Fisher had never seen the movie, so he hadn't known that. Odd. But at least that explained that. Somewhat.
"Haven't you gotten it through your thick head yet?" Hunter gave him a stern look.
"Hey, I'm not thick-headed," Fisher protested. He knew what Hunter meant, he just didn't believe it.
"You're a great writer, Fisher," Hunter told him, softly stroking the hand he held within his own. "It's time you got the chance to prove it. Start looking for a publisher for your novel. I have some money saved up, so we'll be fine, I promise."
Fisher shook his head adamantly. "Hunter, no, that's not fair. And how can I sell what I don't have? It's gone, I threw it away years ago."
The doorbell rang, cutting off Hunter's response. "Think you can handle this one?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he left the room,.
Fisher nodded, perplexed, but he went to the door. The little ones must come out first, he decided. Standing there were siblings, a boy and a girl, dressed as the most adorable little animals—a baby tiger and a baby lamb. Just as precious as could be. Their mother thanked him kindly. "I don't think I've seen you before," she commented, "Doesn't Hunter live here anymore?"
"Yeah, he's still here. I'm helping him out this year." Fisher smiled.
"Cool. See you next year, happy Halloween." She waved to him before ushering the children from the porch, heading toward the house next door.
By the time that he returned to the living room, Hunter was back and sitting on the sofa once again, a bundle of paper in his hands. Fisher gave him a perplexed glance.
"Did you do okay?" Hunter asked.
"Yeah, fine. What's that?" He stepped closer to Hunter, almost warily, wondering what his friend was up to. Surely it couldn't be what he was thinking it might be. No, the possibilities of that were slim to none.
Except that it was exactly that, which sent the law of probability straight out the door.
"What? How? I mean, how could you? How did you get it? I threw that away. It's trash, not worth the paper it's printed on."
"Stop it!" Hunter's voice broke into Fisher's rambling. "No, it's not trash. It's good. Sure, it needs a little touching up, but damn, you were in high school when you wrote it. I couldn't let you throw this away. I rescued it the day you tossed it. Don't listen to your mom, she doesn't understand. You are one talented man, Fisher Roberts, and don't you ever forget it. Now you've been given the chance to explore your potential, and you're going to take it. Do you understand me?"
Fisher couldn't believe what he was seeing. His novel. It still existed, when he thought it had long ago been consigned to the landfill. But it was saved, after all. By Hunter, no less. How did that man manage to always save the day, somehow?
"I love you, Mister Long, do you know that?" he asked, throwing his arms around Hunter, and clinging to him tightly.
"And I think you know by now how much I love you, Mister Roberts," Hunter replied, holding him close. "And you know me well enough not to argue with me anymore, right?"
"Right," came the reply, muffled by Hunter's chest.
"All right then, are you ready to give them what they want?"
"I am."
"Then let's do it."
One more kiss—or two—or three. Finally, out the door to await further arrivals.
Hunter had set up a good-sized area of the front yard as a cemetery, complete with tilted headstones in assorted sizes, draped in stretchy grey cobwebs and decorated with assorted Halloween paraphernalia—a witch's cauldron, a black cat, a few hands seemingly erupting from the ground, a mummy, a Frankenstein's monster, and assorted bats which hung from strings. He had draped spider webs in the trees, planted plastic spiders on them. The effect was enhanced by the lights which Hunter had carefully placed to increase the eeriness factor of the chilling tableau. Nothing too frightening, but enough to make the casual visitor shiver.
The walk up to the house was lined with luminaries that Hunter had crafted—paper bags decorated with pictures of mummies and vampires and witches, weighted down with uncooked beans and rice, a small tea light providing the illumination. Just at the end of the walk, by the sidewalk, a carved jack-o'-lantern with an appropriately fierce grin welcomed visitors.
The candy itself filled another, larger, cauldron, which sat on a TV tray near a couple of chairs, should the adults want to sit and watch the children explore the cemetery. An open cooler was filled with ice and soda. It was more like a social gathering than just a stop on the Halloween tour of the neighborhood. When Hunter did things, he went all out. Fisher loved that about him.
