Chapter 1 - Moving Day.

“Where should I put this, Brian?” Michael asked, huffing and puffing as he tried to see around the extra large box he’d just lugged up the driveway into the garage of his best friend’s new country house.

“Just dump it anywhere, Mikey,” Brian answered, setting down his own box full of personal possessions in the only empty spot he could find on the garage floor.

Brian straightened up, rubbing at the small of his sore back as he surveyed the chaos that was his new home. The garage, where they were now standing, was chock-full of piles of old storage boxes, mounds of newspapers, stacks of magazines, garbage bags full of aluminum cans, old milk crates full of random, rusting metal parts, and a wide assortment of other junk that Brian didn’t even recognize. He sighed. It was a fucking mess. And now it was all HIS mess.

“Shit, Brian. This place is a total fucking dump,” Michael echoed Brian’s thoughts as the smaller man came to stand beside him, brushing at his shoulder to remove the smut and cobwebs that he’d accumulated as he climbed through the mess. “Are you sure buying this place was a good idea? I know you didn’t pay all that much for it, but if the rest of the place is as bad as this, I think you got ripped off.”

“Yeah, well . . .” Brian wasn’t sure that Michael wasn’t right, but he didn’t have many options at this point. “When you buy a house at auction, you get what you get, Mikey. They make you sign a big waiver saying you accept the property ‘AS IS’. And it’s not like I was allowed a chance to even look inside beforehand. All I WAS able to do was have my contractor look it over from the outside and examine it for major structural defects and stuff. He said it was a good buy, and I trust his judgment, so I just went for it.” Brian kicked his way through a fallen pile of newspapers so he could walk a few more meters in. “All this crap doesn’t really matter, though. It’ll be a bitch to clean it up, but it should be worth it in the end. As soon as I can cart all of this out of here and can get started on the renovations I have planned for this place, it’ll be great.”

Brian shoved aside another towering stack of boxes, clearing a path to the back wall where he could just see the lightswitch and the door that should lead from the garage into the main part of the basement. He made his way through the maze of junk, flipped the switch and was gratified to see that the light actually worked. He’d had the electricity switched back on that morning. He hoped that the water was on too, since he planned to stay there that night, and if the plumbing wasn’t working he’d be forced to crash at Michael’s for yet another night - not a prospect he savored.

“I just don’t get it, Brian,” Michael groused, unable to let the matter go. “Why the fuck did you decide to buy a rundown piece of crap house all the way out here in the middle of Nowhere, West Virginia, anyway? This is fucking nuts, if you ask me.”

“For the ten thousandth time, Mikey . . .” Brian huffed as he found himself explaining his plans once more. “I’m taking a year’s sabbatical from the hustle and bustle of the advertising world so I can write the great American novel.” Michael didn’t look impressed by Brian’s plans, which wasn’t a surprise since he’d already tried a dozen times to talk Brian out of what he considered a thoroughly crazy idea. “Please don’t start, Mikey. I’m doing this and nothing you are going to say will change my mind. It’s too late, anyway. Yesterday was my last day at Ryder’s and the lease for the new tenant in the loft isn’t up till August of next year, so it’s either move in here or be homeless.”

Brian turned to the basement door, rattling the handle and tugging a little till it finally creaked open and revealed a basement almost as full of junk as the garage was.

“I get that you’re burned out and want to take a break from Advertising,” Michael nagged on. “Fine. Take a break. Do some writing. Whatever. But why the fuck do you have to do it out here in Bum-Fucked, West Virginia? And why, in the name of all that’s sane, do you have to do it in a house that’s fucking falling apart and full of some dead hoarder’s shitload of crap?”

“Because, Mikey,” Brian replied, his voice evidencing the aggravation he felt at his friend’s continued disparagement of his well thought out plans. “Even though I’m taking the year off to write, I don’t plan to just sit on my ass without any income at all for the entire time. I can write AND work on renovating this place at the same time. Then, when the year’s over, I can flip the place and make a fucking mint. So, even if nothing comes of my book, I’ll still have made money despite my year off.”

Brian came to a halt halfway through his explanation and his basement, when he found his path completely blocked by a stack of broken and dusty wooden benches that looked like they might once have been pews in a church. Michael, who hadn’t noticed that Brian was stopping, bumped into him and subsequently toppled over onto his ass. The commotion caused another nearby pile of boxes, topped by an overfilled box that had burst its seams, to topple to the ground, the impact causing a cloud of dust to mushroom up all around them. Both men coughed and sneezed for the next two minutes.

“Fuck, Brian. I STILL think you’ve lost your fucking mind here,” Michael insisted as soon as his friend helped him back to his feet.

“Well, you’re wrong. I’m perfectly sane. And do you have any idea how much money I could make off this place?” Brian asserted as he turned to once again make his way through the junk maze towards the stairs that he could just make out on the far side of the basement. “I only paid $12,000 at the county tax auction for this entire place. That includes not only the house but all five acres of land too. And, despite appearances, my buddy the contractor says the house is basically in decent shape. Granted, it needs cleaned up and some serious repairs, but the foundations are good and the bones of the structure are great. Even if I spend another $50,000 on remodeling, I should still be able to turn it around for a couple of hundred thou profit. So, shut your yapping and quit denigrating my beautiful country manor, here, Mikey.”

“Well . . . If you say so, Brian.” Michael continued to look around himself at the piles of junk that apparently came along with the house and didn’t look convinced. “Maybe there’s something in all these boxes that you can sell to make a little extra on top, too. I mean, it’s all yours, right?”

Brian nodded but didn’t slow down as he continued to wade through the mess. “Yep. I own everything here, lock, stock and barrell. As is, where is - that’s what the deed says. If it’s on the property, it’s all mine.” Brian finally made it to the foot of the stairs and started up them. “And that’s not a bad idea, Mikey. I’d probably better take some time to go through all these boxes instead of just hauling them off to the dump. There might just be something good in a few of them. Who knows, right? They said the guy that owned this place died and didn’t have any relatives, so there just might be something of actual value hidden in a box or two. A hoarder like this,” Brian swept his hand out, indicating all the accumulated mess, “might just have a million dollars stashed around here somewhere, along with his great-grandmother’s silver and maybe even a spare, long-lost nephew or two.”

Both men laughed at that prediction. Considering the poor state of most of the crap they’d seen so far during their tour, it seemed highly unlikely that there was anything here worth saving. But you never knew, right? Stranger things had happened. And this house felt like the kind of mysterious, secretive place where something crazy like that might occur.

“Come on, Mikey,” Brian encouraged his friend as they finally made it to the top of the stairs and the door that presumably led into the main part of the house. “Let’s see what other treasures lurk in the heart of my new home.”

“I’m not sure about treasures . . .” Michael replied, turning his head to look behind him once before following Brian. “Rats are more likely. Did you hear that?”

“What?” Brian hesitated, trying to see whatever it was that his friend was looking at.

“I don’t know. I heard a noise and I think there was something moving over there.” Michael pointed to the furthest, darkest corner of the room where all Brian could see was yet another pile of boxes and broken furniture.

“I fucking hope there aren’t any damned rats.” Brian shuddered. “If there are, I hope to hell they stay down here in the basement. Fuck.”

“Come on, Brian. We better go check out the rest of the place and see if you really do want to risk staying here tonight after all.”

Brian sighed, nodded his agreement with that plan and then led the way into the unknown, hoping that Michael was wrong and he hadn’t bit off way more than he could chew with this new plan of his.

Brian and Michael actually made a lot of progress on the clearing out of the upper floors of the house. There weren’t any further signs of any rodents, so Brian was feeling much better about that side of things. Plus, he was very, very pleased with the overall state of the house itself. There was still a lot of junk in the rest of the building, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the basement and garage had been. And he was thrilled with the overall layout and structure of the house. There were so many possibilities for renovation. He could already see in his mind’s eye how it would look when he was done with it. This old, falling-down, shack of a house might turn out to be amazing by the time he was through. He could almost smell all the money he’d make when he finally flipped it. So, yeah, Brian was more than pleased with his purchase by the time they’d finished surveying the entirety of the place.

Around lunchtime, just as he and Michael were hauling out the old bedstead and disgusting, stained mattress they’d found in the master bedroom, their friends, Emmett and Ted, drove up. Michael was grateful for the excuse to take a break, sure that Brian would have just kept on going forever, or at least until Michael collapsed from exhaustion, if it hadn’t been for the new arrivals. Even better, Em had brought them all lunch.

Brian ushered his new guests in through the wide open garage doors, swiped everything that had been resting there off the top of one of the larger cardboard boxes and then urged them all to pull up a seat at his make-shift table. They all laughed at what Emmett called the ‘lovely accommodations’ but, using smaller boxes, chairs or, in Brian’s case, an oil drum he’d found in the corner, they all made themselves at home.

Emmett’s spread was delicious, which was only right seeing as he was becoming one of the most sought after caterers in Pittsburgh these days. Brian even felt a little bad at the way he was scarfing down the food, thinking he should slow down and enjoy it a little more, but he was so hungry after all his hard work that morning that he just couldn’t. Michael was just as bad, stuffing one mini-sandwich after another into his maw. At least Ted was properly restrained and took the time to thank his friend for the wonderful repast.

Even in the midst of their lunch though, Michael continued to gripe about Brian’s new circumstances. “You should see it upstairs, though. It’s not quite as bad as this,” Michael used his latest sandwich to gesture at the confusion surrounding them. “But there’s still a shitload of crap up there. Brian’s going to be digging himself out of this junk for months. I still don’t see why the hell you’re putting yourself through all this, Brian.”

“Are you kidding me?” Ted spoke up immediately, surveying the chaos around them with a more appreciative eye than Michael had. “This place is a fucking gold mine. I’m so jealous of you, Brian.” Michael looked at his accountant friend with obvious skepticism. “I’m serious, Michael. This was a genius move. I still can’t believe you got this place for such a pittance, Bri. Hell, at $12,000, even if you just razed the house completely and resold the land alone, you’d make a profit. If you can renovate the house and upgrade it a bit, you’re going to make a killing.” Brian beamed at Ted, nodding in agreement. “Shit, if I wasn’t completely useless around power tools, I’d probably follow Brian’s example. But, alas, I’m allergic to manual labor, so I guess I’ll have to find a different way to make my millions.”

They all laughed at Ted’s self-deprecating assessment of the situation. Brian did feel a little reassured hearing his accountant’s enthusiastic approval. He wasn’t as turned off by the idea of hard work as Ted, though, and figured he had enough experience from all those summers in college when he’d worked construction that he could do a good portion of the work himself. Besides, it would not only be a great opportunity to make some money - he thought he’d enjoy working with his hands and not just his mind for a change. Not that his mind wouldn’t be busy - the novel he had already outlined should take care of that - but he also looked forward to doing something more concrete and hands on for the next few months.

“Fine. But I still don’t get why Brian had to buy THIS dump,” Michael said, refusing to back down. “I mean, couldn’t you have bought a dump back in town? I'm sure there are plenty of fixer-uppers within the city limits of Pittsburgh. This place is so far away. It’s fucking West Virginia, for fuck’s sake. What the hell are you going to do, living in West Virginia, Brian?”

“I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet, Mikey,” Brian insisted, again. “Look, Mikey, this place is perfect for what I need, okay? I’m going to be busy writing, and I can’t do that back in the Pitts at my loft. It would be too distracting to try and write there. Out here, I’ve got nothing to do BUT write and work on the house, so I should get a hell of a lot more done. Besides, it’s not THAT far from the city. It’s not like I moved to Timbuktu or anything. I can get from here to Liberty Avenue in only about forty-five minutes, provided there’s no traffic.”

“That’s pretty fucking far, if you ask me,” Michael grumbled, finishing off the last of his most recent sandwich and washing it down with his second diet pepsi.

“Come on, Michael,” Em chided him gently. “It’s not that bad. I kind of like the house. It’s huge and spooky. It’ll be a great place for Brian to write that Mystery novel he’s been talking about.”

“That’s my point, exactly,” Michael pointed out as he shoved his box/chair away from the box/table and stood up. “This place is fucking creepy and I think you’re insane to move all the way out here, Brian.”

The argument might have continued, seeing as Michael was nothing if not adamant once he’d taken up a position on any subject, but they were propitiously interrupted at that point by the advent of a large, and rather loud, panel van turning off the main road and rumbling up Brian’s driveway.

“Shit!” Brian got to his feet as well, abandoning what was left of his own lunch, and started to jog down the drive to meet the truck. “The movers weren't supposed to be here till after three. Where the hell are we going to put everything? The rooms upstairs aren't even cleaned out yet.”

It took the entire gang another two hours to oversee the unloading of the moving van and the distribution of all of Brian's stuff. Luckily, he hadn’t brought too much. He didn't want to start furnishing the place until he was done with the construction, of course, so he only had the bare minimum as far as furniture was concerned: a bed, a small table for the kitchen, a desk that would fit in the corner of the bedroom and  a small sofa for relaxing on. That stuff hadn't taken the movers long to unload. It was the removal of all the junk and the crappy, used and broken furniture that had been left in the rooms he planned to live in, that took the most time. As soon as the bedroom, kitchen and living room areas had been emptied of the detritus left by the house’s former owners, though, it was fairly straightforward work to bring in the rest of Brian's personal possessions. Lucky for him he had all his friends there to help with the job.

“Damn! Who knew Brian had so much stuff,” Emmett complained as he shuffled tiredly back down the walk to where he'd left his stuff in the garage. “The way he had the loft decorated with that minimalist look, I never suspected he'd have so much shit to move.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael agreed, moving even slower than Emmett as he made his way over to a box he could flop onto. “I've never seen him use half of that crap. And, seriously, have you ever met anyone who has that many clothes?”

“Nope. Never. And that says a lot coming from a style queen like myself,” Emmett agreed with a laugh. “And, Honey, did you get a load of him hovering over those wardrobe boxes as the movers were carting them in? *Hahaha* It was like he was guarding the crown jewels or something. I thought that one mover was gonna deck him when he warned them for the third time to be careful with that box.” They both broke out laughing at Brian's overprotective behavior when it came to his clothes. “Oh well, once a label queen, always a label queen, I suppose. I'm just glad it's done so I can hobble home and soak away all these sore muscles in a nice hot bubble bath.”

“There's still a shitload to do,” Michael said, looking around disdainfully at all the stuff crammed, literally, to the rafters of the garage.

“True, but that's not our problem, is it?” Em insisted, standing and brushing off his hands on the seat of his pants. “You heard Brian - he WANTS to be all he-man handy and fix this place up all by himself. So I say, we should let him have at it. More power to him. But I'm done for today, Sweetie.”

“Yeah. I'm pretty pooped too,” Michael agreed with his friend. “I've already been here since nine, and Brian's had me carrying shit since the minute we arrived. I'm tired and hungry and definitely ready to leave Brian to his fun.”

“Well, I can't help with the tired part, but I can with the hungry.” Emmett turned around, looking towards another stack of boxes sitting off to the side where he'd left the bags he'd used to transport all the food he'd brought for lunch. “Your mother sent along some lemon bars for dessert. They should be just right to . . .” He paused when he got to the spot, looked into the shopping bag and found it completely empty. “Hmmm. It looks like somebody else got to the lemon bars already. That's strange. The whole Tupperware container is gone.”

“Damn. I could have used a treat after all that work.”

“I guess Brian or Ted must have found them and decided not to share,” Emmett surmised. “That's a bit rude. There was more than enough for all of us.” Em started to gather up the rest of his stuff, picking up the insulated cooler bag that had held the sandwiches and noting it was unzipped and had toppled onto its side. “Damn, whoever it was took the leftover sandwiches too. I was going to leave those for Brian so he'd have something for dinner tonight. I didn't see anybody down here eating, though. Do you think maybe the movers snuck in and stole it all?”

“Maybe. I don't know,” Michael replied, looking around the garage area curiously, as if he thought he'd see the lunch thief hiding in the corner or something.

Before the two could speculate any further about their disappearing food, however, they heard Brian's voice calling from somewhere out on the front lawn.

“Michael? Em? Can you guys give us a hand here? I'm about to drop this fucking dresser on Ted’s toes. It weighs a fucking ton. Help!”

Emmett and Michael jumped to their feet and took off at a run. Luckily, they were in time to save Ted's toes. And by the time they were done with that task, the issue of the missing lunch had been completely forgotten.

Ted and Em begged off soon afterwards, with Michael making up a previously forgotten errand he needed to get back to town to do, giving him an excuse to abandon Brian to his own cleaning and moving from there on out. The three of them rushed to say their goodbyes and get away before Brian could come up with any other tasks for them to help with, leaving Brian with only their congratulations on his new house and well wishes for the future. The harried homeowner yelled his thanks to the retreating trio and waved to his friends as they drove away, chuckling all the while at everyone’s haste to escape.

As soon as the gang was gone, Brian looked around, surveying the scene and calculating everything that still needed to be done. He was pleased with the amount they'd accomplished so far, despite the fact that he hadn't actually planned on the inside of the house being quite as trashed as what he'd found. Yes, there was a hell of a lot of work to be done, but he had time. He didn't have anywhere else he had to be for the next twelve months, to be honest. And he was too proud of his newest project, and too filled with ideas about how he was going to proceed with the reno, to get discouraged by the mess.

Besides, he was now looking forward to going through the boxes and piles of stuff, per Mikey’s suggestion, looking for anything that might be valuable enough to sell. Who knew WHAT he might find amid the clutter? It was almost like going on a private scavenger hunt. And even if he didn't find anything worth any actual money, it should at least be fun to dig through the stuff. The prospect of turning up some priceless antique or lost work of art was entertaining, in and of itself. The thrill of possible discovery simply added to the mystery of the place. In Brian's mind, that made it worth all the extra effort.

Although, Brian noted as he pushed a few of the boxes that had been displaced in the move back inside the confines of the garage so that he could pull the door closed, there really WAS a fuckload of work to be done in here.

Just as he was reaching up to pull the garage door closed, Brian caught sight of the shiny blue insulated food carrier Emmett seemed to have forgotten. He figured he better not leave it down here, just in case there really were rats or something. He didn't want some critter or other to destroy the bag before he could get it back to Em. He stepped over an intervening pile of newspapers and stretched across another box to hook the strap of the carrier, using that to pick it up and causing a small Tupperware container that had been resting inside to drop to the concrete floor in the process. He quickly retrieved the small container, noting in passing that it seemed to have been recently rinsed out and was still wet, before he shoved it back in the larger bag.

Too bad both the bag and the little box were empty, though. Brian was starving and didn't relish the idea of trying to scrounge up dinner for himself after a full day of moving. He didn't think he'd find a Thai place out here in the wilds of West Virginia that delivered, either. Hmmm. Maybe Mikey did have a point about the wisdom of moving this far out of town after all?

Oh, well. It was too late to turn back at that point. Brian cursed the gang who’d left him there without food and walked back around the outside of the building to the front door.

It took him another fifteen minutes to locate the box that contained what passed for his cooking supplies. He dug through it, but the only thing edible in there were the three green apples he'd decided not to throw out when he'd packed up the last of his gear at the loft that morning.  He pulled out a slightly wizened apple and looked at it disdainfully for one long minute before he shrugged and headed up the stairs to his bedroom. It seemed that would have to suffice as his dinner for the night. He'd have to figure out where the closest grocery store was the next day. And maybe even learn to cook, if he didn't want to starve to death before the year was over.

So much for the mystery and romance of moving into a big, lonely, isolated old house in the country, huh?

Chapter 2 - The Infestation.

Brian was yawning as he came through the front door of the Diner. He shambled over to the gang’s usual booth, slid into the seat next to Michael, and laid his head tiredly on his friend's shoulder. The three men who had already been seated there looked at each other with confusion.

“You okay, Brian? You look exhausted,” Emmett commented.

Brian opened his eyes long enough to shoot a gimlet glare at the rude queen sitting across from him.

“Sorry, Honey, let me rephrase that,” Emmett quickly changed course. “You look wonderful tonight, Brian. I love that shirt.”

“Better,” Brian replied, before once again closing his eyes.

Unfortunately, Deb came up right at that moment, a coffee carafe in each hand, and stopped dead right in front of Brian’s seat. “Shit, Brian. I haven't seen bags like those under your eyes since the last time Vic and I went window shopping at the Coach store. What the hell have you been doing to yourself, Kiddo?”

Brian roused himself sufficiently so that he was once again sitting upright. “Yeah, well, you’d look like this too if you were only getting two or three hours of sleep a night.”

“I thought the whole purpose of moving out to West Virginia was so you could have peace and quiet,” Michael snarked with a grin.

“I thought so too,” Brian grumbled, somehow looking both annoyed and dejected at the same time. “Unfortunately, I have a bit of an infestation problem at the moment.”

“Oh, Baby, that's terrible!” Emmett butted in sympathetically. “But that's nothing to let yourself get so down about. You're not alone. In fact, I've heard tell of several cases of crabs going around lately. It's nothing a quick trip to the free clinic can't take care of.”  

“Shut the fuck up, Honeycutt,” Brian growled. “It's not my bush that’s infested, it’s my fucking house. I think I have some kind of animals living in the walls. They make a shitload of noise every night as soon as I go to bed. I can hear them moving around in there all night long, knocking against the walls, moving things, rattling the pipes even. And whatever it is, it's big enough that it makes the risers on the stairs creak. Last night it was so bad, I even got out of bed to go look, but of course they'd already escaped by the time I got there.”

“Uh oh,” Em groaned, looking very worried.

“Yep. I think you were right the other day, Mikey. It looks like I've got rats or mice or something.”

“Um, Honey, if you don't mind a word of advice from a country boy who’s got experience with such things, I'm afraid your problem is bigger than just a rodent or two.”

“What? Why do you say that?” Brian had to ask.

“It can't be mice or even rats - they’d be too small to make the floorboards creak. I'm afraid it’s something bigger. Like, maybe a raccoon?” the Country Queen hypothesized. “What kind of droppings have you seen around the house?” Brian didn't answer. He did turn a bit green though. “The type of droppings they leave behind will help us identify your rogue critter, Brian. You'll need to know what kind of pests you have before you call an exterminator.”

“I don't have any fucking animal droppings in my house, Honeycutt!” Brian insisted vociferously.

“Don't call me ‘Honeycutt’,” Emmett corrected automatically before moving on to the real issue again. “Are you sure? Mice droppings are pretty small. They look like tiny, little, brown pellets, about the size of a grain of rice. They're hard to spot sometimes, but if you have that big of a pest problem, you'd have to see them. And if you’ve got rats or, heaven forbid, something bigger, well, there’s no way you could miss their droppings.”

However, Brian was absolutely adamant on that point. “No, EmmyLou, I don't have mouse shit - or any other kind of shit for that matter - in my fucking house!”

Em stared back at him, completely confused. “Well, it can’t be rodents then. And it's definitely not raccoons, either, since they’re notorious for leaving a huge mess when they get into a house. Ask me sometime and I'll tell you all about what happened when a family of raccoons got into my cousin, Humphrey’s, cabin. Oooo, baby, was that ever a stink! . . . But if you don't have droppings, and you don't have any other kind of mess, then you definitely don't have rodents, Brian.”

“Well, I haven't finished clearing out the entire house yet,” Brian admitted defeatedly. “So far I only have the upstairs completely cleared out and my bedroom set up. The main floor is about half cleared out and I haven't touched the basement or the garage. I guess, if there are some kind of furry pests, they’d probably be down there.”

Emmett still looked doubtful, but he didn't feel like arguing, so he bit his tongue and didn't say anything more.

“I guess I'd better wait till it’s all cleaned out before I call the pest control folks,” Brian mused. “Maybe just clearing out the junk will get rid of whatever it is.”

“Well, in the meantime,” Ted offered, “I'd be happy to let you borrow my sound machine. It’s amazing. It has twenty different settings, although personally I prefer the ‘Ocean Waves’ program - I find it very soothing. There's something about the sound of waves gently lapping at a beach that's just incredibly relaxing, you know,” Ted rhapsodized on until he finally realized that the rest of his table companions were staring at him incredulously. “Well, um, I'm just saying, Brian wouldn't hear the noise of his infestation at all if he's playing that while he’s sleeping . . .”

Brian shook his head at the hopelessly pathetic man and the rest of the crew fell silent. Teddy shrugged, a little put out that his advice was so quickly discounted, but unwilling to make a stand over the argument in favor of a sound machine. If Brian was going to be that way, he could just deal with his noisy house vermin on his own.

Luckily for everyone involved, the lull in the conversation that occurred at that point was cut short by the arrival of Debbie bringing food for all. Even Brian. And, before Brian could even get out the first word of protest about the carb-heavy plate of spaghetti that she sat in front of him, his surrogate mother was pointing one of her red-lacquered talons in his face.

“Don’t start with me, Kiddo,” she warned in her ‘Mother’ voice. “You look like you’re dragging so bad your ass is gonna be sweeping the dance floor when you finally do make it to Babylon. So, you’re gonna eat that, and you’re not going to say a word about any fucking carbs, and you’ll thank me when you’re done. Got it?”

Brian rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to talk back to Debbie when she was using that tone. It wouldn’t do any good. And she might be right about him needing a good hearty meal or two. He really hadn’t been eating very well the past week. He just really wasn’t into cooking and, now that he was living so far out of the city, there wasn’t anywhere around to get a real meal. He’d been subsisting on nothing but cold turkey sandwiches, Granny Smith apples and Jim Beam, and it truly was starting to get old. He supposed that one pasta dinner wasn’t going to kill him. Especially considering the plans he had for getting a little bit of extra exercise later that night.

Brian lifted his fork, shot Debbie a fakely angelic smile and then twirled a healthy portion of saucy noodles into his mouth. Debbie nodded at him in approval and moved on to help the next customers. The rest of the gang took that chance to dig into their own dinners and the conversation moved on to more agreeable things, like their respective plans for the rest of the evening, whether or not they’d be able to score a pool table at Woody’s and which DJ was scheduled that night at the club. You know, the usual Friday night stuff.

And all further thoughts of Brian’s pest problem were subsequently forgotten.

“So, I take it you’ve got something against furniture?” the trick complained when Brian flipped the wall switch to turn on the lights and his almost totally empty living room was revealed.

“Yeah. It gets in the way when I throw an orgy, so I just got rid of it all,” Brian snarked back, not really in the mood to be teased.

It had been a long night already and that forty-five minute drive back from the city with a chatty trick in the car had grated on Brian’s nerves. He wasn’t about to strike up yet another conversation now that he’d finally got the guy home. All Brian wanted was to get on with things, fuck the guy silly for as long as that delicious-looking ass would hold up, and then call the trick a cab home before passing out and HOPEFULLY getting some sleep for a change.

“Well, I hope you at least have a bed, because I did not agree to come all the way out here to fuck standing up,” the big, dark-skinned African American warned, as he strode around the room, examining the large empty space.

Brian ignored the remark and opted to head straight for the small liquor cart he had set up in the far corner of the room. He definitely needed a drink to get him back in the right frame of mind. Otherwise, he was going to lose it completely and send the trick packing before the fun even got started.

As expected, the drink helped, and the moment he felt that first trickle of Beam burning down the back of his throat, he instantly started to relax. Which, in turn, allowed him to concentrate on what really mattered - the plans he had for his take-out trick. The tasty treat in question was still wandering around the living room area and scoping the place out. If Brian had actually had anything out worth stealing, he’d have suspected the guy of casing the joint, but since that couldn’t possibly be the case, he figured the guy must just like dusty old houses or something. Brian couldn’t care less what the guy thought of his house, though. All he cared about was that his selection for the night was hot and eager enough to fuck that he’d agreed to let Brian drag him all the way out to the wilds of West Virginia for a night of nasty fun.

Brian took a moment to look the guy over one more time. He was certainly pleasant on the eyes. And definitely Brian’s type - a big, beefy, well-toned, gym bunny, with beautiful, short curly hair and skin the color of milk chocolate. He’d easily stood out in the crowd back at Babylon when Brian had zeroed in on the way he was undulating across the dance floor, his shirt off and all those lovely muscles rippling with every movement. Brian was confident he’d be good entertainment - and he damn well better be since it was the first time Brian had brought a guy back to the house since he’d moved in. If he was going to truck company all the way out here, and then have to spring for a cab back to the city when he was done with the guy, he certainly hoped the trick had a tight ass and was ready for some hard fucking.

But, whatever. Tight ass or not, he was here and Brian wasn’t going to throw the opportunity away. Not when Brian had needs that needed fulfilling. And it was well past time to get this show on the road and put that ass to the test already.

Brian quickly finished his drink and, with a gesture towards the stairs leading up to the second floor, sent the guy off to his bedroom. He followed more slowly, making a detour to the kitchen on his way to get them a couple beers. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights, so the kitchen was almost pitch black except for the dim illumination provided when he opened the refrigerator door. The odd bluish light made the room seem kind of eerie and accentuated the ominous shadows pressing in from the dark corners. It made his skin prickle and the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He had a strange feeling, like someone, or something, was watching him.

Brian reached into the fridge without really looking, keeping his eye on the darkness that seemed to loom over him instead. His hand fumbled around until he located the six pack of beer he had come for. When he found it he turned so he could see what he was doing, intending to pull two bottles out of the paperboard carton. Then he froze for a second in confusion, noting that there was already one beer missing from the six pack he’d just picked up that afternoon.

Which was impossible.

Brian clearly remembered putting the beer in the fridge right before he left to meet the guys. He had been running late and hadn't had time for a drink. So, where had the missing beer gone?

Brian spun around, still confused and unable to shake the feeling that he was being watched, but because it was so dark, he couldn’t see a fucking thing. Between the darkness, the strange shadows, the missing beer and that eerie feeling causing goosebumps to prickle along his skin, he was getting totally creeped out. Fucking stupid, creepy, old houses. What the hell had he been thinking when he bought this place anyway?

He quickly grabbed two of the remaining beers, closed the fridge door and hustled his way out of the spooky damned kitchen. But, even when he’d made it up to his bedroom and had found the trick lying there, spread eagle on his bed, he still didn’t feel wholly reassured. Brian continued to feel those invisible eyes on his back. He could still see the nascent shadows waiting to creep out of the corners as soon as the lights had been turned out. And he could still sense that disembodied presence following his every move.

Brian tried to ignore it. The trick obviously hadn’t noticed anything. He was just lying there, playing with himself, smiling up at Brian without a care in the world, and acting like any other trick Brian had ever met. Brian was sure he was just imagining things. Maybe the lack of sleep coming on top of a week of isolation was finally getting to him. He was just overreacting, right? He needed to just shake it off and concentrate on the matter at hand - the ready, willing and hopefully able trick waiting on his bed, eager to get fucked into the mattress. Yes. That’s exactly what he needed to do.

Brian squared his shoulders, took a deep breath to clear his head, and proceeded to commence with the fucking of the trick.

At first, he was still a little hesitant. The weirdness down in the kitchen had thrown him off his pace. He found himself having a hard time finding the right rhythm and the trick seemed awkward and uninspired. He started to think this whole idea had been a mistake. Maybe he should give up and tell the trick to take a hike.

But that line of thinking just ended up pissing Brian off. He had been planning this all week. He was horny as hell and he’d really been looking forward to indulging in some hot and heavy, man-on-man action tonight. Let’s face it, a week of nothing but cybersex and his good right hand, was not going to cut it. If he had to go even one more night without a real, honest to goodness, fuck, he really would lose it.

Besides, he was Brian FUCKING Kinney - since when did someone watching him stop him from fucking? What did he care? Hadn’t he always done his best work in front of an audience? Fuck this! He wasn’t going to give up his night of fucking fun for anything.

And, with that in mind, Brian decided to give whoever - or whatever - was watching him a show.

After that, it went great. As usual, the thought that he had an audience, drove Brian on to even greater heights of debauchery. He put on quite the act, slamming into the trick’s ass over and over again, with furor and finesse, until the guy literally passed out as he came for the third time. Brian leaned back, smugly satisfied with himself. He hoped that whatever was watching had enjoyed the experience as much as he had. The release of tension that accompanied the fuck also went a long way towards reinforcing his sense of equanimity. That fuck had been exactly what Brian had needed.

Now that everything was once again right with his world, Brian decided to let the trick sleep for fifteen minutes and then go back for another round. In the meantime, he took the empty beer bottles back down to the kitchen. He was feeling a lot more confident and wasn’t going to let the little weirdness from earlier bother him, let alone keep him out of his own fucking kitchen. Just to be safe, though, he remembered to turn on the big overhead light as he entered this time.

Then, as he was about to put the empties into the big yellow plastic recycling bin waiting by the back door, Brian glanced down and saw that there was already one beer bottle resting on its side in the bottom of the otherwise unused bin.

The inexplicable sight immediately had Brian doubting himself again. Maybe he really had already finished off one of the beers before he left that afternoon? He didn't think so. But maybe he had and was just losing it? How else would that bottle have got in the recycling? There wasn’t any other explanation, was there?

Looking around the stark, empty kitchen, lit up by the bright, fluorescent ceiling fixture, he couldn’t see anything else out of place. The kitchen looked just like it always did. It was still kind of bare, since he hadn’t yet unpacked many of his own things, and the only furniture was the rickety table Brian had saved from the junk that came with the house and which he’d determined would do for the time being. There was nothing here that was strange or eerie - not now that the lights were on. And the only rational explanation he could come up with for the mysterious, self-recycling beer bottle was that he’d been in such a rush to get out of there earlier that he’d simply forgotten he’d drank it and put it in the bin before he left. That had to be it, right? There was no other explanation.

Because Brian didn’t believe in magic or ghosts or haunted houses or any of that crap.

Chapter 3 - The Boy In The Walls.

The weirdness at Brian’s new house continued unabated over the next week or so. In fact, the odd happenings might have actually increased in frequency. And the new homeowner was at his wit's end trying to figure out what to do.

Perhaps the most annoying thing was that Brian found himself constantly losing things that he’d just set down. After that first missing beer, it seemed like the problem of disappearing items escalated daily. Tools, clothing, food, even some of Brian's personal toiletries, had gone missing, most of the time turning up again a few hours or days later in a totally different spot. The worst depredation seem to be focused on Brian's writing implements – all of which completely disappeared the day after the beer incident - and none of which had yet been found. It was one thing to misplace your keys occasionally, or maybe forget where you put your pen down, but now he was missing scores of things on a daily basis. Brian didn’t think he could possibly be THAT absent minded, could he?

But worse than the fact that things kept disappearing, was the WAY they were disappearing. Half of the time, the missing items would disappear virtually under Brian’s very nose, vanishing mere seconds after he set them down. He would turn his back or go out of the room for just a minute and, *poof*, the thing he had been using seconds before wouldn’t be where he thought he’d left it. Since Brian was all alone on the property, he didn't have anyone else to blame all the misplaced items on. There was nobody to even yell at when he got frustrated by the losses. The entire thing was frustrating, infuriating, illogical, and completely inexplicable.  

Except, of course, if the explanation was that Brian was going stark, raving, mad - which, at that point, seemed to be a distinct possibility. In fact, Brian was starting to seriously think he might need to go see a doctor. Maybe he was suffering from some physical illness, like early onset Alzheimer’s or something? Or, perhaps, all those drugs he’d done over the years had finally caused measurable brain damage? Whatever it was, he was close to losing it for real. At least then he could say he’d misplaced his sanity along with all the shit he kept losing around the house.  

On top of the problem with his apparently faulty memory and missing personal possessions, the strange noises in the house were still waking him up at odd times. It was starting to really freak him out. Every single night, as soon as he’d retreat to his bedroom, the damned rattling and knocking and scratching and creaking would start up. He tried to ignore it, but that was getting more and more difficult. Sometimes the noises were so loud they actually woke him up, even from a deep sleep. And other times he found himself imagining he heard actual footsteps in the downstairs hallways. But if he got up and went down the stairs to investigate, there was never anything there. He’d even taken to searching the nooks and crannies of the house for those fucking ‘droppings’ Honeycutt had mentioned, determined to find the damn pests that were invading his house and his sleep. But he never did find even one single damned pellet of poo. If it WAS rodents or some other furry critters, they were curiously neat and tidy ones.

Which was just another reason why the situation was starting to totally freak Brian out, since the seemingly imaginary noises seemed to buttress his fears about his failing sanity. If he was both hearing things AND his memory was failing, shit was definitely getting serious. That visit to the doctor seemed like it was going to be needed sooner rather than later.

Luckily for his questionable sanity, Brian was interrupted in the midst of his latest rant about his holey memory - after spending ten minutes looking for a box cutter he could have sworn he’d just put down on a pile of boxes in the still full garage - by the well-timed arrival of guests.

While Brian watched, a big silver minivan pulled into the long drive, coming to a stop right in front of where he was standing in front of the open garage doors. Michael waved to Brian from the passenger seat and immediately hopped out as soon as the car came to a stop, trotting over to give Brian a hello hug. Lindsey, who was a little slower because she had to actually make sure the car was in park and the engine turned off, soon joined in with the hugging, explaining that they’d decided to come for a visit and had brought the kids. Michael rationalized that Gus could use the time running around in the fresh country air and Lindsey could get a tour of the place at the same time.

Brian was happy to take a break from the daunting task of going through yet another box of junk . . . which he couldn’t open anyway until he found the missing box cutter. He happily helped Lindsey get Gus out of his car seat, enveloping the boy in a big hug and getting the same in return as the little arms wound around his neck. Meanwhile, Michael unearthed his daughter from where her car seat was strapped in on the far side of the minivan, toting the infant’s carrier around and holding it up so Brian could leave a kiss on the rosebud-pink cheek of the two-month old. Then, with appropriate Kinney Fanfare, he ushered them all around to the front of the house so he could commence with the tour.

Lindsey was appropriately impressed with the huge old house. She gushed over almost everything despite the fact that it was mostly just a barren, empty hull at this point. Brian started off the tour in the living room, explaining all the renovations he was planning, including taking out certain walls to create a more open floor plan, upgrading the windows, the light fixtures, and the kitchen appliances, and explaining about how he was considering redoing the plumbing pretty much wholesale to bring everything up to code. Everybody raved over Brian’s ideas. Lindsey offered a couple of suggestions that Brian didn’t think were bad, although he doubted he’d adopt her proposed decorating scheme, which sounded way too lesbianic and cutesy for his manly tastes.

While they were traipsing slowly around the now totally cleared out main floor, almost-three-year-old Gus was busy zooming around and around the empty rooms. Brian hadn’t kept any of the old furniture in the living room, dining room or study areas. It was all sitting in the driveway waiting for the local Goodwill to come pick it up at the end of the week - well, at least the stuff that wasn’t so broken or torn up that he’d just thrown it in the dumpster. But, since there was nothing much there for Gus to hurt, the parents just let the little boy go, only checking in on him once in awhile as he dashed from room to room, pretending to be an airplane with his arms spread wide like wings.

They had just finished up the tour of the main floor and were about to head upstairs so Brian could show them the second floor, when it became obvious that JR needed a diaper change. Lindsey offered to go take care of it, laughing at the way both men’s noses had wrinkled up at the stench as they pointedly stepped away from the smelly bundle of baby. Brian directed her to the upstairs guest bath, which was the only one other than his own master bath that was operational. Meanwhile, Michael and Brian went to round up Gus, who had disappeared a few minutes before.

“Hey, Brian. I suspect your son is probably ready for a snack by now. I stuck some crackers and juice in my bag before we left. Why don’t you see if he’s interested and I’ll meet you back in the kitchen when I’m done with Stinkypants here,” Lindsey yelled back over her shoulder.

Brian thought that was an excellent idea. However he turned his nose up at the tiny package of crackers with some awful, processed cheese spread on them that he found when he dug through Lindsey’s bag. He knew he could do better, especially since he’d just made a trip to the big grocery store in the city the day before. He headed off to the fridge and easily located the low-sugar sodas that he’d stowed in the back in preparation for his son’s visits, and put one of those, along with a bowl filled with some baby carrots, on the retro 70s-style formica-topped kitchen table.

The table was one of the few items he’d found in the basement that had been in good condition and which he’d decided he was keeping. It was kitchey but hip, and would actually fit in quite well with the decorating scheme he had in mind. So, after spending the prior afternoon cleaning it thoroughly, he’d lugged it up the stairs to the kitchen, along with the matching set of four chairs. He was rather pleased with how it had turned out when it was all cleaned.

Brian added a couple of beers to the spread for himself and Mikey, who came in right then with Gus in tow. Gus cheered at the proffered snack - he loved carrots and would eat them by the handful - and promptly dug in. While they were sitting there, chatting, sipping their beer, watching Gus eat and waiting for Lindsey, Michael was occupied scrutinizing his old friend.

“You still don’t look like you’re getting much sleep, Brian,” Michael eventually voiced his concerns when they’d come to a pause in the conversation.

“No. I’m not. I’m still hearing all those weird noises every night,” Brian confessed with a resigned grimace. “I have no idea what’s causing it, though. I even looked around for those droppings Honeycutt warned me about, but I haven’t found anything, so I’m at a total loss here. All I know is, it’s getting really old, really fast.”

“That sucks, Brian. Have you called the pest control guy yet? It sounds to me like you need professional help here. Soon. Before you’re so exhausted you hurt yourself or something.”

“Nah. I haven’t finished clearing out all the shit from the basement, so I doubt they could find the pests to kill them even if I did call somebody. It’s a fucking maze down there.” Brian ran his hand over his head, forgetting in his exasperation that he was messing up his carefully styled hair in the process. “I’m working at getting all that crap out of there as fast as I can. There’s a metric fuck ton of junk in those boxes, though, so it's going to take me a while yet to go through it all.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s you and not me,” Michael returned, trying to lighten the mood with a little teasing. “So much for all that good, clean, country living, right? Sure you don’t want to move back to the decadent city with all us heathens?”

That did make Brian laugh finally. “If things around here keep up the way they have been, I might just have to, Mikey. Between not getting any sleep and all my shit constantly disappearing all the time, I’m about ready to chuck it all.”

“What do you mean, all your shit disappearing?” Michael asked with concern.

“Just that. All my stuff keeps disappearing. Tools, pens, you name it. Anything I leave out seems to vanish as soon as I turn my back. I look around for half a minute and it’s gone. It’s driving me crazy. Sometimes, whatever it was turns up again later, usually in the last place I would have thought to look for it, but never where I remember putting it,” Brian explained, his tone evidencing all the frustration he was feeling.

Michael, half-joking, offered his opinion. “It sounds to me like you’ve got ghosts, Brian, not rats.”

Brian laughed along with his friend at that absurdity, tilting the neck of his beer to clink it against Michael’s in a sort of toast to the man’s hilarious joke.

“It’s prolly the boy that lives in the walls,” Gus piped up from where he was sitting, almost forgotten by the adults, while he’d been quietly munching away at his snack.

This apparent non sequitur cut short the grownups’ laughter.

“What was that, Gus?” Brian questioned him.

“It’s prolly the boy that lives in the walls,” Gus repeated himself, but the adults continued to stare at him dubiously, so the boy hurried on to explain further. “I seed a boy when I was pwaying airplane ‘afore. He was pretty. He had yellow hair and he smiled at me. I axed him what his name was but he din’ say nothin’. But I ‘members what Mommy said ‘bout being p’lite, so’s I nin’trduced myself and told him I was Gus and I lived wif my mommies but I was here to see my Daddy t’day. Then I axed him where he lived and the boy pointed to the wall,” Gus mimicked the action he’d witnessed by pointing to the back corner of the kitchen, beyond the row of cabinets, where there was a huge, old, oak baking hutch standing in the corner in front of a seemingly solid stretch of wall.

“You saw a boy? In here?” Gus nodded and stuck another carrot in his mouth. Brian looked around the kitchen again, but nothing looked different or at all out of place, so he returned his attention to his son. “Where did this boy go, Gus?”

“Dunno. That’s when Mommy calleded me, so I had to go find her,” Gus answered, seeming completely unconcerned about the disappearing boy he’d supposedly made friends with. “He must’ve gone back into the wall where he lives.”

Brian and Michael just sat there, blinking at each other, dumbfounded and really creeped out, but not knowing what to say. Brian hesitated to ask Gus anything more, not wanting to scare the child. They both felt goose bumps popping up all along their spines, though, and Michael could have sworn the temperature in the kitchen suddenly dropped about five degrees. All the laughter and teasing of just a few minutes before was completely forgotten.

Before they could get too freaked out, however, Lindsey arrived, walking into the kitchen with a gurgling, happy, cooing baby in her arms, all smiles and homey reassurance, making Brian feel suddenly silly for his unfounded moment of superstition. Gus was probably just imagining things, the way all kids did, right? He reminded himself that he didn't believe in ghosts. That there had to be some other, logical, explanation for what Gus thought he’d seen. There HAD to be.

Lindsey asked Gus if he was done with his snack and when the boy said yes, they all trooped upstairs together for the final bit of the official tour. Neither man mentioned to Lindsey what Gus had said. Brian did make a point of keeping hold of his son’s hand for the rest of the visit, not wanting the boy to wander out of his sight again.

Lindsey continued to rave about the house and Brian's renovation plans. She was even more excited when Brian took Gus into the empty guest room right next to his and told the boy that was going to be his room for when he came over to stay the night. Gus squealed so loudly at that announcement that Brian was almost worried about permanent hearing loss. Brian only got the little imp to quiet down by threatening him that, if he didn't stop yelling and bouncing around, Brian wouldn’t let Gus help decorate the room. Gus quickly clamped both his hands over his mouth, but even then you could hear the occasional squeak of happiness and he was still bouncing just a bit on his toes. Brian just tousled the excited boy’s hair and didn't call him out on it. He was almost as excited as his son was to finally have a place for Gus to stay so they could start having regular overnight visits.

After that, Lindsey announced that it was time for her to head out. She wanted to get home in time to start dinner for Mel, who'd had a trial that day and would no doubt be exhausted. Brian walked them all back down to the car and helped Gus into his car seat. At the last minute, though, Michael decided to stay a bit longer and help Brian for a few hours with his basement sorting. Brian was more than happy to get the help and happily agreed to drive his friend back into town later.

The two men waved goodbye to Lindsey & Gus as the car rattled down the gravel driveway before turning back towards the waiting mess behind them in the garage. It was a daunting task. Even after Brian had been working at it for a few weeks, there were still so many boxes and piles of crap that it could conceivably take them months to wade through it all. Brian sighed, clapped his friend on the shoulder and waded back into the fray. Michael followed on his heels, prepared to do battle at his best friend’s side.

While they worked, they began to talk some more, and of course they ended up back on the topic of Brian's house woes. Michael was convinced, after Gus’ earlier disclosure, that Brian had a ghost in his house. Brian scoffed, but since he wasn't able to definitively refute a lot of what Michael was saying, and didn't have any better explanation, there really wasn't any way to stifle his friend’s flights of fantasy.

“Maybe we could ask Ma’s priest to come out here and perform an exorcism or something,” Michael suggested, taking Brian-the-Atheist by surprise.

“How about, we don't, Mikey,” Brian scoffed with a derisive laugh. “The LAST thing I need is some mangey, hypocritical, old gasbag coming out here, drenching everything with liters of Holy Water and then asking me for a substantial donation for his church afterwards. Besides, he’d probably refuse to come as soon as he found out he was supposed to be blessing a gay man’s house.”

“Yeah, you say that now, Brian, but what if your ghost moves on from just taking your stuff and starts doing really freaky stuff. Like making dangerous shit fly through the air at your head or causing the walls to bleed or something like that?” Michael suggested with all due seriousness. “You have no idea how bad it could get, you know. I mean, maybe you should do some research on the history of this place, just to see if there's something really bad that happened here. That way you'd know what kind of danger you're in. Like, if it’s built on an Indian Burial Ground, or there were witch trials held here, or maybe a mass murder or something like that.”

Brian huffed a disbelieving snort at his over-imaginative friend. “I  think you've watched far too many bad horror movies, Mikey.”

The two of them looked at each other silently for a full minute . . . and then they both broke out laughing.

“You might be right about that, Brian,” Michael agreed, clapping the taller man on the shoulder and turning back to the latest box he was excavating. “I guess I should stick to superhero movies instead, huh? I was really starting to freak myself out there.”

They laughed the moment off and went back to their unboxing after that, both of them avoiding the topic for the next two hours. The help, as well as the company, seemed to make the work go a lot faster. They made a serious dent in the pile of crap, toting out several piles of paper, bags of cans, and quantities of other stuff that could all be recycled, plus a lot of trash destined to end up in the local landfill. They even got through one large box of what appeared to be lost family memorabilia. Nothing in the box appeared to be of any real monetary value, though, so Brian simply added the majority of that stuff to his Goodwill piles. The only items he decided to keep for himself were an old, stoneware crock pot and a collection of about twenty-five wooden spoons of various sizes and shapes that looked antique and which he thought might be useful in the kitchen.

They mutually decided to call it a day before starting into the next box. Brian was tired and Michael was more than ready to head to his own home. He might have shut up about the ghost stuff, but the big, old, creepy house still got to him and he was more than ready to get the hell out of there before it got dark. He just wished he wasn't leaving his friend there all alone again.

“You sure you don't want to stay in town with me and Ben tonight?” Michael asked as they wiped the dust off their hands and shoved a few boxes around so as to make a clear aisle to the door. “You know you're always welcome to our guest room. Even just for a night or two, so you can get some sleep without being woken up by crazy noises all night.”

“Thanks, but no thanks, Mikey. I've got too much to do around here to be hanging out with you for the next two days. I figure I'll just keep plowing through this stuff as fast as possible and hope that once it's all cleared out, I can get an exterminator out here who will know what’s what. I seriously think that everything will sort itself out as soon as I can get started on the real renovations.”

“Well, just keep it in mind, okay?” Michael insisted, causing Brian to smile down at his friend. “Who knows,” Michael added with a teasing glint to his eye. “Maybe you're right. Maybe, once you've gone through all this junk down here, you'll find the cursed object that's summoning the evil poltergeist and, after you get rid of it, your haunting will finally cease.”

“Fuck you, Mikey,” Brian shook his head and playfully punched his delusional friend in the shoulder. “I'm going to have to have a serious talk with your husband and see if we can't limit your movie watching time until you come back down to reality with the rest of us rational folks. No more horror flicks for you. Only porn and maybe the occasional classic western, but definitely no more scary shit, you got it?”

Michael laughed and smiled back at Brian, but was happy enough to be heading to his own, definitely NOT haunted home for the evening. He climbed over the last box blocking the way out of the garage and started walking around to the front door, leaving Brian to close the garage doors behind them. Brian turned to survey the scene one last time, thinking through where he wanted to start the next day and trying to calculate how much he could reasonably get done by the end of the week.

Not enough, he thought with a quiet sigh. Not nearly enough.

He reached up to grab the handle of the big overhead garage door, but then paused right as his eye landed on something glinting in the slanting light coming in from the lowering sun.

There, sitting on top of the pile of boxes right next to where he and Michael had been working, was the box cutter he’d misplaced earlier in the day. The one he'd been looking for when Lindz and Mikey had arrived. The box cutter that definitely hadn’t been there before.

Brian stepped backwards, yanked the door closed and hurried off after Michael, thinking that maybe he'd change his mind and stay in town that night after all.

Chapter 4 - A Penny Worth of Thoughts.

Staying with Michael for two nights had been good to the extent that Brian managed to catch up on some sleep. But it also meant that he’d been inundated with the man’s crazy theories about what exactly was ‘haunting’ Brian’s house. And those theories seemed to get more elaborate - and less rational - by the hour. In the end, Brian was glad to return to his house, even if it WAS haunted, just so he could get away from Michael’s flights of fantasy.

However, Brian WAS taking Michael’s advice about researching the house to heart. It wasn’t that he was looking for connections to witch trial venues or satanic cult mass suicides or anything, but that he was curious about who had owned the place before him. It just seemed odd that they’d left so much property here. Boxes and boxes of things that he would have thought someone, somewhere, might want.

The situation was underscored as Brian had begun to go through all the boxes of personal stuff that were waiting in the basement. He’d found lots of family keepsakes and other items that he was convinced someone might want to hang onto. There were photo albums, jewelry, baby clothes and toys, and other items that Brian felt bad about just throwing out. Some of these things might have monetary value, and he could just sell that stuff then toss whatever was left over, but even the unsentimental Brian Kinney felt bad about just dumping a whole family’s history into the landfill. He hoped there were relatives around somewhere that might want them. So he decided to start his research by introducing himself to the neighbors and seeing if anyone in the area knew anything.

Early in the afternoon the day after he returned from his exile at Chez Novotny-Bruckner, Brian walked over to the next house down the street. It wasn’t a long walk, but the way the houses were situated, he couldn’t see the neighbor’s house from his own and, even once he’d reached the driveway, he could only just barely see the residence. When he did see it, though, he almost changed his mind about this plan of his. The house looked even more run down than his own had been when he moved in. It was more of a shack than a house, to be honest. To make matters worse, there were two rusted-out old beater cars in the yard and a big dog lying on the ragged patch of browning grass, chained to a nearby tree. Brian had flashbacks to ‘Deliverance’. It did NOT look like the kind of place that would welcome someone of his ilk.

He had just started to turn away, intending to hot foot it back to the safety of his own house, when the door opened and a grandmotherly looking older lady came out of the house shouting a cheery ‘Hello, neighbor’ at him. Reluctantly, Brian turned back and headed closer. The woman waved him on, yelling to the dog to hush when the big monster started to growl just as Brian took his first step onto the lawn. Brian swallowed hard and put on his most charming Kinney smile in the hopes that he would survive this meeting.

Luckily, it turned out that his neighbor was a perfectly nice old lady. She introduced herself as Penny Landis and shook Brian’s hand with a firm grip despite the apparent frailty of her appearance. Penny then quickly ushered him into her home, which was much nicer looking on the inside than it had seemed from out in the yard, and offered him a seat at a well-polished wooden table.

“It’s about time you came calling ‘round about, young man,” Penny admonished him jovially. “We were all giving you time to settle in, but if you hadn’t come over soon, I would’ve been over there with the rest of the Welcome Wagon girls. It’s not often we get new blood in these parts, so we like to savor the experience.”

Brian chuckled at the idea of himself being referred to as a ‘young man’, but found the easy familiarity and homey demeanor of the older woman comforting. Brian had never known his own grandmother, who had died before he was born, but he liked to imagine she would have been something like this woman. Penny was brash and plain spoken but friendly. She seemed like someone he wouldn’t mind knowing.

“Now, don’t mind the mess around here. I do my best to keep the place up, but since my husband died, I’m afraid that I’ve been slacking off a bit,” she said with a self-conscious chuckle as she cleared away a small stack of mail from the table. “My poor Roddy’s been dead for almost six years now, you see. And, as if that t’weren’t bad enough, I had back surgery a couple years afterwards, and I just haven’t been able to keep the place up very well since. My two boys moved away years ago, you know - Billy lives in New York and Tommy just bought a place up in Philadelphia - and they help whenever they come to visit. But they’re both busy professionals, and all, so they don’t have much time for their old mom anymore. I’m lucky if I see them twice a year these days. Which just leaves little old me to do everything and I’m not as spry as I used to be.”

“You don’t need to fuss over me, Ma’am,” Brian assured her and then pulled out one of the chairs for her like a true gentleman.

“Why, thank you, kindly,” Penny smiled at him and sat . . . but only for about half a minute before she was back up on her feet and puttering around the kitchen. “Where ARE my manners? I haven’t offered you anything to drink. How about some coffee, young man? It’s fresh brewed, just now. And I happen to have made a nice coffee cake this morning too. I had a premonition that I’d have company today, so’s I made it special and it just came out of the oven not even a half hour ago.”

Brian tried to protest against the offering of coffee cake, laden with brown sugar and dripping with the butter she slathered on the top of it, but Penny wouldn’t listen. She just lectured him for being far too skinny and shoved the plate closer to him. Brian shook his head, smiled, and accepted his fate. He was glad too, when he took the first bite of the warm cake and it literally melted in his mouth. Damn that was good!

“Now that we’re all settled, tell me ALL about yourself, son,” Penny ordered, taking her own cup of coffee and resuming the seat adjacent to Brian.

“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid,” Brian started off, giving a brief synopsis of his life between bites of cake. “As you know, I just moved in a few weeks ago. I’m from Pittsburgh, so it’s not like I moved here from far away or anything. I’m taking a year off from my Advertising job so I can write a book. And I bought this place so I could be out of the city and have a peaceful place to work on my novel. I didn’t realize how much work I’d have to do though, just to get the place in a livable condition. It’s a bit of a mess.”

Penny was shaking her head in sympathy. “That’s too bad, you know. I can’t believe Craig let that place get so damned run down. It was such a pretty house back when Jennifer was around.”

“So, you knew the prior owners?” Brian asked, happy to finally be getting to the information he’d wanted. “I was hoping you could tell me something about them. I’ve come across a lot of personal items that they left in the house and I would really like to be able to find them so I can return it all.”

“Well, son, I’d be more than happy to tell you anything you want to know, but it’s not a happy story. And I’m afraid you won’t find anyone who’s gonna take all that stuff off your hands . . .” Penny leaned forward, her voice dropping into a more conspiratorial tone, looking eager to have company to gossip with, despite the purportedly sad nature of the story she was about to relate.  

Brian smiled at the woman, who was obviously hungry for a fresh audience, and let her talk.

“You see, the family that used to own that place - the Taylors - well, they’re all gone now . . . least ways as far as anyone around here knows.” Brian was surprised, not to mention curious to hear the whole story, so he didn’t interrupt Penny’s tale of woe. “Like I said, it’s a long and very sad story. It was near on twenty-five years ago when Craig and Jennifer first moved in. They were a lovely young couple back then. I was quite friendly with them, you know. My Roddy and I were a lot younger then too, and our kids were just finishing up high school at the time, not that much younger than the Taylors, mind you. Jennifer was just a sweet little thing, as I remember, and she and I struck up quite the friendship, seeing as she was fond of quilting, just like me. Craig seemed to get on pretty well with Roddy most of the time too. So, I knew them all pretty well, you see.”

“Everything had been just wonderful for a number of years after the Taylors first moved in. They put in a lot of work on that old place and really had it looking nice. A few years later, Jennifer got in the family way and they was just so happy about it, you know? Well, to make a long story short, they eventually had two children, a son named Justin, who was just the apple of his parents’ eyes, and then about ten years later, a beautiful daughter they called Molly. They were both just lovely children. Adorable little blond angels. And so kind. They were always doing stuff for us neighbors and such. I just loved those kids, you know, almost like they was my own.” Then Penny’s voice took on a saddened tinge as she moved on with her tale. “Unfortunately, right about the same time my Roddy passed from a heart attack, the Taylors had a run of bad luck. First, poor Jennifer and little Molly were killed in a horrible car accident out on the I-70. Killed on impact, the sheriff said, poor things. And, after that, Craig took to drinking far too much and he really let the property go to hell.”

“Now, you see, I was dealing with my own grief over Roddy at the time, so I’m afraid I wasn’t much help to Craig and poor little Justin. I still feel bad that I wasn’t around for them in their time of need, but I was just THAT stricken myself, you know?”

Penny got up, retrieved the coffee pot and refreshed both their cups while she collected herself before continuing with her story.

“In the meantime, I’d heard rumors that Craig had developed quite the temper - I mean, he was always a little volatile, you know, but not so bad as you’d know it unless you was around him a lot. Being as we was neighbors, I HAD seen a hint or two of that over the years, but I didn’t pay it no mind. I didn’t ever see him out of control or nothing, but . . . well, we all suspected as much.” Penny looked aslant at her guest with a knowing look that Brian took as code for the unpleasant fact that Neighbor Craig was probably an abusive bastard who’d simply been smart enough to hide the fact from most people. “He did seem to be a little hard on Justin sometimes, though. That boy was such a sweet young thing. So sunny and kind. I remember how much he liked to sing - he was in the church choir when he was little, you know - and he was quite the budding artist even at that young age. Jennifer used to brag on that boy like you wouldn’t believe.”

