The Gravedigger's Brawl

  “Are you okay?” someone called from one of the cars.

  “Get out of the road!” another voice shouted as a car honked.

  Ash spun around, stunned. How had he not been hit by a car? He could have been killed.

  “Christ.” He picked his way through traffic to the other side of the street, where he fumbled for his phone and called the bar. His keys were somewhere in that alley and he had no intention of finding them until morning. If ever.

  When Caleb answered the phone, Ash shakily requested that someone come get him and bring along their keys to his place. He hung up as Caleb was still demanding to know what had happened.

  Ash put his back to the wall of the building behind him and slid to the ground, his eyes on the alley and his entire body still trembling.

  Just minutes later, Wyatt’s blue Civic passed by him and then screeched to a halt. It backed up, and Wyatt jumped out of the car, leaving it running in the middle of the road.

  “Are you okay? What happened?” He knelt in front of Ash and began pawing at him as if checking for injuries.

  “Do you believe in ghosts?” Ash whispered.

  Wyatt frowned and then shook his head as he helped Ash to stand. “Let’s get you home.”

  Hours later, after the others had shut down the bar, Ash was curled on his couch with Delilah beside him, her arm around his shoulders and her fingers smoothing over his hair. He had a blanket draped around him and a cup of tea cooling in his hands. Wyatt, Caleb, Noah, and Ryan were sitting around his little dining room table talking.

  They were treating him like a child scared by the bogeyman, but did he give a fuck? Hell no.

  Ryan and Caleb filled Wyatt and Noah in on the incident with the man in the mirror. Ryan also discussed the banging and the music they’d heard, but then explained it away by saying that the batteries in the radio had been ruined and so was the refrigerator.

  “So he’s seeing things,” Wyatt said grimly. “We should take him to the hospital.”

  “You don’t believe in ghosts?” Caleb asked.

  “No. Especially when the person seeing them might have brain damage.”

  “Hey, we saw some of those things too,” Delilah said. “The night the music was playing, it did not feel right in there.”

  Ash shook his head as a shiver ran through him. If it had been just one instance, he’d be willing to chalk it up to the head injury too. Give him bleeding on the brain. Give him hallucinations. Anything but ghosts. But it hadn’t been just one fleeting shadow or strange sound. Concussions did not slam people into walls.

  They continued their discussion as Ash stood and flopped the blanket onto Delilah’s lap. He walked into the dining room, and everyone fell silent.

  “I’m okay. I don’t have a concussion, and I don’t want to go to the hospital,” he said. They all continued to study him and Ash rolled his eyes, raised his glass, and then headed for the kitchen.

  He stood at the sink, rinsing the glass out. He could feel one of them standing at the entryway watching him, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to see that doubtful, ready-to-pounce-and-call-an-ambulance look in their eyes. Instead he grabbed a paper towel and looked out the window above the sink.

  His fingers went numb. His glass clattered to the sink. The man from the mirror was in the alley behind his building.

  He was still in the long black coat and a top hat, leaning against the corner of the building, hidden in shadow.

  Wyatt hurried over. “Ash?”

  The figure outside raised his head, looking up into the window. His eyes seemed to flash as the light hit them, and he held up a set of keys.

  Ash backed away from the sink, heart racing, lungs frozen. Wyatt reached him and grabbed his elbow.

  “Do you see him?” Ash asked, unable to tear his eyes from the window.

  Wyatt turned to look out the window and shook his head. “There’s no one down there.” He sounded frustrated.

  The others crowded into the galley kitchen. Ash pressed himself against the wall and tried to catch his breath as they all looked out the window in turn.

  “He was there. He had my keys.” Ash put his hand to his chest and tried to gulp in air. His entire body was shaking. His head began to swim.

  “Calm down.” Delilah’s hands were cold when she put them against Ash’s cheeks, and he flinched away from her touch.

  “He’s having another panic attack,” Caleb said, voice remarkably calm as he grabbed his keys off the kitchen counter and left.

  “Fuck, we have to get him to a hospital,” Ryan said.

