Motel. Pool. (14 page)

“Do you keep in touch with your parents?” asked Jack.

“They’re dead.”

Not surprisingly, this was a subject that interested Jack. He grabbed Tag’s elbow and brought him to a halt. “How? When?”

Tag sighed. How had they ended up talking about this anyway? “It was eight, nine years ago. Mom’s appendix burst. She and Dad didn’t have their shit together enough to get her to the hospital on time. And Dad…. You know, the thing is, as fucked-up as they both were, they really loved each other. I mean, they stayed together for almost thirty years through more problems than you can believe. Always one crisis after another. But they always had each other. Until they didn’t. A couple weeks after Mom died, he bought a gun from somewhere, drank a bottle of Jack Daniels, and blew his head off.”

“Jesus. You must have been devastated.”

“God.” Tag shook his head. “I didn’t even find out until a few weeks later. I hadn’t talked to them in a couple of years.” He was going to leave it at that, because this conversation had gone on long enough. It was more than he’d ever said at once about his family. But Jack just looked at him, eyebrows raised, waiting for more. All around them, slot machines jangled and people groaned and shouted.

“Mom and Dad couldn’t handle having a gay son. I could’ve been a drug addict, a nut job—those things they would have dealt with okay. But they just couldn’t accept that I like cock. When I first told them, they went straight to Denial Land. And when that didn’t work anymore, they kicked me out. I was sixteen.”

He hadn’t been getting along with them for months, and he’d largely taken care of himself since he was very young. But still, when they told him to leave, when his stone-sober father and medicated mother watched him throw his things into a bag and toss his keys on the floor…. Fuck. His heart had felt like a granite boulder, and he’d been so alone. Really, he’d been alone since the moment he walked out that door, even during his time with Jason and his other brief flings.

“Let’s go,” he growled and stomped away. He left Jack to scoff at a fifties-themed diner while Tag lined up at the ticket desk. He had to mull over the options before making a choice, but ended up getting two of the all-inclusive passes. He could certainly afford them.

Tag got a little nervous when he remembered they had to go through a security checkpoint. What if Jack set off the alarms? But apparently the scanner wasn’t ghost-sensitive, and he went through just fine. Jack goggled at the elevator operator’s patter about how fast they were ascending. “Sixth-fastest elevator in the world,” the guy said. He was openly flirting with Jack, which made Tag scowl, especially because Jack was enjoying the attention. “And the highest observation tower in the country.”

When they arrived at the 108th floor, the operator gave Jack a leer. “I’ll see you when you go down,” the guy said.

Jack laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

Tag was ready to pout—which was both ridiculous and pointless—but then Jack sprinted to the nearest window and exclaimed at the view. “Holy cow! We’re so high up!”

Despite himself, Tag smiled. “It’s a great view, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never been anywhere near this high. It’s like being in an airplane. I always wanted to try one of those. I used to think that when I made it big I’d fly everywhere, even just to Palm Springs.” Jack was still excited, but a tone of wistfulness had crept into his voice.

“I’ve only been on a plane a couple times. It’s not that great—no legroom. This is better.”

They walked around the perimeter of the circular floor until Jack stopped short. “What are they doing?” he asked. He pointed at a buff guy in a jumpsuit, who was being covered in a web of straps by a bored-looking employee.

“Bungee jumping.”

Clearly Jack had no idea what that meant. He pushed his way to a nearby window and watched as the jumper walked onto an exterior platform. The employee hooked him up to a heavy wire and nodded at him. The man in the jumpsuit looked like he was going to puke. But his friends stood nearby, cheering him on, so he took a deep breath and leapt.

“What the—!” shouted Jack.

“It’s okay. The wire will keep him from splatting.”

“He just jumped off the top of a building!”

“And paid good money to do it.”

Tag had considered doing this himself the last time he was in Vegas. But he hadn’t had a wad of cash in his pocket back then, so he’d passed. He wondered what it felt like to free-fall, to spend those brief seconds diving toward the earth before the tug on your harness reminded you that you were still tied to life.

