by Tia Fielding
Ben felt himself color a bit, the blush hopefully hidden by his stubble, when he slowly turned his head to peer at the man standing at the barn doors, wiping his hands on a rag splattered with paint, wearing equally colorful overalls.
“What in the…?” If the photographs of Adrian DuBois had been appealing even to Ben, the man walking closer looked so, so much better. Which, in a way, was worse. “Spike, stop it!” DuBois gestured with his left hand so distinctly that even Ben could translate as some sort of signal instead of random flailing.
The dog quieted, rounded Ben, and parked its butt next to DuBois’s bare feet.
“Sorry, he’s old ‘n a bit senile, and he keeps waiting for a friend of mine to come home. Doesn’t hear or see much at all so that’s why he got you from behind like that.” DuBois’s eyes twinkled and Ben blushed deeper when he played back what the man had said. Either DuBois was all for teasing poor, possibly straight, guys off his property, or he just had a wicked, non-apologetic sense of humor. Or maybe he hadn’t meant it like that at all and it was just Ben and the fact that he was attracted to the man, had accepted that for the face value, and his thoughts were already running away from him. And they were running in a decidedly dirty direction.
“It’s okay,” Ben said. “He just scared me a bit.”
“I’m Adrian DuBois, but you probably already know that.” The grin DuBois shot at Ben, while extending a mostly-clean hand for a shake, was wicked.
“Ben Grifton, and yes, I am here for a purpose.” He shook the offered hand and smiled weakly.
“And that is?” DuBois raised an eyebrow, then seemed to remember his manners. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just in the middle of something and….”
“I understand, I… I should’ve called,” Ben admitted, running his palm over his hair.
“But now that you’re here, care for something to drink?” DuBois—Ben forced himself to call the man Adrian in his head—gestured back at the barn.
Relaxing a little, Ben smiled and nodded. “Sure, thank you.”
They walked into the surprisingly cool space, and Ben realized it was a studio. A massive, light, and airy studio with large windows in the back wall. It seemed perfect for such a purpose, and there was order in the chaos he could see around him.
“This is… incredible,” Ben breathed the words, staring at the art surrounding him. It was mostly stacked along the walls, but there were some paintings on the walls and on easels here and there around the open space, too.
“Thanks. It’s a bit chaotic, but if someone wanders in here, they’re usually here for the art anyway, so they pretty much think it’s normal and don’t bat an eyelid.” Adrian shrugged and handed him a cool bottle of water he’d procured from somewhere while Ben wasn’t looking.
“I am here for the art, sort of,” he said, twisting open the bottle. He took a sip to moisten his suddenly dry mouth, and peeked at Adrian, wondering if he’d understand. “Bear with me, okay? This will sound seriously weird and out there, but….”
Adrian tipped his head to the side and considered Ben, before taking off the flat cap he had on and scratched his scalp. His hair, Ben noticed, was short and quite red, with a similar, slightly high, hairline to his own.
“Okay….” Adrian said and gestured for Ben to go on.
“I should probably start by saying that until about a couple of months ago, I didn’t really believe in ghosts. Or maybe I should ask if you believed or not… I don’t know.” Ben explained, hating how quickly he spoke, how nervous he felt even though he had already lived with Sal for all those weeks.
"Okay, Ben, calm down a little before you hyperventilate, man." Adrian came closer to Ben and placed a hand on his shoulder. "When it comes to your question… I’m not sure, but I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, okay?"
The kindness in Adrian’s voice and expression wasn’t what someone might show to a crazy person they thought harmless, so Ben soldiered on. “I bought this painting from a yard sale. Then suddenly there’s a spirit in my house. Like… an actual thing that’s like a mist that I can see sometimes and… and then I realized it could sort-of communicate with me and….”
Ben felt himself being moved, pushed toward one of the walls, and then he was plopped very unceremoniously onto a well-worn, red leather couch.
