We Still Live

by Sara Dobie Bauer

  Isaac paused the video on John. Dark curls covered his face, and Isaac wanted to go back in time, brush the hair away, and wrap John in a hug. He wanted to look into John’s green eyes and simultaneously yell “thank you” and “I am so angry with you.” He at least wanted to wash the blood from John’s hands.

  It was no wonder they’d lost faculty, no wonder they couldn’t find candidates to hire. Who would want to walk over old bloodstains? Who would want to remember the crack of gunfire across College Green? Isaac hadn’t even been there, but he still felt sick. Hambden University was indeed haunted, but for Isaac, it was the perfect place to hide.

  Chapter Four

  WITH STUDENTS BACK and classes starting the following day, Isaac attended his first faculty meeting with Meeks at the helm. He knew the gist of how these things went, having been an English Department head himself for seven years at Broad College in Charleston before—well, before everything went to hell.

  Usually, there were boring discussions of administrative tasks and vague talks about “goals.” After all his morbid research into the shooting, Isaac expected this particular faculty meeting to be different, though. He expected his coworkers to relive the shooting, bemoan the absence of Dr. Abby Blake, who’d been at Hambden for over a decade before Chris Frank had shot her in the head. Instead, her replacement, Meeks, discussed code of conduct as if nothing horrible had happened.

  Isaac needed to talk to John. More than talk, really; he wanted to lock the guy in a basement to ensure he never did something foolhardy again. This protectiveness over an almost stranger was unusual for Isaac, but there was no use questioning its existence. Already, John inspired in Isaac a need to shield, like a wolf protecting its cub. Mess with him; mess with me. Maybe because he looked so frail, or maybe because Isaac couldn’t get the image of John with a gun to his throat out of his head.

  They sat across from each other in the circle of desks and chairs, arranged in the middle of a large classroom on Ellis’s third floor. Tommy was to John’s right and Cleo to his left. Slouched in his seat, John resembled a high school cool kid—the one who smoked cigarettes and took virginities. It was the hair that did it, added that touch of devil-may-care, along with the full mouth and hooded gaze. Cleo leaned to the side and wrote something in John’s notebook. He read and mouthed, “No.” Tommy whispered until John leaned closer, heads almost touching, and smiled.

  “Now, I know we’ve been through a lot together,” Meeks said, voice suddenly louder as if she knew Isaac hadn’t been paying attention. “We all miss Abby and Demi. We need to lean on each other in this difficult time. We need to seek comfort in each other—but not too much comfort, if you get my meaning. You all remember what happened to Dr. Lancaster and Ms. Brown. Just because people are dead doesn’t mean rules go out the window.”

  Isaac tried to swallow down his shock over her insensitivity, but no one else seemed surprised. Apparently, Meeks wore callous well.

  She crossed her arms over her business suit, worn at the elbows. “We do still have counselors in place for students who need them—and faculty too. Those services are free for all of you. You’ve been trained to look for warning signs. If you think a student is having trouble, report it immediately, and—”

  John’s deep voice interrupted. “What’s that going to accomplish? You want us to throw kids off campus if they seem twitchy?” He glared at her, waiting, and she glared back. No love lost between these two, evidently.

  “No,” Meeks said. “Just trying to be aware.”

  Isaac bit the insides of his cheeks and frowned around futility.

  After the meeting, Isaac had to chase John out to College Green—the guy moved so fast from the classroom and down the steps. John had really long legs, so Isaac took a few jogging steps to catch up. “Hey, John.”

  He stopped walking and smiled. “Remember how to teach yet?”

  “Not in any way.”

  John seemed so happy, gazing up at Isaac. He almost hated to ruin it.

  “You were relieved I didn’t know anything about the shooting.”

  As expected, John’s face fell.

  “Hambden hero.”

  John tucked some hair behind his ear, but a breeze immediately blew the strands free, along with a whiff of John’s scent. “Someone’s been googling.”

  Isaac stepped a little closer so people passing couldn’t hear. “I know you don’t think you’re a hero, but you are. What you did was incredibly brave.”

