Dreaming of Brandon Archer

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Dreaming of Brandon Archer Copyright © 2005 D. J. Manly ISBN: 1-55410-657-5 Cover art and design by Martine Jardin All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by eXtasy Books, a division of Zumaya Publications, 2005 Look for us online at: www.zumayapublications.com www.extasybooks.com

The author gratefully acknowledges the contribution of excerpts from the following authors at eXtasy books: Brandon Archer: Christmas With Wistan. Gabriella Bradley: Call Of The Wild. Stardust, Starlust Jan Kramer and Cameron Hale: Tomorrow’s Dawn Rian Monaire: Those Hills Cyber Daemon

Chapter One

“H

ell, thanks Max, you just ruined another one,” he announced, hurling his jacket to the floor in frustration. “I didn’t ruin anything! If I didn’t know you any better, Eric, I’d say you had shit for brains.” “Don’t start with me, Max,” he glared at him. “I’m not in the mood.” Max folded his arms across his chest. “You know what your problem is?” “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.” “Every time you get a date, you think with your cock instead of your brain. That guy was an absolute loser, and from the angle I was at, I could tell that his cock was about the size of a…” “Enough!” Eric came toward him, pointing. “At least he had a cock. At this point, any cock will do. Did you ever think that maybe, just maybe…” he narrowed his eyes, “his cock was all I was interested in?” “Not wise. You can get yourself into a lot of trouble that way.” “I don’t want you coming along on anymore

dates.” “That should be easy; you don’t have very many dates for me to come along on. Wasn’t this the first one since…ah…last June?” Eric shot him the nastiest look he could muster. “Looks that kill don’t intimidate me, Eric. I’m already dead, remember?” “It’s a damn good thing you’re dead…” he grunted, “because if you weren’t, I’d kill you myself.” “Sticks and stones; you’ll thank me later.” “Sure, when I’m alone in my bed masturbating,” he muttered, throwing himself on the sofa. “If you’d let me, I could take care of…” “Don’t even go there. Now, for Christ’s sakes, go away and leave me in peace.” Max was sitting in his favourite spot on the ceiling fan, swinging his dumpy legs off the side of one of the blades. Eric could make out the faint outline of his plump little body. His ruddy cheeks were glowing, casting a reflection off the far wall. Clad in green pants and a paisley vest, he resembled a tiny leprechaun. All he needed was the little hat. “Personally,” Max was saying now, fingering his chin, “I think it’s better if I stick around. When you’re in this mood, you, ah…now, Eric,” he said, removing his hand from his chin, and watching as he got up off the sofa, “what do you think you’re doing?”

Eric was now standing in front of the wall switch, his hand inching towards it menacingly. “Don’t turn that on. Don’t you dare!” He gave Max a grin of pure evil, then flipped up the switch. Max let out a shout as he began to turn round and round on one of the blades, then went billowing off into the air, only to go splat against the wall “There you go, you little creep,” Eric told him between clenched teeth. Even though Max was just pretending to be affected by the fan, at least he’d got rid of him for now. Max had attached himself to him around two years ago when he was out on a routine poltergeist assignment. He had been called to this huge house, more like a mansion really, where the new owners had reported some unusual activity. It was nothing major; some furniture scrambled about, sounds in the night. One of those assignments where you did the job, took your money, and thought that it was just too easy. After an initial investigation, he decided that it wasn’t even worth bringing in the entire team. Getting rid of the spirits should have been easy. In fact, it would have been, if it hadn’t been for Max. As it turned out, the three spirits who had attached themselves to the house since its erection in the early eighteenth century were previous owners. It was an extremely charismatic house.

After some fairly light persuasion, they had agreed that it was time to vacate the premises, all except for Max. Max had been the owner of the house in the end of the eighteen hundreds. He let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he had no intention of leaving. No matter what Eric did, Max resisted. It came down to a power of wills. Both of them were determined to win. During the two weeks he wrestled with Max, something quite enigmatic occurred; Max grew attached to him. In fact, when he finally revealed himself, he declared that he was in love with him. “I’ve decided to let you win, Eric,” he said, in a voice laced with an Irish accent. “You’re a beautiful and charming lad, and I’m in love with you.” He had been stunned. Recovering himself, he ignored the loving him part, and concentrated on the fact that Max had agreed to leave. “A good choice, Max,” he told him. Max stood there in plain view, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, then said quite simply, “I’ve decided you need me.” “I don’t understand.” “You need my guidance. You are quite good with ghosts, but probably not so good with the living. I’m leaving the house, and coming with you.” Eric laughed. “I don’t think so. Your spirit is attached to this place, Max. You can’t leave it.”

“Those people who knew me in life, Eric, realised that I did exactly what I wanted. It’s no different in death.” “Scientifically, your spirit is…” “To hell with science. I’m coming with you.” “Max, don’t be ridiculous. Your spirit can’t leave this house.” “Wanna bet?” If he would have bet, he would have lost. “Besides,” Max said, “I told you. I love you, Eric.” Great. The only guy who was in love with him was a tiny little Irishman, and he was dead. And that was that. Eric had walked out of that house, and Max had come with him. Since then, it had been an absolute nightmare. Not only did Max interfere with everything he did, from dating to dressing; he made it next to impossible to appear sane. Being a spirit hunter was weird enough, but having a ghost follow him around everywhere, was even worse. Talk about bringing his work home with him! It was true that his last date was over six months ago. Max had come along on that one, too. The guy practically ran out of the restaurant when Max decided to pick his plate off the table and bang it back down again, not once, but three times. He sighed now, thinking about the guy he had almost brought home tonight. Jake was handsome, a little shy, very interested in spirits. In fact, he

didn’t seem too disturbed when he told him what he did for a living. Everything was going well until Max kept emptying the guy’s glass every time he wasn’t looking. The first time, Jake accepted his explanation that he had drunk it already. The second time, he looked sceptical. The third time, downright hostile. It didn’t help either, that every few seconds Eric was turning around to hiss admonishments at Max, who was sitting on a stool next to him at the bar. After Jake saw him do that a couple of times, he was out of there. Who could blame him? So, basically that was his life; chasing ghosts and trying to keep Max from getting him locked away somewhere. Neither of those things encouraged the gorgeous men to come clawing at his door. Both his career and his constant companion were stressful enough; couple that with an empty bed, and you would have had a recipe for severe depression if not for Ruby Red. Eric had always been an avid reader. When he became an adolescent and the visions became unmanageable, he often was able to keep them at bay by losing himself in a good story. As he grew older, he became fond of romantic fiction with a heavy twist of the erotic. The one highlight of his life was the editing he did for Ruby Red, an epublisher on the Internet. This company published everything from traditional romance to the super steamy hot stuff. This is when he truly relaxed and forgot about everything. Words had always

seduced him. There was one scene out of a book called Stardust, Starlust by Gabriella Bradley, a particularly beautifully written passage that he always read whenever he felt especially stressed out. He had practically memorized it. It began: Glancing down at her skin, she noticed it glowed with a soft brilliance. Carefully, she reached out and felt the bark of a tree. A branch reached out and encircled her waist. Another branch stroked her long dark hair, her face, touched her breasts. She drew in her breath when she felt a probing between her legs. Looking down, she noticed a branch touching her legs, pushing to pry her legs apart. A wanton feeling of abandonment entered her. These trees were alive, they reached out for her, wanted to examine her body…The strangeness of her surroundings and the thought of a tree’s branches wandering over her body excited her. She leaned forward and hugged the trunk pushing her body hard against it. Its bark was very smooth, silky soft, as if the trees were covered with velvety fabric. Spreading her legs, she allowed the probing of her clit. Something entered her vagina. It felt slippery, comforting, as it stroked the inner walls, twirled around, and sent her to the heights of ecstasy. She trembled and felt her flesh pucker as a fire slowly started within her and brought her to heights of sexual pleasure. When she climaxed, the branches released her. She looked down at her inner thighs and watched the pearly juices of her release flow down her silken skin to her knees. She sighed with pleasure and ached for more,

but a branch urged her gently forward into the unknown. A gentle perfumed breeze wafted suddenly past her, surrounded her with a rose like scent. It stroked her body and made leaves above rustle. It was strange that there were no other sounds, no animal noises, just like the sound of the forest and the wind. It almost sounded as if the wind were acting like a lullaby to soothe unseen inhabitants of the forest to sleep. Although he had learned to control the psychic visions he received now, immersing himself in a fantasy world of reading and editing books eased the loneliness. One evening when he went looking for something to read, he found Ruby Red Books. The first book he read there was one called Cyber Daemon by Rian Monaire. It had made such an impression on him; it had hooked him on Ruby Red for life. He found Cyber Daemon erotic and haunting…a romp into the forbidden exotic. The scene he especially recalled, and Eric had the ability to memorise entire passages of text if they affected him in a certain way, was the scene where the main character was being seduced in a way she never realised she could… Completing her visual probe, the woman smiled, a dark, eminently sensual grin, and strolled across the room. Jessica could smell her perfume, a delicate scent that reminded her of a bouquet of violets picked from the darkest patches of

the yard. Not taking her eyes from Jessica’s, she murmured, “I can see it, you do want me.” Jessica started. I want to do what now? “Sorry, I don’t fly that way.” The woman grinned. “Yes, you do.” Eric shook himself back to reality. Damn that Rian Monaire. She had really taken him somewhere with those words. Ruby Red not only offered him great literature in a variety of forms, but they had good quality erotica literature of the male/male variety. Finding this genre of book with a good story to it was no easy task. A lot of the stuff he’d already read was just pornography. Given his sexual orientation, he longed for a story between two men; with lots of sex, of course, but with a heavy twist of romantic fantasy. He wanted to read a love story…something besides ‘bam slam…thank you sir,’ although there was nothing wrong with that sometimes. Except for the work of best selling author Brandon Archer, those kinds of stories were virtually nonexistent. Brandon Archer was in a class all his own. His first book, Swallowed Whole, was excellent. The few that followed were also very good, so erotic, and so romantic. The last one however, Summer Heat, wasn’t his best work. It was well written, but you could tell he didn’t enjoy writing it, not like the first ones…and it was more pornography than

erotica. Brandon Archer was one of his favourite writers. Not only was he talented, he was adorable. He’d seen his picture on the back of his books, and in magazines. He had been quoted as saying that he wrote from experience, and when Eric read his work, he couldn’t help but picture him engaging in sex acts. He’d gone though a hell of a lot of tissues reading Brandon. Although he had been willing to shell out the twenty or thirty dollars for Archer’s books, it was getting expensive; especially the way he devoured novels. Moreover, Brandon Archer hadn’t published anything new in awhile. So, he bought one of those palm readers, and began to take a look at the electronic books. When he ran across Ruby Red Books, he was impressed. The quality was excellent, the writing superb, and they were starting to acquire a good line of male/male erotica with a real romantic flavour. Given his track record with men, and thanks to his tag a long ghost, these books provided some much needed release on a variety of levels. Then, he read on their website that they were looking for an editor. He’d done some editing when he was in college for the school newspaper. He’d always been pretty good at it. He’d been working for them for over a year now. It suited him fine. When he received a new book to edit, he always read the book twice; once as a reader, and then, with his editor’s hat on. Although, he loved

reading most of the books they gave him, Cora, the acquisitions editor always passed him the male/male books when they were available because she knew he liked this; and she knew that he especially loved the work of Gabriella Bradley and Rian Monaire. His mind floated back to Monaire’s Cyber Daemon, and the scene where Jessica is being seduced. Jessica flinched as the woman’s small hand rose suddenly. She could see the amusement in the woman’s eyes as the perceived threat merely traced the wisps of hair escaping Jessica’s restrained strands. The gentle strokes trailed downward, cupping her jaw and gently cradling it. A strange lethargy drifted into her muscles, clinging to the bone, and she didn’t even consider moving away when those full red lips brushed hers. God, if only he could be seduced like that…swept away by some gorgeous hunk. Sitting in front of the computer now, Eric checked his email. This was his favourite time of day, just to have time to check out the new books, remember the ones that he’d personally had a hand in. He knew that Max was sulking somewhere. He’d be around soon, making fun of him for reading what he called ‘dirty stories’, then floating over his shoulder to read them himself. “So what dirty story are you reading now, Eric?” Max suddenly asked from somewhere in the room. He was hiding, and so he should be. “If you must know, I’m just finishing up a book by Jan Kramer and Carmeron Hale called

Tomorrow’s Dawn.” “Um. I like that one. That’s the one about all the primal thrusting cocks.” Eric laughed. “Something like that.” “Her dampened hair whipped around her face,” Max began, reciting a passage word for word. “Hands clasped her wrists and raised her arms over her head, exposing her taut breasts to an army of hungry mouths. The tongues simultaneously penetrating became thrusting cocks, huge and thick. She felt them deep inside her and…” Apparently he wasn’t the only one who memorized passages of books. “Max,” he interrupted. “Enough.” “Damn good shit,” he said. “How could you not feel hot and horny reading that?” “Amazing how you always tease me about these books, but somehow you manage to memorize them.” He shrugged. “So do you,” he accused. “So, what else you working on?” “Finishing up a Christmas book.” “Christmas isn’t for another month.” “I know, but the books go out a few weeks before. Now, be quiet. I need to concentrate. I promised Cora I’d have this off to her tonight.” “Not without the author’s approval.” “Author has already approved it. This is the final. I have to put it back together.” “Why’d you take it apart in the first place?”

He sighed, running a hand through his short sandy blond hair. “Max, I’ve explained this to you a million times and still you don’t get it. I take it apart on the final edit.” “Okay. You have email.” “I know. I’ll get to it later.” “It could be important.” He pursed his lips. It was moments like this that he could wring his little neck. “All right, if I answer the email, will you go away so that I can finish this book?” “Okay.” The subject line said, “Exciting News.” It was from Cora. He clicked it open. All it said was: Hi, Eric sweetie. I’ve got some news that you won’t believe. It’s too precious for email. Call me. “You’d better call her right away,” Max said. “It sounds exciting, and heaven only knows you could use some excitement in your life.” Eric swirled around in his chair and took a swat at him. Max went flying up into the corner, laughing. “Ho ho…not quick enough.” Then after a pause, he announced, “You know…there’s a spiderweb up here,” slapping his hand around at something. Eric reached for the phone. “I hope it bites you,” he said, dialling Cora’s number. She answered on the third ring. Max floated down to the floor so he could hear. “Cora,” he said, waving at Max as if he were an annoying fly, “what’s up?” “Eric. So nice to hear your voice.” They only

lived within an hour’s drive of each other, but so far they hadn’t met. He kept making excuses. The last thing he wanted was for Cora to find out about Max. “How’s the ghost busting business?” “Quiet lately,” Eric confessed, turning the back of his chair to Max. “How’s the publishing business?” “It’s great, but it just got better.” “Oh?” “Guess who just emailed me, and offered us his latest book?” “Ah…I have no idea. Who?” “Brandon Archer.” Eric started to laugh. “No, really.” Max was hopping around. “You’re pulling my leg.” “I wouldn’t do it to you. I know he’s your all time favourite writer. He says he is fed up with the big New York publishing scene. He wants some creative freedom, and apparently, he’s creating like mad. We have his Christmas book, but we have to hustle if we want to get it out there for Christmas. I want you to edit it.” He was speechless. Him, edit Brandon Archer’s book? “Eric, honey, are you still there?” “Ah…yes…I’m here. I’m stunned.” “You’re the best we got. Will you do it?” “Of course I’ll do it,” he laughed. “Brandon Archer.”

“We need to set a deadline for early December. Can we do it for then?” “I’ll work every spare moment. We’ll do it. What’s it called?” “Christmas with Wistan. I’ll send it in an attachment tonight… as soon as I get done reading it.” She giggled. “That’s not fair,” he accused, laughing. “I’m half-way, couldn’t resist. This guy is a genius. I love it.” “I know. Can’t wait. Thanks, Cora.” “So, you will come to the Christmas party this year, right?” “I…I don’t know…I’ll try.” “What if I could get Brandon Archer to come?” Eric practically blushed. “I’d hitchhike there if I had to.” “I’ll see what I can do. He lives in New York City.” “I know.” “So, let me know when you have the file, okay?” “Will do.” “I’ll try not to drool all over it,” she joked. “Bye, Eric.” “Bye, Cora,” he said, and hung up. “Brandon Archer,” Max said, narrowing his eyes at him. “Isn’t he the author of all those dirty books you got cum stains all over?” He gave Max a brazen look. “That’s the one. Now don’t bug me, I have to finish this editing job

so that I can start right away on Brandon’s book.” “Oh, we’re on first name basis, are we?” Max sneered, shuffling his feet in his little brown shoes. “Brandon. Brandon, snotty little name.” “Why do you always do that?” “Do what?” “Shuffle your feet like that when you get angry?” “I don’t shuffle my feet when I…” he sputtered. “I need a good drink of whiskey.” “You’re dead. You can’t drink whiskey,” Eric said flatly, positioning his chair back in front of his desk. “Yes, and a damn shame it is,” he snapped. Eric began to type. Realising that he was effectively ignoring him, Max grumbled and faded out of sight.

Chapter Two

E

ric finished the editing job, and sent it off to Cora. It was already midnight. His eyes were getting tired. The file still hadn’t come, and he was a little disappointed. Cora probably still hadn’t finished reading Brandon Archer’s story. Oh, well, he’d have to be patient. Before he left the desk, he called up Cyber Daemon again. Picking up where the seduction scene had left off, he read: Gently, tentatively, as if making sure she was real, the labial pressure warmed her, bringing a faint spark of pain as the white teeth closed tightly on her lower lip. A spark of pain, and a flare of something else entirely. Heat, pulsing in her lower belly, gradually, flickering in surges, then spiralling to subside slightly, only to flare up again as the woman’s talented mouth continued to manipulate her sensibilities. Her teeth released Jessica’s lip, only to take advantage of the parted nature of those lips to flick her tongue inside teasingly. The only other part of their bodies touching was that strong, shapely hand on Jessica’s face. Eric paused, and sighed. A slow seduction…um. He continued reading. Jessica

sighed and opened to her, letting the woman’s tongue move more deeply, stroking the invasive flesh with hers. At the same time, she felt something in her let go, and her senses released all restraint. Eric shut down the screen reluctantly. He only kept his favourites on file after he’d worked with them. He particularly loved that scene. As he crawled into bed, he still couldn’t believe it. Was it coincidence, was it fate? He was going to be editing Brandon Archer. Re-reading Cyber Daemon tonight had helped distract him from the anxiety that was creeping up on him slowly. He tried to push away the little voice that was attacking his self-confidence. He was a good editor. He could edit anyone, including Brandon Archer. It was normal to be a little nervous. Imagine actually meeting Brandon Archer. If Brandon was going to be at the Ruby Red Christmas party this year, he’d have to find a way to go. Maybe if he begged Max to behave himself and…didn’t matter, he’d have to go just to admire him from a distance. Rolling over in bed, he switched on the lamp. He took Brandon’s book, Summer Heat, out of the drawer. The picture on this book was a close-up, that’s why he kept it close. Yum. A shock of raven black hair fell over his forehead. Big dark brown eyes looked boldly into the camera. There was a ghost of a smile across sensuous full lips, played up by his square jaw, with just the hint of a dimple. It was as if God had decided originally to

give him a dimple, then said, “oh no, he’s too good looking already, have mercy,” and took it away. He could tell by his picture that his shoulders were broad, his biceps muscular. The rest of him, well that was left to his imagination. Summer Heat. Not his best book. The sex scenes were scorching, though…more sex, less story. This one read a bit more like pornography than erotica, but that was all right. Like right now, looking at that gorgeous face, Eric didn’t want to bother with the plot. He turned directly to his favourite scene in chapter two, and began to read. Lance pulled his tangerine tank top slowly over his sculptured chest. His brown nipples were already rigid with need. I wanted to suck them. I wanted to let the tip of my tongue touch them, making them wet with my saliva. Could a pair of nipples be any more delicious than these were? I intended to torture them until… The phone rang. It was his cell. Damn. The phone ringing was not a welcome intrusion. It was after midnight, and he was only beginning to imagine Brandon Archer torturing his nipples with the tip of his tongue. He glared at the phone, put the book aside, and picked it up. He knew it had to be important. “Yeah, what’s going on?” “Eric.” It was Tommy, one of his associates. “We just got a call. It’s the City Morgue. They’ve got some shit going down here that is…well…let’s say…you got to see it for yourself.” “Did they call the cops?” Eric sat up in bed.

