by Eli Easton
Bram was trying very hard not to panic. “Okay. We can… I’ll put some clothes on. We can go to the coffeehouse, maybe.”
“I don’t want to go to the coffeehouse,” Jim said sadly. He sat down again, this time slowly. “I’m going to take a leave of absence from the firm.”
“What?” Bram blinked at him, trying to process words that made no sense.
“I spoke with Costello the other day. She said I can take six months without pay and they’ll hold my job for me. I figure I’ve got enough money saved for that.”
“But… but….”
“I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, actually. I’m thirty-four, Bram. I’ve finally paid off my goddamn student loans, but here I am. I’ve been doing basically the same stuff for years, and I’m probably going to keep doing it until I retire. I want… I thought it would be fun to travel. Bum around Europe, maybe. Or hit some islands. Christ, someplace tropical sounds pretty good right now, doesn’t it? We could sit on the beach and ogle the boys in Speedos.”
“I can’t,” Bram said. “My job.”
“Maybe they’d give you a leave too. Or… fuck, Bram. Just quit. You can find something else later.”
Bram shook his head. “I can’t.” He wasn’t even sure what he was denying—giving up his job, leaving his home, venturing out into an uncertain world.
The corners of Jim’s mouth had turned down. “And I can’t stay here anymore, babe.” He stood and brushed imaginary crumbs from his thighs. “I’m going out. I’ll see if Bobby and Mick will meet me somewhere.”
Bram stood as well. “I’ll come with.”
“No,” Jim replied gently. “Stay here. We’ll… we can talk about this some more tomorrow. We have the whole weekend to work something out, right?” But his weak smile said he didn’t expect to arrive at a solution by Sunday night.
Clutching the blanket around himself, Bram watched silently as Jim donned his outdoor gear. Jim gave him a chaste little peck on the cheek. And then he left. Bram was still standing when the garage door rattled closed.
DANIEL WAS perched at the edge of the couch, his expression solemn. “He died that night?”
“Yes. He had a couple drinks with his friends. And on the way home, he hit a patch of ice and slammed into a pole. He didn’t even make it to the hospital.”
“You never got to say good-bye.”
Bram angrily blinked away tears. “No.” He buried his face in his palms. “If I’d been with him that night, I wouldn’t have let him drive after drinking. I never minded being the designated driver.”
“Maybe you still would have slid on that ice.”
“Maybe. But I was a better driver. More cautious. He was always going too fast.” He let his hands drop. “I drove him away that night, and now he’s angry.”
“I don’t think it’s like that, Bram. I don’t think he’s mad at you.”
Bram moved his hands so he could give Daniel an incredulous look. “He tried to kill me. Three times.”
“Can I explain more about my beliefs? Then maybe you’ll understand.”
Honestly, Bram had already learned far more about vodou than he’d ever intended. And he was more mentally and emotionally exhausted than he’d ever been, not to mention hungry as hell. But Daniel was looking at him so sweetly and earnestly, so obviously eager to help, and he’d already done so much for Bram….
“Why don’t you have a boyfriend?” Bram asked.
“What?” Daniel blinked at the non sequitur.
“You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, you’re smart, you’re generous, you’re incredibly sweet. Why on earth are you single?”
With a blush coloring his tan cheeks, Daniel looked even more delicious. “I’m busy,” he said quietly. “And I’m… I’m a homebody.”
“But still.”
“When I was younger, I made some bad choices. That was before I listened to Ezili Freda. But then, she doesn’t approve of many men.” He grinned. “She approves of you, though.” He shrugged gracefully. “And most people have trouble with the whole vodou thing. They think it’s weird or creepy. Why have you been so accepting of it?”
Bram had to think about that for a while. “I guess because that’s the context of how I first met you. I mean, you weren’t some random hookup who started chatting about lwa over drinks or something. Besides, with all my brushes with death and near-death lately, I’m not as easily spooked as I used to be.”
It must have been the right answer, because Daniel smiled brilliantly before plopping himself in Bram’s lap and wrapping an arm around his neck. “Not too hot or squishy for you?” he asked.
“No. You have really good AC.” Daniel’s weight felt good in his lap, and Bram liked the way skin and cotton leaned against his bare chest.
“Good. My mama said people learn their lessons better when the lessons are sweet. She used to make me cinnamon rice pudding and sugared plantains when I did my homework.”
“I like you better than rice pudding,” said Bram, giving him a little squeeze.
Daniel made a contented-sounding sigh and leaned his head against Bram’s. “So there are two souls, right? I told you this part.”
“One of them goes to God.” Bram couldn’t remember the names.
“Right. The ti bon anj. That soul has the things that make us unique. Our personality, right?”
“Okay.”
“That’s the part of you that dreams and that gets guidance from the lwa. And the other—the gwo bon anj—that soul is our energy. Our… divine spark. It’s Life with a capital L.”
Daniel was quiet a moment, perhaps letting Bram process what he’d heard so far. “I think I get it,” Bram finally said.
“You know, some people say a zombie is made when a bokor, a sorcerer, steals a person’s ti bon anj and locks it away. All that’s left to inhabit the body is the gwo bon anj. The body is alive but without its own will.”
