Ghoulish

by Kat Bellamy

  “You really didn’t see it? His eyes, his face...you didn’t see it, did you?”

  Colt tried to swallow, but he couldn’t get past the lump in his throat. Maybe it was guilt. “No,” he choked out. “I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  Jason closed his eyes and leaned back against the couch, running a hand over his face. He kept it pressed to his mouth as he stared up at the ceiling in deep contemplation. “Don’t apologize,” he said quietly. “You can’t change what you saw. But I can’t deny what I saw. I know that whatever that thing that attacked us was, it has to be at least related to the thing that killed Luca. And I’m not going to stop until I find out what it is.”

  Dread eased up over Colt like a high tide. It had subsided for a moment, somewhere between the Browns’ reassurances and going off on the camping trip, but it was back with more force than ever and he found himself struggling to keep his head above water. Colt poured Jason another drink and draped the throw blanket on the back of the couch over his shoulders. For the rest of the night, they avoided the topic of what had happened in the forest and Colt tried to let the movies neither of them were truly paying attention to distract him from visions of the Moreau family goons showing up at Jason’s door when Colt wasn’t around to protect him, but it was a lost cause.

  That night, Jason fell asleep in his arms on the couch, but sleep wasn’t a luxury Colt’s guilty conscience would allow him.

  Chapter 16

  Since the camping trip was supposed to stretch out over a full four days, Colt had a couple of days to recover before heading back to work. He took one since he soon realized that, whether he was at home staring at the wall or at work staring at the clock, he wasn’t going to be able to relax. He’d already told the Brown family about his disastrous getaway, but their reassurances rang hollow in light of the Sheriff’s freakout.

  Days became weeks and when Colt still hadn’t heard from the Assembly, he finally started to breathe a bit easier. Even Roland agreed that if the body was going to turn up anywhere, it already would have and since no one had come forward to seek vengeance or retribution, Colt had probably gotten away with murder. The fact that it was self-defense seemed to matter little to the older ghoul one way or another. Like his sister, Roland cared far more about practicality than morality, but it made Colt admire his dedication to protecting his family all the more.

  On the personal front, things weren’t so easy. Colt knew better than to think that Jason’s reluctance to talk about what had happened in the forest meant he had made peace with it, or given up, for that matter. The fact that he wasn’t talking to Colt about it just meant that he didn’t trust him. Colt hated knowing there was distance between them now, especially over a matter that was so intrinsically linked to Jason’s brother, but he also knew that distance between Jason and his life as a ghoul was the safest possible outcome.

  It was that very distance that made Colt surprised that Jason had invited him over for dinner with his parents that night. Coming out to the Joneses had been something they’d talked about occasionally and planned on doing eventually, but they had yet to make any concrete plans to move forward. Evidently, Raymond and Irene weren’t in deep enough denial about their son’s sexuality to believe that Jason and Colt’s camping trip had merely consisted of stargazing and roasting marshmallows over an open fire.

  At least Colt’s new job had afforded him both the finances and the excuse to buy a new, more professional wardrobe so he actually had something appropriate to wear when he showed up for dinner. He glanced down at the wine bottle in his hand hoping he hadn’t left the price sticker on it.

  “Calm down,” Jason said, touching his arm. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like it’s the first time you’re meeting my parents.”

  “That would make it easier, considering they hate me,” Colt scoffed. “Besides, it’s not them I’m worried about. Your grandpa’s the one in the m-- Mrs. Jones,” Colt said, forcing a smile. “Hi.”

  “Colt,” she said with an equally stiff smile. “How lovely to see you again. Please, come in.”

  After kissing her son and brushing a nonexistent bit of lint off his sleeve, Irene took both their jackets and the bottle of wine. “Oh. Merlot. Well, I’m sure I can find something to do with this,” she said before traipsing into the kitchen. Raymond came out as if on cue and made no attempt to smile as he shook Colt’s hand. After a few minutes of smalltalk that had Colt contemplating whether the watering spike in Irene’s orchids might be used to perform a lobotomy, the conversation drifted to slightly steadier ground.

