by Ally Blue
Bo glanced at Sam with a mixture of concern and embarrassment in his eyes. “I don’t exactly know. It all happened so fast.”
Sam, feeling a little stronger now, extricated himself from Bo’s embrace and sat up. Cecile wound a supportive arm around his shoulders, and he gave her a grateful smile.
“It was what I’ve felt before,” Sam said. “Only a thousand times worse. It was like something was right inside my head, trying to get out. Like it was using me somehow to manifest itself. I couldn’t breathe. The temperature dropped, I’m not sure how much. It was freezing. And the room looked all dark and foggy.” Sam shook his head. “Never been so scared in my life.”
Cecile’s sharp gaze held his. “Scared of what? That it was going to harm you?”
“No,” Sam answered slowly, just now realizing what it was that had frightened him. “I was scared of it getting loose.”
Three pairs of eyes stared at him as if he were a particularly interesting museum exhibit. He hunched his shoulders under the weight of their combined consideration. They’re just thinking about what you said. They’re not like other people. They don’t think you’re crazy.
He wasn’t entirely sure he believed that, but he held doggedly onto it anyway. If these people couldn’t believe him, no one ever would, and the thought was too depressing to bear.
“Hey, Bo,” David said, apparently oblivious to Sam’s discomfort. “Reckon you got it on tape?” He picked up the video camera Bo had dropped when Sam collapsed. “This thing’s still running.”
Bo blinked. “Maybe. Hell, I forgot all about the camera.”
“We were just finishing up downstairs,” Cecile told them. “Are you done here? Maybe we could take the tape downstairs and see what’s on it.”
Bo shot a wide-eyed look at Sam. His thoughts were crystal clear to Sam—he didn’t want anyone to see the way Sam had touched him just moments ago, or the way he’d responded.
“That’s a good idea,” Sam said before Bo could object.
Bo’s eyes sparked with anger and frustration, but he didn’t argue. The investigation took precedence over everything else and they both knew it. Sam stifled a smug smile. He’d counted on Bo’s professionalism to transcend his fear of being outed.
Sam let David help him to his feet. He stood there for a minute, assessing how he felt. A bit lightheaded, but otherwise all right, he decided.
They all trooped downstairs, Cecile hovering solicitously at Sam’s elbow. In the library, the four of them gathered around the table.
“Where are Amy and Andre?” Bo tugged nervously at the end of his braid, his gaze never still. “Are they still outside?”
“Guess so.” David hooked the camera up to a monitor and started rewinding the tape. “They just got done with their inside rooms about half an hour ago, they’re probably not finished with the outbuildings yet.”
“We can show this to them later,” Sam said. “No point in interrupting their work before we even know if there’s anything to see.”
“Right. Okay.” Bo still sounded jumpy, and Sam bit back an impatient exclamation. He found Bo’s dread of watching the tape beyond annoying. Even if that brief interaction had been caught on video, Sam doubted anyone besides himself and Bo would read anything into it.
That, of course, was the crux of the matter. He and Bo both knew what it meant, even if no one else did. Why was it so painful, Sam wondered irritably, for Bo to acknowledge the attraction between them? Sam certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone, and he’d already accepted that nothing would come of it. He didn’t understand why Bo was so afraid, if he never intended to act on his feelings.
Maybe he can’t promise himself that, Sam thought in a sudden burst of insight. Maybe he knows that if he lets things get even a little out of hand, he won’t be able to stop himself.
Sam wasn’t sure how to feel about that. The sound of the tape clicking to a halt saved him from having to think about it.
“Okay, folks,” David said as he started the tape playing. “Here we go. Keep your eyes peeled.”
Sam pushed the thought of Bo and whatever was between them resolutely to the back of his mind, concentrating all his energy on watching the tape. Beside him, Bo was clearly doing the same. He leaned forward on his elbows, gaze fixed on the screen.
