by Shawn Lane
“I’d think most of those are a fairly slim chance. And I already told you it wasn’t Robbie.”
“You don’t really know that for sure, Aaron. You don’t remember or even know if you saw who killed you. I know you believe very strongly it wasn’t Robbie but we can’t rule him out just yet.”
Aaron’s lips thinned. “I can. I want to see him. I want you to meet him. You’ll know then.”
Curtis thought that would be a good idea anyway. He wanted to meet Robbie and anyone else involved with Aaron. If he had to play ace detective he’d need to do all that.
“Good idea,” he said. “Tell me the name of his salon and I’ll go down to meet with him.”
Aaron tilted his head. “I’ve got a better idea.”
“You have?”
“I’ll go with you.”
Curtis pushed back from his desk and stood. “Go with me? Aaron, how? We don’t know if you can leave this apartment. You never have, have you?”
“No.”
“What makes you think you can now?”
“I’ve never been this solid before. This formed.”
“What if you disappear as soon as you walk outside?” Curtis didn’t like that idea. For some reason he wasn’t ready to let go of Aaron yet. Not before he could at least try to help him.
“I want to try something,” Aaron said.
“Try what?”
“Something I’ve seen on television and movies. It may not work, but…”
Curtis opened his mouth to ask Aaron what the hell he was talking about when Aaron launched himself at Curtis. The words froze in his throat. His whole body went rigid and his eyes bulged out.
Aaron disappeared.
Curtis shook, like maybe he was having a seizure. He dropped to his knees, his vision wavering. Gasping for air, Curtis crawled on the floor on his hands and knees. His temperature dropped to the point his teeth chattered.
“Goddamn it, Aaron, get out of me!”
Then he relaxed and the coldness left him. Heaving a heavy breath, Curtis bowed his head. The shakes had stopped. He almost felt normal.
Almost.
“Aaron, why?”
::If I’m part of you, then we can both see Robbie. I can help you. I won’t disappear like this. It’s okay, Curtis. When you return home I’ll get out.::
“I’ve got a fucking ghost in my head. You could have asked.”
::Would you have agreed?::
“No.” Curtis braced his hands on the desk and stood.
::I wasn’t even sure it would work. It’s pretty cool that it did.::
“Easy for you to say. God, this is so weird. It’s like I’m talking to myself but I’m not. Maybe I really am crazy.”
::You aren’t crazy. Let’s go find Robbie.::
Chapter 4
Robert Henley parked his Smart Car in his reserved spot behind Jose Ferrer’s Salon. Parking was primo in this part of San Francisco so Jose had made sure the stylists had reserved spots behind the salon just beyond the little alley. Customers parked either at metered spots on the street or in a parking garage two blocks down.
Robbie checked his appearance in the rearview mirror and decided to touch up his chocolate brown eyeliner. It matched his brown sweater perfectly.
Pulling out his calendar as he got out of the car, he checked to remind himself who his first appointment was with. Mrs. Altman, a society matron. She was a terrible snob who probably wouldn’t acknowledge him on the street, but she was a big time tipper.
His cell beeped indicating he had a text message. Robbie pulled it out of the candy apple red bag he took everywhere. He’d often told nosey people who asked that the bag was most definitely not a purse. He just liked to carry his stuff in a bag.
Hey, beautiful, how about another hookup tonight?
Robbie sighed. He didn’t want to be rude to this cop who’d been texting him for a round two, but really, he hadn’t felt the vibes. Sex was okay, but not much more. Later he’d text him back that he was working or something.
He slipped in the back door of the salon, the smells of hair dyes, perm chemicals, and other salon products instantly hitting him. Robbie reached into his bag for his fresh peach scented room spray and squirted it into the air around him.
“I smell peach,” he heard the owner, Jose exclaim. “Robbie, is that you?”
“Of course.” He went instantly to Jose, a queen in his late sixties, dressed in a frilly pink and green gown. Jose and his salon staff were so good most people overlooked their eccentricities to go there. They rubbed cheeks.