  John exhaled loudly through his nose and closed his eyes. When he opened them, dark in the dim morning light, his gaze studied the brick sidewalk in the direction of downtown. “Coffee?”

  They walked side by side to a coffee shop on Union called Donkey. The walls were painted dark brown to give the appearance of wood, while the floor was bright cedar. Everywhere floated the scent of coffee beans. They both ordered tall French roasts at John’s insistence—“It’s the best coffee outside my kitchen”—and sat on opposite ends of a long, purple couch. With one knee pulled up, John might as well have been lounging around at home. Isaac sipped the scalding coffee and winced at its strength.

  John snorted. “You’ll only be wide awake for a couple days.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Chris came to my office the week before it happened.”

  John’s change in topic was even more shocking than the coffee.

  “I knew something was wrong, but it was finals week, and I was so fucking busy. Too busy to listen.” He sipped from his huge mug and stared at the floor.

  “Do you blame yourself?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  “No. No one expects…that. Maybe we should, though.”

  Isaac wrapped his palms around his scalding mug. “What did you say to him that day on College Green?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Liar.”

  John smiled and hid behind his hair. Isaac was beginning to wonder if he kept it long solely for that purpose.

  “He was a good writer. Chris. Really good.” He poked and tugged on a frayed couch cushion. “Of course, nobody’s going to remember that now.”

  “You will.”

  John cleared his throat. “Why did you come here for work anyway? From what I’ve heard from Meeks, we couldn’t get qualified faculty within twenty miles of this place. What are you, an ambulance chaser?”

  “No.” There was so much he could have said about his old life, his own tragedies. He could have been open to John as John was being open with him. Instead, he shrugged and said, “I just didn’t know.”

  John lifted his other leg onto the couch and practically curled into a pretzel. “How did you not know? Been living under a rock?”

  Keep it vague. “I was busy dealing with personal things.”

  “Personal things. Sounds very hush-hush. Mob put a price on your head?”

  Isaac thought of his cell phone. The constant texts and calls from Simon had stopped recently, but that didn’t mean anything was resolved. The quiet was more warning than relief. He sucked in a breath when John snapped his fingers in front of his face.

  “Oh, my God, the mob did put a price on your head. How much? I could really use the extra cash.”

  Isaac laughed. “No. No, I’m sorry. I think this coffee is melting my brain.”

  “It’s supposed to have the opposite effect.”

  To distract any and all attention from himself, Isaac said the first thing that came to mind. “Is Tommy in love with you?”

  John’s eyes widened. “Shit, man, uh, no. I mean, he’s straight. He loves the chicks. We love each other like brothers do.”

  “He seems worried about you.”

  He leaned his head back against the couch. “Well, I did almost use my neck to catch a bullet last year, and Tommy had to sit there and watch. I assume that fucked him up a bit.”

  Isaac replayed the images of that day in his head again and shivered,
suddenly cold.

  John put his hand on his knee and gave it a quick, friendly squeeze. “See, ‘don’t be awkward.’ Totally failing today.”

  “You’re fine.”

  “That’s what all the boys say.” He waggled his dark eyebrows.

  Isaac sputtered around a sip of coffee. Not a dull moment with John Conlon.

  Chapter Five

  THE FIRST WEEK of classes was arduous, simply because it had been ages since Isaac had worked with inexperienced writers. He was so accustomed to working with students who knew the craft. Teaching basic composition and working with—as predicted—business students who didn’t know the correct use of a comma made his face burn.

  And he was lonely. God, was he lonely.

  At home, his cell phone again vibrated wherever he chose to keep it hidden. Cleo was the only person at Hambden who had his phone number. She had forced him out of his lonely, awful house one night to see her sing at a place next door called Crocodile Lounge. He’d even enjoyed himself a little. In her skintight black satin dress, Cleo had reminded him of a lounge singer from some noir film. Her voice reminded him of Billie Holiday.