  “I hear you’re over at Bracher now,” said Raymond, sipping a beer Irene had brought him. They still used the floral coasters Colt remembered from when he was a teenager. “What do they have you doing now, laying bricks for that new condo monstrosity that’s going up downtown?”

  “Colt is a foreman now, dad,” Jason said pointedly. “He supervises a whole team and negotiates contracts and everything.”

  “Still lay the odd brick now and then,” Cold said, clearing his throat. “And we’ve got a bid on the project, but we haven’t won it yet.”

  Raymond snorted. “I’m still hoping the city council can convince them not to put it in at all. All that thing’s gonna attract is yuppies.”

  “Maybe,” Colt agreed. “But a job’s a job. I believe you used to say that.”

  Raymond raised his beer halfheartedly in Colt’s direction. “Touché.”

  “Well,” Irene said, smoothing down her skirt before she stood from the couch. “I’m sure the chicken is ready by now. Shall we all go into the dining room?”

  Despite the fact that they had been solidly upper-middle class their entire lives, the Jones family insisted on acting like royalty. From the well-dusted ornaments they kept on the mantle to the way they carried themselves, appearances were everything. Colt had always kept a distance for a reason, but ten minutes with them and he was starting to understand why Jason was so concerned with what he did for a living. Colt felt ill-suited enough to stand in their living room, pretending like his ambitions were his own.

  Who knew? Maybe even the great Raymond Jones had once faked it until he made it.

  “Daddy,” Irene called, knocking on the door on the other side of the kitchen. The in-law apartment they had added onto the house for her father after her mother’s death had once been a freestanding storage shed. The door cracked open and Lochlan stepped out wearing a well-tailored white shirt and gray slacks, the same uniform he’d worn for as long as Colt could remember. His cane tapped against the tile as he came to join the family at the table.

  It was no secret to anyone who’d been in the town for more than a few years, as nearly all its residents had, that Lochlan Walsh had once ruled the local chapter of the Irish mafia. Even at seventy, the way the man carried himself left little doubt. He had class and intimidation coming out his ears in equal parts, and one look in those eyes was all it took to know they’d seen--and done--some serious shit. If Colt had no other reason to avoid the Jones family house, Lochlan was a damn good one.

  “Colt Jager,” the older man said in that soft, raspy monotone that had probably been the last thing more than a few people had ever heard. Colt stood from the table to shake Lochlan’s hand, because while he was man enough to admit that Jason’s grandfather scared the ever loving shit out of him, he’d also been raised to stand when an elder entered the room. “I haven’t seen you since you were in high school dating that girl. What’s her name?” he murmured, snapping his fingers even though the gesture didn’t so much produce a snapping sound as the sound of dusty paper rubbing together. “Emily.”

  Jason took a gulp of his wine and Irene busied herself with putting spoons in all the dishes on the table.

  “Emily Case. Good memory,” Colt said with an awkward laugh. He went to let go of Lochlan’s hand but the older man held onto it with surprising strength, brushing his thumb over the ruby-set ring on Colt’s hand. He wore a similar one on the middle finger of his lef
t hand, a massive emerald surrounded by diamonds. Colt remembered that ring well from the time his own dear, hare-brained mother had loudly questioned Lochlan about it at the market, asking if it was “one of those Mason rings.” To his credit, Lachlan had chuckled good-naturedly, told her that no, it was more of a family heirloom, and bid them both a good day.

  Renee still didn’t see what the problem was.

  “That’s quite a ring,” said Lochlan.

  Colt thought of lying and saying that it was a class ring for a split second before he remembered that one, he and Jason had graduated from the same high school and two, Lochlan was more or less a human lie detector. Being as Colt wasn’t quite sure just how ex the ex-mafia man was, he decided to keep his life as simple as possible. “It’s a family...thing.”

  “Let me see,” Jason said, leaning over to get a better look. Colt reluctantly offered his hand to let Jason inspect the ring.

