Текст книги "The Haunted Pub"

Автор книги: Melanie Tushmore

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music. This day just got worse and worse.

Then he heard someone calling his name. Matt looked up, waiting for whoever it was to come in.

“Matt?” they called again.

“What?” he called back.

“Matt!”

“What!”

This time, there was only laughter. Matt frowned. Was that Sammy? What the hell did he want?

Matt had already seen more Sammy than he could handle. The fateful scene of that morning played

out in his mind’s eye. Him banging on the bathroom door, desperate for the only working loo, and

Sammy singing away to himself, no doubt taking his time in order to be annoying. Then the door

opened. Sammy sat naked in the tub, those wide eyes turned on him; shocked, accusing, then full of

mirth.

Matt hadn’t understood what happened. How had the door opened? Then Sammy had thrown his

head back into the bath’s glittery soap suds, crowing with laughter. Matt had stomped away to escape,

down to the bar. He’d use the damn gent’s. He didn’t need silly little brats making fun of him first

thing in the morning.

“Matthew!” the voice called him now.

“Never a minute’s peace,” Matt grumbled. He strode across his kitchen and made for the door.

“What is it?” he called, as he pushed the swing door open. It thudded into someone with a dull crack,

and they staggered back. Matt started in surprise, reaching out to steady the person. It was Sammy.

What the hell was he doing here? The voice had sounded far away –

Matt focussed on the matter in hand. “Sammy? Are you okay?”

“Shit,” Sammy mumbled. He swayed in Matt’s arms and his hand raised up, touching his forehead.

Matt’s stomach lurched. God, he’d injured Sammy again. Why did these things keep happening to

him?

“Sammy, sit down,” he ordered, guiding Sammy into the kitchen. Sammy didn’t resist, and let Matt

sit him on a stool. He leaned back against the window. “Does it hurt?” Matt asked.

Sammy scowled at him. “Yes, of course it hurts, you moron. You just slammed the door into my

head!”

Matt swallowed his anger. He had a growing panic that Sammy would call for Ginger, or the police.

“I – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. What the fuck were you doing calling me, then standing behind the

swing door?”

“I didn’t call you,” Sammy said. “And I wasn’t just standing there. I was about to come in when

you barged through like a great, big...thing.”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Look, stay there.”

Sammy grumbled a protest, but Matt ignored it. He picked up a clean tea towel from the shelf,

folded it neatly into halves, then quarters, and ran it under the cold tap. “Here,” he said, returning to

Sammy. He placed the wet towel on Sammy’s forehead, holding it there. “I am sorry, you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sammy muttered. His eyes were closed. “What is it with you and doors today? First

you burst in while I’m having a bath –”

“I didn’t!” Matt insisted. “You bloody opened the door.”

“How could I open the door when I was in the bath?”

“Well, maybe you didn’t lock it.”

Sammy snorted lightly. “Yes, Matthew. I spend all my time sitting around in the bath, waiting for

big, hairy chefs to leap in and perv on me.”

“Ugh.” Matt dropped the towel over Sammy’s face. “I did not open that door. For all I know, you

wanted me to see you in the bath.”

“What?” Sammy pulled the towel off his face, eyes fixed on Matt. “Why would I want you to see

me?”

“I don’t know.” Matt bristled, staring down at Sammy.

Those eyes, he thought. They were so big, staring up at him. Sammy blinked in confusion. A soft

pink tinge started to colour his cheeks. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Huh?” Matt felt heat rising in his own cheeks. “I – I’m not.”

“Weirdo.” Sammy threw the towel aside. He stood up, wobbling a little. “I don’t know what your

problem is.”

Matt reached out to steady Sammy’s shoulder, worried he was going to fall. Sammy grabbed Matt’s

wrist in an attempt to push it off. Matt held fast as Sammy glared at him, his green-blue eyes bright.

“I’m fine, Matthew.”

“Good.”

Sammy was still staring at him, still holding his wrist. Matt’s pulse beat loud in his ears, drowning

out his own thoughts. All he saw was Sammy, and something tugged inside him. Matt felt himself

move – almost like he was pushed – but before he could think about it, he leaned in, and grabbed

Sammy.

