Dead Het Boys

Dead Het Boys

A Novel

Mark A. Roeder

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Dead Het Boys

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This book is dedicated to my readers. I hope you find the same solace and enjoy-
ment in these pages that I find in the books of others.

- v -

Acknowledgements

I’d like to thank Robbie Ellis-Cantwell, Ken Clark, Kathy Staley, and Mike Deer
for proofing this manuscript. Their efforts have greatly improved this volume. I’d
like to thank Kathy Staley again for coming up with the title of this novel.

- 1 -

Sean

Graymoor Mansion

February 14, 1998

Sleet smacked against the wavy glass of the window as I looked down upon the
ice-encrusted trees from my third-story bedroom. The wind was howling and rat-
tling the window panes as if trying to find a way in. The scene outside was more
reminiscent of Christmas than Valentine’s Day.

I stepped away from the window and returned to the newspaper sitting on my

desk. It was going on a year now, but I knew I couldn’t read the editorial without
it stirring up a lot of bad memories. Perhaps I would be wiser not to read it, but
my curiosity got the better of me.

The VeronaCitizen—Thursday, February 12, 1998

VERONA MURDERS REVISITED

——————

HAS JUSTICE BEEN SERVED?

Late last spring Verona was the setting for three grisly murders. The victims
have been laid to rest in the Verona Cemetery, and one of murderers lies bur-
ied only a few feet away. The two remaining murderers are behind bars, sen-
tenced to twenty years each for their crimes. With good behavior, the guilty
could be released before serving half their sentence. Is this punishment enough
for hate crimes that ended in cold-blooded murder?

The first victim was 16-year-old Marty Crawford, whose body was discovered
in the woods behind Verona High School by hikers. First deemed a suicide, it

Mark A. Roeder

only later became apparent that Crawford did not put a bullet in his own
head. His murderers may well have escaped punishment for their crime had
they not proceeded to murder more Verona youths.

Ken Clark, also 16, was the next to die. There was never any doubt that Clark
was murdered. He was found beaten to death with a note that read “God
Hates Queers” attached to his corpse.

Fifteen-year-old Tony Paulik was the third and final victim. Paulik was found
bound and gagged approximately 10 yards into a wooded site near Verona
Park. He died shortly after he was discovered. The cause of death was massive
internal bleeding from a severe beating with a baseball bat that was found not
far from the body. A note similar to that found on Clark was left with Paulik’s
body, reading “God Hates Queers. The righteous will not rest until all fags are
exterminated.”

With the third murder the motive was well established. Someone was killing
the gay boys of Verona. The prime suspects were initially the members of a
fanatical religious group from Colorado who had taken it upon themselves to
preach against homosexuality. Their catch phrase “God Hates Queers” was
found on the notes attached to both Clark and Paulik, and several members of
the group displayed signs with the same message while picketing the victims’
funerals. A connection between the group and a neo-Nazi movement was later
discovered, and five members of the group were later arrested on charges of
child pornography and child molestation. While no members of the group
were proven to be connected to the murders, it became clear that the young
murderers were inspired by the Colorado-based group to commit their crimes.

One of the murderers was killed by an intended victim in self-defense, meet-
ing the same fate he dealt out to others, albeit a less violent one. The other
murderers are sitting in prison cells. In less than ten years they could be free.
The outsiders who came to our peaceful little town and spread their messages
of hate, messages that inspired the murders, have escaped punishment com-
pletely. Many believe that justice has been served, but would Crawford, Clark,
and Paulik agree? Their young lives were violently cut short. Two of the three
died brutal deaths. Nothing can undo what was done here. We can’t give
those boys back what they’ve lost. Perhaps some believe that the prision terms
handed out to the guilty were enough, but what price can be put on life. Has
justice truly been served?

Tears welled in my eyes as the editorial brought those horrible days back to

me. No, justice had not been served. A part of me wanted those who had killed
Marty and the others to experience for themselves what they had done to their
victims. Another part of me didn’t believe it was right to deal out pain and death,

Mark A. Roeder

even to such monsters as Kyle and Dusty. Marshall never spoke of it, but I knew
guilt plagued him: guilt for killing Justin. I’m sure Marshall never meant to hit
him that hard, but as far as I was concerned, Justin got what he had coming to
him. He and Kyle were trying to kill me, and if it ended in his own death, that
was his problem. If Marshall hadn’t taken Justin out, I’d probably be dead.

The clock on the distant stairwell chimed a quarter till five. I needed to get a

move on if I was to meet Nick at Café Moffatt on time. I bundled up in my coat
and red scarf and made the long trek down the hallway and three flights of stairs.
Then I walked across the parlor, out the front door, across the snow-covered
lawn, and through the main gates of Graymoor onto the street. That might not
seem like a long journey, but it took me a good ten minutes and not because I
walked slowly! Graymoor was simply that vast. I took a moment to look back at
the old mansion. I thought my parents were out of their minds when they bought
Verona’s most notorious haunted house, and I still found it creepy upon occa-
sion, but I’d come to think of it as home. I smiled and turned my feet and
thoughts toward the boy awaiting me in Café Moffatt.

I slipped on patches of ice as I walked quickly along. The temperature hovered

at freezing, and the moisture falling from the dark clouds couldn’t decide
whether to come down as snow, rain, or ice. The once fluffy snow had turned
brittle as it partly melted, only to refreeze once more. The wind tore at my coat as
it had the window panes, unfortunately with more success. I jammed my hands
into my pockets trying to keep already chilled fingers from becoming icy. Some-
times, I wished the whole town of Verona could be moved to Florida.

Nick was waiting in a booth when I arrived at Café Moffatt. He waved, and I

plopped down across from him after tossing off my coat and scarf.

“Have you been waiting long?” I asked.
“All of two minutes!” he announced.
“My apologies then,” I said with a grin.
“What are you having?” asked Nick.
“I’m starving, so I’d like to order the farmer’s breakfast.”
“You mean the feeding frenzy?”
“I said I’d like to order it. I think I’ll just have an order of pecan pancakes.

That’ll be more than enough. I’ll ruin my weigh loss for the entire week if I’m
not careful.”

“How did your weigh-in go this morning?” asked Nick. I weighed myself one

morning a week, and this morning had been judgment day.

“I lost a pound!”
“Excellent,” said Nick. “You’re doing well.”

Mark A. Roeder

“You don’t know how lucky you are,” I said. “You can eat anything.”
“I’m cursed with high metabolism.”
“If only I were cursed so.”
I gazed into Nick’s eyes. He was so very handsome with his dark blond hair.
“So … has Oliver asked Clay out yet?” asked Nick.
“I don’t know, but he said today was the day. It’s perfect timing. What better

day to start a relationship than Valentine’s Day? I guess we’ll find out soon
enough.”

“You know Clay will say yes. They’re like destined for each other according to

Mark.”

“He didn’t exactly say that,” I said.
“Close enough. It’s almost too bad in a way. Clay is quite a hottie.”
I scowled.
“What?”
I didn’t have time to answer, because our waitress arrived just then and set a

glass of ice water for me near Nick’s.

“What would you boys like?”
Nick ordered a huge meal of a double bacon cheeseburger, fries, onion rings, a

chocolate milkshake, and a Coke. I ordered the pecan pancakes and iced tea,
unsweetened. Nick waited until our waitress was gone and then repeated his
question.

“What?”
“You’re always talking about how hot other guys are!” I said, a bit too angrily.
“Come on, Sean, so what? Don’t you think Clay is hot?”
“That’s not the point!”
“I’ve seen you look at Skye,” said Nick.
“Everyone looks at Skye! Straight boys check out Skye! Hell, my mom looks at

Skye.”

“I bet you’ve fantasized about him,” said Nick.
I didn’t answer.
“Your silence speaks volumes, Sean, but I don’t blame you. I’ve had a few fan-

tasies about him myself.”

I could feel the furrows on my brow deepen, even though it wasn’t quite fair

to get angry over Nick’s lust for Skye. To be perfectly honest, I did have a few
fantasies about him, and the fact that I’d felt guilty afterward didn’t erase the sin.

“You’re always looking around, Nick.”

Mark A. Roeder

“Not always, and so what if I do? It’s just looking. I’ve been faithful to you

from day one, Sean. I haven’t so much as hugged another guy, well, except for my
dads and that doesn’t count.”

Just in case you don’t know already, I should explain: Nick has two dads,

Ethan and Nathan, and, yes, his dads are gay. They adopted Nick months back,
and he’s lucky, because they are great parents.

“I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, but I don’t like it,” I said.
“I’ll stop, okay? You’re going to have to allow me a few slipups, but if it both-

ers you, I’ll stop. You know, we used to check out cute boys together.”

“I’m sorry, Nick. I just … You make me so happy. I guess what we have just

seems too good to be true.”

“Hey, we argue now and then. You don’t love Phantom nearly enough, and we

have other differences. That should be enough to keep our relationship from
being too good to be true, so relax.”

Nick took my hand across the table.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you, too.”
Our food soon arrived, and our meal passed pleasantly. I’d always yearned for

such companionship and warmth, and since Nick and I had been dating, a mat-
ter of several months now, I had gotten my wish.

After supper we killed a bit of time by strolling around Verona. There wasn’t

all that much to see, but everyone probably thinks that about their hometown.
There was the antique store, the library, a barber shop, a gasoline station, Café
Moffatt, which we’d just left, The Park’s Edge, Ofarim’s, and a handful of other
places of note. I was glad we didn’t have much time to spare because it was far too
cold to be strolling around for long.

As seven o’clock drew near we headed toward the Paramount to take in a

movie. Nick and I looked at each other and grinned when we spotted Oliver and
Clay just a short distance in front of us at the ticket booth. Oliver saw us as he
and Clay stepped away from the booth, and they waited for us under the flashing
marquee.

Tickets in hand, Nick and I walked over to them. Oliver smiled from ear to

ear, and Clay looked just as pleased. It was obvious they were on a date: their first
date, no less. They had an excited yet shy look to them.

I glanced at Nick. He was checking out Clay, but quickly looked away when

he realized what he was doing. I was making a big deal out of nothing, and I
knew why. I was insecure. I knew Nick could do a whole lot better than me, and
I was afraid I’d lose him. I knew, also, that part of the problem was my own lack

Mark A. Roeder

of self-esteem. I’d been working hard to improve myself, but I still had a bit of
flab, and nothing short of plastic surgery was going to make me look hot. I knew
looks weren’t everything, but when you hang around guys like Skye, it’s easy to
feel inferior.

“I obviously don’t have to ask how things went today,” I said to Oliver. He

grinned.

I noticed Nick didn’t check out Oliver like he did Clay. Oliver was kind of

cute, but like me, he carried around a bit too much weight. He could best be
described as a somewhat pudgy Harry Potter. He even wore the same round,
black-rimmed glasses as Harry, although it wasn’t an attempt to look like him.
Oliver had worn glasses like that as far back as I could remember. He looked like
Harry Potter before there was one, so I guess it could be argued that Harry Potter
looked like him.

“Hey, why don’t you guys—” began Nick.
“… enjoy the show,” I said, kicking Nick in the leg. “We’d better get moving,

or we’ll miss the previews. We’ll see you guys at school, okay?”

“Later, Sean, Nick,” said Oliver.
“Bye, guys,” said Clay.
I pulled Nick away.
“I was going to ask them if they wanted to sit with us,” said Nick as we passed

through the glass doors and into the ornate lobby.

“I know, but it’s their first date. I think they’d probably prefer to be alone.”
“I hadn’t thought of that!”
“Not everyone can be a genius,” I said.
We walked across the worn black-and-white marble floor and onto the red

carpeting that led into the auditorium itself. We found ourselves a spot about a
third of the way down and leaned back in the old-fashioned, red-velvet seats. I
loved the Paramount. It was an old movie palace, very ornate, if a bit worn by the
passing decades. The scent of buttered popcorn and polished wood filled the air.
I wondered how many dozens of couples, hundreds perhaps, had experienced
their first date in the old theater.

I took Nick’s hand in an act of defiance against the prejudiced, but mainly just

because I loved him. He smiled at me. Things had sure been a lot better for boys
like us since Ethan and Nathan had started the gay-youth center and especially
since Skye had come out. Skye was our own personal superhero. With a guy like
him looking out for gay boys, we all felt a lot safer. Things were far, far from per-
fect, but I didn’t live in constant fear anymore.

Mark A. Roeder

There were very few previews, probably because Titanic was such a long film.

It had been released last December, but Verona didn’t always get new movies
quickly, especially those as popular as Titanic. Nick and I held hands through
most of the film. I think I enjoyed that more than the movie, not that I failed to
enjoy Leonardo DiCaprio. Now, there was a hot guy. I resisted the urge to look
around and see how Oliver and Clay were doing. They certainly didn’t need me
spying on them on their first date. I experienced a sort of vicarious happiness for
them. I knew the contentment of being in a relationship. Oliver and Clay had it
all ahead of them: the thrill of their first kiss, the discovery of the joy of being
held, and so much more. Sometimes, I wished I could go back and do it all over
again, but I wouldn’t trade the present for anything.

I don’t want to make it sound like finding a boyfriend is the solution to all

problems—far from it. As much as I love Nick, I think I’ve had more problems
while dating him than ever before. Relationships are a lot of work, especially
when neither partner is perfect, which is always the case. Nick and I have our dis-
agreements—even our arguments—as he himself pointed out. Things definitely
aren’t as I’d imagined they would be, but that’s not to say they aren’t good. I
guess I had some kind of fairy-tale image in my mind when I was dreaming about
a boyfriend, but real life isn’t like that. Still, even with all that, our relationship
does often seem too good to be true, so the good outweighs the bad by far.

At the end of the show I stood up. I’d sat still so long my legs were nearly

asleep, not to mention my behind. I had to work my feet around a bit before I
dared to move. Otherwise I might have tumbled onto the floor.

I gasped and grabbed Nick’s biceps tightly as I turned toward the aisle.
“What’s wrong?” asked Nick.
“I thought I just …”
I made a split-second decision, rushed past Nick, and hurried toward the aisle.

I turned and headed for the doors, but couldn’t make much headway because of
the crowd. I pushed right past Oliver and Clay and rushed into the lobby. I
jerked my head in every direction as I made for the doors. Once I hit the sidewalk
I looked up and down the street and all around. I kept searching until Nick,
Oliver, and Clay caught up with me.

“Sean, what are you doing?” asked Nick.
I gazed down the sidewalk for a few moments more, then turned to my boy-

friend.

“I thought I just saw Ben Tyler.”
“Are you sure?” asked Nick.
Oliver looked frightened, Clay a bit confused.

Mark A. Roeder

“Pretty sure,” I said, “but the light’s dim in there. Maybe I was just seeing

things.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Nick.
“What’s this about Ben Tyler?” asked Clay.
“Maybe you’d better bring him up to speed,” I said to Oliver. I had neither

the time, nor the inclination to tell the tale of those we’d all come to refer to as
the Evil Four. We said our goodbyes, and then Nick and I walked toward Gray-
moor.

“Ben Tyler,” said Nick, with dread in his voice. “Do you really think you

might have seen him?”

“I might have, but I’m just not sure.”
“It’s amazing when you think about it,” said Nick as we strolled down the

slick sidewalk.

“What’s amazing?”
“How many people don’t know about what happened. Just think of it: the

Evil Four very nearly killed Skye and Oliver, yet almost no one knows about it.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I never thought about it like that.”
“Things like that are usually big news: like last spring.”
“Let’s just not talk about it, okay?”
Nick’s eyes met mine. He could tell I was upset. It takes a long time to get

over the murder of your best friend. Ben had something to do with Marty’s
death. That’s the main reason I got so upset when I thought I’d spotted him. He
might not have killed Marty himself, but most likely he’d been there when Marty
died. For all I knew, he’s the one who killed him. Pretty much everyone thought
all the murderers had been caught, but Kyle, Dusty, and Justin weren’t the only
ones with blood on their hands. That discovery had truly disturbed me. It seemed
that every time I thought the danger was over, it was only beginning. Ben was
supposed to be on the run. What would happen if he’d come back? The thought
that he might even now be walking around the streets of Verona galled as well as
frightened me. It wasn’t fair that murderers walked around free while Marty lay
moldering in his grave.

“I think I can come up with something to keep your mind off the past,” said

Nick, as he stopped and looked around to make sure we were alone.

Nick pulled me close and kissed me. The taste of his lips and the sensation of

his tongue sliding into my mouth made me forget my grief, my fear, and even the
icy wind that whipped around us.

- 9 -

Marshall

You are changed. It had been nearly a week since Mark spoke those words to me,
and they still echoed in my mind. Words spoken by an angel are not easily for-
gotten. I’d been gone for months, living an entirely different life, yet not one of
my friends knew it. To them, no time had passed at all. I knew I was back where
I belonged, but I couldn’t help but feel out of place. It was difficult to return to
my ordinary life after all my recent adventures.

Now I know how Peter, Edmund, Susan, and Lucy must have felt when they

stepped out of the wardrobe at the end of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
They experienced incredible adventures in Narnia, but then found themselves
right back where they’d started, as if nothing had happened at all.

My adventures were of a more terrible nature, however. I’d sought to do good.

I’d tried to make things better for all, and I’d come very close to destroying those
I’d tried to help. That’s what I got for messing with things I didn’t understand.
Lesson learned. I guess I had it easier than Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy did.
Where they were gone for years, I was only gone for months.

Fortunately my friends knew nothing of what I’d done. I could just imagine

what they would think of me. I could almost hear Sean screaming, “WERE YOU
OUT OF YOUR FREAKING MIND?” I knew I should come clean with Sean
and the others, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Admitting to what I’d done
would at best make me look foolish and at worse insane. What had happened to
me was unbelievable, except for the fact that it had actually happened. I destroyed
the only evidence, so there was no proof of my adventures. At least Sean and

Mark A. Roeder

Nick had seen the book of magic that made my journey possible and had believed
in me enough to help destroy it.

Removing the temptation of that terrifying book was the only wise thing I’d

done of late. I had learned my lesson, but I didn’t know if I was strong enough to
resist the book’s allure. Had I not destroyed it, I might well have performed more
mischief with it. I liked to think I was wiser than that now, but who could say for
sure? I guess I didn’t need to concern myself with it, for the book was gone, out
of my reach forever. I was thankful for that.

Sean had not yet asked for a full explanation, but I knew it was only a matter

of time. Curiosity had to be eating at him. He had to know he’d taken part in the
end of a story; otherwise, I wouldn’t have been so desperate to destroy the ancient
tome. I knew I’d have to reveal my foolishness to him at some point, but I
couldn’t help but put it off. Perhaps I’d get lucky, and he would think it was only
a flight of fancy that had taken place only in my mind.

I knew it was no dream, however, not even a nightmare. I didn’t feel quite

comfortable in my own skin. You are changed. I knew it was true. I was changed.
I didn’t feel quite like me anymore. I felt as disoriented as if I was trying to walk
while gazing down at a mirror I held in my hands. I used to do that as a kid. I
knew my feet were firmly upon the floor, but looking at the mirror I saw the ceil-
ing instead and had the queerest feeling I was about to fall up. That’s how I felt
now. It was as if nothing was quite what it appeared to be.

I flipped through the pages of the latest Fangoria, my favorite monster/gore

magazine, as I sat at my desk. My homework sat untouched mere inches away. I
shivered suddenly, although I’d been toasty warm only a moment before. Other
boys might have suspected their parents had turned down the heat to save on the
gas bill, but I knew something far more interesting was up. My breath turned to
fog, and I looked quickly to the window. Frost formed inside the panes even as I
watched. In mere moments, my room turned into a deep freeze. I grinned. Some-
thing was about to happen that would take my mind off my troubles far more
thoroughly than even Fangoria did.

A chill wind ripped through the room, fanning the pages of my magazine. The

hair rose on the back of my neck. I could feel a presence behind me. I dropped
my magazine to the desk, stood, and looked toward the door. A column of what
looked like fog coalesced before my eyes into a boy of perhaps fifteen. He was no
ordinary boy, of course; anyone could see that.

Chances are you would wet your pants at such a sight, but not me. I’ve seen

ghosts before. I’m fascinated by them; some say obsessed. The boy and I just

Mark A. Roeder

peered at each other for several long moments. He seemed as interested in me as I
was in him. In that time I committed every detail of him to memory.

“What do you want?” I asked.
“Blackford Manor,” he whispered hoarsely.
“What about Blackford Manor?”
He didn’t answer. He dissolved into nothingness.
I was giddy with excitement over my brief encounter with the other side.

Never had an apparition appeared to me in my own room before. Never had I
seen one so clearly. He’d spoken to me! This was not a matter of past time intrud-
ing upon the present, nor of a traumatic event replaying itself. We had communi-
cated!

I pictured the ghost in my mind as the warmth of my room quickly returned

to normal. He’d been wearing what I’d call knee breeches, old-fashioned pants
that ended just below the knees, as well as a long-sleeved shirt, but no shoes. A
realization hit me as I recalled his appearance. I’d seen him in color! The few
ghosts I’d seen previously were grayish, colorless, but this one could nearly have
been mistaken for a real live boy had it not been for his face. His features were
bluish, and the latticework of veins just under the skin was clearly visible. He had
the coloration of someone who had suffocated. He was quite obviously dead.

The boy’s breeches were dark brown as were his hair and eyes. His shirt was

off-white, almost tan. It was linen and obviously homespun. I wasn’t a great
expert on fashion, but I knew no one had dressed like that since the middle of the
Nineteenth Century. The specter who had visited me was a good hundred and
thirty or more years old.

I knew from my voluminous reading about ghosts that they almost always had

a purpose when they chose to appear to someone. I knew also that most people
did not possess the psychic ability to see what was right there before them. I’d
long lamented the fact that my psychic abilities were too weak to allow me a
really good look into the other side, but at last I’d managed it!

It could be argued that the “ghosts” I’d seen previously weren’t true ghosts at

all, not spirits of the dead. The reenactment of the Graymoor murders was a case
in point. Frightening as it could be, it was nothing more than a replay of past
events. The dead were not there. The Graymoor boys made their presence known
from time to time by moving furniture and even speaking in disembodied voices,
but as far as I knew no one had seen their actual spirits, only memories of the liv-
ing Graymoor boys.

The spirit who had just visited had communicated directly with me. I wished

we could have conversed more, but I knew it took tremendous energy for a spirit

Mark A. Roeder

to appear. Those two words were probably all he could manage. I was so excited I
wanted to tell someone, anyone, but it was much too late to use the telephone. I
should have been in bed long ago myself, but I couldn’t sleep. I thought about
emailing Sean about my encounter, but it would be much more fun to tell him
face to face. He wasn’t as excited over ghosts as I was, but at least he wouldn’t
scoff. He’d experienced too many extraordinary things in the past to doubt the
existence of spirits. Most of my friends were the same. Not so long ago they all
thought I was loony, but they’d learned I knew what I was talking about. Even
Skye had come around and no longer referred to me as a freak.

Blackford Manor—the two words spoken by the spirit echoed in my mind. It

was quite obviously a place, but where was it? What was so important about it
that a boy had come from the other side to bring me the message? I’d need pow-
erful magic to find the location of Blackford Manor, so I turned to the internet.

A search for “Blackford Manor” returned only one relevant link (and a few

hundred irrelevant ones) and I quickly followed it. On a website called “British
History On The Web,” there was an entry on Blackford Manor in a book called
A History of Somerset County. The earliest reference to Blackford was in 1066,
when it was held by the Abbot of Glastonbury. What followed was a tremen-
dously long list of those who controlled Blackford until 1810, with a note that no
further trace of the estate was found. I wondered what had happened to the
manor. It couldn’t have simply disappeared after nearly 800 years, yet there was
no record of its destruction or continued existence. My ghostly visitor was from
the past, but could he be from that far back? Was he even referring to Blackford
Manor in Somerset, England? If so, why? What did an English manor have to do
with Verona, Indiana? As far as I knew, Verona didn’t even exist in 1810, and we
were a long way from Great Britain. Perhaps what I’d found had nothing to do
with my ghost at all, but apparently there wasn’t a Blackford Manor anywhere in
the U.S. or anywhere, period, except for Somerset, England. I had a lot of ques-
tions, but no answers.

Indiana did possess a Blackford County and the town of Blackford in the

southern part of the state, both named for a pioneer judge, Isaac Blackford.
Could there have been a manor in one of these locations? Manor was a decidedly
British term, however, and rarely used in the States. I needed more information if
I was going to get anywhere with my investigation. I was excited. Here, at last,
was something to take my mind off recent events. As Sherlock Holmes would
have said, the game was afoot.

Mark A. Roeder

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

The next morning I tracked down Sean on his way to school. He was accom-

panied by Nick, of course, and when I found them they were making out, partly
obscured by a tree. I disguised “horn dogs” in a pretend cough.

“Yeah, like you and Kate don’t spend most of your time tongue-wrestling,”

said Nick as he pulled his lips from Sean’s.

“Guess what happened last night?”
“There was a monster movie marathon on cable?” guessed Sean.
“You found another Fangoria magazine on eBay for your collection?” guessed

Nick.

“No, but I had a visitor! A ghost!”
“You’ve seen ghosts before,” said Sean, “although I guess the new never quite

wears off, does it?”

“This one was different. He looked nearly as real as any of us. If it hadn’t been

for his old-fashioned clothing and his blue face, I would’ve mistaken him for a
burglar.”

“Blue face?” asked Nick. “Was this the ghost of a Smurf?”
“What’s a Smurf?” asked Sean.
“You know, those little blue guys on old cartoons,” said Nick.
“No. Blue as in lack of oxygen, as in suffocation. I’m so excited! I’ve never

seen a ghost like this before! We even communicated!”

“Ask you for date, did he?” asked Nick. “Did you tell him you’re only inter-

ested in girls?”

“No! I asked him what he wanted and he said, ‘Blackford Manor.’”
“Sounds lost to me,” said Nick.
I noticed that Sean looked thoughtful.
“What is it, Sean?”
“I was just thinking; that name, Blackford, I’ve seen it somewhere before.”
“Where?”
“I don’t remember … Wait, yes I do.… The crypt! Remember when we were

down there showing Oliver around, Nick? We noticed some of the dates went
way back, and I found that one crypt dated 1812. There was a crypt marked
Blackford, too. I don’t remember the first name, but I thought it odd, because it
was the only crypt without the name Graymoor on it. Some of the crypts had a
surname other than Graymoor, but Graymoor was somewhere in every name on
every crypt, except for that one.”

Mark A. Roeder

“Interesting,” I said. “Can I get a look at it sometime? I’ve got a date with Kate

tonight, but maybe tomorrow after school?”

“Of course,” said Sean.
“Great. I did a little investigating on the internet last night, but I didn’t come

up with much.”

I told Sean and Nick what I’d discovered as we walked to school. I was even

more excited by the appearance of the name Blackford in the Graymoor crypt,
however. Could it be the tomb of the boy who had visited me during the night?

“Uh-oh,” said Nick. “Marshall has that look in his eye again.”
“The one he gets every time something weird happens?” asked Sean.
“That’s the one,” said Nick.
I smiled.
“I’ll catch you guys later,” I said as we neared Verona High School. “I want to

hit the library and see if I can find any Blackford references there.”

“Later, Marshall.”
Eager to discover more about my midnight visitor, I raced toward school.

- 15 -

Skye

Pete Niffler’s back slammed into the trunk of a pine tree, sending a shower of
snow and ice raining down upon him. He slid to the ground in slow motion. He
looked up at me with a surprised look on his face. A trickle of blood flowed from
the corner of his mouth.

“I used to look up to you,” I said as I stared down at him, “but you’re nothing

but a bully. Find some other place to get your kicks, because you’re not picking
on guys half your size around here anymore.”

Pete slowly stood, dusting himself off. He was a former Verona High School

football player, but he had to be twenty-two now. I think I was in seventh grade
when he was a senior. He was slightly taller than I was, at 6'3", but he wasn’t lean
and buff as he’d been in high school. Why did all the jocks go to seed after they
left school? I wasn’t going to let that happen to me.

“I barely touched him. He was gawking at me, so I said—”
“I know what you said, and I’d better never hear you call him or anyone else a

faggot again.”

“I’ll bet you fifty bucks he is one!”
Noah Cummings shifted his weight from one foot to the other just a few feet

away. I didn’t know him well, but he went to the gay-youth group that Sean and
the others attended. He was fifteen years old and no match for the likes of Pete
Niffler, who towered over him.

“I don’t care what he is,” I said, poking Pete in the chest. “Lay off him, or I’ll

kick your ass all over the park! Got it?”

Pete scowled at me while considering his options. I got right up in his face.

Mark A. Roeder

“Do … you … understand?” I said slowly and loudly, as if he was stupid.
“Yeah,” he said, reluctantly.
“Apologize.”
Pete was not happy, to say the least, but he turned to Noah.
“I’m sorry I called you a faggot, kid.”
Noah nodded.
“Now get away from me,” I said.
Pete sauntered off, and I turned to Noah.
“Thanks, Skye.”
“No problem. Are you going to be okay? Want me to walk you home?”
“No, I’ll be fine now.”
I smiled at him. “See you later, then.”
“Bye, Skye.”
I looked at my watch. It was 6:30 already, and I needed to get home. I walked

across the snow-covered park. A chill crept up under my leather jacket, causing
me to shiver slightly. I was more than ready for winter to end. Give me the sun
and warmth of summer any day! My multiple layers of clothing made me feel
constricted. I was most comfortable when I could go around wearing only shoes
and shorts. I wouldn’t be walking around outside like that anytime soon, but I
consoled myself that summer would eventually come, even to Verona, Indiana.

I walked in the front door, shouted out that I was home, hurried up the stairs,

and closed the door to my room behind me. I slipped out of my jacket and peeled
off my long-sleeved shirt and undershirt, and then stripped down to my Aber-
crombie & Fitch boxers. I selected my favorite workout shorts, also A&F, pulled
them on, put on a pair of dry shoes, and wheeled out my Bowflex.

I set up the machine for my first set in no time at all and sat down to knock

out 350 ab crunches. I had previously been doing fewer reps with much higher
weight, but I wanted more definition in my abs rather than size, so I dropped the
weight to 150, and upped my reps. The first set was just a warm-up. I’d do three
more at the end of my workout, which added up to 1,400 crunches total. I’d only
been doing the higher reps with lower weight for a few weeks, and already my abs
were better defined than ever.

When I finished the crunches, I moved onto one of my two favorite exercises,

the bench press. (My other favorite was butterflies, also a chest exercise.) I leaned
back against the bench and concentrated on each rep as I slowly knocked it out.
Form, not speed, was important with bench presses. The same was true of most
exercises. I often listened to music while I worked out, but I still maintained my

Mark A. Roeder

focus. At other times I worked out in silence, feeling the rhythm of my muscles as
they worked.

My pecs flexed as I completed my third and last set of bench presses. I loved

the way my body felt when I worked out—and after, too. I couldn’t understand
why most guys didn’t exercise. Even if they didn’t care about muscles and looks,
the feeling was such a rush! Unfortunately, if you don’t know what I’m talking
about, I can’t explain it, so tough for you. It’s one of those things you have to
experience, but hey, it’s your loss, not mine, and my motto is: “If it’s not happen-
ing to me, it doesn’t matter.” Okay, I’m kidding; that’s not my motto. I just like
to piss people off by telling them it is. To be honest, my life would be a lot easier,
not to mention safer, if it was my motto, but there’s too much shit going on for
me to be all self-centered like I used to be. I learned my lesson about that—the
hard way, but that’s another story.

“Skye, are you decent?” called my sister from the other side of my bedroom

door.

“That’s highly debatable, but I’m not naked, if that’s what you mean.”
Janelle cracked the door open and stuck her head in.
“I’m about ready to leave.”
“Okay,” I said, getting up off my Bowflex.
I followed Janelle downstairs where Colin, my six-year-old nephew, was play-

ing with his toy bulldozers and trucks in the living room.

“Uncle Skye is going to keep an eye on you while Mommy’s gone,” said

Janelle. “You behave and don’t give Skye any trouble.”

“He’s never any trouble,” I said. I turned to Colin. “We’re going to work out

while your mom is gone, aren’t we?”

“Yes!” said Colin, jumping up. I lifted him into my arms.
“Matthew and I will be at the Park’s Edge if you need us,” said Janelle. “We

won’t be that long.”

“Don’t rush. We’ll be fine, won’t we, Colin?”
“Grrrr,” said Colin, turning to his mom and flexing his first-grader muscles.
Janelle laughed and pulled on her coat.
“You know, you’d save a lot of travel time if you two just went ahead and got

married,” I said. Janelle had only recently told me that Matthew had proposed
and she’d accepted, even though it had happened weeks before. I was amazed she
was able to keep her mouth shut that long.

“Yes, but this way I don’t have to cook.”
“And here I thought I was the devious one in the family.”
There was a knock at the front door. It was Matthew.

Mark A. Roeder

“Hi, Skye. Hey, Colin.”
“Hey.”
Colin jumped down and ran to Matthew, who picked him up and gave him a

hug. Colin was quite fond of him, which was a good thing because Matthew was
destined to be his new daddy.

“Call if you need us,” said Janelle.
“Will you get out of here? Colin and I have a workout to finish.”
“Bye,” said Janelle, and with that, she and Matthew were gone.
Colin hopped into my arms once more.
“You missed bench presses, but I’m doing butterflies next,” I said, carrying

him up the stairs.

When Colin worked out with me, he did little more than watch and “help”

me set up the machine for different exercises. He was just six, after all. He did a
few pushups and ab crunches on the floor beside the machine, however. I’d told
him that’s where he needed to start if he was going to use my Bowflex someday.
When he was old enough, I’d teach him all about working out. By the time he
was interested in girls or boys, he’d be all buff and desirable, just like his Uncle
Skye.

Between school, work, football and wrestling practice, I had very little time to

spend with Colin. Maybe that’s why I didn’t mind giving up my evening off to
baby-sit for him now and then. He was pretty well-behaved for a little kid. Sure,
he got into things, but he knew not to bother me when my door was closed.
Maybe that’s why I liked him: he didn’t pester me when I didn’t want to be both-
ered. Well, not much anyway. Even when he did, it was hard to be angry with
him. The kid idolized me, and what’s not to like about that?

My workout time was usually private, unless Scott, my best friend, came to

work out with me, which he did sometimes. As much as I liked him, Colin
messed up my concentration by his mere presence. Concentration is important,
and becoming distracted can cause accidents. Colin didn’t distract me all that
much, but I didn’t get as much out of a workout if he was in the room.

Colin did pushups while I knocked out reps of butterflies. I’d already taught

him which exercises worked out which muscle groups. I’d taken a lot of time to
teach him to do things the right way, and he had great form. He did near perfect
pushups, and he was only six! I bet no other kid his age even did pushups.

Okay, I know I sound like a proud father, but Colin was the closest I’d proba-

bly ever get to a son. He looks so much like me the guys at school hassle me, talk-
ing shit about an incestuous relationship with my sister. I don’t get mad. It’s just
locker-room bullshit. If I was a little older, Colin could be mistaken for my son,

Mark A. Roeder

but as I’m seventeen and he’s six, it doesn’t quite work out. I hope there are no
eleven-year-old fathers out there. Can you imagine?

I went through my entire workout and then took Colin downstairs. The rest

of the evening was pleasant enough, but you’d be bored out of your skull if I told
you about it. So we’ll just skip to the next morning when something exciting did
happen.

I did a double-take as I walked down the main hallway of Verona High

School. I felt as if I’d seen a ghost. Glen Barrett walked right past me. He didn’t
look in my direction, and I don’t even think he saw me, but he was back in
school! After the shit he’d pulled, he’d actually come back!

I turned on my heel and started after him, but a hand closed on my shoulder

and tugged.

“Not now!” I said, turning.
“We’ve got to talk,” said Jarret.
“But I just saw …”
“Glen, I know. He’s back. They’re all back.”
“Are they crazy?” I asked. “I’m going after him!”
“Skye, no! You want to get suspended? I know you. I know what you’ll do.”
“You’re damned right you know. I’m gonna kick his ass!”
“And get yourself kicked out of school. Calm down. You can deal with Glen

later.”

I was still looking down the hallway in the direction Glen had gone, even

though he’d disappeared.

“He’s not going anywhere,” said Jarret.
Kids passing by were staring at me. They could sense an oncoming fight. They

were going to have to wait awhile for some action, though. I turned and looked
Jarret in the eyes again.

“Yeah, okay. So, let’s talk.”
Jarret pulled me into an empty classroom. I breathed a little harder being

alone with him. Jarret and I had had some hot times. We had a regular thing
going. We weren’t boyfriends. I wasn’t into all that crap. I mean, why go out on
dates and all that shit when you can skip right to the sex? I wasn’t into the whole
holding hands and walking in the moonlight thing, either. That was for pansies.
Well, it’s not cool for me to say that, because I know some cool guys who are into
that stuff. Let’s just say it wasn’t for me.

“They’re all back,” said Jarret.
“We covered that.”

Mark A. Roeder

“Well, I wanted to get to you before you did something stupid. It looks as if I

was just in time.”

“Those guys tried to kill Oliver and me! Need I remind you that Jeremy shot

you!”

“I was there,” said Jarret. “Believe me, taking a bullet isn’t something I’ll soon

forget, nor is staring the Grim Reaper in the face, but this isn’t for you to deal
with, Skye. Let the authorities handle it.”

“You know that’s not possible. Why do you think we didn’t report what they

did to the police?”

“Well, I …”
“Where’s the evidence, Jarret? Both you and I know what happened, but we

walked out of there in the end without a scratch.”

“If I hadn’t been there, if it hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t have believed

it,” said Jarret.

“Exactly. So how are the authorities going to handle a crime we can’t even tell

them about? Can you imagine reporting it? ‘Well you see, officer, these guys tried
to kill us. One of them shot me in the shoulder, but there’s no wound because an
angel came along and healed me.’ Yeah, that would go over real big. They’d cart
us off to the loony bin.”

“Well, that is what happened.”
“I know it’s what happened, but we can’t tell anyone else about it! All kind of

shit is out there I never believed in before, and I now know is true, but … well,
we just can’t go around telling other people about it! I can barely believe it
myself, and I was there! So, I’ve got to handle this myself.”

I made for the door, but Jarret grabbed my shoulder again.
“You’re not Superman, Skye.”
“I’m as close as you’re going to find around here. Actually, I think of myself

more as Batman. I just wish my car kicked ass like that.”

“Skye, I know I can’t tell you what to do. Just calm down a little first, okay?

Talk to those friends of yours: Oliver and that whole crowd. You said there was
some big discussion about the whole situation before. See what they have to say.”

“Okay,” I said, walking back out into the crowded hallway with Jarret. “But

I’m not gonna let Jeremy and those other bastards get away with what they did.
I’m gonna kill those assholes!”

Several of my classmates were staring at me.
“What are you looking at? Get lost!” I said, a little too angrily. They all scat-

tered like frightened mice.

Mark A. Roeder

I found Sean in the halls on my way to lunch and informed him of the reap-

pearance of the Nazis who were probably in on murdering his best friend.

“I knew it!” he said. “I could have sworn I saw Ben Tyler at the Paramount last

night, but I thought maybe I was imagining things.”

Sean tried to act brave, but his face paled, and his voice shook. Of course, he

agreed to round up the guys for a meeting at his house. Oliver and I had work, so
we couldn’t make it until a little after nine, so that’s when the meeting was sched-
uled.

