Laying a Ghost

by Jane Davitt

  “I’ve spent the better part of my life trying not to give people here too many clues about what I am. Somehow I think a ruffled shirt would be making it entirely too easy.” Ignoring Nick’s splutter of laughter, still edged with something less stable than amusement, John leaned against the rock, letting his hand fall away from Nick’s back. “So that wasn’t me you were telling to go away back in the house?” He wasn’t sure why he wanted to clear that up first, but he did. The rest of it could wait until he knew, because if Nick didn’t want him around, then the rest of it didn’t matter.

  “No.” Nick took his wrist out of the pool, resting it on his thigh as he reached out to touch John’s arm with his good hand. “No. When you just left like that ... I didn’t know if you thought that I was, or if you just thought I was crazy, but that’s why I came out here. Because I wanted to explain. It was so stupid of me, thinking that I’d be able to ignore them out here.”

  John frowned, his thoughts going back to the moment before he, well, ran out of the house, because that’s what he’d done and there was no hiding it now. “I couldn’t stay,” he said slowly. “I was wanting to help you ‑‑ I could hear you and it was ‑‑” His throat closed up in memory and he brought his hand up to clasp Nick’s where it rested against his arm, his fingers closing tightly around it. “God, it was awful. And I’ve never felt so terrified in my life. It was like ...” He stared into Nick’s eyes, seeing nothing in them of the madness he’d feared, just a resigned sympathy. “Like the house was pushing me out. I ran. Ran because I was scared spitless. Ran, and left you, and made myself believe you’d told me to go, because it was easier than thinking myself a coward, afraid of the dark like a bairn.”

  Nick’s hand squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Could you feel it? He wasn’t really angry ‑‑ he wouldn’t have done anything to you. Or me. He’s just been waiting a long time, and he’s stubborn. He’s ...” Stiffening, Nick swallowed and looked away. “Maybe you don’t want to talk about this. And that’s fine ‑‑ we don’t have to. I don’t have to.”

  John gave a short choke of laughter, dragging their linked hands down to rest on his knee, not letting go. “Oh, I want to talk about it. Trust me, I do. I’d rather be knowing the truth than imagining all sorts.” He took a deep breath, surprised by how much better he felt now that Nick was being open with him, and glanced around the beach, edged by high dunes, a sweeping narrow crescent of sand with driftwood lying on it, wind-carved down to smoothness. “And even out here, in the sun, it’s easy for me to be dreaming up horrors, so tell me. Tell me why you were angry for a start, because you were. If it couldn’t hurt you ‑‑?”

  “I didn’t say couldn’t, I said wouldn’t. It depends on how strong they are.” Nick didn’t pull his hand away, seeming content to leave it where it was. “I was just hoping ‑‑ and I know now that it was stupid, that it’s not something I can get away from, no matter how far I run ... I knew it before actually, I just didn’t want to admit it. It’s like I needed to pretend that there was someplace I could hide from it. I wanted it to be here.”

  “I can understand you wanting some peace, but I’m thinking you’d need to have moved to the moon to get it.” John realized that he was stroking his thumb across the back of Nick’s hand and stopped abruptly, feeling a flush of heat rise in his face. “So how did you make it ‑‑ him ‑‑ go away? No, wait ‑‑ they can hurt you? Is that what happened to your wrist then?”

  “It’s pretty rare that a ghost has enough power to affect anything physically,” Nick said. “I’ve seen it a few times, but not a lot ‑‑ and when I have, it’s always been in a place where stuff’s already been, you know, falling off of shelves and stuff. I’m sure there’s some technical words for it ‑‑ manifestation, ectoplasm. I don’t know. Maybe I’d be better off if I did, but I always thought that making it too scientific would screw up the instinct of it, and sometimes it seemed like the instinct was the only thing keeping me going.”

  Nick shifted, flexing his bad hand slightly and wincing. “But no, I did this all on my own. Usually they look however they looked when they were alive, but every once in a while they’re ... kind of messed up. I guess that’s where the whole headless horseman thing came from.” Nick smiled weakly, and John’s stomach curled itself into another knot at the thought of it. “It was right in the road, right in front of the car, and I ... I should have known that it wasn’t a real person, but sometimes I get so ... it’s just hard to tell, sometimes. So I swerved and ran off the road into a tree.” His eyes were closed now, his breathing uneven.

