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
CHAPTER FOURTEENUnauthorized PhotographyBrad woke suddenly, his heart pounding as if startled. He wasn’t sure what had woken him until the sound repeated. The loud bangof a door being slammed. A door downstairs.Bias was also up, propped on his elbows, looking around with the foggy eyes of someone violently pulled out of his slumber. “Whaizit?” he mumbled.Another bangand what sounded like someone clomping halfway up the stairs and then back down to the foyer. The bedroom door was shut, though Brad honestly couldn’t remember closing it before they went to bed.“Someone’s in the house,” he said in a harsh whisper.Bias bolted upright against the headboard, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What time is it?”It seemed a rather absurd question in this particular situation. As if an intruder in the house at ten would be acceptable, but not at eight. Nevertheless, Brad reached for his cell on the nightstand to check the time. The quality of the light pou
CHAPTER FIFTEENDelrays and DeliriumBrad felt like crap.His stomach was queasy, his head ached dully, and a thin film of sweat covered his body. He’d felt lousy for the last several days, but he’d promised Neisha he’d attend this event at Book Lady being held by friends of hers.Two local authors, a married couple named Michael and Tracy Delray, were holding a joint discussion and signing. They sat behind a small table with several of their books on display. Brad and Neisha had talked to them briefly before the event started. They seemed nice and passionate about their work. Michael, with his devilish goatee, was a bit more laid back; Tracy, with her fashionably short hair, possessed a sharp cynical wit. Their two teenaged sons were present, and they seemed uncommonly bright and sophisticated. Brad had bought a book from each of them and gotten them signed before the event started. The perks of being a semi-celebrity.A dozen people gathered for the event, some sitting on a