Sean, Nick, Oliver, and I were all “out” gay boys, but our little group formed

sort of a secret society. Marshall was a member as well, even though he was het-
ero—no one is perfect, and Marshall is just plain weird anyway—and Clay wasn’t
involved yet, even though he was gay. Only those of us privy to what had gone
down with the Evil Four (Jeremy, Glen, Alex, and Ben) were a part of the group.
Jarret hadn’t been there at the meeting with Mark and Taylor, but I’d filled him
in on a lot of things. I thought he deserved an explanation after he took a bullet
for me. Besides, after what he’d seen, he would have probably gone nuts if I
hadn’t told him he wasn’t losing his mind. I knew how hard it was for me to
accept certain things as reality, even when I knew they were true.

No mention was made of the Evil Four at lunch, but I knew Sean would pass

the word. Of course, their return to school was no secret, but much connected
with them was. I tried to get my mind off them, but it wasn’t easy. Sitting there
between the gay crowd and my teammates helped. My teammates were especially
noisy and rambunctious. That’s just how jocks are. It was kind of funny how I
was the bridge between the gays and the jocks. I guess it was natural, though. I
was a hybrid, a member of both groups, and it was my coming out that pretty
much put an end to the jocks harassing the gay boys. I say pretty much, because
things aren’t perfect. You can’t expect people to change in a day or even a few
weeks. There were also plenty of jerks who needed to be taken down a notch, but
they weren’t my teammates. Being top dog at V.H.S. was a full-time job. The
work of the Alpha male was never done.

After lunch, I had a harder time keeping my mind off the return of my ene-

mies. Let’s face it, some high-school classes can get pretty dull. I was pissed off
that Jeremy, Glen, Alex, and Ben had the gall to return and act as if nothing at all
had happened. If I only had myself to consider, I would’ve been pleased as well as
pissed by their return. I figured they were gone for good, but they were once
again within arms’ reach. It was payback time.

I had others to think about, however, and that was the scary part. Just how

safe were Oliver and the others with that crowd roaming around? Jeremy himself

Mark A. Roeder

told me all four of them were involved in the murders last spring. That didn’t
necessarily mean they did the actual killing, but any involvement was bad
enough. Three gay boys had been killed before things came to an end. The Evil
Four had meant to kill both Oliver and me when things came to a head during
our last encounter. If things had worked out differently, we’d both be dead. I
knew Jeremy was capable of murder. If Jarret hadn’t knocked me out of the way,
he would’ve blown me away. No, those guys couldn’t be allowed to roam around
free. The question was: what was I going to do about it?

- 23 -

Sean

Sometimes, I wished my life was boring. Excitement is all and good, but far too
often it comes with danger. I’d had more than my share of both in recent
months. How many sixteen-year-old boys had survived a murder attempt? How
many lived in a haunted mansion? My life was like a freaking movie or TV show
sometimes, and didn’t it just figure it would have to be a horror film? Why
couldn’t my life have been more like Frasier or Seinfeld instead of Buffy the Vam-
pire Slayer? At least there were no vampires involved, but even that would not sur-
prise me. If any did show up, I’d let Skye or Marshall deal with them.

The gang met at my house to discuss the reappearance of the Evil Four. Our

get-together didn’t accomplish much other than to reaffirm that we were all in
this together. All of us had hoped we’d seen the last of our enemies, but we all
knew why they’d returned: because they could. There was no proof of their
crimes, and therefore we had nothing to take to the authorities. The Evil Four
knew we wouldn’t turn them in, because no one in their right mind would
believe what happened. That’s the trouble with knowing things about the world
no one else does; everyone thinks you’re crazy if you talk about it.

The next school day after our nighttime meeting was normal, if one can call

any day at V.H.S. normal. Still, the chattering of my classmates, the banging of
locker doors, and the cafeteria’s cruel imitation of pizza helped set me at ease.
Even the very scent of the school—a combination of pencil shavings, paper,
Elmer’s glue, and the janitor’s cleaning solution—helped calm my nerves.

Most of the morning passed without unpleasantness, but between 3

and 4

period Jeremy Herrington mouthed “faggot” to me as he passed in the hallway. If

Mark A. Roeder

he hadn’t been one of the Evil Four, I would’ve just shrugged it off. As it was, it
sent a chill up my spine and made me fear for my safety. He showed no sign of
attacking me, although that meant little. He wouldn’t do me any serious harm in
a crowded hallway. His kind preferred to do their dirty work in secrecy.

As usual, lunch was the highlight of my day. This was mostly because I enjoy

sitting with my friends, but also because I rather enjoy eating. True, the repasts of
the cafeteria usually weren’t deserving of even a single star, but every meal usually
had at least one redeeming feature. Today, there were two: some rather excellent
breadsticks and vanilla pudding. The pizza, as I mentioned, was a cruel imitation
of the real thing. It looked okay, but smelled just a bit like vomit and tasted like
tomato juice and sawdust spread over greasy cardboard. There were applesauce
and green beans, too, and well … let’s just say I don’t think they were meant to
be eaten.

As I ate, I looked around the table at Nick, Skye, Oliver, Marshall, and Clay. I

knew I was lucky to have such close friends and even luckier that most of them
were gay. I could well have been sitting off somewhere all by myself feeling like
the only gay boy in the entire world. Instead, I had not only friends, but a sup-
port group.

Kimberly and Brittany were also part of my support group. There weren’t part

of my intimate core of friends, but they were still friends. They tended to talk
more between themselves than with the rest of us, but they were always friendly.
Kimberly and Brittany were a lesbian couple, and they were sooo cute.

Jarret sat near as well, although he gave no indication he had something going

with Skye. He was kind of in limbo, neither completely in nor out of the closet.
The relationship between Skye and Jarret was an odd one. They weren’t dating
and weren’t a couple, but there was obviously something there. There was some-
thing in the way they looked at each other that spoke volumes. Jarret, in particu-
lar looked as if he had feelings for Skye. He’d never admit it, but I thought he
had a crush on Skye. I didn’t ask Skye about his relationship with Jarret, partly
because I feared he would tell me it was none of my business and partly because I
feared he would give me all the details. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what those
two got up to.

Scott McPherson, Skye’s best friend, sat near us, too. He was pretty cool and

had no problem sitting near the gay crowd. After Skye came out, most of the
jocks seemed a lot more accepting. Skye was definitely the top dog at V.H.S., and
as much as I hate to admit it, he did a lot for the image of us gay guys. Of course,
Coach Brewer was out, too, and he commanded a lot of respect. Skye was our
age, though, and that made a lot of difference.

Mark A. Roeder

My cousin Avery sat a short distance away with his own friends. He’d been a

real jerk when he first moved into Graymoor with us, but he’d improved consid-
erably. I missed making out with Nick in front of him to freak him out, but the
new and improved Avery was worth the loss. Avery was neither gay nor a jock,
which is probably why he chose to sit with his own circle of friends. We saw each
other enough at home anyway.

I looked down the table and spotted Zoë talking to some of her friends. I

counted her as my best friend now that Marty was gone. Zoë was just plain cool.
She’d always been there for me when I needed her, and in the last few months,
I’d needed her a lot. She’d helped bring Marshall out of his shell, too. Before Zoë
took him on as a project, most people thought he was just too weird to endure
and shied away from him. Zoë performed a complete makeover on Marshall: new
clothes, a new haircut, and more. When she was finished with him, he was like an
entirely new boy. It was just after that that he started dating Kate Camden. Now,
Marshall and Kate were permanently joined at the lip.

It wasn’t Marshall’s new look that gained him acceptance among my crowd; it

was the fact that we’d discovered he’d been right all along about a lot of things.
Skye, in particular, used to scoff at all of Marshall’s talk about ghosts and the
supernatural—going so far as to call him a freak—but that changed fast when
Skye came face to face with spirits himself.

The rest of my school day was uneventful, as were the hours following until

seven p.m. when Ethan and Nathan dropped Nick off at Graymoor. After a
quick make-out session in the study off the parlor, Nick and I walked to Noah’s
house to pick him up for the gay-youth meeting.

I looked forward to our meetings. I’d come to think of the tired old building

in downtown Verona as a home away from home. It was the one public place I
felt as if I could be me without risking a disapproving stare. It’s not that I let the
attitudes of others get to me all that much, but the gay-youth center was a safe
place where I was surrounded by others like me. There were some hetero mem-
bers, but they were accepting, which is why they attended.

I enjoyed the walk with Nick. Being with him made me happy; a lot of people

think that teenage relationships are all about sex, but there’s a lot more to us than
that. Sure, Nick and I had sex. We made love whenever we could. We did plenty
of other stuff, too. The point is that sex was only a part of our relationship. We
spent far more time listening to music, talking, and just hanging out than we did
getting naked together. Even when we made love, there was a lot more to it than
physical sex. We spent a lot of time making out before we got into the more seri-
ous lovemaking, and we often lay together for hours after we’d spent ourselves. I

Mark A. Roeder

think just lying there holding Nick and being held was my favorite part. It made
me feel safe and loved.

We picked up Noah to escort him to the gay-youth center. With the Evil Four

roaming around, it wasn’t safe for any of us to be alone. It was a nice evening for
a walk in any case, despite the cold. A part of me yearned for warmer weather, but
I knew it would come in time. I did my best to enjoy each season in turn.

Noah was fairly quiet. He never talked much. I knew he had a thing for Nick,

too. I could see it in his eyes. I think Noah suspected I knew as well, which made
him a touch uncomfortable around me. I made a special effort to be kind to him
and put him at ease. I had no worries about him stealing my boyfriend—well,
not many. Even if Noah had the nerve to make a move on Nick, I knew Nick
would turn him down. Noah didn’t seem the type, anyway.

I smiled when I spotted Marshall and Kate walking toward us. Marshall

seemed a lot happier since he’d started dating Kate. Marshall and I were alike in
one way at least. Neither of us ever thought we’d find someone.

“Another date?” I asked. I knew Marshall and Kate had gone out the night

before.

“Yeah! On your way to the center?” asked Marshall.
“Yeah, want to come?”
“I think I’ll pass,” said Marshall, grinning.
“How about you Kate? You know all the really cute guys are gay. Maybe you’ll

find someone you like better than Marshall.”

“Hey!” said Marshall.
“There’s a problem with that,” said Kate. “If I did find a hot boy there, he

wouldn’t be much use to me, now, would he? Besides, I’ll never trade in Mar-
shall.”

“Thanks, baby,” said Marshall, giving Kate a quick kiss on the lips.
“Close your eyes, Noah,” said Nick. “They’re going heterosexual on us.”
“Hey, Sean, can I get a look in the crypt later?” asked Marshall. “I want to

check out the Blackford inscription. What time is your meeting over?”

“Nine or so.”
“I’ll come to the center near nine, then, if that’s okay with you. Kate and I are

going to The Park’s Edge for supper, but I have to have her back home by 8:30
tonight.”

“Why so early, Kate?” I asked. “Don’t your parents trust Marshall?”
“They wouldn’t if they knew more, but they think he’s the perfect gentleman.

I have to be back because my Aunt Sadie is dropping in for a visit on her way

Mark A. Roeder

through town. My mom thinks I just have to be there because my aunt can only
stay one night. Personally, I’d rather not see her at all.”

“I guess Marshall is more fun than an old lady,” said Nick.
“Oh, he’s a lot more fun,” said Kate.
I looked at Nick. “Will you be okay if I take off with Marshall after the meet-

ing?”

“Sure.”
“Well, I don’t want you going anywhere alone.”
“I’ll stick with him,” said Noah, who seemed to be blushing.
“Yeah, Noah and I can hang out until my dads are ready to close up the cen-

ter. We’ll get a ride with them.”

“Okay, I guess it’s cool then,” I told Marshall.
“Great, see you later.”
“Bye.”
Nick, Noah, and I walked on to the center. Once there, Nick and I sat down

in a loveseat, while Noah wandered off to sit by Brittany and Kimberly, the
blonde, fifteen year old lesbians who sat with us at lunch.

I wondered for a moment why guys like the Evil Four didn’t give lesbians a

hard time like they did gay boys. Maybe it had something to do with the typical
straight-boy fantasy of seeing two girls together, or maybe they just didn’t feel
threatened by girls. I had heard some horror stories of lesbians being raped by
guys, and if that was true, the girls had it worse than us guys. I didn’t see how
anyone could be threatened by boys like Oliver and me, though, so that blew one
of my theories.

I remembered the first time I set eyes on Brittany and Kimberly. I had the

same reaction I did when I spotted a puppy or kitten in a store window. I wanted
to take them home with me. They were really sweet, too. Sometimes at school,
when they could tell I was down, they both came up to me and kissed my cheeks.
It made me feel loved.

Oliver and Clay were sitting close together on a nearby sofa, quite obviously a

couple now. I grinned when I saw Zoë. I’d forgotten she said she might show up.
Zoë wasn’t a lesbian, but she was very supportive of gays. If only all non-gays
were as cool as Zoë, gay boys would have no problems.

I was surprised when Skye walked in. So far, despite being the most high-pro-

file gay boy at school, he hadn’t attended any meetings. I’d ask him to come
before, but he said it just wasn’t his thing. I wondered if he’d shown up to act as
a sort of bodyguard for the rest of us. It was hardly necessary with Ethan there.
Mr. Selby was in his mid-thirties, and I have no doubt he could’ve taken out the

Mark A. Roeder

Evil Four all by himself. I was willing to bet he’d even be a match for Skye.
Ethan’s boyfriend or husband or whatever you want to call him, Nathan, was
there to protect us as well. Nathan wasn’t as buff as Ethan, but he looked like he
was capable of kicking butt. Mr. Brewer, the P.E. teacher and football coach from
school, wasn’t at the meeting, but he dropped in sometimes with his partner,
Casper. Brendan (Mr. Brewer) was every bit as buff as Ethan while Casper
reminded me a lot of Nathan. Anyway, we had no lack of protection at our meet-
ings. I always felt safer when Skye was around, though, and I was glad to see him
at the meeting in any case.

There were nearly two dozen in attendance, which was a good turnout. I think

the most that ever showed up at once was twenty-five, and sometimes there were
as few as a dozen of us. I came to every meeting I could, but sometimes other
things got in the way. It was like that for all of us.

During the first half of the meeting, we talked about what was going on in our

lives. Each of us took a turn and was allowed to say pretty much anything we
wanted. Some didn’t say much, and others said too much!

I watched a couple of Plymouth boys while Skye introduced himself to the

group. Since he’d entered, they’d been gawking at him as if they couldn’t believe
he was real. I was used to Skye’s looks, and sometimes he still took my breath
away. Anyone who had never seen him before usually couldn’t help but stare at
him. I just hoped the boys from Plymouth didn’t drool on themselves.

I noticed that Jarret, who had come in after Skye, didn’t sit next to him. I had

no idea why. Here of all places they should’ve felt free to be open about what they
had going. Of course, no one could accuse Skye of being fearful and timid. When
he came out, he did it with a vengeance. I still remembered how he got up in Alex
Allerbrook’s face when Alex made some comment about Skye being queer. Skye
said something along the lines of, “Yeah, I suck dick just like you’d lick pussy if
any girl would let you, so shut the fuck up!” Vulgar definitely, but timid, no.
Skye had no problem with anyone knowing he was gay. Whatever his reasons for
keeping his relationship with Jarret on the lowdown, they weren’t based in fear.

“Okay,” said Oliver when his turn to speak came. “This week I had cheese

toasties for supper on Monday and Thursday.”

Everyone present, except the newcomers, grinned. Oliver’s weekly report on

“cheese toasties” had become a running gag. Each week he told us of his
cheese-toasties adventures and his encounters with cheesy curls and other
cheese-related foods.

“Don’t you mean toasted cheese?” asked one of the Plymouth boys.

Mark A. Roeder

“No! It’s not the cheese that gets toasted is it? It’s the toast, so it’s cheese toast-

ies!”

Nick giggled beside me. Oliver could get quite serious about his cheese toast-

ies.

“On Monday, I tried some oregano on my cheese toasties, and that worked

out okay, but my experiment with cheese toasties and sardines didn’t go so well.”

“Eww, sardines,” said Zoë.
“Oh! Oh! They came out with these new cheesy curls with white cheese and

chives. They are so awesome!” said Oliver.

“Does your obsession with cheese make you a dairy queen?” asked Skye.
I couldn’t believe he said that. Everyone moaned at Skye’s lame joke, and Zoë

pelted him with a wad of paper. I was glad to see Skye loosen up. Perhaps he saw
no need to keep up his bad-ass routine around us.

The discussion topic for the second half of our meeting was stereotypes.

Mainly, we discussed how they were wrong. Gay boys were supposed to be effem-
inate, weak, great lovers of show tunes and cross-dressing, but the truth was there
were all kinds of gay boys, just like there were all kinds of boys. I was sure there
were all kinds of lesbians and bisexuals, too, although my experiences with them
were limited.

Jeremy—not the evil Jeremy Herrington, but one of the gay boys from Ply-

mouth—was rather feminine acting. He had this soft, kind of high voice and
acted a bit girly. He was a soccer player at his school, though, and had some nice
muscles. He fit part of the gay stereotype, but not the others. He was an example
of how most people just don’t fit into molds. Of course, Skye was the most glar-
ing example of how stereotypes were wrong. He was the very essence of the
all-American, straight-boy jock, but he was as gay as the rest of us.

I wasn’t into sports, and I definitely wasn’t the macho type, but I wasn’t femi-

nine either. In some ways, I fit the stereotypes and in others, I didn’t. I was just
me. I think that was the point that Ethan was trying to get across: that each of us
were individuals and that we shouldn’t label ourselves.

“Using such labels as gay, bi, and straight is inaccurate,” said Ethan. “I think

most of us use these labels, but not everyone has the same definitions. To some,
they merely indicate sexual orientation. To others, they encompass a whole way
of life. Even the narrow definition, indicating sexual orientation, is filled with
inaccuracy. Most of us identify as gay, bi, or straight based on what we feel most
of the time. We allow exceptions to the rule. Many of us who identify ourselves as
gay have desires and even sexual experiences with members of the opposite sex.
Many who identify themselves as straight are sometimes attracted to members of

Mark A. Roeder

the same sex and have sexual encounters with them. This is often called experi-
menting, but it represents a part of who we are. Accurate labeling probably just
isn’t possible, but if we were to try to be as accurate as possible, I think that the
vast majority of the population would have to consider themselves bisexual,
because virtually no one is 100% heterosexual or homosexual.”

“But don’t a whole lot of people go through their entire lives without ever

having sex with someone of the opposite sex or with the same sex?” asked Zoë.

“Certainly,” said Ethan. “Feeling an attraction and acting on it are two differ-

ent things. That doesn’t alter orientation, however. If someone goes through
their entire life as a virgin, they still have a sexual orientation.”

“I’d rather die than go through my whole life as a virgin,” said Skye. “That’s a

fate worse than death!”

“I’m sure you’ve already escaped that fate, Skye,” I said. “Probably when you

were twelve.”

Skye grinned. Jarret actually blushed slightly, and the others laughed.
“The whole point I’m trying to make is that each of you should see yourself as

an individual,” said Ethan. “You don’t have to fit into any mold or feel that you
should fit any particular label.”

“My label is Abercrombie & Fitch,” said Skye. “I’ve also got some Calvin

Klein on if anyone wants to see.” Skye stood and made as if to undo his jeans.
The boys from Plymouth leaned forward. I swear I could hear them breathing
harder.

“This isn’t that kind of meeting, Skye,” said Ethan with a grin. Skye sat back

down. “Don’t try to meet the expectations of others. Just as you shouldn’t let
peers pressure you into smoking, drinking, or drugs, you shouldn’t let them or
society in general pressure you into being what you are not. This whole topic can
be boiled down to two words: be yourself.”

We continued talking, and then the meeting ended. Afterwards, there were

always snacks—soft drinks, chips, brownies, cake, and that sort of thing. I limited
myself to a diet drink and a moderate amount of junk food. I was still in the pro-
cess of dropping weight, after all. We usually played card and board games and
just sat around. It was also a time when the adults were available for private con-
versations if any of us had problems.

Nick and I played Monopoly with Skye, Noah, and Kimberly and Brittany

(the adorable lesbian couple). With six of us, it was hard to put together any kind
of monopoly. Nick managed it, however, and pretty soon he had my money and
then began taking my properties. I was hoping to get my hands on Kentucky

Mark A. Roeder

Avenue to complete my own set, but no such luck. I fell short and landed on
New York Avenue instead, which was part of Nick’s monopoly.

“You’d force your boyfriend into bankruptcy?” I asked, giving Nick my best

sad puppy-dog look.

“In a heartbeat,” said Nick and laughed.
“I guess we know who’s dominant in that relationship,” said Skye.
Nick gleefully took Indiana and Illinois Avenues away from me. They were

my last properties. I was out of the game.

“I’ll make it up to you later, baby,” said Nick, arching his eyebrows.
That brought a loud ohhhhhhhhh from Skye.
“Can I watch?” he asked.
Nick threw a hotel at him. Noah looked back and forth between Nick and me

with a hungry expression. The poor boy needed a boyfriend of his own.

“Hey.”
I looked up to see Marshall.
“Perfect timing,” I said.
“Wow, I didn’t think you’d be brave enough to enter the den of homos,” said

Skye.

“I’m fearless,” said Marshall. “You ready to go, Sean?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry, Nick,” said Marshall, “I’ll walk him home.”
“Just keep your hands to yourself,” said Nick, grinning.
“You’re in luck. I don’t think Kate would like it if I put the moves on Sean.”
“Get out of here,” said Nick.
We went through a round of goodbyes, and then I pulled on a coat, and Mar-

shall and I walked out into the darkness.

- 32 -

Marshall

“I had another visitation,” I told Sean as we walked away from the gay-youth cen-
ter.

“Yeah, another nighttime visitor?”
“No, this one was in broad daylight and at school no less! I’ve been dying to

tell you.”

“Didn’t want to tell me in front of Kate, huh?”
“No, she’s okay with my interests, but I don’t say much about the more unbe-

lievable stuff I’ve seen.”

“Yeah, she’s probably not ready for the truth. Few people are.”
“Well, anyway, right after school I was waiting for Kate at my locker. She was

late—naturally—and pretty much everyone had cleared out. I saw this boy com-
ing toward me. I didn’t think anything about it at first, but as he got closer, I
noticed he was wearing this weird hat. It was round, with a wide brim—not the
kind of hat anyone wears nowadays. He was wearing old-fashioned clothes, kind
of like the ghost I told you about, except this boy was wearing shoes and the hat.
As he drew nearer, the temperature plummeted, and I could see my own breath.
He walked right up to me, and when he was about three feet away, I got a good
look at his face. The right side was all bashed in as if he’d been hit hard with
something. He tried to speak, but I couldn’t make any sense of what he was say-
ing. His jaw was messed up, so he couldn’t talk properly.”

“Wow, right there in the school? In the daytime?”
“Yeah, I’ve read about stuff like that, but it’s so rare.”
“I thought ghosts only came out at night,” I said.

Mark A. Roeder

“No, but that’s when they are most often seen. Some really powerful psychics

can see them any time of day.”

We walked on and discussed how the two visitations I’d recently experienced

were different from the ghostly sightings both Sean and I had experienced in
Graymoor. Quite soon we were standing before the enormous old mansion.

“Looks as if Dad’s home,” said Sean, pointing to a light on second floor. “He

uses that room for his study.”

There were also lights in the parlor and kitchen. We entered through the mas-

sive front door, and I drew in a deep breath. I loved the scent of Graymoor: a
combination of polished wood and old paper. Sean and I grabbed flashlights and
turned toward the hall that led to the crypt.

“What are you guys doing?” asked Avery as he came down the stairs.
“Marshall wanted to check something out in the crypt,” said Sean.
“Figures. Mind if I tag along? I’m bored out of my mind.”
The three of us walked down the long hallway, past the dining room and pan-

tries located on the right and a number of sitting rooms on the left. A short dis-
tance past the dining room was a stone stairway that led down into the yawning
mouth of a dark passage. We flicked on our flashlights and descended the worn
steps, leaving the comfort and convenience of electric lighting behind us.

I’d been in the crypt before and thought it beyond cool that dozens of people

were actually buried in Sean’s basement. He didn’t share my enthusiasm for the
in-house cemetery, but it didn’t seem to freak him out as much as it once did.
Avery looked slightly nervous as we stepped out into the crypt, but kept whatever
he was feeling hidden for the most part. Avery liked to present a tough-guy
image.

“Do you remember where you saw the name?” I asked.
“Along the west wall, I think,” said Sean.
“What are we looking for?” asked Avery.
“The name Blackford,” I said.
I ran my flashlight over several markers embedded into the west wall, but

located only one Graymoor after another—Cole, Hannah, Rebecca, Danforth,
Thomas, Hank, Cedric, and a whole host of others. It was clearly a family crypt,
which made me wonder why a Blackford was buried down there among all those
Graymoors.

“Here it is,” said Sean, raking his flashlight across deeply carved letters.
I drew closer.
“That’s odd,” I said. “There’s no first name, no date of birth or death—noth-

ing except for the surname. The slots above and below are empty, too.”

Mark A. Roeder

All four walls of the crypt were lined with burials. There wasn’t an empty spot

except for those above and below the slot marked “Blackford.”

“Perhaps there weren’t quite enough Graymoors to fill the space,” said Avery.
“Yes, there were,” I said. “Edward, William, Ellie, and their parents could

have been interred behind the walls like the others, but instead they were placed
in the sarcophagi in the center of the crypt. I’ve never thought about it before,
but I wonder why.”

“And who went to all the trouble?” asked Avery. “If Kenneth Graymoor mur-

dered his entire family and was hung for his crimes, who took care of the burials?
Who made the decision to have the sarcophagi carved when it would have been a
lot easier to bury the last of the Graymoors behind the walls like the rest of the
family?”

“There had to be an heir,” said Sean. “No one lived in the house after the

Graymoor murders, but ownership had to pass to someone.”

“Who owned Graymoor when your parents bought it?” I asked.
“It was confidential,” said Sean. “Whoever owned it wanted it kept a secret,

for some reason. Mom and Dad wrote out the check to the realtor.”

“Maybe no one owned it, and the realtor just pocketed the cash. It would be a

brilliant scam,” said Avery.

“The deed to the property was legally registered. I don’t see how the realtor

could get away with selling a property he didn’t own. I know Mom and Dad had
a title search performed. It’s standard practice.”

“Wouldn’t that have revealed the name of the owner?” I asked.
“I remember they said something about a trust,” said Sean.
“So maybe ownership had passed to some organization, a church, or club, or

the Masons, or something,” said Avery. “Perhaps whatever heir there was gave up
on the place and just donated it to some group.”

“Perhaps,” said Sean, “Anyway, the title search and the deed won’t reveal any-

thing. They should, but nothing is normal where Graymoor is concerned.”

I continued gazing at the deeply carved letters. Something just didn’t make

sense. The lone crypt, with no first name and no dates just didn’t match every-
thing else down there.

We searched the rest of the crypt, but the Blackford crypt was the only one

not bearing the name of Graymoor.

“I’m sorry we didn’t find much,” said Sean as we climbed back up the worn

steps.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” I said.
“What’s all this about anyway?” asked Avery.

Mark A. Roeder

I briefly explained the visitation from the spirit world and what I’d found

on-line. Avery didn’t scoff, but didn’t seem impressed either.

“Coincidence,” he announced.
“Maybe, but I’ve been doing some digging. I’ve failed to find a single reference

to Blackford anywhere in Verona. Not a single grave in the cemeteries bears the
name, and there’s nothing in the local history books.”

“Not everything is recorded,” pointed out Sean.
“True.”
“You said you found something on a Blackford Manor in England?” asked

Avery. “How do you know your visitor wasn’t referring to it?”

“It’s possible, but why come to me? We’re a long way from England, and I’ve

never been there. What would a British ghost be doing over here anyway?”

“Maybe he’s on holiday,” said Avery and then laughed.
“This is going to bug me until I get it figured out,” I said.
“Good luck with that,” said Avery. “I’ve had enough for tonight myself. I’ll see

you guys later.”

“Later, Avery. Thanks for your help.”
“He’s not the jerk he once was,” I said to Sean when Avery had disappeared

into the kitchen.

“No, he’s not half-bad for a heterosexual.”
I punched Sean in the arm for that.
I was just getting ready to call it a night and go home and puzzle things out

when a movement by the stair caught my eye. I turned toward it, and a young
man was standing there. I grabbed Sean’s arm.

“Do you see him?”
“Who?”
“Him,” I said, nodding toward the stairway.
“I don’t see anyone.”
“I do.”
“Is it the ghost from your bedroom?”
“No, I’ve not seen this one before. He’s about 5'6", kind of built, blond hair,

maybe twenty or so. His shirt is bloody, there’s a knife sticking from his chest.”

Sean stared in the direction of the ghost, but he could obviously see nothing.

We stepped closer.

“Brrr, it must be thirty degrees colder,” said Sean.
“He wants us to follow him.”
“Did he say so?”

Mark A. Roeder

“No, he hasn’t said anything, but he beckoned us forward with his finger.

Come on. He’s climbing the stairs.”

We began to follow the apparition. We climbed to the first floor, then the sec-

ond, and then the third, but we weren’t done climbing yet. We followed the
spirit to the fourth floor, where he turned left and walked toward what appeared
to be the end of the hallway; only it wasn’t the end. The hallway, which had run
perfectly straight, turned an odd curving corner and went on.

“I’m afraid the wiring ends here for now,” said Sean. “This is as far as we’ve

had it installed in this hallway.”

Sean and I flicked on our flashlights. More hallways crossed the one we were

following, and we walked on and on until we reached an immense painting that
had to be twelve feet high and six across.

“This is one of my favorites,” said Sean, gazing at the painting of an ancient

stone home surrounded by enormous trees.

I didn’t give the painting more than a quick glance. My attention was focused

on the ghost, who was pointing to the left edge of the painting.

I stepped forward and felt along the left edge of the frame until there was a

click. The painting swung open, but revealed nothing but a paneled wall. On
impulse, I pushed against the wall and it slid back several inches. I gripped the
paneling and tugged. The door slid to the right, revealing yet another stair.

“I bet I’ve stood here gazing at this painting a dozen times, and I never guessed

there was anything behind it,” said Sean.

“He’s gone,” I said, looking around. Our ghostly guide had disappeared while

Sean and I had focused our attention on the painting.

“The ghost?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think he led us here just to show us this?”
“Maybe.”
I shined my flashlight into the darkness behind the painting.
“There’s a stairway. This is so cool,” I said.
I began to climb the stairs, with Sean close behind me. The stairs hugged the

inner walls of a square tower. I realized we were in the tower visible from outside
the mansion. The stair wasn’t massive like the main stairway, but was still quite
large. The tower didn’t look all that big from the ground, but it was plenty big—
much larger than I would’ve ever suspected.

In a short time we reached the top of the stairs and were standing in a sizable

room. I just stood upon the landing and took it all in for a moment. Each wall
was dominated by a large, stained glass window.

Mark A. Roeder

“This must look brilliant in the daytime,” said Sean.
The windows were beautiful! Each was different, but the dominating theme

was flowers. One window was filled with a field of daffodils, another a garden of
red roses. Tulips of red, yellow, pink, and purple filled another window, and ten-
drils of blue morning glories covered the last. Each was like a painting—no, a
masterpiece one might find in a museum.

Sean drew closer to the daffodil window.
“Holy crap! These are Tiffany windows.”
“Tiffany?”
“Yeah, this one is signed Louis Comfort Tiffany,” said Sean. He walked to the

rose window. “This one is, too. They all are. These are worth a fortune!”

“I thought your mom was the antique dealer, not you.”
“She is, but she was showing me this museum catalog of stained-glass windows

the other day. Tiffany was the greatest of all.”

“So what do you think one of these windows is worth?” I asked.
“Tens of thousands. Each of them is worth more than my parents paid for all

of Graymoor.”

“Holy crap is right! I guess we shouldn’t play baseball in here.”
“Not unless you have a death wish.”
“No one in their right mind would have sold this place if they knew what was

inside,” I said.

“You’re forgetting,” said Sean. “Almost no one ever went inside, and those

who did usually left screaming after a few minutes. I’ve lived here for months,
and I never found my way into the tower. My guess is no one has been up here
since the 1870s.”

I lowered my eyes from the windows and took in what looked like a parlor,

much smaller than the one on the first floor, but still roomy enough. The room
was filled with comfy-looking armchairs with high backs and deep-red uphol-
stery. It reminded me of an old-fashioned men’s club.

Sean and I searched the room carefully, but found nothing out of the ordi-

nary—nothing connected to Blackford Manor at any rate.

“Why is it that there are always new questions, but never any answers?” I

thought out loud.

Sean shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve got to show this to Mom and Dad,” said Sean.
“I think I’ll go home and let you do that,” I said. “I’ve got a lot of thinking to

do.”

Mark A. Roeder

The question was: would my thinking lead me to answers or just to more

questions?

- 39 -

Skye

The gay-youth-group meeting was actually kind of cool. It wasn’t what I’d antic-
ipated, but I’m not sure what I was expecting. Oliver wanted to stay late and
spend as much time as possible with Clay, and I was happy to oblige. He had a
living boyfriend at last, and I’d never seen him so content.

I didn’t want to rush Oliver and Clay, who were playing cards with some boys

I didn’t know (but who kept checking me out like crazy), so I played Monopoly
(until I got wiped out) and then got to talking with Ethan about weightlifting.
Ethan was a frequent customer at Wahlberg’s, so I knew him well. He was one of
Nick’s two dads, along with Nathan, whom I knew less well. Nathan joined in
our conversation now and then, too, and he knew nearly as much about working
out as Ethan. That wasn’t too much of a surprise, because he obviously had a
firm, compact build. I wouldn’t have minded a look at him with his shirt off.

I gave some thought to a three-way with Ethan and Nathan as we talked. I’d

never thought much about older guys, but hot is hot. I would’ve done it with Mr.
Brewer, my football coach, in a heartbeat. I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
I’d hinted at it once, and Mr. Brewer told me not to go there. I decided not to
bring up the possibility with Ethan and Nathan just yet. I might sometime in the
future, but something told me I’d get rejected, and rejection was one of my least
favorite things. Coach Brewer was actually the only guy who had turned me
down, and I understood why. He was my coach, and any sexual activity between
a teacher and student is illegal.

It hadn’t been snowing when I entered, but it was falling fast and hard when I

walked out of the gay-youth center with Oliver and Clay. A biting wind had

Mark A. Roeder

started up, too, and I was glad I’d worn my leather jacket. I hoped this was win-
ter’s last attempt at a comeback before spring set in, but winter hangs on and on
in Verona, and spring never seems to come.

We were almost to the car when I heard cries for help. I instinctively turned

on my heel and sprinted down the sidewalk, slipping and sliding, but maintain-
ing my balance. Oliver and Clay hurried along behind me, but one or the other
of them took a spill on the slick pavement. I didn’t turn around to see who had
gone down.

“Stay back!” I shouted as I ran.
Noah, the kid I’d rescued from Pete Niffler only a couple days or so before,

came flying around the corner, slipped, and went sprawling. I changed course
toward him, but he pointed the way he’d come.

“They’ve got Nick!”
I braked hard, slid a few feet, and tore around the corner. I saw Oliver and

Clay hurrying toward Noah as I left him behind. Several feet down the block, I
spotted three figures struggling. As I closed in, I could make out Glen Barrett and
Ben Tyler kicking the shit out of someone, obviously Nick, whom they had
down on the ground. Before I could reach them, Glen pulled Nick to his feet and
pinned his arms behind his back while Ben punched him as hard as he could in
the stomach.

I charged at Ben, slugged him in the jaw, and took him down. I delivered

three swift punches to his face and stomach before Glen tackled me from behind.
I flung Glen off me and punched him right in the face as hard as I could. He
screamed in pain and I nailed him in the abs.

I glanced over at Nick. He was lying on the snow-covered sidewalk, bleeding

and moaning in pain. I snarled at Ben and sprang toward him, landing a hard jab
to this stomach. I felt him tighten his abdominal muscles, but he still grunted in
pain and clutched his stomach. Trying to take me down, Glen kicked me in the
back of the knee, but I twisted even as I stumbled, flung myself at him, and
aimed a punch at his face. I growled in frustration when I missed.

Oliver, Clay, and Noah had reached Nick by then, who was bawling his eyes

out. Glen actually had the audacity to laugh about it. I flew at him in a rage.

Ben and Glen double-teamed me, but they were no match for me. Our fists

were flying and both of them got in a few punches and kicks, but I pounded their
bodies and faces. I punched Ben so hard in the side of the head he went down
and stopped moving. I tackled Glen, took him down, and proceeded to beat the
shit out of him. I slugged him in the face, chest, and stomach as hard and fast as I
could.

Mark A. Roeder

“I hate you, you lousy fucker!” I screamed.
Glen tried to fend off the blows and furiously worked to escape, but I had him

down and was beating him senseless. Nothing else mattered to me at the moment
as much as hurting him as much as he’d hurt Nick. I grabbed him by the throat
and slugged him in the face with all the force I could muster.

Hands grasped both my arms and pulled me backwards. It couldn’t possibly

have been Oliver, Clay, or Noah. None of them had that kind of strength. I
didn’t give it that much thought, because all I wanted to do was get back to beat-
ing the shit out of Glen. He fucking deserved it. He was struggling to get up even
as I tried to break free.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” I screamed at him as I was pulled further away.
Oliver appeared in front of me, looking concerned.
“Skye, calm down. Please!”
I began to chill out and only then saw who was holding my arms: Elliott

Munday and Kurt Schipp, a couple of guys from school. Noah and Clay were
staring at me, as were three or four people across the street. Glen stumbled to his
feet and went to check on his partner in crime. He slapped Ben in the face a few
times, and Ben came to. Glen helped him up, and they hobbled off together. I
had half a mind to go after them, but Elliott and Kurt were still holding me. I
could’ve broken free, but Oliver was standing in front of me looking scared.

“It’s okay. You can let me go. I’m not going after them,” I said.
Elliott and Kurt released me. Both of them looked a bit freaked out. I guess

they, like the other onlookers, had been walking by when the fight started. Per-
haps they were attracted by Noah’s cries for help or the sounds of the scuffle.

I hurried over to Nick. Noah and Clay were trying to help him to his feet, but

he was in bad shape. His legs buckled, and I had to rush in and grab him to keep
him from going down.

“Go tell his dads,” I told Oliver, and he and Noah hurried back toward the

gay-youth center. “Tell them to call an ambulance.”

I eased Nick back onto the sidewalk and covered him with my jacket. Elliott

handed me his as well and I made a pillow out of it. Nick was pretty banged up,
but what concerned me was the gurgling sound he made when he breathed and
the bubbles of blood coming out of his mouth.

In less that two minutes, Ethan and Nathan were there. I stood back and let

them take over.

“Look at me. Look at me,” said Nathan as he took Nick’s hand. “No, don’t

close your eyes. Don’t go to sleep. You might have a concussion.”

Mark A. Roeder

Nick looked as if he was about to slip into unconsciousness, but Nathan gen-

tly slapped his cheeks.

“Come on, stay with me, Nick.”
The color drained from my face. I feared that Nick was in worse shape than

I’d thought. A crowd was gathering, but there were enough of us to keep them
back. A couple of minutes later, an ambulance roared down the street. The driver
spotted us, quickly turned, and came to us. The EMTs loaded Nick onto a gur-
ney. Nathan went into the back of the ambulance with Nick while Ethan stayed
behind.

“Skye, I’d like to know what happened, but … Can you come with me to the

hospital?” asked Ethan.

“I need to take Oliver and Clay home, and Noah, too,” I said, glancing in his

direction, “but I’ll meet you there.”