Sam heard his own voice claiming in frustrated tones that he knew the thing was there somewhere, but he couldn’t find it. The picture swung from a controlled pan of the French doors to the floor, arcing sharply forward and back as Bo walked toward Sam, the camera hanging at his side. There was a second of heavy silence, then Sam’s startled gasp, the thud of Sam’s knees hitting the floor, Sam’s strangled voice choking out that it was here, inside him.
The picture lurched sickeningly, then went still again, the floor tilted up. Bo had evidently dropped the still-running camera on its side. Sam recognized his own legs and Bo’s bent knee. The video jumped and flickered. When it settled, a dark swirling fog partially obscured the picture.
“Oh my God,” Cecile whispered, brown eyes wide and frightened. “It’s just like on the other tape.
“It sure is,” Bo agreed grimly. “I didn’t see that before, when we were in the room.”
“I did,” Sam said softly. “I thought it was just because I was about to pass out. Guess not.”
Bo turned to him, a question in his eyes. Before he could voice it, the sound came. Sam wasn’t surprised. If the fog was real enough to be visible on tape, he reasoned, the sound would surely be audible. Cecile squeaked and clamped her hands over her ears.
David paused the tape. “Cecile, you okay?”
She nodded. “That sound hurts my ears.”
“It’s so deep,” Bo observed. “It’s more of a vibration, really. That’s probably why it’s painful.”
“Look.” Sam pointed at the screen. “Now that it’s paused, the fog looks like that vortex thing from the picture yesterday.”
Bo let out a low whistle. “Damn. You’re right.”
David leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Okay, how do we find out just what the fuck this thing is? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, it freaks me out.”
“Me too.” Sam reached out and touched the monitor, tracing a fingertip over the suggestion of a shape in the fog.
Bo sighed. “I guess we’re going to have to do some research. Try to get some sort of idea what we’re dealing with here.”
“Whatever it is, it’s trying to manifest.” Cecile stared at the frozen image on screen, her expression solemn. “We have to find a way to stop it.”
No one needed to say anything to know that they all agreed. Whatever it was that had almost come into being through Sam that morning, he knew it was no ghost. He also knew, with absolute certainty, that they couldn’t allow it to manifest.
He didn’t let himself think about what he almost saw in the gray mist on the video, or its disturbing similarity to the hard black claws in his dreams.
Chapter Twelve
When Amy and Andre returned from their investigation of the outbuildings, David showed them the video. Both were fascinated by the find, but Andre’s eyes reflected the same apprehension that had tied Sam’s guts into knots. The rest of the group was cautious about the phenomenon, given the history of the house, but only Andre had felt anything close to what Sam had.
Sam figured he was the only one who no longer had any desire to see the thing manifest. Even Andre hadn’t had that alien intelligence slither through his brain. Sam was utterly alone in that respect. At least isolation was something he was used to. It was almost comforting.
After lunch Bo, Amy, David and Cecile set off for the library in Gautier to do research, since Oleander House didn’t have an internet connection. They also took the film from the previous day to be developed. Sam and Andre prepared to spend the afternoon and evening watching videotapes and listening to audio.
The time crept by at a glacial pace. Sam found it difficult not to let his mind wander as hour af
ter hour passed with nothing more than the normal sights and sounds of an old house. The only thing keeping him focused on his task was what he’d experienced that morning. After having felt the otherworldly life force inside his mind, solving the mystery of Oleander House had taken on a whole new level of urgency for Sam. He had a strange sense they were running out of time. That the veil separating their safe, familiar world from the chaos he’d touched was wearing thinner each day.
If we lose that barrier, he thought grimly, we might not live to regret it.
At seven o’clock Sam switched off the last audiotape and removed his headphones. Andre had already finished and headed into the kitchen to make sandwiches for dinner. Sam went to join him. The rest of the group arrived a few minutes later.
“Y’all find anything helpful at the library?” Andre asked as they all gathered around the dining-room table.
Amy shrugged. “A few personal experiences posted on message boards and such. Nothing scientific or in any way verifiable.”
