by Shawn Lane
I left the house with my laptop that next morning, needing some time away from the influences of Dexter and the Manor. I went to a coffee shop in the next town over and looked up anything I could on Dexter Larabee, Owen Wentworth, and Sam Wentworth. If I’d had Susan’s last name I would have looked her up, too. Because the more I thought about her, the more I was pretty certain she was the old lady I’d seen down by the Embardero. The same one from the picture of Dex’s partygoers.
I didn’t know how any of it was possible unless I was cracking up, and I didn’t think I was.
Regardless of what else I found out or what happened with Dex and the house, I needed to go to Mace and end our relationship. What was happening with me was not fair to him. I was clearly not committed to a future with him, and doing what I was doing was not cool.
Obviously I couldn’t tell him I was being haunted by the ghost of a former lover, alleged or not, but I owed him a clean break and as much as I could tell him without looking and sounding like a loon.
And there would be the whole financial stuff of the house to deal with.
Fortunately, most of the down payment had come from my own savings, but a small amount had come from Mace, and I would clearly have to find a way to pay him back and probably sell the house.
That bothered me the most. I would have to find a way to send Dexter to a peaceful release of his spirit. He couldn’t go on like this and I couldn’t live the rest of my life as a ghost’s lover. That wasn’t good for either of us.
I doubted Dex would be cooperative, though. He’d waited this long to reclaim the love of Owen.
I wasn’t able to find out much about Owen’s murder. I suspected because much of the town had believed the old stories that Dex’s lover was the director, Sam Wentworth, and that Dex had died after Sam had left the manor after an argument. Several referenced articles stated exactly that.
I found that Owen was a bit actor, but by profession had been a lawyer. That made sense, given the scene I’d experienced by the pool.
I finally found one obscure reference to Sam being charged with manslaughter over the death of a family member, unspecified in the old newspaper article. The Wentworths were rich, and I suspected they’d managed to cover up much of what had happened, and, considering the era, probably Owen’s homosexual relationship with Dexter.
I also suspected the studio people had worked to cover up some of it because of their connection to Dexter as well. I finally put away my laptop and got on the road to LA. It would take me a few hours to get there, but my path was clear.
* * * *
By the time I got to Mace’s apartment building, where I had lived with him before the move, darkness was falling. The time of year meant the light went away sooner, and as I parked, I made sure to see if Mace’s car was in his assigned space. It was.
I wondered if I should have warned him I was on my way, but then he would have guessed something was up, and well, I didn’t know if that was the wisest way to go. Anyway I went at this, it would be difficult.
I went up the outside stairs to his unit and hesitated at the door. Should I knock or try my key? Since Mace was a cop and not expecting me, just bursting in was probably not a good idea.
I knocked.
After a few minutes, Mace opened the door, wearing only his jeans, and his hair stood on end. And then I got it. The reason why.
Behind him down the hall, another guy struggled into clothes. And I was pretty sure it was his partner, Yanni.
“Julian!” Mace exclaimed, clearly too gobsmacked to say much of anything else.
Yanni finished dressing and dashed forward, wide-eyed and looking at Mace for some sort of clue on how to behave. That clue didn’t come because finally Yanni turned to me.
“Um. I’m just…I’m going to get out of here.”
I stepped aside to let him out of the apartment, feeling rather numb myself. I watched him run down the stairs.
“Come in,” Mace said.
I stepped inside and Mace closed the door.
“That was…”
“I know what it was,” I said wryly. “Actually, that’s going to make this a little easier, I think.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Julian, what are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming.”
“I decided this morning. This should be done in person.”
Mace blew out a breath. “Did you want to sit?”
“Nah. That’s okay. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Mace, I adore you. You’ve been my best friend for years. It seemed so natural for that friendship to develop into us being lovers, but the truth is, we don’t have the passion I think we should have.”
“What are you saying?”
“I came here to tell you, I think it’s over. The thing is, maybe it has been for a while. Buying the Manor together and moving up north and becoming, I don’t know, bohemians or whatever, was just a last-ditch effort to save us. Mace, honey, you love being a cop, and you love Los Angeles, and you were only going to do all that for me, and I love you for it, but I don’t love you the way I should.” I laughed shortly. “And I think, based on what I just saw, you don’t love me that way either.”
“You may not want to sit, but I do,” Mace said, pulling up the nearest dining room chair and plopping down in it.
“How long have you and Yanni—”
“Not that long. Th-this was our third time.”
“But you want more, right?”
Mace hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. My life has been, ah, different up north, too.”
“You found someone?”
“It’s difficult to explain. But I did realize that I love you like the friend you were always meant to be.”
“What about the house?”
“That is a problem.”
“Look, I don’t need that money back if you want to keep the house.”
“That’s not fair to you, Mace. I’ll probably sell it and give that money back to you so you can do what you want to do with it.”
“But you love that house.”
I shrugged. “I did once. But now? I think, maybe, it needs to go.”
“Go?” He frowned. “Like tear it down?”
