samanthahirr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
samanthahirr) wrote2010-04-11 11:48 am
samanthahirr) wrote2010-04-11 11:48 am
Fic: Community Rules for Hauntings AU 6/6
Title: Covington Marshes Bylaws, Section 13.D: Community Rules for Hauntings
Fandom: American Idol
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 50,000 [complete]
Warning: Horror
Disclaimer: Total fiction. No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Playlist: Read and download the playlist.
Summary: "You're sleeping in your car."
"...yeah," Kris tries not to sound defensive.
"Outside a gay bar at 2 a.m."
"Yeah."
"You really don't have any place to go, do you?"
"No, I do, I just. I can't go back there at night," Kris admits softly, unable to meet Adam's eyes.
Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Despite Kris's best efforts to believe, the ritual itself is boring and uneventful. Theresa and Michael chant over the Kris-doll in an unfamiliar language, sprinkle powders into the bowls, kiss the little wooden figures representing the loa—"Spirits that govern everyday life," Joseph had explained—hold hands and chant some more. Theresa works her way around the rosary with Hail Marys and the Lord's Prayer, dabs paste on Kris's forehead, and makes him hold the snake for a few minutes.
Adam starts yawning as they close in on midnight, and Kris tries not to think that the only one whose time isn't being wasted here is Joseph, busily filming, photographing, and taking notes on the proceedings. Kris is impatient for this to be over so he can get out of there...and maybe he's a little worried that something actually will happen, he can't be faulted for that. His attention strays from Theresa's fifth invocation of Papa Legba; he can't help but think of being back on Adam's couch, just the two of them, with no one chanting Psalms or making him drink disgusting potions that taste like honey, metal, and mud, of the kiss Adam had given him when he'd gotten back from the studio earlier that day.
The lights flicker.
"What the-" Adam says, suddenly alert.
Theresa's and Michael's eyes are closed, but Joseph looks around and then at the two of them with surprise.
Kris reaches out and grabs Adam's hand, holds his breath and prays it was just an electrical surge.
The lights flicker again, and this time Kris feels it, the brushing of something against the back of his neck, all the hair on his body suddenly standing straight up. "It's," he warns Adam, squeezing his hand as tight as he can. It's whispering. No, laughing. It's in the bedroom watching them, and Kris stares at the dark doorway, the bedroom door they hadn't bothered to shut hanging open. Was it just his eyes playing tricks, or did the door just swing an inch wider?
"What is it, Kris?" Joseph asks, studying him carefully. "Do you feel something?"
"It's here," Kris says. All eyes open and turn on him, looking for more information. "It's in the bedroom."
"What does it feel like? Can you describe it?"
"Keep your breathing calm," Theresa says in therapist-mode.
"It's." And how can Kris possibly describe it when he can't hear it, can't see it, can't touch it? He just knows.
The bedroom door slams shut and everyone gasps.
"Jesus Christ!" Michael makes the sign of the cross over his chest and stares at the door.
Theresa's mouth closes, her lips press firmly, and then she takes hold of her rosary and says, "Everyone, pray with me. Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name." They follow along. Even Adam mumbles the few phrases he's picked up from her earlier repetitions.
It's been waiting. It's ready now.
"Who said that?" Joseph whispers, interrupting the prayer. Kris looks at him in surprise. "Somebody just said I'm ready."
"You heard that?" Kris demands. "That wasn't me. That was..." The other three are looking at Kris and Joseph.
Adam's shaking slightly, his leg bouncing nervously against the rung of Kris's chair. "It talks? It's ready? For what?"
Joseph's face is awed. He taps away at his iPhone again. Kris can see sweat breaking out on his neck.
Theresa's actually looking worried, which is not helping Kris's confidence. "Theresa, tell me it's gonna be okay."
She shares a dubious look with Michael and buckles down to her rosary again. "They know what they're doing," Adam tries.
The fluorescent bulb in the overhead kitchen light bursts with a flash and a loud pop, and then a breeze flickers the candles.
"Where is it," Adam whispers.
Circling.
"Oh my God," Joseph says, whipping his head around. "Theresa, have you ever experienced anything like this before?"
Theresa is too busy to answer, she and Michael are chanting to Papa Legba, asking for protection from the loa.
Kris's internal organs are twisting themselves in knots. He has to pee, he wants to puke, his mouth's dry and his skin feels cold and clammy. He brought them here to handle the ghost, not to become fellow victims. The only reason he came back in here was because he thought it would be safe. He thought they could control it.
Nothing can control it.
"The snake," Theresa demands, and Michael tosses the shoebox lid over his shoulder and thrusts the snake into her hands. "Saint Patrick, show me!" she commands.
The television explodes in a shower of sparks and glass.
They all duck except Theresa, who's staring with wide eyes white with fear. "That's. Saints and Spirits, heavenly Father, what is that," she cries, dropping the snake amid the flowers on the table.
"Theresa, what should I do," Michael asks urgently. "Sweet merciful Father, look down on your children with kindness and protect us from the demons that plague us. Papa Legba, protector of the Gates of Heaven, defend your servants." The snake slithers off the table between Theresa and Michael, neither bothering to stop it.
And then everything goes to Hell.
The electricity suddenly cuts out, leaving only the wavering candle-light. Their panting breaths are loud in the darkness. Kris's eardrums are ringing and he wonders hysterically if saying 'Stop' would have any effect. He hears it growling and laughing, like a rabid hyena stalking its prey. And then the cabinet doors are ripped off their hinges, pressed wood splintering with the force. The contents—glasses, dishes, cans, pans—all spill onto the linoleum with a prolonged crash, and the living room windows rattle in their frames.
"Kris," Joseph says, his eyes drifting to look at something over Kris's shoulder, in the dark of the living room.
It's coiled, tensed, ready to strike. "It's coming," Kris chokes. "Adam!"
And suddenly it's there, nowhere else but right there on the table in front of him, and he's trapped, paralyzed as it licks its fangs, leans closer.
"Hail Mary, full of grace," Theresa begins, and Joseph and Michael quickly join her, "the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."
"Kris, Kris!"
They chant louder, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace."
Theresa's gasping between sentences, a whimper as she breathes.
This is the end.
"Oh God, stop it!" Adam yells, wrenching his hand free of Kris's locked fist and trying to pull Kris's chair away from the table.
Theresa grabs a handful of powder from the bowl in front of her and throws it on the table, the powder igniting off the candles with a yellow flash that blinds them all.
But Kris can breathe again, can gasp and choke, blink against the retinal flares and the smoke spitting off the candles, and realize the electricity is back, the lamp in the foyer is on and glowing with 75 watt soft white light. The microwave is beeping to be reprogrammed. The thing is gone.
"Holy shit," Adam whispers, and Kris follows his pointing finger to the shadow burned into the wall, a black shape the size of a large dog, an arm extended toward Kris. Claws.
Joseph turns around to see and gapes, fumbling for his iPhone and knocking it off the table.
Adam is cupping the back of Kris's neck, anchoring him as the adrenaline spike works its way through his bloodstream. Kris's skin is alive with electricity, he's tingling all over, especially across his chest.