  When Friday rolled around, Isaac decided it was finally time to indulge. There was one gay bar in the area, and it was outside Lothos city limits. He did away with his usual tucked-in, Southern attire and went for a black button-down and jeans instead—although the boat shoes went along like a second skin. He drove himself to the Cave at ten p.m. and found it as billed: a dark and seedy place with no windows. Already, music blasted from the speakers, and drag queens mingled with the dancing crowd. From where he stood, most of the patrons were a bit younger than him, but he didn’t see any college kids, at least. Not yet. They would probably arrive closer to midnight, as was the way of the young and fabulous, but he hoped to be long gone by then.

  Isaac ordered a beer and ignored the eyes sizing him up—for the moment. He enjoyed the anonymity. In Charleston, he had rarely hit up the gay scene for fear of being recognized. He couldn’t have afforded the scandal. In Ohio, he knew no one, not really, so he had nothing to fear—he thought. With his luck, he really should have expected the worst.

  He caught sight of John in the mirror behind the bar.

  Isaac immediately ducked to his right where he could just vaguely see John, but he was fairly certain John couldn’t see him. Admirers greeted the handsome young professor with hugs and cheek kisses. There appeared to be an entire table of friends waiting for the guy, all dressed up, as was John, actually. Dark skinny jeans and a black velvet suit coat complemented his pale skin, and he’d left his usual Converse at home in exchange for shiny dress shoes.

  One of the men jumped the table and dragged a smiling John away—even closer to Isaac, who ducked farther. They leaned against a nearby wall together, the tall blond with a ponytail looming large as they spoke. He grabbed onto the back of John’s hair and pulled until John leaned his head back, and the blond nibbled down his jaw.

  “They’re not together.” The bartender, of the huge and hunky variety, dried his hands behind the bar. “I think Adam’s just glad to see him.”

  Isaac had to lean closer and yell over the music. “I’m sorry?”

  “The sexy twink you’ve been checking out in the mirror. His name’s John.”

  He’d definitely been caught looking, but he didn’t have to lie. “Oh, he’s not my type.”

  The bartender laughed. “John is everyone’s type!”

  That certainly seemed the case. In the reflection, John had already abandoned “Adam.” A tall queen led him to the dance floor, where John moved his feet and hips in perfect synchronicity beneath the throbbing colored lights. For an English nerd, John sure knew how to move.

  “You from around here?” the bartender asked, one meaty forearm resting near Isaac’s beer.

  Isaac returned his hungry gaze. “New in town.” This was more Isaac’s speed. He’d always had a thing for topping tough guys in bed.

  “Welcome. I’m going to name your tab ‘Greek’ since you look like you climbed down from Olympus.” He winked. “Next round’s on me.”

  Isaac lifted his beer in salute, used to the attention. He might hate himself most days, but he knew how he looked. He knew guys liked the blond hair–blue eyes thing, along with his tall runner’s body. He never had trouble finding lovers; case in point, the busy bartender…and the man with the close-cropped black hair across the bar.

  Barely five words were exchanged before Isaac found himself and his dark stranger in the alley behind the Cave. They weren’t the only ones, although they found a modicum of privacy behind a stack of empty kegs. The stranger’s mouth tasted like the burn of alcohol, and he smelled like too much cologne. But he was good-looking—and talented on his knees.

  Isaac came in less than three minutes and felt awful immediately. After buckling up, he walked away and didn’t look back. He drove home to Lothos. In the shower, he turned the water on hot as it would go and took off his clothes. He stepped under the burning stream until his skin ached, scrubbing and scrubbing. Exhausted, he fell asleep face-first on the couch that’d come with the place. It smelled like stale smoke.

  For the first time in a week, he dreamed of Elizabeth. She stood in his kitchen, naked, poking holes in her stomach with a knife until blood gushed from between her legs, and Isaac woke screaming.

  He didn’t know what time it was and didn’t care. He pulled on his running shorts and shoes and escaped into the night. He hated living in a haunted house, so he ran and ran until he found himself lost in the nice neighborhoods outside of campus. Lost again—always lost. At the realization, he bent over, hands on his knees, and sobbed.

  As he fell to the ground, he heard his name.