“What are you –”

Matt covered Sammy’s mouth with his, and kissed him. He gave into the urge to feel that slim body

against his, and warm, pliant lips under his own. Sammy gasped once, then he was kissing back as if

his life depended on it. His arms wound around Matt’s neck as they pressed their bodies together. The

stereo clicked on, and music filled the air. It had tuned itself into a radio station. There was a song

playing – some kind of ballad – not something Matt would normally listen to. He barely even noticed.

Chapter Twelve

Fizz hated pills. He’d been taking them on and off from the age of fourteen, for all the good it had

done. When he’d told his doctor that the pills made him feel sick, and often more miserable, he was

simply given a different prescription. Even the counselling was pretty useless. All they’d ever told

him was talk about how he felt yet, on three pills a day, Fizz couldn’t feel much at all. Apart from the

random bouts of nausea.

It had taken him years, but when Fizz finally decided, once and for all, that he’d rather feel crap

without pills than be a zombie on pills, he’d weaned himself off them without telling anyone. Down

from three pills a day to one, over several weeks, and his parent’s hadn’t even noticed.

As long as he stayed in his room and kept out of their way, they never asked him about it.

When Fizz had stopped taking his pills altogether, and wanted to come out of his room once in a

while, that’s when his parents had noticed. His mother would rant at him, then cry, and ask him why

he wasn’t taking his pills. Then his father would shout at them both.

Three weeks of that, then they’d kicked him out. Maybe it wasn’t so bad that they had. Now he was

settled in, Fizz rather liked the pub. Even Rachel and Pete had warmed to him, especially when they’d

seen him help out in the bar. Fizz hadn’t taken any pills for the five weeks he’d been there, which

made it almost two months in total.

There were lots of unopened packets in his bag. His mother must have put them in his bag for him.

Fizz hadn’t thought about his pills until a few days ago. It was kind of pathetic, he thought. Barely a

few weeks off pills, and he worried he wasn’t coping. He’d had to deal with a different kind of panic,

and it was all centred around one person.

Last time Fizz had seen him, Ash mentioned off hand about going for dinner at his house. As in,

meeting his family. Fizz had almost had a panic attack on the spot. Never mind the thought of an entire

evening with people he didn’t know – Ash’s family! – but did that mean they were more than friends

now? And if that was the case, what would come next?

Would Ash want to kiss him, touch him? Fizz thought a lot about what Ash might want. Yes, he was

scared; scared of how much he wanted this. He was even more freaked out by the sudden reappearance

of his libido, like a phoenix burning inside him. He wanted this, he knew it. But he worried he might

snap, or make an idiot of himself.

What if he had a panic attack in front of Ash’s family? He’d embarrass himself and Ash. It would

be horrible. No, Fizz needed help. How did normal people deal with this stuff anyway? He hated

himself for being such a coward, but he couldn’t do this alone. The first signs of something

resembling a life, and he ran back to the meds.

Pathetic.

There were plenty of pills left. It was too much of a temptation. A familiar, bland cushion to

replace his fret and worry. Three days ago, Fizz had popped a pill. His first in two whole months. He

hadn’t told anyone, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to.

If he needed more, he’d go to the doctor’s and get more when he needed to. He knew how to take

the pills, he wasn’t an idiot like the doctors thought he was. Fizz just didn’t like taking them. He

didn’t like the nausea, the spaciness, or the nightmares that came with them.

His body had never taken to pills particularly well. Maybe he could stick to one a day, just to take

the edge off his anxiety. So far, he’d felt okay. Today, however, Fizz felt the first onset of spaciness

creep in around his senses. His dreams last night were lucid, and weird. He even dreamt a dark figure

was leaning over his bed, whispering in his ear. Several times he’d woken up – or thought he had – and

worried someone was in the room with him.

But it was just a dream.

Later, after getting up, he wasn’t even sure if he was awake properly. That meant the pills were

working.

Great.

Fizz felt tired, sluggish, and he sat in his room, staring at nothing. He didn’t even have his music

player on. He blinked his eyes sleepily. What time was it? Ash would be here soon; he’d said he would

come by after his lectures. Fizz dragged himself up, and walked slowly to the door. He thought he

heard someone click their tongue in disapproval, much the same way his mother always did.