He looks down and finds four long slashes in his t-shirt, from his right shoulder down to his left side. His shoulder stings and there are four lines of blood pooling in the fabric, staining the grey cotton at his shoulder. It got him. It's real and it touched him, cut him, and there's a rushing sound in his ears and his heart is trying to jump out of his chest but his legs feel heavy, useless. He can't stop staring as the red stripes grow, taking over each thread and merging into one larger stain.
"Kris? Oh no-"
"Get him out of here," Theresa orders.
Adam stops hovering and grabs Kris, hauls him from the chair and out the door of the condo, running him down the steps until they're on the sidewalk where Adam squeezes Kris's shoulder between two palms to stop the bleeding.
"It got its claws," Kris says, barely hearing his own voice over the frantic gallop of his heartbeat. He stands there, staring blindly at nothing, thinking he should be dead. If it can touch him, it can kill him. The next time it gets its claws on him, it's going to finish it.
It takes a long time for Kris's heartbeat to quiet enough that he can finally hear again. And when he can, he squeezes his eyes shut and rocks toward his lover, toward the words he wants to hear.
"Fire," Adam is promising in his ear, voice strained and harsh over the pounding of Kris's pulse. "We'll throw a block party, invite all the neighbors. When everyone's outside, you'll clear out all the pets and I'll lay down the gasoline and we'll finish this fucker off once and for all."
The moon is out, lighting the tops of the buildings and cars around them. Adam's got him under one of the streetlamps and they're ringed in light, moths flitting over their heads. "I didn't feel it cut me," Kris manages to say, surprised at the steadiness of his voice. "Not until after."
Adam tips his forehead against him and takes a deep, unsteady breath.
Kris comes back into himself bit by bit, until he realizes he hasn't even seen the damage, doesn't know how bad he's hurt. He pushes Adam's hands away urgently and Adam understands, helps him lift the thin shirt over his head, the Saint Christopher medallion jangling on his wrist. Kris swipes at the blood smeared on his shoulder with the ruined t-shirt and frowns, trying to get a better angle.
It's...it's nothing. They're barely more than scratches, not deep at all, breaking the skin up by his shoulder and trailing off as raised welts across his chest. "Oh my god," Kris says, relief warring with the horror that it still touched him, crossed a void to get at him. At him.
Adam wraps both arms around Kris and hugs him hard. "That's it, that's the worst that's gonna happen, I promise," Adam says, his promises as appealing and futile as ever.
They look up when they hear footsteps in the quiet, Michael leading Theresa and Joseph down the steps, all of them seeming just as shell-shocked as Kris feels. They gather under the streetlamp, Theresa looking particularly shaken by the bloody marks on Kris. "I'm sorry," she says.
"Sorry?" Adam demands, shrill and brittle.
"Adam," Kris soothes. He looks at Theresa. "You saw it. You know what it is."
She shakes her head. "I don't know what that was. I've never encountered anything like it. I know it was never human—this is no ghost. But this isn't the way the loa behave. It had form. It crossed the threshold and touched you."
Kris shudders. "Tell me you know what to do."
"I think..." she hesitates. "I think we need to do a lot more research before the next ritual."
Even Michael Dee looks shocked at that.
"Another?" Adam shouts. "You mean you wanna try that again? No way. I'm not letting you put Kris in front of that thing again. All your prayers, your charms," he grabs the amulet around Kris's neck and shakes it at her, "your snake, they were for shit!"
"But you at least have an idea, right?" Kris pleads. "Some idea what it was, how to get rid of it? You sent it away with that powder, can't you use that somehow?"
Theresa and Michael look at each other helplessly, shaking their heads. The iPhone clicks and Kris realizes Joseph is photographing his bare chest.
"This is. No. This is not fair," Kris shouts, starting to lose it. They were his only hope and they're completely worthless. "Why me? Why does it want me so bad? What the hell did I ever do to deserve this?" He pulls the amulet over his head and throws it across the parking lot. "I can't live like this. I can't have this thing tied to me, waiting for me." No one speaks. "If you've really got nothing, then I'm going with the only option that has a chance of working." They can't meet his eyes, so Kris turns in Adam's arms and says, his mind made up, "We're going with your plan."
"What's your plan?" Joseph asks Adam, intrigued.
"Burn the fucker down," Kris says with grim determination.
Adam marches Kris a few steps away, hisses, "Baby, not in front of witnesses."
And oh shit, Kris had momentarily forgotten the whole arson-is-a-felony portion of the plan. And he's just announced it, premeditated it in the middle of the development.
"No, you can't!" the professor yelps, running around Adam to get to Kris. "This is- this is a brush with the divine! This is proof of another plane of existence. Life after death, the supernatural—we don't know what it is yet!"
"You heard it," Kris points out. "It's not an angel, it's a demon."
"It's a monster," Adam snaps.
"It's amazing," Joseph insists. "You can't destroy it. It's too important to the world. We have to experience everything it can-"
"It's trying to kill me!" Kris yells. "What the hell am I supposed to do? I've got this fucking albatross around my neck trying to rip my guts out, and I can't sell it, I can't get foreclosed, I can't destroy it, and I sure as fuck can't live there, so what the hell am I supposed to do? It's my home, my responsibility, and I have no clue what to-"
"You can sell it to me," Joseph begs, catching hold of his hand.
"What? No I can't," Kris shoves him away, Adam's arms going tense around him.
"Why not? I know what's in there. I felt it. I heard it. I'll research it, like Theresa wants. I'm not going to let anyone else go in there until I've figured out how to control it. I'm not afraid of it—I know what I'm doing..."
Adam turns to the two voodoo experts, "What do you think?"
They both shrug.
"He can't-" Kris starts to protest, but Theresa cuts him off.
"Joseph knows almost as much about voodoo history and practices as I do, plus a whole host of other religions." The professor nods vigorously. "He's...maybe a little crazy for wanting to take this on, but I think of all of us he's most capable of approaching this with an open, rational mind."
"I'm completely serious about this," Joseph presses. "I'll get more help and document everything. I won't take unnecessary risks, and I'll get to the source of whatever that thing is."
"And if there's a book in there..." Theresa pins the professor with a suspicious frown.
Joseph tries and fails to look completely innocent. His fingers tighten around his phone protectively.
"I'm sure he'll credit you in the Author's Notes," she says firmly.
"Of course! Of course, if you'll allow me. And money isn't an obstacle. I've got an advance coming, plus savings. I'll pay any price you want."
"Any price," Adam echoes.
Kris drags Adam away by his wrist, getting some space so he can tell Adam to stop listening to the crazy professor. "There's no way I can sell," Kris says when they're standing between an old Ford Explorer and a tiny, beat up Volkswagen on the opposite side of the lot.
Adam puts his hands on his shoulders and pushes Kris down to sit on the curb, squeezes next to him in the small space between the two front bumpers. "Yes, you can."
"No, Adam. The guy's insane. He saw what it did in there, what it did to me, and he wants to move in?"
"He didn't say anything about moving in," Adam corrects him. "He said he wants to study it."
"Why? It's obviously evil. He should want to kill it."
"Maybe he does. Maybe he will. But what difference does it make?"
"I have to be sure it's gone. I have to kill it-"
"No, you don't. You just have to stop it from hurting anybody. You don't have to do any more than that. And Dr. Kielce is willing to take on that burden for you."