  Wyatt and Noah both nodded. Ash shook his head in protest even as he was overcome with wooziness.

  “He hates hospitals,” Delilah said, sympathy and worry clear in her voice.

  “It’s not . . . he was there,” Ash said desperately, looking at Wyatt, begging him to believe him.

  “I know,” Wyatt said, but he was speaking in that condescending manner people used with children, animals, and the mentally unstable. He slid his arm around Ash’s shoulders.

  Ash opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He couldn’t catch his breath and the dark around the edges of his vision was closing in.

  “Breathe, Ash, breathe,” Wyatt said somewhere in the distance. Ash’s world went bright, and then even Wyatt’s soothing voice was gone.

  “You did the right thing, bringing him in,” the doctor told Wyatt and Caleb as the others sat in the waiting room out front. They’d given Ash a CT scan and had him on twenty-four hour watch. He was curled on his side in an ER bed behind a curtain, finally calm enough to sleep, and the doctor kept his voice low as he spoke. “He has some minor swelling.”

  “Could it be causing these visual disturbances?” Wyatt asked.

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “He’s very sure that he’s seeing these things,” Caleb said.

  “Typically, hallucinations are not associated with a head injury,” the doctor said. “But everyone reacts differently to trauma. It could even be a post-traumatic stress reaction to the original attack.”

  Caleb ran his hands through his hair and shook his head, and Wyatt frowned as he looked at the curtain.

  “He’s not that type, doctor,” Caleb said. “He’s not . . .”

  “Weak?” the doctor supplied with a knowing smile. “PTSD doesn’t mean you’re weak, physically or mentally. It’s your brain’s way of coping.”

  Caleb closed his eyes and nodded.

  “You said he was seeing things at his place of work?” the doctor said as he flipped up the chart and scowled at it.

  “Yeah. Until tonight, and then it followed him home,” Caleb said.

  “Is he happy with his work?”

  “He loves it,” Caleb and Wyatt answered in unison. They glanced at each other, and the doctor raised an eyebrow.

  “Well. Hallucinations are typically associated with something deeper.”

  “We’ve been talking about hauntings for an exhibit at the museum,” Wyatt said. “And about the history of the bar where he works. It’s . . . sordid, to say the least.”

  “Well, perhaps that explains why his mind has gone there,” the doctor concluded.

  “And the bar’s haunted,” Caleb added.

  The doctor wrinkled his nose. “His mind may be creating something out of these recent conversations. The biggest worry, then, is why these stories are suddenly moving out of their origin and following him around.”

  “Look, I’m not really concerned with the why,” Caleb said. “Will he get better?”

  “As soon as the swelling goes down, the hallucinations should stop if that is the cause,” the doctor said with a shrug. “If it’s not . . .”

  “Well, can you . . . drain the swelling or something?” Caleb asked.

  The doctor shook his head. “You’re talking brain surgery for a problem that could be easily solved with patience. A few days, he could be back to normal. Unless it’s a psychological issue, of co
urse. But I don’t recommend taking steps until his head has had a chance to heal, and that includes medication. Until then, stay with him, make him feel safe.”

  Wyatt sighed and thanked the doctor as Caleb turned away, muttering.

  “Caleb,” Wyatt whispered.

  “Ash is not going to accept that,” Caleb said. “Hell, I’m not sure I accept that.”

  Wyatt frowned and pressed his lips together, then looked at the curtain and back to Caleb again. “What if we do a . . . an exorcism or something?”

  “What?”

  “I could research the property some more, bring him more information—”

  Caleb shook his head. “That can’t end well.”

  “We’ve got one of those paranormal investigator teams working with our exhibit. We can tell them what’s going on, ask them to come help.”

  Caleb stared at him for a few moments, then glanced at the curtain. “If he’s seeing things, it won’t do any good,” he whispered. “But if it really is a ghost after him, it can’t hurt.” Wyatt nodded. “Okay. You and Noah go and contact these people. Ryan and I will watch over him.”

  Wyatt hesitated. Caleb snorted. “He’s a big boy, Wyatt. He’ll be okay.”