We went our separate ways.
“Do you think Nick will be okay?” asked Oliver, as we walked back to my car.
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
All three were clearly shaken. I prided myself on being tough, but I was upset,

too. I didn’t like to see anyone get hurt and least of all one of my friends. I
dropped Noah off first, then Clay, and lastly Oliver. At least I knew they were all
inside and safe for the time being. I turned a corner and headed toward the hospi-
tal. I had to force myself to calm down and not drive too fast on the icy streets. I
was more worried about Nick than I’d ever been about anyone. If he died, I was
going to kill those bastards. I was going to get them in any case. They were going
to pay for what they’d done, and they were going to pay big. If it was the last
thing I did, I’d get them.

I walked into the ER to find it empty. I didn’t know whether that was a good

or bad sign. Just as I was about to walk up to the nurse’s station to find out what
I could, I spotted Ethan coming around the corner.

“He’s in surgery,” said Ethan.
“Surgery?”
“A couple of his ribs were broken. One of them perforated a lung.”
“Is he … is he going to be all right?”
“The doctor said he should be fine, but … with surgery, there’s always a

chance …”

Never before had I seen tears in Ethan’s eyes.
“Maybe you should see a doctor yourself,” said Ethan, looking at my battered

face.

“Nah, this is nothing.”

Mark A. Roeder

I could tell I wasn’t badly hurt, even though I probably looked like hell. Glen

and Ben had dealt me some nasty blows including a kick in the nuts, but it was
nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own.

“What happened, Skye?”
“I was coming out of the center with Oliver and Clay … Shit, I’d better call

my sister and tell her where I am.”

A few minutes later, I’d made the call. Ethan led me back to where Nathan

was seated in a waiting room. I explained to Nick’s dads what had happened. The
anguish in both Ethan and Nathan’s eyes was mixed with anger by the time I’d
finished.

“I’m calling the cops,” said Ethan, and he left to make a phone call. From the

look on his face, the cops were going to be the least of Glen’s and Ben’s worries.

There wasn’t much to do after that but wait. The surgery took quite a while. I

don’t know exactly how long, because I didn’t know what time it was when I got
there. We breathed a collective sigh of relief when the surgeon came out and told
us Nick would be fine.

Waiting for Nick to wake up took even longer, but I needed to see him just to

reassure myself that he wasn’t going to die. I was only allowed a minute with him
when he did awaken, but it was enough. It was super late by then, so I headed
home. Despite all the excitement, or perhaps I should say trauma, I fell asleep
before my head hit the pillow.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

It wasn’t exactly easy getting up the next morning, but I’d had plenty of late

nights before, especially during football season. By the time I finished practice,
then work, and then my homework, it was sometimes well past midnight. This
wasn’t too much worse than getting up the morning after one of those nights,
although I was a little sore.

I stumbled down the hall in my boxers wiping the sleep out of my eyes. I took

a look at myself in the bathroom mirror as I waited for the shower to warm up.
Both my eyes were blackened, and I had a bruise on my right cheek. There were
several bruises on my arms and chest, but all of them were beginning to fade
already. I healed a lot faster than other people. Unfortunately, that was as close as
I got to having superhuman powers.

I climbed into the shower and let the hot water massage my muscles. It was

relaxing, but still it helped me wake up. By the time I’d lathered up my hair and
was soaping up my torso, I was wide awake. I wondered if the cops had nabbed

Mark A. Roeder

Glen and Ben yet. I kind of hoped not, because I wanted to get my hands on
those fuckers and make them pay for what they’d done to Nick. I especially owed
Ben. I’d worked Glen over pretty good already, but Ben had a lot more pain
coming. I’d barely started on him. It’s a shame I’d knocked him out.

I was going to have to watch myself, though. I’d gotten out of control the

night before. There was no denying it. I’d flown into a rage. The scary part was
that I’d meant to kill Glen. If those guys hadn’t pulled me off him when they did,
I would’ve done it. Glen was probably a murderer, and what he’d done to Nick
was unforgivable, but that didn’t give me the right to kill him. Dealing out pain
was one thing, but dealing out death was quite another. My own lack of control
frightened me.

I wanted to get at Glen and Ben as soon as possible, but I wondered if that was

a wise idea. What if I lost it and went berserk again? Taylor himself had warned
me about going too far. I’d nearly gone too far with Ben a few weeks previously,
but I’d controlled myself as I had not with Glen. I couldn’t let anger control me.
My job was to defend boys like Nick; it was not to carry vengeance to an extreme.
Glen and Ben had to pay for what they’d done as a deterrent both to themselves
and all other jerks like them, but I couldn’t act as judge and jury. I had to watch
myself, or I’d end up as bad as they are.

I rinsed off, shut off the shower, and grabbed a towel. I checked myself out in

the mirror as I dried off. Even banged up I was hot! I began to grow a little
aroused. I needed to spend some time with Jarret soon. It’d been too long, even
though we’d gotten together just a couple of days ago. I wrapped the towel
around my waist in case I met Janelle or Colin in the hall. Someday, when I lived
alone, I’d just walk back and forth to the shower naked.

I returned to my room, dressed, and went down to the kitchen. Janelle and

Colin were both having breakfast. Janelle had made Hawaiian omelets, one of my
favorites! I know that pineapple mixed with onions and green peppers doesn’t
sound all that appetizing, but it’s the best! I was skeptical the first time Janelle
made them, but it was love at first bite.

Janelle didn’t usually cook breakfast. It was just too much of a hassle, since she

had a six-year-old to get ready for school. I usually had a bowl of cereal or some
bagels or something. When my sis was having an especially rushed morning, I
sometimes fixed Colin some cereal or toast myself. Hawaiian omelets were cause
for celebration!

“So what happened last night?” asked Janelle.
I’d given her the short version of the attack on Nick over the phone from the

hospital, but I provided her with a few more details as we ate. Janelle didn’t have

Mark A. Roeder

much contact with Nick and the others, but I talked about them a fair amount,
so she knew all my friends. She was near tears by the time I’d finished the story. I
left out the part about trying to kill Glen.

One really cool thing about Janelle is that she never tried to mother me when

I got hurt. Mom would’ve freaked out if I showed up for breakfast with two black
eyes and a bruised cheek, but Janelle knew I was a big boy who was capable of
taking care of myself. If I was hurt badly enough that I needed to see a doctor or
go to the hospital, I’d say so. Otherwise, I’d tend to my own wounds.

I don’t think I would have minded putting up with Mom’s mothering if it

meant I could have her back, but I was pissed off at her. You’d be ticked off, too,
if your mom ran off with your best friend and sold your home right out from
under you. Don’t even get me started on that! Things had worked out okay,
though. Living with Janelle was pretty cool, and as a single mother, she needed
my help. I paid half the bills and took care of guy stuff like mowing the lawn and
fixing things up around the house. My sis had her hands full working and taking
care of Colin.

I took off for school in the Skyemobile. That’s what I call my old Cutlass. I’m

Skye and it’s my car, so it’s the Skyemobile. If you don’t like the name or think
it’s stupid … well, I couldn’t care less about what you think, so it doesn’t matter.

I looked around for Glen and Ben in the hallways and was not surprised by

their absence. Sean was nowhere to be found, either. Of course, word about
what’d happened was spreading like wildfire. I’m sure Elliott and Kurt were tell-
ing everyone about the fight and how they’d pulled me off Glen.

Things had been settling down nicely in V.H.S. until the Evil Four returned.

Little by little, I’d been putting the bullies in their place. There was always some
jerk ready to cause trouble and do a little gay bashing, but it was nothing I
couldn’t handle. If I could just get Jeremy, Glen, Alex, and Ben out of the way,
things would calm down considerably again. There was always going to be jerks
like the Evil Four around, though. Life was like that. It would always be better if
it wasn’t for a select few. The trick was to deal with the jerks as best one could.

The whole day was anti-climactic until lunch when Oliver showed me a note

he’d found stuffed in his locker. It simply read, “You and your boyfriend are
next, faggot. Be afraid; be very afraid.”

I took the note from Oliver and stomped over to Jeremy and Alex where they

were sitting with the less-than-friendly crowd.

“Did you put this in Oliver’s locker?” I asked, shoving the note to Jeremy.
“And what if I did?”

Mark A. Roeder

I could remember a time when I thought Jeremy was cool. He could definitely

kick ass on the football field. I’d never heard him utter a single anti-gay comment
until the night both Oliver and I nearly met our end. He unmasked himself then
and had been a total dick ever since.

“If you lay a finger on him, or Clay, or any of my friends, I’ll make you very,

very sorry.”

“Is that a threat, Skye?” I noted with satisfaction that Jeremy’s voice trembled

slightly with fear even as he tried to act like a badass.

“It’s a promise.”

- 47 -

Sean

Mom knocked on my door and came into my room a while before I usually got
up for school. I raised myself up on my elbows and looked at her a bit
groggy-eyed.

“Sean, Mr. Selby just called. Nick was hurt last night.”
“What?” I said, waking up in an instant and sitting upright in bed.
“He’s going to be okay. He made it through his surgery just fine, but he’ll be

in the hospital a few days.”

“Surgery? Hospital?” I said, leaping out of bed and pulling on my clothes.
“A couple of boys beat him up last night. Your friend Skye stepped in and

saved him.”

Good old Skye! “I’m going to see him!” I said, making for the door.
“Calm down, Sean. Just slow down. I’ll drive you.”
I was a nervous wreck all the way to the hospital. Even though Mom said Nick

was fine, he was obviously in pretty bad shape since he was in the hospital. He’d
required surgery! It was all I could do to keep from crying. I thought we’d never
get there, but Mom pulled up in front of the hospital at last.

“He’s in room 305. I’ll call the school and let them know you’ll be late and

perhaps absent. Call me when you need a ride. I’ll be home for another hour,
then I’ll head to the shop.”

“Okay, Mom. Thanks.”
I bolted for the front entrance, slowing down only when I was inside. The ele-

vator took forever to come down to the lobby, but soon I was on the third floor. I
hurried down the hallway and rushed into Nick’s room to see him lying in bed,

Mark A. Roeder

his eyes closed, tubes sticking in him, a machine beeping and monitoring his vital
signs. Nathan sat in the chair nearby, looking as if he’d slept little.

I stepped to the side of Nick’s bed. He was battered and bruised. He looked as

if he’d been in an auto accident and had forgotten to wear his seat belt. Tears
rimmed my eyes. I didn’t want to wake him, but I just had to reach out and take
his hand.

“Hi, Sean,” said Nathan. “I wondered when you’d get here.”
“Mom just woke me up and told me what happened.”
“We thought it best to wait until this morning to call,” said Nathan.
I looked back at Nick and squeezed his hand. His chest rose and fell, but oth-

erwise he was so pale and lifeless he might have been a corpse.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a while. Do you mind staying while I get some-

thing to eat?”

“I don’t mind,” I said, somehow getting the words out without crying. “I’m

not going anywhere.”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, then.” Nathan paused by the doorway. “He’s

going to be okay, Sean.”

I looked down at Nick as Nathan left the room. He didn’t look like he was

going to be okay. He looked as if he was dying. I couldn’t bear the thought of
that. I’d lost Marty less than a year before. I couldn’t lose Nick, too. I couldn’t go
through that again. Nick’s eyes fluttered and opened. He turned to me and
smiled.

“Hey, Sean,” he said, his voice weak.
I grinned. Hearing his voice meant everything just then.
“I came as soon as Ethan called,” I said.
I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want Nick to see tears. It might make him think

he was in even worse shape than he was. Despite my best efforts, tears still ran
down my cheeks.

“Who did this?” I asked.
“Glen and Ben. They got me after the meeting.”
“I shouldn’t have left you. If I would’ve stayed with you …”
“This isn’t your fault, Sean. I wasn’t alone. Noah was with me. We were walk-

ing around while we waited for everyone to clear out of the center. When they
jumped me, Noah ran for help.”

“I should have been with you. You’re my boyfriend.”
“Sean, you can’t be with me twenty-four hours a day, and let’s be realistic,

even together we wouldn’t have been a match for Glen and Ben.”

“I still wish I’d been there.”

Mark A. Roeder

“I don’t. I was glad you were safe.”
“If they come after you again, I intend to be at your side.”
“I doubt they’ll be in a position to do that for quite some time,” said Nick.

“They’re probably behind bars somewhere. More than likely, Glen is lying some-
where in this hospital. Skye pounded him good.”

“He should have killed him. He should have killed them both!”
“Sean, you don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I? They killed Marty, and they just about killed you!”
“You don’t know for sure that they killed Marty.”
“They were involved, and that’s enough. I wish they were dead.”
Nick squeezed my hand. “I’m okay, Sean. I’m not going to die. I’ll be back on

my feet in no time at all.”

“It’s just so scary,” I said, crying softly. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.

I just couldn’t bear it.”

“Come here,” said Nick.
He gently pulled me toward him until our lips met. We kissed.
“You aren’t going to lose me, Sean. If you think you’re getting away from me

that easily, you’re sorely mistaken.”

“I love you,” I said.
“I love you, too.”
Ethan came in after I’d been there about an hour. He’d brought cards, board

games, flowers, and all kinds of stuff for Nick. Nathan had returned by then, too.
I told them I’d watch over Nick, so they went home. They probably both went
straight to bed. They looked exhausted.

“You know,” I said to Nick just after they’d gone. “You have the coolest par-

ents ever. I know mine are pretty cool, but just think about it: yours picked you.”

“I doubt you were an accident, Sean.”
“Whether I was or I wasn’t, Mom and Dad didn’t know what they were get-

ting, did they? I could’ve been a girl. I could’ve been a bully. I could’ve been …
anything. Your dads knew exactly what they were getting when they adopted
you—well, close anyway—and they chose you.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that,” said Nick.
I stayed by Nick’s bedside the whole day, leaving only to go to the bathroom

and once to grab something to eat before I starved to death. We passed the time
talking, playing cards and games, and flipping through the channels on the TV
looking for hot guys on soap operas.

“I’m sorry I’ve been jealous,” I said. “I shouldn’t make such a big deal about it

when you check out other guys. I don’t know what’s the matter with me some-

Mark A. Roeder

times. I guess I just can’t believe a guy as wonderful as you can really be interested
in me.”

“You’re twice as wonderful as I am, Sean.”
“Liar.”
Nick smiled. “I’m entitled to my opinion.”
“I’m going to stop being so jealous. You can check out other guys all you

want. Either I trust you or I don’t. It’s as simple as that. I do trust you. It’s my
own insecurities that make me fear losing you. I’ve been stupid and I’m sorry.”

“Come here and give me a kiss,” said Nick. Of course, I did.
Nick slept a lot, and when he did, I just sat there holding his hand, trying not

to remember that I could have lost him the night before. He could have been
killed while I was home, safe and sound, exploring Graymoor with Marshall.
Thank God, Skye was there. He could be a jerk at times, and he was definitely
conceited, but I owed him everything. I’d never forget what he’d done for
Nick—and for me.

I thought about Glen and Ben while Nick was sleeping. Something had to be

done about those guys. Maybe now that they’d attacked Nick, the authorities
would put them away. There was no way to prove the Evil Four had tried to kill
Skye and Oliver, but there were eyewitnesses to the assault on Nick, Nathan had
told me. I was sure Ethan and Nathan wouldn’t let them get away with it. That
made me feel better. Maybe at least Glen and Ben would be out of the picture
now. That would make Verona a little safer, but until each one of the Evil Four
was behind bars, none of us would be truly safe.

- 51 -

Marshall

I loved Saturdays. I had absolutely nothing to do. When I awakened at 10:30, I’d
already accomplished my main goal of sleeping in. I was itching to go back to
Graymoor, but I doubted Sean would be home. He’d missed school on Friday to
be with Nick, and I was willing to bet he was still sitting beside his hospital bed. I
was thankful I wasn’t gay. I couldn’t even imagine living with that kind of fear
hanging over my head, always wondering if someone was going to kick my ass
because he couldn’t deal with my sexual orientation.

The Evil Four gave all heterosexuals a bad name, just as the religious fanatics

who crusaded against gays gave Christians a bad name. I felt a sense of shame at
the way some other heterosexuals behaved, but I reminded myself that most of us
were nothing like the Evil Four. Most of us were accepting. It was the prejudiced
who should feel ashamed.

While Ben, Glen, and their ilk were contemptible, they weren’t half as bad as

all those so-called “family values” groups out there. At least the Evil Four were
honest about their hatred and didn’t try to disguise it as something else. The
“family values” groups were despicable enough due to their prejudice, but even
more so because they misrepresented themselves. Family was perhaps the most
important thing to just about everyone. I knew mine was to me. Yeah, my par-
ents could be a major pain in the posterior, but I still loved them. What they
thought of me mattered, and I wanted to make them happy. My family was dear
to me, which is why “family values” groups absolutely infuriated me. They did
nothing but incite violence against anyone who was the least bit different. They

Mark A. Roeder

focused all their will on breaking up families even as they preached about
good-old family values. Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing!

To me, a family wasn’t just parents and their kids. A family was larger than

that. Mom, Dad, and I were just the beginning of my family. There were aunts,
uncles, and cousins. There were my grandparents, and there were special friends
like Sean and Zoë. I wasn’t genetically related to Sean and Zoë, but what did that
matter? They were like a brother and sister to me. When the “family values”
groups spread their hate against gays, they were attacking my family and plenty of
others, too. Did Sean’s parents love him less because he was gay? No. Some par-
ents did abandon their kids when they found out they were gay, and that was the
fault of the “family values” groups. Their lies and hatred broke families apart. I
couldn’t stand their hypocrisy.

Thinking about such hateful groups was giving me a headache. I took a

moment to calm myself. I reminded myself that the truth was the truth and that
no matter how often or loudly lies were shouted, they were still lies. I also
reminded myself than all would be well in the end. I trusted in God. Some people
thought that because I was so into supernatural stuff that I was Satanic. They
couldn’t have been further from the truth. The supernatural fascinated me
because it was a glimpse into what happened after death. It was just plain cool,
too. To me, it was all connected to God.

I ate a late breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast and then stepped out-

side for some fresh air. Sometimes my head was so full of thoughts that I just had
to get outside. It’s like I needed the wide-open space for my thoughts to expand.
I turned my mind to the mystery of Blackford Manor. Perhaps it was no mystery
at all, but I had the distinct impression that my ghostly visitor was trying to com-
municate something important. I’d had three visits from dead boys so far, and I
had a sense that they were somehow connected. All three died unnatural deaths:
one likely poisoned or suffocated, another bashed in the head with a heavy object,
and the third stabbed to death. All were murdered. Were the murders connected?
Were they all linked to Blackford Manor? What did these murdered souls want
from me? Were they trying to warn me, or were they seeking my help? The first
had said nothing more than “Blackford Manor.” The others had not spoken at
all—one because he could not speak and the other because he’d been focused on
revealing the hidden tower room. How did the tower connect?

I jerked to a halt. No, not the tower! At least not the tower alone! The paint-

ing! I’d barely looked at it. Had I missed the specter’s point? I needed to get
another look at that painting. I wished more than ever that Sean was home, but I
knew I’d just have to be patient.

Mark A. Roeder

I walked on, thinking about Blackford Manor. I had so little to go on that it

didn’t take long to exhaust the facts. I would’ve given it up as hopeless if it was
not for the feeling that the message of the dead boy was fearfully important. I’d
learned long ago to trust my gut instincts.

I gazed at some of the old homes as I walked down the sidewalk. Not every-

thing was old in Verona, but our little town had more than its share of historic
buildings. Looking down the street I couldn’t spot a single home that looked as if
it was built less than fifty years ago, and a good many of them had probably been
around for a hundred. Verona was the perfect place to live for someone like me
fascinated with ghosts. Not much exciting had ever happened here, but the past
lingered in a way it didn’t in larger cities.

“Hello!”
I turned at the sound of a voice and did a double-take as a boy of about thir-

teen ran up to me. I had to fight not to recoil, because he was bleeding from the
mouth and eyes. I felt a compulsion to race to a phone and dial 911, but I knew
the boy was long past hope. He was dead, and I knew from the style of his cloth-
ing he was long dead. He was dressed in knickers, a long-sleeved shirt, and one of
those hats my grandfather called a ‘go-to-hell’ cap.

“Please. Can you help me?” he asked, his voice as strong and clear as that of a

living boy. He looked like no ghost I’d ever seen before. He was as real and solid
as I.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll help you.”
“No one else will help me. They pretend they don’t even see me!” he cried.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I was playing, and I ran out into the street. I heard the horses neighing. I

turned, but it was too late. They trampled me. The ice wagon ran over me. No
one will help me!”

“I’ll help you. It’s going to be okay. What’s your name?”
“Kane.”
“Kane, what year is it?”
Kane looked at me strangely as if he suspected I might be mad.
“It’s 1914, of course.”
“Kane, a long time has passed. It’s not 1914 anymore.”
“What are you saying?” Kane’s voice trembled. He was becoming more fright-

ened.

“Everything is going to be okay, Kane. A long time has passed. It’s 1998

now.”

Kane shook his head. He didn’t believe me.

Mark A. Roeder

“Look at me closely, Kane. Look at the way I’m dressed. Don’t I look different

to you?”

Kane slowly shook his head.
“Concentrate, Kane. Look at my shoes. Have you ever seen shoes like that

before?”

Kane sharply inhaled, his eyes grew wide, and he took a step back. I knew he’d

seen me at last as I really was. Many spirits see only what they want to see. Kane
had been seeing the world as if it was always 1914. By making him focus, I’d
allowed him to see the real world.

“The ice wagon killed you, Kane. When it ran over you, you died.”
“No,” said Kane, shaking his head. “No, it didn’t kill me! I’m not dead! I’m

not dead! Please just take me to my mother!”

I was losing him. He couldn’t understand. I had to help him. He was trapped.

He was killed by an ice wagon in 1914, and he’d been stuck here ever since.

“Please help me,” he pleaded. His voice was so pitiful that tears sprang to my

eyes.

“Kane, listen to me. You’re dead. You don’t have to stay here anymore.”
“No! Please, I want my mother.”
“You can go to her, Kane. She’s waiting on you.”
“No! You’re lying!”
“Why would I lie, Kane? Look at my shoes. You know it’s not 1914 any-

more.”

“NO!”
I was experienced with ghosts, but not with one who believed he was still alive.

I’d read about such things. Apparently, they were not all that uncommon. Kane
would not accept the fact he was dead, however, and he was becoming frantic. He
was desperately rejecting the truth. I didn’t know how to help him.

“Taylor,” I said, closing my eyes and concentrating hard. “Taylor, please

come. I need you.”

“Who is Taylor? I just want my mother! Who’s …”
Kane’s eyes widened, and he gasped. I turned and saw Taylor standing behind

me, brilliantly white, his golden hair shining. Surely, Kane could mistake him for
nothing other than an angel. Taylor held out his hand to Kane.

“It’s time to go home, Kane.”
“I want my mother.”
“She’s waiting for you, as is your father, Tom, and Sebastian, too.”
Kane grinned. He turned to me and smiled. As he did so, the blood disap-

peared, and he looked so real I know I could have reached out and touched him.

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“Thank you,” he said and then walked toward Taylor. Just like that Taylor

had accomplished what I could not, but then he did have the advantage of being
an angel.

Taylor took Kane’s hand, smiled at me, and then they both turned and simply

disappeared. I sat down on the curb, astounded. I’d seen ghosts before, but never
like this. I’d been in the presence of Taylor and Mark before, too, but the reality
of it all was difficult for even me to accept. I was overwhelmed, but happy. I’d
freed Kane … Well, Taylor had really, but I’d helped. Kane had been an earth-
bound spirit all those years, but now he could go on to whatever waited after
death. At that moment I understood my destiny. Just as Skye helped the living, I
was meant to help those who’d lost their way after they died. I was more deter-
mined than ever to solve the mystery of Blackford Manor.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

In the early evening on Saturday, I went to the hospital to visit Nick. I knew

he’d been banged up pretty badly, but I wasn’t prepared for the sight of him. I’d
seen dead boys who looked better and quite recently, too.

I glanced over at Sean. He looked truly worried.
“Hey, Nick,” I said. “I brought you some chocolate. I figured you’d have

enough flowers.”

“Thanks.”
“So, when are you going to quit faking and come back to school?”
Nick grinned. “In a few days. I plan to milk this for all it’s worth. The room’s

not much, but I get room service and presents, and I have my own personal
houseboy. I’m also told I’ll have a nice scar.

“I heard Skye nailed the guys who jumped you; he beat them senseless.”
“Yeah, I was too busy writhing in pain to watch, but he kicked ass.”
“Maybe the creeps will learn their lesson someday.”
“Maybe.”
My attention wandered from Nick to the spirits I could see milling about his

room. No doubt many had died in that very room over the years. There were far
more spirits inside the hospital than out. I’d noticed that as soon as I’d entered
the doors. They walked the hallways and sat in the waiting-room chairs. There
were as many of the dead in that place of healing as there were living souls. Most
of them seemed unaware of me, but some gazed directly into my eyes. Those that
made such contact knew I could see them as clearly as they could see me. None
had made an effort to communicate with me. Did they think I was merely one of

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their number, or did they require no assistance from me? I had no doubt many of
the specters were mere memories of those who had gone, but others were true
spirits, staying on for who knew what reason. I was distracted by the dead. Their
presence made it difficult to focus on the living, but I did my best.

I told Sean and Nick about Kane and Taylor, the spirits that I was beginning

to see wherever I went, and my thoughts on Blackford Manor.

“I want to take another look at that painting at the first opportunity,” I said.
“Why don’t you guys take off for a while?” suggested Nick. “I know you could

use a break, Sean, and the two of you could have a look at that painting. My sup-
per will be here soon, and I’m feeling like a nap, so I’ll hardly know you’re gone.”

“You sure?” asked Sean.
“Yeah, get out of here. I haven’t had the chance to put the moves on any of the

cute orderlies with you around.”

“And you’d better not while I’m gone, either!” said Sean.
“Maybe a doctor, then. My dads would be so proud if I married a doctor.”
“You’re only marrying a doctor if I go to medical school,” said Sean.
Nick laughed. “Come here and give me a hug, and then get lost.”
I watched as Sean obeyed. Nick and Sean kissed and grinned at each other. All

those hateful “family values” groups came to mind for a moment. How could
anyone be against love?

Half an hour later we were back on the fourth floor of Graymoor Mansion,

staring at the painting. It was unsigned and bore no writing on it at all. I hadn’t
exactly expected it to say “Blackford Manor” over the doorway, but I was hoping
for some clue.

“It looks British,” said Sean. “I mean that could well be a painting of an

English manor house.”

“True, but it could also be a house built to look like an English manor.”
I stared at the painting for a long time, examining the details, from the carv-

ings on the foundation to the …

“Look at that,” I said. “That’s a heraldic crest.” I pointed to a crest near the

roofline. “You have a pencil and some paper?”

“Better,” said Sean. “I’ve got a digital camera in my room. I can take a shot of

it for you.”

“That would be awesome!”
I stared at the crest while I waited on Sean. Now we were getting somewhere.

Surely I could find the Blackford family crest somewhere. I studied the details of
the coat of arms. There was a shield with three large stars on it and three encircled
emblems across the top. Two looked like plus signs, and the center one looked a

Mark A. Roeder

lot like the Boy Scouts of America symbol. On either side of the shield, raring up
on it, were two magnificent stags. The head of another stag was placed above a
crown and some fancy work at the top. At the very bottom of the crest was a
scroll that read “Facta Non Verba.” I recognized it as Latin, but couldn’t translate
it. The closest I could come was “facts not verbs,” but that didn’t make much
sense.

Sean returned after a few minutes and shot close-ups of the coat of arms for

me as well as photos of the whole painting. He gave me the disk so I could take it
home and put the photos on my own computer.

Sean wanted to have a quick supper and get back to his boyfriend, and I was

equally eager to get home and do some digging into the Blackford family coat of
arms, so Sean headed for the kitchen, and I headed for home.

Once back in my own room, I got on the internet and first turned my atten-

tion to the Latin phrase on the bottom of the coat of arms. I found a site that
translated several languages and luckily one of them was Latin. “Facta Non
Verba” translated as “Deeds Not Words.” That made a good deal more sense
than “facts not verbs,” although I was pretty close on the last word and nailed the
middle one. Okay, so a linguist I was not.

I turned my attention to the coat of arms itself, and that was a good deal

harder. I found plenty of commercial sites selling coats of arms, but couldn’t find
a match for the crest on the manor in the painting. Either the house in the paint-
ing wasn’t Blackford Manor (a distinct possibility) or the crests on the heraldry
sites were just made up by someone to make a quick buck—also a distinct possi-
bility, since none of the Blackford coats of arms I found on the different sites
matched each other.

I searched for so long I had to take a break. It was way past suppertime by

then, and I was starving, so I raided the fridge and watched the old
black-and-white classic film The Wolf Man on cable. It was nearly midnight by
the time I returned to my task.

Success! At last! I found an extensive site dedicated to Blackford-family history

maintained not by a business, but by a research library. There was the exact same
coat of arms that was on the manor in the painting!

Almost at the moment of my discovery, a private message popped up on my

screen. It was Sean.

“Guess what?” wrote Sean.
“I don’t know, but I just discovered something!”
“Me, too! Guess what it says on the back of the painting?”
“What?”

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“Blackford Manor, Somerset, 1790.”
“Are you serious?” I typed.
“Absolutely! When I came back home after visiting Nick, it occurred to me

that we looked over every inch of the front of the painting, but didn’t look at the
back. I pulled it out and there it was as clear as day.”

“Arrrggh!”
“What’s wrong?” typed Sean.
“Nothing, this is great, but I’ve spent hours trying to locate the Blackford coat

of arms to see if it matched the one in the painting. Just seconds before you mes-
saged me, I discovered that they match.”

“LOL.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t think of looking at the back of the painting. I’m so

stupid. I could have saved myself hours of work.”

“True, but I’m just as stupid. I didn’t think about it until just a bit ago

myself.”

“Maybe the ghost wasn’t leading us to the tower,” I typed. “Maybe he was try-

ing to get us to look at the back of the painting.”

“It could be.”
“At least now we know that the house in the painting is Blackford Manor.”
“So where does this put your investigation?” typed Sean.
“A bit further along. Now I know there’s a connection between at least two of

my ghostly visitors. One said ‘Blackford Manor,’ and the other led us to the
painting of it. Of course, I have no idea what that means yet.”

“It’s something at least.”
“True.”
“I’m going to get off here and go to bed,” wrote Sean. “It’s been a long day. I’ll

talk to you later.”

“Okay, thanks! Bye, Sean.”
“Good night.”
I got offline as well and powered down my computer. The possibility that

Blackford Manor was the subject of the painting in Sean’s home had been a long
shot, but it had turned out to be true. That mere fact was significant. Just how
the tower room fit into the puzzle I didn’t know. Perhaps it was merely coinci-
dence that the entrance to the tower was behind the painting. I also had no idea
what an ancient home on the other side of the Atlantic had to do with my ghostly
visitors or Graymoor Mansion. I had a feeling it all fit together, but I wondered if
I’d ever get to the bottom of it. It was my kind of puzzle, however: ghostly and
mysterious. I couldn’t wait to discover more.

- 59 -

Skye

I could feel myself drifting toward wakefulness and tried to sink into a deeper
state of unconsciousness. It was Saturday morning, and there was no reason to get
up early. I could sleep past noon if I wanted. There was a knock at my door.
Grrrr. Why did someone always disturb me when I was trying to sleep?

“Go away,” I growled.
The hinges on my door squeaked. I cracked open my eyes to see Colin peek-

ing timidly around the door.

“Mommy says to tell you to get up. She says to come downstairs. Grandma is

here.”

“What?” I asked, jerking to a sitting position, fully awake.
“Grandma. She’s here. Mom says from New Orleans.”
My mouth dropped open. I had not seen my mother for over two years.
“Okay, I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I said, climbing out of bed.
Colin departed. I went to the bathroom and took a quick shower, with my

mind racing. Part of me was excited to see my mom again. Part of me wanted to
just sit in my room and refuse to speak to her. Her return stirred up a lot of emo-
tions I’d managed to bury since her departure. What kind of mother abandons
her son when he’s just fifteen?

I dressed in jeans and an Abercrombie & Fitch muscle shirt and walked down-

stairs. I could hear voices in the kitchen. I entered to find Janelle and Mom
standing by the counter talking. Colin was hiding behind his mom, peeking at a
grandmother he probably couldn’t even remember. A hush fell over the room as I
walked in.

Mark A. Roeder

“Hello, Skye,” said Mom.
“Mom,” I said, keeping my voice neutral.
My internal debate over how I felt about the return of my mother had raged as

I walked down the stairs. Now that I was face to face with her, the part of me that
wished she’d stayed in New Orleans was winning.

“My, look at you! You’ve grown so tall, and what broad shoulders.”
“That’s what happens when you stay away for nearly three years,” I said.
“You’re looking very fit. The girls must be all over you.”
Janelle and I exchanged a look. Mom took a step toward me as if to hug me,

but I turned and sat down at the kitchen table. Mom altered course and reached
for the coffee pot to refill her cup.

Nice save, Mom.
Janelle and Mom sat down at the table with me. I got up and got a Diet Coke

from the refrigerator.

“Isn’t it a little early for that, Skye?” asked Mom.
“It’s a Diet Coke, not bourbon, and I don’t need anyone to tell me how to

stay healthy.”

Janelle could sense the tension between us. Janelle had taken Mom’s abrupt

departure nearly three years ago much better than I had. Of course, she wasn’t
just a kid and didn’t have her home sold out from under her.

“Mom has some news, Skye.”
I just looked at them both as if I didn’t care, and actually, I didn’t. I had a half

a mind to stand up, walk out, and not return until my mother had departed.

“Josh and I are moving back to Verona.”
So much for avoiding her until she left.
“So that’s still on, is it? You and Josh? I thought you would’ve found yourself

a younger boy toy by now.”

“That’s a little rude,” said Janelle, trying to defuse the situation.
Mom looked slightly shocked and hurt, but what did she expect?
“Mom and Josh have been married,” said Janelle, “for a year now.”
“How long have you known about this?” I asked her.
“For about five minutes,” said Janelle.
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to adopt him?” I asked Mom.
“That’s enough, Skye,” said Janelle.
“Let him be,” said Mom. “He has a right to be angry with me.”
“You’re damned right I do!” I said, pounding the table with my fist so hard

that cups bounced and coffee spilled.

Mark A. Roeder

Colin looked stricken. I knew I’d scared him. I smiled at him to put him at

ease.

“Come here, buddy,” I said and scooted back my chair. He climbed into my

lap, and I looked down at him. “It’s okay.”

“Thanks for the wedding invitation,” I said, turning my attention back to

Mom.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”
“You’ve got that right,” I said, trying to keep my cool for Colin’s sake. “You

could have at least informed us.”

“I know I haven’t been a model mother.”
I let that one slide. It was just too easy, and I didn’t take pleasure in being

cruel to my mother, despite what she’d done. I was amazed she’d returned to
Verona. Her departure with Josh had created quite a scandal. He was less than
half her age and barely legal. I’d long suspected he was under-aged when they
started their affair. Mom had known Josh since he was in grade school. She even
babysat for him. That’s what made their relationship so hard to swallow, that and
the fact that Josh had been my best friend—emphasis on the had been.

“So …” said Mom. “Janelle was telling me about Matthew. He sounds won-

derful. Perhaps he’ll be your brother-in-law soon. Do you have a girlfriend,
Skye?”

I knew Mom was trying to make conversation, but she had picked the wrong

topic for sure.

“No, I’m not into the whole dating thing,” I said. “I am seeing someone, but

we’re not dating, and it’s not exclusive.”

I wasn’t being evasive because I didn’t want Mom to find out I was gay. I was

prolonging the enjoyment of anticipation. I felt just a touch guilty, but I was
actually looking forward to giving my mother the shock of her life. Janelle was
watching closely, just waiting for me to drop the bomb.

“Oh, what’s her name, dear? I bet she’s cute.”
“His name is Jarret, and he’s hot as … blazes,” I said, editing my language

slightly for Colin.

Mom just sat there like a statue for a few seconds. She looked as if she’d been

dazed by a blow to the head. “His name? She’s a he?”

“Yeah, he’s got the nicest ass and the biggest …”
“Skye!” said Janelle, motioning with her eyes toward Colin.
“I … I don’t know what to say,” said Mom. “You’re telling me you’re,

you’re …”

“The word you can’t bring yourself to say is gay, Mom.”

Mark A. Roeder

She looked shocked.
“Are you sure this isn’t just some kind of phase?”
“Save it, Mom. I’m gay. It’s not a phase, and I’m not going to start liking girls

when I get older. It’s who I am, and I’m proud of it.”

“But surely, you don’t let other people know …”
“Everyone knows, Mom: my teammates, everyone at school, the whole town.”
“But, Skye, that’s …”
“If you can’t accept it, then I have nothing more to say to you,” I said, stand-

ing and easing Colin down onto my chair.

Mom grabbed my wrist. “I didn’t say that, Skye. I love you no matter what

you are.”

“No matter what I am? So you mean, even if I’m some kind of monster?”
“No! I don’t mean it like that at all, Skye. I’m sorry for giving you that impres-

sion. This is just such a shock. I mean, look at you! You’re … Well, you look
incredible. You look like you should be on the cover of a magazine. You don’t
look gay at all.”

I laughed. “You’ve got a lot to learn about gay boys, Mom.”
“I … I guess I do. The point is, you’re my son, and I love you, Skye. I know

we have our … differences, but I love you and …” her voice trailed off.

I looked down at her. She was just a bit older, but I saw the mom I’d loved so

as a little boy.

“Thanks,” I said. I stood there a few moments more without moving. “I don’t

mean to be rude, but I need to get out of here. I have a lot of things to think
through.”

“Will you join us for dinner tonight?” asked Mom. “Janelle, Matthew, Colin,

Josh, and me, at The Park’s Edge? I’m buying.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said.
I ran upstairs to bundle up in my leather jacket, knit cap, and gloves and then

exited quickly through the front door. Suddenly, my mind wasn’t as preoccupied
with the Evil Four.

Mom’s return had come at me out of the blue. I guess I knew she wouldn’t

stay away forever, yet it seemed she might. I had a tendency to imagine things
always staying just as they were. I knew better, of course. I’d already faced major
upheavals in my life—like Mom and Dad’s divorce and Mom running off with
Josh. Before the troubles began, I figured I’d be a kid and live with Mom and
Dad forever. Josh would always be my best friend. I knew that someday I’d leave
home, go to college, get married, and have kids, but all that was in a vague future
that seemed less real than the fictional worlds of TV and film. I guess the mar-

Mark A. Roeder

riage and children part were nothing but fiction, but I never considered for a
moment that things might change.

My shoes left prints in the thin layer of snow as I stepped down the sidewalk. I

was barely paying attention to where I was going. My cheeks were chilled, but it
seemed less cold than in previous days. Perhaps things were about to warm up.

Mom’s sudden appearance upset my world. I’d settled into a comfortable life

of living with Janelle and Colin, going to school, and working at Wahlberg’s
Farm Store. Sure, there were troubles, big troubles, but even those were a neces-
sary part of my life. My reason for existence was to put jerks like Pete Niffler and
the Evil Four in their place. To be perfectly honest, I enjoyed kicking ass. My end
goal was to eradicate prejudice and abuse, but I knew that if that day ever came,
I’d miss fighting against the jerks. Now Mom had come back, and everything felt
uncertain again.

I was torn. Part of me wanted to tell Mom to fuck off. She’d had her chance

with me, and she’d chosen to run off with my former best friend. She’d aban-
doned me, her son, for a mere boy toy. Another part of me just wanted my mom
back. That part of me wanted to be forgiving and just forget about the past. How
could that be, however? How could I forget how she’d hurt me? It was bad
enough before Mom decided to pack up and leave, taking Josh with her, but after
… I’d worked a long time to just forget about it all, and now there it was, a grem-
lin from my past, staring me in the face.

Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to dinner. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing

Josh again. I’d tried to maintain our friendship, even after I caught him in bed
with Mom. For her sake, I’d tried not to unleash the anger I felt toward him, but
once they ran off together I began to hate him.

Holy shit, I thought. Josh married my mom, so that makes him my … dad. Oh

my God! The realization brought me to a halt. How had my life become so
screwed up?

When I returned home more than an hour later, Mom had gone. I would not

have entered if she’d still been there. I’d checked for her car as I left, and sure
enough, she was still driving her silver Toyota Camry. It’d disappeared from the
drive.

“Hey, Colin,” I said as I walked through the front door.
“Look what Grandma gave me!” he said, holding out a shiny-red fire engine.

He pushed a button and a horn blared, and sirens and flashing lights started up.

“I wish I’d had a fire truck like that when I was your age,” I said.
“Skye, can I talk to you?” asked Janelle from the kitchen.
“Sure thing.”

Mark A. Roeder

I mussed Colin’s hair and walked into the kitchen where Janelle was seated,

sipping yet another cup of coffee. I sat down across from her.

“So, what’s up?”
“Please don’t make a scene tonight, Skye.”
“You mean like grabbing Josh’s head and pounding it into the table repeat-

edly?”

“Yes.”
“Well, there goes Plan A.”
“I’m serious, Skye.”
“I won’t embarrass you, I promise, especially since Matthew will be there.”
“Mom is looking forward to meeting him.”
“I should warn him not to get attached to Mom. She’ll probably just take off

again.”

“Skye, please.”
“So, you’re just going to act as if nothing happened, as if she didn’t forget

about us?”

“She didn’t forget about us, Skye.”
“It sure as hell felt like it. I don’t know about you, but twenty bucks stuffed

into a Christmas card once a year doesn’t demonstrate a whole lot of caring in my
book. She didn’t even bother to call on my birthdays.”

“She had her own problems.”
“Yeah, and we had ours, and where was she? She was off fucking a kid.”
“Skye, please don’t be so vulgar.”
“Any way I say it, it comes out the same.”
“I know that what happened hurt you, Skye, but Mom was so lonely.”
“So she decided my best friend was the answer to her problems? How do you

think that made me feel?”

“I’m not saying your feelings aren’t valid, but she’s back now, and it isn’t

going to be easy for her.”

“Yeah, I bet Josh’s parents just can’t wait to spend time with their daugh-

ter-in-law. Do they know Josh and Mom are married?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t discuss that.”
“I’ll tell you what; I’ll make nice tonight, okay? I’ll be polite to Mom and even

shit-head, but don’t expect me to forgive Mom overnight, and don’t expect me to
be friends with Josh. He’ll be lucky if he makes it through the week without me
kicking his ass.”

“That would make Mom feel wonderful, wouldn’t it?”

Mark A. Roeder

“Hey, I’m not going to pick a fight with him, but if he shoots his mouth off,

I’m knocking in his teeth.”

“You’re such a diplomat, Skye.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Skye, listen. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about your problems with

Mom when Colin is around.”

“You want him to think she’s the ideal grandmother?”
“I just want them to have a chance. Mom already adores him, and he’s taken

up with her. He doesn’t need to know anything about what happened. When
he’s older, he’ll probably start asking questions, but for now he just doesn’t need
to be pulled into all that.”

“I would never hurt Colin. You know that. I’ll keep quiet about the family’s

dark secrets.”

“Thanks, Skye.”
“I think there’s something you should consider, though, Janelle. What says

Mom won’t take off again? What if Colin gets attached to her, and she decides to
run off?”

“I’m not unconcerned about that, but what else can I do? I want Colin to have

the chance to know his grandmother. Who knows if he’ll ever get to meet his
grandfather?”

“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. I know you aren’t happy with the situation, but I’m glad to have Mom

back. I missed her.”

“I missed her, too.”

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

At seven p.m. we were all seated around a large table in The Park’s Edge.

Whether it was by chance or design, Josh and I were seated at opposite ends of
the table. Mom was right beside him, of course, while I was near Janelle, Mat-
thew, and Colin. I found myself wishing there were more of us so I could be yet
further away from Josh. I’d made a promise to Janelle, and I’d keep it. I’d be civil
even if I choked on my words.

I didn’t eat in The Park’s Edge often. The food was excellent, and while not

too pricy, it wasn’t as inexpensive as Ofarim’s or Café Moffatt. I preferred a more
casual atmosphere as well. I’d dressed up for the evening in a long-sleeved white
shirt and black slacks, but had drawn the line at a tie. My rule was that I didn’t go

Mark A. Roeder

anywhere I had to wear a tie. I would have been far more comfortable in jeans
and a t-shirt.

Mom was on pins and needles, obviously hoping that she could reinsert her-

self into our lives and be accepted. Janelle seemed more than willing to forgive
and forget, but I wasn’t as eager. I knew I could probably forgive Mom for what
she’d done, but forgetting was another matter. As far as Josh was concerned, well,
he could just go fuck himself, but I guess he didn’t need to; he had my mom for
that.

Our waiter arrived to take our drink orders, and I suddenly forgot all about

Josh. The waiter looked about twenty-three and was extremely handsome. His
eyes locked on mine as he introduced himself as Troy. He was slightly shorter
than I was and looked to have a tight, compact build. He wasn’t what I’d call
muscular, but I just knew he was one of those guys who had chiseled abs and a
sexy, firm body. It was his face that drew me, however. Troy had short black hair,
artfully messy on top with the sides cut so short they were nearly shaved. His fea-
tures were masculine, but beautiful. He looked like a model.

I wasn’t subtle about checking Troy out, and the look that flashed in his eyes

told me he was every bit as interested in me as I was in him. I knew at that
moment that I’d fuck him before the night was over, and my heart beat faster in
anticipation. I watched him walk away with our drink orders. He had one nice
ass.

Janelle hadn’t missed the exchange and smiled at me. She probably knew as

well as I did that Troy and I would be naked together before the clock struck
twelve. Josh was staring at me, looking confused. Mom took no notice at all,
either because she was truly oblivious or simply chose not to see. Matthew turned
to me and raised an eyebrow. He found my talent for seduction more amusing
than anything. I knew he’d laugh his ass off when I someday told him I’d nailed
our waiter.

Mom and Janelle worked to start up a conversation. I was civil, but didn’t vol-

unteer any information. I kept my answers to Mom’s questions polite but short.
Janelle looked nervous, as if afraid I might blow up at any second, but I wasn’t
going to do that to her. I loved my sister. Besides, I had Troy to think about, and
that helped to keep my mind occupied.

The presence of Colin and Matthew made things easier, too. It gave me some-

one to talk to. Matthew knew nothing of Mom, except that she’d moved to New
Orleans long before he met Janelle. Colin was too young to remember anything.
As far as he was concerned, he’d never met his grandmother before today. The
look on Matthew’s face when he met Josh was priceless. I would’ve thought

Mark A. Roeder

Janelle would have filled him in on the fact that Mom’s new husband was only
two years older than her son, but I guess she hadn’t had the opportunity. Either
that or her mischievous side had slipped out, and she wanted to see how Matthew
would react to Mom’s teenaged husband.

I took almost no notice of Josh. When our eyes met, I just stared into his dis-

passionately. If he thought we were going to be friends again, he was sorely mis-
taken. After I found Josh in bed with my mother, looking as if he was trying to
provide me with a baby brother, I’d controlled myself for Mom’s sake. I wanted
to kick his ass then and there as well as after, but decided to forgo the pleasure so
as not to upset Mom. That was before they’d run off together, so I saw no reason
to extend the same courtesy now. If he so much as looked at me cross-eyed, I was
going to belt him in the mouth.

Gazing into Troy’s eyes, I ordered the Pasta Arribiata. Janelle stifled a giggle

by putting her hand over her mouth while Troy was taking orders. He couldn’t
keep his eyes off me and even had to ask Mom to repeat her order.

I munched on breadsticks while waiting on my pasta. Mom was describing the

French Quarter, which was interesting enough. Still, it wasn’t a comfortable
gathering, and I was relieved when our orders arrived. My Pasta Arribiata could
best be described as spicy and hot. It was almost too hot, in fact, but it was deli-
cious. Dinner was rather painful otherwise. I was never much good at pretending
to like those I loathed.

I distracted myself by watching Janelle and Matthew together. I was happy

that Janelle had found someone she liked so well. I knew she’d been lonely. Mat-
thew obviously adored her, and he was good with Colin, too. They hadn’t set a
date for their wedding yet, and I wondered how Mom’s reappearance would
affect their plans. Janelle had told me that she wanted the simplest of weddings: a
very private ceremony. I was glad she didn’t want one of those huge weddings
that went on and on. I hated those things. Talk about boring. I couldn’t believe
people spent thousands and thousands of dollars on a wedding; what a waste.
Even people with no money to spare spent huge sums on their wedding and then
took years to pay for it. It was madness. I was glad my sister was more sensible.
With the money they didn’t spend on a big wedding, they could buy a new car.

I had only a couple of reservations about Janelle getting married. For one

thing, I wondered how I’d fit in. Matthew was renting an apartment, so it made
sense for him to move in with Janelle. My sister had assured me I was welcome to
keep living there as long as I liked, but I wondered what Matthew would think of
his wife’s little brother living in the same house with them once they were a mar-
ried couple. Matthew and I got on well. We even played basketball together, and

Mark A. Roeder

he helped me work on my car. Still, I knew I’d feel sort of out of place after they
were married.

My other reservation concerned Colin. I felt a little like Matthew would be

taking my place with Colin, who was like a son to me. I knew that was just stu-
pid, though. No matter how close Colin came to Matthew, he’d still be my
nephew. Colin needed a dad, too. I did a good job with him, if I do say so myself,
but I couldn’t dedicate as much time to him as he needed. I wanted what was best
for Colin, so even though the addition of Matthew would change things, he was a
welcome addition to our lives. It was too bad I couldn’t say the same of my
mom’s new husband.

I wrote my name and phone number on a scrap of paper and broke away from

the table when I saw Troy heading in our direction. I met him halfway, handed
him the paper, and said, “Call me when you’re finished here for the night.” Troy
smiled and I had no doubt my phone would be ringing before many hours
passed.

Josh was staring at me when I returned from the restroom, and I returned his

gaze with a cool, level, stare until he was forced to look away. He was soon to
learn that a lot had changed in Verona since he’d eloped with my mother.

For dessert I had some incredible chocolate cake. The Park’s Edge was famous

for it. It was beyond delicious, it was … orgasmic. Thanks to the cake, I was actu-
ally able to sit there and listen to Josh’s plans for finishing college without hurl-
ing. He’d already completed his freshman year of college in New Orleans and
planned to commute to Notre Dame, where he’d already been accepted. Josh
looked at me for my reaction to his news, as if he wanted to rub my nose in it, but
I completely lost myself in the heavenly chocolate dessert. Josh’s scowl made it
taste even better.

At last the ordeal was over and I walked home in the darkness, picturing in my

mind what Troy looked like naked. I intended to find out for myself quite soon,
but I couldn’t help but be curious. Hot guys were few and far between in
Verona—at least hot guys who were interested in guys and not already taken. My
friends teased me about being a slut, but the truth was that I wasn’t nearly as sex-
ually active as they thought, except with Jarret. We went at it like rabbits. I was
definitely up for more, but I hadn’t been out for very long, and the gay boys in
Verona seemed too frightened to approach me. I knew several, but they either
had boyfriends or didn’t interest me. The two boys who were checking me out at
the gay-youth center were kind of hot, but there was really no chance to get with
them. Perhaps in the future, but tonight I was going to concentrate on Troy.

Mark A. Roeder

I went home and dressed in more comfortable clothes: sweat pants and an

Abercrombie muscle shirt. I didn’t want to sit by the phone just waiting for it to
ring, but my thoughts of Troy had me all worked up, so I didn’t want to miss his
call.

I tried reading, but couldn’t keep my mind on the book. I had a fairly short

attention span anyway, and my sexual need made it impossible to concentrate. I’d
worked out the day before, so it was too early to do so again, but I wheeled out
the Bowflex and did ab crunches. Unlike most muscles, the abdominals can be
worked out daily. I rarely did extra ab workouts, but I needed something to keep
me busy. I needed to do something physical.

The phone rang a little after eleven. I picked it up on the third ring.
“Hello, Troy,” I said.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, no doubt caused by my

confidence that it was Troy calling.

“Hi, Skye.”
“So, do you want to get together?” I asked, cutting straight to the point. I had

no use for beating around the bush.

“Yeah.”
“Do you have a place? You can come here, but we’d have to keep quiet.”
“I’ve got a place. I have a roommate, but she’s gone for the night.”
“What’s the address?”
I wrote down the address as he gave it to me.
“Okay, cool. I’ll be over in a few.”
I hung up, stuffed some condoms in my pocket, put on my sneakers and

jacket, and slipped out of the house so as not to awaken Janelle or Colin. Verona
isn’t a big place, so I had no trouble finding Troy’s apartment, which was actually
half of a duplex. The heater didn’t even have time to warm the car before I got
there.

Troy opened the door almost before I knocked and ushered me in. He was

still in his work clothes, black slacks and a long-sleeved red shirt. I was dressed in
my sweats and muscle shirt, but I’d also worn my leather jacket. I slipped it off
immediately.

“I’ve seen your picture in the paper. You play football for V.H.S., right?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“You’re extremely good looking,” said Troy.
“So are you.”
“So … how long have you lived in Verona?” asked Troy.

Mark A. Roeder

“All my life, but I’m not much into idle chitchat. We both know why I’m

here.” I grabbed his hand and placed it on the bulge that was rapidly forming in
my sweats.

“Mmm, you’re very dominant, aren’t you? I like that.”
“Then you’re going to love me.”
I gripped Troy’s shoulders and pushed him to his knees.
I peeled off my shirt as Troy got down to business. I was so worked up I felt

like I might only be able to last seconds, but I have amazing control. Troy was a
lot more talented than Jarret, at least before Jarret had quite a bit of practice. I
was sure Troy had been on his knees plenty of times before. When I told him I
was close, he just went at it harder, and I moaned with pleasure. I grabbed both
sides of his head and went for it. My groan of release probably woke up his neigh-
bors. In seconds, I was ready to go again.

Soon, we were both naked. We spent the next hour exploring each other’s

bodies. I was right. Troy was compact and defined. He wasn’t built, but he had a
hot little body. I was right about something else, too. I had him bent over the
arm of his couch well before the night was over—twice, in fact.

Okay, I don’t write porn, so if you want a cheap thrill you’re going to have to

go somewhere else or just use your imagination. I think I’ve given you enough
information to go on. It’s up to you to decide if you want to picture the details or
not. I will tell you that Troy was a moaner and that he liked it rough. He asked
me to call him names and definitely got off on submission. He was like Jarret in
that regard, and I wondered how many guys were the same. We were a perfect
match and were both well satisfied by the time I departed. It had been a trying,
messed-up day, but it sure ended well, thanks to Troy.

- 71 -

Sean

Nick was released from the hospital a few days after he was admitted. On the
same day, Glen and Ben were let out of juvenile detention. I wasn’t happy they
were once again roaming free, but they weren’t off the hook. Even though they
were minors, they were going to be prosecuted for assault. They deserved much
worse, but it was something.

Skye was nearly hauled in for questioning. Apparently Glen and Ben had

woven a tale about how he’d attacked them without provocation. Their lawyer
convinced them that perjury would not help their case, so they gave up trying to
take Skye down with them. There were plenty of witnesses to what had hap-
pened. Skye had stepped in to save Nick, and everyone knew it. Most thought
Glen and Ben got the beating they deserved.

I would’ve thought the Evil Four, and particularly Glen and Ben, would be

walking around with their tails between their legs after what’d happened, but that
illusion was cleared up for me really fast. Alex and Ben cornered me in the
restroom after lunch. It was deserted when I entered, but they were on top of me
almost before I made it past the sinks. They must have been waiting their chance,
and I felt foolish for not spotting them. I didn’t even get the chance to unzip
before they entered and backed me into a wall.

“I think you’re in enough trouble already, Ben,” I said, trying to put up a

brave front. To be honest, I was about to wet my pants and not just because I had
to go. I’d seen what Ben and Glen had done to Nick. I hated Ben for that, but at
the moment I was too scared to feel very aggressive.

Ben bared his teeth and actually growled at me like some kind of wild animal.

Mark A. Roeder

“We’ve got a message for all you faggots,” said Ben. “This isn’t over. Even if

Glen and I have to do a little time, we’ll be back, and don’t forget Jeremy and
Alex will be right here watching you. What we did to Nick is only the beginning.
It’s time someone rid this town of faggots, and that someone is gonna be us.
We’re gonna get you, your boyfriend, and all your faggot friends. We’re even
gonna kill those child molesters who call themselves Nick’s parents. We’re gonna
get you all, and nothing can stop us.”

Despite my best efforts, I trembled with terror. Their threat shocked me. I

knew they had it in for us. I knew they were dangerous. I knew they were
involved some way with the murders the previous spring. I never thought they
would deliver a death threat right in the restroom, however. They had truly
grown bold, and it frightened me to my very core.

“What if I go to the cops right now and tell them what you just told me?” I

said, struggling unsuccessfully to keep my voice from shaking. Both Alex and Ben
grinned evilly at my obvious terror. They knew they’d shaken me up.

“Go ahead. It’s just your word against ours, and everyone knows you and

Nick are butt buddies. The cops will just think you’re trying to stir up trouble to
get back at us. Why do you think we picked you to receive our message? Huh,
faggot? You don’t know who you’re messing with here.”

“If you guys are smart, you’ll get the hell out of town before Skye gets his

hands on you.”

“Skye’s going to end up in a box six feet under, just like the rest of you. We

aren’t scared of him. He’s just another faggot.”

“You’re scared of him,” I said, trying to find just a little courage.
“If we are, we won’t be once he’s had an ‘accident.’”
Alex and Ben laughed, and it sent a chill up my spine. They turned around

and left me standing there trembling. I took a deep breath, then tore out of the
restroom in search of Skye.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

The swirling snow blew against my window as I looked out into a darkness

illuminated only by distant street lamps. The Evil Four were out there some-
where, and they meant to get us all.

Two days had passed since Alex and Ben had made their threats, and I’d

grown more uneasy with each passing hour. Were they just playing a game to
scare us? It seemed a rather stupid thing to do. Why would someone already up
on charges for assault threaten murder? Were they counting on the fact that we

Mark A. Roeder

had no proof? What happened if one of us did turn up dead? Wouldn’t suspicion
immediately be turned on the Evil Four? If they were serious, why would they
warn us? Did they have something else sinister planned? Were their threats a
diversion to hide what they were really up to? Or, did they think they could kill
us all and skip town without getting caught?

I tried to think as the Evil Four might think. If I had several people to kill and

I wanted to get away with it after I’d made a threat to kill them, how would I
accomplish the task? I certainly wouldn’t knock off my victims one by one. The
very first murder would cast suspicion in my direction, and each additional mur-
der after would only increase my chances of getting caught. No, the only way to
do it and get away with it was to kill us all at once and then disappear before the
murders were discovered. Was that even possible? I counted off the known gays
in Verona. There were Nick, Skye, Noah, Oliver, Clay, Ethan, Nathan, Brendan,
Casper, and me, plus a handful more from the gay-youth meetings. How could
anyone kill us all at once?

If I wanted to kill a lot of people at once, I guessed that poison might do the

trick. How could one get over a dozen people to all take it at the same time,
though? The only time that most of us were together was at the gay-youth meet-
ings, and none of the Evil Four could possibly get in and out without being seen.
Perhaps they had an ally who could pretend to be coming to a meeting, only to
slip poison into the food or drink. We usually drank canned sodas, though, and
there was no way to guarantee that everyone would eat a particular item at one of
the meetings. Even poisoned brownies, popular as brownies are, wouldn’t be
eaten by everyone. I groaned; thinking like a criminal hurt my head.

There was a core group of us who showed for just about every meeting at the

center, but most attended irregularly because of conflicting schedules. Brendan
and Casper were only rarely there, usually filling in if Ethan and Nathan couldn’t
make it. Maybe the Evil Four didn’t really mean to get everyone, though. Maybe
they just meant to kill as many of us as they could. If that was so, then maybe
they did mean to poison us.

Why did the Evil Four warn me, however? Why put us on guard? Why not

just do it? I had little doubt they were up to something wicked, but what? In any
case, I feared we were all in grave danger.

A week passed and nothing happened. Were the Evil Four just playing mind

games, or were they waiting for us to let our guard down? The latter was not
going to happen. We were all on alert. Skye was on constant watch, and even he
rarely went anywhere alone. The tension was fraying my nerves. Maybe the Evil

Mark A. Roeder

Four just meant to drive us all insane. If that was their plan, I had the feeling it
was working.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Nick walked by my side in the afternoon sunlight, still bruised, but no longer

limping as badly. Oliver and Clay strolled along just behind us. We were all
headed for Graymoor. Clay had been inside, but had never been given a real tour.
Mom had shown Oliver around the house, but there was always more to see. I
suspected Oliver had ulterior motives, and he didn’t deny it when I accused him
of hoping Clay would get scared and need to be held.

We’d all been edgy since the death threat, and I think all of us felt much more

secure walking in a group of four. Glen Barrett drove by us once and scowled at
us, but didn’t stop. I was even more glad to have three friends with me then than
I had been before.

Clay had seen the immense parlor that served as an entry, so we walked right

through it. It was impossible to see everything in Graymoor at once, so I led our
little group on a tour of my favorite places. Our first stop, after winding through
hallways on the first floor, was the ballroom. I’d only recently discovered it, even
though it wasn’t all that far from the dining room and parlor. There was a reason
it had taken me months to find it, as I demonstrated to my guests:

“The entrance to the ballroom is within ten feet of where we’re standing,” I

said as I stopped in the hallway. “See if you can find it.”

Nick knew where it was. He was one of the first people I’d shown it to, right

after Mom, Dad, and Avery. He watched with me as Oliver and Clay tried to
find it.

Predictably, Oliver and Clay tried the nearest doors. The one across from the

ballroom led to a small study. The door that looked as if it must lead to the ball-
room (after the other door had been eliminated as a possibility) led to nothing.
Clay opened it to reveal a brick wall.

“Remember, not all is as it seems in Graymoor,” I said.
The pair looked around in confusion and then both stared at a large painting

of a herd of sheep located a few feet to the left of the door that led nowhere. The
painting stood some eight feet high and five wide and nearly reached the floor.
Oliver grasped the left edge of it and gently pulled, as if afraid it would come off
the wall. To his surprise the whole painting swung outwards like a door. It was,
in fact, hinged and hid a recessed door behind it.

“Very good,” I said.

Mark A. Roeder

“How did you ever manage to find this?” asked Clay.
“Just a few days ago, Marshall and I discovered a door behind a painting in

another part of the house. It was even more cleverly disguised. When the painting
swung away from the wall, there appeared to be nothing but a paneled wall
behind it. The wall was, in fact, a door. Ever since that discovery, I’ve been trying
my luck with other paintings.”

“That’s so cool. So this is the entrance to the ballroom?” asked Oliver.
“Yes. Just wait until you see it. Open the door.”
Oliver turned the ornate handle and pushed open the heavy oaken door. Both

he and Clay immediately gasped, which had been my reaction, too, the first time
I laid eyes upon the cavernous room. Come to think of it, that was everyone’s
first reaction. It was easy to understand why. Even though I’d been in the ball-
room a few times, it still took my breath away.

“Go on, it’s safe,” I said, stepping past Oliver onto a floor that mirrored the

ceiling.

Oliver carefully stepped out, and Clay followed. Nick confidently walked in.
“This is weird,” said Oliver. “I feel like I’m going to fall up!”
“Wow!” said Clay. “The entire floor is one big mirror!”
“Look at the windows!” said Oliver, pointing first to the reflection on the floor

and then to the actual stained-glass windows that occupied most of the walls as
well as the entire ceiling.

For several long moments Oliver and Clay were struck dumb by the beauty of

the room, a room in which one was surrounded in every direction by gorgeous
stained glass brilliantly backlit by sunlight. The entire room had an Egyptian
motif, with sphinxes, pyramids, mummies, and scarabs in rich blues, greens,
golds, and reds. The few parts of the room that weren’t glass were richly carved
with yet more Egyptian designs gilded to look like gold.

“It matches the bed and dresser in your bedroom,” said Nick, remembering

no doubt the little sphinxes on my dresser pulls that used to freak me out at
night.

“Wait a minute!” said Oliver. “Isn’t this an interior room? I know we’re on the

first floor. How can there possibly be sunlight behind all that glass?”

“You’re quicker to notice that than I was,” I admitted. “You’re right. This is

an interior room with three floors and an attic above. We’re nowhere near an out-
side wall. The only thing I can figure is that there must be some kind of system of
shafts and mirrors that directs the light in from the outside.”

“The Egyptians used something like that to light the interiors to tombs when

they were working on them,” said Nick. “How appropriate.”

Mark A. Roeder

“I have no idea how it works,” I said, “but it’s the only answer I’ve come up

with. When it’s dark outside, it’s dark in here, too.”

“If I didn’t know better,” said Clay. “I would think this was like a greenhouse,

only made of stained glass.”

Nick wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close as we gazed at the

room. I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

“I don’t know if I could dance in here,” said Clay. “It would take some getting

used to. I’m almost afraid to move. I know it’s not logical, but like Oliver said, I
feel like I’m going to fall up.” Clay laughed. He gave an experimental twirl, his
brown hair flying. He stumbled and laughed.

“You get used to it,” I said. “After a while your mind understands that even

though it looks like you’re walking on the ceiling, you’re not.”

Oliver and Clay held hands while they picked their way across the floor, look-

ing down and giggling. They were taking exaggerated steps, as if they had to step
around the windows reflected on the floor. Clay nearly fell down, making them
giggle more.

Nick and I couldn’t help but make out a little as we waited on Oliver and

Clay. Of course, we couldn’t help but make out any time we were together. We
were even so bold as to kiss at school sometimes.

“Okay you two, break it up,” said Oliver.
Nick and I smiled.
“Ready to continue the tour?”
“Yeah!” said Clay.
Our next stop was the Natatorium, also called a pool house. It took us a few

minutes to reach it, but at last we entered. The walls and roof were glass and
needed a good cleaning, but the room was in amazingly good shape. I’d always
marveled that vandals hadn’t broken the glass in all the years Graymoor had sat
empty. The dry pool took up most of the space, and it was definitely Olympic
size, or somewhere close.

“I think this is my favorite room,” said Oliver. “Your mom showed it to me.

Wouldn’t it be cool to swim in here?”

“Cool is right,” I said, “or rather cold. I don’t think they made heated pools

when this place was built.”

“When was it built?” asked Clay.
“We’re not sure. For a while we thought the whole house was built in the

1870s, shortly before the Graymoors were murdered, but parts of the house are
much older. I think it started out small and successive owners added more and

Mark A. Roeder

more to it until it grew into what you see. It was finished in the 1870s, but when
it was begun is anybody’s guess.”

Surrounding the pool on all sides was a tiled area with old chairs and lounges

for bathers to rest and sun themselves. There were enormous planters where trop-
ical plants probably once grew, but they were empty now, except for the dried
remnants of what had once been green and thriving. Even though there was snow
outside, it was surprisingly warm in the Natatorium.

“This looks like something that belongs in a big, fancy hotel instead of a pri-

vate home,” said Oliver.

“I can’t argue with you there.”
“Can you show us the Solarium?” asked Oliver. “I want Clay to see it. It’s

nearly as cool as this place!”

“Sure thing. I’d planned that for our next stop.”
We exited through an exterior door and cut across the yard to the Solarium, as

it was a much quicker route than going through the house. We entered through a
glass door.

“This is the Solarium,” I said, “which is what the Victorians called a green-

house.”

“I can feel the greenhouse effect,” said Nick. “It’s a lot warmer in here than

you’d think, just like the Natatorium.”

“We haven’t touched this place,” I said. “Mom is just dying to fill it with

plants, which would cost a fortune, and we’d need a gardener besides.”

“You would have to be a millionaire to restore all of Graymoor, I bet,” said

Nick.

“Yeah, Mom and Dad will never get it all done. They got a real steal on it,

especially considering what’s inside. The paintings alone are worth a hundred
times what they paid for the place.”

“It looks as if someone would’ve bought it and sold the contents long ago,”

said Clay.

“No one was brave, or stupid, enough, depending on how you look at it,” I

said. “I was less than thrilled when Mom and Dad bought it, to say the least, but
it kind of grows on you.”

I wondered what the Solarium would look like restored and filled with plants.

There were planters even more enormous than those in the pool house; some of
them still held gnarled and dead old trees. Others held brown and dry rose bushes
and other plants I couldn’t identify. There were arches that looked Roman, cov-
ered with dead vines. There were lots and lots of statues, too, such as those I’d

Mark A. Roeder

seen in books—Greek, I think—of naked, athletic young men. Clay drew toward
one of them.

“This looks like Skye,” he said.
“So you’ve seen him naked?” asked Nick, his interest piqued.
I felt jealousy begin to rear its ugly head, but I pushed it to the side. I was in

danger of being foolish again. Besides, I was just as curious as Nick to find out
what Skye looked like naked.

“No,” said Clay. “I just mean the statue looks like him.”
“I’ve seen Skye naked,” said Oliver.
“Really?” asked Clay. “When?”
“At work.”
“Do you care to explain that?” I asked.
“Well, Jarret came for a visit, and they went in the back. After a while I got

curious and I sort of … peeked.”

Nick laughed. “What did you see?”
“I saw Skye’s butt,” said Oliver, turning red. “He was on top of Jarret.”
“I think I get the picture,” I said.
“Yeah, well, after he … finished … he turned around and I saw his front.”
“Was he pissed?” asked Nick.
“No, he thought it was funny.”
“So …,” said Clay, “is Skye as big as they say he is?”
Oliver held his hands more than eight inches apart.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Damn!” said Nick. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t pass out every time he gets

hard.”

We all laughed at that and then let the topic of Skye’s endowment rest.

- 79 -

Marshall

“Ugh!” I shouted, causing a dozen or more faces to turn in my direction. I cov-
ered my mouth with my hand and stared at what I knew appeared to be mere
empty space to others, but the gruesome sight that met my eyes made my heart
pound in my chest.

“O-o-o-k-a-y,” said Skye, slowly. “Is there a reason you just screamed in my

ear?”

Sean was staring at me. The three of us had been walking down the hallway

toward the cafeteria for lunch when it appeared. I was still staring at it, ignoring
Skye, Sean, and the students who were now making their way around us. The
contents of my stomach were trying to fight their way up and out. I swallowed. I
was accustomed to seeing ghosts, even wounded ghosts, but this one was about
more than I could handle. I could even smell it, and the stench was overpower-
ing. I’d definitely lost my appetite.

“What do you see?” asked Sean.
“A headless body,” I said, without taking my eyes off it.
Skye whistled, hinting that I’d lost all my marbles.
“Where?” asked Sean.
“Right there,” I said, pointing to a spot some five feet in front of me.
“Describe it.”
“It’s … Well, he’s naked. He’s maybe thirteen, but I’m not sure. What’s left of

him is not quiet four feet tall. He’d be … maybe four feet six if he wasn’t …
headless.”

Mark A. Roeder

“Is he hung?” asked Skye. Only Skye could ask a question like that at a time

like this.

“I said he’s about thirteen. What do you think?”
“Bummer,” said Skye.
“Necrophilia now?” asked Sean.
“Huh?” said Skye.
“It means having sex with a corpse,” I said.
“Hell, no!” said Skye. “I was just making a joke. I’m not a pedo-whatever or a

… whatever you said.”

I swallowed again as I continued to stare at the apparition with morbid curios-

ity.

“You’re seeing this, right here, right now?” asked Skye, staring at the spot

where the body stood.

“Yes. He looks so real. Lifelike. Well, you know what I mean. He looks like

he’s just had his head lopped off. I’m going to be sick.”

I held my hand over my mouth again and tried to keep the contents of my

stomach from rising. I had to look away from the body.

“He’s gone,” I said, looking back at the space where the headless boy had

stood. Thankfully, the stench had disappeared, too. I took a deep breath.

“You don’t look so good,” said Skye.
“Do you think this ghost is connected to the others?” asked Sean.
“I don’t know.”
“Others?” asked Skye.
I nodded. “I see dead people.”
“So what exactly do you mean?” asked Skye.
“I mean exactly what I said. I’ve seen the odd ghost before, in Graymoor, but

now … I see them everywhere.”

“Everywhere?”
“Yeah, and it’s not like before.”
“How is it different?” asked Skye.
“Well, you’ve seen the Graymoor murders reenacted, right?”
“Yeah, that was some freaky shit,” said Skye.
“You know how I told you the reenactment of the Graymoor murders was a

traumatic event imprinted on space? That the ghosts aren’t really there? It’s just a
playback?”

“Sure.”
“I think all the ghosts that you, Sean, and I have seen in Graymoor are like

that—most of them anyway.”

Mark A. Roeder

“What about chairs and things that move by themselves?” asked Sean. “The

night those boys were chasing me through the house, loveseats slid in their path
to trip them up, vases were hurled at them, doors slammed shut in their faces,
candles were blown out. The ghosts were really there then. That kind of thing
isn’t just an imprint.”

“True, but did you ever see the ghosts doing those things?” I asked.
“Well, no.”
“That’s why I think that the ghosts we’ve seen before aren’t actual spirits of the

dead. When they’re doing something, like chucking vases at gay bashers, no one
has been able to see them.”

“Okay, where are you going with this?” asked Sean.
“I’m trying to explain how things have changed, how I’ve changed. The next

time a ghost in Graymoor moves a chair or whatever, I think I’ll be able to see it.”

“What have you been seeing, Marshall?” asked Skye.
“Like I said, I see dead people. They’re all around.”
Skye and Sean looked around as if they could see them for themselves.
“Like, all over the place, hundreds of them?” asked Skye.
“No, I don’t mean like a crowd, but I’ve seen them outside of Graymoor. One

appeared in my very own bedroom, I saw another on the street, I saw lots of them
in the hospital, and just now, right here in V.H.S. They look different, too: solid,
just like real people. If they weren’t dressed in old-fashioned clothes, or naked
and headless, I could mistake them for a real live person.”

“That’s freaky,” said Skye. “Better you than me.”
“Ah, you’re not scared of a few ghosts, are you Skye?” I asked.
“Let’s just say I prefer an opponent who has an ass to kick.”
“You coming?” asked Sean, motioning toward the cafeteria with his head.
“I don’t think so. What are we having today anyway?”
“Spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Hell, no. I’d hurl.”
Skye laughed, but Sean looked sympathetic.
“You guys go on. I’ve got some thinking to do.”
“Later, Marshall.”
I walked around aimlessly, avoiding the cafeteria and its currently nauseating

scents. There’s nothing like the sight of a headless body to take the appetite away.
I was accustomed to seeing gruesome sights in horror movies and monster maga-
zines, but seeing such a thing in the flesh, so to speak, was another thing entirely.
What truly disturbed and sickened me wasn’t the blood and gore, but the knowl-
edge that it was real. Someone had murdered that boy in a style befitting Lizzie

Mark A. Roeder

Borden. This wasn’t fiction; it had really happened. I couldn’t help but wonder
who had killed him and why.

Even though grossed out by it, I had observed every detail I could in the short

time the apparition was visible. The head had been hewn off with an ax or similar
weapon. It wasn’t a clean cut that might be dealt with the blow of a sword or
guillotine. I was very much afraid it had taken the boy a while to die. His had
been a very unpleasant death indeed.

This specter had been unable to communicate, obviously, since he was lacking

a head, but he had certainly sought to communicate something by his mere pres-
ence. Was he connected to the others, or were the dead now appearing to me at
random? I had plenty of questions, but few answers.

Mark’s words echoed in my mind again: you are changed. At the time I

thought he meant I’d grown by learning from my experiences in the altered real-
ity. I had grown. I was a bit less naïve and a bit more cautious when it came to the
unknown. Perhaps Mark had meant more than that, however. Had my contact
with such a powerful and magical book changed me? The book that took me into
the past was now destroyed, but had its magic touched me in some way, making
me able to see what I had not been capable of seeing before?

Perhaps the answer did not matter. A change had occurred, and its cause was

irrelevant. I could now see dead people—not mere reflections of the past, but
actual, self-aware spirits who wanted something from me. I sensed their need for
my help. They did not appear to me randomly, nor to frighten me. They had a
purpose. I knew it in my heart as surely as I knew anything. All I had to do was
figure out that purpose. That was the tricky part. I’d been given a handful of
pieces to a puzzle, but unless I was very much mistaken, there was much to come.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

“Hi, sexy,” said Kate, just before giving me a kiss. School had just let out for

the day.

“Hey.”
“I didn’t see you in the cafeteria at lunch. I thought maybe you went home

sick.”

“I just didn’t feel much like eating. I wasn’t feeling so good.”
“Aww, poor baby. Are you okay now?”
“Yeah, and I’m starving.”
“Why don’t we get something to eat, then?” suggested Kate.
“That’s what I love about you, your wonderful ideas.”

Mark A. Roeder

“That’s all?”
“That’s only the beginning,” I said and kissed her back.
Kate smiled at me and smoothed my hair back when we broke our kiss.
Skye leaped in out of nowhere and put his arms across our shoulders.
“If you two want to get it on, I’ll let you use my room,” he said.
I felt my face grow hot, but Kate wasn’t fazed.
“We have Marshall’s room for that,” she said and then kissed me again, more

deeply this time.

Skye laughed and departed.
“I still can’t believe he’s gay,” said Kate, once we’d come up for air again.
“Would you trade me in for Skye if he liked girls?”
“Not a chance,” said Kate. “Skye is built, I’ll give him that, but you’re sexy

and sweet and romantic …” She leaned in and whispered, “… and, nicely built,
too. You have the cutest little butt.”

“Just for that I’m taking you to The Park’s Edge,” I said. “Flattery will get you

everywhere.”

Kate grinned and we left the school, walking hand in hand. I wished Sean and

Nick could display the affection they felt for each other as openly as Kate and I
could. I wanted them to experience the pleasure I did when I was with Kate.

The Park’s Edge was beyond my means, but I had a little money saved up, and

Kate deserved to go somewhere nice. I walked her to her house and left for my
own so I could get my cash and change into something a bit dressier than a t-shirt
and jeans. I didn’t hurry, because I knew it would take Kate a good hour to ready
herself. That’s one advantage gay guys had over us straight boys: they didn’t have
to wait on girls to primp (although I had some male friends who racked up quite
a bit of mirror time). Kate and I had only been dating for a short time, and she
was my first girl, but I still felt as if I’d spent half my life waiting on her. Even so,
I wasn’t willing to change my sexual orientation to get out of waiting on Kate.
The rewards were far too many.

Being near Kate drove me crazy sometimes. I wanted her so badly I could

hardly stand it. I was still a virgin by most anyone’s definition, and I wanted to
take things further—not all the way just yet, but as close as possible. I had yet to
experience oral sex, either giving or receiving, and I was eager to try both. I didn’t
want to push too hard, though, because there was something really special about
Kate. I wanted her badly, but I didn’t want her to think that all I wanted from
her was sex. Maybe gay guys had it easier in more ways that one. If I was gay, I
could wait for the other guy to make the moves. Then again, I’d have to worry

Mark A. Roeder

about someone kicking my head in, so I guess us hetero boys had it easier after
all.