“And then what happened?” Adrian asked
“I used the last couple of weeks trying to figure this out. It… it seems to be….” If explaining the thing to this point had been difficult, suddenly Ben understood he was the harbinger of bad news. “Shit… okay. This is the really bad part.” He looked up at Adrian and beckoned him to sit down too, which the big man did. Ben wasn’t small by any means, but Adrian had him beat by at least couple of inches, and with what his mother would call a “lumberjack build”, the man was impressive.
“Okay.”
“So…. I finally found out that the g-ghost is connected to the painting. And that it’s some guy who was killed in a hit and run near Saxton.”
Adrian frowned slightly. “Right…?”
Ben took a deep breath and blurted out the rest in the same, nervous, rapid-fire. “It’s one of your paintings, Adrian. I think the ghost and the guy who was killed is the guy in the painting.”
Adrian frowned, and his jaw worked a bit. He seemed to be thinking of something. And then he jumped off the couch, looking at Ben with wild eyes. “W-what’s the painting like?”
“I have it in my pickup.” Ben got up and barely beat Adrian to the truck.
He wrenched the passenger’s side door open, and Adrian reached in, tugging the painting out from under its cover.
Ben reached for the painting, and it was good that he did, because as soon as Adrian had taken in the scene, he crumpled into the dirt, and a sound of utter grief burst from him.
Oh, how Ben hated to be right sometimes. He placed the painting back in the car and knelt next to Adrian, doing the only thing he could come up with to help; he reached around the shaking form and held him while he wept.
It was curious, that the man didn’t question him, didn’t call him a liar, just believed in what he said and took it as the truth it must’ve been.
Eventually, the sobs wrecking Adrian’s body subsided enough for Ben to coax him to his feet and walk him into the house. They trudged up the stairs and into a living room that was pretty much like Ben would’ve thought, based on what he knew about Adrian; traditional country with some whimsical details and bright spots of colors here and there.
Ben sat Adrian on the couch—also leather, just better quality than the one in the barn—and went to the kitchen he could see through a double doorway. He found bottled water in the fridge and took a couple, then saw a roll of paper towels on the counter and grabbed it too.
Adrian hadn’t moved from where he’d left him, sitting on the couch with his face in his large palms, shoulders heaving with the deep breaths he was trying to take but shuddering every now and then.
Ben sat next to him as gingerly as a man his size could, and opened one bottle, then held it out for Adrian. “Here.”
Adrian took the water with a shaky hand, murmuring, “Thanks” before guzzling down half of it in one go. Then he turned to look at Ben who tore a piece off the roll of paper towels. Giving Ben a smile that wobbled a little, Adrian accepted the offered piece and blew his nose, then used another one to wipe his face.
“His name was Gavin,” Adrian said after a while.
“I called him Sal,” Ben couldn’t help but comment.
“Oh?”
“Someone Adrian Loves.”
It seemed to take a moment for Adrian’s grief-stricken brain to work that out, but when he got it, he smiled at Ben. “I like that. And I did love him, once.”
“I think we need a story for the cops. But why isn’t anyone missing him?” Ben asked, having already wondered about that, but he’d felt bad to even think such thing, so he hadn’t asked Sal—Gavin—himself.
; “He was a foster care kid, originally. Bad family first, no family now. He ended up traveling around the country when he was old enough. He was a survivor, someone very happy-go-lucky despite everything,” Adrian spoke as if remembering stories from Gavin’s past. He leaned back and drank more water, then continued. “I’m thirty-one now, and I first met him when I was twenty-six and he had just turned eighteen. He was traveling through Kentucky, fresh out of the foster system, and he hitchhiked to Lexington in my car one night. I was horrified a kid his age was doing that, and stupid of me, I brought him here. He tried to seduce me even that first night. Took him leaving and coming back twice in the next two years to succeed.” Adrian’s tone was proud, as if he’d given the kid hard time and not given in to the temptation.
“That’s him over there,” Adrian said, pointing at a framed picture on a shelf in the corner. “The one on the middle shelf.”
