Heath saw the publican dash inside his business with his broom. The sound of rain seemed strange. Like a memory that shouldn’t… there should be snow this day.
There was always snow this day.
Rain turned to snow as if he’d conjured it. The fence sagged into the overgrown shrubbery. The house… sat alone in the world, smoke rising from the chimney in the kitchen where his sisters would be decorating the tree. He’d promised they’d light it so that Father Christmas would come that night.
His heart raced with dread.
Austin hurried past the gate leading up to the front of the house. He didn’t seem to notice that the rain turned to ice. Heath heard a curse from another voice as hail pelted the sidewalk. His attention caught by his… lover… couldn’t be swayed by the publican screaming out his lover’s name.
He could no longer see the setting sun, yet it pulled at him. The scene before him changed to that of snow falling so thickly, he couldn’t make out the front steps. He heard a scream from that direction and noticed his aunt leaning over the railing, waving her arms as the flurries turned into a blizzard as he watched.
“Austin, stop running, you’re going to kill yourself,” he heard someone shout to his left. He heard his aunt calling to his sisters on his right. The one he could love for an eternity dashed around the corner that led back to the cemetery. Where his family gathered…
He ran… terror filling his soul. He couldn’t focus on one vision, or the other as he raced toward the corner. The one he was drawn to every sunset… only to wake up every sunrise going the opposite direction… until that day Austin had offered him ice cream, distracting him from his… doom.
“AUSTIN!” It was his turn to scream as his lover disappeared into the setting sun. “STOP!”
He ran as fast as he could. His aunt’s voice shouting at him from the veranda. The voice of another behind him on the walk. He turned in time to see the publican lose his balance and slip on the icy walk, his eyes gone wide with horror. “Don’t stop for me, run. Save Austin,” the publican waved him on as he struggled to get back on his feet.
Heath didn’t wonder why the publican could see him. Only Austin had seen him in all these years. Of that, he was certain.
Heath ran. He didn’t slide on the ice. Or snow. He could only see Austin ahead on the walk. He’d slowed down, his coffee cup lying on the sidewalk. He seemed so lost. Like he’d woken up from a walking sleep to find himself in the middle of a nightmare. He slipped on the ice. His eyes wide with fear as he looked to Heath for help.
Lights swept the growing dark. Just like that day, one hundred years ago… he saw the delivery van sliding through the mud, out of control. His little sisters and their sled on the side of the road, laughing as they dragged themselves through the snow ahead of the truck…
The sound of a horn blaring louder than anything he’d ever heard in his living years forced the choice… to save his sisters who were long gone or the man of flesh and bone.
Heath shot across the ice, never feeling it beneath his worn boot soles. Austin stood illuminated in the glaring light of the out of control… car… it was a car. One hundred years of life flashed before his eyes. None of it his. This street. The one that hadn’t existed when he’d lived, and all the people he’d drifted past while trapped in this… hell. Until Austin had freed him that day with chocolate ice cream.
“Austin,” he cried his love’s name, knowing Austin couldn’t hear him. But he did. He turned away from his impending doom just as two little girls flickered to life in front of him. Heath raced for all of them. His feet digging for traction on the brick wall, he’d help lay when he was eighteen and stepping into his father’s shoes… he felt the car more than he saw it, skidding on the ice, the horn blaring as it raced out of control… toward his lover… his sisters stopped walking and laughing… the sled going down the hill ahead of them, without them… he felt the body in front of him as he grabbed it and pushed… with all his might… pushing all of them, his lover and his sisters as far as he could, to safety.
