“It’s fine. I couldn’t eat after I saw her the first time either. She’s… in pain. Lots of pain. That one,” Austin said, picking at his food now. “I didn’t see her this time, but you did. Didn’t you?”
“See who?” Britney demanded, her perkiness subdued now.
“Amelia… my wife… uh… Heath’s… the… my great-grandfather’s wife. I saw Amelia in Jemma’s reflection in the window. And then again before I came to. She was there. Leaning over me. Both of them were.” Heath tried to explain, but another wave of dizziness washed over him and he bolted from the table.
“Both of whom?” He heard Britney ask as the bathroom door closed behind him.
That was an excellent question.
One Heath didn’t have the answer to.
He threw up and when Austin handed him a wet towel, Heath clung to him. Tears slipping down his face. Austin just held him. There was nothing to say. Not one damned thing that would sound sane, at least. Heath cried for a baby he never fathered. And a wife, he didn’t have. While the man he loved held him… like all the other times he’d needed holding, while the bruises healed. And the loneliness made bearable… in his arms.
Chapter Thirty-Six
November 1917
The melancholy came early this time. I’ve closed myself away in my private room until it passes. I am alone for this bout. Unsure how to cure myself of this plague.
My brother has been gone three months. I had thought to never be bothered by this condition again.
Nephew stays close to home of late. I suspect he noticed my occasional incapacitations. He does not speak to me, not more than is expected of him to know what is needed for the children.
We are turning the house upside down for fabric. Old clothing is to be repurposed when I can hold a needle again. The war has depleted the stores of inexpensive fabric. It is strange that since Nephew has ceased to discuss what was once his most favorite topic, I’d almost forgotten the country was at war.
With the publican right outside my window and the one-legged reminders sitting on the roadway with their tin cups… I suppose I should close the drapes on that side of the house.
The girl is still abed. Her father hired the midwife to dance attendance upon her for the last month. The Savannah relations have been so kind as to send food and gifts for the children.
Ruth is to have a doll. I do not know why. She will tear the head off this one as she has all those previously.
Ella requested books. Of all things a young woman would request when there are pretty clothes and shoes to be had for the asking.
Nephew tells me there are rumors the economy is heading into a recession as the war escalates. I hope this is not the case. We are barely surviving now as it is.
The pains are upon me. I fear this melancholic state will be the death of me.
~
On the eleventh day of Christmas…
My true love… abandoned me for the solitude of his apartment.
Austin made coffee in his apartment and watched the sunrise reflect off the windows in the back of the main house. He longed for an eastern facing window right about now.
Lately, it felt as if he never saw the sun. The weather had turned mild for a change.
He took his coffee and leaned against his door frame, drinking in the caffeine and the quiet of the morning. The last journal entry fresh in his mind. Something was off about the woman. Something felt… coded. He understood everything she’d written, yet, he couldn’t help but think she wrote about something else entirely.
“It’s a lovely sunrise,” Rory breathed from just outside his door. Austin peered around the frame to find his friend looking just as exhausted as he had last night. “Got any more of that? I could use something to get me going right now.”
Austin cast a suspicious glance down the sidewalk to the row of staff apartments. No one stood outside bidding him a fond farewell. And he didn’t reek of sex.
“It’s not what it looks like.” Rory rocked on his toes and bunched his fists in his pockets. “I… she didn’t want to be alone. There is nothing between us. She just needed someone to talk to. And hold her. That’s all I did. She went to sleep about an hour ago. If you have a heart, give her the day off, let her figure it out in peace.”
Austin sighed, and with a nod, he stepped aside, “Come on in, Rory. I have plenty. And… maybe you should take that same advice and call in. You look like you’re a walking ghost lately.”
He winced at the choice of words, but Rory didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he didn’t care. There were too many ghosts running around here as it was. Some of them real.
“Is he here? I don’t want to interrupt anything.” The air of caution in his voice and demeanor broke Austin’s heart.
