Into the Gloaming

by Mercy Celeste

  “Calm your tits, Oz. They didn’t peg and tell. But Rory sure as hell did. Yesterday. After the baby thing. We went down to the coffee shop and talked. He’s… ashamed. He saw the two of you upstairs when he closed the pub. By the way, I’m pretty sure half the town might have seen the two of you ripping each other’s clothes off before you turned off the lights. You should probably learn to close the curtains before getting naked on Main Street.”

  “I don’t even remember going into the room,” Austin said, fighting shame. “We were on the stairs. The next thing I knew, you were standing over us calling me a twatwaffle or something. That is all I remember.”

  “Uh, huh,” Jemma smirked, her eyes saying she didn’t believe a word he said. She yanked open the door and left him in the bathroom.

  When he caught up with her in the workroom, she arched a delicate eyebrow at him as she chose a cream-filled doughnut from the pastry box. He hated that facial expression.

  “And does that suspicious amnesia defense extend to the first time someone did the deed in that same room? And let’s not pretend that Mr. Heathcliff Cortlandt was around to distract you into said amnesia,” she said before taking a bite.

  Austin lifted the lid to the box and looked at the assortment of pastries and muffins. His stomach churned at the sickly-sweet scent of the mingled ingredients. He had no idea what to tell Jemma. Or if she’d believe him. He sighed and closed the box. His coffee was nearly cold. He drank it anyway. Her nails clicking impatiently on the table.

  “Heath was here. Just not that Heath. The Heath in the portrait upstairs was here. He’d been here… well… outside. Walking past the house. Every evening. At sunset. For weeks. I first caught sight of him the first week of November sometime. I don’t remember when exactly. Just some guy walking through the work crews. He looked like one of them. Then when the shops started opening and more people came, he came more often. The first time I got close enough to him to talk to him was just before Thanksgiving. We… sort of… okay, he never ate or drank anything that I gave him. And he disappeared from my apartment… with the doors locked from the inside. And yes, I… had sex with a ghost in that room. And woke up alone, freezing my ass off on Christmas Eve. And yes… I heard a baby crying from somewhere in the house. Does that make you happy?”

  Jesus, he felt crazy as fuck when he said it out loud.

  He heard her swallow hard. She said nothing. He forced himself to meet her gaze. She wasn’t looking at him. Not really. More like she was looking through him.

  “Deathday loop, you think?” She said after a strained couple of minutes. “There is seriously bad juju on this property. Makes my skin crawl.”

  “You believe me?” He wasn’t expecting her to, even after what he’d told her he’d seen earlier.

  “You were there when he died, weren’t you? I mean, you followed him into his loop and… he saved you and broke his loop. Is that… oh my god, Oz, that is insane. And Heath showed up a couple of days after that. And that’s why you fainted.” She sounded manic. Or maniacal. Maybe he sounded the same. “I’ve been dreaming of horses and carriages and… last night I dreamed I went to a ball in a fancy dress. One just like you described. Sometimes I wake up… like I can’t breathe. Like I’m suffocating.” A look of terror crossed her face, and she put the doughnut down.

  “I tried corsetry when I was younger, I wanted to make my waist smaller. I passed out the first and only time I squeezed into one. And not from the corset. I had this whole scene pass in front of my eyes and I had a panic attack and splat, face-first on the floor. My mother was mortified. Not about the corset. That was her idea anyway. Oh my god, Oz. How can he be a ghost and the reincarnation of his great-grandfather?”

  “I don’t know. How am I supposed to know? I’m in love with a ghost… then this real man with his face shows up and I want to be in love with him too, but it’s not the same. And… I don’t know him. But I feel like I’ve known him all my life and I don’t know why. And as the bruises fade and the headache has mostly gone away… I think what I saw Christmas Eve was insane. I have almost convinced myself that SUV really did hit me. But… Rory saw it happen. He saw him go into the light or whatever happened. And we both sound fucking insane, you know that, right?”

  “You could love me? If you hadn’t loved the ghost me, first?” The voice was deep, a lot deeper than Jemma’s when she didn’t modulate her pitch.