  His vision fuzzy with tears, he would have recognized that hair anywhere.

  John knelt and reached out his hand. “Isaac? Hey, what happened? What’s wrong?”

  Isaac fell forward into his arms, and under the force of his weight, John tumbled backward onto the pavement. Isaac hugged him close, sweat-soaked face against the side of his neck, but John didn’t smell right. He didn’t smell like his usual bouquet but like a dirty club and alcohol and sex. He smelled a lot like sex.

  “It’s okay,” John whispered. “Whatever it is; it’s okay. Why don’t you come to my house for a bit?”

  “No, no.” Isaac pressed away from John and leaned back on his heels. “I should be alone.”

  “No one should be alone when they’re crying.” John stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans before reaching out to Isaac. “Come on.”

  Miraculously, they were only a few houses down from John’s place. He eventually guided Isaac to his feet and walked him, hand around his waist, up the sidewalk and all the way to his living room. He made Isaac sit and then made him tea.

  As John handed him a steaming mug, Isaac noticed the clock read 3:30 a.m. John sat on the edge of an ottoman in front of him.

  “What were you doing out walking so late?”

  John licked his top lip and smiled like the answer should be obvious. “Uh, I was…”

  “You got laid.”

  “Right. Yeah.”

  “What cologne do you wear?”

  He slurped his tea. “I don’t.”

  Isaac ignored his hot beverage. “You have a smell.”

  “Oh, maybe witch hazel. I use it on my skin.”

  Isaac stared blankly at the floor.

  “You want to talk about it?” John tipped his head toward the front door.

  Isaac knew he could tell John the truth without fear of judgment, just say, I am a gay man who spent my whole life closeted and married to a woman, and I don’t know what I’m doing in Ohio. Please, help. In reality, he said, “I got divorced about a year ago. Elizabeth and I were married for over ten years. It was bad, and I left my last job because of it. Lost my life, lost my family.”

  John leaned back. “Shit.”

  “I ran away. Here. I don’t think Elizabeth even
knows where I am. Nobody from my old life does, not that they would miss me.”

  “Isaac, I’m sorry.”

  He trembled as the sweat dried on his skin, and John must have noticed, because he grabbed a nearby afghan and threw it over him.

  “I’ll make it stink,” Isaac said.

  “I can wash it.” He adjusted the blanket so it hugged Isaac’s shoulders and tucked beneath his chin, not noticing or caring when his fingertips brushed lightly against Isaac’s collarbone and neck.

  Isaac shivered some more and set down the untouched tea. “What happened last year, didn’t it mess you up?”

  John rolled his eyes. “Well. Yeah.”

  “You don’t seem it. You walk around campus like this bright light, and everyone loves you.”

  “Everyone does not love me.”

  “Sonya Meeks?” Isaac tugged the afghan tighter as though the mention of her name gave the room added chill.

  “Sonya and I have known each other a long time. We just are the way we are.”

  Isaac considered his next question, wondering if it gave too much away or said much too little. “How did you keep going after it happened?”

  “I don’t know.” John chuckled, and soon, they were both laughing in the sick, twisted way broken people do. “The nights are the worst.”

  “For me too,” Isaac said. “I need to be doing something to fill the quiet. I had so much before the divorce. I did so much, and now, it’s all gone. Sometimes, I wish I could go back and start all over.”

  John laughed again but stopped suddenly. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. I just feel like I’m talking to myself.” He turned the mug forward and back between his palms while chewing his bottom lip. When he didn’t speak, the only sound became that of newly arrived rain outside.

  Isaac watched John’s face change. His brow warped into wrinkles, and he sucked both his lips into his mouth.

  “What is it?” Isaac asked. “Should I go?”

  “No.” John put his hand on Isaac’s knee. When Isaac remained seated, he pulled it back. “I was thinking of something for you to do. I’m the faculty advisor for the Hambden literary magazine. My star editor, Janelle—she has this idea. I haven’t run it by Meeks yet, but Janelle wants the theme of this year’s magazine to be the shooting.”