“That’s crazy,” said Jack, then looked slightly stricken. “I mean— Sorry, Tag.”

“It’s okay, and you’re right. Even my mother wouldn’t have paid a hundred bucks to fall off a building.”

They walked up a flight of stairs to the next floor, where Jack was even more amazed by the views because the deck was outside. But when Tag led him to one side and Jack realized they were going to ride the Insanity, he actually did a little dance. “Holy cow! Really?”

“Really.”

It turned out that Jack loved the Insanity, which spun them over the Strip. He loved the other rides too—one shot forward over the edge of the building like a roller coaster with a missing track, and the other zoomed straight into the air. He loved them so much that they rode each four times, until the ride operators announced they were shutting down for the night.

Tag enjoyed watching Jack’s pleasure. It was a good feeling, knowing he’d provided more fun in one night than the guy had experienced in decades. It was a real accomplishment, one of the few definite pluses Tag could put in the spreadsheet of his life.

But no matter how thrilling the rides or how enthusiastic his companion, Tag’s heart didn’t beat fast. If the carriage of the X-Scream had continued forward, plunging them all 109 stories to the bright lights below, he would have remained calm, his soul as untouched as it had been along Route 66 or at the Grand Canyon.

A
T
ANY
time, Jack might find himself back in Arizona with nothing but an empty gravel lot. Even now as he walked beside Tag to the Baja Inn, Jack fought to keep himself from wavering away. But he was joyous nonetheless because he’d been given such a wonderful gift. For a few hours, he’d felt almost alive again. He could nearly feel his heart beating. And he had a friend. If Jack spent eternity alone in the desert, he’d have this time to treasure. He’d have a few precious memories to take out and admire over and over, like a dragon gloating over his gold.

But Tag was obviously sad. He was probably very tired—it was late and he’d done a lot that day. And Jack had raised the uncomfortable subject of Tag’s family, which had inadvertently upset him. But it was more than that. Tag had been sad since Jack had first seen him, as Tag parked his car by the deserted road and settled in to sleep. He’d been sad at the Grand Canyon, and he’d been so sad at Hoover Dam that Jack suspected he was going to jump. Tag smiled sometimes, and even laughed, but he never shook the mantle of sorrow that hung heavy on his shoulders, haunting him more thoroughly than a ghost ever could.

Tag unlocked the apartment door, then shut it behind him. He kicked off his shoes and walked into the bathroom. The toilet flushed, water ran, and when Tag emerged, he wore only his tight underwear. He rubbed absently at the octopus on his chest. “’M going to sleep. You can watch TV if you want. Won’t bother me.” He pulled back the blankets and climbed into bed.

“Want me to get the light?” asked Jack.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Even with the light off, the room wasn’t completely dark. The curtains didn’t quite cover the window, and a security light shone brightly from the nearby building. Jack watched as Tag rearranged the pillows and rolled onto his side.

“Tag?”

Tag yawned loudly. “Hmm?”

“Thanks. For tonight. And… for letting me stick around.” Jack wanted to say how much it meant to him, but he’d never been good with words unless he had a script.

“No problem,” Tag mumbled. He was already half-asleep.

With a relieved sigh, Jack let his clothing disappear. He made his way across the room and lay down next to Tag. But although he cradled the remote control in his hand, he didn’t turn on the television. Instead, he slid farther down and rolled to face the back of Tag’s neck, where dark curls grew in a tempting tangle. He’d always admired curly hair; his own grew blade straight. He inhaled deeply, but as he expected, he couldn’t smell anything. No motel cleaning products, no musty carpet, no spicy warmth of Tag’s skin. He’d never thought much about scents when he was alive, but he realized now how important they were. An existence without them was strangely flat, even now that Jack could make himself solid.

But he could touch himself, couldn’t he? Man, he’d almost
forgotten!

Stealthily, he allowed his hand to creep to his groin. Tag was fast asleep, snoring gently, but a bit of furtiveness seemed appropriate.

