While the Winchester usually donates (cleaned gently) used clothing to various charities, when a manager is feeling particularly generous, once a quarter or so at an all staff meeting, the items which have not found their way back to specific owners will be turned over to the staff if they want to claim anything. This tradition started early on, and given how little much of the staff makes, the upper management tend to look the other way on the matter.
Dawn shakes her head once more and says, “Do you need any help? How many rooms need to be turned?”
“If Chad or Stephen are around, send them up to help me get some of this furniture back in order.”
“You sweet on those boys, Juanita?” Dawn asks.
“Let an older lady look at some cute young things for the day.”
“Be my guest. I’ll send them your way and let me know if we need to order anything.”
“Will do.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
October 23, 4:45 P.M.
The Virgin Atlantic flight over was an easy one for Bryan Riggs, who still has no idea what he’s actually doing in the States. He physically understands how he got here. Flying Upper Class, getting in the car, checking in at the front desk. The Winchester was to be his home before he moves into a furnished flat later in the week. What Bryan isn’t prepared for is the emotional fallout he feels from being in the United States.
Having seen his career come to an end in the British Premiere League, he was shocked when his agent called him and told him of the offer made by the Los Angeles Galaxy. Even though he’s earned more than enough money, he doesn’t want to throw in the proverbial towel just yet. While he knows eventually he can become a pundit, chatting about various matches on SkyNews, or writing up some column for one of the lad magazines, he still loves the game and wants to play.
He refuses to admit that he’s running away.
From Dane.
His boyfriend.
There aren’t gay footballers.
There are very few gay professional athletes.
There are limited athletes who even support homosexuality.
This is a fact.
It’s not that he ever planned to be gay, it’s just something he was undeniably born as. Over the years, whatever emotions he might have felt among teammates Bryan has certainly had become adept at squashing any feelings or attractions. Careful to keep up his image, when he was making a name for himself, he maintained a series of girlfriends – various pop stars and actresses. When it came time in the relationship where he was more or less forced to sleep with them, he closed his eyes and fantasized about whoever was his most recent crush. After awhile, the farce became too much and citing not enough time because of commitments to his job, travel and training, it’s been years since he’s shown up to any social event with someone on his arm.
Bryan had resigned himself to a life alone. Perhaps when his career was over, he’d be able to act on his attractions, but then, out of nowhere, he met Dane.
They met, of all places, in Bryan’s local pub, The Cat and Fiddle. A friend of a friend had introduced them and the chemistry had all but overwhelmed the pair. The first time they had slept together, Dane had been wonderful – calm, attentive – it was making love on a completely different level.
From their first night together, with Bryan’s schedule permitting, they had spent as much time as possible together.
They had only broached the subject of Bryan’s profession once or twice. In their six months together, it was only when Bryan’s contract had come to an end and none of the other teams were talking to him, that Dane made any indication about taking their relationship public. When the deal came through for LA Galaxy, Dane strongly hinted he would be happy to join him – that in America people were more open-minded, that as foreigners they would not be under the same microscope as others. Bryan had reminded his partner that there were no openly gay athletes and the conversation turned into an argument.
They both knew their relationship had an expiry date. Bryan would never ask Dane to join him. Dane, proud man that he was, would never come to Los Angeles without being invited. Their last weeks together were tinged with sadness, and now, sitting alone in this new country, Bryan realizes he’s made a terrible mistake. Perhaps they cannot be openly together, but at least Dane could be in country with him. Bryan has always prided himself on being independent, but now understands how much better his life would be if Dane was regularly a part of it.
Is it too late to fix things between them?
While Bryan isn’t ready to come out to the world, he is more than ready to grovel to his boyfriend, to plead to be taken back. Bryan pulls his smartphone out and looks at the last text Dane sent through.
>> Miss you. xoxo.
Bryan hadn’t responded. And now, days later, what can he say that will bridge the gap? If the situation was reversed, he wouldn’t take himself back. Hesitatingly, he types out an answer.
>> I’m here.
As soon as he sends the message, he feels foolish. It’s close to 1 A.M. in the UK, and Dane works at a local college. He’ll have to be up early in the morning. What a terrible place to try and start things again…
>> I’m glad you’re safe.
Bryan’s heart leaps out of his chest. It’s a small token – a tiny olive branch, but he’ll take it.
>> I want you here with me.
>> Do you?
>> Skype?
Bryan opens the app and hopes against everything, all the things he never said, that Dane will sign in. When Dane does, Bryan’s heart soars – more than the time he kicked a winning goal in extra time, or when he played on the Welsh national team. With a trembling finger, he makes a video call – desperately hoping to see his lover’s face.
“Yes?” a familiar voice asks. Dane has not allowed the video feed from his end to go through.
“Puppy, is that you?”