"But..."
"He said he won't let anyone else get hurt. You don't believe him?"
Kris's chest burns and he feels like crying. Too many impossible things have happened to him, been asked of him tonight, he can't even think straight.
"You know it makes sense. Why are you holding onto it?" Adam asks, rubbing his back.
"I don't...I don't know," he admits, leaning against Adam's shoulder. "I hate it so much, and it scares me so bad."
"Then walk away. He'll take the responsibility. He knows what he's getting into."
Part of him is gibbering and pleading to run away from the terrifying unknown that's hunting him. And he's ashamed that he might agree out of that selfish fear. "If I say yes, it's because I'm too scared to face it myself."
"No, it's because we're not the right people to deal with this. We're out of our league; that thing's way too big for us to handle. Joseph's the right guy for the job. It makes sense."
And maybe it does, but it's still the easy way out. And what would Adam think of him—what would he think of himself if he did it? "I gotta be able to live with this."
"You're not doing anything bad by saying yes," Adam says, kisses his ear. "You were never meant to be in this position. Let the right guy have the job."
Indecision tips 10% in favor of selling the condo, and that's the best Kris can come up with tonight. He nods, tears welling up, relief or stress, he can't tell. "Yes," he says.
When they rejoin the group, Kris fidgets, says, "Are you absolutely sure you can handle that thing-"
But Adam just blurts, "$165,000, as-is."
Kris takes a sharp breath because Adam knows he paid barely over $100,000 for the foreclosure three months ago.
Joseph sticks out a hand to Adam, corrects and sticks it out to Kris. "Fantastic. It's a deal."
Adam nudges Kris and he reaches out his hand, feeling numb, feeling isolated and alone, until Joseph grabs his wrist and shakes his hand, pumps his fingers with warm, steady hands.
And like that, the responsibility shifts. It's as if something tangible flows between them, draining out of Kris's body and passing into Joseph's. Kris feels empty and nervous in its wake, but he no longer feels trapped. In fact, he's suddenly aware that he no longer belongs here, no longer feels like he has to stick around.
"Do you wanna get any more stuff out before we leave?" Adam asks.
Kris shakes his head, letting go of Joseph's hand. "I don't want anything that's still in there." He looks solemnly at the professor. "As far as I'm concerned, it all belongs to you. You can do whatever you want with it."
Joseph beams and announces he'd like to get a photo of himself and Kris. "Adam, would you do the honors?"
They roll down the windows as they pull out of the development for the last time a few minutes later, letting in the crisp autumn night. The marshes smell sweet, the humid breezes soft against his hand as it glides through the turbulence of the drivers side mirror. The air curls against his bare skin, and Kris actually laughs at the memory of Joseph's parting request to keep his ripped and bloodied shirt as evidence.
Adam notices and says, "You're smiling."
"Yeah."
"It's over."
"Yeah, I think it really is."
"And we didn't even have to commit a federal crime."
"The gasoline would've ruined your cuticles," Kris agrees thankfully.
"Oh my god, I love you," Adam sighs, relief thickening his voice. "After the night we've had, you can still make jokes."
Kris's throat is tight but his smile just gets wider. "It's either laugh or cry. Cause technically I'm back to being a homeless guy looking for a place to crash. This feels an awful lot like square one."
"You're not homeless; you live with me."
"I don't move in with people after one date."
Adam twists in his seat and puts a hand on Kris's thigh. "How 'bout after the second?"
20 months later...
When Kris gets home on Friday evening the first thing he smells is the chemical burn of nail polish, the stink of it filling the entire apartment. He bites his tongue and instinctively makes sure the door doesn't slam, catching it with his heel before pulling it closed behind him.
Adam's in the living room with the TV on, bent over the coffee table. "Hey, babe!" he calls.
"What's going on?" Kris calls back, half-hearted. He doesn't step into the living room—heads straight for the kitchen fridge instead.
"Oh my god, it's so awesome; Simon gave us the go ahead for Daisy's Joan Collins extravaganza next Saturday!"
Kris pulls out a beer and twists off the lid, sets the bottle on the counter. He looks out the window at the other luxury apartment buildings surrounding Metairie Square and starts unbuttoning his brown plaid shirt. "Who's buying the turbans?" he asks, even though he knows he shouldn't.
"Daisy and I are driving to The Empire Waistland tomorrow. You wanna come?"
Kris pauses as he pulls off his shirt, hands balling into fists around the fabric. "And have you asked Simon about reimbursement for the cost of all your costumes?"
Adam sighs loud enough that Kris can hear it in the kitchen. "He already said last year that's why our salaries are so high. He's not gonna change his mind just cause we ask again."
Kris turns with his beer and faces out over the breakfast bar, watching the side of Adam's head as he bends to lay another careful swipe of color on his hand. "No, they're so high so he doesn't have to give you medical insurance. You're just contractors, not employees."
"Oh, come on-" Adam's voice has the unhappy edge that Kris needs.
"You've been dancing on that beer-soaked stage for two years. You're lucky you haven't had an accident yet. Look at Frankie-"
"That was just a sprain-"
"And next time it'll be Daisy's knee, or your back. And we're gonna have to pay out of-"
"Stop right there," Adam cuts him off sharply. "You always push this button when you're upset with me. So what is it? What's eating you?" Adam finishes his nails, throws an arm over the edge of the couch to glare at him.
Kris takes a long sip, stalling.
"Kris," Adam prods. "That was a dead giveaway. Just tell me why you're upset and we'll deal with it. What'd I do?"
It's unfair that Adam can read him this well.
"Don't make me come over there."
Kris relents with a sigh, kicks his shoes off and wanders over in his t-shirt to join Adam on the couch. "I wanted a date night," he says quietly, tries to keep the sulk out of his voice.
"We can go out," Adam protests.
"You have to be at Simon's in three hours. And these..." Kris picks up Adam's right hand and threads their fingers together, carefully keeping the wet, glittering gold nails separated. They'll take at least 15 minutes to set, and then another hour before Adam can risk coming into contact with anything textured. They can't even fool around for at least 45 minutes.
"Oh," Adam murmurs when he gets it, looking at their joined hands. "I didn't know," he insists.
"I know," Kris admits, giving up on the fight he was looking for.
Adam leans in and kisses his temple.
"Today was hard," Kris says, not an apology, but the explanation Adam needs.
"You wanna tell me about it?"
"Not yet. I'm still not sure how I feel."
He'd been so excited when Martin had told him somebody wanted to buy one of his songs. After no response to an entire album's worth of demos for six months, it felt like Christmas to actually get that call. He'd been looking forward to meeting the buyer for the past week. He'd just...expected someone who wouldn't have to rely on pitch correction to stay in tune. But royalties are royalties, and Kris's dream of selling his music is contingent on actually letting someone buy it, so he's happy, really. He just wishes he could block out his guilty conscience nagging that the song deserves better.
"Tell me tomorrow?" Adam asks.
Kris nods.
"I'm sorry we can't go out."
"Don't be. It's my fault I didn't call."
"Yes it is," Adam agrees, tugging their hands up and kissing Kris's knuckles. "So what do you want for dinner, since it looks like we're ordering in."