“But some of those personal experiences sounded a lot like yours, Sam,” Cecile said. “The black fog, the feeling of something inside their mind, the cold, everything.”
“We’re gonna look into it some more maybe tomorrow,” David added through a mouthful of sandwich.
“How does the electromagnetic field figure into it?” Sam asked. “Or does it?”
“We don’t know,” Bo answered. “Like Amy said, the only references we’ve been able to find so far are personal experiences and weren’t part of scientific or even amateur investigations. The people whose stories we saw had no equipment to measure EMF and no knowledge of baseline levels for the area they were in.”
“That we know of,” David pointed out. “Not that it matters. If they had that information but didn’t post it on the boards, it’s the same as if they didn’t know it to start with.”
“Right.” Bo picked up a carrot stick and nibbled on the end of it. “The main thing that all of the stories had in common was the feeling of something trying to come through into our reality from somewhere else, using the person’s mind and body as a sort of gateway. Maybe that’s the angle we need to hit it from next time. Look for references to spirits manifesting physically through the living.”
“It’s not a spirit,” Sam said, trying not to stare at Bo’s mouth, the way the carrot stick dented his full lower lip.
“Then what is it?” Amy asked impatiently.
Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s very much alive.”
Bo leaned his elbows on the table and pinned Sam with a penetrating stare. “How do you know that?”
“It was inside me. I could feel it moving through me. I could feel its mind working.” Sam stopped, fumbling for the right words. “It may not be alive in the same way we are, but it’s definitely not a human spirit. I can’t explain how I know, I just know.”
“I think he’s right,” Andre said. “I know I didn’t have the same kind of experience that Sam did, but what I felt the other day wasn’t like any ghost or spirit I’ve ever dealt with before. It was something completely…other.”
Bo tapped his chin with the carrot stick. “Hm. I have no idea how it could possibly be a living being. But if you say that’s what you think it is, then I believe we should look into it.”
“I joined a couple of the message boards I was looking at yesterday,” Cecile told them. “I’ll ask around tomorrow and see what the other members think. Maybe some of them have had the same feeling as Sam.”
Sam let his mind drift while the rest of the group discussed plans for the next morning’s trip back to the Gautier library. He had no intention of going with them, even if they’d invited him along, which they hadn’t. Part of him wanted very much to have the house to himself, even though the thought filled him with fear. He had a feeling that without the others there to distract him, the strange connection he seemed to have to this house would snap into sharp focus.
And then? He didn’t know. But the possibilities excited and terrified him.
“Earth to Sam.”
Sam blinked and grinned sheepishly at Andre. “Sorry, I was thinking. What?”
Andre grinned back at him. “We were thinking it would be nice to unwind, after all the excitement the last couple of days. We’re gonna bring some chips and beer to the upstairs porch and just hang out for a while, want to come?”
“Sure, sounds great.” Sam popped the last bite of sandwich into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. “C’mon, Andre, you and I can grab the beer.”
Bo laughed. “I’ll get the chips and salsa. David, you can bring some napkins and paper plates if you don’t mind.”
“Sure thing, boss.” David hopped to his feet, kissed the top of Cecile’s head and went into the kitchen.
“Great.” Amy stood and stretched. “Cecile, the boys seem to have everything covered, what say you and I go on up to the porch and put our feet up?”
Cecile practically glowed, as if Amy’s friendship was the only thing she needed in order to be fully accepted by the group. Maybe it was, Sam thought with a stab of sympathy.
“That’d be great.” Cecile rose and followed Amy toward the door. “See you upstairs, guys.”
Sam waved as the two women left. He glanced over at Bo and their eyes met. Bo smiled and quickly looked away, cheeks going pink. Sam knew exactly what he was thinking about—that night in the parlor, when Sam had kissed him. Those dark eyes reflected the same mingling of dread and desire that curled in Sam’s belly.
It’s not going to happen again, Sam promised himself as he and Bo headed silently into the kitchen. He wondered how long he’d be able to keep that promise.
