CHAPTER SIXBias in the HouseAs Brad steppedinto the foyer, he reached for the keypad, but then paused, his lips twisting down in a frown.“What’s wrong?” Bias asked, stepping in behind him.“Nothing, it’s just ... I guess I forgot to set the alarm.”Bias glanced around. “Well, doesn’t look like anyone’s ransacked the place while we’ve been out, so I think you’re okay.”“My brain’s been so scattered lately,” Brad said with a shake of his head. “Guess that comes with old age.”“That’s what I hear, Grandpa.”“Don’t be a whippersnapper. Have a seat in the den while I take care of my furry friend.”Bias handed him the bags. “Don’t get lost,” he said, before heading through the archway.Brad hurried down to the basement. Phantom was curled up by the fireplace, purring contentedly. The animal lifted its head and tensed its body, giving off suspicion like a scent, but didn’t move as Brad approached. This morning, before leaving, he’d poured more milk into the bowl
CHAPTER SEVENSkeleton in the GardenLunch was setup on the brick courtyard next to the carriage house. Brad laid out a tray of chicken salad sandwiches, strawberry walnut salad, and a ceramic pot of herbal tea on the white iron patio table. Brad wasn’t exactly a culinary genius, but he thought everything looked good.Neisha sat in one of the matching patio chairs, sipping the tea. Resplendent in white linen pants and a pink top, she closed her eyes and threw her head back to the sun. The day was cool but not cold, the full promise of spring on the breeze.“Thanks for inviting me over,” she said. “I’ve been cooped up in the museum all morning, and it’s too nice a day not to get out and enjoy it a little.”“Certainly a great day to be outside soaking up the fresh air,” Brad said, sitting across from her.“Speaking of soaking up fresh air, who’s the cute white boy you got working in the yard.”Brad glanced toward the wall that separated the courtyard from the side lawn as if
CHAPTER EIGHTDate NightAfter only fiveminutes in Club One, Brad remembered why he avoided bars and nightclubs. The place was dark and cramped; he wasn’t sure of the building’s maximum capacity but the crowd had to be pushing the limit.“Is every gay guy in Georgia here?” Brad said, having to practically shout to be heard over the blaring techno remix of “Jesus Take the Wheel” that a tiny Asian drag-queen lip-synched to on the small stage.Bias raised up on tiptoes to speak directly into Brad’s ear. “The drag show on Saturday night is always the busiest. RuPaul really revived the popularity of drag.”The two men squeezed their way through the throng, and Brad noted the average clientele was at least fifteen years his junior, all giving off a vibe of cocky self-entitlement, which seemed to be the calling card of youth. He found himself on the receiving end of many razor-sharp glares as he made his way through the club, as if being asked to move even a millimeter was a person
CHAPTER NINEThe Opened DoorsBrad awoke tosunlight streaming through the bay window. He stretched languidly and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 9:42 a.m. He rarely slept this late, being an early riser by nature, but then he’d been out a bit later than usual for him. Not to mention, the strenuous activities that he and Bias had engaged in upon returning to the house.Bias.With a lazy smile, Brad turned over to face the other side of the bed ... only to find it empty. The mattress still bore the imprint of his body, but the man himself had vacated. However, a folded piece of paper was propped on the pillow like a little tent.Brad pushed himself up, back against the headboard, a sense of dread settling in his stomach as he stared at the note. A Dear John letter this early in the relationship?With a sigh, he took the paper and unfolded it, reading Bias’s neat and slanting handwriting. The dread melted away at the words, replaced with a warmth that sprea
PART TWO:Things That Go BumpApril 2016CHAPTER TENThe Upside Down BooksWhen Brad glanceddown at the lower right-hand corner of his computer screen, he was surprised to find it was a quarter to eleven p.m. He’d sat down to write at eight, planning to work for only an hour. He’d gotten caught up in the story, however, hitting a streak and riding the wave of inspiration. It felt good to be this motivated again after struggling for months.Whereas Brad liked to have a space designated for writing, he had never been the type to adhere to a strict schedule. He knew some writers only wrote first thing in the morning, or late at night, but Brad could write anytime. He figured it was a holdover from his days as a struggling writer when he’d had to work whenever he could fit it into his schedule.Brad raised his arms above his head and stretched over the back of the chair until his spine popped, and then stood up. Bias’s last tour of the night would be starting soon, and he was
CHAPTER ELEVENLunch with MelindaWednesday afternoon,Brad stood outside Bias’s door, a bouquet of lilies in one hand while he knocked with the other. This was his first visit to Bias’s apartment; he’d invited Brad over for lunch.While Brad waited, he examined his surroundings. Bias’s apartment was the last one in a row of six, the building long and made of weathered brick set behind a large four-story house on Bull Street. Bias had said that in the pre-Civil War era, these apartments were the slave quarters for the main house, and Brad could easily see that.When the door opened, he held out the flowers and said, “Hey sexy—”, but stopped abruptly when he saw that it wasn’t Bias standing in the doorway.“Don’t you be getting fresh with me, Mr. Literary Genius,” Harold said, reaching out to swat him on the shoulder. “You’re involved with my roommate.”“I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”“So I gathered,” Harold said, stepping aside. “Come on in.”Brad stepped i
CHAPTER TWELVEThe Figure in the WindowOn the walkhome, Brad decided to drop in on Neisha at work, maybe invite her over for the big ghost hunt. He knew she was intrigued by the whole process. He walked up the steps of the Maverick Center and was reaching for the door when he paused. He still hadn’t brought Marty the signed book for his husband.Dashing across the street, Brad unlocked the door and hurried into the house. The book was still sitting on the entry table where he’d left it on Sunday. He dug around in his wallet, past old receipts and a few loose bills and business cards he’d picked up here and there, until he found the Post-It on which Neisha had written the name.Brad took a pen from the drawer in the table and scribbled out a generic inscription—“To Emilio, Enjoy!”—and signed his name. Tucking the book under one arm, he left the house, locking the door behind him, and made his way back across the street.Marty was working the gift shop register to the left of
CHAPTER THIRTEENA Night with S.C.A.D.P.I.T.The trio showedup at half-past ten Saturday night. After brief introductions, they got busy setting up their equipment. Brad had to admit that for a handful of college kids, they seemed a rather professional operation. Cane, the group’s leader, seemed serious and older than his years. Topher, Bias’s friend, was a blaze of gregarious charm and inappropriate humor. Kinsey, the lone female of the group, didn’t say much, seeming a bit like a ghost herself.They started by setting up a DVR system with six infrared cameras throughout the house. One in the foyer faced the stairs and down the hall; one in the den; one in the kitchen; one in the basement library; one in the bedroom facing the bay window; one in his office out in the carriage house. They did a walk-through of the house, taking base readings of electromagnetic energy as well as temperature. Once that was done, they set up more equipment. Brad closed Phantom up in one of the sp