Haunted
Author: equusentric
Dare: A non-suicide fic, where Brian deals with Justin's death.
Warning/Rating: Major character death.
Brian contemplated the stately brick facade as he began to back out of the drive.
He hadn't wanted the house. Not really. But Justin had said he'd wanted a country manor with stables and a pool, so Brian had gone out and gotten him just that. Brian had thought he would be delighted with it, and he had been. He'd even given it a name.
BriTin.
It was the damned name that kept Brian from selling it when Justin left. It would have been just another piece of real estate to be bought and sold again without any attachments, had it not been for that. The name, the one Justin had given it, made it personal.
Made it irrevocably his.
So Brian had kept it for the last six years. He kept it through New York and Paris and three brilliant artsy-types whose names Brian never bothered to learn. He kept it through odd-hour phone calls and frenzied reunions, dramatic arguments and door-slamming departures, angry grudge-fucks in backrooms and countless drunken tears cried onto Michael's shoulder. He kept it through one night when he had stood in the middle of the living room with a bottle of Beam in one hand and a candle lighter in the other, wondering just how flammable those drapes really were. Wondering if the flames would leave the house as gutted as he felt.
He'd hired a groundskeeper to keep up with the lawn and a cleaning service to dust the interior. After three years he started to spend the summers there with Gus. This led to the inevitable birthday pony and the subsequent boarding out of the stable to a local teenager in exchange for her taking care of the cantankerous creature during the rest of the year. Gus called it "the big home" and he loved staying there.
But to Brian, it wasn't a home. It was just a house, Justin's house. It would never be a home without Justin in it.
Brian smiled as he watched the house recede in the rear view mirror. It was the last time he would have to look at that house.
After six years and two cities and three whoever-the-fucks, Justin was finally ready. The world had recognized his brilliance, and now it sought him out. The world was his oyster and from it he could pluck any pearl he wanted. And incredibly, of all the riches in the world, what he had wanted was to be with Brian.
The next time Brian would look upon that brick, it wouldn't be Justin's house. It would be their home.
******
“How is he holding up?” Emmett asked softly.
“Not well,” Michael answered without taking his eyes off of Brian. He watched as Brian clutched Gus close to his chest, so tightly that the child had started to squirm. Lindsay reached out, gently loosened his grip, and pulled Brian's hands into her own. Michael saw Brian's knuckles whiten as he squeezed her fingers, the only acknowledgment to her presence that he made.
“He's not talking. To me, to Lindsay, to anyone. He won't eat. He won't go out. He just sits in the dark all day, staring at nothing. I had to dress him myself to get him over here.”
“Poor baby,” Emmett crooned. “I remember how devastated I was when I lost George, and I hadn’t loved him for ten years.”
“And remember, Justin hadn't even been home a week,” Ben added. “It's no wonder he's still in shock.”
Michael watched Lindsay stroke Brian's hair, much like he had done all those years ago. At least then there had been tears. As far as he knew, Brian hadn't shed a single one during the past four days. Hadn’t said a word beyond that one chilling sentence, whispered haltingly into the phone the night it happened. “I only needed a minute, Mikey.” Michael took a deep, shaky breath.
"I'll be honest, guys, I’m really scared this time."
“You don’t think he’d do anything...drastic, do you?” Emmett’s face had paled.
Michael shrugged. "Brian has always been strong, ever since I've known him. Life's been tossing straw on his back for a lot of years and he always carried it. It's part of what I've always loved about him, how strong he was. Even if he sometimes needed a little chemical reinforcement, he always managed to carry just that one more straw.” Michael swallowed hard.
"But this is different. This time...this time the whole fucking stack just came down at once. I'm...I’m afraid it might have broken him." Not just broken him, but crushed him completely.
Ben pulled Michael close. "Brian is still a strong man, with strong friends. He'll get through this."
Michael leaned into Ben gratefully, wishing he could absorb his partner’s confidence. Michael knew better, though. Ben had pretty much left Brian to Michael’s care during the four days that Brian had spent in their guest room. He didn’t understand the extent of the emotional devastation; he hadn’t seen the unsettling void in Brian’s eyes.
******
Justin grunted softly as Brian collapsed on top of him with a satisfied groan. "I think we've finally fucked in every room of this house."
Brian's fingers threaded through Justin's hair as he nuzzled his nose into the fragrant strands. Justin smelled of sweat and sex and organic orange brush cleaner.
"We still have the attic, and then there's the guest house."
