I know, I know…Long time no see. I was all up on this story at first and then the holidays/papers/finals/the vicious, life sucking beings known as parents entered the picture and voila! No time to do anything. This has been kicking around in my head for a while and an incredibly odd yet wholly good set of circumstances (read I ripped an air conditioner out of my window and crawled about on the roof of my dorm with kandiland last night) led me to write. RAWK!


Chapter 3: The Ghosts of Yesteryear

Character weaknesses are fun. Especially when they make the bad asses seem like girlie men.

"Morning honey," mumbled Chris, snuggling up close to the warmth next to him. He sighed with contentment, his mind happily tucked away in dreamland, his body now flush against the one which he was laying his head across the chest of. He felt arms tighten around his waist and his wife sighed, kissing his forehead. He closed his eyes again and drifted back off to sleep, mumbling something about a horrible dream about a hotel.

"Morning babygirl," said Randy, slowly opening his eyes a few minutes later. Through the sleep induced haze he could make out shapes, but not much else. He could feel a bit of weight on his chest and smiled, looking down and blinking a few times to get focus back. When he did focus, he froze in place, unable to convince himself to move. He lay there still as night while Chris managed to curl himself up still closer to him, nuzzling his chest with happiness, or so it seemed to him. Randy could feel his breathing speeding up, a sure sign of the panic to come…or it could be getting ready for the fight that might break out at any moment.

"What the," began Adam, looking out the window. He'd woken up a few minutes ago and had taken his time stretching, going to get out of bed. He stumbled his way over to the balcony, hoping to find that the three men whom he'd thrown out there the previous day had somehow found their way to…anywhere but around him. What he found, however, was the horrified and frightened face of Randy silently pleading with him to help him out as Chris tightened his hold around the young man's waist. The pouting bottom lip added to the picture. Adam went back to his bag and pulled out his camera, silently opening the patio door and stepping out, focusing the camera in order to get the right picture. After all, they were worth a thousand words…or one really good rumor.

"What the hell was that…WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING," screamed Chris, opening his eyes and lifting up his head, looking around him. His eyes focused on Randy, who was by now cringing, covering his face with his hands. Chris looked down and found his arms wrapped around Randy's waist. That didn't last longer than the time it took to realize it as he flew backward, struggling to stand up, only to fall over, tumbling ass over teacup over a chair, sending both of them flying toward Adam. The two men and the chair went flying through the open patio door, coming to a stop in a heap in the middle of the living room, the chair winding up on all fours.

"Now who's got the blackmail oh great Canadian bastard," said Randy, smirking as he took a picture of Chris and Adam. Adam had landed on top of Chris, his head lolling to one side of Chris's as he reached up to grab the side of it, his face scrunching in pain. He growled and turned his head, his eyes growing dark with anger. He was up in a flash, but the past few days had taught Randy a few tricks of his own as he rushed out the door, camera still in hand, slamming it behind him. He stood there, putting his full body weight against the handle to prevent Adam from getting out, watching as the angry man rushed the door only to smack into the glass, bouncing backwards to trip over Chris's still prone on the floor body.

"What the hell are you three American bastards doing out here? Some of us require beauty sleep," shouted Sylvan. He looked around at the scene in front of him and rolled his eyes. Adam was at the door, yanking with all his strength at the handle, shouting obscenities at the glass door. When he stepped a bit further out into the room, he noticed Randy on the other side of the door, pushing with all his strength to keep the door between him and the Raging Canadian, Randy laughing as he did, a camera at his feet. Chris was lying on the floor, arm over his eyes, shaking his head, muttering a conversation with himself. Sylvan shook his head and turned back to his room, shutting the door behind him. "This is who these higher up people think to put me with. How obtrusive. How repugnant."

"Hey blondie, why the hell don't you go cool off and take a shower already? I can smell you from here," said Chris. Adam glared and turned, looking at Randy, a warning of things to come being sent in his stare. He stalked over to his bag, pulling out his showering things and towel and headed to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He turned on the water, throwing his towel on a hook over the door. Stepping into the steam and water, he sighed, finally able to relax. These past few days with the three other men he'd been stuck with weren't high on his list of things to ever do again, and he found himself wishing he was home again, alone.