That was news to Bram, who’d been taught that zombies were the brain-eating undead. But the explanation made sense in its own way, so he nodded.
“At death,” Daniel continued, “usually the gwo bon anj goes to the underworld. Not hell. Just… the place of the dead. But sometimes it gets lost, especially when a death is very sudden and untimely.”
“Like Jim’s.”
“Yes. I think the soul becomes confused. It’s drawn to things—and people—that feel familiar. And it might carry some of the person’s emotions, especially strong ones felt near death. But it doesn’t really have the ability to plan a vendetta.”
“So Jim….”
“It’s not Jim. It’s a piece of him, that’s all. And it misses you very badly, but maybe it also remembers that you two were having some problems. It’s not really evil or malicious. In a vague sort of way, it probably wants you to join it.”
Bram groaned. “So basically I have a ghost zombie stalker.”
“Basically.”
He could fall asleep like this, on soft cushions with Daniel cuddled up against him, still smelling of Ezili Freda’s perfume. Sheltered dry and cozy indoors as rain pelted the windows. Nobody judging him or demanding anything of him.
He sighed. “He’ll keep trying, though, won’t he? And he’s been responsible already for two other deaths, Daniel. Including your brother.”
“I know.”
“Can we stop him?”
Daniel leaned forward a little so he could look at Bram’s face. “We? Even after what happened today, you want to be involved?”
“I am involved. You’re the one who could gracefully bow out if you wanted to.”
“I don’t want to.”
Bram smiled at him. “Good. Thank you.”
They spoke briefly about their plans, but most of the discussion floated over Bram’s head. The day had simply been too much already—he couldn’t absorb anything more. Daniel must have realized this at some point, because he gave Bram’s cheek a quick kiss.
“You want something to eat?
Or a nap?”
Gently pushing Daniel off his lap, Bram shook his head. “I’m gonna head home.”
“You sure?”
In truth, Bram was sorely tempted to stay. But he needed his head clear, and he was fairly certain that wasn’t going to happen with Daniel nearby. His weary brain kept flashing to images of Daniel’s naked body spread beneath him—the sleek muscles beneath smooth skin, the lovely cock and peaked nipples, the sharp angles of his cheeks and hips. Bram had already ripped the guy’s clothes off once that day. He needed to get out before he did it again.
“I’m sorry,” Bram said. “I’m no good to anyone right now.”
“Are you okay to drive?”
Ghede Nibo had guzzled a lot of rum, but it hadn’t made Bram drunk. “I’m fine. But I hope I don’t get pulled over.” A shirtless guy with burns on his chest and fingernail scratches on his back, reeking of booze, steering home through a storm on a Monday afternoon. Yeah, that would entertain the police.
Daniel walked with him onto the porch, and they stood and watched the rain for a few moments. Then a thought struck Bram. “Did you give Ezili Freda her ring?”
“Not yet. I think I might give her two. She’s not going to be happy we interrupted her thing with Ghede Nibo.” He chuckled. “And I have to plan a party for him. But first we fix your problem. See you Saturday?”
On impulse, Bram grabbed Daniel in a fierce hug. “Yeah,” he breathed into Daniel’s ear. “Saturday.”
“Be careful, okay?”
When Bram pulled his car out of the driveway, Daniel still stood on the porch, waving at him.
Chapter Seven
SHORTLY AFTER Jim started working at the law firm, when Bram was still in grad school, they’d picked out a house together. It had been a compromise. Jim wanted a condo within walking distance of shops and restaurants; Bram preferred something with a lot of privacy. They ended up buying a clapboard cottage with a tiny yard and high fence, only a short drive or run from their offices. They’d abandoned their shabby student furniture and picked out new things. They’d agreed on paint colors and prints to hang on the walls. Bram liked the house—it was the first place he’d lived that truly felt like home. Even after Jim’s death, he’d been happy to continue living there. As difficult as the lonely evenings were, he’d been grateful for his familiar refuge.
But this week he couldn’t enjoy his house at all. The walls were too boring. The food was too bland. Nothing there caught his interest, not even his journal articles or his DVD collection. And it was lonely.
On Wednesday evening he jogged home from work, showered, and went out for Thai food. He ordered everything extra hot, even though it made his nose run and his eyes burn. And when he’d finished eating, instead of returning to his house, he went to the coffeehouse with the rude baristas.
The guy behind the counter had floppy bangs, a scraggly beard, and black spikes in his ears, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be emo, hipster, or punk. He looked as if he intended to die of ennui before Bram got his order in.
“I have a question,” Bram said.
“What?”
“I’m looking at the menu board, and you’ve got, oh, maybe two dozen kinds of coffee drinks listed. And that’s not counting the teas, the smoothie things, the hot chocolate….”
“So?”
“Do there really need to be that many kinds of caffeinated beverages? Isn’t that overkill?”
The barista rolled his eyes. “Whatta ya want?”
“Water. I want a big cup of plain old water.”
“There’s water bottles there.” The barista poked a finger in the direction of the refrigerator case.