It was very strange to stroke himself. Neither his hand nor his dick felt familiar. He didn’t know whether that was because it had been so long since he’d done this or because he got the details wrong when he made himself solid. The contact felt
good
, though. He’d forgotten how nice it felt when his skin tingled and his nerve endings buzzed, when his blood rushed through his veins like water through a dam spillway. And no, he didn’t have skin or nerves or blood, but he could feel them nonetheless—he was haunted by his own body.

Tag made a small noise, a drawn-out sigh. Jack wondered what that breath would feel like on the nape of his neck if their positions were reversed.

A part of him felt slightly ashamed for masturbating like this, with Tag all unknowing. He wondered how Tag would react if he knew. He hadn’t minded touching Jack, hadn’t minded sitting with their bodies pressed together and Jack’s head on his shoulder. Maybe he wouldn’t mind this. Maybe he’d even join in. That thought—Tag caressing his own cock while watching Jack do the same—made Jack’s balls pull up tight. God, it didn’t matter if he was being a pervert. He was a goddamned ghost, and morality should no longer be an issue for him.

He moved his fist faster as droplets of moisture slicked his skin. He would have paused to wonder at that—was it precome or ectoplasm?—but the movement felt too good.

When he was younger, he’d hidden beneath the blankets in his bedroom in Omaha, and he’d moved his hand just like this, rocked his hips a little just like that. He’d imagined himself in bed with other men. Movie stars sometimes, or just faceless, nameless fellows who sucked him and stroked him and murmured filthy words in his ear. Told him he was beautiful and talented and good at screwing. But more importantly, told him they wanted him. Loved him. As hopeless as it seemed, he’d always imagined that somehow when he made it big, he would find a real partner to share his bed and his life. He’d found plenty of men who wanted to fuck him, but he never made it big, and he never found that man.

Now he was satisfied with much less—with lying on a mattress and beating off while he looked at Tag. Tag, who’d said he was Jack’s friend.

Jack’s nonexistent heart ached even as his movements grew frenzied and his breath caught in his throat. He buried his face in the pillow to muffle his cries as he climaxed. His orgasm was long and fierce enough to leave him trembling.

His hand was wet and sticky. He got ready to stand and wash up but thought better of it. He didn’t want to risk waking Tag. Instead, he concentrated hard, and all traces of ghostly semen disappeared from his skin.

He settled back down, still facing Tag’s nicely muscled back. He didn’t exactly sleep, and he never dreamed, but he could sort of drift in a fog. Usually that fog was cold and clammy. But tonight, knowing that Tag was near, Jack felt as warm as if he were wrapped in a down comforter.

“D
ID
IT
hurt?” Tag’s voice was morning-raspy when he spoke. He’d blinked his eyes open slowly and hadn’t startled when he saw Jack only a few inches away. Tag kept his head unmoving on the pillow, their gazes locked.

“Did what hurt?” asked Jack.

“Dying.”

Jack hesitated before answering, and Tag frowned slightly. “Don’t disappear on me, okay? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Remembering was painful, and Jack was tempted to blink out. But he wasn’t a child, hiding his head under the blankets when anything scared him. He was a supernatural creature! He should be the one doing the scaring.

“My lungs burned and I felt as if there was a lead weight pulling me down. But the pain wasn’t that bad. I was drunk, and Doris gave me pills. Everything was muzzy.”

“Who’s Doris?”

“Sam’s wife.”

Tag propped himself up on an elbow. “Did she know you were having sex with him?”

“Yes.”

“Did she murder you?”

“No.” Jack chewed his lip. “Maybe. I’m not sure. It was confusing. She didn’t care that we were fucking, though. Sam fucked a lot of boys.”

“But…?”

Jack sat up. Despite Tag’s engagement in the topic of their discussion, his gaze strayed down Jack’s chest to his lap, where his cock lay soft and sated. Tag blushed a little when he realized he’d been caught looking, but he wasn’t embarrassed enough to move away. “But?” he prompted again.