“Mrs. Altman hasn’t arrived yet,” Jose said, batting long fake lashes at him. “But look over there.”
Robbie looked to where Jose’s manicured hand pointed. Sitting in a high backed chair at the front of the salon was a man probably in his mid-thirties with brown hair and classically handsome features. High cheekbones, a straight, perfect nose, sensual lips. Robbie licked his lips.
“Who is the hottie?”
“He’s here for you.” Jose produced a card. He lowered his voice. “Curtis Macintyre. He’s a famous horror writer.”
Robbie took the card from Jose and sure enough the card read Curtis Macintyre, Horror. It listed an agent, publisher, and several books. Robbie thought at least one of them had been made into a movie. “What does a horror writer want with me?”
Sheila, a lovely redhead who shampooed clients, walked by. “Maybe he wants his hair done.”
Glancing at the man again, Robbie considered it. He had the kind of hair that he suspected had been done at either a barber shop or one of those chain salons. He shuddered. But it was short and plain. Looked like it had been done recently. No doubt the hottie was probably straight.
“Go ask him.” Jose pushed Robbie in the direction of Curtis Macintyre.
He shrugged and stopped to set his bag and appointment book on the chair at his station. Approaching the man, Robbie stuck his hand out. “Robbie Henley.”
Standing, the man shook Robbie’s hand. “I know. Curtis Macintyre.”
Robbie smiled. Curtis stared at him intensely, as though memorizing him or something. “Would you like coffee? It’s not the best, but it won’t kill you either.”
“Sure.”
He led the way over to the salon’s coffeemaker. It had been supplied with all the latest flavored creamers as well as plain half-and-half and sugar. “Help yourself.”
Robbie watched Curtis add hazelnut creamer to his coffee until it was a very pale shade of beige.
“Do you have a minute?” Curtis asked, gesturing back to the chairs at the front of the salon.
“Yes. But only a minute,” Robbie said, pouring his own cup of coffee. “I’ve got a client coming in soon.”
They sat in the chairs by the windows. Robbie had always been grateful that Jose had splurged on nice chairs for the salon instead of those uncomfortable plastic kind. He gripped his personal coffee mug, which simply had his name on it in rainbow colors.
He liked the look of Curtis. He was good-looking yes, but he also had a kind, gentle face. And there was an odd air of familiarity there, too. Smiling, Robbie asked, “Did you want a hair style consult? I’m sure we could do something for you.”
Curtis frowned. “Um, well, no.” His fingers reached up to feel his hair. “You think I need help?”
“Not if you don’t.” Robbie smiled brightly. “What can I do for you, Mr. Macintyre?”
“Curtis, please.”
“Okay, call me Robbie. I confess I really have no clue what a famous horror writer would want with me.”
“It’s complicated.” Curtis sighed. “I know.”
“Excuse me?”
“Actually, maybe you can meet me for lunch. You do get a lunch?”
“I do, but—”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Robbie.”
Robbie nodded. That was probably true. The guy was famous so Robbie doubted he’d take the chance and hurt some hair stylist. But Robbie had some experien
ce with violent crime.
The bell above the door chimed and in walked his first appointment, Mrs. Altman.
“Please, Robbie,” Curtis said softly. “It’s about Aaron.”
His blood ran cold. His throat constricted. “What?”
Curtis touched his arm, but it was a gentle, comforting touch. “It’s going to be all right, Robbie. I promise.”
He shook his head. For a second, he could have sworn…
“Robbie,” Jose called to him.
He stood. “All right. Come back here at noon.”
* * * *
They chose a little café about a half block down from the salon. Curtis had said he would drop Robbie off if they took his car, but Robbie decided to play it safe and make it within walking distance. No sense getting into the car of a stranger, even a famous one.
Or not. What if this guy was only pretending to be Curtis Macintyre? Robbie hadn’t ever seen him. Maybe this guy had stolen Macintyre’s cards.
The weird thing was he did trust Curtis. Almost like he knew him before, which was crazy.
Since it was a nice day in the city, they chose to eat at a little table for two in the outdoor seating area.
