Ascension (3 page)

Conner listened to Laine ramble on until another deputy, Rich, came into Laine’s office. Conner wasn’t up to messing with Rich. That guy had had it bad enough, almost dying at the hand of the same psycho who’d killed Conner.

It was weird, how he had more of a family in death than he’d had while alive, Conner mused as he searched for Stefan. Usually he found the younger spirit hanging around Stefan’s brother Lee, and his partner Darren. Conner could add all of them to his friends list, too. When he’d been alive, he’d been outgoing and popular, but he hadn’t had many close friends. Well, one, really, and that’d been Laine. He’d been so deep in the closet, he hadn’t been able to risk letting anyone besides his lover too close.

Granted, he couldn’t communicate with most of the people he popped in on, but they almost all knew about him. When he let them know he was there—if he let them know, generally by tumbling things in the air that shouldn’t be tumbling in the air—they greeted him with a warmth he didn’t think any of his friends from his living time had. Except for Laine, when they had been alone.

Today was just going to be one of those days, he supposed. The past kept bubbling up in his mind, and a sense of melancholy and loneliness pervaded his normally happy persona no matter how much he tried not to let it.

Stefan was laughing, his eyes lit up with joy as he zipped along beside Lee. Conner didn’t want to intrude, not when he was feeling every bit the moody mess Laine had called him out on being. He settled his feet on the ground, pretending for just one moment that he was alive again, that he didn’t have to concentrate to feel the hardness of the earth beneath his feet. He glanced up at the brilliant blue sky, squinted at the sun’s glare that, even though he was a spirit, still made his eyes burn and water. He would never figure out stuff like that. He only knew it happened, that his spiritual body could still feel and his heart could ache with loneliness.

Conner looked down at the ground. He saw his boots, his favourite pair he’d worn so often when he’d been alive. Faded denim jeans hugged his legs, and a tight blue T-shirt covered his upper body. Why was he even wearing clothes? He was dead, and they weren’t real. Stefan was clothed, too, and all the other spirits he’d seen were as well. Had he manufactured the clothes when he’d been in that place between death and dying?

This is getting too deep for me.
Conner had been moderately intelligent at best. There was no way he was going to figure out all this afterlife shit. It was a sign of how bored he was that he was even trying. Conner snorted at himself, at his stupid fancies, trying to pretend he was human and whole again. His eyes burned more from the damned sun, that was all it was, and he shot up into the air like a just-fired missile. He wasn’t trying to flee from his thoughts—that never worked—but if he could just lose himself in the beauty around him for a while, he’d take it. It was the only thing he could really have anymore.

Chapter Three

Ro couldn’t explain it, but he had felt the oddest sensation when he’d been talking to Sev. It was almost like he’d heard a buzzing in his head, then Sev had shushed him and Ro had known Conner was in the room. It was kind of like the way he’d felt the other day at dinner when Conner had shown up, but this time it was more intense.

Conner Sutherland. Ro had of course heard stories about Laine’s deceased lover. He’d even Googled the man years ago. The horrific account of Conner’s death had made him cry. The tragic parting of lovers had twisted his youthful heart into a knot of regret for Laine and Conner.

Then Ro had met Laine, and seen how much Sev loved him, and vice versa. He supposed it was fate or something that had brought Laine and Sev together. Or Conner. Ro liked to think Conner had loved Laine enough to want him to be happy in this life.

Ro pulled a file out of his desk drawer. He’d put the clippings together what seemed like ages ago, when he’d been a young, dumb kid full of romantic idealism. He snorted at that innocent boy now. The only romance he’d ever have would be in his head unless he left the town of McKinton. Gay men weren’t exactly falling off tree limbs here. Ro snickered, imagining sexy studs floating to the ground like leaves on a fall breeze. McKinton would become a very popular town if that were to happen.

Inside the folder were articles Ro had printed out and clippings from actual newspapers. Different cases were tagged with coloured tabs, but it was the blue ones he found himself fingering. Ro didn’t know whether to be amused by himself or disgusted. Maybe he was pathetic for not wanting to leave town and have a different life, but he didn’t care. He had to do what his conscience told him to. And he had to listen to his heart. He’d tried ignoring both a time or two, and, granted, that’d been out of sexual curiosity, but what a disaster each one had been.

