The Wounds in the Walls Page 3

  “Because the tutor’s room is down that way,” Ara whispered back. “That’s where the bad things happened.”

  Pete nodded and fixed his eyes on the floor. But he could still feel the darkness pressing on him, so much worse than the strange growling and heaving of the walls. Bad things. He could feel them. He could feel them reaching for him. And it was definitely him they were reaching for.

  I’ve been waiting for you, Peter. That’s what the voice had said.

  “Just a bit farther,” Ara said. “Almost there. That’s the way. Come on.”

  Ara held open a door into the room and closed it behind them once Pete was through. Once the latch clicked in place, the groaning and heaving stopped. But it was here that Pete finally lost it, and he fell to his knees after all, sending Mike’s limp body gracelessly to the floor.

  Somewhere safe, the ghost had said. Fucking hell. Pete wasn’t sure there was such a place, not anymore. Not after this. They had gone through the door on the second story of a dilapidated house where the front door had vanished and the walls had whispered and heaved—

  —and now they were in Pete’s bedroom, which looked exactly as it had when he’d left his trailer that morning.

  Chapter Three

  Lover

  Cold hands came down on Pete’s shoulders, kneading gently. “Shh,” Ara said. “Come now, Peter. Calm down.”

  Pete calmed, but only enough to regain his general concept of speech. “This—this is—it’s my—”

  “It’s your room, I assume, yes?” When Pete nodded, Ara sighed. “If it helps, you aren’t actually here. It just looks like that to you. To me, it looks like my room.”

  The ghost crouched behind Pete, still stroking and cooing softly, and Pete leaned back against him in defeat. “How? How is this happening?”

  “I should have worked harder to keep him from bringing you,” Ara said. “I tried to act like I didn’t care, but he was too determined.” The ghost stroked Pete’s shoulder. “And I admit, part of me wanted to see you. After all this time, and you have the name too! Just like he has his. Can you blame me for my curiosity? But as soon as you walked in, I could feel the trouble coming. I should have worked harder to chase you out. I shouldn’t have let him make you touch me.”

  “Touch you?” Pete repeated.

  “Before you touched the wall and woke it, your hand went through me. I was standing there, pouting at Michael. Which I shouldn’t have done, but I suppose I always do.” He sighed and stroked Pete again, a sad gesture. “All this time, and I’m always the same. Do you think, Peter, that I don’t grow because I’m a ghost, or because no one ever truly does?”

  “What?” Pete asked, well and truly lost now.

  “That’s what he always told me,” Ara said, nodding at Michael’s still form. “He told me no one could change. He told me to forget what the preacher said in church, that we come into this world the same person we are when we leave it. At best, he said, we learn how to better be our true selves.”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Pete said.

  This seemed to please the ghost. “Oh, good. Because I always thought he was daft, myself. But he’s very handsome. Don’t you think?”

  Pete studied Clarke’s pretty, chiseled face. “Did I hurt him when I dropped him?”

  Ara snorted. “With that thick head?” But he crept forward and studied Clarke, then turned a worried face to Pete. “Now you have me uneasy. Will you check to see that he’s still breathing?”

  Pete started to ask why Ara didn’t do it himself, and then he realized. “You can’t touch him, can you?”

  Ara shook his head and motioned impatiently. “Please! I have no idea what happens to us if we kill him.”

  It wasn’t you, it was me, Pete thought, but he reached out and pressed two fingers along Clarke’s throat. He sagged in relief. “He has a pulse. He’s fine. Unless I gave him a concussion.” Pete pulled back one of Clarke’s eyelids, but he wasn’t really sure what he was looking for. “I didn’t hear a big crack or anything. He’s probably okay.”

  Ara relaxed. “You’re certain?”

  “Sure as I can be.” He arranged Clarke a little more comfortably on the floor, then sat back on his heels and looked at the ghost. “So what do we do now?”

  He wasn’t ready for the wicked look Ara gave him. “Oh, I suspect we can think of something.” The ghost had been kneeling on the floor beside Clarke, but as he spoke he crawled forward to Pete, looking feral. When his hand slid up Pete’s leg, Pete jumped.

  “Are you coming on to me?” Pete asked.

  “I’m making love to you, if that’s what that means,” Ara replied, and he slid his hand higher.

  Pete reached down and stilled Ara’s hand. “You aren’t my type,” he said, panicking, but even inside of his apprehension, he was aroused.

  Ara grinned. “That’s funny.” But then he studied Pete’s face, and his eyes widened. “You mean—you don’t know? This hasn’t all been an act? You honestly don’t know?”

  “Know what?” Pete asked, his voice breaking at the end.

  Ara tilted his head to the side and regarded him again, then shrugged and smiled his naughty smile. “Do you know, I think it’s a bit more fun this way. The first time, at least.”

  “First time?” Pete gasped as Ara’s hand escaped his and continued up his thigh. He shut his eyes when it closed over his groin, and he shivered when Ara leaned close and whispered in his ear.

  “I’d like to suck your cock, Peter,” he whispered.

  Pete was having a hard time breathing. “You’re a ghost.”

