The New Paranormal

by Jackson Tyler

  “Why are you here?” I whispered. “How is Elliot?”

  “It’s just a broken ankle.”

  I flinched. “That’ll cost him.”

  “Elliot’s rich, remember?”

  “Right.” Sometimes I forgot rich people were real.

  I fiddled with the remote, but the pay-per-view menu seemed impossible to find.

  “Ugh.” I threw it lightly on the bed out of frustration. It bounced once, then fell in a crease between the covers.

  “I can work it out,” said Roman. “I’m pretty good with technology.”

  “You’re good with ghost technology. You can’t hunt ghosts with a television remote,” I informed him, but I retrieved the remote from the end of the bed nonetheless.

  He only pressed a couple of buttons before he had me on the pay-per-view menu.

  “Aren’t you a show-off?” I muttered.

  “I actually knew how to do it already,” Roman confessed. “I work here, remember? Or I used to.”

  A lot of the options were horror movies, which Roman scoffed at, dismissing them for being too unrealistic.

  Aside from that, there were a couple of action movies we could watch — or a shitload of straight romantic comedies.

  “I could watch a romcom,” said Roman.

  I stared at him. Of all the things that had happened tonight, those words coming out of his mouth was the strangest. “Are you kidding?”

  “Why are you so surprised? I like romantic comedies.”

  “Who are you, and what have you done with Roman?”

  “I’ve always liked them. I used to watch them with Nana.”

  “I thought you’d prefer an action movie.”

  “The physics infuriate me. Cars don’t blow up that easily.”

  “And romcoms are believable?” I scoffed.

  “People fall in love more often than cars explode.”

  “This coming from the guy who believes in ghosts.”

  Roman chuckled. “Come on. You’re starting to see my side.”

  Starting to? I was already sold. I kept scrambling for logical explanations, but none sufficed. The most logical thing was that Roman was right, and the Cressley was haunted. “Absolutely not.”

  “Then why did I see you hiding in Crystal Chakra the other day?”

  “I- Uh-” My face flamed. “I was buying new tarot cards.”

  “Why did you hide from me?”

  “I- Uh-” I waited for a new excuse to strike. “I didn’t want you to see me.”

  “I know you use tarot cards, even though you shouldn’t, because-”

  “I know. It’s dangerous, it’s opening up doors to hell or something, blah blah.”

  He frowned. “I wouldn’t have been surprised to see you at Crystal Chakra. I was surprised to see you hiding.”

  “Okay,” I said. I threw my hands into the air. “Okay, so maybe I was weirded out by all these coincidences. Maybe I wanted to actually understand what you were talking about.”

  He kept looking at me, watching my face so intently I became impossibly self-conscious. “Why not ask me about it?”

  “I don’t want you to think I actually believe in ghosts. I just don’t think they’re as wild an idea as I used to.”

  “Do you want me to teach you how to hunt them? I can, you know. If you’re staying here, you need to know how to protect yourself.”

  “You as a teacher?” I imagined Roman dressed up in a tweed suit or an argyle sweater, apple on his desk, looking sternly at me. That thought should not have made my dick perk up the way it did. I didn’t have teacher fantasies, but lately, anything could be a fantasy if it involved Roman. And he would look good in an argyle sweater. I could imagine how it would cling to his body, and-

  He spoke up, stopping me mid-thought. “We should select a movie. We can’t have Lance getting more suspicious.”

  “Okay,” I said. I wriggled down so that my head was resting on Roman’s chest. His heart pumped a solid, steady rhythm. His arms encircled me. I had never felt more secure than I did when Roman held me. I wasn’t sure I was a man anymore. I might have been a puddle of goo.

  “You’re so big,” I said.

  Roman tensed up. “I don’t mean to be.”

  I winced. I didn’t mean it to come out that way. “I like it. You’re strong and safe and-”

  “Be careful. You might make me blush.”

  “I doubt that.” I couldn’t imagine Roman cracking enough to blush.