“The cops were the ones who just called us.” “Is all the equipment there yet?” “Jess and Ronnie are on their way in the van.” “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he said, throwing the phone on the bed and hunting for his pants. **** When he hopped out of the car, Jessie and Veronica were standing outside in front of the van. Jessie was a big woman, tall and wide with long reddish brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She was working on a degree in parapsychology over at the university. Veronica looked like a child standing beside her. She was a delicate woman with yellow hair hanging to her shoulders, no more than five foot two. She was currently Jessie’s thesis advisor. “Where’s Tom?” “Inside,” Jessie said, hooking her thumb toward the building, “talking to the cops.” “So, what’s the situation? You been inside?” Eric inquired. “Was waiting for you,” Ronnie said, stifling a yawn. He nodded, spotting Tommy coming down the front stairs of the morgue. Tommy joined the group just before he did. He’d had an experience with a traditional haunting shortly after his father’s death, and became fascinated with ghost hunting ever since. “So, what’s the news?” Eric asked him.

Tommy glanced at the others. He was a wiry looking guy in his young fifties, balding, with very nice grey eyes. “Well, looks like there was a weird disturbance about an hour ago. Guard said he heard strange noises coming from the cold room.” “Where the dead bodies are?” Jessie lifted an eyebrow. “Yep. He went in and shone his flashlight around, then said he saw this…ah…shadow…I think he called it. Anyway, it was laughing, and he said bodies on the slabs were moving.” “The shadow was laughing. Lovely,” Ronnie murmured. “Let’s not panic until we get the equipment in there,” Eric contributed. “Could be someone playing a prank.” “Sounds good,” Tommy said, as Jessie began to open the back of the van. “Eric, you take the EMF detector, and I’ll take the thermal scanner. You ladies want to handle the digital camera and the electronic voice recorder?” “Sure,” Jessie said, handing Ronnie the voice scanner. “Let’s do it,” Tommy said. As soon as the four of them climbed the steps to the front door, the lights flickered, then, went out. “Great,” Eric muttered, wondering in situations like this why he did this shit. He noticed that Max had decided not to come along. Suddenly the front door burst open. They froze. The two police officers who were standing just

inside the lobby, suddenly were outside. “You don’t need us in there, do you guys?” One of them said. He tried to look macho, but he was failing badly. Eric tried not to laugh. “No worries. Probably better if you guys waited outside.” “We called for backup,” the other one said. “They haven’t arrived yet.” Tommy did laugh now. “Probably think you’re nuts.” Jessie shot Tommy one of her severe looks, and he laughed again. “We’ll be right here if you, ah… need us,” the first one said. He must have been six foot two, but when it came to spirits, Eric had seen the bravest of macho men cave. “Thanks a lot,” Ronnie mumbled. “What happened to the lights? Isn’t there a back up generator?” “That was it,” the cop said. “Want to borrow my flashlight?” “No, thanks,” Ronnie told him, holding hers up where he could see it. “We’re going to need to talk to the guard later,” Tommy announced as he placed a hand on the door handle. “He’s at the hospital being treated for shock,” the other cop announced. “Let’s go inside,” Jessie said now. “The more we wait, the more nervous I get.” “Yeah,” Eric agreed.

Tommy nodded, opening the door. The four of them stepped inside. The corridor was dark. With their flashlights and some help from the moonlight, which was streaming in through the door, they managed to see where they were going. “Anything?” Tommy asked, checking his metre. “Nothing yet,” he told him. The ladies had gone on ahead, passing their flashlights over the doors. “So,” Ronnie said in a hushed voice, “where’d the guard see the activity, Tom?” “Keep going. When you get to the end of the corridor, turn left.” Tommy replied, keeping his eyes on his metre. “What did you see?” Eric asked him. “I saw light coming from under the door, and I heard like…ah…laughing.” “What kind of laughing?” “It was more like shrieking.” “A portal haunting?” he suggested comically. No one had ever verified one of those yet. A portal haunting was when there was a door or a gateway opened to another dimension. Some people claimed to have seen the devil come through in a portal haunting, but that was mostly all hype. “Don’t even joke about that shit, Eric,” Tommy retorted. “Where in hell does this hallway end?” Ronnie was bitching. “It’s long. Keep going,” Tommy advised. “We’re right behind you.

Eric knew they were feeling calmer now, because so far the equipment hadn’t picked up anything. When they were tense, their ears were primed for any little sound, and there was no talk at all. Anyway, nine times out of ten they found nothing. It was a hoax, or someone got spooked over something. However, they were obligated to check it out anyway. Just recently, the government had licensed paranormal investigators, known more commonly as ghost hunters. The existence of spirits had finally been officially acknowledged after millions of people in the city of New York had spotted a ghost wandering on the top of the Empire State Building. Captured on camera, the government had sent the army in to shoot it. Well, of course that didn’t do any good. After much persuasion from Doctor Jessica Walters at the University, the government had finally let her and her team deal with the entity. When the entity disappeared, the government had to accept that this kind of thing existed. That happened several years before he was ghost busting. The good doctor called out now from the end of the hallway. “Hurry up, guys,” she said. There was urgency in her voice. That calmness that had them all in its spell had suddenly disappeared. Standing at the end of the hallway, the atmosphere had definitely changed. Their equipment had started to go crazy. The detector Eric had in his hand was an electromagnetic field

metre. It measured the amount of electricity in the area. The higher the reading, the more likely that paranormal activity was nearby. His was going ballistic. “I smell burning,” Ronnie said. Tommy sucked in a breath as they turned the corner. The hall was suddenly brighter. Beams of light were shooting out from under a door at the end of the hallway. “The temperature has dropped substantially,” Tommy announced, aiming his flashlight at the thermal metre he had clutched in his hand. “We’re getting voice activity,” Jessie said softly, “although I can’t physically hear it yet.” Shit, this could be the real thing, Eric thought, or it could be a gang of kids hanging around a whole lot of equipment plugged into electrical sockets. He kept his feet walking toward the door. He gave up on checking his EMF. He’d been doing this for the last three years, ghost busting. The pay was crap, the working conditions…well…could potentially give you nightmares, but he had no choice. He was good with ghosts. He knew how to communicate with them. He’d been given something extra that had allowed him to see spirits since he was a kid. If there was a spirit in there, even if the others couldn’t see it, he would. They were within a few feet now of the door. Their ears were picking up sounds. There was no laughing. It sounded like talking. It was

mumbling really, although no one could make out the words. Don’t go in there, Eric. It was Max. He couldn’t see him, but he knew he was near by, lurking. “Soooo,” Jessie said, peering at her colleagues, “should we draw straws, or… “I’ll go first,” Eric volunteered. What in hell is wrong with you? It’s not safe, Eric. I don’t like this. “Shut up,” he whispered under his breath. Tommy glanced at him, then away. He knew he was prone to talking to himself. They all knew that. They just didn’t know that he was actually talking to someone. Eric put his hand on the door, then, withdrew it. “Cold as ice,” he said. Ronnie placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’re right behind you, Eric.” “Okay,” he said, and tried it again, this time, ignoring the fact that his hand was freezing. He pulled the door open. Luckily, it came away easily. Another few degrees and he would have been stuck there, or had to rip the skin off his palm to get loose. Bright light blinded him. The noises they were hearing from outside suddenly became louder. It was talking…and there was more than one voice. Some of them sounded quite frantic. He kept his arm up over his eyes until they began to focus. Max was whispering something in

his ear. “Shut up,” he told him again. “I need to concentrate.” He jumped slightly as someone stepped on his heel. It was Jessie. The EMF detector in his hand had become redundant. They were all inside now. The doors made a ‘ka plonk’ sound as they closed behind them. There were gurneys lined up against the far sides of the wall. White sheets were crumbled in heaps on the floor. Eric was actually standing on one at the moment. The swirl of light went around the room like a search light, the voices grew louder. Someone said “Holy shit,” behind him. It might have been Tommy, but it sounded like a woman’s voice. It smelt like burnt toast, really strong. His eyes examined each of the tables as he passed them. They were all empty. Directly in front of him was a line of drawers. Some of them were halfway open. He froze. There were no corpses anywhere…and this was a morgue. He stopped at the drawers. The other three shuffled up behind him. The mumblings were beginning to get to him. There was a narrow corridor off to his right. He assumed it led to one of those places where the coroner did whatever they did to dead bodies. He wasn’t particularly liking the idea of checking it out. He turned around. The other three were as silent as the grave. When they got like that, he knew they had something. He could see his breath now wafting in the air in front of him. His eyes looked down the narrow passageway. He shone

his flashlight there, then, forced himself forward. He was somehow wishing it was longer. He took no more than ten steps before he knew he was in another room. He shivered. It was cold as hell. As he stepped deeper into it, the voices were suddenly clear. He heard someone say, “Quiet, we’re not alone.” He moved his flashlight across the room. Empty eyes stared back at him from stark white faces. Corpses in white sheets sat perched around the room in various places. The voices suddenly ceased. His heart was in his throat. Never had he seen so many ghosts in one place before, and such fresh ones. Eric shivered. Someone said, “I don’t hear the voices anymore.” “Yeah, there is no activity on the voice metre, either.” That was Jessie. They don’t see them, Eric. And that was Max. He was damn glad to have him there suddenly. Careful. There is something else in here with them. They are harmless. It is not. “Fuck,” Eric said, shivers running up his spine. The growling started low, and then got louder. The corpses were staring at him from behind glossy eyes. “I’m checking my metre here, guys,” Tommy said, “and there is something…” It was floating in the corner of the room. Eric could see it quite clearly now. Its eyes were red.

“Tom, remember that joke I made about the portal haunting?” “Yeah,” he replied uneasily. “I think we got one.” “What are you seeing, Eric?” Jess asked. “What in hell is it?” Ronnie demanded, brushing past him. He held her back. “Don’t. Wait. Do you see it too?” His voice had dropped to a whisper. “I see…something,” she told him, gripping his hand. The growling stopped. The red eyes faded into the background. “It’s hiding,” Eric said. “Jessie, take some shots with the digital camera. Make sure the EVP is on full.” “How many are there, Eric?” Tommy asked tensely. “Dozens, but they’re harmless. They’re newly dead, and they don’t know it. Someone or something wants them to believe they’re still alive.” “And this…ah…something…is it here with us too?” Tommy swallowed. “You bet.” “Damn,” he said. “Stay back. I’m going to try and talk to them while this other thing is in hiding. They’re looking at me. They’re lost.” He moved forward. There was an old woman sitting on the edge of one of those steel tables. She titled her head at him when he came closer. “Why

are you not resting?” he asked her. For a minute, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she said, “I don’t want to rest.” Jessie looked at the voice recording. The needle was moving back and forth. “Who disturbed you?” “He called to us.” “Who?” She threw back her head and started to shriek. Careful, Eric, she’s not what she appears. He stumbled backwards as a huge hand reached out and took a swat at him. There was pain. He lifted his hand to his cheek. Jessie had hold of his arm. “Are you all right?” He looked over at Ronnie. She was moving over to the place where he’d seen those eyes. “Ronnie,” Eric called out, “be careful.” She wasn’t listening. Her attention was being held. He saw those eyes again. They all saw the eyes now, because there was a collective gasp. Eric hurried forward and gripped Ronnie’s arm, pulling at her, but it was like her legs were rooted to the spot. Then he froze. Those eyes grew bigger. Max was shouting in his ear. Don’t look at it, Eric, it’s evil...it’s evil. He tore his eyes away. The dead stood now. They began to move toward them. “Don’t panic,” Eric told the others. “They won’t hurt you. If you stand still, they’ll pass right through you.” He pulled at Ronnie again. “Come on, Ronnie,” he said, beginning to panic himself. Then she

turned. Those eyes, those red, evil eyes looked back at him. Eric let out a yelp and let her go, scrambling back to where the other three were. The other spirits were gone. Ronnie, or what used to be Ronnie, was looking at them. They forgot all about the equipment. They were all visibly trembling. Her mouth opened, and she spoke. It was not good news. She said, “I’ve come to take the souls.” Jessie suddenly regained some of her composure and shoved the voice recorder at Eric. “Who are you?” “I am Malice. I am Hate.” “You can’t take these souls. We won’t let you do that.” Shit. For a tiny woman, Jessie could certainly be brave when it suited her. “I have my faith. I will use it against you, demon.” Jessie withdrew a small gold cross from her pocket. The red eyes dimmed some. “Leave this place,” Jessie told it. “Leave the dead alone.” Ronnie raised an arm over her face as Jessie moved closer with the cross. “How have you been able to cross over? Where is the porthole?” Jessie demanded. A high-pitched scream began in Ronnie’s chest, then vibrated around the room. Then in a whisper, it said, “I’ll never tell.” Ronnie’s eyes returned to normal. She shook herself some. Jessie embraced her. “Are you all right?”

“What in hell happened?” Ronnie asked. “Looks like your first demon possession,” Eric volunteered, walking over to investigate that place on the ceiling where he’d first seen those red eyes. Ronnie was freaking. Tommy and Jessie tried to calm her as Eric continued to check out that spot on the ceiling. Tommy joined him now. “So, that the…?” “Porthole? Maybe. We need to take a closer look in the light of day. Oh,” he said, looking around as the generator started back up, “we have light.” Jessie came back into the room. “The dead are back where they belong, in the drawers and on the table.” “Good,” Eric said. “Why do you think the entity came here?” Jessie mused, fiddling with her camera. “Maybe there was something here that…” Ronnie said. “We need to know the names and backgrounds of all the corpses that are here now,” Tommy insisted. “I’ll get right on it,” Ronnie responded, seeming to have recovered now. “Okay,” Jessie took a breath, “let’s go home. I’m beat. I need to sleep. Meeting at the University tomorrow night at seven?” “Sounds good, but I want to come back here tomorrow afternoon to investigate that spot,” Eric said.

“We’ll have to clear it first,” Jessie said. “I’ll see what I can do.” That was settled. They all said goodbye, and got into their respective vehicles and drove off. The two officers at the door didn’t ask any questions. As soon as they came out, they locked up, and then left themselves. No backup ever arrived. Max was sitting in the back seat on the way home. After awhile, he said, “That thing was scary. What was it exactly?” “I don’t know,” he said, weary. It was almost four in the morning. He wanted to sleep. “Do you think it really came through a porthole?” “Could be.” “Are there others?” “I hope not,” Eric said, driving into the driveway. “Now, shut up, will you, Max? I need to sleep.” Dropping his keys inside, he shrugged out of his jacket, and barrelled into his room. “Thanks for being there tonight, Max,” he mumbled, and fell face down on his bed. There he stayed until ten o’clock the next morning.

Chapter Three

H

e was on the computer the moment he woke up, looking for email from Cora. It was there. The subject line read…Don’t wear out your hand. Very funny, Eric thought, clicking it open. Hey, Eric. Don’t say I never do anything for you. Here’s Christmas with Wistan. What a fantastic story. Brandon Archer is to drool for… now…ah ha…he’s all mine…mine…ah…ours. Remember the deadline. Call me if you have questions. Brandon’s email is below…and yes, he told me to call him Brandon….{Sticking out my tongue at you.} Send him each round of edits for approval. Love you, Cora. Eric laughed. What a crazy lady she was. He clicked open the attachment. He knew he had no time to start on this today, but he couldn’t resist a little peek. Christmas with Wistan, by Brandon Archer. Wow, even that sent shivers down his spine. Get a grip, Eric, you have to edit this stuff. Okay, just the first paragraph, then he’d shut it off. He began to read. I knew I was drunker than usual that night, but then it was a few days before Christmas and that was a good enough excuse. Christmas had always sucked big time for me. My father was an alcoholic; and my mother--well, what can I say about my poor mother, except she was one of those women born totally without a backbone. I dreaded Christmas more than anything as

a kid. My father had time off from his job on the police force, and he could drink indiscriminately, using the holidays as an excuse. Umm…sounded familiar, didn’t it? Anyway, then he just got mean. My brother and I used to go up to the attic and stay there until he passed out. I have always drunk, although I would never have classified myself as a falling down drunk. I have no idea what had suddenly taken me from my usual two whiskeys a day, to too many to count. Like I said, could have been Christmas, or it could have been, that despite my fame and fortune as a top selling author, and the beautiful men waiting in line to suck my cock…and do various other pleasurable things to me, I was pretty miserable. Even my closest friends were beginning to give me that what in the hell is going on with you look? And then the worst thing had happened, at least according to the big boys at my New York City publisher. I had stopped writing. The fact that all I could produce as of late was crap, and more crap, was not pleasing anyone, including myself. So, I drank. My agent nagged me. My publisher nagged me. I tried to write. I read what I wrote, and I drank some more. Shit. He was ready to go onto the next paragraph when the phone rang. It was Jessie. “Hey, Jess,” he said, shutting off the screen reluctantly. “What’s up?” “We have permission to investigate the portal, but not until after seven.” “After seven?” “Yep, that’s when the coroner finishes up for the night. Sorry.”

He sighed. “We still meeting this afternoon?” “Sure. Want to go to lunch?” “I’d like to, but…” “Go to lunch, Eric,” Max said suddenly, scaring him half to death. “Only if you promise to behave,” he told him. “I’ll behave,” Jessie said, laughing. “Oh, shit, I…forget I said that. What time?” “One, at the university snack bar.” “I’ll be there. How’s Ronnie?” “Fine. A little rattle-headed, but she’ll survive.” “See you later,” he said. “See you.” He turned on the screen and read ten more pages of Brandon’s book. Wow! Fantastic. He wanted to stay and read the rest, but he couldn’t. He had to shower and meet Jessie for lunch. Max was leering at him as he stood in the shower. “Max,” Eric told him, “remember what I told you about ogling me in the shower.” “What’s the harm? I’m dead. I can’t molest you…I have to have some pleasure.” “Max!” “Okay…okay. Geez. You needn’t be so modest. You have a very nice body. You’re slender and toned, nice butt, great cock. I’m especially fond of…” “Max!” he threw the soap at him. He disappeared. “I’m particularly worried about that thing we saw last night,” Max was saying from the back

seat on the way to the university. “Me too,” Eric admitted. “How do you get rid of something like that?” “I have no idea. Guess we’re going to have to find out.” Max fell silent. Jessie met him at the front door of the snack bar on the University Campus with a kiss on the cheek. She has a wicked crush on you, Eric. “She knows I’m gay,” he said softly as he followed Jessie to the table. “Now, cut it out.” She thinks she can change you. Max! He took a seat, and smiled at Jessie. Satisfied that Max had taken off for a little while, he relaxed. “What are you having?” “Roast beef sandwich, maybe,” she mused. “You?” “The same. I’ll go and get it.” “No, no,” she shook her fair hair, “I’ll go. I invited you, remember?” He smiled, watching as she got up and crossed the noisy room. It was filled with students mostly, chatting and eating, open books sprawled across the table. He couldn’t help remembering his own days in university. So, if it was so great, why’d you drop out? He turned around to see Max sitting at the next table beside a young woman reading Voltaire. “Be good,” he mouthed to him.

I find Voltaire fascinating. Eric smirked, doubting that Max even knew who Voltaire was. So, answer the question. Why’d you drop out? Why did I drop out? I was too young, too immature… I had an affair with my married psychology professor that ended badly. He broke my heart. Then there were the spirits. Back then I didn’t know how to control them…how not to see them all the time. It’s a little unnerving to be sitting in an exam and see a dead person walk across the room, or have one sit down beside you on the subway. So? “I’ll tell you later,” he said softly, causing the young woman to look up from her reading and give him an uncertain smile. Embarrassed, he turned back around only to see Jessie standing there with a tray of food. “Tell me what later?” she inquired. He grinned at her. “Nothing, I was thinking aloud.” “You do that a lot,” she said, putting the tray down, and handing him a sandwich with a paper cup. “I know you drink coffee.” “Thanks,” Eric said. “More than I should.” She grinned. “Milk, no sugar, right?” “Perfect.” “So, why do you do that?” she asked, sitting down now and unwrapping her sandwich. “Do what?” “Talk out loud.”