Kris sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. "Lo mein."
"Sounds good."
After Kris orders the food he props his feet up on the coffee table and puts their hands on his thigh, Adam's nails facing up so they won't get imprinted with the grooves of his jeans. "How was last night? How'd the new Prince song go?" he makes himself ask, trying to cheer up for his boyfriend's sake. It's not like he's gonna pay attention to whatever lame scifi movie Adam's watching.
Adam's face lights up. "Frankie said it was to die for. Simon liked it, too. I think the crowd was into it. I could've hit the high F's better, but I was thinking about too much at once, trying to work with the live snake. I think with a little more practice it'll be perfect."
Kris smiles, stretches his fingers under Adam's. "Good. I'm proud of you. You gonna do it when I can watch?"
"Totally. How 'bout next Saturday?"
"Isn't that Joan Collins Night?"
"What's wrong with Joan holding a snake?"
"Nothing," Kris grins despite himself, shaking his head. It would either be epically hot or a complete disaster. Since it's Adam, Kris bets on the former. "But I'm just thinking, you know, wearing a turban, the crowd might think you're playing a literal snake charmer."
Adam sucks a breath through his teeth. "I didn't think of that. Um. How 'bout the week after?"
"Yeah, how 'bout that," Kris agrees.
"Oh, and Neil called this afternoon; he's going to a wedding in Miami next week and he wants to spend Wednesday night with us."
"Great! Did you tell him I convinced Martin to sell me that record he needs?"
"Yeah, funny thing: I told him you had the record, and then he started talking about visiting."
Kris squeezes Adam's hand and teases, "Don't be jealous just cause your brother has more in common with me than with you."
"I have our entire childhood in common," he sniffs.
"And I have a vintage pressing of John Coltrane with the Miles Davis Quintet." Kris waits for Adam to pout before laughing and leaning over to kiss that protruding lower lip, brushing blue-black hair out of his way so he can taste the chapstick. "Does he wanna crash on the couch, or at my place?"
Kris's apartment is basically just a practice studio, since he never sleeps there and only uses it when he needs a quiet place to write. It's a waste of good rent money, but Kris hadn't been ready to officially move in with Adam after he'd sold the condo. So many times during his marriage he'd wished he had a place to disappear to. Getting a place for himself—even if he never used it—had felt like the right thing to do at the time.
With Adam's and his two-year anniversary coming up, though...Kris thinks it's past time he gave it up. If anything, the saved money will help pay for the medical insurance neither of them gets from work. And there goes his brain, circling back to the fight he no longer wants to have tonight.
"Couch," Adam announces, answering a question Kris has already forgotten he asked. "Otherwise we'll have to drive him back and forth."
Kris isn't listening because something on the television screen has caught his eye: an image from his past, low-slung buildings with brick façades.... He grabs the remote and turns up the volume.
"The next episode of Ghost Hunters travels to a New Orleans condo development to investigate the haunting that inspired the best-selling book Scientific Proof of the Supernatural: Case Study and Documentation of a Violent Haunting, and the upcoming major motion picture A Night with the Devil starring Shia LaBeouf. Grant & Jason visit with professor and celebrity author Dr. Joseph Kielce, who claims he doesn't dare spend the night in his own home. Find out if this new local-legend is real or not, on the next Ghost Hunters...."
They sit in stunned silence, ignoring the Progressive Insurance commercial that follows, both of them reliving the events of 20 months ago.
Until Kris shakes his head and gasps, "A movie?" because he already knew about the book's success—had firmly declined Joseph's offer of a thank you check when the sales started taking off—but Jesus Christ, a Hollywood film deal? That's bordering on war-profiteering. Kris either wants to thank Joseph for the thousandth time for freeing him from his demon, or punch him for turning Kris's hell into a runaway cash cow; he can't tell which.
"Ghost Hunters!" Adam sounds strangled. "That was totally my idea!"
And Kris remembers a conversation on Bourbon Street, Adam laughing at him, telling him they'd get through it together. "You did. You called it," he groans, hearing a million I-told-you-so's in his future.
"And Shia LaBeouf?! You are way cuter than him."
"You don't think I'm in the movie, do you?"
"Well, he's either playing you or one of those undergrads Joseph sent in there last year to do 'research.' If it's you, you've gotta get a lawyer and a cut of the ticket proceeds. There's no way he can cut you out."
"Oh my god, Adam," Kris says, appalled. "Wait. What are you doing?"
Adam pecks gingerly at the remote control buttons. "I'm DVR'ing it, duh. I am not missing this."
"Oh my God," Kris groans again, releasing Adam's other hand to cover his face. His left palm is sweaty from the hand-holding. He takes a long pull from his beer instead.
"And you felt bad about taking his money at settlement," Adam reminds him. "That Joseph. Damn. He's one crafty bastard."
Adam finishes programming the DVR and they watch the flickering images on the screen in silence, Kris working through his complicated emotional response to the commercial. In a way, he's glad for the reminder of what he'd escaped; it helps put his lousy day in perspective. He'd had a bad day, yeah. He'd come home spoiling for a fight, yeah. But none of that stuff actually matters.
Because he's sold his first song, and when he starts selling more he'll be able to take fewer sessions, can change his schedule so he isn't asleep when Adam gets home, isn't leaving while Adam's still in bed, day after day. And at the end and the beginning of the day, that's what's most important to him. So what does it matter if Joseph is cashing in on Kris's former-misery? It's already gotten Kris out of debt, gotten him Adam...maybe Joseph hasn't been the only one benefiting.
"I know what I have to do," Kris announces.
"What's that?"
"It was your idea, actually," Kris hints. "You have all the good ideas."
"Get a good lawyer?" Adam asks, rubbing his palm over Kris's knee, consoling.
He shakes his head.
"So tell me already."
Kris lets a slow, satisfied smile ease across his lips and plays with the Saint Christopher necklace wrapped around Adam's wrist. "Find out who's producing the soundtrack for that movie. Cause Joseph owes me a really big favor and I'm gonna call it in."
THE END
Community Rules for Hauntings playlist:
01 - The Editors - In This Light And On This Evening
02 - SoulSavers - Ghosts Of You And Me
03 - CALLmeKAT - Flower In The Night
04 - Afterhours - Il Sangue Di Giuda
05 - The Gutter Twins - Spanish Doors
06 - Amon Tobin - Bloodstone
07 - Patrick Wolf - Ghost Song
08 - Gorillaz - White Light
09 - Rob Zombie - The Ballad Of Resurrection Joe & Rosa Whore
10 - Brand New - Sink
11 - Modest Mouse - Satin In A Coffin
12 - Sunset Rubdown - A Day In The Graveyard II
13 - The Leisure Society - The Darkest Place I Know
14 - Frightened Rabbit - Keep Yourself Warm
15 - Grace Jones - Corporate Cannibal
16 - Portishead - Wandering Star
17 - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - As Sure As The Sun
18 - Brand New - At The Bottom
19 - The Gaslight Anthem - The Navesink Banks
20 - Daniel Lanois - Amazing Grace
21 - SafetySuit - Find A Way
22 - The Used - Smother Me
23 - Alabama 3 - Strange
24 - Kenna - Within Earshot
25 - The Sound Of Arrows - A Very Sad Song
26 - Stars - The Night Starts Here
Fandom: American Idol
Pairing: Adam/Kris
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 50,000 [complete]
Warning: Horror
Disclaimer: Total fiction. No infringement on the rights of real people intended. Not profiting in any way.