“It is.”
Suddenly, Bryan has no idea what to say. On the other end of the line is someone he’s shared secrets with, been intimate with and, for one magic weekend, travelled with, “How’s Monkey?”
Monkey is Dane’s very cute miniature dachshund who Bryan fell equally in love with.
“He’s fine.”
“Dane?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
“Specifically?”
“You should be here with me.”
“I should?”
“On the flight over…there was…everything reminds me of you. This room seems lonely without you in it.”
“What are you saying?”
“I know I should’ve asked this months ago and I can’t promise much more than just being my partner, but will you move out here with me?”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
Bryan is a bit let down by not hearing an instant ‘yes,’ but understands what a big ask he’s making. They’ve spoken before of what would happen if Bryan publicly came out. Bryan is comfortable at home, but isn’t ready for the media scrutiny or to be the poster boy for gay rights in professional sports. Still, he’s willing to do whatever it takes to have Dane in his life. He can live with insults, but he cannot live without his boyfriend.
“That’s all I’m asking. I’ll let you go back to sleep.”
“Thanks for calling.”
“I hope you’ll consider joining me.” Bryan says and then regrets his formal words. He wants to beg Dane to get on a plane tonight. He wants to hang up the call and book his boyfriend a ticket. He wants them to buy a place together and decorate it. He wants Dane in his life forever.
“Good night.” From his side of the Atlantic, Dane ends the call.
“I love you,” Bryan says to the device.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
November 2, 3:45 P.M.
Thalia and Maureen wait until the bellboy leaves the room, then
begin jumping up and down excitedly on various pieces of furniture. Friends who have known each other since their junior year at Forrest Hills have been planning the pilgrimage to where Brendan Sullivan met his ultimate demise for months. It was, after all, a shared love of the actor that cemented their friendship so many years ago. While others at their school were interested in various rock stars and sport figures, the pair fell in teenage love with the handsome actor and never looked back.
“I can’t believe we are here!”
“Can you believe he actually died in this room?”
Since his unfortunate death earlier in the year, while the Winchester solidly refuses to give out the exact details of where Brendan Sullivan met his untimely demise, for those who know where to look (or how much to pay), the knowledge that Room 702 is where the death took place is available.
What started out as a girls weekend quickly morphed into a cross country road trip. Upon Brendan’s death, the trip had taken a different direction entirely, with always organized Thalia planning out nearly every moment of the trip. Once an up and coming consultant in the advertising industry, Thalia had intentionally gotten off the career track in order to concentrate on raising the two children she and her husband have produced in seven years of marriage. This trip will mark the longest she’s been away from them, and she’s doing much better than she thought she would.
Although Thalia had been a bit reluctant, wanting instead to fly directly from city to city, as the miles passed she felt better about the choice to make the drive instead. There was something liberating about traveling by car. On the road they weren’t captive, on the road they weren’t trapped by commercial aviation. The friends had travelled together before and easily settled into familiar habits.
Here, at their destination, Thalia is struck by a moment of melancholy. This trip had been something she had been looking forward to for so long and now it was almost halfway over.
“What should we do now?” Maureen asks.
“I’m not sure about you, but having driven the past eight hours, I could use a shower. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, I’ll just pull out my laptop.” Maureen is a moderately successful blogger and has been updating her followers about their progress – tweeting and writing about each unique stop on the journey. Thalia cannot understand what is interesting about their fifth gas stop or what they bought, but people in cyberspace seem to take interest in this trip. In fact, Maureen’s monthly traffic to her blog was robust enough to work out into a free stay at the Winchester.
In the bathroom, Thalia enjoys a hot soak in the steaming water, enjoying the time to herself. This is perhaps the longest bath she’s taken since her daughter was born. Only when the water is lukewarm does the thirty-six year old step out. Wrapping her wet hair in a turban, and into the soft robe, Thalia walks out and sits on the couch, watching her friend type busily away at the desk.
“What’s the consensus so far?” Thalia asks.
“They want us to use a Ouija board to try and contact Brendan.”
“Of course they do.”
“Should we?”
“Did you happen to bring one? You’ve thought of practically everything so far – but I don’t remember seeing a board.”
“There is no problem with being prepared, and no, I didn’t happen to pack a Ouija board. Furthermore, I’m not getting back in the car before I have to.”
“Hmmm…” Maureen picks up the handset on the desk and calls down to the concierge. In her politest tone, she asks, “Yes, I have a rather strange request. Is it possible you have a Ouija board in house?”
Thalia smiles, amused at her friend’s tenacity.
“No? Would it be possible to find one in the area? We’d be happy to have it charged to the room. Really? Thanks so much.” Maureen hangs up the phone and answers with a smile, “Should be within an hour.”