“Do I?” Max was sniggering. “Do you remember the first time we met, Eric?” “Yes. It saved my life.” “How is it now? We haven’t talked about it in awhile?” “Under control. I see the dead when I decide to, not the other way around.” He wasn’t including Max in the equation. “How’s the other job? Don’t you do editing or something?” She took a bite of her sandwich, looking at him. Eric began to take the paper off his. “Yes. I love it. It is so relaxing. You’ll never guess whose book I’m editing now?” “Whose?” “Brandon Archer.” Jessie froze just before taking another bite. “The Brandon Archer?” She put down the sandwich. Eric nodded. “I wasn’t sure you’d know who he was. He writes…” “I know what he writes. He writes kickass male/male erotica. It’s not only gay men who enjoy reading about gorgeous men having sex, you know. Archer has a huge fan base of straight women.” “Oh? Okay, I guess it makes sense,” he laughed, feeling a little uncomfortable discussing Brandon Archer in this way with Jessie. “You’re blushing, Eric,” she accused, pointing at him and grinning.

“Probably.” “I mean, let’s also add on the fact that Archer is one gorgeous man…” she paused to take the lid off her coffee, “and well…no wonder he’s got so many women readers.” “Yeah,” he murmured. “He’s sweet.” “I saw him in person once,” she took a sip of her coffee. “Really?” He got excited. “Um,” she said, “he was signing books in Philly. My sister lives there, and she’s an Archer freak. That’s where I got my first taste. I went for a visit. She has all his books. I read ‘To Die For,’ and…” “I love that one,” he commented. “Yeah, it’s hot,” she grinned. “Anyway, we heard he was going to be at one of the big book stores…and I wanted my own copy of ‘To Die For.’ I ended up getting it signed.” “He signed it?” “Yep,” Jessie replied, picking up the last bit of her sandwich. “He’s really nice.” “Can I see your book sometime?” “Of course,” she told him. “I didn’t realise you were such a big fan.” “Oh, God, yes,” he laughed. “Silly, isn’t it? I’ve been dreaming about Brandon Archer for ages.” “Can’t blame you for that. So tell me more about this editing? How’d it happen that Archer decided to publish his work there?” “He just decided to go with e-publishing, and I

work for a stand up outfit. I don’t know the details. The publisher is thrilled, as you can imagine. They don’t care how he got there. They just want to keep him.” “I bet,” she laughed. “Are you going to get to meet him?” “I don’t know…maybe at the Christmas party, if he comes. Of course, I will have to email him from time to time as I edit his book.” “I don’t know if I’d want to edit his work. I’d be scared. What if he’s really sensitive?” “Lots of writers are like that. I am a little nervous. He’s so famous but…” Eric shrugged and began eating his sandwich in earnest. “What are you doing for Christmas dinner, Eric? Want to come with me to Philly?” There it is, pal. Told you she’s hot for your bod. You really are quite cute. Shit. He thought Max had left. He decided to ignore him. “Thanks for the offer. I don’t know yet. I know it’s not far away, but for me, it seems far off. I might drive up to Boston and see my mother.” Jessie knew that his mother had been institutionalized since nineteen eighty-two because she too saw things. Unlike Eric though, she never was able to pull it together. It eventually drove her mad. “Okay,” she said. “How is your mother, Eric?” “The same,” he said. She gave him a sympathetic look. “Let me

know if you change your mind.” He finished his sandwich, wiping at his mouth with the napkin. “Will do.” “So, what do you think about last night?” He took a breath. “I think it might be a portal haunting. I’m not sure.” He didn’t wait for her reaction. “How’s Ronnie?” “She seemed fine today, but she doesn’t want to come with us tonight.” “I don’t blame her. Perhaps it’s best.” “I’ve got her tracking down all the names of the dead who were at the morgue last night. They’ve been really co-operative…sent us a list by email early this morning. She is doing background checks now.” “Heard any more from the authorities?” “Some detective called me around ten asking questions. You know how they are.” “Yep.” They waited around until all the work was done, then they took the credit. “You know,” Jessie said abruptly, downing the rest of her coffee, “I’ve got to go. I’ve got a class.” She scraped back her chair, and stood up. Picking up her bag, she said, “See you at the office at three.” “Okay. Don’t worry about the tray. I’ll take care of it. I think I’m going to have another coffee.” She nodded, adjusting the bag over her shoulder. Raising a hand, she scurried across the floor, and was lost in a sea of university students. He looked over to see that Max was now sitting

quietly at the next table by himself. He was suddenly assaulted by the pungent aroma of a cigar. “Max, you know you’re not supposed to smoke in here,” he chastised. A few students walked by, some of them stopped and sniffed the air. Although you had to have a really acute sense of smell to pick up the scent, some people could. Giving him a cranky look, Max stubbed the cigar out on the table. For a fraction of a second, you could see the burn mark, then it disappeared. Eric got up to get another coffee and headed outside for a walk. It was a cold day but the sun was shining, and he needed some fresh air. Max trailed along after him, complaining about the cold. “I didn’t ask you to come,” Eric threw at him, pausing to take a gulp of his coffee. Max grumbled something, then, said, “So, turns out you and the professor have a lot in common. You both like to masturbate to Brandon Archer.” “Oh, shut up, Max,” he told him, drawing the collar of his leather jacket up around his neck. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be alone to daydream about Brandon Archer. Better yet, he’d rather be in bed daydreaming about him. He couldn’t wait to read more of his book. He wasn’t sure if he believed Brandon had been visited by a spirit, a spirit who claimed to have given him the talent to write. He’d have to reserve judgement until he’d read the rest of it…if he ever got the damn chance. He did find the possibility of it enchanting however. If it weren’t purely fiction,

then he and Brandon Archer had something in common. They both had their own personal ghost.

Chapter Four y two, he was back in the office at the university reviewing some old data on the phenomena of portal haunting. When Tommy came in, he looked over his shoulder for a second, then, scoffed, “Come off it, Eric. It was no portal haunting. That’s never been proven.” He glanced up at him. “I’m just checking stuff out, that’s all.” He recalled that last night, Tommy hadn’t argued the point too much. “You have some lame idea about…” “Hi, guys,” Ronnie said suddenly, entering the room. “Hi, Ron,” Eric said. He wanted to ask her how she was, but he was getting vibes from her saying that she didn’t want to talk about it. Tommy was too engrossed in trying to further their conversation; he didn’t bother with a greeting. “Cite one study which proves beyond a

B

doubt that some being came in from another dimension and…” “What about the Empire State Building?” Eric demanded, turning around in his chair and slapping his hands together. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion. Tommy groaned. “You know that was a traditional haunting. The government…” “It was a cover up,” he interjected, trying not to lose his temper. “There was evidence of the portal in…” “Rumour, that’s all it was,” Tommy shook his head. “What’s a rumour?” Jessie asked as she walked through the door. “Never mind,” Ronnie said. “Just the boys again, going at it about the Empire State Building thing.” Eric laughed, turning back to the computer. Tommy clicked his tongue. “Well, since we’re all here,” Ronnie said, taking a chair beside her desk, “I suggest we begin so that I can tell you what I found out.” Her voice sounded very ominous. They all gave her their complete attention. “Go ahead, Ronnie,” Jessie said, setting down her bag and taking a chair next to Eric. “Well, after going through the guest list at the morgue,” Ronnie said, “I found out some really interesting stuff.” Eric laughed at the guest list thing.

“It seems our friendly ghost didn’t just appear. He was conjured.” “Conjured by whom?” Jessie asked, leaning forward. “Mr. Earnest Bean, died November the sixteenth, two thousand five.” “That was two days ago,” Eric pointed out. “Exactly,” Ronnie said. Tommy started to laugh. “There is one thing wrong with your theory. Dead people don’t conjure up spirits.” “Probably not a spirit,” Ronnie replied bluntly, “more like a demon. A soul eater.” There was silence. He had heard of these things- Demon’s who came through portals to eat the souls of the newly dead. It was not a pleasant thought. “How can a dead man…?” Tommy began. “Let her finish,” Jessie said. “Jessie, was this Earnest Bean in the morgue last night?” “Yep.” “What do we know about him?” “In life, he was a recluse. He never left the house. Made himself rich from trading stocks. He was well known for dabbling in the black arts.” “Oh, for the love of…” Tommy began, slapping his hands against his thighs. Jessie cautioned him with her eyes. “So, what you’re saying,” Eric said, “is that Mr. Bean conjured a soul eater?” “That’s right.”

“But why would he?” Jessie shuddered. “Did he want a demon to eat his soul after death?” Ronnie shrugged. “My advice is to go and ask his wife. She’s still living.” “Maybe his wife conjured the demon to eat her husband’s soul,” Tommy joked. Eric couldn’t help laughing at that one. He leaned over and gave Tommy a high five. A little comic relief was badly needed right now. “What do we know about soul eaters?” Jessie asked, after the boys settled down. “They eat souls?” Tommy replied with a quirky grin. Jessie made a face at him. “What else?” “I’ll go through the literature,” Ronnie piped in. “What did the equipment show last night?” Eric asked. “Any data on the camera?” “Some ectoplasm, no visible forms,” Jessie said. “We did get some interesting things on the EVP.” “Actual sentences…words?” he leaned forward. “Yes,” Jessie replied. “We still need to fine tune the modulator,” Ronnie added. “I’m sure we have the word ‘quiet,’ and also some name that sounds foreign…haven’t been able to get it clear enough yet.” “That’s good,” he said. “Keep at it.” “We need to talk to Mrs. Bean.” She looked at him, and he knew why. They were all looking at him now, waiting. He nodded. He was always the one to go in these situations. It’s because he could see things, sense them, when he opened his mind

to it. “Okay,” he said. Ronnie handed him a little scrap of paper. “That’s her address. It’s in Brooklyn.” “I’d go with you,” Jessie began, “but I don’t think that…” “No,” he said, “too many people would probably frighten her off. I’ll check it out.” He stood up. “Should we phone first?” “I tried. No answer,” Ronnie said, “but I think she’s there. I heard neither one of them ever left the house. Everything was brought in, so…” Eric walked to the door, digging in his pocket for the car keys. “We meet at the morgue at seven?” he asked. “I’ll be there,” Tommy said. Jessie echoed him. He looked at Ronnie. She nodded. “I’ll be there too.” He bent down and kissed her cheek. A chorus of ‘good luck’ rained after him as he walked down the hallway. **** Max was in the car as he headed over to Brooklyn, babbling all the way. Eric did his best to ignore him. He drove past Battery Park and the South Street Seaport, then, took the Manhattan Bridge over to Brooklyn. Christmas was in the air, decorations were springing up all over. Tiny flakes of snow were falling. He’d always felt sad during this time of year. This soul eater thing was

not helping. “Do you think they really exist?” Max asked him suddenly, shaking him out of his daydream as he exited the bridge. “What? Soul-eating demons?” “Yeah…that.” Eric shrugged, stopping at a red light. Santa Claus rang his bell on the corner in front of his little plastic bucket. “I don’t know. I’ve read some about demons. I’ve never seen any…at least, not knowingly. Do you think that thing I saw last night was a demon?” “It was evil. I know that. I sensed it. It wasn’t interested in me.” “No, from what I know of demons who eat souls, they are after the newly dead. You’re just an old timer,” he grinned. “Good,” he replied. The house wasn’t hard to find. It was a little bungalow with an overgrown lawn, on the edge of a lonely street. He parked the car, and got out. “Doesn’t look much like a haunted house to me,” Max blurted. He turned to him. “If you come in, you stay quiet, understood? I can’t be distracted by you. I have to concentrate, open my mind.” “Yeah…yeah,” he said. Eric walked up the path and rang the bell a few times, waiting. He was just about to give up when the door opened a crack and two filmy eyes peered out. “Yes?” “Mrs. Bean. My name is Eric Jackson.” He

pulled his identification card out of his coat pocket. His hands were freezing. “I work for the paranormal investigative unit over at the university.” “Yes.” “Ah, I was wondering if we could talk about your husband?” “My husband is dead.” “Yes, I know. I’m sorry for your loss,” Eric replied, hoping he didn’t sound too insincere. “It’s just that…ah…we had some disturbances over at the city morgue and…” The door opened wider. He caught sight of a woman with grey hair trapped in a hairnet. “What kind of disturbances?” He dug his hands back into his pockets again. He couldn’t feel his fingers any longer. Want me to blow the door open, Eric? I’m good at those kinds of things. He turned to Max. “No. I don’t.” “Pardon me?” the woman squawked. He cleared his throat. “Nothing, I was wondering if I could come in a moment to…” “I usually don’t let strange men into the house,” she said. “I won’t stay long. It’s important, Mrs. Bean.” He stamped his feet a few times. They were also beginning to freeze. The door opened. A tiny woman stood there in her housecoat. Her skin was white and thin. “Come in, Mr. Jackson,” she said. “Call me Eric,” he replied gratefully, muttering

something about it being cold. He followed her down a narrow corridor, into a dimly lit room piled high with newspapers. “Sit,” she said, pushing a stack of papers off the chair. “My husband enjoyed the newspaper.” “I see that,” he said, sitting down. He undid the buttons of his coat and took a breath. He sensed nothing unusual except for Max, who was somewhere off snooping. “Mrs. Bean, I’ll come right to the point. We think the activity we witnessed last night at the morgue may have something to do with your husband…although we’re not quite sure how yet.” She picked at something on the arm of the chair, then raised her wrinkled face to look at him. “Do you believe in the devil, Mr. Jackson?” “Eric, and ah…no, I can’t say that I do.” “Well,” she ran her tongue over her lips, “my husband was the devil.” “I’m sorry,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say. “He was ah…cruel to you?” Her eyes filled with tears. “For thirty two years, he held me prisoner in this house. For the last twelve years of his life, he imprisoned me in here with him.” “Could you have not contacted the police or…?” He leaned forward, a rush of compassion causing him to talk without thinking. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “He wouldn’t have let me. He would have known.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “He knows

everything.” He didn’t miss the fact that she was now speaking in the present tense. “You mean he knew everything.” “No,” she shook her head. “He knows everything still.” “Mrs. Bean,” he said gently. “He can’t hurt you anymore. He’s gone.” She shook her head. “It was him at the morgue. He told me that he would conjure him, and that he would finally get his wish.” He narrowed his eyes. Him? “What was his wish?” He asked. “To go to hell. He wanted to go to hell,” she told him, her eyes staring into his. He sat back in his seat, his hands gripping the chair arms. “Unusual request,” he murmured. “Who exactly is it that your husband conjured?” She shook her head. “I’ll never speak his name. He’ll come for my soul if I do. I’ll show you,” she said, getting up out of her chair and walking behind the piles of paper. Eric followed, keeping his senses tuned to anything extraordinary. Behind all the papers was a desk. Above the desk was a portrait of a stern looking man in his fifties with white hair and wild eyes. “Your husband?” Eric asked, indicating the picture. She nodded tensely, without looking at it. Opening a book that was sitting on the desk, she stood back, then pointed. He moved closer. There were two familiar red eyes staring back at him

from the page. The caption overtop read, “Owna: Soul Eater.” Below were instructions on how to go about conjuring Owna. If you want the sublime pleasure of going to hell, where you will experience all manners of decadence, Owna should be conjured just prior to death. A proper porthole must be available, and sacrifices offered to ensure the transport of your soul to the fiery pits. He glanced down to the bottom of the page. What he read there frightened him. He stopped reading, turned the book over and looked at the cover. There was no author, no title, and obviously no publisher. “Where did your husband get this book?” he asked. She shook her head. “I don’t know. Take it with you, Mr. Jackson. Take it away from here.” “All right,” he said, fairly certain he’d already outstayed his welcome. Picking up the book, he tucked it under his arm, and bid her goodbye. **** Max was freaking out on the way home. “Eric, you should have left that book where it was.” “We need to find out about this demon, Max. It isn’t going to just disappear. It’s going to come back.” Picking up his cell phone, he dialled Jessie. She picked up right away. “Eric?” “Yeah.” “How’d it go?” “We got a demon on our hands, a soul eater.

Mr. Bean had a book detailing it all. Wait until you see this book!” “What about it?” “No author, no publisher…right out of a vacuum.” “Strange.” “Um, I think poor Mrs. Bean is scared to death. Is there anyway we can get someone to check in on her? Her husband was a real weirdo. Looks like he kept her hostage in that house for years.” “My God. Of course, I’ll talk to Marian in counselling.” “Thanks.” “Anything unusual in the house?” “Didn’t pick up on anything. “So what was Mr. Bean doing with this soul eater?” “Seems he wanted to go to hell.” “Oh…o…kaaay.” He laughed, then cast a glance in his rear view mirror, and turned toward the bridge. “This soul eater must be conjured just before death, and there has to be a proper porthole…and sacrifices.” “The morgue sounds like it fits for the sacrifices…plenty of fresh souls around.” “Find out how much longer Ernest Bean is supposed to be in the morgue.” “Okay. Why?” “We need to keep him there for now. The demon obviously didn’t get what he came for last night. As long as Bean is there, he’ll come back.”

“Well, doesn’t it follow that the demon will just disappear when Bean is in the ground?” “My gut tells me no.” “Okay, I’ll arrange it. See you later.” “Can we make it nine instead? I need to rest.” I need to get back to reading Brandon’s book. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll tell the others.”

Chapter Five

W

hen he arrived back in his apartment building, the janitor was dragging a tree into the lobby. “A real one this year, Ivan?” he stopped and watched him for a moment. “Hey, Mr. Eric.” He always called him that. He was a short little Spanish guy with a classic moustache who smelt of cigarettes and cleaning products. “Yep, boss lady is springing for the real thing this year. She’s on some natural trip.” He stood the tree up against the wall near the elevators and

took a breath. The ‘boss lady’ was the owner, the thirty-yearold daughter of a billionaire business tycoon. The building was a hobby, really, but she made sure it was well maintained. Of course, he paid through the nose for the privilege. “I’m going to decorate it all nice,” he said. Eric smiled. “It will look great.” He gave him a wave and took the elevator. Max was somewhere near by but he was being quiet. He checked his watch. Six thirty. He needed to eat. He should have picked up some deli. Oh, hell, he’d order. As soon as he was through the door, he was on the computer replying to Cora’s emails…three of them…asking him if he liked the book? He typed her off a brief note. Hey, Cora. I haven’t really gotten into it, and it’s not lack of interest, believe me. I’ve been busy. I’m doing it now. I have three hours and I’m spending it reading. Then I’ll get to the editing. Promise. It’s not a long book. Eric. He ordered pizza. As soon as it arrived, he stripped off his clothes and pulled the book up on his reader. Taking the pizza with him, he crawled onto the bed and began to read. “I’m back, Brandon my love,” he said out loud. “Take me away.” He began to read, page after luscious page, slowing down some as he came to the part about Brandon going home with this guy named Allan. He felt his hand slide down to his cock as he read

I already had my coat off. Allan pulled my t-shirt off as well. “Brandon,” he moaned, coming close enough to flick his tongue out over one of my nipples, “you’re beautiful, baby.” Whether I was truly beautiful or not, he sure as hell made me feel that way. And when he undid the belt of his jeans and pulled them down over his hips, I’d thought I’d died and gone to heaven. The sight of his cock made mine do somersaults. I slid down on my knees, and took what I could of it into my mouth. Looking back, if it would have been today…shit…I could have done so much more with it. But, in spite of my promiscuity, I wasn’t all that experienced…and giving a blowjob was still somewhat of a challenge for me…especially when it came to swallowing. However, Allan appeared to enjoy my amateurish sucking and pulling on his cock because he made appreciative sounds in his throat, and buried his hands in my hair. My, how times have changed Never mind that, smart ass. Suddenly, Allan pulled me up into his arms, kissed me hard, and ran his hands all over me. Yanking on my pants, he tore them down over my hips and clutched my buttocks in his hands. “Brandon,” he murmured, kissing my neck, running his tongue down my throat to one nipple, then the other. “I want you.” That made me crazy. We moved with each other across the floor to the pull out sofa, which of course, wasn’t pulled out. Allan pushed me down on it, and within seconds we were on the floor. The sofa was just too small to hold both of us. I remember blubbering something about safes and lube being in the drawer of

the table next to the sofa; and he must have heard me because suddenly I was on my stomach and something cold moved up inside my anus. I think I yelped, Allan laughed. One of his hands had reached under me to massage my cock, and the other was slipping its welllubricated fingers up inside me. My stiff nipples rubbed against the threadbare carpet. I squirmed around some, liking the sensation. I felt the muscles in my ass relax. Allan’s fingers were applying pressure in a spot that was shooting little darts of pleasure throughout my groin. I must have moaned because Allan’s hand left my cock, and moved down over my hair to my spine. He said my name, then, gently withdrew his moist fingers from between my ass cheeks. I was trembling, in part from anticipation, in part from fear. It wasn’t as if I’d never been fucked before, but this was different. Allan seemed to know what he was doing and I didn’t want to look like an idiot. Eric put down the book. Brandon was there with him suddenly, running his hands over his nipples, fondling his cock, which was as hard as rock right now. He was looking into those deep brown eyes. He closed his eyes and began to stroke his cock. Holding it tightly in one hand, he squeezed tightly, pushing his fist up and down. He pinched his nipples brutally with the other hand, feeling the sensation build up in his cock. Pre-cum leaked onto his hand, then he exploded, cum shooting onto his thigh, and running through his fingers. He fell back on the bed, his entire body vibrating with orgasm. “Brandon,” he whispered.