“But, Craig, well, he seemed to think the boy wasn’t pulling his weight and was always disappointed that Justin wasn’t interested in sports or anything Craig considered ‘manly’.” Penny said this with a wink towards Brian, making him wonder if she suspected he wasn’t as manly as some might have preferred either. “Lordy, I don’t know why Craig couldn’t just be happy with the son fate had given him and appreciate the boy’s true talents. Besides, Justin had always been small and slight and the poor thing would have gotten pummelled if he’d ever tried to go out for football like his daddy wanted. Anyways, like I said, Craig was always hard on that boy and it only got worse after Jennifer died.”

“All that being said, the two of them muddled on pretty well for a bit after the accident. I’m sure it was hard for them though - losing a mother and wife like that. Then, about the time the boy turned seventeen, there was this huge blowup. I never did hear tell exactly what all it was about, only that my friend, Tracy, who’s a teaching assistant at the high school in Wheeling, told me that Justin got suspended for fighting with another boy and that Craig had gone ballistic when he’d had to come in to talk with the Principal.”

“After that . . . well, that’s when things got a bit strange.” Penny looked sideways at Brian and paused as if sizing him up before she told the rest of her story. “Well, I’m not sure what all happened over there, but I never did see the boy again after that . . . .” She looked at Brian conspiratorially and her voice lowered to just above a whisper, despite the fact that they were all alone in Penny’s little house. “In fact, nobody ‘round here rightly knows WHAT happened to sweet little Justin. He just seemed to disappear after that. Of course, nobody noticed anything for a few weeks - life has a way of keeping you distracted, you know - so, it wasn’t until about six weeks later, when Tracy told me that the boy hadn’t been back to school since the altercation with the Hobbs boy, that I even realized anything was wrong. The story the school had been given was that Craig was so angry at the boy, he sent him away to relatives somewheres. But, you see, that didn't strike me as right, seeing as Jennifer had told me a while back that neither she nor Craig had any relations still alive. So, I got myself up and went over there to try and talk to the man, so’s to figure out what the heck was going on. Unfortunately, Craig was already three sheets to the wind when I got there, even though it was only ten-thirty in the morning. Things really went to pot after that, let me tell you.”

Penny went on to detail how Craig had lost his job a couple months later, after he repeatedly showed up at work either hung over or downright drunk. As a result, he’d fallen behind on paying just about everyone. Craig held on for a few more years, living hand to mouth and doing odd jobs for folks around the neighborhood, but he'd turned into such a mean old drunk by that point that he eventually drove off even the most loyal of his former friends.

“Near the end, the only visitors he ever got were debt collectors. Nobody wanted nothing to do with Craig Taylor anymore. Things got so bad that most of the utilities were even shut off from time to time, which was the only time I would see him, ‘cause he'd come crawling over and ask to use the phone or fill up some buckets with water, or some such,” Penny related, clearly scandalized. “Then the county started foreclosure proceedings on account of his unpaid property taxes, and that seemed to be the last straw for the poor man.” Penny again leaned in towards Brian, physically and emotionally pulling him into her confidence with the action. “A week later, the police got an anonymous call telling them to get over to the Taylor place right away. When they got there, they found Craig sitting in his car in the driveway, his brains splattered all over the backseat and the gun he'd used still in his hand.”

“Wow. I . . . I hadn’t expected that,” Brian said, stunned to hear of the death. “Nobody told me that the former owner had killed himself. I thought they had to disclose that kind of stuff when they sold a house.”

“Normally, yes,” Penny stated officiously. “But, seeing as he did himself to death in the car, out in the driveway no less, the realty board ruled it wasn’t, technically, a death IN the house. My friend, Mary Ellen, told me there was quite a kerfluffle about it when the realtors board was talking it over, but since the county really wanted the place sold as soon as possible so’s they could finally get the taxes paid and all, they pushed it through. I’m sorry about that, son. I don’t abide by their decision. I think you should have been told.”

Again, not that Brian was superstitious or anything, but this really was disconcerting. Maybe Michael’s theories about a history of deaths in the house really weren’t that far off the mark. At the very least, it certainly explained a lot about the state the house was in when Brian bought it.

“The funny thing is,” Penny continued on with her story, “the sheriff never did find those relatives that Craig had supposedly sent his son off to live with. They tried their darnedest to find ‘em, so as to say they'd notified the next of kin, and all, but nobody could find a single soul related to either Craig or Jennifer. Some folks, after that, got all heated up about trying to find the boy again. Everything about poor Justin’s disappearance was just so odd, you know? ‘Course he’d been missing for nigh on two and a half years at that point, so it would have been a long shot anyways. My friend, Connie, whose son is a deputy sheriff, told me that there was serious discussion about searching the property for a shallow grave, but the sheriff wouldn't let them do it without some real evidence of foul play. ‘Sides, the county didn't want the property all dug up right before they was scheduled to auction it off for the taxes, and all. So, everybody just agreed to let it go. I still wonder though . . . I hope nothing untoward happened to that boy. He was so darned sweet. It would really be a terrible shame.”

If Brian had been upset at hearing that Craig Taylor had blown his brains out in the driveway, he was even less thrilled to hear that there was likely a body buried somewhere on the property. Fuck Mikey and all his B-Movie horror stories - now that Brian had the Taylors’ back story, even he was starting to believe in some of that crap. What the hell had he gotten himself into?

As that seemed to be the end of Penny’s story, Brian got to his feet and started to make his goodbyes. He thanked Penny for the refreshments and the information, adding in passing that if she ever needed anything to feel free to come by and ask. Penny, however, halted him from leaving, with a hand on his arm.

“Do you really mean that offer, son?” she asked, with a mischievous sparkle in her watery gray eyes. “If so, would you maybe help an old lady with a tiny little chore I can’t do by myself?” Brian smiled and nodded. “My, my. You sure are a sweet one, aren’t you now. Thank you so much.” Penny led Brian over to the corner where there was a shelf that was coming loose from the wall. “I’d have fixed it myself, but it’s too high for me to reach, what with my bad back and all.”

Brian knew he was cornered, of course, but took it with good grace. He ended up spending the next hour or so doing several small chores for his new neighbor, thoroughly earning his cup of coffee and piece of cake before he was through. Penny was very appreciative though, and she really did seem like a nice old lady, so he didn’t mind too much.

When he had finally done as much as he could, Penny let him escape with a promise to come back and see her soon. Brian thanked her for the coffee and the information and then made a hasty retreat. As he walked back down the lane to his own place, Brian contemplated everything he’d heard earlier. It certainly gave him a new perspective on his predicament. He still didn’t believe in ghosts, but then again, the horror story of the Taylors didn’t help dispel any of his uneasiness. And it didn’t help him with the problem of getting rid of all the junk in his basement either. He resigned himself to the idea that there wasn’t anyone left who might be interested in the boxes of memorabilia after all, and that he’d have to go back to digging through it himself. So much for that plan.

Brian made it back to his own home just before sunset, and knew that the chill he felt as he went inside through the garage door wasn’t only because of the dropping temperature outdoors. The feeling of unseen eyes tracking his return undoubtedly had something to do with it as well. Damn it! He hated this. He hated feeling so creeped out in his own fucking home.

And he hated to admit that, maybe, Mikey’s theory about ghosts wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibilities as he’d originally thought.

Chapter 5 - Sweet Smiles.

Brian didn't get much more done on the unpacking of the garage boxes after his visit to Neighbor Penny. Strangely enough, the trip had inspired him to write, so he gave over the house clearing in favor of his computer for the next few days. The story of the missing boy seemed to fit in nicely with the mystery he had been planning to write, although it was turning into more of a crime fic than a mystery at this point. Brian also found that his ‘victim’ had somehow morphed from a streetwise, dark-haired ruffian into a slim, young, blond boy with a sweet smile. He thought it improved the story, though, so he just went with it.

By Wednesday, he was at the point where the handsome and dashing protagonist, police detective Brett Kimmel, was being led astray, chasing after a red herring in the guise of a homophobic high school jock who’d had an altercation with the victim shortly before the lad had gone missing. Brian thought it would be more touching if he detailed how much the detective was moved by looking at the photo of the slain boy given to him by the school counselor. Of course, being Brian Kinney, a man who wasn't really all that comfortable with emotion in his own life, he was having trouble making the scene believable. After staring at his computer for almost forty minutes, and writing then deleting at least five paragraphs of text, Brian decided to approach the situation a different way.

What he needed, Brian thought, was something tangible to inspire him. He had to get into Brett’s mindset. He had to experience what the Detective was seeing and doing before he could write it believably. Luckily, he knew just how to do that. He'd go get one of the pictures of young Justin Taylor and use that as a prop.

Brian rushed down two flights of stairs and made his way through the maze of boxes in the basement proper all the way into the attached garage. That's where the boxes with all the personal mementos from the house’s prior owners were - it was the stuff that had propelled him to go talk to Penny in the first place. But, when he’d made it through the labyrinth of junk to the middle of the space, he couldn't find the box he'd been unpacking just a few days before.

The entire box full of photo albums, trinkets, childhood mementos, and other sentimental collectibles was just gone. Even the items he'd already unpacked and set aside had disappeared. The other boxes piled up in the area we're still there, making it seem like nothing had moved, and making him doubt that he really had left the opened box there after all. The only things that reassured him he wasn't completely losing it were the presence of the box cutter he'd been using, now sitting on a neighboring tower of boxes, and a scrap of packing tape that he remembered pulling off the missing box, which lay crumpled up on the dirty cement floor.

“Shit! Damn, that's annoying . . . Fucking ghosts,” Brian ranted aloud to no one. “All I wanted was one fucking picture of the damned kid that I can use for my story. Is that too much to ask?”

Of course, the silence of the garage did not answer back.

Frustrated, Brian decided to give up. It was about time for lunch anyway, and he hadn't eaten all morning so it was past time. With that in mind, he started to wade back through the mess, heading for the kitchen in order to scrounge up something to eat. Unfortunately, when he got there, he discovered that the fridge was practically empty and so were the cupboards.

“Fucking, stupid, West Virginia . . .” he shouted, much more loudly than strictly necessary. "What the hell was I thinking moving to a place that doesn't have Thai delivery? Or, for that matter, ANY delivery."

He slammed the refrigerator door closed so hard that the stack of mail he'd picked up from the mailbox earlier in the day toppled over and several letters slid off the edge of the counter, falling into the space between the end of the cupboard and the nearby hutch. Brian was too annoyed and angry to bother to pick them up right then though. He’d deal with it later. Right then, he just needed to get out of that crazy house and go somewhere that was sane and rational and that didn't have disappearing boxes and weird noises in the walls. Preferably somewhere that had food. And alcohol. Lots of alcohol.

Turning his back resolutely on the annoying kitchen, Brian stomped out, stopping at the small table he’d set up next to the front door only long enough to grab his keys and wallet, and was out the door without any further thought for the aggravating house or it’s resident specters. Fifteen minutes later he’d made it to what passed for the local grocery store – a one room shack with a gas pump in the front, situated on the southeast corner of the busiest intersection within a five mile radius of Brian's house - which wasn’t saying much. Brian had passed by this place a dozen times or so, but never been desperate enough to go inside. He figured that now was as good a time as any, so he pulled the jeep up to a bare spot in the grass on the side of the building which looked like it might be considered a parking space, turned off the engine and sauntered in through the grease-smudged glass door.

The inside of the place looked like any other gas station food mart. It was dingy, poorly lit, and not the cleanest. Beside the entrance, there was a short counter manned by a clerk who was busy helping the only other customer by ringing up a carton of cigarettes at the dusty cash register. The walls were lined with refrigerated coolers and there were two islands of shelving in the middle of the floor stocked with an eclectic mix of food, housewares, auto accessories, motor oil, small electronic gizmos and random promotional crap for products that nobody in their right mind would ever want or need. The foodstuffs offered weren't exactly gourmet fare, but would suffice if all you needed were the bare essentials for human survival. Brian was too hungry to quibble about the decor of the place or the variety of goods.

Since there weren't any shopping carts, the hungry homeowner began to assemble his purchases on the far end of the battered and scratched linoleum counter. He started with a base comprised of two cases of beer – seeing as he’d been going through the damn stuff at an alarming rate lately, he figured he’d better stock up. On top of that he piled a loaf of bread and a jar peanut butter, another of jelly, a quart of milk, and, giving in to the junk-food-a-holic inside him, the biggest bag of tortilla chips they had in the entire building. He contemplated adding a couple of the less than appetizing looking frozen entrée boxes from the one freezer case in the farthest back corner, but decided against it at the last minute. Even as hungry as he was, he couldn't bring himself to eat that cardboard-tasting crap. The only other thing in that little shop that he thought he could stomach were the slightly wormy-looking red delicious apples piled in a bin at the back of one of the refrigerated coolers. He grabbed a plastic bag, loaded in a dozen pieces of the fruit, and then, after thinking about it for fifteen seconds, grabbed another bag for another dozen, just in case. And, once he had everything assembled, he turned his attention to the fifty-something-year-old clerk standing behind the ancient-looking cash register and nodded.

"Welcome . . . tall, dark, and handsome stranger,” teased the woman, who flashed a jovial smile his way. Brian must've looked surprised by this form of greeting, because the woman burst out laughing and then rushed to apologize. “We don't often get eye candy like you in here, so you'll have to forgive me if I swoon a little.” Brian huffed a little laugh and shook his head, but he wasn't really offended, so he didn't bother to respond. "How about we start over? I'm Sue Ann Little. And you are . . . ?”

“Brian Kinney," he held out his hand in greeting. "I just moved into town, which means you'll probably be seeing me here more often and can count on regular doses of eye candy in your future - lucky you.” The scamp even added a wink for the feisty older lady as a special treat.

“Oh, you must be the gent that moved into the old Taylor place. Penny said you were pleasant on the eyes. And quite handy around the house . . . Yeah, and such nice hands they are too,” she said, gazing longingly at Brian’s big, strong-looking hand, which she'd neglected to release after shaking it. Then she added playfully, "you know, if you ever have a free evening and nothing better to do, I have a few CHORES around my place you could see to . . .” she added a sexy wink to her statement, along with the naughty grin she was already gracing Brian with, and reluctantly let him take back his hand.

Brian burst out into a full, rolling, belly laugh. "I like you. You're feisty. But, alas, I'm not really into feisty women. I'm more into feisty MEN, if you get my drift . . . But if I ever decide to change teams, you, my dear, will be the first to know.”

“Damn! Just my luck. I should've known you were too pretty to be straight. Oh well. You can't blame a girl for trying right?”

“And an admirable try it was,” Brian responded with a smile. "So, how do you know Penny? And does everyone in town already know all about me . . . and my hands?”

“Oh, Penny and I are in the same quilting club. We’re old friends,” Sue Ann explained, still with that flirtatious tone of voice. “And, yes, since Penny told all us quilting ladies about you within three hours after you left her place the other day - and we all promptly told everyone we knew - I'm pretty sure the entire county knows who you are by now. But don't let that scare you off, Sweetcheeks. It's good for us to have a little fresh blood around here. All our old gossip was getting kind of stale. It was definitely time for some new material.”

“Well I'm happy to oblige," Brian laughed. “But, since I'm about to starve to death here, I think I'll take my food, hurry on back home now, and leave you to gossip at will.”

“No problem, Sugar,” Sue Ann replied as she started to bag up his purchases. “Gossiping usually goes better when the subject isn't there to correct you, anyways." Then she changed the subject, a note of curiosity edging into her voice. “How ARE you getting on in that big, old, creepy house anyway? I heard tell that Craig left it in quite a mess.”

“Yeah, there's a lot of junk in there. I'm still digging through it all. It'll probably take me another couple weeks, at least, just to clear it all out before I can even get started on the actual cleaning.”

“I can believe that. Taylor let that place go something awful near the end there." Then, as she hit the total key on the register and took Brian's proffered credit card, she couldn't resist voicing the real question she’d been dying to ask. “So, did you stumble across the body buried in the back yard yet?”

Brian found himself laughing again, even though the subject really was incredibly morbid. These people really had no boundaries. Of course, he probably would've asked the same thing.

“Sorry to disappoint yet again, but I haven't come across any bodies - in the backyard or otherwise.”

“Darn, we were all hoping you'd be able to find that poor boy. It's such a pity. He was so sweet and kind. He was always helping little old ladies like me carry their groceries home. Although, I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. Now that Craig's dead, any chance of getting justice died with him. That bastard really was a nasty piece of work though. He sure did have a temper. And the way he talked to that boy sometimes . . . It just wasn't right. It would be nice to find the body, though, and lay him to rest, proper like. I just can't abide the idea of that poor soul lying hidden somewhere without a proper grave."

Brian didn’t respond to that assertion, merely hoisting his two cases of beer and one bag of supplies, and heading towards the door.

Before he left though, he turned back towards his companion, and added, "well, if I do find him, I promise to call you first before I call the sheriff. How's that, Ms. Sue Ann?"

Sue Ann’s cackling laughter followed him out the door and almost all the way to his car.

Back at the house, Brian quickly unloaded all his groceries into the fridge, made himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, opened up the bag of chips, and popped open a beer. He decided not to worry about the extra calories from the beer and chips or even the kiddy sandwich he was eating - he figured he'd burn it all off in the afternoon when he tackled another pile of those boxes in the garage. After hearing yet another local commenting about the supposed tragedy that had occurred in his house, Brian was more eager than ever to finish clearing out the junk and make sure there really wasn't a body hiding down in his basement.

His simple meal didn’t take long to finish or to clean up. He quickly rinsed off the small plate he’d been using for his sandwich and put that, along with the peanut butter-covered knife, in the dishwasher. As he was putting away the rest of his sandwich fixings, he noticed the scattered pieces of mail still waiting at the end of the counter and remembered that some of the letters had fallen.

Moving to the end of the row of cupboards, Brian surveyed the gap between that and the big, solid-looking baking hutch. Unfortunately, the escaped mail had sailed clear back, almost underneath the hutch and Brian couldn’t reach it. There was a small space between the two - maybe about a foot wide at most - but it wasn’t enough for him to get his big body in there.

With a sigh, Brian went back to the broom closet on the other side of the kitchen, fished out the very old and ragged broom that he’d saved from the garage and which he’d been planning to replace, and took it back over to the corner. Kneeling down on the ground and using the broom to sweep out the letters, he managed to get most of them out of their hiding places. He had to bend over almost double, though, to get a good look under the heavy piece of furniture and make sure he’d got all the missing mail.

While he was down there, Brian noted through the gloom that the bottom of the wood wall panelling back behind the hutch seemed warped. The molding there seemed to be coming away from the wall and there was a noticeable gap between that panel and the next. Great. Yet another little task he’d have to take care of before he was done with the renovations on this monstrosity of a house. But that particular job would have to wait - he didn’t plan to start on the kitchen till last, and in the meantime, he still had to finish clearing out all the Taylors’ junk before he could do anything.

That thought brought back Brian’s sense of urgency and he decided there was no time like the present to get on with it. Before heading down to the basement again, though, Brian jogged up the stairs to his room, intending to change into his grungiest clothes. The dirt and dust down in the pit that was his garage was pretty bad and he wasn't about to ruin any of his precious clothes. Not even in the interest of finding the body of his resident ghost.

He paused at his desk on the way to the closet, in order to offload his wallet and cell phone. When he got there, however, he was stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the one item sitting on the desk that shouldn't be. An item that had definitely not been there earlier that morning when Brian had been sitting at his computer while writing.

It was a beautifully framed photo, showing what must've been a senior class picture, depicting a beautiful, happy, young, blond man, sporting a sweet, sunny smile.

Brian never did make it back downstairs to work in his garage.

Instead, he spent a good fifteen minutes staring at the picture of the missing boy before diving back into his writing. He was so inspired by the picture and the myriad of images that it elicited, that he found the words flowing out of his fingertips almost faster than he could type them. It was now easy to envision his Detective’s reaction to the picture of the murdered boy in his story. He could almost SEE the man, how he would stare at the picture of his victim, how obsessed he might become about the case and how persistent he would be in the pursuit of the criminal who had taken such a charming young man’s life out of sheer malevolence. Brian had no problem at all getting into Detective Kimmel’s mind set any more.

However, he did find that his story was changing as he wrote. His prior, vague, ideas about a psychopathic gym teacher who got angry when his advances weren’t returned, now seemed too convoluted. It seemed much more believable that the boy would have been killed by his sadistic, abusive father. Maybe after that father had had one too many drinks following a string of bad luck?

Hmmm. That seemed almost too obvious. But maybe Brian could work with that too? Make it so obvious that his detective wouldn’t believe it either?

In the end, Brian wasn’t sure how he’d end his epic or who would turn out to be his ultimate bad guy. He did find himself writing several more scenes that detailed the actions of the abusive father. It was a painful endeavor, full of some rather personal additions taken straight out of his own, unpleasant childhood. He hated writing that stuff, but was strangely relieved once it was out there, on the computer page. Reading it over once it was written, he knew it was really good writing, too. Maybe this catharsis was not only good for him, but for his story as well?

And all the while, the portrait of the sweetly smiling blond boy was sitting there next to his computer monitor, the image of the lost young man encouraging Brian with just that blindingly sunshiney smile.

Chapter 6 - Sexy, Spooky Shenanigans.

That’s when things started to get incrementally stranger.

When Brian wasn’t working, writing the mystery novel that seemed to be coming along more and more easily, he was thinking about the blond boy whose picture rested right beside his computer. There was something mesmerizing about that image - those sparkling blue eyes and that fucking sweet smile. No matter how hard Brian tried not to think of the word ‘sweet’ when he looked at the picture, he just couldn't do it. The boy in that picture just defined the word ‘sweet’.

He found himself thinking of the kid even when he should be concentrating on something else. Even when he had the perfect focus for his attention - like the night Brian was in the middle of a hot and heavy cybersex session with ‘Keith’ (or maybe it was ‘Kenny’, or ‘Kyle’, or . . . who the fuck cared?) and every time he closed his eyes for even a brief moment, the sexy brunet with the swarthy skin on his computer was replaced by the image of a slight, young, blond boy. At one point, Brian even imagined he could hear echoes of moaning coming from the darkness behind him, the erotic noises only increasing as he himself came. As he mopped himself up with the handy cum towel waiting next to his computer, Brian marveled at the tricks one's mind could play. He knew he really needed to get a grip on himself before he let all the suggestions he’d been hearing from Mikey and the quilting ladies completely take hold of his brain.

Meanwhile, the diligent do-it-yourselfer was making definite progress on the remaining boxes in the basement and garage. He forced himself to spend at least a couple of hours down in that dungeon every afternoon. He also made several trips with bags full of booty to the local Goodwill donation center to offload what he’d unearthed. Oscar and Bill, the two volunteers that manned the donation desk weekday afternoons, had become regular acquaintances. In fact, the three of them had become so friendly, that the boys even invited Brian out for a drink after his fifth donation trip in just over a week. Brian was a little hesitant to accept the offer at first, viewing the overtures of the two crusty old men with a healthy dose of caution. But, when they refused to take ‘no’ for an answer, Brian was given little choice, and let the pair escort him around the corner to their favorite local pub.

But by the time they had started in on the third round of beers, Brian was glad he’d capitulated. The two men might look like your typical West Virginia rednecks, but the reality was quite different. Oscar was a retired mortician who’d served two tours in Vietnam as a medic in the Marine Corp. He came home with two purple hearts and a hell of a lot of stories. And while he was definitely on the conservative side, he seemed jovial and open minded enough - they’d obviously never agree on politics, but they definitely agreed on beer. Bill, on the other hand, had been a teacher and elementary school principal for twenty-five years and was considerably more liberal. And, while neither man actually came out and said anything, Brian got the distinct impression that they'd both already been privy to whatever gossip Sue Ann was circulating about him. Still, neither man voiced any judgmental opinions on Brian's sexuality, so he didn't sweat it and just let himself enjoy the company.

Inevitably, the conversation turned back to Brian’s house, the eventual renovations he wanted to pursue, and the ongoing cleanup he had to slog through before he could get to that point. This, in turn, brought up Craig Taylor, the mess maker, and that man’s messy downfall after his wife had been killed. Several additional examples of Craig’s unpredictable and sometimes violent behavior were cited. The stories just reinforced what Brian had already heard - that Craig was an abusive drunk who most likely killed his son. Pretty much everyone in the tight-knit community seemed convinced of that possibility by now, and Brian wasn’t in a position to argue the point. But, since he didn’t want to feed the gossip mills any more fodder, he refrained from mentioning the strange occurrences happening around the Taylor’s former home. He already had Michael spouting off about his ‘ghost’, he didn’t need the neighbors all doing the same.

Unfortunately, it was getting harder and harder for Brian to dismiss those same conclusions himself. As the days went by, even more things began disappearing. This phenomenon had actually become so commonplace that it ceased to amaze him. Rather than fight against the inevitable, Brian was now in the habit of leaving the contents of each box he opened on display overnight so that his resident ghost could pick and choose what he wanted to keep before Brian would take the remains out to the curb to either dump or add to his Goodwill pile. He figured it was only fair - assuming his phantom really was the Taylor boy, this stuff belonged to him more than to Brian - so he wanted to give the kid the chance to claim anything he wanted. Hey, it was less shit he had to carry around, right?

Brian did object a little bit, however, when HIS personal possessions were among the disappearing items. His ghost could have all the trinkets and memorabilia he wanted, but why the fuck did he keep taking Brian’s stuff? What the fuck did a ghost need with a hammer or screwdriver anyway? Apparently, though - judging by the increased rattling, rasping, and hammering going on below stairs every night - Brian's resident spook happened to enjoy carpentry. Rather than get even more annoyed, Brian went out, bought himself some earplugs, and resigned himself to dealing with the situation. Luckily, most of his tools eventually found their way back after a night or two of spectral use.

It wasn't until he noticed that his favorite monster purple dildo was missing, that he started to get a little pissed off. Living out here in the middle of nowhere, where there was no one else to play with most nights, Brian really needed that toy. And it WAS his favorite, after all. Although he did find it kind of humorous as well - what self-respecting ghost stole a fucking dildo, after all? But he rather liked the thought that HIS ghost was apparently gay. It seemed appropriate.

So, yeah, it seemed that Brian was becoming accustomed to his supernatural inhabitant, regardless of what noises he made at night or which items he absconded with from under the homeowner’s nose.

Brian sauntered into the Diner and was comforted by the familiar sights, sounds and smells of the place he’d basically grown up in. Everything looked just like it always had. There were the same booths, the same tacky pictures and posters on the walls, the same 50s-style diner counter accessories. Even the customers were the same one’s he’d seen there over and over again for the past fifteen years. Case in point - the three semi-losers otherwise known as his friends, sitting in their usual booth at the back.

Brian strolled over to join them, intending to class up the section with his presence. He got a rousing round of welcome as he slid onto the bench next to Emmett.

“It’s about time, Brian. We’re all starving, but Michael wouldn’t let us order until you got here,” Ted commented, picking up his menu and waving it in the air to get Debbie’s attention.

“Sorry, ladies, but I had to get my beauty rest, you know,” Brian joked, smirking at them just like normal.

“Well, well, well. You look better than when we saw you last, Mr. Kinney,” Emmett tittered. “You’re obviously getting more sleep. So, does this mean you finally got your ‘infestation’ problem under control?”

“Not exactly,” Brian responded, pulling a rolled up newspaper out of his inside jacket pocket and slapping it down on the table top to reveal the little local rag from West Virginia.

The article on the front page immediately got everyone’s attention. It showed a quarter page picture spread with Justin Taylor’s graduation picture. Under the image of the sweetly smiling young blond, the headline read, ‘Local Teen Still Missing After Almost Three Years, Presumed Dead’.

“THIS is your ghost?” Michael asked, grabbing the paper and unrolling it all the way so he could read the article.

It turned out to be a lurid and gossipy piece filled with lots of stories about Craig’s downfall. Michael read the best parts out loud so everyone could get in on the fun. The article described the deceased Mr. Taylor over and over as being unstable, a mean drunk, and hinting at the possibility of ongoing abuse in the Taylor household. Michael was especially focused on the speculations about whether or not Craig had done something to his missing son, Justin. He repeatedly kept interrupting himself to say ‘I told you so, Brian’ as he read. Emmett jumped in and gleefully pointed out that they even mentioned Brian by name in the article, with the author expressing hope that the new homeowner might eventually give investigators permission to search the property.

“Are you sure you should stay out there? I mean, now that it’s been proven why the place is haunted, you can’t seriously think it’s safe,” Mikey pointed out, sounding worried. “All the stories I’ve ever read about ghosts say that, although they don’t always seem bad at the start, they inevitably turn out to be mean and vicious in the end. You don’t want to be there when he turns evil.”

“I’ll be fine, Mikey,” Brian shrugged off his friend’s concerns. “My ghost and I have an arrangement. He doesn’t bug me and I let him borrow whatever tools and shit he needs.” Brian laughed at the shocked look on all his listeners’ faces. “He usually gives them back . . . Eventually.” More stunned silence. “Although, I am a bit miffed this morning - the little shit took my best dildo.”

“Oooo - the gigantic purple one that you call ‘Barney’?” Emmett asked, making Brian wonder how his friend knew which dildos he owned.

“Yep. That’s the one,” he admitted.

“Ewww. I hope he fucking cleans it off before he gives it back,” Mikey commented, turning his nose up at the idea and eliciting more laughter from the table.

“Fuck that. He can keep it. I don’t really want it back,” Brian scoffed.

“Yeah, you don’t wanna get ghost cooties,” Emmy Lou teased. “Leave it to you, though, Brian. Only you could turn a ghost gay.” That got a roar of laughter from not only their table but the nosy queers listening in from the neighboring tables too.

“You guys are insane,” Ted chided them all. “You DO know there’s no such thing as ghosts, right? It’s all just a bunch of superstitious nonsense.”

“Well, then, how do you explain all the weird shit at Brian’s house? The noises? The things going missing?” Michael ticked off the anomalies on his fingers. “What about Gus saying he saw a boy in the wall? How do you explain that, huh?”

“I don’t know, but I can assure you that there IS some legitimate explanation for everything. I refuse to believe in ghosts. Even hot-looking, gay ones that borrow dildlos,” Ted reasoned doggedly.

“You’re no fun, Teddy,” Em complained, slapping at his best friend’s arm in protest. “I think having a sweet little gay ghost is a fabulous idea. It’s just like that Patrick Swayze movie, ‘Ghost’ - only with gay boys, you know? I wonder, though,” Em tilted his head to the side as if deep in thought, “can you teach your ghost boy to give blow jobs? That would be hot, hot, HOT!”

Everyone at the table groaned and threw napkins or french fries at the silly queen.

“Speaking of blow jobs,” Brian said, changing the subject abruptly. “How about we hit the gym and then the steam room . . .”

That proposal was unanimously agreed to and the four of them quickly finished their breakfasts and headed out to the gym without further discussion of Brian’s ghostly tenant. Brian got in a really excellent workout - which he needed since he didn’t have his home equipment set up yet - and then he also got a really excellent blow job, after his workout. But, even as the sexy redheaded aerobics instructor was swallowing his prick whole, Brian was still thinking about a certain blond boy with an alluring, sweet smile.

Upon his return to the West Virginia house, Brian walked in to find one of his best porn videos - Saving Ryan’s Privates - playing in the DVD player. There was even a faint whiff of sex in the air. But, of course, there was nobody in the actual room. It made him chuckle and think back to Em’s comment earlier about teaching his ghostboy to give blow jobs. Which was actually not a bad idea. Not bad at all.

Brian turned off the dvd and headed for the stairs, calling out over his shoulder that if Justin liked porn, he should follow. If Brian felt a little self-conscious about seemingly talking to thin air, he didn’t let it faze him. He just kept going, pulling his shirt off as he climbed towards his bedroom and the plans he was percolating in his brain.

“I guess, if you’re borrowing my dildos and watching my porn, you really must be gay. But I doubt a ghost has much experience in the application of that particular toy. You look pretty young and inexperienced in that picture you left me. So, I’m thinking you might enjoy a personal demonstration, right? After all, I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself or anything.”

Brian had shucked off his jeans and crawled onto the bed already. He quickly reached into the top drawer of his nightstand and pulled out his second favorite dildo - this one a bright red with a thick, ten inch shaft and a strong suction cup at the base. It even had a prostate stimulating vibrator in it. It wasn’t quite as big as ‘Barney’, but it was respectable and would certainly do the trick.

Brian moved around till he was kneeling at the top of the mattress facing the wall, licked the end of the dildo so as to wet the suction cup, and then, using the height of his own dick for reference, he attached the phallus to the wall. Next, he reached over and filled his palm with a healthy dollop of lube from the always-ready pump-top bottle waiting next to his bed and slathered the toy well. Finally, with another pump of lube, he reached around to his own ass, and used his slickened index finger to begin preparing himself.

“You want to make sure you use plenty of lube,” he advised his unseen audience, grunting only slightly as his questing finger pressed through the tight ring of muscles and then sighing when he was finally in. “Or, at least I need to use plenty of lube. I’m not sure if ghosts need lube or not, but better safe than sorry, right? Don’t steal this bottle though,” he cautioned, pointing at his primary supply. “I couldn’t get through the day without it. If you have to nick some lube, you can have the KY in the medicine cabinet.” Feeling stretched enough to continue, he added a second finger, and let out a little involuntary moan at the delicious burn. “Take your time and make sure you’re completely prepared. It’s not going to be fun if you rush things. Trust me on this one,” he advised, getting more into his demonstration by the minute as he enthusiastically pressed deeper and scissored his fingers. Bracing himself against the headboard with his clean hand, Brian added a third finger so as to fully demonstrate what he meant about being well prepared. “Yeah, that’s good. You want to be nice and ready. So ready . . .”

Brian rapidly reached the desired level of self-preparation. He was incredibly turned on by the mere idea of his ghostboy watching him doing such an intimate thing. It was something he’d never do in front of a trick. But even though he was the consummate top, like all gay boys, Brian enjoyed a good stiff prick up his ass as much at the next guy. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. The thought that someone might be watching him like this was even more arousing than he would have imagined, though. So, without further ado, Brian pulled out his fingers, spun the knob to start the dildo vibrating, turned himself around so that he was positioned on all fours with his ass butting up against the dildo suctioned to the wooden headboard, and then slowly pressed his ass backwards as the toy slid inside him.

“Fuck, yeah!” he moaned as the painful pleasure of the stretch burned through him. “Just go . . . slow . . . your first time . . . You want . . . to make . . . it good . . .” he added as he demonstrated the proper technique by smoothly rocking forward and back, forward and back, angling his hips with each thrust to get the most out of the vibrating toy.

Unfortunately, Brian sort of lost track of his lesson plan right about that point in the demonstration. Mostly because he was having far too much fun. Besides, he figured his spooky student would get the basic idea just by watching.

The fact that he was being watched added to Brian’s pleasure level immensely. To the point that he reached his climax much quicker than he would have expected. In no time at all, the big brunet had reached the point of no return. He shifted his weight just enough so he could tug at his dick with one hand and then sank backwards as far as he could go. The resulting climax was exquisite.

Brian fell asleep with a happy, sated grin on his face and his eyes locked on the smiling photo of a blond boy who was welcome to haunt Brian’s house all he wanted provided this was the happy end result.

Chapter 7 - Visitations.

The morning after Brian’s little eidolon education experiment, the man was puttering around in his kitchen, dressed only in a pair of baggy sweat pants, and taking his time about getting started on his day when he was startled to hear the doorbell ring. He’d never had any visitors other than that one time that Lindz and Mikey had come for their tour, so he wasn’t really expecting anyone. The noise must have surprised his resident ghost too, since he heard a distant slamming noise coming up the stairs from the basement about thirty seconds after the bell went off. Hmmm. That was odd - Brian usually only heard those noises at night. But he didn’t have time to think about that anomaly too much as the bell was rung a second time, insistently, and Brian figured he should probably go answer it.

When he pulled open the door, Brian was confronted by a smiling group of about half a dozen ladies of a certain age, all bearing casseroles, pastry boxes or some other container of food, who were all happily ogling Brian’s bare torso. Even for a guy who’d never before minded being naked in public, this much attention was a little much. The tricks cruising him in Babylon were less obtrusive than this bunch of middle-aged ladies. He even thought that one in the back was drooling a little.

“Ladies . . . ?” Brian took a step back from the open door, unsure how to handle this welcoming committee.

“Surprise!” one voice from the middle of the group piped up, and then all the others echoed the sentiment.

“We’re sorry to intrude on your morning, Mr. Kinney,” said a diminutive, grey-haired little woman who seemed like she barely came up to Brian’s elbow. “We just wanted to officially welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“And, since I KNOW you can’t survive on what little you’ve been buying in my store, we brought food,” Brian’s number one fangirl, Sue Ann, announced as she stepped forward holding out a casserole dish in her hands.

“Uh . . . Um . . . Well, thank you . . . I guess . . .” Brian stammered as the heavy and still warm dish was thrust into his hands.

“Now, no standing on formality, Sweetcheeks,” Sue Ann insisted, shouldering her way past Brian and leading the rest of the gaggle of ladies inside after her. “We know you’re still not all moved in or anything, and we don’t give a flying goose fart about it. We’re just here to make sure you have everything you need to get settled. Especially since you don’t have a woman . . . or should I say, a partner . . . to help you with that kind of stuff.

“Here you go. This should help,” yet another lady interjected, holding out a large wicker basket filled to overflowing with an assortment of cleaning supplies - spray cleaner, scouring powder, glass cleaner, sponges, brushes, a duster, basically everything any dirty householder could ask for. “And if there’s anything else you need, you can just call and one of us can more than likely help you out.”

“We even made up this handy phone list, with all our numbers on it so’s you can always get hold of your neighbors if you need anything. Anything at all,” directed a dark-haired, slightly younger woman with a bounteous bosom who held out what appeared to be a laminated card. “I’m Helen Henrick, by the way. I live over off of Turnage Road, so I’m only about ten minutes away if you ever need anything.”

Brian shifted the casserole so it was braced against his hip and accepted the basket of cleaning supplies with his now-free hand. He didn’t have a way to grab the offered phone list though, so Helen simply slipped it in among the items in the basket. He didn’t miss the flirtatious smile she slipped him at the same time.

“Sorry to invade like this, Brian,” Penny apologized, emerging from the back of the group of women, nudging Helen out of the way and offering up yet another basket of something. “But it’s your own fault, you know. You can’t expect to move in here - a handsome, charming, single man - and NOT expect to get the attention of every nosy old biddy in a twenty mile radius.” She cackled with self-deprecating laughter, which was taken up by the whole coterie. “You’re just too tempting, you know. Anyways, I figured it would be slightly less painful if I was to just up and bring the whole passel of us over at once. Otherwise, you’d a been subjected to visits from all of them one just after another, and you don’t want that. Trust me.”

“Now, Penny, you make us sound like a bunch of snooping busybodies. Don’t pay her no mind, Mr. Kinney. We always welcome any newcomers, don’t we ladies?” This new voice went along with a stout little lady with short-cropped, salt and pepper hair and a big, open smile. “I’m Tracy Percy. And the rest of these folks are what passes for the Weirton Quilting Club. You already know Sue Ann and Penny. And that’s Bea and Gloria and Connie and Mary Elizabeth. And of course, Helen too.” Tracy pointed out each of her ladies in the process.

Brian had, by this point, mostly regained his aplomb and was about to invite the ladies into the kitchen, which was the only room that was tidy enough for guests. However, he never got the chance. Just as he was opening up his mouth to offer the invitation, Sue Ann took over the gathering.

“Okay. Let’s get Sweetcheeks settled here. Bring all the food into the kitchen. Tracy, you take over the cleaning stuff, please, before Brian drops it all. Penny, why don’t you see about fixing some tea for everyone, and then we can all have a nice long get-to-know-you chat.” Then she turned back to Brian and took charge of him too, pulling him to the side with a lingering hand on his strong biceps. “Now you, Sweetheart, should probably go put on something a little less  . . . revealing . . . don’t you think? Not that any of us MIND the view - cause I can tell you this is the closest a lot of this crew has got to a good looking man in more than a decade - but I don’t think they’ll be able to concentrate on their tea until you put a shirt on. And poor Bea, well, she’s got a heart condition, you know, and from the way she was panting over you back there, I suspect seeing you like this might be too much for the dear woman’s heart!” Sue Ann broke off, laughing at her little joke along with a few of the other ladies, most of whom were blushing like brides even while they all continued to ogle Brian without pause.

“I think you might have a point there, Ms. Sue Ann,” Brian agreed, with a wink to his admirers. “You ladies make yourselves at home - which, doesn’t seem like it will be all that difficult for you - and I’ll go put on my Sunday Visit clothes.”

Five minutes later, when Brian came back downstairs, this time wearing a pair of faded jeans and a muscle tee but still barefoot, all the Quilting Ladies were assembled in his kitchen and Penny was already pouring out tea while Tracy served out slices of coffee cake and petits fours. Brian chuckled over the scene. When the hell did he turn into the kind of person who had the fucking quilting club ladies over for tea? What the hell alternate universe was this? Maybe he was still dreaming? Shit. This was just so wrong, on so many levels.

“You just bring that pretty little tushy over here and sit next to me, Sweetums,” demanded one robust fiftyish woman who Brian thought was the one that’d been introduced as Gloria.

Gloria got him settled in one of his kitchen chairs and two of the other ladies brought him tea and a plate with an assortment of cakes and pastries on it. Brian meekly accepted his fate and let the ladies take over his kitchen, his breakfast and even his body, to the extent that several of them seemed compelled to touch him whenever they spoke to him. Gloria in particular seemed a bit handsy, petting his forearm whenever she commented on anything and sitting so close to Brian that her ample thigh kept nudging against his own leg. Brian knew they were all harmless - well, for the most part - so he just let them fawn over him and giggle like teenagers and practically fall all over themselves in order to get his attention. In fact, he secretly kind of enjoyed all the over-the-top cordiality.

After about ten minutes or so, though, they all seemed to calm down a bit, thank fuck. Once they had their tea and cakes and were well on the way to a good gossip, they stopped being so overt. The shift allowed Brian to relax a bit and he started to pay more attention to the conversation and less to Gloria’s looming thigh pressing against him under the table.

“Well, at least you seem to have made a lot of headway on the clean up, Brian,” Penny was saying. “From the way you made it sound, I didn’t think you’d dig your way out of the mess till Christmas, at least.”

“You haven’t seen the basement, I’m afraid,” Brian replied, shaking his head at the very thought of that mess.

“Well, just so’s you keep at it. You’ll get through it all eventually,” the more quiet and staid Bea intoned.

“As long as he gets it cleaned out before next summer, right?” Sue Ann added. “Once the hot weather comes back, that body hidden down there’s likely to get a bit ripe.”

This comment raised a round of nervous giggling from Brian’s ladies. He just shook his head, unwilling to comment for fear of encouraging them. He figured that the less he said, the sooner he could get them all out of there and back to their own homes.

“Now, Sue Ann, you don’t know for sure that anything of the sort happened. There’s still the possibility that the boy really was sent off to live somewhere else. That’s what Craig told us at the school, anyways,” Tracy corrected her friend.

“Then why wasn’t the Sheriff’s office able to find him after Craig died?” the quiet lady named Connie who had been hiding in the far corner of the kitchen spoke up. “My boy, Adam, worked on that case for weeks after Craig done himself in, trying to find the boy. They couldn’t find hide nor hair of little Justin. How ‘ya explain that?”

“Exactly!” Mary Elizabeth insisted, so adamant about the point that she even spilled a little of her tea in the excitement of the moment, but still carried on. “And, Tracy, you’re the one who told us all about how crazy Craig got when the boy got into that scuffle at school. If the man was that out of control over just a little fisticuffs, you just don’t know WHAT he’d do, now do you?”

“Well, I probably shouldn’t say anything, since Principal Wright ordered us to keep it confidential-like . . .” Everyone could see that Tracy was struggling to keep whatever it was she wanted to tell secret - and could also see the moment she lost the battle. “But, since the Taylor boy seems to be long gone and all . . .” All the ladies leaned in, eager for what looked like it was going to be a juicy piece of gossip, and Brian found himself doing the same. “Well, there was more to that little scuffle than you’d think. You see, the Hobbs boy was saying things . . .” Tracy looked over at Brian with an apologetic smile that was explained by the rest of her tale a minute later. “Christopher told everyone that the reason he’d gone after little Justin was because the boy had made ‘advances’ at him.”

“Advances? You mean . . .” the ladies gasped, all apparently scandalized to hear that their supposed victim had hit on the big, bad, high school jock.

“That’s EXACTLY what I mean.” Tracy nodded around at them all. “Which is what caused Craig to get so flustered, you see. He was ranting and raving, saying no son of his was going to be ‘gay’. Craig even tried to take a swing at Principal Wright when he tried to calm things down. But that’s why I figure Craig really must have sent the boy away - he was yelling about how he wouldn’t have a fairy living under his roof and the boy was either going to shape up or he could just leave . . .”

“Well, if the asshole was that much of a homophobe, it’s not really that big a jump to imagine him killing his son over it,” Brian asserted, engaging in the conversation for the first time. “If the kid tried to stand up for himself, I can easily see Taylor losing it and going into a rage. Trust me on this, ladies - the same fucking thing happened when I finally came out to MY father. Only difference was that I was thirty at the time and he was already dying of lung cancer, so when he tried to hit me I was able to hold him off. But this kid doesn’t sound like he would have been much of a match for some drunken, angry bigot.”

There were murmurs of shock and agreement but none of the ladies spoke up. The mood of the little gathering had turned too somber and the happy, gossipy air had instantly evaporated. Nobody knew what to say to Brian. He was fine with that though. He was more than ready for this tea party to be over.

After only about ten more minutes, the ladies had cleared away all the dirty dishes and the food had all been put into the refrigerator. Brian thanked them for the food and cleaning supplies, as well as for the visit, and promised to call them if he needed anything. Then he saw the gaggle of quilters back to the door, accepting goodbyes and even hugs from many of them as they filed out the door.

It wasn’t until he saw the last of them piling into their cars and pulling out of his driveway that Brian finally stepped away from the door and closed it with a firm thud. He turned, leaned back against the closed door and looked around him at the big empty house. Somehow the entire structure seemed much more sinister now that he’d heard more of Justin Taylor’s story.

Brian’s presumption that his little ghost was gay had been proven true based on the new information he’d heard that morning, but it no longer gave him any joy. He knew too well how harsh the world could be for an unprepared gay boy. And, based on his own past experiences, Brian was more than cognizant of the dangers of an abusive, homophobic father. In his mind, the probability of Justin’s untimely death at his asshole father’s hands had just increased exponentially.

If so, it was really no wonder the boy would haunt his father’s house after the fact, Brian thought.

??

To Brian’s chagrin, the Quilting Ladies had brought more than just food and cleaning supplies with them when they’d visited.

By the next morning, Brian was feeling the beginnings of a cold coming on. It started with a scratchy throat and the slight achiness that foretold the beginnings of a nasty virus. He tried to ignore it, hoping that maybe it was caused by all the dust he'd been inhaling down in the basement or something else that would quickly go away. He hated being sick. He was lucky that he normally had a very strong immune system - probably because he regularly exposed himself to all the germs he could come across in the baths, bathrooms and the backrooms of Liberty Avenue - but, apparently he’d been absent from the scene for long enough that he’d lost some of his protections. Either that or the quilting ladies had brought him some killer germs never before seen near Liberty Avenue. Even the application of a gallon of hot coffee didn’t seem to be helping much that morning.

Still, Brian valiantly tried to fight it off. He took a couple pain killers and went back to his computer, attempting to write for another hour and a half. Unfortunately, the symptoms only got worse. He had to give up on writing when his head began to ache so badly he could barely see the computer monitor. He broke down and decided to go make himself a cup of the tea that Penny had left for him the day before. The heat from the tea did seem to help his throat, but only for a short while. An hour later, he had to admit that he was beaten.  

Brian crawled into bed with his phone, dialing Michael’s number and then sagging back against the pillows as the phone began to ring. Just as Michael answered, Brian was hit with the first bout of coughing. As soon as he managed to clear his throat again he informed his friend that he wasn’t going to make it into town for their planned night of carousing.  

“What the hell, Brian? This is, like, the third time you've cancelled,” Michael complained loudly enough to make Brian’s head ache even more. “What's your excuse this time? Are all the tricks in West Virginia keeping you too busy? Or did your ghost steal your car keys, maybe?”

“Ha, fucking, ha!” Brian croaked out. “I wish. No, it's worse. My new girlfriend brought her friends over yesterday for a tea party and I think they gave me Ebola or something. I feel like shit.”

“Oh, come off it, Brian! Can't you at least come up with a believable lie? Or maybe just tell me the truth for a change? I mean, how gullible do you think I am?”

*Cough, cough* “Whatever, Mikey. I'm too sick to argue with you. Just - if you don't hear from me in a week or so - send out the CDC to collect my body and make sure they're wearing hazmat suits to be safe.”

“You're serious? You're really sick?” Michael sounded worried. “But you never get sick, Brian”

“I know. Hence the need for the fucking hazmat suits.”

“Shit, Brian! Maybe I should come out there and make sure you're okay?”

“Nah. Save yourself, Mikey.” *cough, cough* “I'll probably be fine, and besides, you don't want to catch whatever this is. You boys have fun at Babylon tonight without me. If that's even possible. I'll just stay here and die quietly. Night, Mikey.”

“But it's only noon, Bri . . .”

Brian hung up the phone before he wasted more of his ebbing energy on arguing with his worry-wort friend. All he wanted to do right then was crawl under the covers and sleep. For about a million years. Provided he could finally get warm.

After that Brian lost track of time. He dozed off and on the rest of the day, only getting up to piss and take more pain relievers, not that they helped much, but he didn't have any other cold medicine in the house and was too sick to go out and get some. He actually thought about calling Sue Ann or one of her helpful, disease-carrying buddies, but the damn card with all their numbers was clear down in the kitchen and that seemed like an awfully long way for a dying man to walk. In the end he just gave up on the idea and went back to sleep.

At around two am, Brian woke up in such misery that he wished he would actually die. He was almost choking on the gunk dripping down the back of his throat. His head felt worse than it had after even the most serious hangover he'd ever experienced. And he had the chills so bad his teeth were literally chattering. All he could do, though, was lie there and moan as he rocked back and forth.

However even that small motion seem to cause aches and pains to ripple through his muscles. He blindly flailed around on the nightstand next to his bed, trying to find the glass of water he remembered leaving there, only to knock it over by accident. Brian was close to breaking down in tears by that point, and the only thing that saved him was that even that small effort was enough to tire him out again. Brian quickly drifted off into delirium-laced dreams. And, if he once or twice thought he felt a presence in his room, or maybe even imagined someone brushing his cheek or leaving a shy kiss on his forehead, he simply explained it away as a fever-induced fantasy.

The next few times he woke, he couldn’t actually tell if he WAS awake. He was drifting in and out of dreams so seamlessly that it was hard to tell what was reality and what wasn’t. At one point, he was caught up in a dream where he was standing in the middle of his bedroom, holding hands with Penny and Sue Ann, while the three of them stared down at the mangled body of a blond-haired boy. It was one of those curious dreams where he knew he was dreaming but couldn’t quite fight his way out of it. Dream Brian was crying and sobbing, with the ladies trying to console him, when Real Brian looked up and, through the bluish moonlight tinting the room, saw the face of a beautiful blond Angel Boy looking at him from out of the depths of the big, wall-length, clothes closet. The silvery light on the specter’s long blond locks created a halo effect that illuminated the boy’s face while leaving whatever else there was of him in total shadow. Brian felt incredibly comforted all of a sudden, just seeing the angel watching over him.

“Help me, Justin,” both Real Brian and Dream Brian said together.

And then Brian startled fully awake. The scene around him looked just like it had in the dream, except that there was no dead body and, thankfully, no Quilting Ladies. Brian looked to his closet and noted it was just how it always was - the door ajar and the hangers full of his wonderful designer clothing - with no ghost boy in sight. Fucking Ebola-caused delirium . . .

Brian finally pried himself out of the sweat-rumpled sheets and groggily plodded off to the toilet. When he came back, he noticed that the pile of soggy, dirty tissues he’d been accumulating on the bedside table had been replaced with a fresh box of Kleenex and there was a sports bottle full of ice-cold water waiting next to it along with the painkillers. Brian gratefully took a long sip of the cool water, which did wonders for his sore throat, and popped two of the pills before climbing back into bed.

“Thanks, Ghostboy,” he mumbled before heading back to sleep, this time without the dreaming.

“You still alive in here?” Debbie’s brash voice projecting unexpectedly into his bedroom the next morning woke Brian.

“Debbie? What the fuck are you doing here? And how did you get in?” Brian rasped between a sticky cough and a gloopy sneeze.

“Nice to see you too, Kiddo,” Debbie replied jovially, setting down a large bag full of fuck-knew-what on his nightstand and handing him a tissue. “Michael insisted I come out here and see how you were doing. He was worried about you but couldn’t get away from work. He was babbling some shit about ebola or some such crap. Little nut. And I came through the fucking front door, is how I got in - don’t you lock your doors? All the way out here in the middle of nowhere, all alone in this big house, I’d think you’d lock up. Especially when you’re sick in bed and just anyone can come in . . .”

Debbie began bustling around the room, straightening things and cleaning up while she spoke, not really bothering to listen for a response from Brian. He was too weak to argue with her, although he was sure he HAD locked the door the day before. But whatever. In this house, you just never knew, right?

“Now, I’ve brought you the best chicken soup an Italian mother can make. It’s better than fucking penicillin and it’ll have you back on your feet in no time. Which is a good thing, considering all the work you still need to do on this place to make it liveable, at least from what I could see on the way up here . . .” Deb came to a rest in front of his bed with her hands on her hips, looking him over with a critical eye. “But first, we need to get you cleaned up. So, off you go to the shower. Wash some of that sweat off you and you’ll feel loads better. And meanwhile I’ll change these sheets. Go on, now. Get your ass moving,” Debbie ordered, holding out a hand to help Brian up and not even blinking an eye when he climbed out from under the covers as naked as the day he was born.

By the time he made it back from the shower - which had refreshed him a lot even though the effort of it tired him out all over again - Debbie had the room sorted and the bed remade. She hustled him back under the covers, propped his head up with a pile of pillows and poured him a cup of soup out of the extra-large thermos that was waiting next to his bed.

“Drink up, Kiddo.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Brian croaked and began obediently sipping.

“I’m not gonna stay,” Debbie informed him. “All you really need is rest and that chicken soup. You’ll be back to your old self soon enough. But, in the meantime, Michael insisted I also bring you some of this cold stuff,” she pointed to the box of cold pills sitting next to the thermos. “If you need anything else, you just call me, you hear? We don’t want our Family Stud out of commission with the flu for too long, you know.”

Brian agreed to call if he needed anything more and Debbie ruffled his damp hair affectionately. Brian had to admit he did feel better already, just from the company, the clean sheets, the shower and the soup. He supposed it wasn’t so bad being babied a little. Sometimes.

Deb left not long after that so she could get to her next shift at the Diner on time. Brian almost instantly fell back to sleep. But, when he woke again a few hours later, there was another fresh bottle of ice water waiting on his nightstand along with another cup of steaming hot soup that seemed to have been just poured and maybe even heated up. Brian happily rehydrated and sipped the soup, thinking to himself that he definitely approved of considerate ghosts.

Chapter 8 - Tool Time.

It took Brian almost a week before he felt recovered enough to start again on the cleaning up and unpacking. Thankfully, with regular applications of Deb’s chicken soup and the kind, if invisible, attentions of his handy Nursemaid Ghost, Brian eventually shook off the cold and was able to get back to his normal routine. Another week or so later, and he had finally finished unpacking all the boxes in both the basement and the garage and had disposed of the junk he decided he didn't want. The relatively few things he'd decided to keep, including two or three decent pieces of furniture and about five boxes of random stuff, were consolidated in a pile in the back of the garage.

The biggest find he'd made was the huge chest freezer which had been unearthed from behind the tallest wall of boxes in the very farthest, most cluttered, corner of the garage. When he'd come across it, after moving aside one perilously unsteady tower of cardboard cartons, he was surprised to see the thing still plugged into a nearby outlet and apparently in working condition. He could even feel the motor quietly humming away on the big beast.

Unfortunately, the damned thing was locked so he couldn't open it. That gave him pause. He tried not to think about all the bad TV crime shows he'd seen, where the bad guy hid his dismembered victims in a similar freezer, but, well . . . Until Brian could get it opened, there really wasn't any way to know for sure. However, on the off chance that it was just a locked freezer and not a makeshift coffin, Brian decided not to break the lock to get it opened. If it could be salvaged, he'd keep it and use it for himself. He made a mental note to call a locksmith later on and then just tried to ignore the thing for the time being. He found himself avoiding that section of the garage afterwards, though.

As soon as the clearing out was complete, Brian contacted an architect friend of his to come out and take a look at the place. Andy was a former trick who had somehow done the impossible and actually managed to strike up a friendship with Brian after the fact. They'd been fuck buddies for about five years now. Brian had also used his services a couple of times for help on some of the renovations he'd done in the past at his old loft. He really trusted Andy’s judgement and definitely wanted the man's input on his new house. Andy was happy to come out and take a look at Brian's new project, and offered to pick up a copy of the building’s blueprints from the county on his way out so they could use those as a starting place for Brian's plans.

Brian was ready for Andy’s visit - he had a blanket laid out in front of the empty fireplace with pillows heaped on top, a six pack of beer cooling in a bucket nearby, supplies of condoms and lube at hand, and was wearing only a tool belt when he answered the door. Andy laughed, tossed the role of blueprints he’d been holding to the side, and smiled as he towed Brian by his tool belt towards the little love nest set up on the living room floor. Once the fucking had been taken care of - to the satisfaction of both men - they continued to lay there on the floor, naked, while they looked over the house plans, drank their beers, and discussed Brian’s renovation ideas.

Andy was enthusiastic about all of Brian’s ideas. He did have some cautions for the homeowner, such as which walls would have to stay, at least in part, because they were load-bearing, and the best way to reconfigure the bedrooms upstairs. But, for the most part, he agreed with everything Brian wanted to do. At a certain point they got up off their pallet of cushions so that Brian could take Andy upstairs and ask his advice on what to do about the bathrooms. The two men proceeded to tour the house, still naked, with only the blueprints in hand.

Upstairs, Brian explained to Andy how he wanted to expand the master bedroom to take over the smallest of the house’s other four bedrooms, creating one large room with a sitting area, spacious bathroom with a freestanding whirlpool tub and a huge walk-in closet. The bedroom next to Brian’s would then become Gus’ room and it would share a bathroom with what would become a guest bedroom. Brian didn’t know what to do with the last of the rooms up there, he thought he’d just leave it for the time being and maybe turn it into another guest room if that was needed in the future. Andy walked around, scanning the area and comparing what he saw to the blueprints as he made a few minor suggestions. The biggest hang up to Brian’s plans was going to be the need to completely retrofit the plumbing, which was old and totally inadequate for what Brian wanted to do. Other than than, Brian figured he could probably do most of the work upstairs by himself, which was good for his budget.

The stairs were going to be reconfigured so that they made a turn about halfway down and landed in the soon to be expanded kitchen. Andy liked that idea as well, pointing out that it would give Brian another six feet of space in what would be the Greatroom. That, along with taking out the walls to what used to be the dining room would open up the whole ground floor except for a room separated from the rest by the remodeled stairs that would end up being Brian’s study/office. They talked at length about how to create storage spaces in the greatroom, whether or not to move the door to the study so it would be accessible directly from the kitchen, and whether Brian might want to consider expanding the tiny half-bath on the main floor. Again, Brian was happy to hear that most of the renovations he had in mind would be simple enough for him to handle them on his own. Andy did have some reservations about the wiring, but until Brian started opening up some of the walls, they wouldn't know if that needed replacing as well or not. Unfortunately, he’d have to call in some pros if he did need electrical work.

Back in the kitchen, Andy walked Brian through the technicalities of framing in an island for a sink and a chest refrigerator with seating space for several barstools. It would be a tricky refit, but it was doable. Which was great, because it meant that Brian would have the space to tear out all the existing cabinets, install a really nice, chef’s quality stove and range and a wood fired pizza oven. He planned to keep the antique baking hutch but would supplement his storage space with all new custom-built cupboards framing the piece all along the end wall. He also planned to replace the rickety old back door with a set of nice glass double patio doors opening out onto the back where he was planning on building a large wooden deck.