“But I want mine in a cup. And I want you to call it something fancy. Aguaccino or something. You’ll think of something, right? You’re an artist.”
The barista glared at him for several moments before spinning around, jerking a paper cup from a stack, and filling it at a sink. He plunked a lid on it. Then he marched back and slammed it on the counter. “That’s two eighty-five.”
“I won’t pay unless you give me the fancy name. Because that’s the part that’s worth the money, right?”
After brushing his hair from his eyes and looking hopelessly at the ceiling, the barista puffed out a breath of air. “Here is your eau de la tappe, sir. Two eighty-five.”
Bram set a five-dollar bill on the counter. “Eau de la tappe. Not bad. You can keep the change in compensation for the attempt at French.” He picked up the cup and turned around to survey the tables.
Only a few of them were occupied. In a cushy chair near the window, a middle-aged man slouched with a book. Near the wall, four teenage girls huddled with their cell phones, giggling loudly. Not far from them, a woman and man in their early twenties sat across from each other, but their eyes were on their phones. And close to the door, one woman knitted while her companion tapped at a laptop.
Bram sat down at the table with the young couple. “Hi,” he said mildly when they goggled at him.
They exchanged quick glances. “Um, hello,” said the girl.
“I’m drinking overpriced water. How about you guys?”
“Coffee,” the guy answered. He looked a little frightened, which was pretty funny. Bram wasn’t a petite man, but nobody had ever mistaken him for an axe-wielding murderer.
“Well, that makes sense. Coffee in a coffeehouse. So, are you guys married or just dating?”
“Look,” the guy said, bristling. “I don’t know what you want, but—”
“I’m just making friendly conversation, like people do. Anyway, I saw you sitting here, and I was wondering what stage of your relationship you’re in. ’Cause if you’re married, okay, although it’s still kind of early in a marriage for you to be ignoring each other. But if you’re just dating? I’m pretty sure you should be talking to each other instead of texting your friends and checking your Tumblr accounts. There should be flirting, maybe a little bit of veiled innuendo…. You should be building up the sexual tension until you’re both ready to go home and fuck like rabbits.” He sat back in his chair and gave them a cheery little smile.
Neither of them seemed capable of formulating a coherent response. Bram took a sip of water. It tasted like paper.
“Why is coffeehouse music always so tragically pretentious?” he asked, waving a hand vaguely in the direction where the speakers might be. “It always tries to be cool without being offensive, but that’s bullshit because truly cool music isn’t bland. Besides, every time someone orders a cappuccino, all we hear is that obnoxious zhoop. Maybe they should just play the sound of toilets flushing, considering all the liquid that gets consumed.”
He stood and walked away, abandoning his expensive water.
Sitting in his car in the parking lot a few minutes later, he began to shake. He’d never pulled a stunt like that, and he had no idea why he’d done it now.
No. That wasn’t true. He had a definite idea, and it was named Ghede Nibo. The lwa wasn’t riding him now—Bram could feel the difference—but it was if he were hanging around nearby, egging Bram on. As if Bram were a teenager whose new best friend was a bad influence.
But Ghede Nibo’s effect on his behavior wasn’t bothering him right now. What had his heart racing and his hands feeling clammy was that he’d enjoyed making a small spectacle of himself and yanking a few chains. And he’d suddenly realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d done something just because it was silly and fun.
BY FRIDAY Bram’s coworkers were giving him very strange looks. Janet was spending more time than usual in the lab and keeping her earbuds stuck in her ears when she had to come back to their shared office. She fled entirely when Carla showed up late Friday afternoon.
Bram looked up from his computer screen and grinned at her. “How they hangin’, Carla?”
She sighed heavily and plopped down in Janet’s chair. “What’s going on, Bram?”
“Nothing. I’m just looking over these reports.”
He shrugged.
“You’ve been telling dirty jokes in the lab,” she said. “You stood next to Brian Billings and pretended he was overloading your Gayometer.”
“Brian Billings is a homophobic idiot. I bet he’s compensating.”
“You sent out a mass e-mail containing thirty science-related puns. This morning you asked the cafeteria manager why the packaged pastries contain more chemicals than most of our paint products.”
“Have you seen the ingredient lists on those things?” he asked, smiling.
“You wrote a memo to the CEO complaining that our hallways are too bland and demanding they be painted with rainbows.”
“We make paints, Carla. We should not have white walls.”
She tucked the phone into her jacket pocket and gave him a long look. “You spent thirty minutes this afternoon roaming the building, asking everyone you met whether they were working hard or hardly working. And when they were men, you emphasized the hard. Are you taking something, Bram?”
He sputtered a laugh. “No. I’ll pee in a cup for you if you like.”
“Something prescription, maybe? Sometimes those medicines have unexpected side effects.”
“Not even aspirin. I am fully capable of operating heavy machinery.”
“Then what the hell is up with you?” she yelled. Carla never yelled.
Bram set down the pencil he’d been toying with and scratched the back of his neck. “I was just livening things up. Carla, we literally watch paint dry for a living. We need more levity.”
“Peeking on your coworker over the top of a bathroom stall isn’t levity, Bram—it’s sexual harassment.”