He heard the squeal of tires and felt the cold impact of the car at his back, and the brick path beneath him. He raised his head one last time to find Austin sprawled against the fence, soaked with rain as if fell in place of the hail… Beyond Austin, his sisters lay still in the snow, the sled still sliding ever so slowly down the hill toward the cemetery where the freshly dug grave awaited—
“HEATH!” He heard the scream of only one voice. Memory told him another voice screamed for him. But that voice was long gone. This one still lived. “No, no. What… NO!” He saw his love scrambling to his knees as the publican slid to the ground at his side. The publican grabbed his Austin in strong arms and hauled him back as the car came to a stop on the sidewalk where Austin had just been standing. Austin screamed and fought with his friend. The one who would be lover if only Austin would notice his affection…
Heath looked over his shoulder at the car sitting where his body should be. It didn’t hurt this time. That’s all that mattered. The scene in the snow disappeared as if it had never happened. As if the red stain spreading out before him was just a bad dream he could wake from.
“Thank you,” he said, taking in the scene of what would have been his death. One more time. There was no blood this time. Or broken bones. Or the guilt of the death of the innocent… or the family he left behind, abandoned. There was only… peace.
But that peace was short-lived. He’d died. So many times. And just like every day, he could feel the pull of… not the setting sun this time… something else… something different. Something… serene.
“Austin.” He needed to say the name before the call of a different voice grew too loud to ignore. “I love you.” He had to say the words. Once he’d held onto those words… he had to make sure he said it this time.
“I love you too,” Austin called back, the publican losing his grip on him, his eyes gone so wide they looked like tea saucers. “Oh, my god, Heath. No, don’t go.”
Heath stood up and brushed off his clothes. He was dry and whole. “I have to. I think,” he said, looking around for the scene of snow to return. For the last flash of the sun setting on his life one last time. It did not come this day. The blizzard ending as abruptly as it had begun… and Heath walked away. Toward his lover. But the call he could not ignore came as he reached out his hand. Austin reached back, his hand so warm as they touched one last time. The blaring of the horn stopped, and he turned toward the sound of his name.
When he looked back, Austin was only a memory. One that he would see again… one day. Or so the voice told him.
Chapter Eight
“On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me,” Austin sang as he pried open the crate that had been delivered late the day before. The lid came off with a snap, or his wrist snapped. Could have been either one. He ignored the pain that radiated along his arm from his wrist to his elbow. Just a sprain to go with the bruises he’d gotten from flying through the air and bouncing off the wood privacy fence.
The doctors said if he’d slammed into the wrought-iron fence just a few feet away, it would have most likely broken his back. If he had to guess, he probably had a mild concussion.
Considering what he’d thought he’d seen when he was lying on the ice-coated ground, staring down the front grill of a big ass Suburban he should probably be medicated and on a mandatory three-day vacation in the psych ward. But they’d released him from the ER with stitches, a brace, and a bottle of heavy-duty pain pills late last night.
He moved the packing material around inside the wooden box, looking for the boxes that would contain the delicate materials he’d been expecting for the last week.
He found a plastic bin on top and pulled it out first. There would be paintings in the slender boxes to the side. He’d get someone to pull those out for him. He grunted as he hefted the plastic tote out, it was heavier than it looked, and carried it over to the cleared off end of his desk. The painti
ngs had directions for hanging written on the boxes. He’d get the interns to place those tomorrow when they returned from their day off.
He heard The Twelve Days of Christmas from a distance, it was the fifth time he’d heard the damned song since the tea room opened for Christmas brunch that morning.
He looked around for the box of purple gloves he preferred and gently pulled the lid off the tote. Inside, he found books and some wrapped items that were most likely fragile. He gloved up, wincing as he turned his wrist.
“You should wear the brace.” The voice was deeper than any of the tearoom ladies and very unexpected. His heart raced as he looked up. He knew who he would find standing in his office doorway, didn’t mean he couldn’t hope. Sure enough, Rory leaned against the jamb with his arms crossed over his chest. He hadn’t shaved in a while. He had dark circles under his eyes. His hair was longer than Austin had ever seen it before.
“You need a haircut and a shave,” Austin replied, trying not to wince again as he twisted his sprained wrist to lift out the first leather-bound book.
