Page 1 of Edged By the Apparition (Halloween Temptation #12)

“Sorry, big brother. You have to go back to the house.”

The words hit me like a punch in the gut, even if my sister didn’t mean them as an attack.

Jen would never do anything to hurt me, but still it was as if she’d pushed me off a bridge into a roiling river.

I put both hands on the top of my cubicle desk and took a deep breath. This would be okay. I’d be fine.

“There’s no other way?” I kept my voice low, my mouth close to the mic of the headset.

The other people in the office didn’t need to hear about this.

They only knew me as Tom, the quiet one, the guy who was always on time and never went out after work.

They were nice people, but socializing was excruciating.

“I’m sorry, Tommy. There’s a mountain of stuff for you to go through. I’ve gotten rid of what I could, except for the big pieces of furniture, but there are a ton of personal things.”

The pause that followed was like a brittle pane of glass. I concentrated on my breathing, saying nothing.

“Blaise’s things,” she continued, her tone careful as she broke the seal and said the name of my dead boyfriend. “Some are yours, too, but I…you need to decide what to keep. You know his dad doesn’t want any of it.”

“Asshole,” I growled under my breath. A co-worker in a burgundy blouse—Candace, I thought?—shot me a startled look as she passed by my cubicle, but said nothing.

“You have to go to the bank and sign the papers in person. The house isn’t in my name; it’s in yours. I did everything I could without you there.”

Five years. It had been five years since Blaise had died. I wish I could say I had moved on, but it wasn’t true. We’d been college sweethearts. He was the love of my life. A heart attack couldn't erase that.

How does a twenty-four-year-old have a heart attack, anyway? It was all his dad’s fault. If Blaise had known about the family history…

No. I should forget Blaise’s father. His homophobic ass didn’t deserve a second thought.

“I’ll drive down tonight.” I had to go right away. If I thought too much about it, I’d never leave, no matter how much money I’d get from selling the house. No matter how badly I needed it. “Can you meet me?”

“Tommy, I…tomorrow’s Halloween. Olivia is so excited to trick-or-treat. We’re going with a bunch of her friends from the neighborhood. I can’t miss it.”

I sighed. I’d forgotten that tomorrow was Halloween. “What is she going as?”

“Glinda.”

“She’ll be absolutely adorable.” I pressed my fingers into my forehead, which was aching now from tension. “Will you send me pics?”

“Of course. I’m sorry I can’t be there.” There was a muffled voice from the other end of the line, followed by a rustling of papers. “I have to go. Who will you stay with?”

No one. I didn’t speak to any of my old friends from my hometown. They’d been…fine, I guess, when Blaise had passed. They’d reached out. But it was so awkward, and I couldn’t take the pity, so I didn’t respond. Eventually, they just stopped reaching out.

I wasn’t going to call any of them, and I couldn’t afford a hotel room. If I had to rip off the bandage, I might as well do it all at once. I’d stay in the house. Our old house.

“Don’t worry about it. Kiss Olivia for me.”

Standing in front of the old Victorian, it struck me how little had changed. Five years was somehow both a blink in time and a yawning chasm between my previous life and my new one. The one where I was alone.

It was like some imaginary happy family lived in the house now.

My sister had been kind enough to handle simple maintenance from afar, hiring someone to mow the lawn and tend to the shrubs.

She’d had the whole thing painted a few weeks ago in preparation to sell.

Jen was my rock. I was immensely grateful for her when I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself.

I had to face this alone. I’d thought it would hurt more, seeing the place since I ran away in the wake of Blaise’s death, but it surprised me how drawn I was to the house.

Blaise and I had only lived there for a couple of years, but it had been our home.

We’d planned to grow and blossom there, maybe even have a family.

As I ascended the steps, the garish Halloween display in the yard next door caught my attention. Plastic tombstones littered the lawn, and enormous cobwebs dripped from everywhere. A headless skeleton hung on the front door.

I shook my head. Halloween was never my favorite. The idea of an afterlife or ghosts made me uneasy. When we died, we were dead, and anything else was our human brain’s desperation to find meaning. When Blaise was taken from me, I understood there was no meaning to be found.

Ignoring the spooky tableau, I focused on the front door.

