Page 14 of The Most Unusual Haunting of Edgar Lovejoy

Edgar

Summer in New Orleans came with two hours of pouring rain every afternoon, but this was no predictable afternoon shower. It was a storm with thunder, lightning, and driving rain that menaced them off the road after ten minutes.

Edgar’s palms prickled with sweat. Rain hit the truck, and thunder cracked, cacophonous.

“Gonna be another three or four hours, looks like,” Jamie said, tapping at their phone. “There’s a motel seven miles from here. We could try and get there, wait it out? I realize it’s rather forward for a second date,” they added jokingly, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

Edgar breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, searching for an island of calm in the storm of panic.

Ever since he’d texted Jamie to ask for another date, Edgar had been debating with himself about what would happen if Jamie found out his secret.

They’ll think I’m a freak and in need of psychiatric intervention. And then they won’t want to be with me.

Allie told her ex-boyfriend, and he didn’t try to have her committed , he disagreed with himself. Of course, he hadn’t tried in any other way either, so maybe not the best example.

If they don’t think I’m crazy, then they won’t believe me.

They make haunted houses for a living, he’d argued with himself. They might believe you.

Fine, even if they do believe me, they’ll eventually get tired of the fact that I can’t go anywhere. That I don’t have any friends except my sister because I have this huge secret. That I’m a fucking basket case. And then they won’t want to be with me. So same outcome either way.

“Motel’s good,” Edgar croaked.

Jamie’s eyes were on him instantly.

“What’s wrong? Are you—what’s it called? Storm-phobic?”

Astraphobic , his brain supplied, but he didn’t risk verbalizing it. Edgar managed a nod, and Jamie’s hand landed on his shoulder, a warm comfort.

“Okay, I’ve got you,” Jamie said.

Edgar ached for it to be true.

Though the motel was only seven miles away, it took them nearly half an hour to get there. Mercifully, navigating the road required all of Jamie’s attention, leaving Edgar to white-knuckle it with his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that he gave himself a headache.

By the time Jamie swung the truck into the motel’s parking lot, the rain was coming down so hard the name of it was illegible.

“Wait here, and I’ll be right back,” they said and ducked outside.

It was agony alone. Edgar wanted his eyes closed so he couldn’t see anything in the lightning.

The electricity got ghost ions all hopped up or something, he’d concluded over the years, so when lightning struck, ghosts seemed more corporeal, more terrifying.

But he wanted his eyes open in case anything appeared close to the car.

As a compromise, he kept them squinted, which made his headache even worse.

Jamie was back five minutes later, soaked, brandishing a key on a blue plastic fob like a prize. “Best room in the house,” they announced and pulled the truck around to the back of the motel. “Grab the picnic, would you?”

Edgar did, and by the time he got out of the truck, Jamie had the door to their room open. Edgar was only outside for a few seconds and still got soaked. Jamie ran back outside.

“What are you—” Thunder crashed, and Edgar winced. He pressed his back to the wall, every muscle tense, and scanned the unfamiliar room. Lots of brown, but no ghosts. A flash of lightning made him wince.

The door slammed open, and Jamie returned a minute later carrying the sodden bundle of the chandelier.

“If I don’t have this come Monday morning, Marty will fire me. I’m not taking any chances,” they explained, locking the door behind them.

The struggle to keep breathing at a nonhyperventilatory pace required all of Edgar’s energy.

Jamie frowned and placed the chandelier on the floor, then crossed to Edgar.

“Hey,” they said gently, so gently. “It’s going to be okay. I’ve got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

The deepest, most hidden part of Edgar thrilled at this promise.

Even though it was made in ignorance, it was what he wanted.

To be taken care of. Protected. In all his debate with himself over the past week, that was the card he never played because it was too much to wish for.

Too scary to hope for. And far too much to ever ask.

What would it feel like if he told Jamie the truth and they could actually help him?

Edgar didn’t have any idea what that might look like, but he thought it might start off feeling very much like Jamie’s warm hand on his arm, Jamie’s calm voice in his ear.

“I can see you’re really scared,” Jamie continued, and Edgar realized he’d closed his eyes against another flash of lightning.

“Maybe panic-attack scared? Just concentrate on breathing, okay? I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.

Do you want to sit down? Want a shower? Want me to distract you? Or maybe just shut up?”

It was this last that made Edgar open his eyes. He didn’t want Jamie to ever shut up. He wanted Jamie to keep talking to him all night long.

Lightning flashed outside, and Edgar caught a glimpse of something in the storm that shouldn’t’ve been there.

Edgar flinched away from the window and crouched on the floor. Jamie looked scared.

Fuck, no, please not now!

This date was Jamie giving him a second chance. If he fucked this up, he knew Jamie wouldn’t give him a third. Jamie, who cared about the truth and being themself and wanted him to do the same.

He knew if he put Jamie off again with an excuse, it would have to be good enough that they believed him. But fear had wiped his mind of anything useful. He risked a glance at the window. If it had been a ghost he’d seen, it was either gone or about to ooze through the wall at any moment.

Jamie turned and looked where Edgar was looking. They turned back to him, looking confused and worried. Edgar couldn’t stand to see them worried, couldn’t stand to see the trust they’d given him fade away. Fuck!

“Edgar?” Jamie said softly. “What’s going on? Do you need me to get help? Call someone for you?”

