LEAVING LIMBO

 

 

 

 

 

 

“If you find a corpse, tell me,” the old man cackled, locking me in behind the gates. “Just don’t be the corpse I find tomorrow morning. Oh, and watch out for—” The wind drowned out the rest of the words, but I didn’t care; he’d been trying to scare me off the entire way here.

Nice try. Instead of snorting, I waved, hefting the equipment bag onto my shoulder. I flicked on the flashlight he’d given me and followed the cobblestone driveway. My eyes were on the prize ahead: Burroughs Manor. Huge trees towered over the driveway leading to the house, protecting me from the never-ending rain but not the freezing wind. A bolt of lightning flashed behind the house, a scene out of a horror movie. Perfect.

I pulled out my night vision camera and began recording as I walked. “Hello Jaxxers, it’s me, Jaxx Carter. This week’s episode of Maybe Haunted is here in Sexhow, England. Sexhow, folks. It’s a real place. I know the name’s stupid. Google it. Anyways, I’m going to spend a night at the cursed Burroughs Manor, where a former owner killed himself three hundred years ago. Is it haunted? Maybe. People have mysteriously died here, and I’m about to stir things up.”

So what was I really doing in the armpit of England?

A month ago, my agent sat me down and told me I was losing subscribers, fast. I needed to do something big to get back on track with sponsors.

I had over thirty-five videos out, each averaging two hundred thousand views, but Team Jaxx was just me. No sound guy, no video guy, no graphics or marketing team. So my overhead was pretty low. Most of the money I made went into my gear and my travel fund. I prided myself on the quality of my shows. Unlike other ‘Tubers who did daily vlogs that looked like, heaven forbid, Twitch, my stuff was the real deal. Which meant, yes, no ghosts. Though who’d have thought people would pay to watch other people play video games, huh?

“Your angle sucks,” Merv, my agent, had whined. “You never show any actual ghosts, or any creepy shadows or specters or whatever. You’re always saying places are not haunted.”

“Because they aren’t.” And believe me, I wanted to find ghosts as much as he did. Or any evidence of an afterlife.

“Well, that’s boring. What’s the point of going to these places, then? You’re boring, Jaxx. Gotta find a gimmick. Make it sexy. Go find a ghost who was into BDSM or something. Or maybe you could fake it: just catch a shadow or something like that Paranormal Encounters show did. You’ve already peaked. None of your videos have gone viral. Unless you do something major, you’re going to lose more viewers.”

So, I did some research, looking for the subject of my next video.

Enter Burroughs Manor.

Sometime in the distant past, God-knows-how-many-greats-grandpa Carter had made the move from Hicksville, England to the great US of A. I knew this because my mom used to tell me we had English blood in our veins, so I had to keep my grades up in English class. Sure, Mom. I suspected it was all a ploy, but I figured, why not check it out? Behold my surprise when I found out that Burroughs Manor was a real place. Thanks, familyhistory.com. Grandpa Carter, a farmer-turned-soldier, immigrated to America after Napoleon’s defeat.

Bonus: I did some digging online and found a photo of the castle, still in the Burroughs family. Someone on a forum said the place was haunted and abandoned for over two hundred years ago. Ding ding ding.

I sent out feelers to the owners, requesting permission to film. Turned out they couldn’t have cared less. They’d hung onto the property mostly for inheritance purposes.

Some old fart in the 1800s had written it into his will that they couldn’t get rid of it or else they wouldn’t inherit the cash, and boy, was this family loaded. Burroughs Manor was one of the many, many properties they owned, but it was completely useless to them because of the location. Even better for me, it wasn’t in ruins. Apparently, the same old fart had added the condition that the house be kept up-to-date and inhabitable. It was just sitting there empty, waiting for me.

It was a sign.

Six hours ago I’d gotten off a trans-Atlantic, much-delayed redeye, picked up the keys from a fancy lawyer’s office, squeezed into a rental car the size of a shoebox, and then had to drive on the wrong side of the road with spotty GPS.

Four hours ago, the car had died. I’d ended up hoofing it to the caretaker’s cabin a couple of miles away. Right before sunset, the old man drove me to the actual place, muttering about ghosts and curses. He had said the place was renovated every fifty years or so and stocked with food, as per instructions from the owners. Awww, that was nice of them.