“Damn, baby, you do it for me.” Of course, no one answered. How pathetic was that? But with Brandon’s words so close to him, with him writing in first person, using his own name… It got him off. He put the reader down. It was almost time to take a shower and get ready to go to the morgue. That was hot. That was Max. Eric had gotten used to him watching when he masturbated. In the beginning, he used to appear at the foot of the bed, and talk to me. He got him out of that habit. Now he just watched from a secret place, silently. He had forgotten he was there this time. Sometimes, he had to admit it…the thought of him watching was a turn on. It was harmless enough. Max was looking at the reader. “Come on,” he said, clicking his tongue. “Let me read you this.” “Max, I have no time…” he began. “You had time to jerk off, so you got time for this,” he replied sternly. Now, listen…Archer writes: Cool hands covered my ass cheeks for a moment. “Nice, firm. How many men have fucked you?” “I don’t know,” I replied. “A lot, I guess.” “Your point is?” “This is all horseshit,” Max said. “You don’t even know what he’s talking about. You just take sentences randomly and…” Eric went into the bathroom and turned on the shower. “I know I don’t like this guy. He’s full of crapola,” Max said, watching him get into the shower.

“I might meet him at Christmas,” he beamed, pouring shampoo into his hand. “And do what? Fuck him?” “I didn’t say that,” he replied, but damn, the thought had its appeal. “He’s a full of himself, big shot author. He wouldn’t give a guy like you the time of day. And if that stuff is all true, he’s a big slut.” Eric laughed, rinsing off, and stepped out onto the bathmat. Max handed him a towel. “How would you know that?” he said, wiping his face. “He could be the love of my life.” “Yeah,” Max grunted, “like all the other losers you’ve been with.” “Well, it’s a little hard to have a loving relationship with a man when you’re always around, trying to screw things up.” “Maybe I wouldn’t do that if you went out with someone decent.” “Decent? How would you know decent…and I swear, you little dwarf,” he glared at him before marching into the bedroom to pull on jeans, “if you fuck up my meeting with Brandon Archer, I’ll never forgive you.” “Yeah…yeah…the love of your life…” he mocked, “well, right now, we got bigger problems than that over-ego-inflated, super-sexed author.” Eric calmed down. His eyes strayed over to the book he had taken from Mrs. Bean’s house. Max was right. He cast a longing glance at his reader as he put on his shirt. He would have to wait to

finish Brandon’s book. “You’d be finished it already if you hadn’t of stopped to jack off in the middle of it,” Max declared, floating up over the bed, and peering down at his sheets. “Fuck off,” Eric said. “What did I tell you about reading my thoughts…and spying on me in private moments!” “What else do I have to do? Besides, you love it.” “Be a ghost. Go haunt a cemetery.” “You’re rude,” Max replied. Max was at his heels as he left the house, babbling again. “Now, lad, you know perfectly well that cemeteries are not haunted by new ghosts. The ground was haunted before the tombstones got there.” “Shut up, Max,” Eric said, throwing the book into the back seat. “You’d think that ejaculating would…” “Shut up, Max,” Eric repeated, glaring at him in the mirror. He started the car. “Are you ever going to go away?” “You’d miss me,” he replied, folding his arms across his chest. “Who else would you bitch to?” He sighed. It was a few minutes before ten by the time he arrived at the morgue. Jessie was there with the van, a black bag filled with equipment hoisted over one shoulder. “Where’s Tom and Ronnie?” Eric asked, shivering as he stepped out of the car.

“Tommy took her home. She got violently ill as soon as she got out of the van. I don’t know what it was.” He didn’t like the sound of that. He handed her the book. “Can we go in, or do you want to wait for Tommy?” “He’ll be along soon. I’m freezing my ass off out here. Let’s wait in the lobby,” she said, running her hand over the bubbly green cover of the book. “Not even a title,” she murmured curiously, meeting his eyes. “No, I know,” he said. They walked up the steps together. A security guard opened the door. Jessie flashed him her I.D. They stood in the lobby. “Different guard?” he inquired in hushed voice. She nodded, opening the book. “It’s calm tonight at least,” she said. “So far,” he returned, taking the bag off her shoulder and transferring it to his. “Owna,” she said. “Who in the hell is that?” He sucked in some breath. He knew it was stupid but he didn’t like hearing the name aloud…some stupid nonsense Mrs. Bean had put into his head. “Let’s just call him the soul eater, okay?” “Whatever. Do you think…I mean…last night?” “I saw two red eyes. You saw Ronnie. You heard it, right?” “I heard…something.” “Ernest Bean is still in there, right?” Eric turned

his head toward the end of the hall. “He’ll be there for three more nights.” “Okay.” Just then Tommy came in, stamping his feet. “Cold,” he muttered. “Damn cold.” The security guard eyed them. “How long do you think you’ll be in there?” he asked. “As long as it takes,” Eric said. “Hopefully not too long.” “Hey, Eric,” Tommy said. He looked curiously over at the book Jessie was holding. “How’s Ronnie?” he asked. “She’ll be fine. A little green. Shall we do this?” Jessie nodded, and they headed down the hallway. Tonight there was no flickering lights, no smell of burnt toast, nothing. The equipment wasn’t registering anything either. They walked into the morgue, slapping every light on as they went, almost happy to see the bodies lying still on the slabs. Eric got up on a chair and flashed a light on the corner where he’d seen the glowing eyes. Nothing unusual. “What’s above us, Tommy?” Tommy took out a blueprint of the building, and spread it on the metallic table. “Ah, staff lounge.” He closed his eyes. He concentrated. He didn’t feel anything. He was usually happy when he didn’t feel anything. Tonight, he was frustrated. He sighed, got off the chair and searched the room, picking up this and that, looking behind

stuff. Porthole. There had to be a porthole. Jessie and Tommy were busy reading the book. “You know,” Tommy said, “it says here that once this thing is invoked, once it comes through…it is here for good.” “Fantastic,” Eric sneered. “The good news is, it has no interest in the living,” Jessie added. “Um. Maybe, but that’s not what Mrs. Bean seemed to think. There has to be some way to get rid of it,” he remarked when the others didn’t comment. Running his hand over the table, he left his finger marks behind. Jessie was about to say something when suddenly Eric went down on his haunches. “What are you doing, Eric?” Tommy sighed. He gazed down at the drain in the floor, the drain that was used by the coroner to dispose of bodily fluids. “That’s it, the perfect porthole for a demon,” he said, jumping up and snapping his fingers. He was damn proud of his discovery. Jessie and Tommy came around the table, and stared down at the drain with him. “Brilliant, of course,” Jessie said. She grabbed the bag off his shoulder and placed it on the table. “We need the…” she began, then, froze as they heard a loud whining sound. Then, the lights went out. “Fuck,” Tommy said, clicking on his flashlight. “Here we go again.” “Don’t panic,” Eric said. “The generator should come on.” Nothing happened. Jessie clutched her

flashlight in her hand and shone it around the room. They all stood silent behind the table, listening. Shuffling. There was a strange shuffling noise, then a loud rumbling coming from under the floor. “Get away from the drain!” Eric shouted, jumping backwards, pulling Tommy and Jessie with him. They all landed hard against the wall. The entire room was shaking. He saw them plainly, the corpses moving into the room. Something was calling them. The table in front of them began to thump up and down on the floor. A gust of wind blew up as if they were outside. The dead were surrounding them, their white faces, clammy hands. The rumbling under the floor grew louder. Tommy was holding the thermal scanner in one hand. They were shaking badly. Jessie gripped his forearm. “Now what?” she whispered. “Do you see them?” Eric asked, eyes riveted on them. “Just vapours, nothing substantive.” “I saw Mr. Bean’s portrait. It was done some time ago, but I think I could recognize him if…” “Shit, Eric,” Jessie managed, “something icy just touched me.” The corpses were peering into their faces, attracted to their life force. One of them actually licked Tommy in the face. “I’m not liking this,” he said. “How in the hell do we get out of here?” He glanced at Jessie and Tommy. “Walk

through them,” he told them. “What?” Jessie blinked. “Just walk through them.” “What about you?” Tommy insisted. “If I concentrate, I can communicate with them.” “What in hell good is that going to do?” Tommy demanded. “Never mind. Just go while they’re focussed on me.” Tommy reached for Jessie’s hand, and they ploughed through the dead around them. He could see them pass through the shadows. The dead didn’t even notice. They were staring at him, knowing he was the only one in the room who could tell them what they needed to know. An echo of voices sounded around him. Why do we walk? Where are we going? He swallowed his fear. They couldn’t hurt him, but that thing under the floor could. You are being tricked by Ernest. Where is he? White chalky faces peered at each other curiously. Which one of you is Ernest? No one answered. He could see Jessie and Tommy on the other side of the room with the equipment. Ernest is willing to sacrifice your soul to a demon so that he may go to hell. He is hiding. Don’t be tricked by him. Without you as sacrifices, the demon will starve. Ernest? Ernest? The voices blended together in a

haunted melody. Eric was trembling, and oh so cold. Then, over in the corner, he saw something. Those flashing red lights. He glanced down at the drain, then back at the corner. “Ernest,” he said aloud. “Stop hiding.” There was a terrible roar. The red eyes grew larger, and loomed closer. A pale face looked out at him. It was Ernest. The dead cowered back in fear. Get out! Glass smashed somewhere. The window. The drain was lifting now off the cement floor. Eric, get out of there. Eric. I can’t help you. “Max,” I said, “lead the dead out. They’ll follow you.” Jessie and Tommy were hanging on the door. Everything was vibrating. “Who’s Max?” Jessie cried. He didn’t answer. There was no time. “Go with Max,” he said, “he is an old spirit, kind, he will not trick you. Leave with him or lose your souls!” Something struck him, then, tried to choke him. “I am the living,” he shouted, “you can’t hurt me Ernest.” He was on the floor beside the damn drain, which threatened to erupt at any minute. They had a chance. The demon hadn’t actually broken through yet. The only demon in the room was Ernest, and his slimy transparent hands were choking the shit out of him. The dead were actually following Max out of

the room. They passed right through Jessie and Tommy. “I feel them,” Jessie said softly. “Tom, did you feel them?” He was speechless. They both seemed dazed for a moment, then, Tommy said, “Jess, we have to help Eric.” “What’s happening?” They were both screaming. “Get something to block the porthole, anything. Make the sign of the cross over it…keep it in there!” he shouted. He was not a particularly religious man, and he figured that Ernest Bean wasn’t either. “God have mercy on your soul,” he shouted, trying in vain to pull his hands off his throat while Jessie and Tommy both pushed the metal table over onto its side. Ernest let out a howl of rage, so he said it again. That and the sudden noise of the table crashing to the floor was enough to give him time to push away from good old Ernest. “God will save your soul,” Eric croaked, rubbing his throat and jumping to his feet. He didn’t know how many times he said it. The corpse crawled into the corner and began to cry. Eric rushed to help Jess and Tom turn the table over again to position the top of it over the drain. The rumbling died down some. They waited. Ernest faded from view. The rumbling stopped, and the lights ground back on. He smiled. Jessie and Tommy were standing flat against the wall, frozen in time. “It’s over,” he said. “Get Bean’s body out of

here tomorrow. Have some religious person bury it, and spread holy water over the grave.” Jessie wiped the sweat off her forehead. She came over and hugged him, then Tommy did the same. They went for coffee after. None of them felt as if they could sleep. A good stiff drink might have been better, but they were all exhausted, and all driving. They decided to stick to the coffee. Jessie held his hand in the restaurant. Tommy kept his eyes closed for a long time. They didn’t talk about it. They started talking about Christmas, and Eric began to talk about Brandon. “Still dreaming about Brandon Archer?” Tommy grinned, sitting up now in his chair and opening his eyes. He nodded, blushing a little, then shrugged. “When you going to get a real boyfriend?” ”Leave him alone, Tommy,” Jessie said. “It’s okay,” he replied sleepily, looking at his watch. It was almost seven in the morning. “I got to go, got to sleep. I’m beat.” “So, who’s Max?” Tommy lifted an eyebrow. Eric froze, pursing his lips. “He’s a…well…it’s hard to explain.” “He’s the one you talk to sometimes, right?” Jessie said softly. He nodded. “I’ll tell you all about him one day, I promise.” He gave Jess a quick kiss, raised a hand to Tommy, and got up out of the chair. He paid the coffee for all three of them, and walked

back to his car. He was a little worried about Max. He was like nowhere, and he had really come through for him tonight, for all of them. Although, he knew the dead couldn’t really hurt the living…he wasn’t sure if the dead could hurt the dead. Anyway, he was exhausted, and it was just too much to wrap his mind around. He drove slowly, yawning in the early morning sunshine. When he arrived at his building, he was greeted in the lobby by a Christmas tree adorned by a thousand little twinkling lights. He admired it for a minute, and smiled. As soon as he was upstairs, he kicked off his shoes, threw his coat on the sofa, and headed for his bed. He didn’t notice that the answering machine was flashing.

Chapter Six:

I

t was almost noon before he noticed the answering machine. He had gotten up around eleven, still feeling exhausted. He took a shower, had some breakfast and then noticed his throat. It hurt like hell, and if he looked close enough he could see that the bruises were in the form of fingerprints. He shuddered. With coffee in hand, he prepared to go downstairs to the mailbox when he noticed the red flashing light. The number in the little window display said 4. He pressed the machine, waiting. It was Cora. Eric, Cora here. Okay, it’s ah…ten thirty. Tomorrow morning at Dean’s on Lexicon Avenue, you know the famous breakfast place, I’m having breakfast with guess who? “Oh, fuck,” he said. Call me. Be there or be square. The connection clicked off. Next message. Eric? You’re not home yet. I know you love Brandon Archer…don’t you want to meet him? Let me know. I’m making reservations. Some other people are coming along too. Call me.

“Fuck, fuck….fuck.” Next message. Eric. Two words, Brandon and Archer. Where in the hell are you? He was currently smashing his head against the wall. Okay, Eric. This is the last message. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume…no, I won’t. I know you are hot for Brandon Archer. So this is the plan. Meet us at the restaurant at ten tomorrow morning. I’ve reserved you a spot…right beside him. He’s anxious to meet you. (laughter). See you tomorrow, hon. His head was sore now. He looked at his watch. It was afternoon. He picked up the phone and dialled Cora’s cell phone. No answer. With a heavy sigh, he rushed to his computer and logged on. There were two messages. One was Cora. Eric. Where in the hell were you? Anyway, you missed a great breakfast. Yes, he’s as gorgeous in real life…more…wish he was straight. You might want to email him to apologise. Anyway, know you would have been there if you could. Let me know if you’re okay. Worried. Cora. He clicked a reply. Cora. I am so sorry. I got your messages this morning…too late to show up. You know I’m dying to meet Brandon Archer. Damn. I could kick myself, I already gave myself a concussion, I think. I will email him and apologise. Call me later. I had a particularly harrowing night at work. I’m going to finish Brandon’s book today, and put on my editors hat tonight. Eric He pressed send. He couldn’t believe that he

had missed his opportunity to meet Brandon Archer. “Especially since you are so obsessed with him,” a voice accused. It was Max. He was glaring at him, standing on the threshold of his office door. “Max,” he said. “There you are. Are you all right?” “You seem genuinely glad to see me for a change, Eric.” “I am. I want to thank you for last night. I couldn’t have done it without you.” “I know. So, missed meeting the great heartthrob, eh? You know, Eric, this obsession has got to stop.” He laughed. “Now, don’t start that again.” “Your neck looks nasty. Sure you don’t want to see a doctor?” He shook his head slightly. “I took some aspirin. It will be okay.” He sighed, reaching for his reader and bringing up Christmas with Wistan “So, is it good?” Max asked, coming around behind him to spy. “Yeah, it’s excellent, but I’m not sure if it’s fiction or not.” “He writes it as if it really happened.” “How do you know? You’ve been reading the book?” He grinned. “Some.” Eric sobered. “It was just as well you didn’t go to breakfast.

That writer is not your speed.” “Why not?” “He’s got men falling at his feet. What’d he want with the likes of you?” “Wistan told him that the love of his life was out there waiting for him.” “Horse shit. That spirit is full of it.” “It could be me.” “More horse shit. You can’t even make it to breakfast. Are you going to email him?” “I don’t know.” “Why not do it? Scared?” “A little.” “Just don’t grovel. Tell him sorry that you missed him but you were in bed with…two gorgeous men with great big…” “Right. That’s what I’ll tell him, Max.” “Make him wonder if he’s missing something.” “Go away, Max.” “First you love me, then you hate me.” He shook his head, still grumbling as he walked through the wall. Eric looked at the computer screen. He went into his mail, and stared at that for a minute. He clicked on new message and then wrote in Brandon’s email. He already knew it by heart...Brandon at Slickmail.com. Brandon. It was a nice name. Okay, Eric, he told himself, write the stupid note. Either he won’t even bother acknowledging it or…or what…he’ll write back and tell him to bugger off? Okay. Dear

Brandon…no…Dear Mr. Archer. Too formal. Dear Brandon Archer. Maybe he should forget the dear. Ah…Hey there…gorgeous…beautiful sexy man of my dreams that I masturbate thinking of...He deleted that. Okay, try again. It doesn’t have to be long. Dear Mr. Archer. I’m very sorry I didn’t make it to breakfast this morning. I was fighting a demon in a morgue…ha ha. I don’t think so. Okay, so far, so good. I feel very privileged to be editing your book, and hopefully we will meet in the near future. I will send you the changes in blocks as I do them. Thanks. Eric Jackson. After ten minutes of reading it over a half dozen times, he clicked send. There. It was done. “So, what did you say?” Max said suddenly, making him jump. He put a hand to his chest. “Damn. Stop sneaking up on me, Max. It was polite and to the point. Now, let me read, please.” “I’ll be quiet.” And he was. He had the book finished by three that afternoon. He took a break, made a sandwich, then put on his editor’s hat and went back to work. It wasn’t going to be a tough editing job. Brandon Archer knew how to write, and thankfully he knew how to spell, too…however, writers were notoriously bad at editing their own books. At seven o’clock, he was still at it. The phone rang. It was Jessie. She wanted to know how he was doing.