I nodded. “Yeah, maybe. I think there are too many sad memories tied up there.”
“Well, you don’t have to make any decisions about it yet. Take your time, Julian. Really.”
I leaned down and hugged him, and he hugged me back. Breaking up was never easy, but for us, it was okay.
Chapter 8
It was late morning the next day before I returned to the Manor, having decided to stay at a hotel before making the long drive.
Mace and I had parted friends, though I wasn’t sure things would ever be quite the same between us. That made me sad as we’d been close friends since childhood, but in the end, I took the philosophical path and decided life moved on all the time, and this was moving on also.
I couldn’t help but wonder if we all went through reincarnation with the same players all our lives in different roles, who Mace had been in my former lives. I supposed I would never know.
The Manor seemed eerily quiet as I pulled up. It did not have that ominous feel the way I’d imagined haunted houses generally had. It hadn’t the entire time felt…evil or anything.
But I sensed a quiet starkness, a sorrow that ran deep, throughout the house, the yard, the very eaves. This had been a home Dexter had loved, but now it was his prison.
And I’d decided I had to free him from it, somehow.
Free both of us, I supposed.
I didn’t know what the future held for me, but as much as I realized I loved Dexter, I also knew he was a ghost, someone who had died long ago, and I was very much a living, breathing person. And I wanted to stay that way.
“Dexter?” I called as I entered, but received no response. I suspected I would meet up with him in the bedroom, as that seemed to be where he wandered the most.
I had stopped to eat on the way home, so I left my laptop downstairs and headed up the staircase to find Dex. My body already thrummed with anticipation of seeing him again.
What would I do if I could free him from this? I would have to live with it, I knew, but the thought made my heart ache like never before.
“Dexter, are you here?” I whispered as I entered the master bedroom. “Dex?”
The room felt almost unbearably cold. I had never noticed the cold before, but it didn’t entirely surprise me. All those fake paranormal programs always used cold as a way to say the house was haunted.
“Dex, I’m sorry I left without telling you.”
“Why did you?”
He suddenly appeared by the window that overlooked the sea, wearing a robe—what would have been called a smoking jacket back in his day, I imagined. It was red and velvety looking, and it went perfect with his coloring. He was gorgeous.
“Well, I did some research on you and Owen and Sam.”
“And what did you learn?”
“Not much, really. They covered up a lot of it, didn’t they?”
“It was easier and better to cover scandals then. The Wentworths didn’t want it known that Sam had killed his own nephew over his homosexual affair with an actor of ill repute.” He gave me a self-deprecating smile.
“Did you and Sam—”
“Briefly. Twice, I think. Before I met you. I met Sam first because he was a director. He was married, you know, so everything was very on the low. And anyway, it was just sex, and not very good sex at that.”
“So you didn’t while you and Owen—”
“No. God, no. When we got together, there was never anyone else.”
“I ended things with Mace. My boyfriend.”
“That was where you went?”
I nodded. I hadn’t approached him yet. Choosing to let the distance between us remain for the moment.
“It wasn’t fair to him, the way things were here.”
“I suppose not. But I’ve waited far too long for you to come back to worry about your current boyfriend. I’m sorry if that makes me a selfish bastard.”
I smiled slightly. “But not very sorry.”
“No,” Dex admitted. “I am sorry if it was painful for you.”
“Not as painful as it should have been, I think, and that was the problem.” I moved closer, but not to him. Not yet. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you. I know I’m in lust. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. But you’re a ghost, Dex. You’re dead. And I don’t know what to do with that.”
“Don’t do anything. Stay here, living with me. Nothing has to change. You can work on this house as you always planned and I can be what I’ve been up to your arrival.”
“Dead.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been dead for decades.”
“That’s not the natural way it’s supposed to be, Dex. People aren’t ghosts for eternity. Or they aren’t supposed to be. They move on to whatever afterlife they are meant to have. And if that is to be reincarnated until you and I can get it right, than that’s never going to happen until you pass on from Dexter Larabee’s life.”
“I want to be with you now.”
“What do you want me to do? Do you want me to die so that you and I can be eternal ghosts together? What if that’s not what I want?”
“I told you, I want to go on as we are.”
I shook my head. “I can’t keep this house. Part of the money I put into it belongs to Mace. I’m probably going to have to sell it.”
“Sell our house? Sell my house?”
“We can’t have the life you and Owen were going to have almost a hundred years ago! We can’t go back to that. No matter how beautiful the dream is.”
“This is my house,” Dex insisted. “I had it built. Me.”
“The house has had other owners.”
“Members of my family.”
“Except for me. I bought it now and I’m not family.”
Dex suddenly moved away from where he stood, clenching his fists and looking furious. “You are my family! You were—are—everything to me.”
The windows rattled with his fury, and the room grew even colder, like a meat locker.
“Dex—”
“Don’t dismiss me!”