An hour and a half later Kate and I were seated in The Park’s Edge. I was

absolutely starving. The portions at The Park’s Edge were huge, but I had little
doubt I could devour every last bite. Kate ordered Chicken Marsala pasta and I
ordered a Fried Chicken Hoagie. A hoagie might not sound like a huge meal, but
it is when it’s a foot long and comes with a load of fries about three times the size
of a large fries at McDonalds. The fries at The Park’s Edge were way better, too:
batter dipped and just slightly spicy.

“It’s beautiful here,” said Kate, once we’d ordered. “I don’t deserve such

extravagance.”

“Oh, but you do,” I said, taking a sip of my Coke.
“I may have to give you something extra special for being such a good boy.”
“Like what?” I asked, trying to calm my breathing.
“It’s a surprise, but my parents will be gone for a while tonight, if that gives

you any idea.”

I swallowed hard. The restaurant suddenly grew a lot warmer.
“Maybe we should just go to your house right now,” I said, only half-kidding.
“This will be worth the wait, and you’ve been very patient so far. Tonight, you

get a reward.”

If Kate had any idea of how her words physically affected me, I would have

turned red. I wouldn’t have dared to stand up just then for anything.

Kate and I talked about less-stimulating topics while we waited on our supper.

The Park’s Edge was quite a beautiful place, with candles on the tables, large
tropical plants, and even a waterfall. It was slightly dark inside, just enough to
give the interior a quiet, tranquil feel. I loved the polished wood and
hunter-green carpet and tablecloths. The ambiance was beautiful yet masculine.

It took several minutes for me to notice anything peculiar about an older

waiter who was wandering around the restaurant, but once I did, I found it hard
to focus on Kate, even though my mind was still filled with thoughts of her sur-
prise. The waiter acted as if he was filling water glasses and serving food, yet there
was nothing in his hands. I peered at him closely and realized he was dead!

At just that moment he turned and nodded to me. He approached our table

and “filled” our water glasses. I found him fascinating. He looked quite solid and
real, but unlike the other ghosts I’d recently encountered, he was not mangled
nor in any other way obviously dead. The tipoff, other than his pantomime, was
his waiter’s uniform. It was very formal and a bit old-fashioned and didn’t match
the black slacks and dark-red shirts worn by all the others. I began to worry that

Mark A. Roeder

he was another lost soul who didn’t know he’d passed on, like the boy who had
been killed by the ice wagon. Even as the thought occurred to me, the spirit
turned to me, nodded again, and smiled. I knew as surely as if he’d spoken the
words that he was well aware he was not among the living, but had chosen to
remain where he was because he was happy here. I smiled back at him and saluted
him with my Coke. He turned and walked right through a table.

“What are you doing?” asked Kate.
I felt terribly guilty that I’d momentarily forgotten all about my date.
“I’m … I’m sorry … I … You’ll just think I’m weird if I tell you.”
“Do you ever stop to think that one of the reasons I like you is because you’re

not like everyone else? So out with it.”

“Okay, here goes. I was watching a ghost.”
The expected disbelief and ridicule did not come.
“Really? Where?” said Kate, looking around.
“He’s gone now, but I don’t think you could see him anyway.”
“Why not?”
“No one seems able to see ghosts, except me.” I looked at her more closely.

“You don’t think I’m a nut case for telling you I was just watching a ghost?”

“Of course not, why should I? I wish I could see them. It sounds fascinating.”
I grinned. Wow, had I picked out the right girl, or what!
“You’re really interested in ghosts?”
“Marshall, one thing I’ll never do is pretend to be interested in something I’m

not. If you start talking about football or auto racing, I’ll be bored out of my
mind and won’t pretend otherwise, but I think ghosts are fascinating. I’ve never
been lucky enough to see one for myself.”

“Would you like to hear about my experiences?”
“I’d love to!” said Kate.
I began to tell her all about the ghostly sightings in Graymoor and about my

more recent encounters as well. Kate hung on my every word. She asked intelli-
gent questions, and we talked all through dinner and all the way back to her
home. Once there, we left the topic of spirits behind for a while, and I didn’t
mind one bit. Kate pulled me toward her, and I wrapped my arms around her
and gave her a passionate kiss. One thing led to another, and before I departed
that night I was no longer a virgin.

- 86 -

Skye

The Evil Four made me uneasy. I wasn’t frightened of them, but I wasn’t stupid
enough to underestimate them. In football, about the worst thing a team can do
is misjudge an opponent. The same is true in wrestling. Jeremy, Glen, Alex, and
Ben were up to something. I just couldn’t figure out what; none of us could, and
believe me, we’d been trying.

It wasn’t the warning the Evil Four had given Sean that set me on edge. No, it

was the smug attitude of our enemies. They feared me still, but they had an air of
confidence, as if they had some kind of secret weapon that would ensure their vic-
tory. Back before Jeremy had shown his true colors, we used to play poker
together with some of the other guys. Jeremy had a weakness in his poker face. I
could always tell when he was holding a good hand, because he couldn’t help but
exude an aura of confidence and smugness. No matter how hard he tried to hide
it, it was there. I detected the same in him now, and that’s what truly frightened
me.

Jarret was waiting on me by my locker at the end of school. I couldn’t wait to

get him home. I’d been in desperate need all day, and if there was one thing Jarret
was good at, it was satisfying my desires.

I put my books away and was just about to slam the door shut when I spotted

a note lying in the bottom on my locker. I reached down, picked it up, and read
it.

“As if the situation weren’t complicated enough,” I said out loud.
“What?” asked Jarret.

Mark A. Roeder

“Listen to this,” I said, and then read the note: “Keep your distance from your

enemies. They will be eradicated soon.” I stared at the note for a moment. “It’s
signed ‘a friend.’”

“What the hell is that?”
“My guess is it’s a rather lame attempt on the part of the Evil Four to convince

me to back off. Then again, perhaps it’s merely designed to add to the confusion.
It hardly matters. I’m not about to let them play mind games with me. If this is
the best they’ve got, then I pity them.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve been able to grab one of them yet?” asked Jarret.
“Not a chance,” I said. “We aren’t the only ones using the buddy system. I

never see one of them alone. There are never fewer than two of them together.
They know it’s payback time, and they’re watching their backs. I’ve been watch-
ing and waiting for my chance, but they’re a slippery lot. Not only do they stick
together, they also take extreme care to avoid any location where I can confront
them without a lot of witnesses. Those guys are many things, but they aren’t stu-
pid.”

“It’s just a matter of time before one of them slips up.”
“True, and if revenge was the only reason I wanted to get my hands on them,

I’d wait patiently, but I need information. I’ve got to find out exactly what’s
going down. I also fear one of us will get sloppy and end up like Nick. I’m wor-
ried about Oliver and Clay, too. They stick together, but neither is much of a
fighter. They might do okay against one of the Evil Four, but more than that and
they’ll be in trouble.”

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” said Jarret.
“Thanks. I need all the help I can get. I can’t be everywhere at once, and I

need to concentrate on getting my hands on one of the Evil Four.”

“Like I said, one of them will slip up, Skye,” said Jarret, as he stepped around

behind me and massaged my shoulders. “Sooner or later, they’ll make a mistake,
and you’ll nab them.”

I arched my back, and it popped. My muscles had a tendency to get stiff. Jar-

ret and I left my locker and walked toward the back parking lot.

“I hope you’re right and I hope its Ben,” I said.
“Why Ben?”
“Partly because he has payback coming. I didn’t get the chance to work him

over like I did Glen. He was out cold after the first real punch. Mostly I want him
because I know what scares him. He’ll put up a brave front at first, but soon
enough he’ll be crying and screaming out his deepest, darkest secrets.”

Mark A. Roeder

“What is it that scares him so?” Jarret whispered, as if he was afraid to hear the

answer.

“Losing his anal virginity.”
“You’d really force him?”
I didn’t answer Jarret; I just stared hard at him. He swallowed. Would I really

force Ben, even to obtain much needed information? No, not if I was in my right
mind. I remembered what had almost happened with Ben. I remembered what
I’d almost done, so who could say for sure? One thing was for certain; if it came
down to it, I’d make Ben think I had no reservations about taking him by force.

“Damn, I’m glad I’m not your enemy.”
We’d reached my car by then. We climbed in, I fired her up, and looked at

Jarret.

“You’re not my enemy; you’re my bitch.”
Jarret grinned at me.
I grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled his face toward my lap. He

knew what I wanted. I raised myself up off the seat for a moment so he could get
my jeans and boxers down, and Jarret went to work as I drove toward home. It
was a dangerous and tricky business, but, oh, was it worth it!

I pushed Jarret away when we reached the house. I stuffed myself back into

my jeans, and we walked inside. We both grabbed a Coke from the fridge—mine
a diet.

“Janelle and Colin won’t be back until late,” I said. “We have the place to our-

selves. I’m going to run up to my bedroom and get some … supplies. By the time
I return, you’d better be completely naked.”

I grabbed Jarret, kissed him roughly on the lips, and then ran upstairs. When I

returned less than two minutes later he was standing in the kitchen, totally naked
as ordered. I tore open a condom, made use of the lube, pushed him onto his
back on the kitchen table, and took him. I grabbed his pecs hard as I used him for
my pleasure. Jarret swore and moaned. I gave it to him just the way he liked it—
rough.

I took my time and enjoyed Jarret’s taut, writhing body. When I finished with

him on the kitchen table, I pushed him upstairs to my room. As soon as I pulled
the rope out, he moaned with pleasure.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

I walked with Jarret toward his house after we’d finished, and believe me, it

was late. We were still going at it when Janelle and Colin returned, and they had

Mark A. Roeder

turned in long before Jarret and I were done. We’d kept it quiet after I heard my
sister come in. That wasn’t so hard for Jarret, not after I stuffed my boxers in his
mouth.

“Damn, it’s cold out!” said Jarret as we walked together.
“What were you expecting? It’s February, and there’s snow on the ground.”
“It’s kind of nice out, though. Just look at the stars.”
Okay, now before you go thinking Jarret and I were on some kind of romantic

stroll in the moonlight, just forget it. That’s not what it was like at all. I’ll admit,
I walked Jarret home to make sure he got there safely, but only because those psy-
chos were on the loose. I’m not some lovey-dovey sap who’d get all teary-eyed if
his boyfriend got a black eye, but if the Evil Four got their hands on Jarret, they
might do to him what they’d done to Nick, or worse. I didn’t want to see Jarret
or anyone beaten senseless, unless I was the one doing the beating. When I kicked
someone’s ass, he deserved it.

I still felt a little like a Boy Scout as I walked by Jarret’s side. The whole walk-

ing-your-girl-home-after-a-date thing was so traditional it was hard to get out of
my mind. Of course, Jarret was no girl and possessed seven and a half inches of
proof. We hadn’t been on a date, either. I’m about to get a little vulgar here, so if
you’re some kind of pansy and can’t take it, just skip on down to the next para-
graph. Okay, now that the wusses are gone, I can continue. Jarret and I hadn’t
been on a date. We didn’t date. We fucked. Or, more accurately, I fucked him. I
liked Jarret, but he was my little bitch, pure and simple. That’s the way we both
liked it. I don’t know why, but Jarret got off on being dominated and used. We
were a perfect match. We both got what we needed. There was none of that emo-
tional-attachment bullshit to deal with. When we got horny, we fucked, and then
we were done with each other. When we weren’t naked, we were just friends.

Even if I wanted a boyfriend, I couldn’t have one, because he’d become a tar-

get. I had a job to do, and I couldn’t afford liabilities. It was bad enough having
friends. It was dangerous, both for them and me. Caring made me vulnerable, so
I had to keep it to an absolute minimum. I’d be a lot better off if I could be a
heartless bastard, but I couldn’t manage it. I cared about my friends, especially
those like Oliver who were so weak and innocent.

I hid most of my feelings. It was necessary to protect those I cared about. I was

like a superhero in that way. Spiderman, Batman, and all the rest had a secret
identity to protect the ones they loved. I pretended I didn’t care—that I was just
a bad ass who liked to kick butt. Sometimes I wished I’d never taken off my
mask. Things would’ve been a lot easier. I’d already made the decision to come
out, however, and there was no taking it back.

Mark A. Roeder

Caring about others was still my weakness. I’m not saying that caring is a bad

thing in and of itself. It’s not, but it made me vulnerable. I nearly got myself
killed by the Evil Four because I cared about Oliver. I knew that my enemies
could use my weakness against me. Just look at Superman. Lois Lane was a
greater weakness for him than Kryptonite. And, how many times did Spiderman
almost bite it because he cared about Mary Jane Watson? There are Batman and
Robin, too. I always figured those two had something going, and Robin got Bat-
man in trouble as often as the babes did Superman and Spiderman.

Thank God, I wasn’t the type who wanted a boyfriend. If I’d been like Sean or

Oliver, I would’ve been doomed. I could have been manipulated with ease. That
wasn’t going to happen to me, though. I saw no reason to get emotionally entan-
gled with a boyfriend. As I said before, what’s the point of dating when you can
skip straight to sex?

Walking Jarret home paid off big time, because guess who we ran into? None

other than Alex Allerbrook and my buddy Ben Tyler. The cowards ran for it as
soon as they spotted us, which was just after we all rounded a corner from oppo-
site directions and nearly collided. I was closest to Alex, so I took out after him
and tackled him from behind. He went down hard, and I flipped him over and
punched him in the face three times before he even knew what hit him. Jarret
took out Ben, although not as effectively. At least he kept him busy while I
pounded the fight out of Alex. That accomplished, I pulled Alex to his feet,
shoved him toward Jarret and told Jarret to hold him. I took over with Ben from
there.

We weren’t far from downtown, but it was so late no one was around. Ben

tried to fight his way out, of course, but it wasn’t long at all before I had him
shoved up against a wall. Jarret held Alex from behind with one arm pinning
both of Alex’s behind his back and his other around Alex’s throat. Jarret was my
bitch, but he was tough as nails and could kick ass when he wanted to. He was
built and had no trouble at all restraining Alex. After the short beating I’d given
Alex, he could barely stand. Ben looked at me with wild terror in his eyes.

“You aren’t so tough now, are you?” I said.
Ben remained silent.
“I owe you Ben, for what you did to Nick. You’re gonna have to pay for that,

just like Glen. I might be in a more forgiving mood, however, if you answer a few
questions for me.”

“Go to hell, Skye!”
I swiftly jabbed Ben in the stomach, and he let out a loud “oomph” or some

such sound.

Mark A. Roeder

“Don’t play tough just because Jarret and Alex are watching, Ben. You and I

both know I can make you talk, so you might as well tell me what I want to know
now and save yourself the pain and embarrassment of trying to resist.”

Ben actually spit at me, but I sidestepped it and then slugged him in the jaw.

Alex struggled against Jarret, but he couldn’t escape.

“Listen, fucker! I should kill you for what you did to Oliver and me. You and

your buddies were sure going to kill us! Lucky for you I’m a forgiving kind of
guy. Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll let you guys go. Just what do you
bastards have planned, huh? And what was up with that threat to kill all of us?”

“Fuck you, Skye! I’m not telling you anything!”
“Ah, Ben. I thought you’d be smarter than this, but hey, I like doing things

the hard way. Do you remember the last time I made you talk, Ben? Do you
remember what I promised to do to you if you didn’t? How would you feel about
me doing that right here, right now, with Jarret and Alex watching, huh? Do you
really want them to see that? Do you really want them to tell everyone what hap-
pened to you?”

“I can’t tell you! I don’t know! Okay?” Ben’s eyes were wild with terror. I was

getting to him.

“It’s just not your lucky day, Ben. I hope for your sake you’re lying and decide

to talk, because I’m running out of patience.”

I grabbed Ben by the shoulder and spun him around so that he faced the wall.

I reached around, unfastened his belt, and jerked down his jeans. Ben fought me,
but I was far more powerful than he. He couldn’t stop me. Ben was breathing so
hard he was about to hyperventilate.

“I don’t know anything, man! I don’t!”
“Too bad for you then, Ben,” I said, jerking down his boxers, exposing his

bare ass to the cold air.

Ben struggled, but I held him in place with one hand while I unfastened my

own jeans with the other.

“Oh my God,” said Alex when he realized what I was about to do.
I pushed down my jeans, then leaned in close to Ben so that only he could

hear and whispered.

“I’m going to enjoy this, Ben. I’m going to make you scream, and your buddy

is going to watch the whole thing.”

Ben fought like mad to get away, but I held him in place. He was in a sheer

panic. He broke down and bawled his eyes out.

“Okay! Okay! I’ll tell you!”

Mark A. Roeder

I grabbed his shoulder and twisted him around, but didn’t pull his jeans or

boxers back up. I figured the added discomfort of the biting cold on his private
parts would help keep him from changing his mind. I pulled my own jeans back
up quickly. I was about to freeze my nuts off.

“Talk,” I said.
“Chip’s going to do it!” said Ben.
“Chip? Who’s Chip?”
Ben was blubbering so hard he couldn’t answer.
“Who is he?” I demanded.
“He’s this guy who’s helping us,” said Alex in a panic when Ben didn’t answer

quickly enough. Apparently Alex thought he might be next after Ben. I turned
my head toward Alex.

“You’re lying to me.”
“No, I swear!”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. We never know. He just shows up, catches one of us walking

on the street or whatever.”

“And just what is it you guys plan to do?” I asked.
“We don’t know yet,” said Alex, desperately. “He hasn’t told us, but he says

he’ll get you all.”

“How convenient that you don’t know where he is or what’s going on,” I said.
“It’s the truth! I swear! I don’t know, but … but I think maybe he’s going to

pick you guys off while the rest of us have a strong, um, um, alibi. He didn’t say,
but he said he’d get you guys and make sure we couldn’t be blamed.”

Alex was trembling and crying. If he was lying, he was putting on an Academy

Award performance. My gut instinct was to believe him.

“If I find out you’ve lied to me …”
“I haven’t! I swear! Oh, God!”
Alex broke down and cried like a baby. He was in a worse state than Ben.

What a pussy.

“What does he look like?” I said, turning to Ben, who was still shaking and

crying.

“He’s older, mid-30s, blond hair, tall, kind of muscular, scary-looking guy,

kind of mean-looking, as if he’d just as soon rip off your head as look at you,”
said Ben.

“Why is this guy helping you? What’s in it for him?”
“He hates fags,” said Ben. “He said when he was a kid, his father and older

brothers raped him. They rented him out to pedophiles. They abused him until

Mark A. Roeder

he was old enough to run away. He said he’s been on his own ever since, extermi-
nating fags as he puts it. Jeremy’s the one who met him. Jeremy was … Well, he
was giving a queer a rough time and up walks this guy and starts talking to him.
That’s how it started, but that’s all I know, I swear!”

I stared into Ben’s eyes and he looked away nervously. I backed away from

Ben and nodded to Jarret to release Alex. Ben quickly pulled up his boxers and
jeans.

“If you haven’t told me the truth, I’ll be looking for you. If you’ve lied to me,

Ben, I’ll finish what I started on you.”

I turned to Alex. “I’ll make you wish you were dead.”
Alex and Ben scurried off, although neither was moving too fast. I watched

them with a satisfied smug as they limped off.

“What do you think?” asked Jarret when they were out of earshot.
“I think they’re telling the truth.”
“This guy, this Chip, he sounds like a psycho,” said Jarret.
“Yeah, we may have bigger trouble than I thought.”
“Damn. Do you think they were telling the truth about what Chip’s dad and

brothers did to him when he was a kid?”

“Ben certainly seems to believe it, and I don’t think he’s sharp enough to make

up that kind of story on the spot.”

“My God, I can’t imagine anyone doing that to a stranger, let alone their own

son or little brother.”

“There are a lot of sick, sick people in the world, Jarret. If that story is true,

this Chip has plenty of reasons to hate gays. The hatred he’s walking around with
isn’t the ordinary kind. This guy could be capable of just about anything.”

“I don’t know about you,” said Jarret, “but I’m scared shitless.”
“I’m scared, too, mainly for Oliver and Clay and the others. How am I going

to protect them all against that psycho? We have a name and a description, and
that’s it. It’s going to be almost impossible to find this guy.”

Jarret looked truly disturbed, but fear could be a good thing. Perhaps it would

save his life. I walked him home and then went in search of Chip.

- 94 -

Oliver

I tried not to fidget as I sat at the dinner table with Clay, his parents and his
eleven-year-old brother Travis. I knew Clay was out to his family, but an uneasy
feeling crept into my stomach when he started talking about the youth meetings
we attended together. I guess I just never expected him to talk to his family so
openly about being gay. I wasn’t sure Clay’s dad approved of me. He was nice
enough, but when Clay mentioned we both went to the meetings, he started
watching me. I felt as if I was on trial or something. He probably wondered if
Clay and I fooled around.

Clay’s mom was extremely friendly, and if she cared that her gay son had

brought home a gay friend, she didn’t show it. Clay’s little brother was, well, I
got the feeling he could be a bit of a nuisance, but I guess that’s just how little
brothers were. I didn’t know, because I didn’t have one myself. I just had a dog,
my Shih Tzu, Spock.

“Meeting the parents” seemed ominous, but I felt as if I’d crossed some kind

of hurdle towards a relationship. That was probably just silly, though, because
Clay and I had only been on two real dates so far, although we did hang out every
chance we got. So far we hadn’t so much as kissed. Both of us were too timid to
make the first move. Maybe I needed to have Clay stop by Wahlberg’s sometime.
If Skye knew we hadn’t kissed yet, he’d probably shove us together and make us
do it. The image made me smile.

“The lasagna is great,” I said.
“I’d like to take the credit for it,” said Clay’s mom, “but it comes frozen. I

only had to bake it.”

Mark A. Roeder

“Well, everything is wonderful, and I’m not just saying it to be polite.”
Mrs. Vanderhausen smiled and handed me the bowl of cooked apples.
I was thankful that there wasn’t a whole lot of talk at the dinner table, because

I didn’t quite know what to say. Conversations with Clay were getting easier, but
I didn’t know his family at all, which made things difficult. It was really cool to
be in his house, though. It might sound silly, but I’d been dying to see the house
where he grew up, the kitchen where he ate, the backyard he played in, and the
room in which he slept.

I wanted to kiss Clay soon; just looking at him made my chest feel funny. The

sight of him made me feel other things, too, but I don’t feel comfortable talking
about that. We were both so shy I didn’t know if we’d ever get around to kissing,
but it was a relief to have found someone who moved at my speed. I wanted to do
a lot more than kiss, but I didn’t want it too soon. I just wasn’t ready. The whole
idea of sex was overwhelming and a bit frightening. There were some things I
didn’t quite understand, either. That was where I was lucky Skye was my friend. I
knew that when the time came I could ask him. I was pretty sure he knew it all.
He teased me sometimes, but he was never cruel. When I needed information,
he’d give it to me without making me feel foolish. I wasn’t going to worry about
that for a long time, however. I was just fourteen!

I thanked Mrs. Vanderhausen for supper, and Clay and I went to his room.
“Leave the door open!” his mom called after us as we made our way up the

stairs.

Clay rolled his eyes, but I smiled. A warm feeling of acceptance engulfed me,

because his mom treated us the same as she would if we were a boy-girl couple.
She had nothing to worry about in any case, because Travis tagged along as an
unwelcome chaperone. There wasn’t much we could do about it, because Clay
shared a room with him. From the mischievous look in his eyes, I think Travis
suspected his presence would prevent a make-out session or something. We had
no such plans, but still, he was a bit of a pain, and it was harder to talk in front of
him.

Travis was actually kind of funny, in an annoying sort of way, but I wished

he’d leave the room. He put his finger down his throat and pretended to gag
when Clay put on a Phantom CD.

“If you don’t like it, you’re more than welcome to leave,” said Clay, as Travis

moved on to pretending the sound of Jordan’s voice put him into a state of
agony.

“No way!” said Travis, ending his fake fit. “Watching you guys is too much

fun!”

Mark A. Roeder

“We can make it really fun,” said Clay. “Come over here.”
“Why?” said Travis suspiciously.
“We’ll teach you how to French-kiss. You can watch us do it, and then you

can practice with Oliver, unless you’d rather practice with me, that is.”

I could not believe Clay said that. It was all I could do to suppress a grin. I

knew he was messing with his little brother. Travis’s eyes grew wide, and he went
flying from the room.

“Mooooom!” he yelled as he ran.
“Oops, I guess that worked a little too well,” said Clay before he started laugh-

ing. The grin I’d been holding back escaped, and I giggled.

Of course, Clay’s mom was at the door to his room about a minute later. Clay

and I were both lying across on his bed, laughing.

“Clay, don’t torture your little brother,” was all she said.
“Ah, Mom, I thought that’s what he was for.”
She raised an eyebrow, and I could detect the hint of a smile. Travis rejoined

us, unfortunately, but he was a bit less of a pain. I guess Clay had scared him a lit-
tle. I walked over to the shelves by Clay’s desk and flipped through his CDs.

“Wow, we like all the same groups. I’ve got most of these CDs,” I said.
“Who’s your favorite?” asked Clay.
“That’s a tough one, but I’d have to say Hanson, followed closely by Phantom.

The Backstreet Boys are really cool, too. I love Nick Carter.”

“Oh God, not another one!” said Travis. “If I hear MMMBOP one more time

I’m gonna throw myself out the window. That’s all they played on the radio all
last summer!”

“Promise?” asked Clay. “I can put on Middle of Nowhere and open the win-

dow for you.”

Travis stuck his tongue out.
“Phantom is my favorite,” said Clay, “but I love Hanson and The Backstreet

Boys, too.”

“Who’s your favorite in each group?” I asked. “Hanson first.”
“Taylor,” Clay and I both said at once and then giggled. Travis rolled his eyes.
“Phantom?”
“Jordan,” we both said.
“The Backstreet Boys?”
“Nick,” said Clay. I didn’t answer my own question since I’d already men-

tioned Nick.

“How about The Spice Girls?” asked Travis. “They are so hot!”
“You’re too young to know who’s hot,” said Clay, baiting his brother.

Mark A. Roeder

“I am not!”
“The Spice Girls are okay,” said Clay.
“You’d love them if they were guys,” said Travis.
“It wouldn’t hurt, but no, I don’t think so.”
“I had no idea what Hanson looked like when I first heard them on the radio,”

I said. “Their looks are just a bonus.”

“And a very nice bonus it is,” said Clay. “I heard Phantom before I saw them.

I’d listen to them no matter what they looked like, but wow, what hotties.”

“You’re such homos,” said Travis. It sounded like an insult, but he was grin-

ning.

“Hey, you’re the freak around here; you like girls,” said Clay.
“Do I ever!” said Travis, throwing himself back on his bed and sighing.
“Aren’t you a little young to know what you like?” I asked.
“No way!” said Travis, sitting up again. “I’m advanced!”
“It’s unfortunate, really,” said Clay. “It’s gonna be years before you’ll have a

chance to even kiss a girl. You’d be better off still thinking they have cooties.”

“Oh, it won’t be years,” said Travis. “There’s this girl at school … oh … She’s

so cute, and she’s got the hots for me.”

“Wake up, Travis, you’re dreaming again.”
“Oh, screw you!”
“Sounds like latent homosexuality to me,” said Clay, “and incestuous at that.”
“I don’t know what that means, but I like girls,” said Travis.
Clay laughed, and I grinned.
We couldn’t carry on a conversation without Travis inserting himself into it,

despite numerous attempts, so we decided to go to my house where there were no
siblings to interrupt us. It was dark out, but Clay grabbed a flashlight.

Clay lived not far out of town, just beyond the woods behind the high school,

in fact, but it was amazing how dark it was without streetlights. The stars looked
so much brighter and closer than they did from my house, even though I lived no
more than a mile away.

“Let’s take a shortcut,” said Clay.
“Through there?” I asked skeptically, looking at the woods.
“Sure, I do it all the time. It only takes a minute to get to the paths that lead

right to the school. The sports teams use them all the time. Sometimes I hang out
there to check out the shirtless guys while they’re running.”

“Ohhhh, we’ve got to do that someday!”
“It’s a date.”

Mark A. Roeder

“I guess it’s as safe as going the long way around,” I said, looking at the dark

woods.

“Yeah, I know. It looks a bit scary, but it’s safe enough.”
“But what if they’re in there?”
“The Evil Four? You really think they’re going to be hanging out in the woods

waiting to grab us? We’d be more likely to see them on the streets.”

“I guess that’s true. Okay, let’s go.”
Clay flicked on his flashlight as soon as we entered the woods. It was much

darker in there. I took his hand out of fright and the desire to touch him. We
narrowly avoided getting branches in the face, but Clay carefully guided me
along, and soon we were on a wide, well-trod path.

“See I told you. You’ve been on the paths before, right?”
“Yeah, but not this far back, at least I don’t think so. I’m not sure where we

are.”

“It looks different in the dark. It’s all but impossible to get lost, at least for

very long.”

“Tonight has been fun,” I said.
“I’m sorry about my little brother. He’s a brat.”
“He’s not so bad—kind of funny—although I wish he had his own room.”
“Believe me, so do I! I’ve wished that a thousand times at least!”
“I bet. I don’t have a brother, so I don’t know what it’s like.”
“You’re not missing a thing.”
We walked on, holding hands, the beam of Clay’s flashlight cutting through

the darkness. My eyes had adjusted a bit, and it was easier to see than before. A
light dusting of snow helped, too, although there wasn’t nearly as much under
the trees as there was out in the open.

I could hear Clay breathe as he walked beside me, and I thought again about

kissing him. I wondered what his lips would taste like. I wondered what it would
feel like to be that close to him. I also wondered if I’d ever find out. We were
both way too shy to make a move.

A brilliant idea popped into my head, and I acted on it without thinking.

That’s how it had to be. I stopped, pulled Clay toward me, and kissed him on the
lips. It was just a quick peck, but I did it! It was not thinking about it that made
it possible. If I’d allowed myself to think about it for even a moment, I would’ve
chickened out.

Kissing Clay was the most incredible thing ever! I wish I could come even

close to describing how it made me feel, but I can’t. It was like … like being con-
sumed by happiness, like having a sun inside my chest.

Mark A. Roeder

The next kiss came much easier. Clay flicked off his flashlight; we wrapped

our arms around each other and kissed again, moving our lips around and not
breaking contact. We must’ve kissed for a whole minute before we pulled our lips
apart. Even then we hugged each other closely. It felt so good to be held that I
think I could’ve died happy right then and there.

We kissed again and then went on our way. I think we would’ve kissed a lot

longer, but it was creepy under the trees. I tried not to freak myself out by dwell-
ing on the thought that they’d found a couple of the bodies from the murders last
spring out in the woods. It was in these same woods, too, where Skye and I had
nearly come to an end. The memory of it made the hair on the back of my neck
stand on end. I quickly shifted my thoughts, fantasizing about kissing Clay again
when we got to my house. That calmed my fears a good deal.

I didn’t stay calm for very long. We’d walked fifty feet perhaps, holding hands

again, when I jerked to a halt.

“Did you hear that?” I whispered.
“What?”
“I thought I heard voices.”
“I didn’t hear anything, but there could be someone else out here. I’ve heard

it’s a prime make-out spot.” I had a feeling Clay was grinning in the darkness.

We set out again, but a few paces later a twig snapped behind us.
“Turn off the light!” I whispered urgently.
Another twig snapped.
“I heard that,” said Clay.
“What if they’re out here?” I asked. I could feel panic rising in my chest.
“It could be anyone. It could even be a deer or something,” said Clay, trying

to sound calm. I could hear the fear in his voice, though, and he was breathing
harder and faster than before.

We moved forward slowly without the light, holding hands to keep together. I

could just barely make out the path. Thankfully, it was rather wide, or we
couldn’t have kept to it at all. I kept looking back over my shoulder, and about
the sixth time I saw him. I couldn’t tell who it was in the darkness, but it was def-
initely a someone.

“Someone’s behind us,” I whispered.
My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst right out of my chest. My

breath came fast as if I’d been sprinting.

“What do we do?” asked Clay, clearly scared now.
“Run!” I said.

Mark A. Roeder

100

Clay flicked on his light, and we bolted. Whoever was behind us raced after

us. I thought it was just one person back there, but I couldn’t be sure. There
could have been two of them, or even four. Whoever it was and however many,
they were chasing us, and it was not a good sign.

Clay and I raced down the path at full speed, staying side by side. The last

thing we wanted to do was separate. In our haste we somehow got off the path,
although I have no idea when it happened. Suddenly we were running through
the trees, limbs whipping and stinging our faces. I could hear our pursuer behind
us. Was he getting closer?

Memories of the Evil Four assailed my mind. It was in this very woods that

they’d nearly killed me. I’d been more terrified then than I ever had been in my
life, and I relived that same terror again as I ran.

My side ached, and I gasped for breath, but we couldn’t stop; we couldn’t

even slow for a moment. Coming into the woods was a terrible, terrible mistake.
We had to get out before we were caught. If we could make it out into the open,
we could find help. I feared we were getting lost, though. Clay had said it was
almost impossible to get lost in the woods for long, but any second one of us
could feel a hand on our shoulder, and that would be the end of us.

Clay and I slammed to a halt, our feet sliding from under us in our haste to

break our forward momentum. Our butts hit the snow, and we scrambled back-
wards, screaming, trying desperately to put some distance between us and the
nightmare we’d nearly collided with. After a few moments we stood and peered
into the darkness. Clay and I clung to each other and crept forward once more,
panting from fear and exertion. Clay’s flashlight illuminated a corpse tied to a
tree, arms and legs spread-eagle, head lolled to one side, eyes frozen wide-open in
terror—dead.

The shock had temporarily pushed all thoughts of our pursuer out of heads,

but once we came to ourselves, we whipped around to face him, for surely he was
on top of us now. It was fight or die. Clay’s flashlight raked the darkness, and for
a second I thought I saw someone, and then I thought I heard retreating foot-
steps. Silence fell. There was no sound other than our ragged breathing and the
night sounds of the forest.

Clay and I slowly turned and looked once more at the body. When you’re in a

dark forest and have just been pursued by an unknown someone, the last thing
you want to do is turn your back on a corpse. We peered at the body. He was
dead, clearly dead, skewered right through the chest with something that looked
like a poker from a fireplace. No, more like one of those pikes they used in olden

Mark A. Roeder

101

days, only shorter. Clay and I took a step forward, both of us about to wet our
pants from fear. Clay shined his flashlight on the face.

“It’s Glen,” I exclaimed. “It’s Glen Barrett!”
I wasn’t exactly sure who I expected to be tied to that tree. I hadn’t even had

time to think about it. It could’ve been any of my friends, but not one of the Evil
Four.

“What’s going on here?” asked Clay.
“I don’t know, but let’s get out of here!” I said, still near panic.
Clay took my hand, which made me feel a good deal better, and we made our

way through the woods, more slowly this time. It wasn’t long before we found
the path again and just a few minutes later we stepped onto the soccer fields. We
quickly walked over the fields, across the empty parking lot, and past the school.
We went, not to my house, but to the police station to report the murder.

A few minutes later Clay’s parents and mine were at the station, our moms

fussing over us so much it was embarrassing. Travis was there, too, because his
parents didn’t want to leave him alone when there’d just been a murder not a
mile from their home. Whoever did it was still out there.

Three officers and our dads followed as we led the way back to the body. Our

moms had taken Travis back to my house to wait for our return. Travis whined
that he wanted to go with us, but his mom wasn’t about to allow it.

It took us a while to find the spot. We’d been running in terror when we dis-

covered the body after all and didn’t really get our bearings until we returned to
the path. It was hard to remember where we’d stumbled back onto the path, but
eventually we managed it. We hung back with our dads while the cops drew
close. I had no desire to see Glen’s dead body again.

One of the officers returned and led us back to the station where Clay and I

gave a lengthy account of our shortcut through the woods, the stranger in the
dark, and finding the body. The only thing we left out was the kissing. By the
time it was all over, it was getting late. Clay’s dad dropped Dad and me off at our
house and picked up his family. By that time I was exhausted. All that running
and sheer terror, followed by the boredom of police reports, had sucked the
energy right out of me. Clay and I wanted to kiss goodnight, but we settled for a
hug. It was good enough. I felt safe in Clay’s arms.

I noticed Mom and Dad watching as I hugged Clay. They knew. There was

no doubt about it. Oddly enough, I wasn’t frightened and only mildly nervous. I
even felt a sense of relief. I was pleased with myself. My parents knew I was gay,
and I wasn’t freaking out.

Mark A. Roeder

102

I closed the door and turned to face my parents. Spock pawed at me, and I

picked him up and petted him.

“I really like Clay,” I said, looking at my parents.
Mom actually smiled at me.
“He seems like a very nice boy,” said Dad. “He’s rather good-looking, too.”
I grinned. I set Spock down on the floor and walked to my parents. They

hugged me.

“We love you, Oliver,” said my mom.
“We just want you to be happy,” said Dad.
“I am,” I said.
I gave them each a hug and told them I loved them. That was all that was said

about the fact I was gay. I’d always had a feeling my parents would be okay with
it, but I’d never been able to bring myself to tell them. It was so hard to talk
about things like that. Now they knew, and I didn’t have to think about it any-
more.

Spock followed as I walked to my bedroom. He settled into his own little bed

as I pulled off my clothes. I leaned over and gave him a pat and a kiss. He
growled, but wagged his tail. I climbed into my own bed.

My parents knew I was gay, and they loved me. I grinned and snuggled into

the warm blankets.

When I dropped off to sleep, it was Clay I dreamed about and not the gro-

tesque body we’d discovered. That’s all I needed to tell me that I was in love with
Clay Vanderhausen. Yes, I was happy.

- 103 -

Sean

Jarret Dilger came hurtling toward our table at lunch, nearly flipping his tray in
an effort to get to us.

“Have you heard yet?” asked Jarret.
“Heard what?” asked Skye.
“Glen Barrett is dead. He was murdered.”
“What?” I said, my mouth dropping open. A quick look around the table told

me everyone was just as shocked as I.

“Yeah, someone tied him to a tree and ran some kind of spear right through

him, and get this: it was Oliver and Clay who discovered the body.”

“Holy shit,” said Skye. “Poor Oliver. No wonder he didn’t come to school

today.”

I’d been wondering why Oliver and Clay were missing. It seemed odd that

they’d both be home sick. I was even a little worried that something bad had hap-
pened to them.

“I didn’t get any details, and I don’t know what they were doing wandering

around in the woods, but they led the cops back to the body last night.”

“This is weird,” said Marshall. “We’ve been waiting for those guys to pull

something, but this … this is not what I expected.”

“None of us saw this coming, I’m sure,” said Skye. “But I’m sure not gonna

cry about it.”

The conversation had no chance to go further, for Jeremy stalked toward us,

or rather I should say toward Skye, flanked by his surviving friends. Alex and Ben
looked considerably more frightened of Skye than Jeremy. They were rather fear-

Mark A. Roeder

104

ful of drawing near. Jeremy showed no sign of fear. He trembled with anger as he
glared at Skye.

“You’re going to prison for this, Skye!” he said, slamming his fist down on the

table, causing trays and drinks to jump.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Skye.
It wasn’t true. All of us knew what he was talking about. What else could it be

but Glen’s murder?

“You killed him, you fucker! You fucking killed him! You said you were going

to, and you did it!”

Jeremy stood, fists clenched, breathing hard, looking almost as if he might cry.
“You weren’t so upset last year when Marty, Ken, and Tony were murdered,

were you?” said Skye. “It’s sure different when you’re on the other side of the
fence.”

Jeremy growled. “We’ve been telling everyone what a maniac you are, but no

one would listen! Well, they’ll listen now, and so will the cops!” said Jeremy.

“I hate to disappoint you,” said Skye, “but I didn’t kill Glen. I’m not a mur-

derer, which is more than I can say for you and your friends, including Glen.”

