Love, Like Ghosts: A Bay City Paranormal Investigations Story

by Ally Blue

  “Not today. We only have the theater for half the day and the director wants the chorus to spend that time working on a couple of numbers I’m not in.” Greg bit his lip. “If I’d be in your way, I’ll stay here. It’s just, I feel like there’s things I never knew existed before now, you know? Like, I had no idea there was any such thing as psychokinesis, but you can do that, you can really do it. I’ve seen it and felt it. I know it’s real. So if that’s real, maybe I’ve been wrong about ghosts and stuff all this time too. And if that’s the case, then I want to be there when you talk to a real ghost and find out how he died.”

  Shock gave way to a warmth like nothing Adrian had ever felt. A wide smile spread across his face. “Of course you can come with me. And no, you will not be in the way.” Grabbing Greg’s face in both hands, Adrian surged forward and kissed him hard. “You’re amazing.”

  Greg laughed. “I’m not. I just have enough sense to admit when I’m wrong. At least sometimes.” He returned Adrian’s kiss with extra tongue. “Let’s get dressed and go now. Can I do anything to help, or should I just hang back and be quiet?”

  “Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve only ever done this alone. But I promise to tell you if there’s anything I think you can do.” Adrian stood and began gathering the breakfast dishes. “Come on. It’ll only take us a minute to get this cleaned up.”

  Greg hopped to his feet. Within fifteen minutes, the two of them had the kitchen clean and themselves showered and changed. They left the apartment and headed hand in hand for Groome Castle.

  “So what’s this clue you’re chasing?” Greg asked as they strolled down the sidewalk.

  “There was a short piece I found in the November second edition of the Chapel Hill paper. It said a man named Cassius Wellington accused Lyndon’s uncle, Lionel, of murdering Lyndon during a Halloween party at the castle.” Adrian squinted up at the bright blue sky. The weather had turned unseasonably warm, and he was glad. It was still chilly, but not the bone-numbing cold it had been lately, and the sunshine felt nice. “In the memories Lyndon’s sent me before, Cassius was the name of the man Lyndon loved. If this is the same Cassius, it’s possible that he witnessed the murder or had some other insight that made it likely he was right and that Lionel Groome really did kill Lyndon.”

  “Wow.” Greg shot a wide-eyed glance at Adrian. “You said you got a glimpse of Lyndon’s death through his memories, right?”

  “Yeah. Just bits and pieces, really.” Stubbled jaw. Straining neck. Soiled white collar, blue flowers. So familiar. Where in the hell had he seen that curve of jaw before? And did it really belong to Lionel Groome?

  “There’s a picture of him in the castle’s main hall.”

  Adrian stopped so suddenly Greg stumbled. “Who?”

  “Lionel Groome. We had to take it down for the haunted house. I remember it was a big pain in the ass because it was original to the castle so we had to get permission to move it.” Greg frowned. “Adrian, are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Fine.” Adrian chewed his lip, thinking hard. Now that Greg mentioned it, he remembered having seen the picture hanging on the wall behind the head of the long oak dining table. He’d been one of the ten students it had taken to move the massive piece of furniture for the haunted house. “I need to look at that picture.”

  “Yeah, I figured you’d want to. I mean, if the old guy really was the murderer, and you saw part of his face—well, kind of—then you’d be able to identify him if you saw his picture, right?” Shifting closer, Greg cupped Adrian’s cheek in his free hand. “Adrian, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, really, it’s just that I kept thinking the part of a face I saw in Lyndon’s memory looked really familiar for some reason.” Adrian laid his hand over Greg’s. “It’s been bugging me.”

  Understanding dawned in Greg’s eyes. “Oooh, okay. I hate that. When you know you know something and you can’t pin it down.”

  “Me too. My memory’s usually much better than that.”

  Greg lifted a skeptical brow. “Adrian, you might have a nearly photographic memory, but you’re always misplacing the picture albums.”

  Startled into laughter, Adrian rewarded Greg’s insight with a long, lazy kiss. For once, it didn’t matter that they stood on a public sidewalk on a particularly fine mid-February Saturday morning, for the whole world to see. All that mattered to Adrian at that moment was the taste of Greg’s mouth, Greg’s hands in his hair, the warmth of Greg’s body molded to his. God, he’d missed this during those terrible two weeks like a drowning man misses air. He never wanted to be without it again.