They had discussed doing something special for the kids, putting on some sort of an act, but time had really run out, at least as far as doing something together, so they settled for watching the kids go through the cemetery, and conversing with the adults. Next year would be different, Hunter promised with a knowing smirk.
Fisher was truly impressed with Hunter's performance. This was the first time he had ever witnessed what went on during Halloween, normally finding an excuse to go out, avoiding the house until well after the last trick-or-treaters had made an appearance. Now he was seeing it first hand, and he was amazed.
The kids all knew Hunter, and so did their parents. Most of them appeared to be regulars. Fisher could have sworn that they didn't all live in the neighborhood, did they? He didn't know them, and they didn't know him. But when Hunter introduced him, they all smiled, welcoming him into this holiday madness known as Halloween.
Hunter complimented their costumes, and asked each one if they had a trick before they got their treat. He knelt at the level of the small ones, giving them his solemn attention. They all smiled at him, and performed for him, giggling. Even the older ones would tell riddles, or jokes. Hunter would pretend to be stumped at the former, and laugh at the latter. The parents would stand around and relax, grateful for something to drink, and the chance to stop walking, even if only for a few minutes.
The kids had the most amazing costumes, some of which were familiar to Fisher, others he had no clue about. But Hunter recognized them all, and he pointed them out to Fisher as each owner proudly displayed his or her work, whether homemade or store bought. Peals of laughter resounded, as well as the titters and eeks that the cemetery drew. When Hunter urged them to put their hand into the cauldron, some did, hesitantly, quickly withdrawing them with a squeal, when he told them they had just touched someone's entrails. Of course, it was just gummi worms, but they felt creepy enough to pass as people innards. He always showed the kids what they really were, and then everyone laughed about it.
Fisher hadn't realized just how much he had come out of his shell until, in a respite between callers, Hunter kissed him softly, and said he was proud of him.
"For what?"
"For this," he replied, "for being here with me and doing this with me. Thank you for that, Fisher."
Fisher trembled at that gentle touch. "This is fun," he admitted, "I'm sorry I've been such a jerk before. Thanks for letting me do this with you. I'll always be with you, I hope you know that."
"I do," Hunter solemnly replied, kissing him again.
The evening was winding down. There were fewer and fewer children. The young ones were long in bed, and the older ones were preparing for other activities.
Fisher had no doubt in his mind that Holly would show up as promised, and she did, somewhere around nine o'clock as the Halloween traffic was thinning out. She was dressed as a gypsy, colorful scarf tied about her henna tinted hair, and her variegated skirts swirled about her long legs as she strode up the walk, past the group of pre-teens that were just leaving. She had added an eye patch for effect, and she cackled at the children, who shrieked in fake terror. When she reached the two of them, she pulled up the patch. Fisher knew why, without having to be told. Hunter had claimed his hand, and was holding it. And Fisher hadn't even fussed about it, even knowing that people would see them. She was staring directly at their joined hands. And smirking.
; "Well, well, well, what's all this then?" the forthright Holly arched both brows at the two, before breaking into a huge grin, when Fisher began to squirm a bit.
"Do you have to be so loud?" he complained, hoping to get her to tone it down, even a little bit. She only laughed the louder, and Hunter wasn't helping any. In fact, he made it worse, by bringing Fisher's hand to his lips and kissing it. Fisher blushed, but he didn't object.
"Yeah, I do!" she chortled, waggling her finger at him. "Toldja, toldja, toldja, toldja…"
"What are you, twelve all of a sudden?" But Fisher found himself grinning back, because he was so incredibly happy. It felt like he had suddenly awakened into a fairy tale, albeit a Halloween fairy tale. But that wasn't so bad, was it?
"It's about time, Fisher Roberts. And you, Mister Long, I expect there'll be no more of this drawing the ladies like flies for you, eh? You all done flitting about from flower to flower?"