As far as I knew, no other shows had featured this place. Anticipation had me walking faster, climbing the stone steps to the massive door.

So. Here I was, my heart pounding. I managed to unlock the door, and with epic timing, another bolt of lightning struck just as I opened it.

I could have sworn someone was standing right in front of me in the entryway. Swallowing my scream, I looked again. Nope, only a coat rack. It took a while to locate the light switch. When I finally found it, I looked around. The main room appeared surprisingly normal and lived-in, unlike the places I normally explored. The old man had said there was modern-ish plumbing and hot water and power. Not bad, really. It was like a fancy Airbnb.

“Hey, Burroughs Manor! It’s ya boy, Jaxx.” My voice echoed through the hallway, punctuated by a roll of thunder. “Be good to me, ‘kay? I promise I won’t break anything.”

Slamming the door behind me, I dropped my stuff. Like all the haunted old places I’d investigated before, this one was huge and drafty. I inhaled the dank air, my breath coming out in puffs. Yep. It smelled like old people and mold.

I sat on the floor and assembled the harness that would hold two cameras: one to record my point of view and the other my reactions. But before I put them on, nature called. I mean, I’d be wearing that thing for maybe eight-plus hours to sunrise, so I figured I might as well get the basics out of the way, right?

In my search for a bathroom, I opened a couple of doors down the hallway and passed by portraits of glaring old men. The fourth door was the jackpot. I did my business and washed my hands, checking to make sure I looked presentable for the upcoming shoot. Merv was right: I was a pretty boy. One reviewer had described me as having just-out-of-bed hair and fuck-me blue eyes. I could say that without shame, having been lucky enough to get my good looks from my momma. God only knew who my dad was, but my mom had made damned sure I would never miss him.

The thought of my mom sent a familiar ache through my chest. “Focus, Jaxx,” I muttered, hoping the camera would not pick up the serious baggage under my eyes from the jet lag and lack of sleep.

The lights were out when I opened the creaky bathroom door. Huh. I knew I had left them on. Must have blown a fuse.

I took a step and a musky, unfamiliar scent enveloped me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. For the life of me I couldn’t explain why, but it also sent a surge of arousal curling through my stomach.

Then I was tackled from behind. Someone shoved me against the wall, knocking my glasses off.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”

I struggled to break free. “What do you mean, your house? Are you with the Burroughs family? I have permission to be here. Ask the family.”

My cheek hit the polished wooden wall as the guy shoved me again. I wasn’t scrawny—not by a long shot. But whoever this guy was, he was much stronger than me.

“Have you permission? Prove it.”

I couldn’t see clearly as cold fingers pushed my face to the side. His voice was deep, and accented enough to make me imagine posh schools and money—lots of it.

“I’ve got keys in my pocket; the lawyer gave them to me.” Was that his thumb stroking my lip? I fought the urge to bite it.

“Show me.”

The pressure eased and I whirled around to face him, digging my hand into my pocket. The keys were not there. Genius that I was, I had left them by my backpack.

“They’re over there. Let me grab them.” Rubbing my cheek, I went over to my stuff and knelt to search for the keys. Finding them after a few gropes, I waved them at him. It was dark, though moonlight streamed in from the windows. Hadn’t it been thundering and lightning a few minutes ago? Man, the weather here was weird.

Without my glasses, I couldn’t get a good look at the man’s face, though I got an impression of someone tall and built. “Look, nobody told me someone actually lived here. I’m just here to shoot my video, then I’m out. Twelve hours, probably ten, tops. Can we turn on the lights?”

“You may attempt it,” he replied, a dark figure in the dark. “I do not think you will succeed.”

I scrambled to my feet to grope for the switch along the wall. He was right. The lights were dead. I was glad I had pre-charged all my equipment and spare batteries. I mean, the number of times my power banks had saved me … yep.

“Who are you? I’m Jaxxon, by the way. That’s Jaxx, to you.”

“L— Douglas Burroughs. You may call me Burroughs.”

