Page 5

CHAPTER 4

T ristan felt someone watching him as he made his way across the street and knew without looking back that his mother was watching him with that worried expression that seemed reserved solely for him.

He had no idea what she wanted from him, never had. Truth was, he loved her more than anything. For as long as he could remember, he’d tried to hate her and did everything to push his new family away until one day…

He couldn’t imagine his life without them.

He loved them more than anything, which made him more careful around them. If they ever found out the truth…

Goosebumps raced up his spine, letting him know that Marty was also watching him. Grinding his jaw, Tristan kept walking, pretending that he didn’t care and telling himself with every step that it wasn’t fucking destroying him. He-

“Look at me! I know you can see me!” the bastard who wouldn’t shut the hell up screamed.

Tristan ignored him and kept moving, pretending that he didn’t see the asshole that forced him to walk away from Marty. It had been the reminder that he needed, the one that had him moving his ass and-

“Look at me!” the asshole screamed in frustration as he jumped in front of Tristan, trying to block his path. Tristan rubbed the back of his neck as he smoothly sidestepped the asshole and the large metal pipe sticking out of his neck.

He could have walked through him and dealt with the cold dread that always accompanied the move, but he hated that feeling, always had. As calmly as he could, Tristan walked straight for his front door, leaving the dead man trailing after him.

“Come on, don’t be a dick! All I want you to do is go to my house while my wife is away and grab a few things before she finds them. I don’t want her to find out that I’ve been fucking her sister!” the asshole snapped as Tristan shook his head in disgust.

Why was he not surprised?

The requests he received from the dead were never selfless. They either wanted help catching their killer, which, as a detective, he had no problem with. Hell, it was the reason he took the job in the first place. He’d figured he’d put this fucking nightmare to good use.

Other than that, he received requests for revenge. He couldn’t even count the number of times ghosts begged him to kill on their behalf. Other times, he was asked to straighten out the shit they’d left behind. They wanted to make sure the relatives that they’d hated didn’t see a cent of their money or rub it in their spouse’s face that they’d fucked around. They always wanted something from him, except for Shayne.

Eighteen years ago, he’d been an eleven-year-old kid, scared out of his fucking mind and angry at everything and everyone. His parents had absolutely no idea what to do with him, but unlike his birth parents, they refused to give up on him.

His father started refusing overtime so that he could spend more time with him. They went to ballgames, took weekend trips to Boston, watched movies, and did anything and everything that his father could think of to let him know that he loved him. His mother used to race home between classes so that she could be there when he got home every day from school. She baked cookies, helped him with his homework, and played with him before she had to race back to Reese College to teach her next class. Hell, even his brother Denny started dragging him along on his dates and when any of his girlfriends bitched about having a little kid along, she was history.

He appreciated what they did for him, more than they would ever know, but it didn’t change anything. During the day, he was still screamed at and attacked by the dead and at night, he’d figured out that sleeping under his bed made it difficult for them to hurt him. He’d learned after he was adopted how to act like nothing was wrong.

By the time he was ten, he could sit in algebra class answering a question while he was being punched, kicked, and clawed at by ghosts, who were pissed at being ignored by the only person who could see them. He’d also learned that the best way to keep his parents and teachers from asking about the bruises and cuts covering his body was to keep them hidden.

Nothing helped the rage building inside him.

He’d hated his life, but most of all, he’d hated the fact that he was different and couldn’t tell anyone or he’d be taken from his family. He’d lived in constant fear that he would say or do something that would ruin everything. The only time he felt peace was when he was with Marty, but she couldn’t be with him all the time.

For so long, he’d acted like nothing mattered until it finally didn’t. Every morning, he forced himself to crawl out from beneath his bed and focused on just getting through one more fucking day. He stopped crying, stopped begging them to stop, stopped reacting and made sure that no one knew just how fucking terrified he was. He told himself that there were worse things than being stalked by the dead, but the night Shayne showed up proved that he didn’t know shit.

He had no idea the hell that awaited him when he decided to go to bed early that night. After devouring an insane amount of ice cream with Denny, he said goodnight to his parents and went to his room. He was halfway under his bed when a cold hand clamped down around his ankle.

Before he could react, Tristan was dragged out from beneath the bed and his flannel pajama pants were yanked down as a raspy voice whispered in his ear.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, boy.”

He’d never been more terrified.

He tried to fight back, tried to free himself, struggled to get away, but the ice-cold hands holding him down refused to let him go. Tristan struggled not to scream, only to vomit the ice cream he’d just consumed all over the floor when he felt the man rub himself against him. He sobbed quietly, knowing there was nothing he could do to stop him. Just when he’d accepted what was about to happen to him, everything changed.

“Get your hands off the lad,” came the softly murmured words laced with an Irish brogue.

Within seconds, the man on top of him was gone and Tristan was crawling beneath the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and struggling to stop crying while he listened to the men fight, praying that they would just leave him alone.