Playlist: Read and download the playlist.
Summary: "You're sleeping in your car."
"...yeah," Kris tries not to sound defensive.
"Outside a gay bar at 2 a.m."
"Yeah."
"You really don't have any place to go, do you?"
"No, I do, I just. I can't go back there at night," Kris admits softly, unable to meet Adam's eyes.
Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Despite Kris's best efforts to believe, the ritual itself is boring and uneventful. Theresa and Michael chant over the Kris-doll in an unfamiliar language, sprinkle powders into the bowls, kiss the little wooden figures representing the loa—"Spirits that govern everyday life," Joseph had explained—hold hands and chant some more. Theresa works her way around the rosary with Hail Marys and the Lord's Prayer, dabs paste on Kris's forehead, and makes him hold the snake for a few minutes.
Adam starts yawning as they close in on midnight, and Kris tries not to think that the only one whose time isn't being wasted here is Joseph, busily filming, photographing, and taking notes on the proceedings. Kris is impatient for this to be over so he can get out of there...and maybe he's a little worried that something actually will happen, he can't be faulted for that. His attention strays from Theresa's fifth invocation of Papa Legba; he can't help but think of being back on Adam's couch, just the two of them, with no one chanting Psalms or making him drink disgusting potions that taste like honey, metal, and mud, of the kiss Adam had given him when he'd gotten back from the studio earlier that day.
The lights flicker.
"What the-" Adam says, suddenly alert.
Theresa's and Michael's eyes are closed, but Joseph looks around and then at the two of them with surprise.
Kris reaches out and grabs Adam's hand, holds his breath and prays it was just an electrical surge.
The lights flicker again, and this time Kris feels it, the brushing of something against the back of his neck, all the hair on his body suddenly standing straight up. "It's," he warns Adam, squeezing his hand as tight as he can. It's whispering. No, laughing. It's in the bedroom watching them, and Kris stares at the dark doorway, the bedroom door they hadn't bothered to shut hanging open. Was it just his eyes playing tricks, or did the door just swing an inch wider?
"What is it, Kris?" Joseph asks, studying him carefully. "Do you feel something?"
"It's here," Kris says. All eyes open and turn on him, looking for more information. "It's in the bedroom."
"What does it feel like? Can you describe it?"
"Keep your breathing calm," Theresa says in therapist-mode.
"It's." And how can Kris possibly describe it when he can't hear it, can't see it, can't touch it? He just knows.
The bedroom door slams shut and everyone gasps.
"Jesus Christ!" Michael makes the sign of the cross over his chest and stares at the door.
Theresa's mouth closes, her lips press firmly, and then she takes hold of her rosary and says, "Everyone, pray with me. Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name." They follow along. Even Adam mumbles the few phrases he's picked up from her earlier repetitions.
It's been waiting. It's ready now.
"Who said that?" Joseph whispers, interrupting the prayer. Kris looks at him in surprise. "Somebody just said I'm ready."
"You heard that?" Kris demands. "That wasn't me. That was..." The other three are looking at Kris and Joseph.
Adam's shaking slightly, his leg bouncing nervously against the rung of Kris's chair. "It talks? It's ready? For what?"
Joseph's face is awed. He taps away at his iPhone again. Kris can see sweat breaking out on his neck.
Theresa's actually looking worried, which is not helping Kris's confidence. "Theresa, tell me it's gonna be okay."
She shares a dubious look with Michael and buckles down to her rosary again. "They know what they're doing," Adam tries.
The fluorescent bulb in the overhead kitchen light bursts with a flash and a loud pop, and then a breeze flickers the candles.
"Where is it," Adam whispers.
Circling.
"Oh my God," Joseph says, whipping his head around. "Theresa, have you ever experienced anything like this before?"
Theresa is too busy to answer, she and Michael are chanting to Papa Legba, asking for protection from the loa.
Kris's internal organs are twisting themselves in knots. He has to pee, he wants to puke, his mouth's dry and his skin feels cold and clammy. He brought them here to handle the ghost, not to become fellow victims. The only reason he came back in here was because he thought it would be safe. He thought they could control it.
Nothing can control it.
"The snake," Theresa demands, and Michael tosses the shoebox lid over his shoulder and thrusts the snake into her hands. "Saint Patrick, show me!" she commands.
The television explodes in a shower of sparks and glass.
They all duck except Theresa, who's staring with wide eyes white with fear. "That's. Saints and Spirits, heavenly Father, what is that," she cries, dropping the snake amid the flowers on the table.
"Theresa, what should I do," Michael asks urgently. "Sweet merciful Father, look down on your children with kindness and protect us from the demons that plague us. Papa Legba, protector of the Gates of Heaven, defend your servants." The snake slithers off the table between Theresa and Michael, neither bothering to stop it.
And then everything goes to Hell.
The electricity suddenly cuts out, leaving only the wavering candle-light. Their panting breaths are loud in the darkness. Kris's eardrums are ringing and he wonders hysterically if saying 'Stop' would have any effect. He hears it growling and laughing, like a rabid hyena stalking its prey. And then the cabinet doors are ripped off their hinges, pressed wood splintering with the force. The contents—glasses, dishes, cans, pans—all spill onto the linoleum with a prolonged crash, and the living room windows rattle in their frames.
"Kris," Joseph says, his eyes drifting to look at something over Kris's shoulder, in the dark of the living room.
It's coiled, tensed, ready to strike. "It's coming," Kris chokes. "Adam!"
And suddenly it's there, nowhere else but right there on the table in front of him, and he's trapped, paralyzed as it licks its fangs, leans closer.
"Hail Mary, full of grace," Theresa begins, and Joseph and Michael quickly join her, "the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."
"Kris, Kris!"
They chant louder, "Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace."
Theresa's gasping between sentences, a whimper as she breathes.
This is the end.
"Oh God, stop it!" Adam yells, wrenching his hand free of Kris's locked fist and trying to pull Kris's chair away from the table.
Theresa grabs a handful of powder from the bowl in front of her and throws it on the table, the powder igniting off the candles with a yellow flash that blinds them all.
But Kris can breathe again, can gasp and choke, blink against the retinal flares and the smoke spitting off the candles, and realize the electricity is back, the lamp in the foyer is on and glowing with 75 watt soft white light. The microwave is beeping to be reprogrammed. The thing is gone.
"Holy shit," Adam whispers, and Kris follows his pointing finger to the shadow burned into the wall, a black shape the size of a large dog, an arm extended toward Kris. Claws.
Joseph turns around to see and gapes, fumbling for his iPhone and knocking it off the table.
Adam is cupping the back of Kris's neck, anchoring him as the adrenaline spike works its way through his bloodstream. Kris's skin is alive with electricity, he's tingling all over, especially across his chest.
He looks down and finds four long slashes in his t-shirt, from his right shoulder down to his left side. His shoulder stings and there are four lines of blood pooling in the fabric, staining the grey cotton at his shoulder. It got him. It's real and it touched him, cut him, and there's a rushing sound in his ears and his heart is trying to jump out of his chest but his legs feel heavy, useless. He can't stop staring as the red stripes grow, taking over each thread and merging into one larger stain.