Of course, there was no one else in the room with him, so he must have imagined it.

Fizz forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, and walked down the hall. Noises streamed

from the kitchen, possibly the TV. It didn’t mean anyone was in there, as the TV was often left on.

When Fizz rounded the corner, he saw Sammy at the kitchen counter. He started in surprise when he

saw Fizz, and Fizz noticed the bottle of vodka Sammy quickly shoved away into a cupboard, and the

glass he tried to hide in the sink.

“You okay?” Fizz asked, concerned.

“Huh?” Sammy glanced at him, then away. “Yeah, fine.”

Fizz looked at Sammy closely, noting his anxious, darting eyes, and the faint flush stealing over his

cheeks. There was a small pinkish mark on his neck. It took Fizz a few moments to realise what it was.

A love-bite.

“Are you...sure?” Fizz asked.

“Yes.” Sammy pushed past him, and had retreated from the kitchen by the time Fizz smiled. Well,

at least he wasn’t the only one who got flustered. He wondered who it was Sammy had been with. Fizz

stepped to the sink, and picked up Sammy’s used glass, turning on the hot tap. He held his fingers

under the water as he waited for the heat to come, and gazed out of the window, trying to see into the

beer garden below.

It had stopped raining, quite suddenly, and the sun had come out from behind the clouds. Fizz liked

to look out of the window. Lately, he’d taken to doing the washing up here. He’d noticed Ryan usually

ended up doing it, and Fizz wanted to help. As lame as it sounded, he liked standing at the window,

doing a relatively simple task.

Since collecting the glasses and plates downstairs, Fizz had become strangely attached to stacking

dishes neatly, and doing little jobs. He wanted to help out if he could, and none of the others seems to

like washing up. He washed Sammy’s glass now, and the few other bits which had accumulated on the

sideboard.

Heavy footsteps trod down the hallway. Fizz turned his head, expecting someone to walk in the

kitchen as the footsteps grew nearer. Maybe it was Ash.

But no one came in.

Frowning, Fizz went back to his washing up. Then a gruff voice said, “Finlay, what are you

doing?”

Fizz couldn’t be sure he’d heard right. He hurried to shut off the tap, hoping to hear better. He could

have sworn he heard someone say, “Shh!”

“Hello?” Fizz called softly.

No answer.

Okay, so he’d definitely misheard. The voices must have filtered in from the garden, or maybe it

was the TV.

“Hey,” said a new voice.

Fizz whirled around. “Oh,” he said, relieved. “It’s you.”

Ash laughed. “Who were you expecting?”

“Um, no one.” Fizz dried his hands on a tea towel. He noticed Ash’s jacket was a little shiny, and

his hair glistened. “Did you get caught in the rain?”

“Only a bit. Sun’s out now.” Ash held a plastic bag in his hand, also covered in water droplets. “I

bring exciting things!”

“What have you brought?”

“Aha!” Ash smiled. “All shall be revealed.” He walked over to the table and laid the bag down. Fizz

saw the shapes of tuppaware boxes inside, which hopefully meant more sweets. Ash glanced at the TV,

like he was vetting what programme was currently on. Fizz noticed he did that a lot, whereas most

people didn’t even consider that something on TV might upset him. It was currently tuned into an

antiques show.

“My dad loves this,” Ash said, gesturing at the TV. “He tries to guess the price of something before

the dealer says it. He’s always wrong.”

Fizz smiled. It sounded a lot better than his own father shouting abuse at the news all the time.

“Right,” Ash said, shrugging off his jacket. He wore a sleeveless t-shirt, a deep maroon colour that

complimented his skin tone. Fizz couldn’t help notice – like he usually did when Ash took his jacket

off – how nicely toned his arms looked.

Belatedly, Fizz became aware that Ash had asked him a question. “Huh? Sorry, what did you say?”

Ash smiled. “I said, did you still want to try that spiced coffee I told you about?”

Fizz thought he could certainly do with a good coffee. “Yeah, sure. Have you brought it?”

“Yep. Well, I brought the stuff. I thought I’d make it fresh.” Ash rummaged through his bag. “Can I

borrow a pan?”