“No, he wanted to be alone last night. So did I. There’s too much… I don’t know how to even begin to unpack any of this right now. If this thing between him and me is real. Or just a product of this fucking house. And these women. And… you and I are fighting about something we never even once thought about. So much anger and jealousy and fear. I can taste fear in the air, Rory. It tastes like copper. Like a maelstrom of molten copper and I’m drowning in it.”
Rory left his jacket on the back of a kitchen chair and went to the coffee maker. He poured a cup and brought it back to the table, only to slump over it. He didn’t say anything.
“What? Nothing to say. Like how I make everything about me. Or something about how selfish, I am?” Because he was expecting another reason to fight. “Or he’s not right for me.”
Rory tilted the mug to his mouth, his head still bowed as if he was trying to breathe in the caffeine. Or will it into his system by osmosis. When he swallowed, he looked up. Hurt in his eyes. He shook his head sadly. “No. I feel it. The air is heavy. And not from some storm that’s brewing ahead of another cold front. This feels… wrong. Like… we’re in a horror movie and the next crate you find will unleash pure evil on the world or something.”
Austin nodded. “Not the way I’d describe it, but yes, exactly. Like we’re waiting for something to explode. And take us with it. It’s this house. It’s just—”
“Cursed,” Rory cut him off, his hands shaking around the coffee mug. “I… just… I keep hearing the word in my head. I can’t shake it off. This place is cursed. I feel it in my bones.”
“Jemma calls it bad juju. I’m thinking… she would know.” He remembered last night just before everything went to hell. “I’m not sure I ever believed in reincarnation. Or an afterlife. Or any of it. I’m not sure I ever believed in ghosts,” Austin reflected. His life flashing before him as if he were watching a movie. One he’d never seen before.
“I thought I could explain away the few strange incidents over the past few years. The power of suggestion can be a big motivator toward belief, you know. When there’s supposed to be a ghost in this house you’re going to tour. And you go to the exact room that the ghost is supposed to appear and the hair on your neck stands up. And you swear, just swear, you feel a cold spot or something weird like that, and you come away believing you saw an actual ghost. When all along it was your mind playing tricks on you. You were told it was there. Right there. And you looked. And there it was. But nothing was there, and you didn’t want to be the one who’d never seen the ghost. That’s what I always believed. Until now.” Austin finished his coffee and set his cup aside. God, he was tired. So very tired.
“This isn’t like that,” Rory said, his voice tight, his hands still shaking as he drank again.
“No. This isn’t anything like that. Unless Mrs. Henley is pumping some dope-ass hallucinogens through the vents from her kitchen that smells like scones… then this is— I’m scared, Rory. Not going to lie.”
Rory nodded again. This time he looked up, his eyes large and… haunted. There was no other way to describe him right then. Austin had used that word too many times in the last few days. Even he was doubting his own sanity.
“Tell me
about the person you see in my bar. And don’t lie to me. I remember New Year’s Eve. You see him. He’s real. Isn’t he?”
The plea in Rory’s voice nearly broke him. The fear there chilled him to the bone. “Yeah, he’s real.”
Rory dropped his gaze to the table again, his shoulders slumping. He shook like he was laughing. Or sobbing. “Aus… he’s doing things to me. And I can’t stop him.”
Austin remembered that morning when Rory spontaneously came while he watched from the bathroom door. “And you like it,” he whispered because he was so afraid to even put a voice to that suspicion.
“Yes.” Rory’s shoulders shook even more. “I… crave what he does to me. I never see him. Images. Sometimes. Like in my head. But… I can’t sleep… I’m afraid to go upstairs. I’m afraid to shower. I’m afraid he’ll drown me while he…” Rory pushed the cup away and laid his head on his arms, his shoulders shaking even harder now.
“Does he hurt you?” Austin didn’t want an answer to that. But he had to know.
“Yes. Sometimes. I fear it. I know when he’s there. I know when it will happen. I know when it will… when I beg him for more because I never knew… that pain feels good.” As if he’d been yanked by his hair, Rory sat up. He looked around the room, through eyes that seemed strange. Like they weren’t… Rory’s.
