by Dale Chase
Leaving the landing, I resumed my climb to the second floor only to find him again, now on the second-floor landing. I stopped halfway up, realizing this wasn’t my imagination. He was real, or real enough to make himself seen. He waited for me to reach him, only this time, I offered no hand. Didn’t matter. He vanished, and when I looked up the stairs, I saw him waiting on the next landing.
I stayed where I was. I leaned against the wall and waited, trying to put things on him, get him to make the first move, but he stood fixed. We remained immobile for some time before I gave in and started toward him.
Now past the initial shock, I wasn’t put off by his powers. This was definitely something supernatural and I found curiosity outweighing apprehension. This empowered me enough to charge him, racing up the stairs, which caused him to vanish and reappear on the third-floor landing.
“You’re done,” I taunted. “No more floors.”
I raced up the stairs and made a grab for him, but got nothing. He disappeared again.
“Game over,” I said as I opened the door, but when I glanced back, I saw him on the landing below, looking up at me.
“What took you so long?” Ray asked when I flew into the room. “Stairs too much?”
“You might say.”
He lay in bed, and as I undressed, I debated telling him about my experience because I really didn’t want to be teased or dismissed. This was far too real for skepticism.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as I sat on the bed.
“Something just happened.”
“On the stairs? You can’t catch a break.”
“I’m serious, Ray.”
“Okay, what happened?”
“That guy we saw out front, leather jacket. He was on the stairs.”
“And?”
I headed for the bathroom. Splashing cold water on my face, I tried to figure a convincing way to explain, knowing there was none.
Then Ray was behind me. “What is it?”
“I’m afraid you won’t believe me. I’m sorry, but you dismiss so many things and this was…it was…”
“Was what? For God’s sake, tell me.”
I took a glass of water into the room, but I couldn’t sit. Something inside me had come alive, only I had no idea what. Rebellion against expected disbelief? Fear that he’d laugh at me?
I guzzled water because it felt like I’d gone dry, everything in me choked off. “Okay. Sit down. Let me tell it my own way.”
He perched on the bed’s edge and I saw genuine concern, though I realized it could be concern for my sanity.
“Okay,” I said, “okay.”
He waited, then huffed a sigh to announce thinning patience.
“The guy was on the stairs above me, on the first landing, but when I reached him, when I got there, when I held out my hand…” It sounded ridiculous when said out loud.
“What?”
“He disappeared. Vanished. Poof, gone.”
Ray offered no comment. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t sigh or roll his eyes, which I saw as a good thing, so I went on.
“It freaked me out, really, because, well, impossible, right? But then I saw him up on the next landing and it happened again, all the way up. He’d be there, and when I’d reach him, he’d disappear, then reappear above, on the next landing. It was like he was playing some kind of game. I thought I had him when I reached this floor, but when I looked back, he was down on the previous landing. Honestly, Ray, he could disappear and reappear in an instant.”
There it was, the room filling with my excitement and his doubt. I could feel it on him, knew he’d humor me. “Wow, that’s something,” he said. “What do you make of it?”
“I think he’s a ghost.”
Ray looked at me like some elementary school teacher deciding the child before her has told a whopper. “A ghost,” he finally said, as if holding the word at arm’s length.
“Maybe from next door.”
“The cemetery?”
I went quiet because I wanted silence to come up around us, and because the cemetery idea suddenly seemed plausible. “Try and have an open mind, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m thinking maybe, when we had sex on that grave, we disturbed someone.”
He said nothing, looking around the room like he’d find sanity written on the walls.
“What else could it be?” I added.
“I have no idea but…”
“But what?”
“Do you know how ridiculous you sound?”
“It did happen.”
“And I want to believe you only, well, we know how you are with the supernatural.”
“No, how am I?”
“Eager. Receptive. Remember in our first apartment when you were certain the laundry room was haunted?”
“I never said ‘haunted,’ but things happened down there.”