Fizz picked out a clean pan from the draining board. “Like this?”

“Yeah, perfect. Can you do me a favour, and half fill it with water?”

“Um, yeah. Cold water?”

“Yep, perfect.”

Fizz filled up the pan from the sink with cold water, and handed it over. Ash smiled at him as he

took it. Fizz felt his cheeks burn, and he watched Ash set to work, laying his ingredients out on the

counter. Little bags of sugar, ground coffee, and something that looked like very fine light brown

powder. It certainly smelt good. Exotic and spicy.

“What’s that?” Fizz asked, peering over Ash’s shoulder.

“Cardamom. It’s what flavours the coffee. Trust me, you’ll love it.” Ash dumped sugar in the pan,

then set it to heat. “Is there a spoon around here?”

Fizz was pleased he was able to offer a clean spoon to Ash. He’d scrubbed for ages to get all the

cutlery clean. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Ash stirred the water. “Now, as my gran says, a watched pot never boils.” He laid the

spoon on the counter, and made for the table, pulling out a tuppaware box. “Got some mithai in here.

Janesh was trying out different recipes.”

“Janesh?”

“My sister-in-law.”

“Oh.” Fizz followed Ash’s lead, and they both sat at the table. Ash moved the box between them so

they could pick out the pastries. Fizz would have got plates but the deserts were too tempting. His

nausea had drifted away, thankfully, and he ate two sweets. The pastry dissolved almost instantly on

his tongue. “Mm. They’re good.”

“Yeah, Janesh is a wicked cook. I like this one.” Ash pointed at one variety, then another as he said,

“I don’t like this one.”

“Aren’t they the same?” Fizz picked up the one Ash didn’t like. They all tasted good to him.

“Hah! They are so not the same. Okay, I don’t hate it. I mean, I’d still eat it if that was the only one

going.”

Fizz smiled. “So you’d rather eat something you don’t like much, just for the sake of it?”

“Oh, I’m addicted to sugar,” Ash said, grinning down at the sweets. “My dad’s even worse. He’d

hoover up this whole tray in two seconds flat, given half a chance. This is his favourite...” Ash talked

as they ate, pointing at the various sweets, telling Fizz what was in them. When he jumped up to take

the pan off the boil, Fizz watched him add coffee and the cardamom, stirring the mixture. He studied

the lines and curves of Ash’s body, in his t-shirt and the figure hugging jeans that looked so good. He

didn’t want to be caught staring, but it was almost impossible not to sneak looks at Ash.

“Won’t be long,” Ash said. He replaced the pan on the hob, seemingly oblivious to Fizz’s gaze.

“You’re not supposed to drink it with milk or anything, but it might be a little strong for you. I can

add milk if you want.”

Fizz shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure?” He glanced at him, and gave him a wink. “I won’t tell.”

“Y-yeah, sure.”

“Okay. Cool.” Ash tapped his spoon on the counter, fidgeting. “Cool,” he said again. “So, um...” He

smiled, then lowered his eyes. Fizz had come to recognise that expression as something Ash did when

he was a little nervous. He was obviously building up to ask something.

Oh God.

Fizz’s throat suddenly felt too tight. His last mouthful of pastry was hard to swallow.

“So...I live up by Preston Circus, right?” Ash started. “There’s this little cinema there, it’s really

old actually. Because it’s independent they show art-house and more off-the-radar films. I brought a

brochure along.” Ash pointed with his spoon. “It’s in the bottom of the bag. Take a look.”

Fizz looked through the bag, his fingers trembling. He found the brochure, and stared at it. His

mind instantly got carried away with images of him and Ash sitting in a darkened back row. He’d

never even been to a cinema before, but he could guess what people did in the back row. Or wanted to

do.

“Me and Ryan go sometimes,” Ash said casually, leaning against the hob. He stirred his mixture in

the pan. “It’s real nice, and because it’s not mainstream, it isn’t full of loud, annoying morons. If you

sit up on the balcony, you can buy alcohol too.”

Fizz wasn’t a drinker. Perhaps Ash remembered this, as he added, “Or, they sell tea and cake

downstairs, and ice cream. That’s more my taste. Anyway, check out the films.”