"Oh, yeah. And the stables."
"We already fucked in the stables."
"That was just the hayloft. There are still six stalls and the tack room."
Brian lifted his head and gave Justin a hard stare, nose crinkled in disgust. "We are not fucking in those dirty stalls."
"We'll have Erica put in all new straw, just for us."
"And you'll sneeze the whole time I'm fucking you, just like you did with the hay."
Justin laughed. Once he'd sneezed so hard that Brian's dick had shot completely out of his ass. "I'll fuck you, then."
Brian smirked and ruffled Justin's hair. "You always did dream big."
“And I achieve big, too. I’m world famous and living here with you, aren’t I?”
Justin beamed at him, and Brian felt his heart expand almost to the point of pain. He buried his face in the crook of Justin's neck and pressed his lips to the sex-dampened skin before he ended up saying something lesbianic. Like how incredibly proud he was of Justin. Like how ridiculously fucking happy he was that Justin was finally here, with him, in their home. For good this time.
They lay there for awhile, Brian steadily inhaling the warm, musky smell of Justin's skin, until Brian's joints began to complain. Floor fucking was harder than he remembered it being. He lifted himself up onto his elbows, watching Justin curiously as blue eyes gazed at the heavy crystal chandelier above them.
"Penny?"
Justin blinked at him. "Hmmm? Oh, I was just wondering if we had any ghosts."
Brian's eyebrow danced up. "Ghosts?"
"Yeah. Has anyone ever seen one here?"
"Of course not. There’s no such thing as ghosts."
Justin looked disappointed. "You don't think this place could be haunted?"
"Why would it be haunted?"
"Because it's a big, stately house with a lot of history."
“This house is less than twenty years old,” Brian refuted as he stood up. “It doesn’t have any history.”
"A place like this needs a ghost," Justin went on. "If I ever died here, I would so haunt this place."
Brian ran his hand across the back of his neck to smooth the sudden prickle of rising hairs, then helped Justin to his feet. "I don’t believe in ghosts, Sunshine.”
******
“Daddy, you're squishing me.” The warm body in his arms squirmed and tried to pull away.
“Brian, help me get this fucking thing up the stairs. The corner keeps catching between the railings.”
Brian didn’t look up from the computer screen. The idea was just taking full form and he needed to get it down before he lost it. “In a minute.”
He felt Gus slide out of his lap as Lindsay took his hands. At least it felt like Lindsay. He couldn’t be bothered to turn his head and confirm it.
Justin huffed. “You said that ten minutes ago. I want to get this canvas upstairs before the sun drops too far.”
The thing was fucking huge. Justin hardly ever painted anything small anymore.
He vaguely felt hands begin to stroke his hair. Warm, gentle strokes from the crown to the base of his neck. He heard something like a murmur in his ear, but it was all white noise. The whole world was dancing static and hiss.
A face broke though the static, an oval of painted sadness underneath a frizzy puddle of red. A voice, static and buzz and then a crackle of words. “Brian, honey?”
Lemons and marinara. Debbie. He turned his head to her and saw her flinch a little as their eyes met. Hers were red and brimming, with a pale, blank-eyed face swimming in the tears. He knew that face from somewhere. It blinked when he did.
“It’s been sitting there all day, Justin. Just give me one more fucking minute.”
Another annoyed huff, then the thumping of the wooden frame against the steps as Justin began to manhandle it up the stairs.
“Do you want to go up and see Justin?” Debbie’s voice was surprisingly soft and steady.
The drowning ghost in Debbie’s eyes disappeared as Brian’s head flinched backwards at the name.
“Justin!”
He hadn’t seen “Oh god, please answer me, Justin!" in days.
“I can go up with you, if you want.” Debbie gestured towards the front of the room, where the long, gleaming box lay, surrounded by flowers and people Brian vaguely felt he should know.
“Come on,” she urged, pulling Brian to his feet. His stiffened knees popped loudly in the quiet room, and all eyes turned to him as Debbie gently guided him into the aisle.
He could feel the weight of their concerned stares as Debbie push-pulled him up the carpet, towards the torn canvas and splintered wood polished casket, wherein lay “Justin!”
Deep inside he felt something break with the brittle snap of fragile bone and sanity.
“No,” he murmured as he stopped in the middle of the aisle. “No no nononoNO!”
Wrenching violently away from a startled Debbie, he turned and bolted from the room.
******
“Oh, shit!” Michael almost ran over his mother as he rushed to follow Brian.