"You mind? I was trying to sleep asshat. And…whoa. No wonder you're angry," said the ghost, giggling as he looked up at Adam from the floor of the bathtub/shower. Adam looked around, looked down, saw the ghostly face, and turned the water off. He shook his head, looked down again, and in about three seconds was hopping out of the tub, bolting to the door, screaming. He finally got the door open and bolted through the room, diving under the covers of the bed and screaming again, shaking uncontrollably.

"Who brought a kid into the room," asked Sylvan, emerging from his room. He looked around to find Randy and Chris standing there staring at the large bed in the room, and he found himself watching a lump under the bed shaking. He walked over to Randy and Chris, wanting to ask them what they were doing, when a scratchy, low, gravely voice came from somewhere else in the room. The three men shrieked, Sylvan hopping into the arms of Randy as Chris grabbed Randy around the waist, hiding his head in his shoulder. Randy stood there scared stiff, watching as a transparent figure came out of the bathroom, shaking its head.

"You know, it's no wonder they sent me after you four. You're ridiculous. One under the covers, one in the guy's arms, one huddling at his side, and one standing there like a coat rack. And you Frenchie, how the hell do you survive in this business, huh? I'm surprised you haven't had your head torn off yet. And you Christina, what's with the cowering," he continued. The three men found their movements again, though, and all of them broken and ran for the bed, diving under the covers to join Adam, the four of them huddled together in a circle, talking nervously and quickly to each other and themselves, causing pandemonium underneath the blankets. The ghost just sat back and rolled his eyes, running a hand down the front of his face, trying to figure out what lottery in hell he'd won to be stuck with these four…charges.

"Wait wait WAIT dammit," shouted Chris. "I've got the cell phone. We can call someone, you know," he said, his hand shakily fishing the phone out of his shorts pocket. He put it in the middle of the circle of the four of them.

"Who the hell are we going to call, the Ghostbusters," said Adam.

"An exorcist," asked Chris.

"Mommy," said Randy.

"A therapist. You've all lost your fucking minds," said Sylvan. "It's some sort of mass delusion. We're all stuck in this Bates Motel model with Norman Bates delivering our food and next thing you know there's a ghost in the bathroom that probably has a knife and someone's going to get stabbed to death and we're all going to die so just SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP," said Sylvan, panicking. "WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE, DON'T YOU GET IT?" Adam, Randy, and Chris all went to hit him at once, knocking the unfortunate Frenchman out could.

"Why not Vince? If that bastard sent us here, he can sure as hell get us out of here," said Adam, grabbing the phone and dialing up Vince. He held it close to his ear and mouth so he wouldn't have to be too loud with the noise of talking, hoping that silence would scare the ghost away. On the fourth ring a secretary answered the phone. Adam shouted in a panicked voice that he needed to speak to Vince right away, that it was an urgent emergency.

"Would you four quit whining. And for the record, you're not dying," said the ghost, poking his head through the covers at the men. Adam shot out from under the covers and leapt into the closet, closing the door behind him, his hand shaking the door as it closed it. A few seconds later Vince picked up the phone and answered, asking who'd called him so urgently.

"It's me, Adam. Vince…Vince…shhh, BE QUIET DAMMIT HE'LL HEAR YOU," shouted Adam, immediately realizing what he'd done and cowering further into a corner of the closet.

"Adam what the hell is going on with you four? Where are you anyway," he asked. "And speak up, I can't hear you."

"I can't speak up, and don't shout so much, he'll hear you," said Adam.

"Who'll hear me," asked Vince. "Are you drunk Adam? Did you four go out and get drunk last night, cause so help me god if you caused any trouble I'll…"

"No, none of us are drunk dammit…well, maybe the Frenchman. Listen, Vince, he's here, the ghost is here, and we're all going to die," said Adam, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with fright.

"Did you just…Adam, what the hell did you just say," asked Vince, a wondrous tone to his voice.

"Vince…WE SEE DEAD PEOPLE!"


So, after a long layoff, here's the go on me:

a) I have the possibility of moving to Alaska

b) I have officially crawled out of a window and onto a rooftop

c) I need to realize that drinking three liters of wine then deciding to do minor deconstruction in order to get out of said window is a bad idea…let this be a lesson kids: don't get drunk near open and available windows.