“Whatever. You’ve set a precedent, Marty. You’re like a supernatural groupie.”
“So what? I imagined it all? Or made it up? Do you think I made it up?”
“That’s more plausible than a guy vanishing on the stairs.”
He crawled into bed, but I didn’t follow. Instead, I decided to go for broke.
“I think his name is Justin Cade. When I went outside after the elevator business, I went back to where we had sex on the grave. I read the headstone. It said Justin Cade 1983 through 2015. I think it’s him and I think he’s pissed at us.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“Can’t you for once believe me? Believe in me? You’re so dismissive. If it isn’t all definite, it can’t be real. You’re such a know-it-all, but really you know very little. And you certainly lack compassion.” I dressed as I spoke, fighting back tears. “This is real, Ray, so real it scares the shit out of me. But what scares me even more is you.”
He huffed a sigh. “You’re blowing this all out of proportion.”
“And proportion is your middle name.”
Dressed now, I threw on my jacket, grabbed the key card, and stormed out. In the hallway, I realized I had no idea where to go. Rushing downstairs, I found Foxy’s closed, the lobby deserted, save for a sleepy-eyed desk clerk, so I pushed through French doors leading to the courtyard. There I flopped onto a chaise, wishing we’d never come to Arroyo.
Calm finally descended, and as I drifted toward sleep, I thought about Justin Cade, who’d died too young but certainly wasn’t confined like his neighbors. My eyes closed and I felt ready to sink into a delicious sleep when it occurred to me that Justin might have caused the stuck elevator. And had he set off the fire alarm? Can a ghost do such a thing? I wondered how Ray would take this new theory, then fell asleep.
* * * *
One thing I know about my man is if I run away from him, he won’t follow. He refuses to fall for what he calls “manipulation,” but on Wednesday morning, I enjoyed a certain pride in not having crawled back to him. It was after eight when I went into the restaurant for breakfast, determined that Ray make the first move. I’d eaten all my French toast and was on my second cup of coffee when he appeared.
He looked awful—rumpled, unshaven, and worn. When I saw him, I made no move, so he came over. “Can I join you?” he asked.
“Of course.”
He eyed my empty plate.
“French toast. I recommend it.”
His nod seemed as if his head had grown heavy, and I saw that the main problem with being so definite all the time is the price when it doesn’t work. Nothing disturbs a Capricorn like having something go haywire, and if that haywire is a valued person, then it’s far more stressful. Ray, I could see, was in that stage. I felt a mix of glee and pity.
“Should we go home?” he asked once he’d had some coffee.
“No. We’ve paid for the week and I don’t want to go home. I want to enjoy our vacation.”
He ordered French toast and ate heartily. “No more ghosts, okay?” he said between bites.
“That’s up to the gh
osts.”
He shook his head and sighed. “Let’s not get into it again.”
“Fine with me.”
Quiet settled over the table, our divide sitting with us like some uninvited guest. Justin Cade might well have occupied a chair.
“How about we explore more of the town?” Ray suggested. “Get off the main drag, see what else is around, look at houses. Bet there are some nice ones.”
We always said we’d move to the country when we retired, have dogs and cats, maybe even chickens or a pig. Grow stuff, putter in the yard. Arroyo, however, wasn’t exactly country. Though roomy and green, it was upscale enough to make me think home prices would be substantial. Still, what he suggested would be a nice excursion and we needed to get away from the hotel.
When Ray had finished eating and the bill had been paid, we returned to the room to clean up, then set out.
“Let’s look around, then have lunch at La Cantina,” he said.
“Sounds good.”
We started west, into downtown, and at the first cross street, made a turn. This led us into a cozy little neighborhood that appeared caught in the 1940s. Small wood frame or stucco houses sat on large lots, all tidy, yards well kept, as if residents sought to stop time. Ivy was plentiful, also wisteria, which, in some places, was attempting to engulf the houses. The only concession to present day seemed to be an effort to conserve water by forgoing a lawn in favor of a hardscape of bark, rock, and drought-tolerant plants.