  “Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ… On. A. Raft. You scared the piss out of me.” Jumping out of her seat, Jemma shouted at the man standing in the doorway. He looked as haggard as Austin felt. Jemma stood across from him with her pastry in one hand and her other hand clutching at an invisible set of pearls. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”

  “And the kittens wouldn’t have,” Austin added feeling his face flame with… something, he wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or ashamed.

  “You don’t look so spiffy there yourself, sailor,” Heath said straight-faced. He sagged against the doorjamb and blinked. “Is there any more coffee? I’ve been driving for hours.”

  Jemma almost raced to the office to get coffee.

  “Sit down, Heath.” Austin felt like a kid caught talking shit about a teacher, by the teacher.

  Heath didn’t sit.

  “So… if it wasn’t Rory that sent you into a sulk? Be straight with me Oz? I mean, I could love you. Not because I’m trying to get over a divorce. And we haven’t had sex. Or…” He scratched his head, his hair stuck out in places Austin wouldn’t have expected of the well-coiffed upper crust dude who’d first come into his life. “I don’t remember, but… maybe we did and were too drunk to remember. But… be honest about why you shut me out.”

  “I have the strangest feeling that I’m caught in some kind of loop here. Constantly rehashing every single conversation. Because we just met… literally, just met how many days ago? And suddenly it’s supposed to be love and marriage and I swear I know you and swear I’ve known you forever, but I don’t know a thing about you. And your face is part of some waking nightmare that has nothing to do with you. And everything to do with this place. That you own. And you sign my paychecks. And the man I’ve loved like a brother for over ten years has been trying to convince me we could be something, but he has a threesome with…” Austin shook his head, rubbing his temple because the headache was back.

  “And I keep seeing weird shit in this place and having crazy summer sex fantasies and everyone expects me to hold it together and be… sane. When all of this is insane. And I don’t know if I want to fuck you right now like a couple of goddamned bunnies in heat because this place is messing with my head… or because I really like you. But one thing is for sure, it’s too early to talk about true love and picking out baby names and crap.”

  Heath lunged off the door and crossed the room faster than Austin could blink. He picked Austin up by his shirt and dragged him out of his chair. Austin didn’t have time to beg for his life before Heath’s mouth covered his… and Austin melted.

  He held on to Heath’s shoulders with shaking hands. His breath caught in his throat, his heart skittering wildly in his chest. Heath sighed against his lips and pulled away. Austin wasn’t ready to let him go. He wrapped his good arm around Heath’s neck and stood on his toes to kiss him properly, hoping for another sigh, a good sigh this time. Heath pulled him closer, sliding one arm around his waist to hold him close. The other hand skimmed Austin’s cheek and slid into his hair. His lips parted, and sighed. And Austin didn’t care that it came from inside him.

  “Oh, hi, Donna, and Britney… and oh, look who’s joined us, good morning, Rory! We have coffee and pastries and guys kissing in the workroom.” Jemma called loudly from somewhere not close by.

  Heath laughed softly against Austin’s lips. “Oh, goody, the gang’s all here,” he whispered but didn’t release Austin. He pulled him closer. “We should probably get to work. This isn’t a holiday.”

  “It’s the ninth day of Christmas,” Austin
whispered back, his lips still grazing Heath’s as he gazed up into the swirling storm blazing in the man’s eyes. “I’m sure it’s a holiday somewhere.”

  Heath blinked and looked around the room. They were alone, but Austin could hear the others talking in the outer rooms. “We need to have a serious talk. Later.” Heath released him and stepped back. His lips were red and slightly swollen from their kiss. His face flushed. He needed to shave. And maybe he needed a shower. “After we talk about…” He waved his hand at the walls. “This mess.”

  “Yeah, we should really talk.” Austin couldn’t help but wonder why disappointment welled in the pit of his stomach. “Tonight. Maybe over dinner. Somewhere… not anywhere near…” Austin swirled his hand in the same general manner. “This mess.”

  Heath’s face flushed even brighter. “Yeah, okay… Sure. It’s a date.”