"Kris? Oh no-"
"Get him out of here," Theresa orders.
Adam stops hovering and grabs Kris, hauls him from the chair and out the door of the condo, running him down the steps until they're on the sidewalk where Adam squeezes Kris's shoulder between two palms to stop the bleeding.
"It got its claws," Kris says, barely hearing his own voice over the frantic gallop of his heartbeat. He stands there, staring blindly at nothing, thinking he should be dead. If it can touch him, it can kill him. The next time it gets its claws on him, it's going to finish it.
It takes a long time for Kris's heartbeat to quiet enough that he can finally hear again. And when he can, he squeezes his eyes shut and rocks toward his lover, toward the words he wants to hear.
"Fire," Adam is promising in his ear, voice strained and harsh over the pounding of Kris's pulse. "We'll throw a block party, invite all the neighbors. When everyone's outside, you'll clear out all the pets and I'll lay down the gasoline and we'll finish this fucker off once and for all."
The moon is out, lighting the tops of the buildings and cars around them. Adam's got him under one of the streetlamps and they're ringed in light, moths flitting over their heads. "I didn't feel it cut me," Kris manages to say, surprised at the steadiness of his voice. "Not until after."
Adam tips his forehead against him and takes a deep, unsteady breath.
Kris comes back into himself bit by bit, until he realizes he hasn't even seen the damage, doesn't know how bad he's hurt. He pushes Adam's hands away urgently and Adam understands, helps him lift the thin shirt over his head, the Saint Christopher medallion jangling on his wrist. Kris swipes at the blood smeared on his shoulder with the ruined t-shirt and frowns, trying to get a better angle.
It's...it's nothing. They're barely more than scratches, not deep at all, breaking the skin up by his shoulder and trailing off as raised welts across his chest. "Oh my god," Kris says, relief warring with the horror that it still touched him, crossed a void to get at him. At him.
Adam wraps both arms around Kris and hugs him hard. "That's it, that's the worst that's gonna happen, I promise," Adam says, his promises as appealing and futile as ever.
They look up when they hear footsteps in the quiet, Michael leading Theresa and Joseph down the steps, all of them seeming just as shell-shocked as Kris feels. They gather under the streetlamp, Theresa looking particularly shaken by the bloody marks on Kris. "I'm sorry," she says.
"Sorry?" Adam demands, shrill and brittle.
"Adam," Kris soothes. He looks at Theresa. "You saw it. You know what it is."
She shakes her head. "I don't know what that was. I've never encountered anything like it. I know it was never human—this is no ghost. But this isn't the way the loa behave. It had form. It crossed the threshold and touched you."
Kris shudders. "Tell me you know what to do."
"I think..." she hesitates. "I think we need to do a lot more research before the next ritual."
Even Michael Dee looks shocked at that.
"Another?" Adam shouts. "You mean you wanna try that again? No way. I'm not letting you put Kris in front of that thing again. All your prayers, your charms," he grabs the amulet around Kris's neck and shakes it at her, "your snake, they were for shit!"
"But you at least have an idea, right?" Kris pleads. "Some idea what it was, how to get rid of it? You sent it away with that powder, can't you use that somehow?"
Theresa and Michael look at each other helplessly, shaking their heads. The iPhone clicks and Kris realizes Joseph is photographing his bare chest.
"This is. No. This is not fair," Kris shouts, starting to lose it. They were his only hope and they're completely worthless. "Why me? Why does it want me so bad? What the hell did I ever do to deserve this?" He pulls the amulet over his head and throws it across the parking lot. "I can't live like this. I can't have this thing tied to me, waiting for me." No one speaks. "If you've really got nothing, then I'm going with the only option that has a chance of working." They can't meet his eyes, so Kris turns in Adam's arms and says, his mind made up, "We're going with your plan."
"What's your plan?" Joseph asks Adam, intrigued.
"Burn the fucker down," Kris says with grim determination.
Adam marches Kris a few steps away, hisses, "Baby, not in front of witnesses."
And oh shit, Kris had momentarily forgotten the whole arson-is-a-felony portion of the plan. And he's just announced it, premeditated it in the middle of the development.
"No, you can't!" the professor yelps, running around Adam to get to Kris. "This is- this is a brush with the divine! This is proof of another plane of existence. Life after death, the supernatural—we don't know what it is yet!"
"You heard it," Kris points out. "It's not an angel, it's a demon."
"It's a monster," Adam snaps.
"It's amazing," Joseph insists. "You can't destroy it. It's too important to the world. We have to experience everything it can-"
"It's trying to kill me!" Kris yells. "What the hell am I supposed to do? I've got this fucking albatross around my neck trying to rip my guts out, and I can't sell it, I can't get foreclosed, I can't destroy it, and I sure as fuck can't live there, so what the hell am I supposed to do? It's my home, my responsibility, and I have no clue what to-"
"You can sell it to me," Joseph begs, catching hold of his hand.
"What? No I can't," Kris shoves him away, Adam's arms going tense around him.
"Why not? I know what's in there. I felt it. I heard it. I'll research it, like Theresa wants. I'm not going to let anyone else go in there until I've figured out how to control it. I'm not afraid of it—I know what I'm doing..."
Adam turns to the two voodoo experts, "What do you think?"
They both shrug.
"He can't-" Kris starts to protest, but Theresa cuts him off.
"Joseph knows almost as much about voodoo history and practices as I do, plus a whole host of other religions." The professor nods vigorously. "He's...maybe a little crazy for wanting to take this on, but I think of all of us he's most capable of approaching this with an open, rational mind."
"I'm completely serious about this," Joseph presses. "I'll get more help and document everything. I won't take unnecessary risks, and I'll get to the source of whatever that thing is."
"And if there's a book in there..." Theresa pins the professor with a suspicious frown.
Joseph tries and fails to look completely innocent. His fingers tighten around his phone protectively.
"I'm sure he'll credit you in the Author's Notes," she says firmly.
"Of course! Of course, if you'll allow me. And money isn't an obstacle. I've got an advance coming, plus savings. I'll pay any price you want."
"Any price," Adam echoes.
Kris drags Adam away by his wrist, getting some space so he can tell Adam to stop listening to the crazy professor. "There's no way I can sell," Kris says when they're standing between an old Ford Explorer and a tiny, beat up Volkswagen on the opposite side of the lot.
Adam puts his hands on his shoulders and pushes Kris down to sit on the curb, squeezes next to him in the small space between the two front bumpers. "Yes, you can."
"No, Adam. The guy's insane. He saw what it did in there, what it did to me, and he wants to move in?"
"He didn't say anything about moving in," Adam corrects him. "He said he wants to study it."
"Why? It's obviously evil. He should want to kill it."
"Maybe he does. Maybe he will. But what difference does it make?"
"I have to be sure it's gone. I have to kill it-"
"No, you don't. You just have to stop it from hurting anybody. You don't have to do any more than that. And Dr. Kielce is willing to take on that burden for you."
"But..."
"He said he won't let anyone else get hurt. You don't believe him?"