We kept walking and I finally began to relax, letting go of all things supernatural because I was enjoying reality. I took Ray’s hand, gave it a squeeze, and held on as we continued. As we worked our way along, houses increased in size, stretching into ranches that sprawled across still-substantial lots.
“One day,” Ray said.
“Only how many more years?”
“Don’t think about that now. Just enjoy the dream.”
When we turned onto a cross street, we found several small businesses—a photo shop, hairdresser, florist, cleaners, and an aging diner called The Pantry.
“Want to keep on?” Ray asked.
“Not particularly. It’s after noon, so why don’t we get lunch?”
We took a leisurely pace back to Canyon Boulevard and soon settled at an outdoor table behind La Cantina. The day had turned wonderfully warm and flowers and bright Mexican pottery ringed the patio.
“Margaritas?” Ray asked.
I hesitated where usually I wouldn’t have, but the last time we’d drank those we got into trouble—or trouble as far as I was concerned. Obviously, Ray didn’t see it that way. And the idea of getting that kind of mellow had its appeal because the walk had loosened me, allowed me to forget our differences.
I looked at Ray, saw the man of my dreams, the man I loved, and said, “Let’s.”
We ordered a pitcher along with combination plates featuring taco, burrito, and enchilada. And before the food arrived, we indulged in tortilla chips and salsa, as well as the margaritas. Indulgence seemed a good path for the day. As I caught Ray’s smile over his margarita glass, I knew where we were headed. Another kind of indulgence, and I was ready. I wanted to get back to just us, no intrusions, nothing from the outside.
I almost said that. I almost told Ray the ghost was gone now and we were fine, but something told me not to bring it up, even if stating a positive, because that would put it between us again, he’d probably say the wrong thing, and the day would take a lousy turn. Reality was now the preferred state.
Back at the hotel, Ray walked the stairs with me. This warmed me to no end, not only because he’d done it, but because he didn’t say anything about it. Once into the room, I couldn’t kiss him fast enough.
In silence, we stripped, pulled back the covers on the freshly made bed, and proceeded to the best part of us. Ray was everything now, my whole life, and as I entered him, all else disappeared. I took him on his back, his legs over my shoulders, so I could see his face, watch arousal wash over him. As I rode him, he worked his stiff cock until, as I neared the peak, he squealed and spurted, which drove me to come big time. We thrashed in satisfaction for glorious seconds, then collapsed into a heap, too wiped out to even comment. I liked that about us. We could do it without speaking, no courting necessary. I took his hand. That said it all.
After a bit, I got up to use the bathroom.
“Hurry back,” Ray said.
I looked around to see him lying on his side, impish smile wide.
I shut the door. No matter our closeness, we both preferred privacy with some things. I cleaned up, took a piss, looked in the mirror, and ran a hand through my hair. But when I tried to turn the doorknob to leave, it wouldn’t budge. I gripped it, gave it my all, but it still refused to turn. Stepping back, I assessed the situation, finding it absurd.
“Ray,” I called. “The doorknob is stuck. Help me.”
“Okay.” I heard him try the knob, then slap the door. “Well, shit. It’s stuck.”
It occurred to me only then that it had worked fine until now. Suddenly it had frozen—and I knew why.
“I’ll call the manager,” he said. A minute later, he told me they’d send somebody right up.
When I turned to get a towel for cover, I saw him. Justin Cade now stood inside the clear-sided shower, naked. He made no move, as if display of himself was enough. In looking him over, I saw a lean build with good shoulders, a well-defined chest, slim waist, and ample thighs. His cock was average, soft, and I wondered if a ghost could get hard.
He stared at me, and while I got lost to him for a minute, I soon recovered and tried to figure what to do. The stuck doorknob was obviously his doing, though I had no idea why. Annoy me? Entice me with his body? Or simply show off his powers?
“What do you want?” I asked. When he gave no reply I asked again. “What do you want?”