  Wyatt felt himself blushing, and nodded. “I’ll be at his place tonight to help out.” He stepped into the little curtained room and peered at Ash’s peaceful face. He appeared to be sleeping. Wyatt bent closer and kissed his cheek.

  “Can we go now?” Ash asked.

  “Soon. They’re going to keep you for a little bit longer, then Caleb’s going to take you home.”

  Ash opened his eyes and met Wyatt’s without moving. “You leaving?”

  Wyatt smiled down at him. “I’m going to get my laptop so I can do some work while I’m at your place.”

  “Work?”

  After a moment’s thought, Wyatt said, “I want to see just who this guy is that’s following you.”

  Ash looked away before meeting Wyatt’s eyes again. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

  Wyatt just smiled, unable to bring himself to lie. “I . . . I just need some more research before I can believe anything.”

  Ash snorted. “Museum set.”

  Wyatt’s heart twisted at the relieved expression on Ash’s face, and he bent and kissed him. He did believe Ash was seeing something. He just didn’t believe in ghosts.

  He left the room, nodding to Caleb as he made his way to the outer waiting room. When he got there, Noah and Ryan both stood expectantly.

  Wyatt nodded at Ryan. “You can go back there.”

  “Ha! Seniority, bitch,” Ryan said to Noah as he sauntered toward the door.

  “Asshole,” Noah grumbled.

  “Come on,” Wyatt said. “We have some work to do.”

  Noah crossed his arms and said for the third time, “I don’t like this, not one bit. I don’t have many morals, but the ones I do have are not happy.”

  “Spare me the lecture, okay?” Wyatt sighed as he flipped through the ancient microfiche.

  “You should be back there with Ash trying to convince him he can’t see dead people, not here searching stuff to feed his delusions,” Noah said. “Christ, that sounded weird. And what if they’re not delusions? What if he’s really seeing ghosts?”

  “Noah!”

  “What?”

  “I don’t really believe in ghosts, but I believe he’s seeing something, okay?”

  “There’s no scientific evidence that disproves paranormal—”

  “Oh God, stop.”

  Noah narrowed his eyes at Wyatt. “Weird. I’m getting the ‘I’m going to kick your ass’ vibe off you now.”

  Wyatt laughed and ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know what I believe. I do know that I’m more open to accepting something paranormal than I was a week ago. I know he’s really seeing this stuff. I just don’t know if it’s really happening.”

  “Fair enough. We also need to consider that it’s a real-life dude just stalking Ash’s pretty ass.”

  “I’d rather it be a ghost.”

  “Me too.”

  “All I know is, he was terrified when I picked him up,” Wyatt said. “He can’t go on like that for days while the swelling goes down; we’ve got to do something to help him sooner. Even if it does involve ghosts and Wiccan witch doctors or— whoa.”

  “What?”

  “Look, it’s another one.” Wyatt pointed at the screen, and Noah came closer as Wyatt found the larger picture of the article he’d stumbled over. He rolled it up on the screen and they both read it. The picture of the dead man was eerily similar to the other two, even down to the sheet spread under the body.

  “Nineteen-forty-nine,” Noah said. “The others were, what, ’23 and ’76?”

  “Nineteen-twenty-four, I think, yeah.” Wyatt frowned, disturbed. He knew Noah was running through calculations in his head.

  “No discernible pattern on the surface of it,” Noah finally said. “Just guys that look alike.”

  “We need to find the Fossors. They built the house. And we need to find out what the hell was there before they were.”

  “Are you enjoying this?” Noah asked.

  “What?”

  “You are, aren’t you?” Noah stood back up and looked down at Wyatt. “You’ve found something that interests you and you’re really sinking your fangs in.”

  “Ash is what interests me,” Wyatt said as he stood to face him. “And I resent the fact that—”

  Noah laughed. “No, you don’t.”

  Wyatt glared at him for a moment, and then looked away with a sigh. “I really hate you sometimes.”

  “Yes, I know,” Noah said as he put his arm around his shoulders. “But listen, if I’m going to be helping you do this shit, I’m going to need some assurances.”