After they’d ordered and the waitress brought their drinks, Curtis smiled. “I can see exactly what Aaron meant.”
“Pardon? Did you know Aaron?”
Aaron Carmichael had been Robbie’s boyfriend for three years. He’d been murdered one night five years ago.
“I did and I didn’t. It’s complicated.”
“So you said earlier.”
“I’m living in the Forest Glenn apartment,” Curtis explained.
Robbie sipped his iced tea. “They’re nice places. That’s why Aaron lived there.”
“Yeah, he liked nice things, and it was perfect for his commute to his office.”
“Um, yeah.” Robbie still couldn’t shake the weird feeling of familiarity. Curtis was almost too intense. He couldn’t explain it. And the odd thing was he wasn’t really creeped out by it. “I’ve not been back there since…well, you know.”
“I don’t blame you. So you weren’t with him that night?” Curtis’s arm jumped a little. “Stop.”
“What?”
The man smiled. “It’s nothing. Just a pest. You were saying?”
“I wasn’t saying. No, I wasn’t with him the night he was killed. But excuse me, what does this have to do with you? What do you want from me?”
“Everything.”
“Excuse me?” Robbie froze and did back up a little in his chair.
“Sorry,” Curtis said, taking a drink of his soda. “The heat’s getting to me. When I said I live in the Forest Glenn apartment, I mean Aaron’s apartment.”
“One-seventeen?”
“Yes. I moved in a couple of months ago. From the pictures I’ve seen on the Internet, the building management did a lot of remodeling, but it’s still that apartment. Aaron is there.”
This time Robbie just stared. He had begun to think maybe this was creepy after all and maybe it had been wise not to get into a car with this guy.
“I mean his spirit, Robbie,” Curtis said gently. “I feel his presence. It got me looking into his case and I saw it’s still unsolved.”
“Yes. But you aren’t a detective, you’re a writer.”
“I know, but I’m still interested. Something about the case, about Aaron, about you—”
“Me?”
“This whole matter. I want to help Aaron.”
Robbie shook his head. “I don’t understand. Aaron is dead.”
“I know that, believe me. I feel he needs peace. I know he does.” Curtis sighed and looked away. “I can’t explain it.”
“On that we can both agree. Look, Mr. Macintyre—”
“Curtis, please.”
“I really don’t know what you expect from me. I don’t know who killed Aaron. I wish I did so the son of a bitch can rot in jail for the rest of his life. I don’t know anything other than the man I loved more than life was taken from me five years ago.”
“Robbie.” Curtis took hold of his hand and stared hard at Robbie. “Trust me. I know it’s hard to understand, but please. I need you.”
He shook his head. “I-I should probably get back to the salon.”
“Our lunch hasn’t even come yet.”
“I know.” He pushed back and went to rise.
“Robbie, wait. I’m…Aaron is with me.”
“What are you talking about? Are you on something?”
“No. The reason I feel Aaron’s presence in the apartment is he’s still there. He’s been there for the last five years. He’s lost between two worlds. Ours and the afterlife. He can’t move on until we help him. Somehow.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I know it seems like it,” Curtis acknowledged. “But I’m not. Aaron told me about you. That’s how I knew how to find you.”
Robbie smirked, deciding maybe to humor this guy. “So, Aaron’s a ghost.”
“Yes.”
“Living in your apartment.”
Curtis nodded, his expression blank, then he shook his head. “Well, not anymore.”
Robbie frowned. “Not anymore?”
“Now he’s inside of me.”
Chapter 5
“Is this some sort of sick joke?” Robbie could barely breathe. He wasn’t sure why this guy who claimed to be Curtis Macintyre would fuck with him this way, but that had to be it. He tossed his napkin down and went to scoot away from the table. “I’ve had enough.”
“Robbie, wait,” Curtis said, grabbing Robbie’s wrist. “It’s not a joke and I can prove I’m telling the truth.”
“How?” He pressed his hand to his racing heart.
Curtis grimaced. “The last birthday you spent with Aaron.”
“What about it?”