“Right. Hey, the old man said there was food here. Could you point me to the kitchen?” The long day and the sudden surge of adrenaline were catching up, and I needed to get food in me before I crashed. “I promise I’ll stay out of your way, and we can just hammer out what’s about to happen. I wonder why they wouldn’t tell you I was coming.”

“I wonder that as well.” He stepped into a moonbeam and golden eyes gleamed at me. I caught the impression of dark curls and a straight nose. Even in this sliver of a view, I could see he was gorgeous. I heard some rustling, then he came closer. “I believe these are yours.”

Plastic and glass pushed against my fingertips. Gratefully, I slid them on and the world sharpened again. “Thank y—”

By the time I could form any words, the first door to the right was swinging open. Right. I could suddenly relate to Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Except the beast was one sexy beast.

“Are you not coming?” His voice floated back to me.

Right. Food.  

The kitchen was at the end of a long corridor. A fire crackled in the fireplace; Burroughs stood, his back to me, watching the flames. I took the opportunity to study him.

He had dark wavy hair like some dude on the cover of one of the romance novels my mom used to read. He wore a generic white shirt, black pants, and really cool old leather boots. He even had a white necktie thingy like Austin Powers. Playing up the British thing, huh.

He was definitely the sexiest man I had ever seen. My sexual orientation wasn’t a secret from my fans. Life was too short, and I’d known I liked boys ever since I had a crush on Mikey Chen in kindergarten. But this in front of me—this was a real man.

“There is food here. Help yourself,” he said, his eyebrows knitted. He had a sadness about him. Brooding! It described him perfectly. Broody Burroughs. Heh.

I cobbled together a ham and cheese sandwich and settled at the kitchen table. “D—do you want a sandwich? To eat?” I asked, suddenly shy. Ugh. I had zero performance anxiety, but put me in front of a cute guy and a toddler babbling was more coherent than me.

“No, thank you.” He perched on the table across from me, eyes gleaming.

My cheeks burned, so I focused on my food.

“Perhaps you need something stronger than water?” Burroughs nodded to a bottle of whiskey at the end of the counter.

I shook my head. “I’m shooting a video. I can’t be drunk on camera.” The sandwich disappeared in no time. With the food gone, only silence sat between us, thick and heavy.

“What exactly will you be doing in my house?” His sleeves were pushed up above his elbows, not carefully folded, but like he had done it in a hurry. Thick, muscular arms that were dusted with dark hair crossed his chest. A ruby set in a heavy-looking gold band flickered on his pinkie finger, a flash of blood-red on his fist. Man, I had to stop cataloguing everything the guy did.

“Uh, I just go around looking for ghosts.” I braced myself. People had the strangest reactions when I told them what I did for a living, and strangely, I did not want to disappoint him.

“Ghosts?”

“Well, evidence of an afterlife. I go to haunted places and spend the night there, recording footage. I also like to talk a little bit about the place itself, since I don’t go to the super-popular places that the other paranormal shows go to. My angle is more historical, really, since I’ve never actually caught a ghost.” He didn’t say anything, so I continued. “In this house, I’d probably just try two or three hotspots, set up some EVP recorders, maybe try to get video, though I doubt it. But you’re going to have to show me where I can bunk for the night.” I held my breath, hoping I wasn’t pushing too far.

“And why must I agree to this?” His tone was bored, but his eyes pinned me to the spot.

Damn. I honestly didn’t know what to tell him. “Well, you get me!” I blurted out, half-jokingly. “For—” I checked my watch, “—nine more hours. The caretaker is coming at eight to pick me up.” My gaze dropped and honed in on the very interesting bulge in his pants. Either he had a third leg, or he was happy to see me. I could not look away.

He cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “How old are you, boy?”

“Twenty-two in a couple of months.” My voice cracked, but I dragged my eyes up to meet his.

“You are fascinated by the cut of my trousers. One would think you a dandy but for the sorry state of your clothing. Are you perhaps a Catamite?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No, I’m allergic.” The words just kept coming. “I mean, my best friend in high school had a Persian, but every time I went to his house I broke out in hives and started swelling— Wait. Do you have cats here?”

He sighed. “No. A Sodomite? A Buggerer? A Molly?”

