An Ocean of Light

by Kit Fortier

  “Am I that easy to read?” The younger Foster rested his head against his husband’s shoulder as he spoke to the phone on the rail.

  “You told me before Halloween that you didn’t want to spend one more holiday without your whole family nearby,” Martin said. To Fox, his father might have been reading him a bedtime story—such was the quality of his voice. But it was true. Fox wanted his family to be complete, but for the past two years, Martin Foster remained elusive and resistant to change.

  “I tell you what, son,” he said. Fox perked up. “If you and Jake will have me, I’d like to visit you boys for a while.”

  “Sure, Dad!” The younger Foster was giddy with as much excitement as could be allowed a full-grown adult. Jake laughed and pulled his man back down onto the bench.

  “Martin,” Jake said, “Fox will take no less than Thanksgiving through Valentine’s Day. Are you ready for that much California?”

  Fox gaped at Jake, having been spoken for by his husband. “You can stay however long or short you like, Dad! I just want you to like it here.”

  “Sorta beats the point of asking him to come live with us, don’t you think?” Jake asked. The man was barely able to contain his amusement.

  “You know what I mean!” Fox cried. “I want him to love it here, but if he hates it, I don’t want him to feel like—”

  “Boys? I’m right here, in a manner of speaking,” Martin chimed in.

  The sound of a vibrating phone had Jake standing up to answer it. “I’ll take this downstairs, baby. Nice talking with you, Martin! See you soon, okay?”

  “You got it, Jake. Take care of my boy.”

  “Always,” Jake replied. He gave Fox a brief kiss and trotted down the stairs and out of sight.

  When Jake had cleared, Fox turned back to the phone. “I miss you, Dad.”

  “I know son,” the elder Foster replied. “But you know I’m happy knowing you’ve got someone taking care of you.”

  “We take care of each other,” Fox shot back, his voice a little pitchy as he went on the defensive. He wasn’t the helpless kid who questioned his worth at every turn.

  “You know what I meant, Fox.”

  Fox stared at the phone, unable to speak.

  “So, when would you like me out there for Thanksgiving? I’m pretty sure I’m buying plane tickets at the wrong time—”

  The younger Foster came to his senses and interrupted. “Don’t worry about any of that, Dad. Jake and I will take care of it,” Fox said. “You got a calendar? Any plans between now and then?”

  “I don’t have anything pressing,” Martin replied.

  “Okay,” Fox began. “Let me sit down with Jake and we’ll get everything started. I’ll call you later with the dates and times.”

  “Sounds good.” Martin said. There was a bit of dead air on the phone before Martin spoke up. “You two have been together for almost four years now, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “He make you happy, Fox?”

  Fox felt a warmth in his chest as his mouth pulled up into a smile. “I’m very happy, Dad.”

  “Good,” Martin said. “Good. Alright! I’ll see what I need to wrap up at this end, then I’ll wait for your call!”

  “We’re still gonna try to get you to move in with us,” Fox said with a grin.

  “And I’m gonna let you try and talk me into it,” Martin said, laughing.

  “Great. Love you, Dad.”

  “I love you too, son.”

  Fox waited for his father to disconnect before he pocketed his phone. The afternoon hours had yet to begin, and it was still cold, if not wet. Fox thought of the burning furnace that was his husband, smiling to himself. He stood up and headed downstairs into his kitchen. Jake stood at the counter ledge, his back to the landing door. Fox couldn’t tell, but he thought his man was shaking.

  “Jake? Is something wrong? You alright?”

  Jake turned, his eyes red and cheeks damp.

  “Can you, uh… Can you call Ben up?”

  “Sure, but what’s wrong?” Fox came to Jake’s side and held his big bear of a man close.

  He took a while to come around to say. But for his man’s sake, he truly wished he hadn’t.

  “Taylor called. Sarah died.”