  And the rest of their little band of misfits bustled into the room as if the past two days had never happened. The three girls arguing about something just like they always did. And Rory… standing in the doorway where he’d been all along, looking… like Austin had ripped his heart out and served it to him on a paper plate.

  Chapter Thirty

  He’d made it to Savannah before he came to his senses. Not that Heath really did come to his senses. He found the local version of Callaghan’s Pub and dragged his sorry ass inside to drink away the sense he didn’t want back.

  An older version of Rory tended bar. He was short and square and Irish to the core, his full head of hair going silver, not that gingers ever really go silver. More like pale rust with some white thrown in to play with the light. He was brisk and blunt and he didn’t take shit from the customers or his crew.

  Heath sat at the bar, nursing a Guinness, and wishing he’d kept on driving. The leprechaun at the end of the bar wasn’t an exact duplicate of the one across the street from Cortlandt Manor, but it was still creepy as hell. It didn’t move. There were no strange visual distortions here. Or men who seemed real. But weren’t.

  There were other versions of Rory. One with copper hair and freckles and big blue eyes. And a smile that froze Heath to the spot. “That’s me nephew. Pretty kid. Too young fer the likes of you.” The older version of Rory stood in front of him with a bowl of something steaming hot. He thunked it down on the bar in front of Heath. “You look like you need that more than you need a drink.”

  “I wasn’t looking at the boy.” He was. Was he so obvious? He’d tried so hard to not be obvious. “He… looks like someone I used to know. It’s almost uncanny. Startled me for a moment.”

  “Uh, huh. Look, my boy is like you. Got no problem with it. But this one is underage. Doesn’t matter who he reminds you of. And his mother will wear your balls as earbobs if you mess with her boy.” Callaghan Senior wouldn’t take his word for his lack of interest.

  “Rory isn’t exactly my type either.” Heath forgot he’d been going for anonymity. The older version of Rory did something he’d yet to see the actual Rory do. He grinned. Like an imp of a leprechaun. It was stunning. Heath knew he stared, his jaw slack. He just couldn’t help it. The man looked like a ginger Irish bulldog of a man right up until that moment.

  “Met my Rory boy, have ya? He’s the best of my lot. Don’t mind telling ya. But he’s moved on. Opened up a franchise of his own,” the man said, implying that Rory wasn’t there anymore, and Heath took that as there was nothing else there for him to see. And stop ogling the little redhead with the big blue eyes. “You look about his type. But then Rory likes all types. I thought for a while there he’d finally found one person to make him stop running around.”

  “But he didn’t? Why not?” Heath’s stomach growled at the scent of the stew coming from the bowl he’d been ignoring.

  “Probably for the same reason you’re sitting here looking like you lost your best friend. You’re always thinking there’s something better around the corner. There’s nothing better than the one who pulls at your heart.”

  Heath had to wonder if he’d stepped into another of those waking dreams he’d thought to leave back at the manor. “Do you know who I am?” He asked, wondering if that sounded as pretentious to the pub owner as it did to him.

  “Should I? I don’t follow the stuff the young people are into these days. Not that I followed it when I was younger either. You look like someone. Or at least your suit does. And that fancy car parked outside. You not so much.” The older Callaghan responded to the waitress and picked up a glass to pull a beer. “But you know my Rory, so I would guess I’ve seen you around before.”

  “I’ve never dated Rory. I only just met him the other day. Don’t know him that well. I think we’re in love with the same…”

  The old guy grinned again and shook his head. “Austin and Rory always had the same taste in the boys. Don’t get me wrong, Austin is like a son to me. It breaks my heart that he will never be a real son. I’ll have to settle for whoever finally pins my boy’s britches to the floor. May he or she be made of steel. You should eat that while it’s still hot. I suspect you have a lot of driving to do before you get back to where you’re meant to be.”

  He ate. And he drank. And he found a motel not far away and tried to sleep. Hadn’t worked. And now he was back at the manor with no real idea why or how he’d ended up here. He left the motel and drove. Maybe he’d been on automatic pilot. Maybe other forces were at work. All he knew was that he didn’t truly wake up until he had Austin in his arms.