It was a journal of some sort. With no indication as to whom the author might be. The name Culla on the first page all he had to go on. He knew of no Culla in the family tree.
He set it aside and went back for another book while Rory rubbed shaking hands over his bearded jaw.
“I thought I looked rakish,” Rory answered with a shrug of his shoulders. He sounded as off as Austin felt. “What are you doing? You should be resting.”
“I’ll rest when I’m dead.” He regretted his choice of words the second they left his mouth.
“You are damned lucky you aren’t dead,” Rory whispered, his voice almost inaudible with the Christmas carols echoing through the mostly empty house. “That Suburban should have hit you.”
“It didn’t.” He closed his eyes to shut out the horror of those few moments. “I walked away. I’m good.”
“Want to talk about it?” Rory was closer now, his voice still pitched low, as if he didn’t want to be heard beyond this room. He smelled… unwashed. Rory never left his apartment without being groomed to perfection. But lately, he’d changed.
“When you tell me why you’ve stopped looking in the mirror and bathing.” Two could play this game. Avoid and deflect. He didn’t know what to tell his friend. He didn’t know if he’d… what the hell had he seen? Besides the man he’d made love with just the night before being run down by an SUV, then getting up and… walking off into the goddamned sunset, that also wasn’t real. He would not tell Rory that, or the paramedics, or the police. The driver of the vehicle hadn’t mentioned seeing a third man. Hell, Rory hadn’t said a damned word about it either.
“My shower is broken… I was going to ask if I could use yours, but… you look like you’re about to pass out, Austin. You should sit down. Have you eaten anything?” Rory was standing right beside him when Austin opened the journal. A strip of newspaper fell out.
Local Man Killed in County’s First Automobile Crash.
He held the article, staring at the grainy photo beside the headline. He could have sworn the room spun around him.
“Heathcliff Cortlandt was killed when a delivery truck lost control in what is being called the Blizzard of 1917. Mr. Cortlandt was twenty-two.” Rory read the opening paragraph over his shoulder. Austin couldn’t drag his gaze away from the century-old photograph to read for himself. “This house belonged to the Cortlandt family, didn’t it?”
“Cortlandt Manor,” Austin replied automatically, he couldn’t put the article back into the journal nor could he bring himself to open the journal to see what else he could find. “I think I… I need to go lie down. I’m… dizzy.”
Rory reached out a comforting hand, but Austin brushed it off. He didn’t want to be touched. “Okay, Austin,” Rory said, his voice gentle, as if he were talking to a sick animal. He’d always had a way with animals, and children, Rory had. And people. Austin didn’t get along with any of the above. Especially children.
“No, okay. Don’t placate me. Or try to soothe me. I’m not a dog to be petted.” Austin carefully placed the article back in the journal and set that back in the plastic tote and sealed it again before putting it back in the crate and dropping the lid back on top. Like the whole thing would burn him. He was sweating and nauseous when he finished. He looked up to find Rory and Mrs. Henley standing at the end of his desk looking concerned. Mrs. Henley, the tea room manager, had nothing to do with the museum, and Austin had no idea why she was there.
“I’m going to take him home,” he heard Rory say. He sounded so far away. “He has a concussion. I have no idea why he’s here today. He wouldn’t let me stay with him. I understand. Oh, that would be appreciated. I’d love to try the scones. They smell delicious. Let me get him… absolutely, he has always been like this. Bullheaded doesn’t cover what ails him.”
Austin waved a hand at his friend, hoping he’d feel sternly admonished for the one-sided conversation. He heard Mrs. Henley laugh and then he heard heels clicking away from his office.
“She thinks I’m crazy enough already,” Austin said when he could focus again.
“I wonder what ever gave her that idea?” Rory retrieved Austin’s coat and gloves from the rack by the door and held them out. “You might want to take off the rubber gloves.”
“You might want to go mind your own business.” Austin looked at his hands as if he’d never seen them before. He peeled off the purple plastic in irritation and tossed them in the trash.
