Who knew vampires were ghost repellent?
Arawn Sage has a ghost problem. The warden of the facility where he once was held captive has come back to haunt him, and Arawn has no idea what to do about it. There is no way to keep a ghost out, and the warden is preventing Arawn from sleeping while trying to persuade him to do things he doesn’t want to do. It isn’t until he accidentally touches a vampire and the ghost momentarily disappears, he feels a sliver of hope. Maybe there is a way out of this torture.
Zidane Dodd has been staked in the basement of a castle for close to a year. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t talk. And he’s bored out of his mind. But one night, Arawn comes down there to hold his hand. He can’t feel it, but since he has nothing better to do, he doesn’t mind playing safety blanket for a scared little ghost whisperer.
There has to be a way to get rid of a ghost. Arawn has no idea how, but he can’t walk around touching vampires whenever he needs a break, can he?
Hurried footsteps neared the room, and Zidane perked. Had Gregory remembered he had left him with his eyes open?
Then there was a shriek. Zidane couldn’t tell from who. The person in the room with him, but no matter how much he tried to move his eyes and turn his head, nothing happened.
“Fuck.” It was no more than a whisper, then the person crept closer. “How the fuck should I know?”
Okay, it was the same one who’d come in the middle of the night. He’d had an inner debate with himself, or not inner, since he spoke out loud.
He hesitated for several seconds, and Zidane wanted to snarl at him to come closer. He couldn’t see him where he stood, and now he wanted to know what the man looked like.
Slowly, so slowly, the man leaned over him. Dark hair, not curly but ... unruly. Dark brown eyes and skin that looked like it would bronze in the sun, like it was supposed to be bronzed but had been deprived of its warmth. The dark smudges underneath his eyes gave him a gaunt, exhausted look.
“Is he dead?” He looked to the side, and for a moment Zidane wondered if there were two people in the room, but he’d only heard one set of footsteps.
A second later, the man pressed a phone to his ear. He was close enough for Zidane to hear the signal ring through before the call connected. “Arawn?” Rufus. Zidane was almost sure it was Rufus.
“Hi, sorry to eh ... bother you.”
Rufus sighed. “You’re no bother. I’m sorry about how --”
“I think Zidane is dead.”
Silence.
“Eh ... do you see his ghost?”
“No! But his eyes are open, and they weren’t before.”
“Ah ... yeah, no, he’s not dead. Someone’s opened his eyes. You can close them again.”
“W-What?” The man, Arawn, leaned over him again, his focus jumping from one eye to the other. Zidane would’ve smiled at the frantic look if he’d been able to.
“Close his eyes. Then maybe ... come back up here.”
He shook his head, and Zidane was sure it was fear he was seeing manifesting on his face. What had happened upstairs? “You should go to the store. Bye.”
Zidane chuckled, mentally. If he believed he could avoid Rufus, he was wrong.
He placed the phone on the table, then leaned over him. “Okay, so ... Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Zidane raised an eyebrow; only he couldn’t, but in his mind, he did it to prompt an explanation. What was he sorry about?
He hovered with his hand over his face. Zidane could almost feel the heat of his touch, only he didn’t touch. “Fuck, this is much scarier when your eyes are open. I don’t want to touch you.”
Ouch.
He put his hand on the table next to Zidane’s shoulder. “Maybe Rufus will come and close your eyes for you? Are you okay with him touching you? I hate when strangers touch me, but you know him, right?” He was biting his lower lip, and Zidane wanted to reach up and free it.
“Shut up!” He glared to the side of him, and Zidane did his best to turn his head, but he couldn’t. Arawn focused on him again. “How do you kill a ghost?”
Zidane grinned, only his muscles didn’t move. He didn’t have a clue how to kill a ghost, but if Arawn pulled the stake out, he’d do his best to make it happen.
“Okay, here we go.” He raised his hand again. “I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable.”
Aww, sweet thing. Then he brushed his hand over Zidane’s face, but he managed to see a look of distaste before his eyes closed. Distaste for touching him?
The air whooshed out of Arawn. “There. I hope it wasn’t too bad.”
Zidane laughed. In his mind.
“I should go. I wanted to escape for a bit, but I don’t think I can. I’ll ... I don’t know.” The scrape of the chair sounded, and Zidane wondered if he sat or only happened to kick it or something. “Maybe I should leave.”
Zidane waited. Was he leaving? He didn’t hear any movement.
“I don’t know where I could go, but I think ... All my life, I’ve dreamed about being free, but there is no freedom, is there?”
Zidane snorted. Once he had a stake in his heart, he could talk about not having any freedom.
“Always people expecting things of you, always fucking voices droning, snarling monsters, and grabby hands.” He sighed. “What’s the point?”
Unease slithered through Zidane. It didn’t sound as if he talked about leaving the room.