  15. Copyright

  An Ocean of Light: A Beyond the Pale Novel copyright © 2019 by Kindle Direct Publishing. First edition October 2019. Book Cover Art by St. Jinx (@st.jinx.art). All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format, print or electronic, without permission in writing from the copyright holders. For further information, please email kitfortier@gmail.com.

  16. About the Author

  Kit has written practically all his life. Traveling across the northern hemisphere will do that to anyone! When he's not writing, Kit can be found acting on stage, directing in front of the stage, rehearsing off-stage, or coaching acting both on and off stage. He's a veteran, a part-time educator, and a doting cat-dad, living in Southern California.

  Read ahead for a sneak peek into the third Beyond the Pale Novel, A Darkness Pierced Heart, to be released early 2020!

  Sneak Peek

  *** Taylor

  Hey, Mr. S.

  Hey big guy.

  Dad told me. We’re coming up tomorrow.

  What about your classes?

  I asked them to defer me to the spring. I’m halfway through. I told them my mom died.

  Ben…

  No, Mr. S. You come first right now. Don’t tell me not to come.

  You know I couldn’t stop you, even if I wanted to, kiddo.

  I’m so sorry. Fox is going to drive. It’ll be the four of us.

  Four?

  Dad, Fox, Eric, me.

  I almost forgot about your man. You don’t have to come, Ben. I know Sarah wouldn’t want you to fuss over her.

  Mr. S, you and she -are- my parents. I can’t believe she’s gone.

  Neither can I, buddy. Neither can I.

  Do you need anything? Should I tell Fox to stop anywhere?

  I don’t think so. Sorry to bother you guys.

  You’re family. Our family. Don’t have to apologize.

  You’re right. I love you, buddy. See you soon.

  I love you too, Mr. S.

  Taylor Samuels stared at his phone. Night had fallen. He stood in front of the house he shared with his spitfire wife. Seventeen years of memories, of her hand in his care after his injuries, of her presence in every veterans’ affairs visit, of raising a young man together, trips, music—the years stood in the shape of the two story track house painted light blue with white trim. He powered off the device, stuffing it into his pocket and wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

  It was only hours ago—hours when Sarah was alive, and then she was not. Hours before she complained about a headache, went to lie down for a nap, and died in her sleep in their bed, a serene look on her face.

  Sarah was the picture of going quietly in one’s sleep. The coroner said it was likely it was a massive stroke. A heart attack would have woken her up with the pain—but a stroke…

  Those could happen for many reasons, to the healthy and the sick alike.

  It didn’t change the crushing feeling of unfairness that threatened to pulverize Taylor where he stood.

  Dark crept in early into the winter sky. The house was dark, illuminated faintly on the outside by a street lamp across the street near the park and playground. Taylor couldn’t bring himself to go in, standing in the cold, in the middle of the street, in a tee shirt and jeans. His feet—well, it’s just as well that he had prosthetics. No frostbitten toes to worry about.

  “You’ll catch your death,” a stranger said.

  Taylor snorted. “I’ve seen death. Almost got killed by a mine. If death wants me, it can have me.”

  He hadn’t turned to look at his unexpected company. But he did when a jacket slipped over his shoulders. A dark blue jacket with an EMT logo on the shoulders, on one side of the chest. On the
other side, the words, “Cable Archer” were embroidered in red.

  “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but I think Mrs. Samuels would disagree.”

  Taylor sighed. “You were here earlier.”

  “I was.”

  “With the coroner.”

  “Yes.”

  “And now you’re back.”

  “Couldn’t help it. You looked…”

  Taylor turned around. His company was taller than he was—but then again, most people were taller than he was. The man had a close-cropped haircut formed from dark brown hair. In the light, Taylor couldn’t tell what color the man’s eyes were, but he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple days.

  “Looked… Like what?”

  “Like you shouldn’t be alone.”

  Taylor snorted. “Cable, is it?”

  The man opened his mouth to speak, then closed it when he looked at the jacket he put on Taylor’s shoulders. “That’s me.”

  “I don’t want to be rude—”

  “Then don’t be.”

