The small room was dark, the sunlight from the lone window blocked by two layers of blankets pinned up over it. A small transistor radio on the floor piped out "In a Gadda Davita" by Iron Butterfly. The song was tinny and distorted with static from the weak, homespun signal. The faint music filled the sudden silence that followed a loud bout of rough sex. Pat rolled away from his partner, amazed again that he could actually have sex outside the confines of the mansion. Before the fog freed him from the domestic prison, he couldn't get it up outside of the house. He had consoled himself giving blowjobs during his Halloween reprieve, which he did enjoy, but actual penetration with someone he hadn't been trapped with for decades was sinfully decadent.

After a few seconds to catch his breath, the other guy rolled over to press against Patrick's side. Joey was his name. He was a 20-something, with a well-toned body and sandy brown hair that just reached his shoulders. They had met down in the town square and hit it off instantly. An hour later, they were up in Joey's apartment, fooling around. Pat had intended to suck the younger guy off, but Joey was a greedy lover and wanted more. Much to the jock's surprise, when the younger man grabbed his crotch, Patrick's cock responded. For the first time since he died, his dick got hard without needing to be at the mansion.

All bets were off after that. After years of restraint, Pat indulged his libido to the fullest. The sex was beyond amazing. It left Pat with a solid sense of satisfaction, like a deep tissue massage for an embedded knot. A persistent, maddening itch scratched.

"So," Joey murmured. He used his finger to trace a lazy loop around his lover's nearest nipple. "Your place next time?"

It was a question intended to feel out whether this was an isolated event or something with potential but, for Patrick, the question burst his warm bubble. He laced his fingers behind his head and tried to form a diplomatic answer to that unintentionally difficult question.

"I have roommates."

Joey's brows arched. "They don't know you're gay?"

Pat wasn't liking the direction the conversation was going but it was too late to stop it now. "No. They know. It's just…complicated."

"How so?" Joey stopped petting and pushed himself up on an elbow, to better see the other guy's face.

"One is…He's my ex." Pat cringed internally, feeling unfaithful calling Chad his ex. Then he was instantly mad at himself for feeling guilty. "I also have a—" He hesitated, not sure how to describe his relationship with the other biggest potential problem. "Tate."

"You have...a Tate?"

Pat huffed an irritated sigh. "He's sort of like a ward."

Joey's brows went higher and he smiled. "A ward. What, are you Batman?"

Patrick didn't smile back. "He's like a cross between a stepson, a kid brother, and a royal pain in the ass. He wouldn't like you and I don't want him to hurt you." That was as much of the truth as Pat wanted to give him.

The sandy-haired younger man made a funny face as he digested that. "You think he would try to hurt me?"

Pat had hoped the conversation would end with his last statement. "I know he would. He's an unstable brat who gets off on messing with people. Like I said: It's complicated."

"I guess so," Joey agreed, taken aback. "But if these two are so, um... Er. Why...do you live with them? Seems pretty crazy to me."

Pat looked at his new lover, studying his face. "Maybe I'm crazy, too."

Joey laughed but there was a nervous edge to the sound. It would have made him feel better if the muscular man had smiled when he said he was crazy, to make it feel more like a joke. "I think maybe we're all a little crazy, these days."

"Maybe," Patrick agreed.

Before the other guy could say anything more, Pat rolled on top of him and delivered a dominating kiss. Soon they were fucking again. It didn't feel the same, though. The magic was gone for Patrick and he wasn't sure why. When they they said goodbye that night, he knew he wouldn't be returning to the apartment.

...

Because Tate drove at a fraction of the posted speed limit, it took him nearly half an hour to get to the zoo in spite of the fact that he was the only driver on the road. He decided to go to the city zoo because he reckoned some of the animals that he and Violet had liberated might have returned, looking for food or shelter. Or maybe some new wildlife moved in. When he got there, he parked the car badly, but he forgave himself since it was the first time that he tried to park a car.

Once he'd pocketed the keys, he went to the zoo entrance. He passed right through the rusted bars of the towering gate and looked around at the decayed interior of the park. The years had been both cruel and kind to the place: The fog hid the majority of it from immediate view, but what Tate could see had been exposed to many months of cold, heat, rain, and dust. The flora in the planters had died off only to be replaced by heartier weeds and grass, several generations of which had also died in the beds. The pavement was caked in settled dirt and dead leaves. It looked like the ruins of an ancient temple.