Ro pulled out the picture he’d been seeking. The colours were fading on it, but he could still see Conner’s blond hair and bright blue eyes well enough. There was that secretive smile, and it just hurt Ro to know the man’s life had been cut short.
Here’s a man who had more to offer the world…

A knock on his bedroom door startled Ro into slamming the folder shut without tucking Conner’s picture away. “Yeah?” he called out as he set the papers down and leapt up from his chair.

“Son, can I come in?”

“Sure, Dad. It’s not locked.” Ro opened the door, though, because his dad wouldn’t ever just walk in. Once Ro had turned eighteen, he’d been afforded as much privacy as he could have when still living in his parents’ home.

His dad looked old, and tired. Ro’s breath hitched as he asked, “How’d Mom’s appointment go today?” Normally he’d have checked in on her himself, but her door had been shut and his dad had been in there with her.

Roger walked in and sat on Ro’s bed, slumping as if his shoulders couldn’t carry their burdens any longer. Roger was only twenty-one years older than Ro, but he looked like a man in his sixties rather than in his late forties just then.

Roger ran a hand down his face, then curled his fingers into a fist and rubbed at one eye. “Dr Hebert doesn’t think she’ll be—” Roger’s voice broke, his breath catching on a sob. Ro darted to the bed and sat beside his father, embracing him awkwardly owing to their positioning. “He doesn’t think she’ll make it more than a few months. Her kidneys are barely functioning, and Alma wouldn’t accept a transplant even if she were eligible.”

“No, she always said she wouldn’t,” Ro murmured. His mama was terrified that her loved ones would develop the same disease she had, and wasn’t willing to let them donate a kidney when it might very well cost them their life later on. Add to the diabetes the heart disease that was killing her and there was no hope left for Ro. He couldn’t stop the tears, and didn’t care that he was almost thirty, sobbing in his father’s arms. They were going to lose his mama, and he’d never be ashamed of mourning that, of mourning her.

Roger cried right along with him, great sobs that shook the bed even if they weren’t very loud. Neither of them would risk Alma hearing them. Ro felt scalded inside, as if he’d been made raw from the pain of knowing the loss they’d soon face. It wasn’t a surprise—they’d had years to see it coming, but there simply was no way to truly prepare for the loss of someone you loved so much.

“I need to call your brother and sister,” Roger said some time later, the words tickling over the top of Ro’s head as his dad’s exhale ruffled his hair.

“I can—” Ro started but his dad cut him off.

“No, it’s my job as their papa,” Roger said. He tugged gently on Ro’s long hair until Ro looked up at him. Roger’s eyes were swollen and red, as was his nose, but he was still the big, strong man Ro had always admired. “You can go sit with your mama for a while, if you want to. She’s sleeping, but…”

But it might be one of the last chances Ro had to be alone with her. He couldn’t force himself to ask anything more specific, the child in him still wanting his parents. It didn’t matter how old you were, he couldn’t imagine it was easy to lose the people who’d loved you unquestioningly and supported your hopes and dreams. Ro sniffed and got up. He went into his bathroom as his dad left with a quiet murmur.

Ro checked his reflection in the mirror and grimaced. He looked like shit, with an almost bruised tint to the skin under his eyes. His face was ruddy and his nose red. He looked away and turned on the faucet. After splashing his face, he got that weird sensation again, as if he were being watched. Ro tipped his head to one side and contemplated the feeling. It was like an electrical current sparking up and down his spine, sending streams of awareness throughout his body.

Was it Conner? Ro wiped his face on the towel then blew his nose, cheeks going hot as he did so. How embarrassing would it be to have Conner see him cleaning out his sinuses?

“Don’t be an idiot,” Ro muttered to himself. He wasn’t being watched, he was just a mess after that talk with his dad. Ro’s eyes burned, tears threatening again. He grabbed the towel and pressed it to his eyes, fighting to stem the tears that didn’t seem to want to be dammed. “Stop it, stop it, stop it,” he chanted, until finally the words seemed to penetrate and he was able to blink back the excess moisture.

Ro realised something then. That electric sensation was still thrumming through him, and… He gasped as he dropped the towel. Something that felt very much like a hand was stroking his hair.