Ben got up and went to take a closer look. He smiled at the photo. Spike the dog being cuddled with a gangly, handsome young man. “He was good-looking.”
Adrian chuckled. “He knew that too.”
Ben moved back to the couch, and Adrian began to tell the rest of the story. “He traveled a lot. Did odd jobs here and there, hustled too, I’m sure, when he got desperate. But he kept stopping by after that first night in my bed. In the last three years, he spent more than six months total here. He always said he’d die on the road and I might never know.” That’s when Adrian sobered and looked at Ben almost beseechingly. ”I once told him to come haunt me so I’d know.”
“I’m not making this up, and this isn’t a joke,” Ben said slowly, calmly, as honestly as he could.
For a moment, Adrian stared into his eyes, before nodding. “Thank you.”
“I’m giving you the painting back. I don’t want him haunting my place when it’s you he’s supposed to be with.”
“We weren’t in love. At any point, really.” Adrian’s sudden statement made Ben turn his head to look at him. “I was the closest to having a family he ever had, and we had great times. He was playful and fun, and kept me sane sometimes when I hit what he called my ‘storm season’. Sort of a creative funk, if you will, that can depress me.”
Ben didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded and watched Adrian scratch his beard a bit as he glanced around the room as if he was searching for something.
“He wasn’t even my type, to be honest. A scrawny kid, quite flamboyant when he wasn’t in his self-protective mode. I’ve always liked older guys, who look like me, you know? Beary types.” Adrian shot a little glance at Ben, and Ben realized he was scoping the situation.
“I’m…,” he began, but then stopped. He peered at Adrian and corrected himself. “I was going to say I’m not gay, but I suppose I can’t hide from myself for much longer. I find men attractive, but the ‘obviously gay’ ones freak me out. A lot.” He was relieved to see Adrian grin at his air-quoted words instead of being offended.
“Good,” he just said, then turned back to Gavin’s picture and said, “I need to google the story you found. Figure out how to explain I might know who he is. He didn’t always carry an ID, and I know he stayed in pretty funky places.” Adrian’s nose wrinkled in a way that seemed alien on a man his size, but was adorable nonetheless. “It’s unlikely that they haven’t found who he was, but then they wouldn’t have known to notify me either, so…. He’s in the system for the foster care, but that’s in Alabama, not here.”
“If his prints aren’t in any database for adults, I doubt he would be recognized. Or he could’ve just dropped through the cracks anyway,” Ben agreed. “Do you have a laptop?”
Adrian pointed him to the computer in his little study and went to get the painting from Ben’s truck. Ben knew he was back, because all the lights in the house went suddenly on in a weird, whoosh.
“Jesus Christ!” Adrian startled.
“It’s just Gavin, he kept flickering the lights at my place too,” Ben called back.
Grumbling something under his breath, Adrian carried the painting to the study and placed it on a chair sitting against the wall. He moved to stand next to where Ben sat in his office chair and tilted his head to examine the art more closely.
“If you walk to the other end of the eastern paddock and turn to look left, that’s where this scene is. Or well, without Gav, of course, but….” Adrian gestured with his hand, still staring absently at the surreal image.
“Okay, found it.” Ben kept his tone quiet, as if not to break Adrian’s reverie with his bad news.
Sighing, Adrian tore his gaze off the painting and pulled another chair to sit next to Ben. When Ben turned the laptop to show him the article, Adrian read quietly, then began to shake slightly.
“Yup, definitely him,” the words came out choked. “‘Tattoo of a dragon on left shoulder’,” he quoted the text. “I drew the initial design for it.”
When Adrian moved to the words describing the extent of damage to the body, that the head injury was severe enough not to have left much to identify and a photograph couldn’t be released for the general public, the shaking got so bad Ben turned in his chair and wrapped an arm around the wide shoulders that trembled even in his embrace.