“What the fuck are YOU going to do with a kitchen like that?” Andy couldn’t help teasing his old friend. “You don’t even know how to cook for fuck’s sake. What you have planned would be way more kitchen than you’ll even know what to do with. If you ask me, you should go with a bachelor’s-style utility kitchen and use the extra space for your study. You’ll get more use out of it.”

“Fuck you, Andy,” Brian complained, hitting his friend over the head with the roll of blueprints. “I’ll have you know I CAN cook, I just choose not to. But out here in the country, where we don’t have the modern amenities of take out, I’ve actually been trying my hand at the art a little more. Besides, if the goal is to flip this place, I’ll get a lot more if I include a nicer kitchen than if I use the space for a study.”

Andy had to concede that was true and they spent a little more time talking through some of the issues that Brian’s grandiose plans engendered. Most of it wouldn’t be that difficult, but what he was calling for would definitely require a lot of professional plumbing and electrical work. Brian said he didn’t care, he was going all out on the kitchen and the bathrooms. Andy thought about it again, screwed up his face in concentration, rolled out the blueprints on the kitchen table and then went back to walking around the space with a confused look.

“What’s wrong?” Brian asked with concern.

“Nothing’s wrong, exactly,” Andy did one more comparison between the plans and the room itself before he reached a conclusion. “It’s just that there seems to have been some modifications to this area that aren't on the original plans. See over here?” He pointed to the back wall of the kitchen where Brian had planned to put in the new patio doors. “It looks like there's about five or six feet of the kitchen that’s been walled off. And, if I’m not mistaken, that space continues upstairs. I noticed another area of about three feet between your bedroom and what will be your son’s room that also seems to be unaccounted for on the blueprints. I’m just not sure why. What's down below here, I wonder?”

Without waiting for Brian to answer, Andy was already striding off towards the basement stairs. Brian followed on his heels. When the architect reached the now emptied out basement, he strode around for a bit, pacing off the dimensions of the room and looking at the blueprints he’d brought along with him. When that didn’t seem to answer his questions adequately, he headed through the dividing door into the garage area and repeated his performance.

“Hmm. Well, I’m still not sure what’s with the modifications up there. I imagine, once you start tearing out walls, it’ll make more sense. But, I’m thinking maybe the prior owners had to put in a ventilation shaft or something? See, if you look at the plans here,” Andy turned and spread the plans out over the top of the big freezer holding the dead body in the corner, “you can see that there’s supposed to be a crawl space under the east end of the house. This end, the western wing, sits lower on the slope of the hill where the house was built and therefore you’ve got full sized rooms. But that end of the building only had a small utility space added under the foundations. If the drainage is poor or there were other problems with the septic system that empties off that side of the house, they might have tried to offset those issues by adding in a ventilation shaft that goes up through that end of the house to the roof line here.” He pointed to the plans again, outlining where he thought the venting might be located. “If that’s the case, you might have some problems with your renovations, Brian. You’d have to either adjust your design to accommodate that venting area or make other arrangements. If we could find the crawl space entrance, we could go in there and get a better idea of what’s what. There should be an access hatch somewhere around here . . .”

Brian and Andy spent a little time knocking around on the walls in the basement until, after a good fifteen minutes, they located what might be the crawl space hatch. Since the walls of the basement were all paneled with rough wood, it was hard to tell for sure. It didn’t help that there was only one small light fixture in the entire space and the dim bulb hanging there didn’t give off much illumination. They did find one spot, though, where it sounded like there was a hollow space behind the paneling. Feeling along the edge of the wood there, Brian thought he detected a small gap. He tried to pull the wood away, but it wouldn’t budge. Even with Andy helping, the two of them couldn’t get that section of paneling to come away from the wall. It definitely seemed like that was the access hatch though.

“Damn. I can't figure out why this is stuck like this,” Andy complained, finally giving up trying to pry at the wood with his bare hands. “It should just swing right open. It’s almost like there’s something on the other side preventing us from opening it.”

“Well, I've got a sledgehammer upstairs. If you want to bust through the wall it should be easy. Although,” Brian looked down at himself and his lack of clothing before his eyes trailed back up Andy's still naked body, “since we're not exactly dressed for a trip into the bowels of the earth, how about we just blow this off to go back to fucking? I can always worry about this shit later.”

“I think that's a really excellent plan, Brian. You always have the best ideas. About fucking, at least,” Andy agreed with a mischievous smile. Then he chuckled and dashed for the stairs. “First one upstairs gets to top!”

“Yeah, right. In your dreams, Bottom Boy!” Brian yelled with a chuckle of his own as he chased the architect back up the steps.

Brian never did make it back downstairs with his sledgehammer. He and Andy were rather busy the rest of that afternoon and pretty much all of the night too. What with all the work he’d been putting in on the house and being sick the week before, Brian hadn’t gotten out much lately and had really needed a night like that. He had therefore taken full advantage of Andy’s willing and available ass. By the time he kissed Andy goodbye at the door the next morning, Brian had almost completely forgotten about the damned crawl space. And, when he did remember, he shied away from the idea of getting in there - if the body of his ghost boy wasn’t actually in the freezer, then it was probably in the fucking crawl space, and Brian really wasn’t that eager to find it anyway.

He was eager to get started on the next phase of the project - the demolition. That was always the funnest part of any construction project as far as he was concerned. Smashing things with hammers and crowbars, tearing out nails and screws, pulverizing drywall into a puff of chalk . . . The little boy in him reveled in that part of the job. He’d even put off his writing for a few days so he could spend all his time destroying things to his heart's content

One afternoon, while Brian was happily slamming his sledgehammer into the wall of what would someday become the upstairs guest bathroom, he noticed the lights flickering on and off. He quickly set down his sledge, took out the earplugs he'd been wearing to protect his hearing during the times when he had to use the Sawzall, and looked around him to try and figure out what was up with the lights. That’s when he realized that the telephone attached to the new land line he’d just had hooked up the day before was ringing. He jogged into his bedroom and picked it up with a breathless ‘Hello?’.

“Hi, Brian. It’s me,” Lindsey’s voice came through the small phone speaker, sounding harried and rushed. “I know it’s short notice and all, but I was calling to see if you could take Gus for a couple days. One of Mel’s clients settled a case today and the woman was so happy with her award, she’s springing to take the two of us along with her and her partner for a weekend spa getaway. It’s really not the kind of place you can bring your kids though . . .”

Brian was thrilled with the idea. “Of course, Lindz. I’d love to have Gus. Do you want me to come pick him up or are you going to bring him out here?”

“Well, it would be easier for us if you could come get him,” Lindsey’s voice sounded hesitant though. “There’s just one thing . . . Michael mentioned the other day something about your house being haunted? That’s all just Michael’s wild imagination, right? There's nothing I should be worried about, is there?”

Brian looked around him at the seemingly normal house, where his resident ghost had just alerted him to the phone ringing by flickering the lights . . . And lied his ass off. “You know Michael. He tends to get carried away. I never even listen to half of what he says”.

“Okay. I guess you’re right,” Lindsey easily capitulated, probably so glad to get a babysitter for the weekend that she’d believe anything. “Michael DOES have a very vivid imagination. I think it’s because he reads way too many comic books.”

Brian politely laughed along with Lindsey before making plans as to when he should pick Gus up and when the Munchers would be back. Since he had to be at Lindsey’s house in less than two hours, Brian decided it was time to call it a day and get things cleaned up. He stowed his sledge hammer and saw, swept up the detritus as quickly as possible and jumped in the shower.

And, all the while he was getting ready, he was silently fretting about just what his shady specter would do while his son was in the house.

??

On the way back from picking up Gus, Brian had the brilliant idea to stop at the toy store and pick up a set of toy tools for the boy. There was a small plastic hammer, a screwdriver, and even a pretend saw, all contained in a faux leather tool belt that looked enough like his father’s real deal that Brian hoped Gus would be content. Gus demanded to wear the tool belt immediately, of course. They also stopped by Sue Ann’s store long enough to introduce the boy - which further endeared Brian to the older lady to the point that she could have sworn her ovaries were doing flip flops at the sight of the beautiful younger man and his son - and picked up a good supply of junk food that should last for the duration of the kid’s visit.

By the time they got back to the house, it was too late to do any real work, so Brian and Gus just had dinner and then contented themselves with curling up in bed together watching kiddy videos until Gus finally dropped off to sleep. Then Brian carefully carried the boy to his own room, depositing the small form in the twin-sized bed that he’d providentially picked up just the week before. Brian bent to leave a kiss on the slumbering child's forehead and then softly padded back to his own room to amuse himself for a few more hours on the computer.

Around about eleven thirty, Brian signed off from the chat room he’d been lurking in and decided it was time for him to turn in as well. Gus would undoubtedly be up bright and early and wanting his daddy’s attention. Brian quickly scurried downstairs to make sure the door was locked and all the lights turned off before heading back up to his own room.

Only, as Brian was walking past Gus’ room this time, he heard giggling coming from inside. He was curious, so he put his ear to the door, but could only hear a low murmuring and no real words. When he gave in to his curiosity and went in, he found Gus sitting up in his bed with a big smile on the cherubic face.

“I thought you were asleep, Sonny Boy,” Brian said with a paternal smile at his offspring.

“I had a bad dream and I woked up, Daddy. Den I got scary cause I din amember where I was, so’s I cried. But the boy in the wall came out an tolded me funny jokes so’s I laughed instead,” Gus explained with childish innocence. “He's so funny. An he drawed me a pitcher too. See.”

Gus handed His father a sheet of sketch paper with a beautiful charcoal drawing of Gus and Brian from earlier in the evening when they were sitting together in the kitchen. Brian was amazed at the artwork, but also alarmed by the idea that some disembodied spook was coming out of the walls to talk with his son. He didn't want Gus to be frightened or hurt.

“Are you okay, Sonny Boy? Did the boy you saw scare you?”

“No, Daddy. You're silly. He's a nice boy. He smiles a lot an telled jokes an did nice things. He's not scary, Daddy,” Gus quickly reassured him. “I like the boy dat lives in your walls.”

Brian relaxed a bit after hearing this reassurance. At least Gus wasn't scared. And, after taking another look at the picture he was still holding in his hands, Brian felt even better. The drawing was a beautiful rendition of himself and Gus sitting together. The boy was perched on Brian's knee, smiling up at his father with an adoring look. Brian’s matching smile was directed down at his son. It was such a touching and intimate scene and it was so poignantly rendered. Brian was impressed, both by the artwork as well as by the sentiment the drawing evinced.

Surely anyone - or anything - that could create something this beautiful, couldn't be dangerous, right?

The next day, after a busy morning spent running around in the woods behind the house with Gus ‘helping’ his Daddy do yard work, Brian finally put the tired boy in bed for a nap. While the tyke was napping, Brian decided to spend some more time on his renovations. He loved having his son over for a visit, but playing Daddy certainly wasn't conducive to getting much real work done. He needed to use whatever spare time he could drum up as efficiently as possible.

Brian was downstairs in the living room area, pulling off the old floor and window molding, and making a lot of noise in the process as he hammered, pried and occasionally fired up his Sawzall to cut through nails, and wasn’t really paying attention to anything else. It wasn't difficult work, just messy and loud. All of a sudden, he heard wailing coming from the kitchen. Brian dropped everything and ran towards the noise. When he got there, he found Gus, sitting on the floor, sobbing.

“What’s wrong, Buddy?” Brian rushed to gather up his son into his arms.

“The boy in the wall tooked my hammer!” the child sobbed. “I don’t like him no more. He’s mean!”

“He took your hammer?” Brian repeated, surprised to hear that his ghost companion would do something so brazen. “That doesn’t sound like Justin. Why would he do that?”

“Cuz he’s mean!” Gus asserted, sniffling and rubbing his snotty face against his father’s chest. “I jus wanted to maked a tower and he tooked my hammer away and he went back in his wall wif it.” This recitation caused the boy to break out in tears again, as he pointed towards the back corner of the kitchen where the old hutch stood.

Brian followed the child’s gesture and saw a spot of bright red up near the ceiling. With Gus in his arms, he walked closer. And there, up on the very top of the hutch, was the missing red and green plastic hammer. Brian reached up to grab it and dislodged an old, rusty, bent nail that had been resting under the toy hammer. Brian put Gus down on the floor and handed him back his hammer. Gus smiled through the remaining tears and thanked his father then bent down to grab at the nail too.

“Give me the nail, Buddy,” Brian demanded, holding out his hand for the sharp object.

“No. Mine!” Gus responded angrily, turning his back to his father and holding onto the nail even more tightly in his chubby fist.

“Gus. I told you before, no nails. They’re too sharp and dangerous. Now, give it to me.”

“But I needs it to builded my tower!” Gus insisted, the sniffling starting up again as he noted the stern expression on Brian’s face.

“Gus!” Brian demanded, holding out his hand and waiting until the boy relented and handed over the nail. “I’m sorry, Gus, but nails are too dangerous. You can play with your hammer but no nails, okay?”

“You’re as mean as the boy in the wall. I don’t like you neither,” Gus replied with a stubborn pout as he turned and toddled away from his father.

Brian shook his head at the adorably determined little boy. He certainly was a handful. However, a minute later, he heard the hammer pounding against something wooden, and figured that all was once again well. He put the confiscated nail in his pocket, thinking that it was probably a good thing that Justin had taken the hammer away if Gus had been using it to play with real nails.

Just when he was about to return to his own work, intending to clean it up and put his tools away now that it looked like Gus wouldn’t be taking a nap after all, the hammering noises coming from where Gus was changed from a wooden thunking to the sound of something metal being banged around. Brian quickly changed direction and went in search of his destructive offspring. On the other side of the wall to what had been the dining room, he found Gus seated on the floor surrounded by several of the metal canisters full of wood flooring stripper that he’d purchased for when he was ready to refinish the floors. It looked like Gus had already been busy with the cans. Several were stacked up in a wobbly tower, with scraps of wood intermixed in the grouping like wooden blocks. The fact that Gus had been playing with the cans was bad enough, but when Brian saw what was making the noise, he got even more upset. Gus had pulled one of the larger canisters over to him and was currently hammering and prying at the lid, evidently intent on getting it open.

Brian darted in, grabbing away both the hammer and the cannister. Gus started wailing again, demanding that Brian give him back his hammer. In passing, Brian noted that the lid of the metal can had several little divots and scratches on it, consistent with marks that might have been made if the boy had previously been using his purloined nail on it. That scared Brian more than the kid just banging on them with the hammer - the chemicals were not only toxic if ingested but could be quite caustic and might irritate or even burn the skin if it was spilled on someone. And here was his precious son, diligently trying to pound holes in the container. Thank fuck Justin had taken the hammer and nail away from the little terror.

“No, Gus! You can’t pound on these cans,” Brian hollered at the child who was now on his feet trying to pry his hammer out of his father’s hand. “Stop, Gus! Just stop!”

The child’s face crumpled as soon as Brian yelled at him. He sat back down and began to cry in earnest. Brian had never really yelled at him like that. Of course, he’d never been that scared for Gus either. Taking a deep breath, Brian shoved the toy hammer into his pocket, gathered all the cans of stripper and toted them back to the kitchen where they were placed, safely, on the top of the hutch, well out of reach of naughty little boys. When everything dangerous was put away, he went back to his son, whose tears were finally tapering off again. He picked the boy up and carried him to the kitchen table where he could sit and hold him.

“All done now, Gus?” Brian asked when the boy finally fell quiet. Gus nodded. “Okay. Now, we have to talk about this, Buddy, okay?” Another nod. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, but it’s only because you scared me. Those cans you were hammering at have bad stuff in them. It’s poisonous. Do you know what that means?” he asked. Gus didn’t answer but his face showed his confusion. “It means that the chemicals inside them could make you sick or hurt your skin. And the way you were hammering on them, could have made the containers open up and spill on you, which would have been bad. That’s why I was scared, because I was worried you were going to get hurt. Do you understand?” Gus reluctantly nodded again. “Good. So, no more hammering on cans, okay? You can play with the wood if you want but no nails and definitely no cans or anything else like that. Understand?” he asked again, getting a small ‘uh huh’ from the boy.

Then, curious, Brian asked one more question. “Were you hammering at the cans when Justin took your hammer away the first time? And maybe using that nail you found on the cans too?” Gus didn’t say anything at first, but Brian held the boy away from him, staring until the boy finally fessed up and nodded again, this time with a guilty look. “No wonder Justin took your hammer away, Sonny Boy. You do understand he wasn’t doing it to be mean, right? He was trying to protect you, just like I am. It’s a good thing he was there, too, since I didn’t even know you were out of bed . . .” Brian finished, speaking more to himself than his son at that point. Finally, turning towards the wall where the ghost boy supposedly lived, at least according to Gus, he spoke up. “Thank you, Justin. Good save there.”

Brian would have to find some way to show his appreciation for the guardian ghost who’d helped protect his son. But then again, what did you get for your ghost housemate as a thank you? He could already take whatever he wanted of Brian’s. So what else did Justin want, need or like? Brian’s mind went back to that time a few weeks earlier when he’d found his dildo missing, a porn movie playing and had done a show for the ghost boy. Maybe they could have a little sexy demonstration time again later that night after Gus was in bed? Assuming that the little scamp would actually go to sleep and stay that way, of course.

“Hey, Buddy.” Brian turned back to his son, determined to put the hammer incident behind them. “How about we go upstairs to my room and watch a video or something, huh?” It was the best way, he thought, to distract his mischievous son from the interrupted tower building project. Plus, Brian hoped that a movie might just be the thing to finally knock his grouchy son out so he’d go down for what was obviously a much needed nap.

Chapter 9 - Hungry Ghosts?

In the days following Gus’ visit, Brian had made a lot of progress on his many projects.

He’d been working on his book every single morning without fail. He was proud of how diligent he’d been, sticking to his working schedule and hacking through the sticky spots of his plot. The novel seemed to be progressing nicely. He had several chapters almost finalized and was extremely happy with how the story was shaping up. If he kept this up, he thought he might be ready to shop it around to some publishers early in the new year.

In the afternoons, Brian would work on his house. He’d managed to pretty much finish the demolition work on the main floor and was already starting to work on the framing and other tasks needed to rebuild what he’d just torn apart. The entire place was a mess, of course, but that was to be expected when you were doing this kind of project. When he needed someplace less torn up to go, he could always retreat to his bedroom or the kitchen, the two rooms he was mostly going to leave alone until all the rest was pretty much finished. But he really thought the place was going to be nice when it was all done. It was a shame, actually, that he was planning on reselling the place.

In the evenings, Brian played. At least a couple nights a week, he would head into Pittsburgh to hang out with his friends, visit his favorite bars and clubs, or sometimes, when the need hit, to make a trip to the baths. The rest of the week he made due with Grinder hookups, cybersex or, if all else failed, his good right hand and a porn flick.

However, because he always had to drive so far to get home, he wasn’t drinking nearly as much these days when he did go out. And, without any of the job stress or drama of being constantly surrounded by his Liberty Avenue family, he didn’t seem to need to drink at home either. He felt like he was sort of living in this idyllic other universe where he was insulated from a lot of the stressors of his previous life. Altogether, it was a good, workable, routine and he found himself more rested, less worn out feeling and fitter than he’d ever been before in his life.

Brian had also fallen into a bit of a routine with his phantom housemate. For the most part, he had gotten used to the occasional item disappearing and just didn’t sweat it anymore. Most of the time the missing things would eventually turn up again and the things that disappeared for good were usually things he either didn’t really need or could easily replace. He’d also gotten used to the odd noises that echoed through the old house after he’d gone to bed at night. The footsteps in the downstairs hall, the opening and closing of unseen doors and the rattling of pipes taking water to nowhere had become almost comforting. He liked feeling like he wasn't really alone out here in the middle of nowhere in this big, rambling house. Other than that, his spectral resident was pretty easy to live with. He didn’t make messes or take up Brian’s time. All in all, Brian was happy with the strange arrangement and with his quiet country life.

The afternoon he’d finished installing all the new windows on the main floor - with the help of Sue Ann’s oldest grandson, Ian - he was just waving goodbye to his helper when another car turned into the driveway. He shouldn’t have been surprised to see Michael showing up out of the blue, intent on checking out the progress Brian had made. Brian was so proud of the way everything was coming along that he’d been bragging on his handywork quite a bit whenever he saw the gang. They were all clamoring for him to let them come see it. Mikey obviously couldn’t wait for an official invitation.

“Hey, Brian,” Michael gushed as he jumped out of the beat up old Chevy Nova that he and Debbie shared. "Wow. It already looks better. I can't believe you got all that crap moved out of the garage already. I figured you'd be working on it until sometime next year.”

“No way did I want to live with that mess for another six months,” Brian chided his old friend, stepping over to greet the man with their usual hug and smooch.

“Well, knowing you and your OCD tendencies, that probably wouldn't work out well," Michael teased his friend. "So are you going to give me the updated tour or what? I'm dying to see this fabulous mansion that you're putting together.”

“Of course. The Fifty-Cent tour starts right over here," Brian gestured towards the front door.

Brian escorted his guest inside, and began to elaborate on the changes seen within. He pointed out all the walls he’d removed, explained how the open floor plan would be arranged, showed him the kitchen island he was just starting to build and explained why he was framing in a much larger guest bath on the main floor. The tour finished up with Brian showing off all the brand new windows he'd just installed and how they increased the amount of natural light into the newly formed Greatroom. Michael was rightfully impressed.

“Shit Brian, I didn't know you were so good with tools. This place looks amazing.”

“Now, now, Mikey, that's not true. I know you've watched me wielding my most powerful tool on a regular basis,” Brian winked at his buddy and grabbed his crotch to emphasize his joke.

“Ha ha. I meant power tools - you know, the kind we usually rely on the lesbians to operate,” Michael shot back, not to be outdone in the joking department.

Brian offered up a laugh for his friend and then went on to show Michael his next task, which was to install the wall of ‘hidden’ storage cabinets along one wall of the Greatroom. He needed to get that part done before the electrician, who was going to install all new light fixtures throughout the house, could do her thing. Brian couldn't complete the drywalling and other finish work until the wiring was done, and before that happened, he had to finish the framing and put in the cabinets, and etc, etc, etc. It was quite the undertaking, and sounded complicated to Michael, but Brian seemed to be enjoying himself.

When Brian was all bragged out and Michael’s tour came to an end, the guest surprised Brian with a take out lunch he'd brought from Brian's favorite Thai place back in town.The Jade Garden was probably the one thing Brian missed more than anything else since he'd moved out of the city, so he was thrilled with Michael's surprise. They brought everything up from the car, laid out the feast on Brian's kitchen table and sat down to eat the ambrosial offerings. Michael had brought at least three times what the two of them could eat in one sitting, which caused Brian, to complain about how bad this was going to ruin his diet. Of course he still ate like a pig, not sure when he'd get his favorite take out again.

Michael laughed at his old friend. “You know, Brian, I don't think you've ever looked better in your life - not that you ever looked bad, of course. But I really think this country living agrees with you. I guess I was wrong about this move. I was sure you'd hate every minute of it, once the novelty wore off. But you seem really happy and you look great too. Probably because of all the time you spend doing manual labor instead of sitting behind a desk all day every day arguing with your old clients.”

“Thanks, Mikey. I am enjoying myself a lot more these days. I mean, I do miss some things.” Brian held up the Jade Garden take out carton full of Pad Thai he was eating out of as an example. “And it was a bit of an adjustment. But now that I'm here and mostly settled in, it's not too bad.” Brian picked up his beer and held it out to toast with Michael. “Here's to good, clean, country living!” They clinked their bottles together.

“Besides, now that we've got Grindr, I can live anywhere and the tricks just come to me. You'd be amazed at the number of queers living out here in the wilds of West Virginia, Mikey. Seriously. You should have seen the guy I had over here last night. He must have been six-five, hung like a fucking horse, and man could he suck . . .”

“Shit, Brian. Leave it to you to find every gay guy in a twenty mile radius, even out here in the middle of Bible-Belt America.”

“Yep. Thanks to modern technology, I'll never be lonely again,” Brian bragged.

At which point, the conversation devolved into yet another round of the familiar ‘Guess Who I Fucked Last’ game that the two of them had been playing for most of the past fifteen years.

When they'd finally had enough Thai, gossip and boasting, they cleared away the leftovers - which Brian was looking forward to having for breakfast the next day. Then Brian asked Michael to help him set up the new weight bench and treadmill that had just been delivered the day before, so he could work off the junk food after his friend left. The two of them headed down to the basement where they spent the next hour or so moving the heavy pieces from the garage to the basement proper and assembling the equipment.

“So, what are you going to do down here,” Mikey questioned, looking around the big empty space as they finished wiping down the new equipment.

“Well, I plan to leave the basement till the very last, so I don’t have to figure out exactly what I’m going to do with it for a while yet. But I was thinking, maybe, I’d blow out the wall to the crawl space,” he pointed to the back wall covered in rough wood panelling, “and make a big rec room, gym, home theater area.”

Michael loved that idea and proposed some of his own suggestions for the perfect home theater setup, complete with a freestanding popcorn maker, a wet bar with a mini-fridge and individual leather recliners. Brian chuckled to himself about the fact that this was the first part of his entire remodeling project that Mikey had had any opinion on. Leave it to the movie buff to care about that part of the house more than anything. He did have to admit that Michael had some good points, though, and planned to take his friend shopping with him when he was ready to furnish the room.

As they gathered up all the used packaging from the exercise equipment and started to truck it back through the garage to the dumpster outside, Michael passed by the old freezer that was now the only thing left in there except for a few tools and some lumber Brian planned to use upstairs.

“Where’d you get this?” Michael asked, going over to the large white appliance and running his hand appreciatively over the top.

“It came with the house. I found it hidden underneath all the boxes that had been down here,” Brian explained, eyeing the contraption warily and not going any closer to what he perceived as likely to be just a big electric coffin.

“Good save, Brian. Freezers like this are expensive. Does it still work?” Michael asked reaching for the handle and opening the large top right up.

“What the . . .?” Brian approached warily. “How did you get it open. I thought it was locked.”

“The key’s right here in the lock, Brian,” Michael observed, pointing to the little silver key sitting in the lock just like he’d said.

Brian approached the freezer warily, eying the key that certainly had NOT been there before with distrust as he cautiously looked over the edge into the depths of the icy interior, afraid of what he might find.

“Well, it looks like it’s working just fine. It’s plenty cold enough in here. But you’re going to have to clean it out before you can use it. What is all this crap in here anyway?” Michael queried, poking at whatever the contents were.

To Brian’s relief, the ‘crap’ Michael was referring to was not a dismembered body after all. There were no severed heads or any other gory remains at all. In fact, the freezer was mostly empty, except for a pile of frozen dinner entree boxes and scraps of what looked like butcher-paper meat wrappings. It seemed that, at one time, there had been a lot of food in the thing, but it was empty now except for the trash.

Brian was so grateful that he hadn’t actually found Justin Taylor’s dead body inside, that he didn’t even care about the extra work it would take to clean the thing out. He smiled at the miraculously returned key, silently thanking his ghostboy for locating it and saving him the cost of calling in a locksmith. And for reassuring him that his mangled corpse really wasn’t hiding inside. Now that the freezer was unlocked, Brian could ask around among his neighbors about stocking it for the future. He had some vague idea that he should be able to buy meat from a local farmer or something. Wasn’t that what you did when you had a big old chest freezer and lived out in the country with cows and pigs and stuff all around you? Penny would know shit about that, right?

When they finally made it back upstairs, Michael proposed they have another beer and dig into the brownies he’d brought for dessert before Brian tried out his new exercise equipment for real. Brian rolled his eyes, wondering how the hell Mikey managed not to weigh three hundred pounds with an appetite like that, but didn’t object, because . . .  well, brownies. Instead, he compliantly followed Michael back into the kitchen.

“Damn it. Where the fuck did the brownies disappear to?” Michael complained, looking at the kitchen counter where the small bag full of brownies had been with dismay. “I was really looking forward to those, too. I even made an extra stop on the way out here at the bakery just to get them.”

Brian laughed at the hang dog look on his oldest friend’s face. “Sorry, Mikey. But you, of all people, should be prepared for shit to disappear around here.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think ‘Casper’ would take our food. I mean, ghosts don’t need to eat, right? So why would he steal our dessert?” Michael was still searching around under the detritus from their previous meal as if he thought the missing brownies would be found hiding somewhere in the trash or something.

Brian, meanwhile, was so surprised by Mikey’s comment that he froze in place as he thought through the implications it raised. The image of the freezer in the basement full of food waste popped into his mind, along with memories of all the times he’d thought he was missing a beer or two, some canned foodstuffs or the occasional apple. He usually didn’t keep track of that stuff too well, but now that he thought about it, it seemed possible that his ‘ghost’ was taking food as well as borrowing his tools and other personal items. Which was, to say the least, curious.

“Hmmm . . . That’s true. Ghosts don’t need food, do they?”

“Damn it. I was still hungry,” Michael groused, finally giving up on his search and plopping down in one of the kitchen chairs with a pout.

Brian snapped out of his reverie and shook his head at the man who was doing a good imitation of a petulant preschooler.

“Come on, Mikey,” Brian interrupted before his friend could get too into his pouting. “Let’s head into town. I’ll show you around the local market, introduce you to my new girlfriend and buy you a replacement dessert.” Brian clapped his friend on the shoulder amiably as he guided him towards the front door. “I think I need to pick up some more groceries anyway, so this is a good excuse to hit the store.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed, jumping to his feet, immediately placated by the promise that he would indeed get his treat. “But, um, what’s this about a ‘girlfriend’? Is there something you want to tell me, Brian?”

Brian laughed. He knew that would get his friend’s attention. “Yep. Her name is Sue Ann. She’s a hoot. You’ll love her. In fact, she reminds me a lot of your mother, only if Deb was constantly hitting on me.”

Michael looked worried, which only caused Brian to laugh harder, as the two men made their way out to the car. Brian was rather looking forward to introducing Michael to Sue Ann. She’d scare the pants off him. Which was good for a laugh, at least.

That night, after he got home and unloaded all the groceries he’d purchased, including several of those cardboardy frozen dinners, as an experiment, Brian actually counted all the beers in his fridge. Unsurprisingly, there were two missing the next morning. One of those frozen dinners was also gone. So when he went to take out the kitchen garbage later in the afternoon, and saw two empties in the recycling bin alongside a broken down paperboard dinner entree carton, he knew he’d figured out at least part of the mystery about his ‘ghost’ housemate at last.

What he was going to do about it, well, that was still a puzzle.

Chapter 10 - Gift Exchange.

Brian was conflicted.

Now that he’d figured out that his housemate wasn’t a ghost after all, he didn’t know what to do about it. He was surprised he wasn’t more freaked out about the situation, but his confusion seemed to edge out his outrage. On the one hand, he had become kind of attached to the IDEA of his friendly ghost boy. It had been kind of fun thinking that he was living in a haunted house and that his ghost was a sweet, helpful, little sprite. He’d gotten used to thinking about the situation in that light and had been almost comforted by knowing he wasn’t alone in the big, old house. Brian also owed his ‘ghost’ for all the kind things he’d done since Brian moved in, like taking care of him while he was sick and saving Gus from getting hurt.

But, on the other hand, the kid WAS freeloading in Brian’s house, which rankled. Not to mention that Brian was pissed off he’d fallen for everyone’s hype and therefore believed the stupid ghost stories for so long. The kid had to have known that fact and milked it, while still taking advantage of the free room and board. Brian figured that, for legal reasons, if nothing else, he probably should take action and kick his stowaway out.

More than anything else, though, Brian was mostly just curious about the boy. He’d heard all the gossip about the Taylor family from his various visits to Sue Ann’s grocery and the times he’d gone next door to help Penny out. He had a lot of empathy for a kid who’d had to suffer through life with an abusive drunk for a father, so he could understand that the kid was traumatized and shy. But why had the boy just disappeared for all those years? Had he been holed up in the house all that time? Why? And why had the kid put up with it? Even more strange, why hadn’t he come out of hiding once his abusive prick of a father was dead? The mystery of the story was eating at Brian on a daily basis.

As conflicted as he was, Brian couldn’t make up his mind what to do about his ‘guest’. So, he didn’t do anything right away. Except for making sure he had more food in the house than he’d previously stocked, because, the kid had to be practically starving. He didn’t think it likely the boy ever left the house - if he had, somebody would have seen him before now. And, though it seemed a good bet that he’d had a large stockpile of food saved up in that freezer, now that that was all gone, he’d be totally reliant on Brian’s generosity.

It really didn’t feel like that big of an imposition to make sure there was plenty to eat around the house. In fact, he started making a point of actually cooking - well, to the extent Brian Kinney was capable of cooking, that is. He begged lasagnes and casseroles from Penny, Sue Ann, even Debbie. Those ladies were thrilled by the idea of Brian actually eating their creations and gladly provided as much as he could cram in his fridge. These were then heated up and apportioned out into single serving-sized containers in the fridge for later. When they would regularly disappear - the empty tupperware turning up a day or two later in the dishwasher - Brian knew all was well. He also made a point of always having extra fruit in the big blown-glass bowl he kept on the kitchen counter, plenty of beer in the fridge and he’d even started stocking more of those horrid cardboardy frozen dinners in the big chest freezer in the basement. And, just to round out the nutritional requirements for the household, he took to making his usual salads twice as big as what he could eat himself and making sure that the ‘leftovers’ were prominently displayed at the front of the fridge shelves.

But other than making sure his housemate was fed, Brian didn’t really know what other actions to take. It couldn’t be healthy for a youth that age to be hidden away in the fucking basement 24/7. Didn’t the boy need some kind of actual human contact? The few times the kid had interacted with Gus or himself over the past weeks, didn’t seem like nearly enough. And didn’t he need other shit besides food. Toiletries? Clothing? Just normal human shit? As far as Brian could tell, the boy had nothing to do all day other than watch him, and besides the fact that was inherently creepy, it wasn’t healthy either. Brian began making note of all the other things he thought the kid might need and adding them to his own shopping lists.

The next biggest consideration, though, was how Brian could help remedy all these deficiencies without scaring the kid off? Based on the fact that Justin hadn’t yet felt comfortable coming out of hiding, despite the fact that Brian had been in the house for a couple months, it seemed like he must be either incredibly shy or incredibly traumatized. Or both. They’d been operating under this unspoken truce for all that time, where Brian ignored the kid’s presence and simply let him stay hidden. It didn’t matter that Brian had thought his resident was incorporeal. Justin could have come out and cleared up that misconception at any time. The fact that he had let Brian go on thinking he wasn’t real for so long, told Brian that Justin really wasn’t interested in getting formally acquainted. But Brian was determined to change that.

He knew he’d have to go slowly at first, though. Justin wasn’t going to just open the door for him if Brian walked up to the crawl space hatchway - which is where Brian assumed the kid was holed up - and knocked. He was going to have to coax him out gradually. Get Justin to trust him. And then, once he had the boy out of that hidey hole, Brian could talk to him and hopefully figure out what to do next.

To that end, Brian made a special trip into Pittsburgh for some supplies that couldn't be purchased at Sue Ann’s grocery mart. He started at the mall where he hit some stores he normally wouldn't be caught dead in and came out with a nice assortment of clothes he thought a twenty-year-old would enjoy. He had no idea what size to get. All he had to go on were the few pictures he'd seen of the boy - all of which were more than three years old - and for all he knew Justin had grown half a foot taller and now weighed three hundred pounds. Although he hoped that wasn't the case. It would be beyond sad if that gorgeous young twink in the picture he had next to his computer no longer existed. But, since he was forced to guess at sizes, he opted for items that stretched or were baggy and hoped the kid wouldn't mind.

He also visited the bookstore, a pharmacy and an art supply store. He hesitated outside the Apple Store but then decided, ‘What The Hell’ and went in. By the time he’d reemerged, he’d added the latest tablet computer to the haul of purchases he was toting around. When he couldn’t think of anything else that a twenty-something boy would want or need, he finally headed back to West Virginia.

Back at home, Brian stowed the majority of his booty in his room. He didn't want to shock his Ghost Boy by giving it all to him at once. His plan was to start out small. And the first step was to take the beautiful drawing of himself and Gus, which the ‘ghost’ had given to his son, put it in the frame he’d purchased, and display it along with a tin full of new drawing pencils and a fresh sketchpad on the kitchen table. He also added a yellow sticky note to the top of the tin that read, ‘Thank you’. Then he turned off the light in the kitchen and headed up to bed, reining in his curiosity about what his resident spook would think of the gift.

When Brian got up the next morning, he was happy to see that the art supplies had disappeared. In their place, Justin had left him another drawing - this one showed Brian dressed in old, holey jeans, a rumpled wife-beater tee, and work boots. There was a tool belt slung low across his hips. He had work gloves on his hands and was carrying a saw. His hair was standing on end from where he had pushed it back when it got sweaty. You could even see the beads of sweat dripping down his neck, cutting through the layer of grime that had accumulated there while he was working. He looked a mess. But the title of the picture - written in precise lettering in the lower right-hand corner - was, ‘Beautiful’. It made Brian smile.

“Thank you, Justin,” Brian yelled to the walls, more impressed than he could say. “This is . . . amazing . . . artwork. You’re incredibly talented. You made me look hotter than even I imagined I could be.”

Brian thought he could hear a very muted laugh coming from the corner of the kitchen, although it was so quiet it was almost inaudible. He made a mental note to go examine that corner of the room more carefully at a later time. Considering how stealthily Justin moved around the house, Brian was sure the boy had more than one entry to his hiding place. But, all that could come later. Much later. Searching for a way into his ghost’s lair was step number three in Brian’s plan - maybe four - and he was still working on Step One. The ‘Making Friends and Building Trust’ Step. Which, judging by his new portrait, was going pretty well.

Over the course of the next few nights, Brian continued to leave small gifts out on the kitchen table. He started off simply, beginning with some additional art supplies – a mixed box of charcoals and pastels, an artist quality pigmented ink pen set, even some fun-looking prismacolor markers. Based on the two samples of Justin's artwork he’d seen so far, he knew these would all be a big hit. If the kid truly hadn't been out of that hole in a couple years, he had to be pretty short on supplies, so Brian assumed that the drawing materials would be highly prized. He had wanted to add in some materials for other art mediums, but he didn't know what the boy was into so he figured he’d just wait on that stuff till later.

Once he’d exhausted his cache of art supplies, Brian opted for leaving some of the books he’d picked up. He figured reading would at least give the kid something to do other than watching him all day. Since he had no idea of the kid’s taste in literature, he’d picked a wide variety of books, including both fiction and nonfiction, a mystery or two (Brian's personal favorite), a quirky-looking humor selection by a well-known celebrity, and even one trashy, soft porn, gay romance novel that he'd heard Emmett gushing over for weeks. He hoped the kid would get a kick out of that one.

Along with his nightly gifts, Brian made a point of always setting out something substantial for the kid’s dinner. He even routinely added sweets and desserts to the spread, thinking that a twenty year old kid would appreciate the addition, although he himself wouldn’t touch that crap and couldn't believe he actually had a stash of carb-laden junk food in the house. Since all of his offerings disappeared with regularity, though, he figured Justin must have approved of his presents and his meal options.

Every morning, Brian’s generosity was reciprocated by little gifts in return. Mostly these were comprised of drawings or other creations utilizing the art supplies Brian had given his resident artist. It became sort of like an alternative method of communications for them. Brian would always leave little post it notes with comments on his presents, but Justin never wrote back in words. His pictures, on the other hand, were often just as effective at conveying his message. So, when Brian's note advised Justin to help himself to the extra Lemon Bars in the fridge if he wanted more, because Brian didn’t want them around or he’d eat them and ‘blow up like a blimp’, Justin answered with a colorful caricature of Brian as a blimp drifting around the vaulted ceiling in the living room. Or, when he left another note telling Justin he would be gone for two days because he was going to a comic book convention with Michael, he came back to a large ink drawing of himself and Michael dressed in spandex and caped like superheroes. Even better, the morning after he left that trashy gay novel, Justin gifted him back with a gorgeous charcoal drawing of himself, lying in bed, naked, with his sated dick resting, spent, against his stomach. Brian loved it and loved the idea that Justin was indeed watching him at night even better.

When Brian thought they’d developed enough of a rapport with the gift exchange thing, he decided to notch things up another level. Instead of relatively impersonal gifts, he moved on to leaving more suggestive, personal items. The night he set out the new sweats and hoodie he’d picked up, Brian left a note saying that he thought Justin might like these since it was starting to get a bit cold in the evenings. The implication that Brian knew his housemate was human enough to feel the cold, was obvious and intentional. He knew he’d struck a nerve when the clothing was still sitting there untouched the next morning. Brian simply left them there on the table, and added another note that evening saying, ‘Don’t be a twat, Justin. Take the fucking clothes so you don’t freeze to death.’ After thinking about it, he also added a postscript, ‘PS. Ghosts don’t need to eat, don't drink beer, and I've never heard of one that can draw, either.’ The next morning the clothing was gone, and in it’s place was a pencil sketch of the kitchen table showing a bottle of Brian’s favorite brand of beer sitting there with a man’s slender, long-fingered hand curled around it.

“So, we’re finally being honest, eh?” Brian murmured, smiling at the corner of the kitchen where he suspected there was a hidden blond boy watching him from inside the security of his walls. “Good.”

That night Brian left out an assortment of new toiletries including a bottle of shower gel, a new razor and shaving cream, a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste, lotion, and some fluffy new towels. The rattling of water running through the pipes started up within minutes of Brian retreating to his bedroom and carried on for a long, long time. He was surprised the hot water would last that long. And he was glad he’d thought of such a simple, yet well-appreciated, gift.

In the morning, the thank you he found on the table was a beautiful, hand-carved, tiny wooden car. It was obviously carved out of a single piece of the scrap lumber that Brian had discarded from his reno project. It was shaped like a little toy truck, very lovingly detailed and had wheels that actually turned. The perfect finishing touch was a miniature license plate carved on the car’s back bumper that read ‘Gus’. Brian was amazed at the skill and care it had taken to create such a thing, not to mention the time put into it. He knew Gus would love it. Brian loved it too.

It made him even more eager to finally meet the incredible craftsman and artist who had been hidden away for so long in the moldy depths of some ramshackle, dilapidated house in the wilds of rural West Virginia.

When Brian got a call from Penny later in the week, asking him to come over and help her clear some branches that had fallen on her shed after a big storm blew through, he thought he’d take advantage of the opportunity to learn more about his stowaway. Brian promptly agreed to help his neighbor and was over to her place in under an hour. When he arrived, he was surprised to see another car in the driveway and, when the door was opened to him, even more surprised to see Oscar sitting at Penny’s table.

“Thanks for coming over, Brian,” Penny greeted him with her usual friendly, gap-toothed grin. Then she leaned in to murmur more quietly, “Oscar was going to help, but I didn’t want him lifting those heavy branches all by himself, you know.”

“I may be getting a little hard of hearing, woman, but I still have two good eyes and I can tell when someone’s talking about me,” Oscar cautioned with fake anger. “Afternoon, Brian. Care for a mug of coffee before we tackle that mess out in the yard?”

Brian accepted the offered coffee, joining Oscar at the table. Penny puttered around the kitchen, offering to make them food, and otherwise seeing to her men. She seemed flustered by all the maleness in her kitchen. Brian also noted the little, extra touches and attentions the older woman was paying to Oscar. Obviously, there was something more than met the eye going on between the two of them, but Brian didn’t ask because, the only thing more frightening than straight people having sex was OLD straight people having sex. Gross. So he kept his eyes on his coffee cup and tried not to even think about such things. After a few minutes of this, when the oldsters seemed to be done with their strange, hetero, mating displays, Brian finally looked up from his coffee and broached the subject that he’d been hoping to talk about.

“So, I’ve come across a few more things of Justin Taylor’s. A couple of drawings,” Brian ventured, not explaining that the drawings had actually been given to him rather than unearthed in the cleanup process. “He seems like a really good artist.”

“Oh, Lordy, yes. That boy was amazing when it came to getting a person’s likeness down on paper. He was always scribbling away, every time you’d see the boy. He did this one picture of my Roddy . . . Now, where did I put that . . .” Penny scurried away, ruffling through some papers in the big roll-top desk in the corner and eventually coming across what it was she was looking for. “Here it is. That sweet boy drew this of Roddy one afternoon while we were having a cookout. He claimed it was just a doodle, not very good, but I just loved it. It captures Roddy’s sense of humor perfectly. Don’t you agree, Oscar?”

Brian looked at the rough charcoal sketch and was impressed. It really did show the man’s wisecracking nature. And the artist’s use of negative space was inspired. Brian couldn’t believe this had been done by a teenager.

“It’s just a shame what Craig did to that boy. But then again, he was always so hard on him. I think it was because he just never got over what happened with Jennifer,” Penny explained in a hushed voice, looking on the the drawing with a melancholy air.

“I’m sure it was just as hard on Justin - losing your mother at such a young age has to be as difficult, if not more so, than losing a wife,” Brian argued, really not inclined to give an abusive prick like Craig Taylor any leeway.

“I agree with you, son,” Oscar interjected with his fatherly air. “But rightfully or not, Craig always did blame Jennifer’s death on the boy to some extent.” Brian looked at the man with confusion, prompting a fuller explanation. “You see, the weekend that Jennifer and her daughter were killed, Craig had taken Justin to a choir competition over in Wheeling . . .”

“Oh, that boy could sing like a canary,” Penny interrupted, adding her piece to the story. “He had such a sweet voice, you know. But Craig was always so dismissive. Apparently, singing wasn’t manly enough for Craig. It weren’t til the high school choir won that award and got into the state championships that he took it serious, like.”

“Which is why Craig and the boy weren’t in the car with Jennifer and little Molly when they got killed,” Oscar took up the narrative again. “They were in the middle of the competition when Craig got word of the accident. And he always blamed the boy afterwards. I heard him say, many a time, how it was Justin’s fault he wasn’t there and that, if he hadn’t been farting around with the fairy choir boys, he would have been driving that day and he’d have been able to avoid the truck that plowed into their car. Which is a load of horse-pucky, if you ask me. But Craig was always railing on the boy about it nonetheless.”

“Fucking bastard,” Brian mumbled, even more angry at the brute than he had been before. “Blaming his son for something the kid had no control over. Typical.”

“I have to agree with you, Brian. I felt just THAT bad for the boy - hearing Craig telling him over and over it was all Justin’s fault. That he was a ‘bad apple’. A ‘bad seed’. That his mother and sister would be alive if it weren’t for him . . .” Penny shook her head sadly. “That’s what makes it so much sadder that Justin disappeared. With his daddy gone, Justin might have been better off. But now, all that potential is wasted.”

They all turned their eyes towards the beautiful drawing once again. Two of them sadly lamenting the boy they thought was lost and the third becoming more determined than ever to bring his ghost boy back to the world. From what Brian had heard so far, the ‘Bad Seed’ of the family wasn’t the young artist hiding in his walls. The bad one was thankfully dead and Justin would, hopefully, be out of hiding soon.

“Well, enough of this palavering,” Oscar announced, draining the last of his coffee and getting to his feet. “You gonna sit around all day gossiping, or you gonna lend me a hand with those fallen branches, Kinney?”

“Lead the way, Oscar,” Brian handed off his mug to Penny and followed the older man out to the yard, happy to put in a little more labor in exchange for all the additional information he’d gained about his Ghost Boy.

Chapter 11 - First Contact.

At the same time Brian and his resident ex-ghost were getting better acquainted, Brian was making great strides on both his book and his house. The majority of the framing on the main floor was now completely done and all the new cabinets and built-in storage centers were up. The plumber had been by and rough plumbed the newly expanded guest bath, although it still needed hooked up to the water supply and sewer lines down in the basement. He'd even started on the drywalling in areas where he knew there wouldn't be any wiring installation needed. Brian thought it was turning out quite well. The open concept modernized the older home nicely and it also made the place look huge. As soon as the electrician did her work, he could finish the rest of the drywalling, paint, refinish the wood floors throughout the Greatroom and the tiling in the bath, and then put up the new molding.

He still had lots of work he wanted to do in the kitchen, but he was waiting on that till after he'd finished the upstairs too, since he couldn't live without a functioning kitchen. Besides, he thought it wise not to mess with that area because it would involve the corner where he suspected Justin might have a hidden exit, and he didn’t want to push his ghost boy too much yet, not when his plans were going so well. And he still had plenty of work to keep him busy in the meantime.

Brian’s writing was going almost as well. He had about fifteen chapters completed - an impressive total of over sixty-thousand words already. He still wasn’t sure exactly how he was going to end the story, though, so before he could write more he needed to sit down, do some serious thinking and outline the second half of the book. However, considering the fact that this was his first real attempt to write fiction, he thought he was doing remarkably well. He liked the plot line he was developing and thought readers would find it interesting too. At least he hoped so. Of course, he hadn’t been brave enough to show it to anyone yet to get a second opinion, so he wasn’t sure. He was gratified to see how far he'd got in such a relatively short time, though, and eager to write more.

Meanwhile, he was equally proud of how far his plans with Justin had progressed. He’d got the boy to accept almost all of the clothing, personal items and art stuff he’d purchased. He was encouraged that the kid hadn’t yet panicked and run. But it was definitely time to move this thing forward if he was ever going to reclaim his basement.

About two weeks into his Get Acquainted Program, Brian decided to move on to his one remaining gift item - the tablet computer. He didn’t know how the boy would take this particular gift, but it would certainly make communicating a lot easier, so Brian was determined to risk it. With this in mind, that night he left the tablet on the kitchen table in the usual spot, with a stickie note on it that said to ‘Push The Button and Follow the Instructions’.

Earlier in the day he’d already set up the tablet the way he wanted it. He’d loaded all the apps he thought would be helpful, including setting up a chat app, facetime, the word processing app he was using to write his book, as well as a couple interesting looking art-related apps that he thought the young artist would enjoy. Brian had also made sure all his contact info was in there, along with some other numbers he thought might come in handy in an emergency. Now, all he had to do was wait and see if the kid would take the bait. He retreated up to his bedroom, sat down at his computer and opened the chat app replaying a conversation he’d started earlier and then went back to his writing to while away the time till he could expect a response.

It was almost an hour later before he heard a *ping* indicating that he had a message. He’d set up the tablet so that the notifications on the lock screen would show at least the beginning of the messages. It should have been enough to let the kid know what to do next. Brian switched to the chat app and smiled when he saw the response to his earlier messages.

Kinney-Tastic: The password is: 6969. Of course.

Kinney-Tastic: When you’ve figured out how to open the chat app, reply to me so we can actually talk without using those stupid stickie notes.

Kinney-Tastic: And no arguing. I already know what you’re going to say. Just take the damned tablet and don’t be a twat, Justin.

Justin must have taken the computer since Brian received the expected reply. The response he got, though, was typically stubborn and non-communicative. It was just one single emoji picture. A blank-faced emoji that resembled a ghost more than anything else.

GhostBoy Taylor: 

The stubbornness, the sheer audaciousness, as well as the evident sense of humor the answer showed, made Brian burst out into a full-rolling, raucous, belly laugh. The kid was ballsy, if nothing else. And obviously smart as a fucking whip. If Brian hadn’t been captivated before, he was now.

Kinney-Tastic: Fine. Be that way, you twat! I didn’t want to talk to you either. 

Brian added his own emoji to his response - a face sticking out it’s tongue and laughing. Of course, being Brian Kinney, he didn't use just any old emojis. He had designer Gaymojis that were much cooler than the standard ones you found on the average keyboard. They got the same point across though.

GhostBoy Taylor: Okay. You want to talk? Tell me why you’re doing this. What do you want from me?

That question left Brian speechless. He didn’t know how to answer his resident ghost because he didn’t really know why he was doing all these things either. If he stopped to think about it, everything he’d done since he moved out to this house had been completely out of character for Brian Kinney. He supposed that, at least at first, it was the intrigue of the situation that had roped him in. Everything about this boy and his strange little life interested him. He couldn’t help his curiosity. Parts of that mystery had even found its way into the novel Brian was writing, so it wasn’t surprising that he wanted to know more.

But there was more to it than that, of course. Curiosity alone didn’t explain why he’d bought into the silly, romantic notion of his house being haunted or why he was now willing to put up with a squatter living in his basement. He supposed part of the reason was that he was a bit lonely. Not that he’d ever admit that out loud. But privately, he had to concede that the Brian Kinney who had grown up a city kid, inured to the noisy, concrete jungles of urban Pittsburgh all his life, was a little daunted by the quiet of his new country life. While he’d always secretly dreamed of moving out of the city and buying the fabled big house in the county, he was finding it a little boring. Which is probably one of the reasons he’d latched onto the mystery of Justin Taylor.

And still, that didn’t totally explain things. Because Brian Kinney would never have put up with just anyone hiding out in his basement. In fact, Brian was kind of amazed at himself putting up with it this long. If it had been anyone other than the fascinating young blond that he’d only glimpsed in the few pictures he’d seen, he was sure he’d have had the sheriff out to evict the guy long before this.

But there was just something about that kid that prevented Brian from taking any action to oust his ghost boy. He couldn’t really say what it was. What quality or charm the boy exuded - even in a three year old picture - that had caught Brian’s attention. It was something indefinable. Something Brian didn’t understand himself. Something that made it virtually impossible for Brian to stop thinking about the boy. And he wasn’t going to let himself examine the fact that the boy’s image had been popping up more often than he’d like in his daily jerk off fantasies. Brian wasn’t ready to analyze any of these factors. It was more than enough to just allow the vague fact that there was something attractive about the pretty young blond with the sweet smile that made Brian hesitate to take any action to get rid of the kid.

Not that Brian was going to admit ANY of this to the kid.

Kinney-Tastic: I have NO idea. Let’s just say that there’s something about all this that amuses me.

There was no answer from his ghost. Apparently his answer was insufficient. Brian couldn’t blame him. He tried again.

Kinney-Tastic: Besides, I can’t get rid of you yet - I’m borrowing your life for my book, and I need to know how it all turns out.

GhostBoy Taylor: My life? I don’t have a life.

Kinney-Tastic: You’d be surprised. With a little creative embellishment, it makes for some great reading. Check it out . . .

Brian added a link to the document where he was writing his novel. He was interested to know what the kid would think about it. Would he hate the way Brian was portraying him? Maybe he’d volunteer more details to help round out the descriptions of his primary characters. At the very least, Justin could give him some initial feedback that Brian could use to refine his story. And, hopefully, it would be one more factor that might encourage the boy to come out of hiding.

Justin didn’t respond to the text message, but Brian was happy to note that an anonymous icon popped up in the document almost immediately. Brian could follow along with the boy’s progress as his hot pink cursor moved along through the text. Since the document was already over 60,000 words, though, it would take the kid quite a while to read it all, and Brian wasn’t going to sit there and watch him read it all night long. The anticipation of that would drive him crazy. Instead, Brian logged out of the doc and decided to go to bed.

Kinney-Tastic: Happy Reading, Justin.

He typed the message and then logged out of the chat app too. Tomorrow would be soon enough to find out what the kid thought of Brian’s novel. In the meantime, he would crawl into bed and try to get some sleep. Or, if sleep wouldn’t come right away, try to amuse himself in some other, more amusing way . . .

When he woke up the next morning, Brian found several comments added to the text of his document. Mostly, they were just corrections to typos he’d missed or word suggestions that had been added where he’d left blanks. He quickly scanned through them all and found that he agreed with most of these suggestions. The boy would make a decent editor. But there was no indication what the boy thought of the story overall, which was what Brian wanted to know more than anything.

Kinney-Tastic: So . . . What did you think?

Brian texted as soon as he was done scanning the comments. The response came back almost immediately, which told Brian that his ghost boy had been waiting for him.

GhostBoy Taylor: Should I be concerned by the fact that you’ve killed me off?

Brian laughed out loud. Again. That was all the kid saw? It figured.

Kinney-Tastic: Well, it *IS* a murder mystery. Somebody has to get killed, right?

GhostBoy Taylor: Not necessarily. You could always change it so that there’s an unexpected twist and it turns out that the body they found wasn’t mine after all. Maybe there was a mix up with the forensics. Or, better yet, maybe they never found an actual body at all and just thought there was a murder but, after a complex investigation, they find the boy is still alive and just hiding out in some unsuspecting city boy’s basement . . .

Kinney-Tastic: Hmmm. So, art imitating life? I suppose that might work.

GhostBoy Taylor: Of course it will work. It’s brilliant. Plus, then I won’t have to worry about you trying to bump me off just so you can write about my death more realistically.

Kinney-Tastic: LOL. Although, now that you mention it, that would definitely add something to my story . . .

GhostBoy Taylor: Trust me, your readers would definitely prefer my story line. Plus, you won’t have to write the sequel from your jail cell.

Kinney-Tastic: You’re no fun. But, okay. If you insist.

GhostBoy Taylor: I do.

Kinney-Tastic: Fine. So, what do you think about that scene in chapter three? Is it realistic enough?

From there on out the discussion became more serious. Brian ran several plot ideas by Justin, who responded intelligently and gave Brian a lot of good suggestions. They worked together like that for more than two hours before Brian realized that he hadn’t even had breakfast yet, let alone his usual pot and a half of coffee. But they’d already got more done than he would have on his own, so he figured it had been time well spent. He messaged Justin that he was going to sign off and thanked him for the assistance. The boy seemed reluctant to let Brian go, offering up a couple of last minute ideas as if to tempt Brian to stick around for longer. Brian resisted though. It was great that the kid had become so invested in the project so fast, but Brian didn't want to let him get off that easily. If he really wanted to continue this, he’d have to come out of hiding. To that end, Brian went ahead and signed off anyway, telling the boy he’d be back on later that evening.

Instead, after he got himself a late breakfast, Brian went to work pulling up the grody old carpeting in all the upstairs bedrooms, taking off the old molding and beginning to disassemble the window casings so he could replace all the old, single-paned windows. It was back breaking work, and he was both tired and sore by the time the sun began to set and he opted to call it a day. Even a long, hot shower didn't do much to rejuvenate him. If he hadn't been so hungry, he would have just crawled into bed despite the fact it was only about seven pm. But his stomach was complaining bitterly about that idea, so Brian straggled down the stairs and made his way to the kitchen, trying to think of something that he could make that would be easy and fast.

As soon as he got there, though, the delicious aromas coming from the oven alerted him to the fact that someone had already saved him the trouble of cooking. He opened the oven door a crack, peeking inside, to find one of Debbie’s casseroles waiting for him. It must have been cooking for a while, since it was already done and just cooling in the still-warm oven. Inside the fridge, there was a small green salad ready to go as well. He was so grateful, he could have kissed his resident ghost, if only Justin would come out of hiding.

Which was a great idea, Brian thought to himself as he grabbed two beers and carried them, along with all the food and two plates over to the table. Grabbing his phone out of his pocket, Brian snapped a quick picture of the well-laden table. Then he typed out a short message and sent it along with the picture.

Kinney-Tastic: This is stupid. Why don’t you just come out and eat with me.

Brian waited a full five minutes. There was no reply. He was too fatigued to be patient.

Kinney-Tastic: Silly Twat! I don’t have all day here. Hurry the fuck up! PS. Your dinner will taste much better if it’s still warm.

Brian sipped at his beer and waited another five minutes. He was starting to get angry. What did the kid think he was going to do to him if he came out? If Brian had wanted to turn him in or even just evict him, he could have done it a long time before. And he wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of buying the kid all that crap, either. Stupid, timid twinks . . .

Right as Brian was working himself up into a really serious mad, he caught a tiny movement out of the corner of his eye from the entrance to the kitchen area. He resisted the urge to spin around and goggle at the person he could feel standing there, waiting uncertainly. Instead he simply reached for the casserole dish and began to spoon out a serving onto his own plate.

“It’s about time. Hurry up, the food’s getting cold and your beer is getting warm,” Brian ordered, sliding the hot serving dish towards the plate waiting for Justin.