  The only things missing now were three little words. Adrian was willing to wait for that.

  They drew apart before things could get too heated and started walking again. When they reached the castle’s front door, Greg frowned. “How are we supposed to get in? It’s locked.”

  Adrian grinned. “I can move things with my mind, remember?” He gave a mental twist. The lock clicked. He opened the door and swept his arm forward. “After you.”

  Greg’s eyes saucered. His fingers clamped down on Adrian’s. “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction when I was eleven and did it on purpose for the first time.” Adrian moved forward, tugging on Greg’s hand. “Come on. We don’t want to stand here too long. People do walk past here sometimes, and I don’t want anyone to see us going in here.”

  “Oh.” Greg shot a hunted look over his shoulder. “We’re not gonna get in trouble, are we?”

  Guilt needled Adrian’s gut. “I don’t think so. I always try to leave everything the way I found it. Except that time I accidentally broke the light bulb in the tower room. And I did replace that.”

  Greg shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s a little late to worry about it now anyway, since you’ve already been in here more than once.”

  Adrian shut and locked the door behind them with a thought. Greg cast a skittish look at it, but said nothing. Hands still linked, they crossed the foyer into the main hall. Sunshine poured through the arched windows. The brilliant light brought out veins of red and rich gold in the dark wood of the dining table.

  As they approached the opposite end of the room, Adrian’s gaze zeroed in on the eight-by-ten photo hanging on the wall behind the head of the table. His pulse sped up as they drew nearer and the sepia tones of the old picture revealed a man in high-waisted pants, suspenders and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Pale hair spilled in a riot of curls over a wide brow, and a huge smile split his handsome face. One foot was planted on the front bumper of a gleaming—and expensive-looking—car, and his arms were crossed over his chest.

  Now that Adrian saw it, he remembered his one quick glimpse of it before it was removed for the haunted house. Hardly a typical portrait to hang in the hall of one’s castle, but the gleam in Sir Lionel Groome’s eyes instantly labeled him a maverick, so Adrian supposed he’d be one to hang a scandalous portrait if he damn well pleased.

  Walking closer, Adrian studied the photo in detail—the line of the neck, the curve of the jaw, the tilt of the smile. He grimaced. “It’s him, all right.”

  Greg pressed against Adrian’s shoulder, staring at the picture in fascination. “So you think he really murdered Lyndon?”

  Adrian nodded. “His face is the one I saw in Lyndon’s memory. I’m sure of it.”

  “And you’re positive that what you saw is the memory of Lyndon dying?”

  He was, he knew it in his bones, but… “Well, I didn’t see the whole thing, so I can’t really say for sure, I guess. I need to see more of the memory to be certain.”

  “Okay. Then you’ll just have to get Lyndon to show you all of it.” Greg marched toward the back hallway with the fire of resolution in his eyes.

  Adrian followed, grinning. Greg’s enthusiasm was contagious. Especially since it was so unexpected.

  They had to let go of each other’s hands to climb the stairs to the tower room. Adrian led the way, since he’d occas
ionally opened the door in the past to find Lyndon already hovering in the musty air. If Lyndon decided this was a day to manifest without being called first, Adrian wanted that extra second to prepare Greg for what he would see.

  If he sees Lyndon at all, Adrian reminded himself, remembering the day he’d met Greg.

  At the top of the steps, Adrian turned the knob and swung open the door. Sunbeams cut through the dust set swirling by the door’s motion. Lyndon wasn’t there.

  Adrian reached out with his senses and felt the familiar energy sparking close enough to touch.

  Excitement raised the hairs on his arms. Today, he would finally have all the answers he craved. He knew it, as surely as he knew his own name.

  “Adrian? What the hell’s that?”

  Greg’s voice was sharp with a mix of curiosity and fear. Turning toward him, Adrian took his hands and squeezed. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

  “It’s like…” Greg trailed off, brow scrunching in concentration. “I don’t know. Like electricity, only not really. The weirdest thing is, I could swear I’ve felt something like this before. It seems familiar. Which is just wrong.”