He did as Ash asked, scanning through the pages. Fizz thought this would be exactly the kind of

stuff his father would have hated; foreign films with subtitles. Films where you had to engage your

brain. They even showed Japanese anime and late night horror movies, by the looks of it. He wouldn’t

dare watch any of those in public, in case he freaked out.

Fizz scanned through the middle section, then spotted a headline. Bollywood Week. He stared at the

page. The titles burned into his memory as he read them: Bride & Prejudice, Om Shanti Om, Monsoon

Wedding, Devdas, Lage Raho Munnabhai, Slumdog Millionaire, Lagaan.

So that’s what Ash had been getting at. Still, it felt there was a title missing.

“No Dhoom?” he asked.

“Hah!” Ash chuckled. “Yeah, that’s what I said! I’m going to write a serious letter of complaint.

Janesh is well excited ‘cause they’re playing Devdas. Shahrukh Khan is her favourite actor. He’s like

the Indian Tom Cruise.”

The coffee in the pan was foaming, its spiced scent filled the room. Ash let it foam for a few

moments, still chatting about various actors, then brought it off the boil. He turned off the hob, then

poured the mixture into two mugs.

“Here you go.” He placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of Fizz. “Indian coffee, as promised. It

should be in little cups, but I’m an idiot and forgot to bring them.”

“Don’t worry.” Fizz picked up his mug and stared into the drink. It looked and smelled like coffee,

but more interesting. The smell was divine. “Thank you.”

Ash sat down. He smiled nervously again, then continued chatting. “Om Shanti Om is pretty cool,

by the way.” He inched a little closer, under the pretence of peering at the cinema brochure, and

pointed out the movie with his finger. “It’s a fun flick, with lots of people in it. Like a who’s who of

Bollywood.”

Fizz leaned away slightly, pushing the brochure towards Ash. Because he was a coward, he hid

behind his coffee mug. He took a sip and burnt his tongue. “This is nice,” he said weakly.

“Is it sweet enough?” Ash went to take a sip of his cup, then pulled a face. “It’s hot, be careful. It’s

‘cause you’re supposed to let it foam when you cook it, so it stays hot forever. Well, a long time,

anyway.”

“Mm. It’s fine.” Fizz sipped again. Well, he’d already burnt his mouth. The coffee was a hot treat

burning down his throat.

“I live right by the Picture-house,” Ash continued. “Have you been that way? It’s only at the end of

London Road. Basically, if you take a left out of the pub, and keep walking, it’s up the road. Ten

minutes, tops. Really close.”

Fizz’s heart hammered. He could hear the unspoken invitation there, and the forced casual tone of

Ash’s voice. Or was he reading this all wrong? Was Ash just being friendly? But Ash had already

invited him over for dinner with his family. Did friends do that? What was Fizz supposed to do?

So much for the pills helping his anxiety.

After a long, awkward silence, Ash changed the subject. “Er...what were your plans tonight?”

“I could do some glass collecting, I guess.”

“Oh. Have you already agreed to?”

“No, not yet.”

“Okay, good. Come to the beach with me.”

“H-huh?” Fizz almost dropped his mug. He set it down on the table, before he dropped it for real.

“Um, why?”

“The sun’s out.” Ash’s eyes were fixed on his mug as he ran a finger around the rim, wiping away a

trace of coffee. “It’s Solstice tonight, so there’s loads of stuff happening. They do a parade of all these

paper lanterns down the Steine, then everyone goes to the beach for barbeques, and bonfires. It’s quite

a sight. We could go check it out, or just walk around on our own, whatever you fancy.”

Fizz felt fear grip him. The thought of being outside with other people was simply too terrifying,

never mind in the midst of a parade. He’d never make it out of the front door.

“I can’t, I – I’m sorry, I –”

“It’s okay.” Ash’s hand found his and squeezed gently. The heat of that touch shot flames through

Fizz’s arm. “You can talk to me,” Ash said. “I’m not gonna push you outside if you don’t want to go.

Would you tell me what puts you off going?”

Fizz stared back at him. Ash seemed like he genuinely wanted to know, and he was being so patient.