Tate paused to listen. It was late afternoon and he could hear a few brave crickets calling for the wan sun to set. Every once in a while, he heard a lonely bird. Other than that and the sound of wind, the zoo was silent. The teen struck out in the direction he remembered the big apes to be. A pet gorilla could be interesting. When he got to the mock rain forest, though, the trees were mostly dead. Without living people to water them, they had perished in LA's comparatively arid climate. There was no recent sign of the large mammals anywhere. The absence of any bones gave Tate hope that the apes were rampaging downtown somewhere.

He spent a couple of hours wandering the fog-choked park without finding anything pet-worthy. He saw a peacock at one point, but the thing wasn't at all friendly toward him. It looked diseased, too, and that was when he began to rethink his idea to have something undead as a pet. If it was too far gone or nasty, he wouldn't want to interact with it.

Disappointed and dejected, he wandered back toward the entrance of the zoo. He didn't want to go home yet. He didn't want to admit defeat, but he wasn't sure he wanted a pet anymore. Even if he picked something that wouldn't get killed and wasn't too gross, it would probably never like him.

Coming around one of the dead but overgrown planters, Tate stopped short when he saw the shadowy figure of a person ahead in the fog. It was the same figure he had seen that morning when he woke up. He knew it was because they had the same wide-brimmed hat on. It hadn't been his imagination. Suddenly irritated, he took a step forward and willed himself over to where the individual was.

Except that the person wasn't there when he got there.

Tate knew then for sure that he was dealing with wasn't a natural living thing. A witch, possibly, but he didn't think it was them. They had snobbier things to do than trying to spook a ghost. He doubted it was his mother either. He suffered a pang of guilt thinking about her. He didn't know what had happened to her after the coven took her body but stalking him wasn't her modus operandi. If she was mad at him, she would let him know directly. Her temper wouldn't allow her to waste time shadowing him all over town. No, he didn't think it was her. It had to be someone though, or something.

Rubber Man?

The thought sent an icy jolt through him and he decided it was time to leave the zoo, the fast way. He willed himself to the car and slapped the button to lock the doors, which he knew was silly but made him feel a little better. Rubber Man didn't wear a hat to his knowledge, but Michael had been messing with it. Maybe that changed things?

It could even be Michael, he reasoned. After that incident in the attic, the possibility wasn't out of the question. Irritation flooded in and he started the car. The engine roared to life and the car lurched forward roughly. He hit the brakes so the car wouldn't go sailing off into the nearby drainage ditch. A few more forward lurches and he found his pacing. He pulled out onto the broad, empty street, stewing. He wanted to get Michael back for the stupid pranks, but he wasn't sure how to do that. As he mulled over idea after juvenile idea, he began to get the sense that he wasn't alone. A sinister feeling presence registered behind him and he had the wild impression that if he looked in the rear view mirror, a demon would be sitting in the back seat.

Unafraid, he boldly looked in the mirror. There was indeed a figure right behind him. It was like living shadow, the outline of a person without any distinguishing features except the shadowy hat atop its slammed on the brakes and the car came to a very sudden stop. He expected to see the person go sailing through the windshield, but nothing happened. He looked back over his shoulder to get a clear look at the person.

There was no one there.

The teen looked in the rearview mirror again, but it said what his eyes did: There was nobody in the car. He frowned, confused, then he got mad.

"Stop fucking with me!" he shouted, punching the roof of the car to accent each word.

He sat there for several seconds, feeling the abrupt bout of rage dwindle back down to confusion. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew he didn't like it. So, he did what he always did when the world turned hostile: He went home.

...

Author's Note:

The title of this chapter is Latin. It means darkness, but specifically in reference to a person. One who is darkened or obscured.

The first part of this chapter came from me wondering where Pat was, because I knew he wasn't with Tate and the car. One mystery solved. I thought maybe Pat was going to have himself another on-the-side boyfriend, but apparently he can't handle it when someone asks him personal questions. He can be such an ass sometimes.

So I know I promised a spot from Michael but Pat stole his moment. We'll be getting there next time, I promise.