With many small, shuffling, hesitant steps, his visitor slowly made his way over to the table, finally sliding into the waiting seat next to Brian. Brian didn’t make a big deal about it. He just passed the bowl of salad to his guest and then started in on his own meal without comment. Justin paused, looking at Brian sideways though a fringe of shaggy blond, nervously biting at his bottom lip all the while, but then proceeded to serve himself, first salad and then a small portion of the cheesy, carb-laden casserole. And since Brian didn’t seem to be making any abrupt movements, simply eating quietly, Justin slowly began to dig into his food as well.

The meal was completely silent. Brian didn’t know what to say and the kid wasn’t talking either. There was an uneasy truce lingering over the table, but it wasn’t a hostile feeling. It was mostly just cautious and careful and uncertain. It was something too new to expose to the harshness of words. It felt like it would break if the silence of the moment was marred by words. So they both proceeded with the utmost caution and held back while they concentrated on the immediacy of the food in front of them.

At the same time, they were each surreptitiously examining the other and assessing the person sitting next to them. Brian saw a skinny, pale-skinned, young man with long, shaggy, poorly-trimmed, chin-length hair. Clearly, the boy hadn’t had much time outdoors lately - there was a pallor about his complexion that didn’t look healthy. Justin was also scarily thin. There were dark hollows in his cheeks and his wrists, showing from under the cuffs of his shirt, were far too bony. The boy was clean, but still looked bedraggled, with most of his baggy, seemingly-too-large clothing showing tears, frayed hems and faded colors. Except for the brand new hoodie he was wearing, of course.

Brian did NOT like what he saw.

Brian suddenly found he wasn’t hungry anymore, despite his long day of labor. He pushed aside his own plate, but reached for the serving dish and spooned out another large serving which he deposited on Justin’s plate without asking permission. Then he got up and grabbed two more beers, setting the spare in front of the boy. After which he just sat there, sipping at his beer and waiting while the kid scarfed down his food as if afraid it would be taken from him. Brian was too angry to think of anything to say. If Craig Taylor had been there at the time, Brian would've killed him all over again

When the boy finished off the last of his food, Brian quietly waited to see if he’d go for a third helping. Justin simply sat there silently, looking down at his plate and saying nothing. Brian didn’t think it wise to push him. He also had some random idea that it was bad to let someone who’d been starved for a long period eat too much right at first. They’d get sick or something. He’d have to work at putting some weight back on the boy slowly. He therefore went ahead and cleared away the plates and dishes, carefully storing the leftovers in the fridge for later. But he did pull out a pint of ice cream he had stashed in the freezer, served up two bowls, stuck a spoon in each and then moved towards the archway leading into the Greatroom.

“You wanna watch a movie or something?” Brian asked, casually gesturing with one of his bowls of ice cream towards the not-yet-finished Greatroom and the new couch he’d just had delivered two days earlier “We can have dessert out there, if you promise not to spill shit all over my new sofa.”

Justin didn’t say a word in response but did get obediently to his feet. Brian nodded and proceeded him out to the living room area. He placed the bowls on the glass-topped coffee table. Then he went over to where the television was set up on a makeshift stand comprised of two large cardboard shipping boxes and perused his selection of movies. He thought about asking the boy what he wanted to watch but decided against it. Justin was so closed off, it would probably be a futile effort. Brian just picked one of his own favorites and called it good, slipping the DVD into the player and punching the button to turn on the big screen television before going back to join the silent boy on the couch.

Brian picked up the remote, hit play, then grabbed his bowl of ice cream and sat back till he was comfortable. “Don’t let that shit melt and go to waste,” he pointed towards Justin’s bowl with an authoritative air as he turned his attention to the movie.

Justin looked from Brian to the sweet treat, clearly assessing what he should do before he gave in and grabbed the bowl of ice cream. Brian was happy to hear the little sigh of happiness when the boy took his first bite. He knew there was a good reason he’d kept this fattening shit in his freezer.

For the next hour and a half, they sat together on the couch, side by side, first eating together in silence and then watching the movie in silence. Brian got up about halfway through the flick and took the dirty bowls back to the kitchen, leaving his guest to the movie, but making a point to bring an old afghan back with him when he returned and casually handing it off to the boy. He also brought back two tumblers of Beam with him, giving one to the younger man before resuming his seat at the far end of the couch. Justin silently took his glass, wrapped up in the warm throw and curled his bare feet under him, all without actually looking at his benefactor. Brian didn’t really mind. He was just glad the kid hadn’t run off as soon as the meal was done.

Unfortunately, Brian had had a long, taxing day of manual labor, and he’d already watched this particular movie so many times that it no longer held his attention. Add in the two beers, the Beam and a nice hot dinner, and he was nodding long before the end of the movie. By the time the end credits were rolling, Brian was snoring away, oblivious to the way his guest’s attention had drifted away from the television and focused on him for the last twenty minutes or so.

When Brian woke up the next morning, he found himself sleeping on the couch, the afghan he’d previously given to Justin now draped over him. His back and neck were killing him due to the cramped position he’d slept in and it took him a little while to wake up all the way. There was no sign of his wayward blond interloper. The only indication that he hadn’t imagined the whole strange, silent evening, was the new drawing waiting on the coffee table showing Brian curled up asleep on the couch with a happy little smile on his slumbering face.

Chapter 12 - Indian Take Out.

For the next few days, the two inhabitants of the house observed a cautious routine. Brian would get up, eat his own breakfast alone, but leave all the fixings out. Then he'd retreat back upstairs to his room to work on his book. When he came back downstairs to refill his giant-sized, travel coffee mug, the rest of the breakfast would have been consumed and the kitchen tidied. In the meantime, Brian’s new editing assistant would have been busy online, following along as Brian wrote, making comments or catching typos, and sometimes even venturing to add a sentence or two of his own creation. Brian found that he and Justin worked well together, their writing styles similar enough that it wasn't at all obtrusive to have the boy shadowing him.

They would break around lunchtime, and after a quick bite, Brian would move on to his second project - the house renovations. Brian didn't know exactly what his ghost boy got up to in the afternoons. Although, when he did venture down to the basement or garage to get tools or carry trash out, he could hear a lot of movement and sometimes even hammering going on behind the hatchway to the crawl space. Meanwhile, his own efforts on the house remodelling were coming along nicely, albeit at a slow pace. He really liked the way the house was shaping up and he liked doing the work himself. It gave him a sense of accomplishment just as satisfying as any work he’d done back in his life as an Ad Exec. His hope was to have the majority of the work done by Christmas so he could invite the entire family out for a big celebration - Debbie would get a kick out of that. At this point it looked like he should be able to make that deadline, even if he might be cutting it close.

In the evenings, Brian would stumble down to the kitchen, worn out by all the physical labor he’d done, and find his dinner waiting for him on the table. The first night, Brian found the food there but no ghost boy and he promptly texted him, ordering Justin to come join him before the food got cold. The boy appeared at the entrance to the kitchen a few minutes later, looking shy and worried. Brian didn’t say anything, he just waved to the seat next to him and waited for Justin to sit down before he started serving out the Taco Salad Casserole that Gloria had sent over for him the day before and which the boy had heated up. The next night, and all subsequent nights, Justin was waiting in the kitchen with the dinner.

The only thing that was bothering Brian about this arrangement was that Justin never said anything while they were together. When they were texting or chatting online while working on Brian’s novel, the boy was gregarious and witty. When he had something to say, he could wax on for a good couple of paragraphs even. But in person, Justin always seemed so scared and self-effacing. It was like he wanted to hide even when he was out in plain view. And beyond just staying mute, the youth’s body language and posture spoke of someone trying not to be seen, as if he was still afraid of something. Brian hoped it wasn’t him that Justin was afraid of. But, in part because of this odd behavior, Brian never pressed for more dinner conversation and their meals together remained silent affairs. Mostly, Brian was just glad the kid was eating regularly again, and hoped it would help put some weight back on him, so he wasn’t about to do anything that might keep Justin away from his dinner.

After they ate, if Brian didn’t have plans to go out, the two of them would gravitate to the living room couch and Brian would turn on the television or put in a movie. Justin never voiced any opinion about what Brian chose to watch. However, he did, over time, become a little more relaxed around Brian. The second evening they sat together, Brian noticed that the boy had brought one of the sketchpads Brian had bought for him and spent his time curled up on the couch, the afghan wrapped around him, happily scratching away at another drawing while the movie played in the background. Once Brian relaxed as well, he found these quiet, comfortable evenings together quite pleasant.

Strangely enough Brian didn't find this weird silent dance he and Justin were doing around each other every evening to be at all awkward. In a way, it was oddly relaxing and peaceful. There was no need to make inane conversation. No useless chatter. No noise just for the sake of noise. And yet, at the same time, the boy’s calm, resolute, presence was reassuring. The mere fact of having another body present, sitting next to him on the couch every night, made Brian feel slightly less lonely. Which was ridiculous, seeing as the boy had always been there, whether or not Brian had known him to be real or not.

Still, he was a little concerned that the boy never said anything at all. He hoped Justin would eventually open up a little. Seeing as the kid hadn't had anyone to talk with for months, if not years, you'd think he'd have a shitload to say, right? But not Justin.

The third night they sat together on the couch, Brian ended the evening, as he usually did, with a polite ‘goodnight’ as he got up to go to bed. Justin, of course, didn't respond. As soon as Brian got upstairs, though, his phone beeped, indicating he had a new message.

GhostBoy Taylor: Goodnight, Brian.

Brian smiled at his phone, inordinately pleased with his boy’s progress. So, maybe the kid hadn’t spoken to his face, but this was something at least. It gave Brian hope that maybe he was breaking down those walls the boy had put up around himself, if only figuratively. He resolved to keep up the pressure and, hopefully, he’d pull down the walls Justin was hiding behind in the real world too.

??

The following night progressed in a similar fashion. Brian and Justin had dinner together in silence and then moved out to the couch to watch one of Brian’s favorite old movies, ‘Key Largo’. He’d always been a sucker for Bogart’s tough guy characters and this was one of the actor’s best. He couldn’t help echoing much of the dialogue as the movie progressed, which didn’t seem to bother Justin even though it violated their unspoken vows of silence. If anything, the boy seemed amused by Brian’s enthusiasm for the dramatic story. When the movie came to it’s happy, and sort of romantic, ending, the boy even offered Brian a small, tentative little smile. Brian, who was still caught up in the fantasy of the film, didn’t even think about it when he reached out to touch Justin’s shoulder affectionately as he got up from the sofa and said goodnight.

Unfortunately, the innocent little touch came along with an unintended zap of static electricity. It wasn’t really anything major and couldn’t have hurt that bad, but Justin jerked away from the touch as if he’d been electrocuted with jumper cables attached to a car battery. He cringed against the arm of the couch, curled up into a little ball of fear, whimpering and panting on the verge of a panic attack. Brian was so surprised he just stood there for several seconds, not really knowing what to do.

“Justin? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?” Brian asked, coming over to kneel down in front of the couch so he could be on the same level as the boy.

Justin only cowered further back into the couch cushions, saying nothing and not meeting Brian’s eyes. This over the top reaction was baffling. That little shock shouldn’t have caused this. But maybe it was more than that? Either way, Brian didn’t think it wise to try and touch Justin again. He didn’t think it would help and might even scare the boy further. Unfortunately, he didn’t think anything he could say would help much either.

Getting back up to his feet with a sigh, Brian resigned himself that there was nothing he could do for Justin. Anything he offered would likely just make things worse. The boy would have to work through whatever this was on his own. Or ask for help if he needed it.

Brian tried to infuse the sad smile he gave the boy with empathy without being burdensome. “I’m going to head on up to bed, Justin. If you need anything, you know where to find me. Goodnight.”

He plodded up the stairs with heavy steps. All the enjoyment he’d felt earlier while watching the movie had evaporated. As he climbed under the covers on his bed, all he could think about was the terror-filled look on the boy’s face. And, because he was so busy brooding, he was still awake about a half hour later when he heard the *ping* from his phone announcing a new message.

GhostBoy Taylor: Sorry about that. I didn't mean to chase you away. I overreacted. It was rude. I just really suck at this whole being human thing. But that's no big surprise - I'm bad at pretty much everything. Anyway, sorry and goodnight.

Brian didn't know how to respond to this message. He didn't know if he COULD respond without going ape shit. The entire thing made him so furious that he wanted to hit something. He was furious at the fact that this blameless boy felt he was so worthless he had to apologize for being hurt and scared. He was furious at Craig Taylor. He was furious at Jack Kinney. He was furious at drunken, homophobic, abusive fathers everywhere. He was furious at a world where they were allowed to subject their children to all their blind hatred. Fuck all the Jacks and Craigs everywhere.

And he was furious at himself because he didn't know how to fix it.

Kinney-Tastic: No biggie. Goodnight, Justin.

Brian shot off the terse reply. He didn't know what to say to the boy. He didn't know how to make it better. He sometimes felt like he was pretty bad at the whole being human thing too.

Then he set aside his phone, rearranged his pillows to make himself more comfortable, and continued to brood about all the abusive fathers he’d like to kill for at least another hour before he finally fell asleep.

The following day, it was like nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary had happened. Justin was online with Brian as he was writing, following along with him and making comments just like usual. Justin’s comments might have been a bit less animated than Brian had come to expect, but other than that, there was no other sign that the kid had had a total melt down the night before. Brian didn’t know what to think or how to react, so he did nothing. But when he came up to get a shower after his afternoon’s work, he noticed that there was a new addition to his desk.

Sitting in front of the computer was a simple yet functional desktop organizer shelf. It had been constructed out of another scrap of the junk wood that Brian would have normally thrown out. It had a little tray for paper clips and pens, a stand where he could prop up his phone, and it was raised so that his keyboard would fit under it when he wasn’t typing. It was perfect. And very thoughtful.

Kinney-Tastic: So this is what you’ve been working on with all that noise you’ve been making? Nice. Thanks.

GhostBoy Taylor: 

Brian liked the smile he got back from the boy almost as much as he liked the present. If only he could get a real smile out of his ghost. And maybe a real word or two as well.

Brian already had plans to meet up with the gang that night, so he had left off his renovation work early and planned to head out as soon as he was done cleaning up. He only stopped into the kitchen long enough to tell Justin he was going out for the night. He thought Justin seemed a bit crestfallen at the news, but it was hard to tell because the boy rarely even looked directly at Brian, let alone said anything. Brian warned him not to let the dinner that was already waiting on the table go to waste - he, himself, would eat out with the boys - and reminded Justin that he’d picked up some atrociously fattening chocolate cookies for dessert. Then Brian grabbed his wallet off the kitchen counter and was out the door, on his way to a night of happy debauchery.

“Yoo Hoo! Brian! We’re over here, Sweetie!” Emmett hollered at him before Brian had even taken two steps past the front door at Woody’s.

“You don’t have to yell, Emmy Lou. It’s not like you guys ever sit at a different table you know. And even if you did, I’m pretty sure I could find you. This place isn’t THAT big,” Brian chided him, without any real heat to his words, as he slouched into the seat that was waiting for him.

“I just didn’t want you to get side tracked by any of the scrumptious offerings between here and the door, Honey,” Emmett explained with a facetious smile at the big Stud. “Michael is running late, you see, and he made me promise that I wouldn’t let you disappear with your first trick of the night before he got here.”

“What does it say that Brian can’t go more than five meters without finding a trick and I’ve been walking around here all day . . .” Ted complained quietly into his long island iced tea.

“Now, now, Teddy. Don’t be so hard on yourself. What about that little hottie you hooked up with Saturday night at Babylon. What was his name? Blaine?” Emmett replied, trying to be supportive.

“It was Blake, actually, and we did have a great time. But I doubt anything will come of it. He’s way too cute and smart and young for me.”

“Stop being such a wet blanket, Theodore,” Brian ordered as he poured himself a beer from the waiting pitcher. “You’re not completely unattractive. If you weren’t so down on yourself all the time, you’d get laid a lot more often. And if this chicken likes you, you should go for it. Who cares how old he is. Maybe he likes prime, aged meat,” Brian advised with his usual mix of insult and wisdom.

“Thanks, Brian . . . I think.” Ted shook his head. “But he’s really young. I think he’s about ten years younger than me. That kind of thing never works, you know. And I don’t want to set myself up just to fail.”

“Chronological age doesn’t matter, Teddy. It’s how old you are on the inside that counts,” Emmett insisted knowledgeably.

“Yeah, that’s not going to help much, Emmy Lou. If you go by mental age, Theodore’s about a hundred and thirty five,” Brian ribbed his friend. “But, I have to agree with Honeycutt. As long as the guy’s legal, it shouldn’t matter how old he is. If you get along, you get along. As long as the two of you don’t mind that you’re twelve years apart, why should anyone else care.”

“Well, we’re not that far apart,” Ted corrected. “He’s twenty-five, so that’s only about nine and a half years between us. Twelve would be a bit much I’d think.”

Brian found himself scowling into his beer at this pronouncement, but he didn’t bother to argue his point further. Twelve years wasn’t that big a difference. What did losers like Ted and Emmett know about shit, anyways, right? Luckily, Michael arrived just then and all the talk of age differences between couples was forgotten.

“Brian! You made it! I'm so glad. It’s been so long since we saw you, I was beginning to think you were being held captive in your cursed house by the ghost,” Michael teased as he leaned over the table to give his old friend a kiss hello.

“Fuck you, Mikey. My house isn’t cursed,” Brian argued, strangely offended by his friend putting down his house.

“When are you going to give it up with that ghost talk, Michael,” Ted refuted the outlandish claims. “We’ve talked about this before. It’s nonsense.”

“It’s NOT nonsense, Ted. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Pretty much every time I’ve gone out there, something has disappeared right out from under my nose. It’s GOT to be a ghost. There’s no other explanation. Right, Brian?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to Brian, waiting for his opinion on the matter. But Brian was strangely reluctant to refute his friend’s assertions. Obviously, his house wasn’t haunted, unless you counted the wholly corporeal and solid young blond that occupied it. Brian wasn’t sure, though, that he was ready to explain about Justin to the gang.

First of all, he didn’t know what they’d think about him harboring a squatter. Ted, probably, would insist that he immediately have the kid evicted, or even towed into jail for theft or some such nonsense. Michael would, of course, back Ted up while being outraged on Brian’s behalf at the way Justin had used Brian and abused his generosity. And Emmett . . . well, Emmett would no doubt think the whole story was cute and romantic and be all annoying about everything. None of those approaches appealed to Brian. Besides, what he chose to do about Justin wasn’t any of their business. It was his house and he could let anyone he wanted stay in it, right? If he told the guys his story, they’d just cause problems and stick their noses in and mess everything up.

So, Brian lied.

“Don’t be talking shit about my ghost, Mikey. He and I have an understanding. Besides, he doesn’t JUST take stuff - he brought back the keys to the freezer, remember? He’s actually quite handy to have around and I think I’m going to keep him.”

“Awww! That’s so sweet, Brian. So, how’s the plan to teach him to give blow jobs going?” Emmett asked, sticking to his priorities.

That little joke got everyone off Brian’s back about the matter, and they all moved on to the usual talk of sex acts, tricks and cock sizes, which was par for the course for a night out on Liberty Avenue.

Four hours later, they were all leaving Babylon together after a satisfying - well, for Brian, at least, it had been satisfying - night of dancing, drinking and dick. Brian had made good use of the backroom with a string of willing tricks and was feeling refreshed and re-energized. When the others demanded that they stop by a local Indian food restaurant for take out to cure their post-club munchies, Brian went along. But, at the last minute, he saw something else he would rather have that wasn’t on the menu. And, while the others headed home with their food, Brian took home the yummy looking Indian waiter.

He didn't know what it was about this guy - the soft-looking, coffee-colored skin, the guy’s graceful, slight build, or the long, thick, black hair that looked like it would be fun to pull on while he pounded into him from behind - but Brian was starving and more than ready to dig into his Indian take out long before they made it all the way out to the West Virginia house. As soon as the Jeep was parked, he was around the front, pulling open the passenger-side door, with his lips attached to the trick’s mouth as if he could eat the man alive from the inside out. They stumbled up the front walk like that, not bothering to speak except for the man whispering things to him in Hindi. The exotic words and soft voice were driving Brian mad. He fumbled to get the door open and then tugged the trick inside with him without even looking where he was going . . .

. . . Only to surprise his resident ghost boy in the middle of a hot and heavy session of his own, with another of Brian’s porn flicks playing on the TV, while he whacked off on the couch.

Justin, who had been surprised in mid whack with his pants pooled around his knees and his hand on his dick, stared at the newcomers with guilty surprise. There was a little bit of fear there too. That was quickly dispelled though when Brian broke out in a hearty laugh at the unanticipated scene.

“Don’t mind us, Ghost,” Brian insisted as he dragged his trick over to greet the boy. “We wouldn’t want to interrupt. In fact, maybe we’ll join you. I love this part.” Brian pointed to the scene playing on the television screen, which coincidentally showed the actors bent over the back of a couch and going at it like lusty bunnies.

“I do not mind a threesome,” the Indian Take Out spoke up. “But is he not a bit young.”

“Not that I'd mind either, but Justin here isn't really a joiner,” Brian reassured his Take Out. “That shouldn't be a problem, though. It's a big couch and we only really need the back. GhostBoy doesn't even have to move.”  

Brian towed his trick around to the back of the couch, tore off the Indian man’s shirt, and bent Take Out Boy over the back of the couch, mimicking the scene flickering away on the television set. Then, with a confident tug, he pulled the man’s pants down over the slim hips with one hand and fished a condom out of his pocket with the other. Justin, meanwhile, sat there frozen on his end of the sofa, watching all this with a shell-shocked expression.

“Mind handing me the lube, Ghost?” Brian asked, pointing to the bottle waiting on the floor at Justin's feet.

In a daze, the blond boy held out the lube. Brian cupped his hand around the pump top dispenser and pushed with his thumb until a nice sized puddle filled his palm. Then he nodded agreeably to his assistant, letting Justin know he was good, before applying the slippery substance first to his sheathed dick and then to Take Out’s ass. Take Out Trick seemed okay with the arrangement, and happily began moaning out his approval of Brian's excellent fingering technique. Brian worked quickly so that his partner was ready for him to slip inside in time to catch up with the couple on screen. And, before you could say ‘Butthole Bingo’, Brian was pounding into his Indian Take Out in time with the porn actors, pulling at that long black hair with wild abandon, while poor Justin sat there still wondering what the fuck was happening.

If Brian hadn’t been so busy, he might have taken the time to laugh out loud at the Ghost Boy’s expression as his head swiveled back and forth from the porn playing out on the television to the porn happening in real time just in front of his eyes. The youth’s countenance showed such an amazing array of emotions that it was downright comical. The overwhelming emotion, as you might expect, was confusion, which was evidenced by the slack jawed mouth and the wrinkled brow. But there was a lot more going on in there: shock, disbelief, disapproval, guilt, and maybe a little disgust. There was even some of that fear Brian had glimpsed earlier, which he still didn’t understand completely. But there was also curiosity and a touch of respect for the audaciousness of the man who was staging this spectacle. And beneath it all, there was a flicker of lust that started out so small it was almost invisible, but which gradually grew until it became an overriding compulsion. Before the kid even knew what he was doing, Brian saw his hand drifting back down to his refilling dick, the fingers beginning to play tentatively along the sensitive tip of the boy’s pretty pink pecker.

Once Brian saw that his resident spook was finally starting to enjoy himself, the Stud let himself go. He started to really work Take Out’s ass, adding in more finesse to the fuck so that he was nailing the guy’s sweet spot on every thrust. Take Out Boy’s moaning crescendoed exponentially. And so did Brian’s enjoyment level. Not only did he have the pleasure of a tight ass wrapped around his dick, but he was being entertained by the erotic antics of a truly inspired porn team on the television, at the same time as he was treated to the first glimpse of his little ghost's lusty masturbatory fun. Triple the pleasure, triple the fun!

The couple on the television were the first to finish, shooting their loads on cue with the staged perfection of any good porn performance. Take Out, who must have been watching while he was being fucked, followed immediately after, his ass pulsing around Brian’s cock in the perfect rhythm to bring the Stud to that exquisite pinnacle where pleasure erupted all around and inside and everywhere he looked. Brian took one last thrust, held the trick’s hips still, gave a heartfelt groan, and then let the electrical short circuit of his orgasm wash over him. Just as the last wave of pleasure began to ebb and Brian was once again able to open his eyes, he was rewarded with another jolt of pleasure as Justin’s cock exploded with the boy’s own burst of release.

“Not bad!” Brian pronounced when the fireworks were over and he was able to pull out of Take Out’s ass.

Brian smiled at the plucky phantom boy who politely offered him a cum towel with downturned eyes and a self-effacing manner. The kid really was too fucking sweet. Brian thanked him, used the towel and then handed it off to Take Out, who needed it a lot more than him if the cum dripping down his chest was any indication. Justin meanwhile looked like he was trying to melt out of existence, apparently embarrassed now that the fun was over and people were looking at him. Brian still found it strange that such a bright, otherwise personable young man, would act so afraid of normal human contact. The mystery surrounding this boy was almost palpable. Brian felt compelled to keep at it until he’d figured the kid out.

“You know what?” Brian turned to his Indian Take Out. “I thought I was in the mood for an exotic, all night, all-you-can-eat, Indian feast, but . . . I’m really not hungry any more. You might as well get dressed and I’ll call you a cab.”

Take Out voiced a complaint, since apparently he WAS still hungry for more of Brian, but the Stud ignored him. Instead, he picked the man’s abandoned clothing up off the floor, tossed them at Take Out’s head, and then quickly dialed the number of the local cab company on his cell phone. While all this was taking place, Justin had discreetly got up, pulled up his own pants and started to put away the incriminating porn DVD. When it looked like the ghost boy was about to scamper off back into hiding, Brian halted him with a gesture, pointing the kid back to the couch. Justin sighed and, with an expression like a dog who expected to get beaten, shuffled over to the sofa and resumed his seat. Brian just shook his head at the silly little drama princess before joining him on the couch.

Without another word, Brian switched the TV to a station that played old black and white movies and settled back against the cushions. The Take Out’s cab arrived a couple of minutes later. Brian barely acknowledged the trick’s goodbye or the slip of paper the guy left on the table by the door with his phone number and an offer to do it again sometime. As soon as the door closed behind the Indian man, Justin sighed in relief. Brian smiled over at the shy boy, pulled the afghan up off the floor where it had fallen and flung it over his ghost’s thin shoulders.

“So, that was interesting, huh?” Brian commented.

And when the boy shrugged noncommittally, Brian took it as a win. At least he was responding in some fashion. It was progress, right?

Chapter 13 - Talking Points.

After seeing the GhostBoy getting his shy little kink on the night before, Brian was more eager than ever to draw him out of his shell. He decided to step up his efforts to at least get the kid to talk to him. Hell, if Justin was okay with jerking off in his presence, the little haunt could at least TALK to him, right?

To that end, Brian made it a point of finishing up his afternoon reno work early enough to get in a trip to the store before dinner. After a quick shower - complete with a rather nice interlude involving his right hand, his dick, and a rather erotic image of a certain Phantom Boy - Brian got dressed and sat at his computer. A couple of clicks with the mouse easily brought up the Facetime app. And, a second later, the call was ringing through to Justin’s tablet computer.

The call rang several times. Brian was afraid for a moment that his trick wasn’t going to work. Then, just when he was about to hang up, the call was answered and the screen lit up . . . well, sort of. Brian could tell the call had been answered, because of the way the screen changed, but he couldn’t really see anything on Justin’s end of the call. Apparently, it was almost completely dark where Justin was. Brian couldn’t even see Justin’s face. The tablet seemed to be pointed so it was facing a wall - Brian could just make out some shelves, but no GhostBoy. And, to make things worse, there was no ‘hello’ in greeting.

“This is Facetime, Justin. You’re supposed to be in front of the tablet so the camera can see your face, not have the damned thing pointing at a wall,” Brian groused, shaking his head at the computer.

After a rather long pause, Justin moved the tablet around a bit so Brian could see at least the top half of his face. It was still very dark, even from this new angle, so Brian really couldn’t see anything more of Justin’s surroundings than before. He could barely see Justin’s head, for that matter. Oh well, so much for that part of his plan. But the real reason had been to try and get the kid to talk, so he’d keep trying.

“That’s a little better, I suppose,” Brian conceded, although he suspected Justin was misdirecting the picture on the call on purpose, at least partly to annoy his caller. “I’m going to the store to pick up a few things. What do you need?”

Brian could see Justin’s forehead wrinkling up in confusion but there were still no words.

“I repeat, what do you need at the store, Justin?” Brian spoke up again, this time letting a little more exasperation come out in his tone.

Brian let another thirty seconds tick by without a response before he pressed again.

“Is this question particularly difficult for you or are you just trying to piss me off?” That caused Justin to look away and down from the camera, reducing what Brian could see of the boy to just the crown of his golden-topped mop of hair. “Come on, GhostBoy. You must have gone through some of that crap I got you a few weeks ago by now. Don’t you need anything? Toothpaste? Pencils? More lube? What?” When another fifteen seconds went by in silence, Brian let his annoyance have rein. “Shit, Justin. Would you please just tell me what you need already. I’m not going to bite your head off for daring to have used up all the fucking toothpaste and I wouldn’t have asked you what you needed if I had an issue buying you stuff. So, just speak up already. I’m not getting any younger here.”

Justin’s head tilted upwards enough that Brian could once again see the gemstone blue eyes via the camera.

“Soap?”

The word came out very hesitantly and was more a question than an assertion, but all Brian cared about was that he'd succeeded in his quest to get the boy to finally talk. He'd actually been halfway wondering if the kid was mute or something, what with how reluctant he’d been to talk. Or, maybe, he’d been alone and in hiding for so long that he’d forgotten HOW to speak. But the word came out in a clear, soft tenor that dispelled any doubts Brian might have had. It meant that Brian’s shy sprite COULD speak, and therefore his reluctance wasn’t physical. Which was almost more disturbing, because it meant there were other, darker, deeper problems causing the kid’s overwhelming shyness.

But Brian couldn’t solve all his ghost’s issues in one sitting. It was going to be a long process. Getting the boy to talk was only the first step. A really big step. But Brian wasn’t going to push him any further right at that moment.

“Okay. Soap. No problem. If you think of anything more, just call or text me. Later, Ghost.”

Brian didn’t wait for a ‘goodbye’, thinking he’d already pressed his luck enough for one day. He’d got one word. That was pretty good, considering his target. He could work with that. He just terminated the call and promptly headed out on his errand.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite eye candy!” Sue Ann brayed as Brian came through the door of her little food mart about ten minutes later. “You know, Darling, I really needed a pick me up this afternoon and you’re just the ticket. Come over here and let me hug you - that way I can tell all the girls I got felt up by a tall, handsome stranger at work today and they’ll all be jealous! I’ll be the talk of the quilting club for the next month!”

Brian laughed out loud. He always got a kick out of Sue Ann’s over the top flirting. She was like Debbie Novotny on steroids. Of course, he couldn’t refuse her demand for a hug, even though he wasn’t really a ‘hug’ kind of guy. He stepped closer and let her envelope him in her lavender-perfumed embrace, even playing along sufficiently to give the lady a tiny peck on her cheek. She pecked back, a little more lingeringly. He quickly decided, though, it would be wise to pry himself out of the beldame’s arms before matters got too serious - especially since Brian soon discovered he wasn’t the one doing the feeling up.

“Down, girl! What would your husband say?” Brian teased as soon as he felt his person was safe from further molestation.

Sue Ann just shrugged noncommittally. “A lady never kisses and tells . . . so he won’t say anything,” she joked back with a saucy wink.

“Does he know just how naughty you are?”

”Of course. Why do you think he married me?” she laughed with the open, joyful, mischievous laughter Brian had come to expect of this strange woman who made his shopping trips such an entertaining experience. “Now, Sugar, not that I don’t enjoy teasing you, but I suspect you came in here for something other than my scintillating personality. What can I help you with today?”

“Well, since you’re offering . . . I’m thinking about trying my hand at cooking - I know, it’s shocking - but don’t faint before you help me find something I can cook without looking like a total loser.”

“Oh. That’s so cute. A man trying to cook.”

“Hey, you. Lots of men cook quite well, I’ll have you know,” Brian chided her. “Not me, of course, but other men cook. My friend, Emmet, for instance. He’s amazing behind a stove. Of course, he’s also the nelliest queen in Pittsburgh, but that’s neither here nor there. And since he’s not here to help me, I’m relying on you. So, do you have anything in this place that constitutes actual food?”

“Hmmmm. Are we talking dinner for one . . . Or two?” Sue Ann asked with her nosiest stare.

“Two,” Brian answered, without further explanation.

“Ahhhhh! That’s a different story. If it were just you, I’d shove a can of soup in your hand and call it good. But, if you’re entertaining company, we want to ensure you make a good impression on the young man, now don’t we,” the woman beamed at him, thrilled she’d been let in on this little tidbit of information and clearly determined to make Brian shine. “Let’s see now . . .”

A half hour later, Brian was loaded down with several shopping bags full of food and a hand written recipe for Sue Ann’s signature Pasta Salad. He was amazed that Sue Ann had managed to find all the ingredients for the dish in her rather unprepossessing little mini-mart. Before he left, though, Brian thought of one last thing, and decided to use it to press his advantage one more time.

With his phone in hand, Brian tapped at the FaceTime icon and a second later the call was ringing through to Justin.

“Hey, you,” Brian said as soon as the call was answered and he once again saw the top of Justin’s head framed by the dark wall behind him. “I’m bringing home dinner, so don’t start anything else, okay?” He got only a nod in response, but hadn’t really expected anything more so he just plowed on. “I was going to get ice cream for dessert. What do you like better?” Brian turned the phone so that the camera could see the freezer with the ice cream selections. “They’ve only really got three choices: Chocolate, Vanilla, and Mint Chocolate Chip. What’s your pick?”

Brian waited patiently, holding the phone so the camera stayed focused on the freezer, not willing to give in on this until he got a response.

Finally he got a quiet, tentative answer. “Mint. Please.”

Brian turned the camera back around so the boy would see his face and smiled. “You got it, Ghost. Later.”

“Was that your young man?” Sue Ann couldn’t help but pry as Brian took the ice cream over to the counter and added it to his other purchases.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell either, you know,” Brian cautioned her with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows which sent Sue Ann off in a paroxysm of girly giggles that belied her age.

“You certainly are a breath of fresh air in this boring little town, Brian Kinney,” Sue Ann announced as she added the ice cream to his bags of loot.

“Back at you, Ms. Sue Ann,” Brian replied, blowing her a kiss as he backed out of the door, arms full of brown paper bags, headed to his car and prepared to do battle with his kitchen in an attempt to master the highly rarified culinary arts for his resident ghost.

When Brian got back to the house, he put away all the groceries and then started right in on his dinner creation. Sue Ann’s recipe didn’t look that complicated, but Brian read it through three times just to be sure he knew what he was doing. He really wasn’t that confident in the kitchen, and he didn’t want to come off looking like a total dweeb who couldn’t even make fucking pasta. It seemed pretty straightforward though.

First he took the pre-cooked, frozen chicken breasts of out their package and set them aside. Next, he filled a large pot up with water and started that boiling on the back burner. While he was waiting for the water, he began assembling and preparing his vegetables. The recipe called for diced red and green peppers, olives, sliced tomatoes, capers and cilantro. The only item Sue Ann didn’t have in her roadside store was the fresh cilantro, but she had dug up a small can of dried parsley flakes, which she said would do in a pinch. All the rest of the items though were waiting and ready to be prepared. They’d be added to the cooked pasta along with some diced cheese, the whole concoction dressed with olive oil, and then garnished with the sliced chicken breasts on top. Elegant, filling and simple enough that even a kitchen neophyte like Brian couldn’t mess it up too much.

Or so he hoped.

Brian had just started on the tomatoes when he was startled by a small noise coming from over his right shoulder. He spun around, still holding the knife, only to find his very own spook standing there behind him in the kitchen. Justin looked apologetic and maybe a bit fearful at the fact that Brian was standing there pointing a knife at him.  

“Shit, Justin,” Brian cautioned, turning back to his work. “You shouldn’t pull that ghost stuff and sneak up on me like that. Not when I’m holding a knife, anyways. I might have cut off something important. Like a finger . . . or even worse, my dick,” Brian added, trying to lighten the mood a bit.

He noticed Justin still standing there biting at his thumbnail as if he wasn't sure how angry Brian really was. It bothered Brian that the kid was always so unsure of everything. He needed to remember that Justin was still a little too fragile for Brian’s oftentimes biting sense of humor. And, even though it wasn’t really Brian’s style, this young man needed to be handled with kid gloves. At least for the time being. Brian did hope that someday, the bright, strong, and intelligent man he’d sometimes had glimpses of, would break through that timid exterior.

“Here,” Brian held out the knife he’d been using with the blade turned down. “You can get started on the peppers. They need to be diced. Think you can handle that?”

Justin nodded and accepted the knife, allowing Brian to turn back to his own work on the tomatoes. They worked quietly, side by side, for a few minutes. It was good. The boy seemed comfortable enough, standing there next to him, working together. To Brian’s mind, that was a sign that the kid was ready for more, so he decided to press his luck and break their self-imposed rule of silence.

“Your soap is over there on the counter,” Brian tilted his head to the side to indicate the direction. “I wasn’t sure what kind of soap you wanted so I got you both shower gel and some hand soap. Sue Ann’s store didn’t have anything real nice, so you’re going to have to bear with Ivory and Old Spice - which I, personally, can’t stand, since my grandfather used that stuff and it always reminds me of the bastard every time I smell it, but whatever. If you hate it, I can get you something better tomorrow when I go into town. I have to make a trip into the home center to look at plumbing fixtures. The plumber is going to be here in a few days and I need to decide if I should go with the brushed chrome or maybe something more rugged. I saw some really nice-looking copper fixtures online, but I want to look at it in person before I shell out the bucks to buy that stuff - it isn’t cheap, you know . . .”

Brian chattered away, filling the kitchen with words, and waiting until he noticed the ghost becoming accustomed to the experience. Meanwhile, he was moving around the space, working on his dinner preparations, acting almost as if the boy wasn’t there. He had already added the pasta to the pot of bubbling water. Next, according to his instructions, he needed to pan sear the chicken breasts. And it was all going well, too, until the pasta started boiling over right as he noticed that the heat under the chicken was too high and the meat was starting to get a little burned.

He didn’t know which part of his dinner to save first.

“Damn it!” Brian cursed, shoving the small frying pan with the meat off to the side and grabbing for the pasta pot with his bare hands, only to curse again when he burned himself on the water bubbling out of big pot. “Fuck!”

Thankfully, his savior spirit boy jumped in and took the hot pot away from him before he dropped it. Justin had been smart enough to wrap a dish towel around his own hands first, of course. Once he’d relocated the pasta to a back burner over a much lower flame, he rescued the chicken as well, adding some additional olive oil to the pan to prevent the meat from sticking and burning again.

Brian watched this efficiency with a strange sense of pride. The kid definitely knew what he was doing in a kitchen and, when he wasn’t acting all self-conscious, he handled himself well, taking charge and calmly saving their dinner from complete destruction. Brian was happy to let him take over while he moved over to the sink and ran cool water over his burned fingers.  

“So, I guess it’s pretty clear who should take over the cooking duties for the household, huh?” Brian laughed as he dried off his hand and examined the damage, which was thankfully minor. “I’ve always been much better in the bedroom than I am in the kitchen, I’m afraid.” Brian’s joke was rewarded with a tiny, almost inaudible, huff of laughter coming from the little chef. “I think, maybe, I can handle some more of the prep work, though . . . Under your supervision, of course. So, what do you want me to do, Maestro?”

Justin turned and smiled up at Brian - a relaxed, confident, mirthful smile that actually reached his sparkling blue eyes - and the sight took Brian’s breath away.

The boy had always been attractive, of course. Even that old photo of him from three years before had been enough to intrigue Brian. But when that brilliant, blindingly bright smile hit you full on, in person, it was enough to blow a person away. Brian had seen a lot of attractive men over the years - hell, he’d fucked most of them - but there was just something about this boy that defied description. That realization was disturbing, as was the strange flip-flop feeling in his gut, and it took Brian a second or two to recover his usual, carefree demeanor before he noted the jar of olives that the boy was still pointing at.

With a mute nod, Brian picked up the jar, drained the olives and deftly began to slice them in half, as Sue Ann’s directions had instructed.

The rest of the evening seemed to pass by in a bit of a daze for Brian. The dinner came out alright in the end and the two men ate companionably together, but Brian was at a loss to make further conversation. Afterwards, they relocated to the couch and watched something on television, as per their usual routine, although Brian couldn’t tell you what it was. Justin seemed rather happy with his bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream, his sketchpad on his knee and the noise of the television burbling away in the background. And, when the movie finished and Brian got up to head off to his solitary bed, the boy hit him once more with another of those damn, sweet, sunshiney smiles - totally throwing him all over again. Even more stupefying, the ghost actually said a polite, quiet, ‘Goodnight, Brian’, before he got up and shuffled towards the basement stairs.  

As Brian stumbled up the stairs to his bedroom, he was struck by the thought that, even though he didn’t have a real ghost in his house, he was now haunted . . . by a smile he couldn’t get out of his head.

Chapter 14 - The Ice Breaker.

“Good morning, Sunshine!”

The sappy, sentimental greeting rolled off Brian's tongue without his permission or conscious will. He mentally cursed himself for FaceTimeing instead of just texting his morning message to the ghost. If he’d texted, he could have stopped himself from saying such shit and sounding like a fool. But, since he couldn't take it back, he bravely plowed on into the meat of his subject.

“I'm heading into town first thing this morning to check out the plumbing and electrical fixtures I was talking about. I'm going to pick up Gus on my way back. But, in between, I should have time to stop at the store, so speak up now if you need anything.”

Not unsurprisingly, the ghost didn’t say anything. Brian couldn’t fault the boy for being overly chatty. But, since the kid had the tablet angled so he could actually see most of Justin’s face this morning - well, what he COULD see in the relative darkness of Justin’s hole - he could at least see that the kid was thinking over his proposal. A full sixty seconds later, when the ghost boy finally did speak up, however, it wasn’t a request that Brian would have expected.  

“Chalkboard paint.”

“Uh, what?” Brian was thrown - of all the things that he would have thought the kid might need or want, why the hell would be he asking for paint? “What the fuck is ‘chalkboard paint’?”

Apparently the spooked specter was scared off by Brian’s too loud questioning. Justin looked away from the tablet’s screen, his lips folded in and his eyes lowered, as if he were either frightened or embarrassed. Damn it, Brian thought to himself, the kid was more skittish than a racehorse. He needed to curb his natural causticness if he was ever going to get anywhere. It was clear that Justin wasn’t going to say anything else now, defeating Brian’s purpose in making the call.  

“Never mind. I’ll figure it out,” Brian answered himself. “If you think of anything else you need, though, just text me, okay?”

All Brian got was tiny nod and then the screen went dark again.

“Fine. Be that way, Ghost. I’ll wear you down yet,” Brian muttered to himself as he gathered his things together and headed down the stairs, already thinking ahead to his errands for the day.

Strangely enough, finding his ghost’s chalkboard paint was the easiest of his errands that day. The guy at the home center store knew just what it was, taking him to the correct shelf and pointing out the smallish can of black paint without a problem. It was also, probably, the cheapest item on Brian’s shopping list. The copper plumbing fixtures and new lighting fixtures he selected were exponentially more pricey. However, he was well satisfied with all his selections and excited to get them installed in the new house. The place was really going to be a showroom by the time Brian was done with it.

Brian’s next stop was the huge one-stop-shopping-groceries-and-everything-else store. He picked up some cleaning supplies for the house and other random things that he could get in bulk, like toilet paper and laundry detergent. Then he turned his mind towards more things his stowaway might need.

Justin was being such a little twat about asking for stuff he undoubtedly needed. Fucking soap and chalkboard paint . . . You’d think a kid who’d been locked up in an abandoned house for months would need more shit than that, right? But, of course, he was too shy or too stubborn or too . . . whatever . . . to just ask for it. Brian could be stubborn too, though, and wasn’t going to let a little thing like lack of communication stop him.

So, what would a kid locked away from the world for months on end need?

The first things that came to Brian’s mind were whiskey, lube and condoms - although he doubted that was what his shy ghost boy would have thought of off the top of his head. He hadn’t seen the boy drink anything harder than a beer or two and there was nobody there for him to fuck, so condoms seemed unnecessary. And Justin had apparently already absconded with Brian’s dildo and lube, so he was set for a while on that front.

Brian had already given him all the toiletries he could think of that the kid might need. Food, of course, came to mind, but he was also already seeing to that need. There had to be something else that he was missing, though. Something more substantial. Something personal. What the kid really needed was a trip to the barber so he could get a haircut, but Brian didn’t think Justin was ready for that. He’d also already exhausted all his ideas for entertainment items the boy might like. So what else was there?

As Brian was wandering through the store, scanning the aisles for ideas, he happened to walk past the aisles that held bedding. That caught his eye right away. From the few little glimpses Brian had caught of the boy’s hidey-hole, he didn’t seem to have many creature comforts. Hell, if Brian had gone months without leaving his room, one of the first things he’d want would be clean sheets. Brian quickly loaded up his cart with four sets of sheets - two each in queen-sized and full, since he didn’t know what size bed the kid had hidden down there - a fluffy new pillow, a fleece blanket and, because he was tired of imagining the boy living in perpetual darkness, a bright LED table lamp. Hopefully, that would equip the kid for awhile. At least until Brian figured out what to do about him.

Then, with the Jeep packed to the gills, full of all his purchases, it was off to get Gus before heading home.

Brian struggled into the house, weighed down by his third load of crap, with Gus perched on his shoulders and kicking at Brian’s chest with his heels to hurry his steed along. The things he’d do to amuse his offspring, right? But he made it into the kitchen and was able to unload the kid as well as the plumbing supplies without incident.

“Hop up here and wash those mitts, Sonny Boy,” Brian directed, lifting the boy up so he could wash his hands at the sink. “Okay, take these plates over to the table for us, please, and I’ll bring your pizza.”

As soon as Brian had Gus settled, happily munching away on a slice of cheese pizza, he fished his phone out of his pocket and tapped out a quick text to summon his GhostBoy.

Kinney-Tastic: Hey, you. Gus forced me to stop on the way home and pick up pizza for lunch. I need you to come up here and help eat it all. Somebody needs to save me from all these carbs. Help!

There was no response, but about two minutes later, a shy blond boy suddenly appeared, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Brian waved him in and pointed to the place already set for him at the table. Justin shuffled over and took the seat without comment.

“Gus, you remember Justin, right?”

“Hi, Boy!” Gus responded, his mouth full of half-masticated pizza.

“Hi, Gus,” Justin answered in his pleasantly soft tenor.

“Here, Ghost. Eat,” Brian ordered, smiling as he heaped three large slices of pepperoni on the younger man’s plate before he turned back to his own Caesar salad.

Luckily for Justin, Gus was too busy chattering away to make it obvious that he wasn't holding up his end of the conversation. Gus had just started preschool the week before and he was totally enamored with everything about his new school. He spent the whole of lunch telling Brian and Justin EVERYTHING he’d done and said . . . and everything his teacher had done and said, and everything all his new friends had done and said, and everything his moms had done or said about school, etc. Brian mostly just tuned the noise out, but Justin seemed to hang on the child’s every word.

“And we gots a cat named ‘Mr. Pickles’. Innit funny! He don’t look like a pickle - he’s furry,” Gus announced and broke into childish giggles at his own joke. “I gets to feed Mr. Pickles next week, Daddy, an I gets to pick which collar he wears - he gots lots of pretty collars, you know.” The next thing Brian knew, the conversation had skiped completely off the track as Gus asked, “Can I gets a cat of my own, Daddy? I wants a black cat and I’m a gonna call him Frank, ‘cuz that’s a good name for a cat, dontcha think?”

“Good luck talking your moms into that, Gus. Personally, I think two dykes is more than enough pussy in one house.”

That comment caused Brian’s little GhostBoy to snort the coke he’d been sipping through his nose. Brian smirked, proud that he’d managed to get such a reaction out of the shy young man, and handed him another napkin. He noted in passing that Justin looked fucking adorable when he blushed like that. Not that Brian would ever voice such lesbianic sentiments.

Brian was ready to wrap up lunch after that though. He grabbed a towel, wet it in the sink, then moved over to wash down his son. Gus was coated liberally with red sauce all over his hands and face by that point, so it took a minute or two.

“How about we go take a walk outside and work off some of that pizza before nap time, Sonny Boy,” Brian proposed when the kid was finally clean.

“Kay! I kin pick up leafs for my teacher - we’re doing pitchers with leafs this week. It’s fun, Daddy. I kin show’s you how to do it too!” Gus hopped down off his chair, rarin’ to go, and turned to their friendly resident ghost. “Come on, Boy. I’ll shows you how to find good leafs.”

Gus had already reached out to grab hold of Justin’s hand before Brian could stop him. Brian was surprised to see that the boy didn’t shy away from the child's touch. But it might have been because Justin was too shocked by the suggestion that he go out on their walk with them.

“I can’t, Gus. I-I . . . I can't go outside . . . I . . . can’t go,” Justin stuttered, looking up at Brian with incipient panic in his eyes and beginning to struggle for breath.  

“Yes you can. It’ll be fun. Come on, Boy!” Gus demanded, tugging on Justin’s arm.

“Gus, stop!” Brian demanded, coming over to pick his son up and pry the chubby little fingers off Justin’s wrist. “Justin doesn’t have to go outside with us if he doesn’t want to.”

“But I wants to play with the Boy, Daddy,” Gus complained in that way petulant, almost-three-year-old's had of assuming that whatever they wanted would naturally be what everyone else wanted.

“Gus. I said to stop,” Brian repeated. “Justin doesn’t want to go outside. And if you aren't good, you’re not going to go out either. You can go straight to bed for your nap right now if you’re going to argue with me.”

“Dadddddyyyyyy!”

“Hey, Gus,” Justin intervened, kneeling down so he was on the toddler’s level. “If you’re a good boy for your Daddy, and don’t argue any more, I’ll have a treat waiting for you when you get back from your nap. How does that sound?”

Justin looked up at Brian for approval of this plan and got a grateful smile in return. Gus seemed placated by this promise as well. And before you knew it, father and son were out the door and wandering around amongst the trees behind the big house. Gus spent the next twenty minutes happily involved in finding the ‘bestest’ leaves in the forest. Brian was put to use obediently carrying all the ‘keepers’. By the time they made it back to the house, Gus was sufficiently tired out so that Brian thought he’d sleep for a good long time.

As promised, Justin was waiting for them in the kitchen holding Gus’ ‘treat’, which turned out to be a children’s book titled, ‘Guess How Much I Love You’. The small cardboard book had obviously seen better days - there were scuffs on its cover and the colors were a bit faded, but that only proved it had been well loved. Gus didn’t seem to mind. He immediately pulled Justin out to the living room area and climbed up on the couch so they could sit together and look at the pictures while Justin read.

“This is a very special book, Gus. My Mommy read it to me when I was little and I read it to my little sister when she was a baby. It's my favorite book in the whole world,” Justin explained before he opened to the first page and started reading. By the time Justin got to the part where Big Nutbrown Hare was telling Little Nutbrown Hare, “. . . I love you right up to the moon and back,” Gus was already yawning with his head in the Ghost’s lap.

“Thas a nice book, Boy,” Gus mumbled through another yawn as Brian picked him up and carried him away to his bedroom.

Justin followed behind as Brian took Gus upstairs and then tucked him into his bed. The helpful ghost had picked up the child's forgotten jacket and shoes along the way. Brian took the items, put them away in the closet, then closed the door behind him, leaning against the wall outside with a smile for Justin.

“So, you’ll talk to my son, but not to me?” Brian couldn’t help but tease the reluctant blond boy.

Justin shrugged bashfully, but apparently felt brave enough to tease back. “He’s cuter than you.”

“Oh, Ghost! You wound me! Seriously?” Brian moaned, clutching at his chest as if he’d been stabbed in the heart. Justin smiled and looked away. “But you're right. I’m not ‘cute’. I’m hot, which is much, MUCH, better.”

This earned Brian an outright laugh and another of those sweet smiles that Brian had been so hoping to see again. They were fucking additive and made him want to work even harder to get more. Brian tilted his head towards the stairs, inviting the other man with his gesture to accompany him back downstairs where they wouldn’t wake Gus with more conversation. Justin nodded and followed as Brian led the way.

Back in the kitchen, Brian noticed that Justin had already cleaned up their lunch mess. Helpful little Sprite. Brian was happy enough not to have to deal with that, and went straight to sorting out all the shit he’d bought in town that day. Justin, meanwhile, sat quietly at the table as if waiting for Brian to tell him what he wanted the boy to do next. Which was good since, once Brian had all his plumbing and lighting fixtures set aside, the remaining pile all belonged to the GhostBoy.

“Here’s the paint you wanted - you'll have to tell me sometime what the hell you wanted with chalkboard paint, Ghost - and the rest of this is your’s too.” Justin, as expected, looked at Brian with confusion since he hadn’t asked for any of that stuff. “Just humor me and take it. Whatever doesn’t fit, I’ll return. But otherwise, use it in good health, Ghost.”

Brian got a barely noticeable nod, which he figured was good enough considering all the progress they’d made already today. Borrowing Gus for the night had been a good move on Brian’s part. He knew nobody could resist that adorable little anklebiter. But it was clearly time to give his resident spook a bit of a break before Brian pushed him too far.

“Okay, I’m going to go finish up some work in the bathroom. I need to get everything ready so the plumber can install all this great stuff I bought today. Here’s hoping Gus sleeps for at least an hour or so. Later, Ghost.”

Brian didn’t see or hear from his bashful ghost boy for the next hour and a half. But, when Brian realized how late it was getting, he started to get concerned about why he hadn’t heard anything from Gus yet. The boy didn’t usually nap for this long. Which meant the kid was probably awake and up to no good once more.

Brian put away the tools he’d been using and emerged from the new guest bath, only to find both his Ghost and his Sonny Boy quietly occupied in the far corner of the Greatroom. They were both dressed in baggy paint shirts, bent over something he couldn’t quite see. Brian walked closer to examine whatever this project was they were working on. A step or two nearer and he could see that Gus had a paintbrush in his hand and Justin was holding out the can of black chalkboard paint, while the child slathered the gooey substance liberally over a flat, square panel propped up on two sawhorses. There was a big tarp underneath to protect Brian’s floors. Sitting off to the side was an already finished, simple wooden frame, sized so that it would fit perfectly around the blackened panel they were now working on.

“Look, Daddy! Look!” Gus screeched as soon as he noticed his father had come up next to them, flinging his paintbrush so that several drops of the black paint splashed onto Justin's face in the process.

Justin chuckled quietly and used a corner of his shirt to wipe the smudge away but didn’t say anything.

“Me and the Boy is making a chalkboard for my room. I kin writed on it and drawed pitchers and anything. Innit cool, Daddy?”

“That is pretty cool, Sonny Boy,” Brian looked on with approval as Gus went back to his painting. “Careful with that paint though. The goal is to get more paint on the wood than on Justin.”

“It’s okay, Daddy. We gots special shirts on and all. See?”

“I see,” Brian replied, noting that the shirt Gus was wearing was one of his own work shirts, put on the boy backwards so he was covered from neck to toes and therefore relatively safe from paint. “Did you thank Justin for helping you with this Sonny Boy? It looks like he did a lot of work to get this ready for you.”

“Thank you, Boy,” Gus parroted obediently as he continued painting.

“Gus, why do you keep calling Justin ‘boy’?” Brian couldn’t help but ask. “He might not like that, you know.”

“But he’s the ‘Boy in The Wall’, Daddy. So I’s called him ‘Boy’. He likes it, Daddy.”

Brian noted that Justin was chuckling at the childish explanation and didn’t look at all offended, so he let it slide as well.

“Thank you, Ghost. This is really nice of you . . . And, now I know what the fucking chalkboard paint was for.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent finishing up the boys’ chalkboard project, making dinner together and then watching Disney videos until Gus passed out for the night. The whole day was extremely pleasant. Extremely family-oriented. Extremely cozy. And Brian was thrilled how engaged and relaxed his GhostBoy had been all day.

Gus was an excellent ice breaker.

Chapter 15 - Mood Lighting.

Now that Brian had his GhostBoy talking, he figured the rest of his plan should go much more smoothly. He would slowly reaccustom the boy to being around people, get him out of that fucking crawl space he was living in and then . . . Well, Brian hadn’t really thought beyond that point in his plans, but he assumed something would come to him by then. Based on how skittish Justin was, it would likely still be a very long time before Brian got there anyways. He had plenty of time to figure that part out.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” Brian greeted the boy as soon as his ghost had answered the FaceTime call. “You ready to get to work? This fucking novel isn’t going to write itself. And, with all the distractions I’ve had lately, I feel like I’m falling behind.”

Justin’s face, haloed by darkness again, smiled into the camera and the boy nodded his readiness. Brian had his phone set up on the little stand Justin had made for him, which worked perfectly to allow him to FaceTime with the boy at the same time he was writing on the desktop computer. From the picture he was getting on his phone, it looked like Justin was lying down with the tablet propped up on his chest. Brian liked this arrangement, since it allowed him to actually see all of Justin’s face at one time, up close even. He could see the new pillow he’d purchased for the boy the day before was propped behind the boy’s head and covered with the pillowcase from his new set of sheets. So, where was the damned light he’d bought the kid?

“Does the lamp not work?” Brian asked, momentarily distracted from the writing by this collateral question. “You don’t have to sit in the fucking dark all day, you know.”

“It works. I’m just used to it like this, I guess,” his ghost answered, sounding apologetic and maybe a bit guilty.

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Brian grumbled. “Shit, maybe you are a ghost after all, since all I can see is your head floating around in the darkness. Although I’ve never heard of anyone being haunted via FaceTime before.”

That little joke earned Brian another smile and a tiny breath of laughter. He decided to capitalize on the moment and immediately launched into the question he’d been mulling over about his next chapter. Justin quickly opened up the word processing app in a split screen and the two of them went to town, writing, talking over their ideas, Justin making small editing changes and even adding some of his own ideas. Speaking, instead of typing all their comments via chat, definitely hurried the process along, and they made substantial progress on the next scene. Before too long, the boy was so caught up in the work process that he had lost virtually all of his fear and was talking pretty much regularly.

“You just need one last paragraph there - or even just one sentence - something to tie the theme of the chapter together,” Justin opined, so focused on the document he was reading that his face had lost all self-consciousness.

Brian was momentarily distracted from his writing, captivated by the boy’s intent look and the soft tenor voice which sounded so pleasant, even coming out of the small speaker on his phone. Luckily he caught himself before the ghost noticed the way he’d been gazing at the screen or his silly little smile. He wiped his face blank and tried to return his attention to the work at hand, but it wasn’t easy. There was just something about this shy little twink that seemed to repeatedly sidetrack him. Maybe moving out to the boonies of West Virginia had warped him in some way. Made him go soft. Caused him to grow a twat and turn into a total lesbian . . .

“How’s that?” Justin asked, looking up from the document and smiling directly into the camera with one of THOSE smiles - the one that caused something in Brian’s gut to flip-flop. “I managed to include the same phrase you used in the first paragraph. See how it all ties together? What do you think?”

Brian blinked, breaking the hypnotic pull of the sweet smile, and forced himself to read through the passage the boy had just added.

“Not bad, Ghost,” Brian pronounced proudly. “Not bad at all. And it sets up the beginning of the next chapter perfectly. See, we can have Brett go question the father . . .”

When they finally finished off about an hour later, Brian was impressed with all they’d accomplished. They really did work well together. He thought the kid’s suggestions were pertinent and his writing was stylistically elegant. It was definitely making his book better.