  “No, it isn’t.” Pulling Greg closer, Adrian wound an arm around his waist and kissed him. “What you’re feeling is my psychokinesis. It acts up every time I get turned on, so you’ve felt it plenty of times before. And that ability is linked to other psychic abilities, such as the ability to sense spirits. I was using that just now to see if I could sense Lyndon’s energy. You picked up on that and recognized it.”

  Greg’s eyebrows went up. “Wow. There’s a mind fuck if I ever heard one.”

  Laughing, Adrian let Greg go. “Don’t let it bother you. I can put that connection to some very interesting uses.”

  “Cool. I’m totally holding you to that when we get home.” Greg shot him a filthy leer, then wandered over to lean against the nearest windowsill. “All right. So, what happens now? I mean, I know you’re going to try and contact the ghost, but how do you do it? Is there some kind of ritual?”

  “Not really. I usually just sit on the floor, close my eyes and do a few breathing exercises to clear my mind and relax my body. Nothing terribly exciting.”

  Greg nodded. “I think I’ll just sit over here, if that’s okay.” He sat on the floor, leaned his back against the wall and looped his arms around his drawn-up knees.

  “That’s fine.” Seeing the nervousness in Greg’s eyes, Adrian gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine, and I seriously doubt anything’ll happen other than Lyndon hovering in the air. That’s all he ever does.”

  “Okay.” Greg gnawed on one thumbnail. “What’s he look like? I heard he’s all bloody and stuff.”

  Shit. That’s right. Adrian gave himself a mental smack for not having thought to warn Greg earlier about Lyndon’s appearance. He himself was so used to it he didn’t even notice anymore.

  “There’s blood all in his hair and running down his neck onto his shirt.” Adrian lowered himself to the floor and crossed his legs beneath him. “It’s really hard to tell, since he’s usually pretty transparent, but I think maybe the back of his head was smashed in when he died. He’s got, well, brains coming out of his head.”

  Greg paled. “Oh.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Okay. Ready when you are.”

  Adrian held Greg’s gaze for a long moment. When Greg gave him a nod and a faint smile, Adrian shut his eyes and turned his focus inward. He drew a deep, slow breath in through his nose and blew it out through his mouth, imagining all his tension exiting his body along with the air.

  A few breaths was all it took to send Adrian into the lightest of semi-trance states. Lyndon’s energy caught and held his in a grip stronger than he remembered. He felt the warm rush through his blood, felt the very air around him swirl and condense, heard Greg’s surprised shout, and knew he’d been right before. Today was the day.

  He opened his eyes. Lyndon bobbed a few feet away, between two wedges of sunlight, more solid than he’d ever been before. Transparent crimson dripped from his battered skull onto the floor, vanishing even as it hit. His pale eyes burned with purpose. The bloodless lips opened, moved. Ssssshowwww…yyyooouuu…

  “Oh, shit.” Greg pulled his legs closer to his chest. His face had gone dead white. “He talked. He fucking talked, Adrian, oh shit. Oh shit.”

  Adrian blinked, startled. He was positive Lyndon hadn’t spoken out loud before. Then again, he’d never said “show you” before either.

  Everything about today seemed stronger, more vivid. A jolt of excitement shot up Adrian’s spine.

  Keeping his gaze on Lyndon, Adrian held out a palm toward Greg. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Stay there. Don’t move, no matter what. Stay calm. Promise me.”

  Greg drew a hissing breath, but nodded. “Promise.”

  Reassured, Adrian let his eyelids fall shut. “Show me.” He dropped all his shields and left his mind open to Lyndon.

  …Halloween party. Five hundred invited guests. Cassius wasn’t one, but snuck in anyway. He makes a dashing Musketeer…

  …Sneaking up the stairs to the tower room together. “Hush, now. No one must know.”…

  …His naked skin glows in the flashes of lightning from the storm outside. So lovely…

  …God, yes, right there, oh…

  …Dress swiftly after. It’s been nearly an hour. Someone might notice…

  …Door bangs open. Jump apart, quickly now. Did he see the kiss? An introduction, a smile, a handshake and a clap to Cassius’s shoulder. Perhaps he didn’t see after all…

  …Confusion and fear in Cassius’s eyes. So blue. Shaking hands as Cassius leaves, because there’s no other choice now. Goodbye, love…

