop downstairs,” Noel sputtered, his mouth taking off like someone had thrown a match in gasoline. “Or a drink? Do you want to go get a drink somewhere?”

  Adam glanced at his cell phone. “It’s nine thirty in the morning.”

  “Oh. Yeah.” Noel flicked his head to clear the bangs out of his eyes. “Coffee, then.” He hadn’t felt this flustered since seventh grade. Willing himself to calm down, he led the way to the building’s answer to Starbucks.

  They stood in line, side by side, awkward conversation running in fits and starts. Noel had to keep his eyes on the floor, or the customer in front of them, because if he looked at Adam, he’d want to tear the corduroy jacket right off him. Why had he suggested coffee? He should have found an empty room and locked the damned door.

  The coffee shop’s tables were full, but the building’s lobby had couches and overstuffed chairs arranged in informal clusters. Noel headed to the most isolated group and bounced into a fat chair. Adam would have to choose between the couch—which was grabbing distance—or the chair across from the knee-high table.

  Adam chose the couch.

  Noel leaned toward him, sipping the coffee he didn’t want. “Been keeping busy?”