by Anthology
He clutched his ski poles to his chest with one arm and sat on the trail’s edge. Then he let himself go. Powder followed him down the slope as he plowed a furrow. He hit a pine tree hard and came to a stop. He stood and planted his feet. He knew he could get to Angelo now. He stabbed his ski poles into frozen ground and treaded in zigzags as he descended the rest of the way. From the look of the snow around him, Angelo had thrashed in pain right after the accident. But now he lay still on his back. His legs were twisted with one ski still attached to his boot, and his eyes were closed. But he was breathing.
Damon removed a glove and gently laid a hand on Angelo’s forehead. He was very cold. Had he gone into shock? Moving him might make any injuries he had worse. He scanned his body for signs of blood. None that he could see, but his breathing seemed to be getting shallower. His ski jacket barely rose and fell.
“Don’t you fucking die on me, man. You can’t, you understand? Or I’ll live in hell the rest of my life because of the way I’ve treated you. I’ve got to make things up to you. You’ve got to stay with me.”
Snow was beginning to fall. A crystal landed on Angelo’s cheek and melted away. His breaths were so faint now that the ups and downs of his ski jacket had stopped.
“Why’d I fucking torment you when I loved you so much!” Damon buried his face in his hands and fought hard to suppress his sobs.
“Don’t yell. It hurts my head.”
He uncovered his face and found Angelo gazing at him. “Jesus, you’re all right?”
“I think I broke my leg. It fucking hurts like hell. I was in deep meditation to deal with the pain.”
“You were fucking meditating?”
“I know, right? I think I’ve lived in California too long.... Did you mean what you said?”
“When?”
“Right before you started crying like a baby.”
“Oh that. Every fucking word.”
“Then kiss me.”
Not wanting to jar Angelo and cause him any more pain, he bent to give him a gentle peck, but Angelo parted his lips and sought Damon’s tongue. Damon closed his eyes and lost himself in the moment. Angelo’s warmth made all the frost and clouds around him disappear.
Angelo smiled. “That made my day. You wanna do something else for me?”
“Anything.”
“Call 911.”
“Shit, of course.” He fished his pockets for his iPhone.
“How in the world did you find me down here?”
“I saw your scarf.”
“Really? I originally had on the white one I always wore in Michigan that you hated so much. I don’t know what possessed me to change.”
“Well, I’m grateful you did.”
He found his iPhone and checked the screen.
“Don’t tell me, no reception, right?”
“Wrong, two bars.”
As he placed the emergency call, he thanked God for the signal.
Mercy Regional Medical Center
WHEN MICKEY reentered the room with his coffee from the cafeteria, Angelo still lay in the center of the narrow bed, his leg elevated and in a cast. Damon had moved his chair to be by his side. They both looked a lot happier than when he’d left.
“The doctor said it’s a simple fibular fracture,” Damon said.
“I should be healed and back on my feet in six weeks,” Angelo added.
“Thank God for that.” Mickey took a sip of the weak, tepid brew. “Have you thought about how you’re gonna get around Los Angeles while you heal?”
“I’m gonna recuperate in Michigan. My aunt said I could stay at her house.”
“Faith? Isn’t she away on sabbatical?”
Angelo glanced at Damon. “Should we tell him now?”
“Might as well.”
“Damon’s gonna look after me while I’m there.”
Mickey raised a quizzical eyebrow. “How? On Skype?”
“No, he’s staying with me at the house.”
Mickey looked at Damon, surprised. “What about your job?
“I quit Phone-Eaze so I could come to Purgatory. I’m in no rush to return to New York.”
“Does this mean what I think it means? You two are an item now?”
Angelo took Damon’s hand into his. “We’re gonna see how things go in Michigan. Who knows? Maybe he’ll follow me back to the City of Angels.”
Damon turned Angelo’s hand over and massaged his palm with his own strong hands. Then he worked his way up to his bicep and shoulder. “You’ll be dying to shack up with me in Hell’s Kitchen by the time I finish this massage.”