We’d painted it a vibrant red. The color had been Blaise’s idea.

He’d always had more of an eye for design than I did.

I’d tell him if I didn’t like one of his choices, of course, but he wanted to transform our house into something special. I loved that about him.

As I opened the door, the substantial staircase greeted me, looking as majestic as it did when we bought it.

It was the centerpiece of the house. At this time of day, it was bathed in light, the last rays of the setting sun giving everything a warm amber glow.

The living room to my left was perfectly appointed.

The furniture and art were ours, but all the clutter of everyday life was gone.

My sister had sold or stored anything not needed to show the place to potential buyers.

A flood of memories hit me. Surprisingly, they were mostly positive. Blaise’s grandmother had died and left us enough money to afford the down-payment. We’d searched and searched, finally falling in love with this old house, a far cry from the modern construction we’d been considering.

But it was us. The nooks and crannies spoke to us far more than gray walls and an open floor plan. The dark wooden trim and pocket doors gave the place a coziness that drew us in. Even now, the atmosphere put me at ease. I could practically feel Blaise near me.

“Tommy-”

The whisper came from close by, and I spun around, my heart thumping in my chest like a crazed mason with a sledgehammer.

The only thing behind me was the empty doorway.

Someone had said my name. Hadn’t they? Honestly, it was more like when you’re falling asleep, a voice whispering as consciousness slipped away. Except I wasn’t falling asleep. I was wide awake, and I wasn’t the type to imagine things.

At least, I thought I wasn’t. I was under a lot of stress, and this was a unique situation. My nerves were strung taut, and I didn’t need much to set me off. A slight breeze coming in through the open door. Maybe that’s all it took.

I brushed off the strange moment and closed the door behind me, letting out the breath I’d been holding. I was here to do a job. I’d stay the night, then spend the next day sorting through my remaining belongings. Jen had tucked everything away in the spare bedroom upstairs.

Once that was done, I could leave. I wouldn’t come back. The house would get sold. This chapter of my life would be closed. Maybe I could even have a normal relationship again.

I ignored the small part of me that screamed in rage and despair at that thought.

How could I close the book on Blaise? He was the only one for me.

I’d known it since first meeting him. He’d been sitting out on the quad, playing guitar.

I’d teased him relentlessly about that—was there anything cornier or more hetero than playing guitar on the lawn outside the student union?

But his voice was beautiful, even if his song choices were questionable.

He sang with an ease and a freedom I envied.

I was always the buttoned-up one, the one who was worried about appearances and my career.

He’d laugh at me now, seeing how I’d abandoned my high-powered marketing job for glorified data entry.

No, he wouldn’t laugh. He’d hug me tight, kiss me on the forehead, and tell me that everything would be all right. That we’d figure it out together.

I blinked away the tears that welled up at the image. I was not here to feel bad about my life. I was here to sell the house and move on.

I stopped by the kitchen to drop off the sandwiches I’d made for the trip, then headed up to the second floor. I was already exhausted, and although it wasn’t fully dark out yet, I was ready for bed.

It’s not that I felt nothing as I walked into our old bedroom.

It was more that I’d already had my fill of difficult emotions.

I just had to get through the weekend. Popping my clothes into the empty dresser, I tried not to think about Blaise and me buying this bedroom set on a weekend antiquing trip.

We’d joked about how stereotypically gay it was, but we’d ended up with some lovely pieces.

Tossing my gym bag to the side, I sank down onto the bed. I’d forgotten how comfortable the mattress was. It had been one of our few big splurges, but a king-size bed wouldn’t fit into the tiny apartment I lived in now, so…

I took a deep breath in, hearing my therapist’s voice in my head. You don’t have to deal with everything at once. Or feel everything at once. Take a moment, meditate, and then move forward to the next thing.

A wave of exhaustion washed over me. The bed was cozy, and even though this house held hard memories, there were also good ones. Cooking together, laughing, watching bad survival shows.

I slipped off my tennis shoes and swung my legs up onto the coverlet, moving back and resting my head on the pillow.

I closed my eyes. I wasn’t ready to go to sleep, but I was weary.

Lying in my comfy old bed, my body relaxed for the first time in a long time.

I could deal with the memories if it meant I could lose some of the ever-present tension.