For the first time since arriving, I felt a thread of fear. I backed up. That seemed to startle him, for he stopped in his tracks, his fists loosened, and stared wide-eyed at me. “I would never hurt you. Ever.”
Then, his body started to shimmy, the windows rattled even more violently, and he vanished.
* * * *
At a loss as to what to do next, and with Dexter ignoring my pleas to return, I finally laid on the bed, staring at the ceiling. I kicked off my shoes, but I remained fully clothed, lying on top of the comforter.
I remained convinced that I had to somehow help Dexter move on, but I also knew it would be difficult both because of Dex being uncooperative, and I didn’t want to lose him.
It was bizarre being in love with a ghost, but I recognized that’s what it was. Whether my past life as Owen had predestined me to feel this way, or the feelings had developed on their own, I did not know.
At some point, I dozed off, then became aware when someone sat on the bed. I opened my eyes to see Dexter, dressed as before in the smoking jacket.
“Hi,” I whispered.
He took my hand in his, and once again it stunned me how he felt like flesh and blood. That Shakespeare line, “there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy,” came to mind.
“I want you to stay in this house,” Dex said. “It should be yours.”
“Dexter.”
He shook his head. “Even without me. I understand what you mean about moving on. I do. And I know I was waiting for you. I thought I was waiting for us to be together again, but…”
“But what?” I prodded when he didn’t continue for a long time.
He stared at our clasped hands. “Maybe I was just waiting to hand over this house to you. To make sure it was you who lived here.”
“Without Mace, I’m not sure I can afford it. Not with owing him money.”
“How did you plan to live here?”
“We were going to open a shop on the Embarcadero. Mace does some painting—he’s quite good—and I make jewelry with gemstones and rocks, precious metals. I was going to turn part of the cellar into a workshop.”
“Can’t you still do that?”
“Without his paintings?”
“Perhaps not,” Dex said. “Maybe he’d let you sell his paintings for a cut of the profits. It’s worth asking, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know.”
He frowned. “You don’t like the house?”
“I love it. It’s beautiful here. But could I really live here without you? Would it make me too sad?”
“If what you say is true, that I need to pass on, then when I do, somehow, someway, we’ll be together again. I feel that.” He stared intently at me. “Don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered. I was suddenly a believer. That him, that I, that we were meant for each other.
“Okay. Then contact Mace and we’ll go from there.”
I put my hand on his cheek. I could feel stubble, for Christ’s sake. “I don’t know if I can say goodbye. It’s crazy, but I’m in love with you, Dex. I’ve never felt this way. It’s incredible.”
His smile looked beautiful. “When the time comes, you’ll be ready.”
“Make love to me. I want to feel you everywhere.”
“My pleasure.”
He shrugged out of the smoking jacket to reveal his nakedness underneath, his beautiful golden skin. He helped me to remove my clothes, then we came together, kissing, touching, loving, fucking. As free and alive as any live human beings.
* * * *
When I got out of bed hours later, alone once more, I took a shower and dr
essed in jeans and a T-shirt, then went down for some food and to call Mace.
I thought I knew how he’d react to my question, but I couldn’t be entirely sure, so when I hit the button on my cell for his number, my stomach twisted into all kinds of knots and the coffee I’d recently drunk soured in my belly.
“Jules.”
I smiled in spite of the not-so-great situation. “Hi, Mace. Have you got a minute?”
“Of course. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Listen, I’m really sorry for just showing up unannounced like that. Whatever’s been going on between us, that wasn’t cool.”
A long pause. Then a sigh. “That wasn’t your fault, Jules. That was me. I know better than to act like that. I should have ended it between us before sleeping with Yanni. You deserve better.”
I licked my dry lips and cleared my throat. “I’m no saint. Don’t beat yourself up over it, Mace. Trust me.”
“All right, I do.”
“You and Yanni? Is that serious.”
He exhaled. “Yeah, I mean, I think it is. We’ve been working together for a while, and now this case has been beating us up, and then, one thing led to another. But I think, yeah, it’s serious.”
I closed my eyes, definitely part of me mourning the loss of my boyfriend, no matter how unfair and ridiculous that was. “I’m really glad for you, Mace. Really glad.”
“You sound like you mean it.”
“I do. I love you. You’re still my best friend, and maybe we were never meant to be lovers, romantic partners, whatever, but I’m always going to love you and want what’s best for you. If that’s Yanni, I’m thrilled.”
“I feel the same way about you.”
That seemed a fine segue into why I had called. “So. About this house.” I started pacing in the kitchen. “And our plans for the shop on the Embarcadero.”
“Yes?”
“I know this is crazy. And you absolutely have the right to say no. B-but what do you think about me keeping this house and still opening the shop? Selling your paintings. My jewelry. Maybe I could even do some carpentry. I’m good at it. I’ve done it most of my life. I could sell some furniture I made. And even do construction up here when I need to. Obviously I’ll pay you back the money you put toward the house when I can. And you’d get whatever I made out of selling your paintings. It’s just, they’re so beautiful, and I want you to know that and—”