“Bullshit! Who else would have done it, huh? What about the night you

attacked him? You tried to kill him then! I have witnesses! Elliott and Kurt had to
pull you off Glen, or you would’ve killed him. They heard you say you were
going to kill him and Ben! Now Glen’s dead, so I know exactly who did it!”

“You’re delusional,” said Skye.
Jeremy took a step forward, and Skye stood. We all stood up. The whole cafe-

teria quieted. Kids could usually smell a fight brewing a mile away. Mr. Brewer
and Mrs. Leander descended on the scene, however, and put an end to the fight
before it could begin. It was a shame. Jeremy needed a public ass-kicking.

Jeremy glared at Mr. Brewer, but bit back whatever he was on the verge of say-

ing. No one messed with Coach Brewer, especially his players. I knew Jeremy was
just dying to call him a faggot, but he didn’t dare. Mr. Brewer and Mrs. Leander
escorted Jeremy and company away, and we all sat back down.

All eyes, mine included, were turned toward Skye. We all knew he’d been after

Glen, but could he have killed him? Skye had a violent streak for sure, but mur-
der? I didn’t want to think Skye capable of such an act, but who knew what he’d
do to protect the rest of us? Had he taken things too far? I didn’t want to believe
Jeremy’s accusation, but one thing was for certain, almost no one had a better
motive than Skye for wanting Glen dead.

“I didn’t kill him,” said Skye.

Mark A. Roeder

105

There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments. I don’t think anyone

knew quite what to say. We were all still in shock.

“For what it’s worth, I believe you,” said Scott.
“I know you wouldn’t do something like that, Skye,” said Zoë.
Some of the others didn’t look so sure. I wasn’t even sure myself. The silence

returned. We’d all feared that one of us would turn up dead, but I don’t think
anyone even considered the possibility that one of the Evil Four would be mur-
dered. Strike that, almost no one considered the possibility. Someone had killed
him, and I doubted they’d done it without at least some planning. That someone
wasn’t necessarily sitting at our table, but who knew?

“Who had a motive to kill Glen?” Skye asked, obviously trying to puzzle it

out. “Other than me, that is.”

“Me,” said Nick.
Nick had an obvious motive. His face was still bandaged and bruised, and he

still walked with difficulty after the beating and his surgery.

“And me,” I said. I hated Glen and Ben for what they’d done to Nick. I hated

to admit it, even to myself, but I was glad Glen was dead.

“Just about all of us have a motive,” said Noah.
“True,” said Nick. “Let’s face it: no one at this table is sorry he’s dead. The

question is: did any of us hate him enough to kill him? Are any of us emotionally
or physically capable of murder?”

“I could never kill anyone, no matter how much I hated them, and I’ll admit I

hated Glen,” I said. “Even if I was willing, I couldn’t have killed him. Glen’s a lot
stronger than I am.”

“Anyone can be taken by surprise,” said Scott. “Anyone can kill someone

twice their size if they’re fast or clever enough.”

“A lot of us had a reason to want Glen dead,” said Skye. “I know I look pretty

guilty, but I didn’t kill him. The question is: who did?”

No one answered because no one could. All the most-likely suspects were

within my little circle of friends, but I couldn’t imagine any one of them taking a
life, even Glen’s. Who else could have a motive for wanting him dead, however?
As much as I hated to think about it, I knew that one of us might have commit-
ted murder. We were all scared, and fear does strange things to people.

As soon as Skye left the table, I followed. I waited until we’d dumped our trays

and were alone to speak.

“Do you think we should have another meeting tonight?”
“Yeah,” said Skye. “We need to figure out how the murder changes things for

us. I also have some news everyone needs to hear.”

Mark A. Roeder

106

“Okay, do you work tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s meet a little after nine then: my house, just like last time. I’ll tell Mar-

shall and Nick. You tell Jarret, and Oliver, too, if you see them.”

“What about Clay and Noah?”
“I think we’d better keep them out of the loop as long as we can. Knowing the

whole story won’t make them any safer, but it will freak them out. I don’t think
they’re ready to know what’s going on.”

“Ignorance is bliss. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know as much as I did. I’ll catch

Jarret before school’s out. If Oliver doesn’t show up for work, I’ll call him. He
might not be up to it after what he saw last night, but I’ll let him decide.”

“That’s cool. See you later, Skye.”
“Later.”
I went to class, but my mind definitely wasn’t on the lessons. Who could con-

centrate on English and history when so much was going on?

By 9:30 p.m. Marshall, Skye, Nick, Jarret, myself, and even Oliver were seated

in the tower room. First up, naturally, was Oliver’s eyewitness account of finding
Glen’s body. We sat there riveted as he spoke, and no one else said a word, except
for Skye’s ‘Way to go, Oliver!’ when he mentioned his first kiss with Clay. I
couldn’t tell in the lamplight, but I was sure Oliver was blushing.

My own heart raced when Oliver told us about the stranger in the dark and

running wildly from him through the forest. When he described finding Glen’s
body I saw it in my mind’s eye. I couldn’t imagine how horrible it must’ve been
for Oliver and Clay to actually see it.

“Did you get a good look at the guy who was chasing you, enough to identify

him?” asked Skye. His tone was hopeful, rather than worried, which made me
doubt more than ever that he was the murderer.

“No, we barely saw him at all,” said Oliver. “It was pretty dark, even with

some snow on the ground, and once we started running we didn’t do much look-
ing back. We were afraid it was one or more of the Evil Four, since whoever was
back there chased us.”

“But you did get a good enough look to be sure it was someone and not just a

shadow or something?”

“Oh, yeah. It was definitely a someone. There could have been even more

than one person, but it was too dark to tell. I could hear heavy breathing behind
us as we ran, plus a few muttered curses. Whoever was chasing us was probably
getting smacked in the face with branches just like we were.”

“So that could have been the murderer after you,” I said.

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107

“He chased us for some reason,” said Oliver. “We weren’t about to stop and

ask why.”

“All we really know is that someone else was out there besides Oliver, Clay,

and Glen,” I said. “It might have been the murderer, it might have been one of
Glen’s surviving friends, or it could’ve been someone else. They might not even
have a connection to the murder at all. Whoever it was did chase Oliver and
Clay, though, so I doubt it was just someone out for an innocent stroll.”

We discussed the possibilities, but we were just spinning our wheels in the

mud. We didn’t have enough facts to even begin to figure out what went on in
the woods.

“We’re not going to figure out who killed Glen tonight,” said Skye after sev-

eral more minutes of pointless discussion. “We may never be able to figure it out,
and I, for one, think we should just leave it up to the cops. I’m sure we’re all
going to be thinking about it, but we have more important things to focus on
right now, like staying alive.”

There was no argument to Skye’s last point.
“I have some news,” said Skye. “Jarret and I caught up with Alex and Ben last

night.”

“Which probably explains why Alex has a black eye and Ben looks like a truck

hit him,” said Nick.

“Paybacks are hell,” said Skye, grinning. “We accomplished something more

than revenge, however, although the results were disturbing.”

“What did you find out?” asked Marshall.
“The Evil Four aren’t working alone,” said Skye.
“Devon?” asked Oliver with a fearful tremor in his voice.
“No, not Devon,” said Skye. “At least I don’t think so. If Alex and Ben were

telling the truth, he could be just as dangerous, however.”

“Yeah, he’s some kind of psycho,” said Jarret.
Skye went on to tell us about him. Part of what he had to share sickened me. I

couldn’t imagine anyone treating a kid like that.

“Are you sure they were telling the truth?” asked Nick.
“Fairly certain,” said Skye. “Alex was more than happy to spill his guts to save

his own skin.”

“He cried like a baby,” said Jarret, laughing, “and I think he wet his pants.

Ben was bawling for a while.”

“If they were lying, they gave a damned convincing performance. If I would’ve

had any doubts, I wouldn’t have let them go,” said Skye.

“So where’s this guy Chip?” asked Marshall.

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108

“They don’t know where he is. Apparently, he finds them when he wants

them.”

“I truly hate to say this,” said Oliver, “but this Chip sounds disturbingly like

Devon.”

“I don’t know,” said Skye. “I thought of that, but why the subterfuge? Why

would he hide his identity from the Evil Four? They’ve worked together before,
so it makes no sense.”

“None of this makes any sense,” said Nick.
“So basically we’re saying that Devon is unaccounted for, and we’ve got a new

player on our hands. This Chip guy could be anyone,” I said.

“Alex said he’s in his thirties, muscular, with blond hair and a frightening look

to him,” said Skye.

“Maybe he’s a former member of Rev. Devlin’s God Hates Queers group.

They broke up, but I’m sure not all of them gave up on their hate,” I said.

“Anything’s possible,” said Skye. “I’m afraid we don’t have much to go on,

but that’s all I could find out.”

“Things are not looking good,” said Jarret.
“Except we now have the Evil Three, instead of the Evil Four to deal with,”

pointed out Skye.

“There is that,” I said.
Our meeting broke up soon after that and I couldn’t help but feel that we

hadn’t accomplished much. Skye’s information only served to muddy the waters
further and make the situation more terrifying than ever. None of us had a clue as
to what was going on, and I for one wouldn’t be sleeping easy.

- 109 -

Marshall

I stared at the computer screen, gazing at the digital photos Sean had taken for
me. There were several different views and close-ups of the painting that hid the
doorway to the tower room. The painting was definitely of Blackford Manor. I’d
taken a look at the back just before our meeting in the tower room the night
before. It was just as Sean had said—not that I doubted his word. I was hoping
there was something more there, something he’d missed, something other than
the hand-painted words, “Blackford Manor, Somerset, 1790.” The back was
quite plain, just the ordinary wooden covering of an old painting.

I kept staring at the photos as if I expected there to be some kind of secret

code there, but I knew there was nothing of the sort to be found. The photos
helped me to focus, however, as I went over the facts in my head one more time.

The problem was there were too few facts—too many missing pieces to the

puzzle. I needed more if I was to get anywhere. Was there even a puzzle to solve,
or was I deluding myself? After all, the only things I had to go on were two words
spoken by a ghost and an old painting. Maybe there was no mystery. Maybe I’d
just created one in my head and was seeing what I wanted to see. If I was to be
brutally honest with myself, I had to admit that the prospect of uncovering a
ghostly secret thrilled me. The connection to Graymoor Mansion, as slight as it
was, excited me even more. I’d always known that Graymoor had many secrets—
secrets upon secrets, in fact—and I yearned to uncover them. Perhaps I was wast-
ing my time, but it was my time to waste, and in my heart I believed there was a
secret to uncover. More than that, I had a powerful sense that someone, some-
where desperately needed my help.

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110

“Maybe I’m just developing a superhero complex, like Skye,” I thought out

loud and then smiled to myself.

I turned my attention back to the monitor and stared at a close up of the front

entrance to the manor. Something jumped out at me that never had before: the
design on the foundation. I’d seen something like it in the past.

I zoomed in on the foundation. The design had a Celtic look to it, with beau-

tiful, interweaving vines surrounding repeating carvings of a rearing stag. The
stag was nearly identical to those found on the Blackford coat of arms, but that
was no surprise. I’d seen the design somewhere else, though, and recently. I
racked my brain, but couldn’t remember. Perhaps I’d noticed it on one of the
many websites I’d searched when seeking the Blackford crest, but I felt as if I’d
seen not a photo, but an actual carved object with the exact same design.

I let the matter rest for the moment. There was no use in pushing myself to

remember. I’d long ago learned to let my subconscious mind work on such prob-
lems. I closed my eyes for a moment and assigned my subconscious the task of
uncovering where I’d seen the design before. That done, I opened my eyes again,
knowing a part of my mind would keep working on the problem. It was rather
like having a research assistant.

Turning my mind to other matters was difficult. I felt as if I’d just discovered

another piece to the puzzle, or was about to anyway. It was further proof that
there was a puzzle to be solved. I stepped away from the computer and looked out
the window. There wasn’t much to be seen in the growing darkness. My thoughts
flowed to Kate. I understood now what Sean meant when he talked about loving
Nick so much it hurt. My feelings for Kate kept deepening with time. I’d long
had a crush on her and was excited beyond belief when we’d started dating, but
the more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. Somewhere along the line,
like had turned to love. I couldn’t pinpoint the moment to save my life, but it
didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I loved her, and even better, she loved
me right back.

I had Sean and Zoë to thank for my relationship with Kate. If they hadn’t got-

ten their claws in me and forced me to buy new clothes and get a new hairstyle, I
would’ve still been blundering through life—alone. Kate was far better company
than my books and monster magazines.

I closed my eyes and thought of Kate: how she felt in my arms, the scent of her

hair and perfume. My mind went back to our first time together. The experience
had blown my mind. Who would have thought that two people could make each
other feel that good? There was so much more to Kate and me than sex, too. I

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111

loved everything I did with Kate. I even liked accompanying her on shopping
trips! If that wasn’t love, I didn’t know what was. I grinned.

My eyes widened, and I gasped. My subconscious mind had done it, and so

quickly, too! I remembered where I’d seen the carved vines and stags. I looked
quickly at the clock on my desk. It was just past 8 p.m., not too late. I grabbed
my coat, made a quick call, and headed for Graymoor Mansion.

The warm light of the parlor flooded the porch as Sean opened the front door.

Avery was standing beside him. I stepped in out of the cold wind.

“So what did you discover?” asked Sean. I’d given him only the most cryptic

hint over the phone.

“Something amazing, unless my mind is playing tricks on me. Come on, let’s

check it out,” I said. “Got your flashlight?”

Both boys raised their flashlights in response. I led them down the hall, past

the dining room, to the worn stone steps that led to the crypt. We stepped down
until our heads were just below floor level, then I stopped and turned to the right.

“There,” I said, pointing to the wall.
“What?” asked Sean, turning on his flashlight and shining it on the carved

stone.

“It’s rock,” said Avery.
“Anything look familiar?”
“No,” said Sean slowly, his brow furrowing.
“Take a good look and get a firm picture of it in your mind.” I waited a few

moments while Sean and Avery took in the details. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” they both said.
“Follow me.”
I led Sean and Avery to the fourth floor without so much as a word. We

walked straight to the painting of Blackford Manor.

“Take a look at the foundation,” I said and stepped back.
Sean shined his flashlight on the painting. Moments later, he whipped his

head around and looked at me, astonished.

“It’s the same!”
“Exactly.”
“Coincidence?”
“Unlikely,” I said. “Is your dad home?”
“Yeah, believe it or not.”
“I think we should have him take a look at this.”
“He was in the kitchen the last time I saw him.”
“I’ll get him,” volunteered Avery.

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112

Sean’s dad was an archaeologist. We needed his expertise. Where I fancied

myself an expert on the occult, to a certain degree anyway, Dr. Hilton was an
authority on artifacts from the past. Sean and I examined every inch of the paint-
ing as we waited. In only a few minutes, Avery returned with his uncle. We
showed Dr. Hilton the painting, pointing out the inscription on the back, as well
as the design on the foundation. As we returned to the ground floor I told him
what I’d learned about Blackford Manor, leaving out my reason for becoming
interested in it in the first place. Living in Graymoor, Dr. Hilton was well
acquainted with ghosts, but I wasn’t quite sure how he’d react if I announced I
could see dead people.

We climbed down the steps to the crypt, and Sean shined his flashlight on the

carved foundation.

“This is incredible,” said Sean’s dad as he peered closely at the carvings.
“It’s an exact match to what’s shown in the painting,” I said.
“Do you think the builders of Graymoor used the painting as some kind of

reference?” asked Sean.

His dad ignored him for several moments, going over every inch of the

exposed foundation.

“No,” he said at last. “These carvings are much older than Graymoor …” He

paused, thinking. “Older than most of it, anyway.”

“Do you remember when we found that marker in the crypt dated 1812?”

asked Sean. “Do you think it dates back to then?”

“Unless I’m much mistaken, this is far, far older than that,” said Sean’s dad

taking a moment to look back at us. His face was lit up with excitement. He
looked like a little boy.

“There’s a Celtic influence here,” he said. “These stones are hand-carved, and

look at the wear. These carvings have been exposed to the elements for … centu-
ries I’d say.”

“But how is that possible?” asked Sean. “They’re inside Graymoor, and it sure

hasn’t been here for centuries.”

“True, which indicates these stones were somewhere else before they were

here.”

My heart pounded with excitement.
“In my research, I read that no mention of Blackford Manor can be found

after 1810. There’s no record of its destruction or continued existence,” I said.

Dr. Hilton gazed up past the foundation to the wall. He took Sean’s flashlight

and walked back up the steps. He examined the entrance to the dining room. I’d
always noticed how thick the wall was there. He walked down the hall, past the

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113

steps to the crypt and examined other doorways. We followed along in silence as
he climbed the steps to the second floor and examined walls and entrances to
rooms. At times he seemed to be counting his paces; at other times I didn’t know
what he was doing. He did the same on the third floor. He even went to the
fourth floor for a bit, but after a quick look around and another glance at the
painting, he returned to the ground floor.

“Sean,” said his dad. “Bring me a crowbar.”
“Mom’s not going to like this,” warned Sean.
“I’ll be careful. Have a little trust in your old man.”
Dr. Hilton kept pacing and examining. He looked as if he was calculating

inside his head. Sean returned after a few minutes with the crowbar. His dad
carefully pried away one side of the doorframe leading into the dining room.
Behind it were not wooden studs as I expected, but a wall of stone two feet thick.
Dr. Hilton looked back at us and smiled.

“If you’re searching for Blackford Manor, Marshall, look no further. You’re

standing in it.”

“Are you serious?” I asked. “How is that possible?”
“This requires more study, but I’m fairly certain at this point that Blackford

Manor is standing right before us. As for it being possible, many buildings have
been moved before.

“We’ve known for quite a while now that Graymoor wasn’t built all at once.

We’re standing in the oldest part of the house. There are Federal influences here,
and I thought this part of the house dated to that period. I was obviously wrong.
This part of the house is much older—centuries older. Good work, Marshall; if
you hadn’t noticed the foundation, we would never have known what was hidden
in Graymoor.”

“But Blackford Manor was made of stone, and it was three stories tall! And, it

was in England!” I said.

“Marshall, entire castles have been moved, stone by stone, from England and

other parts of Europe. London Bridge now sits in Arizona.”

“That just boggles my mind,” I said.
Sean laughed. “You can believe in ghosts without question, but you have trou-

ble believing someone could move a house?”

That put things in perspective a bit.
“Do you really think Blackford Manor is within the walls of Graymoor?” I

asked.

“It seems highly likely. As I said before, some of the interior architectural ele-

ments of Graymoor are Federal, which pre-dates Victorian. That section of foun-

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dation you showed me near the crypt is far older. Those are medieval carvings,
perhaps twelfth century, perhaps earlier. This is going to require a lot of study.”

Sean’s dad seemed as excited over the prospect that a medieval manor house

was located within the walls of Graymoor as I was by the whole ghostly mystery.
What we had discovered boggled my mind.

“When do you think Blackford Manor was moved here, Dad?”
“I’m not sure, Sean. That will be difficult to determine.”
“How about the grave in the crypt? It’s dated 1812. That’s the oldest date

we’ve found down there, so maybe the manor was moved here at the same time
the crypt was built,” said Sean.

“Maybe, and maybe not. You’re forgetting some basic archaeology. Son,

remember what I told you about dated objects?”

Sean’s brow furrowed, but then he brightened. “That the date on the object

represents the earliest it could have been placed there, but that it could have been
put there at any time after that.”

“Exactly, so just because there is a tomb dated 1812 in the crypt doesn’t mean

the body was interred there then. The date merely indicates the date of death.
The body could have been moved from elsewhere at any time after 1812.”

What Dr. Hilton was saying made sense.
“So …” said Avery slowly, “if I was digging somewhere and found a coin

dated 1850, that wouldn’t mean someone had lost it in 1850.”

“Precisely,” said his uncle. “It could have been dropped then, but it could also

have been lost at any time after that. Think about it: not all the coins in circula-
tion now are dated 1998; very few are in fact. Most coins in circulation now are
older.”

“But not as old as 1850,” said Avery.
“True, but there are plenty of coins from that year around. They’re in collec-

tions. Someone could even lose one of those coins now, almost a hundred and
fifty years after it was minted.”

“So, if I found a coin dated 1850, someone could have lost it in the 1860s,

1920s, 1960s, or even yesterday,” said Avery.

“Exactly.”
Avery’s brow furrowed as he tried to work it out in his head.
“The Federal influences in Graymoor could easily go back to the 1790s and

before,” said Sean’s dad. “But I seriously doubt Blackford Manor was moved here
that early. I think, rather, that the Federal elements are late additions to the
manor. They were likely added before the manor was moved. Even 1812 is push-
ing it. This area wasn’t settled until the 1830s. This is complete guesswork, but

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115

I’d say the manor could not have been moved here before the late 1830s, possibly
the 1840s.”

“Why?” I asked.
“The first settlers had to cut their way through the forests, making their own

roads. Before the 1830s, only the Native Americans lived here. The first road
built in Indiana was the Michigan Road, which was built in the 1830s. Before
that time it would have been extremely difficult, nearly impossible in fact, to
move blocks of stone of the size of those found in Blackford Manor to what
would one day be Verona. Even after the Michigan Road was built, it would have
been difficult.”

“So, all the stone from Blackford Manor was carried here from England on

ships and then … wagons?” asked Sean.

“Yes, there was no way to transport the blocks across the Atlantic other than

by ship.”

“Even if they had planes back then, the freight charges would’ve been mur-

der,” I said. Sean rolled his eyes.

“My guess,” said Sean’s dad, “is that the blocks were transported on the Ohio

River, either after coming overland from the east coast or upstream from New
Orleans. The Michigan Road ran from Madison, Indiana, to Michigan City. The
blocks would have been loaded onto wagons in Madison and carted all the way
here. The location of the manor is likely due to its proximity to the Michigan
Road. Verona isn’t located far off the route.”

My mind was reeling. Sean, Avery, and I left his dad to his “excavation” while

we walked to the kitchen. Sean put on a teakettle, and we sat at the table while we
waited on the water to come to a boil.

“Dad is going to go wild over this,” said Sean. “If Mom doesn’t watch him

close, he’ll be prying up the floors.”

I laughed. “I knew Graymoor was old, but just think about it: there’s an entire

English Manor inside, and no one ever knew.”

“Someone knew—long ago,” pointed out Sean. “In fact, everyone probably

knew until Graymoor was built up around it, and eventually everyone forgot.”

“Or everyone who knew died,” said Avery.
“Yeah. This is quite a discovery, Marshall. Blackford Manor has been lost for

nearly two hundred years, and you found it.”

“Right in our own dining room,” said Avery.
“I just thought of something!” I said. “The ghost! When he said ‘Blackford

Manor’ he wasn’t talking about some house faraway in England. He was talking

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about this house! Think about it. This place was likely called Blackford Manor
for a good long time, up until it became Graymoor.”

“So you think these dead boys who have been coming to you are all connected

with Graymoor?”

“Most likely. It seems the Graymoor boys weren’t the first to be murdered

here.”

“Isn’t that a comfy thought,” said Avery sarcastically. “Just what we need:

more dead boys. If I start having nightmares, it’s all your fault.”

“I’ll take full responsibility,” I said, but my mind was already drifting away to

the mystery that surrounded Blackford Manor.

- 117 -

Skye

The Evil Three were convinced I’d done in Glen. I could see it in their eyes every
time our paths crossed. Ben and Alex looked at me with expressions of anger
mixed with fear. Jeremy gazed upon me with pure hatred. He tensed whenever I
came near, like a jaguar ready to spring upon its prey. I couldn’t care less if the
Evil Three thought I snuffed Glen, but I did care what my friends thought. They
didn’t want to believe I’d commit murder, yet some of them weren’t so sure; I
could see it in their eyes. I guess I couldn’t blame them. I’d come close to killing
Glen just a few days before, so why wouldn’t they suspect I’d tracked him down
to finish the job?

The Evil Three weren’t the only ones who thought I’d offed Glen. I noticed

that a lot of conversations stopped when I drew near, and a lot of whispering
went on after I’d passed. No one, other than Jeremy, made the accusation to my
face, but my classmates obviously thought me capable of murder. I guess I
couldn’t blame them for their suspicions any more than I could blame my
friends. I had threatened to kill Glen, and now he was dead.

I alone knew for sure that I didn’t kill him—well, the murderer or murderers

knew, too. Since I could eliminate myself as a suspect I was a jump ahead of the
rest. I didn’t kill Glen, but someone sure had. The thing is, those with the most
reason to want him dead were the least likely to have killed him. I couldn’t imag-
ine any of my gay friends committing murder. The mere thought of Oliver run-
ning Glen through with a spear was a laugh. I was willing to bet he wouldn’t swat
a fly. Sean might have the balls to do it if attacked, but he’d likely try to disable
his attacker and not kill him if it could be helped. I knew Sean hated Glen and

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118

Ben for what they’d done to Nick, but I couldn’t see him killing Glen in revenge.
And then there was Marshall. He had killed before. Justin had died after Marshall
had attacked him with a baseball bat. Marshall was protecting Sean, though, and
I truly believed he didn’t mean to kill Justin. He just hit him too hard—out of
fear and panic. I didn’t think Marshall was any more capable of murder than the
others, but who knew?

I didn’t mention it to the others, but there was someone whom I thought

might have been driven to murder. Unlike anyone else I could think of, he was
physically capable of overpowering Glen. I’d seen the look on Ethan’s face the
night in the hospital when I was telling him what Glen and Ben had done to
Nick. His expression could best be described as murderous. Ethan didn’t strike
me as the violent type, but Nick was his son. What might a parent do to protect
his child, especially if he thought his child’s life was in danger? Maybe I was bark-
ing up the wrong tree, but Ethan was the number-one suspect in my book. I’d
decided to keep my suspicions to myself. I didn’t want to endanger Ethan. Even
if I knew for sure he’d killed Glen, I wouldn’t breathe a word about it to anyone.
It was only a suspicion, of course. I knew nothing for sure, but if he was guilty,
Ethan didn’t deserve to go to prison for protecting his son.

The way I looked at it, it was them or us. The Evil Four were playing for

keeps. Glen’s murder meant there was one less of them to worry about. I didn’t
condone murder, but I wasn’t sorry Glen was gone. I just wondered what I was
going to do about the other three and their new ally. The fight was far from over.

My third-period U.S. History class was interrupted by the principal. He stuck

his head in the door and motioned to Mr. Morrison. He whispered something to
my teacher, and a second later they both looked at me. I could feel the color drain
from my face. This wasn’t good; it wasn’t good at all.

“Skye, could you come out into the hall, please?” asked Mr. Morrison.
I stood and slowly walked to the front of the room. All eyes were upon me.

Ben Tyler had a smirk on his face that frightened me. He seemed pleased with
himself, and I didn’t like it at all.

I stepped out into the hall. The sheriff and two deputies were waiting on me,

in addition to Mr. Morrison and the principal.

“Skye Mackenzie, we need you to come with us. We have questions concern-

ing the murder of Glen Barrett,” said the Sheriff.

It was like something out of a movie. I can’t say I was surprised. I kind of fig-

ured it was coming. I’d tried not to think about it, but I knew that sooner rather
than later attention would focus on me. From the look on Ben’s face as I’d

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119

walked out of the room, I had little doubt the Evil Three had gone to the cops.
They were such hypocrites.

I was thankful the halls were empty as I was led away. I didn’t struggle. The

cops were just doing their job. I didn’t relish the idea of sitting in jail or juvenile
detention or wherever I was headed, but I knew I could handle myself. If anyone
in there tried to fuck with me, they were gonna get hurt. Maybe it wouldn’t come
to that. I was innocent after all.

We almost made it out the doors without being seen by anyone, but then

Nick rounded the corner, carrying a pass in his hand. He stopped and stared for
just a second. I smiled at him feebly, but he looked scared.

Once we were inside the police station, the sheriff informed me that I was the

main suspect in the murder of Glen Barrett. No surprise there. I knew the best
thing I could do was keep my mouth shut, so when we arrived at the station and
they started asking me questions, I told them I wasn’t saying anything until I got
a lawyer. The cops weren’t pleased with that, but there wasn’t much they could
do about it. Some ten minutes after I’d refused to talk, Ethan came into the small
room where I was sitting at a table across from the sheriff and a deputy. Nick
must’ve run for the nearest phone to call him. I heaved a sigh of relief.

“Are you okay, Skye?” he asked.
“I’ve been better, but I’m okay.”
“You sit tight. I’ll get you a lawyer. I’ll call your sister as well. I’ll be back

soon,” said Ethan.

I was left alone in the room for a while. It was, perhaps, the most boring place

in the world. I was so glad Ethan was around. Who knows how long I would’ve
been waiting if he hadn’t stepped in to get things moving? Still, it was nearly an
hour before the sheriff, Ethan, and a man I didn’t recognize entered the room.

“Skye, this is Odon Manning, he’s the best lawyer in Verona and a family

friend.”

I wondered what Ethan meant by family. Did he mean the Selbys, or did he

mean that Odon was gay? I didn’t have much time to think about it. Mr. Man-
ning and the sheriff started talking. Of course, my threat to kill Glen came up,
and I couldn’t deny it. Mr. Manning didn’t look one bit happy about that.

“Glen Barrett was last seen alive at 5:00 p.m., and his body was found at

approximately 8:15 p.m. on the night of February 28

. Where were you between

those hours, Skye?” asked the sheriff.

“I was working at Wahlberg’s Farm Store. I’m there almost every evening

from the end of school until we close at 9:00 p.m.”

“Can anyone vouch for your presence during those hours?”

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120

“Well, it was Oliver’s night off, so he wasn’t there, but there were a few cus-

tomers going in and out. I don’t really know the exact times they were there, but
a few people saw me working during those hours.”

“Can you provide us with a list of names?”
“Sure, most of our customers are regulars. I know them all.”
“It sounds like he’s got a strong alibi, Sheriff,” said Mr. Manning. “There

appear to be several witnesses who can confirm Skye was at Wahlberg’s during
the hours in question. Since Skye was the only employee working there that
evening, he would have had to leave the store unattended to have committed the
murder. Even if Skye intended to murder Glen, it’s seriously doubtful he would
have chosen to do so during working hours. He would have had to take the risk
that someone would come to Wahlberg’s in his absence to find it closed. That
would’ve raised suspicions, especially considering Skye’s past with the victim.”

“I’m going to have to agree with you there, Odon,” said the sheriff. “I must

admit it doesn’t seem likely that Skye would leave his place of employment unat-
tended to track down Glen to murder him.”

“Consider also the time involved,” said Mr. Manning. “If Skye did leave

Wahlberg’s to go after Glen, he would have faced a potentially time-consuming
search when it was critical he not leave the store any longer than was absolutely
necessary. Every minute the store was closed would increase the chances someone
would notice. Common sense dictates that even if Skye did intend to murder
Glen, he would not have chosen that time.”

Mr. Manning was obviously a good lawyer, even if he was from a small town.

I thought the fact that I could’ve been alone at Wahlberg’s long enough to slip
out and murder Glen would work against me, but he was turning it around so
that it appeared to be the worst possible time for me to murder Glen. I would’ve
never thought about the time it would’ve taken to track Glen down. Verona
wasn’t a big place, but it could still take hours to find someone.

Mr. Manning and the sheriff talked a lot more, and some of it was above my

head. I’d tell you all about it, but the truth is I can’t remember most of it, and
you would find it as dull as I did. I was becoming increasingly hopeful and more
at ease. There were enough customers that evening that it would’ve been almost
impossible for me to run to the woods, kill Glen, and make it back before anyone
noticed I was missing, even if I knew he was just standing there waiting on me.
Despite the fact that I was in custody, I felt a lot better than I had since I’d
learned of Glen’s murder.

I was released. Both Ethan and Mr. Manning seemed very pleased with the

way things had worked out. The sheriff would be checking out my alibi by con-

Mark A. Roeder

121

tacting the list of customers I’d given him, but I had no worries about that. I
grinned. The Evil Three, and particularly Jeremy, were going to be pissed off
when they discovered I was being released so quickly.

I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Getting detained

wasn’t what I called fun, but the facts established what I already knew: I was
innocent. It would be damned hard to pin the murder on me. I thanked God
there were enough customers in Wahlberg’s the night of Glen’s murder to prove I
was there. There were times when almost no one came into the store.

“Thanks for your help, Ethan,” I said, as we climbed into his old truck.
“Don’t mention it. It is I who am in your debt for saving Nick. I can never

repay you for that.”

“I guess Nick called you?”
“Yes.”
“He spotted them taking me away. I guess that was a stroke of luck.”
“Maybe, but then again, all things happen for a reason.”
“Yeah, it seems like that sometimes, doesn’t it?” I paused. “I wonder who

killed Glen. I’ve been going over it in my mind, but I just can’t figure it out.”

I didn’t mention that Ethan was the main suspect in my mind. If he had killed

him, the less said about it the better. If he wasn’t guilty of Glen’s murder, I didn’t
want to anger or hurt Ethan by expressing my suspicions.

“Would you like me to take you home or back to school?” asked Ethan.
How about back to your place for a three-way with you and Nathan?
“Just take me home. I don’t want to face all those questions just yet. I’m sure

the whole school knows I was taken away for Glen’s murder by now.”

“I don’t blame you, but the upside is that now they’ll know you didn’t do it.”
“That’s a relief. I think even my friends suspected me, and I can’t say that I

blame them.”

“Even if they suspected you, I think they know deep down in their hearts you

didn’t do it,” said Ethan.

I thanked Ethan again when he dropped me off. The house was empty. Janelle

was at work and Colin at school. I played back Ethan’s message on the answering
machine and then deleted it. I’d tell Janelle what had happened when she got
home. Thankfully, the story had a happy ending. If only everything else would
work out so well.

Mark A. Roeder

122

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

“I’m so relieved,” said Oliver, after I told him what had happened at the police

station. We were sitting in Wahlberg’s Farm Store wasting time while waiting on
the next customer to walk through the door. “I never thought you did it, but I
was afraid they’d pin the murder on you, since you threatened to kill Glen.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t exactly my brightest move, but I was a little out of control

that night.”

“A little? You scared even me.”
“You know I’d never hurt you, Oliver.”
“I know, but … I’d just never seen you like that. You looked like you were try-

ing to kill Glen.”

“I was,” I said. “I scared myself, too, that night. I never experienced anger like

that before. It was like … being out of my mind. I didn’t even feel like me. I felt
like some kind of wild animal. All I knew was that I hated Glen, and I wanted to
make him pay for the pain he’d caused Nick. Bullies always piss me off, and to
pick on a kid just because he’s gay … That night scared me, and if things hadn’t
worked out differently, I could be sitting in jail right now because of it.”

“Just try to control yourself, okay? We need you.”
I mussed Oliver’s hair.
“So, how are things going with your lover boy?”
“He’s wonderful!”
“You’re so happy you’re almost sickening. You know that, don’t you?”
Oliver grinned.
“I never thought I’d have someone, Skye. I never thought anyone would be

interested in me. I still can’t believe Clay is my boyfriend.”

“You have a lot to offer, Oliver.”
“Some of that is thanks to you.”
“How so?”
“You’re the one who’s been helping me lose weight. I’ve even been working

out some, too.”

“You’re giving me more credit than I deserve. I’m sure Clay finds you attrac-

tive, but I bet he’s even more drawn to what’s inside, and that’s all you.”

Oliver blushed.
“Do you think Clay’s hot?” he asked.
“Yeah. Why? Want to do a three-way sometime?” I grinned.
“No! We haven’t even … and …”

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123

I laughed. I loved to see Oliver flustered.
“I’m just messin’ with ya. I bet you guys have been making out like crazy.”
“Have we ever!”
I laughed again.
“You know, I never did anything with a guy until I was sixteen, so you’re way

ahead of me.”

“I’m sure you did plenty with girls,” said Oliver.
“No, I didn’t. Looking back I can’t imagine how I didn’t know I was gay.

Talk about self-denial. I’ve made up for it since coming out to myself, though;
Jarret and I alone have …”

“No details, please!”
“Come on, Oliver. How are you going to learn if you don’t listen to my sto-

ries? You’re gonna love it, Oliver. Like the last time I was with Jarret, I pushed
him over the kitchen table and …”

“Remind me never to eat at your house.”
“If that bothers you then you might want to move your sandwich off the

counter.”

Oliver jerked his head down to look at the counter, even though he didn’t

have a sandwich. I laughed so loud the front windows of the store nearly rattled.

“You mean you and Jarret … Right here on the counter?”
“On the counter, a couple times in the back room … Well, you know about at

least one of those …”

“You mean you guys … Every time he comes to visit and I watch the store …”
“Yep!”
“Oh, my gosh!”
“We’ve also done it in my car, my bedroom, his bedroom—well, pretty much

every room in both our houses. Then, there’s the locker room at school, the jani-
tor’s closet, backstage in the auditorium—”

“You’re like rabbits.”
“You have no idea.”
“Well, Clay and I are going to take it real slow. Making out is just fine for

right now. It’s so … wow!”

“Making out is hot. It’s almost hotter than actually having sex, sort of, but I

prefer a good—”

“New topic!”
“Okay, I’ll spare you. I don’t think your face can get any redder anyway.”
The bells hanging on the door rang, and we both turned to see who was enter-

ing the store. It was Jarret.

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124

“You want to watch over things for a while, Oliver?” I asked, grinning.
“Sure, Skye.”
“You’re a pal.” I leaned in so that only Oliver could hear me. “You can watch

again if you want to.”

I was wrong, Oliver could turn redder. His face resembled a beet. I knew he

was still embarrassed over the time I caught him watching us. I smiled at him to
let him know I was just jerking his chain. I had to have a little fun with him now
and then.

“We’ll be back in a few. Just yell if you need me,” I said and led Jarret into the

back room.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

“Um, Skye …” said Oliver, just after Jarret had departed.
“Yeah?”
“Does Jarret really like … that? I mean—”
“Have you been watching us again, Oliver?”
“NO! I just, last time … well—”
“Just say it, Oliver.”
“That’s easy for you to say. I feel like I’m going to die of embarrassment.”
“Just ask me what you want to ask.”
“Well, that time I spied on you, when you turned around I noticed that you’re

… really big, you know.”

I grinned to let Oliver know I knew exactly what he meant.
“I don’t see how Jarret … I mean, that’s got to hurt. He really likes that?”
“He loves it!”
“But doesn’t it hurt him?”
“Yeah, some, but mostly it feels good.”
“Have you ever? I mean—”
“Have I ever been on the bottom?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, don’t you tell this to anyone, but yes.”
“I’m not about to tell anyone. Are you crazy? I can barely talk to you about

sex. So you’ve been on the bottom?”

“Yeah, just a couple of times. Once with this college guy I met a few weeks ago

and once with Jarret, although when I did it with Jarret I wasn’t really on the bot-
tom.”

“What do you mean?”

Mark A. Roeder

125

“He was lying on his back and—”
“Okay, I get it. Didn’t it hurt?”
“Yeah, kind of, but it felt good, too. The pain kind of mixes with the pleasure,

and when you’ve done it for a bit, the pain goes away, and it feels amazing. It’s
really not my thing, but I don’t mind doing it once in a while.”

“I don’t think I could ever do that.”
“Well, you are only fourteen. I don’t think you’re ready to play in the big

leagues yet, and there’s no need to rush. Someday, you may want to try it. If not,
that’s cool, too. You should do what you’re comfortable doing and nothing more.

“Listen, I’ll tell you something, Oliver. Once I realized I was gay, I dove right

into the deep end. I indulged in every sexual act I could imagine as fast as I could
find someone to do it with. I guess I felt like I had to make up for lost time, or
maybe I was just super-horny.”