  That was hours ago. And now he wore a fine layer of dust on his Tom Ford and needed a shower and a shave. And some real food.

  “So, let me get this straight, the professor told you that if you didn’t finish your internship you would fail the semester, and that’s why you’re back here?” He heard Austin talking to the two interns. Jemma, beside him dust and cobweb free, snorted.

  “Told ‘em,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with some form of mad glee. “They should have lied and said they had a death in the family or something. The only way to get out of it. Or they should have done it over the summer like everyone else does.”

  “But not you?” Heath put the heavy crate down on the worktable and swiped at it with a dust cloth.

  “I plan to graduate in May, not go traipsing around some dusty museum in the heat. I mean, I don’t mind traipsing around dusty museums, or heat. I just want to get paid for that kind of suffering.” Jemma found the crowbar and lodged the flat side into the seam on the crate and pressed down. She didn’t break a sweat. Her perky ponytail was still perky. “What do you think we’ll find in this one? The family jewels?”

  “The family was destitute in the end,” Heath replied as he wiped the dust from his forehead. He found a cobweb in his hair. “When we started documenting the family records, we concluded that they sold off everything of any real value. The silver is piecemeal. Some of it is original to the family, some replacement. Some of the furniture ended up in other homes in the area. Paid a fortune to get it back. The family portraits were still in the house. So, unless someone was squirreling away valuables for a rainy day, I haven’t a clue.”

  “Well, whatever it is, I will let you do the honors,” Jemma grunted when the lid finally gave way on the last side. She handed him the crowbar and took a step back. Way back. If he didn’t know better, he would say she was afraid to open the box.

  “Probably just more ledgers and papers like we found earlier.” Heath felt her unease almost as if she transferred it to him through the crowbar. He watched her face drain of color for no reason that he could fathom. “It’s nearly lunchtime. We could stop and go across the street to the pub. I could eat.”

  He stood there holding the crowbar, unable to take the last step to remove the lid from the crate when Austin came in shaking his head. “Take one day off and everyone loses their damn minds. I swear.” He stopped talking and shaking his head to grab on to the back of a chair. “What’s going on here? Jemma looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

  Jemma sh
ook her head as if to clear it. She turned her gaze to Austin, and Heath wasn’t imagining that her color returned to normal. “I… I don’t know. That box… feels wrong.”

  Britney followed Austin in, she looked less perky than usual. She didn’t speak, which was completely out of character for her. Donna came in next. Looking as perplexed as Heath felt. “What’s going on in here? Why is everyone so quiet?”

  Austin nodded toward the crate on the table. “They found another crate in the attic room.” He sat in the chair at the end of the work table… the one farthest away from the crate. “Heath is about to do the honors.”

  Heath felt the weight of all four sets of eyes watching him. Everything felt… heavy. Almost as if something ominous had settled over the room. “You guys are making too much out of a simple crate. What do you expect to find here? King Tut?”

  He slipped the crowbar into the slot and hitched it up. The nails made a sickening squeal as the wood peeled back. The crate lid looking for all the world like a gaping monster mouth, half hinged and ready to snap closed for one long moment. The power fluttered and browned-out. Heath pried again and pushed the lid until it came off. The back row of nails bent over, splintering the crate before it clattered to the table.

  The lights flickered overhead and died completely, leaving the house in total silence. The only light coming in through the windows behind them. Someone screamed. Or maybe he was hearing things.

  “What’s in it?” Jemma asked from far away. Heath found her leaning against the window frame, one hand clutching her collar at her throat, her eyes wide, the pupils blown.

  Donna came up beside him without a word. She lifted the packing straw off the parcel inside and sifted through the papers until she found something. She lifted out a yellowed scrap of fabric and carefully laid it on the table, smoothing the wrinkles out. “Looks like… a christening gown, for a baby.”

  Britney, mumbling something about preserving the fabric, pulled out a box of gloves, and headed to a cabinet. And… Jemma’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. Austin caught her before she hit the floor in a dead faint.