Those calm words and his touch loosened Fizz’s nerves enough to speak. “I just – I want to go, but I

need to work myself up to it, you know?”

Ash smiled at him. Fizz felt him move his hand, fingers interlacing with his. Fizz couldn’t tear his

eyes away from that smiling, handsome face. “Okay,” Ash said. “No worries. We’ll do it some other

time. We’ve got all the time you want.”

“What a charmer.”

Fizz tried to ignore that voice, even though it felt like the words were a mere breath from his ear.

“Kiss him, then. Before I do it for you.”

A possessive surge take hold of Fizz. He leant forward, his eyes open in surprise. He didn’t know

what he was doing, only that he wanted. Ash leaned in too, tilting his face. When they met, their lips

brushed together, gentle at first. Fizz blinked his eyes, seeing only burnished skin, and dark, black

eyelashes sweep closed. Ash’s hand slid against Fizz’s cheek, cupped the back of his head, guiding

him.

Fizz closed his eyes and let Ash kiss him. His first kiss. And it was so much better than he’d ever

imagined. The warm touch of lips, the faint scratch of Ash’s stubble against his face, like tiny shards

of glass. Fizz could taste the cardamom on Ash’s lips. When he felt the slick wetness of Ash’s tongue

seek entry, he opened his mouth, and pulled him closer. He wanted to lose himself in this, to forget

about everything.

The voice whispered in his ear, “Take him to your room.”

Yes, that was what he wanted. Fizz felt like he watched himself in a dream as he stood, gripped

Ash’s hands, and pulled him from the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?” Ash asked.

“Nothing.” Fizz all but dragged him down the hall, into the stuffy haze of his bedroom. He pulled

Ash against him, having to lean up on his toes to reach. Ash bent to meet his kiss, and Fizz wound his

arms around Ash’s neck, dragging him down with force.

They landed roughly on Fizz’s bed, with Ash grunting in surprise. He pulled away, glancing over

his shoulder at the doorway. “Er, Fizz...you don’t have a door here, you know.”

“No one will see.” Fizz wasn’t sure if he’d said that aloud, the words seemed to come from all

around him. He skimmed his hands over Ash’s arms, marvelling at the feel of hard muscle under soft

skin. Ash still looked pensive, so Fizz raked his nails down Ash’s back, through the thin material of

his t-shirt.

Ash shuddered against him, and Fizz slipped his hands under Ash’s clothes. He ran his hands over

bare skin, up to his shoulders, and pulled Ash lower. Closing his eyes, he sought Ash’s mouth, craving

his taste. Fizz’s heart pounded in his ears. With each breath, he could smell more of Ash, all the spice

and heat that sent his mind spiralling. It felt like a fire was burned inside him. Fizz’s mind was in a

daze, but his body was ravenous. He pressed himself against Ash, half straddling his lap.

Ash broke the kiss. “Fizz, I think we should slow down.”

“No.” Fizz pressed his weight into Ash, trapping him beneath. “Ash, please,” he gasped, grinding

his hips down. His cock was hard, so hard, and the warm body beneath him felt too good. Ash glanced

down, like he was momentarily stunned. His lips were parted, and glistened wet.

“Ash.” Fizz moved again, pressing down harder. The sensations were tearing him apart. Ash moved

his hands, gripping Fizz’s hips. He thrust up as he held Fizz in place, grinding them together. Fizz

heard the moan on his own lips, and the voice in his ear whisper, “Kiss him.”

He held onto Ash and kissed him hungrily, melding their mouths together. Footsteps sounded in the

room. Fizz broke away, panicked, and looked to the door, but no one was there. The air felt humid, and

Ash pulled him down again, seeking his mouth. They kissed hard, their tongues duelling.

“Finlay, stop it.”

“Stop what?” Fizz breathed against Ash’s lips.

“Huh?” Ash said, breathless.

“You...” Fizz pulled back, frowning. “You asked me to stop?”

“Yes, stop.”

“No! Shut up, you fool!”

Fizz stilled.

“Are you okay?” Ash asked.

“This isn’t right,” a gruff voice stated.

A low laugh echoed through the room in reply. “You’re spoiling my fun.”