“Score one for the Winchester. Shall I make us a drink?”
“Please do – oh! I need to call back for ice!”
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
November 3, 12:03 A.M.
“I feel silly.”
“So do I.”
“Do we really want to do this?”
With a few glasses of white wine in her system, Maureen says, “The public demands it.”
“What if something bad happens?”
“Like what?”
“He died of a drug overdose. It’s possible his spirit isn’t going to be a happy one.”
“Or nothing is going to happen and we’re just going to feel silly.”
Maureen and Thalia sit, legs crossed, on the floor, unaware they are very close to where Brendan actually passed away. The board balances between them. They managed to scare up some candles and even a few sticks of incense from housekeeping and have lit them in hopes of improving the ambiance. They spent the afternoon researching various séance techniques and feel prepared to contact Brendan’s spirit.
“You’re sure about what we’re doing?”
“The hotel went to all the effort to get this for us, seems the least we could do is use it.”
“Fine, just remind me how this thing is supposed to work.”
“We place our fingers on the device and concentrate on a question or person. We ask the spirit to answer questions for us.”
“Okay,” Thalia says skeptically.
“You have to believe, T.”
“I do! I promise! So, what should we ask first?”
“We need to know if Brendan is still in this room.” Closing her eyes and lowering her voice, Maureen says aloud, “Is Brendan Sullivan with us tonight?”
Ever so slightly the Ouija device swings towards the ‘no’ response. Both women take their hands off and look at each other. Thalia asks, “Does that mean someone else is here?”
Maureen chews on her thumbnail and responds, “Maybe we should ask if we can speak to Brendan? He could be busy in the afterlife.”
The women take a long moment to look at each other and Thalia says, “You’re right. We didn’t come all this way not to find him. Plus, your fans will want to know we tried everything.”
“Thanks.”
They place their hands back on the piece of plastic and Maureen asks clearly, “Can we please speak with Brendan Sullivan?”
Once again, the planchette moves slowly, but surely in the direction of ‘no.’
The ladies remove their hands, stumped by a piece of cardboard. Maureen comments glumly, “I guess we never thought he wouldn’t want to talk to us.”
Thalia snaps her fingers and says, “What if we ask who we can talk to?”
“Or maybe we should ask how he died?”
“You think that an inanimate object can tell us what the coroner couldn’t fully determine?”
“Maybe we can figure out if what he did was intentional or not.”
“Let’s try.”
They put their hands back on the planchette and Maureen asks, “Did Brendan Sullivan commit suicide in this room?”
The device swings over to ‘no’ more quickly than with the previous two questions. Thalia, in frustration, brings her hands off and says, “Maybe we got a defective Ouija board. This one seems to be pessimistic.”
“All right, let’s give it one last try. Maybe we can get it to spell something for us.” Once again their fingers come to rest lightly on the plastic and Maureen pitches her voice low, “Great spirits of the beyond, we seek a great favor from your wisdom. Although he cannot be reached on the other side, we seek to find how Brendan Sullivan met his ultimate demise.”
“Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?” Thalia murmurs in a low tone.
Maureen whispers back, “Shh!” then continues, “If you would be so kind to tell us, we feel his spirit can come to rest and would be very grateful for your guidance.”
They wait in silence, on edge to see if something happens and Maureen concludes, “How did Brendan die?”
There is a different energy in their fingers as the planchette spells out, D-R-U-G O-V-E-R-D-O-S-E.
Maureen sounds out each letter as they reach the tiny magnified bubble pauses and then the device stops and goes back to the middle. Voice wavering, Thalia asks, “Does that answer your question?”
Maureen releases a deep breath of air and says, “More or less. I just wish I could come up with something that no one else would know.”
“Let me try.” Clearing her voice, Thalia says, “Did Brendan Sullivan go peacefully?”
‘No.’
“What gives his spirit unease?” Maureen presses.
L-E-T-T-E-R.
“Now, what do you suppose that means?” Maureen asks.
“Maybe he’s left something behind?”
“But his lawyer had his will read. It seemed pretty cut and dry. He just had one ex-wife, no children.”
Maureen pauses and then asks, “Oh spirits, what information does this letter contain?”
A-P-O-L-O-G-Y.
This word causes both women to take notice. Thalia asks, “Who does Brendan want to apologize to?”
K-E-N.
The women are momentarily stumped over the name. Then Maureen snaps her fingers and says, “His first agent!”
“You’ve got to be right, but what would Brendan want to apologize for?”
“We could try calling Ken.”
“And what? Tell him we’ve heard from Brendan from beyond the grave? I’m sure that will go well.”
“All right, let’s put the paranormal aside for one moment. Didn’t they have some huge falling out?”
“Yes – you’re right.”
“Maybe his lawyers forgot to deliver a letter?”
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