  “I’m a ghost with a very wicked mouth.” Ara suckled lightly on the lobe of Pete’s ear. “And I have a very clever tongue.” He laughed, a very naughty sound that made Pete shiver. “Besides. I think we owe it to men everywhere as a sort of social experiment, don’t you think? We can say we are men of science.”

  “What?” Pete said, but then Ara stuck his tongue in his ear again, and he groaned. God, it felt so good. No, Ara wasn’t his type, but there was something about him, something that pulled him to the man, or the ghost, or whatever he was. So he didn’t fight it when Ara pushed him back down to the floor; he shut his eyes and let go, giving over to sensation. But when the ghost’s cold fingers slipped beneath his shirt, he hissed.

  “I know,” Ara said in apology as Pete’s belly flexed against his touch. “I know. But you’ll warm them up, Peter. You’ll warm all of me up. And it will feel so good, lover. Better than anything either of us has ever felt.” He bent and pressed a kiss over the center of Pete’s chest, then rubbed his cheek against Pete’s shirt, like a cat. “It’s been so long. So long. But I haven’t forgotten how.” His cool hand massaged insistently against Pete’s rapidly hardening cock. “That isn’t something I’m ever going to forget, not even in a thousand years.”

  Pete supposed he should have been more creeped out about the fact that someone who admitted he was dead was undoing his fly and taking his dick in his hand, and that the lips sliding over his nipple were cold and lifeless. Probably it wasn’t the most intelligent of moves to be making out with a ghost or anyone else in a house that told you it had been waiting for you and imported your bedroom into the upstairs. But oh, Christ, Ara was right. Nothing had ever felt this good.

  But thinking of the house drew another thought out of the fog of Pete’s mind, and he put his hand on Ara’s head to still him. He waited until the ghost lifted his head before he spoke.

  “You asked earlier if I could see the wounds,” Pete said. “What did you mean? Why did you call them that?”

  “Because that’s what they are,” Ara said. Some of the lust had faded from his eyes. “They are the wounds in the walls. And no one has ever seen them before. Not since they were made.” He bent and pressed cold lips over the center of Pete’s chest. “Please, Peter. Let me love you.”

  Pete nodded, not even bothering to correct him on the name anymore. He just lay his head back and shut
his eyes, opening his legs and inviting the ghost to do with him what he would.

  Mike climbed out of the sludgy darkness of unconsciousness and into the haze of what could only be an erotic dream. It had to be a dream, because in real life he could not be looking at a half-naked ghost and fully naked man, chests heaving, lips locked, hips thrusting as they moved in desperate symphony, chasing a rhythm as old as time. By the looks of things, they were well on their way to finding it.

  God, but they were a feast, dream or no. Mike’s cock twitched in his pants, and he reached for himself without thinking. The ghost was on top, driving the act, making soft, sexy whimpers even as it reached down and pinched hard on Pete’s nipple, making him groan and thrust harder against his tormentor. Both their cocks were out, trapped in one of Pete’s hands, and they were thrusting together inside the sleeve his fist made, crying out with each new fissure of friction. Unable to stop himself, Mike cried out too.

  The ghost lifted its head and looked at him, its eyes dark and white-less again. It smiled.

  “Hello, Mikey,” it said, its voice dripping with sex. “Won’t you join us?”

  It’s just a dream, Mike tried to tell himself. But oh, it felt so real! “How?” he whispered.

  The ghost laughed. “I’ve given myself a name, you should know. Call me Ara.”

  “Ara?” Mike repeated, confused.

  The ghost shivered in pleasure a moment as Pete thrust again and lifted his head to suckle on the ghost’s neck. “Yes. Ara. You told me once that it was the name of an Armenian god. The god of spring, if I recall correctly. I’m feeling a bit godlike today.”

  “I—told you—what?” Mike stammered, lost now.

  The ghost rolled its eyes, then shut them as Pete bit down. Mike shivered, his eyes shifting to the sight of the rough, handsome man he’d brought here nibbling on another man’s neck. Not man, he tried to remind himself. But it wasn’t working just now. This wasn’t an it. This was a man.

  This was the hottest thing Mike had ever seen.

  He’d never watched anyone have sex before, hadn’t even known it was something he wanted, but suddenly it was all he could think about. God help him, but he wanted to watch them come, wanted both of them together. His cock swelled against his hand. He wanted to fuck them, fuck them both. He wanted to bend them over and take them so hard—

  Mike tried to cut off the thought, but it lingered, and he groaned, his fingers shaking as he fumbled for his zipper.

  The ghost, his eyes still dark, his body still moving in time to Pete’s, his neck still a banquet for his lover, smiled at him. “It’s good to see you admit to wanting me again. I’m tired of watching you play at being so aloof.” His smile faded a little as he added, “I wish you could join us.”

  “What—” Mike watched Pete’s tongue slide down the length of the ghost’s throat and briefly forgot what he’d been about to say. “What—what is happening?” He looked around at the dusty, faded room, at the creaky metal bed in the center. “We’re in the young man’s bedroom?”

  “My bedroom.” The ghost pouted at him. “Why won’t you see me, Michael? Why must you make it so clinical? Are you that afraid of me?”