“Well, unlike your plays, I want a happy ending.”
When Mickey spit out his coffee laughing, Damon scoffed at him. “Out, you wag, it’s time for me to fulfill my duties as a masseur.”
Mickey wasted no time following Damon’s order. He was giddy when he stepped out of the room and closed the door on his friends. His Mickey Mouse idea had worked after all. Yes, it had taken a trip to Purgatory, arduous soul searching, and a mighty fall. But wasn’t love worth it? All the Disney fairy tales and fables said it was. So what was the moral of Angelo and Damon’s story? Hmm. He couldn’t think of one. But the immorality of their tale? Lord, have mercy! There was far too much to mention it all. However, the sin at the top of the list had to be not expressing what’s in your heart to the one you love.
ERIC’S fiction often explores complications and entanglements in romance. His debut novel, Secrets of the Other Side, won three Reader Views literary awards, including Best Fiction Book of the Year. Described by critics as “an emotional journey of love, loss, and self discovery” and “an incredible coming-of-age story,” the novel chronicles one gay youth’s quest for love and happiness during the tumultuous eighties and nineties.
WIP recently published Eric’s short story “Out of Order,” a tale of an unexpected second chance at love set during a deadly San Francisco earthquake. His stories are also featured in WIP’s anthologies Encore, Stranded, and A Likely Story. He has written for other publications and anthologies, including First Time for Everything and Best Gay Romance 2014. He earned his MFA in creative writing from Wichita State University.
Eric grew up in Las Vegas, Nevada, and has lived in Arizona, Kansas, and the San Francisco Bay Area. Today he makes his home in Los Angeles, where he enjoys trail running, spending time with friends, and working on new short stories and his next novel.
ERIC GOBER can be found at:
Website: http://www.ericgober.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/GoberEric
Twitter: https://twitter.com/GoberEric
TAZ GAVE his last pound to a homeless man huddled in an alley. Pay it forward. Maybe someone would do the same for him one day.
Taz had no idea what possessed him to spend the last of his money on a ticket to York. He just woke up that morning and knew it was what he had to do. He didn’t have much to pack, and what didn’t fit in his bag, he simply left behind, along with the life he’d been living.
It was a hot day and he wandered aimlessly, trusting instincts that had never let him down before to lead him in the right direction.
Idly window shopping, he suddenly found himself flying into a living statue, who very much came to life when Taz knocked over the money tin set on a plinth next to his purple bike. Gasping apologies, Taz scrabbled for the escaping coins and handed them back to the man, as the woman who’d almost knocked him over screamed at someone inside the shop she’d flown out of. She ignored Taz entirely.
“You’ll be sorry. I’m the only chance you’ve got to keep that piece of crap shop going. No one comes here for the ghosts anymore. They come for me. Without me, it’s over.”
There was no response from inside the shop, and the woman continued to scream from the street, her complaints degrading to a stream of obscenities.
“You’ll never find anyone who reads the cards like me,” she cried finally. “My clients are loyal to me. They’ll abandon you, l
ike everyone else.”
Still there was no response, and she finally tossed her hair and strode away, leaving Taz in a thoughtful mood. Reading the cards, eh?
Taz wandered toward the shop. As he passed through the doorway a blast of cold hit him. It had nothing to do with air conditioning or weather. Every nerve in Taz’s body screamed that this place was “Ghost Central”.
The interior of the shop was dim. Various paraphernalia lay scattered around, almost haphazardly—including an enormous Book of Shadows, a selection of crystal balls, some skulls, and a life-size skeleton. Everything was dusty and looked unloved and uncared-for.
A girl sat behind an enormous wooden counter, with her head in her hands, her long, pillar-box red hair pooling on the counter top. A little farther in, a tall man in a long black coat stood, looking at her with an expression of acute discomfort on his face. Taz watched him for a moment. The man’s shuffling feet, chewed lip, and restless eyes told Taz all he needed to know about his feelings for the girl. From her complete lack of acknowledgement Taz deduced that either she didn’t feel the same or was entirely oblivious; probably the latter.