“Let’s call it good for today, Ghost,” Brian suggested, logging out of the document. “I’m starving. And I’ve got a shitload of work I still have to finish on the house today.” Then Brian slipped in the announcement that he’d been holding back. “Oh, by the way, the plumber is coming tomorrow to finish installing all the new fixtures, and he’s probably going to have to get into the crawl space since the outlet to the septic system goes through there. He’s going to be here early, too, so be ready.”

There was complete silence on the other end of the FaceTime call. Brian watched as all the blood rapidly drained from the boy’s face and his eyes got wide with panic. For about half a second, as Justin’s breathing got faster and faster, Brian even worried that the kid might actually hyperventilate and pass out.

“No.” The word, when it came, was uttered so quietly that Brian could barely hear it over the FaceTime connection. But then Justin looked up at Brian with tears brimming in his sapphire blue eyes. “Please don’t do this . . . I . . . I can’t . . . It’s the only place I have . . . Please don’t make me leave. I-I-I can’t leave. I can’t go . . . I have nowhere else . . .”

“Whoa, Justin, slow down. I never said . . .” Brian tried to interrupt but the boy was already off on a tear.

“I know it's your house now. I know I don't have any rights to say anything. And, of course, you wouldn't want someone like ME here . . . After what I've done . . . I'm bad. I've done so many bad things. I’m so bad . . . But that's why I can't leave. I can't go out there. Please don't make me leave, Brian. Please. At least not yet. Not till I . . . Till I figure something out, you know? Please.”

“Justin, I . . .”

“I swear I won’t be a bother to you. You . . . you can take back all these things you bought me and return them for the money. I’m sorry I’m causing you so much trouble . . . Fuck, maybe I should go. You don’t need to deal with my shit . . . I’m so fucking useless. I ruin everything I touch. Why do I even bother. I should just do what my father told me to do and save everyone the trouble of dealing with me for good . . .”

“NO, Justin!” Brian was now the one panicking. “You’re not going to do anything, alright? Fuck your damned father. If you ask me, fathers are the ones who are useless. They just fill your mind with crap that fucks with your head. You’re NOT useless or a bother, okay?”

Brian paused, noting that his little ghost had at least stopped spouting off. Justin was now just lying there, his eyes squeezed shut, sniffling while a stray tear or two leaked from the corners of his eyes every so often. But that was better than the almost hysterical threats.

“Listen, Ghost. Are you listening?” Brian got a tiny nod. “You’re not a bother. You’ve been helping me with my fucking novel, right? How’s that being a bother, huh?” Brian got a half shrug. “And I didn’t say anything about you leaving. If I’d wanted you to leave, I would have said so. All I said was that the plumber needed to get into the damned crawl space. But, fuck it . . . How about if I reschedule with the plumber and see if the electrician can come out tomorrow instead?”

The face on Brian’s phone screen nodded again, still without opening it’s eyes.

“Fine. But you DO know the fucking plumbing needs to be hooked up eventually, right?” Brian asked, receiving no answer at all. “Damn it . . .”

So much for his plan to get a look into the Ghost’s Lair. If the kid freaked out this badly at just the suggestion of a workman going into his hole, there was little likelihood of Brian getting Justin out of there. And what the fuck was all that shit about Justin being useless and bad and a bother? Or his father telling him to off himself? That fucking infuriated Brian. No wonder the kid was a fucking basket case with his father saying shit like that to him. Fucking fathers!

All of a sudden, Brian realized he had reached his limit for emotionally trying twinks for the day. “Well, if I’m going to be ready for the electrician, I’d better get a move on. Later, Ghost,” Brian signed off and quickly disconnected from the FaceTime call without waiting for a response from the boy.

What had he just been thinking about how smoothly his plans were going? Yeah, right.

“Even if it met code - which it doesn’t - there’s no way that old box is going to be sufficient for what this house needs,” Shanti, Brian’s electrical contractor, declared as she looked at the ancient fuse box in the corner of the basement. “First off, you’re going to have to switch to breakers, not fuses, but on top of that, you really need to upgrade to a bigger box with more circuits and a hella lot more amperage. And if you really want to be safe, you might want to consider rewiring - it looks like you’ve still got some old knob-and-tube wiring from back in the 1920’s or so. This stuff is bad news,” the knowledgeable woman asserted, running her hand over some exposed wiring with disdain.

“Shit. That sounds expensive,” Brian fretted.

“Yeah, it’s not cheap, but this old stuff won’t hold up and it’s not safe,” the tall, statuesque blonde woman asserted knowledgeably. “You can’t run modern day appliances - which require a lot more juice to operate than what this wiring is capable of handling - without a major upgrade. And considering the fixtures and appliances you were telling me about, you’re going to need a butt load of juice. If you don’t fix it now, you’re not only looking at a lot more expense down the road, but you’re basically asking for an electrical fire in a year or two. You’re better off just doing it now before you start on the drywalling and finish work.”

Brian exhaled sharply but then squared his shoulders and faced the electrician. “Well, if it has to be done, it has to be done. Let’s just hope I can turn this place around and sell it for enough to cover all this shit.”

“Trust me, you won’t regret it. I can’t believe you haven’t had problems already, considering this old fuse box,” Shanti slammed the small metal door closed and dusted her hands off.

“Well, I don’t have too much hooked up yet. I’m living out of one bedroom, the kitchen and part of an unfinished living room right now,” Brian explained as he turned and led the way back upstairs. “Which is why you’re here. So, what’s the plan?”

Shanti explained that she didn’t have the materials to upgrade the box with her. She’d have to come back the next day with all that. But she did have enough wiring and other stuff in her van to at least get a start on installing some of the new light fixtures Brian had selected. They could also run the high-speed telephone wiring, fiber-optic and coaxial cables which Brian wanted to add for computers and internet and other such modern conveniences.

The homeowner and the electrician spent the rest of the day running wires and installing new fixtures throughout the upstairs and the main floor. With the both of them working together, it wasn’t too difficult, just time consuming. Shanti was right that it was far easier to do this with the walls open to the bare framing. In the few spots where Brian hadn’t yet started his reno work - like the kitchen - it was a lot more difficult, so they saved that for last. In there, they had to fish the new wiring through the closed walls, punching out holes in the old plaster where needed to hook the new wiring into the old, and jury rigging what they could so that Brian would still have a working kitchen until he was ready to start in on the real work in that area.

“Okay, I think that should hold,” Shanti stated, climbing down off the ladder she’d been on to work with the new overhead lighting that Brian had wanted over the island he was installing in the center of the kitchen.

The clear glass pendant lights would look fabulous with the brickwork tile and chrome accents Brian had planned. It had been a bit tricky to get them up though. Good thing his butch electrician was stronger than she looked. And they hadn’t even started on the canister lights that would be over the counters or the huge new exhaust fan which was waiting in the corner of the room. But there was no sense in starting on that stuff until he was ready to replace the cabinets. For now, he’d have to be content just to have the ugly, cheap, old fluorescent ceiling fixture replaced.

“Okay, I think that should be good enough for now, Brian. Although, since we had to splice the new fixture into your old wiring, it’s a little dicey. When you gut this room, we definitely need to replace that old wiring in full. Then you’ll be able to add the rest of the lighting you want in here. I don’t want to hook anything more to this circuit for now or we’ll overload it,” Shanti advised, taking the flashlight from Brian, who’d been holding it so the electrician could see her work better in the failing evening light coming through the windows from outside. “I’m gonna go down and turn the power back on. Cross your fingers that I don’t blow a fuse.”

Brian waited upstairs in the twilight-shaded kitchen, holding his breath and hoping that this would work. As they’d been working, he’d become almost as worried about the state of the house’s wiring as the electrician. The old aluminum wiring was so brittle that it had actually broken in places as they were trying to work on it. The insulation on many sections of wire was also frayed and, in some spots, missing entirely. He now understood Shanti’s earlier comment that it was amazing he hadn’t had more problems already. When the new fixture actually lit up a minute later, Brian was surprised that their jury rigging had worked.

“Well, so far, so good, huh?” Shanti commented, appearing in the entrance to the kitchen with an unsure smile on her face. “So, I think we still have time to get started on those pocket lights for your storage cabinets out in the Greatro . . .”

The electrician’s words were curtailed by an audible popping noise coming from above their heads before the lights throughout the room flickered and then went out. Brian, who’d been just about to flip the wall switch and turn the light off before leaving the room, received a small shock to his hand. It wasn’t enough to do any serious damage, but it hurt like a motherfucker. He and the electrician both started cursing - the foul language coming out of the female electrician surprising even Brian for a moment.

While they were fumbling around in the dark, trying to find the flashlight so they could see what the hell had happened, they heard another series of popping and crackling noises, this time coming from inside the walls. A half a minute later, there was a muffled cry from somewhere downstairs. Before either of them could react to that, though, the first tendrils of acrid smoke reached them, wafting up through the small holes they’d drilled in the kitchen wall.

“Fuck!” Shanti yelled, and ran from the room, flashlight in hand, headed out the front door to her truck where there was a fire extinguisher waiting.

Brian, meanwhile, rushed down the stairs, oblivious to the possibility of any fire. He stumbled around in the dark, almost missing the last riser on the stairs and knocking his shin against the weight bench in the corner of the basement as he tried to feel his way over to the crawl space hatch. Not surprisingly, when he did find the hidden doorway, he couldn’t get it open. His ghost had been holed up in there all day, quietly hidden from the bustle upstairs, and had obviously locked himself in. He pounded on the panelled door, yelling his head off, but there was no response. The electrician, who had no clue what was going on, arrived a minute later, her large, industrial-sized flashlight cutting through the pitch dark of the windowless basement.

“Help me get this fucking hatch open,” Brian ordered, looking frantically around the room in the erratic light from Shanti’s flashlight

Fortuitously, his gaze landed on the big sledgehammer sitting on the floor amid a pile of other tools waiting in the corner. Brian vaulted over the treadmill, seized the tool, and turned back to the crawl space entrance. With half a dozen strong blows, he managed to break through the wooden door, creating a hole big enough to crawl through. He grabbed hold of the flashlight, squirmed his body through the narrow opening and desperately flashed the light around the dank little room he found behind the door.

Inside, crumpled on the floor next to a small table in the corner, was his resident ghost. On the table was the smoldering remains of what looked like it had once been an electric teapot, still hooked up via a timeworn electrical extension cord to an outdated outlet on the wall beside the hatchway. The cord itself was still crackling and sparking. Even as Brian watched, a pile of papers that had been sitting on the table next to the now-melted appliance - maybe some of Justin’s drawings - caught fire as well, adding to the miasma of smoke in the room.

Shanti, who had reached through the broken hatch, undone the latches on the inside and pulled the door all the way open, brusquely stepped past Brian with her fire extinguisher in hand and quickly put out the small fire before unplugging the damaged electrical cord. Brian, however, was oblivious to all of that - he was completely focused on the boy lying in a heap on the floor. He’d dropped the damned flashlight as soon as he found Justin and now couldn’t see anything in the dim blackness of the tiny room, so there was no way of knowing how badly the boy was hurt. All he could do was grip the younger man under his arms and drag the limp body out of the smoke-filled place.

Once he was free from the hole, Brian dropped to his knees and pulled the smaller body into his arms. There wasn’t any more light in the basement than there had been in Justin’s little hole, so he couldn’t see much. What scared him the most was that his hand, which was propping up the boy’s head, had detected a small wet patch on the right side of the younger man’s scalp. That couldn’t be good. His fingertips fumbled around until he managed to locate the pulse throbbing along underneath the kid’s right ear. Which was at least somewhat reassuring. And, before he could get too freaked out, Brian’s GhostBoy began to stir in his arms and make little mewling noises.

“Wha . . . Wha happen . . .” Justin’s voice asked from out of the darkness, the words coming faintly at first and then gaining volume as his anxiety began to take over. “Where . . . where am I? W-what happened?”

“It’s okay, Justin. It’s okay,” Brian shushed him, running his hand through the sweaty hair and down the side of the boy’s face, trying to calm his little stowaway. “There was an electrical fire. We had to break in to put it out and I found you collapsed on the floor. I can’t tell how badly you’re hurt. The lights are all out and I think we fried the fuse box.”

“You two okay there?” Shanti asked, crawling back out of the crawl space hatchway and finally bringing some light to the situation with her trusty flashlight.

Now that he could see what was what, Brian was appalled to find what appeared to be a large gash on the side of Justin’s head. It didn’t seem to be too deep, but it was still oozing blood. Other than that, though, he couldn’t really tell much about the boy’s condition - the kid’s face was grimy and smoke-blackened, so it was impossible to tell if he had any other serious wounds.

“I’m okay, but I think Justin here has had better days. I can’t tell how bad it is though. You better call for an ambulance so we can get him to a hospital and get him checked out,” Brian directed, pulling off his shirt and using it to press against the kid’s broken open head at the same time.

“NO! No hospitals. I can’t . . .” Justin yelled, bolting up into a sitting position and pulling away from Brian’s grasp in one violent motion. “I can’t go to a hospital! I can’t go out there!”

Justin was now on his feet, backing away from Brian and Shanti, stopping only when he came up against the solidity of the door to the garage.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Brian climbed to his own feet and tried to approach the frantic little blond. “Justin. Stop! JUSTIN!”

The frenetic phantom was long past being able to listen to anything rationally. Justin was backing away from the other two, acting like a scared and cornered animal. He kept muttering loudly -  ‘No, no, no’ - and shaking his head. Every time Brian tried to reach out and touch him, Justin flinched and twisted away, eluding his grasp. Finally, Brian got frustrated enough that he simply threw himself at the scrabbling blond target, using the entirety of his body to pin the smaller man to the wall.

“Justin, will you fucking stop already,” Brian shouted in exasperation. “I won't make you go to the damn hospital, okay? I promise. Just calm the fuck down already. It's going to be okay.”

Brian felt the smaller body gradually still, although the boy continued to shake and sob into the bare flesh of Brian's chest. He carefully let go of Justin's hands, which he'd been holding immobile above the boy’s head, and gathered the trembling body into a tight embrace. He didn't know what else to do. Comforting desperate, slightly delusional, twinks wasn't exactly Brian Kinney’s thing. But right at that moment, he couldn't really think beyond the exigencies of the moment or past the blond boy clinging to him like Brian was his last hope of salvation.

When the tremors had finally died down and his GhostBoy was only breathing deeply, barring the occasional shuddering sigh, Brian loosened his hold enough to turn and look to the concerned and hovering electrician still lighting the scene with her flashlight. “I need to get Justin cleaned up so I can make sure he really isn't too badly hurt. Do you think you can get us some power so I can see what I'm doing?”

“Sure thing. Let’s get you two up the stairs safely,” Shanti gestured towards the steps, “then I'll just disconnect that kitchen fixture that caused the short before I turn the power back on. I don’t want to run the risk of starting another fire tonight, you know. It'll only take a minute.”

With Shanti lighting their way, Brian guided Justin up the stairs. Justin never let go of Brian for an instant, clinging to the taller man to the point that he actually made it difficult for Brian to walk without tripping. Somehow, though, they made it up the stairs and over to the couch. Brian wrapped Justin in the afghan, pried the boy’s arms from around his waist, and gently pressed until the younger man was seated back against the cushions.

“I'll be right back, Ghost. I'm just going to get us some water and something to clean you up with,” Brian reassured, letting his fingers trail along the pale, slightly stubbled cheek as he drew slowly away.

Justin stayed where he'd been put, his head bowed, staring numbly into the nothingness in front of his knees. Brian took a deep breath as he stepped backwards, taking several wary steps in that awkward manner, feeling like he was unable to turn away. It was almost like, if he took his eyes off the kid, Justin would disappear on him. So he kept watching the boy sitting in the moonlight on his couch until he reached the kitchen entrance and was finally forced to turn around and look at what he was doing.

Shanti was already there, up on her ladder, twiddling with the wiring of the ceiling fixture. Brian crossed to the fridge, pulled out two cold bottles of water, grabbed the towel that he always kept draped through the handle of the fridge door, and wet it in the sink.  

Before he returned to the Greatroom, though, Brian addressed his very helpful and resourceful electrician. “I'm sure that this . . . What you saw down there . . . Or, at least, what you thought you saw . . . Shit! I'm sure all this seems totally fucking weird to you and I'm not going to even try to explain because I'm not sure I know how.” Brian fumbled, feeling uncharacteristically tongue-tied as he tried to frame the request he meant to make. “But, if you could, I'd appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this to anyone.”

“Whatever. It's no biggie,” the electrician replied with a shrug as she descended her ladder. “It's none of my business. And even if it were, I don't believe in kink shaming anyone. If you want to keep your boy in a dungeon in the basement, who the hell am I to judge, right?” The tall, blond woman clapped Brian on the shoulder as she sidled past him. “Trust me, Kinney - you're not the first client I've wired a dungeon for and you won't be the last. As long as the kid is old enough to consent . . . He is, isn't he? He looks pretty young . . .”

Brian, who was still a little shocked at the turn this conversation had taken, nevertheless took the out he was being offered. “He's twenty.”

“Then we’re good,” Shanti confirmed with a curt nod in his direction. Then, as she was about to leave, the canny butch blonde turned around and winked at him over her shoulder. “And thanks for the idea, by the way. My Pookie might like to play with light deprivation some time.”

Brian stood there blinking for a good two minutes after that. When he finally recovered from the horrors of imagination his Dominatrix Electrician had imposed on him, and remembered he was still standing there holding water and a wet towel, he trotted back out to find his own little blond. Luckily for him, Justin wasn't nearly as butch as the electrician. The boy was still sitting where he'd been left on the couch, huddled under his blanket and looking lost. Brian seated himself next to his GhostBoy, handed the kid a water and demanded he drink.

“Did you notice, the world is getting weirder and weirder every fucking day?” Brian asked, drinking a sip of his own water as he draped an arm protectively around the stowaway’s shoulders.

They were still sitting there like that when Dom Shanti managed to get the power back on and the lights in the room flickered to life.

“Okay. That's it for me tonight, gentlemen,” Shanti announced when she reappeared at the top of the basement stairs. “You've got power for tonight at least. Please don't plug in anything you don't need - that old fuse box can't take it and it'll blow again. I'll be back tomorrow by ten with the stuff to swap it out for a new, high-capacity, breaker box. Then we’ll be cooking.”

“Thanks, Shanti. See you tomorrow.” Brian waved from his spot on the couch, not bothering to get up since that would dislodge his ghost’s head from where it was comfortably resting on Brian’s shoulder, and that just seemed like a bad idea. “Goodnight.”

“Night, gentlemen,” the woman echoed and marched out the front door, closing it firmly behind herself.

“Come on, Ghost,” Brian said, heaving himself to his feet and reaching out to help the boy up as well. “Let’s check you out and make sure you’re not in danger of becoming a real ghost anytime soon.”

Chapter 16 - The Lair of the Ghost.

Brian led an unresisting GhostBoy upstairs to his bathroom, sat the boy down on the closed toilet and then peeled away the afghan the boy was still holding around him. Brian had already used the damp kitchen towel to wipe away most of the grime on the kid’s face, and he had been happy to note that there didn’t seem to be any visible injuries other than the one gash. That one had long since stopped bleeding, which was reassuring. But Brian still wanted to clean it off better and bandage it. First, though, they both desperately needed a shower to get rid of the smoke and dirt from the fire.

After turning on the tap in the shower so the water would get hot, Brian tossed his bloody and smoke-grimed shirt into the laundry basket then stipped off his jeans as well. Next, he moved towards his seemingly catatonic ghost. However, when he touched the boy’s shoulder, intending to help him to his feet, Justin suddenly became animated and flinched away from him.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Ghost,” Brian insisted, just a little sharply because he was tired. “You need to get in here and get a shower - I have to bandage your fucking head and it doesn’t make any sense to do it until after you've showered. And since you seem to have hit your head hard enough to knock yourself out, I'm not leaving you in here alone. If you fall again, you really WILL have to go to the hospital. So, enough of the theatrics, okay? Let's just get in, get showered and get you in bed so I don't have to worry about you conking out again.”

For about two seconds it looked like Justin was going to argue with him, even though the kid seemed almost as tuckered out as Brian. He frowned up at Brian, snorted out a huff of breath but there just wasn't enough fight left in him. His shoulders slumping, the GhostBoy shrugged and pulled both the dark blue tee and the royal blue plaid button down shirts he’d been wearing off as one. When he looked around, apparently wondering where to put his clothing, Brian grabbed it and threw it in the laundry basket with his own stuff. Then Justin slowly stood up and, carefully avoiding Brian’s eye, shucked off the worn chinos he’d been wearing, adding those to the rest of the dirty laundry.

Brian nodded, ignoring the shy stance the boy had assumed, as if turning partially aside would block Brian’s view of the boy in his all together. The kid was too fucking cute. To distract them both, Brian directed his attention to the shower, reached a hand under the spray to test the temperature, and then adjusted the tap. Justin moved closer, sliding the glass shower door open wider so he could pass by without actually touching Brian, but right as he was about to lift his leg to step over the side of the tub, he wobbled a bit. Brian grabbed the boy’s shoulder to steady him.

“I can do it,” the irate ghost yipped.

“Great. Go for it,” Brian acceded, stepping back with a half bowed head and a sweeping gesture, inviting the younger man to precede him.

Justin managed to step over the edge of the tub and into the water, but then had to reach out and brace one hand against the tile wall again as a wave of dizziness swept over him. Brian was only a step behind him though, and had one strong arm wrapped around the boy’s slim waist before Justin could fall. The young man sighed, leaning back against the firm chest supporting him and surrendered to the combination of his own weakness and Brian’s implacable presence.

After that, the showering went pretty well. Brian mostly just stood there providing a reassuring back drop that Justin could lean against when needed. The ghost boy seemed more tired than anything, so Brian wasn’t too worried about the slight dizzy spells, but he still intended to keep a close eye on the kid. He would have been happier if Justin would allow himself to be seen by a doctor, but since that didn’t seem like it would be happening anytime soon, this was the best Brian could do.

Handing a loofah filled with shower gel to the young man, Brian noticed that there were some blackened burn marks on the boy’s hand. He grabbed the hand, pulling the fingers around so he could examine the wounds more closely. They didn’t look bad, but would probably be painful.

“What happened?” Brian questioned, releasing the hand he was holding and turning instead to pick up the bottle of shampoo.

“I got a shock when I touched the teapot,” Justin answered then leaned back accommodatingly so Brian could massage the shampoo into his hair. “It’s no big deal. But I was so surprised when it happened that I kinda jumped backwards, tripped over my own big feet and then knocked my head against a shelf when I fell. My head hurts a lot more than my hand.”

“Yeah, this gash is pretty big, although it doesn’t look deep,” Brian commented as he gently rinsed the shampoo out of the thick blond tresses, taking care not to touch the long scrape that was starting to ooze a little now that he’d washed away the dirt and clotted blood. “I wouldn’t be surprised, though, if you did have a mild concussion. You sure you don’t want to get a doctor to look at this?”

“I’m sure. I’ll be fine,” Justin rushed to assure his protector.

Brian decided not to push it as long as the kid didn’t get any worse. Now that the wound was cleaned off, he could see that it wasn’t too terribly bad. He knew from personal experience that head injuries tended to bleed a lot, so it wasn't surprising how alarming the injury had seemed at first. But he planned to look up the symptoms of concussion on the internet later, just to be safe.

Turning off the water, Brian stepped out of the shower, reached for a towel, quickly dried himself off and then was there with a second towel before his charge started to climb out after him. Justin shook his head at the overly-solicitous actions, but took the towel, nonetheless. He even let Brian guide him back over to his seat on the toilet lid without protest. Next, Brian dug his first aid kit out from under the sink and began to apply ointment to the gash, with a large gauze pad taped over that.

Somewhere in the process of all this, Brian’s towel came unraveled from around his lean hips and slithered down to his feet. Since Brian wasn’t the least bit bashful or uncomfortable with nudity, he just ignored it and carried on with his bandaging. As soon as his patient was seen to, though, he stepped back, surveying his work as well as the subject.

“That should do for now. You still feeling dizzy?” He asked his patient.

Justin shook his head ‘no’.

Brian bent down to look more closely into the kid’s eyes, checking to see if one pupil was larger than the other, but all he saw was a pair of perfect blue.

Brian stood up, reassured for the moment. “How many dicks do you see?” he asked jokingly, waggling his hips in front of the boy’s face provocatively.

“Two,” the little ghost answered with an impish glint in his gaze. “One really big one, dancing around and asking me stupid questions, and that little one hanging between your legs.”

“Ouch,” Brian complained, even though he was smiling back at the kid with an equally large grin, happy to see the kid was well enough to tease him back. “See if I ever bandage your broken head again, Ghost.” They both chuckled amiably. “Okay then, I guess your sense of humor wasn't injured. But until I'm sure you won't topple over again, you're going to stay put in bed while I go get us something to eat. Let's go.”

Brian held his hand out to assist his ghost to his feet. Justin accepted the help and then preceded his host out of the bathroom. But when he turned towards the bedroom door, obviously intent on leaving the room, Brian grabbed his wrist to waylay him.

“Where are you going?”

“You said I had to stay in bed, so I was going to my bed . . .” the boy answered matter-of-factly.

“No. You're not going back down to that hole,” Brian insisted, grabbing hold of the younger man's shoulders and physically directing the smaller body back towards Brian's own large, king-sized platform bed. “It's probably still all smoky and shit down there. You'd suffocate. Besides, I can't keep an eye on you all the way down in the fucking basement. Nope. You're staying right here for the time being.”

“That's silly, Brian. I'm perfectly fine . . .”

“Don't argue with me, Justin.” Brian stood there, arms crossed over his chest, his body blocking the kid’s escape, looking determined and immovable. “You only have two choices: you stay here where I can watch you, or I take you to a doctor to get officially checked out. Which will it be?”

“But, I . . .”

“Me or a doctor?” Brian repeated stubbornly.

When Justin's shoulders slumped, he knew he'd won. Brian slipped an arm around the youth’s slender shoulders and guided him to the bed, pulling back the covers for his guest and waiting patiently while Justin pulled off his own towel and then climbed in. Brian even made a show of obsequiously tucking the duvet around the boy and fluffing the pillow. That earned him a little, nervous huff of laughter from the patient.

“Good. Now, you stay put. I'm going to get us something to eat, but I'll be right back,” Brian ordered as he quickly pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

With one last look back at his compliant little ghost - who was lying quietly, tucked up under the covers and looking incredibly adorable, even though Brian could kick himself for thinking such a lesbianic thing - the big control freak hurried out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen.

After a long day of construction work followed by the drama of the electrical fire and then his nursing of the twinkie-ghost, Brian was starving. The kid must be hungry too, since he'd been hiding from the electrician all day and therefore hadn’t come out for food. Brian wasn't sure about the kitchen’s power situation or the possibility of another short, though, so he didn't want to risk the microwave or the oven to cook anything. He decided to just go with sandwiches, which took no time at all to assemble. In concession to the fact that it was a chilly night and they'd been through a lot, however, he decided to use the gas stove just long enough to heat some water and make two cups of the instant hot cocoa he had on hand for when Gus visited. After all the stress and exercise he'd had that day, even Brian wasn't going to bother about the calories for once, plus it would double as dessert. So, that decided, Brian filled the kettle with tap water and put it on the burner to heat.

The sight of the kettle brought to mind the melted electric teapot downstairs in his ghost’s lair. He assumed that Shanti had already taken care of things down there and made sure everything was unplugged, but Brian still felt like he should make sure. He'd really been too distracted earlier to worry about that stuff, but now that he had a minute to spare, Brian figured he'd better check on it one more time. So, leaving the kettle to do its thing, he dug a flashlight out of the kitchen junk drawer and headed down to the basement.

Before he was even halfway down the stairs, the acrid smoky odor hit him. It was so bad that, when he flipped on the overhead light, he could actually see a layer of smoky air hovering along the ceiling above his head. And, on top of everything else, there was the chemical tang of Shanti’s fire extinguisher. Yeah, there was no way the kid could have slept down here. It was going to take forever to get that smell out, he mused, planning to leave the garage door open all the next day to try and air the space.

Downstairs, everything looked about the way they’d left it earlier. Pushing aside the remnants of the broken door, Brian flipped on his flashlight so he could see what he was doing and then climbed through the hatch into the crawl space area. It took him a minute to adjust to the dim interior, but then Brian began to look around himself and take in exactly what he was seeing.

This hole really was just as horrible as he’d thought.

The space itself was only about three meters square with a low ceiling to boot. The walls on three sides were the bare cement of the house’s foundation and on the fourth side was rough brickwork between wooden support beams that looked like they had been put in after the crawl space had been dug out in order to bear the load of the far corner of the house. There was bare wooden framing that had been erected along all these walls, as if there had once been an intention of plastering or drywalling the space to make it habitable, but the job had never been finished. The ceiling consisted of the bare joists supporting the house’s main floor. The floor was dry, hard-packed dirt.

In the farthest corner, there was an extra cutout space about half a meter deeper than the wall next to it, which appeared to extend up beyond the ceiling of the crawl space. Brian flashed his light in that direction and could see aluminum venting affixed to the wall, disappearing through an opening in the ceiling, and realized that must be the ventilation shaft his pal Andy had hypothesized might be hiding behind the walls of the kitchen and bedroom. Climbing up alongside the venting, there were wooden slats installed between the wooden joists creating a ladder of sorts. That was probably how the boy was getting around the house without being seen. Brian looked up the shaft and could see faint outlines of light leaking through the walls above. He smiled at the resourcefulness of the kid, not to mention his athletic skills in negotiating that insubstantial looking ladder.

It looked like Justin had used other scraps of the same waste wood he’d used for his ladder to build himself shelves along all the walls, fitting the shelving in between the bare framing studs to make the best use of the small space that he could. All the shelves were heaped with the day-to-day items the boy needed, along with nick-knacks and other personal stuff. There was a large wooden trunk, probably used for more storage, at the foot of a small twin-sized bed set up along the right-hand wall. There was also one chair sitting next to a rickety old card table in the back left corner. The only other remarkable fixtures in the tiny space were a toilet and a small, free-standing sink installed to the left of the hatchway door. That was it. There wasn’t much more that could have been fit in the tiny room, so that was the extent of his ghost’s accommodations.

To make matters worse, there was basically no light in the tiny cell of a room. Since it was underground, there were obviously no windows. The only light source Brian could see would have been the two lamps - one on the table in the back left corner where the fire had started and the other, newer one, that Brian had recently purchased, on a shelf over the bed. Those small lamps wouldn’t have lit up much though, and the light wouldn’t have reached up the boy’s ventilation shaft escape route. The only electrical outlet in the room was an unenclosed electrical socket just to the left of the doorway. Justin had obviously been using the old electrical extension cord hooked into that outlet - the one that had shorted - to power whatever he needed, but it was still dark and dank and creepy.

Despite how horrible Brian found this pit, Justin had clearly tried to make the best of things in his dungeon space. The small twin bed was neatly made and covered with a beautiful quilt. The shelves lining the walls with all his personal stuff and clothing were tidy and organized. Wherever there wasn’t a shelf, the studs had been decorated with pictures, including photographs and many of the kid’s own drawings. Brian was glad to note that the small fire hadn’t damaged too many of these drawings or any of the other personal stuff. Except for the old card table, the ruined teapot and one small sketch pad that had been sitting on the little table, nothing else was burned. It was good that they got there when they did, though, because the piles of books on the shelf next to the table and the fluttering pictures hanging all over the walls would have gone up like tinder as soon as they caught.

He quickly made sure that the extension cord was unplugged and that there wasn’t anything else near the suspect outlet that might be flammable. Glancing around to make sure there wasn’t anything else he needed to do while he was down there, Brian noticed some of his missing tools along with a stack of some more scrap lumber sitting in the only spare floor space between the table and the toilet. From the pile of wood shavings nearby, it seemed that was what his ghost had been working on recently that had been causing so much noise during the day. There seemed to be quite a few small wooden items mixed in with the other stuff on the shelves, but Brian didn’t really have time to look at them closely right then. He made plans to come back and give his curiosity full rein sometime later.

While he was down there, Brian decided to retrieve Justin’s tablet computer and a sketch pad, so the kid would have something to do with his time after they finished their dinner. Luckily the tablet had been lying on the bed, far from the fire, and was completely undamaged. He also grabbed some of the boy's clothes, figuring he couldn’t keep his ghost naked and in bed forever, no matter how appealing that idea might be. That should be enough for the time being. The kid could come get whatever else he wanted in the morning.

Brian turned to go, noting as he neared the hatchway they’d broken through to get into the crawl space, that there were three different metal, bolt-like latches attached to the INSIDE of the door, allowing Justin to lock the space from the inside. It was no wonder that he and Andy couldn’t get the door open when they’d tried the other day. It didn’t help explain why it was that Justin insisted on staying in there, though. It seemed more like he was trying to keep people out than that he’d been kept down here against his will, which didn’t make any sense to Brian.

Brian flashed his light around so he could examine the little dungeon one more time, and he felt his guts clenching in anger. That’s what this was - a dungeon. A prison. He didn’t know why or how the kid had been relegated to this neglectful place, although he suspected the odious Craig Taylor had something to do with it and he was determined to figure out this mystery as well.

But not tonight. Tonight Brian was going to feed his ghost, ply him with hot chocolate, and then make sure the boy was comfortably tucked away in a real bed, in a real room for the rest of the night. Tonight he’d make sure Justin was more comfortable than he would have been anytime in the recent past down in that hole.

Hurrying back up the stairs, Brian quickly prepared the hot cocoa, assembled a tray with all the food and drinks, added a couple more bottles of water for later, and then carried the lot of it back up to the bedroom. He was glad to see that Justin had followed directions and was still lying safely in the bed where he’d been left. Brian hefted the tray higher, stepped right up onto the platform and then the mattress, before sinking rather gracefully - for a large man - to his haunches, without spilling a drop of the cocoa. The tray would work just fine as a makeshift table for their meal, so once Justin had scrunched up into a sitting position, they were able to set to. And judging by the way the kid tore into his sandwich, Brian had been right to assume the kid would be hungry. He was glad he’d thought to make two extra sandwiches. It looked like the boy would easily manage all three.

Neither of them was feeling very chatty, so dinner was a mostly silent affair and over fairly quickly. Afterwards, Brian insisted that Justin lie back again, and rest. Justin seemed too worn out to argue the matter and let himself be ordered around with patient resignation. Brian agreed to let the kid play on his tablet computer for a time, seeing as it wasn’t even nine pm and he couldn’t force the kid to sleep, but that was the most strenuous activity he’d allow. While Justin was occupied with that, Brian went over to the desk in the corner, inspired by his recent perusal of the boy’s dungeon to add a new scene to his novel. And that’s how the two of them spent the rest of the evening.

When Brian finally reached a stopping place, around eleven, he looked over to the bed and discovered his GhostBoy had already conked out. Justin was curled up on his side, the tablet forgotten, it’s screen faded to black on the pillow beside his head. The kid looked so young and innocent. He looked like a KID. Of course, no kid would have had to live through what Justin had apparently already lived through in his relatively short life. Was it any wonder that Brian felt so ridiculously protective towards this young man?

Carefully setting the tablet aside and crawling into bed next to the boy, Brian switched off the lamp on the nightstand.

He didn’t know what the morning would hold for him and his resident ghost. He didn’t know if he would ever figure the kid out or be able to help him. All Brian Kinney knew, was that he really did WANT to help this young man. Hopefully, in the process, he’d uncover the answer to all the mysteries surrounding the compelling blond boy who’d found his way not only into Brian’s bed, but somehow into his head, and maybe even into his heart as well.

Chapter 17 - Coming Out.

Brian woke up the next morning with his arms full of snugly blond boy, which was an utterly shocking experience.

It wasn’t so much that he’d never woken up with another man in his bed - that did happen, on occasion, when he was too drunk or exhausted to remember to kick his trick out before he fell asleep. No, what was shocking was that he found he rather liked the sensation. Whereas he generally hated the way his tricks would glom on him after sex, and just generally disliked being touched by them except when he was fucking them, this felt . . . kinda nice. Justin was warm and pliant in his embrace, the smaller body curled up around Brian, his head resting in the hollow of Brian’s shoulder and one arm draped over Brian's stomach. It felt like the ghost had been custom-made specifically to fit in that spot. He didn’t feel too big, or too sweaty or too heavy. Brian didn’t feel like immediately pushing the other body away, which is how he usually responded in this kind of situation. So, yeah, he was shocked, but in a very, very good way.

So he decided to just go with it. Brian let his head drop down till his nose was tickled by the tendrils of long blond and inhaled the boy’s toasty, warm, masculine aroma. Damn, he loved the smell of another man. He loved them clean and just out of the shower. He loved them sweaty. He loved them reeking of sex. He just loved the smell of men in general. But this one smelled so appetizing and enticing that Brian groaned aloud, albeit quietly.  

The small sound must have been enough to penetrate the boy’s dreams though, since Justin shifted slightly in his sleep and the low rumbling purr of his quiet snores stuttered and then died. The blond head rooted around until it found an even more comfortable position on Brian’s shoulder and one muscular leg snaked out, hooking itself around Brian’s left thigh. When he was once again settled, the boy’s body seemed to sag even closer to Brian, if that were possible, so that there wasn’t a millimeter of space between them all down Brian’s side.

Brian had, of course, noticed the boy’s body the evening before in the shower, but at the time he’d been too focused on making sure the kid wasn’t badly injured to get all hot and bothered by the experience. Not so now. With the kid curled up around him like a shrimp, it was hard to ignore the fact that his snugly bedwarmer was buck naked. And, even though the kid was still ridiculously thin, there were at least a couple of parts on him that were pleasingly plump. That round little bubble butt for instance was just perfect. So perfect that Brian couldn’t help himself and simply had to reach one hand down and cup an ass cheek, allowing the soft skin to fill his palm.

Like all the other parts of this boy, that one seemed to fit just perfectly too. Brian’s fingers reflexively squeezed a little. The firm muscle under his fingertips gave slightly and then rebounded elastically. The boy’s hips tilted forward in unconscious response, pressing against Brian’s hip and giving evidence of a growing hardness there. Brian, who’d woken up with his usual generous morning wood, felt his own dick twitch joyously at the prospect of getting some up-close and personal time with the little ghost. And, while Brian’s rational, gentlemanly mind knew he shouldn’t take advantage of the situation, his primal instincts were stronger. Accordingly, he reached down, pulled the thigh draped across his leg higher, and began gently, silently, rutting against the warm flesh he encountered there.

A few moments later, there was a sub-vocal ‘mmmm’ from the head resting on his shoulder and the body he’d been holding onto shifted. The hips did their tilty thing again and Brian could feel that the boy was now fully hard. At the same time, the thigh muscles draped over him contracted and then relaxed, as did the arm circling his belly. Then the blond head twisted slightly, nestling deeper into the skin of Brian’ shoulder, until the cotton-candy pink lips encountered warm flesh and offered up a gentle, automatic kiss. Brian, who thought kissing sounded like a wonderful way to progress things, slanted his own lips down so he could return the favor and leave a kiss on the broad forehead. Whereupon, the sleepy head raised up, a sultry smile on those tempting lips and the eyes still closed, so that their two mouths could connect properly and the kissing could continue more fully.

It must have been when Brian nipped a little too assertively on Justin’s plump bottom lip that the kid finally came to all the way. Brian felt the minute recoil of shock and the pause of the lips against his own. The boy’s formerly pliant body stiffened and the long, dark blond eyelashes fluttered slowly open till two big cornflower blue eyes were staring up at Brian.

“I’m not still dreaming . . . am I?”

Brian replied by twisting his neck to leave another kiss on the startled lips of his GhostBoy.

“You dream about THIS,” Brian deliberately pushed his hips higher so that his cock pressed strongly into the thigh he hadn’t yet let go of, “a lot, do you?”

“Well . . . Um . . . Actually, yeah,” Justin confessed, punctuating his words with a long ‘mmmmmm’ as Brian did that thing with his hips again and then claimed the boy’s mouth for another kiss that precluded further discussion for the time being.

Several long minutes followed, filled with more long, steamy kisses and increasingly urgent rutting on both parts, before the two of them had to break momentarily for a breath.

“You certainly are a naughty little boy, Ghost,” Brian teased with a low chuckle and a nip to the tip of Justin’s snub nose. “Dreaming about THIS all the time . . .”

As Brian said the word ‘this’ he took the initiative to roll the both of them over in a tangle of legs and arms until he came to rest comfortably positioned in the vee of Justin’s widespread legs, his cock dangling provocatively between them.

“You know, if this WERE a dream, this would probably be the point where something really strange happened and you’d start speaking in Chinese or I’d blink and you’d turn into a frog or maybe one of those scary clowns, you know . . .” Justin mused, looking critically up at Brian as if waiting for his prophecy to come to pass. “At least, that’s the way my dreams usually end up.”

“Are you seriously going to equate waking up in bed, next to the most gorgeous man you know, with a nightmare?” Brian complained. “I’m truly offended, Ghost. First you make fun of my cock last night and now you’re saying kissing me is a nightmare? If that’s how you feel, I could always stop . . .”

Brian made a move as if to get up, causing the blond ghost to reflexively grab hold of his shoulders and wrap his legs tightly around Brian’s backside so the big man couldn’t escape.

“Hey, get back here, you. It’ s my dream and I get to say when or if you leave,” Justin demanded, pulling Brian back down so that their lips were again within touching distance. “Besides, I never said I’d stop kissing you even if you do turn into a scary clown.

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a guy who was turned on by scary clowns. That’s impressively kinky, Ghost. I didn’t even know that was a thing,” Brian continued to tease, rather enjoying this verbal sparring with his sassy morning ghost.

“You’re one to talk,” the phantom boy shot back. “I’m not the one making out with someone he seems to think is an incorporeal spirit. Now THAT’S kinky.”

“At least you’re not a SCARY ghost, though,” Brian agreed, kissing the ghost in question one more time, just because he could. “I only get my kink on for sexy, sassy, hot little ghost boys . . .”

That caused Brian’s very own GhostBoy to giggle, and the sound went right to Brian’s cock, proving in a very real way how turned on HE was by this particular specter. Not that he’d ever admit to a kink for twinkie giggles, of course. And, to cover up his reaction, Brian promptly returned to his work of kissing and fondling the playful, gigging boy in his bed.

Which is when things got serious again rather quickly. In no time at all, the playful mood had been burned away by the rising lust as they rutted against each other, kissing, tasting, and touching. Brian was spurred on by the feeling of Justin’s hot, hard length trapped between their bellies and slowly dripping pearls of cum as their actions progressed. It wasn’t long before he was unconsciously nudging with his cock against the sensitive skin of Justin’s perineum, just a hairsbreadth away from the point of no return. The ghost seemed just as caught up in the moment as Brian was - the blond’s kisses relentlessly pelting Brian’s face and neck while little mewls of random need escaped every few moments. It seemed inevitable where this was going to end up, not that Brian objected to that eventuality in the least.

Without breaking off the latest kiss, Brian reached out and blindly grappled around on the night stand until he found one of the always ready condoms waiting there. Justin seemed so far gone that Brian didn’t think the boy was likely to object to moving things to the next level. The way the kid was grappling at Brian’s skin, trying to pull the older man closer, and rutting against his stomach, it was only a matter of minutes before the youth shot his own load.

Before Brian could even tear open the package, though, he was startled by a series of loud noises emanating from downstairs - the distinct squealing of his front door opening and closing, followed by several loud clunking noises, and then an overly cheery voice hollering out ‘Good morning!’.

“What the . . .”

“Kinney? You upstairs? You left your door unlocked, you know!” Shanti’s bellowing easily made it up to the bedroom. “I got your new breaker box and some other supplies so, if you want your house wired today, get your shiny hiney down here and help me get it all unloaded.”

“Seriously? Now?” Brian complained, his head dropping despondently onto the blond’s chest. “What the hell is she doing here at the fucking crack of dawn anyway? She’s not supposed to be here until ten.”

“It’s not dawn. It’s,” Justin twerked his head to the side so he could see the clock on the bedside table, “almost nine-thirty. And she said she’d be here BY TEN, not at ten, so . . .”

“You’re not helping here, Ghost,” Brian whined, adding in a little whimper of distress that was completely undignified, but he was too pissed off to care.

“Kinney? You up there? Is everything okay?” This time the voice was closer and Brian could hear the tread of footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Fuck!”

Brian vaulted out of bed, pulled the sheets back up so that Justin was covered, and had enough time to turn towards the open bedroom doorway before the tall blonde electrician stomped in.

“Oh, hey. Good morning,” an unabashed Shanti greeted her naked and aroused employer. “You coming down or should I come back another day? I think I’ve got another opening sometime next week, if that’s better for you.”

“No. You are not fucking leaving me with my power barely functional for another week. I’ll be right down, okay?” Brian growled at the woman.

“No problem. I’ll get started unloading stuff,” Shanti replied, seeming equally unoffended by Brian’s sharp tone as she was with his nudity. “But I’d put on some pants before we get started if I were you. Electrical burns on your privates aren’t fun. Trust me on this one, Kinney,” she added before she turned and left a gaping Brian Kinney standing there with his mouth open.

“. . . fucking worst timing . . . going to kill Theodore for talking me into hiring her . . . need to support ‘Women in the Trades’ he said . . . fucking nosy bitch . . .” Brian muttered angrily to himself as he quickly pulled clothing out of drawers and dressed himself. Justin broke out in giggles at the incongruous sight of the big stud stomping around the room complaining about being interrupted by the mean lady contractor. “ . . . and you just lying there making it worse with your fucking adorable giggling . . . don’t think I don’t know you’re doing that on purpose, Ghost . . . so hard I can’t get my damned pants buttoned . . . probably going to give myself a heart attack stopping in the middle like that . . . Oh, fuck it all!”

Brian gave up trying to get his jeans buttoned. Instead, he marched back to the bed, kissed Justin’s unresisting lips one more time, and then stomped furiously out of the bedroom with his shirt on inside out, his fly unbuttoned - giving evidence that he clearly hadn’t bothered with underwear - and his hair standing on end every-which-way. Justin politely waited until Brian was all the way downstairs before he broke out in peals of gleeful laughter, not that Brian couldn’t hear him even then.

“Okay, we now have power again, along with a brand new breaker box and modern wiring almost everywhere throughout the house, except the master bedroom - I didn’t want to tear out the walls in there yet since it’s the only room still intact.” Brian announced as he exhaustedly flopped down in his chair at the kitchen table.

Brian didn’t know where his ghost had been hiding out all day, but he was grateful that the boy had reappeared along with a hot, just-cooked meal as soon as Brian had climbed tiredly out of the shower and managed to stumble downstairs. Brian was famished and dead tired. He didn’t think he would have been able to stay awake this long if he hadn’t needed food so badly. So, the fact that Justin had been waiting, with food ready, had meant a lot.

“So, how was your day, dear?” Brian asked facetiously as he accepted the plate heaped with lasagne from his homebody-haunt and added a large serving of the green salad that was also waiting on the table. “Did you get up to any fun, spooky adventures today?”

Justin smiled and huffed a little laugh then answered with a hesitant air, “I worked a little on your novel . . . I hope that’s okay?”

“You did, huh?” Brian

“Feel free to delete it, if you don’t like what I did. I just had an idea, you know, but it’s probably not very good . . .”

“You gonna let me actually read what you wrote before you have me deleting it all?” Brian asked in a teasing voice. “I’m sure it’s not that bad - you and I seem to write pretty well together, Ghost.”

Justin didn’t respond. His eyes were seemingly glued to his plate as he played with his food. Brian shook his head at the self-effacing young man, not liking the complete lack of confidence he saw there. Someone as bright and talented as Justin shouldn’t be constantly worried that what he did wasn’t good enough. Brian resolved to fix that situation, if he could, and find a way for his Ghost to get the recognition he needed. Maybe he should include the kid’s name as a co-author on the book they were writing? It wasn’t a bad idea, especially considering how much help the youth had been already.

“I’ll look at it tomorrow,” Brian committed as he turned his attention to his dinner for the time being. “I afraid I’m too bushed to do anything more strenuous than sitting on the couch tonight. I’m glad we got as much done as we did, though. Shanti was right about how bad the old wiring was. I’m surprised we hadn’t had a fire before yesterday. And I’m REALLY glad we were here and paying attention when the short that caused the fire happened. If we hadn’t got down there as fast as we did, the whole house would be toast today.”

Justin didn’t comment on the state of the wiring or Brian and Shanti’s work. He seemed to have lapsed into his usual state of passivity. And, while Brian wasn’t really in favor of overly-chatty dinner companions, he found the kid’s constant, sorrow-laced silence a little wearing. He much preferred the happy, playful, giggling ghost that he'd left in his bed that morning.

It was time to find out more about his resident ghost and exactly what was eating the kid. Maybe shake things up a bit. Figure out how to get him to come out of his shell permanently.

“By the way, while we were working on the breaker box, Shanti had to disconnect the electrical outlet in the crawl space,” Brian remarked, trying to casually segue into the topic he was aiming for even though he was dying to just spout out all his questions. “That outlet wasn’t wired correctly in the first place, she said, so it’s no wonder it shorted.” Still no response from his shy shade. “Even if you still had power, you wouldn’t be able to go back down there, though. It still stinks of smoke. You’ll have to stay upstairs with me for the time being. It's probably going to take weeks to air that space out.”

“But . . . I . . .”

“No butts, Ghost.”

“Maybe I could stay in Gus’ room?” Justin queried uncertainly.

“Sorry, I had to move the furniture out of there too,” Brian explained without letting on that it had been done intentionally. “I didn't want the bed to get ruined while I was tearing out the walls for the wiring.”

“I'll just stay on the couch, then, I guess . . .”

“Don't be ridiculous, Ghost,” Brian interrupted. “My bed is more than roomy enough for the both of us. We got along quite nicely there last night, right? And I promise not to bite . . . unless you ask me nicely.”

Brian ended by waggling his eyebrows and flashing his lewdest grin at the boy, who immediately looked away, pale cheeks flaming with a bright pink blush.

“. . . so fucking sweet . . .”

Brian realized he’d said the words out loud about half a second after they were out of his mouth, but it was too late to take them back. So, to cover, he quickly moved on to the real topic he’d meant to ask about. He just hoped his GhostBoy would forget the momentary lapse into total lesbianism.

“Speaking of the electrical outlet down in your lair, what’s up with that, anyway?”

“What do you mean,” Justin questioned, finally looking up at Brian again.

“The Pit of Despair?” Brian teased but hurried on before the boy had a chance to distract him with another blush or an equally adorable look of confusion. “There's not supposed to be anything down there. The blueprints show only a crawl space under the foundations. So where'd the hidden room come from?”

“Oh, well, my folks were planning on finishing the basement and making it into a rec room, you know. They dug out the crawl space so they could put in a bathroom and some additional storage. Only, after my mother died, my . . . um . . . m-my father never got around to finishing it.”

Brian's only response to that explanation was a noncommittal ‘hmmm’. Justin seemed agitated by his own statement, his eyes going unfocused as he stared off into space at some unseen past events. Brian leaned back in his chair, lifting his beer and sipping at it until he decided to just fuck it all and jump in with both feet.

“That doesn't explain why it is that you're living down there . . .” Justin dropped his fork, his head bowed and a frown deepening on his face. Brian continued. “It's not exactly the finest room in the house, is it? I mean, this is a pretty big place - there are four perfectly decent bedrooms upstairs plus the room I'm going to turn into a study on the main floor. I would've figured any one of those would be more comfortable than your dark little lair. Or do you prefer a dirt floor, no walls, no ceiling and no light?”

There was no answer from the silent GhostBoy.

“You're not going to give me any clue at all?” Brian pressed, even knowing he was unlikely to get an answer. “Okay, then, how about if I tell you what I think happened and you can just nod if I'm getting close? How does that sound?” The silent specter gave a hint of a shrug but didn't look up - Brian assumed that was the closest he'd get to consent, though, and simply hurried on. “Fine. So, I have three working theories, a couple of which might be slightly less likely than the other, but who knows, right? This is the kind of mystery that often comes with a twist or two . . .”

Still nothing from his ghost.

“Okaaaaay. So, theory number one - which I admit is a little out there - is that you're a vampire and you hide in the basement because you'd burn up in the daylight,” Brian offered with a chuckle as he noted the minute curling of his ghost’s lips in amusement. “I know. I know. I probably watched way too much television in the nineties, but you gotta admit it makes some sense - you have this crazy, pale skin, you only come out at night to rattle the pipes and walk around the house, and you've got those mesmerizing blue eyes that seem to make me say and do stupid shit. You could be compelling me against my will. I mean, it's possible, right?”

Brian paused with a silly shrug. Justin silently shook his head ‘no’ but let himself smile a little more. Brian chuckled again, glad to get at least that much of a response.

“Like I said, it was a long shot. So, then, theory number two - which is sorta related to theory number one but definitely less ‘Buffy’ and more ‘Bill Nye The Science Guy’ - is that you've got some kind of medical condition that prevents you from going outside. Maybe an allergy to the sun?” Another ‘no’. “Boy in the bubble kinda thing? You know, you can't come into contact with others for fear of contamination?” That got him a huff of laughter from the ghost along with another shake of the head. “Agoraphobia, maybe?” A shrug and a shake. “Damn. I was really hoping I was onto something there.”

The lighthearted banter seemed to have drawn Justin out again, at least a little bit. He was smiling now and not shrinking away from Brian. He seemed receptive to the topic, at least. Which was what Brian had been aiming for. Now, it was time to hit the kid with the big guns.

“Fine. Then that leaves only theory number three . . . That someone, your father maybe, forced you into that hole and made you live there?”

There was absolutely no response at all to this assertion. Justin appeared to freeze, his fork hovering in mid air, halfway between his plate and his mouth. The only sign that the boy had even heard Brian's last theory was the way his eyes sprung open as wide as they could possibly go.

“But, if that were the case,” Brian resumed his narrative, "there's one thing that doesn't make any sense to me. Your father's been dead for months. So why haven't you come out of hiding before now? . . . And why are all the locks on the inside of the crawl space door rather than the outside? It's as if you were locking other people out rather than being locked inside yourself.”

Brian paused there, waiting to see if that little bombshell would get any response. However, the only reaction he got was Justin pushing away his plate, folding his hands in his lap, and sitting there as if waiting for judgment of some kind to be pronounced upon him. Brian couldn't tell if it were submissiveness or just plain old-fashioned stubbornness. He wasn’t going to back down though - not when he felt he was on the verge of getting some answers.

“Why, Justin? Why are you hiding yourself away like this? The neighbors say you went missing almost three years ago. Have you been in that disgusting hole all this time? Why? And why didn't you come out of hiding when your asshole father finally did everyone a favor and blew his fucking brains out? I don't understand. Tell me. Why didn't you come out then?”

Calmly, determinedly, and without any fanfare at all, as if the conclusion was already set in stone and immutable, Justin looked up and finally met Brian's eyes. “I can't come out. I . . . I did something really bad. I don't deserve to come out. Ever.”

With the same air of resignation, the boy got up from the table, took his plate over to the sink, quickly rinsed it off, and put it into the dishwasher. He turned around, looking at Brian wistfully for a half a second, then sighed and headed out the door towards the living room without another word.

“Well, that’s one way to cut short an uncomfortable conversation,” Brian mumbled, getting to his own feet so he could stop the fleeing ghost.

Justin was already halfway to the basement stairs before Brian caught up to him, grabbing the youth’s shoulder and halting his next step.

“Justin, stop. I don’t care,” Brian blurted out. “Whatever it is you did - or THINK you did - I don’t care. It doesn’t matter to me. You don’t need to hide from me.”

Justin didn’t look around at first. His body remained stiff under Brian’s hand. You could see the tension and indecision in the way the young man’s muscles clenched under the skin. You could almost hear the war of words in his head as he fought against the desire to trust this man who was offering him an unexpected safety net. Brian could tell that his ghost didn’t trust easily. He suspected that the kid had had his ability to trust beaten out of him - much like Brian himself had. But Brian stood firm. He wasn’t going to give up on his little ghost.

And somehow that determination must have gotten through.

Little by little, the stiffness in those shoulders melted away.

“Come on, Ghost,” Brian coaxed, tugging a little to get the boy to turn away from the stairs and come back with him to the kitchen again. “Let’s try out that horribly fattening oreo cookie pie that Penny sent over a couple of days ago.” Justin looked at him as if he didn’t recognize the man standing next to him. “Hey, I worked my tushy off today. I deserve some pie, right?” The ghost remained skeptical. “I’m allowed the occasional dessert, you know.”

The boy still hesitated, but Brian was unrelenting. He wasn’t going to let Justin disappear back into that hole ever again. Not if there was any way he could stop the kid.

“Justin. Come eat some some damn pie. I don’t want it going to waste. You know I can only eat one piece and that’s a big fucking pie, so you’re going to have to step up and help me. And, if you help me get rid of it, I promise not to complain even once about eating carbs this late in the day.”

The temptation of the gooey, sugar-laden, chocolate and cream dessert was too much for the boy’s already faltering willpower. Without further complaint, the little ghost let Brian lead him back to the kitchen and seat him at the table before he served up two slices of the disgustingly sweet concoction. Of course Brian’s slice was barely an inch wide, while Justin’s slice was basically a whole quarter of the pie, which made Justin smile again for the first time since Brian had ventured into his dangerous dinner discussion. But Brian figured it had been worth it. He’d ferreted out another couple of kernels of information about his mysterious blond ghost and maybe broken through a few more of the boy’s walls.

The sacrifice of having to eat a slice of oreo cookie pie was probably worth it.

Chapter 18 - Coming Home.

After dessert, Brian and Justin had resumed their usual routine, settling on the couch and turning on the television to watch something inane. Unfortunately, Brian’s long day of hard labor had taken its toll and he was dozing before they even hit the second commercial break of whatever it was they were watching. Rather than fall asleep where he was and have to sleep on the uncomfortable couch all night, though, he hefted himself to his feet and headed for the stairs.

“Let’s go, Ghost,” he ordered sleepily. “It’s time for all good little spooks to go sleepy-night-night.”

“I can stay on the couch, Brian. Really. It’s not a big deal,” Justin offered again.

“No, you can’t,” Brian insisted, pausing halfway up the stairs to turn and spear his GhostBoy with a domineering stare. “I happen to know for a fact that couch is uncomfortable as hell to sleep on. You’ll end up with a broken back if you try it. So just get your ass up here and get in bed already because I’m too tired to carry you.”

That seemed to settle the matter. Justin compliantly followed in Brian’s wake, accepting the clean t-shirt the older man handed to him in lieu of pajamas as well as the fresh toothbrush. After Brian was done in the bathroom, Justin went in and did his thing. Then he submissively padded over to the far side of the bed and got in under the covers that Brian was patiently holding up for him.

Brian thought very briefly of trying to pick things back up where they’d left off that morning, but quickly realized he was too tired to manage anything serious. So much for the legendary stamina of the Stud of Liberty Avenue, huh? It was a good thing none of his friends were around to witness his fall from glory. Although it was probably for the best - his ghost still seemed a little pensive and touchy after their dinner discussion and probably wasn’t in the mood anyway.

“Nite, Ghost,” Brian mumbled through a yawn as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Nnnnnhhhaaahhh.”

The whimpering slowly penetrated the lethargy of Brian’s sleep-addled brain. It took him a minute though to figure out exactly what was going on. He wasn’t used to being roused from the depths of dreamland by a thrashing, moaning bedmate. When he got hit across the chest by a flailing arm, however, it brought him immediately wide awake.

“No . . . Molly, no . . .” Justin’s dreams seemed to have taken a decidedly negative turn. “No. Please . . . No! . . . Mom . . . NO!”

The scared ghost bolted up into a seated position, pushing away the arm that Brian had just extended to try and calm him. From the way the kid was panting, you’d have thought he’d just run a marathon. He seemed on the brink of panic. Then, slowly, the young man blinked and seemed to focus on the darkness of the bedroom around him instead of whatever distant images he’d been seeing in his head.

“Everything okay, Ghost?”

Justin shook his head, ‘no’, but didn’t say anything. He was still breathing heavily and looking around him as if he was confused by his surroundings. Brian touched the younger man’s shoulder and the kid jumped as if he’d been poked by an electric cattle prod. Brian jerked his hand back and opted instead to get up and get the kid a glass of water.

