by Vivien Dean
“That’s why you agreed to the walk yesterday.”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you saw them? This morning in the kitchen?”
“Not since I got here. I’ve learned how to ignore the shadows, and they’ve never… presented themselves as much more than that. But I can feel them when they’re especially close. Like this morning. You felt it too.”
“When the air was so cold around you.” His thoughtful gaze strayed to the back of the house. “That explains a lot.”
“So you see why I know my dad doesn’t have ghosts?” Brody stepped closer, willing Cruz to understand. “He only has problems when I’m around. That’s why your friend didn’t find anything the last two times he was here. What Dad witnessed was during my weekly visit. I was back in Philadelphia by the time your friend came by.”
“So why did you come this time?”
“For exactly the reason I told you yesterday. I thought you were conning Dad out of his money.”
“But you knew ghosts were real. You could’ve put an end to this at any time.”
“You’re not listening to me.” Grabbing Cruz’s arm, Brody forced him to turn around and regard him rather than the house. “Until you started doing the sweep, I refused to accept the very idea of ghosts. I’ve been convinced there was a neurological reason why I was seeing these things. Objects moving could’ve been momentary memory lapses. The shadows could’ve been visual hallucinations. I’ve been studying science since I was ten, hoping to find a practical explanation for everything, something that didn’t involve the boogeyman or psychiatric treatment. Hell, I would’ve settled for psychotropic medication if I’d ever pinpointed the exact cause for my symptoms. But all this….” He gestured toward the abandoned candle and burned plants. “This is external confirmation of what I’ve already experienced. So no, I couldn’t tell you ghosts were real yesterday, because that would’ve been admitting that my whole life has been built on lies I kept telling myself. But I am now. It’s time for me to face the truth, regardless of how crazy it makes me feel.”
“You’re not crazy,” Cruz said gently. Folding his hand over the one Brody still had on his arm, he squeezed it once. “I won’t lie and say it wouldn’t have been nice to know this ahead of time, but I appreciate you coming clean now. It’ll make moving forward easier.”
“What’re you talking about? There’s nothing more to do.”
“Your dad expects me to get rid of the ghosts. I have to do an eviction.”
“Then I just go home.” Brody pulled away, and though he missed Cruz’s comfort, he couldn’t afford the distraction. “Problem solved.”
“What about the next time you come to see your dad? Or do you plan on just never seeing him in person again?”
“I’ll deal the way I’ve always dealt with it. Nobody I’ve ever dated or worked with has figured out what’s going on with me. It won’t be that much of a stretch to stick to the status quo.”
“The status quo where you’re miserable? Where you have to lie and pretend with everyone you love because you don’t want them to be afraid of you? Or worse, think you’re crazy and get you locked up?”
Though Cruz never raised his voice, all Brody heard were recriminations. “What else am I supposed to do?”
“Get rid of them,” Cruz replied without pause.
“I’ve tried!” Was Cruz even listening to him? “Short of slitting my wrists, I haven’t been able to find a single method that’s done me any good.”
“Science is what’s failed you. You haven’t tried it my way yet.”
The offer stopped him short. “Evictions can work on people?”
His blossoming hope died as quickly as it had flared when Cruz took a second too long to answer. “I don’t know. But Etienne will. Once I tell him what’s been happening to you, he can tell us how to fix it.”
Except Cruz didn’t seem as convinced about his friend’s odds as Brody needed him to be. “What if he can’t?”
“We won’t know until we try.”
HE waited outside while Cruz got his phone, lounging on the grass like they’d done earlier. Since he so rarely had encounters outside, they’d decided to call from the backyard and pray his specters weren’t listening in. As much as he wanted Cruz to be right, he knew nothing was going to change. His situation might even get worse if the ghosts got pissed at him. Though he’d always attributed it to personal stress, they’d become destructive before. One time, after sex with an ex who was trying to coax him into going to church, he’d gone into the bathroom to shower and been attacked with flying razors. Needless to say, he’d killed all the church talk, and they broke up only a couple of weeks later.
His thoughts wandered to Cruz. How would they react when they realized Cruz wanted to try targeting them directly? Not well, if their behavior the past two days was any indication. They’d thrown a fit when Brody denied their existence, only calming down when Cruz said he believed in them. Then this morning they’d taunted Cruz when Brody stopped them from whatever trick they were going to pull with the drawer. Could they become even more malicious if they thought their existence was in danger? He suspected the answer to that question was a resounding yes, which terrified him as much as the possibility of being plagued with these ghosts until the day he was one too.
The only way to protect Cruz was to stop him from even trying. He wouldn’t, though. The man was a caretaker at heart. He wouldn’t be willing to let it go if he thought someone could be in trouble.
But he was also the type to throw everything he was into a problem. Brody had never met anyone so diligent as Cruz.
What if it actually worked?
He hadn’t reached any conclusions by the time Cruz returned. He sat up when Cruz flopped down beside him in the grass.
“You look better,” Cruz said.
“I didn’t know I’d looked that bad.”
“Your color is more normal,” he clarified. “You were flushed and sweating a lot when I did the sweep over you.”