“Do you mean, like, am I a Gryffindor or a Slytherin?” Huh. I guessed he was into fandoms. Which explained his outfit.

He threw his hands up in the air. “Forget my question. Just … do as you will.”

“Wait. Since you’re here, can you tell me about the house? You’re a Burroughs, so you might know the history and such. What kind of activity is there? How long has it been haunted?”

The corner of his mouth went up. “It has been haunted as long as I have resided here. You are so young, aren’t you?” His eyes went to my lips, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. “Be careful of the ghosts, Jaxx. You might wake things beyond your ken.”

He was definitely into me. I could hardly breathe from the heat of the look he blasted me with. There were promises in his eyes, promises of dark, naughty things. Yes, please.

I shifted to hide my sudden erection. “Nice try, but ghosts aren’t real. I’ve never seen one, and I don’t know if I ever will. It’s a nice narrative to sell to my followers though, and I get to travel to all these places.”

“So cynical.” He shook his head. “You might be surprised yet, young Master Jaxx. You may take the bedroom in the east wing. Come, I will take you there.” He waited for me to put my dishes away, then led me through the maze of a house to a room on the second floor. He watched, standing on the threshold, as I put my bags down and looked around, my jaw hanging open.  

“This room is amazing!” I whirled around to see him smiling. “It’s bigger than my apartment, and it looks like something straight out of a museum. And man, that portrait …” I wandered over to the fireplace, transfixed. “This dude looks exactly like you, Burroughs.” The light was too dim for me to make out the name on the bottom.

“Goodnight, Jaxx. I shall now take my leave. If you must go hunting for specters, have a care. There are things here beyond your experience.” He turned to the door.

I panicked and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Wait. Wait, do you want to fuck?” I wanted to die as soon as the words left my mouth.

Thankfully, Burroughs didn’t laugh. Instead he looked at me gravely. “Recklessness is the purview of the young. I must respectfully decline. Goodnight. I shall see you again.”

And with that, the door closed behind him soundlessly.

Well. The rejection stung. He kept saying I was young. Did that mean he was old? He didn’t seem that old. Groaning, I threw myself on the bed and wondered if I could die of shame.

Then I pulled myself together for the shoot. I showered—cold, not my choice—shaved, and got dressed, still humiliated by my stupidity. There was no way I could face him in the morning, but on the other hand, the fact that I wasn’t alone here comforted me.

With the amount of energy drinks I’d chugged on my way here, I was wide awake. I spent the next four hours wandering the house, but nothing promising happened. At 3am, I set the video cam in my room to record any nocturnal events and stumbled into bed, exhausted.

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

Soft, featherlight touches brushed against my lips and eyelids. I wanted—no, needed more. Reaching with closed eyes and questing fingers, I followed the warmth of the other person. I brushed warm, bare skin and parted my lips, inviting him in. He took my mouth like he meant it, like he hadn’t kissed anyone else before.

His scent enveloped me, making my head spin. It was Burroughs, no mistake. I clawed at his back, trying to get closer.

“No,” he growled, flipping me onto my stomach. I moaned, shivering from desire and frustration. His fingers gripping my hair, he twisted my head to the side so he could devour my mouth. The sharp pain made me whimper and my cock hardened. I liked it rough, and he pushed all the right buttons. He smiled at my broken groans.

“Will you let me—” he whispered against my throat, raking his teeth along the stubble on my jaw. Helpless under his attention, I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming.

“Yes, yes, anything, do it,” I begged, reaching for him. He bit my shoulder. Pushing me onto my side, he settled behind me. I could feel his size, rubbing against me. That gave me pause. I’d never had anyone that big inside me. He grabbed my dick with a firm grip. No hesitation. He had done this before. I bit my lip, fighting not to spill immediately.

“Hold on,” he warned. The way he touched me was gentle, but his growled words in my ear set my blood on fire. British accents were sexy, who knew? “So you like this, boy? You like me tugging your cock? Just remember, you asked me for a fuck.”

My arm went numb, but the pleasure kept building as he gave me the best hand job of my life. Why would my arm even be involved? It was annoying to feel the pins and needles going down from my elbow just as I was about to blow my load. I finally opened my eyes to see why.