On the way back from the bathroom, glass of cool water in his hand, Brian flipped on the light. Justin was still sitting there looking shell-shocked. Brian sat on the edge of the mattress and handed the glass off to the boy who took it mechanically. Then they both just sat there, not saying anything, while Justin sipped at the refreshing water until he seemed much calmer.

Brian continued to scrutinize the boy. Their conversation the night before still hadn’t faded from his mind - Justin’s insistence that he he’d done something ‘bad’ which somehow made it impossible for him to rejoin the world even after his father’s death. It couldn’t be just a coincidence that the kid woke up screaming for his mother and sister. That, coupled with the neighbors’ statements about how that asshole Craig Taylor had repeatedly belittled his son and blamed him for causing Jennifer Taylor’s death, convinced Brian that must be what his ghost was so worried about. Brian had been the target of emotional and verbal abuse enough himself over the years not to make that same connection here.

Fucking judgmental fathers.

“For what it’s worth, Ghost,” Brian finally spoke up, unable to just let this go even though it meant butting into something that wasn’t really any of his business, “your father was wrong. It isn’t your fault that your mother and sister were killed in that accident. You shouldn’t let it get to you like this. You’re not ‘bad’. The guy driving the other car is the one who was at fault. You’re not responsible for their deaths.”

“Except that I kinda am,” Justin insisted quietly. “It’s my fault that my father wasn’t here to run to the store for mom.”

Brian started to object again, but the boy hurried on to explain.

“See, I wanted to go to this choir competition in Wheeling. Our school choir got into the state finals and I really wanted to be there for it. But, of course, the night before the contest, Molly got sick - the flu or something - mom was up with her half the night while Molly puked her guts out. Which meant that mom couldn’t take me to Wheeling like she’d planned since she needed to stay home and take care of Molly. But I had to go and throw a fucking temper tantrum like a five year old. I was a total shit to her. I even accused her of not loving me as much as Molly . . . and that was basically the last thing I said to her.”

Justin finished off his water and set the glass aside. His hands, now empty, began to fiddle with a frayed patch on the hem of the duvet. His eyes, focused on the past, didn’t notice Brian’s concern.

“Mom finally caved and called my father. He had to take the day off work to drive me to Wheeling,” Justin continued his narrative. “The choir did really well, too. We made it to the last round. But, as expected, it took all day. We didn’t even get started on the last round of competitions until after four in the afternoon. Which is when my father got the call from the sheriff’s office . . . Molly had developed a fever and we were out of Children’s Tylenol. Mom had called Dad earlier in the day and he’d promised to pick some up on the way home, but I guess she decided not to wait. So she’d loaded a sick Molly into the car and headed off to the pharmacy . . . they didn’t make it. The car was wishboned by a drunk driver less than a mile from our house. They say Molly was killed on impact. Mom made it to the hospital but died before we could get back from Wheeling.”

“So, you see, it WAS my fault. At least in part,” Justin finally looked up at Brian, his gemstone blue eyes sparkling even brighter because of the brimming tears. “I know I wasn’t the idiot driving the truck that hit them, but I didn’t need to be such a fucking brat to my mother either. I could have gotten a ride with somebody else. But I sort of wanted them there to watch the competition. I wanted to show off. And I was glad my dad was being forced to take me because he was the one always complaining about me wasting my time on art and choir. So, in my arrogance, I was glad he was being forced to take time off work to drive me all the way to Wheeling. But, if he’d been home, he could have run to the store for mom and then . . . he’d have been the one killed by that drunk driver.”

The last sentence was spoken so quietly that Brian could barely hear the words even though he was only a foot away.

So it wasn’t just simple guilt that was eating at the boy. There was anger there too. A deep seated anger that was probably festering in his soul almost as much as the regret Justin felt over losing his mother and sister. Brian couldn’t say he blamed the younger man though - from what little he’d heard about Craig Taylor, Brian was right there with the kid, wishing that bastard had been the one killed. But, unfortunately, real life didn’t work like that.

“I’ll never forgive myself for treating my mother so badly or for saying the things I did that day,” Justin insisted as he turned away from Brian and lay back on the pillows. “And I’ll never forget . . .”

Brian didn’t know what to say to that statement. There wasn’t really anything he could say or do to make the kid feel better. But, even after he climbed back into bed himself, Brian continued to think about the kid’s story and wonder if all kids of fathers like Craig Taylor were doomed to everlasting regrets.

For the second morning in a row, Brian woke up to a warm blond boy curled around him. The kid appeared to be an unconscious snuggler - during the day Justin seemed barely tolerant of even the most casual of touches, but somehow, in the middle of the night, he’d glom all over you. Brian didn’t really mind though. He was becoming rather fond of this armful of warm GhostBoy.

Unfortunately, Brian didn’t have time to laze around in bed and make out the way he had the morning before. Which really wasn’t fair. But a quick look at the clock on his bedside table reinforced the fact that he was already running late and any ghostly playtime was going to have to wait - again. Today, Brian was due at Ryder’s for his once-a-quarter Sabbatical Check-in.

As part of the deal with his boss that allowed Brian to take this year off, he’d agreed to come into the office for one day every three months. The idea was that he’d be available for questions about his old accounts, consultation on new campaigns and to complete any paperwork that required his personal signature. Brian suspected that, in reality, it was just Marty Ryder’s way of keeping tabs on him and making sure Brian wasn’t off secretly plotting to steal all the firm’s clients behind everyone’s backs.

Brian really wasn’t looking forward to it though. The routine of getting up while it was still only barely light, putting on a suit and tie, and then driving into the office where he knew a buttload of problems and stress was waiting for him, felt like torture. Even though it had only been a few months since he’d moved out here to West Virginia, that world and that life felt like ancient history. He was surprised, to be honest, how easily he’d fallen into the routine of a quieter, slower life out here. He used to consider himself quite a ‘mover and shaker’. But Brian truly liked the relaxed pace of his days now and even the hard physical labor was, in some ways, soothing. As he stood in front of the bathroom mirror to adjust his tie, Brian realized that just the act of putting on the monkey suit he used to love was stressing him out. He could feel the muscles in his back and shoulders tensing up and he had the beginnings of a headache starting behind his eyes - and he hadn’t even left the fucking house yet. He hadn’t had one of those headaches in months, and was not looking forward to it coming back. This time off was proving to be good for him in more ways than he could have ever expected.

Brian finished dressing and then made sure he had all the gadgets and trappings of a modern man in his pockets: wallet, keys, cell phone. Before he left he scanned the room one more time, feeling like he had forgotten something. All he saw, though, was the GhostBoy still snoozing in his bed. The sight brought back a smile to his lips and eased at least a little of the tension he was feeling. He was bummed by having to leave so early, and would much rather stay in bed with his comfy warm ghost, but the idea that the boy would be waiting there for him when he got back was reassuring.

Kinney-Tastic: Had to go into town for the day. Won’t be back till late. Have fun haunting the castle while I’m gone. ;)

Brian sent the text before leaving the room. He didn’t want his ghost wondering where he was when he woke up. The kid had enough on his mind already. As it was, he kind of worried about leaving Justin alone all day after the bad night he’d had. He didn’t want the kid just sitting around brooding all day, guilting himself out over his mother’s death. But, hopefully, the kid would find something to keep himself busy.

Kinney-Tastic: Don’t forget to eat - that damned oreo cookie pie better be gone by the time I get home!

He sent the second post-script text, not caring that it made him sound a bit like a mother hen, since nobody but his ghost would see it. Then Brian tiptoed over to the bed, leaned down, and left a goodbye kiss on the barely stubbled blond cheek, before heading out of the bedroom and off on his day of Advertising World Adventures.

The morning at Ryder’s was just as tedious and aggravating as Brian had expected. How everyone working at the agency - other than himself and his assistant, Cynthia, of course - could be so utterly incompetent, was mind boggling. The Bobsey Twins - aka Bob and Brad - had somehow managed to totally screw up at least three of Brian’s former accounts even though he’d left them with completed, ready-to-run campaigns, that he’d thought were foolproof. Running cleanup for their messes was going to take him the rest of the day. He wouldn’t even have time to help Ryder out on any of the new campaigns he’d wanted Brian’s input on. No wonder Marty was desperate to talk him into ending his sabbatical early - not that Brian was going to capitulate on that point though. By lunchtime, he was seriously thinking about NEVER coming back at all.

Luckily he had the excuse of having to meet his friends for lunch to get him out of the business lunch that Ryder proposed. Brian had never been happier to get to the Diner and away from work. The sight of the familiar building, festooned with its rainbow decorations both inside and out, the same old faces of customers and staff, and even the same, comforting smells of greasy, fried food, quickly assuaged Brian’s frazzled nerves. When he slid into the already full booth next to Michael, it felt like coming home.

Brian was greeted with ‘hello’s by one and all and received a kiss to his cheek from Michael. It seemed like Brian was the last of the group to arrive: Michael and his boyfriend Ben were there, seated across from each other in the booth, as was Emmett, who was sitting next to the big, buff, college professor. Brian looked around and saw Ted perched on one of the stools at the counter, engaged in a tete-a-tete with a little blond hottie.

Brian raised a brow and tilted his head in the accountant’s direction questioningly.

“That’s ‘Blake’,” Emmett explained in a stage whisper with a disapproving frown. “I’ll tell you ALL about him later.”

The negative shaking of Em’s head already told Brian that there was some serious drama surrounding Ted’s new friend. Brian couldn’t help but chuckle at the little act. Even the catty gossip of his friends was familiar and companionable and made him feel at home.

He might not have missed work, but he did miss his friends sometimes.

“So, how are the house renovations coming along, Brian?” Ben asked as soon as Debbie had stopped by and taken their orders. “Michael was pretty impressed by all you’d done so far the last time he was out there.”

“It’s coming along pretty well. Except for the occasional electrical fire, you know,” Brian answered, knowing he’d get a rise with that comment.

“What? You had a fire? Are you okay. What happened, Brian?” Michael demanded, concern oozing out with every question.

“Calm yourself, Mikey,” Brian ordered. “It wasn’t anything big. Just a short caused by the old wiring and an overload when we tried to install some new lighting fixtures. A few papers and a table caught on fire but we put it out right away. Only, I had to spend the entire day yesterday helping the contractor install a new breaker box and rewiring the entire place. All’s well that ends well, though, and I have a newly electrified house with plenty of power now.”

“Is it wrong that I’m just a little bit turned on by the idea of Brian wearing a tool belt and doing construction work?” Emmett commented, thankfully distracting Michael from further worrying about his friend getting electrocuted.

“You should file a claim with your homeowners insurance for that, Bri,” Ted intervened, turning on his stool so he was facing the table of friends in order to impart his accounting wisdom. “You can probably get compensation for at least part of the cost of your rewiring. It’ll help defray your renovation expenses and result in an even higher profit margin when you do flip the place.”

“Excellent advice, Theodore.” Brian nodded approvingly at his staid friend’s accountancy. “I hadn’t even considered that. Although, I hate the idea of dealing with all that paperwork.”

“If you want, I can do that for you. As your accountant, it’s not outside my job description. Just email me the contractor’s rewiring quote and I’ll get it done before the day’s out.”

“Is it wrong that I’M just a little bit turned on by you going all out Accountant on everyone,” Ted’s new flame, Blake, spoke up, beaming up at the accountant in question with gooey adoration.

Ted blushed like a schoolgirl. Michael snorted a derogatory little laugh at Ted’s reaction. Emmett rolled his eyes so hard that Brian thought he might be having a seizure. Ben only smiled indulgently at the new couple’s overt and nauseating romanticism.

Okay, Brian hadn’t missed them that much.

To distract them all from the dangerous levels of couple-dom, Emmett launched into a tale of his latest trick - a Dom Cowboy who had wanted to take Em home, hogtie and then brand him. Em’s story quickly devolved into the raunchy details of his night of rodeo fun and Brian’s construction woes were soon forgotten. Even Brian got a hoot out of this particular story, which was a sure sign he’d been deprived of his own adventures for far too long.

Just as they were getting to the good parts, though, Brian’s phone chirped the tone he used for notifications of incoming text messages. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen, curious who would be texting him since all his friends were right there in the same room as him and he’d specifically forbidden Cynthia to disturb him during lunch. When he saw that the message was from GhostBoy Taylor, he immediately got worried seeing as Justin wasn’t the type to just want to chat.

GhostBoy Taylor: Your plumber is here. He’s pounding on the door. What should I do?

Kinney-Tastic: WTF is he doing there today?

GhostBoy Taylor: ?

Brian quickly tapped over to his calendar app and . . . low and behold, he saw that he had, indeed, rescheduled the plumber for today. Unfortunately, he’d goofed and input the visit for 12 am instead of 12 pm, so it hadn’t shown up when he’d been looking at the calendar earlier to schedule his day at Ryder’s. Fucking technology!

Kinney-Tastic: Damn! I got my appointments messed up. Can you please let him in for me Ghost? I’ve already rescheduled with him once and if I put him off again, he’ll probably disappear for weeks.

There was no immediate answer and Brian started to get just a bit worried. He knew Justin's aversion to people, but this was an emergency. Brian's entire reno schedule would have to get put on hold for fuck knew how long if the plumbing wasn't taken care of.

Kinney-Tastic: Ghost? You there? Please help me out here & let the guy in.

GhostBoy Taylor: Who is the plumber?

Kinney-Tastic: ?

GhostBoy Taylor: Is he a local guy?

Kinney-Tastic: Local as in from WV? No. He's a friend of a friend from Pittsburgh. Which is another reason why, if you don't let him in, I probably won't be able to reschedule him for weeks.

GhostBoy Taylor: Ok. Letting him in now.

Brian took a relieved breath and put his phone down on the table next to his plate. He was glad he happened to have a helpful ghost back home. But he HAD missed out on the apparent punchline of Emmett’s joke. Oh well.

A few minutes later, though, Brian’s phone started vibrating and chiming again.

GhostBoy Taylor: Mario has questions I don’t know how to answer. I know nothing about plumbing, Brian.

“Damn it,” Brian muttered as he texted back asking what now.

“Problems, Brian?” Michael asked, craning his neck over to try and read Brian’s messages over his shoulder.

“Just my fucking house . . .” Brian muttered, reading through the list of strange questions Justin was relaying to him. “Damn it. We already talked about that.” Brian started to slide out of the booth, texting as he went to ask Justin to put ‘Mario’ on FaceTime so he could have it out with the man. “Sorry, I have to take this or I won’t have running water when I get home,” he apologized to his friends.

Brian bustled out the Diner’s front door just in time to accept the FaceTime call. The screen showed Justin’s worried frowning face next to that of a sweaty, middle-aged man with a full, rather unkempt beard and blotchy, red face. Brian briefly reflected that his plumber looked more like Donkey Kong than one of the Mario Brothers.

“Thanks for dealing with this, Ghost,” Brian greeted his resident specter with a smile before he turned his attention to the petulant plumber. “Now, Mario, what’s the problem? I thought we already discussed the main floor guest bath . . .”

It only took Brian a couple of minutes to sort things out and remind his plumber of the arrangements they’d previously discussed. Mario seemed to be one p-trap short of a fully plumbed drain, but Brian didn’t have time to be picky about the intelligence level of his plumbing contractor. He just needed the work done.

As soon as Mario was set to rights, the tablet computer was handed back to Brian’s ghost and the plumber went to get started on the job. Justin seemed a little jumpy but Brian thought the kid was handling things well considering how loathe he was to talk to strangers. It was a really good thing Justin had been there though, or Brian’s plumbing would have been seriously screwed up.

“Thanks, Ghost. I know that intervening with remedial plumbers isn’t in your job description, although if you wanted to ‘haunt’ Mario for the rest of the day - just to make sure he doesn’t fuck things up, you know - I wouldn’t object,” Brian teased, getting a nervous little smile out of his ghost. “I really do appreciate you handling this for me, though.”

“You’re welcome, Brian. Sorry I couldn’t answer all his questions by myself.”

“No problem. You wouldn’t have known what I wanted. Mario, on the other hand, should have known,” Brian groused.

“Oooo - who’s the cutie? Leave it to Brian Kinney to hire an adorable twinkie plumber, am I right?” Emmett commented from where he’d snuck up behind Brian to peak at the phone over Brian’s shoulder.

“Gotta go,” Brian said curtly and then immediately cut off the FaceTime call. “What the fuck are you doing, Honeycutt? That was a private call,” he complained to his friend.

“Sorry. I didn’t know you were so touchy about your plumbers, Brian. And don’t call me ‘Honeycutt’.”

“Hey, Brian. You owe me $10,” Michael announced, coming through the Diner’s door in time to interrupt the argument. “So, did you get your plumbing problem resolved?”

“You know they have pills for that these days,” Ted joked, butting into the conversation with his usual wry wit. “One little blue pill will have you up and at ‘em just like when you were a young, sprightly stud, Stud.”

“Ha, fucking, ha!” Brian snarled. “It’s not THAT kind of plumbing problem, Theodore.”

“Judging by the delicious little plumber’s assistant Brian has back at his house, I’d say that particular pipe is just fine, or at least it will be when the Stud gets home and takes care of that pretty little twinkie. He was scrumptious!” Emmett trumpeted, enjoying the way the usually unflappable Brian Kinney was getting all bothered by his teasing.

“You’ve got a trick waiting for you at home?” Michael asked, looking up at Brian with awe. “Of course you do. That’s why you’re the Stud of Liberty Avenue . . . or should we say, the Stud of West Virginia now? *hahaha*”

“Fuck off, all of you,” Brian growled, not sure why he felt so angry all of a sudden, but sure he didn’t want any of these losers butting into his plans for the GhostBoy. “He’s not a fucking trick. And my pipes are just fine. It’s my toilets that need help.”

Of course the gang was used to Brian’s incendiary moods so they didn’t take real offense, even though a couple of them thought that he WAS overreacting a bit to Em’s teasing about the potential trick. It would have been a lot more characteristic of Brian to brag about what he intended to do to the boy when he got home - whether or not the story was true - than to get all protective of the kid. Brian’s reaction only made Emmett more curious about exactly who the pretty little blond boy was. Not that he’d risk riling up the prickly Mr. Kinney by asking about it.

However, since the lunch hour was over, Em would have to delay his curiosity for the time being. The gang broke up, saying their goodbyes and each heading off to their own jobs or homes. Michael, who had the day off, decided to walk with Brian back to Ryder’s. They chatted about inconsequential things for the six or so blocks until they reached the high-rise office building where Brian’s office was located.

“So, I was thinking I might come check out the progress you’ve made on your place this weekend,” Michael proposed as they neared the lobby door. “You know, make sure you’re not becoming a hermit out there in the wastelands, and all. I’ll bring some movies and food and we can just hang out like old times. In fact, I’ll even pick up some Thai takeout so you can relive the glory days of your urban life. What do you say?”

Brian’s first instinct was to give Michael a flat-out ‘no’. He was strangely reluctant to have his old friend imposing himself on the West Virginia house and Brian’s life there. And he really didn’t want to expose Justin to the rest of the gang just yet. It felt like Justin was a special secret - something Brian wanted to keep for himself. Like, whatever was going on between him and the Pseudo-Ghost would be tainted or damaged by any contamination with real life. Which was ridiculous, right? If anything, Brian should be encouraging the boy to get out and meet people. But, still, Brian just couldn’t do it. He simply didn’t want Michael butting in on something he was finding so precious.

“The house is a fucking mess right now, Mikey. Except for my bedroom, there’s not a single wall intact in the whole place,” Brian explained evasively. “Why don’t we wait a couple weeks and, once I’ve got things more under control, I’ll call you.”

“Uh, okay,” Michael seemed so crestfallen that Brian felt like he’d just kicked him or something.

He couldn’t stand that sad puppy look. He immediately relented. At least in part.

“How about I come into town on Saturday and we hang out at your place instead?” Brian offered.

“That would be super, Brian. I’ll make sure we have a good selection of movies. Have you seen the latest Spider-Man movie? It was so great . . .” Michael devolved into paroxysms of adoration about the latest superhero movie, which Brian only half listened to.

“I gotta get back to work, Mikey,” Brian interrupted before his friend could get too wrapped up in his Marvel fantasies. “Give me a call tomorrow and we’ll make plans. Okay?”

“It’s a date, Brian!” Michael beamed up at him happily.

Brian leaned down and gave Michael a big, wet smooch goodbye before he disappeared back into the bowels of Ryder’s Advertising Hell for the rest of the afternoon.

Brian finally made it home a little after eight that night. Ryder would have probably kept him till midnight if he hadn’t finally just got up and walked out. It had been a hellish day, but still, Brian was surprised to find himself so grateful to be back at the old, mysterious mansion in the middle of nowhere. It amazed him that this place - a half furnished hovel that was more construction site than house at this point - could feel more like a home to him than the loft he’d lived in for almost a decade.

The primary reason for this feeling appeared almost as soon as Brian walked in the door, though.

He pulled the Jeep into the recently emptied garage and made his way through the basement, past the dark maw of the empty crawl space room, over to the stairs, and was reassured to find a light on guiding him upwards and into the Greatroom. There, seated in his customary spot on the far end of the couch, was his own personal Haunt, sitting quietly and scratching away at his sketchpad. Brian felt this almost inexplicable settling feeling in his gut at the sight. The tension in his shoulders, accumulated over a day full of stress and conflict, seemed to melt away. There was a tangible sense of comfort just seeing that small, intent, body sitting there on his couch, so focused on his drawing that he didn’t even hear Brian coming in.

It felt like what coming home should feel, or at least what Brian imagined it should be like, if he’d ever had a real home before.

“Hey, Ghost,” Brian whispered as he bent over the back of the sofa and deposited a kiss on the boy’s cheek in a familiar gesture that felt so right it wasn’t at all awkward or uncomfortable.

Justin jumped at little at the contact. He apparently hadn’t heard Brian coming in. But he didn’t shrink away from the touch like he’d been doing earlier, so Brian thought it a win.

“Hi,” the greeting was shy and sweet and the smile the boy directed up at Brian made him feel stupidly melty inside. “Long day?”

“Too flucking long by half,” Brian replied, but his smile at the little blond belied his tired sounding words. “Did you eat already? If not, I brought home Thai.”

Brian held out the large brown bag full of food he’d schlepped home. Based on the way the boy’s face lit up, he got the impression that not only was Justin hungry, but he approved of the idea of Thai take out. Brian found himself quite pleased by how well his little surprise was going over.

“No, I didn’t eat. I didn’t know when you’d be home, so I was waiting.”

“Well, then, dinner is served,” Brian grinned as he handed off the bag to his ghost.

Working together, the two of them quickly dished out two bowls of Pad Thai noodles with a side of peanut curry. Then they took their bounty back out to the couch and settled into their usual places on the couch. It was unconstrained and friendly and Brian didn’t even balk at the intimacy of it all. He was too relaxed and comfortable. So, when they sat there, their feet intertwined, their bodies leaning against the opposite arms of the couch, it just seemed right.

“So, the plumbing?” Brian asked as soon as he’d quelled the worst of his hunger.

“Done,” Justin confirmed as he shoveled in another forkful of spicy noodles. “Well, mostly. I didn’t think you wanted him to get started on the master bathroom yet, so I told him to hold off on that for now. I figured you could do that once all the rest of the house was done. It’s not a good idea to have the only fully functioning bathroom in the house out of commission right? But other than that, the rest of the fixtures are installed and it all works.”

“Excellent work, Ghost,” Brian praised him, earning another of those brilliantly sweet smiles that Brian found himself becoming addicted to. “Thanks again for dealing with all that shit. I appreciate the save. You really did good.”

The praise caused Brian’s GhostBoy to smile even more broadly. Brian found himself smiling back with a silly grin. Justin looked down at his bowl bashfully, his cheeks turning a pretty pink that made Brian want to lean forward and kiss the fuck out of the kid. And, just because he could, after a moment of indecision, Brian did just that. He set his bowl of Thai aside, twisted around so he could reach, and then bent forward so that he could capture those cotton-candy pink lips with a spicy, Thai-flavored kiss.

“Delicious!”  Brian pronounced when he finally broke the kiss and returned to his dinner.  

The rest of the evening was spent in easy camaraderie. Brian had never before felt so tranquil and contented in his entire life. When it was time to head up to bed, he found himself almost giddy at the prospect that his little GhostBoy was right there with him, following on his heels all the way up the stairs and into the master bedroom. And the strangest thing was that his pleasure wasn’t even overtly sexual. He was just happy that Justin was there with him and wasn’t fighting him or trying to disappear into his hole again.   

Yep, this really was the life that Brian wanted to be living at that point in his life.

Chapter 19 - Story Within A Story.

Justin was in the bathroom, standing in front of the sink and brushing his teeth, when Brian sauntered in, already stripped bare.

“I stink,” Brian announced, lifting his arm and taking a whiff of his own pit. “How the fuck can a person get so fucking tired and sweaty just sitting at a fucking desk all day?” He edged past Justin towards the shower. “I’m going to take a quick shower before bed.” Pausing after he slid open the shower curtain, he turned and waggled an elegant eyebrow at his guest via the mirror’s reflection. “Care to join me, Ghost?”

Justin froze, frothy toothpaste dripping down the handle of the toothbrush onto his fingers, as he stared back at the mirror’s image of a naked, inviting Brian Kinney. Brian simply stood there, not pushing, but smiling lasciviously at the boy with his arms held out towards the shower like a game show hostess gesturing towards the prize. Justin was no match for the silly man’s game. With a shy smile, he bent, spit out his mouthful of toothpaste, rinsed the brush under the tap and then turned to face his waiting host.

“Good call,” Brian teased, reaching out to grab the front of the boy’s shirt and use it to pull him closer. “I wouldn’t want a smelly ghost in my bed now, would I?”

Justin bit at his bottom lip sheepishly, his eyes sparkling with quiet amusement, but didn’t answer. He let himself be drawn towards his naked host without any resistance. As soon as Brian had his victim within easy reach, he gave in to his desire and leaned down, one finger under Justin’s chin to raise the pale face and take possession of the boy’s eminently kissable lips. The ghost happily kissed back until they were both in need of a cold shower to cool them off.

Not that Brian was worried about cooling off - he was just getting started.

Breaking away from the kiss long enough to pull Justin’s shirt off over the boy’s head, Brian tossed the fabric aside and then returned to the soft, pliant lips once more. Damn the kid was delicious! And, for a relative tyro, he sure could kiss like a pro. It had to be those juicy, full lips. The more he thought of those lips, though, the harder it became for Brian to remember that the point had been to get them in the shower and then off to bed. Which definitely sounded better than standing here and doing whatever they were going to do in the middle of the bathroom floor.

With the intent of moving things along, Brian hooked a finger through the waistband of the kid’s jeans and yanked till the top button popped. Then he snaked one hand down inside, too eager to root out the funner bits of his ghost’s anatomy to bother with a damn zipper. Justin gasped loudly as Brian’s hand cupped around his balls, giving a gentle squeeze or two and then releasing his treasure so he could finish sliding the pants off the boy’s slim hips. Justin seemed either too shocked or too aroused to object and merely stood there like a mannequin while he was being undressed between kisses. Once all the annoying clothing was gone and the boy was standing there in the buff, Brian took a step back and surveyed his subject.

“Well, you’re as pale as a ghost, that’s for sure,” he teased running his fingers along one creamy pec, down the boy’s abs and then stopping just above the dark blond curls below. “But you certainly feel like solid flesh and bone. Quite a lovely bit of bone, too.”

Brian traced one finger fleetingly across the tip of the young man’s prodigiously straining cock with an appreciative smile, causing the ghost's pale cheeks to pinken nicely and his dick to twitch expectantly. Brian loved how innocent the kid was while, at the same time, he was so agreeably open to every advance. It was a heady combination. But, if he didn’t move on soon, Brian was going to forget the shower altogether.

The Stud tore his attention away from the waiting GhostBoy, drew back the shower curtain and leaned down to turn on the tap. The plumber must have got the new tankless water heater installed without a problem since the hot water came out almost immediately. Brian was impressed and happy that he wouldn’t be standing around waiting for a warm shower for endless minutes. Plus, this meant he could get his ghost under the water that much sooner.

“After you,” Brian offered gallantly, stepping back so that Justin could precede him into the shower enclosure.

The boy smiled at him nervously but only hesitated a moment before he took up the challenge, stepped over the edge of the tub and into the spray from the showerhead above. Brian quickly followed, moving to stand directly behind the shorter blond and pulling the shower curtain closed behind them. Then Brian picked up the bar of soap and used it to thoroughly lather up the boy’s backside, sliding his hands over the slim shoulders, the lightly muscled back, and the trim hips. The only part of the youth that wasn’t on the thin side was his ass which, Brian was happy to note, was nicely plump. He lingered a bit on that feature, enjoying the pleasant way the pair of soapy ass cheeks fit into his palms. The firm, full flesh was so delectably tempting. He gave the twin globes a familiar little squeeze, eliciting an appreciative moan from his ghost in the process. Brian simply couldn’t get enough of that perky, sweet ass. Justin’s ass was made to be fondled. And more.

Brian easily gave in to his desire to become even more intimately acquainted with that amazing ass. He pulled his ghost back, flush against his body, and started to run his soapy hands all over the boy’s chest and abs while his cock settled nicely in the soapy crack behind. Justin let himself sag backwards, his weight supported by Brian’s solid frame, as the warm shower water continued to pelt down on his face. The big guy’s tender ministrations were calming and exciting the boy at the same time. He seemed to have abandoned any trace of his former hesitation though. The ghost was completely under Brian’s thrall by that point.

Eventually, Brian’s hands drifted lower. His fingertips played over the softness of the younger man’s loins, edging towards the patch of thick blond pubes and using the soapy lather to draw esoteric messages on the sensitive skin along the way. The boy twitched a little as Brian’s tickling touch reached a particularly reactive nerve ending or two, but instead of pulling away he pressed back against the bigger frame behind him. Brian was the one moaning then.

Brian took the boy’s actions as an invitation to proceed and gleefully grabbed hold of the pretty pink cock jutting out jubilantly in front of the younger man. Justin instinctively tilted his hips forward into the grip. Then, when he pulled back, it caused his ass to press even more firmly against Brian’s front, and Brian’s cock naturally glided down the soapy crack in an eminently pleasurable slide. Brian continued rutting against the kid’s plump backside while fisting the well-endowed manly bits in front. And, with the warm pattering of the shower on their faces, the excitement of skin touching skin, and the exquisitely pleasurable frotting, it didn’t take long before Brian was teetering on the very brink of no return.

“Brian,” the longing and trust in the boy’s tone told him that his ghost was just as ready.

“That’s my good GhostBoy. Come for me. Come for me now,” Brian whispered into the shell of Justin’s ear as he pulled the slender hips tightly against him with a jerk, sinking his own cock deep between the boy’s creamy thighs and giving one last tug with his free hand that caused the boy to explode with ecstasy with Brian following suit a heartbeat later.  

They stood there after that, each using the other to remain upright while the shower washed away the congealing droplets of cum from thigh and stomach and hands, and the cooling shower water mimicked the cooling wash of endorphins within. Brian felt languorous. It might not have been the wildest fuck he’d ever had, but it had been surprisingly satisfying. If the porcelain tub below his feet weren’t so hard and cold, he might have just sunk to his feet and fallen asleep there. And judging by the boneless way his ghost was slouching against his chest, Justin apparently felt the same sense of lastitude. The younger man compliantly let Brian finish rinsing them both off, then followed as his lover turned the water off, helped him protectively out of the shower, towelled them both dry and led the way to the big, comfy master bed.

They crawled under the covers together, settling into what had become their usual pose - Justin’s head nestled on Brian’s shoulder while the boy curled around the larger man’s side. Brian wasn’t feeling particularly sleepy, but he didn’t feel energetic either. It was more of a relaxed serenity. A feeling that he didn’t remember experiencing before with any prior trick. And what was even more astounding was they hadn’t even really fucked. It had only been a little frotting with a hand job thrown in for good measure. Somehow, though, that brief interlude had felt more elemental, more satisfying, than any fuck in his recent memory. It left Brian surprised and thoughtful, lying there in bed with his arms full of sated blond boy, his mind too full of wonder to let him settle down and fall asleep.

“Brian?” The voice of his ghost sounded as sleepy and quiet as Brian felt. “I wanted to say . . . Thank you.”

“Hmm? Nobody’s ever thanked me for giving them a hand job before, Ghost. You’re more than welcome though. I’m happy to lend a hand whenever needed.”

The soft giggle vibrated through Brian’s skin. He could feel the amused smile as his ghost’s lovely lips, pressed against his chest, curled up at the corners. He reflexively tightened his embrace, twisting his head to the side just enough to leave a small kiss on the tip of the boy’s ear.

“Well, there’s that too,” Justin conceded. “But . . . Well, I . . . I just wanted to thank you for being so nice to me. You know, for not kicking me out as soon as you realized what was what and . . . For letting me stay hidden here. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. Nobody’s ever been this nice to me. This understanding . . .”

Brian didn’t really know what to say to that. He didn't like being thanked for just doing what was right or being called out for his generosity. And he didn’t want to enable the boy's extreme introversion, but he wasn’t going to push him either. He didn’t think it would work, in the first place, and it wasn’t really Brian’s style. Brian had always been a proponent of letting people make their own decisions, even if those decisions were also mistakes.

“I wish you didn’t feel like you needed to hide, Ghost,” Brian responded finally, passively giving voice to his biggest concern for the boy.

“I wish that too.” Justin paused, lost in thought for several silent moments before he continued. “I wish a lot of things about my life were different, Brian . . .”

Since there was no good reply to that statement, both men fell silent again after that. Neither managed to fall asleep for a long time. At least they were in good company while they laid there brooding though.

Brian yawned and stretched his body out across the diagonal of the bed. He smacked his lips a couple times. He grumbled when the morning light streaming through the window blinded him as soon as he cracked open his eyes. He sighed and stretched again. And then his brain kicked in enough that he realized something wasn’t quite right with his morning experience.

Without opening his eyes all the way - because, you know, the blinding light and all - he stretched his left hand out and patted around on the empty bed next to him. His hand did not encounter the warm, cuddly, blond ghost he expected to find there. Braving the morning, Brian opened his eyes all the way and scanned the bedroom, finding absolutely no trace of the boy.

Which was really annoying. He’d rather liked waking up with blond boy in his arms the past couple of days. And he’d had plans for the little ghost this morning. He had hoped to further the boy’s sexual education a step or two. Maybe introduce the tyro to a few more of the pleasures that came with being gay. But, unfortunately, it looked like the ghost couldn’t stay put where Brian could get to him, so morning playtime was off for today.

Brian eventually rolled out of bed, padded off to do his business in the bathroom, and then made his way downstairs in search of his phantom companion. He found a freshly brewed pot of coffee in the kitchen and all the breakfast fixings still set out on the counter waiting for him. But no ghost. He popped a bagel into the toaster, loaded his coffee mug with an inch or so of sugar, and then added some coffee to season it. Then he shuffled out of the kitchen, intent on figuring out where the errant ghost had disappeared to this time.

His first clue was the rhythmic hammering coming up from the basement. What the fuck was the kid up to this early in the morning that involved hammering? Seriously? Shouldn’t hammering be illegal before noon?

Brian traipsed groggily down the stairs to find his handy little haunt diligently slaving away at repairing the smashed doorway into the crawl space. Brian supposed he should be grateful that the kid was helping put the hatchway door to rights again. It had really been destroyed by that sledgehammer Brian had used on it when he needed to rescue Justin from the fire. But, still, Brian wasn’t thrilled to think that the boy was voluntarily reconstituting his former prison. There was no way Brian was going to let the younger man retreat back into that pit.

“The construction worker always was one of of my favorite Village People,” Brian commented sardonically, coming up behind the boy and dexterously grabbing the hammer out of his hand before Justin could make more noise with it. “You’ve got the tool belt - all you need is the hard hat and then you can start doing ‘YMCA’,” he teased, grabbing hold of the leather belt the boy had donned - which was Brian’s by the way, but which definitely looked hotter on the kid - and pulling until his crafty contractor boy was turned around and available for a good morning kiss. “Good morning, Mr. Handyman.”

“Mmmm. Coffee kisses. Nice,” Justin teased back with a smile as soon as he could get in a word and a breath.

“Why so industrious this morning, Ghost?” Brian asked.

“I just . . . I thought I should fix the door, you know. In case . . .”

“Yeah, well, I appreciate you repairing the door so that there’s no hole in my wall, but you’re not going back in there.” Justin opened his mouth as if to protest, but Brian cut him off with another kiss before adding, “it’s not safe in there, Ghost. The wiring is for shit and there’s no light or electricity. Besides, it’s a fucking pit and I don’t want you lurking in there any more.”

“But, I . . . I don’t have anywhere else to go, Brian. Are you going to kick me out after all? I thought you were okay with me being here. I mean, I can’t leave. Not yet. I-I-I haven’t figured out where to go or what to do, and I . . .”

Justin pulled away from Brian, starting to pace back and forth across the space of the basement room, chewing worriedly at his thumb nail.

“Calm yourself, Drama Princess. I’m not kicking you out,” Brian insisted, grabbing Justin on his next pass-by. “But there’s no reason for you to live in this fucking hole, either. I’m fine with you sharing my room for the time being. Or, are you saying you’re sick of me already?” Justin smiled bashfully and shook his head. “Well, if you are, that’s fine. It’s a big house. There’s plenty of other rooms if you feel the need to relocate. Not that I want you to. But we could always finish off one of the spare bedrooms for your stuff and all.”

“Are you sure, Brian? I don’t want to put you out more than I already am. I feel like such a freeloader.”

“I’m fucking sure, Ghost,” Brian insisted and punctuated his statement with another reassuring kiss just so the boy knew he was serious.

“Well, okay . . . Thanks, Brian. Again.” Justin took back his hammer and stepped away from Brian’s arms. “But I really should fix this up for you. You don’t need a gaping hole in your wall. It won’t take me long. I’ve already got the frame rebuilt. I was just going to replace the wood paneling.”

Justin went right back to his work, intent on measuring the next board. Brian took another sip of his coffee and slouched back onto the bench of his weight set, enjoying the show while his ghost did the whole construction thing. The kid seemed to know his way around a hammer pretty well. And, with that tool belt cinched around the slim hips, a sleeveless t-shirt and ragged, torn jeans adorning the boy’s frame, and several nails dangling from between the plump, pink lips while Justin hammered away at his project, Brian thought the kid was incredibly hot. Maybe they could play construction worker later that night . . .

“So, what’s up with this place anyway,” Brian finally asked, his curiosity outweighing the amusement of watching Justin work.

“Huh?”

Brian gestured toward the maw of the pit with his almost empty coffee cup. “Hernando’s Hideaway? The Pit of Despair?” Justin still looked like he didn’t know what Brian was asking so he elaborated. “What’s the story with your hiding place here, Ghost? I mean, it's supposed to be a dirt-filled crawl space, not a hidden room. How'd you work all this?”

“Oh. Well, like I said, it used to be like that,” Justin explained as he continued with his hammering and nailing and sawing. “After my parents decided to redo the entire basement and make it into a really nice, big rec room, they excavated the crawl space and started to put in a bathroom along with some additional storage space. Unfortunately, they only got the rough framing and basic plumbing done before my mother died . . . After that, I guess my father never got around to finishing it. And I just, sorta, made a few additions of my own . . .”

“I see,” Brian mused, glad to finally get at least some answers about his mysterious house. “Well, I’m sure my bagel popped long ago and I’m due for another infusion of coffee, so I’ll just leave you to it and go back to my breakfast. Happy hammering, Ghost.”

Brian had just put his breakfast dishes in the dishwasher when his happy handyman materialized in the kitchen looking pleased with whatever he’d accomplished. Justin advised that the crawl space door was repaired, rehung, and the hole in Brian’s basement wall was once again almost invisible. Brian didn’t really care, as long as Justin wasn’t planning on disappearing into the hole again.

“I’m going to put in a few hours on my novel,” he announced. “I haven’t had much time to write the past few days and I’m itching to get that scene we started on last week finished.”

“I hope you don’t mind,” Justin spoke up with a nervous frown, “but I already added some stuff to that scene for you. You were saying you wanted to flesh out your victim more - add a little more background - so I . . . added a bit.” Justin looked so diffident and worried that it made Brian wonder exactly what had been added. “I doubt it’s any good, but I figured you might be able to at least work with it. If you hate it, you can just delete the whole scene.”

“I haven’t hated anything you’ve done so far, have I?”

The ghost boy simply shrugged noncommittally and didn’t meet Brian’s eyes. Silly, adorable, little twat. Before Brian could get all sentimental and lesbianic, though, he shook his head, turned on his heel and marched out the door, headed for his computer upstairs.

“You coming, Mr. Ghost Writer?” he asked over his shoulder before he got too far.

Brian was gratified to note the shyly proud smile that broke out on his boy’s face before the younger man trotted over and followed him up the stairs.

They arranged themselves as usual - Brian sat at his desk in front of the big desktop computer while Justin lounged on the bed with his tablet - and Brian opened up the document. With a couple of clicks he was at the right chapter and could see that his Ghost had been more than busy, with the ‘bit’ he’d added spanning several pages. Well, well, well. It looked like his ghost certainly had been productive.

Brian dived right into the new material, and found himself caught up almost instantly:

The boy had been cowering in the passenger seat of the car all the way home.

He didn’t know what was going to happen when they arrived, but he knew it wouldn’t be good. The silence in the car as they sped away from the school was heavy and foreboding. Out of the corner of his eye, the boy could see his father fuming, the angry thoughts roiling across the man’s reddened face. He knew the backlash from today was going to be horrible.

Damn the fucking Principal for calling his father in the first place. Who would have thought that his first foray into kissing would end up like this? Fucking Dickhead Dickson. If the damned English teacher hadn’t interrupted and caught the boy just as he’d snaked his hand down the front of the quarterback’s jeans, nobody would have been the wiser about things. But, after Dickson called them out on it and, worse, marched them down to the Principal’s office for a talking to about ‘public displays of affection’, the closeted jock had panicked. Of course the school’s star athlete was freaked out over the possibility of anyone hearing that he’d been making out with another BOY. He didn’t have to be a total ass about it though. The boy was going to be outed as well and you didn’t see HIM spouting off at the top of his lungs and picking a fight right in front of a fucking teacher, did you? After that it was a given that both their parents would be called, escalating the whole thing to another level altogether.

And now the boy’s angry, abusive and totally homophobic father knew the secret that he’d been trying to hide since he turned twelve and first realized he was attracted to boys.

The car pulled up to the front of the house and his father pushed the button on the remote to open up the garage before bounding out of the vehicle. The boy wasn’t going to rush to get out though. He had no reason to hurry towards the punishment he knew was likely waiting for him. Unfortunately, the boy’s hesitation gave his father time to stride around the front of the car, wrench open the passenger side door and forcibly yank the young man out with a pull so strong it practically threw the slightly built youth across the driveway apron. The boy landed awkwardly, toppling over onto his knees and then just groveling there where he’d fallen.

“How DARE you embarrass me like that!” the expected tirade began. “How dare you expose all your vile, obscene proclivities to people who KNOW me? Frankly, it doesn’t surprise me that you turned out to be a disgusting little faggot. I always suspected you weren’t right, but your mother insisted on coddling you like a fucking baby all the time. Well, look how THAT turned out, huh?”

The boy knew it was futile to try and refute anything his father was saying. Anything he said would only make it worse. All he could do was huddle where he’d fallen and wait it out till his father got tired of screaming at him and moved on to the part where the hitting began.

Only, today, it seemed like his father was going to skip right over that part and move on to something even more horrible.

“Well, I’ve had it with you, boy!” the irate and irrationally angry man roared. “I will NOT have you spreading your perversion around. You’re not fit to be around normal, decent people. You’re a fucking abomination and I refuse to let you infect anyone else with your sickness. You hear me?”

The boy ducked his head, hating the painful words almost as much as he hated the blows he thought would be coming.

“You know what? Fuck this. I’m so done with this, boy! I’m fed up to here!” His father gestured with one hand raised a foot above his head. “I won’t have it anymore. I won’t!”

With a last bellow, his father grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt and hoisted him halfway to his feet before throwing him bodily towards the open maw of the garage. The boy scrambled to escape him, crawling on hands and knees as fast as he could to get away, knowing all the while it was useless. His father was faster than he was. He’d only made it five feet before the first kick landed to his side. And that first kick was followed by several more, as his father herded him along the cement drive, kick by kick, until he got tired of waiting for the boy to crawl along and just reached down, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him the few remaining steps into the house.

They didn’t make it far though. Once they were through the basement door, the crazed older man tossed his burden down on the cold floor, stalked over to the entrance of the unfinished basement storage room, pulled that door open and then turned to confront his son once more. The boy tried to back away from him, scrabbling with his legs to push his body as far back from the oncoming attack as possible without turning his back to the attacker and thereby making himself more vulnerable. But it was all bootless.

In three large strides, his father reached the boy and halted his futile retreat. Then, with angry hands, he grabbed hold of the youth’s left arm and literally dragged the smaller body over to the storage room. The boy tried to resist, scrabbling for a grip on everything they passed, trying to brace his arms and legs against the door frame, but his father shoved and pushed, kicking at limbs that blocked the way, until the boy was forced to let go. Then his father gave one last kick to the boy’s back, propelling him into the darkness of the small room and slamming the door closed behind him . . .

“Shit,” Brian muttered as he read through the rest of the fictional description of Justin’s imprisonment.

“It’s that bad?” the ghost writer asked from where he’d crept up behind Brian to read over the other man’s shoulder.

“No. No, the writing’s great and it’s definitely the kind of thing I was hoping to add to the story,” Brian assured him, swiveling in his desk chair so that he was facing the boy and then pulling Justin down so he was perched on Brian’s knee. “I just don’t like thinking about you having to go through that in real life.”

“Well, you said you were writing about my life, so . . . that’s my life.”

“Yeah . . . What there fucking was of it . . .” Brian felt an overwhelming need to hug the younger man even though he wasn’t normally the hugging type, so he did, leaning his head against the boy’s chest and squeezing the slim waist in a tight embrace before continuing the conversation from that position. “What I don’t understand though, is how you got out. I mean, if you’d been locked in there all that time, you’d have starved to death after Craig offed himself. You must have managed to get out somehow.”

“It wasn’t that hard,” Justin asserted, sounding a tad bit proud as he related that part of his story. “At first I was just too scared and hurt to do anything more than just lie there where I landed when my father threw me into the room. I heard him doing shit out in the other room - there was a lot of hammering and metallic clanking and stuff - but I was too afraid of him to dare to try to get out again. I waited a long time after all the noises ended before I even tried the door but, of course, by then I couldn’t budge it at all. I found out later that Craig had put a latch on the outside and locked it with a huge padlock. But the idiot had apparently forgot about the ventilation shaft in the corner. There are access hatches opening onto the shaft on each floor and it didn’t take me long to break through one of them - they were only latched closed with really flimsy metal hasps. After that, I would just wait till I knew my father was gone or passed out drunk and then I’d sneak out and get whatever I needed.”

“Ah, that explains a lot. I knew you were sneaky . . . But then, why didn’t you just leave - get the hell out of here and go tell someone what Craig had done? The fucker would have been in jail faster than you could say ‘Felony Abuse’. Why would you stick around for more of his shit,” Brian questioned, getting a little heated at the very thought of the hell the kid had gone through at the hands of that fucker.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Justin replied with a matter-of-fact shrug. “Besides, it wasn’t that bad. My father never hit me again after that. He would occasionally remember to toss some food in at me and whenever he’d get drunk, he’d open the door and scream at me, blaming every horrible thing in his life on me being gay, but he didn’t come inside. He was a little bit claustrophobic, I think. Eventually, I got tired of that too, though, and I took the fucking lock off the outside of the door and moved it to the inside so I could lock him out.” Justin looked up at Brian with smug satisfaction at how he’d managed his situation, making his life as safe as could be expected under the circumstances. “That totally pissed him off and he threatened to bulldoze the whole fucking house if I didn’t open up, but then he went off and got so shitfaced drunk he forgot about it. After that he pretty much just ignored my existence altogether.”

“That explains why the locks I saw were on the inside of the door,” Brian mused as he remembered that strange anomaly.

“Yeah,” Justin continued. “So, anyway, at least I was physically safe down there. And I had a roof over my head, food, water, all the basics. I even managed to scrounge most of my stuff out of my old room and move it downstairs before Craig figured out I wasn’t locked in and threw the rest of it out.” Justin paused for a minute, seemingly lost in the memories flooding his brain, before he finally looked up at Brian with open honesty. “The alternative was me being homeless and penniless, without a job or even a high school diploma, which wasn’t exactly a good option. By that time I was already eighteen so I wouldn’t have even had the option of going into foster care. I would have been out on the streets. So, I just stayed . . .”

“Shit,” Brian replied, his own shoulders slumping with empathy for the boy’s past predicament.

“Yeah. You said that already,” Justin answered, echoing Brian’s mood. “You wanted my life for you story, Brian, so there it is. It sucks, huh?”

Brian got up from his desk chair, padded over to where Justin was still lying on the bed, and plopped down next to the boy. Then, because he couldn’t think of anything to SAY that might help, he resorted to what he was best at - responding physically. He hooked a leg over the boy’s body, pulled the younger man in close to him and started kissing the sad away with all his studly might.

And, for at least a while, it was enough.

Chapter 20 - Welcome To The Ranks.

Several days went by following all of Justin‘s huge disclosures without anything substantial changing. The two men continued to exist in the quiet, protective bubble of the big West Virginia mansion. Their routine was simple and comforting. They seemed to function so well together that it was hard for each to remember what their separate lives had been like before.

In the mornings they worked together on the novel that was rapidly becoming more of an autobiography for Justin than the work of pure fiction it had started out as. The story was getting more and more compelling as they crafted it. It was going to be a real page turner by the time it was done and Brian was hopeful that it would easily find a publisher. However, Brian was seriously contemplating adding Justin‘s name to the work as a designated co-author instead of just an assistant editor considering how much work the kid was putting into the effort.

In the afternoons, the pair would devote their attention to the ongoing renovations. This part of Brian‘s new life was coming along even better than expected. With the addition of a second pair of hands, the construction work was speeding along. As an extra bonus, it turned out that Justin was quite good at carpentry and woodwork of all kinds. Whenever Brian would get stuck on some part of the project - such as hanging cabinets that didn’t quite fit the space that he had wanted to put them in or moulding that looked wrong up against the old and slightly uneven walls - Justin would inevitably come up with some genius solution to the problem. The boy even volunteered to build a handmade bookcase for the Greatroom when the one that Brian had ordered turned out to be all wrong for the spot. Before long, it started to feel like Brian was Justin‘s assistant in the renovation work instead of the other way around. Not that Brian really minded, though, seeing as he was getting excellent quality work as part of the deal.

On top of the excellent assistance Brian was getting from his ghost in the renovation arena, Justin‘s penchant for carpentry was proving beneficial in another way - almost every day, Brian would notice another GhostBoy addition to the furnishings of the house. It started off small. First there was a small wooden caddy tray that appeared on the coffee table in front of the couch which was perfect for holding all of the various remote controls for Brian‘s electronic devices. Then, a few days later, a set of beautiful floating shelves appeared, adorning the walls in Brian’s study. A day later, a set of nesting footstools appeared next to the desk in Brian‘s bedroom. And then, when Brian was putting the finishing touches to Gus’s room, he noted an ingenious little wooden xylophone music box sitting on the recently constructed built-in shelving. Everything that Justin made was beautifully finished, pleasant to look at in a modernistic way, and incredibly well crafted. Brian was more than impressed. He thanked the boy profusely every time he found one of these little gifts, despite the fact that Justin seemed completely embarrassed by any praise offered to him.

Because of the all the help, Brian’s renovations were a lot further along than he would have expected them to be so soon. The Greatroom, study, and guest bath on the main floor were basically done by the end of that week. The only thing left to do in those rooms was paint. The kitchen area still needed a lot of work, but that was mostly because he’d decided at the last moment to reconfigure the stairs up to the second floor, with the landing ending in the combined kitchen and dining room area. He was happy with this adjustment, though, as it seemed to tie the kitchen into the rest of the house more. Once he’d installed the big sliding glass doors that were waiting to be fitted into the exterior wall at the end of the kitchen, and finished the outdoor patio/deck that he had planned, the kitchen area would become an amazing space that would be a focal point for the entire house. Upstairs, Brian had finished the minor changes to Gus’ room, as well as the two guest bedrooms on the opposite side of the hallway. That left only the smallest of the extra bedrooms, which Brian planned to gut and use to increase the size of the master bedroom, along with providing space for an elaborate walk-in closet and a much larger master bath. However, since he didn’t want to tear apart his bedroom until the last possible moment, that was the one area of the project that hadn’t even really been started yet. All in all, Brian was immensely pleased with the way the house was coming along. He couldn’t wait to tackle the bedroom and all the other finishing touches. His goal of getting the house ready before the holidays was looking easily attainable.

As soon as the construction crew had put their tools away in the evenings, the pair of them would shower and then turn their efforts to concocting dinner together. After dinner was done, they would retreat to the couch and spend the rest of the night comfortably relaxing together while watching something inane on the television. Considering how busy and strenuous his days were, it wasn’t all that surprising that Brian was content to laze around the house most nights instead of going out looking for other entertainment.

What did surprise him was that he hadn’t really felt the need for any company other than his little ghost. Which was very unlike the Studly Brian Kinney that most people knew. When he thought about it, it seemed logical that, now that he had someone to spend his evenings with, there was no compulsion to immediately race out and find human contact. Which is what had happened on an almost nightly basis back in the days when he lived in the loft. Looking at himself from the distance of time, he realized he had been a lot more lonely back in those days than he had probably realized. But now that he had Justin who, as quiet as the boy was, turned out to be good company, had a sense of humor that mirrored Brian’s own, and who seemed equally content to spend time with Brian, there was no need to leave the house to find the companionship he craved.

And his ghost had been quite the accommodating companion, too. Especially when it came to the antics the two of them got up to after the television was turned off and they retreated to Brian‘s bed. Amazingly enough, though, it was Brian who was insisting that they take the bedroom fun at a slow pace.

Brian himself wasn’t sure WHAT was up with that. Justin remained as compliant and amenable as ever. They showered together most evenings after they were done working on the house. They slept together every single night, their naked bodies entwined, no barriers between them. Justin seemed always willing to join in with whatever Brian wanted. And there was plenty of kissing and touching and frotting, but Brian had been careful not to let things get beyond what Emmett would likely call the ‘heavy petting stage’.

Brian truly didn’t know why he was acting so hesitant. Nobody who knew him would believe it if he told them. In his past life, Brian had, more often than not, been the aggressor in almost all his sexual dealings. He was considered to be almost predatory by some, although he would never have forced someone who was seriously opposed to having sex with him. But he admitted there had been numerous times in the past where he might have pressed his advantage a little heavy-handedly. Not that anyone had ever complained afterwards.

Things were different with his ghost though. Brian didn’t want to push the boy too fast. He knew in his gut that Justin wasn’t ready for THAT yet, even though the younger man probably wouldn’t have stopped him if Brian had tried to press for more. Justin was a perfectly willing partner when it came to most things, happily and eagerly kissing back and following Brian’s lead in other actions, although he never initiated anything himself. But there was just something so fragile about the boy. Something Brian was afraid he might break if he wasn’t superlatively careful. So the Stud had refrained from moving beyond the relative innocence of make out sessions, with the occasional hand job thrown in for fun, even though it was completely uncharacteristic for the normally aggressive man. In the meantime, Brian was content to keep on the way they’d been going and was enjoying the relative calm in his life.

Brian’s newfound domesticity had been noticed by his friends, though, and it seemed to be raising alarms. Michael seemed to be especially concerned by Brian’s disappearance from the gayborhood. He’d been calling almost daily, demanding that Brian join him for a night out, and getting more and more insistent about things the longer Brian put him off. Finally, the same day his ghost used up the last of the drywall putty, Brian decided to give in and head to town to pick up more, with a side trip to meet the gang for drinks afterward. He hoped that by putting in a brief appearance he would quell his friend’s ongoing nagging.

However, for some reason, Brian found himself a little reluctant to abandon Justin for the evening. Not that the ghost wasn’t perfectly capable of spending one night by himself, but Brian was still hesitant to go off for a night of fun while the boy was holed up in the big empty house all by himself. And, truth be told, Brian didn’t fancy spending a night without his friendly resident ghost either.

“I think I’ll go to the home center store in town to pick up more putty and maybe look at decking supplies while I’m at it,” Brian announced as they finished cleaning up the mess they’d made while drywalling the far end of the kitchen. “Then I’m going to meet the guys for a few drinks. You’re welcome to come with, if you want. A night out probably wouldn’t kill you, you know.”

“No. I’m fine here,” Justin quickly cut off Brian’s offer.

“Come on, Ghost,” Brian turned to his young friend with an imploring look. “You can’t just stay hidden here forever, can you? There’s a big, fun, gay world out there waiting for you to discover it.”

“I . . . I can’t, Brian.”

“Why?” Brian asked, sincerely confused by the boy’s unwillingness to leave the house he’d been trapped in for years. “You do know your father was full of shit, right? Whatever he told you about you being unfit to associate with ‘normal’ people was bullshit and doesn’t even deserve comment. You have just as much right as anyone else to enjoy your life. You don’t have to hide out here because of a dead man’s prejudices, you know.”

“I know,” Justin replied without meeting Brian’s gaze, seemingly embarrassed or maybe hiding something he wasn’t ready to talk about. “Believe me, I would be the last person on Earth to argue that my father should be listened to. He was always full of shit. But, still, I just . . . I can’t go out there.”

Brian noted the use of the word ‘can’t’ - not ‘won’t’ - again. He found that curious. Especially since the boy refused to explain himself more fully. But this time, Brian decided to press him.

“You CAN’T . . . That makes no sense, Ghost. There’s nothing - no one - stopping you anymore, is there?” Justin busied himself rearranging the tools again so he didn’t have to look at Brian. “This isn’t some agoraphobia thing is it? You’re not saying you physically can’t go outside because you’re afraid to leave the house or something, are you?”

“No, of course not. It’s nothing like that . . .”

“Okay, then what is it?” Brian asked again, moving around so he was standing directly in front of the blond ghost, effectively preventing the boy from avoiding him. “Talk to me, Ghost. I don’t understand what’s eating at you. I can’t help if I don’t understand.”

“You can’t help with this, Brian. Thank you for trying, but . . . I have to figure this out on my own . . . Somehow.” Justin finally looked up into Brian’s eyes, giving evidence to the uncertainty and worry flickering through the blue depths even as he smiled wistfully at his sometime protector. “You go on and have fun with your friends. I’m fine here. I have lots of stuff to keep me busy.”

Brian opted to back off in the face of that unwavering stubbornness. At least for the time being. He wasn’t giving up forever, though. Something about the boy’s protestations just didn’t add up and Brian was more curious about his ghost than ever. He vowed to get the kid out of the damned house somehow, or at least get him to fully explain why he felt he couldn’t leave.

“Fine. But you don’t know what you’re missing out on, Ghost,” Brian responded, leaving a kiss on the supple pink lips before finally moving away. “I might be late, so you don’t have to wait up . . .”

As it turned out, Brian was back much earlier than he’d planned.

He hadn’t really enjoyed his night out with the guys all that much. Michael had been annoying, what with his constant complaining about how he never saw Brian anymore and going on about how some new guy was trying to usurp Brian’s standing as Top Stud at Babylon. Brian found it difficult to really give a crap about some young pup trying to out-stud him. Did Michael really think that was all Brian aspired to be in life? Hadn’t Michael been listening to Brian all those times he’d explained WHY he’d wanted to take this year off work to write and explore his more creative side? He was thirty-two for fuck’s sake. How long did Michael expect him to go on fucking his way through life? Michael might spout off about how Brian would always be young and beautiful, but that was clearly just another wild fantasy on his oldest friend’s behalf.