He plowed through the double doors and looked around frantically, trying to spot Brian through the falling snow. He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the tall figure shoulder through the gathered crowd of young mourners and begin to stride briskly up the sidewalk.
“Brian!” he called breathlessly as he ran, shoving his way through the curious onlookers. He grabbed Brian’s arm when he finally caught up to him. “Brian, stop a minute. Brian!”
"I have to get home, Mikey. Justin’s waiting for me. Have to get home.”
“Stop already!” Michael yanked hard, spinning Brian around. “Justin’s not there, Brian, he’s--”
“He’s at HOME, Mikey!” Brian’s voice was hoarse from disuse, the pain in it tearing at Michael’s heart. “I have to be there.” He tried to turn away, but Michael tightened his grip.
“You can't walk there, are you crazy? You’ll freeze to death before you get out of Pittsburgh, for fuck’s sake!”
Brian’s eyes were glittering with something that chilled Michael more than the winter air. “I have to get home, Michael. Right. Now.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll take you,” Michael soothed, slowly maneuvering Brian back down the sidewalk.
Once they reached Michael’s car, he deposited a shivering Brian into the passenger seat. “I’m going in to get your coat and tell Ben--"
Brian heaved himself out of the car. “Now, have to get home now.”
“Jesus, Brian, all right!” Michael shoved him back down into the seat. “We’ll go right now.” He hurried around to the driver’s side before Brian could open his door again. He shut the door and quickly hit the safety locks.
“I don’t have your house keys. We’ll have to run by my house to get them first.”
Brian’s face was turned towards the window, his breath fogging the glass in erratic puffs. “Just get me home. He’s waiting for me.”
“Okay,” Michael said, fighting to keep his voice level when what he really wanted to do was scream. Instead he backed the car from the parking spot, then pulled his cell from his pocket to let his partner know that they wouldn’t be there for the burial.
******
“Thank you, Michael,” Brian said as he snatched his keys from his friend’s hand. “We’ll be okay. I’ll call you soon.”
He slammed the door on Michael’s shocked protest and threw the deadbolt.
He stood in the foyer, ignoring the pounding and shouting on the other side of the door. He didn’t know how long it would take, at what time Justin would show. The...box...would be in the ground by now.
He walked slowly up the hall into the great room, tossing the keys on the desk with a loud thump from the stairs, two, threefourfive as he walked to the hallway.
He stared at the spot where Justin’s head lolled loosely at the end of his neck. Surely he would be here, right? Wasn’t that how it worked?
He leaned against the wall and hummed quitely as he waited for Justin.
Time slid by as the shouting voice outside went away, as the sun went down. The house fell into darkness, lifted only by the full moon that occasionally broke through the snow clouds and shone in through the great room window.
Brian felt the distress begin to build, creating an unrelenting pressure in his chest.
It had been hours now. Where was he? He said he would stay here. Isn’t that what he said? “I would so--”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Sunshine.” Oh. Brian chuckled in relief. That’s what he was waiting for. What a princess.
Brian closed his eyes are the windows to the soul, it's said. Brian thought they must be the exit, too.
“I do believe in ghosts," he whispered. "I do believe in ghosts, Justin. I believe.” He opened his staring eyes, the pupils dilated widely. Wide enough for a life to squeeze out of its broken shell. He blinked and peered up the stairs.
There was nothing but darkness and the quiet hiss of empty air against his eardrums. No. This wasn't right.
Brian stumbled forward until the end of the stair railing pressed against his gut. Where the fuck was he? He had to be here. He had to be!
“Justin, please. Please come, Justin, just once. You said you would. You said.”
The moon moved higher and the light on the stairs grew fainter. The house remained silent except for Brian’s harsh breathing.
“Please, Justin. I just need one minute with you. I’m so sorry, I do believe in ghosts, I do. One minute, Justin. Please, just one minute.”
He fell to his knees at the foot of the stairs, at the spot where he’d cradled Justin’s pale, lifeless, dangling head in his lap.
“I believe! I’m so sorry! Please, Justin! Come back. You said you would haunt, Justin. You fucking SAID!” He pounded the step in frustration. Flecks of blood speckled the polished wood as his knuckles split.
“Haunt me, Justin. Don't fucking do this. Please don't leave me! Justin...JUSTIN!”
*****
They say that sometimes, when the night is quiet and the moon is full, you can hear it. The faint echo of a pleading voice at the bottom of the stairs, calling for his lost love.