“Does he… uh… penetrate you? I can’t believe I’m asking that.” He’d lain with a ghost who’d taken him in every conceivable way and left the proof of it in his body. Maybe Austin was the only person who’d been able to see him. But Austin had seen him. Austin knew his face, and the feel of his hands, and the taste of his kiss before he gave him the use of his body.
“He’ll be angry when I get back. I didn’t come home last night. He’ll be so angry.” Rory didn’t answer the question. He looked on the verge of fleeing. But to where? And from whom?
Austin reached for Rory’s hand. Rory jumped, snatching his hand away. The fear shining in Rory’s strange eyes breaking Austin’s heart.
“I love you, Rory. I love you so much.” Austin reached for his hand again and this time he held on, as tight as he could. “He’s not here, he can’t come here. I think he’s trapped in that bar. You’re safe here. Rory. I’m so afraid for you right now. Please… just… stay with me, today.”
He pulled Rory’s hand across the table. Holding it tightly in his good hand, he covered his palm with his broken hand and rubbed, trying to bring warmth to Rory’s cold hand. “Tell me, Aus, what does he look like?” Rory didn’t fight his grip, but the panic in his eyes didn’t dissipate even a little.
“All right. He’s…” he had to think about it, the stereotypical leprechaun on the counter over at Callaghan’s the first image to pop into his head. He cleared his mind and thought about the other night at the New Year’s party. The Irish bulldog of a fella following Rory around like he was attached at the hip. Possessive; he’d been so very possessive. And protective, too. But there was an undercurrent every time he met Austin’s gaze. And he had met Austin’s gaze many times. He’d marked his territory, and wanted Austin to know exactly who owned Rory.
“Shorter than you. By nearly half a foot, I’d say. But… you don’t see too many full-on apparitions, you know. He could have been taller when he was alive. Broad-shouldered. Very stocky. Thick neck. A big square head. He was built like a brick shithouse under the coat. He took his cap off once, strange that. His hair is close-cropped. Like… military close. But not shaved. It was brown, but with a reddish tint to it. Like… I don’t know… rusty copper, hell, I can’t describe it. He wasn’t old. Wasn’t young either. I’d say probably close to our age. He had all his teeth. He was… nice looking… in that sturdy square Irishman kind of way.”
Rory nodded, his eyes glazed over, but they were Rory’s eyes staring back at Austin and not some… one else? And that thought startled Austin into dropping Rory’s hand. After last night with Jemma and the strange incident with Heath, he couldn’t handle another possible reincarnation. That would be just too fucking weird. Maybe he should find out what Mrs. Henley puts in those scones. Maybe her flour had gone bad, and they were all having one of those mass poisonings from eating diseased wheat or something like that.
“He’s good looking?” Rory said, his voice gone all soft and dreamy.
“Rory… I swear to god… you sound like you’re falling in love—”
“Look who’s talking. You fell in love with yours. And he magically turned real.” Rory’s voice broke. Austin could tell he was spoiling for that fight they’d avoided so far.
“That was different… mine wasn’t raping me in my sleep. He courted me. And then died to protect me. And… oh my god, this is—” The coffee cup whizzing past his head should have been warning enough to shut the hell up. “You motherfucker. Did you just throw coffee at me? You bastard.”
Austin was out of his seat, and around the table before Rory could get to his feet. When he finally stood up, Austin tripped him and sent them both sprawling to the floor. Rory, the natural fighter of them, too exhausted to struggle against Austin as Austin pinned his hands over his head.
He leaned over Rory, panting. His arm hurting so badly he feared he may have done more damage. Rory panted right back; his breath hot in Austin’s face. But he didn’t struggle. He just lay there, his body going limp as sense returned to his eyes. “Austin?”
“You’re exhausted, Roar. I’ve never seen you this tired. I’m afraid for you. You’re too young to work yourself to death.” Austin measured his words. He didn’t want to set Rory off again. “You were there for Jemma when she needed someone. Baby, you need someone right now.”