  “Let’s watch this movie,” he said.

  We selected a romantic comedy from last year. I didn’t follow much of the plot, but Roman seemed enraptured, even breaking out in laughter occasionally. He had a great laugh. It was deep, throaty, and unrestrained. Who would have thought my badass ghost hunter was a sucker for romcoms?

  I chuckled along with him, but I barely registered the jokes on screen. I was unable to think about anything except Roman’s heavy body next to me, his arm around my shoulders, making every cell in my body vibrate. Was this how people spontaneously combusted?

  Maybe I should ask Elliot. Now there was a joke.

  I couldn’t tell if Roman knew what he was doing, or if he was distracted by the film, but his embrace slowly tightened. He drew me closer and closer to him until I was half laying on top of him, and he was holding me there.

  My quick breath and sweaty skin were becoming real problems. Sooner or later, my body was going to give away that I wasn’t pretending to enjoy this.

  But Roman’s pulse was steady, and his breathing was deep and even. He didn’t share my impulse for us to seize each other and kiss for real. That was a good thing. If our fake kiss had been hot, a real kiss would set me on fire.

  My head knew that nothing was going to happen, but my body hadn’t picked up on that. It kept wanting Roman, yearning for him in ways he would never yearn for me.

  If the only intimacy I got from Roman was fake, I could live with that. It was better than no intimacy at all. This way, I could savor the scent of his skin and the rough touch of his fingers tracing lightly over my arm. I could close my eyes and, for a moment, pretend I wasn’t pretending.

  I let the world fall away and sunk into the feeling of Roman holding me. I was painfully aware of every time his weight shifted. Butterflies stirred in my stomach every time laughter rumbled in his chest. I opened my eyes, tearing myself back to reality.

  What was I doing? Roman had scrambled my brain. I vowed that when he left, I would ask Olivia to set me up with that guy she kept going on about. I needed to spend a night with someone who would actually make a move on me. Pining over Roman would only set me up for disappointment. Like the girl at Phantazm said, the only way he would be interested in me would be if I died and came back as a ghost.

  If I got laid, I might stop obsessing over sleeping with Roman. And maybe I would stop obsessing over spending time with Roman too, making him laugh harder than this movie did, watching the serious — and seriously adorable — look on his face when he squinted at his research. I needed to stop obsessing over Roman, period.

  We were three-quarters of the way through the movie — the part where one of the main characters does something ill-conceived and reckless that tears the couple apart — when Lance finally emerged from the bathroom.

  “I fixed it,” he said.

  Roman sat up with me still leaning against him.

  “What was the problem?” asked Roman.

  “A valve,” said Lance. He narrowed his eyes at the sight of us cuddled on the bed. “I have to go.”

  “So the plumbing works again?”

  “Yeah, you can take an aromatherapy shower together or whatever you do.” He wrinkled his nose like he’d smelled something nasty. “Don’t get killed by any ghosts.”

  “We’ll try not to,” I said sweetly.

  Lance paused in the doorway, scrutinizing us with his beady eyes. I could tell that even after seeing us kiss, he didn’t wholeheartedly believe we were a real couple. I did an
excellent straight guy impression when I interviewed him. Maybe he could dismiss one kiss, but I would break him yet.

  I reached around the back of Roman’s neck to hold him close. We were supposed to be in love, after all. I gazed into his eyes. My clammy hand trembled.

  Roman’s expression was softer than usual, less guarded. When he looked right at me, it felt like he was seeing into my soul. My breath quickened and I licked my lips involuntarily. Goddamn. All I wanted to do was kiss him.

  “Jesus Christ, wait until I leave.” Lance left, the door slamming closed behind him.

  I pulled my hand away from Roman’s neck, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from his eyes.

  “I suppose you want to check the room with your EMF meter now.” I whispered.

  “I should,” murmured Roman. He was staring at me. I didn’t have the strength to be the first to look away.