Fizz clutched his head, an instinctual reaction to keep himself together. This is it, he thought. He’d

actually cracked. What the hell am I doing?

Awareness washed over him, like icy cold water. The heat left his body, and his erection flagged, as

shame and embarrassment set in. Fizz scrambled away from Ash and, in his haste, fell off the bed,

sprawling over the bare floorboards.

Ash reached for him. “Hey, you all right?”

Fizz couldn’t bear Ash’s concern. “I’m fine.” He hurried to right himself, sitting back on the

mattress. The air was filled with the sound of their breathing. “I – I’m sorry,” Fizz said.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Ash reached for his hand, but Fizz jerked away, screwing his eyes shut so he

didn’t have to look at him.

“Please go.”

“What? Why?”

“Please leave me alone.”

“But, Fizz, I –”

“Go, Ash.”

Ash was breathing hard. Fizz could hear it, but he still wouldn’t face Ash. He heard Ash suck in a

breath, then he said, “Fine.” The mattress moved as he stood up.

Fizz kept his eyes closed, even covered them with his hands. He sought refuge in the blackness; he

didn’t want to see anything. He heard Ash walk out of the room then heard two sets of footsteps stomp

away down the hall.

Well, it was official then; he was nuts.

“Shit,” he muttered, feeling his eyes prick with tears. “Shit, shit, sh–”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” a voice interrupted. “Get a hold of yourself.”

Fizz looked up, his vision bleary from pressing his hands over his eyes. He’d thought the room was

empty, but he was wrong. His gaze settled on a young man, sitting almost directly across from him.

Fizz blinked, and stared. The man wasn’t exactly sitting, he was levitating – or sitting on an invisible

chair, it seemed – with one leg crossed over the other.

Weird. Fizz wondered absently how strong his subconscious must be to create such a detailed

image. The vision was wearing an outfit; Fizz didn’t even know what style it was, only that it looked

like a vintage suit. The last rays of the setting sun from the window tinted everything orange, turning

the man’s clothes a burnt tan colour. His skin was pale, and his body slight. He didn’t look all that old

either. His face was thin and effeminate, especially with that artful flop of hazel brown hair, clipped

short at the sides, left long on top. Everything about his style was vintage yet, ironically, also in

fashion.

Maybe Fizz remembered him from a movie poster or something? Was that where he’d conjured this

vision from? The young man stared at him, his mouth slanting up in a smile. His eyes darkened and

suddenly Fizz felt fear replace his curiosity.

That smile wasn’t friendly, and those eyes were too dark. A black vapour seeped out from their

corners, rising in the air around him. Fizz blinked his eyes to focus, and noticed more things about the

man; there were bruises on his face, a cut on his lower lip. His clothes were torn in places, like he’d

been in a fight.

Fizz’s heart, which had slowed only moments ago, started beating fast.

“Ahh,” the vision said. He showed a flash of white teeth as he smiled wider. “Now you worry.”

Fizz willed himself to stay calm. He was asleep, that was all, and this was a nightmare. The

counsellors had told him for years if he knew he was in a dream, he could guide and control his way

out of it. This in mind, he swallowed hard, and said, “H-hello.”

The young man threw his head back and laughed heartily. The black vapour spilling from his eyes

was momentarily dispersed, like smoke. He stretched his legs out as he laughed, leaning back on thin

air as comfortably as if he sat on a lounger.

“Um, who are you?” Fizz asked.

The laughing stopped. The young man straightened in his seat and stared at Fizz. “Surely, dear boy,

the question is, who are you?”

Fizz was confused. “N-no, I know who I am.”

The man looked as though he were about to start laughing again. “Do you now? So tell me, are you

Jamie, or are you Fizz?”

Fizz thought about this, then voiced his first answer. “I guess...I’m both.”

“Indeed.”

“So, who are you?”

“Maybe I am you.”

Fizz didn’t think that was right. “You don’t look anything like me.”

“No,” the man sighed. “More’s the pity. What I could have done with your looks!”

Fizz felt his cheeks heat up. Why on earth would he dream up a hallucination that complimented

him? Was this his way of coping with Ash? Or more accurately, without Ash? Fizz’s eyes stung with