“I’m guessing the second one,” said Oliver.
“I think you’re right. What I’m trying to say is that I made a mistake. I

should’ve taken things a lot slower. I should have explored it bit by bit instead of
just diving right into everything. I kind of feel now like … Well, it’s like I
skipped to the end of a movie, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I think so.”
“You and I are different types of guys, Oliver. In a lot of ways, you’re a lot

smarter than I am, even though you’re younger. The whole thing with taking
things slow with Clay is smart. You are really young, but going slow would be a
smart move no matter what age you were. I’m not into the whole dating thing,
but even I wish I would’ve taken things one step at a time.”

“Thanks, Skye,” said Oliver. “You’re like the big brother I never had, you

know that?”

“Aww, thanks, little bro. Anytime you want to ask me about sex, or anything

else, just come to me, okay? There were lots of times I wished I had an older
brother. I know what it’s like not to have one.”

“Thanks.”
“And when the time comes … if you’re too embarrassed, I’ll get you some

condoms, okay? Don’t you dare do anything without one.”

“I won’t, Skye. I’m smarter than that.”
“Yeah, I know you are. I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt.”
Oliver let out a deep breath. “Maybe we should talk about something besides

sex.”

“You sure you don’t want to discuss technique? I mean, if you’d like to do to

Clay what I was doing to Jarret …”

Mark A. Roeder

126

Oliver began to turn red again.
“I think I’ll pass.”
The bells on the door rang, and Clay entered. I raised an eyebrow, and Oliver

gave me a warning glare. I ignored it, of course.

“Hey, Oliver, I can watch the store for a while if you want. Perhaps you’ll like

to take Clay into the back.”

Oliver scowled at me again, and Clay looked confused.
“Let’s ignore him,” Oliver said to Clay, “and maybe he’ll go away.”
Oliver walked around the counter and gave Clay a hug.
“I think you should kiss him now,” I told Clay, and he did.
“That was wonderful,” said Oliver when their lips parted. “At last, Skye is giv-

ing good advice.”

“Hey! I always give good advice!”

- 127 -

Sean

I gazed out the parlor window, watching the steady rainfall while I waited on
Nick. Ethan and Nathan were going to drop him off at Graymoor on their way
to the grocery. Nick and I had planned an evening walk around town and then a
nice, quiet dinner at Café Moffatt. We’d walked out of school at the end of the
day to find it pleasantly warm for a change—warm for the beginning of March,
anyway. The snow was gone, and there was just the slightest hint of spring in the
air, a preview of things to come.

The Selbys’ old Ford pickup stopped outside the gates. Nick jumped out and

ran for the house. I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch to meet
him. Nick wrapped his sinewy arms around me, and we kissed.

“Come on,” I said, taking Nick by the hand and pulling him into the house.

“Let’s wait out the rain in the Solarium.”

Nick and I walked down the many winding hallways that led from the parlor

to the Solarium. There were more twists and turns than most people could
remember, but it’s one of the many routes I’d managed to memorize. In just a
few minutes, we were standing in the immense room of glass.

“I love it in here when it rains,” I said.
Nick and I looked at the slanted, glass roof far above to see the rain racing

down in a torrent. It ran down the outside of the glass walls in waves, distorting
the view of the trees outside.

“Is that water I hear?” asked Nick. “I think you’ve got a leak.”

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128

“Wait until you see this,” I said, taking him by the hand again and pulling

him toward one side of the vast enclosed space. The sound of falling water grew
louder as we neared.

“Wow,” said Nick. “Will you look at that?”
We stood before a waterfall that looked entirely natural as it fell from a large,

stone outcropping down into a sunken pool. Here alone did green things grow,
nurtured through all the decades of Graymoor’s neglect by the rain that was
somehow gathered from the roof and channeled into the small waterfall. Here
grew ferns and moss and large leafed plants that I did not recognize. There were
even some unfamiliar, but beautiful blue, white, and yellow blooming plants in
the small enclave of life that spanned no more than a dozen feet in any direction.

“I thought everything was dead in here,” said Nick.
“Me, too, until one rainy day when I was exploring. I thought the roof must

be leaking, too, but then I discovered this.”

“It’s beautiful,” said Nick. “If you just stand here and look in only this direc-

tion, the whole place seems alive.”

“I’ve done that myself—stood here and pretended that the whole Solarium

was filled with plants, just like this little space. More than any other, I’d love to
see this room put back as it was.”

“Then it will happen,” said Nick.
“My parents will never be able to afford it.”
“Then someday we’ll do it,” said Nick.
I smiled at him shyly, his assumption that we would always be together warm-

ing my heart. I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around him and give him a kiss.
That, of course, led to an intense make-out session that lasted I don’t know how
long. Time had no meaning when I was with Nick.

Nick and I sat on a stone bench near the waterfall and listened to its falling

waters as we watched the rain pelting down outside. We just sat there in silence,
our arms wrapped around each other, snuggling, and enjoying the moment. The
rain slackened little by little and finally stopped.

“The waterfall. It’s still going,” said Nick.
“Yes, it will keep going for a good long while yet. Somehow the rain water is

stored and released gradually. When I first found it, there was only a light rain,
and the waterfall kept running for a good twenty minutes after the rain stopped.
The one other time I was in here during a storm, the rain was coming down in
buckets. I just sat here after the rain stopped, watching the waterfall and timing
it. It didn’t stop until nearly two hours after the rain and ceased.”

“This house never ceases to amaze me,” said Nick.

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129

“Marry me, and it will all be yours,” I said, grinning.
“I might just take you up on the someday,” said Nick, “but not for the house:

so we can be together always.”

I hugged Nick again. He made me so happy sometimes I nearly cried.
“Let’s take that walk,” I suggested.
We slipped out one of the glass doors that led into the yard and made our way

to the front of the house, a much quicker route than wandering through the hall-
ways of Graymoor. We’d slipped on our jackets and were comfortably warm,
even though the rain had cooled things down a bit. It seemed to my eye that the
grass was already growing greener, even though it had been covered with a dust-
ing of snow only that morning. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking. I enjoyed
every season in turn.

“I’m glad Skye has been cleared of Glen’s murder,” said Nick.
“Me too, although it may be a bit premature to say he’s been cleared. Things

are looking up, though.”

“Skye thanked me for calling Dad and telling him. Dad went right down to

the station, got Skye a lawyer, and had him out of there in no time.”

“Well, after he saved you, I’m sure Skye is Ethan’s hero—Nathan’s, too, just

as he is mine. I’d do anything for him. If he hadn’t been there the night you were
attacked …”

“Yeah, I know. Skye saved my life, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, I’m even willing to forgive him for being so good-looking now.”
Nick laughed.
“You’re more beautiful to me than Skye will ever be,” said Nick.
“Aww, I love you, but you’re full of crap, Nick.”
“No, I mean it. Skye’s gorgeous—no one will argue that fact—but he’s not

you.”

“What’s so special about me?”
“You’re you. You make me happy. Every time I see you, I get this feeling in

my chest. Don’t ask me to describe it, because I can’t. It’s just … joy. Yeah, that’s
the best way to put it.”

I smiled at Nick, and just then I felt as if I was the most attractive boy in the

whole world.

“I feel just a little guilty for doubting his innocence,” I said. “I wasn’t quite

one-hundred percent sure he didn’t do it, even though I knew in my heart he
wouldn’t commit murder. I guess I should learn to listen to my heart more.”

“Don’t feel guilty, Sean. I think all of us had our doubts. Like you, I didn’t

truly believe Skye capable of murder, but he does have a violent streak. And, he

Mark A. Roeder

130

did try to kill Glen the night I was attacked. That would make anyone have
doubts. Plus, if Skye was going to kill someone, it would definitely be one of the
Evil Four.”

“I’m just glad he’s been eliminated as a main suspect.”
“What do you think about that guy Skye told us about? Chip?”
“I think a psychopathic killer is not what Verona needs. A Burger King

would’ve been nice, a Denny’s even better, but a crazed killer with a vendetta
against gays? Personally, I could do without that.”

“Me, too.”
“Ever since Skye’s bombshell, I’ve feared setting foot outside my front door.”
“Well, don’t you dare do that alone, Sean.”
“I won’t, and don’t you, either.”
“You have nothing to worry about there. If I even think about doing some-

thing that stupid, I’m sure my cracked ribs and stitches will remind me it’s not a
good idea.”

“Do you feel okay?”
“I’m just sore, mostly. As long as I take it easy, I’m fine.”
“No rough sex then?” I asked with a grin.
“We’ll see.”
“Did someone say something about rough sex?”
Nick and I turned. Skye was closing on us fast.
“Why is it you always turn up when someone mentions sex?” I asked.
“Hey, I’m a teenaged boy; what do you expect?”
“Not all of us are that obsessed with sex.”
“Hey, you were the ones talking about rough sex, not me,” said Skye grinning.
The sudden appearance of Skye was welcome. Despite my happiness over

being at Nick’s side, I was still on edge. Who wouldn’t be? It was the previous
spring all over again. I was desperately afraid something would happen to Nick,
something even worse than what had already befallen him. I tried not to even
think about him ending up like Marty, but the fear was never far from my mind.

“Why is it you show no signs of being in a fight, Skye, and I still have bruises

all over?” asked my boyfriend.

“Well, Nick, for one thing, I didn’t take the beating you did. For another, I

heal very fast.”

“I’ve noticed that before.”
“Yeah, most bruises and black eyes last me less than twenty-four hours now. It

didn’t used to be like that.”

Mark A. Roeder

131

“So, what? Does Taylor or Mark show up after every fight to heal you up

now?” I asked.

“Nope, it’s just my amazing body.”
Nick shook his head at Skye’s conceit, but said nothing.
“Maybe you’re turning into a superhero, Skye,” I suggested.
“I wish.”
“After saving Nick, you’ll always be my hero. I know that sounds a little

corny, but I mean it.”

Skye just smiled in response.
“Hey, we were going to Café Moffatt for supper. Why don’t you join us?” I

asked. “I’ll buy. It’s the least I can do after you saved my boyfriend’s butt.”

“You don’t have to do that. Besides, Nick has a very nice butt, so it’s more

than worth saving.”

Nick grinned shyly.
“Well, I want to. I really appreciate what you did, and we both just plain like

you, too.”

“Besides, it’s always wise to keep your bodyguard happy,” said Nick.
“In that case, I accept.”
I looked over at Nick. I could tell he didn’t mind the addition of Skye. I

wouldn’t have asked if I thought he would object.

Nick, Skye, and I were seated at a booth in Café Moffatt a few minutes later.

I’d eaten there so many times I felt quite at home.

“Any luck tracking down Chip?” I asked as we browsed the menus and waited

on our drinks.

“None at all, so far,” said Skye. “He could be anywhere, and he’s probably

keeping out of sight. I thought I might start tailing the Evil Three whenever pos-
sible and see if he shows up.”

“Be careful, Skye.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Just remember, you’re not invincible.”
“Are you sure?” asked Skye with a mischievous smirk.
Skye ordered the dinner special, which was a half-pound burger with the

works and a humongous pile of fries. Nick opted for spaghetti and garlic toast
and I ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with fries. The rain had pushed back
our supper time, so I was ravenously hungry. I could probably have put away the
special, but I was watching my weight.

Skye was a lot funnier than most people expected, but then most didn’t get to

see his sense of humor. He was too busy kicking butt or strutting his stuff most of

Mark A. Roeder

132

the time to crack jokes. Skye was always up for sexual innuendo, but he had a
good sense of humor about everything. I think he was relaxed around Nick and
me and didn’t feel as if he needed to be in bad-boy mode. We both knew he
could kick butt and respected him for all he’d done, not only for us, but all the
other gay kids out there. I still almost couldn’t believe that Skye Mackenzie, the
hottest boy in school, was gay.

After we finished eating, Skye offered to walk us home. We gratefully accepted

and stepped along talking and laughing. Despite the cloud of fear hovering over-
head, life was good. I was just thinking how it was too bad Nick and I couldn’t
always have our own personal bodyguard watching over us when a truck pulled
up near us, and the Evil Three jumped out. If Skye hadn’t been there …

“You guys get out of here,” said Skye. “Let me handle this.”
“There are three of them, Skye,” said Nick.
“Which means they’re still outmatched. You’re in absolutely no condition to

fight, Nick. You’ll pull your stitches loose. Sean, get him out of here! You two
will only get in my way.”

“Nick, come on,” I said, pulling him back the way we’d come while Skye

stepped toward the Evil Three.

“We can’t just leave him.”
“We’re not going to leave him, but Skye’s right. You’re in no condition to

fight.”

“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to make sure you’re out of harm’s way, then I’m going to help

Skye.”

“Sean …”
“Stand right up there,” I said pointing not far away to the gas station. “If Skye

goes down, you run in there and get help.”

“Sean—”
“Go!”
“Sean, be careful.”
“I will be. I’m going to watch for my chance. This is Skye we’re talking about.

He probably won’t even need my help.” I smiled at Nick to reassure him and
hide my own fear, but I was trembling inside.

I turned and walked back toward Skye. In the few seconds that had passed,

Jeremy, Alex, and Ben had fanned out, surrounding him. Both Alex and Ben
were carrying short lengths of pipe. I didn’t know what I could do to help Skye,
but I was going to watch and wait and jump in when he needed me.

Mark A. Roeder

133

Alex lunged toward Skye, swinging his metal pipe at Skye’s head with enough

force to kill him. Skye easily sidestepped him, however, and delivered a quick,
painful blow to Alex’s lats. Ben took a swing at him in the meantime, and I
watched amazed as Skye moved with Ben’s swing and actually ripped the pipe
out of his hands and sent it flying. Jeremy jumped on Skye’s back and Alex ran
his shoulder into Skye’s stomach, but Skye flipped Jeremy while at the same time
hooking his leg around Alex’s ankle to send him crashing to the ground.

“You’re gonna pay for what you did to Glen!” screamed Jeremy in a rage, as he

came back at Skye.

Skye blocked Jeremy’s punches, even while he lashed out with his foot to

deflect a blow by Ben. Most of the fight was a blur. Skye moved faster than
seemed humanly possible, yet he wasn’t making those obviously impossible
moves that one often sees in movies. He was all real. Skye did do one awesome
flip, right over Ben to land in front of Jeremy. Ben twisted this way and that try-
ing to figure out where Skye had gone and Jeremy staggered backward as Skye
punched him right in the face.

Alex smashed his pipe into the side of Skye’s abdomen. I tensed, ready to

jump in. I figured the blow would sent Skye to his knees, but he spun around,
grabbed Alex by the throat, and punched him with his other fist. Ben grabbed the
pipe, hopped on Skye’s back and attempted to choke him with it, but Skye threw
him off and kicked him in the ribs.

I just stood there amazed as Skye fought off three guys with incredible grace

and stamina. It was kind of like watching a ballet dancer or a talented gymnast,
but Skye’s athletic prowess was in fighting. First Alex and then Ben fell to the
ground—both of them out cold. Jeremy found himself facing Skye alone. He
turned to run, but Skye grabbed him, twisted him around and delivered an
uppercut to Jeremy’s gut that lifted him up off the ground. Jeremy landed on his
butt and sat there staring up at Skye.

“Chip will finish you,” said Jeremy in a last act of defiance.
Skye grabbed the front of Jeremy’s shirt and lifted him with one arm. He

glared into Jeremy’s face.

“You tell Chip to bring it on,” said Skye. He shoved Jeremy away and turned

his back on him. I feared Jeremy would jump him from behind, but I guess he’d
had enough. Skye looked toward me and smiled.

“So, you guys ready to go home?” he asked as if nothing at all had happened.
I just stood there with an open mouth for several moments, looking like an

idiot, I’m sure. Nick came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. We

Mark A. Roeder

134

both stared at Skye. There was a little blood trickling from the corner of his
mouth, but otherwise he looked untouched.

“How do you do that?” asked Nick, incredulously.
“It’s what I do. Some guys paint, some sing, some play soccer. I kick ass,” said

Skye shrugging.

“I’m glad you’re on our side,” said Nick.
I couldn’t have agreed more.

- 135 -

Marshall

I sat on the living-room sofa, reading an 1890s account of a ghost sighting west of
Burr Oak, Indiana. A farmer named James Overmyer and his wife were riding by
a country-church cemetery when a scythe-wielding ghost beckoned to them in
the roadway. The horses shied as the ghost approached the wagon, and the terri-
fied farmer turned the horses around and raced back the way he’d come. The
apparition was later identified as a man who had been murdered ten years earlier.

The literature on ghosts, which I’d been reading since I was a kid, was filled

with accounts of spirits with unfinished business returning to wrap up their
affairs. The Burr Oak ghost, like most of those I’d seen recently, was a murder
victim, most likely looking for justice. I’d read many accounts of the murdered
returning, but only if their murderer had not been punished. Not once had I read
an account of a murder victim coming back if the murderer was behind bars,
unless it was to appear to the murderer himself and torment him. These facts led
me to believe that the ghosts who had recently appeared to me wanted justice.
They had been murdered, and their killer had escaped punishment. But how
could I possibly solve crimes that had taken place a century and more ago?

I was still reeling over the discovery that Blackford Manor was actually within

the walls of Graymoor Mansion. The massive Victorian mansion had been built
up all around Blackford Manor until barely a trace was left. All those who took
part in moving the manor to Verona were long dead, as were all those who had
once called the house Blackford Manor. The massive old home had been known
as Graymoor Mansion for as long as anyone could remember. Blackford Manor
had been lost to history, until now.

Mark A. Roeder

136

I planned to turn my attention next to the oldest historical sources I could

find in Verona. Perhaps there was some record from the days before Graymoor
was known as Graymoor. I had many questions about the old house. Were the
Graymoors responsible for bringing the English manor to the States, or did they
merely purchase it from whoever had undertaken the task? If the home was
owned by someone before the Graymoor family, who was the owner?

One fact was certain: the ghost who had delivered the cryptic message of

“Blackford Manor” in my bedroom obviously meant its American incarnation
and not the manor when it stood in the English countryside. His clothing, while
old-fashioned, dated to after the manor had been moved here. This led me to
believe that Blackford Manor/Graymoor Mansion was somehow linked with a
series of murders that occurred long before the notorious Graymoor ax murders
of 1871.

My breath turned to fog as I exhaled. I shivered. The temperature plummeted

to well below freezing in seconds. I looked around expectantly and was not disap-
pointed. My gaze met not one, but two apparitions, although they were so similar
in appearance one could have been a mirror image of the other.

I committed the details of their appearance to memory as quickly as possible.

They were about fourteen or fifteen, with shoulder length blond hair, handsome
faces, and blue eyes. They wore loose, long-sleeved linen shirts and brown trou-
sers, tattered and patched. They wore no socks but some kind of leather work
shoes that looked handmade and were so worn they must have seen years of use.
Both apparitions looked so real they could have been mistaken for live boys. The
color of their eyes and the tone of their tanned faces were apparent. Both boys
would have been beautiful, but their faces were bruised and bloodied. Their
clothing was disheveled, and their eyes bore such sadness my heart ached.

“Why have you come to me?” I asked. “Tell me. I know there’s a reason. Let

me help you.”

“Help us escape,” said one.
“Release us,” said the other.
Their voices were eerie, as if echoing down a long tunnel.
“How? What holds you here? You’re dead. Why can’t you go on?”
“Guilt binds us. We cannot pass over until the guilt is erased.”
“Guilt over what? What have you done?”
“It is not our guilt that binds us, but his.”
“Who are you talking about? What do you mean?”
“He who killed us. He bears the guilt of our deaths.”
“The guilt of your killer binds you?”

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137

“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
I thought hard. I’d heard many accounts of a spirit’s own guilt binding it to

earth, but never the guilt of one spirit binding others.

“How does his guilt bind you?”
“We do not know, but he cannot release the guilt, and therefore we are

bound.”

“Who killed you? Who bears the guilt that binds you?”
“Kenneth Graymoor.”
I halfway expected a bright flash of lightning and thunder to dramatize the

spirits’ revelation, but the skies were clear.

“Mr. Graymoor murdered you?”
“Us, and the others.”
“The other spirits who have visited me?”
“Yes, and more, many more.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. How many innocent lives had

Kenneth Graymoor taken? The slaughter of his own family was apparently only
the end of his murderous rampage, not the entirety of it.

“So it’s his guilt that binds you?”
“It is.”
I was having some trouble understanding. Guilt was for those who felt

remorse, but Kenneth Graymoor had shown none as he killed his own wife,
daughter, and sons with an ax. I’d witnessed the ghostly reenactment of his
crimes many times There was no remorse there, only murderous rage. Mr. Gray-
moor had been lynched by a mob for his crimes—in his own backyard no less.
He’d received death for his murderous deeds. He had been brought to justice, but
still his victims walked the earth. This was quite unlike any ghostly account I’d
ever read about.

“I’m not sure how to help you, but I will try.”
“Find us; find our bodies and you will discover some of the answers you seek,”

said one of the twins.

“Find you? Where are you?”
“Beneath the stones of Blackford Manor.”
“In the crypt?”
“Yes.”
“You are members of the Graymoor family yourselves?”
“No.”
“Were the others Graymoors?”

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138

“Some, but not all.”
I wanted to pull my hair out. This was making no sense! There was only one

tomb in the crypt that didn’t bear the last name of Graymoor. It bore only the
name Blackford. There was no first name, no dates of birth or death.

“What is your last name? Is it Blackford?”
The apparitions began to fade, altering from solid to transparent before my

eyes.

“Don’t go! I have more questions!”
It was useless. The twins faded until they became nothing more than grayish

transparent apparitions. Soon they had disappeared altogether. At least I’d gained
some useful information this time. Cold hard facts were always preferable to
cryptic messages.

I sat on the sofa and ran through the ghostly conversation in my mind as the

temperature quickly returned to normal. The victims were murdered by Kenneth
Graymoor, and his guilt bound them to earth. The victims were buried in the
crypt, but were not members of the Graymoor family, except for the wife and
children of Kenneth Graymoor himself and perhaps a few others. There was no
tomb in the crypt that did not hold a Graymoor, except for the one labeled
Blackford.

“I’m missing something obvious here. I just know it,” I said out loud.
I sat and racked my brain as the elusive thought danced just out of reach, like

a name on the tip of the tongue. The twins were buried in the crypt, but they
were not members of the Graymoor family. Could they be buried in a tomb that
bore the name of someone else? It was possible, but it seemed unlikely. Still, it
would be an ingenious way to hide the bodies of victims: stuff them into crypts
already occupied. After all, who would bother to open an old crypt?

Sean had been behind the walls of the Graymoor crypt. He’d seen the rows of

coffins sitting on slabs like books on library shelves. If I was going to get to the
bottom of this, I needed to take a look myself.

One phone call and fifteen minutes later, Sean met me at the main entrance of

Graymoor Mansion. I’d told him only that I needed a look behind the walls of
the crypt. As we climbed the stairs to the fourth-floor library, I recounted my lat-
est ghostly encounter and led him through my line of thought.

Once in the library, Sean opened the secret doorway that led into the passages

within the walls of Graymoor. He’d taken me on a tour of them before, but now
our journey had more purpose. I followed him through the twisting passage, our
way lit by flashlights. We descended many stairways until at last we’d climbed
down to the level of the crypt.

Mark A. Roeder

139

“Here we are,” said Sean. “This is not my favorite part of Graymoor.”
I shined my light on the rows of coffins. They were arranged, just as Sean had

described, on what looked like massive shelves of stone stacked six high, with a
coffin on each shelf. There was row after row of them, one after the other, all just
behind the wall of the crypt. I followed the narrow path between the morbid
shelves and the far wall, passing so close to the coffins I could’ve reached out and
touched them if I dared.

The air was putrid with the smell of rotting flesh. No one had been laid to rest

there in over a century, and still the foul stench was everywhere. It nearly made
me retch, and Sean held his shirt to his nose. There were coffins of all shapes and
sizes in front of and behind me. Most of them were simple pine boxes, but many
of them were very ornate and expensive looking. Some of them were very small:
the coffins of children, even babies. All the Graymoors were there, generations of
them.

I approached the nearest coffin, a black shiny one, and grasped the edge of the

lid with my fingers. I slowly pried open the lid as Sean flattened himself against
the wall to get as far away as possible. I couldn’t open the lid fully without bang-
ing it into the stone slab above, but I could open it enough to get a good look
inside.

My eyes fell on a desiccated corpse with long gray hair, still wearing an expen-

sive looking black suit. There were gold rings on his fingers and a gold watch at
his side. He was quite alone, however.

Next, I lifted the lid of a smaller, child-sized casket. I gasped at the miraculous

preservation of the corpse. While the previous body had most resembled an
Egyptian mummy out of its wrappings, this one looked like a sleeping child of
perhaps nine or ten. I halfway expected to see his chest rise and fall, but this boy
had died more than a century before. He, too, was alone in his coffin. In fact, I
didn’t see how a second body could easily be stuffed into a casket.

I closed the lid of the casket and moved on. I must have checked two dozen

coffins and looked at their contents with morbid fascination, but I did not find
what I was seeking. Next I paced along the narrow corridor at the foot of the cas-
kets. There was just room enough to pass. I turned a corner where I found an
open space, but it was empty, which made sense because there was no way to slide
coffins into the space from the outside. I thoroughly explored the area behind the
walls of the crypt and found nothing—no hint of extra bodies. My theory was
wrong.

Sean and I climbed the stairways within the walls of Graymoor and followed

the passages back to the fourth floor. There were other exits, but we feared taking

Mark A. Roeder

140

them and ending up in some unfamiliar part of the house. We exited through the
library and climbed down the main stairs. On the first-floor landing we met
Avery, who joined as we made our way down into the crypt by way of the usual
entrance. I explained to Avery the mystery I sought to solve even as I stood and
stared at all the names on the stones. I now knew with certainty what lay behind
the deeply carved names, but I knew, too, that the bodies of Mr. Graymoor’s vic-
tims were buried within the crypt. But where?

I turned my attention to the odd man out, the Blackford crypt, which bore no

first name, no dates of birth or death. It stood in such contrast to the rest of the
crypt that I couldn’t help but feel the answer lay there. Sean and Avery stood
beside me, staring at the deeply carved letters.

“It’s not a tomb,” said Avery suddenly, his voice shattering the silence in the

crypt. “It’s a doorway.”

“My God,” I said, “that has to be it!”
I stared again at the wall space in front of me. It was indeed the size and shape

of a doorway, but its disguise had fooled me. I’d taken the spaces above and
below the crypt marked “Blackford” as empty spaces awaiting a coffin, but the
doorway was only made to look that way.

“Are you sure?” asked Sean. “It doesn’t look like a doorway.”
“How many doorways in Graymoor look like something else?” I asked.
“That’s true enough, but why did we see no passage when we were behind the

walls?” asked Sean.

“My guess is it’s sealed off from the others,” I said. “I bet if we compared the

length of the walls on each side, the interior would be shorter.”

“Let’s open it,” said Avery.
“Should we ask Mom and Dad?” asked Sean.
“What if they say no? It’s easier to obtain forgiveness than permission,” said

Avery.

“I guess if we’re careful then,” said Sean.
“I’ll go grab some pry bars,” said Avery, his face lit with excitement.
“Don’t worry, Sean. We’ll be careful,” I said, while we waited on Avery to

return.

I examined the stonework and found a likely spot to pry. When Avery came

back and handed me a pry bar I wedged it in the narrow crack and pulled back.
At first the stone wouldn’t give at all, but then Avery added his muscle and the
sound of stone grating on stone filled the crypt. The thick, rectangular block
bearing the name Blackford slowly moved outward. We stopped prying before we
pulled it far enough out to fall.

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141

“This is going to be heavy,” I said.
“Where’s Skye when you need him?” said Sean.
The three of us grabbed the slab and eased it down to the floor of the crypt,

leaving behind an opening about two-feet high and three-feet across.

“Let’s leave the other stones in place,” I said. “We can crawl through here eas-

ily enough.”

I checked the slabs above the opening, but they were still securely held in place

and weren’t likely to fall on us. I shined my flashlight into the darkness behind
the wall.

“There’s a passage,” I said.
“Now why doesn’t that surprise me?” asked Avery. “A secret passage in Gray-

moor. Who would’ve thought?”

The opening was a little above waist height, so I had to scramble through. I

helped Avery make it to the other side, then we both assisted Sean. We shined
our lights on the tunnel walls to reveal carefully laid stonework. The tunnel was
just over six-feet high, tall enough for us to stand without bending, but short
enough to make us fear banging our heads. The way was narrow, no more than
three-feet wide, and the floor was uneven, in contrast to the walls and arched
roof. I shined my flashlight down the tunnel, but could make out nothing but
another wall.

We went single file, me first, then Sean, and last Avery. I stepped down the

tunnel for several feet and then followed it as it turned a sharp right. Only a few
feet further on, the tunnel made a sharp left and then another right. Soon, cross
passages appeared and I no longer felt sure of the way.

“This is turning into a catacomb,” I said. “As much as I hate to say this, I

think we should turn back and get something to help us keep our way before pro-
ceeding.”

“Like what?” asked Avery. “Breadcrumbs?”
“Like a big ball of string. If we start wandering around down here and get lost

… Well, we might become permanent residents.”

“Graymoor already has more than enough ghosts,” said Sean.
Reluctantly, we turned back and made our way to the entrance. Sean and I

waited at the mouth of the tunnel while Avery ran to find some string. He
returned with a large spool and after affixing the end securely to the opening, we
retraced our steps, this time with Sean bringing up the rear, rolling out the string.
We soon found ourselves back where we’d stopped.

“Which way?” asked Avery.
“Straight ahead,” I said.

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142

“How can you be so sure?”
“Because he is beckoning me,” I said, pointing straight up the tunnel.
“I don’t see anything,” said Avery.
“I do. It’s the first boy who came to my bedroom.”
“A boy in your bedroom? I thought you were supposed to be straight,” said

Avery.

“Funny. Come on. He wants us to follow.”
I could see him clearly some fifteen feet down the tunnel as he turned and

walked away. He was wearing the same old-fashioned clothing he had on the
night he’d appeared to me. I followed him, my heart pounding.

The specter led us through a maze of tunnels. Without his guidance, we

would have surely lost our way. Without the string Sean was trailing behind us,
we would never have found our way back. We walked for what seemed like miles,
but the way the tunnels twisted and turned I wouldn’t have been surprised if the
entire catacomb actually fit under Graymoor itself. Here and there were small
rooms, some of them with pieces of furniture or chests. We did not stop to inves-
tigate, however, for we were nearing the end of our journey. We were close. I
knew it.

We stepped into a room larger by far than any we’d come across, and I knew

at a glance we’d reached our destination. Dozens of bodies lay all about in disar-
ray, twisted and turned upon each other as if they’d been unceremoniously
dumped there at death. Some hung from shackles or ropes from the ceiling and
walls as if in a medieval dungeon. I was hit with waves of torment and despair
that sent me to my knees. I cried out in pain.

“Marshall?”
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Avery.
Sean and Avery were calling out to me, but I heard them as if from a distance.

I opened my eyes, which I’d screwed tightly shut only moments before, to be
assailed by the dead. They were everywhere. Some were milling about as if lost,
others gazing at me or striding toward me with purpose. There were dozens of
them. My head swam, and I felt nauseated.

Too many voices spoke to me at once, so I could not understand them. My

body was assailed with pain that, while only phantom, felt all too real. I was feel-
ing the pain of the victims at the moment of their death. I cried out in agony, still
trying to focus on their words. My head swam, my heart pounded furiously in
my chest, and tears streamed from my eyes. The pain was so intense I couldn’t
bear it. I shrieked and writhed in torment.

“We’ve got to get him out of here,” cried out Sean in a panic.

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143

I felt myself lifted bodily off the floor and dragged down the tunnel. The pain

began to ease, and my head began to clear as the tormented thoughts and feelings
of the dozens of victims began to ebb from my mind. Before we’d reached the
crypt, I could walk on my own again, but we didn’t stop until we had left the pas-
sage behind, crawled through the wall, climbed the worn stone steps, and stood
once more at the top of the stairs leading down into the crypt.

“Are you all right?” asked Sean, his features filled with concern.
“I am now,” I said, shaking my head as if to clear it. “Or maybe not.”
I felt dizzy. My vision blacked out, and I swayed. Sean and Avery grabbed me

and led me to a seat in the nearby dining room. I sat there for several moments
while I slowly returned to normal.

“What happened down there?” asked Avery.
“Did you see them?”
“The bodies? Yes! Everywhere! Skeletons and corpses and …”
“No, not the bodies. The spirits of the dead,” I said.
“All we saw were dead bodies, and believe me, I don’t want to see them again,”

said Sean. “I’m going to have nightmares forever. It was bad enough having
corpses in coffins in the basement, but this …” Sean shuddered.

“I could see them,” I said, “dead boys and young men, everywhere. I could feel

what they felt when they died, and I could feel their ongoing torment. It over-
whelmed me.”

“You’re an empath,” said Sean.
“I can’t believe it. I saw it all—a hundred deaths and more. Some died by poi-

son, some were strangled, others hung. Some were tortured, some stabbed, and
some even burned. What kind of monster could do all that?” I held my hand over
my mouth, still nauseated from the images that had flashed in my mind.

“Mr. Graymoor,” said Sean.
“Yes, I saw him. I saw him through the eyes of his victims. He killed them. He

killed them all,” I said, tears flowing from my eyes. Even now that it had ebbed,
the pain was too much to bear. What had happened in this house and this com-
munity was unthinkable.

“He killed them down there while his family was living up here?” asked Avery.
“Some of them. Most were killed in other places and the bodies hidden here.

Some he killed before he was married, even when he was little more than a boy
himself. He lived in Graymoor when it was Blackford Manor. It was he who
started the additions, building out and up until virtually nothing of the old
manor house was visible. And all that time the murders went on. For decades he

Mark A. Roeder

144

killed them. Some he tormented, some he … No, I can’t say it. You don’t want
to know.”

I felt weak and unsteady. I was desperately cold and looked about fearfully,

but there was no sign of ghosts.

“Maybe you should see a doctor.” suggested Sean.
“No, I’m okay, really, or I will be. When we were down there, it just hit me:

all the grief and terror and pain. It was as if I lived all those lives at once. It was
their pain that assailed me, not my own. I’m better already.”

Sean and Avery looked at me with concern.
“You’re so pale,” said Avery.
“You would be, too, if you saw what I saw and felt what I felt. We’ve got to

release them. What they’re experiencing down there is hell.”

“You said they’re held there by Mr. Graymoor’s guilt?” asked Sean.
I’d explained everything to him. He knew what I knew.
“Yes, and that’s what truly doesn’t make sense. Spirits are trapped by their

own guilt, not by the guilt of others. At least that’s what I’ve always thought.”

“How could he even experience guilt if he went on tormenting and killing

from youth to old age?” asked Avery.

“I don’t understand that either. Perhaps he experienced remorse at the very

end, in the last moments of life. Who knows?”

“How did he get by with it?” asked Avery. “How did he commit all those mur-

ders without anyone ever catching on?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but in the memories that flashed in my mind down

there, each victim was brought to the chamber, either before or after death. Mr.
Graymoor left no bodies to be found.”

“But surely someone would have thought all the disappearances odd?” said

Sean.

“Perhaps they did, but who would have suspected Mr. Graymoor? The Gray-

moors were the wealthiest family in this part of the state. In my research, I found
out they were here from the beginning of Verona, even before there was a
Verona. At one time, there was nothing here, but Blackford Manor. Verona grew
as the house grew. Mr. Graymoor had to be cunning to lure all those boys and
young men to their deaths. Perhaps he had everyone fooled. None of that really
matters now, though. All that matters is freeing the souls trapped down there.”

“Can we do it?” asked Avery.
“I don’t know. How do we relieve the burden of guilt from a murderer who

has killed a village full of boys?”

The dining room was silent for quite a while, and then Sean spoke.

Mark A. Roeder

145

“I really, really hate to suggest this, but … a séance?”
“That may be our only hope, but even then I’m not sure … I’m in over my

head this time. I truly don’t know what to do.”

“Why not ask Mark and Taylor?”
“I’ll try, but you know how that goes.”
“Yeah, it’s so hard to find a good, cooperative angel these days,” said Sean.
“Things would be a whole lot easier if they could step in any time they

wanted,” I said. “That would solve all our problems.”

“Yeah, but life isn’t like that,” said Sean.
“I know.”
I felt despair closing in on me again, and this time it was my own. How was I

going to help all those lost souls? I wouldn’t experience a moment’s rest until I
could do so, and I didn’t even know how to begin.

- 146 -

Skye

The Evil Three were all hobbling along and limping like old men for days after
they jumped me. I wondered how many times I had to kick their asses before
they learned they couldn’t take me. I’d done them enough damage that the streets
of Verona would be a good deal safer until they recovered. I think Oliver could’ve
taken out any one of them in their current condition.

Their evil ally was still on the loose, however, and I doubted he was happy

with the turn of events. I’d scored one for the gay boys, and I doubted he’d be
able to swallow that. I hoped his anger would work in my favor. I couldn’t find
him, so I hoped he’d get ticked off enough to come after me. The Evil Three
believed he was enough of a bad ass to take me out, but I didn’t share their opin-
ion. I wasn’t about to let my guard down, however.

The low point of my week was Wednesday. That’s when none other than

Josh, my former best friend and Mom’s current boy toy and husband, sauntered
into Wahlberg’s. I would’ve been more pleased to see the Grim Reaper.

“What do you want?” I asked, none too friendly.
Oliver watched us from behind the counter. I’d told him about Josh and that

he’d recently come back to Verona with my mom. I had little doubt Oliver had
figured out who had just entered our shared place of employment. Oliver looked
edgy and a bit frightened. For a moment, an image of a skittish bartender hiding
behind the bar during a saloon fight flashed in my mind.

“I just want to talk, Skye.”
“We don’t have anything to talk about,” I said.
“We have plenty to talk about! We used to be friends!”

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147

“The key phrase is used to be!”
“I thought you were dealing with the relationship between Betsy and me

pretty well before we left.”

“You mean before you ran off with my mom? Before she sold my own home

out from under me without even consulting me? Before I had to move in with
my sister to avoid living on the streets?”

“Skye, don’t make it sound as if your mom left you homeless. She knew good

and well you could live with Janelle before she even started to sell the house.”

“You’re skating on thin ice, Josh. Don’t think I won’t clock you a good one

just because you’re married to my mother.”

“I don’t want to fight. Betsy and I are going to be living right here in Verona.

I think you and I should make some effort to get along.”

“Why?” I asked.
“For your mom’s sake, if nothing else.”
“For her sake? You’ve already played that card before, Josh, and then the two

of you abandoned me. You had your chance, and you blew it.”

“Skye, before Betsy and I left, you and I were trying to get along.”
“Before! Things have changed, Josh. After what Mom did to me I see no rea-

son to pretend you and I are getting along. I’m not even sure I want to have any-
thing to do with her, let alone you. One thing I’m certain about, though, is that
I’m not going to pretend I don’t hate your guts.”

“Skye, you know that what happened between your mom and me—”
“Save it, Josh. I don’t want to hear your explanations. I don’t want to hear

about how neither of you meant for it to happen. You were my best friend, and
you came between Mom and me. I was willing to try and make a go of it, but
then the two of you decided to abandon me. If you think you can come back here
and pretend like nothing happened, you’re sorely mistaken. Things have
changed, because you changed them.”

“But … you went out to dinner with us and—”
“That was nothing but a truce, Josh. Mom didn’t freak out when I told her I

was gay, so I agreed to have dinner with—”

“What?” asked Josh, interrupting me. “What did you just say? Did you just

say you’re gay?”

“Is there something wrong with your hearing? Yeah, that’s exactly what I

said.”

“You’re a fag?”

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Oliver’s eyes widened, and he drew in a sharp breath. He knew what was com-

ing even if Josh didn’t. I took two quick steps toward Josh and slugged him in the
jaw before he even had time to react.