Dare: A non-suicide fic, where Brian deals with Justin's death.
Warning/Rating: Major character death.
Brian contemplated the stately brick facade as he began to back out of the drive.
He hadn't wanted the house. Not really. But Justin had said he'd wanted a country manor with stables and a pool, so Brian had gone out and gotten him just that. Brian had thought he would be delighted with it, and he had been. He'd even given it a name.
BriTin.
It was the damned name that kept Brian from selling it when Justin left. It would have been just another piece of real estate to be bought and sold again without any attachments, had it not been for that. The name, the one Justin had given it, made it personal.
Made it irrevocably his.
So Brian had kept it for the last six years. He kept it through New York and Paris and three brilliant artsy-types whose names Brian never bothered to learn. He kept it through odd-hour phone calls and frenzied reunions, dramatic arguments and door-slamming departures, angry grudge-fucks in backrooms and countless drunken tears cried onto Michael's shoulder. He kept it through one night when he had stood in the middle of the living room with a bottle of Beam in one hand and a candle lighter in the other, wondering just how flammable those drapes really were. Wondering if the flames would leave the house as gutted as he felt.
He'd hired a groundskeeper to keep up with the lawn and a cleaning service to dust the interior. After three years he started to spend the summers there with Gus. This led to the inevitable birthday pony and the subsequent boarding out of the stable to a local teenager in exchange for her taking care of the cantankerous creature during the rest of the year. Gus called it "the big home" and he loved staying there.
But to Brian, it wasn't a home. It was just a house, Justin's house. It would never be a home without Justin in it.
Brian smiled as he watched the house recede in the rear view mirror. It was the last time he would have to look at that house.
After six years and two cities and three whoever-the-fucks, Justin was finally ready. The world had recognized his brilliance, and now it sought him out. The world was his oyster and from it he could pluck any pearl he wanted. And incredibly, of all the riches in the world, what he had wanted was to be with Brian.
The next time Brian would look upon that brick, it wouldn't be Justin's house. It would be their home.
******
“How is he holding up?” Emmett asked softly.
“Not well,” Michael answered without taking his eyes off of Brian. He watched as Brian clutched Gus close to his chest, so tightly that the child had started to squirm. Lindsay reached out, gently loosened his grip, and pulled Brian's hands into her own. Michael saw Brian's knuckles whiten as he squeezed her fingers, the only acknowledgment to her presence that he made.
“He's not talking. To me, to Lindsay, to anyone. He won't eat. He won't go out. He just sits in the dark all day, staring at nothing. I had to dress him myself to get him over here.”
“Poor baby,” Emmett crooned. “I remember how devastated I was when I lost George, and I hadn’t loved him for ten years.”
“And remember, Justin hadn't even been home a week,” Ben added. “It's no wonder he's still in shock.”
Michael watched Lindsay stroke Brian's hair, much like he had done all those years ago. At least then there had been tears. As far as he knew, Brian hadn't shed a single one during the past four days. Hadn’t said a word beyond that one chilling sentence, whispered haltingly into the phone the night it happened. “I only needed a minute, Mikey.” Michael took a deep, shaky breath.
"I'll be honest, guys, I’m really scared this time."
“You don’t think he’d do anything...drastic, do you?” Emmett’s face had paled.
Michael shrugged. "Brian has always been strong, ever since I've known him. Life's been tossing straw on his back for a lot of years and he always carried it. It's part of what I've always loved about him, how strong he was. Even if he sometimes needed a little chemical reinforcement, he always managed to carry just that one more straw.” Michael swallowed hard.
"But this is different. This time...this time the whole fucking stack just came down at once. I'm...I’m afraid it might have broken him." Not just broken him, but crushed him completely.
Ben pulled Michael close. "Brian is still a strong man, with strong friends. He'll get through this."
Michael leaned into Ben gratefully, wishing he could absorb his partner’s confidence. Michael knew better, though. Ben had pretty much left Brian to Michael’s care during the four days that Brian had spent in their guest room. He didn’t understand the extent of the emotional devastation; he hadn’t seen the unsettling void in Brian’s eyes.
******
Justin grunted softly as Brian collapsed on top of him with a satisfied groan. "I think we've finally fucked in every room of this house."
Brian's fingers threaded through Justin's hair as he nuzzled his nose into the fragrant strands. Justin smelled of sweat and sex and organic orange brush cleaner.
"We still have the attic, and then there's the guest house."
"Oh, yeah. And the stables."