“Fine. A little sore, but okay. How’s Ronnie?” “Good.” “I’ll be in tomorrow. I’ve got that article to finish up on the different types of haunting for ‘Unreal Magazine.’ ” “Okay. They still owe me for a piece I did last September.” “They’re slow to pay.” “See you tomorrow, then.” “Okay, Jessie.” He didn’t tell her about missing breakfast with Brandon. It broke his heart to even think about it. He paused to check his mail. A pop up message announced that he had two new messages. One was from Cora. She had another book for him to edit. The other one was from Brandon entitled Re: Sorry. He clicked that one open first, his heart pounding in his chest. Dear Mr. Jackson. There is no need to apologise about breakfast. Shit happens as they say!! As for the other comments, well…all I can say is that I hope you find the real thing soon. I am happy that I could be of service…let’s hope it’s temporary. Sincerely, Brandon Archer. He read the letter over a second time, mystified. What other comment? He scrolled down to where his letter to him was, and read it over. Dear Mr. Archer. I’m very sorry I didn’t make it to breakfast this morning. I feel very privileged to edit your book, and hopefully we will meet in the near future. I will send you the changes in blocks as I do

them. Thanks. Eric Jackson. P.S. I have no boyfriend and am obsessed with you. I think you’re gorgeous, and I masturbate to your books every night. He stared in horror at those last two sentences. Oh my God…oh my good God. His stomach started to make its way up into his throat. He never wrote that. He never… Max! He was barrelling through the house now, looking everywhere. “Max! Where are you? Where are you? No answer. Of course not. He wouldn’t dare show his face now. Oh, my God. What was he going to do? Brandon Archer probably thought he was some kind of a weirdo. Even if he was to write back, what could he say? Ah, Mr. Archer…you see that wasn’t me writing that. That was my ghost…Max…and he likes to play tricks and… Max! “You promised not to mess with this. You know how important Brandon Archer is to me. Max!” He gave up. His throat was sore. He went back to stare at his email message. He had to say something. He clicked reply, and began to type. Mr. Archer. Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to write those last two lines. I do enjoy your books. I’ve read them all. I have a devilish friend who added that onto my note without my knowledge. I didn’t even see it before it went. I apologise profusely. Please, please I’ll do anything to make amends for that. Name it. With sincerity, Eric. He pressed send before he could change his mind.

He gave up on the editing around ten thirty and went to bed. He got up several times in the night to check his email, hoping Brandon would write back. He didn’t. Max remained conspicuously absent. He placed his head down on the desk and groaned. Giving up on sleep, and needing some pleasant distraction, he went to the computer and pulled up Rian Monaire’s award winning book, Those Hills. He closed his eyes, putting his finger on the down arrow key, then, released it. He knew this book well. One scene and maybe he’d be distracted enough to fall asleep. He took one of the quilts from the end of the bed, draping it over her newly cleaned legs. He then moved back up, tugging the towel up slightly, just enough to work the wet cloth underneath. She relaxed. He really was behaving himself. Oddly enough, she felt a tang of disappointment. Replacing the damp towel, he lifted the bottom of it, wiping her belly, then lower. She felt more than a twinge this time, and fought to contain herself. Gorgeous though he was, she had never been attracted to good ‘ol boys with no brains, and wasn’t about to sacrifice her relationship with Jason to a pretty face. A very pretty face, yes, but that was it. Max was there staring at him suddenly. “Eric, shut off that computer and go to bed.” Eric shot him a dirty look. “You don’t have anything to say to me. You…” “Forget about that. You can scream at me

tomorrow. You have to get some sleep.” Eric sighed. “I will…I will. I just want to read the part about when he gives her the massage.” “Get into bed, and I’ll read it to you…until you fall asleep,” Max said. Eric turned off the computer. He knew that Max was just trying to get on his good side. He loved it when Max read him to sleep. Crawling into bed, Eric turned off the lamp and closed his eyes. He was too exhausted to argue with him tonight. “Okay,” he said, “I’m ready.” “…I’ll rub your back for ya,” Max began reciting ‘Bound to be tense after a long ride. Actually, it was. His fingers brushed the nape of her neck, sending another shiver down her spine.’ ” Eric sighed. “Go on.” “ ‘Despite her attempts at control, she could feel moisture beginning to trickle from between her legs. His massage was as professional as the sponge bath, leading her to wonder if he had been trained, like a physical therapist or something. Certainly didn’t talk like he’d ever set foot in a classroom.’ ” “Oh, honey,” Eric murmured, “who cares.” “Hey, you’re interrupting my flow,” Max protested. “Where was I….oh ya…didn’t talk like he’d ever set foot in a classroom. ‘Her thoughts began to drift as his gentle strokes worked their magic, and she felt herself relaxing. His hands moved down her back, and it felt so good she

hardly noticed that the towel had moved with them, exposing her back to the curves of her sleek buttocks. He pulled back suddenly, recapping the lotion, and pulled it back up. She turned her head toward him, disappointed. He appeared uncomfortable. She apparently affected him as well. She spoke up, “Is something wrong?” He shrugged, not meeting her eyes.’” “Get a clue, Lady, he’s horny,” Eric muttered. Max cleared his throat loudly. “Okay, okay,” Eric laughed sleepily. “You’re a good-lookin’ woman, and I ain’t a stone. I promised to be good, and I think I need a break if I’m gonna keep that promise.’” “That was great, Max, thanks,” Eric smiled into his pillow, although the hillbilly accent left a great deal to be desired. A gorgeous man giving him a massage kept the smile on his face as he drifted off to sleep. The next day he sat in the office at the university trying to concentrate on finishing up the article for the magazine. Many people didn’t know the difference between a General Haunting and a Residual Haunting, or that Poltergeist activity was more likely caused by a teenager than a pesky ghost. It was a fascinating article to write, but damn, he was having a hard time concentrating. All he could think of was what Brandon Archer must think of him. If only he would write back and say something, anything. Wait until he saw Max.

He was still angry with Max. Even though he thought he was going to wiggle out of what he’d done with that gesture last night, he wasn’t. But he had to concentrate on the task at hand now. He’d deal with Max when he got home. Jessie was in the office too. She was talking to the police on the phone about the incident at the morgue. Ernest Bean was at the mortuary and would be buried in consecrated ground today. Eric hoped that would take care of him, but there was this germ of doubt he kept trying to push away. Ronnie was graciously editing the first part of his article. “What in heck is a crepe?” “It’s a pancake,” Eric muttered, busy typing. “Why are you calling a ghost a crepe?” He stopped typing. “Creep. It should read creep.” “Um, that makes more sense. And you have the worst case of comma-itis I’ve ever seen.” Even an editor can’t edit their own work. “Fix it,” he told her. She laughed, bending her head back down to the hard copy. Jessie got off the phone. “Police are satisfied. I’ll send the final report off to the creep squad tomorrow.” “Are we satisfied it’s over?” Ronnie asked, not bothering to look up. Jessie paused. He stopped tying. “Why would you say that,

Ron?” “Ronnie’s been having some dreams,” Jessie said. “What kind of dreams?” “Strange…like…” Ronnie replied, looking at Jessie, “real.” “Real? What do you mean?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. “Like there is something in the room with me.” The phone rang suddenly, shattering the intensity of the conversation. Jessie picked it up and then took the phone off into the other room with her. “Ronnie,” Eric said. “Talk to me.” “I’m too scared.” “What’s scaring you?” “I don’t know. It’s the voice.” “So, it talks to you? What does it look like? What does it say?” “Red eyes,” she said. “And it talks, but it’s hard to make out words.” “Ernest Bean.” She sighed. “I don’t know.” “Tell me about the dream? How many times have you had it? Is it always the same one?” She shuddered suddenly. “I had it after we went to the morgue that first time, then the night after, and last night.” He reached over and touched her hand. “What happens in the dream?” “I see two red eyes, then, I feel as if I’m floating…and I hear a voice talking.” She shook

her head. “I seem to understand it at the time, Eric, but when I wake up I can’t remember what was said. And I’m so tired in the morning. It’s like I never slept. I think…I think that this thing is interested in…ah…my soul. Does this sound weird to you?” He didn’t like what he was hearing. He said something which sounded comforting, then stopped asking her questions. She was trembling. He got up to get her some water. When Jessie returned, they took a walk down the corridor. “What do you think?” Jessie asked him. “I don’t know. I don’t like it.” “Want to do a dream walk?” He sighed. “Not yet. Let’s wait until after Bean is buried today. Maybe it will stop.” “And if it doesn’t?” “I’ll do a dream walk.” He had only ever done three of them. They were scary. He didn’t like walking into people’s minds. It felt kind of yucky. He had gone into a little girl’s mind once. She had buried evidence about a hit and run accident. The police paid him well for that one. He found the answer, but he was depressed for weeks. Jessie was laughing. “Remember Mrs. Harrison?” He rolled his eyes. This was the second dream walk he did. Jessie grinned. “I remember she came in complaining that she was having nightmares about a ghost who kept sexually molesting her.”

“Yeah. The ghost turned out to be a figment of her imagination, and believe me, she was enjoying every minute of it. Turned out, she enjoyed it more with a voyeur.” “You were really pissed about that one,” Jessie teased. “Well,” he lifted his eyebrows, “at least the socalled ghost she had conjured up was a hunk and a half.” Jessie took my arm, and hugged it. “Ronnie has a strong mind. She can fight this thing, can’t she?” He nodded. “It might be nothing.” He didn’t want to tell Jessie just yet what she’d said about something wanting her soul. “What if that demon attached itself to Ronnie that night and is trying to use her to come through?” “It might not be the demon,” he cautioned. “I’ve read more of that book. It says once it’s summoned…” “I know, but it didn’t actually come through,” Eric said without much conviction. They both fell silent. “Maybe Ronnie should come stay at my place tonight,” he said. “I’ll watch her.” Jessie agreed. “Want me to come, too? We can take turns.” “Sounds good. What about Tommy?” “He’s investigating a couple of routine cases…nothing abnormal I suspect but you know how the authorities are.” Every case had to be

checked out. “Okay, let’s go and talk to Ronnie.” **** He went home to work, with the promise that Jessie and Ronnie would show up at his house later that night. He looked around his apartment and regretted not putting up a Christmas tree. Christmas was less than three weeks away. He clicked on his computer, and thought about getting something to eat. He doubted there was much in the refrigerator. “Max,” he called out, “you can stop hiding now. Why don’t you come out and own up to what you did? What you did last night doesn’t excuse it, you know.” Silence. He held his breath. The notice of email sprang up. You have three new messages. He took a seat and clicked into his mail. Two were junk, one was from Brandon. The subject line read Re: Sorry. Eric bit his bottom lip, then, clicked it open. Dear Mr. Jackson. You have no need to apologise to me…and you should be very careful about promising a man that you would do anything…makes my imagination run wild. However, contrary to what they say about me, I am a gentleman. So, is it true what your friend wrote at the bottom? Btw, what do you look like? Brandon. That brought a smile to his lips. He read it a few times and his cock definitely twitched. Dirty boy. Well… Grinning, he pressed reply and wrote back.

Dear Brandon. Please call me Eric. And it’s a damn shame you are such a gentleman. As to what I look like…well…that’s a secret. You have a very dirty mind, Mr. Archer. As for your other question, I plead the 5th. Eric. He laughed, and sent it off. He brought up ‘Christmas with Wistan,’ on the computer, and began to edit again. He paused over a paragraph or two that he particularly liked. Brandon Archer’s wit was cutting and very sexy. The let the words wash over him… I was sure I was dreaming, and as I sat up, my head began to pound horribly. Hang over. Big time. Okay, now what? Was I being held hostage by some psycho fan? It was possible. Many big time authors had had stalkers. “Okay,” I called out, “I’m awake. Where are you?” I managed to stand on my feet. I still had on all my clothes. That was a good sign. I think. Silence. Great. “Okay,” I called out again, “are you just going to leave me?” I began walking around the room, pounding on the walls. There had to be a hidden door somewhere. How in the hell did I get in here? Okay, I was scared shitless now. I waited, listening, scarcely daring to breath. Sweat broke out on my forehead. “Hello, Brandon,” a voice said suddenly. I just about jumped out of my skin. I swirled around, not helping my headache, and blinked at the figure standing in front of me, amid a wave of nauseous dizziness. God, I didn’t feel well, and this…ah… man…in front of me…well, I actually closed my eyes, then opened them again, certain that I was hallucinating.

I am not bullshitting you. He was almost eight feet tall, wearing a skin tight gold suit that might have worked well in an old episode of Star Trek…but it didn’t work well now, even as holiday wear. His hair was gold, and it shone like the Christmas tree lights in the Square, cascading down over his shoulders. Gentle blue eyes looked down at me. He smiled. He was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. So, I asked the dumbest question possible. With my mouth agape, and a stupid look on my face, I asked, “Are you an angel?” He threw his head back and laughed…and it wasn’t just any laugh. It was loud and boisterous and it went on and on for far longer than I personally thought was necessary. Finally, he stopped, met my eyes, and yelled out, “Hell no.” I sucked some breath through my teeth. “Then…who or what…are you?” “I’m Wistan. I’m the giver of gifts…the guru of talents. I’m the reason you can write.” “O…o…kay,” I replied. “What do you want with me?” The guy was certifiable. He needed help. He needed a fashion consultant, and I didn’t exactly fit the profile of the Queer eye guy.” “No, they can be a little stereotypical,” he said suddenly, “and I’ve seen your apartment Brandon, you’re no decorator.” I narrowed my eyes. “Thanks. How did you do that? You just read my thoughts? And when in hell were you in my apartment? Believe me I may have a lot of men going in and out of my place, but you, I would have remembered.” “I’m magic.”

I nodded. “Right.” “What a sceptic you are,” he pointed at me. “Don’t you believe in anything anymore?” I paused, licking my lips. I was thirsty as hell. I believed in that. “That’s a complicated question. Let’s go somewhere for drink, and I’ll tell you all about it…except you’ll have to change your clothes. I’m not walking into any bar…even one with drag queens, with you looking like that.” Laughing, Eric paused in his reading, noticing he had mail. He eagerly took a look. Brandon again. Um. This was getting interesting. He opened it, smiling. Hi Eric. You are right. I do have a dirty mind…an extremely dirty mind…it would be a little hard to write what I write without one. But then, you would know all about that, Eric, according to what your pesky friend tacked onto your email. It’s not nice to tease. When I was a boy, they’d say you tease…you please. Correct me if I’m wrong. Do you have Messenger? Maybe we could get to know each other a little better? Brand. His heart was coming out of his chest. The note he wrote back was brief and to the point: Yes, I have Messenger. Add me, and I’ll add you. Two minutes later... Fine, Eric. I wonder, is it ethical to be this intimate with your editor? He was teasing him. He licked his lips, preparing to write something back when the request to add his name to his messenger came up.

He acknowledged, then sent him his. Opening up the little square, he waited. Suddenly he saw him show up. Hi Eric. Brandon. How are you tonight? Fine. You? Wondering if it’s ethical for us to be talking? He added a little grin at the end. Cute. I love your books. Thanks. I love this one too. You make an editor’s job a real pleasure. Oh yeah? He grinned. His flirting even came through on the computer. Yeah. So, are you going to the Christmas party? Probably. At least, I’ll try to make it. It’s a few days before Christmas day, so that’s fine. I spend Christmas with my brother. I held my breath. Did that mean he was alone…no boyfriend? That’s nice. Is there a big crowd? No. My brother and family, me, sometimes our mother. That’s it. Do you bring someone? It was bold, he knew, but damn it, he was dying to know. Why, Eric. Is that a question? No, it’s an observation. Am I in trouble? Probably. Are you going to answer? You don’t have to.

I go alone. Oh. That’s too bad. You really think so? Yeah. With a guy like you, it’s a crying shame. His doorbell rang. Shit. Eric, I hate to tell you this but I have to go. Any chance you’ll be on later? No. I’m going out. Tomorrow night maybe. Have I redeemed myself? Not really. You’d have to get on your knees for that. Didn’t you offer? His hand went to his zip. He adjusted his cock accordingly. Oh, baby, he’d get on his knees for him any day. I’m speechless. That’s good. Means your mouth is full. Oh, my God. Did he write that? His door bell rang again. Damn it. He didn’t want to leave him. Please meet me back here in an hour. Can’t promise. Okay. Bye. Bye Eric. He shut down the computer screen, swearing, and went to answer the door.

Chapter Seven

R

onnie was in tears when he opened the door. Jessie had her by the arm. “What happened?” he asked, ushering them both inside. “I fell asleep,” Ronnie blubbered. “I had that dream again.” Eric put his arms around her and hugged her, giving Jessie a concerned look over her shoulder. “I don’t want to fall asleep again.” He rubbed her back. “Why don’t you go and sit down on the sofa. I’ll make tea,” he said. She nodded. Jessie followed him out into the kitchen. He put on the kettle. He was feeling a little anxious. He wanted to get back to Brandon, and given the situation, that was making him feel a bit guilty. “What do you think?” Jessie asked. He shrugged. “Bean was just buried today, right?” “Yeah.” He gave her a meaningful look. “He was inside her. You saw it, those eyes…” Jess said, still wearing her coat. He reached over and began to unbutton it for her. She slipped out of it. He walked out of the kitchen to the hall closet and hung it up. Ronnie was sitting huddled on the sofa, her coat wrapped around her. “Tea’s coming,” he said. She didn’t look up. Jessie was putting tea bags in mugs when he returned to the kitchen. He poured boiling water, and they carried out milk and sugar. After a few

minutes, they sat around sipping the tea. Ronnie seemed to perk up some. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her eyes filled with tears. “Maybe all this stuff is getting to me. Maybe I’m going nuts.” “No,” he said. “Jess and I are going to watch you tonight. Whatever it is, we’ll fight it together.” She blew him a kiss. He laughed. “Too damn bad you’re queer,” she said, “you’d make one hell of a catch.” He grinned. “He’s cute too, isn’t he?” Jessie suggested, winking at him. He sure as hell hoped Brandon thought so. After he was assured Ronnie was calm, he made his escape. “I have a bit of work to do on the computer. Do you mind?” “Of course not,” Jessie said. “Go ahead,” Ronnie urged. “It’s too early for bed yet.” He got up and practically skipped into the office. He clicked on the messenger. He was still online. Eric. I’m back. Are you busy? Nothing for a few minutes. He’s probably cybering with someone else. “Max,” he said, turning around. He was sitting across from him, perched on a little table. “Finally.” “I was scared.” “You should have been,” he cautioned, keeping his voice down. “That wasn’t nice what you did.” “Got his attention,” he indicated the computer.

He turned around to see that he had replied. Hello, Eric. I’m sorry I had to leave. I’m back. I see that. So, what are you working on now? A book about two guys meeting on the net. Oh. What happens? Don’t know yet. Isn’t finished. What happened in the beginning? They hook up, and begin having a sexual relationship over the internet. Like with words? Uh huh. Like one guy seduces the other with words? Something like that. Can you read me some? No. Why not? Boring. Nothing about you is boring. Flattery will get you….ahhh…. I was laughing. Show me. Show you what, Eric? You know… Love to, but it’s a little hard to see it right now. He laughed harder. “You are so pathetic,” Max said. “Shut up, Max. You’re in enough trouble, and don’t be making any jokes tonight in front of Jess and Ronnie, okay?” “I wouldn’t do that, poor girl is traumatized enough. What do you think I am, a sadist?”

He ignored him, turning back to the computer screen. I’d love to see all of you naked. Shit. He couldn’t believe he’d just written that. Really? Oh yeah. You’re incorrigible, Eric. You’re so damn sweet. How do you know that? Haven’t tasted me yet. I’d love to taste you. Come and see me. Oh shit. Did he just invite him to come and…ah… I can’t. Why not? I…I have company. Send them home. I can’t do that either. It’s work company. Ahh. You’re a tease, Eric. No. Well, maybe…but then your books have teased me enough. Tell me about that. They make me so hot. I get naked, I read your books, and I jack off. Correction. You read sections of my books, and jack off. Ha ha. Okay. That’s right. I read sections of your books and jack off. Is it true that you write from your own personal sexual experience? Who else’s sexual experience can I write from? I’m so damn horny right now talking to you. Does that make sense? Probably not. Are you hard?