Kris's chest burns and he feels like crying. Too many impossible things have happened to him, been asked of him tonight, he can't even think straight.
"You know it makes sense. Why are you holding onto it?" Adam asks, rubbing his back.
"I don't...I don't know," he admits, leaning against Adam's shoulder. "I hate it so much, and it scares me so bad."
"Then walk away. He'll take the responsibility. He knows what he's getting into."
Part of him is gibbering and pleading to run away from the terrifying unknown that's hunting him. And he's ashamed that he might agree out of that selfish fear. "If I say yes, it's because I'm too scared to face it myself."
"No, it's because we're not the right people to deal with this. We're out of our league; that thing's way too big for us to handle. Joseph's the right guy for the job. It makes sense."
And maybe it does, but it's still the easy way out. And what would Adam think of him—what would he think of himself if he did it? "I gotta be able to live with this."
"You're not doing anything bad by saying yes," Adam says, kisses his ear. "You were never meant to be in this position. Let the right guy have the job."
Indecision tips 10% in favor of selling the condo, and that's the best Kris can come up with tonight. He nods, tears welling up, relief or stress, he can't tell. "Yes," he says.
When they rejoin the group, Kris fidgets, says, "Are you absolutely sure you can handle that thing-"
But Adam just blurts, "$165,000, as-is."
Kris takes a sharp breath because Adam knows he paid barely over $100,000 for the foreclosure three months ago.
Joseph sticks out a hand to Adam, corrects and sticks it out to Kris. "Fantastic. It's a deal."
Adam nudges Kris and he reaches out his hand, feeling numb, feeling isolated and alone, until Joseph grabs his wrist and shakes his hand, pumps his fingers with warm, steady hands.
And like that, the responsibility shifts. It's as if something tangible flows between them, draining out of Kris's body and passing into Joseph's. Kris feels empty and nervous in its wake, but he no longer feels trapped. In fact, he's suddenly aware that he no longer belongs here, no longer feels like he has to stick around.
"Do you wanna get any more stuff out before we leave?" Adam asks.
Kris shakes his head, letting go of Joseph's hand. "I don't want anything that's still in there." He looks solemnly at the professor. "As far as I'm concerned, it all belongs to you. You can do whatever you want with it."
Joseph beams and announces he'd like to get a photo of himself and Kris. "Adam, would you do the honors?"
They roll down the windows as they pull out of the development for the last time a few minutes later, letting in the crisp autumn night. The marshes smell sweet, the humid breezes soft against his hand as it glides through the turbulence of the drivers side mirror. The air curls against his bare skin, and Kris actually laughs at the memory of Joseph's parting request to keep his ripped and bloodied shirt as evidence.
Adam notices and says, "You're smiling."
"Yeah."
"It's over."
"Yeah, I think it really is."
"And we didn't even have to commit a federal crime."
"The gasoline would've ruined your cuticles," Kris agrees thankfully.
"Oh my god, I love you," Adam sighs, relief thickening his voice. "After the night we've had, you can still make jokes."
Kris's throat is tight but his smile just gets wider. "It's either laugh or cry. Cause technically I'm back to being a homeless guy looking for a place to crash. This feels an awful lot like square one."
"You're not homeless; you live with me."
"I don't move in with people after one date."
Adam twists in his seat and puts a hand on Kris's thigh. "How 'bout after the second?"
20 months later...
When Kris gets home on Friday evening the first thing he smells is the chemical burn of nail polish, the stink of it filling the entire apartment. He bites his tongue and instinctively makes sure the door doesn't slam, catching it with his heel before pulling it closed behind him.
Adam's in the living room with the TV on, bent over the coffee table. "Hey, babe!" he calls.
"What's going on?" Kris calls back, half-hearted. He doesn't step into the living room—heads straight for the kitchen fridge instead.
"Oh my god, it's so awesome; Simon gave us the go ahead for Daisy's Joan Collins extravaganza next Saturday!"
Kris pulls out a beer and twists off the lid, sets the bottle on the counter. He looks out the window at the other luxury apartment buildings surrounding Metairie Square and starts unbuttoning his brown plaid shirt. "Who's buying the turbans?" he asks, even though he knows he shouldn't.
"Daisy and I are driving to The Empire Waistland tomorrow. You wanna come?"
Kris pauses as he pulls off his shirt, hands balling into fists around the fabric. "And have you asked Simon about reimbursement for the cost of all your costumes?"
Adam sighs loud enough that Kris can hear it in the kitchen. "He already said last year that's why our salaries are so high. He's not gonna change his mind just cause we ask again."
Kris turns with his beer and faces out over the breakfast bar, watching the side of Adam's head as he bends to lay another careful swipe of color on his hand. "No, they're so high so he doesn't have to give you medical insurance. You're just contractors, not employees."
"Oh, come on-" Adam's voice has the unhappy edge that Kris needs.
"You've been dancing on that beer-soaked stage for two years. You're lucky you haven't had an accident yet. Look at Frankie-"
"That was just a sprain-"
"And next time it'll be Daisy's knee, or your back. And we're gonna have to pay out of-"
"Stop right there," Adam cuts him off sharply. "You always push this button when you're upset with me. So what is it? What's eating you?" Adam finishes his nails, throws an arm over the edge of the couch to glare at him.
Kris takes a long sip, stalling.
"Kris," Adam prods. "That was a dead giveaway. Just tell me why you're upset and we'll deal with it. What'd I do?"
It's unfair that Adam can read him this well.
"Don't make me come over there."
Kris relents with a sigh, kicks his shoes off and wanders over in his t-shirt to join Adam on the couch. "I wanted a date night," he says quietly, tries to keep the sulk out of his voice.
"We can go out," Adam protests.
"You have to be at Simon's in three hours. And these..." Kris picks up Adam's right hand and threads their fingers together, carefully keeping the wet, glittering gold nails separated. They'll take at least 15 minutes to set, and then another hour before Adam can risk coming into contact with anything textured. They can't even fool around for at least 45 minutes.
"Oh," Adam murmurs when he gets it, looking at their joined hands. "I didn't know," he insists.
"I know," Kris admits, giving up on the fight he was looking for.
Adam leans in and kisses his temple.
"Today was hard," Kris says, not an apology, but the explanation Adam needs.
"You wanna tell me about it?"
"Not yet. I'm still not sure how I feel."
He'd been so excited when Martin had told him somebody wanted to buy one of his songs. After no response to an entire album's worth of demos for six months, it felt like Christmas to actually get that call. He'd been looking forward to meeting the buyer for the past week. He'd just...expected someone who wouldn't have to rely on pitch correction to stay in tune. But royalties are royalties, and Kris's dream of selling his music is contingent on actually letting someone buy it, so he's happy, really. He just wishes he could block out his guilty conscience nagging that the song deserves better.
"Tell me tomorrow?" Adam asks.
Kris nods.
"I'm sorry we can't go out."
"Don't be. It's my fault I didn't call."
"Yes it is," Adam agrees, tugging their hands up and kissing Kris's knuckles. "So what do you want for dinner, since it looks like we're ordering in."
Kris sighs and pulls his phone out of his pocket with his free hand. "Lo mein."
"Sounds good."