Hunter threw back his sleek head and laughed, while Fisher blushed even more brightly.
"Holly, seriously? Besides, those are mixed metaphors you're using. I think what you really mean is… "
"Oh, shut up," she interrupted, laughing at Fisher. "I don't care what they are; you both know what I mean." She gave Hunter an arch look. "I'm surprised you two aren't performing this year for the kids. That's your usual style, isn't it?" The year before Hunter had done a few magic tricks, which had wowed the neighborhood kids. And a few of their mothers.
"Next year," Hunter promised, "I already have an idea. I'm thinking about a guillotine…"
Fisher gave him a what-the-hell look. Sometimes he just couldn't tell if Hunter was kidding or not.
"So, I can tell what you are," Holly said to Fisher, "but I'm not sure about you. Who are you supposed to be?"
"A vampire, of course," Hunter smirked. "And Fisher is my willing victim." That produced an innuendo-filled snort from Holly.
"Willing, is he? That I already knew." Holly laughed. "But does he have the marks to prove it?" Fisher wore a cavalryman's scarf about his neck, part of the costume. He made no effort to remove it.
Holly, not being shy, tried to shift it out of the way. He didn't put up much of a fight, mostly because he didn't want to cause a scene, or ruin the Halloween display. She gasped when she saw the two small marks on his neck. He hadn't thought to cover them up with anything. Not like he owned makeup, anyway.
"Wow, those look good." She gave Hunter an admiring glance. "You did a good job on those, they look very real."
"Thank you," Hunter clicked his heels together and bowed with false modesty. Very false modesty.
Fisher tightened the scarf back into place. "Why do something if you're not going to do it well?" he murmured, grateful she had assumed them to be the product of Halloween magic, and not simply the marks left by Hunter's fangs.
"Got fangs? Lemme see," Holly demanded, and Hunter obligingly opened his mouth, producing more oohs and aahs.
"You two are good!" she squealed. "Fisher Roberts…" She turned on him suddenly. He quailed at the unexpected assault.
"What?" he squeaked.
"The next time I invite you to a party, you can't give me your usual excuse, now can you?"
"What usual excuse?"
"You know." She nodded knowingly. "The one where you tell me you don't do holidays. You don't believe in Halloween, or Christmas or any of that stuff."
Fisher's cheeks warmed, as he acknowledged the truth in her words. Hunter put an arm about his shoulders, and squeezed him reassuringly.
"You're right, I can't," he replied, a small smile playing about his lips. "Yes, we'll come to your Christmas party, Holly. I know that's what you're leading up to. Won't we, Hunter?"
"Yes, dear," Hunter smirked.
Fisher had to refrain from kicking him in the shin for acting up, but he managed not to. Some things never changed. And he was glad of it.
"YAY!" Holly squealed excitedly
The three of them had been so caught up in their conversation that they had been oblivious to the car that had pulled up to the curb, and the woman who swept up the walk toward them. Fisher noticed her first, as she walked up behind Holly.
"Mom!' he stammered.
Holly instantly moved aside, toward the cemetery, out of harm's way. "Ooh, let me see what you did here," she said, weaving between the rows of headstones. She reached down toward the cat that reposed on one "grave", and screamed a moment later when the cat opened its eyes and batted at her hand. It was Lady Madeline Usher, who'd come out to inspect what they had done, and had decided to take a nap there. Hunter had put a pretty Halloween collar on her, and a small black cape, which she had grudgingly permitted. Normally, Fisher would have laughed. He was too busy at the moment to even notice.
"Happy Halloween, Mrs Roberts," Hunter greeted her politely. Fisher noticed that the arm that lay around his shoulders tightened protectively. He made no move to squirm out from under Hunter's arm, although his stomach was already turning over at the thought of the showdown that might be coming. It'd be something on a par with the OK Corral, but less deadly, hopefully.
"Hello, Hunter," she acknowledged him, turning to her son. "Since when do you do Halloween, Fisher?"