Damn, he hadn’t realized it was that obvious. “Sometimes it happens when I’m agitated about the events. My body temperature goes up. That’s one of the reasons I always thought it was biological. The air around me doesn’t change. Just me.”
“Except the air got cold this morning.”
“I wasn’t agitated.”
Though it didn’t look like his explanations satisfied Cruz, Cruz let it go. “Etienne will have answers,” he said as he called. He put the phone on speaker so Brody could be a part of the conversation too. “I know it.”
Etienne picked up on the second ring. “Little early to be checking in, isn’t it?”
The Southern accent was thick but not so thick Brody couldn’t understand. It held a certain appeal too, rich and sultry in that way certain educated Southern men had. Brody still liked Cruz’s voice better, though.
“It’s only early if you’re not us,” Cruz said. “We’ve had a full day here. Trust me.”
“We?”
“Brody and I. I’ve got you on speaker.”
“Well, that’s certainly interesting.”
Etienne sounded wary, so Brody decided to chime in. “Not in the way you’re expecting, I’m sure. Hi, by the way. I’m Brody Weber.”
“Yeah, I figured that. What’s going on, Cruz?”
Cruz glanced up, a question in his eyes as he regarded Brody. Brody nodded.
“I figured out the source of the ghosts,” he said. “They seem to follow Brody around.”
Silence. Then…. “They follow him?”
“That about sums it up,” Brody said. He launched into the same details he’d shared with Cruz but didn’t get very far before Etienne interrupted him.
“What do they say to you?” he asked.
Brody blinked. “Who?”
“Your ghosts.”
“They don’t.”
“Have you tried talking to them?”
“Not really. Just complaining out loud o
ccasionally when they’re annoying me too much. But it’s never been actual communication. I didn’t even think they were real until Cruz got here.”
“Well, that’s your first step. Clearly, you’re a sensitive and didn’t realize it. Sounds to me like they’ve been trying to get your attention for a while now.”
Something about the way he said that didn’t feel right. The shadows had more than twenty years to convince him to talk to them, and yet they’d never made an overture. No writing on a steamed mirror, no notes on his desk. They could manipulate matter well enough, so that wasn’t an excuse. And why was it his responsibility? He hadn’t asked for them to hang around. As far as he was concerned, they were the ones who should’ve taken that step, not him.
His doubts must’ve been written on his face, because Cruz spoke up. “Have you heard about this kind of situation before?”
“Specifically? Not really.” Brody could practically hear the shrug in his voice. “I’ve run across plenty of people who claimed they could talk to ghosts, but most of the time it’s just hogwash. I can count on one hand the number of real sensitives I’ve met.”
“So why do you think I’ll be able to?” Brody asked.
“Look at how long they’ve stuck around. Ghosts don’t do that unless they’ve got a good reason.”
Etienne made it all sound so logical that, in spite of the niggle in his gut, Brody decided it was worth a try. “Let me go see if I can find them.”
Cruz rose with him. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’d prefer if he did,” Etienne interjected.
“Why?” Cruz asked.
“Just keeps it honest all around.”
Brody tensed. Etienne didn’t trust him. He understood why—by his earlier admission, Etienne had seen a lot of fakers—but it still stung.
“I need to keep Cruz out of their line of sight as long as possible,” he said. “I don’t want him getting hurt.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate you looking out for my best friend, but what’s to say you’re not making all this up?”
When Brody bristled, Cruz rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Trust me.” While he was addressing Etienne, he kept his eyes on Brody, like the words were meant for him too. “He’s really not.”
Etienne sighed. “Well, then, fine. Go be the Lone Ranger, and I’ll chat with Tonto here while you’re gone.”
“I’ll be right back,” Brody said to Cruz.
“Be safe,” Cruz replied.
As he headed back to the house, Brody stuffed his hands in his pockets when they started to tremble. He was scared. There. He admitted it. He shouldn’t have to play nice with shadows that had spent more than half his life torturing him. Were they even ghosts? They reacted like Cruz said ghosts did, but what if they were something else? Something darker, more malicious? Was there such a thing as a demon?
He was starting to sweat again when he stepped into the kitchen, so he grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the fridge and swigged it down. He felt calmer when he tossed the empty into the recycling bin, cooler on the inside if not the out. He glanced around. No sign of them here. Nothing moving. No chill. He hadn’t expected they’d be waiting with open arms for him to come back, though. His best bet for contact was in the privacy of his own space.
On the upper landing, the familiar swish of a cool caress tickled his nape, but he kept his pace steady, his aim true. He went to the bathroom first and relieved himself, then pulled his shirt over his head to wipe down the worst of the sweat. After tossing it into the hamper, he ducked his head under the tap to wash away even more.
He almost felt like a new man when he finished. Suck that, you stupid ghosts. When he went for the doorknob, however, it refused to turn.
“Aw, come on,” he muttered. He tried again, rattling the knob harder. It still didn’t budge. “Is this really necessary?” he said, more loudly this time. Etienne wanted him to try talking to them? Fine. They were getting a lecture on how childish they were.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish.” He threw as much annoyance as he could into his tone, not a difficult task considering he actually was. “But if you expect me to play along, you’re sorely mistaken. All you’re doing is pissing me off, so unless you want me to tell the whole story to our new friend, I suggest you let me out of here.”