“I’m so tired, Aus,” he whispered, his voice breaking. A tear leaked from the corner of one eye. “I’m so, so tired. I can’t do this. I will disappoint my Da. I can’t… it’s too much for me.”
“Rory, even the great Mick Callaghan takes two days off a week. I can’t remember when you’ve taken a full day, just for you. Except for that one blizzard day. And you were there for me. You didn’t sleep. You cooked. You took care of me. Before that… when was the last time you took a day off and just slept? Or did something that didn’t involve that pub?”
Closing his eyes, Rory dragged in a deep ragged breath. His body limp beneath Austin’s—
“Austin? You up for…” A new voice intruded, and Heath stepped around the wide-open door into his apartment. “Uh… I’ll… come back later.”
Great. Now he had to deal with a second jealous lover, when the best friend who put him in competition for that position lay supine under him, motionless.
“No. I… can you help me convince him to stay… he needs a good solid eight hours of sleep. And he won’t get it across the street, what with work right downstairs. I don’t want to end up taking him to the hospital… because he’s killing himself.”
The tears Rory had been suppressing all this time burst from him, a great sob escaping his mouth, his chest heaving with the force of it. “I can’t, Aus. I can’t.”
“Yes, baby, you can. And you are. Even if I have to carry you and tie you to my bed, you’re staying. And sleeping.”
No answer from the sobbing man on the floor. Heath hunkered down beside them, his hand on Austin’s shoulder. “Now I know something’s wrong. Who is he and what have you done to poor Rory?”
“Nothing he doesn’t have coming.” Austin didn’t have time to joke around. Or the patience for it today. It didn’t matter who did the joking. “He stayed up all night with Jemma. And she’s sleeping in today. So… Rory is having that nervous breakdown, he probably deserves. And he’s going to bed. Now. If I have to—”
“Yeah, yeah, tie him to it.” Heath laughed, but Austin could tell he wasn’t exactly amused. “He looks wiped out. And stubborn. I… uh, recognize the breed.”
“Seems I have a type.” Belatedly realizing Rory no longer fought him, Austin released Rory’s arms. “Hey, babe, you okay?”
He could feel Heath bristle
beside him at the endearment. He’d have to get over it. Rory was staying in his life.
“He’s lost a lot of weight,” Heath mused, the jealous lover voice under control now. “Maybe a trip to the ER might be the best idea. He’s clearly in distress.”
Maybe it was the cold appraisal that had Austin grinding his teeth. But, as Rory lay so very still beneath him, Austin realized he really could feel his rib cage… and hip bones. There was no way Rory had lost that much weight in less than a week.
“He’s been working long shifts, up early to cook, then closing late at night. And he doesn’t always take the time to eat. Or sleep. He’s always been like this. But back home, he had his father around to make sure he took care of himself. Rory’s trying to do it all himself. He has a trained assistant manager who can handle the pub for one day a week, at least.” Austin didn’t know who he was trying to convince, the man beside him, or the one beneath him.
“Dads are tough, especially when you’re taking on your first big solo project, and the last thing you want is to disappoint the person who gave you that chance. So, yeah, I get it. I never worked in food service, but I get it.” Heath chatted away as if he had all the time in the world and was just shooting the breeze.
“Come to think of it, I met Clark on my first solo venture into the business world. And the pressure to close the deal on the Ford venture… maybe if I hadn’t worn myself to a frazzle chasing that buck, I wouldn’t have let him take advantage of my need to… matter to someone. I didn’t matter to my dad. So, I threw myself into work. That I hate, by the way. And the first man to show me any attention beyond a quick fuck… and I’m in love. Yeah. I got it. We do stupid shit when we’re trying to impress someone. Wear ourselves out while we pretend we aren’t as empty as we were before… and then we end up having sex with our ex… or bawling on the floor. I’ve done both… recently.” Heath rambled on, talking to Rory as if he understood, all the while his attention was on Austin. Trying to make Austin understand. And maybe… Austin did.
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