My hand was jacking off my cock.

Nothing new there. I cleaned the pipes every other day or so; the traveling made it hard to have a regular fuck buddy. But remember in high school, the guys tell you if you use your non-dominant hand it’ll feel like someone else is doing it? That was exactly what was going on.

I bolted upright, staring at my hand, because, holy shit. Burroughs’s arm was inside mine, his forearm melting into my elbow. As I stared, he continued to stroke my cock and I edged closer to orgasm, precum leaking out of the tip. He dragged me back against him, one hand around my throat, the other inside my skin, stroking my erection.

“Do not be afraid,” he purred into my ear, increasing his pace. “I have you.”

I leaned back and let it happen, because what choice did I have? And it was so damned good. He forced a finger between my lips and increased his pace. “Suck it.”

I obeyed blindly. The pleasure spiraled at the base of my spine. My cock had never been harder than this. He slid another finger into my mouth, matching the rhythm of his hand, and licked my ear.

“So. Close,” I groaned through gritted teeth. “Please.”

As if he could read my mind, he pulled his fingers from my mouth and replaced them with his lips. I kissed him desperately because I would die if I didn’t.

Cold fingertips, slick with my saliva, circled my entrance. The coolness contrasted with my heated flesh, driving me wilder. I jerked forward, but he didn’t break the kiss or his hold on me. How many hands did he have? I stopped breathing, trying to anticipate his next move. Finally, he pushed one finger past my ring of muscle. I moaned, clenching tight around him. “Hurts so good, yes, like that.”

A second finger joined the first. I was ready to cry—I was that desperate. He hadn’t let up on jerking me off, and the stretching, the pain, the pleasure filling me was too intense, too exquisite. “Fuck, I’m about to—” That was when he found the spot and twisted his fingers just so.

Fireworks exploded behind my eyes. Thick, ropy spurts erupted across my stomach and over my hand. He held me while I trembled, while I emptied out my load. I collapsed back on him.

It took a while for me to catch my breath, to recover from the hands-down best orgasm of my life. Gently, he eased out of my body and released my hand, laying me down on the bed afterwards. Then it hit me—I just got fucked by a ghost.

“Wait,” I hollered, sitting up again. “You’re a fucking ghost.”

Burroughs stretched out beside me, tucking his hands behind his head. “Well, if you are referring to the act we just committed, then yes, I am, in fact, a fucking ghost. You did ask earlier.”

My insides tumbled at his smug grin. I tripped over the bedsheets trying to get out of bed, face-planting on the fancy carpet. He was beside me instantly, and I could see the furniture behind him through his chest. “Are you hurt?”

Scrambling backwards, I untangled myself and formed a cross with my fingers. “Don’t come near me. I’m fine.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes at me, but didn’t say anything. He seemed annoyed. At me! Why would he be annoyed? If anyone had the right to be annoyed, it was me. “You lied to me!”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Did I? When did this happen? When did I specifically say I was not a ghost?”

I thought back on all our conversations but couldn’t remember the details. “I told you I was looking for ghosts!” My back hit the side of the bed, so I got to my feet. Bad enough that I had to argue with this hotness while naked. I needed to get away from him, physically and mentally, to get my head back on straight.

He took a step toward me with the grace of a cat. “And what would you have done, pray tell, if I had said, ‘Look no further, young Jaxx, you have found your ghost?’”

I opened my mouth but I had no words. He came up to me, close enough that I should have been able to feel his breath. Instead, there was a chill. His eyes were gold in the dim light, and when they dropped to my lips, I felt them there as surely as a kiss. Spellbound, I leaned forward, my eyes closing …

Then I remembered the real reason I was here. At the last second, I lunged back.

“Stop your ghost juju,” I yelled at him. “I am upset here.”

He laughed and shook his head, still studying me. I wanted to yank my hair out in frustration.

“Tell me: why me?”

“Honestly, I asked myself that very same question. You do resemble a certain farm lad I once … dallied with,” Burroughs said, frowning. “But he went away to war and never came back. Please do not misconstrue my words; you are not a substitute for Thomas. That would be so very crass of me.”