  “Wow. I can’t believe I never noticed that before,” Jason said, glancing up at Colt. “Who gave you that?”

  “My mom. It was my grandfather’s class ring, I guess. Some sentimental gift to celebrate the promotion. It’s not really my thing, but it makes her happy when I wear it, so…”

  “Your mother’s a good woman,” Lochlan said, taking his seat at the head of the table. If it bothered Raymond, he hid it well. “How are your parents these days, Colt?”

  “They’re doing well, sir. They both send their regards.”

  “And you. I hear you’re working at Bracher now, is that right?”

  “We’ve already been over this, Loch,” Raymond said stiffly, taking a bite of his chicken.

  “I am,” Colt said, deciding to ignore him. “Not for very long, but the company’s been good to me so far.”

  “I hear there was some trouble at the place you used to work. An animal attack?”

  “Yes, sir. I knew the guy, actually. It was awful.”

  “It certainly was,” Lochlan said, sipping his wine. “Lot of that kind of thing in this city.”

  Colt’s heart beat faster. Did Lochlan know about the ghouls somehow?

  “Daddy, let’s not talk about grisly deaths at the dinner table, hm?” Irene asked sweetly. “It sours the appetite.”

  Colt couldn’t help but think that Irene’s cooking did that well enough on its own, but he was biased when it came to meat dishes, anyway.

  “You’re right, kitten,” the older man said, his countenance softening as he patted his daughter’s hand. “We’re here to talk about Jason being queer now, anyway.”

  Raymond choked on his wine, Jason covered his mouth in shock and Irene cried, “Daddy!”

  “What?” Lochlan protested, holding up his hands in confusion. “That’s what they’re calling themselves now! I read it in that fancy magazine Jason gets delivered here. It’s a reformation.”

  “Oh, God,” Jason mumbled into his drink.

  “Reclamation, Loch,” Raymond muttered.

  Lochlan gave his son-in-law a dismissive wave and Colt had never tried so hard not to laugh on peril of his life.

  “Gay is fine, grandpa,” Jason said, redder than Colt had ever seen him.

  “I don’t care what you are or who gets your jimmies in a rustle. You’re still my grandson, and I love ya. Your mother and father are the ones acting like they’re hung up on a cross about it.” He paused. “Sorry, Father,” he mumbled, crossing himself.

  “Daddy, please,” Irene scolded, clutching her napkin in her fist.

  “Well, you are. You act like they came up with this shit yesterday,” he scoffed. “Long as the boy stays in school and makes something of himself, I say leave him be.”

  “Easy for you to say when you already have grandchildren,” Irene muttered, aggressively skewering her baked squash.

  “So they can adopt. Better than taking another gamble that Ray’s genes are gonna come sunny side up.”

  “My genes?”

  “We’ve all seen your cousin Leo,” Lochlan said with a grimace.

  “Grandpa, we just started dating,” Jason sad through gritted teeth. “It’s a little soon to start talking about family planning.”

  “What about Mia?” Irene protested, obviously a few minutes--or years--behind the rest of the conversation. “She’s such a nice Catholic girl.”

  Lochlan snorted. “This one over here hasn’t been to confession in a year and she wants to talk about being Catholic.”

  Irene shot her father a look that certainly warranted a trip to the booth. Not that Colt was any expert on the logistics himself. He’d only ever tried his hand at faith to make his mother happy, and the one time he’d taken the Joneses up on their invitation to attend Mass, he’d accidentally stepped on a nun’s habit and helped himself to the body of Christ, thinking it was a refreshment.

  “Mia is gay, mom. She has a girlfriend.”

  Irene stared at her son like he’d just started speaking gibberish. “She is not gay! You’ve been dating her since --”

  “Since Freshman year when you found my Queer as Folk DVDs and we had that awkward conversation we both pretended never happened?” Jason offered.

  “I knew sending you to that camp was a bad idea,” sighed Raymond.

  “Which camp is that?” Colt frowned.

  “Christian Theatre,” Irene and Raymond said in unison, shaking their heads.