“Arm.” Rory didn’t argue back. He held Austin’s coat for him and waited for Austin to stop trying to run him off. “Come on, it’s cold outside. Really cold. You’re not looking so good. Just work with me, Austin.”
“Fine,” Austin huffed and hauled himself over to the coat and slipped his injured arm in first. “No scones. I’m sick of scones.”
“She’s sending over some soup too. She’s worried about you.” Rory turned Austin to face him and buttoned his coat. “Here, put these on. Do you have a hat? You’ll need it.”
Austin struggled to get his hands into his gloves. He was panting by the time he had one hand covered. “No hat.”
Rory reached into his pocket with a loud sigh and dragged out a folded knit cap and pulled it onto Austin’s head while he worked his fingers into the right finger holes.
“I saw him, Austin. Yesterday. He… that man in that news article, I saw him throw himself between you and the oncoming car. I saw him tackle you and throw you to safety. I saw him go under the car… then he got up and stood there like it never happened. I thought… I thought I was… why were you running in the sleet like that? You never go past the house.”
Austin blinked several times to clear his vision. He didn’t want to talk about yesterday. He didn’t know how to talk about yesterday. “I saw two little girls. I thought they were lost, and they were running toward the street. I didn’t want them running into traffic.”
“There were no little girls on the sidewalk,” Rory replied as he pulled on his gloves.
“I know that. Now. It wasn’t snowing either. I could have sworn it was snowing.”
He was shaking so badly just thinking about it, he had to reach for Rory’s arm to keep from collapsing. “I don’t know what to… it was him. You know. The… Heath. His name was Heath. Is Heath.”
Rory took his uninjured hand and tucked it under his elbow. “I believe you, Austin.” They were walking through the house toward the door that led to the apartments out back. “Mrs. Henley will send over some soup and scones to warm us up. And coffee. We will have a light lunch. I’m going to use your shower. Then I am going to take tonight off because it’s Christmas and we will take a nap. How does that sound?”
“Sounds good,” Austin agreed, letting Rory lead him outside. The world around him looked wrong… again. “Rory? Is it snowing or am I hallucinating?”
“We’re having an actual white Christmas,” Rory answered, Austin could hear the smile in
his voice. “It never snows in Savannah. I mean never.”
“We should build a snowman or something.” Austin focused on not falling on the slick cobblestones as they walked through the winter precipitation. “That would be fun.”
“Later this afternoon, after our nap.” Rory opened the door to his apartment and turned on the lights. He led Austin to the table and fumbled with Austin’s coat and gloves. When he was finished, he hummed I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas while he started a fire in the hearth. Someone knocked on the door. A few minutes later Rory set a bowl of something creamy and steaming hot on the table in front of him. “Don’t think, Austin, just eat. We’ll talk about our ghosts when we’re full and not still in shock.”
“He isn’t dead,” Austin said, but he knew, he’d known even before Heath had thrown himself under the Suburban. Maybe even before they’d made love in… “I had sex with a ghost, Rory. How is that even possible?”
“Did he use protection?” Rory smeared butter on one of his scones like it was a biscuit. “Does one even need protection when sleeping with the supernatural?”
“I think I hate you.” Austin tried not to laugh at the serious expression on his friend’s face. “Stop mocking me.”
“I’m not mocking. I’m being deadly serious, here. Because I hate condoms and would hook up with a ghost if that meant I didn’t have to use one ever again. Wonder if girl ghosts can get knocked up? Because I don’t want that either.”
Austin picked up his spoon and dipped it into the bowl. He didn’t taste a damned thing, but he felt the heat of the soup work its way into his belly. He avoided the scones. “What’s wrong with your shower?” He changed the subject. Rory stopped pretending he wasn’t mocking and went pale.
“No hot water upstairs. I need to get a repairman in. Can’t do that until tomorrow. I’ve been taking sponge baths with hot water from the tea kettle. Gets old.”
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