God, yes. Unzip your pants. I already did that, believe me. Take it out. He licked his lips, and pulled his cock out of his open zipper. He shouldn’t be doing this. Stroke it, Eric. I’m stroking. I’m there with you. I’m down on my knees just in front of your open thighs. He swallowed, picturing Brandon Archer on his knees in front of him. His swollen cock pulsed in his fist. He closed his eyes for a minute, then opened them again. Brandon. Take off my shirt. Okay. Lick my nipples. I like that. Lick my nipples while I stroke your cock. I’m going to take it into my mouth in a second. Pinch my nipples. They’re hard as rock. Rub your palm against them. Ummm. Yeah. Okay, your cock is in my mouth. I’m licking it…sucking it. Feel it, Eric? Oh Jesus…yes…he felt it. His cock was pumping now, cum running into his hand and down his thigh. Then, he jumped as the screen flashed, and the computer shut off. A bloodcurdling scream came from the living room. He tucked his cock back into his jeans and ran to see what was happening. Jessie was standing in the corner of the room, gripping the top of the recliner. The only light was

coming through the window from the street light. A blast of cold air hit him. He looked over at Ronnie who was still sitting on the sofa, her winter coat tucked around her. She turned her head to look at him, and two red eyes stared back. “What the fuck…?” Eric growled. “What are you doing in my house?” The red eyes were fixed on him now. They blinked once, than they heard a voice that clearly didn’t belong to Ronnie, a voice which sounded as if it was interwoven with gravel, “You’ve caused me much trouble, Eric.” He took a step forward. Jessie came over to where he stood, and placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t, Eric,” she said, her eyes darting around the room. “We have to help Ronnie,” he whispered. She nodded hesitantly. Max was there now by the window. He studied Ronnie for a second, before shifting his gaze to him. His eyes were troubled. Be careful, Eric. “Is it the demon, or is it Ernest Bean?” he asked him, not caring that Jessie heard him. Jessie opened her mouth to speak, then, noticed that Eric was looking at something she couldn’t see. It’s both. Max’s words sent a shiver down his spine. “How can it be both?” I don’t know. It just is. “Eric,” Jessie said frantically, “who in fuck are

you talking to?” He kept his eyes on Ronnie. The red eyes were burning into his. “We need a demonologist. I don’t know if I can do this on my own. You must know someone, Jessie.” Jessie didn’t move. “Jessie!” That woke her up. “My purse is over there…my phone and…” He walked over and picked Jessie’s purse off the floor. The red eyes watched, waiting. He threw it at her. “Go, go into the other room and call someone who knows what in hell to do with these things.” “I thought you knew ghosts, Eric…thought you could talk to them.” He swallowed. “You’re no ordinary ghost. What do you want, Ernest?” “You stole my sacrifices. I need souls so that Owna with come and take me to hell.” Joy. He looked over at Max. What do you think? Jessie was in the kitchen talking to someone in a low whisper on her cell phone. Sparks began shooting out of his electrical sockets. Not good. Max wasn’t answering. He looked pensive, confused maybe. “Let Ronnie go,” Eric said suddenly. “You don’t need her.” “But I do. Without her, I’ll be lost. I need the souls. Bring me back my souls!” The entire foundation of the house began to

rumble, then abruptly stopped. Seems like someone from outside would notice. No one will notice. We are almost on a different plane here. Max was talking to me now. He wants to go back to the morgue. The porthole is there, and so are the fresh souls. The demon is waiting for him, calling to him. He sighed. Fucking great! Jessie came out now, casting a wary glance at Ronnie. “How is she?” “All right I guess. Did you reach someone?” “Yeah, an old priest who was kicked out of the church a while back for doing exorcisms. He’ll meet us at the morgue.” “Morgue?” “He needs to see the porthole.” He looked at Ronnie. The red eyes glowed back at him. “Well, Ernest, this is your lucky night. We’re taking you back to the porthole.” Silence. He looked at Jessie. “We are going to have tie Ronnie up.” “Tie her up?” He nodded. “Ernest is contained inside her now, but we can’t afford to lose her. She is resisting Ernest. That’s why she hasn’t been back to the morgue.” “I think I see,” Jessie nodded. “There is some rope in back of my car and…” Eric began, only to hear a heavy thud on the floor in front of him. Max had brought the rope in from

his trunk and dropped it on the floor. Jessie looked at the rope, gasped, and then back at him. “Eric?” “He won’t hurt us. He’s harmless.” “Who is he?” Hurry, Eric. You can explain later. Tie her up now. She is fighting inside. He nodded at Max. “Help me, Jessie,” he said. They pinned Ronnie to the sofa, and began to tie her hands together. As soon as they touched her, the red eyes faded, then disappeared. “Eric,” she cried out, “Jess…what are you…do….dooooing?” How do you tell someone you love that you are tying them up for their own good? He was scared for her, scared for all of them. Jess drove. Eric sat in the back seat with Ronnie, who looked terrified. She stopped struggling when he told her that everything was going to be all right…she stopped struggling that is, until she realized where they were headed. Then she started to shriek. “I’m not going there…you can’t make me go there!” “We’ll be with you,” he told her, trying to stroke her hair. “He’s with you. You feel him, don’t you? We’re going to make him leave, Ronnie.” Jessie was glancing over her shoulder at them every once in awhile, trying to say comforting things. Ronnie wasn’t listening. She was struggling to get loose, to reach the door handle of

the car so that she could escape. Eric winced as Jessie screeched his car up to the curb in front of the city morgue. “Will they let us in?” he asked anxiously. “They better,” Jessie replied. Their van slid up behind the car now. It was Tommy. He jumped out and hurried over. Eric got out, blocking the door so that Ronnie couldn’t follow. “Jessie, go ahead and get inside. Tommy, will help me bring Ronnie in.” “Where in hell is the priest?” Jessie cried out, standing on the sidewalk. “Never mind him, we’ll find him later. Get the doors open.” He waited until Jessie waved to them from the front door, then Tommy helped him half carry Ronnie inside, which was no small feat. The fact that she was tied up and wailing didn’t go over too well with the night security. They asked a lot of questions, which they didn’t quite know how to answer. “Take her,” Jessie muttered, “I’ll go outside and look for the priest.” The security guard was barring their path. “I realise who you guys are, but I think you should let that lady there go.” Jessie paused at the door. “We can’t,” Tommy said, his face flinching as he held onto Ronnie’s struggling arm. “We have to ah…take her somewhere.” Ronnie was starting to get tired. Her chest was

heaving, sweat running down her face. “Are you being held against your will, Madame?” The guard asked Ronnie. “Yes…yes…” she groaned, nodding. “Of course she is,” Eric snapped. “Any fool could see that. We can’t explain now...we…have to…ouch…go.” Ronnie was kicking him in the shin. He pulled his leg out of range. “Tommy, let’s go.” The guard was about to make a move to stop them when they heard this soft little voice say, “Is this where the exorcism is supposed to be?” They all looked at the door to see a frail little old man standing there. He was wearing a collar. Eric started to laugh. Things couldn’t be any weirder. His laughter however didn’t last long. Ronnie started to struggle in earnest. The guard reached out to her. “I can’t let you take her anywhere,” he said sternly. Jessie moved forward, pushing her card at the guard. “Look, this is official…” The guard wasn’t looking at the card. The color drained from his face, and he took a decided step backward. Ronnie’s eyes had turned red.

Chapter Eight

L

uckily, the guard had been frightened enough to let Tommy and Eric drag Ronnie off down the hallway. He didn’t even seem to hear her pleading cries anymore. He seemed to be in a state of shock. Jessie hurried down the hallway after them with the priest in tow, who was murmuring something and counting on his rosary beads. He could feel Max close by. He was watching from somewhere, but being very quiet. It was really hard to pin down what he was feeling at the moment. He was dragging a woman back to the last place she wanted to be…a woman possessed by some dead guy who was trying to conjure a spirit…followed by a defrocked priest who looked as if a gust of wind might topple him at any moment. On top of that, just an hour ago he had been having simulated sex over the Internet with the man of his fucking dreams…only to be cut off in the middle of it. How in hell was he going to explain this one? As they rounded the corner, the lights began to flicker. “Here we go,” Tommy said. “You mind telling

me what in hell is going on?” “Damned if I know,” Eric muttered. He was so damn scared, yet he wanted to laugh. Maybe he was hysterical. The lights flickered again. Ronnie cried out something unintelligible, then, lost consciousness. Great. Dead weight. Jessie noticed that Ronnie’s body had gone slack. “Is she all right?” “She’s breathing,” Eric said, placing his finger on the pulse at her throat. They half dragged her through the heavy doors, then, laid her gently on the floor. Both men were breathing hard. Ronnie was a woman of at least two hundred pounds. The priest whizzed by them now. “Where is the porthole?” He demanded. He could feel the energy. They all could. Ronnie’s eyes snapped open. A hand reached out and grabbed Eric’s ankle. He jumped, trying to pull away. Those eyes looked up at him. Owna is coming. He said it only to him. He heard it loud and clear. Jessie had taken the little priest into the other room to show him the porthole. Eric knew the dead were going to rise. He could feel them stirring. Tommy was talking to him, but he could no longer hear him. His eyes were sinking down into those red ones. No, Eric, don’t. Eric. You might not come out. Eric…Eric… Darkness. He placed his palms along the side of the wall and felt his way. He was walking on something spongy, his feet sinking down.

Welcome, Eric. Welcome to my mind. You can come with me…you can come with me to hell…help me. When his eyes began to adjust, he saw that he was in this room. It looked familiar. He had been there before. A man sat behind a big desk, a book in front of him. Behind him hung a portrait. Mr. Bean. Yes. How nice to meet you, Eric. The voice had a light quality, like silk…floating…floating the words. Let Ronnie go. You don’t need her. Why should you care? It’s not like she’s your lover. You’re as queer as they come. I care because she’s my friend. Friends. I never had any friends. He didn’t have a hard time believing that. Why would you want to unleash this demon into the world? The world needs to know. The world needs to know what…about stealing souls? Eating them, actually. He looked up at him, those red eyes passive. Come closer, Eric. Touch my hand. He shook his head. Evil. Pure evil, and he didn’t even believe in that. Let me show you what wonders await you if you join me. Hell is not like you think…hell is indulgence… indulgence in everything God tells you that you can’t have. Let me show you, and I will release Ronnie. I don’t believe you. Release her first. I can only do that, if I exchange her body for yours.

He sucked in some breath. Do it. He knew he was stronger than Ronnie, that his talent for communicating with the dead would enable him to break free…at least, he hoped so. He felt as if the walls were closing in around him. The space got smaller. He moved closer to Bean. Bean stood up, bowing his head to him. He walked around the desk and stood in front of him, looking him up and down. Eric. He stood around five eight, or nine, rod thin with icy blue eyes. His mouth twisted into what was supposed to be a smile. I am going to show you what Owna can offer you. Bean touched him with an icy hand. Eric shuddered. Closing his eyes, he felt the wind. It blew up all around them. There was nothing to hold on to. He was falling into some sort of an abyss filled with fog and light. Two red eyes glowed up at him. He felt real fear as his hands and legs kicked out, desperate to find something to hold onto. He looked down into those red eyes. He knew he didn’t want to fall any further. Looking up, there was a hand reaching out for him. He grabbed onto it. It was either that, or go down to meet whatever it was with those red eyes. There was laughter. Welcome to my wicked, wicked world, Eric, where anything is possible. The only limitation is your own imagination. The wind was gone. The fog, too. Naked bodies writhing in ecstasy surrounded him. The sweaty, salty taste of male sex filled his nostrils. Want to

taste, Eric? He kept walking, trying not to see the swollen sex organs, hear the lusty moans. His cock felt as if it wanted to bust out of his pants. There is a special room waiting just for you. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Is Ronnie all right?” He managed, stepping over naked men, with hard muscles, and even harder cocks. Give into it, Eric. Let it seduce you. Why deny yourself? Look, Eric. Look. Brandon. In front of him, clear as day stood Brandon Archer. The face looked exactly like the photograph on the book. The body was hard and lean. He was completely naked, and he had an incredible erection. “Brandon,” Eric breathed. He smiled at him. You can have him, Eric. Do whatever you want. Satisfy your deepest, most depraved craving. Take him. Take him. I want to watch. Eric’s eyes were filled with Brandon, his gorgeous dark hair, those beautiful eyes. You know what he’s capable of…you know what he can give you. Yes, he knew. He knew that he was going to have to fight to survive this. Brandon was not standing in front of him. In fact, he was probably cursing his name right about now, wondering why he just abandoned him on the computer like that. He felt himself rubbing his crotch. God, his cock was aching. That image of Brandon was walking toward him, holding out his arms. He ached to surrender. He wanted him so much, but dreaming of him was not going to do it. And that’s

what this was, a dream. Turning away from the beauty in front of his eyes, he called out to Ernest. “This isn’t real. None of it is. It’s a dream. Do you want to spend the rest of eternity dreaming, Ernest?” “Hell is where your dreams can come true, Eric. Come with me.” “No.” “The demon needs a soul. The demon needs your soul.” Eric began to panic. He moved through the turmoil that was Ernest’s mind. There had to be a door out somewhere. Naked bodies were chained to walls. Others in leather whipped their sex organs with heavy cat-o-nine tails. Women with enormous breasts were raped repeatedly. Screams of ecstasy and pain reverberated around his ears. Suddenly the two red eyes appeared in front of him. “I want your soul, Ernest. Unfortunately, I will have to kill you to get it. What do you think is the best way for you to die, Eric? I suggest dying of pleasure.” Voices were all around him now. Eric…Eric…Eric. Several naked clones of Brandon Archer surrounded him. His clothes began to fall off. Hands caressed him. He closed his eyes. Give yourself over to it, Eric. Let your body feel the lust…feel the wanton animalistic need. Let Brandon fuck you…he wants to fuck you. He wants to twist your nipples and suck your cock. Relax. This is better than those books you read. This is the real thing. You

need Eric. You need. Dying of pleasure. He was literally dying of pleasure. His eyes closed. “Brandon… baby,” he moaned as he felt himself being lifted in the air, all of his body exposed and accessible. Fingers parted his buttocks and began to slide deep inside of him. A mouth was expertly tonguing his nipples at the same time. His cock and balls were being swallowed by a hungry mouth. His entire body was on fire. He was coming and coming, streams of it rocketing out of his cock into someone’s throat. His body spasmed violently. There didn’t seem to be any end at sight. The fingers played over his nipples now, the teeth biting down on them gently increased their rhythm. Open yours eyes, Eric! He moaned again, lost, lost as a thick slippery organ began to delve deep inside him. He was on his knees now, his body vibrating with the pounding of the slick, fat piece of meat that went far deeper inside of him than was actually possible. We’re using your body, Eric. You are our slave. You can be our sex slave for eternity. Would you like that, Eric? Eternity. Death. Damn, he was being pleasured to death. No! No, Bean. His body bathed in sweat and his own bodily juices, Eric pushed upward so that he was standing on his feet. The messages he had exchanged with Brandon on the net awhile ago came streaming back into his mind. So, what are you working on now?

A book about two guys meeting on the net. Oh. What happens? Don’t know yet. Isn’t finished. What happened in the beginning? They hook up, and begin having a sexual relationship over the internet. Like with words? A huh. Like one guy seduces the other with words? Something like that. “You’re not Brandon,” he said to the images glowing around him. “You’re not Brandon.” That’s it, Eric. Fight. Get to hell out of there. “Max?” he said, looking around. Suddenly, he saw him, several corpses floating behind him. I’m leading him out, Eric. Follow the dead…follow the dead. He began to follow, but I was silently pleading with Max not to lead the dead to the porthole. Trust me. **** Jessica looked at the Priest, then down again at Eric who lay on the floor. His entire body seemed to twitch. “Is that good?” she asked the Priest frantically. He didn’t answer. He was busy praying over Eric at a frenzied pace. Tommy placed a hand on Jessie’s shoulder. “He’s tough, our Eric. He’s going to be fine.”

Ronnie turned her head away into the corner and started to cry softly. Suddenly, Tommy and Jessica jumped as Eric gasped, and sat upright on the floor. The priest never strayed from his frantic prayers. Ronnie let out a cry and came back to stand beside Tommy and Jessica. Eric grabbed the Priest’s hand. “Pray over the porthole. Send the dead away from the porthole.” He did stop then, his eyes widening. “What…dead?” Eric sprang up from the floor. Turning around, he saw the transparent outline of Ernest Bean with his glowing eyes, with the host of ghostly figures floating right behind him. “Just tell them,” Eric shouted, “they’ll hear you. Tell them the porthole is hell.” Light began to glow around the drain in the floor. The priest began to pray again, this time warning the dead. Eric pushed the Priest away from the porthole into the ghostly mist. “Tell them…insist…be angry.” The Father held up his fist now, rosary wrapped tightly in his fingers. “There is damnation. Do not follow this man. God will not be waiting for you there.” Jessie clutched onto Eric’s arms while Tommy and Ronnie checked the equipment. Something rumbled beneath the floor. Ernest stopped, and glared at Eric. Then he cried out something. The

apparitions were turning away. The two red eyes faded. “Damn you…” Ernest cursed, then disappeared. The lights flickered once again, then, died. All was quiet. The priest was exhausted. Ronnie and Jessica half carried the poor old guy out to his car. Tommy walked down the corridor beside Eric. They didn’t speak. Tommy knew what they’d just witnessed. He’d never laugh at Eric’s belief in portal haunting again. They all hugged before they went their separate ways. No one talked. Ronnie held onto him a bit longer than normal. Eric understood. He was shaking as he drove home. Max was conspicuously absent. It was only when he crawled into bed that he felt his presence. He came and lay beside him, his head on his hand. “I love you, Eric,” he said. Eric let his eyes close slowly. “I love you too, Max,” he whispered.

Chapter Nine called him at noon the next day. “I’ve Jessie decided to cancel the meeting today. Let’s meet early next week, okay? I think we could all use a break.” “Good idea,” Eric replied. Cora had just sent him another book to edit. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to that right now. He was just about finished with Brandon’s editing. Brandon. What he must think of him, leaving him hanging like that on the computer last night. He had edits to send him today. He’d have to find a way to apologise. “Eric? You still there?” “Sorry, Jess. Okay, and don’t worry about me, I’m fine. See you Monday?” “Bye, sweetie,” she replied and hung up. Eric went back to his computer. He finished Brandon’s editing and by three that afternoon opened up an email to send to him. He attached the file before he wrote: Hi, Brandon. I’ve finished your editing. I loved the book, by the way. Maybe we

could discuss it sometime. I’m so sorry about last night. I had an emergency. Forgive me?” Eric. He heaved a deep breath, and pressed send. Then he opened up the email from Cora. It was another Gabriella Bradley book. This one called ‘Don’t Hang Up.’ Eric smiled. He’d edit a Gabriella Bradley book any day. Cora attached a note. Hi, Eric. This one is going to be huge. Giving you an early start. How is Archer’s book going? I spoke to him on the phone today. He’s so sweet…funny, too. Christmas party is next week Friday. Be there, be square. Let me know. Kisses. Cora.” Eric pressed reply. Cora. You are sweet. A little taste of Gabriella Bradley is just what I need. How did you know? I sent Christmas with Wistan back to Brandon. When he gets back to me with his approval, I will take another look, then get it to you by the deadline. Kisses back. Eric. He didn’t wait for her reply. He loaded Don’t Hang Up on his reader and shut down the computer. Getting into bed, he began to read. The book was about the lament of love. He could well identify. He sighed when the two characters were seized by passion: It was then that they both, in a frenzy, discarded all clothing, all the while holding each other’s gaze, stealing a kiss as each garment flew to the floor. The tumult of her heart drowned out the soft music in the background. All she could listen to now was her desperate longing. She felt his need strongly as it matched her own. He took her in his arms and easily

slid her down so that she lay beneath him, her head resting on his arm. For a moment he held her gaze, then as he entered her with force she gasped and his lips crashed down on hers. Her hips arched to meet his, to match his movements and she rotated wildly to satisfy her lust, to feel him deep inside, to touch her inner core and fill the emptiness left there by Mark. “Deeper,” she breathed against his lips, “harder…” Their bodies melded together as if made for each other. She came then, with full force. A slight shudder shook her body as he matched her climax and she felt him go limp within her. He looked up suddenly to see that Max was looking at him from across the room. “Don’t say it,” Eric muttered. “Don’t say what?” Max remarked. “Don’t say how pathetic I am…getting all worked up over scenes in a book.” “Oh, is that what you’re doing.” “You know damn well I am.” “Well, I know what Gabriella Bradley does for you. She’s the heart strings, and Brandon Archer is the motor.” Eric made a face at him. “She does write beautifully.” “Doesn’t she?” Eric put down the reader, feeling exhausted suddenly. “What am I doing in bed at four in the afternoon, Max?” “You’re mentally and emotionally exhausted.” “Did I thank you for doing what you did for me last night?”