“Come on out, lad. He’s gone,” came the softly murmured words a few minutes later when the sounds of fighting and shouting suddenly stopped.

“N-No,” Tristan whispered hoarsely, his hands fisting against the carpet as he pressed his forehead against the floor, terrified of what they would do to him if they got their hands on him again.

“That’s fine, lad. I’ll just sit here and make sure that no one else bothers ye tonight. When ye feel comfortable, ye come on out and I’ll tuck ye back into bed.”

Tristan didn’t trust him, so he stayed where he was, quietly sobbing. He didn’t know how he was going to make it through another day knowing that they could hurt him in other ways now.

When his alarm went off the next morning, Tristan closed his eyes and slowly exhaled while he wondered how many ghosts were waiting for him and what they would do to him when they realized that he couldn’t help them. Knowing that he didn’t have a choice, Tristan forced himself to crawl out from beneath the bed only to frown in confusion when he realized that his room wasn’t filled with ghosts waiting for him.

There was just one.

Sometimes it was difficult to tell the living from the dead, but there were little things that gave them away. No one else could see them or hear them, no matter how loud they screamed. They walked through walls and doors, fell through furniture and they couldn’t touch anything.

Except for him.

They could grab him, shove him, hit him, scratch, and bite him and there was nowhere for him to hide. He couldn’t outrun them or hide from them and he’d tried.

God, he’d fucking tried…

No matter where he went, they found him.

Every. Fucking. Time.

They were always there, watching him, begging him for help before their pleas turned into screams, and every morning, they were there, waiting for him to crawl out from under his bed so that they could do it all over again, except for that morning.

Within seconds, Tristan knew that there was something different about this one. Shayne sat comfortably on the loveseat in Tristan’s room as he ran his eyes over him, taking in the welts and bruises that covered Tristan with green eyes that matched his own.

“Everything’s fine, lad. They’ll never hurt ye again,” Shayne promised as he took in the scratches covering Tristan’s chest.

Tristan didn’t believe him, didn’t trust him, so he did what he always did with ghosts. He ignored him. Shayne didn’t seem to take it personally. He remained by Tristan’s side day and night for several weeks before Tristan slowly began to trust him. Shayne kept him safe, made sure that no one touched him, and for the first time in his life, he could breathe without feeling like he was going to lose his fucking mind. It wasn’t long before the cuts and bruises covering his body faded away and he could finally sleep in his own bed.

Over time, Shayne explained that he’d had the same curse when he was alive. That was it. He didn’t talk about his life and Tristan didn’t ask, afraid of finding out just how fucking bad it could really be.

After Shayne died, he realized that he’d been cursed in death as well. He could still do everything that he could when he was alive except that no one could hear or see him. The only thing that changed for him was that he didn’t need food, water, or sleep to survive. Other than that, nothing had changed.

At first, Shayne stayed to protect Tristan until he was strong enough to protect himself, but over the years, their bond had strengthened. Shayne went from being his protector and a second father to him to his best friend. Tristan didn’t know what he’d do without him. Without Shayne, he’d probably be dead by now, by his own hand or someone else’s, he wasn’t sure.

“Listen, I’m just asking you to do me a little favor,” the asshole following him snapped.

“Fuck off,” Tristan said, walking past him to his front door and yanked it open. He rolled his eyes when the sounds of sex and god-awful porno music reached his ears. He moved to shut the door only to sigh when he spotted the persistent prick standing in his foyer.

“Get out,” Tristan said, gesturing to the door.

“No, I’m not going anywhere until you do what I want. If you don’t, I promise that I’ll make your life a living hell,” the asshole said with a smirk as he folded his arms over his chest.

Tristan shut the door and walked past the stubborn ghost towards the open double doors to his left. He walked into the living room and dropped down onto an oversized leather chair next to the couch.

“Hey, I was watching that!” Shayne snapped when Tristan grabbed the remote and turned off the skin flick and switched on the Xbox.

“You know how it ends. She fakes it and he comes with his eyes closed while picturing some guy’s tight ass,” Tristan said, tossing the remote aside and grabbed his X-Box controller.

Shayne glared at him. “I don’t ask for much-”

Tristan cut him off with a chuckle, “Only for your own room, the twenty-four-hour Playboy channel, and you make me listen to Sinead O’Connor whenever you get homesick. That alone is too goddamn much!”

“She’s a very talented woman!” Shayne snapped back, throwing a throw pillow at Tristan’s head.

Tristan picked up the other wireless game controller and tossed it to Shayne. “Man up, bitch.”

Shayne threw him a dirty look before he turned his attention to the game. “You’re my bitch, lad, never forget that,” he drawled.

“We’ll see…”

“Yeah, we’ll see, lad. By the end of this game, ye’ll be good and spanked.”

“Ah, excuse me… hello?” the man with the pipe sticking out of his neck said as he stepped in front of the television.