All he heard was the hum from the lights. After a few seconds, he tried the door again.
Still locked.
“What is it you want?” he demanded. “You want me to go back to Philly? It’s worse for you there, you know. I can block you out at the lab. I’ll just start working more hours.”
A shadow flickered at the corner of his eye. Brody whipped his head toward the mirror and caught the movement disappearing out of view behind him. When he turned toward the shower, however, the shadow was gone.
His electric razor turned on behind him.
Every nerve he possessed seized. Whirling around, Brody snatched up the razor and popped out the batteries. The buzzing immediately stopped.
“Is this about yesterday?” he said. “What did you expect me to say? I don’t want that ghost hunter fleecing my dad. If I let on that I believed in ghosts, we’d be stuck with him even longer. You can’t take everything I say literally, you know.”
In his palm, the batteries went cold. Brody grimaced and dropped them onto the counter.
“Fine. I tried. All I wanted was to talk to you, but hey, if that’s so much to ask, we can keep dancing with each other for as long as you want. Must be pretty lonely, though, if you want to spend the rest of your Saturday nights following my sorry ass around.”
The lock clicked. The next moment, the door opened a few inches.
“Thank you,” Brody said.
As soon as he stepped into his bedroom, however, he ground to a halt. The Cinderella music box sat on his nightstand, the wood still shiny after all these years. Slowly, the key in the back turned, each crank another thud against his senses. The song started midverse, and in the back of his thoughts, the memory of his mother singing along to it came back to life.
Chapter Seven
CRUZ didn’t like the way Brody looked heading up to the house, hunched, with his hands shoved in his pockets like they would fly off if he didn’t keep them contained. When the back door slammed, his heart lurched with it, and he fought the momentary impulse to go in with Brody anyway.
“Is he gone yet?”
Etienne’s voice on the speaker jolted Cruz into the present again, and he switched the phone over so he could talk with him privately in case Brody came out sooner than expected.
“You’re being awfully hard on him, aren’t you?” he said.
“Me? You’re the one who said he tore into there yesterday like a bat out of hell. Since when did you turn into his guardian angel?”
“Since he told me what was going on.” He began to pace, trying not to pay any attention to the house. “You didn’t see how upset he was. This is eating him alive.”
“Whenever I try to tell you about….” His voice trailed off before he cursed under his breath. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”
“What? Are you not paying attention here? He’s in trouble.”
“And you want to help the cute straight boy, even if you think what I do is a bunch of hooey.”
“It’s not hooey.”
“It’s not computer programming.”
“It pays better, though.”
Etienne chuckled. “Well, you got me there. I’m right about the rest of it, though. You know I am.”
“You’re not. He’s not straight, for starters.”
The laughter turned into belly guffaws, which got cut off with a wince. “Damn you, if I’ve torn my stitches, Simone’s never going to let you forget it.”
“I don’t know why you’re laughing. None of this is funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny. Come on, you traveled ho
w many miles away from here, and you still found a pretty gay boy to rescue? That’s a Cruz Guthrie perfect storm.”
Leave it to Etienne to turn this into something completely unrelated to the issue at hand. The problem was, there was a grain of truth in his joking. Wasn’t that what had drawn him in from the beginning, the possibility to help Brody get over what sadness was sucking him dry? And hell yes, Brody was pretty. Cruz wasn’t blind. But none of that was actually constructive in the current moment, and if Etienne didn’t get off this kick, they’d be no better off than before he called.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have sent you out there otherwise.”
“Then believe me when I say he needs our help.”
Before Etienne could derail the conversation again, Cruz went over everything that had happened that day, starting with going to Brody’s room that morning. The lack of sleep made more sense now, as did his mistrust from the beginning. Why should he think Cruz could accomplish anything when he’d found no sign of an answer in all the years since it started?
He’d only reached the point where he was doing the sweep when he heard a faint noise. “Hang on,” he said and held the phone away from his ear as he concentrated. It took a moment for him to discern it was coming from the direction of the house, and even longer for him to make the connection with what it was.
The Cinderella song from the music box.
“I’ll call you right back!”
Without waiting for a response, Cruz disconnected and shoved his phone into his pocket as he broke into a run. “Brody!” he yelled when he got inside. The music was coming from upstairs. He raced for the stairs and took them three at a time as he chased the sound down.
He found it, not in the guest room as he expected, but lilting from Brody’s room. The door was shut.
“Brody!”
Still no answer. Screw it. Cruz tested the knob, but it turned easily, opening to the sight of a shirtless Brody standing in the en suite doorway, staring strickenly at his nightstand.
Though the room was icy, Cruz marched straight for the music box and picked it up. It worked on a key mechanism, with no way to turn it off until it wound down. He would’ve loved to smash it against the wall to stop it, but Brody loved it, regardless of its current effect on him. The best Cruz could do was bury it under a pillow to muffle the music, grab Brody’s limp arm, and drag him out of the room.