“Who are you talking to?” Ray asked.
Oh, shit, I thought. “Myself, or actually the doorknob. Venting.”
Ray began kicking the door and I realized he’d dressed in anticipation of the maintenance man. The door, more solid than those in most hotels, held fast.
“That’s not helping,” I said. “If you kick it in, we’ll have to pay for it. Let the hotel get me out.”
“Where is that guy?” Ray demanded. “I’m calling the desk again.”
His patience had diminished, so the maintenance man would get an earful if he ever arrived. Meantime, Justin remained unmoving in the shower. Hearing Ray on the phone to the desk, I took the opportunity to speak to the ghost again.
“I’m sorry if we disturbed you or desecrated your grave. Just tell me how to make amends and I will. There’s no need for these pranks.”
He gave no response, and then Ray was back.
“They can’t find the maintenance man.”
Still looking at Justin, I whispered, “What did you do?”
He kept looking at me, expression unchanged, and I noted he didn’t blink. His eyes were fixed in some awful way, seeing but lacking the animation of the living. They appeared grey and I wondered if they’d always been that color or did dead eyes fade like dead skin? When I turned from him, it occurred to me I was closed in. Thus far I’d been distracted, but now, taking in my situation more fully, I felt the familiar tingle and rising panic.
The bathroom had no window. Nothing but a mirror to offer the illusion of space. It wasn’t a big bathroom either, no tub, just the large shower. Glancing at Justin, I was grateful he’d distracted me so I kept my eyes on him, attempting to gain calm, but it was too late. I began to pace, such as one can in a small bathroom, but this only made things worse as it reminded me how little room I had. But I had to keep moving, flexing muscles to remind myself I could move, I wasn’t pinned. I tried to convince myself I had room enough, but the stuck door bore a finality that tore through all rationale.
“When is help going to get here?” I cried as I tried the doorknob again. Still fixed, it angered me, and I began to pound
on the door. “I want out! Get me out!”
Ray replied from a distance. “They’re working on it. Trying to find another maintenance guy, but so far no luck. Try to stay calm, Marty. You can if you work on it.”
“Don’t tell me to stay calm! And don’t tell me to work on it! This isn’t up to me!”
“Okay, sorry. Just trying to help.”
“I know, but please don’t feed me platitudes. It’s a fucking phobia. It doesn’t listen.”
He said nothing more. I’d chased him off and didn’t care. I didn’t want to be coached or encouraged. I wanted to be set free.
After what seemed an hour, I pounded again. “How long has it been?”
“Eighteen minutes.” It sounded like Ray was on the bed and I could hear the TV. He was relaxing while I suffered, and I hated him for that.
I turned to Justin. “Are you going to stand there all day?” I didn’t whisper this time because I didn’t care who heard me. Let the whole fucking world know I had a ghost in the shower—a mean, vindictive one. “Well? Come on, talk to me. We might as well get to know each other.”
Still nothing from him, so I amped it up.
“Talk, you son-of-a-bitch! Tell me what you want! Is this all you have? Torment?”
As I waited for the reply I knew wouldn’t come, there came a soft knock on the door. “Marty, you talking to yourself again?”
“No! I’m talking to the fucking ghost. He’s in here, standing naked in the shower. He’s the one screwing with the door, just like he screwed with the elevator and the fire alarm.”
When Ray said nothing, it pissed me off.
“Get me out of here!” Still nothing, so I kept on. “Ray? What’s going on? Talk to me.”
“I’m right here, Marty, and I want to get you out, you know I do, but there’s no way I can.”
“Call the desk again. Threaten them. Do something!”
I heard him on the phone, but couldn’t make out his exact words. What I did get was his tone of voice, which wasn’t even elevated. I’d be screaming, but he remained calm.
I looked at Justin, who hadn’t moved. “Open it,” I said, then louder, “Open it!” And still louder, “Open it!” I screamed, but he just stood there like words bounced off him.
