Linc stretched, reached for his coffee cup which he discovered was empty, again, and sighed. Then he scrolled up to where he’d begun writing three hours ago and began to read it over, making necessary changes as he did. He got to one sentence and muttered, “What the hell was his last name?”
“Singer.”
Linc spun his chair around, searching for whoever had said that. “Not again. Shit!”
“Again.” The voice chuckled softly. “You shouldn’t be able to hear me though.”
“Who the hell are you? Where the hell are you? What kind of game is this? Whatever it is, stop it and show yourself.”
Another voice said, obviously asking the first one, “Should we? Do you think he’ll believe it if we do?”
“That or he’ll faint and then put it down to imagination when he comes to.”
“I’m not the fainting kind,” Linc growled. But he did get up. Whatever was happening he wasn’t about to take it sitting down.
“You sure now?” the second voice said. Linc could almost hear the smile in it.
“Yeah. Come out from wherever you and your friend are hiding.”
By now Linc had backed up to the window seat as he continued searching for where the men could have concealed themselves. Or, he thought suddenly, where someone could have hidden a microphone.
Then he saw what looked like a very faint haze in the center of the room. Slowly it coalesced into a figure, still hazy but definitely male. Moments later a second figure began to appear. Soon two men stood in front of Linc. One had long, dark hair held by a hippy headband. He reminded Linc of someone out the movies about the 60s. The other man’s hair was dark blonde, short, parted in the middle and slicked back. He wore a collarless shirt, unbuttoned partway down his chest, and tight, pegged pants that had seen better days, in Linc’s opinion at least.
“You’re…” Linc pointed a finger at them. “Okay, either I’ve gone totally around the bend and I’m seeing things as well as hearing voices, or the two of you are the resident ghosts I’ve heard stories about. Quite honestly, I hope you’re ghosts.”
“Because that’s better than being crazy?” the dark-haired one asked.
“Much. I happen to believe in ghosts, well more or less, sometimes. I mean I’ve done enough research for my books to…and why the hell am I telling you this?”
“Why not?” Giorgio smiled and introduced himself. “And that’s Damian,” he added.
Linc nodded as he studied them. “You died in the sixties I’d guess from your clothes, Giorgio. Damian I’m not so sure of but it was much earlier.”
“Eighteen ninety-three,” Damian replied. He crossed to sit on the edge of Linc’s bed now that he was fully corporeal. Giorgio joined him, leaning against his shoulder. “Getting possessive?” Damian murmured with a grin.
“Well he is cute, in his special, nerdy way.”
“I am not…” Suddenly Linc chuckled. “You called me that a while ago. I heard you.”
“Yep, and it still holds true. That’s why we’re here, well sort of.”
Linc sat down in the window seat, pulling his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. “What does ‘sort of’ mean?”
Giorgio glanced at Damian. “You field that one.”
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