Edgar shook his head, trying to make his voice work.

He had never thought he’d tell anyone the truth, not after the way his father had behaved.

But he hadn’t reckoned with meeting someone he liked as much as Jamie either.

Someone he wanted to know him. Someone he wanted to spend time with.

And spending time meant seeing him see ghosts.

There was no way to hide it from Jamie, he was realizing.

No way to hide it and still get to be with them.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Am I really going to do this?

Edgar swallowed hard, reached out, and caught Jamie’s hand.

Thank you , he wanted to say. Thank you for being wonderful and for caring. Please don’t leave when I tell you the truth. Please don’t give me that look—the one that means, Oh, dear, he’s insane. And he looked so normal .

“I, um.”

Jamie looked instantly relieved that Edgar had formed words.

“I need to tell you something about me. Um.”

His tongue went thick in his mouth, and his throat was dry. But he focused on Jamie’s freckles and their kind blue eyes, lashes spiked with rain.

“I see ghosts.”

All these years of shoving it down, swallowing it, and chewing on it had worried it smooth, and it slid right out of Edgar’s mouth like a stone.

A rush of adrenaline roared in his ears, leaving him dizzy.

“Sorry,” Jamie said. “Can you repeat yourself? I think I heard you wrong.”

“You didn’t.” Edgar swallowed a woozy giggle.

Jamie nodded slowly. “Just to double-check, I heard you say that you see ghosts?”

“Correct,” Edgar said.

“Huh,” Jamie said simply. Then their face lit up. “Ghosts are real? Wow, sorry, not the time. So you… Wow.”

Jamie’s mind seemed to be going a mile a minute, but they hadn’t yet said that they thought Edgar was crazy. Or a liar. So that was good.

“You…you believe me?” Edgar had to ask.

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“Then I believe you.”

And that, apparently, was that.

They stood staring at each other in the aftermath of his confession. Edgar didn’t know what he’d expected to happen the first time he told someone. A musical swell or explosion of fireworks? That he’d suddenly transform into a different person?

But he was still just him, dripping rain onto brown motel carpet with absolutely no idea what to do.

“I don’t know what to do now,” he admitted and winced.

Jamie took charge, steering Edgar into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

“I’m going to get some food set up while you take a shower. Get warmed up, get out of these wet clothes. Then you can have something to eat. You’ll feel better,” they said with the absolute certainty of someone who didn’t see ghosts.

But as he stood in the shower letting the hot water stream over his cold skin, Edgar did feel better.

I am no longer a person with a secret, he thought as he lathered his hair.

There isn’t a huge, uncrossable gulf between me and every single other human on earth except my family, he thought as he rinsed it.

Someone knows the thing about me that I wake up in the middle of the night and clutch to me like a hobgoblin, he thought as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist.

The partly fogged mirror created the illusion that half of his face was gone. Did the part he could see look different though? Younger? Unburdened? In all the self-debate, he’d never actually thought about how it would feel to tell someone.

He remembered what Jamie had said they felt like performing burlesque. Like a god .

Maybe this was how they felt.

***

Edgar made his way out of the bathroom to find Jamie putting the finishing touches on a truly impressive spread of food.

“Shower’s free,” he said, suddenly feeling awkward and exposed with only the rough towel slung around his hips. Probably this was no big deal to Jamie, who did burlesque and dated regularly, but he had to fight the impulse to cover himself with his hands.

When Jamie looked up, their mouth fell open at the sight of him.

Flustered, Edgar apologized for his state of undress, explaining that there were no robes.

“Fuck,” Jamie said, still staring. “You’re really fucking beautiful, Edgar.”

Edgar flushed. He knew that working the delivery job over the last year had strengthened his muscles. He’d noticed his shirts fitting tighter. But Jamie was looking at him with heat, appreciation.

Desire.

An answering heat flushed down his throat and across his chest, and suddenly the absence of anything between them but the scratchy towel felt like a liability.

Flustered now by his body as well as his mind, Edgar felt utterly overwhelmed.

Jamie cupped his cheek. The cool of their palm grounded him. Edgar let his eyes flutter shut, hiding.

“Too much?” Jamie asked quietly.

God, no , Edgar groaned internally. I’m scared of fucking everything up, but you make me feel brave.

He shook his head. When he managed to open his eyes, Jamie was biting their lip, eyelids heavy.

They made a low sound in their throat. Edgar’s heart hammered.

He wanted Jamie to crush him safe against this wall and do whatever the hell they wanted to him.

It was an almost overwhelming urge. Edgar swallowed hard, his dick swelling at the thought.

“Will you be okay out here if I take a quick shower?” Jamie asked, voice thick.

Edgar made himself nod, even though the idea of Jamie leaving him was physically painful. They gave him one last heated look, then walked into the bathroom.

“Oh fuck.” Edgar slumped against the wall.

He’d never responded to anyone this way before.

His knees were shaking, he was trembling, and his heart was racing.

It was a set of sensations that Edgar usually associated with the aftermath of seeing a ghost. If you didn’t pay attention to the erection straining the front of Edgar’s towel, that is.

But he was paying a lot of attention to it.

What was happening to him? Did he have an I-just-confessed-to-the-person-I’m-falling-for-that-I-can-see-ghosts kink?

More like a Jamie Wendon-Dale kink.