by T. Strange
“Go… I’m fine,” Harlan protested, not at all convincingly. He didn’t honestly want to be alone behind the barriers with the ghost, but he also knew she would either attack Hamilton or not appear.
“Uh-huh.” Crossing his arms, Hamilton raised an eyebrow.
“No men.”
“You’re a man.”
“But I’m—” Harlan pushed at Hamilton, weakly. “Go. She hurt me because she’s scared, and she’s scared because of you. Because you’re a man.”
Another thought Harlan couldn’t read flashed across Hamilton’s face, but he nodded and backed away. He didn’t turn, didn’t move farther than ten feet until Harlan started waving at him in frustration. He stopped the instant Harlan nodded, and stood guard, arms crossed.
Harlan closed his eyes, wincing. Even his eyelid hurt when it slid over his damaged eye. It had never occurred to him that his eyelid could hurt, and it was an unwelcome discovery.
He couldn’t tell where his fear stopped and the ghost’s began. He was afraid of her attacking him again, and she was afraid of him, but she also knew he was the only one who could communicate with her.
He held out his hands, parallel to the ground at the level of his hips, trying to make himself as nonthreatening as possible. “They’re gone. I won’t hurt you.”
She lashed out, her agony and fear coalescing into a bright, hot point of pain that seared Harlan’s forearm. He’d barely covered his face in time.
“Get out!” she screamed in his face, her breath cold as deepest winter. “Get out, get out, get out!”
“I can’t do that. I’m sorry. You’re hurting people, scaring people—and it’s not good for you to be here, either.” He could feel tears streaming down his face, unsure if they were hers or his own—not that it mattered either way. “You don’t need to hurt anymore. You can go someplace…safe.”
She wavered, her indecision making her outline shimmer and disappear before flashing nearly solid again, over and over. “You can do that?” she asked finally, going still. Her spectral arms were wrapped around her too-thin torso, and she shivered in a wind she could no longer feel.
Harlan shook his head. Enough had been done to her in her life. He could feel it as clearly as he felt his heartbeat. He didn’t want to be yet another in a lifetime of men who had taken her agency and turned it against her. “We can do that. You can do that. I’m just here to show you, but you’re the one who can help yourself.” He couldn’t believe how easily the words were flowing out of him, how confident and competent he sounded.
She nodded, sniffling audibly, even though she no longer had mucus. “Okay. What do I gotta do?”
“First, you have to let go—”
“No!”
Flickering madly again, she slammed him against a filthy Dumpster hard enough to knock the wind out of him, and he could feel something wet soaking through his jeans. He hoped he hadn’t pissed himself. He didn’t think so, but the thought of garbage juice in his underwear wasn’t much better.
“No, no, no, never!”
Coughing, Harlan shook his head. “Don’t forgive. Don’t forget.” His words were tight with pain and the heaviness that surrounded her, making it hard to catch his breath. “It happened. It happened, and it shouldn’t have, but now it’s over. It’s over, and you’re more than what was done to you. You can go.”
“Go?” She stroked his shoulder, almost apologetically. Frost spread across Harlan’s jacket.
He nodded, trying not to show how badly he hurt. It wouldn’t help either of them right now if he made her feel guilty on top of everything else.
“There’s so much…” She shook her head wildly, her bleached hair slapping her cheeks. “I want to kill him. I want to do to him what he did to me. I want—”
Hating himself for it, Harlan cut her off before he lost her completely. “I know. I can’t say I know what you’re feeling, because I haven’t… But I think I would want to, too. And I’m not saying he doesn’t deserve it. But…” Something clicked in his mind. “But you don’t deserve it. Hurting him would feel good, but it would hurt you too, because you’re a good person.”
She shrugged one pale, bony shoulder. “You don’t know me. I’m not.”
“It’s true. You don’t have to become like him. You can go,” he repeated.