As soon as he gasped it stopped. “Conner?” he whispered, his skin pebbling with goose bumps all over. Ro still felt it, not the touch but that thrumming. He felt like all kinds of a fool, looking all over the bathroom. He knew he wasn’t going to
see
Conner, but Conner could see him, and Ro couldn’t think of any other spirit that would be popping up.

Then he realised he was just being a fool indeed. Conner had never come around him before. It was stupid of him to think the man would do so now. And dead or not, Conner was a man to Ro. He would always be that handsome, charismatic-looking guy from the newspaper clipping that Ro had ogled for over a decade now.

Ro laughed out loud at that. How ridiculous was it that he’d spent almost half of his life crushing on a dead guy? No wonder he’d never had more than a couple of unsatisfactory quickies. He’d let his teenage romanticism rule his adult life, and he was only now realising it. Maybe if he hadn’t been so content to just plod along—but he had been, and he was. There was nowhere else for him to be but where he lived right then. Ro had no desire to move away from McKinton, or from his family.

But he didn’t have to be pathetic and start hallucinating about someone who’d been dead for ages and who had never bothered to appear to him in any manner before. Best to stop that before he ended up in a psychiatric hospital. Ro shuddered, remembering Sev talking about being put in just such an institution as a child. Sev’s parents hadn’t believed that he could speak to the dead, had thought he was just insane.

Or else they’d just wanted him silenced. Ro thought that was more likely. He remembered his grandparents, and they weren’t nice people at all. Ro hadn’t seen them since he’d moved to McKinton a dozen years ago.

That odd sensation was gone, he realised. Ro was mildly disappointed, but put that down to his mental state. He was going to lose his mother soon, and he was lonely even surrounded by family.

Ro left the bathroom, not really thinking about anything at that point. He stopped, stunned and suddenly mortified. The file folder he’d set aside was open, its contents spread neatly on the bed. Conner’s picture was there on top, surrounded by all the snippets and printouts of everything else having to do with his case. Before Ro could figure out what that meant, chaos erupted in his room. A maelstrom of paper spun in rapid circles above his bed. The sounds of it whistling through the air were punctuated with ripping noises as bits of paper were shredded.

“Stop!” Ro shrieked before he thought to censor himself. He ran and started grabbing at the papers. “Stop it! Damn it,
stop!
This is all I have—” Ro bit his tongue, hard enough to taste blood, but better that than finishing what he’d been about to say if Conner was the one creating the mess in Ro’s room. He would have died of embarrassment if he’d blurted out that the flying papers were all he had of a man he’d never have, of a man he measured all other potential lovers by. Stupid, he knew, but it was what it was. Ro couldn’t seem to prevent the infatuation he’d harboured for so long.

“Please,” he said as the papers kept being ripped to shreds. He caught one and saw that it was a piece of the news article about Conner’s brutal death. Ro was truly mortified and sorry. He could understand Conner being upset at seeing it. “Conner…please stop. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

The papers spun around again, but within seconds the speed had dropped until they were barely moving in the air. Then they dropped, all but one. Ro watched as the picture of Conner rotated to a stop several feet above the bed. He didn’t feel that electric current so much as it seemed to be a part of him just then, just as his blood and lungs and heart were. The picture crinkled slightly, the paper bowing as if someone were stroking over it. Was Conner looking, remembering? Did one remember who and what they were when they died, if they stayed on Earth?

So many questions, and Ro couldn’t ask them. Even if he could, Conner couldn’t answer. He thought it had to be Conner there with him, though the why of Conner’s appearance eluded him.

The picture shook, then it was snapped hard, the edges of it going taut just before it dropped to the bed. There was an almost palpable withdrawal of the force that’d been there, like a vacuum sucking power out of the room, and Ro knew he was alone again. Alone, and rattled, and in dire need of a hand-vac, because Conner had shredded every damn piece of paper except the one with his picture on it. Ro was grateful for that, at least.

Chapter Four

So much for thinking he didn’t get bent out of shape over his past. Conner huddled in the corner of Ro’s room, shrinking down into the smallest, darkest patch of shadows he could find. He’d thought—well, it didn’t matter what he’d thought.