  Taylor was slightly stunned by the bluntness of Cable’s statement. He stared at his guest, then turned back to his house. “I’m going to go in. Do you want your coat back?”

  A large, warm hand came to rest on Taylor’s shoulder. Cable’s touch seeped through the jacket. “No. Keep it. If you need to talk, there’s a card in the left pocket.”

  The warmth of Cable’s hand faded. Taylor turned and saw the man cross into the park and disappeared in the darkness. His eyebrows wrinkled together as he walked back into the house.

  Taylor went from room to room, turning on all the lights. He opened the doors to Ben’s room, turning down the queen sized bed, then to the guest room, where he laid out fresh blankets and pillows on the spare bed.

  He turned on the lights in those rooms. He even flipped the lights on in all the bathrooms.

  But he left the master bedroom dark, and the door closed.

  Eventually, he’d have to go in there. But for now, he grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the linen closet and readied the couch in the living room.

  His stomach growled. He ignored it. His mouth was dry. He ignored that, too.

  Taylor pulled the coat off his shoulders. The EMT must have had a citrus-based cologne or body spray or soap, because he caught the scent of it on the inside of the jacket. It wasn’t unpleasant. It reminded him of the orange groves around his family home.

  Whatever. The next day would be there soon enough, and he could try to figure things out then. But for now, for the first time in a long time, Taylor would sleep alone.

  *** Cable

  The newly bereaved widower struck him right away as someone who couldn’t be without someone. It was intuition, and for Cable, it was literally something he could see. Taylor Samuels’ aura was drawn about him like a flickering mirage of blues and violets and indigos and shadows in between. However, when he crossed into the threshold of a barrier left by an alchemist, Cable lost sight of the man’s shroud.

  It wouldn’t be much for Cable to walk up to the front door and knock, as his Aethereal bonds were benign in their origins. Alchemic barriers held back dark magicks and their masters—but magicks of light played out differently. The only barriers to the magic of light were gruesome and unmistakably evil, hardly subtle. They usually involved fresh blood. Lots more than Cable ever needed to use at one time. Such barriers would certainly not be placed out in the open. Bartering with gods of healing and wisdom from beyond the Pale instead of the ones offering power with the added price of madness was where Cable would stay.

  It wouldn’t matter as much in the case of Taylor’s wife, however. She was long gone by the time his ambulance arrived. His new partner, Ian, remained with the vehicle, prepping the gurney, while Cable went in with the coroner to determine time of death. The coroner volunteered to help Cable move the body out, and he and his partner took care of the rest, in plain view of the neighbors, quiet and sad at the sight.

  Death was beyond his skill to heal, no matter how much he’d pleaded with the Scions of Antiquity. As with the Alchemists, life only flowed in one direction as far as the Gods were concerned when it came to the mortal world. Lessons of immortality in the past taught them much—namely, to never repeat the mistake of granting longer life or resurrection.

  Still. Cable doubled back after he saw Taylor enter his house. Through the shimmering veil of the well-formed barrier, he could see Taylor take off the EMT coat Cable put on his shoulders, saw him pull off his shirt and lay down on the couch, his still-shoed feet propped up on the couch.

  It struck Cable as unusual that someone would sleep with shoes on, but he filed that thought away for later.

  Cable approached from the house’s blind-side—the side where few windows pointed out. He stepped up to the barrier’s edge and focused on the line in the ground. Whoever made it made the line about two feet thick—with both silver and salt. Handy combination that covered all manner of otherworldly evils. But what the Alchemist creating it didn’t know is that such barriers were also beacons drawing the monsters in.

  Cable pulled out a pocket knife and cut a fingertip to the quick. Blood dripped out onto the center of the segment of line he stood at—but before it touched the concrete, it simply hovered about a foot off the ground. He smeared the residual blood between his fingers while focusing on the droplet hovering in midair. The droplet faded into spiderweb-thin filaments—weaving and wending its way in two directions, creating a chain of words in a language from outside human memory, following the giant circle that was the Alchemist’s barrier. Cable snapped, and the filaments sank to the ground and into the earth, becoming a permanent part of the silver and salt line. With another snap, the wound on his finger healed up completely.