Two hours later, sitting in a rocking chair with a cold beer in his hand and his feet up on the porch railing, Sam had to admit that an evening’s relaxation had been a good idea. His fear of being too close to Bo had quickly dissipated in the relaxed atmosphere. They talked together almost like they had that first night, before the kiss that had turned everything upside down. It felt wonderful for conversation to flow easily between them again.
When the others began to drift off in pairs and Bo remained in the chair beside him, Sam’s nerves returned. He didn’t know if he could be alone with Bo like this. Even in the unusual quiet—the crickets were muted and the bullfrogs absent altogether—the full moon and honeysuckle-scented breeze made the night unbearably romantic.
Amy and Andre left hand-in-hand at about ten, Amy shooting Bo a frustrated scowl over her shoulder. Sam stole a glance at Bo. The moonlight edged his profile in silver and made a sensuous shadow under his lower lip. It was all Sam could do to keep from touching the man. His fingers itched to bury themselves in Bo’s silky hair.
“You’re thinking about the other night,” Bo said without turning. “Aren’t you?”
Sam saw no point in lying. “Yes.”
“So am I.”
“I figured.”
Silence. They both stared out over the front lawn. Sam wondered if the shadows were really thicker than usual, or if it was his imagination.
“It was nice,” Bo said softly. “All of it, I mean. Talking with you. And when you…when you kissed me.”
“Thought you were straight.” Sam couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “How could you enjoy kissing me if you’re straight?”
Bo turned in his chair, staring directly into Sam’s eyes. “I don’t know. But I did. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that before.”
Sam barked a sharp laugh. “Don’t patronize me, Bo. I’m a big boy, I’ve been rejected before. You don’t need to let me down easy.”
He expected Bo to get angry. Maybe even wanted him to be angry. But Bo just sat there, gazing at him with a mournful expression. “You wanted me to admit that I’m attracted to you. Well, maybe I am, on some level. Maybe that’s why it felt good when you kissed me.” Bo sighed and tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “Maybe that’s why I’ve been so confused the last couple of
days.”
Sam looked down at his fingernails. “It doesn’t change anything, though, does it?”
“No. If you were a woman, I’d still say no, because I couldn’t do that to Janine. But I wanted you to know. I figure I owe you that much.” Bo laid a hand on Sam’s arm. “Good night, Sam. See you in the morning.”
Sam mumbled something in return, he wasn’t even sure what. The place where Bo had touched him burned, the warmth of Bo’s palm imprinted on his skin. It surprised him that he couldn’t see a hand-shaped glow on his arm. He watched out of the corner of his eye until Bo was out of sight, then got up and moved to the end of the porch, to the shadowed spot outside his bedroom door.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, gazing into the night and letting his mind wander where it would. Going to bed didn’t cross his mind. He wasn’t sleepy, and he didn’t look forward to the inevitable dreams.
When his thoughts began to veer into the dangerous territory of sexual fantasies starring a certain black-haired doctor, he tried to think of something else. The case, the upcoming move to his new apartment, the nature of time. Anything at all that didn’t involve Bo’s naked body between his thighs.
It didn’t work. Every mental path led back to Bo. Finally he gave up. Leaning back in the chair, he unzipped his jeans, closed his eyes and let his forbidden desires take him over.
In his mind’s eye, he pictured Bo walking across the back lawn to him. They met in the space between the barn and the washhouse. Bo came easily into his arms, moaning when Sam’s mouth covered his. Sam licked his lips, stroking himself faster as he imagined Bo’s tongue tangling with his. He could almost taste Bo’s hunger for him.
God, Sam, Bo breathed in his imagination. I want you so much. Make love to me.
Sam saw himself smiling, happiness brightening his gray eyes. He took Bo’s hand and led him into the shadow of the barn. They undressed each other, then lay together in the cool grass. Behind Sam’s closed eyelids, his hand wrapped around Bo’s erection, sliding up and down his shaft. Sam whimpered. He was almost there, almost, just a few more strokes…