After Kris orders the food he props his feet up on the coffee table and puts their hands on his thigh, Adam's nails facing up so they won't get imprinted with the grooves of his jeans. "How was last night? How'd the new Prince song go?" he makes himself ask, trying to cheer up for his boyfriend's sake. It's not like he's gonna pay attention to whatever lame scifi movie Adam's watching.
Adam's face lights up. "Frankie said it was to die for. Simon liked it, too. I think the crowd was into it. I could've hit the high F's better, but I was thinking about too much at once, trying to work with the live snake. I think with a little more practice it'll be perfect."
Kris smiles, stretches his fingers under Adam's. "Good. I'm proud of you. You gonna do it when I can watch?"
"Totally. How 'bout next Saturday?"
"Isn't that Joan Collins Night?"
"What's wrong with Joan holding a snake?"
"Nothing," Kris grins despite himself, shaking his head. It would either be epically hot or a complete disaster. Since it's Adam, Kris bets on the former. "But I'm just thinking, you know, wearing a turban, the crowd might think you're playing a literal snake charmer."
Adam sucks a breath through his teeth. "I didn't think of that. Um. How 'bout the week after?"
"Yeah, how 'bout that," Kris agrees.
"Oh, and Neil called this afternoon; he's going to a wedding in Miami next week and he wants to spend Wednesday night with us."
"Great! Did you tell him I convinced Martin to sell me that record he needs?"
"Yeah, funny thing: I told him you had the record, and then he started talking about visiting."
Kris squeezes Adam's hand and teases, "Don't be jealous just cause your brother has more in common with me than with you."
"I have our entire childhood in common," he sniffs.
"And I have a vintage pressing of John Coltrane with the Miles Davis Quintet." Kris waits for Adam to pout before laughing and leaning over to kiss that protruding lower lip, brushing blue-black hair out of his way so he can taste the chapstick. "Does he wanna crash on the couch, or at my place?"
Kris's apartment is basically just a practice studio, since he never sleeps there and only uses it when he needs a quiet place to write. It's a waste of good rent money, but Kris hadn't been ready to officially move in with Adam after he'd sold the condo. So many times during his marriage he'd wished he had a place to disappear to. Getting a place for himself—even if he never used it—had felt like the right thing to do at the time.
With Adam's and his two-year anniversary coming up, though...Kris thinks it's past time he gave it up. If anything, the saved money will help pay for the medical insurance neither of them gets from work. And there goes his brain, circling back to the fight he no longer wants to have tonight.
"Couch," Adam announces, answering a question Kris has already forgotten he asked. "Otherwise we'll have to drive him back and forth."
Kris isn't listening because something on the television screen has caught his eye: an image from his past, low-slung buildings with brick façades.... He grabs the remote and turns up the volume.
"The next episode of Ghost Hunters travels to a New Orleans condo development to investigate the haunting that inspired the best-selling book Scientific Proof of the Supernatural: Case Study and Documentation of a Violent Haunting, and the upcoming major motion picture A Night with the Devil starring Shia LaBeouf. Grant & Jason visit with professor and celebrity author Dr. Joseph Kielce, who claims he doesn't dare spend the night in his own home. Find out if this new local-legend is real or not, on the next Ghost Hunters...."
They sit in stunned silence, ignoring the Progressive Insurance commercial that follows, both of them reliving the events of 20 months ago.
Until Kris shakes his head and gasps, "A movie?" because he already knew about the book's success—had firmly declined Joseph's offer of a thank you check when the sales started taking off—but Jesus Christ, a Hollywood film deal? That's bordering on war-profiteering. Kris either wants to thank Joseph for the thousandth time for freeing him from his demon, or punch him for turning Kris's hell into a runaway cash cow; he can't tell which.
"Ghost Hunters!" Adam sounds strangled. "That was totally my idea!"
And Kris remembers a conversation on Bourbon Street, Adam laughing at him, telling him they'd get through it together. "You did. You called it," he groans, hearing a million I-told-you-so's in his future.
"And Shia LaBeouf?! You are way cuter than him."
"You don't think I'm in the movie, do you?"
"Well, he's either playing you or one of those undergrads Joseph sent in there last year to do 'research.' If it's you, you've gotta get a lawyer and a cut of the ticket proceeds. There's no way he can cut you out."
"Oh my god, Adam," Kris says, appalled. "Wait. What are you doing?"
Adam pecks gingerly at the remote control buttons. "I'm DVR'ing it, duh. I am not missing this."
"Oh my God," Kris groans again, releasing Adam's other hand to cover his face. His left palm is sweaty from the hand-holding. He takes a long pull from his beer instead.
"And you felt bad about taking his money at settlement," Adam reminds him. "That Joseph. Damn. He's one crafty bastard."
Adam finishes programming the DVR and they watch the flickering images on the screen in silence, Kris working through his complicated emotional response to the commercial. In a way, he's glad for the reminder of what he'd escaped; it helps put his lousy day in perspective. He'd had a bad day, yeah. He'd come home spoiling for a fight, yeah. But none of that stuff actually matters.
Because he's sold his first song, and when he starts selling more he'll be able to take fewer sessions, can change his schedule so he isn't asleep when Adam gets home, isn't leaving while Adam's still in bed, day after day. And at the end and the beginning of the day, that's what's most important to him. So what does it matter if Joseph is cashing in on Kris's former-misery? It's already gotten Kris out of debt, gotten him Adam...maybe Joseph hasn't been the only one benefiting.
"I know what I have to do," Kris announces.
"What's that?"
"It was your idea, actually," Kris hints. "You have all the good ideas."
"Get a good lawyer?" Adam asks, rubbing his palm over Kris's knee, consoling.
He shakes his head.
"So tell me already."
Kris lets a slow, satisfied smile ease across his lips and plays with the Saint Christopher necklace wrapped around Adam's wrist. "Find out who's producing the soundtrack for that movie. Cause Joseph owes me a really big favor and I'm gonna call it in."
THE END
Community Rules for Hauntings playlist:
01 - The Editors - In This Light And On This Evening
02 - SoulSavers - Ghosts Of You And Me
03 - CALLmeKAT - Flower In The Night
04 - Afterhours - Il Sangue Di Giuda
05 - The Gutter Twins - Spanish Doors
06 - Amon Tobin - Bloodstone
07 - Patrick Wolf - Ghost Song
08 - Gorillaz - White Light
09 - Rob Zombie - The Ballad Of Resurrection Joe & Rosa Whore
10 - Brand New - Sink
11 - Modest Mouse - Satin In A Coffin
12 - Sunset Rubdown - A Day In The Graveyard II
13 - The Leisure Society - The Darkest Place I Know
14 - Frightened Rabbit - Keep Yourself Warm
15 - Grace Jones - Corporate Cannibal
16 - Portishead - Wandering Star
17 - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club - As Sure As The Sun
18 - Brand New - At The Bottom
19 - The Gaslight Anthem - The Navesink Banks
20 - Daniel Lanois - Amazing Grace
21 - SafetySuit - Find A Way
22 - The Used - Smother Me
23 - Alabama 3 - Strange
24 - Kenna - Within Earshot
25 - The Sound Of Arrows - A Very Sad Song
26 - Stars - The Night Starts Here
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