Not that Brian minded still being attractive enough to pull whatever trick he wanted. These days, he just didn’t feel the same drive to prove that fact to the masses. He didn’t get the same thrill from the hunt that he used to get. Take tonight, for instance - even after he’d tempted a nice looking trick into the bathroom at Woody’s for a quick suck and fuck, Brian still hadn’t felt all that satisfied. It had become too easy. Too rote. There was no challenge to it anymore. Why bother?

So Brian was more than happy to duck out as soon as the rest of the guys proposed leaving Woody’s for Babylon. To get Mikey off his back, he manufactured some nonexistent appointment with a standing trick. Michael was crowing about how Brian ‘Still Had It’ even as the Stud himself ducked out the door with a sigh of relief at his escape. By the time he was buckled into his car and on the road back to West Virginia, though, Brian was feeling rejuvenated and excited to be getting back to his ghost.

Since the garage was being used as a staging area for all their construction work, Brian was forced to park the Jeep quite a ways down the driveway and hoof it up to the house. Which explained why the GhostBoy hadn’t heard him before Brian opened the front door and discovered the little imp lounging nakedly on the sofa with Brian’s long missing ‘Barney’ dildo in hand and yet another porn video playing on the television. Brian thought the guilty look on the younger man’s face too fucking adorable for words, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Brian drawled as he dropped the bag of paint supplies he’d schlepped up from the car and shrugged off his jacket.

Justin quickly sat up and shyly pulled the towel he’d had sitting nearby over himself. “You said you’d be late.”

“I got bored,” Brian replied, moving around so he was standing in front of the couch and could look down on the rosily blushing boy. “It seems the entertainment here is much better, anyway. Feel free to carry on. Don’t mind me. I’m happy to just watch. Or, if you need it, I’d be happy to provide some tips . . .”

Brian pointed to the huge purple dildo that the kid was still holding onto. Justin wrinkled up his nose and grinned sheepishly from behind his long blond lashes. Brian had to really work to resist the pull to bend down and kiss that impish grin away, but he didn’t want to interfere. He really was curious what the boy had been about to try.

“I was just . . . well, I’ve never . . . Um . . . I thought maybe I should try and practice before . . .” The more the kid fumbled through an explanation, the more flustered and embarrassed he got until he simply stuttered to a stop with his eyes dropping onto the big dildo waiting in his lap.

“Well, practice does make perfect, you know,” Brian teased. “But I can’t believe you’re only now getting around to this. You’ve had that dildo for weeks. Are you telling me you haven’t tried it out yet?”

“I’ve been kinda busy,” Justin responded, his blush deepening, and still not looking up at Brian.

“That’s true. I HAVE been keeping you busy, haven’t I. Sorry about that, Ghost,” Brian chuckled, fondly remembering all the busy-ness that had been had recently. “I didn’t know that I was deterring your sexual education though. That was remiss of me. You should definitely proceed forthwith.” Justin still didn’t move, obviously bashful now that he had an audience. “You know I’m always willing to lend a hand if you need a private tutor . . .”

Brian reached down and let that talented hand of his tickle across the boy’s jawline to emphasize the point he was trying to make. Justin shivered and finally looked up into the compelling hazel eyes that were glittering mischievously down at him. He smiled one of his brilliant, sunshiney-sweet smiles - the kind that seemed to melt Brian’s heart every time he saw one. But, before Brian could take any further action, the boy bravely pulled the stud’s already wandering hands away from where they’d started to inch down towards the now-tented towel draped over the boy’s groin.

“You’ve been lending me a hand an awful lot lately,” Justin finally spoke up. “Not that I mind, of course, but I was hoping . . .”

“What?” Brian asked, even more curious since his ghost had always been so passive about these things up till then.

“I was hoping that we could do something a little different? I mean, if you don’t want to, I completely understand, but, well, I’ve sorta always wanted to try . . .”

“What? Tell me what you want, Ghost,” Brian asked again.

“Well . . . I’d like to learn how to do THAT,” the reticent revenant responded, pointing at the screen of the television where a very enthusiastic twink was currently deepthroating the star’s massive ankle-spanker.

“You want to learn to give a blow job?” Brian asked, a little surprised and yet happy that his shy little ghost was being so bold. “You sure you’re ready for that . . .”

“I’ll never know if I’m ready or not until I try, right?” Justin answered bravely. “Unless you don’t want me to. I mean, I know I probably won’t be very good. At least at first. But you could teach me how to get better, right? It’s just that I, kinda, always wanted to try that, you know . . .”

The hopeful voice trailed off as the boy was again overcome with embarrassment. Brian thought it was totally endearing. And who was he to deny a budding fag the chance to expand his sexual repertoire. It was sort of his duty to help the kid out, right? He’d been waiting for the kid to show some initiative, and here it was, so what the hell.

“I’d be honored to be your first blow job, Ghost,” Brian replied gallantly. Then his natural irascibility returned and he added, “have at it!” as he lewdly wiggled his hips in the boy’s face.

Justin took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a difficult job, before reaching up to begin undoing Brian’s fly. Brian held himself back, not moving to help, intent on letting the boy find his own way for the time being. Besides, the tentative fumbling touches as the ghost carefully pushed Brian’s pants down over his hips and then gently took the Stud’s package into the palm of his hand, was more erotic than Brian would have imagined. This boy’s uncertain explorations were making him harder by far than anything the more experienced tricks - who’d been practically throwing themselves at him earlier in the evening - had managed. Trying to hold himself back only added to the delicious temptation and increased Brian’s pleasure.

Once Brian was free from his jeans, the boy seemed at a loss over what to do next. He fondled Brian’s balls for a few moments, and ran his fingers down the pulsating cock, but then hesitated. It was exquisite torture for the big guy, but Brian was determined to let the youth move at his own pace, no matter how titillating the experience turned out to be. Finally, settling his shoulders into a determined stance, the boy leaned forward, stuck the tip of his tongue out and took the briefest, flickering taste.

“Mmmm. Salty,” the GhostBoy commented ingenuously, causing Brian to let out the breath he’d been holding with a chuckle.

“You don’t have to analyse everything as you go, Ghost,” Brian chided him affectionately.

“Well, it IS salty. And sweet too. I didn’t know if I’d like it or not, you know,” Justin explained before dipping back in for another taste. “I like it.”

Brian laughed again. Seeing the world through his ghost’s unjaded and innocent eyes was strangely refreshing. Brian could barely remember the first time he’d tasted jizz, let alone what he’d thought of the taste. He was oddly pleased, though, that Justin found him tasty. It was quite the compliment, really. And it also foretold good things for the rest of this little experiment.

Now that he’d become so well acquainted with Brian’s cock, Justin seemed eager to continue. He began licking up the thick shaft with long slow slurping motions, almost as if he were tackling an especially drippy ice cream cone. Brian had already been hard, but now his dick felt like a steel rod as it poked out in front of him, jumping a little with every wet touch of that erotically pink tongue.

It didn’t take long for the boy to gather up enough courage to proceed to the next step. At the end of his last tongue swipe, the ghost stopped at the dripping tip, gave the head a happy little kiss and then opened up so that the cock slid right inside the warm wetness of the young man’s mouth. Brian sighed contentedly in response. The boy’s plump lips tightened around him and that wicked tongue began to dance around as his spit-slickened dick sank deeper. Shit, that felt good! For a novice, the kid was damn good at this.

The only glitch came when the boy tried to take Brian in even deeper and ended up gagging. Justin immediately pulled back, sputtering and red-faced. “I’m so sorry, Brian. I guess I’m not very good at this after all. I just don’t know how to . . .”

“You’re doing great, Ghost,” Brian hurried to reassure the neophyte. “Just don’t rush it. Take your time and let your throat relax. And if you can’t take me all the way down, it’s okay.” Justin looked at him skeptically. “Really. Not every guy can take all of me. You’re doing really well already. I promise.”

Justin nodded but looked on Brian’s cock with a renewed determination that would have made Brian laugh if he hadn’t stopped himself. He didn’t want to make the boy even more self-conscious. But the way the kid was looking on the endeavor as if it was a particularly tricky physics problem was hilarious. Although Brian almost immediately forgot his amusement as soon as the boy’s lips slid back down his shaft with a nice, satisfying suction grip.

Whatever calculations the boy had worked out in his head seemed to do the trick. With only one more, brief, fumble, resulting in another tiny gag, the determined sprite repositioned himself, tilting his head further back, and then triumphantly swallowed around Brian’s length, allowing the man’s full nine inches to slide down the boy’s throat as the Stud moaned in pleasure. After that it was all hot, wet, suction, and pleasure. Brian let his fingers twine deep in the mop of long blond hair, holding on for all he was worth. The silky strands that escaped his grip fell down around the boy’s face, tickling Brian’s balls as they progressed, giving him even more chills. It was excruciating and wonderful all at the same time. And it didn’t take long at all before the tiny flicker of fire that had been building in his gut took hold and then flared, jumping from one nerve ending to the next so fast it left Brian gasping for breath. The ensuing conflagration whipped through him, leaving nothing in its path but ashes, until the sweet, cooling endorphins washed it all away and left him feeling so weak he was barely able to stand.

Justin, smacking his sticky, cum-drenched lips, raised his head with a victorious grin.

“. . . too fucking adorable . . .” Brian heard himself muttering, too tired and dazed to halt the taboo sentimentality before the words tumbled from his traitorous mouth.

“So, was that okay?” the gloating ghost asked.

Brian plopped down on the couch next to his proud little GhostBoy. “Yes, Ghost. That was okay. Very okay, actually.”

The glowing look of triumph on the kid’s face was too much for Brian. He actually giggled, almost as delighted as the boy was himself. Then Brian stretched one arm around the boy’s slight shoulders and pulled the happy little sprite closer so that he could give the younger man a nice, big, victory kiss in celebration, enjoying the taste of himself on the other man’s tongue in the process.

“Welcome to the ranks of bonafide cock suckers, Ghost. There’s no going back for you,” Brian murmured when they finally broke apart. “You’re officially one of us now.”

“Go, me!” the happy ghost whispered as he curled up next to Brian on the couch.

Which is how Brian ended his evening, finding himself much more satisfied and content than he’d been in a long, long time.

Chapter 21 - Perfecter.

“What about that?” Brian asked as he typed out the final sentence to the paragraph he and Justin had been working on that morning.

From his customary spot lying on the bed with his tablet propped up on a pillow, the ghost smiled over at the lead author. “I love it! That’s the perfect ending to this chapter. Although, your readers are going to hate that cliff hanger.”

“It’ll keep them reading into the next chapter. Which is the point, right?” Brian stated, grinning over at his blond with pride. “Now, how are we going to get the detective to the father’s house again?”

“Well, I was thinking, we could have him . . .” Justin didn’t get very far with his suggestion before he was interrupted by the doorbell ringing.

“Hold that thought, Ghost,” Brian said, jumping up from his desk and sprinting out of the room, pausing only to leave a quick kiss on the boy’s cheek as he passed by. “I’ll be right back as soon as I get rid of whoever’s at the door.”

Brian hadn’t been expecting anyone that morning, so he was a little surprised by the interruption. That was one of the best things about living out in the country - the number of unexpected visitors was practically nil. Of course, that meant that when someone did come all the way out to the middle of nowhere to see him, they were usually intent on staying a while. Brian hoped that wasn’t the case this time, as he really wanted to get back to writing as soon as possible. Mostly because, as soon as they’d finished the next scene, Brian had other plans for his GhostBoy . . .

Unfortunately, those plans looked like they’d have to be put on hold.

“Surprise!” the visitor exclaimed as soon as Brian cracked open the door.

“Andy? What the hell are you doing here?” Brian asked, greeting his architect fuck-buddy.

“I came to see how you’re doing on the house, of course. And I brought you a housewarming present,” the handsome young brunet announced, bringing an extra-large bottle of Brian’s favorite lube - adorned with a garish red ribbon tied around the pump-top - out from where he’d been hiding it behind his back. “I thought we could christen whatever rooms you’ve got finished already.”

“Uh . . . Thanks, Andy.” Brian accepted the gift with a lukewarm smile and stepped back so that his friend could enter.

“Wow! This looks fantastic, Brian!” Andy raved as he strode around the almost finished Greatroom. “Seriously, wow! I can’t believe how great this room looks. And I can’t believe it’s already basically done. You sure work fast.”

“You should know by now that I’ve always been a fast worker,” Brian snarked with tongue in cheek.

“In the bedroom, maybe, but I didn’t think you’d be this far along in your renovations this soon. I was waiting for the call from you begging for help. I can’t believe you did all this by yourself so quickly.” Andy was examining the built in bookcase that Justin had just completed the day before with an approving eye.

“Well, I’ve had a little bit of help,” Brian confessed.

“I should have known - so who did you hire to do this carpentry? It’s really well done. If you give me the name of the contractor I can definitely send some more work his or her way. This kind of quality will bring in big bucks.”

“I didn’t hire anyone. A friend of mine did that. It turned out great, didn’t it? I don’t think he’s looking for more work though,” Brian responded, proud of his ghost’s handiwork.

“That’s too bad. But, you should still give him my card. You never know, right?” Andy finished perusing the cabinetry and then turned to face Brian with a sexy leer. “So, do you want to give me the tour first or shall was start on the christening forthwith?”

“Um . . .” Brian glanced over his shoulder at the staircase up to the second story with a thoughtful frown, then set aside the bottle of lube and gestured towards the kitchen. “Come see how the kitchen turned out. The reconfigured staircase worked pretty well.”

Andy readily agreed to the tour-first plan and followed Brian through the rest of the main floor, praising pretty much everything. For the most part, he thought what Brian had accomplished so far was superb. He only had a handful of suggestions for adjustments here and there. Brian was quite proud - he knew Andy didn’t heap praise on work without justification, so the work he and Justin had done must be top notch.

When they were finished walking through the main floor rooms, however, Brian hesitated about going up the stairs. He knew his ghost was probably still hiding out up there and wouldn’t be happy about meeting company. If Justin hadn’t already retreated through the ventilation shaft down to his hole, that would certainly drive the boy to it. He didn’t relish the idea of the kid having to hide out down in that pit again, so maybe he should cut the tour short on the main floor?

“The guest rooms and Gus’ bedroom are pretty much done too,” Brian explained as they finished looking over the kitchen again. “But I haven’t even started on the master bedroom, so there’s not that much to see upstairs.”

“I can’t believe you’ve already got this far,” Andy reiterated as he examined the built-in kitchen island with it’s beautiful granite countertop. “I see you changed the plans for where you were going to put in the patio doors though.”

“Yeah. You were right about that ventilation shaft going up through the corner over there,” Brian explained. “I decided not to fuck with it and just move the patio doors over to the adjoining wall. I’ll build the deck so it curves around the end of the house instead and it should be fine.”

“Good call. Moving that ventilation shaft around would probably be more trouble than it’s worth. Although,” he peered around the edge of the big hutch in the corner and used his fingers to feel along  the slight gap in the wall there, “you might want to seal off any access hatches on these upper floors. You wouldn’t want somebody, Gus maybe, getting into them on accident,” Andy announced before turning around and moving to the side of the island where Brian was standing, pulling his shirt off in the process. “Now, if the tour is over, how about we move on to the fucking . . .”

The switch up in topics was so sudden that it took Brian by surprise. He hadn’t been expecting Andy to pounce on him like that. Not that he would normally have objected, but he had an uneasy feeling that there were eyes watching him from the corner of the kitchen over behind the big baking hutch. And all of a sudden, Brian knew that he couldn’t do this.

“Um, Andy . . . I, uh . . . I think I’m going to have to take a rain check on the christening thing,” Brian stuttered as he backed away from the sexy architect who was stalking towards him with a lustful leer.

That brought Andy up short with a confused look on his face. “What?”

“I said, I’ll have to take a rain check,” Brian repeated, looking everywhere BUT at his friend.

“What the fuck?” Andy stopped in place, looking at Brian like he didn’t recognize him. “Brian Kinney turning down sex? Did I hear that right? Are you okay? You’re not sick or something, are you?”

“Fuck, no. It’s not anything like that,” Brian replied. “I just . . . I probably shouldn’t . . .”

“You shouldn’t fuck me?” Andy looked so dumbfounded for a minute it was almost comical. “Is that what you just said? You SHOULDN’T . . . ? I don’t understand, Brian.”

Brian didn’t answer. He just shuffled his feet uncomfortably and looked sheepish. Which was so out of character for the Big Bad Stud, that Andy fell silent too for a moment while he tried to work out why his world had suddenly shifted on it’s axis.

Then the light of understanding dawned and Andy was almost floored. “Oh, fuck! You’ve got a fucking boyfriend, don’t you? Brian Fucking Kinney has a fucking boyfriend!”

“No!” The denial automatically jumped from Brian’s lips before his brain had a chance to filter it. Of course, then he was forced to waffle and it made him feel even more disconcerted. “I mean, not really . . . Maybe, sorta . . . I don’t know. It’s . . . It’s complicated.”

Andy pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and slumped down into it, too stunned to remain upright. “Shit! I seriously did not think I would ever see this day. Brian Kinney is off the market! That’s . . . That’s pretty much the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” Andy looked up at his friend with a somber smile. “I’m happy for you, Big Guy, of course, but . . . Okay, maybe when I’m over the shock I’ll be happy for you. Right now, I’m just too stunned to deal with it.”

“Fuck you, Andy. It’s not like it’s a big fucking deal or anything. You sound like my friend, Mikey,” Brian complained, walking over to join his friend at the table.

“It’s a HUGE fucking deal, Brian,” Andy rejoined immediately. “I remember when you unequivocally told me you didn’t ‘DO’ boyfriends. That it was all just a bunch of heteronormative bullshit. So, yeah, Brian, it’s huge.”

Brian shook his head and looked off towards the end of the kitchen again, wondering what the ghost was thinking about this conversation.

“What’s his name?” Andy asked, overcome with curiosity and ignoring Brian’s shrug of pretended indifference. “Come on, Brian. Tell me about this miracle worker - the man who finally tamed Brian Kinney. I have to know.”

“It’s not like that . . . I don’t even know if it’s serious, you know . . . I don’t want to jinx it . . .” Brian stumbled along trying to explain something he hadn’t even come to grips with himself before he just gave up and looked at his friend with open helplessness.

“Shit. You’ve got it worse than I thought. The lucky bastard,” Andy commented with a sentimental smile for his old friend. “But, okay. I won’t press. I DO want to meet this guy though. Soon. I have to check him out and vet him thoroughly, you know. We can’t have just anyone toying with our Stud’s affections.”

“Like fuck you will, Andy.” Brian laughed convivially. “I’m not letting you near him. You’ll scare him away.”

“If he scares that easily, then good riddance. I’m telling you, Brian, this guy better be careful. If he breaks your heart, I’m going to seriously kick his ass,” Andy warned, his expression turning serious all of a sudden. “I really hope it works out for you, Brian. You deserve this.”

“Thanks, Andy,” Brian smiled at his friend with a hopeful gleam in his eye. “I think . . . I think it just might, you know? This feels . . . It feels different.”

“Fuck!” Andy pushed his chair back and stood. “And I was really looking forward to a good pounding this morning. Now what am I going to do?”

That got a hearty laugh out of Brian, who stood up too and, with a friendly clap to his former fuck buddy’s shoulder, showed his guest back to the front door. They tentatively made plans to meet for drinks in a couple weeks. Then Andy leaned in and gave Brian a nice, long, wistful kiss goodbye.

Brian waited in the doorway, watching his friend get in the car and waving as Andy turned the vehicle around so he could drive back the way he’d come. When Brian finally turned around, he wasn’t surprised to find a smiling, blond ghost hovering a few feet away. Brian really didn’t know what reaction to expect from the boy, so he just stood there, feeling more uncertain and ambivalent than anytime since he’d hit adulthood. This was completely unmapped territory and for once Brian Kinney wasn’t the one in total control.

“So, apparently I have a boyfriend,” the ghost stated with a smug little grin on his twinkie face. “Were you going to tell ME about that fact?”

“No. I figured I’d just surprise you after the fact,” Brian quipped, regaining some of his usual aplomb.

“Well, okay. Then I’ll try to act surprised when the time comes,” the sprite teased as he slowly approached closer to where Brian was standing.

Brian welcomed the boy into his arms, bending to accept the happy kiss that the ghost offered up to him. He was kind of pleased with the way Justin seemed to be taking charge of the moment. The normally reticent ghost had one arm wrapped around Brian’s waist and was pulling the larger man in towards him with a strong, steady force, while his other arm was hooked around the Stud’s neck so as to guide their kiss. Brian let the kid take control of him with a little sigh. Justin had had so little control over anything in his short life that Brian was actually thrilled to allow the kid this opportunity. Not to mention the fact that he was still reeling a little bit from the realization of what he’d just disclosed to Andy - and thereby to himself as well - and was therefore happy to let somebody else take over, at least until he’d regained his equilibrium.

The kissing soon became heated as it always did whenever they were together. Brian was just about to pull back so as not to press the ghost too fast, when he was preempted by the determined little blond. Only, Justin wasn’t pulling away in order to let them cool off. He was pulling away so that he could grab Brian’s hand and then tug him insistently towards the stairs. Brian huffed a little laugh at the determined look on his boy’s face. Whatever the kid had in mind, he was clearly going after it with the same dogged stubbornness he put into most of his projects. So, of course, Brian acquiesced and followed along compliantly, happy, for the moment, to be towed anywhere the boy wanted.

It wasn’t till they got up to Brian’s bedroom and the boy pulled him around so that Brian’s back was to the mattress, that the big guy started to wonder exactly where things were going. The flirtatious smile on the boy’s face as he pushed Brian backwards was even more out of character. When the ghost nodded down at Brian’s sprawling form with an unfaltering persistence and then reached out to begin undoing the older man’s fly, it seemed things were getting serious. But when the younger man roughly yanked Brian’s pants all the way off, pulled his hoody over his head and quickly slipped off his own baggy jeans, then climbed atop him, the experienced stud was a little surprised.

“Whoa. Better slow down there, Ghost. Where’s the fire?” he teased.

Justin didn’t bother to reply. He just grabbed hold of Brian’s wrists, stretched the brunet’s arms higher over his head and then bent down so he could devour Brian’s lips as if he was starving for that next kiss. Before Brian knew what hit him, his horny little ghost was squirming nakedly all over him, clearly intent on driving Brian mad with lust. Which was more than fine with Brian. Only, the boy didn’t stop there. Things were quickly escalating far beyond the relatively simple frotting they’d been doing before now. If Justin wasn’t careful, Brian was going to lose his carefully maintained self control.

Apparently, though, that wouldn’t be an issue, since Justin was going to beat him to the punch.

“I want you, Brian,” the ghost breathed out, his lips drifting so close to Brian’s ear that the warm, moist words tickled at his earlobe. “I’m ready.”

Brian opened his eyes wide in surprise and noticed right away that the formerly timid little ghost was waving a condom at him. He might have stopped to question the boy and make sure Justin was ready, but the deceptively slight youth took that moment to roll them both over so that Brian was now positioned on top of his GhostBoy. Justin’s thighs spread as he rolled, allowing Brian’s body to fall naturally into the vee below, his cock coming to rest only millimeters away from the promised land.

“Justin . . .” Brian breathed out the name, half question, half supplication, pausing to make sure the boy had a chance to change his mind.

“Please, Brian,” Justin bucked his hips upward avariciously. “I really want this. I’m ready. Just . . . Just take it slow, okay - I never did get around to testing Barney out . . .”

The little joke caused Brian to laugh and relaxed him enough so that he was no longer quite so worried about things. If his ghost wanted this, then who was he to argue, right? It’s not like he didn’t want it too. Even if it did seem like a big step for this innocent neophyte.

Without looking away from the deep blue eyes, Brian accepted the proffered condom, tore the packet open with his teeth and then shifted enough to the side so he could roll the latex disc down his straining cock. When Brian moved back into place, Justin resettled himself, raising up and bending his knees so that his perfectly plump ass was even more accessible. Brian availed himself of a large palmful of lube from the always-present bedside bottle and carefully slicked up both himself and his ghost. Then he lifted one lightly furred calf over his shoulder, positioned himself next to the boy’s mahogany knot and very slowly pressed in.

Justin inhaled sharply at the first, obviously painful, stretch. “Damn. It hurts. Does it always hurt?” he asked, biting at his bottom lip.

Brian paused, trying to fight back the urge to move, to sink all the way in, to bury himself in the tight warmth of his partner. “A little. That’s a part of it,” he answered honestly. “If you relax and don’t fight it, it’s not so bad. And it does get better. Trust me.”

The ghost took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly and then looked back up at Brian with a small nod. Brian took that as permission to continue. He canted his hips so that his dick slid in another inch or so, far enough that he managed to brush past the boy’s sweet spot. Justin’s eyes flickered wide and then he let out the breath he’d been holding with a whoosh. After that there was no more resistance. Brian sank all the way to his balls in the sweetest, tightest ass he’d ever known, marveling all the while at how perfectly the two of them seemed to fit together.

After that everything seemed to pass by in a daze. The jaded Stud - who was normally always in control, even in the midst of an all out orgy - completely lost track of what was unfolding. Brian felt almost like he was high, despite the fact that he hadn’t touched any recreational drugs in weeks. It was all just warm wet kisses, ripples of pleasure, sparks of electricity, the tickle of long blond hair against his nose, the heady sounds of skin slapping against skin, the smell of sweat and pheromones and musky maleness, arms and legs and other body parts bending and straining and wrapping around each other until you weren’t sure where one man ended and the other began, and every movement accompanied by a chorus of moans, grunts and throaty whispers of pleasure.

“Brian, Brian, Brian, Brian, Brian . . .” The ghost was chanting his name almost as if it were a tantric mantra.

Unfortunately, that level of nirvana couldn’t last for long. Before Brian was ready for the fun to end, he felt his balls contracting with that telltale tingling that foretold the beginning of the end. He could tell from the increased tempo of his ghost's cries that the boy was close as well. It was clearly time to move this thing to it’s inevitable conclusion. So, reaching down one hand to grab the boy’s cock where it was trapped between their sweaty bellies, Brian gave the pretty prick two quick tugs. That was all it took. With a guttural cry, Justin arched backwards, his dick pulsing in the palm of Brian’s hand as streamers of viscous white shot out across both their chests. At the same time, the boy’s ass contracted, the muscles rippling along the length of Brian’s cock, and tearing his own release out of him. His baritone moan of repletion matched the boy’s higher pitched cries for several long seconds, both bodies convulsing with pleasure, before Brian’s arms gave out and his body collapsed atop that of his blond companion.

Brian was still trying to catch his breath when he felt the subterranean vibrations of the boy under him and heard a faint giggle coming from under the weight of his shoulder. He rolled them both over without disengaging, loathe to leave that happy place even though he knew he was probably crushing the younger man. The giggling only got louder, though, once they were rearranged.

“Should I be concerned that you’re laughing at me after we fucked, Ghost?”

“Fuck no! That was just . . . It was amazing, Brian,” the ghost asserted, punctuating his words with a kiss to Brian’s jaw to prove his point. “No, I was laughing because it’s too perfect. I just made love to my boyfriend in my homophobic father’s bedroom and it was absolutely perfect.” The giggling escalated into outright laughter. “I hope to hell there is some kind of afterlife so the fucker can look down on this. It would kill him all over again.” Brian joined the boy with a small chuckle of his own. “Thank you, Brian. Thank you. Now . . . can we do it again? I think I was too busy being amazed to thoroughly enjoy myself. I’m sure I’ll be better the next time around.”

THAT made Brian break out laughing too. The insatiable little minx. It seemed that Brian had created a monster. Not that he minded in the least. Of course, if all the fucks were like THAT, it might take even Brian Kinney a few minutes to get ready for subsequent rounds. He’d do his best though.

“Hmm. You really think we can do better the next time around? Better than ‘amazing’ and ‘perfect’, huh? But, no pressure right?” Brian teased his armful of happy ghost.

“Well, it can’t hurt to try, right?” Justin smiled over at him with that sweet smile of his that seemed to melt Brian’s insides every, single, fucking, time he saw it. “I think we can get to ‘phenomenal’ and ‘superlative’ if we work at it. It might take a lot of practice though.”

“Well, if you insist, Ghost. Like I said before, practice makes perfect - or in this case, perfecter . . .”

So, with a kiss, Brian rolled back over on top of his phenomenal phantom boy and they went to work on round two. And it was just as perfecter as they’d hoped. Which is why they did it again and again and didn’t actually make it downstairs to work on the renovations that afternoon.

When Brian woke up the next morning, his ghost was missing, which caused him to frown.

However, there was a delicious aroma of frying bacon and fresh baked bread drifting up from downstairs, giving him a good idea where the boy had disappeared to. Considering they hadn’t made it down for dinner the night before, it wasn’t surprising that Justin was more interested in food at the moment. Brian was feeling a bit peckish himself and quickly rolled out of bed, intending to join the gustatory efforts. However, his attention was diverted before he’d made it even a foot and a half from the bed.

Proudly displayed on the table next to his bed, Brian discovered a beautiful wood carving depicting two men kissing, their abstract bodies mere squiggles that morphed into one set of hips and crossed legs below. The sculpture was extraordinary and the use of negative space to create a heart shape between the two men’s bodies was perfect. Brian carefully picked the work up, looking at it from all sides and examining the incredible workmanship. On the bottom of the statue, carved in the wood of the base, was the title of the piece: ‘Boyfriends’.

He cautiously set the work of art back down on the nightstand with a tender smile.

Boyfriends . . .

Damn, it looked like it was now official. Brian Kinney DID have a boyfriend. He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he wasn’t going to fight it. It felt too good. It almost felt like that sculpture looked. The two men twined into one. Fitting together perfectly.

With the same sweet smile on his own face that he often remarked about on his ghost, Brian quickly pulled on some sweatpants and then dashed down the stairs to find his resident artist and boyfriend, along with his breakfast.

Chapter 22 - Hiding Out.

Brian listened to the fourth of his waiting voicemail messages and then, disgusted, tapped at the icon on his phone to escape from the messaging app. All the messages had been the same. Apparently, the fact that he’d been hiding out in West Virginia for far too long had now become noticed by one and all. His friends and family were not happy with this state of affairs and were demanding his presence.

“Problems?” Justin asked, probably tipped off by Brian’s sighs that he wasn’t thrilled with the messages he’d been going through.

Brian took the plate holding his turkey sandwich out of the boy’s hands and set it on the kitchen table. Then he grabbed the helpful kitchen assistant and pulled him down onto his lap, wrapping both arms around the ghost’s middle to steady him. Justin didn’t put up any resistance, his body melting closer to Brian’s and his head dropping to the side so it could rest against the larger man’s cheek.

“That was Andy - AGAIN - trying to reschedule our night out. He’s pretty much demanding to meet you, you know.” Justin almost immediately straightened up and seemed ready to bolt but Brian refused to let go. “Come on, Ghost. He’s not a bad guy and he just wants to meet you - just once. Can’t you, please, give up the ghost-in-hiding thing for one night? Please.”

“Brian, you know I can’t do that. We’ve talked about this before,” Justin insisted tersely.

“But, I still don’t understand, Ghost,” Brian protested, even though he suspected it was futile. “I know your father fucked with your head and now you’re convinced that the world is out to get you just because you’re gay, but that’s total bullshit. Nobody’s gonna give a damn if we go out together as a couple. Especially not if we go to a fucking gay bar. But seriously, Justin, even if we went to a normal restaurant, I doubt anyone would give us shit. Nobody cares if we’re gay.”

“I know I’ve been out of things for a few years, Brian, but I doubt the world has changed THAT much,” Justin retorted with a definite frown. “At least around here, being gay is only one tiny step up from being a leper. Or at least that’s been my experience. And even so, I still can’t go out with you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

With that pronouncement, the boy deliberately peeled Brian’s arms off him, stood up and went to retrieve his own sandwich. Brian huffed a big sigh but didn’t bother arguing the point. His ghost was a stubborn little shit when he wanted to be. Justin’s arguments didn’t make sense to Brian, though. This couldn’t just be Craig’s brainwashing, could it?

Brian really wished that Justin would talk to him - explain what was going through that aggravatingly mulish blond brain - and you KNEW things were bad when Brian Kinney wanted to talk about feelings and shit. But there just had to be some way to lure his ghost back out into the world of the living. Brian wasn’t giving up just yet. He’d been accommodating his little haunt’s penchant for hiding long enough. It was time to figure out some way to get Justin out of this damn house.

The rest of lunch was pretty much silent. Justin seemed almost as preoccupied as Brian was. Brian hadn’t come up with any tangible plan, though, before his sandwich was gone and Justin took both their plates away to the sink to wash up. Brian heaved to his feet with an inelegant grunt. He figured something would come to him.

He hoped.

That afternoon’s agenda included painting the now almost finished Greatroom, and Brian was eager to get started. The place was going to look fantastic, but the painting was going to be a chore, what with the vaulted ceiling and all the woodwork and cabinets that needed to be taped off to protect them. He suspected they’d be lucky to get the first coat completed before the end of the day.

“You ready to paint, Ghost?” Brian asked as the boy put the last plate in the dishwasher. “I realize that latex house paint and drywall aren’t your preferred mediums but, being the artist you are, I’m sure you’ll still be better at this than me.”

“Stand back and watch the Master work,” his ghost teased, bumping hips with Brian as he strutted past the bigger man with a big, impish grin.

Brian stripped off his shirt so that he wouldn’t get it covered in paint and, clad only in his oldest pair of baggy sweat pants, he followed his ghost painter out to begin the afternoon’s chores.

The two of them made excellent progress with their painting. The hardest part - taping off woodwork and tarping the floors and what little furniture was in the room - took them more than an hour. After that, though, the painting itself went relatively quickly. Brian had been right that Justin was a natural at this kind of work. The boy had even showed him some tips for getting a smoother, more even, base coat, which Brian hadn’t known before. They’d got the base coat up in about forty minutes and were letting it dry while they prepared their brushes and other gear to start on the pale gold semi-gloss that Brian had chosen to compliment the rich brown of the cabinets and moulding he’d used.

While his ghost was stirring the next can of paint, Brian took the opportunity to admire the boy’s trim physique. Justin had followed Brian’s lead and stripped down to his holey jeans, his torso bare, and his ivory skin dotted with speckles and splatters of white paint. Brian thought it was a good look on the boy.

Brian was happy to note that Justin seemed to have lost that pinched, starving look he’d had when Brian had first glimpsed him. All the extra feeding he’d been doing had finally paid off. The boy was still thin, but his skin now had a rosy, healthy color to it and, what with all the construction work they’d been doing, Justin was even building up some decent muscles. Brian certainly liked what he saw. Justin was an incredibly hot little twinkie - there was no getting around it. He could just imagine the attention the kid would get down on Liberty Avenue. And the two of them together would certainly make quite a pair. They’d be the two hottest fags in the city, by far.

If only Brian could GET his ghost to leave the fucking house . . .

Brian was still caught up, mulling over various plans to tempt the boy out of hiding, when he was startled by the sound of a commotion out on his doorstep. Justin dropped his paint stir stick and darted over to the window, angling his body so he could see out but nobody would see him. From the way his face dropped, the boy was obviously not pleased with whatever he saw out there.

“Your quilting ladies are here for a visit, Brian,” Justin announced teasingly. “And based on everything they’ve brought, I think they mean to stay for a while. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” Brian echoed, not at all sure he was prepared for this kind of visitation. “You better put the lid on that paint . . .” he suggested, before looking around and noting that his ghost had already dematerialized into thin air.

Shaking his head, Brian put the lid on the paint can himself and then sauntered over to the door right as his guests began knocking. His mostly-unclothed magnificence gave the chattering ladies on his doorstep a pause when he pulled open the door and beamed his sexiest Kinney smile at them. One of the littler ones in the back was even drooling again.

“Welcome, Ladies. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit,” Brian drawled in his most luscious baritone.

“Brian, you horndog, how dare you come to the door like THAT!” Sue Ann admonished him with a backhanded swat to his bare biceps. “Or do you just always answer your door half naked? I have actually seen you in clothes when you come to the store, so I know you own some. Apparently you can’t be bothered to wear anything around the house, I suppose? But, really, you can’t be going on like this, what with poor Bea’s heart condition and Helen’s overactive libido. What ARE we going to do with you, Sweetcheeks?”

Brian didn’t get a chance to get a word of protest in edgewise. Penny already had him in hand and was leading him back inside while the drooler - little Mary Elizabeth - trotted along on his other side. Sue Ann and Tracey quickly ordered the rest of the hens around and got them headed to the Kitchen with their boxes, bags and bottles. Brian only had time to give a quick warning about the wet paint, before the invasion of his home was a fait accompli. Only a minute or two later, when Brian’s escorts guided him towards the kitchen table, he found their tea party already laid out and waiting for him. Sue Ann came up behind him a second later, draping Justin’s forgotten shirt over Brian’s shoulder.

“Put that on, Deary, or nobody will be able to concentrate on their nibbles - they’ll all be too busy imagining themselves nibbling on those pecs of yours,” Sue Ann ordered, earning herself a tittering of appreciation from the ladies.

Brian obediently pulled the shirt over his head - noting with approval that it still smelled like his little ghost - and then tugged the too-small garment down his body as best he could. He got a tiny, secret, thrill to be wearing his ‘boyfriend’s’ shirt. Good thing these old biddies couldn’t read minds, although his bemused smile probably gave them some hints nonetheless. Or, it would have, if they weren’t all too busy ogling the way his arms bulged below the short sleeves or the way his abs peeked out from under the hem to look at his face.

“So, Ladies, what’s the occasion?” Brian asked, looking around at his gaggle of fans. “Or did you all come over just to refill your mental spank banks with more images of me?”

That comment earned him a round of girlish giggles, proving that his guess wasn’t actually too far from the mark.

“Hush, girls! You’re so embarrassing. Poor Brian will think we only like him for his gorgeous body. Like he’s some piece of meat or something,” Penny chided them, albeit with a leering grin of her own as she eyed the man she was talking about.

“Well, if it’s man meat you came to see, I suppose I can oblige,” Brian joked, pretending to stand up, his hands going towards the drawstring of his sweats, as if he was about to show them ALL the goods.

“Stop, you!” Sue Ann ordered with a push to Brian’s shoulder that caused him to fall back into his seat. “You are the naughtiest man I’ve ever met, Brian Kinney . . . Which is why I love you so much!” They all laughed even more riotously. “Now, just you settle down before you get us all heated up and completely blow up Bea’s pacemaker.”

Bea smiled at Brian and protested, sotto voce, that she wouldn’t mind dying with THAT image being the last thing she saw.

“How about we arrange for a private viewing after the rest of these biddies leave,” Helen proposed with a blatant wink in Brian’s direction.

“Helen!” several of her friends shouted with shocked giggles.

“What about Hank?” Penny asked.

“Hank who?” Helen shot back.

“You know, Hank, your husband of thirty years,” Gloria pointed out, jabbing at the woman’s shoulder to help jog Helen’s memory.

“Oh, him. Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right?”

There was more giggling.

“Sorry, ladies. I won’t be your dirty little secret. I refuse to be ‘The Other Man’,” Brian insisted with mock-resolve. “Besides, I’m saving myself for my husband.”

That little scandalous tidbit engendered a huge uproar of giggles, guffaws and grins all round. Brian loved winding them all up the way he did. It was great to have such an appreciative audience. And he figured they were all harmless . . . well, mostly.

Finally, Gloria raised her voice above all the clamor and demanded they all come to order. “Contrary to appearances, Brian, we did not come here JUST to ogle you. We actually brought you a housewarming present.”

“Weren’t all those cleaning supplies my housewarming present?” Brian asked. “That was a great gift, by the way. I’ve already used up most of that lot. That was more than generous of you, ladies. I really don’t need anything else.”

“We’re glad that stuff came in handy,” Gloria said, not about to be deterred. “But, since you’ve been so sweet, not to mention entertaining,” the gaggle giggled again at the innuendo, “we wanted to give you something else. Something special.”

Connie picked up a large paperboard box tied with a green fabric ribbon that almost matched the green glints in Brian’s eyes and laid the huge present on the table in front of their host.

“Wow. Whatever this is, it’s big,” Brian commented, surprised and a little put off by the turn this visit had taken - he hated getting presents from people almost as much as he hated being thanked or praised. But, with all of the expectant faces hovering around, watching him, he didn’t think he could get out of accepting this gift. “Thank you, ladies.”

Brian pulled the tail of the bow and the ribbon unravelled. He carefully lifted the top off the box. Whatever was inside was obscured by a layer of creamy tissue paper, which took him another minute to dig through before he finally glimpsed the actual gift.

“Sue Ann did the design and Penny was in charge of picking out the fabric, but we all helped out on sewing it,” Connie gushed as Brian lifted the beautifully made quilt out of it’s box.

“Damn. This is fucking beautiful, ladies. Thank you,” Brian said as he unfurled the quilt and held the corner up higher so he could look at it more carefully.

This particular quilt was a patchwork of browns, greens and mauves, woven together in a block pattern that alternated between darker and lighter fabrics. When he felt the material, it was remarkably soft, and he could tell that there was an extra-thick layer of batting inside, which meant it would be super warm. The effect of the design and color combo was quite pleasing and modern, despite it being made up of what seemed to be vintage fabrics. The colors would be perfect for Brian’s bedroom and it was masculine enough that he would actually use the thing.

While Brian was perusing his present, all the ladies babbled at him, explaining esoteric details like the name of the design, the different fabrics, and the type of stitching used. Brian wasn’t really listening though. He was too busy imagining how delicious his pale-skinned GhostBoy would look sprawled out over the top of this lovely backdrop. He would have to try it out later that evening.

“So, how are the rest of your renovations going?” Brian was pulled out his fantasies by Tracey’s polite question. “It looks like most of this floor is almost done.”

Brian answered, explaining the status of his construction, and then the whole group trooped out of the kitchen for a short tour of the main floor. The consensus was that the work was wonderfully done and the paint colors he’d selected were perfect. They all commented favorably on the cabinetry and Justin’s woodwork, causing Brian to beam proudly.

When they came to the Study - which Brian and his assistant had already finished painting earlier in the week and which he’d already started decorating a bit - Penny was drawn by the elaborately framed drawing on the back wall. She seemed fascinated by the sketch of Brian and Gus seated at the kitchen table. Brian had been just as impressed by that drawing, which is why he’d had it framed and why it was the first thing he’d hung when the work in the Study was completed.

“This is a lovely drawing of you, Brian. Who’s the boy?” Penny asked with her usual good natured nosiness.

“That’s my son, Gus,” he stated, surprising the whole lot of his ladies.

“I bet there’s a story behind that fact,” Sue Ann surmised with the glint of a gossip-lover in her pale blue eyes.

“And you’d win that bet, my dear,” Brian chuckled and then decided to give in and let them all have their meddlesome fun. “His mother is an old college friend of mine. When she and her lesbian lover felt their maternal clocks ticking, they came to me and asked for a donation to help the process along. So, I jerked off in a cup, and the next thing I knew I had a little copy calling me ‘Daddy’.”

“Oh, Brian!” Several of the ladies shook their heads at his crass description, even though Brian knew they all loved his salaciousness.

“I think that’s just lovely,” Penny insisted. “It’s very kind of you to help your friend out like that. And you did get a beautiful little boy out of it, too, so you all win, right? Course, in my day, we didn’t have those kinds of arrangements, so I imagine anyone who was inclined THAT way wouldn’t have had the chance to be a parent. Which is just too unfair if you ask me.”

There were nods all around as the ladies agreed with Penny’s modern approach to the subject. Brian was heartened by their acceptance of his unconventionality. He’d never thought to meet with this kind of approval out in the wilds of West Virginia. Especially not after hearing Justin’s tales of woe. He wondered if it was just this particular group of ladies or if the sentiment was wider spread. Perhaps Craig’s attitude hadn’t been representative of the general opinion of the locals - perhaps he’d merely been the nasty, bigoted exception. That’s how it was looking at least.

“You know . . . this drawing reminds me a lot of the ones little Justin Taylor used to do,” Penny posited as she scrutinized the picture more thoroughly. “It looks so similar to the one he did of my Roddy, don’t you think, Gloria?”

Looking over the ladies’ shoulders at the boy’s drawing, Brian was reminded once again about the problem of getting his ghost to come out of hiding. After the conversation they’d all just been having about his arrangement with Gus’ mothers, he really didn’t think these ladies would have minded even if Justin HAD announced he was gay. Maybe he could use this opportunity to prove to his boy that the world wasn’t as homophobic as he seemed to believe.

“Speaking of Justin Taylor,” Brian broached the subject cautiously, “I found some more personal belongings of his in the basement. Are you sure that nobody has an idea of where he might have gone? I’d really love to try and find him again. He might want some of this stuff.”

“I’m guessing that means you still haven’t found any partially decomposed bodies in your yard, huh?” Tracey asked, only partially joking.

“Nope. No DEAD bodies at least,” Brian teased with a tongue-in-cheek grin. “Which is good, because I like my men alive and kicking, dontcha know?” This got him the anticipated round of chuckles and paved the way for what he wanted to ask next. “I certainly wouldn’t mind finding a nice tempting twinkie body like Justin Taylor’s in my house, though. I saw some pictures of him in the boxes of stuff I found and he’s fucking hot. You ladies did mention that he was gay, right? That’s what I’m hoping, at least, in case I do find him in my basement along with all the other stuff.”

The ladies all laughed at Brian as he wolfishly waggled his brows over the thought of the ‘missing’ Taylor boy. There were a few comments from the quilters about keeping a sweet young man like Little Justin away from a dog like Brian. There was more continued speculation about whether or not Little Justin truly was gay - the only proof of which was the brief snippet of conversation that Tracey had overheard the day the boy had vanished. The evidence was inconclusive, though, and since the boy wasn’t around to ask, there seemed little use in further conjecture. Soon enough, the conversation had moved on to other, more concrete matters.

Brian didn’t listen in much as the talk turned to the ladies’ ideas for Brian’s landscaping. He wouldn’t be able to get much done on that front until spring, so there wasn’t any hurry. While they were debating the relative merits of rose bushes instead of hedges, though, Brian thought back on the Quilting Ladies’ reactions to his supposition about Justin’s sexual orientation. He was buoyed by the fact that not a single one of his ladies seemed even momentarily fazed by the prospect that his ghost was gay. They didn’t even really seem opposed to Brian and Justin seeing each other - assuming he was gay - despite the age difference between the men.

So, in direct contradiction to what Justin had been intimating, it seemed that West Virginia was fine with gay. Or at least this portion of West Virginia. Presumably, Justin knew these ladies better than Brian did, so he should have known that their reactions wouldn’t be as bad as he’d been led to believe by Craig. He couldn’t really be afraid of THESE women finding out about his not-so-secret sexuality, right? So, if that wasn’t what Justin was hiding from, then what was it? This conundrum just kept getting more and more mysterious.

As soon as a good portion of the tea and biscuits were gone, the women started to make motions to leave. Brian was glad of that fact, even though he hadn’t really minded the visit all that much. It was always good for his ego to be fawned over by a bevy of beauties, even if this one wasn’t the right gender. However, he was always happy to get his quiet house back after the Quilting Ladies left.

This time, though, Brian’s house didn’t revert to quiet somnolence once the door was closed behind the last of his ladies. Instead, he was assailed by a vociferous blond demon, who appeared out of the blue and immediately began yelling at the surprised homeowner. Brian was caught so off guard by this, he didn’t at first understand what it was the ghost was angry about.

“Why did you have to go and talk about me, Brian? Why?” the whirling blond dervish demanded, practically spitting out the words with a red face and angry gleam to his eyes. “You practically came right out and told them I was here, damn it! You even hinted I was hiding in the fucking basement. Shit! What the fuck am I going to do now? . . .”

Brian was speechless as he watched his ghost pacing back and forth across the width of the Greatroom, ranting in a near panic, worrying about being found.

It DIDN’T make any sense.

“Justin . . .” Brian tried to interrupt but was shouted down anew. “Justin! JUSTIN!” That finally got the boy’s attention. “Calm the fuck down already, Justin. Didn’t you hear what they said? None of them cared about whether or not you’re gay. They were fine with us being together. Why is this a big deal?”

“It’s a big deal because now they’re all going to start speculating about me. They probably started gossiping about it as soon as they stepped off the stoop. They’ll all be spreading new rumors about me as soon as they get to their phones . . .”

Brian was still completely lost about why his ghost was THIS irate over what he’d seen as an inconsequential sidebar in the afternoon. It really didn’t make any sense when you considered that the ladies had all been accepting of the idea that Justin was gay. So, what was he missing here?

“Justin, what aren’t you telling me? Why are you this freaked out? I get that you don’t want to come out to anyone - even my Quilting Ladies - and I guess that’s fine, even though I think you’re over reacting. But why are you so worried about me joking about you being here? I know I’m missing something but . . .”

“You don’t get it, Brian!” Justin turned and spat the words at Brian as if he were going to hit his lover over the head with them. “Connie Jenkins’ son is the fucking Deputy Sheriff. If she tells him she suspects that I’m still around, he might come looking for me. Then they’d know I’d been around the whole time . . . They’d find out what my father did to me . . . It would ALL come out, Brian! All of it!” Brian watched as the rage and fear blew out of his ghost along with the vituperative words, leaving nothing left but an anguished, defeated shell of a boy. “I-I-I . . . I can’t let them find out about me, Brian . . . I just can’t. I can’t let ANYONE find out what happened . . .”

Brian made a move to reach out and grab hold of the clearly distraught boy but Justin leaped back, out of his reach, a look of self-loathing and dread on his normally sweet face. If Brian hadn’t been so confused, he might’ve reacted more quickly. As it was, the entire situation seemed shrouded in the fuzziness of unreality. It dulled his reaction time so much that the spooked sprite was able to dart around Brian‘s inert form, making a run for the basement stairs, and getting halfway down before Brian even realized what was happening. When he did come to his senses, he rushed after the boy’s retreating back, but was too late to prevent Justin from disappearing behind the crawl space hatchway. Two seconds later, the sound of metallic locks clicking into place sealed the matter as well as sealing off Brian’s only means of access to his runaway ghost.

“Justin! Justin, open this fucking door right this second! Come on, Justin,” Brian yelled ineffectually while he pounded with his fists against the wooden paneling.

There was no reply from the hole other than the faint sound of sobbing.

“Please open the door, Justin,” Brian begged, his hands no longer pounding against the closed doorway, but pressed so that his palms lay flat against the rough, splintery wood. “I don’t care what your father did to you, Ghost. It doesn’t matter. None of that matters to me, Justin. Please just come out and we can talk about this. Please.”

There was nothing. No reply at all. Even the crying became more muffled and eventually petered out. Brian turned, leaned his back against the hatchway separating him from his ghost and sank down onto his haunches to wait.

Chapter 23 - Heads Explode.

Brian had waited there on the cold, hard basement floor for so long he lost track of time. No matter how many times he begged - a very Un-Kinney-like thing to do, granted, but allowable in this kind of emergency - the ghost hadn’t answered. Brian couldn’t even hear movement from behind the hatchway door, so for all he knew, the kid might have actually dematerialized like the ghost he pretended to be.

When the sun began to set and the already dim basement started to get downright dark, Brian finally gave up his vigil and made his slow, unhappy way back upstairs. He took the time to put away all the forgotten painting supplies and then made his lonely way into the kitchen. His brief hope that the ghost would come out once he smelled the aroma of Penny’s most recent casserole offering, was dashed after he’d waited a good fifteen minutes at the table and no blond boyfriend had appeared. Brian desultorily ate a measly few bites of his serving of egg/bacon/noodle/something, then gave it all up as the epic fail it was and put everything back in the fridge.

Next, Brian took a few minutes to try and get into the ventilation shaft through the two upper access hatches he knew about, but quickly discovered that his ghost had locked all those from the inside too. It had been a long shot from the start, but he’d had to try. When he was forced to give that up, though, Brian got pissed off enough at the ridiculousness of the situation to move on from being scared and upset to getting pissed off. And Pissed Off Brian naturally headed for the closest bottle of Beam in which to drown his annoyance.

By that point, Brian had been away from the Pittsburgh club scene long enough that he quickly found he’d turned into a bit of a lightweight. He was only on his third tumbler of the smooth bourbon before he started to feel it’s effects. And, before you knew it, Brian was slouched on the couch, scowling morosely at his glass and muttering disjointed curses at the homophobic bastard fathers of the world. When that got to be too depressing, he dragged himself upstairs and climbed into bed, still wearing Justin’s ridiculously too-small t-shirt and his paint-splattered sweats. The strain of too much emotion and too much liquor had him snoring away almost immediately, despite his fear and heartache.

Even with the inducement of alcohol, though, Brian’s sleep was fitful. He found himself tossing and turning, constantly reaching out to find that warm body that his unconscious mind expected to find next to him. And every time he failed to find it, he’d wake with a start, looking around him in the darkness and blinking at the incomplete feeling his disturbed dreams left him with. He tried to curse himself into submission, telling his alternative self that it had been too short a time for him to have become this reliant on his blond ghost’s presence, but his mind and body didn’t agree with each other on the subject. Needless to say, it wasn’t the most restful night’s sleep he'd had in his life.

Luckily for his sanity, sometime in the wee hours, Brian had rolled over for the thousandth time and, low and behold, the warm, lithe body his arms had been seeking was actually there again. With a sleepy smile, Brian scooted as close as he physically could to the familiar form, wrapped it in his arms, took a deep whiff of the ghostly muskiness that had somehow become permanently etched in his parietal lobe, and then, finally, fell into blissful, uninterrupted sleep. If he’d been awake enough to notice, he would have seen the blond in his bed smile down on him just then with a wistfully tender smile, before the boy also settled in and joined him in slumber.

They both slept much later than usual the next morning. The sun was already high enough to pelt in at them through the bedroom window before Brian felt the wraith in his arms wriggling to get free. He wasn’t inclined to let go, though, seeing as he was so comfy as he was, so he merely tightened his grip. He received an exasperated huff of laughter in return.

“Brian, I have to get up. I’m going to piss myself if you don’t let go of me,” the ghostly whisper was music to Brian’s ear.

“No. I’m not letting go unless you swear on Gus’ life that you’ll come back again.”

“Don’t be an ass, Brian. I have to pee.”

“Then swear you’ll come back. Otherwise, I won't let go.”

“Fine, then I’ll just pee in the bed.”

“Kinky. But I’m not into golden showers, Ghost. I’ve done my share of fetish play back in the day, but I’m just not into that. So, you’ll have to hold it or promise you’ll come back. Or, if you prefer, I can come with you and hold it for you. That way I’ll at least be holding on to a pretty substantial part of you and I’ll be assured you can’t get away.”

“Fine, then you’ll have to come piss with me, because I have a moral and ethical problem with swearing on your adorable son’s life,” Justin proclaimed, scooting off the mattress and, of necessity, dragging Brian The Human Limpet along with him.

It was a thoroughly awkward endeavor, but Brian wasn’t about to give his slippery spirit any chance to skitter off again, so he simply refused to let go of the ghost all the way into the bathroom. He resolutely shut the door behind them before he allowed the kid even a tiny amount of personal space, but still maintained direct physical contact of some form at all times. Brian didn’t actually hold Justin’s dick while the boy pissed, but he did keep one arm wrapped around the younger man’s shoulders while he stood next to the ghost and pissed at the same time. And, when the boy moved over to the wash basin to clean his hands and brush his teeth, Brian did the same. Justin, meanwhile, was giving his older lover a serious dose of stink eye, although Brian noted that the boy didn’t put much effort into escaping.

Brian eyed the boy warily when they finally left the bathroom. He was especially concerned when the ghost moved determinedly towards the closet - the same closet that held one of the boy’s escape hatches. Brian was prepared to dive after the kid and tackle him if he tried to disappear into his hidey hole again. Fortunately, Justin merely grabbed some clean clothing and then returned to the bed where he sat down and pulled on his pants. Brian didn’t breath easily though until he, himself, was dressed and he’d made sure Justin was still sitting there waiting for him.

Justin looked up at him with an unsure expression, apparently waiting for Brian to make the next move. Fine. Brian was okay with taking charge. And the first thing he would take charge of would be to feed the boy.

With the ghost’s hand firmly ensconced in his own, Brian led the unresisting youth down the stairs to find some breakfast. They were both rather hungry, so all concentration was devoted to feeding themselves for the next several moments. As soon as they were well started - cream cheese-laden bagels and coffee going a long way to ease their empty stomachs - Brian took a deep breath and addressed the situation.

“So, are you going to talk to me and explain what all that was about yesterday?” Brian questioned, noting the way the kid’s face went instantly blank.

“No.”

Brian shook his head, even though it was the answer he’d expected from the intractable ghost.

“Are you going to run off and hide from me in that pit again?”

“Maybe.” Justin shrugged and looked away.

“Honest, at least,” Brian admitted, then paused a moment to sip his coffee and gather his thoughts before proceeding.

“Here’s how I see it, Ghost . . . I get that you’ve got something in your past you don’t want to talk about. That’s understandable. We all have shit in our pasts that we don’t particularly want to deal with. I’m not exactly proud of some of the crap I’ve done and I had my own abusive, bigot of a father that I don’t really enjoy talking about. So, I get it. If you don’t want to tell me about whatever it is that’s bugging you, I’m fine with that.”

Brian set his coffee cup down on the table in front of him, hooked his ankle around the leg of Justin’s chair, pulled the boy around so they were sitting knee to knee and then took the ghost’s hands in his own before he continued.

“But the thing is, despite all the shit I’ve been through, I never let it stop me from going out and living my life. I never hid from it. I might not want to talk about it but I don’t stew about it either. You can’t hide from your past forever, either, Ghost. And you certainly can’t let whatever your father did to you in the past keep you from having a future. You deserve better. A LOT better.”

Justin looked away but didn’t try to pull his hands out of Brian’s grip.

“You have to fucking deal with whatever the problem is, Ghost. You can’t stay hidden here forever. If you don’t want to talk about it, fine, but somehow you still have to figure out what you’re going to do to get past this. If you WANT to talk to me, I would be more than happy to help you figure out what to do. And, believe me, nothing you tell me is going to change how I feel about you. NOTHING.”

Brian let go of one of Justin’s hands long enough to lift up the boy’s chin so he could make eye contact, ensuring the boy knew how serious he was about that point.

“With my help or not, though, it’s time to fix this - whatever THIS is,” Brian insisted. “I’m not going to let you stay in hiding forever, Ghost. It’s not good for you.” Then Brian’s stern expression faded into something more teasing. “Plus, if I HAVE to have a hot, sexy, blond ‘boyfriend’ - something I’ve been avoiding for my entire life up to this point - I damned well want to fucking show him off to the whole fucking world so I get the bragging rights I’m due. I mean, seriously, my friends and family are going to keel over in shock when they meet you. And all the fags on Liberty Avenue are going to be falling at our feet once they get a look at the two of us together. Heads will very possibly explode. I can’t fucking wait.”

That finally got a bashful smile out of the GhostBoy.

“I’d like to see that too, Brian, and I really would like to meet your friends and family. I don’t exactly WANT to stay in this fucking house forever, you know. I would love to go see some of those places you write about in your novel sometime,” Justin stated, the shadow of worry still predominant on his ghost’s face. “I’ll try to figure something out, Brian. I really will. I don’t know how I can fix it, but I’ll try. I just don’t think I should get you involved . . .”

“I don’t mind getting involved, Ghost. I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Even if you just need a second opinion or maybe just someone to bounce possible solutions off of,” Brian reiterated. “I know I’m probably the last one who should talk - I’m a notorious loner and don’t generally take advice well - but you don’t have to follow my piss poor example. You don’t have to do this alone. And if I can’t help, I might at least know who can.”

Justin sighed and nodded a lukewarm assent to this statement, his mouth screwed up in a worried, confused frown. Brian didn’t like that look on his ghost at all. So he resorted to his tried and true solution for everything, pulling the boy all the way out of his chair and onto Brian’s lap where he could kiss the frown away . . . at least for the time being.

“Okay. So, enough talk for now,” Brian declared when the make out session came to a natural breaking point. “Shall we go upstairs and finish ‘making up’? All my friends in relationships always say the make up sex is the best part of the whole fucking thing, and I wouldn’t mind giving that a try. You up for it?”