“More or less.” “Thanks.” “Sure. Are you going to the Ruby Red Christmas party?” He hesitated, then, nodded. “Yeah. I’m going.” “Brandon Archer may not be what you expect. Based on his book, he’s had his problems.” “Haven’t we all?” “Do you believe there was a Wistan?” Eric shrugged his shoulders, getting out of bed. “Maybe. I believe in the possibility of a Wistan. You know what, Max?” “What?” “Let’s get a tree.” “Tree?” “A Christmas tree. Let’s go out and get a Christmas tree.” “Those things cost a fortune.” “Well, I’m feeling flush. After last night, we need to celebrate. Tree, and decorations too.” Max rolled his eyes. A few hours later, a four foot tree sat in Eric’s living room drying out. Three bags of Christmas decorations were strewn on the sofa. By the weekend, the tree was up and nicely decorated with clear flashing lights and red hanging glass bulbs. Max regarded it with a faint smile on his face. “Not bad, Eric.” Eric finished Don’t Hang Up, decided to savour it a bit before beginning the editing. He sat back with a glass of wine thinking about her story,

deciding that he had enjoyed this one very much. “Are you all right with what happened, Eric? I’m worried about you.” Max was sitting at the opposite end of the table eyeing the wine. “I don’t want to talk about it, Max. It was scary…scarier than anything…I…” he shuddered. “It’s hard to wrap my mind around sometimes. I’ll be fine.” Max stayed quiet. Eric had checked his email a few times today. Nothing from Brandon. He hoped that he had gotten the edits and that everything was all right. When the phone rang, Eric jumped a little, then reached over to the other side of the table and picked up the portable. “Hello.” The voice on the other end was angry. “Is this Eric Jackson?” It was male, deep and hostile as hell. Eric straightened up in his seat. “Yes. Who is this?” “This is Brandon Archer.” Shit. “Brandon. I…what’s wrong…how…?” “What in hell kind of editor are you, anyway?” “I don’t understand. What’s wrong?” Eric’s heart was in his feet. “I sent it back to you. Take a look, you fucking asshole, and you tell me what’s wrong!” The line went dead. The color drained out of Eric’s face as he held the dead receiver in his hand. Jumping up from the table, Eric raced to his computer, and turned it

on. He was practically hyperventilating as he waited for his email to load. There it was, the message from Brandon. It read: re: edits for ‘Christmas with Wistan.’ Brandon clicked it open. I have rarely recalled an occasion when I have been this insulted. You have a right to your opinion, but I really don’t believe you should be editing books…especially not mine. Eric narrowed his eyes. Clicking open the attachment, he begin to check his edits, which were marked in red. Rather than crossed out mistakes and suggestions for changes, each space after the correction read “Crap,” or “Garbage.” There were other comments like “You got to be kidding, you call yourself a writer,” and “Give me a break.” Eric put his head down on the desk. His phone rang again. He ran to pick it up. It was Cora. “Eric, what is going on? Brandon Archer has left a dozen messages on my machine. What happened?” “I…I don’t know. I don’t understand it. I…didn’t write those things.” Looking around the room now, he noticed that Max was not anywhere. Eric narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Then how did they get there? I have a copy here, Eric. It’s outrageous…it’s…shit? You called his work shit? Fit for the toilet and…” What in hell could he say? No one was ever going to believe that he had a jealous ghost living with him. Tears stung his eyes as he ran a trembling hand through his fair hair. “All I can

say is that I apologise.” “I think you need a break, Eric. I’m going to reassign Gabriella Bradley’s book.” “Cora, I…” She hung up. Eric sighed. Holding the phone in his hand, he glared at it, then, hurled it across the room. **** The following week at the meeting in the office, the others noticed that Eric was really down in the dumps. He hardly spoke, or even commented on the discussion. “So,” Ronnie was saying, “don’t you think Eric would be the most likely candidate to write the article on the portal haunting?” “Co-authorship is the way to go,” Tommy interjected. “We were all there.” “I think we could get a series of articles out of this one. Don’t you, Eric?” Jessie inquired, looking over at him. “Eric?” He looked up at her, a stormy look on his face. “I want to get rid of a pesky ghost.” “What?” she said, wrinkling her nose. Eric stood up and began to pace. “You guys have always wondered who it is I’ve been talking to, well, it’s Max…and he’s got to go.” “Who in hell is Max?” Tommy asked. Eric sighed. “Do you remember the Johnston house?”

No one moved. “Two years ago,” Eric urged. “I went alone. Routine poltergeist thing.” “Yeah, I do,” Ronnie piped in. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you remember or not. During those two weeks, I met Max. He was a stubborn ghost who didn’t want to leave the premises. Finally, he decided to follow me out of there and he’s been with me ever since.” There was dead silence. They didn’t believe him. They were looking for something diplomatic to say. Who cared? “Okay…look,” Eric cried out, throwing up his hands, “don’t believe me. I’m telling you the truth. All I’m saying is he has to go. He’s screwing up my life…now he’s alienated me from Brandon Archer…and from the publisher I work for. Maybe I don’t even have my editing job anymore. I…” “The Brandon Archer?” Ronnie gasped. “I love him.” “Who in hell is Brandon Archer?” Tommy asked, a dumb look on his face. “Never mind,” Jessie waved that away. “He’d be wasted on you. Eric,” she said, getting up from her chair, “I believe you. What can we do?” “Probably nothing. If you guys all showed up, he’d run…but he’d come back…and damn it, Max has saved my hide and I know he cares, but…” Eric walked to the door. “I got to go home. I got to try and talk to him…make him see that this isn’t working. About the articles, whatever you guys

decide, I’ll go along with,” he said hastily and then left. When he walked in the door, he just about keeled over. The living room was filled with little pieces of paper hanging from the ceiling by string. Each one said, “I’m sorry Eric.” Eric sighed. Damn it. Later that night finally he showed himself. He walked into the bedroom where Eric was reading a few pages from Brandon’s book ‘All Over.’ “Do you forgive me?” he asked, his head low. Eric put down the book. “Why did you do it? You know I like him.” “You don’t even know him,” Max protested. “He’s no good for you. He’ll break your heart, and…” “Max,” Eric said sternly, “that’s for me to decide. I’m a grown man.” “You read his book. The guy’s crazy.” “Why, because he believes in spooks?” I asked ironically. “If it’s even true that happened to him,” Max scoffed, sitting at the foot of Eric’s bed. “Besides I don’t trust men who are that handsome. They are cold as ice inside.” “I might have lost my job at Ruby Red.” “Cora will take you back. She adores you. Is it true you want to get rid of me now?” “You’ve been eavesdropping, it appears.” “Well, is it?” He demanded, pointing his finger. “If I asked you to go, would you?” Eric

demanded. “If I thought you really meant it.” “You’re ruining my life, Max. I can never hope to have a normal life with you around.” “You don’t have a normal life without me around, either. You see things, Eric.” “I only see them when I want to now. I have that under control,” Eric protested. “You are still a pretty weird guy to be around. You hunt ghosts for a living.” “Brandon would understand that, after Wistan.” Max didn’t say anything. “Max,” Eric said, pointing at him, “I’m going to the Christmas party Friday night and I’m going to try and repair things with Cora and with Brandon. I want your guarantee that you will stay here.” “Okay.” “No, I mean it, Max. If you interfere again, I promise you I will find a way to get rid of you.” Max stuck his tongue out at him. “Now that’s mature.” “No less mature than you chasing after that author!” He retorted and then disappeared in a huff.

Chapter Ten

W

ednesday morning he woke up with the sniffles. Brandon Archer’s books were strewn across the bottom of the bed. He knocked them all off when he got up to get some tissues to blow his nose. He took his temperature. He had a little fever. He took some aspirin and went to bed. At two he woke up, wondering what to hell he was still doing in bed. He felt lousy. He made some tea and began to cough. Lovely. That’s all he needed. When Ronnie called him that night, he could hardly talk. “You poor sweetie. Can I bring you something?” “No. I need to rest, that’s all. Thanks, Ronnie.” They made small talk for a few minutes, then hung up. Eric went back to bed. Friday morning brought coughing and more congestion. His voice was still gone. All that came out when he spoke was a squeak. Damn. He had to go to that party, although he wasn’t even sure if the invitation was still open. Max was fairly quiet, which worried him. He did wish him a good night before he left, however,

adding that his nose was a little red. Little red? He looked like shit. His nose was red and raw around the nostrils. He couldn’t talk. The only noise he could make fairly regularly were dry hacking coughs interspersed with mucus-choking gags, which necessitated him to spit into a multitude of tissues he kept in his pockets. In spite of the fact that it was a really cold night, by the time he reached the hotel where the party was being held, he was perspiring heavily. Great. That should make a great impression. That’s not to say that he had no idea what he was going to say to him when they met? “Hi, I’m Eric, the editor who wrote juvenile little insults in the place where his corrections should have been.” In spite of being sick as a dog, embarrassed and scared that Brandon Archer might actually take a swing at him, he was excited as shit to finally meet him. He did have an advantage. No one at that party had ever seen him. Even Cora had no idea what he looked like, neither did any of the authors. Brandon Archer certainly had no idea, so maybe he could sneak out before getting a bloody nose. He walked in anyway, his head feeling heavy from all the antihistamines he’d popped before leaving the house. Aside from making him feel quite dopey, they didn’t do a thing for his congestion. The party was in the lobby of a fancy hotel. There was a huge banner over the top of the door

with the Ruby Red logo on it, a red ruby with hearts around it and fire coming out of the centre of the stone. He recognised Cora right off from her webpage, a short, slender woman in her fifties with waist length copper hair. She was standing at the side of the room, sipping punch and talking to some woman. A huge Christmas tree loaded with gifts was positioned right beside a nicely laid out buffet table filled with sandwiches and tasty desserts. Eric scanned the room for Brandon. He didn’t see him. Mustering all the courage he could, he walked over to Cora. She paused in her conversation to the other woman and smiled at him. “Hi. Now let me guess? Ian Sandler right…Lady of the Dome.” He shook his head, coughing a little behind his hand. “Eric Jackson,” he whispered. The other woman walked away. Cora’s eyes widened. “I didn’t think you’d come after…” “Should I leave?” He asked, his nose feeling plugged again. “No, of course not. We need to talk, Eric. It took a lot of persuasion for me to convince Brandon to publish with us again.” “He’s going to give Ruby Red another book?” Eric squeaked. Cora blinked at him. “My God, you’re really sick, aren’t you? Eric, you should be home in bed.” “I need to see Brandon…to apologise in

person,” Eric said, feeling really warm now. “I’ll beg him if I have to.” He coughed again, digging for a lozenge in his pocket. “What happened? Whatever possessed you to…?” She began, then, was interrupted by some people. Eric excused himself and went to pour himself some juice from one of the jugs on the table. He drank it thirstily, then poured another. He looked at the little sandwiches. He had no appetite. His stomach felt queasy. He felt like he wanted to throw up. When the mucus rose in his throat, he rushed from the hall to a washroom he had noticed in the lobby. He was really coughing as he pulled open the door. He ran into something hard and solid, then whoosh…out it came. He had thrown up all over someone’s black shiny boots. God. At least it was just liquid. Raising his head up, he noticed a muscular pair of thighs and a very interesting looking package crammed into some expensively tailored black pants. Flat stomach, slim hips and a well muscled torso was topped by the exquisite face of…Brandon Archer. Shoulder length, slightly wavy black hair, dark brown eyes, square jaw covered with a sexy shadow, and oh yes, there was that hint of a dimple. Brandon was stunned. He looked down at his boots, then back at Eric. His mouth opened a little. He wiped absently at the plum coloured silk shirt he was wearing, as if something could have

possibly sprayed up there. He took a step backwards. Eric was speechless as well. Shit. What a first impression! “Excuse me,” he chocked, running into the toilet to finish hacking and coughing. Outside the stall at the sink, Brandon began to wipe off his boots, swearing profusely under his breath. Eric stood in the stall for a few minutes longer than was necessary. Mustering all his courage, he pushed opened the door. “I’m sorry,” he said, gazing at him. My God…what a hunk. He was even better looking than his picture. Tall, muscular and all male. “I’ve been sick, and…” Eric began, blowing his nose. “Maybe you should be home…in bed,” Brandon grumbled, regarding him with incredibly beautiful big brown eyes. Eric watched him walk over to the garbage can and throw in the paper towel he’d been using to clean his boots. His ass in those black pants was nothing short of scrumptious. “If there is any permanent damage, I will gladly pay for…well I’ll pay for your boots if…” Eric began, trying to take his mind off his ass. “It’s fine,” he put up his hands. “Just stay your distance okay? I don’t relish getting puked on again. What’s wrong with you, anyway? Do I have to go and get a shot somewhere?” “I think it’s just a bad cold,” Eric laughed. “Brandon, I think I should tell you that my name

is…” “Let me guess…” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re Eric Jackson, that wacky editor at Ruby Red.” Eric looked stunned. “How…how did you know?” He shrugged. “Lucky guess.” “I want to apologise for…well…I wasn’t well when I…If you want to take a swing at me, I’ll understand.” Brandon Archer’s eyes widened. “Take a swing at you? Man, you can hardly stand up as it is.” “What can I do to make it up to you?” Eric pleaded. Brandon gave him the once over. “In your state, nothing, thanks.” “Offer still stands to get down on my knees,” Eric made an attempt at a joke. Brandon actually laughed. “Fellow, if you got down on your knees, you’d never get back up again. Why don’t you go home now? If I don’t get what ever in hell it is that you got, I’ll forgive you, okay?” Eric nodded, sneezing a few times which caused Brandon to head for the door. “Friends?” Eric croaked. Brandon lifted his broad shoulders easily. “Whatever, as long as you don’t get too close to me, okay?” “That’s too bad,” Eric muttered. Brandon paused, then, winked at him.

Eric went to say something else to him before he left the bathroom but then the room started to swim. “Brandon, I…” He began, then blackness as he crumpled to the floor. **** When he opened his eyes, he was in a strange room, hooked up to all kinds of machines. Over in the corner sat Brandon Archer, asleep in a chair in the corner. Max stood at the foot of his bed. “Hey there, Eric,” Max said with a grin. “How are you feeling?” “Shush,” Eric whispered, smiling, “you’ll wake him. Isn’t he adorable?” Max made a face at him, “all right, I guess, if you like the macho type.” “What happened, Max?” “I don’t know. I wasn’t invited to the party, remember?” he sneered. “Go away, Max, he’s waking up. Go,” Eric told him. Max muttered something, then, disappeared. Brandon Archer stretched in the chair, pushing his long legs out in front of him. When he stood, he ran his hand through his hair. He stretched again, then walked on over to the bed. “Hey, how are you feeling?” “Better, I guess. What happened?” “You fell for me,” he grinned. Eric made a face. “Very cute,” but he couldn’t

help but smile. “Am I dying? I sure hope not…unless…” he mused, looking up at him, “this is heaven.” “Afraid not,” he grinned. “I think you’re going to make it. Let me go and get the doctor, let her know you’re among the living. They told me you had water on the lung…pneumonia.” “Great.” “But you’re young, strong, and healthy, so you should be as good as new in a few weeks. I’ll be back in a minute or two, I promised to let them know when you woke up.” Eric watched him walk across the room. Umm. What nice scenery. He glanced over at the window suddenly. The sun was up. How long had he been here? The doctor came in now, a stoic looking woman in her fifties. She poked and prodded him a few moments, then asked him how he felt. “Weak, but okay.” “You are very lucky, Mr. Jackson,” she said. “You have water on your lung, but I’m sure with the antibiotics, we can fix that problem. Now, I want you to rest.” “How long do I have to be in here?” Eric asked. “Until the water goes. After that, we might be able to send you home, but with the promise that you’ll get plenty of rest and take your medication.” Eric felt like a kid. “Okay, Doc,” he smiled. “What ever you say.”

“Now say goodbye to Mr. Archer, and get some sleep.” “Are you a fan, Doctor?” I grinned at her. Putting her finger against her lips, she grinned at him, then left the room. Eric laughed. He was still laughing when Brandon came back into the room. “Are you all right? Did the doctor tickle you?” “No,” I smiled, “she’s a fan of yours. Did you know that?” “Yeah,” he said, “she told me. She also gave me my walking papers, so…” “Brandon,” he reached out for his hand. He gave it to him. “Thank you. I know you’ve been here all night and…” “My pleasure,” he said, squeezing his hand, then, releasing it. “But next time you’re trying to get my attention, try to think of something else beside throwing up on me and passing out. It was a little overdone, Eric.” “Agreed,” Eric said, “and if you’ll let me take you to dinner sometimes to thank you for everything, I promise not to throw up on you.” “Or pass out,” he insisted, pointing at him. Eric nodded. He was beginning to feel tired now. Brandon picked up on it right away. “You’re tired. I have to go. See you soon.” “The ever-observant writer…” Eric managed, his eyes closing. When he opened them nine hours later, he was alone.

At around seven o’clock, Jessie popped her head in the door. He was happy to see but perplexed. “How did you know I was in here?” “Cora Danon at Ruby Red Publishing,” she said. “How did she know?” Jessie grinned. “Brandon Archer told her.” “Brandon…oh…”Eric smiled. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything at your house. I still have the spare key from last summer when you took that camping trip.” “Good.” “Now two very important questions…how are you…and ahhhhh…Brandon Archer. Tell me everything!” “Which is the most pressing, Jessie?” He teased. “You of course, but…Brandon Archer… ahhhh.” Eric shook his head. “I’m fine. Some water on the lung, but that should pass, then I can go home if I promise to be a good boy.” “I’ll make sure of that. Tommy and Ronnie will be by tomorrow. They’re on a case.” “I don’t want to know about it.” Jessie laughed. “Good. Now, Brandon Archer. What’s he like in person? Is it true he brought you here and mopped your brow all night…are you two an item now? What happened at the Christmas party?” Eric laughed, coughing a few times. “Don’t make me laugh. Stop. I’ll tell you everything,

okay?” Jessie brought the chair up beside the bed. “Go.” “I went to the Christmas party, and threw up on him.” “What?” “You heard me. I made a hell of a first impression, then I passed out, and he brought me here. He wasn’t mopping my brow…but he did stay here until morning. He slept in that very chair.” Jessie wiggled in it comically. “Oh, baby. Is he still gorgeous?” “He’s absolutely adorable,” Eric said. “Well,” a deep voice announced, “thanks a lot. You’re pretty cute yourself, Eric.” Both Jessie and Eric looked up to see Brandon Archer standing in the doorway. He had a crystal vase in his hand filled with a dozen blue roses. Jessie jumped to her feet. Eric blushed ten shades of red. “Brandon,” Eric said. “I didn’t expect you.” “Obviously not,” he replied, nodding at Jessie. “Brandon, this is my co-worker and friend, Doctor Jessie Walters. Jessie, Brandon Archer.” They shook hands. “I’m a big fan,” Jessie gushed. “Shame on you,” he scolded her in a teasing way. What a flirt, Eric thought with a grin. Brandon put the flowers down on the night

table. “They’re beautiful, thanks,” Eric said. “I can’t stay. Just thought I’d stop by to see how you’re doing, and tell you that I told Cora you were still in the hospital. She’s planning on stopping by soon to see you.” “Good,” Eric said. “I told her to give you your job back, that you were probably delirious when you edited my book. I think she bought it.” “Thanks, Brandon.” “No,” he replied. “Is the invitation to dinner still open?” “Yes,” Eric said, his pulses racing. “I’m going out of town tonight for a television interview. I’ll be in touch in a few weeks.” “Good luck,” Eric said. “Thanks,” he replied. Nodding at Jessie, he gave Eric a wink and left. Jessie looked over at the roses. “How sweet. He’s absolutely…gorgeous,” she gave out a squeal. Eric nodded. “So, dinner, eh?” “Doesn’t mean anything. It’s just dinner.” “What’s this about your editing job?” “Max.” Jessie sat back down. “The ghost who…” “Yes. He mucked up all my work, just because he’s jealous.” “Where is he now?”