"We already fucked in the stables."
"That was just the hayloft. There are still six stalls and the tack room."
Brian lifted his head and gave Justin a hard stare, nose crinkled in disgust. "We are not fucking in those dirty stalls."
"We'll have Erica put in all new straw, just for us."
"And you'll sneeze the whole time I'm fucking you, just like you did with the hay."
Justin laughed. Once he'd sneezed so hard that Brian's dick had shot completely out of his ass. "I'll fuck you, then."
Brian smirked and ruffled Justin's hair. "You always did dream big."
“And I achieve big, too. I’m world famous and living here with you, aren’t I?”
Justin beamed at him, and Brian felt his heart expand almost to the point of pain. He buried his face in the crook of Justin's neck and pressed his lips to the sex-dampened skin before he ended up saying something lesbianic. Like how incredibly proud he was of Justin. Like how ridiculously fucking happy he was that Justin was finally here, with him, in their home. For good this time.
They lay there for awhile, Brian steadily inhaling the warm, musky smell of Justin's skin, until Brian's joints began to complain. Floor fucking was harder than he remembered it being. He lifted himself up onto his elbows, watching Justin curiously as blue eyes gazed at the heavy crystal chandelier above them.
"Penny?"
Justin blinked at him. "Hmmm? Oh, I was just wondering if we had any ghosts."
Brian's eyebrow danced up. "Ghosts?"
"Yeah. Has anyone ever seen one here?"
"Of course not. There’s no such thing as ghosts."
Justin looked disappointed. "You don't think this place could be haunted?"
"Why would it be haunted?"
"Because it's a big, stately house with a lot of history."
“This house is less than twenty years old,” Brian refuted as he stood up. “It doesn’t have any history.”
"A place like this needs a ghost," Justin went on. "If I ever died here, I would so haunt this place."
Brian ran his hand across the back of his neck to smooth the sudden prickle of rising hairs, then helped Justin to his feet. "I don’t believe in ghosts, Sunshine.”
******
“Daddy, you're squishing me.” The warm body in his arms squirmed and tried to pull away.
“Brian, help me get this fucking thing up the stairs. The corner keeps catching between the railings.”
Brian didn’t look up from the computer screen. The idea was just taking full form and he needed to get it down before he lost it. “In a minute.”
He felt Gus slide out of his lap as Lindsay took his hands. At least it felt like Lindsay. He couldn’t be bothered to turn his head and confirm it.
Justin huffed. “You said that ten minutes ago. I want to get this canvas upstairs before the sun drops too far.”
The thing was fucking huge. Justin hardly ever painted anything small anymore.
He vaguely felt hands begin to stroke his hair. Warm, gentle strokes from the crown to the base of his neck. He heard something like a murmur in his ear, but it was all white noise. The whole world was dancing static and hiss.
A face broke though the static, an oval of painted sadness underneath a frizzy puddle of red. A voice, static and buzz and then a crackle of words. “Brian, honey?”
Lemons and marinara. Debbie. He turned his head to her and saw her flinch a little as their eyes met. Hers were red and brimming, with a pale, blank-eyed face swimming in the tears. He knew that face from somewhere. It blinked when he did.
“It’s been sitting there all day, Justin. Just give me one more fucking minute.”
Another annoyed huff, then the thumping of the wooden frame against the steps as Justin began to manhandle it up the stairs.
“Do you want to go up and see Justin?” Debbie’s voice was surprisingly soft and steady.
The drowning ghost in Debbie’s eyes disappeared as Brian’s head flinched backwards at the name.
“Justin!”
He hadn’t seen “Oh god, please answer me, Justin!" in days.
“I can go up with you, if you want.” Debbie gestured towards the front of the room, where the long, gleaming box lay, surrounded by flowers and people Brian vaguely felt he should know.
“Come on,” she urged, pulling Brian to his feet. His stiffened knees popped loudly in the quiet room, and all eyes turned to him as Debbie gently guided him into the aisle.
He could feel the weight of their concerned stares as Debbie push-pulled him up the carpet, towards the torn canvas and splintered wood polished casket, wherein lay “Justin!”
Deep inside he felt something break with the brittle snap of fragile bone and sanity.
“No,” he murmured as he stopped in the middle of the aisle. “No no nononoNO!”
Wrenching violently away from a startled Debbie, he turned and bolted from the room.
******
“Oh, shit!” Michael almost ran over his mother as he rushed to follow Brian.