“Do you want me to make the call? You can talk to them once I get it started.” Ben gestured at his cell he’d put on the table before he began the search.
Adrian nodded but didn’t move away from leaning on Ben’s shoulder, so Ben took the cell with his free hand and pushed in the numbers at the end of the article.
To Ben’s surprise, the cop investigating Gavin’s case believed them when they said they’d just come across the article and thought the John Doe might be Gavin. Adrian explained his relationship and when prompted, described the tattoo he’d designed for Gavin. He also told the cops to look for his information in the foster system, and then asked if the body was still in storage somewhere.
It turned out they had cremated Gavin a few weeks after it became evident there would be no one to claim him. The ashes were still kept, mostly because the officer in charge hadn’t given up hope. He agreed that once final identification was done, based on the fingerprints in the foster system’s files and the ones taken from the body, he’d make sure the ashes were released to Adrian.
Adrian ended the call after making sure they had one another’s numbers. Ben took the phone from his shaky fingers.
The lights flickered on and off again, but this time with some sort of finality.
Adrian turned to look at Ben and smiled sadly. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Ben returned the smile and didn’t pull away when Adrian leaned even closer.
Their lips met in a chaste way, but the kiss lasted for a while.
To Ben’s utter surprise, he didn’t freak out and even leaned to chase Adrian’s mouth when he pulled away.
“So you’ll come back?” Adrian smiled.
“Yeah. Yeah, I suppose I will.” Ben, knowing he appeared dazed, managed to answer.
“Good.”
***
Two months later they’d seen each other a handful of times. At first it had felt a bit weird to use the guy he was crushing on—and boy did it feel weird to use that word at thirty-seven years of age—as a sounding board for his emerging gay identity.
One day they were both in Lexington on business and had lunch together.
“How about you?” Adrian asked, having just told Ben about how he’d figured out he had feelings for other boys quite early.
“Well, I’m a late bloomer, as you know,” Ben said, grinning. “But I’ve actually thought back lately. I think I had male crushes as young as fourteen, maybe fifteen. I just didn’t know or want to think of them as such.”
“How come?” Adrian had once told him he was the product of a hippie “love is love” type of parenting.
“It wasn’t okay around here back then. We lived in a smaller, even more backwards town. I saw what the couple of kids we had that people assumed we
re queer had to go through….” He sighed. “And there was my dad. He was a bit of a homophobe.”
“How do you feel about this now, though?”
They hadn’t really talked about their relationship or the implications it might have to their personal lives. That seemed to be what Adrian was really asking.
“Now… I don’t know. I’m a private person. Would sort of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ work for you at first?” he asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to blow this, but he wasn’t ready to wave a flag in a parade, either.
“I’m in no rush, Ben. I promise.”
***
The first time Ben went over to the farm to help around with end of the summer yard work on his day off, it had been easy to promise he’d stay overnight. After all, it made no sense to drive back home if he was tired from the work.
He’d ended up doing a lot of landscaping. Well, mostly it was making sure everything that still lived in the flower beds would make it through the cooler weather, and taking out the already dead things.
Spike the dog slept in the shade, never far from where Ben worked. He seemed to be older each time Ben saw him, and that evening when they had dinner in the house, Ben had to ask about it.
“Do you think it’s going to be Spike’s time soon?”
“To join Gavin?” Adrian sighed. “Yeah, I think so.”
The old dog seemed to perk up only when he realized someone was approaching his territory. When, each time, he saw it wasn’t Gavin, he sighed deeply and went back to sleep.
“Maybe Gavin is waiting for him, too?” Ben said thoughtfully, and as if on cue, the lights flickered in a way he would’ve called hesitant.
“Maybe. I guess we’ll see when Spike is gone. I think by now we’ll feel it if Gavin is not here anymore.” Adrian stood to take their empty dishes to the sink.
Ben remained sitting at the table and felt a sliver of excitement and something almost like apprehension jitter through his body. It was approaching bedtime. Where would he sleep? Would they do anything?