  It was hard to keep his professional distance when he was watching two men have sex, but Mike did his best. “You aren’t a man. You are a manifestation of energy. You need to release back into the collective of the universe. I do not know you. We are not associated, except that I am here to help you find your way.”

  The ghost’s expression turned dark and wicked. “I’m fucking him. Do you see that, Mikey? Do you see me fucking him?” His eyes went so black they burned. “Oh, it feels so good. So good to feel again, lover.”

  “You’re not corporeal,” Mike whispered, but his eyes were on those cocks, those sweet, fat organs sliding together between a hand and two taut stomachs. God, he wanted to lick the pair of them.

  “I am for him.” The ghost moaned and braced a hand against the floor. He turned to Pete, thrusting harder. “I’m real to him.”

  Mike looked at Pete, who had yet to even acknowledge that Mike was there. “Is he—all right?”

  The ghost nuzzled Pete’s cheek. “Peter? Mikey’s awake. Tell him hello so he knows you’re well, and then I’ll make love to you again.”

  Pete turned a groggy head to Mike and looked at him. His eyes were as dark as the ghost’s, and when he smiled, Mike shivered. “Hello, Mikey,” Pete said, and then he turned back to the ghost, lifted his free hand to hold his jaw, then took him in a passionate kiss.

  Mike couldn’t help it. He couldn’t do anything but take out his cock and jerk himself in time to the two men thrusting before him. He forgot all his rules, forgot his goal, forgot everything but the scent and sight of sex, and he rode with them as they bucked and moaned, calling out with them until they were all sweating and gasping and then coming, one after another after another, first Pete, then the ghost, and then Mike.

  And then, only then, did Mike manage to put himself back together.

  Wiping his hand on a handkerchief from his pocket, he tucked himself back into his pants and sat up. “This shouldn’t be possible,” he said to the ghost. “You shouldn’t be able to touch him, let alone—”

  The ghost was grinning. His eyes were back to normal, and he looked, Mike had to admit, fully whole, as if he were human. At worst, he was slightly pale.

  “That’s your doing, Mikey. You had to go and make him touch me.” The ghost’s face fell, and he nuzzled Pete’s chest with his cheek. “I only wish you’d stopped before he touched the wall.”

  The dining room. Mike flushed, remembering his impulsive move. “I don’t know why I did that,” he confessed.

  The ghost shrugged. “It would have found him eventually. I suppose he had to come here again someday.” But he looked sad and defeated. It made Mike feel guilty.

  “It’s a good thing that he’s here,” Mike said. “Don’t you see? He’s the real Peter. He lives. You’re only a ghost. Don’t linger where you don’t need to be. Let go. Be free. Go back and live again.”

  The ghost gave him an irritated look, but before he could speak, Pete lifted a groggy head and gave Mike another one of his looks. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Mike decided enough was enough. “Pete, this is your ghost. This is, in fact, your house. You used to live here. A long, long time ago, you used to live here. And you died here. I don’t know how, but I don’t think it was a very good death. But you’re alive again. You aren’t a ghost. You just needed to come here so that the energy you left could see itself healed and then let go.”

  Pete stared at him a minute, his face blank. Then he shook his head and turned back to the ghost, cupping his chin gently in his rough-worn hand.

  “So,” he said, “Ara. How do you feel about sucking cock?”

  The grin on the ghost’s face was likely illegal in several Missouri counties. “I love it.”

  Pete’s fingers stroked the ghost’s cheek fondly. “Good. Because as soon as I can get it up again, I’d like to try out that wicked mouth.” He glared at Mike. “Both of you are fucking crazy, and not a damn thing either of you say makes any sense. And I still don’t know what the fuck is going on, or how I am humping cocks with a ghost.” He turned back to the ghost. “But you, sweet thing, are fucking hot as ice, and I would jump your bones any fucking time.”

  The ghost looked fondly down at Pete. “You don’t make any sense, either, but yes, I’d love to suck you. And fuck you. We have time for quite a bit of fun, I think.”

  “Time?” Mike repeated, but gruffly, because Pete was right. The ghost was fucking hot.

  But all his erotic thoughts fled as the ghost lifted his head and looked at him with the saddest expression Mike had ever seen.

  “You woke it up,” Ara whispered. “You woke it up, and this time, for the first time, Peter is here. The real Peter, just like you said. And oh, Mikey, I’m afraid of what happens now.”

  For a moment, Mik
e was scared too. He’d lost control of this somehow, and something deep and heavy pulled at him from inside, like a great, old wave trying to pull him down.

  “I just wanted to help you,” Mike whispered, and though he couldn’t explain why, his throat was suddenly thick with tears.

  “I know.” Ara’s eyes were full of tears too. “It’s all you ever want.”

  “Shut up, Ara,” Pete said, “and bring your mouth up here.”

  Ara turned and bent down to him, moaning softly as Pete began to kiss him. “Oh, Peter,” he whispered. “It’s so much better with you here. I’m still scared, but I’m so glad you’ve come.”

  “Get your mouth on my cock, and I’ll come again,” Pete said. Ara laughed and slid down his body, and Mike felt his gut tightening in anticipation.