“Will I go to Hell?” She was sniffling harder now. “’Cause, I haven’t exactly…”
Harlan shook his head. He was almost sure the tears were his own, now. “You won’t go to Hell.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“I don’t know where you’ll go, that’s the truth, but I promise it won’t be Hell.”
“It’ll be good? Better?”
Harlan didn’t want to lie to her, but he also wanted to comfort her. “I think so. It’ll be…different.”
She nodded, wiping her face on her skimpy shirt. “Okay. What do I do?”
Harlan closed his eyes again. He could feel her wavering, just on the edge, felt the moment she released what was holding her there.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “It’s…it’s beautiful.”
Harlan didn’t turn around, just smiled at her and extended a hand to show her the way. “It’s all for you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Harlan was so shaken when he got home that he took the stairs rather than the elevator. After being attacked by his dead neighbour, he’d briefly avoided the elevator again, but that had only lasted a few days and one shopping trip worth of carrying groceries up the stairs. Today, though, he’d rather walk than take any chances.
Even behind his locked door and warded walls, protected from both humans and spirits, he still didn’t feel safe. He turned on every light in the apartment, even though it was well before sunset. His neighbours were all at work, and the building was eerily silent. He stripped out of his dirty clothes. Hamilton had made him sit on a plastic bag before he’d drive Harlan home. The dampness on his pants and underwear was drying, and he didn’t want to know what it was. He tossed both in the garbage.
He turned on the TV for a bit of sound and distraction, curled up on the couch and stared at the screen without noticing what he was watching. He had to keep muting it, convinced he’d heard something in the apartment.
He played a game on his phone. Maybe, now that he had a job with the police, he’d be able to buy a new phone that could actually run Pokémon Go without crashing—but got frustrated when he kept losing, making a wrong move because he thought he saw movement out of the corner of his eye.
He tried doing his Booster Buddy for the day, but the app’s guided relaxation exercise didn’t do anything for his nervous energy, and he eventually gave up on it.
Out of ideas, he scrolled through his very short list of contacts—two. He could call Hamilton, but the man had seemed pretty freaked out watching Harlan work, and Harlan suspected he wouldn’t be much comfort, anyway. He’d been silent during the drive from the crime scene to Harlan’s apartment. Finally, just as Harlan had opened the car door, Hamilton had told him not to come in the next day, to just keep in touch if he needed more time.
Tom had told him to call if he needed anything, and he definitely needed something right now. He just didn’t think Tom could give it to him.
That left Charles. Charles might actually come over, comfort him, hold him in his strong, warm, safe arms, and the rush of excitement he felt at that thought almost made him put the phone down again.
Ghosts couldn’t appear around Charles.
He’d sworn to himself that he’d never bother Charles again, though he’d taken the number out of his wallet enough times that the paper was starting to turn translucent and tear along the folds, the numbers smudging a little, but he didn’t want to save it in his phone. That would have been too much of a temptation.
His longing and his desire made him stubborn, and he dialled the Centre’s number instead. He let it ring twice, then hung up and punched in Charles’ number, barely letting it ring befor
e ending the call. He considered turning his phone off, crawling into bed and hiding under the covers, hoping he’d eventually just fall asleep once the adrenaline was out of his system.
His phone rang. Startled, Harlan almost dropped it—almost threw it across the room when he saw it was Charles calling—but he forced himself to answer.
“Hello?
“Charles?”
“Speaking.” His tone suggested that he didn’t recognize Harlan’s voice.
“It’s, ah, it’s Harlan…”
“Harlan! Great to hear from you.”
Was he imagining the genuine enthusiasm in Charles’ voice? Fuck, he hoped not—though the man was a business owner. Maybe he was feigning friendliness, hoping Harlan would return as a paying customer.
Oh. That was a sobering thought. He wished he hadn’t given in and dialled Charles’ number, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to hang up, either.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
Fuck, he’d waited way too long to reply. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m just…”
“Everything okay?”