“Definitely,” his ghost replied, a sweet smile having now replaced the former frown, to Brian’s delight.

“Good, and then I think I need a fucking nap before we start writing,” Brian suggested, refilling his coffee cup and taking both that and his boy in hand on the way up the stairs.

“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep without you either, Big Guy,” Justin replied pointedly as he obediently followed his lover, just as eager as Brian to move on to the promised make up sex.

“Mikey, I’m standing in the middle of the fucking hardware store bitching out the useless clerk who gave me the wrong color paint for my bathroom, so if you’re just calling to beg me to meet you for drinks tonight, I’m too busy to talk right now,” Brian complained in lieu of an actual greeting when his cell phone rang at that highly inopportune moment.

“Brian, somebody has broken into your house,” the voice on the other end of the call hissed into the phone.

“Huh?” Brian replied. “What the fuck are you talking about, Mikey?”

“I’m at your house,” Michael stage-whispered his answer as if afraid of being overheard. “I came out to see you since you refuse to come see me. But nobody came to the door when I knocked, so I looked in the window and I saw some young blond kid walking around, wearing your clothes, and taking things out of the front room. He’s got the music cranked up real loud, so that’s why he probably didn’t hear me. I couldn’t see where he went - I think he might have gone upstairs or something. I even went around to the back and looked in the kitchen window but I couldn’t see anything ‘cause you’ve got it all taped up or something. He’s probably upstairs rifling through your drawers looking for more stuff to steal,” Brian’s extremely nosy friend posited. “Where are you? What do you want me to do? Can you get back here fast? Or should I just call the police and let them deal with it?”

Brian groaned. This was the last thing he needed today. He’d just barely talked his ghost down from the Quilting Ladies Fiasco the day before and now this? Justin was going to freak when he found out that the Nosy Novotny factor had come into play. So much for their momentary detente. Granted, the make up sex truly HAD been magnificent, but now the kid was likely to lock himself into the fucking basement permanently. Not that Brian was going to let him get away with that shit a second time - he’d already determined he’d sledge hammer through the door if Justin tried that trick again. But, seriously, couldn’t fate have given them at least a day or two before testing his ghost’s newfound resolve to find a way to come out of hiding?

“Mikey . . . Mikey, calm yourself!” Brian ordered as his friend continued to blather on and on with plans on how they could catch the supposed housebreaker. “That’s not a thief.”

“Then who the fuck is it? You never leave tricks alone in your place. If he’s a contractor or something, then why is the guy wearing your clothes, Brian? Trust me, something’s not right here,” Michael insisted.

“Just hold your horses for a minute, Mikey. I need to make a quick call,” Brian ordered while waving off the hardware store clerk that he’d previously been chewing out and moving towards the exit of the building where he’d be able to make his call in private. “I promise, I’ll get right back to you. Just DON’T call the fucking police, okay? I’ve got this.”

Brian terminated the call with his meddlesome friend and quickly FaceTimed to Justin. The call rang and rang with no immediate answer at first. Brian was getting worried. Knowing Michael, he might get antsy and do something stupid at any moment. Luckily, the call was finally answered after about the tenth ring.

“Sorry, Brian. I didn’t hear your call right away. I was painting in Gus’ room and had the music turned up. What’s up?” Justin said when he finally did answer.

“Hey, Ghost. So, good news, bad news time,” Brian said, trying to ease into the subject. “Which do you want first?”

“Neither. I don’t like news,” Justin declared with a worried expression.

“Tough. Neither isn’t an option. So, let’s go with the good news, then?” Justin didn’t bother to reply, just looking more and more disturbed as Brian hurried on. “It looks like you’ll be meeting one of my friends sooner rather than later.”

Justin groaned and started to look yet more worried. “I thought you were starting with the good news?”

“That IS the good news,” Brian replied. “The bad news is that it’s happening right fucking now - my friend Michael is downstairs and the nosy fucking git already saw you through the window. He thought you were a burglar so he called me. You’re just lucky he didn’t call the cops first.”

“Shit!”

“Yep.”

“What am I going to do, Brian?” Justin moaned, slumping back onto the tarp-covered twin bed in Gus’ room with the tablet held up in his hands so that Brian felt like he was looking down on his ghost from the ceiling.

“Well, he’s already seen you, Ghost. You can’t fucking run and hide. Believe me - Michael is the most tenacious little busybody you’ve ever met. Those Quilting Ladies couldn’t hold a candle to this boy. He’s like a pitbull. Once he’s on the scent of something he won’t let go or back away. So, I think we’re going to have to just face him.” Brian would have laughed at the renewed ghostly moaning if he wasn’t so worried about how Justin would take this. “You might as well go down and let him in. I’ll be there in ten minutes. You should be able to hold him off that long.”

“I can’t, Brian. I mean . . . Shit, what the fuck am I going to do? He’s going to ask a metric fuck ton of questions. What are we going to tell him about me?”

“It’s going to be fine, Ghost. He’s not a local so he doesn’t know you or anything much about your past. And it’s not like he’s going to run out and announce to all the neighbor’s you’ve returned from the dead. Just let him in and offer him a beer and make nice. I’m pretty sure he won’t bite.”

“. . . Ugh . . .”

“It’ll be fine, Ghost. I promise,” Brian tried to sound reassuring. “I’m getting in my car now. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“But what am I going to tell him? He’s going to ask questions. What do I say?” Justin asked again, sounding near to panic, which was the last thing Brian needed.

“That’s easy,” Brian responded with a snarky grin that he hoped would calm his boy. “Just tell him you’re my BOYFRIEND! You said you wanted to see some heads explode - well, this might just turn out to be the first one. He won’t know what to say after that.” Brian found himself giggling at the image in his mind’s eye. “Shit, this should be good! On my way, Ghost. Later!”

Brian sped along the seldom used dirt roads and highways between the hardware store and his home and made it back to the house in only eight minutes, twenty-seven seconds. It was probably a record. As he pulled into the driveway, he was happy to see that the house was still standing. So far so good. Now, hopefully he hadn’t missed all the fun.

“Honey, I’m home!” he hollered as he walked through the front door, giving the two men seated on his couch a facetious smile. “Mikey, I see you’ve met my BOYFRIEND, Justin.” Brian bent over the back of the couch to deposit a nice, long, lingering kiss to his ghost’s lips. “Nice shirt, Dear,” he added, tugging on the shoulder seam of his own, old, Carnegie Mellon t-shirt, which Justin had apparently been wearing while painting.

“Well, you took MY painting shirt yesterday, Sweetie, so I thought it was only fair,” Justin teased him back.

Then Brian turned to look over at Michael with a huge-assed grin on his face and broke out in riotous laughter at the shell-shocked horror on his oldest friend’s face.

“Hey, Mikey. Better shut your trap before you catch flies,” Brian taunted his stunned friend. “So, what have you two ladies been saying about me behind my back, hmm? All good stuff, I hope.”

“But . . . But . . . What’s going on, Brian?” Michael finally found his tongue. “He said . . . he said he’s your b-b-boyfriend. But, that CAN’T be, right? You always said you don’t do boyfriends. So, what the FUCK is going on around here?”

“Oh, Mikey, you’re so cute when you’re all confused like that,” Brian needled the flustered man again as he moved around so he could sit on Justin’s lap.

“Get off me you big lug. Your skinny ass weighs a lot more than you’d think,” Justin laughed as he pushed Brian to the side and slid out from under his chuckling lover. “I’m going to go get us all some beer while you two chat. Be nice while I’m gone, Brian, ‘cause, If you make his head explode, I’m going to let YOU clean it up.”

Brian watched the ghost’s bounteous bubble butt shimmy away in the direction of the kitchen before he turned back to his flummoxed friend. Brian was really having a lot of fun with this. Michael was still slumped on the couch, his mouth hanging open and his eyes looking dazed. If Brian had known he’d get this big a reaction to announcing he had a boyfriend, he’d have done it long before. It was hilarious. He couldn’t wait to see the reactions he’d get from the rest of the gang. At this rate, he might actually see real, live heads exploding at his big news.

“So, Mikey, what do you think? He’s fucking hot, right? And a real tiger in bed, too. I lucked out for my first BOYFRIEND, dontcha think?” Brian couldn’t help poking the beast.

It took Michael a full minute and a half to pull himself together enough to respond. “I’m trying to decide if I should go with ‘Brainwashed by a Cult’ or ‘Kidnapped and Replaced by a Pod Person’.”

That caused Brian to double over with another bout of laughter, his body toppling into the cushions on the couch where he was able to bite a throw pillow to partially squelch his loud guffaws.

“I’m serious, Brian!” Michael was getting a little peeved by being laughed at so heartily. “What the FUCK is going on out here? The Brian Kinney I know would never even joke about having a boyfriend or being in a relationship of any kind. How the hell did this happen?”

Michael had scooted over, closer to Brian, while he was speaking. By the time he got to ‘How the hell did this happen’, he had pulled Brian back up into a sitting position and was shaking him. Brian was still giggling too hard to actually answer. Michael was just about to slap his friend - hoping this was all just an hysterical fit and the Brian he knew would reappear once this was all over with - when a pale hand appeared, as if out of nowhere, and grabbed his wrist, preventing him from landing the blow.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Justin demanded, moving so he was halfway between Brian and the man about to assault him.

“Let go of me,” Michael demanded.

Justin did let go but continued to stand there, towering over the older brunet, who was rubbing at his now-chafed wrist. “I think you need to stop antagonizing your friend now, Brian. I won’t put up with anyone hitting you, and I don’t think Michael and I should start off by getting into a brawl the first time we meet.”

“Sorry, Honey,” Brian quipped - mostly because he just couldn’t stop himself - but then he turned towards his friend and decided to relent a bit. “Lighten up, Mikey. I’m just gassing you.”

“So, he’s not really your boyfriend after all?” Michael asked, a hopeful light gleaming in his eye.

“No. Justin REALLY is my boyfriend. AND he’s living here. So you’re just going to have to get used to the new, improved, boyfriend-material, Brian Kinney.” Brian watched as the light faded from his old friend’s face and the confusion returned. “Come on, Mikey. You should be happy for me. I’m happy. Justin’s pretty fucking amazing and he seems to at least be able to tolerate me, so it’s all good.”

“But . . .” Michael looked like he was about to argue the point some more, but then he looked over at his friend once more and saw the happy little smile the man was beaming up at the beautiful blond, and seemed to completely deflate. “Wow . . . I mean, just, wow!”

“Told you he’d be speechless,” Brian said to Justin, who proceeded to hand off the beers he’d brought with him to the two seated men and then joined them on the sofa. “Which, if you actually knew Michael, you’d find pretty fucking amazing.”

“I still don’t understand, Brian. How did this happen?” Michael repeated the fundamental question that underlay all his confusion.

“I don’t exactly know, Mikey,” Brian returned. “One minute I was just going along, minding my own business, and the next minute I realized I had a sexy, blond bombshell of a boyfriend. I didn’t see it coming at all. I’m almost as surprised by the fact as you are.” Then Brian reached his arm around the small blond’s shoulders and gave his ghost a friendly squeeze. “But, I gotta say, I’m not at all unhappy about the fact. I think, for a first boyfriend and all, I did pretty fucking good. Don’t you? He’s totally hot, he’s smart, he’s talented, and he almost wore me out in bed this morning. As far as I’m concerned, he’s the perfect man.”

“He wore YOU out?” Michael fixated on that one part of the conversation, as Brian had known he would.

“I said ALMOST wore me out,” Brian corrected his friend - boyfriend or not, he still had a reputation to maintain.

“But, still, how . . .”

“It doesn’t matter how, Mikey,” Brian insisted, starting to get a little annoyed by Michael’s utter disbelief that his friend could actually get a boyfriend. “It’s a done deal. Just be happy for me.”

“Well . . . shit! Nobody’s gonna believe me when I tell them THIS!” Michael finally capitulated. “I mean, shit . . .”

“You said that already, Michael,” Justin helpfully pointed out.

“I know but, shit . . .”

“Look, Mikey, it’s really not THAT big a deal. Hell, you’re acting like it’s a fucking miracle. It’s not like I’m a pariah or a leper or something. It’s not impossible that somebody wanted to be my boyfriend, is it?” Brian responded, getting a little more terse with his disbelieving friend.

“No. No. I just never expected . . . Nobody expected this, Brian. Really. Nobody’s gonna believe me,” Michael repeated again, looking back and forth between his friend and the unbelievable blond.

“Fine, then how about I go with you and tell them myself. That way they can get the facts straight from the start,” Brian suggested definitively. “You want to join us, Justin?”

“Uh . . . No. No, I’ll just stay here and do some more painting, I think,” Justin politely declined the invitation. “Besides, I think this will go over better if I’m not there to cause more of an uproar. You guys go have fun, Brian.”

“Damn. An uproar was just what I was going for,” Brian replied with a mock pout. “How am I gonna make all those heads explode without you there as proof that I’ve gone over to the dark side, Dear?”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way, Honey,” Justin shook his head at his prankster boyfriend. Then he added, with a telling look that he hoped Brian would understand, “just be careful. Please.”

Brian leaned over, kissed the slightly stubbly cheek and whispered, “your secret is safe with me, Ghost.”

Turning to Michael - who’d been watching the interplay between the other two with unfeigned fascination, as if he’d been scrutinizing strange zoo animals or something - Brian reached out and tapped the neck of his beer against the one in his old friend’s hand.

“Drink up, Mikey, and then let’s go do this. I’ve got a lot of head exploding to get to before the night’s over.” Brian tilted the bottle up and chugged the remains of his beer in one go. “This is gonna be fun!”

Chapter 24 - After Dinner Debacle.

“I’m really not sure this is a good idea, Brian,” Justin whined yet again as he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror wearing the brand new J.Crew shirt and tan chinos that his boyfriend had purchased for him that afternoon.

“Of course it’s a good idea. You look hot in that outfit. Besides, all of your other clothes are so old they’re practically falling apart. You can’t wear any of that shit out. I have standards, you know, and my boyfriend has to look at least halfway well dressed,” Brian insisted, adjusting the collar of his own brand new Ralph Lauren button down shirt.

“I didn’t mean the shirt, you big label queen. I meant the entire dinner.” Justin turned away from the mirror and slumped down with his ass propped against the edge of the cabinet top. “I have a really bad feeling about this. I can’t believe I actually let you talk me into going out to dinner at your best friend’s mother’s house. What the fuck was I thinking?”

“You were thinking that it’ll be a good first step in the process of reaccustoming you to the real world,” Brian stated authoritatively.

“No. That’s what YOU were thinking, Brian. I was too distracted by that thing you were doing with your finger to think about anything, so I certainly wasn’t thinking THAT when I agreed to this stupid plan.” Justin crossed his arms and glared at Brian, who had moved on to fussing with his hair. “I really shouldn’t do this. I should stay here, where I don’t run any risks of being seen.”

“It’s too late to back out now, Ghost. I told you - when Debbie Novotny extends a dinner invitation, attendance is mandatory. Especially if she says you better show up while shaking one of her long, red talons in your face. If you don’t show up, she’ll only track you down, lecture you for hours on why you’re a total shit and then force feed you pasta till you explode. Trust me, Ghost, it’s much safer to just comply voluntarily.”

“I could always just hide in the room in the basement if she tried to get to me. I’d be safe there,” Justin surmised.

“But I wouldn’t and she’ll have my balls if I don’t produce you. And I’m very attached to my balls, Ghost, so I’m not going to risk it.” Brian finished giving his hair that just fucked look and then turned to pull his boy up off the bathroom counter and into his arms. “It’s going to be fine. I promise you. My friends are all pretty much harmless - except for Debbie, of course, but she mostly only uses her powers for good.

Justin still looked unconvinced. Brian still had no idea why his ghost was so afraid to leave the confines of the house. Justin still wasn’t talking about it, except to vaguely complain about how it ‘wasn’t a good idea’. Brian still wouldn’t relent. Justin was still pouting and dragging his feet. Brian still didn’t care and was insisting that they go. Justin still looked like he was on the verge of panic every time they talked about it.

And they were both still going.

Brian had known that the minute he walked into the Diner with Michael - who was spouting the news that Brian Kinney had a boyfriend before the bell over the door had even stopped tinkling - he’d be roped into bringing Justin to meet Liberty Avenue’s favorite surrogate mom. It was inevitable. Which was part of Brian’s cunning plan all along. One little scaredy-cat ghost was no match for a Brian Kinney plan.

“They are all going to love you, Ghost. I mean, look at you, right? You’re the epitome of an adorable little blond twinkie. Debbie will immediately want to mother the shit out of you. Vic will be drooling over you and making lewd jokes right and left. Emmett will probably start feeling you up while Ted offers up some boring, yet wise advice, like you were his little brother. You’re probably safe from the lesbians, though. They rarely even notice men, no matter how hot they are. And, of course, you’ll already have me and Gus on your side. So, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“What about Michael? He didn’t seem too thrilled to find out about me the other day?” Justin asked, letting his head sag against Brian’s strong, reassuring chest with a deep sigh.

“Well, as long as Ben is there to rope him in, Mikey will be just fine. Ben’s a decent enough guy and he keeps his husband in check most of the time. Plus, Debbie won’t let Mikey get away with too much,” Brian continued with his arguments, giving the boy a squeeze to help bolster his courage.

“But what if they ask all sorts of questions about me? What am I going to tell them?”

Justin had already asked this of Brian at least five times, but he patiently answered once more. “You don’t have to tell them anything, Ghost. All I told Mikey was that you grew up in the neighborhood and that I’d enlisted you to help me out on my renovations. He, of course, took that tidbit and ran with it, embellishing the fuck out of it along the way, till he’d constructed a huge backstory for you that should satisfy everyone. And the best part is we don’t have to say a thing - we’ll just sit back and let Mikey tell his little fantasy.” Justin still looked unconvinced. “Trust me, Justin. None of the guys at this dinner know you and even if they did, they wouldn’t care. They’ve all got their own coming out stories, so none of them would ever give you shit about anything your asshole father did.”

“I really hope you’re right, Brian,” Justin mumbled into the folds of his lover’s shirt. “I really, REALLY, hope you’re right.”

Brian looked at the digital clock he’d stuck to the top of the bathroom mirror, which said it was definitely time for them to leave. He let go of his sad and worried ghost, slipped on his shoes, gathered his wallet, keys and phone, and then towed the reluctant boy out of the room and down the stairs after him. Justin paused before they reached the door to pick up a disreputable looking old baseball cap and some sunglasses he’d left sitting on the coffee table. Then the boy put on the hat and glasses, donned his coat, turned up the collar so you could only see the tip of his nose, and shuffled back to where Brian was waiting.

“Nice disguise, Ghost,” Brian teased him. “A little obvious though. Unless it’s your plan to draw attention to yourself.”

“Fuck you, Brian,” Justin snarled, clearly not in a joking mood.

“Let’s go, Mr. Master of Disguises,” Brian proposed with a chuckle as he held the door open for his spooked spook.

Justin peeked around the doorjamb, looking up and down the deserted driveway and then sticking his neck out far enough to scan the road beyond as well. When he’d apparently determined that the coast was clear, he dashed out of the house, jogging down the walk to where the Jeep was parked. Brian ambled along behind him at his normal pace, thoroughly amused by his ghost’s antics.

“Hurry up, Brian. Let me in.”

Brian hit the remote door lock button on his keyfob, allowing the fugitive to duck inside the vehicle, where he immediately shimmied down so that you couldn’t see anything except the top of the blue ball cap through the passenger side window. Brian made sure he’d stopped chuckling before he opened his door and climbed into the driver’s seat. He was actually impressed that he’d managed to get his ghost this far without any major queen outs. Things were definitely looking up.

Traffic was light since it was a Sunday afternoon, so it only took them a half hour to get all the way into town. Justin had finally sat up in his seat the correct way once they’d pulled onto the highway. After that, the boy seemed in much better spirits and maybe even a bit excited to be out and about in the world once again. He’d asked even more questions about all the expected attendees of the dinner, laughing at all of Brian’s crass stories about the gang’s many, many escapades. By the time they reached Debbie’s house, the ghost seemed thoroughly braced for the ordeal he was about to endure.

“Where is this miracle worker!” Debbie shrieked as soon as she opened the door.

Brian stepped to the side, revealing the boy who’d been trying to hide behind the larger man’s bulkier frame. Justin smiled weakly at the loudmouthed redhead, offering a lame wave and a meek ‘hello’. Brian simply chuckled at the boy’s act, even more assured than he’d been before that Debbie was going to adore the kid.

“Well, now, aren’t you the cutest thing! No wonder Brian’s latched on to you, Sunshine. You’re fucking adorable, that’s what you are. I bet he just wants to eat you up on a daily basis! That’s what I’d do,” Debbie pronounced, pushing Brian roughly aside so she could envelope the poor kid in a hug. “Welcome, Sunshine. We’re just all so glad to meet you.”

“Deb, you better let him go before you smother him, or there won’t be anything left for the rest of the family to meet,” Brian advised with a proud smirk.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, Sunshine. I didn’t mean to keep you out here on the step.” Deb let the boy go and immediately ushered him inside, completely ignoring Brian in the process. “I’m just so excited to meet the young man that’s finally caught our Brian. I was beginning to wonder if it would ever happen.”

Justin followed the boisterous woman inside, looking over his shoulder only once as if to make sure Brian wasn’t abandoning him. Brian smiled fondly at the two of them and shook his head while Debbie led her guest into the kitchen. The small space was  filled to capacity with ten or so people, all of whom seemed to be staring avidly at Justin.

“Now, you just make yourself at home here, Sweetie. ‘Mi casa is your house’, as the saying goes. You’ll fit right in around here with this lot. Now, this old reprobate is my brother Vic - say ‘hi’ Vic - and you know Michael, right . . .” Debbie quickly introduced her newly hatched gayling to all the rest of the inmates.

Justin politely greeted everyone without saying much. The only one of the group that earned a real smile was Brian’s son, who jumped out of his Mama’s arms as soon as Justin was close enough to catch him. The little boy seemed thrilled to see his one time playmate, offering Justin a kiss and hugging the blond’s neck with a stranglehold until his Mommy pulled him away.

“No, Mommy. He’s my Boy,” Gus announced, struggling to get away from his mother.

“Sorry, Sonny Boy. Justin’s MY boy now. You’ll have to wait till you grow up and then you can get your own boy,” Brian kidded with an affectionate ruffle of the boy’s messy auburn top.

“But I want my Boy,” Gus insisted.

“I guess it’s unanimous, then - we ALL want that boy,” Emmett stage whispered, causing the boy in question to blush a bright scarlet. But Emmett wasn’t deterred in the least. “Now, Baby, you just come sit right over here next to Aunty Em and tell me all about yourself,” Emmett suggested, draping one long arm across Justin shoulders and nudging the blond along towards the far end of the table.

Brian was having none of that. With two long strides he intercepted Emmett’s pass, peeling the big queen’s hands off of his ghost’s shoulders and insinuating his own tall lanky frame very intentionally between the two of them. The bystanders laughed at this very obvious power-play. Brian didn’t care though. He wasn’t about to let that southern-fried slut have at his ghost.

“Hands off my boyfriend, Honeycutt! You’ll have to get your own hot little twinkie. This one is taken.”

“Ooo, don’t you just love it when a guy gets all caveman possessive on you?” Em remarked in an aside to Justin even as the boy was forcibly pulled away from him, back into the safety of Brian‘s embrace.

“If you two are going to fight over the kid, can you please hold on a minute till I get some popcorn. I don’t want to miss the show. Especially if it's going to result in clothing being torn off of any of the three of you,” Vic snarked with his characteristic, dirty old man leer.

“Please spare us the typical primal-male mating behavior,” Mel groused, taking Gus out of Lindsey’s arms and depositing the child into a booster seat that had been installed on one of the kitchen chairs. “I see enough of that shit every day at court. I don’t want to see it at dinner too.”

“Oh, Mel, they’re just goofing around. Besides, It’s not every day we get to tease Brian about having a new beau. Frankly, I think it’s adorable,” Lindsay commented, adding her two cents as she took the seat beside her son.

Ted held out the next chair over for Mel and then took his own seat. “Does anyone else find this conversation completely surreal? I mean, I’m still not over the whole ‘Brian Kinney’s got a boyfriend’ revelation. I thought for sure Michael was just pulling my leg when he told us. But, now that I see you in person, Justin, it all makes sense. Who knew they grew gay boys like that out in Redneck, West Virginia?”

“Now, Teddy, you know better than anyone, gay kids are everywhere,” Debbie admonished as she bustled around the kitchen carrying plates and bowls and serving dishes here and there with an officious air.

“And thank fuck for that,” Brian replied, towing his ghost after him to the end of the table where he could take up the seat next to his son. “Although, even I found the pickings to be pretty slim out in the boonies before I found Justin. If it hadn’t been for Grindr, I might’ve had to resort to importing my regular tricks from the city and, you know, that just gets really expensive after a while when you live that far away from town.”

“So, you’re saying you only started seeing Justin in order to save money?“ Ben teased in his quietly witty manner.

“Of course. I find live-in twinkies are incredibly convenient. Everyone should have one,” Brian rejoined with a smile aimed at his ghost, intended to take away any sting from his words.

“I’m sure Justin‘s not there just as a convenient bed warmer,” Lindsay admonished the table full of lusting gay men before she turned her attention back to their guest. “Michael tells us you do construction, Justin? I’m sure that’s helpful, especially when Brian‘s renovating that whole big house.”

“Construction is just a side gig for Justin,” Brian interrupted, beaming proudly at his boyfriend. “He’s actually a pretty amazing artist.”

“Oh really? What medium do you work in?” Lindsey asked with interest.

“Lindz is the Manager of a local art gallery,” Mel added for clarification.

Justin, who hadn’t managed to get a word in yet in this conversation, finally spoke up. “Brian’s exaggerating. I draw a little, and paint, but it’s really nothing.”

“Stop being modest,” Brian ordered. “His stuff is really amazing. He doesn’t just draw and paint, he also does wood sculpture. And, speaking of which . . .” Brian turned towards his son, lifted him out of the booster seat, and sat the boy down on his feet next to the table. “Gus can you run over to the door and get the little purple bag I left on the floor by the coats?” Gus scampered off, delighted to have been included in whatever the surprise was, racing back in less than a minute with the gift bag his father sent him after. “Justin made this for you, Debbie, as a thank you for dinner.”

Debbie tottered over, setting down the huge bowl of pasta she’d just prepared and sank into her own seat before accepting her present. “Oh, Sunshine, that’s so sweet. You didn’t have to do that, Honey.” Of course, she was already digging into the tissue paper wrapped around the heavy object in the bottom of the bag.

What she unearthed was a beautifully executed sculpture of a man crouched on his haunches. The artist had employed an amazing technique in its craftsmanship, utilizing negative space to offset the little statue’s torso from the body below. It was ingenious and beautiful and truly one of a kind.

“Damn! That’s beautiful, Sunshine. I’ve never seen anything like that before in my life. Thank you, Honey. I love it,” Debbie gushed.

After that, Brian figured his work was done. He simply leaned back in his chair and watched proudly as everyone ooh’d and ahh’d over the beautiful sculpture. Lindsey was particularly impressed, repeatedly attempting to get the boy to agree to show her more of his work. Justin predictably demurred. Meanwhile, everyone else in the room chattered and cooed and praised the boy for the rest of the meal. Justin actually took very little part in the conversation, although by the end of dinner he’d opened up a little bit. Brian didn’t care, he was just glad that everyone seemed so accepting of his little show-and-tell project boyfriend.

Before Debbie could stuff Justin with a third helping of cannoli, Brian pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, indicating to all that dinner was over. He carefully extracted Gus - who had climbed into Justin’s lap and fallen sound asleep a few minutes before - from the blond’s grasp, kissed the sweet little forehead, and handed the slumbering bundle off to his Mommy. Then Brian offered his hand to help Justin to his feet too.

“Well, it’s been a slice, people, but I’m going to take my boyfriend home to bed now ‘cause it’s been almost,” Brian looked over at the ancient wall clock hanging over Debbie’s stove, “four hours since we last fucked. We are way past due.”

“Okay, now I know you’re just saying that over and over again to rub it in,” Michael groused amicably.

“Saying what, Mikey? ‘Fuck’? I always say ‘fuck’,” Brian replied.

“No. The ‘B’ word,” Michael clarified.

“Oh, you mean BOYFRIEND?” Brian enunciated the word very clearly, enjoying all over again the way it made Michael cringe and roll his eyes. “Because that’s what Justin is, Mikey. He’s my BOYFRIEND. Yes, it’s true, Brian Kinney has a BOYFRIEND . . .”

While Brian was, indeed, rubbing this point in, he’d also pulled Justin around so that the boy was standing in front of him, with Brian’s long arms wrapped around his chest possessively, and was rocking the pair of them side to side, almost chanting the word ‘boyfriend’ in a goofy way that had pretty much the entire room laughing.

“Did I say surreal? I meant downright bizarre,” Ted quipped with an amused smile. “If I were you, Justin, I’d run for the hills right now, because ‘Boyfriend Brian’ is just ridiculously silly. Just go. Quickly. Save yourself.”

“I kinda like ridiculously silly Boyfriend Brian,” Justin asserted, tipping his head to the side so that the boyfriend holding him could more easily leave a kiss on his blushing cheek.

“Don’t you mean, ridiculously romantic Boyfriend Brian?” Brian teased and then lifted his head to survey the crowd of staring onlookers. “Okay, then. Dinner was great, Deb. We’re off to fuck now. Later, guys.”

They were halfway back to West Virginia before the ghost finally spoke up and broke through the comfortable silence that had settled in the car as they drove home. “That was nice. I really like your friends, Brian.”

“They’re not bad. Some of the time,” Brian agreed peeking out of the corner of his eye at the boy who was sitting there smiling at all his memories of the pleasant evening. “I told you it wouldn’t be that horrible.”

“I know. I guess, maybe, I just worry too much,” Justin semi-apologised. “Thank you for pushing me to go, Brian. I DID enjoy myself. And it was wonderful to see Gus again. I think I’m seriously in love with your son. I’d probably keep on sleeping with you just so I could get to see him, you know,” he teased. “He’s so sweet. And funny too. I think he’s gonna have your same odd sense of humor.”

Brian snorted a laugh at that image - although he hoped Gus wouldn’t be as crass and sarcastic as he was, at least not for a few more years - but he was amused and just a little bit proud of the comparison with his offspring.

“You totally nailed your descriptions of all of them, though,” Justin commented, still with a fond smile.

The two of them continued chatting about the evening, laughing again at all the raunchy, funny jokes that always seemed to swirl around the group, complaining about how ‘touchy’ Emmett had been and how annoyed he managed to make Brian because he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off Justin, and alternately complementing and complaining about all the food. That discussion got them all the way to the exit where Brian turned off the highway onto the small two-lane road that wound around through the hills and woods towards the house. It was a dark night and had started to drizzle so Brian wasn’t going very fast, taking his time negotiating around the hairier turns on the deserted road.

They were still a good three or four miles from home, though, when their conversation was interrupted by a loud *boom* and the car started to swerve dangerously from side to side. If Brian had been going faster, they would have probably landed in the ditch. Luckily, he managed to wrestle the car to a stop halfway off the edge of an embankment, rocking precariously, but still upright.

“Shit! What the hell?” Brian was panting as he looked around him. “Are you okay, Ghost?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. What happened?”

“I think one of the tires blew.”

They both got carefully out of the car and walked around to examine the right rear tire, which was completely shredded. Unfortunately, the way the car had landed, that wheel was dangling hazardously off the edge of the road, so there was no way for Brian to safely jack the car up and replace it with the spare. As it was, Brian was afraid to even try and move the vehicle back to a more stable footing - if anything went wrong the whole thing would tip over and roll down the steep shoulder of road. Justin moved off, going around to the front side of the car, examining the situation and yelling out reassurances to his boyfriend that they’d come up with some solution.

“Good thing I have coverage for this kind of shit,” Brian muttered to himself as he walked in the opposite direction, heading to a spot a dozen meters away where there happened to be an old pine tree that would provide at least partial shelter from the increasingly heavy precipitation. “I hope it doesn’t take them too long to get all the way out here. We’re going to be fucking soaked.”

Brian already had his cell phone in hand and quickly dialed the number that came up when he did a quick search for the tow service. It took no time at all to give the operator the details of their situation and approximate location. The man on the line said that Brian was in luck - they had someone who could be there in less than fifteen minutes. Brian hung up, satisfied that he’d handled matters and called out to Justin to come join him under the tree before he caught his death of pneumonia.

“I was thinking, if we gathered together some rocks from over there,” Justin pointed to the far side of the road, “we could use them to prop up the back end of the car. Then it should be stable enough to let us get the old tire off.”

“No need. I already called Triple-A. Their guy is already on the way. They said he should be here in about fifteen minutes,” Brian promised, thinking his ghost would be pleased to get out of the rain that fast.

“FUCK!” Justin screeched, jumping back away from Brian and looking around him like a hunted animal. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“What? What’s wrong?” Brian looked around him, totally confused and thinking that maybe Justin was hurt or something.

“You called Triple-A? Fuck, Brian! Why would you do that?”

“Why wouldn’t I, Justin? The tire is shredded and it’s not safe to change it ourselves the way the car’s hanging over that cliff. Of course I called the fucking service. That’s the whole fucking point of having a tow service, isn’t it?”

“Because, Brian, the guy who operates the local towing service for AAA is Bing Jenkins - Connie Jenkins’ younger son. If, or should I say ‘when’, it gets back to Connie that I’m still around, I’ll be royally screwed.”

Brian was about to question his boy further, still confused by why that should matter, but there wasn’t any time. Before he could open his mouth, the sound of a car’s engine coming around the bend interrupted their conversation, followed by the gleam of headlights turning their way. With one last, panicked ‘fuck’, the ghost was gone, pelting off through the trees and across the fields that led off into the dark, rain-shrouded night.

“Justin? Justin! What the hell?” Brian yelled after the retreating form, but his ghost had dematerialized into the ether before he’d gone more than a dozen meters.

Which is just when the tow truck pulled up next to him and a sociable, drawling voice greeted Brian with a hearty, “Evenin’. You Mr. Kinney? The service sent me. Looks like you got yourself into quite a pickle here.”

“Yeah. That’s me. And I do seem to be in a pickle,” Brian answered, thinking not so much about his car but about the perplexing pickle he was in with his GhostBoy.

It took less than thirty minutes for Mr. Jenkins - ‘Bing’ to all his friends - to sort out Brian’s car. The big, beefy mechanic quickly got the car towed back off the shoulder of the road, jacked it up and switched out the shredded tire with a brand new one. He mentioned several times how lucky Brian had been not to have rolled the car, considering how serious the blow out looked. But, all things considered, it was relatively easily fixed and Jenkins was a decent enough sort, it seemed. Brian thanked him with a large tip and told Bing to tell his mother ‘hi’ for him the next time he saw her.

That got Brian a chuckle, and an, “oh, you’re THAT Brian. Moms will be tickled when I tell her I saved her new favorite from a dark and rainy night. I’ll tell her you said ‘hello’.”

Then the tow truck pulled away from the scene, leaving Brian standing next to his now operational vehicle. Only, he didn’t know what to do next. He had no idea where his ghost had disappeared to or whether he was coming back. And he was still a little freaked out about the way the kid had totally lost it right before he’d disappeared. Brian had thought, after the pleasant and relaxing evening they’d had at Debbie’s, that maybe Justin was becoming less anxious about coming out of hiding. But this . . . this was something beyond just social anxiety or lingering PTSD from whatever his father had subjected him to. This was much more concerning. It was time for Brian to demand some answers.

Just when he was about to give up waiting and drive on home, hoping the ghost would turn up on his own, Brian was startled by a rustling of the bushes at the side of the road. A second later, his rain-drenched ghost materialized out of the darkness and climbed up the embankment toward the waiting car. The kid was even soggier than Brian, since his jacket had been left in the car when he’d dashed off into hiding. The long blond hair was plastered to his scalp and rain was dripping down his face. Brian didn’t care, though. He was sufficiently pissed off enough that he wanted answers and he wanted them now.

“What the hell is your fucking problem, Justin?” Brian yelled before the kid was even back on even ground. “Why did you bolt like that without telling me where the fuck you were going? I didn’t know what the hell happened to you or when you’d be back. And it’s fucking dark and cold out here. You could have gotten lost or hurt . . .”

“I’m fine, Brian. A little wet, but it’s no big deal,” Justin returned, slightly abashed over how angry Brian was.

“Well, it’s a big deal to me, Justin. I’m NOT fine. I’m confused. And I’m tired of whatever this game is that you’re playing. I want to know what the fuck your problem is. I don’t buy that you’re just afraid of people or that your dad convinced you that everyone would hate you for being gay. You were just fine tonight at dinner and you heard the Quilting Ladies talking about how they’d be okay with you being gay. So tell me, Justin, why the fuck are you so damned worried about Connie Fucking Jenkins or her fucking son? Tell me!” Brian demanded, standing there, toe-to-toe with the wet wraith in the middle of nowhere in the rain, and refusing to move till he finally had some answers.

“I’m not worried about Connie or Bing Jenkins,” Justin yelled back, his anger level rising to match Brian’s. “I’m worried about Buddy Jenkins . . . you know, Connie’s other other son? The one who’s a fucking Deputy Sheriff.”

“What the fuck difference does that make, Justin?” Brian demanded, still too upset and worried and pissed off to modulate his tone even a little. “Why the fuck would you care who knows about you, Justin? Whatever shit your father did to you, nobody’s going to arrest you for that. And it’s not illegal to be gay - not even in fucking West Virginia.”

“No. But it IS still a crime to shoot your father, even if he was a drunken, abusive, homophobic, bigot that didn’t deserve to live!” Justin screamed back at a now completely shocked, paralysed and speechless Brian Kinney.

Chapter 25 - How To Make A Murderer.

“Why the fuck would you care who knows about you, Justin? Whatever shit your father did to you, nobody’s going to arrest YOU for that. And it’s not illegal to be gay - not even in fucking West Virginia.”


“No. But it IS still a crime to shoot your father, even if he was a drunken, abusive, homophobic, bigot that didn’t deserve to live!” Justin screamed back at a now completely shocked, paralysed and speechless Brian Kinney.

“I’m really sorry Brian. I know I should’ve told you a lot earlier. I just didn’t know how,” Justin apologized as soon as they made it back to the house and into the Greatroom. “Just give me a few minutes to get some of my stuff together and I’ll be out of here. I promise you’ll never have to see me or hear from me again.”

“Sit your ass down on that couch, Ghost,” Brian ordered, pointing with one imperious finger towards the sofa. “You’re not going anywhere. At least not until you tell me the whole fucking story. Start from the beginning. And this time, I want the entire story. Don't leave anything out.”

Justin meekly obeyed, shuffling over to the couch and lowering himself onto the cushions, then pulling his legs up and hunching over into a little ball as if he could protect himself somehow from the consequences of his actions just by making himself smaller. Brian moved around so that he was standing about five feet away, his legs spread, his arms crossed, and a stern look on his handsome face. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to go sit next to the boy, gather him into his arms, and shelter him with his body from all the bad things out there in the world. However, he knew that Justin needed to get this out. He needed to tell his story. He’d never be able to fix things, he’d never be able to heal, until it was all out there. So Brian refrained from showing too much overt sympathy, and held himself aloof while waiting for his ghost to start talking.

Justin took a deep breath, blew it all out, and then, with his eyes downcast and focused on the past, began his story. “You already know what happened that day I got caught making out with Chris Hobbs at school. I think you also know that it wasn’t the first time my father had hit me.” Justin‘s voice got even quieter, forcing Brian to take a couple steps closer so that he could hear. “Before my mom died, the situation was at least manageable. She always kept him from completely losing control. But after she died, there was nothing - no one - to restrain him. Things got really bad, really fast.”

The little ghost shrugged and seemed to decide to skip over some of the less palatable parts of the story.

“Whenever my father was drinking, which was pretty much all the time by then, he just had no self control at all. He blamed me for mom and Molly dying, and took it out on me as often as he pleased. But, like I said before, I didn’t think I really had any options - or at least no good options - so I mostly just tried to avoid him as best I could, and when I couldn’t, I put up with it.”

The kid looked so dispirited by that point, that Brian‘s resolve crumbled a little. He couldn’t just stand there looking down on the sad ball-of-boy. Without even realizing he had done it, he found himself sitting next to his ghost and reaching out to grab hold of one pale hand.

“In some ways, it was actually better after he locked me in the basement. At least then I didn’t get hit all the time. He pretty much never came inside the room, even before I managed to reverse our positions and lock him out. But, unfortunately, he was probably even better at the whole emotional abuse thing than he had been with his fists. There were days when he would literally stand there, outside the door to the crawlspace, and scream at me for hours. He would call me every foul name he could think of. He blamed me for every bad thing that had ever happened to him in his life. He made me feel like I was . . . Like I was completely useless. Like I didn’t deserve to take up valuable oxygen. Like I had less value to the world than a pile of dog shit.”

Brian might have intervened at that point, offering empathy and commiserating over the fact that he had once been there too, but he was afraid that if he interrupted, Justin wouldn’t be able to go on. So he held his tongue and just held onto the boy even tighter.

“I don’t know. I guess, at some point, I had just had enough. It was like, all of this resentment and anger and pain had been building up inside me for so long, that I couldn’t contain it anymore. It was too big for my body.” Justin finally looked up from the carpet, turning so he could see Brian‘s sympathetic hazel eyes, and offered up a wistful little smile. “I guess I snapped.”

“That day . . . That day it all just seemed to be too much. My father had started screeching at me as soon as he woke up. I could tell he was under even more stress than usual judging by the tone of his insults. From what little I could understand amid all of the drunken ramblings, it sounded like the bank was pressing forward on the foreclosure of the house and Craig’s ruin was imminent. Which, of course, was somehow all my fault.”

Justin’s attention returned to some indistinct spot on the floor as he continued.

“He kept saying that he’d had enough. That he was done. That he wasn’t gonna put up with me anymore. Eventually, he started threatening that he was going to get the sheriff and have him throw me out so that Craig could be rid of me for good. Which completely freaked me out because I knew I had nowhere to go. If he really did toss me out, I would be out on my ass, penniless and homeless, with no education or prospects. It was pretty much my worst fear come to fruition. But even that didn’t get me out of my hole, or prompt me to stand up to him.”

At that point, Brian‘s ghost became re-energized. The boy uncurled from his ball of woe, jumped to his feet, and began pacing around the room. Brian stayed where he was at, not wanting to interrupt the flow of the memories that were coursing through the boy's psyche.

“What finally did it was when my father ended all his threats by announcing that he was going to go get the sheriff right then and there. Granted, he was so drunk by that point that it was actually difficult to understand what he was saying. But, from what little I could understand, it sounded like he had decided he would drive to the sheriff's office that evening. When I heard the door between the basement and garage opening, I knew he was actually serious. And that made me so furious, the dam just broke.”

“I pulled open the crawl space door and stomped out after him. I just couldn’t believe that he was going to get in his car, as drunk as he was, and drive to the sheriff's office. He could barely speak a comprehensible sentence, let alone drive a fucking car safely. And all I could think about was the fact that he was going to go out there and probably cause an accident just like the one that had killed my mother and my sister.”

Justin turned and looked at Brian with imploring eyes, his fists balled at his sides, his face suffused with an angry red undertone.

“It was one thing for him to beat on me, or scream at me, or make MY life miserable, but the thought of him getting in his car while drunk and then hurting or even killing some completely innocent person, was just too much. I just wasn’t going to let that happen. And, I’m not really sure how it happened or why I did it, but as I ran after him, passing through the garage, I grabbed Craig's hunting rifle off the rack on the wall where he’d always kept it. Then I rushed out after him, determined that he was not going to leave the property in that car, in that state.”

“I probably didn’t have to run - he was so stinking drunk that he’d barely managed to get the door open by the time I got there. He sort of half slumped into the driver's seat, but then dropped the keys on the floorboard and had to fumble around for them. I don’t think he even realized I had followed him or was standing there next to the car holding a gun on him. I ordered him to get out of the car, but he ignored me. Or maybe he was just too drunk to realize I was talking to him. It doesn’t really matter. It made me even more incensed than I had been before and I knocked the barrel of the gun against the side of his face. That, of course, got his attention. But, instead of being afraid of me, or begging me not to hurt him, the bastard just looked up at me and started laughing.”

By that point in his pacing, the ghost had come up next to the large picture windows looking out over the front of the property. He paused there, looking out through the window at the stormy night. Then, apparently resigned to finishing his story, Justin sighed, swallowed hard and resumed his narrative.

“I mean, I can’t really even claim self-defense. Craig was so far gone by that point he probably couldn’t have even thrown a punch without falling over, let alone hurt me. I could’ve just taken his car keys away, run back into my room and locked the door, which would have easily prevented him from driving. But I was so angry, so fed up, and I’d just simply had enough. At the time, it seemed like my only recourse was to end it all then and there.”

“You know how in the movies or in books, the bad guys always panic and that’s what finally ruins their evil plan? Well, that’s not what happened to me. I never panicked. I felt perfectly calm the entire time. Everything seemed so clear, so simple, so logical. One minute Craig was sitting there looking up at me and laughing, and the next minute I was shoving the barrel of the gun into his disgusting, nasty, laughing face. And I just . . . pulled the trigger.”

“It was so easy. I almost couldn’t understand why I hadn’t done it before.” Justin’s voice had become so ethereal, it was almost as if the words were coming from some source other than out of the sweet, innocent-looking, young man that Brian was watching tell the story. “And I’m not sorry for what I did. Not at all. He fucking deserved it . . . He deserved worse, actually.”

“Anyway,” Justin resumed his tale, his voice returning to a matter-of-fact tone and cadence, “as soon as I realized what I’d done, I calmly and carefully started to set everything to rights. I reached down, pulled the lever, and shoved the seat back so I had enough room to wedge the gun on the floor between Craig's feet. I propped it up so it looked like he’d been holding it in his own hands, and I even repositioned his head so it was pointing towards the dashboard. Then I took off the shirt I’d been wearing, using it to wipe down the gun and to close the car door. Rifles are pretty messy, though, so I figured I better go quickly clean up before I did anything else. I closed up the garage behind me, locked the house door - just in case anyone bothered to come by - and went into my room, where I washed up and changed into some clean clothes. When it got dark, I ran to the gas station about a mile down the road from the house, and used the pay phone to anonymously call the sheriff's office and tell them about Craig‘s death. Luckily for me, the local PD isn’t exactly a rapid response type of operation. I had plenty of time to get back to the house and lock myself away in the basement room before they got there and found Craig dead in his car in the driveway.”

“Of course, there were some pretty glaring problems with the crime scene. If this had been something that happened in the city, there would almost certainly have been an investigation. I could hear them talking when they were walking through the house, and there was more than just a little speculation about whether or not it was really a suicide. Something about the blood splatter going the wrong direction and no gunpowder residue on Craig's hands. But, Matthews, the sheriff, is notoriously lazy. And, I guess, there was enough other evidence pointing to the fact that Craig had long been at the end of his rope, to make any minor discrepancies seem irrelevant. Everybody knew the bank was about to foreclose and kick him out of his house. They also knew he was a horrible drunk and had become completely ostracized by all of his former friends because of it. Plus, there was no one they knew of who might have any motive to harm him . . . So, rather than waste everyone’s time and a bunch of resources on a possibly fruitless investigation into the death of someone nobody cared about, Matthews just decided to declare it a suicide and be done with it.”

Justin turned and looked over at Brian, his expression unreadable, but his demeanor still eerily calm. “Of course, none of them knew that I was still here in the house. They didn’t know what Craig had done to me. Nobody knew he was an abusive father because nobody - not my mother, not my teachers, not even me - had ever had the temerity to file a complaint against a fine, upstanding, pillar of the community, like Craig Taylor.” Justin took the five steps needed to approach the couch once again, ending up standing right in front of a seated Brian. “If they HAD known I was here, things would’ve been different. They would’ve known that Craig hadn’t been alone in the house and they most certainly would’ve done a more thorough investigation. There would’ve been questions and I would have been caught. It would’ve all come out. The fact that I’d never really been sent away to some distant friend or relative's house. The fact that I’d been locked up here the whole time by Craig. The fact that he’d abused me, held me prisoner, practically tortured me . . .”

“The fact that you had both motive and opportunity . . .” Brian finished the boy’s thought.

“Bingo.” Justin sighed and sat down on the couch again, seeming released from the trance of his memories finally. “Which is why I decided to stay hidden even after Craig was gone. And why I still can’t let anyone know that I’m here. As long as everyone thinks I’m either long gone or dead, they have no reason to suspect that Craig’s death was anything other than a suicide. But if I ever reappeared, I’m sure the sheriff would start rethinking his decision to close the case.”

“So . . . Then what? You were just going to stay hidden in the basement of this house forever?” Brian asked. “I know you had that big-assed freezer full of food, but that would’ve run out eventually. Did you have some kind of plan? What if I hadn’t bought the house and moved in?”

“I don’t know. I had never thought that far ahead. My plan was only to lay low for a while and let any possible suspicions die down. I sort of thought that I’d eventually leave, go somewhere far away, start a new life . . . But I really hadn’t gotten that far before you showed up.”

“So, I ruined all your plans?” Brian teased the boy, hoping to lighten the mood at least a tiny bit.

And it seemed to work, since the ghost actually gave him a tiny, uncertain smile. “Yep. But I didn't really mind. You were an incredibly tempting distraction from all my problems. Up till now at least. I guess my time’s up, though.” Justin rose to his feet and looked down on his lover with a wistful half smile. “I really am sorry that I didn’t tell you earlier. I feel like I’ve lied to you by omission. I just couldn’t bear to lose you. But I won’t take up any more of your time now. Just give me a little while to get my stuff together, like I said, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

The wistful wraith had already turned and started moving towards the stairs before Brian managed to catch up to him. With a hand on his ghost’s shoulder, Brian halted Justin’s steps and then turned the younger man around to face him. The sad little blond looked up with a questioning glance.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Brian demanded. “You’re not going anywhere, Ghost.”

“But I thought . . . Damn, I didn’t think you’d actually turn me in. I get that you’re probably angry at me, Brian. I’d be pissed off too. But . . .” Justin heaved a heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping in defeat. “Fine. Now that you know the whole truth, I really can’t ask you to continue to cover for me. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble too. I’m sorry I ever put you in this position to start with.”

Brian watched his sad little ghost drag his feet as he returned to the couch, wringing his hands and slumping down dejectedly in his prior spot.

“You stupid little twat,” Brian muttered under his breath, trying to hide a smile as he joined the boy on the sofa. “Why would you think I’d turn you in, Ghost? Didn’t I tell you, about a hundred times, that NOTHING you might tell me would change the way I feel about you? I meant what I said, Ghost. I told you I didn’t care about your past and I fucking well meant it.”

“Well, yeah, but that was before you knew your boyfriend was a fucking murderer. I’m not going to hold you to that now, Brian,” the Ghost offered. “I mean, obviously, I’d prefer if you just let me leave so I don’t end up rotting in jail for the rest of my natural life, but if you feel like you’re obligated to turn me in because of what I’ve done, I won’t hold it against you. You have every right to . . .”

“Damn, you’re stubborn!” Brian interrupted before Justin could fall further down the self-despair hole. “I’m not going to fucking turn you in, Ghost. And I don’t want you to leave either.” Brian rolled his eyes when he noted that his ghost was still unconvinced. “When are you going to get it through your thick, blond head - I don’t CARE what you've done in the past, Justin! I certainly don’t think you deserve to go to jail for killing a fucking bastard like Craig Taylor. As far as I’m concerned, he got off easy. If I’d been in your shoes, I’d have fucking killed him too.”

Brian was glad to see a renewed flicker of hope ignite in the gemstone blue eyes at this pronouncement. Maybe his ghost finally believed him? Or not, knowing his pig-headed boy.

“Thank you, Brian. I’m really grateful that you’re not going to turn me in. I don’t think I’m exactly cut out for prison life, you know,” he added with a mirthless laugh. “But, even so, I can’t stay here with you.”

“What makes you say that, Ghost,” Brian asked, curious about the trickster’s twisty thought processes.

“Well, even setting aside the whole issue of me having to hide in your basement for the rest of my life so I’m not caught,” Justin began, looking at Brian as if he might be a little slow or something if he truly didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation, “Now that you know the truth, I wouldn’t think you’d want a cold-blooded murderer for a boyfriend.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’ve changed or anything. You were already a murderer when we fucked this morning, whether or not I knew about it, and that seemed to work just fine. I don’t see why you telling me what you did changes things.”

“Come on, Brian! That’s bullshit,” the perturbed little blond ghost crossed his arms stubbornly. “You can’t seriously tell me you‘re okay with fucking a murderer!”

“Why not? You haven’t seemed to mind it much, and we’ve been fucking now for ages . . .” Brian stated, then leaned in to kiss away his ghost’s adorably confused frown.

Chapter 26 - You Just Never Knew.

“Come on, Brian! That’s bullshit,” the perturbed little blond ghost crossed his arms stubbornly. “You can’t seriously tell me you‘re okay with fucking a murderer!”

“Why not? You haven’t seemed to mind it much, and we’ve been fucking now for ages . . .” Brian stated, then leaned in to kiss away his ghost’s adorably confused frown.

“What?” Justin asked when Brian finally let him escape from the kiss.

“I said, you haven’t minded fucking a murderer, so why should I?” Brian answered nonchalantly.

“But . . . But . . . But . . .”

“Yes, the fucking did involve your butt, although I don’t see what that has to do with it,” Brian intentionally misunderstood his ghost, enjoying the consternation his comments elicited. 

“Brian! Stop being an ass and explain what the fuck you meant by that, right now.”

“Well, I told you, I had my very own homophobic bigot of a father .  .  .” Brian let the phrase hang in the air just like that, waiting to see what his ghost would do about it.

It took at least a full minute before Justin seemed to have wrapped his head around this revelation. “You? You killed YOUR father too? But, how? Why? You . . .”

“Yes, me,” Brian asserted firmly. “Trust me, Ghost, Craig Taylor had nothing on Jack Kinney in the abusive drunk category. The two of them would have been great pals if they’d met in real life.”

“But, how, Brian?”

“It was pretty much the same thing that you say happened to you. I’d just finally had enough and, when I saw the opportunity to do something about it, I took it,” Brian answered succinctly but, since he could tell Justin still had questions, he relented and launched into the full story. “Pops smoked like a chimney from the time he was fifteen on, so it really wasn’t any surprise that he ended up with terminal lung cancer, I guess. He came by my loft a couple months after Gus was born and announced it like it was some kind of royal proclamation. I don’t know what he expected me to say. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of telling Debbie about it and she convinced me - I still have no idea how - that the time was right to come out to the old bastard. She said I owed it to myself to ‘show him who I really was’ before he died. Well, you can guess how THAT turned out.”

Justin scooted closer to Brian on the couch, snuggling up against him with his head resting on Brian’s chest. Brian accepted the tacit offer of comfort and wrapped his arms around the pliant body, reassured by the feel of another person’s warmth against his skin. It was a good move too - sitting in that position, where they were touching but positioned so he didn’t have to make eye contact, Brian found it much easier to talk. 

“I went over to my parents’ house that night. Found the old man moving shit around in the garage and, for once, he seemed almost approachable. So, I told him - I just blurted it out; ‘Pops, I’m gay!’ Just like some rube . . . I don’t know what the fuck I expected. That he’d give me a hug and tell me he loved me just the way I was? Hah! Like that was EVER going to happen, right?” 

Brian sighed, the expansion and release of air lifting Justin along with his own chest. 

“Predictably, he didn’t take the news well. Instead of hugging me and telling me how everything was going to be all right, the fucking bastard balled up his fist and took a swing at me. Luckily, I was in a lot better shape than he was at the time, especially considering he was halfway to dying from cancer, so it wasn’t that difficult to duck the punch. But, even though I should’ve known what to expect, his reaction still pissed me off. I don’t know why. I left there so angry I could barely see straight and, if I’m being honest here, it fucking hurt like a bitch, too. I was being honest with him for once. I was being open. And he fucking attacked me for it.”

Brian paused for a moment and Justin could feel him swallowing hard, obviously trying to contain the emotion that was still, even after all these years, hiding just below the surface. Neither of them said anything for a few moments until Brian had recollected himself. Then he launched back into the story.

“Anyway, he only lasted another six or seven weeks after that. I got a call from my sister one day when I was at work, bawling her head off, telling me pop had collapsed after his chemo treatment that morning and was in the hospital. She begged me to go visit him, saying it was probably my last chance to say goodbye. I don’t know why I went. I couldn’t care less about him dying or saying goodbye, but . . . Fuck. I guess I felt I had to go just because he was my dad? Who knows? When I got there, he was just lying there in that big hospital bed, hooked up to a half a dozen fucking machines, looking like death warmed over. He could barely breathe and they had him on some kind of oxygen, with a tube up his nose. He looked completely pathetic. And when he looked up at me, I guess I expected some deathbed change of heart or something. So I sat down and asked him how he was doing, you know, the whole sympathetic deathbed thing . . .”

Brian’s words tapered off. Justin probably thought that would be the end of it. That Brian really couldn’t tell the whole story. But, slowly, the man gathered himself together and finished the tale.

“Anyway, here I am saying all the right shit, but he couldn’t do even that one thing with any kind of compassion. He couldn’t even die without being a total asshole and trying to drag me down with him. The bastard cocked his finger at me, gesturing that I should move closer so he could say something, and when I had my head bent over, inches away from his foul, old man’s maw, he whispered, ‘you should be the one lying in this bed dying, you god damned fucking fairy’.”

“After that it was just like you said - something inside me snapped. I looked down on him, this small, bitter, horrible old man, and I had just had enough . . . So I pulled the little tube out of his nose, took the pillow out from behind his head, pressed it over his face and held it there for about - I don’t know, maybe three minutes - until the beeping machines started going haywire. He hadn’t really struggled that much at all, so it didn't take long. By the time the nurses got there to figure out what the problem was, he was long gone and I had rearranged the bed to make it look like nothing happened. Of course, nobody thought that there was anything at all suspicious about a man who was dying of lung cancer going into respiratory arrest. While all the hospital folks were fussing around, I just got up, walked out of the room, and never turned back.”

Brian gave a dry huff of unamused laughter and then sat up a little straighter, his arms still around his anchoring ghost.

“And I haven’t regretted it for even one nanosecond in all the years since then.“

Brian gave the small blond body in his arms a tight squeeze and let his head drop down so his chin was resting against Justin‘s shoulders, indicating he was done talking. The two of them sat there in silence for quite a few minutes. Eventually though, they were forced to move on to the next important topic in the conversation they’d been having.

“Okay. So I guess you really wouldn’t have any ethical or moral objections to continuing to fuck a fellow murderer,” Justin stated with a hint of amusement. “But that doesn’t solve the other issue, namely, that I can’t stay here with you without risking being caught. My crime wasn’t quite as undetectable as your’s was, I’m afraid. I’m going to have to leave. Or stay hidden in your basement for the rest of my life.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, ghost,” Brian stated with conviction. “I don’t see this as being an insurmountable problem. I mean, nobody knows that you’re even here, let alone what you did. All we have to do is come up with a credible cover story to explain where you’ve been for the last few years, which will give you an alibi for the time when Craig died, and then we can reintroduce you to the world, telling everyone you just heard the news that your father was dead and came home to see what needed to be done about it. Which is when you met ME and, inevitably, fell for my many charms. Piece of cake.”

“No, it’s not a piece a cake, Brian,” Justin countered, squirming around - out of his comfy spot where he’d been snuggled against Brian‘s chest - so he could look at his lover face to face. “There will always be the risk that someone will check my story, no matter how good it sounds. People will ask questions about where I was and who I was staying with. If I tell them some made up place or person, someone could check that and my story would immediately fall apart. I would always be living with that fear hanging over my head. I’d always be worried that someone would find me out. I’m sorry, Brian, I just don’t think I could live like that.”