“No, he didn’t,” Shayne said, shaking his head in disbelief. He cocked an eyebrow in Tristan’s direction. “Does he not know that I’ll bitch slap him into hell for coming between me and kicking yer ass?”

Tristan sighed heavily as he sat back in his chair. “Apparently not.”

“If you do what I want, I’ll leave you alone. Until then, I’m staying,” the asshole promised.

“Yer not threatening my lad, now, are ye?” Shayne asked with a hopeful glint in his eye, a look that Tristan knew all too well.

“He either does what I want or I’ll make his life a living hell,” the asshole drawled with a smug look in Tristan’s direction. “You know I can do it. Look how I drove you away from that woman and I swear I’ll do it every time. You’ll never get laid again.”

“Ye met a woman at therapy? Don’t tell me ye plugged a nutso, lad,” Shayne said with a pitying look.

Sighing heavily, Tristan dropped his head back until he was looking up at the ceiling, and when that wasn’t enough to escape the bullshit that was his life, he closed his eyes. “They’re not all crazy. Hell, I have to go there and I’m not crazy.”

“Well, ye do see dead people, lad,” Shayne pointed out.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Tristan murmured, “Good point.”

“So…” Shayne said, letting that one word trail off.

Tristan muttered, “I was talking to Marty.”

“What’s that, now, lad?”

“I said that I was talking to Marty,” Tristan said as he opened his eyes so that he could glare at the bastard.

“Marty, ye say?” Shayne said, sounding really fucking intrigued.

Tristan rubbed his hands roughly over his face. “Don’t start that shit again. You know I can’t.”

“Why? Is yer wee willy not working?” Shayne asked with feigned innocence.

Tristan shot him a murderous glare. “First off, my willy isn’t wee and it works fine. You know that’s not the problem.”

“Ah,” Shayne said in understanding as he nodded solemnly. “Aye, I suppose I do understand.”

“I think he’s gay,” the asshole said, shrugging it off.

“No, I’m-” Tristan began to argue only to have Shayne cut him off.

“Aye, I’m afraid that has to be the case. That’s the only explanation for it. I’m afraid I’ve turned a blind eye to the signs for years.”

The denial that was on the tip of his tongue was momentarily forgotten as Tristan narrowed his eyes on Shayne. “What signs? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well,” Shayne drawled, making a show of studying his nails, “there’s yer first kiss, lad, talk about awkward. I could tell ye really didn’t want to kiss the lass.”

“Oh, you could tell that, could you?” Tristan asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “It probably had something to do with the fact that I didn’t want to kiss her and you knew that. I told you repeatedly that I didn’t like her, but you knew better. What was your reason for making me kiss her? Oh, yeah, because back in your day, it was normal to be brought to a whore when you were fifteen and since you couldn’t hire one for me, you thought the school slut was just as good.”

Shayne smiled sheepishly. “She did like ye, lad.”

“She liked everything with a dick!” Tristan snapped. “And I told you that I didn’t like her !”

“Why are ye yelling at me? It’s not like I made ye kiss her,” Shayne muttered grumpily.

Tristan shot him a look of pure disbelief. “Didn’t make me kiss her? You shoved me into her!”

“It wasn’t that bad now, was it, lad? I mean she did give ye a go for yer money,” Shayne said defensively.

“She gave me mono,” Tristan said dryly.

Shayne looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, “Well, there is that I suppose. Well then, what about yer almost first time, then?”

“You got me kicked in the balls!” Tristan snapped.

“I did?” Shayne asked in mock horror with his hand pressed against his chest. “How was I supposed to know ye’d yell out some other lad’s name when she touched ye?”

“You yelled out another guy’s name during sex?” the asshole asked in disgust. “Here’s a clue, guy. That does make you gay.”

Tristan glared, just fucking glared.

“Ah, go easy on the lad. At least he’s loyal,” Shayne said, shrugging it off as he focused back on the game.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tristan demanded.

“Ye still moan that name when ye spend in the shower,” Shayne said, shrugging it off.

Tristan’s mouth dropped open and then abruptly snapped shut. “You spy on me in the shower?”

“Ah, lad, I don’t need to spy on ye. I can hear ye anytime, anywhere. We’re connected. Besides, ye moan the name really fucking loudly,” Shayne said with a heartfelt sigh.

The asshole waved his hands to get their attention. “If you’re thinking about another guy in the shower that makes you gay. Accept it and move on. Now that we have that solved,” he said, clapping his hands together with a satisfied sigh, “let’s focus on me, shall we?”

But Tristan wasn’t done. “I didn’t call out another guy’s name.”

Shayne seemed to think that over for a moment before nodding solemnly with a heavy sigh. “That’s true, lad. Then, I guess yer not gay.”

“Damn straight!”

“Yer just in love with Marty,” Shayne said with a shit-eating grin.