Harlan opened his mouth to utter the socially acceptable Yes, but he swallowed the word down and, “No,” came out instead.
A pause, then, “I have to open the club in a few hours, but…you sound like you really need someone.”
Harlan inhaled deeply. His first instinct was to try to laugh it off and insist he was fine, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “I do. Please. …Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Are you up for meeting me here?”
“I don’t think I can.” Leaving his ghost-warded apartment was unthinkable.
“I’ll be right over. You’ll be safe until I get there?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m leaving right away. I’ll see you soon.”
He flipped on the television, not watching it, just letting it pass the time. A few minutes later, even though he’d been expecting it—anticipating it, even—the sound of the buzzer still startled him. He pressed the call button.
“It’s Charles.”
Harlan pressed the button to unlock the front door and a minute later there was a knock on his suite’s door. He peered through the peephole, half expecting something to jump out at him or a phantom hand to grab him and pull him through the tiny opening into a hellish netherworld.
All he saw was Charles.
He unlocked the door, stepped aside and practically slammed it behind Charles as soon as he was through.
“Sorry I took so long. I wanted to get you a sandwich, but I wasn’t sure what kind you like, so I got one of everything.” Grinning self-effacingly, he held up a bulging plastic bag. “I know food always helps me when I’m…well… And I noticed you don’t have a lot of food here.”
Harlan wondered, but didn’t ask, what Charles hadn’t finished saying—having a meltdown? A psychotic break?
“Thank you.”
Charles sat on the sectional and started pulling plastic-wrapped sandwiches out of the bag and setting them on the coffee table.
Selecting a sandwich more or less at random, Harlan barely glanced at the contents before unwrapping it and taking a bite.
“Thank you.”
Charles nodded, his smile crinkling his eyes. He chose his own sandwich. “You’re welcome.”
Harlan’s phone rang, startling him again. He glanced at the call display, wide-eyed. Tom Addison. “Sorry… I have to take this.”
Mouth already full of meat and bread, Charles nodded.
Harlan retreated to the bedroom and shut the door behind him. “Hello?”
“Harlan? It’s Tom from the Centre. Did you try calling a minute ago?”
“Yeah. Yes, I did. Sorry.”
“Please, no need to apologize! Is everything all right? Do you need something?”
Harlan licked his lips, staring at the door between him and Charles as though he could see through it. “I actually think I’ve got it under control. Sorry. Thanks. Sorry for worrying you.”
“No problem. I’m always here.”
Silence for a beat.
“Well, if you’re sure…?”
“I’m fine. Thanks for calling back. Bye.” Harlan hung up, pressing the phone against his chest. He was pretty sure he actually meant it. He was okay—or he would be, at least. He’d called for help and gotten it.
“Sorry about that.” Harlan picked up his sandwich again then took another bite.
“No problem. Everything all right?”
Harlan grinned to himself at Charles’ unwitting repetition of Tom. “Yeah. Thanks for coming over.”
Charles grinned back, as though he were in on the joke. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you’re okay.”
They ate quietly, then both tried speaking at the same time.
“I—” Harlan began, just as Charles said, “Do you—?”
“Sorry,” they said, at the same time again.
“You go first,” Charles prompted.
Harlan shook his head. “It’s not important.”
“I was just going to ask… Do you want to talk about whatever happened? It’s okay if you don’t. I’d understand, but…I’ll listen, if you want.”
Harlan shrugged. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted… He wasn’t sure. Nothing he could ask Charles for.
“Bad case?”
Harlan looked up, startled. “How did…?”
Now it was Charles’ turn to shrug. “Lucky guess.” He laughed. “I like to think I’m pretty good at reading people.”
Harlan didn’t think he was talking about cards. He swallowed, hard, wadding up his sandwich wrapper and praying Charles wouldn’t notice his sudden flush.
“If you think talking about it, letting it out, will help, I’m here. If not, we’ll just eat, go for a drive, whatever you need.”