  “Or do you want to wait and see how the movie ends?” I asked tentatively. I was greedy. I wanted more of this.

  “I suppose they reconcile their differences and realize they’re in love. You can keep watching though.” He shook his head, breaking eye contact at last, and got to his feet. It was all I could do not to sulk. I had hoped we were having a moment. Wishful thinking.

  I couldn’t have cared less about the movie, but I kept watching while Roman stalked the room and made faces at his gadgets. He had been right about the not-so-twist ending. When the credits rolled, everyone onscreen had their happily-ever-after.

  I returned to reality. “How’s it going?”

  “There’s a cold spot in the bathroom.” said Roman.

  There were cold spots everywhere.

  Roman continued talking. “If there’s supernatural activity here, it doesn’t want to show itself. As usual.” He sighed. “The ghosts never want to come out in front of me.”

  “Are you feeling rejected?” I teased.

  “They’re ghosts.” He stared at me blankly. “I’m feeling frustrated.”

  “Are you leaving again? Should you check on Elliot?”

  “Oh, Elliot’s fine.” Roman shrugged. “He’s home already.”

  “So you’re staying?”

  He nodded sharply. “I have to make sure you’re safe.”

  “Do you want to watch another movie?” I smirked. “I could download a copy of Ghostbusters on my laptop.”

  He clenched his teeth. I snorted.

  “You think that’s funny?” he said.

  “Have you ever actually watched the movie?”

  “No. And I don’t plan to.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “I’m the opposite. I’m very serious.”

  Well, at least he was self-aware. If we were vegetables, Roman would be a potato. Solid, dependable, hearty, and always nice to have around. I considered myself more of an eggplant, because I had a big dick.

  “Why are you so serious?” I asked.

  “If you don’t take things seriously, you never get things done.”

  “I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “I never take things seriously, and I do well for myself. Kind of.”

  “Okay, well why don’t you take anything seriously?”

  “I like to have fun.”

  “I have fun too.”

  “What do you do for fun?”

  “Sometimes I drink beer with Elliot. I work out. I have sex.”

  I bit the inside of my lip. Thinking about Roman having sex was a direct line to boner town. “But you don’t date?” I clarified.

  “My work has to come first.”

  “Why?”

  “If I was dating someone, I couldn’t be here to protect you, could I?”

  My heart skipped a beat. “Have you ever heard of a life/work balance?”

  “If work is your life, that’s not relevant.”

  “That’s not what that saying means.”

  “I’ve always been like this. When I was a kid, my father pushed me to take every extra class and course the area offered,” Roman said, voice bitter around the word father. “I honestly don’t know how to stop working.”

  “Dude, you need a day off.”

  “I haven’t had a day off since I was a toddler.”

  No wonder he was wound so tightly. “Doesn’t it hurt your head to think so much all the time?”

  Roman laughed. “I’m sure you think as much as I do.”

  “You put effort into thinking. Who does that?”

  “Most people, I think.”

  “Not me. Unless I’m working, this is strictly a no-brain zone.” I tapped my head.

  “You always have a brain, Isaac. If you didn’t, you’d be dead.” His exasperated smile was addictive.

  “Maybe I’ve been dead the whole time.”

  “That would be very Sixth Sense of you.”

  “Aha! I knew you could make pop culture references. You do watch ghost movies!”

  Roman smirked. He sat in the chair — the chair that I had stopped seeing as Hannibal’s chair and started seeing as Roman’s chair. He squinted at his laptop, scowled, and plugged the charger cable in.

  “How’s your work going?” he asked while he waited for his computer to power up.

  It was such an ordinary question to ask that it took me by surprise. We were supposed to be talking about thermal imaging software and EMFs and ectoplasm or whatever spooky things Roman had on the brain. Not my work.

  “It’s fine,” I said. “I saw that cop again yesterday. I’m probably going to switch locations soon.”

  “You took my advice?” said Roman. “You’re not doing readings in the hotel?”