"This is my first year, Mom. But it's going to be a regular tradition." He felt Hunter take his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. Fisher felt secure at his touch. "What are you doing out on Halloween? I thought you liked to skulk at home, with the lights off?" He meant the words lightly, but he couldn't be sure how well he'd managed to convey that in his tone, which was maybe a shade too sarcastic for comfort.
"I was worried about you. Imagine my surprise when I called your office this morning and they said you didn't work there anymore." She gave him a stern look, and he tried not to wriggle uncomfortably. "I've been calling your cell phone as well as the house off and on all afternoon. I left messages, didn't you get them?"
Actually, they'd been so busy they hadn't bothered to check the answering machine, and he'd turned off his phone before going to sleep last night. Holly knew Fisher was gone, and it hadn't occurred to him that he needed to check in with his mother. He would have gotten to it—eventually. He'd just had a lot to think about in the last twenty-four hours, and pardon him if he wasn't quite himself today. For more reasons than one.
"I'm sorry, Mom, I didn't get them," he admitted, "we were out running around all afternoon…"
"You and him?" she interrupted.
"Him has a name, Mom. It's Hunter, remember?" He sighed. He felt an ugly scene coming on. Turning to his lover, he asked, "Think we should call it a night? I don't think anyone else is coming, do you?"
"Sure, we can do that. It is getting late."
"I'll stay out here and wait for stragglers," Holly piped up. Having finished exploring the cemetery, she stood on the periphery of their conversation, trying to stay part of the background, and not intrude on them.
"Thanks, Holly," Fisher said. He glanced at his mother. "Want to come in for a minute?"
She nodded, a bit tersely, and they all headed toward the house, leaving Holly behind. She took a seat in one of the lawn chairs, and reached into the candy cauldron with a grin.
Once inside the house, Fisher was grateful that he'd had the presence of mind to pick up all the discarded clothing from the night before, and straighten up any mess they had made. Everything was in its normal spotless condition. He motioned her to a chair, even as he asked, "Would you like a drink?"
"No, thank you," she declined.
He got two cans of root beer from the kitchen for himself and Hunter. On his return, he found Hunter in his usual spot on the couch, taking his own beside him.
"Are you planning to tell me about it?" she asked.
"About what?" he blushed. There was so much he could tell, but only so much he was willing to divulge. It depended on what she was asking and what she wanted to know.
"Well, first, I guess, why you don't work at the magazine anymore?"
"I was downsiz
ed, Mom. The economy, you know? It's my turn to feel its effects."
"Downsized? You mean they just let you go, just like that?" She sounded offended on her son's behalf.
"Well, Mr Sheldrake offered me a chance to relocate. To San Diego. Or other places. But I turned him down." Fisher took a sip of the cold soda. He felt Hunter's hand brush across his leg, and he was comforted by his action.
"Why didn't you want to relocate? I hear San Diego is a nice place."
He quailed under her stern gaze, then took a deep breath. "I don't want to relocate anywhere, Mom. I like it here. Besides, the cost of living out there is a lot worse. The housing prices are ridiculous."
"Is that the only reason that you don't want to leave?" she asked.
"No, it's not. There are other reasons. I think you've figured them out, though, haven't you?" He raised his head, held it up boldly, as he returned her gaze, refusing to back down. "I'm staying because I want to be with Hunter. We want to be together."
"We are together," Hunter added.
"We are together," Fisher affirmed. He reached for Hunter, locking their hands together. "I told you I love him, Mom, remember? It turns out he loves me too, so we're going to stay here, and see what happens."
His mother said nothing, her stony gaze flickering between the two young men.
"Mom, you could say something. Congratulations would be nice. I'm happy for you would be even nicer."
"I'm not a liar, and you know that, Fisher."
"Yes, you are!" he snapped, surprising even himself with the vehemence with which he delivered the words. "You let me think Dad didn't care about me, that he left because he didn't care. You made me feel unwanted, like I'd done something wrong."
"You're wrong, Fisher," she protested, "I always wanted you, don't you know that?"
Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire Page 10