“So you have a type, and I’m the guy you swiped left on because I fit the bill?” Hysteria tinged my words. “Wait. Thomas … Thomas Carter? Because that’s my great-great-etc. grandfather.”

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then pressed his lips together. I’d finally managed to shut him up.

“Okay, now that’s fucking weird. You boned me because you had a thing for my great-great? Yuck.” Disappointment was an understatement. I wanted to punch him. Why was I so invested in this hookup? Best orgasm ever, a little voice whispered in my head. Yeah, right. That was never happening again.

“No.” There was a sadness in his eyes. “Thomas … I suppose I am pleased to find out that he survived the war and had a family. That gives me great comfort. However, this act— I am a ghost, Jaxxon. I cannot experience physical matters. I did this because of you.”

“Well, I’m leaving in the morning. I’m never coming back. Thanks a bunch for whatever this was. I guess I should be grateful I got this much. That’s better than nothing.” Whining. I was whining. I didn’t care. I wanted to hurt him.

“Shall you run back to mother, then? Perhaps she can tell you this was all a bad dream.”

The snide words hurt less than the cold expression on his face.

“I can’t. She’s dead,” I snapped. “And I never came out to her.” I started packing up my equipment, throwing it into my luggage. My right side got colder.

“Came out of what?”

“The closet. God. She never knew I was gay.”

“Were you miserable all the time, then?”

What the hell was he— I checked to see if he was being sarcastic, but there was only curiosity on his face. Oh. I took a deep breath, then another.

“No. She never found out I was a homosexual. There, I spelled it out for you. This whole ghost thing, it’s all so I can—” I swallowed hard. “I need her to know who I really am, and I need her to be okay with it. So if there’s some sort of afterlife Internet, could you please tell her I’m sorry, and that I love her?”

I started sobbing. Damn it. I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t keep myself from breaking down completely. Coldness blanketed me, comforting, even while goosebumps bloomed on my skin.

He sighed. “To have such hope. Unfortunately, death is not a ballroom where people, after a long day, gather and meet. I have not had the pleasure of seeing anyone else who passed, so I most certainly have not met your mother.”

Fingers stroked my shuddering shoulders, soothing and consoling. I shook my head, the last of my hope fading away. “Then you can’t—”

“I am sorry, Jaxxon.” He pulled me into his arms and I exhaled, attempting to gain control of myself.

“Know this: I am tied to the house because I chose to be. I was afraid of what would become of me, and of the manor once I was gone. Centuries have passed, and here I stand because I was given the responsibility of guardianship. Everyone I have ever loved is gone, but this house, and the land … I will never leave while they exist. As for your mother, I am certain that she has passed on with no worry or fear regarding you. ‘Tis not the most pleasant existence, this endless oblivion. I am certain she rests in peace, knowing that.”

I didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. Instead, I curled up in his arms, accepting the comfort he offered.

He held me until the light outside began to change from gray to blue to pink. Then his arms began to fade.

“Where are you going?” I demanded, twisting around to look at him. He was getting more and more transparent, even as I stared in horror.

He smiled and shook his head, brushing my hair back. “I wish you happiness, young Carter.”

“Will daylight kill you?” I raced to the drapes, ignoring his laugh.

“No. I am bound to this place, if you recall. I may have expended more energy than I intended and must rest.” He reached to me. I tried to hold his hand; my skin tingled where his fingers intersected with mine. “Go home, Jaxxon. I do not know how long I will need to rest, but I hope I have helped bring you peace. Thank you for granting me mine.”

“Wait, no, I can’t leave you—” The last thing I saw was the gleam of his golden eyes in the early morning light before he disappeared completely.

I heard his parting words in my ear, a quiet whisper. “Be happy. For both of us.”

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

I don’t know how I made it out the door. I was wrecked, inside and out, staggering down the driveway to the gate. The old man was waiting at the other side. He took one look at my face and silently brought my luggage to the trunk of the car.

As he dropped me off at the car shop in town, he muttered, “I hope you found what you were looking for, lad.” I couldn’t answer as I mourned the loss of something I couldn’t understand.