He plowed through the double doors and looked around frantically, trying to spot Brian through the falling snow. He heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the tall figure shoulder through the gathered crowd of young mourners and begin to stride briskly up the sidewalk.
“Brian!” he called breathlessly as he ran, shoving his way through the curious onlookers. He grabbed Brian’s arm when he finally caught up to him. “Brian, stop a minute. Brian!”
"I have to get home, Mikey. Justin’s waiting for me. Have to get home.”
“Stop already!” Michael yanked hard, spinning Brian around. “Justin’s not there, Brian, he’s--”
“He’s at HOME, Mikey!” Brian’s voice was hoarse from disuse, the pain in it tearing at Michael’s heart. “I have to be there.” He tried to turn away, but Michael tightened his grip.
“You can't walk there, are you crazy? You’ll freeze to death before you get out of Pittsburgh, for fuck’s sake!”
Brian’s eyes were glittering with something that chilled Michael more than the winter air. “I have to get home, Michael. Right. Now.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll take you,” Michael soothed, slowly maneuvering Brian back down the sidewalk.
Once they reached Michael’s car, he deposited a shivering Brian into the passenger seat. “I’m going in to get your coat and tell Ben--"
Brian heaved himself out of the car. “Now, have to get home now.”
“Jesus, Brian, all right!” Michael shoved him back down into the seat. “We’ll go right now.” He hurried around to the driver’s side before Brian could open his door again. He shut the door and quickly hit the safety locks.
“I don’t have your house keys. We’ll have to run by my house to get them first.”
Brian’s face was turned towards the window, his breath fogging the glass in erratic puffs. “Just get me home. He’s waiting for me.”
“Okay,” Michael said, fighting to keep his voice level when what he really wanted to do was scream. Instead he backed the car from the parking spot, then pulled his cell from his pocket to let his partner know that they wouldn’t be there for the burial.
******
“Thank you, Michael,” Brian said as he snatched his keys from his friend’s hand. “We’ll be okay. I’ll call you soon.”
He slammed the door on Michael’s shocked protest and threw the deadbolt.
He stood in the foyer, ignoring the pounding and shouting on the other side of the door. He didn’t know how long it would take, at what time Justin would show. The...box...would be in the ground by now.
He walked slowly up the hall into the great room, tossing the keys on the desk with a loud thump from the stairs, two, threefourfive as he walked to the hallway.
He stared at the spot where Justin’s head lolled loosely at the end of his neck. Surely he would be here, right? Wasn’t that how it worked?
He leaned against the wall and hummed quitely as he waited for Justin.
Time slid by as the shouting voice outside went away, as the sun went down. The house fell into darkness, lifted only by the full moon that occasionally broke through the snow clouds and shone in through the great room window.
Brian felt the distress begin to build, creating an unrelenting pressure in his chest.
It had been hours now. Where was he? He said he would stay here. Isn’t that what he said? “I would so--”
“I don’t believe in ghosts, Sunshine.” Oh. Brian chuckled in relief. That’s what he was waiting for. What a princess.
Brian closed his eyes are the windows to the soul, it's said. Brian thought they must be the exit, too.
“I do believe in ghosts," he whispered. "I do believe in ghosts, Justin. I believe.” He opened his staring eyes, the pupils dilated widely. Wide enough for a life to squeeze out of its broken shell. He blinked and peered up the stairs.
There was nothing but darkness and the quiet hiss of empty air against his eardrums. No. This wasn't right.
Brian stumbled forward until the end of the stair railing pressed against his gut. Where the fuck was he? He had to be here. He had to be!
“Justin, please. Please come, Justin, just once. You said you would. You said.”
The moon moved higher and the light on the stairs grew fainter. The house remained silent except for Brian’s harsh breathing.
“Please, Justin. I just need one minute with you. I’m so sorry, I do believe in ghosts, I do. One minute, Justin. Please, just one minute.”
He fell to his knees at the foot of the stairs, at the spot where he’d cradled Justin’s pale, lifeless, dangling head in his lap.
“I believe! I’m so sorry! Please, Justin! Come back. You said you would haunt, Justin. You fucking SAID!” He pounded the step in frustration. Flecks of blood speckled the polished wood as his knuckles split.
“Haunt me, Justin. Don't fucking do this. Please don't leave me! Justin...JUSTIN!”
*****
They say that sometimes, when the night is quiet and the moon is full, you can hear it. The faint echo of a pleading voice at the bottom of the stairs, calling for his lost love.