  “I’m not gay because I painted fucking sets for West Side Story, ma, for God’s sake.” Jason’s accent was coming out. Sometimes Colt wasn’t sure if it was more Italian or Irish, but he decided it depended on the occasion.

  “Watch your language!” she snapped. “I don’t care what you are, I will not have this family devolve into chaos.”

  Jason rolled his eyes all the way over to Colt. “I’m so sorry about this.”

  “It’s fine,” Colt assured him. “I know this is a lot to take in for you guys and I’m sure it’s hard, but I want to assure you that I care very deeply about your son,” he said carefully, deciding that the l-word was too charged for use in the present situation.

  Jason smiled, reaching over to take Colt’s hand. Irene looked like she was going to pass out. “It’s mutual. And it’s not going to change,” he said firmly, turning back to his parents. “Mom, dad, I tried for so long to be everything you wanted me to be, but even if Colt wasn’t in the picture, I’m just not that person. And I’m never going to be. Even if you can’t ever bring yourselves to accept this, I can’t keep pretending to be someone I’m not just to have your approval.”

  For a few seconds that felt like eons, neither Raymond nor Irene said a word. Irene looked between Colt and Jason, her brow furrowed as she let out a deep sigh. “I don’t like this,” she said, shaking her head. “And I can’t pretend like I understand it, but I love you and I do want you to be happy, sweetheart. If this is who you are, then of course I accept you. And your…” She gave a long pause, like she was having trouble forming the word. “Boyfriend.” It came out in one breath.

  Jason smiled a little. “Thanks, mom. I understand it’s going to take some time to get used to --”

  Without a word, Raymond slammed his empty glass on the table and stood to leave the room. Lochlan muttered something unintelligible but decidedly unflattering under his breath and threw his own napkin down on his plate. “That right there,” he said, wagging a trembling finger. “That’s the genes at work.”

  “Daddy, please,” Irene said wearily, standing. She cast an apologetic glance Jason’s way. “Just give him time. I’ll go talk to him.”

  Jason nodded, but Colt knew as well as he did that it was going to take more than the rest of dinner to change Raymond Jones’ heart on the matter. Colt squeezed Jason’s hand under the table, looking up when Lochlan cleared his throat.

  “Since Raymond is off having his little temper tantrum, I suppose the task of having ‘the talk’ falls to me.”

  “Grandpa, please, no,” Jason groaned, burying his head in his hand.

  Lochlan ignored h
im. “Now, I always figured it’d be the other way around, but it’s obvious you’re the uh… what do they call it now, the pitcher?”

  “They definitely do not call it that,” Jason growled. “Please, stop.”

  “It’s fine,” Colt said with an awkward laugh. “And to save you the trouble, I have a feeling I know what you’re going to say. Like I said, I care about Jason more than --”

  “I heard what you said,” Lochlan interrupted. “I’m an old man now, but the years haven’t made me any more patient with bullshit. Or wasted time. I always liked you, Colt. You know why?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’re a straight shooter. I respect a man who tells it like it is, one way or another. You gonna prove me wrong?”

  “No, sir,” Colt said, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right, what I said before doesn’t accurately describe the way I feel about your grandson. To put it simply, I love him. I’ve loved him for as long as I can remember. It started out as a friendship and it became infatuation, but over the years, it’s become something a hell of a lot deeper than that. Every time I’ve tried to date anyone else, it fails because I find myself comparing them to Jason. I know I’m not good enough to be the person he shares his life with, especially since I’m selfish enough to want to be, but I give you my word that I will spend the rest of it trying to give him everything he deserves, for as long as he’ll let me.”

  “Colt,” Jason breathed, seeming to have forgotten his irritation for the moment.

  Lochlan’s face had been blank the entire time Colt was speaking, but he finally broke a smile like a crack spreading slowly through marble. “There it is. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t always tell when a man is lying. But I can always tell when he’s telling the truth. I’m gonna hold you to it.” He stood slowly, offering his hand to Colt again. “Welcome to the family, son.”