  John couldn’t help himself; his free hand came up to curve around Nick’s jaw and slide up into his thick dark hair, the need to give comfort outweighing any other consideration. “Of course you did. Anyone would’ve done the same. What else were you to think or do?”

  To his surprise, Nick leaned into the touch, shivering. “I should have known better. I should have known.”

  “You’re not allowed to be startled? To act without thinking?” John moved his hand until it cupped the back of Nick’s neck, his fingers rubbing gently at the tense muscles there. “You’re awful hard on yourself. It must be hell on your nerves. Never knowing when it’s going to happen, on edge all the time, waiting ... Or is it not like that?”

  “Sometimes it is. Sometimes I don’t see or hear anything for weeks, and then I kind of ... forget. Well, not really, but at least I stop thinking about it all the time.” Nick’s voice was low enough that it was hard to hear him, the way his head was tilted down as John rubbed his neck some more. “And sometimes, when I touch someone, I can see ... I don’t know. Premonitions, I guess.” He glanced up, as if making sure that John wasn’t laughing at him. “Once, there was a little girl. With long blonde hair. We were in a store, and she touched me, and I saw ...” Eyes squeezed shut, “She drowned. I saw it. I mean, I didn’t see it, but I could see it then, with her hair all spread out and floating ...” He shifted his arm in his lap and hissed, “Fuck.”

  “Let me take you into town, to the doctor.” John pulled back with some reluctance, letting his other hand drop away after one final, reassuring pat on Nick’s back. He was sure there was more Nick wanted to tell him, but it could wait. And admittedly there were some things he didn’t care to hear the details of. “You need to have that looked at.”

  Nick immediately straightened up, his lips set determinedly. “No, there’s too many ... I can’t. It’s not that bad, I just strained it. It’s my own fault for not wrapping it up.”

  “‘Too many’ what? And even if it was your fault, which it wasn’t, that doesn’t mean you can’t get it seen to.” He looked at Nick’s wrist, noting that the swelling didn’t seem to be getting any worse. The cold water had helped then. Good. “Will you not let me help you?” He was almost pleading with the man. “Because Lord knows, I want to do something after leaving you alone like that.”

  Nick glanced up at him again, eyes wary as if he were expecting rejection. “You could drive me back to the house. When I’m alone, it’s worse. I can’t stop listening, when they ...” He tilted his head to the side, squeezing his eyes shut, his voice soft and rough-edged. “He won’t stop until I fix it. But I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  The words spun out in the wind, blowing away down the length of the shore in tiny wisps that John fancied, just for a moment, he could see. “Then I’ll stay with you.” John was relieved that it was so simple. “Stay until you get it sorted out. This ghost ‑‑ it’ll be local, will it? Not one you brought with you?”

  “He must be.” Nick got up gingerly, as if afraid of jarring his wrist. As John stood up as well, Nick added, “It’s not just him. It won’t be. He’s the first, which might mean he’s stronger; or maybe just that he’s more observant.”

  “They ‑‑ they sort of hunt you then?” John was horrified by the thought of it. He didn’t wonder about Nick’s restlessness any more, or the endlessly searching look in his eyes. “Track you down? What for? What do
they want you to do, in the name of God? They’re dead!”

  “I know!” Nick snapped, with a spark that reminded John that the man wasn’t beaten down, not entirely, despite the fact that he was holding his hurt arm awkwardly at his side like a broken wing. “Believe me, I know!” He licked his lips in what looked like a nervous habit. “But they don’t; not always. It depends on how long they’ve been dead. At first it’s like they don’t know what happened, but they usually figure it out eventually.”

  “Eventually? So it’s just a matter of enduring it until they ... fade away? Nothing you can do to just make them leave you be?” John began to move over to his boat, with Nick falling into step beside him. “I’ll need to move it up to anchor it.” He nodded at the rock he used as a mooring point when he left the boat here instead of at the jetty in town. “Then we’ll get you home.”