  Wyatt looked at the hand Noah had put on his shoulder. “What sort of assurances?”

  “First, that if this goes tits up, you take all the blame.”

  “Oh hell, no. If I go down, you’re going with me.”

  Noah removed his hand. “I’m serious, Wyatt. I won’t lose a friend over this. You think about that before you go pretending that you’re buying into all this ghost stuff.”

  “I’m not pretending,” Wyatt insisted. “I . . . I’m skeptical. But I’m willing to keep an open mind, because—”

  “Because Ash is an incredible lay.”

  Wyatt frowned at him.

  “I say we nix the ghost thing and just don’t leave him alone for a while,” Noah said. “I’m serious, I don’t like messing with this shit.”

  “Are you scared?”

  “Yes! It freaks me out, okay?”

  Wyatt laughed. “Noah! You have a black belt!”

  “What good does that do against ghosts and hobgoblins? Just because I can kick your ass doesn’t mean I’m not tender.”

  “Please.” Wyatt’s eyes fell on the grainy news photo, and he sighed. “You’ve got to admit there’s something weird there.”

  Noah nodded. “I do. What I don’t understand is why you do. You’re obsessing about this.”

  “It’s just so odd. Call it academic curiosity.”

  “Whatever you say, boss, but I want to go soon.” Noah glanced around the archives. “I’m allergic to spooky basement-type places at night.”

  “Yeah, yeah. What do they call a collective of ghosts?”

  “I don’t know. What?”

  “A fraid.”

  Noah barked a laugh and slapped a hand over his mouth like he thought he should be ashamed for laughing. “Touché,” he said as they settled back down to dig into the archives.

  Ryan was stretched out beside Ash on his own bed, reading a motorcycle magazine as Ash stared at him listlessly. Caleb was in the other room, cooking something that smelled wonderful but made Ash’s stomach protest.

  “I hate you a little bit right now,” Ash said to Ryan, who nodded and flipped a page without looking up.

  Neither of them moved w
hen Wyatt and Noah arrived at his condo. Both men had their arms full of documents and books. Ryan stayed in the bedroom as the other three settled in the kitchen. Ash could hear them discussing something. He suspected he should care what they were saying, but right now, nothing mattered.

  Wyatt stuck his head in the bedroom and smiled when he saw Ash lying there awake. “Hey.”

  Ryan closed his magazine and gently bopped Ash on the shoulder with it as he got out of bed. Ash didn’t even have the reflexes to shut his eyes when the magazine touched him. He blinked at Wyatt and then focused his attention back on the sheets in front of him.

  “Gave you a little medication, huh?” Wyatt asked as he walked over to the bed.

  “Ghostbusting pills,” Ash murmured. “That’s what the doctor said. Like I was an idiot and didn’t know he didn’t believe me.”

  Wyatt’s brow furrowed and he sat on the edge of the bed. He reached out and ran his fingers through Ash’s spiked hair. “You need a shower. Make you feel better. And smell better.”

  “Am I crazy?” Ash asked. “Am I delusional or . . . is this really just in my head?”

  Wyatt licked his lips and hesitated.

  “I felt that man grab me,” Ash said. He reached for his arm and rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt. Wyatt peered closer at a set of bruises on Ash’s bicep. “There’s more on the other arm.”

  Wyatt swallowed and reached out to place his fingers over the shallow bruises. “I grabbed you there,” he said, his voice low and intimate. “Remember?”

  Ash let his eyes travel down to Wyatt’s hand where it still lay on his arm. “Yeah,” he said, his brow furrowing. It was confusing, all the facts and memories jumbled in his mind. Like trying to put together a puzzle through a blindfold of gauze.

  For the first time since he’d seen that face in the mirror, he began to doubt what he had witnessed with his own eyes. Could he have just imagined everything? He’d never been hit in the head so hard before, and it wasn’t the only knock to the head he’d had in the last two weeks. Was it possible that he was just suffering from some weird concussion symptoms?

  He closed his eyes and sighed. Wyatt bent over him and pressed his lips to Ash’s temple as his arms slid around him.