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

Three months. It took me three months before I could even look at the footage I’d taken at Burroughs House. Of course, in near-darkness and night vision, there was no compelling footage. Only me, ejaculating, then talking to what looked like thin air. Definitely not family-friendly stuff. Definitely not evidence of the afterlife, though I was done with that crap.

I’d ignored all of Merv’s calls. Surely, by now he’d dumped me. I didn’t care. Thankfully, I lived in the apartment my mom had left me, so I didn’t have to worry about making rent. I couldn’t begin to wrap my head around what had happened that night, and my reason for chasing ghosts was gone.

Peace, he’d told me. Be happy. Hah. Fat chance. Fat fucking chance.

I managed to rouse myself on Mom’s birthday to bring flowers to her grave. So she was gone, Burroughs had said. What was the point of this, then?

“Mom. I—” Talking aloud made me feel like an idiot, but I continued. “Mom, I know you’re probably not here. I just … I just miss you so much. I have something to tell you.”

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

That night, I finished off a bottle of Mom’s favorite whiskey and passed out in front of my laptop while watching a cat jump into a box on loop. I dreamed—well, remembered, since it really happened—of my mother sitting on the couch, reading her romance novels.

It was the first I’d dreamed of her since she’d passed away. I went to her and lay my head in her lap while she stroked my hair.

“Why do you read this crap?”

I yelped when she pinched my ear.

“It’s easy to joke about love stories,” she told me, smoothing my hair back again. “But one day, Jaxx, you’re going to fall in love. And I want you to run toward it, arms wide open, heart out. Don’t be afraid to fall, sweetheart. That’s how you find happiness. And son, I want you to be happy.”

Just like that, I bolted awake. I knew what I had to do.

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

The road was familiar, though I’d only been there once. More and more it felt like coming home. I navigated the SUV through the gate, my hands shaking with nerves. Jumping out, not bothering to close the door behind me, I raced to the front door. I unlocked it and threw it open.

“Douglas Burroughs!” I hollered, flicking the switches on one by one as I ran through the rooms. “Douglas!”

Silence. But the house did not have the same oppressive gloom it had had before.

“Doug!” I took the stairs two at a time, heading to my—to our room, flinging the door to the side. “Douglas?”

“It is Lord Burroughs.” My heart lurched at the sight of him. “Not—” he sneered, looking every inch the aristocrat, “Doug. What are you doing here, Jaxxon?”

I reached out, intending to kiss him silly, but I fell through his cold, misty form and landed hard on the wall behind him instead. He sighed and crouched next to me until we were at the same level. I leaned forward; our foreheads barely touched. His scent filled my senses. I inhaled deeply, wondering if I was actually inhaling particles of him and if that was weird.

My cheek tingled from the lightest of touches. I opened my eyes to his golden gaze. “Jaxx, why are you here?”

Triumphantly, I fished out the ring of keys from my pocket. “Guess who’s moving in? I’m Burroughs Manor’s newest tenant.”

“I beg your pardon?” Shock paralyzed his face. I grinned smugly. My work here was done.

“Oh, I’m going to make you beg, for sure. For all sorts of things. Now kiss me,” I demanded, puckering up. He laughed—the sound rusty and dark, curling into my stomach—and pressed a kiss to my forehead, one I barely felt. “Aren’t you happy I’m here?”

“Silly boy. Of course I am.”

“Even if you don’t … physically.” I was the only one who would ever orgasm in this relationship. The thought was sobering. “I mean, I want you to, you know. Orgasm. It doesn’t seem fair.”

In the dim light, he glowed a little more. “Jaxxon, you have made me feel more alive than, well, than when I was alive. I suppose we shall have to find a way to even things out. I quite enjoy torturing you.” The impish twinkle in his eye set my heart racing. Damn, this man was hot.

“Oh, and wait till you hear my plans for my newest web series—”

He silenced me then with a real kiss, one full of longing and need and hunger.

 

 

 

~*The End*~

 

 

 

For all the people who disapprove of age differences.

~ RPL

 

 

 

~~ * * * ~~

 

 

 

About the Author

 

 

 

Lucinda Cox lives in Los Angeles, with her family and five houseplants. She writes about love, because love is all you need.

 

Follow Lucinda on:

Twitter: @coxwrites