Death Becomes Him - 12

Rory cringed, his hands fisting, when he saw the look of pure outrage that filled Trent’s face. He knew it would happen, but he had no alternative. Not if he wanted to regain even a modicum of what he and Trent had once had. He wasn’t sure that was possible, but he had to try.

“What the hell are you trying to pull?” Trent spat out as he sprang to his feet. Without another word he practically ran out of Lafitte’s. When he got to the sidewalk, Rory was in front of him. Trent stopped dead, his body tense with fear. “How…?” he barely got out.

“Let me explain. But not here.” Rory glanced around at the people passing by even at this late hour.

Trent closed his eyes for a moment. “That was impossible,” he whispered, as though saying it would make it so.

“Believe me, I wish it was,” Rory replied devoutly.

Opening his eyes again, Trent stared at him, looked as if he was going to say something then turned sharply seconds later and walked swiftly away.

Instantly Rory was there beside him, gripping his shoulder. “Please,” he said pleadingly, “just listen to me. Hear me out.”

His face ashen with fear, Trent swallowed hard. “What the hell is going on? What… what are you?”

“I’ll tell you,” Rory replied quietly. “But not here with so many people around.”

“Then where?” Trent asked, sneering. “In the cemetery? St. Louis is close.”

Running one hand through his long, black hair, Rory replied, “That was uncalled for.” He managed a tiny smile. “Though it would be fairly private. However, even if you believed in ghosts…”

Trent broke in, sounding almost like his old self as Rory remembered him. Smiling wryly he said, “You once did your best to convince me they exist, and I almost did.” Then fear suffused his features again. “If you want me to believe you’re one, forget it. You’re solid. I felt it when you touched me.”

“Of course I am. I’m not a ghost. Look, can we go… down by the river. There’s enough people you won’t be alone with me, but not so many that we can’t talk privately.”