  The barrier shifted significantly. It seemed more transparent—less translucent. It was definitely harder to spot from afar, and almost impossible to see up close until it was too late. Now, Taylor’s house could withstand magical onslaughts and physical ones brought by altered beasts, with the added protection of the Gods. It was the best Cable could do without an even deeper (and more conspicuous) ritual.

  Cable crossed the street again. As he looked back, he saw that Taylor hadn’t shifted. Sleep must have finally claimed him. At least, that’s what Cable hoped. He strode across the park in the dark to where his car was parked, climbing in and locking the door as he sat, staring out into nothing.

  The memory of Taylor wandered into his mind unbidden. The forlorn way he looked at the couch, his compact, scrappy musculature beneath the tee shirt. Cable usually gravitated towards guys his own height, his own frame. But despite his short size, Taylor looked like he could pack a punch and go a few rounds with a handful of people half his age and still come out kicking.

  He’d hoped the man would call. But Cable wouldn’t hold his breath. He was just a stranger. One who happened to handle the remains of his dead wife.

  *** Taylor

  Someone was sitting on the doorbell while someone else was knocking incessantly on the window. Taylor sat up, shaking the cobwebs out as he looked over. Ben was looking at him through the window, which likely meant Leigh was at the door. He crossed to the front entrance and opened the door to be tackled somewhat by a tall young man with sky blue eyes and jet black hair, followed by a slightly shorter man with pale blue-slash-silver eyes and black-but-graying hair.

  His adopted son, Ben. His closest friend and Ben’s father, Leigh. The redhead that followed was Leigh’s husband, Fox Foster-Hughes, and the straw-blond young man was Eric, Ben’s boyfriend. Fiancé. Taylor shook his head.

  The German grandfather clock next to the front door read fifteen minutes to ten. They must have driven through the night. Instead of Fox’s red truck, he saw a dark blue SUV parked in front of the house.

  “You guys.”

  “Hey, Mr. S.”

  “Tay.”

  “Fox—nice to see you again,” Taylor put out his hand, but Fox moved into it, hugging
Taylor instead. “Oof.” Taylor smiled. “And I’m guessing you’re Eric,” he said, offering a hand to the young guy his height and… similar frame? The straw-colored hair was similar to his own. He quirked an eye at Ben, and that didn’t go unnoticed by either Foster-Hughes man.

  “You sure your school is fine with this?”

  “They have a solid bereavement plan of action at the school. I’m in the clear since my grades have been consistently solid these past two years. It’s an extra quarter, but it’s worth it.”

  “We meant to come down sooner—but things got away from us here. Had trouble selling the house since our first real estate agent was a newbie and the second one was more interested in Sarah’s—” Taylor blinked. Leigh frowned, and Ben put an arm over his surrogate father’s shoulders.

  “Anyway, I think I could get away with selling now.”

  “Are you sure? You can always stay with us. We’ve got a couple spare rooms. It’s a big house,” Leigh offered.

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like that,” Taylor all but whispered. “Nothing left for me here.”

  “I’ll set up with some movers,” Fox said.

  “Ben, I turned down your bed. You two should be fine up there, right?”

  Ben nodded.

  “Leigh—You and Fox can take the spare room downstairs, like the last time.” Taylor followed Leigh’s line of sight to the pillow and blanket on the three-seater sofa. He turned back to see Leigh looking at him.

  Taylor found himself being pulled into a hug by his dearest friend.

  “We’re here for you, Tay. You don’t even have to ask.”

  Taylor nodded. He rested his face into Leigh’s shoulder, closing his eyes for a minute.

  The minute extended into another, with Taylor holding Leigh close, gripping his back, shuddering, hiding his eyes from those who already knew what was happening.