  …Rage, such rage. He saw, dear God, he saw. He locks the door…

  …Hands squeezing, choking, cutting off breath. Uncle Lionel’s straining neck, his tight jaw and furious snarl, eyes bulging beneath the fall of sweat-damp curls. “Fucking…little…sodomite…whore!” Each word punctuated by a burst of agony like a bullet to the back of the head…

  …I am going to die…

  …Lightning flashes. The soiled white collar of Uncle Lionel’s pirate shirt shines in the light, its embroidered blue flowers a pure Carolina blue. Anger, futile anger that such beauty could coexist with such evil. Then the pain flares again, and shadows swallow the world…

  Adrian emerged from the memories with a start. His eyes flew open. Lyndon hadn’t moved, though he seemed a bit less solid than before. His gaze seemed to bore straight through Adrian’s skull. Adrian’s throat constricted. I’m so sorry, Lyndon. So sorry.

  “Adrian? What happened?”

  Taking a deep breath, Adrian turned to meet Greg’s worried gaze. “I saw it. The whole thing, this time.”

  “And?”

  “And Lionel Groome really did murder Lyndon.” Adrian rubbed both hands over his face. “He caught Lyndon and Cassius kissing, and after Cassius left he killed Lyndon by smashing the back of his head against the stone floor here in the tower room until he died.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Greg rubbed his arms, eyeing Lyndon with sympathy. “That’s horrible.”

  “It is. It was awful, watching it. The bastard just…” Adrian couldn’t say it, not with Lyndon floating there, staring at him with a century of sorrow and loss in his eyes. “Okay, so. I know what happened. Now I just have to figure out how to find his body and lay him to rest.” He sighed. “I was kind of hoping his memories would give me a clue to that too, but they didn’t.”

  Greg shoved his hair out of his eyes. “Can’t you just ask? I mean, maybe he can lead you there. Ghosts know where their bodies are, right?”

  “I think it depends on the circumstances of their death.” Adrian looked over at Greg. “In any case, Lionel Groome was bound to have taken Lyndon’s body outside the castle, and I’m not sure Lyndon is able to leave the castle. He’s only ever been seen outside this room once, and that was downstairs, during our h
aunted house.”

  He glanced at Lyndon, seeking confirmation. Lyndon didn’t move, but Adrian thought he caught a wisp of regret from the spirit’s mind.

  “Hm.” Tilting his head, Greg studied Lyndon with a thoughtful expression. “Well, do you think he…” Greg waved his hand toward the door, “…you know, saw where his uncle took his body? Do you think maybe he could show you any memories of that?”

  A vision flashed into Adrian’s mind—Lyndon hovering at the tower’s southeast window, gazing out at the stretch of winter grass leading to the woods behind the castle. The puzzle pieces clicked into place in Adrian’s mind.

  He stared at Greg in stunned surprise. “Oh, my God. Greg, you’re a genius.”

  Greg beamed. “I am?”

  “You are. I should have thought of this before. Of course I’m not sure I could’ve established a strong enough connection with him before now. Things just seem to be different today.” Adrian gazed up at Lyndon. “I’m pretty sure his body’s in the woods behind the castle.”

  “Okay, I feel like I missed something.”

  “Lyndon tried to tell me before. He stared out that window there, right at the woods.” Adrian pointed at the pertinent aperture in the wall. “I just didn’t get the hint until now. But I still need to figure out exactly where he is.”

  Greg nodded. “You think he can tell you?”

  “Hopefully. I doubt he’ll be able to show me memories of precisely what his uncle did with his body. Not clear ones, anyway. But there are certain theories that say a spirit can be at least partly tied to the physical body for a while after death. No one’s sure how long, but the author of the original article I read hypothesized up to twelve hours.”

  “And whatever Lionel did with the body, it would’ve had to have been fairly soon after the murder, so there’s a good chance you’d see something through his eyes, even if it doesn’t make a lot of sense.” Pushing to his feet, Greg took two steps toward Lyndon and stopped, eyes wide. “Wow. Poor Lyndon.”

  “Yeah. I guess I’ll need to try to hook up with him again. I’ve never tried to do it twice in one day, but—” Adrian broke off as a realization hit him. “No, wait. I think I know.”