“Hello.”
Two heads jerked up and two pairs of eyes turned his way. The girl sighed and dropped her head again, while the man continued to gaze intently at him.
“I’m sorry,” the girl said, in a sweet, soft voice, “we’re closed. We’re closed forever.”
“That’s not necessarily true.” The man’s words were delivered almost violently. “We can still—”
“It’s over,” the girl said, sounding close to tears. “We gave it our best shot, but it’s over. The house is closing and without that we’ve got nothing, especially now Sarah’s gone.”
“Sarah’s an idiot,” the man growled. “We’re better off without her.”
“She was all we had left.” The girl’s voice was bleak.
“I was hoping I could help you with that,” Taz said. “I read cards, and I guarantee I’m better than she is.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “That’s a bold claim.” He folded his arms in a less-than-friendly manner. “What makes you think that?”
Taz smiled with quiet confidence. “I don’t think it, I know it. Try me.”
The girl remained despondent. “There’s no point. Even if you’re the best there is it’s no use to us, because we can’t afford to pay you.”
“Do you have somewhere I can stay? Just a room will do. Maybe a meal here and there. I have simple needs.”
“Seriously?” The girl raised her head again. Large amber eyes gazed at him with the first spark of life he’d seen in her. “You’d seriously work for us for a room and some food.”
“And maybe a few pounds a week pocket money.”
“Whatever.” She waved a delicate, red-tipped hand. “You’re hired.”
“Wait a minute, Pix,” the man complained. “We don’t even know if he’s any good.”
“Does it matter? Sarah was crap. She memorized the book and that’s it. This one’s a lot prettier, too. He’s....” For a moment, the girl’s eyes seemed to go blank; then she blinked and smiled. “He’s special. Get a pack and let’s see what he can do. Come over here, beautiful. Give me a reason to keep you around.”
Taz unslung his pack and dumped it on the floor. “I have my own pack.” He flipped open a pocket and took out a small box. Crossing the floor, he carefully placed the box on the counter and glanced at the man in the black coat. The man was glaring at him. He didn’t need to be psychic to know what that was about. The guy obviously had a thing for the girl and was afraid Taz was muscling in on his territory. Well, that was one thing he didn’t have to worry about.
“Can I touch your hand?” Taz asked, gazing once more into the girl’s face. She was lovely, exotic, with dark kohl emphasizing the glowing amber of her eyes and a slick of red enhancing her full lips, which she was worrying with neat, white teeth.
The girl hesitated; then she held out her hand for Taz to take carefully between his. They both let out a little gasp. Taz’ heart skipped. Hell, he hadn’t expected this. He glanced quickly at the man, whose glare intensified. “Does he know?” he asked.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Does he know? About you? I don’t want to say anything....”
“How did you know?” Pix whispered.
“How do you think?”
“Read the cards.” The hand, which had remained in his, was jerked away, as if his skin had suddenly burned it.
“What’s wrong, Pix?” the man asked, sounding anxious. Taz moistened his dry lips, glancing nervously between the two. He was now in possession of a potentially disastrous secret and was being asked to delve further in the presence of someone who might well react by tearing his head off.
“Nothing. Just read.”
“No, I’m not going to say a word until you tell me if he knows. He’s in love with you and I’m not—”
“Hang on a minute,” the man exploded. “I’m not—”
“Yes,” Pix said, not looking at him. “He knows.”
“I’m not in love with her,” the man insisted.
“What about... him?” Taz glanced up, and watched confusion turn to shocked understanding.
The man’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “How did—?”
“I don’t need cards to read.”
“Just read.” Pix spoke through clenched teeth and flicked a warning glance to the other man.
“Who?”
“Me.”
“I can’t read the past, only the future.”
“I know my past.” Pix’s voice was tight.