“When you got home Aaron had filled your apartment with your favorite flower…carnations. They were everywhere. He had them scattered throughout your apartment in every room and in a rainbow of colors.”
Tears pricked Robbie’s eyes and his throat clogged. It had been one of the best days of his life. “How did you know that?”
Curtis smiled gently. “Aaron’s here.”
He looked away then, unable to meet Curtis’s gaze. Could it be true? Was Aaron’s spirit inside this man? Things like that didn’t happen except maybe in movies. Robbie didn’t even believe in ghosts.
“Robbie, help me.” The voice was different, not Aaron’s, but rather Curtis’s, but somehow Robbie knew Aaron asked for his help. Somehow it was true. He didn’t know what he could do, what he was supposed to do, but he couldn’t not help Aaron.
Robbie let out a shattered breath and looked at Curtis. His heart pounded so fast and hard he was tempted to ask someone to call the paramedics. “What—what do I need to do?”
“I’m not even sure myself.” Curtis shook his head. “Neither of us is. I just know that Aaron needs something to give him peace so he can go to whatever awaits beyond this. I’m thinking maybe because his murder was never solved maybe I need to do that.”
He bit his lip. “But that’s something even the cops couldn’t do. How are we supposed to do that?”
“We?” Curtis asked hopefully. “Then you’ll help?”
Robbie nodded, his heart clenching in his throat. He was developing a headache that promised to be a bitch and he had to get back to the salon and take care of his clients. “I need to get back to work.”
“Can you come over to my apartment when you’re done?”
He exhaled. “Okay.”
* * * *
On the way to the Glenn Forest apartments that afternoon, Robbie convinced himself once again that whatever was going on wasn’t Aaron’s ghost. Ghosts, spirits, whatever, didn’t share bodies with living beings. And the reason was there wasn’t any such thing. Likely Curtis Macintyre was a nut job.
He hadn’t gone straight over there after his last hair appointment. He’d first go
ne home to check the Internet and find everything he could on Curtis Macintyre. There didn’t seem to be any indication the guy was in the middle of a breakdown. And according to the picture on the man’s website, the guy he’d had lunch with really was the famous horror writer.
Robbie considered the possibility this was tied into Macintyre’s latest novel he might be working on. Maybe he wanted to write a ghost possession story. Maybe he’d even rented that apartment, Aaron’s old one, with that in mind. It was cruel to use Aaron’s murder and Robbie’s love for Aaron, but it had been Robbie’s experience lots of people were cruel. No reason a famous writer would be any different.
After arming himself with two fresh containers of pepper spray tucked into his bag, Robbie left his apartment and headed to the Glenn Forest apartments. Of course, he first left a message with his friend, Iggy, as to exactly where he’d be. Just in case. With a nut job you couldn’t be too careful.
Robbie parked, ignored the old elevator cage, probably original to the building, and walked up the stairs to Aaron’s old apartment. Blowing out a breath, he rapped on the door.
The door opened within seconds, like Curtis waited on the other side.
“Robbie.”
And suddenly he was pulled into strong, muscular arms and squeezed tight. He closed his eyes as the familiar scent of Aaron washed over him. It was mixed with Macintyre’s, but there was no mistaking Aaron’s spicy cologne, the scent of his skin, the feel of his arms. It was like five years ago, before the murder.
Robbie’s arms wrapped around the other man, unable to resist the pull of Aaron. Time disappeared. He leaned his head on those broad shoulders and closed his eyes. A hand tilted his head a little to expose his throat and lips trailed over his pulse there. Robbie gasped, his cock hardening with a will of its own. This couldn’t be real, yet he was lost, powerless to stop his body’s response, his mind’s response.
Hands were everywhere, caressing his arms, his chest, lowering to grab his ass. Robbie moaned, his own hands moving over the solid body holding him. Lips took possession of his. Robbie moaned and opened his mouth, allowing the intrusion of a warm tongue.
He should not be practically crawling up the body of a stranger, although it wouldn’t be the first time he had casual sex after just meeting someone. But this wasn’t the same in any way. And Robbie didn’t know how he should be acting.