He reached out, slowly and deliberately, and took Harlan’s wrapper. His thumb brushed the back of Harlan’s hand and Harlan shivered, arching his wrist to prolong the contact.
And…
“He hurt her. So badly.”
“What was that?” Charles set the crumpled plastic on the coffee table, turning so his whole body was facing Harlan, visibly giving Harlan his whole attention.
“He—fuck, what he did to her…” He’d stayed so calm and cool while speaking to the ghost, but now he was crying and he couldn’t stop, and he had no business trying to help someone deal with that—none, and—
“Hey.” Charles draped his arm over the back of the couch, giving Harlan the space to ignore the gesture or move away.
He shifted closer to Charles, tucking himself tightly against the man’s side. Slowly, Charles wrapped his arm around him.
“Hey,” Charles repeated, even more softly. “It’s okay— It’s understandable to be upset by what you see, what you do every day.” He laughed, a soft puff of breath. “I’d be more worried about you if you weren’t upset.”
Harlan aggressively wiped away a tear with the back of his hand, furious with himself. “Sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“You probably think I’m a freak. A complete basket case.”
“I think you’re…”
Harlan winced and felt a rough, warm hand cup his cheek.
“Complicated.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s the polite way of saying ‘a complete basket case’. It’s okay,” he added. “I’d probably think so, too.”
Charles leaned closer, close enough that Harlan could feel his breath on his cheek. He shivered, forearms prickling as goosebumps rose.
“I kinda like complicated.” He gently turned Harlan’s head, eyes clearly asking a question.
Harlan didn’t know what it was, but he wanted the answer to be yes. He nodded, closed his eyes to escape the burning intensity of Charles’ gaze.
He felt lips brush his own, just for a heart-stopping instant.
The kiss ended and Charles pulled away. Harlan’s eyes snapped open. Charles had retreated, blushing.
<
br /> “Sorry,” he murmured, looking away.
Harlan swallowed hard, struggling to catch his breath. “I-I don’t mind.”
“I know you’re upset right now. Fuck, I shouldn’t’ve done that. I don’t want to take advantage of you when you’re feeling vulnerable. I just—” Charles laughed. “I have shitty timing. Have you… You have kissed before?”
“Yes!”
Harlan had only kissed another person three times—the same person. Billy—or Billie, Harlan had never been sure—had been another student at the Centre. They weren’t really interested in Harlan, and Harlan hadn’t really been interested in them, but they’d had a crush on the same person. Kissing each other provided practice and a chance to compete, to see who could woo the object of their mutual desire. They’d been a little older than Harlan, and they’d left the Centre two years before. They hadn’t kept in touch.
Harlan hadn’t kissed Billy for several years before they’d left.
After letting out a small, frustrated sound, Harlan’s whole body tensed and strained as though trying to tear itself in two, then he crawled over Charles, straddling his lap, his arms wrapped around Charles’ neck, their faces close together.
Charles laughed again, going still as though Harlan might bolt if he moved suddenly, and Harlan couldn’t say he wouldn’t.
After a few deep, lingering kisses, Charles’ lips weren’t enough to satisfy him. He let his mouth roam Charles’ jaw, stubble tickling against his teeth and lips. Down, farther, to Charles’ neck, feeling his breath hitch. He fisted his hands in Charles’ thick hair, and he realized he was grinding his erection against Charles’ pleasantly rounded stomach.
He pulled away, mortified. “I—I’m—”
“It’s all right,” Charles said, his voice soft, almost breathy. “I don’t mind.”
Harlan leaned forward again, but Charles stopped him by gently placing a hand on his chest.
“Mm-mm. Not tonight. I want to,” Charles added. “Oh, I want to, but I have to open the club soon. Tonight, is it all right if I just hold you and we’ll come back to this? Promise.”
Harlan nodded. He would’ve agreed to anything if it meant Charles would stay just a little longer.