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.