Taz nodded and rested his hands on the table, on either side of the box. He pictured the cards, each one hand painted by... a friend. He didn’t need them, but they comforted him, grounded him. Tipping them out of the box, he spread them on the table and hovered his hands over them. “Someone hurt you,” he said. “They hurt you a lot—physically and mentally. They enjoyed it. You weren’t the only one they hurt. You were a child, about twelve, thirteen maybe. You were special. He liked you best—until you got too old.”
“I thought you couldn’t read the past,” Pix snapped.
Taz stared at the cards in front of him and turned over those that called to him, blinking as his mind blurred and bent, reconciling the images he was seeing to the girl... er... not girl who was sitting in front of him, his eyes flashing. “I’m not reading the past. He’s looking at pictures of you—of all of you. You don’t want to know what he’s doing.”
Pix shuddered and put a hand over his mouth. “No,” he whispered.
Taz’ eyes flicked up from the cards. They say the eyes are a mirror to the soul, and he’d found it true over the years. This time, though, the eyes were deceiving, because he couldn’t see the cracks. Pix was just too good at papering over them. “There’s more to him than he seems. He’s got demonic energy all over him. What he did to you.... It wasn’t random. They wanted something, and he got it for them.”
“Who’s ‘them’?” Pix’s eyes widened with fear, but he kept it together well.
“I don’t know.”
“What did they want?”
“I don’t know. Something important. He’s sad about that. Sad he took it from you. He liked you.”
Pix shook his head and swallowed hard. “No more,” he whispered, but Taz couldn’t stop. It happened sometimes. Somehow, he knew it happened sometimes.
“Your mother misses you. She’s looking for you. She’s sorry for what she said. She’s going to be alright. She’s met someone new. He’ll ask her to marry him next year. You’ll give her away at the wedding. It will be in Florence. She loves Florence. It’s not her favorite. Rome is her favorite, but that reminds her of your father, so they’ll settle for Florence. They’ll live in London for a while, but they’ll go back to Italy when they retire. By then your brother will be a pediatric consultant and married with two children. They’ll all be alright.”
&nb
sp; “What about me? Will I be alright?”
Taz blinked. Pix had leaned forward, his lips parted and a hungry expression in his eyes. “I don’t know,” Taz said. “I can’t see.”
Pix sat back and let his breath out in a long sigh. “What about Rohan?” Pix nodded toward the man in the black coat, who shook his head, but it was too late. When he was that open, Taz couldn’t close down when he switched his focus, and as soon as his consciousness accepted Rohan, the pictures unfolded.
“He’s going to be okay. I think.... You’re not going to be together. Not ever. No matter what. There’s someone else.” Taz gasped as a shooting pain lanced through his head. He pressed his fingers against his temple.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. Something.... I almost saw something. I don’t know what it was.”
Pix hadn’t moved his eyes from Taz for a moment, and Taz couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it. Rohan was saying something, but it was background noise. Taz’ gaze flicked up when something rose behind Pix. It was a dark figure, nothing more than a roiling column of smoke in the shape of a man, who reached out a clawed hand.
“No.”
Taz dodged around the counter and yanked Pix off the stool before the ghostly hand touched him. Two glowing sparks of red flared, and then winked out, as the smoke disappeared, as if it had been sucked into something.
“What the fuck!”
Rohan tore Pix from Taz’ arms. Pix didn’t object, but neither had he fought to free himself. “What happened?” he asked, his voice shaking.
“I don’t know. There was something there. A shade. Something.”
“I felt it. At least... I felt something. I’ve felt it before. There are ghosts here, but that....” Pix shivered. “I don’t mind the ghosts. They can be sweet. None of them want to hurt me but that... that... energy is horrible. It scares me.”
“Do you know what it is?” Rohan sounded curious rather than frightened. “We’ve had a lot of people look into it—psychics, mediums, all kinds of people. They have ghost tours in the house and people come from all over. We’ve had ghost hunters, psychic societies, even television programs. They all freak when they come up against that energy, but no one knows what it is.”