  “Money’s tight. I can work two jobs.” I kept talking before he could lecture me. “What about you? Are you looking for another job?”

  He shook his head and winced slightly. “I suppose I should. My savings won’t last long.”

  “How long did you work here?”

  “Three years.”

  “How did you last that long?”

  “Kyle lied and said I was good at my job.” Roman shrugged. “Besides, sometimes I worked for free on my days off.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Why here?”

  “To stay close to this floor.”

  “I know that.” I flipped my hand dismissively. “But there are loads of so-called haunted hotels. Is there a reason you’re so interested in the Cressley?”

  “No reason,” said Roman. He shrugged. “I was interested in the Cressley because they were the only haunted hotel in the area that was hiring. Once I got the job, I was invested.”

  The pieces of the Roman-puzzle were coming together. He’d dropped out of college to hunt ghosts, and the ghost on this floor was the one he’d set out to catch. Now he was determined to prove he was right about it. Roman was not a giver-upper. He was the most stubborn man I’d ever known. If he wanted to prove that ghost hunting was as valid a career as physiotherapy, he’d do it. I wasn’t sure if he’d do it so that he could rub it in his father’s face, show his mother that he was doing alright after all, satisfy his own pride, or all of the above. But he would do it no matter what.

  “Lucky break, actually getting the job,” I said.

  “Luck had nothing to do with it. I offered to work for free. I took a bellhop internship.”

  I stared at him. Why anyone would work for free was beyond me. Time was valuable. Labor was valuable.

  “Didn’t management think it was weird that you wanted to work for free?”

  “This place isn’t the classiest hotel in Seattle, Isaac. They aren’t afraid of cutting corners. If they thought I was doing it for insidious reasons, they didn’t care.”

  “Oh, they thought you were a pervert.”

  “I’m not a pervert.”

  “I know you’re not a pervert. But they totally thought you were, didn’t they?” I shuddered at the idea of what kind of staff this place was willing to hire. “I’m glad you’re a ghostbuster.”

  “Stop calling me a ghostbuster.”

&n
bsp; “Roger that.”

  “What about you? Why did you become a con artist?” He quickly added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  I was ready to tell him.

  “It’s not that different from your story.” Roman had been raised under the rule of science and evidence-based knowledge. I had been raised under the rule of faith in a vengeful god. “I wanted to piss off my family.”

  When I left home at seventeen, I set out to break as many commandments as I could. I wasn’t about to kill anyone, but everything else was on the table, from envy to theft to hanging out with demons. All Roman wanted was to catch some ghosts.

  “I guess that’s similar,” said Roman doubtfully.

  “They were religious,” I continued. To Roman’s father, belief in ghosts had been pseudo-science. His supernatural research, as thorough as it might have been, was faith-based rebellion. For my family — both parents and all five siblings — using tarot cards was a Satanic rebellion. “They were the bad kind of Mormon.”

  “Did you leave because of the gay thing?” Roman asked.

  “I was already planning to leave before I came out. I stopped believing in god when I was, like, thirteen. Coming out was a last resort. I knew how they’d react, but I told myself that if they surprised me, I would stay.”

  “I take it they didn’t surprise you.”

  I swallowed. Now for the hard part of my story. “When I ran away, I was homeless. I lived with a group of teenage runaways. A lot of them were queer like me, and most of them had religious families like mine.”

  Roman’s face was soft, his eyes dark and sympathetic. Ugh. I hated people feeling sorry for me. I skipped most of the details — no need to delve into exactly what it had been like.

  “We ended up finding a great squat,” I continued. “I lived there for a while until Olivia and I managed to scrape together enough money to rent a one-bedroom apartment together. And then I met Sasha.”

  “Sasha?”

  “My ex.”

  “I thought you were gay.”

  “Nah, I’m a flaming bisexual.” I waited to see if that elicited a negative reaction from Roman — some gay men didn’t like the idea of being two degrees of separation away from a woman. Those men were usually awful. I had assumed Roman was better than that, but you never knew.