“He’s keeping a low profile. I can’t get rid of him, Jess, and there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to. I’ve grown attached to him…but I won’t let him get in the way of me getting close to Brandon. He’s screwed up my dates before, but this one is too important. This could be the real thing. When he walked in the room tonight, my heart beat like a drum.” Jessie touched Eric’s hand. “Go for it, kid. Go for it.” **** Three weeks went by. Finally Eric was beginning to feel better. He wanted to get back to work. Thankfully, Cora was bombarding him with books to edit, so that was helping him pass the time. He hadn’t heard anything from Brandon. Maybe he’d changed his mind about having dinner. He was really hesitant about emailing…maybe because he was afraid of the response. Right now, Eric stood in front of the computer staring at his email. Cora had written him to say that Brandon’s book, Christmas With Wistan, had just been released. Eric went to check out the marvellous cover art for a few minutes, then, returned to staring at the empty box ready to be filled with his email to Brandon. “I told you,” Max said, standing beside the window, his form looking quite faint and wavy today. “The Brandon Archers of this world are

heartbreakers. They don’t keep their word, and…” Eric picked up the stress ball he kept on his desk and threw it at him. “Shut up, Max.” Placing his fingers on the keyboard, he began to type his message. Hello, Brandon. I wanted to thank you again for being so nice to me when I was sick. I feel so much better now. I hope your interview went well, and congratulations on the release of ‘Christmas with Wistan’. How about that dinner? I won’t barf on you or anything! You name the restaurant. Take care, and hope to hear from you soon. I’m available this weekend if you are. Eric. He hesitated a minute, read it over, then pressed send. Ronnie came over that evening, showing him the outline for the article on the portal haunting. “We decided on a collaborative effort. That all right with you?” “Fine,” I said, handing Ronnie a cup of hot coffee. “So, when you coming back? We miss you,” she said. “I have to see the doctor tomorrow. If she gives the go ahead, it should be next week.” “Good,” she said. “How’s Max?” Great. The entire world knows about me! Eric sighed, glancing over at Max who was sitting on the chair across from where they sat on the sofa. “So far, not too bad…but he better not interfere with my date.” “Brandon Archer, right? Jessie says he’s hot.”

“He is.” “Is Max a jealous ghost?” “Yes.” Am not. Eric ignored him. “Is he here now?” Ronnie asked, looking around. “He’s sitting right there in that chair,” Eric said. Great. Take a picture while you’re at it. Eric laughed. “I’d like a ghost,” Ronnie said. “No, you wouldn’t,” Eric replied sourly. Max folded his arms across his chest and began to mutter. After awhile, they talked about something else. Max got bored and left. Ronnie had supper with him, and they worked a bit on the article. Then she left around ten o’clock. Eric went back to his editing, putting off checking his email. What if he didn’t want to go? What is he was just being nice before because he was sick? Around midnight, unable to resist anymore, he went to check. Sure enough, Brandon had written back. Eric clicked it on. Eric. So, you’ve changed your mind then? Great. How about Italian…Mama Lucia’s in Little Italy, seven o’clock Friday night? I’ll reserve. We can meet there, or I can pick you up if you’re not sure where it is? Glad you are feeling better. Brandon. Eric was excited by his reply. He wasn’t sure what he meant about the ‘changing his mind’

part…but he had a good idea. “Max!” No answer. Clear indication that he had had something to do with it. Never mind. He wrote back right away. Brandon. I’d love to go to the restaurant with you Friday night. I’ll meet you there. I know that place. It’s very good. See you there. Eric.

Chapter Eleven

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hen Eric arrived at the restaurant at seven, Brandon had not yet arrived. He had a severe talking to with Max just before he left. He was not coming along, and he better not show up later, either. All he received was a half-hearted committal and the cold shoulder. Eric ordered a bottle of good wine, and waited. The table Brandon had chosen was intimate. It was in the corner surrounded by lush green plants, and one of those little wicker dividers. Two glasses of wine and forty-five minutes later, Eric was still waiting. No Brandon Archer. He poured another glass of wine, and actually laughed when the waiter came by to see if he was ready to order. “I was waiting for a friend, but it seems that he’s forgotten. I’ll just finish my wine and take the check please.” The waiter nodded, and went off to get his check. He was looking at the check when Brandon suddenly made an appearance. His cheeks were

flushed. He was breathing hard. His hair was covered with snow. Eric was so pleased to see him he could have hugged him. “Brandon,” he said, “I thought you…” “I couldn’t get my car started,” he said, “then when I finally did, I was almost to the restaurant, and it stalled on me, right in the middle of the road. I had to get a tow and take a taxi here. I’m sorry, Eric,” he said. “That’s okay, I’m just happy to see you.” Brandon brushed the snow off his hair, and sat down. His eyes went to the empty bottle of wine. He grinned. “Seems you started without me. I think you need some food.” “I’ll order some more wine,” Eric said. “I…” Brandon held up his hand. “I don’t drink.” “Then that was true…in the book about…” “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been dry for almost two years now.” “Congratulations. I didn’t think when I ordered the wine.” Brandon ordered a club soda, and began scanning the menu. “I’m starved.” “What’s good here?” Eric asked, wishing he could relax. The wine helped somewhat, but sitting here across from Brandon made him feel shaky and unsure of himself. “Pasta is excellent, chicken parmesan.” “Chicken sounds good,” Eric said. They both ordered the chicken.

Eric looked around nervously. Max had better keep his word. “Eric,” Brandon said, looking at him with those eyes. The waiter lit the candle on the table. “Who are you expecting?” “What?” “You keep looking around as if you’re expecting someone else? Do you have a jealous exboyfriend out there who’s going to show up and beat the shit out of me?” Eric laughed. “No.” “Good. So, tell me about you job. You do something else besides edit. You work with that doctor.” “Yes, Jessie. I’m a…” Eric paused, “promise you won’t get up and run away screaming?” “Not with my food coming, so give.” “I’m a ghost hunter.” Brandon took a sip of his club soda. “At the university?” Eric nodded, trying to gauge his reaction. “Jessie Walters is a well respected parapsychologist.” Eric grinned. “So you all ready knew.” “Yep,” he said. “Am I supposed to be horrified?” “No, but some men find it interesting and some find it…ah…creepy.” “Why would I find it creepy after Wistan?” “Was that really true?” “Of course.”

“And he just went away after?” “For a while.” Eric gasped. “You still see him?” Brandon looked uncomfortable. He shifted around, looking for the waiter. “I’m starved. Where is the food?” As if on cue, the waiter sat two plates in front of them, and scurried away. They began to eat. Eric wanted to ask him more about Wistan, but it was obvious that Brandon didn’t want to talk about it. After dinner, they shared a dessert and lingered over coffee, talking. Brandon talked about writing, and Eric talked about what he loved about Brandon’s books. “It’s the romance,” Eric said softly. “I like the sex, of course…but there’s a love story and it’s beautiful. It’s rare to find those books, although Ruby Red is good about publishing them when they can get them.” Brandon paused, looking at him now. “You know, you’re handsome, Eric,” he said out of the blue. Eric smiled, looking down at the table. “Thanks…I… “Do you feel like continuing what we started on the computer that night?” Eric’s cock gave a decided leap. “Ah…yeah…sure,” he said, his voice barely audible. He was drowning in those brown eyes, completely seduced by the sound of his voice. Eric paid the bill, and they left. Brandon drove his car, given he didn’t have his, and he hadn’t

been drinking. They drove in relative silence. At one time, Brandon did reach over however and lay his hand on Eric’s thigh. Eric covered his hand with his own, his heart in his throat now. When they pulled in the driveway, Eric’s cock was as hard as rock. He didn’t think he could wait a minute longer to get inside. Brandon was right behind him as Eric tried to put the key in the lock. He pressed his body close to his, his hands on his hips. Once inside, Brandon turned him around in his arms, and kissed him. Whoa! That was one hell of a kiss, deep and sensuous, really hot. Brandon was pushing Eric’s coat off his shoulders. The guy doesn’t waste any time, does he? A real pro. Eric swore under his breath. “What’s wrong?” Brandon stopped dead, looking at him. “I thought this was…” He looked uncertain. Eric looked over his shoulder. Max was there. His arms were folded across his chest, and he looked like he was about to murder someone. I don’t want that man in our house. “Brandon, it’s not you,” Eric sighed. Can you…look…why don’t you go into the bedroom. It’s just down the hall there,” Eric pointed. “I’ll be right with you.” Brandon slipped out of his coat. Eric held out his hand and took it. “Are you sure?” “Yes, positive.” Eric grabbed his face between his hands, and kissed him. “If you knew how long I’ve wanted this night…well…” Eric released him,

overcome with emotion. “I will be there in just a second. Do you want anything?” “No,” he replied, shaking his head, “just you.” Eric laughed. “Go, I’ll be there. I’m yours, believe me.” He gave him a little shove down the hall. Brandon turned back and gave him a curious look, but he went. Eric turned to Max. In a harsh tone, he said, “if you fuck this up for me, Max, I swear, I’ll never speak to you again. It will be finished between you and me for good. I like this guy…I might even be inclined to fall madly in love with him…now give me the chance.” “Where does that leave me when you go riding into the sunset?” Max demanded. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Now go away!” “Eric, who are you talking to?” Brandon came out now into the living room. He stood there in the cream-coloured pants he’d had on in the restaurant, something Eric intended to remedy as soon as possible. He had taken his shirt off though. It took his breath away. Um. Delicious definition, perfectly shaped hard nipples. Eric came over to him, laying his hands on his chest, moving them slowly over his skin, making sure to stimulate those delectable nipples. “No one. I’m not talking to anyone.” “But I heard…” he began, but Eric didn’t give him the chance to finish. He reached up behind his head and took his mouth in a ravishing hard kiss.

Eric released him. “What is it that you thought you heard?” He smiled. Brandon dragged him closer. “Nothing. I didn’t hear anything,” he whispered, lowering his lips to Eric’s throat. “I want to kiss you all over. I want you naked, and on the bed.” Eric’s heart hammered between his ribs. He didn’t have to ask him twice. In the bedroom, Brandon quickly removed Eric’s clothes, then stood back and studied him in the lamplight. When he didn’t say anything, Eric gave a quick, nervous laugh. “Disappointed?” Brandon drew him into his arms, running his hands down his back to his ass. “Does it feel like I’m disappointed?” His erection was jutting against Eric’s thigh. Eric began to undo Brandon’s pants. “Let’s get you out of these clothes so that I can get a better look.” His hands were trembling as he pushed Brandon’s pants and underwear over his hips. Brandon stepped out of them and kicked them aside. He backed up to display his swollen cock that was far larger than Eric could have dreamed. “Baby,” he murmured, running a tongue over his lips. “What a cock.” Brandon grinned. “Well, then stop standing there admiring it and do something about it.” Eric dropped to his haunches. “Let me worship it for awhile.” Brandon laughed. Eric ran his fingers over the head of his cock. Brandon sobered. Reaching

around him, Eric gripped his ass in his hands and began to massage it gently, moving his lips closer to the delicious member that was now caressing his cheek. “Am I going to get the opportunity to fuck that ass of yours, gorgeous?” Eric asked, letting his tongue move over the salty head of Brandon’s cock. “Ah…the night’s young,” he drawled. “You’ll be surprised what you’ll get to do before the nights through.” Eric took the head of Brandon’s cock into his mouth. As he begin to move it deeper into his mouth, rotating his tongue around it in a provocative way, Brandon brushed his leg against Eric’s erection that was practically standing at attention between his thighs. Eric murmured a sound of appreciation. Brandon did it again, as Eric gripped the base of Brandon’s cock in one hand, and began to move his lips up and down, savouring the taste of him. His other hand played along one of Brandon’s butt cheeks. Brandon stroked Eric’s fair hair as Eric continued to pleasure his cock. His other hand was balled into a fist at his side, which Eric took as an indication of the sexual tension he was feeling. Eric intensified his efforts now. His mouth began to move up and down at a faster speed, and his other hand moved down to fondle his balls as he went. Brandon let out a cry, then told him to stop. “I’m going to…” he began, laughing.

Eric could already taste Brandon’s cum in his mouth. “I want to be inside you,” he whispered, pulling Eric up from the floor so that he could kiss him. Running his hands over him, he pulled him over to the bed. Shivers ran down Eric’s spine and Brandon kissed him deeply, his rough jaw scratching against his cheek. With his hands, he was setting his flesh on fire, massaging his nipples, tonguing his navel, moving his lips down over his swollen cock. At one point, Eric cried out, the excitement was just too much. Brandon chuckled, “Eric, Eric,” he whispered, “there is so much more in store for you tonight.” He was teasing his cock now, moving his hand down to flirt around the opening between his buttocks. Eric grabbed a fistful of Brandon’s silky dark hair. “Damn tease,” he moaned, laughing. “Wait,” Brandon breathed, backing away from him for a moment, and wrestling with his pants on the floor. “What are you doing?” Eric protested. “Get back here.’ “Coming,” he said softly, jumping back on the bed with something in his hand. He fiddled with something, then an intoxicating aroma filled the room. It smelt like chocolate and almonds and…something else. “What is it?” Eric asked, reaching up to caress

some of his hair that had fallen into his eyes. “Lie back,” he said, letting his hand run over Eric’s chest, and down between his legs. Pushing his knees up, he thrust his thighs further apart and slid a fragrant finger up inside of him. Eric moaned. “You like it. I bought it just for you. It’s a special kind of lube, warm and fragrant. It supposed to turn you on.” He was well passed the point of being turned on. Two fingers delved deeper inside of him now, as the other hand lifted and played with his balls. Lips came down on his cock, a tongue teasing, slowly making its way down the length of it. As Brandon took him into his mouth, he began to finger-fuck his anus. Eric twisted his head to the side, his breathing coming in waves, his chest heaving, whatever was on his lips incoherent. His legs were being lifted now up over Brandon’s strong shoulders. Brandon looked down at him with those dark eyes, straddling his thighs as he tore open a condom with his teeth. “Fuck me,” Eric groaned. “Damn it, Brandon, fuck me.” Brandon reached down to capture his mouth with his. Kissing him deeply, he began to penetrate him. Slowly at first, inch by inch, he sank his cock into him. Eric cried out. The pain was mingled with the intense pleasure. Brandon paused. “Are you all right?” he asked,

his breathing controlled but heavy. “Yes, God, yes, I’m better than all right,” Eric pleaded. “It’s just been a while and you’re so big…God…your cock is beautiful. Go on…go…” This time there were no more interruptions. Brandon drove his cock to its limit, connecting them together as much as it was possible for two beings to be connected. When Brandon began to move inside of him, Eric exploded. Surprised that he had come so fast, Brandon paused, causing Eric to tell him to go. “But you’ve come and…” “Doesn’t matter…damn it…you’re still hard and look, I’m hard again. Go on…go on,” Eric cried out as Brandon began to pound in and out of him furiously, all the while playing with Eric’s once again erect cock. Eric watched Brandon’s face, when he came it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His face seemed to twitch, he gasped, then his entire body trembled with a soft crescendo of a deep sigh. Eric too came a second time, just a breath after Brandon. He was still feeling the strength of the orgasm when Brandon lay down beside him. Unlike Brandon, his orgasm was accompanied by a noisy groan. Reaching over, Eric rubbed Brandon’s cheek, finding his hand in the dark. “I love this,” he said. “It’s so sexy, but I swear I’m going to have third degree whisker burns.” Brandon laughed softly, caressing his hand. “Are you happy?”

Eric cuddled up to him. “Unbelievably. You?” “That was great,” he said. “I’m sorry I came so soon. I’ll try to hold on to it next time. It’s just because…well…it was you. I looked up at you and I couldn’t hold on anymore. I’ve wanted this for a long time.” “Really?” Brandon said, turning on his side and pulling him into his arms. He kissed him on the nose. “I don’t understand. We just met.” “I fell in love with your picture, your stories, your words. I’ve been dreaming about you forever.” “That’s amazing because…” Suddenly he paused, stiffened a little. “What’s that?” Brandon asked. Eric listened too. “What?” “I heard something, like rattling.” “Rattling?” It better not be Max. “Yeah, like…” Leave this house. Brandon sprang up in bed. Eric sighed. They had both heard that. It was said in a loud spooky voice. Then more rattling. Max! Knock it off. I am a terrifying spirit. You don’t belong here. Get out while…. Eric jumped out of bed. “Okay, Max. That’s enough. Knock it off!” Brandon switched on the lamp. “Eric,” he said, “what’s going on?” Tell him. Tell him, and then he’ll think you’re nuts and run away. A big coward.

“I’m going to tell him, Max. And if he doesn’t run away, then you have to accept him. Deal?” Deal. If he runs, you forget him. You stop dreaming about Brandon Archer. “Agreed.” “Eric,” Brandon was standing there now, looking at him. “Who are you talking to? Who was that talking?” He looked around. He looked surprisingly calm. “Brandon. You know I’m a ghost hunter, right?” Max was there now watching from the corner of the room. “Yes.” “I have a ghost that’s attached himself to me. He’s not a bad ghost, he’s just jealous. Now, if you want to walk out of here and not come back, I’ll understand.” “Max eh?” He said, a smile beginning to move across his mouth. “Yeah,” Eric said nervously. “Ruins all your dates, bosses you around, plays tricks?” “How would you know about…?” Brandon started to laugh. He came closer, and pulled Eric into his arms. He kissed him gently on the mouth. “I have one, too.” “Wistan?” Brandon nodded. “He’s not quite as bothersome as yours…but he comes around from time to time. I think your Max screwed around

with my car tonight.” Eric looked over at Max, and glared at him. Max gave him the look of a spoiled child. “Could that be who wrote those lines in the email, and edited my book?” Brandon raised an eyebrow. Eric nodded. Brandon gently moved away from Eric. Placing his hands on his hips, he looked around the room. “Okay, Max. I understand your possessiveness, but you see, my ghost told me that the love of my life was out there waiting, and he wouldn’t let up until I found him. He’s finally beginning to give me a little peace…so let’s be friends ‘cause I plan on sticking around.” Eric’s eyes filled with tears. “You do?” he said softly, looking over at the gorgeous naked man who stood less than a few inches away. “Yeah,” he replied, meeting his eyes, “that is, if you’ll let me.” Eric didn’t realise that a single tear ran down his face until Brandon came over and wiped it away. “I think you might be it, Eric.” Eric wrapped his arms around him. “I know you’re it.” Max was still watching them from across the room. Eric and Brandon kissed deeply, running their hands over each other. Eric paused at one point, and looked over at Max. “You can go now, Max.” “Do you think I want to stand around here all

night and watch you guys go at it?” Brandon glanced over in the corner of the room now. “Actually, yes,” he replied, “I think you do, but there are going to be some new rules. When Eric and I are making love, you’re not invited!” “You heard him when he just talked to me!” Eric gasped. “Yep. I see him too.” Max had disappeared. “How come?” “I don’t know,” Brandon shrugged. “He let me, I guess.” “How come he doesn’t listen to me like that?” Eric complained, tightening his hold on Brandon. “You just don’t have the touch,” Brandon grinned. “I’m a very good ghost tamer.” “Well, it’s time someone tamed you,” Eric growled playfully, slapping him on the rump. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that one,” Brandon threatened. Eric ran over to the bed. Brandon jumped on top of him and began to tickle him. The tickling quickly changed to passionate kisses. **** The following day, after Brandon left, promising to return later that evening, Max came back. He sat across the table from Eric as he read the morning paper and finished his coffee. For a long time, he was silent. Then he said, “Is he the one,

Eric?” Eric looked up from his paper and smiled. “Yes. He’s the one.” “Then I won’t stand in your way,” he sighed, looking sad. “Thanks Max,” Eric smiled at him. “You’re not leaving me, are you?” He thought for a moment, then standing up with his hands on his hips, he said, “Hell no. I’m not leaving. You’re going to need me. This one is going to be a handful!”

The End

About the Author I write not only for my own pleasure, but for the pleasure of my readers. I can’t remember a time in my life when I haven’t written and told stories. When I’m not writing, I’m dreaming about writing, doing something wild and adventurous, or trying to make the world a better and more open minded place to live in. I adore beautiful men, and I know I’m not alone in this! Eroticism between consenting adults, in all its many forms is the icing on the cake of life! I love to hear from my readers and I actually write back!!!!