  Nick stood there silently as John pulled his boat up and secured it; guaranteed the one time he failed to do so properly the tide would be high and carry the boat out to sea. When he’d finished and straightened up, Nick was watching him.

  “You don’t have to do this. Any of it. It wouldn’t make you a bad person if it was all too weird to deal with. I’d understand.”

  “Would you?” John started to walk up the beach, the fine sand dragging at his feet. “Aye, well, I’ll remember that, although I can’t say I agree with you. But you’re forgetting that I felt that damn ghost myself, although I don’t suppose it was anything like what you went through, and I want it gone.” He turned his head. “This ghost ‑‑ can you describe it? Draw it? Hell, can you take its picture? Because if it’s from here ‑‑ if it’s from the graveyard ‑‑ then the odds are it’s someone I know, or someone I’m related to.” He shook his head. “God, I hope it’s not my grandfather or he’ll be trying to drag me off to hell for my wicked ways, so he will, the miserable old bugger.”

  There was what sounded like a bit of a smile in Nick’s voice. “Your wicked ways?” he repeated, as if the idea amused him. “No, I don’t think so. It feels younger. And old ‑‑ um, like it’s been around a long time. Hundreds of years, maybe. That happens. I don’t usually get a lot of detail, though, not about what they look like. This one’s a man, I can tell that much. Not a lot more, though.”

  “Probably still related,” John said glumly. “Hell, you and I are, did you not know that? And trust me, Granddad wouldn’t approve of the way I’d turned out at all.” Just thinking about the man’s reaction to having a grandson who was gay made John shudder, even though Charles McClure had been dead a good fifteen years.

  “We’re related?” Nick stopped briefly.

  John turned to him, feeling a flicker of amusement ‑‑ and hope ‑‑ at Nick’s reaction. “Aye. Let me see now ...” He pursed his lips in thought and then nodded. “Your grandmother’s cousin was my great uncle. I’m thinking that makes us cousins. About seven times removed, mind you.” He cleared his throat, fighting back a smile because Nick had looked so damn thunderstruck. “Is that a problem for some reason, then?”

  “The fact that we’re cousins ‑‑ very distant cousins, extremely distant cousins ‑‑ is probably less a problem than the fact that I ‑‑” Nick cut himself off and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s too soon.”

  John felt a twinge of shame at teasing him, but the idea that there was any barrier at all to him and Nick getting closer was worrying. “If there’s anything about me ‑‑ about what I am ‑‑ that’s making you wish we’d not met, I’d be grateful if you’d tell me now.” He was tired of the evasions and hints. “And for all that it’s been no more than a day since I first set eyes on you, it’s been one hell of a day.” The wind whipped the sharp, thin blades of dune grass across his damp jeans and he shivered, feeling suddenly weary and cold. “You know more about me than all but a handful of people on this island. And I’ve seen what you are. What you do. We don’t have to be friends, we don’t have to fuck, but we’re not strangers. Not now.”

  “I don’t know why I came here, if it wasn’t to meet you,” Nick searched John’s eyes, and took a step in his direction. “Don’t get me wrong ‑‑ I don’t think I believe in fate, or some bigger meaning. Well, okay, I believe that there’s more to life than we’re born and we die, but I really would be crazy if I didn’t, considering ...” John felt his lips twitch in a tentative smile. “But if we’re going to be friends ... and I think we are ... I don’t want to be the kind of friend that makes your life harder instead of easier. So, from where I’m standing, the problem ...” And Nick stepped closer still, although not, John noted, so close that anyone watching might have suspected anything, “The problem is that I’m wondering what you might look like without your clothes on. And I don’t know how long I’ll be happy just wondering. And none of it’s a problem for me unless it’s a problem for you, and I’m thinking it might be.”

  “God.” John’s body reacted to Nick’s words with an immediacy that left him breathless. Nick seemed able to get a response from him with just his words that other men would have needed to have been naked, hands and mouth busy, to achieve. “You ‑‑” He shook his head, caught between arousal and the caution that, after all these years, was ingrained. He wished, quite desperately, that they’d met anywhere but here. He couldn’t imagine Nick as a casual pickup in a pub, drifting out of his life a bare few hours after they’d met No. That wouldn’t be enough for John when it came to Nick ‑‑ but at least off this island they’d have a chance at something. “Don’t think that.” The wind took his words as he spoke them. “That I don’t want you, because I do. Have done since I saw you. I just ‑‑ I’ve never ‑‑ not here. Not on the island.”

  He moved closer, because he couldn’t help it, could he? He couldn’t keep away from him, couldn’t keep his hands off him. Nick’s face was warm against the curve of John’s hand but he didn’t move, holding himself still, waiting. “And it was never easy, but I managed. Now ‑‑” John brought his other hand up, pushing a lock of dark hair back off Nick’s forehead and feeling everything shift with that single, gentle touch, doubts and fears falling away. They’d return; he wasn’t so lost in this sudden yearning as to think that they wouldn’t, but for now he was free of them. “Now I just ‑‑ I can’t do it. God, Nick ‑‑”

  He could see Nick swallow and glance down uncertainly. “Not here. Not yet. I can’t; I need you to see, first. What it’s really like with me, because if you don’t believe that it’s real, if there’s even some little part of you that thinks I’m just crazy or deluded or making it all up, then I can’t.” His eyes were worried even as his good hand came up and rested at John’s waist, making him shiver with something more than the chill. “You’re cold.”

  “I’m soaked through,” John pointed out. “I’ll be fine; I’ve a change of clothes in the car.” It was a grand way of describing a pair of worn jeans, ripped and soft with washing, but as long as they were dry he didn’t care. Rain didn’t bother him, but the sea in spring was icy. “So do you think ‑‑ will he still be there? When we go back?”

  He was hoping that if he knew, if he was ready, it wouldn’t be as bad. He wasn’t planning on telling Nick that he already did believe him; he just had to find out if he had the guts to stand beside him with his skin crawling and his heart hurting it was beating so fast.

  “Maybe,” Nick replied as they started walking toward the car again, John taking care to go slowly as the footing was unfamiliar to Nick. “It depends on how strong he is, and how stubborn. He’s been waiting a long time for someone to fix whatever it is he thinks he left undone.” He sighed.

  “So you don’t think your uncle had the gift, then?” Curiosity was doing a lot to dispel his apprehension because it was always the not knowing that scared him most. “Do you know anyone else who has? And how long has it been that you could ‑‑” He stopped himself short, giving Nick an apologetic smile, “Sorry; I didn’t mean to be interrogating you like that.”

  Nick shrugged. They’d reach
ed the car, and he leaned against it while John opened the door and reached into the back seat for the jeans. “I don’t mind. I’ve met other people who could do what I do; most of them were better at it than me.” He didn’t seem upset by the prospect.

  John sat down on a nearby rock and dealt with undoing his bootlaces, struggling a little because they were water-soaked and the knots had tightened. “I doubt it’s the sort of thing they give you marks out of ten on,” he said wryly. “Is that what you do, then? People ask you to come and get rid of ghosts in their house, or something?”

  He stood up and hesitated with his hand on his belt buckle. With anyone else he’d have skinned out of his wet jeans without a thought, but after what Nick had just said ... John eyed him uncertainly and then saw the amusement in Nick’s eyes.

  “Aye, you can smile.” John unfastened his belt and zip, pushing his jeans down. He sat back on the rock, shivering at the feel of the rough, cold stone against his skin and began to peel the wet, clinging denim off his legs. “But try and restrain yourself, will you, for all that I know I’ve got a fine pair of knees on me.”

  He couldn’t help but glance up again, and when he did, Nick was keeping his eyes innocently trained up at the sky. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nick looked as appealing as John had seen him, a smile teasing at his lips. John emerged triumphant from his fight to get his wet jeans off the rest of the way and used the waistband, which was still dry, to scrub at his legs before putting on the worn but clean pair. “Yes, it was my job. More in a driving around kind of way than anything else, and I think a lot of it was because it made my mom happy. I haven’t had a permanent place to live in ... hmm, I don’t know. Ten years? But I’m done with that. Maybe not as retired as I’d hoped, but ...”