“If you ever call me a fag again, I’ll kick the shit out of you,” I snarled. To be

honest, I hoped he would. I would’ve liked nothing better than to beat the crap
out of him.

Josh eyed me angrily while rubbing his jaw.
“I can’t believe you’re … gay,” he said, as if the words left a bad taste in his

mouth. He was just dying to say ‘faggot’ but he didn’t dare.

“That’s because you’re ignorant enough to believe all the bullshit lies spread

about gays. Like a whole lot of people, you’re too stupid to think for yourself.”

“Oh, God, this is nasty! We used to wrestle and—”
“Get off it, Josh. If you want to pretend I molested you when we were kids, go

ahead and have your sick little fantasy, but keep it to yourself. I don’t want to
hear about it. I know it’s not true, because I didn’t even know I was gay until
after you’d run off with my mom.”

“I suppose you blame me. I ran off with your mom, and it turned you queer.”
“No one is turned queer, dumb ass.”
“Betsy knows?”
“Yeah. I told her the day she returned to Verona.”
“What do you do, just go around announcing it with a loudspeaker?”
“She started asking me about girlfriends, so I told her I’m not interested in

girls.”

“I came here trying to make peace with you—trying to make you see reason—

but I don’t even know if I want you to be a part of my life. You’re disgusting.”

“If that’s your attitude, then you can just get the fuck out of here right now.’
“Fine,” said Josh. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the store.
“So,” I said, turning to Oliver. “What did you think of tonight’s perfor-

mance?”

“Josh is a jerk. I don’t know what your mom sees in him.”
“I don’t either. I thought she had better taste.”

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

“Next weekend?” I asked. “That’s only ten days away!”
I’d just returned from work and was sitting across the kitchen table from

Janelle. She’d already tucked Colin into bed.

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“It’s not going to be a big wedding, Skye, just Matthew and me, Mom and

Josh, you, and Matthew’s parents.”

“What about Dad?”
“I would invite him if I knew where he was, but there’s no way to reach him.”
“Don’t we just have the best parents?” I asked, sarcastically.
“Let’s not get into that.”
“Okay, but do you have to invite Mom’s boy toy?”
“Josh is her husband, Skye, and like it or not, he’s part of the family. I take it

you two aren’t getting along.”

“Not since he called me a fag and I punched him in the face.”
“When did this happen?” asked Janelle, upset, but not overly shocked.
“An hour or so ago.”
“Can you please try to get along with him during the wedding and the recep-

tion?”

“For you, Sis, anything. Can I kick his ass after the ceremony?”
“I would prefer you didn’t, and I’m sure Mom feels the same.”
“No promises, but I’ll try not to rearrange his face until at least the day after

the wedding. So … when is Matthew moving in?”

“This weekend.”
“I’m going to feel awkward about our new living arrangement.”
“Skye, we’ve discussed this. It’s going to be fine. Matthew likes you, and I

assure you he has no objections to you living with us.”

“I know, but it just seems … odd.”
“It will all work out, you’ll see, and just think, Matthew can mow the lawn

and take care of a lot of the things you’ve been doing around here. You won’t
have to help foot the bills anymore, either.”

“I feel like I should contribute something. I can’t just live in your house for

nothing.”

“Skye, you’re my brother, not a boarder. I truly appreciate how you’ve helped

out. I don’t know how I would have made it without you. Matthew and I will
have two incomes now, so things won’t be like they were. You need to be putting
away money for college, and I’m sure your car won’t last forever.”

“I can at least buy some groceries or something.”
“That will be great, but as of now, you no longer need to pay half the bills

around here.”

“Wow, I’m going to feel rich.”
Janelle laughed.
“Just don’t blow all your money on clothes. Start a savings account.”

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“Why would a guy as gorgeous as me need to spend a lot of money on clothes?

The less I wear, the better I look.”

“Your modesty astonishes me,” said Janelle, smiling.
“Hey, if you were me, you’d find it hard to be modest, too.”
Janelle rolled her eyes.
“Don’t forget, I remember when you were a skinny little kid.”
“Me? Skinny? Never! I was born buff.”
“Okay, you go on living in your little fantasy world if you want, Skye. Just

don’t ruin my wedding.”

“I’ll make sure it’s the happiest day of your life,” I said, getting up and giving

my big sis a kiss on the cheek. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a ton of home-
work to do.”

“Good night, Skye.”
“Good night.”
I was lucky to have such a great sister. When Mom abandoned me, I didn’t

even have to ask Janelle if I could live with her. She drove over to the house and
helped me pack my stuff, as if there was never any question about where I would
live. Now, she was getting married, and instead of tossing my butt out, she was
doing everything she could to make me feel welcome. I was glad I wouldn’t have
to move out, because it would have put a strain on my resources. To be honest, I
don’t know if I could have made it. My income from Wahlberg’s wasn’t that
great.

I was going to have a lot more money. Helping Janelle out with the bills had

taken just about everything I made. Now that money could go into my college
fund, which barely existed. It was only about fourteen months until graduation. I
had no idea how I was going to save up enough for college in so short of a time. I
was hoping for a scholarship, but that was by no means a certainty. Perhaps with
the assistance of financial aid, I could work my way through school.

I laughed to myself. I’d never been the worrying type, but my future was defi-

nitely uncertain. Even if I was the worrying sort, I’m sure my current situation
would have shoved my college concerns right out of the way. The possibility of a
gruesome death has the tendency to do that.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Mom wrangled me into a late supper on Friday night after work. I was less

than enthusiastic, but Mom said she wanted to discuss Janelle’s wedding, so it

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was hard to refuse. I considering turning her down anyway, but I agreed, since
her boy toy would not be joining us.

I met Mom at The Park’s Edge a little after nine. I was not looking forward to

our meeting, but at least the food would be good. I suspected Mom had picked
The Park’s Edge to lure me into agreeing to see her. She had to know things
weren’t cordial between Josh and me, and I hadn’t exactly been warm since her
return to Verona.

We began with an awkward silence, interrupted only by our waitress taking

our drink orders. I looked around for Troy, but didn’t spot him. We needed to
get together again. He was a good fuck. I needed to get with Jarret again soon,
too. It was so hard to work in all the sex I needed!

“I tried to talk your sister into a larger wedding, but she wouldn’t budge,”

began my mom.

“She doesn’t want a large wedding. She thinks it’s a waste of money, and I

agree.”

“I’d gladly pay for it,” said Mom.
“Well, give them a nice gift instead, or money for something they really need,

like a new furnace.”

“That’s not a very nice wedding present.”
“Janelle would appreciate that a lot more than some expensive dishes or some-

thing she would never use. Have their kitchen redone or something like that.”

“The house is something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What about it?” I asked.
We were interrupted by our waitress. I’d barely browsed the menu, but one

could not go wrong at The Park’s Edge. I ordered grilled salmon with garlic
mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, and yeast rolls. Mom went for the Mediter-
ranean Pasta. I’d tried it, and it was delicious, although the clam shells freaked me
out a bit. The pine nuts gave it a strong flavor, too, but I liked it on occasions.

“So what about the house?” I asked when our waitress had gone.
“Janelle will be starting a new life with a new husband. I think it’s time for you

to move out.”

“I have nowhere to go. Janelle and I have already discussed it, anyway. I’m liv-

ing with her until I finish high school.”

“Janelle needs to be alone with her new family. Matthew needs time to bond

with Colin. They need to be alone.”

“I don’t plan to interfere,” I said.
“I’m sure you don’t, but still, it would be much better if you were elsewhere.”
“Well, like I said, I have no place else to go.”

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“You can live with me again. I haven’t even told Janelle this yet, but I’m buy-

ing the old house back.”

“I have no desire to live with you and … Josh,” I said, using every ounce of

control at my disposal not to refer to Josh by one of the several vulgar names that
came to mind.

“Don’t be selfish, dear. Janelle needs time alone with her new family. You’ll

just be in the way. It will be much better for all concerned if you come live with
us.”

“New family? Hmm, Janelle has a new family, so do you, and so does Dad.

Who has been left out of this picture? Hmm, let me think.”

“You’re being difficult, dear.”
“I’m not being difficult. I’m being honest.”
“I only have your best interests in mind, Skye. Do you really think Janelle and

Matthew want you there?”

“Yes, I do, unlike others I could name.”
“What do you mean by that, Skye?”
“You know exactly what I mean. You obviously didn’t want me when I was

fifteen. You abandoned me.”

“I didn’t abandon you.”
“Oh, yes, you did! You sold the house right out from underneath me and ran

off with your boy toy!”

“Skye, please keep your voice down.”
“Why, Mom? Everyone knows what you did. There are no secrets in Verona.

Everyone knows everyone else’s business. Don’t you dare say you didn’t abandon
me! I was willing to go with the flow after I found you and Josh in bed together. I
knew how lonely you’d been since Dad left, and I knew how much he hurt you. I
made nice with Josh even though I would’ve rather beaten his face in, and what
did I get? Nothing! Less than nothing! You decided you wanted to be with him
more than me. You abandoned your own son to go off with a kid half your age!
You abandoned Janelle and me just like Dad abandoned all of us. You knew how
much it would hurt us, and you went right ahead and did it. You were selfish
then, and you’re selfish now. You want me to come back and live with you so you
can pretend everything is just fine. Well, it’s not fine, Mom! I spent the last two
years and more wondering why my mom didn’t want me. You’ve been gone so
long Colin even forgot he had a grandmother. You did something to me that no
one else has ever been able to do: you hurt me.”

Mom looked stricken, and I felt a compulsion to tell her I was sorry and that

everything would be okay. Just then I remembered her as she was before Dad ran

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away. I never dreamed she could change so much, but maybe I’d just been naïve
all those years.

“I can’t change the past,” said Mom.
“No, you can’t, and it’s a damned shame.”
“I didn’t leave because I didn’t want you, Skye.”
“Well, it sure the hell felt like it.”
“I wanted you then, and I want you now. We can be a family again, Skye.”
“With Josh as my dad? I don’t think so.”
“Josh cares about you, too.”
“Bullshit! Josh hates my guts. He made that abundantly clear earlier this week

when he found out I’m gay.”

“What are you talking about?”
“He didn’t tell you he came to Wahlberg’s? He didn’t tell you he called me a

fag, or that I slugged him in the face?”

“You what?”
“You heard me.”
“Skye, I don’t understand.”
“Mom, you need to wake up to reality. I don’t know what kind of dream

world you’re living in, but the real world isn’t like you want it to be at all.”

“Skye, you may think you’re a man, but you’re seventeen and my responsibil-

ity.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that if I want you to live with me, you’re legally required to do so.”
“You want to force me to live with you? What are you going to do? Call the

cops, have them handcuff me, and drag me to your house?”

“Don’t be silly, Skye.”
“Well, that’s what it’s going to take, Mom. You can try to legally force me to

live with you if you want, but I’ll fight it every step of the way. You’d better put
some bars and an iron door on my bedroom, because you’re going to have to
keep me locked in if you want me to stay. Keep in mind, I turn eighteen in June,
and once that happens, you have no control over me at all.”

“You’re giving me a headache, Skye,” said Mom, rubbing her temples.
“The sooner you give up on this idea of me living with you the better. It’s not

going to happen, and you wouldn’t like it anyway. Josh would hate it, just as he
hates me. I’d only end up kicking his ass, and I don’t think you want that. It’s
been a lovely evening, Mom, but I’m not hungry anymore. Good night.”

I threw down my napkin and walked away from the table. I could hear Mom

crying, but I didn’t turn around. I did not enjoy hurting her, but I wasn’t going

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to take part in some fantasy in which we all lived happily ever after when I knew
it wasn’t real. The sooner Mom faced the reality of the situation, the better it
would be for all of us.

I stopped at the pay phone located right outside the restaurant and asked Jar-

ret to meet me at my place. He was available and more than up for some intense
sex. I had a shit-load of stress that needed relief, and Jarret was just the ticket. I
started to walk away from the phone, but then turned around and called Troy.

“Hey, it’s Skye,” I said when he answered. “You busy? Think you’d be up for a

three-way?”

I grinned as he fairly moaned his willingness to participate. In an hour, my

stress would be a thing of the past.

- 155 -

Sean

On Friday night, Nick and I double-dated with Oliver and Clay. Skye had kicked
the crap out of the Evil Three, but their hidden ally was still lurking about, and
there was safety in numbers. Even if our lives weren’t in danger, we would’ve
double-dated anyway, just for fun.

On our way to Ofarim’s we ran into Marshall and his girlfriend, Kate, and

they decided to join us. Marshall suggested we try out the new pizza place that
had opened up earlier in the week, since Ofarim’s didn’t have a booth big enough
for six. Of course, there was no guarantee that the pizza place would, either, but
as it was located in what had once been a car dealership, we figured the chances
were good it could accommodate us.

Everyone in town had watched with interest as the old McCord Auto Sales

building was refurbished as Mama’s Pizza. Word on the street was that it had the
best pizza for miles around. As we drew near I could see a line extending outside.
I nearly stopped and suggested we go back to Ofarim’s, but it’s not as if we were
in a hurry, and we could talk while waiting just as easily as we could anywhere
else. February had turned to March, and with the new month had come warmer
temperatures, so we would be comfortable enough as we waited in line.

I raised an eyebrow when I spotted Zoë and my cousin Avery standing in line

not far in front of us. Zoë saw our group and pulled Avery back toward us. Were
Zoë and Avery dating? If so, it was news to me.

“Sean! How are you?” asked Zoë, hugging me as if she hadn’t seen me for

weeks.

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156

“About the same as I was when we last spoke three hours ago,” I said, hugging

her back.

I looked questioningly at Avery.
“We ran into each other,” said my cousin. “We both wanted to try this place

out so …”

“Oh, come on Avery, don’t be shy,” said Zoë. “Go on and tell them we’ve

been secretly dating for months.”

“Yeah, right!” I said. “You might’ve gotten me to believe that if you didn’t

mention Avery being shy. He’s anything but shy!”

“Anyway,” said Zoë, “neither of us felt like eating alone, and now you’re all

here! This is great!”

The line moved quickly, and in only about fifteen minutes we were all seated

around a huge corner booth. I had the weirdest feeling I’d been in Mama’s
before, but that just wasn’t possible, as it had only opened on Tuesday. I liked it
in any case. It was done up in reds—red carpet, red & white checked table
clothes, red candles, and even red globes on the hanging lamps over the tables. It
was kind of dark inside, and it seemed just right for a pizza place, as did the heav-
enly scent of oregano and basil. If there was anything to the scent in the air, the
pizza would definitely be delicious.

“So what does everyone like?” asked Zoë. “Or perhaps I should just ask what

everyone doesn’t like.”

“No, anchovies,” said Avery, “other than that I’m up for just about anything.”
“Eww, anchovies are so gross,” said Nick. “Sean and I tried them on a pizza

once. We didn’t know if we would like them, so we just had them put on about a
third of the pizza. They were so strong they contaminated the whole thing, and
the smell! Yuck!”

“Okay, no anchovies, then,” said Zoë.
“What’s everyone think about Hawaiian pizza?” I asked after browsing the

menu.

“Is it good?” asked Clay.
“No, it tastes like crap; that’s why I wanted everyone to have some,” I said,

laughing. “I don’t know what it tastes like, but it’s on the menu and sounds inter-
esting.”

“I don’t know—pineapple on a pizza?” asked Kate, also looking at the menu.
“Skye told me he loves Hawaiian omelets, and they have pineapple,” said

Oliver. “Maybe they would be good on pizza, too.”

“Where is Skye?” asked Nick. “If we’d known we were all getting together, we

could have invited him.”

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157

“He’s probably out kicking butt,” said Oliver, “or seducing some unsuspect-

ing college boy.”

“Or both,” said Marshall. “He is good at multitasking.”
“He is a busy boy,” said Zoë. “Okay, how about a large Hawaiian and a large

pepperoni? Everyone likes pepperoni.”

“Yeah, and maybe breadsticks. They’re supposed to be really good here,” said

Avery.

“Sounds good,” I said. “If two pizzas aren’t enough, we can order a third

later.”

Zoë looked around the table, and everyone nodded their agreement.
When our waiter arrived mere moments later, it was none other than Noah

Cummings. He grinned when he saw us.

“Wow, almost the whole gang is here,” he said.
“Yeah, this started out as a double-date, and we kept picking up more people

along the way,” I said.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” said Oliver.
“Yeah, I just started. Well, everyone just started. The pay is pretty good, and

the owner is really nice.”

“We’ll try not to give you a hard time,” said Zoë.
“I can take it.”
Noah smiled again. He seemed more relaxed than he did at the gay-youth

meetings. Perhaps he was just getting more comfortable around us. I made a
mental note to invite him to join us for some future group activity. He would be
safer sticking more with us in any case. I knew Skye was keeping watch over
Noah whenever he could, but with a psycho killer on the loose, it paid to play it
safe.

“So, what can I get everyone to drink?” asked Noah.
Noah listened as each of us told him what we wanted, but didn’t write it

down.

“Are you ready to order or would you like to wait?”
“We’re ready now,” said Zoë and proceeded to order our pizzas and bread-

sticks.

“Don’t you need to write this down?” asked Oliver.
“No, I have a photographic memory. I see words in my head.”
“No wonder you win the spelling bee every year!” said Oliver. “Must be nice!”
“It has its advantages,” said Noah. “I’ll get this right in.”
“Isn’t it strange how everyone has some special talent?” said Zoë.
“I don’t think I have one,” I said.

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“Oh, I could name a couple,” said Nick, arching his eyebrows.
“Ohhhhh!” said half the table, causing me to turn completely red.
“Why don’t you demonstrate one of those talents for us right now?” said

Avery mischievously.

If I’d been bolder, I would’ve come back him with a smart comment about

how he wouldn’t want to see that, but I was far too embarrassed. My face felt
absolutely hot. I’m sure I was red as a beet, but with the red lighting, I doubted
anyone could tell.

“Sorry, Avery, those talents are reserved only for me,” said Nick, leaning over

to kiss my cheek. I grinned.

“Lucky boy,” said Kate.
I glanced at Kate. I didn’t know her well, but I was a bit surprised she was so

accepting. Maybe she got it from dating Marshall. He was a hetero, yet he hung
out with us gay guys all the time.

We talked and laughed and forgot all about our troubles as we sat in Mama’s.

It was as if the outside world didn’t even exist. I sat so close to Nick we were
pressed up against each other, and one of us had his arm around the other’s
shoulders more often than not. I just laid my head on Nick’s shoulder for a while
and listened to the others talk. Zoë caught my eye and smiled at me. I grinned
back. I don’t know if I’d ever been so happy as I was at that moment.

“This is awesome!” said Clay when he tried the Hawaiian pizza. “Who

would’ve thought?”

“Excuse me!” I said. “That would be me!”
I quickly decided that Hawaiian pizza was one of my new favorites.
“We should try the barbeque-chicken pizza sometime,” I said. “I know it

sounds a little odd, but I had it at The Park’s Edge once, and it was great.”

“I saw that on the menu,” said Oliver. “I don’t know about a pizza that has

corn on it.”

“Oh, it’s really good,” I said. “I know chicken and corn don’t sound like good

pizza toppings, but you’d be surprised.”

“I’m up for trying it,” said Clay. “I had my doubts about pineapple, and this is

awesome!”

We lingered in Mama’s because we were all having such a good time. Some-

one was even playing some Phantom songs on the jukebox. Nick swung his legs,
and I thought he was going to start dancing right in his seat. He was a HUGE
Phantom fan.

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159

We left Noah a really big tip and then broke up into groups. Nick, Oliver,

Clay, and I decided to head for the park to hang out and watch the stars for a bit.
Marshall and Kate went on their way.

“Hey, would you two like to come with us to the park?” I asked Zoë and

Avery.

“Well, if Zoë doesn’t mind, I thought I might walk her home,” said Avery

looking just a touch shy.

Zoë smiled at him.
“I’d like that.”
Nick, Oliver, Clay, and I watched as they walked away.
“I think we may have witnessed the beginning of a new romance,” said Nick.

“Avery just acted a bit shy and that’s not at all like him.”

“I think everyone is pairing up,” I said.
“Except Skye, of course,” said Oliver.
“Yeah, he’s too busy seducing every hot boy in town,” I said with a giggle.
“Has he tried to seduce you yet?” asked Nick.
“I said every hot boy.”
“You’re hot,” said Nick. “You just don’t know it.” I pulled him close and

kissed him.

“Come on,” said Oliver. “Let’s walk to the park.”
We strolled down the sidewalk about fifty feet back from Zoë and Avery. It

was too dark to make out much, but they were walking so close together, they
must have been touching. Most of my attention was focused on Nick as he
walked by my side. I drank in the scent of his cologne and the very scent of Nick
himself. I felt so calm and relaxed by his side.

The stars were shining down through the limbs of the trees, making them look

silvery—or perhaps it was the moonlight. It was just a touch spooky under the
archway of trees, but comfortable and cozy, too. Once we reached the park, the
view would open up. There were plenty of trees there, too, but there were also
wide-open spaces where one could lie back and gaze at the stars. I wished we’d
brought a blanket to do just that, but there would be other nights.

I became lost in my own thoughts as I walked beside Nick, with Oliver and

Clay just behind us. No one was speaking, and I nuzzled against Nick’s neck.
Sometimes I just liked to touch him and be near him. His mere presence made
me happy.

The tranquility and silence of the moment were shattered as Zoë screamed.

There was no mistaking her voice even many yards away. She and Avery had

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already entered the park. Nick, Oliver, Clay, and I shot toward Zoë’s screams at
top speed. I was suddenly grateful she was with Avery.

Even before we could draw near, I saw the unmistakable form of Skye fly

across the street toward the noise. Even in my terror-stricken state, I felt a good
deal better with Skye on the scene. In moments we caught up with Zoë. Her head
was buried in Avery’s chest, and he held her and tried to comfort her. There, only
a few feet away, was the still form of a boy, staring sightless at the stars, his mouth
open in a silent scream.

“It’s Alex Allerbrook,” said Skye, staring down at the unmoving body.
Skye leaned down and checked his heartbeat and pulse and then looked back

up at us.

“He’s dead.”
I stood there in a state of shock as more and more people arrived on the scene.

Attracted by the commotion, strangers and friends were pouring out of Ofarim’s,
The Park’s Edge, and surrounding homes. Someone shined a flashlight on Alex’s
corpse. He looked blue.

“It looks like he was strangled,” said Skye. “Look at the marks on his neck.”
The cops arrived in moments, no doubt called by someone, and pushed every-

one back. I’d seen more than enough already. I didn’t even listen as Zoë told the
cops about discovering the body. My mind was too filled with questions. All
along I’d feared for the lives of my friends, but now another of the Evil Four had
been murdered. Someone was killing the straight boys of Verona, and I had no
idea why.

- 161 -

Marshall

I buried myself in research, determined to get to the bottom of things. With the
help of the spirits of murdered boys, Sean, Avery, and I had uncovered Gray-
moor’s disturbing secret. Kenneth Graymoor, upstanding citizen and virtual
founder of Verona, had been a serial killer long before the term even existed.
He’d killed dozens, perhaps hundreds of young men and boys in his lifetime, hid-
ing his true nature until the fateful night when he murdered his own family with
an ax.

I dug into the oldest newspapers in the Verona Public Library. Some of the

papers dated as far back as the late 1840s. I skimmed one issue after another,
working my way up in time. As I did so, a disturbing pattern emerged. First one
and then another missing-person report appeared in the small town paper. Blame
was laid for the earliest disappearances on Native Americans, which was unlikely
because most of them had been driven out. Their lands had been stolen by
treaty—an entire people forced away on the Trail of Death at gunpoint. I knew
some had returned, and I knew just as well that they had nothing to do with
those who went missing.

In the 1850s, a peculiar legend arose. I was surprised I had not heard of it

before, as such stories tended to perpetuate themselves. It was in the 1850s that
the number of disappearances increased, and blame was laid on a headless horse-
man. The accounts related in the Verona Citizen, known as the Verona Herald
back then, read like something plagiarized from Washington Irving. I had no idea
how the legend got started, but I suspected that once it took hold Mr. Graymoor
made good use of it. There were even disturbing accounts of severed heads being

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162

found—all that was left behind by the horseman. It had been a long time since
I’d read The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, but I believed in that tale it was the heads
that were taken and the bodies left behind. A part of me wanted to search the
secret crypt for headless corpses, but only great need would drive me to that hor-
rible place again.

I shivered when I thought about what I’d seen in the hidden crypt and what

I’d felt there. It was as if I’d experienced the pain and terror of a hundred deaths.
I felt myself beheaded, gutted, strangled, poisoned, bashed, hanged, and stabbed.
I felt the terror of knowing what was about to happen, knowing there was no
escape. What I’d experienced down in the crypt was unlike anything I’d ever felt
before. My ability to sense the spirits of the dead had been growing, but my
encounters were nothing like what I’d experienced when I came in direct contact
with so many of Mr. Graymoor’s victims. I’d felt as if I was under attack, yet I
knew I was not. I was feeling what they’d felt, and it was a torment and terror I’d
never experienced before. I did not fear the dead, but I would not willingly repeat
my experience in the long-forgotten tomb.

Even as I sat before the microfilm machine, I could see the ghost of an elderly

librarian wearing spectacles. I rested my mind for a few moments by watching her
as she floated from shelf to shelf, organizing books as if she was still alive. The old
lady looked as real to me as the current librarian, but her Edwardian dress told
me she was from another time. She looked at me, smiled, and nodded. I smiled
back. She knew I could see her. She knew I could look into her world as few oth-
ers could. Even as I sat there the specter of an old farmer from some distant time
wandered around the corner, browsing the shelves, looking slightly lost, as if out
of his element. Was he seeking a book to read on quiet evenings at home, or did
he date from some earlier time when his farm stood upon this spot?

Despite the terror and agony I’d experienced in Graymoor, I reveled in my

new found ability to see the dead. As a young boy, I’d hoped and dreamed that I
would someday see a real ghost. Had I known then the abilities I would have only
a few years hence, I would have trembled with excitement.

It was odd how I felt so at home with ghosts, how they seemed like friends. Of

course, not all specters were friendly, but then not all people were either. All in
all, I found the living far more dangerous, which is why I was content to work on
my other-worldly mystery while Skye puzzled out the dilemma based in the phys-
ical world.

I returned to my research. There were long spaces of time in Verona’s past

when nothing at all out of the ordinary occurred. Tales of the headless horseman
grew fewer and fewer until it was nothing more than a Halloween story for Octo-

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163

ber issues. As time passed, fewer and fewer apparently believed in the horseman,
until he passed out of mind completely. For my part, I didn’t believe he’d ever
existed at all. If he had, he would no doubt have popped up from time to time,
unless his soul was set at peace. I’d probably never know for sure if he ever really
existed, but he seemed such a copy of Washington Irving’s work that I found it
hard to believe in him.

There were accounts in the paper of those who left on trips never to return

and were believed lost in some faraway land. I wondered if Mr. Graymoor took
advantage of travelers, grabbing them just before or after they departed so that
their disappearance could be blamed on circumstances far away. It was all conjec-
ture, of course, but he had been clever enough to get away with dozens of mur-
ders. Had he not killed his own family he could well have died a beloved and
honored citizen of Verona. No one would ever have guessed what a monster
lurked within the walls of the old mansion.

I wondered what had driven Mr. Graymoor to kill his own family and then

allow himself to get caught. I knew that the discovery of the relationship between
Edward and William enraged him to the point of murder, but surely he could
have killed them secretly as he’d done with so many others. Why did he suddenly
become reckless? Had he truly lost his mind at last?

The secret crypt must have been sealed sometime before the infamous Gray-

moor ax murderers. Had Mr. Graymoor made a conscious choice to end his reign
of terror only to discover he could not resist? Had his own family paid the price?
Graymoor Mansion had revealed some of its secrets, but I very much feared that
many of my questions would forever go unanswered.

My time in the library only confirmed what I already knew: dozens had disap-

peared without a trace over the years. I had little doubt that most, if not all, the
missing boys lay in the secret crypt under Graymoor. The horrors that were car-
ried out there were behind all the evil in that house. If I could only banish it, per-
haps Graymoor could at last be a place filled with happiness instead of terror.

There was only one way I was going to get to the bottom of this—only one

way I could discover why Mr. Graymoor’s guilt bound his victims to earth. Nor-
mally, I would have been enthusiastic about a séance, but I had felt such a pres-
ence of evil in the crypt that I feared contact. I could only hope that if things
went bad, Mark and Taylor would save us.

- 164 -

Skye

Jeremy and Ben eyed me in the hallway before first period on Monday morning,
but they looked more frightened than vengeful. No doubt they believed I’d offed
Alex, but I had an ironclad alibi this time. The cops said that Alex probably
hadn’t been dead fifteen minutes before Zoë discovered the body. I’d been in The
Park’s Edge with Mom then, and because of our heated argument, I’m sure there
were plenty of witnesses who would remember it. I’d called first Jarret and then
Troy just after leaving the restaurant. In fact, I’d just hung up after talking to
Troy when I heard Zoë’s scream. There was no way I would’ve had time to kill
Alex.

I paused for a moment and grinned when I thought of the three-way with Jar-

ret and Troy. Damn, that was hot! I’d tell you what we did that night, but I’m
almost sure you couldn’t handle it, so I’ll just leave it to your imagination.

I didn’t let my mind linger on my sexual exploits. As they had most of the

weekend, my thoughts were drawn to the murders. The Evil Four were now
down to the Evil Two, and that couldn’t be a coincidence. Well, I guess it could
be, but it didn’t seem likely. I’d kept on guard to protect my friends, but instead
my enemies were falling one by one. I was doubly glad to have such a strong alibi
this time, because I’m sure suspicion would’ve been cast upon me. The sheriff
had already paid me a visit, and I was delighted to tell him where I’d been at the
time of the murder.

I wondered who had in it for Alex. Well, I knew who: the exact same group of

us who shed no tears over Glen’s death. Thinking it over again wouldn’t help. I
was almost certain that none of the obvious suspects could have done it. Alex had

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165

been strangled by someone powerful enough to cut off his air by squeezing his
throat. There was no way Oliver or Clay could’ve managed it. They didn’t have
that kind of strength in their hands. For that matter, no one in my circle of
friends was strong enough to do something like that, except for me. Unlike the
last time when one of the Evil Four was iced, just about all my friends had an
alibi. Only the older gay crowd, Ethan, Nathan, Brendan, and Casper might have
had the opportunity to kill Alex. Any one of them had the strength to do it and
possibly the motive, too. Unlike Glen, Alex wasn’t involved in beating Nick, but
each of the Evil Four was a danger to us all. If Coach Brewer, Casper, Ethan, or
Nathan was the murderer, the motive was clear.

It wasn’t until nearly lunchtime that I remembered the note I’d received in my

locker, the one that said I didn’t need to worry because my enemies would soon
be eradicated. At the time I’d dismissed the note as a pathetic ploy by the Evil
Four to get me to back off, but now two of them were dead. It did indeed seem
that someone was eradicating my enemies one by one.

I began to wonder a great deal about the note. It seemed an obvious clue. The

trouble was it didn’t help much. I’d received the note at school, but that meant
nothing. The note could’ve been written by any student or staff member. V.H.S.
was hardly a fortress either. Anyone from the community, or even a stranger,
could have easily walked in off the street to slip the note in my locker. I paused.
Whoever left the note knew which locker was mine. That didn’t really help
either, though; my locker number was hardly classified.

My secret ally could have been almost anyone. Circumstances pointed toward

the older gay crowd in Verona, but I didn’t seriously suspect them any more than
I did my friends. None of them seemed capable of murder. Then again, whenever
a serial killer was apprehended, there was always some neighbor of the murderer
on TV talking about how normal he seemed and what a nice guy he’d been. Who
knew?

I decided my best course of action was to just quit thinking about it. I was no

detective, and what did I really care? Seriously, if someone was killing the gay
bashers in Verona, it was good riddance as far as I was concerned. It’s not the way
I would’ve handled the situation, and I didn’t approve of murder, but I sure
wasn’t going to waste my time trying to protect the very guys who made life mis-
erable for gay boys. My mission in life was to protect the downtrodden. I would
continue to follow my destiny and let the cops solve the crimes.

The murder of Alex Allerbrook was the talk of the school, of course. Jeremy

didn’t march over to my table and accuse me of the murder to my face this time.
When my eyes met his, he looked pale and frightened. That actually worried me

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166

more than his previous in-your-face attitude. He was running scared and was
therefore dangerous. No doubt he still believed I’d killed Glen and now Alex.
That could lead him to only one conclusion: he and Ben were next. What desper-
ate act might he resort to in order to save himself? I would have to watch over my
charges like a hawk.

Monday turned out to be quite an eventful day. When I thought my day was

beginning to draw to a close, it was truly only beginning. The first excitement
came when I walked out the back entrance of the school to find Josh standing
there waiting on me. I didn’t know what he thought he was doing, but he
stomped up to me as if intent on kicking my ass. I noted Jeremy and Ben stand-
ing near, taking in the scene, and an illogical suspicion flashed in my mind. I dis-
missed it quickly, however, as being ridiculous. Josh was a jerk, but he was not in
league with my enemies.

“I hope you’re happy! You made Betsy cry! How could you tell your own

mother you don’t want to have anything to do with her?”

Great, just what I needed—a drama concerning my private life played out in

front of my friends and enemies. I was sure Jeremy and Ben were eating it up.

“I didn’t say anything like that to her. I told her I didn’t want to come and live

with the two of you.”

“Why are you so against us, Skye?”
“I’m not against you. The two of you can live your lives as you see fit, but I’m

not about to pretend I’m happy about the situation.”

“You mom just wants what’s best for you.”
“Bullshit! What my mom wants is to pretend she didn’t abandon me when I

was fifteen years old!”

Jeremy and Ben had actually stepped closer. They were getting quite an earful.

I turned to tell them to get lost, and Josh sucker punched me in the abs. I wasn’t
quite ready for it and doubled over for a moment. I straightened and cocked my
arm back to deck Josh, but Jeremy took advantage of the situation, grabbed my
arm, and pulled me off balance. All three of them jumped on me and I took two
punches to the face and another to the gut before I was able to retaliate.

My adversaries didn’t fare so well after that. Their element of surprise was

gone, and both Jeremy and Ben were still suffering from the effects of their last
ass-kicking. I punched Jeremy square in the face as he tried to get a grip on me to
hold me down. I jumped up, swept Ben’s legs out from under him, and then
punched my former best friend right in the teeth. The last bit wasn’t my brightest
move ever, but Josh’s lips protected my knuckles. He bent over with blood pour-
ing out of his mouth.

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167

I’ll say one thing for Josh: instead of backing off to nurse his wounds, he came

back at me with everything he had. I wasn’t expecting it, and he popped me a
good one in the jaw before I could block it. I rewarded his efforts with two quick
punches to the abs, and he fell to his knees, clutching his stomach. Jeremy kicked
me in the ribs, and Ben hurled himself at me and knocked me down. Before I
could get back up, he kneed me right in the nuts. If you’ve ever been hit in the
balls, you know the kind of pain I’m talking about. If you haven’t, just pray you
never experience it for yourself. Enraged by his cheap shot, I grabbed the front of
Ben’s shirt, pulled him down on top of me, and then rolled so that I was on top.
Three quick punches to the face took the fight out of him.

Jeremy used the opportunity to aim a kick at my head, the lousy bastard. I

knew he’d try something, so I was ready. I ducked his kick, grabbed his foot, and
twisted it. I was rewarded with a scream from Jeremy.

I stood, panting slightly, and then leaned over on my knees, wishing for an ice

pack or something to put on my balls. Mrs. Kafka came hurrying from the park-
ing lot where she was on duty. A couple of girls spoke to her before she made it to
the scene, no doubt telling her I’d been attacked, because she made no effort to
detain me as I walked away. She grabbed both Jeremy and Ben, however, and
pulled them toward the principal’s office. Jeremy limped and grimaced, but it
looked as if I hadn’t broken his leg. What a pity. Josh crawled to his feet and
scurried off, probably afraid the school would call the cops on him because he
wasn’t a student. I ignored the looks from the other students as I walked to my
car. I was accustomed to an audience when I kicked ass, so it was nothing new to
me.

Monday’s excitement was far from over. After work, I drove Oliver the short

distance to his house and watched to make sure he made it inside safely before I
took off. I turned toward my own home and was halfway there when Noah Cum-
mings darted into the path of my car. I didn’t even see him until the headlights
hit him. I slammed on my brakes, and the tires squealed. I shoved the car in park
and jumped out.

“Are you out of your mind?” I yelled. “I came within an inch of running you

down!”

Noah ran straight for me, frightened out of his wits, but not by nearly becom-

ing a hood ornament for the Skyemobile.

“I saw him, that guy. He was after me!”
“What guy?”
“The crazy one! The one you warned me about!”
“Where? When?”

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168

“Just now. Ben Tyler spotted me, and I ran, and that guy was there, too! It was

just a couple of blocks over!”

“Get in the car,” I ordered.
I quickly drove to the spot where Noah had spotted Ben and the mystery psy-

cho man, but there was no sign of them. I considering getting out and searching
the area, but I didn’t want to leave Noah alone in the car, and I was sure they
were long gone anyway.

“What were you doing out by yourself?” I asked Noah angrily after it became

apparent that his attackers had disappeared.

“I was just over at my friend Andy’s. It’s not far from where I live.”
“I ought to kick your ass,” I said. “How could you be so stupid? Do you want

to end up dead? Do you?”

“I’m sorry,” said Noah, beginning to snivel.
“Dammit, Noah! This isn’t a game. These guys are playing for keeps. You saw

Nick when he was in the hospital. He still hasn’t fully recovered. Do you want
those guys to do to you what they did to him?”

“No,” said Noah, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Listen, I’m sorry, okay, but you can’t take chances. I don’t care how near

your friends live. You don’t go see any of them alone. Don’t even step outside
unless someone is with you. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”
I smiled to myself at Noah’s use of ‘sir,’ but said nothing.
“I guess you hate me now,” said Noah.
“I don’t hate you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
Noah nodded.
“Okay, I’m going to drive you home now. From now on don’t go anywhere

alone. If I catch you outside by yourself, I’ll kick your butt. Got it?”

“I got it.”
“Good.”
I dropped Noah off and watched to make sure he made it inside safely, just as

I’d done with Oliver. Sometimes I felt like a babysitter. Damn kids.

It had been only a few hours since Ben, Jeremy, and Josh had attacked me. I

wondered what Ben was doing out so soon after getting his ass kicked. I was sure
he was in no shape to fight. Still, he was a danger to a naïve kid like Noah.

I was far more concerned about Ben’s companion. This was the first sighting

of the elusive Chip. I’d borne the faintest hope that the gay-hating psychopath
was nothing more than a bogey man dreamed up by the Evil Four to scare me,
but all along I’d believed he really existed, and now I had proof. I spent the next

Mark A. Roeder

169

hour driving around hoping to spot him, even though I knew it was extremely
unlikely. I was anxious to confront him. Somehow I knew that everything would
come to a head when we stood face to face at last.

All the excitement Monday had to give was used up, however. I gave up the

search and headed for home. Once there, I wearily turned to my homework. It
was difficult to study when I knew he was out there somewhere, wandering the
streets. I was restless. I wished I could have kept up the search without rest or
sleep until I found him. Perhaps I was being overly influenced by my love of
comic-book heroes, but I’d come to think of Chip as my nemesis. Whoever heard
of a nemesis named Chip, though? How weak was that? Real life was never as
cool as a comic book.

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

I stood by Matthew’s side in the living room as his Best Man. Mom stood by

Janelle as her Matron of Honor, which I found ironic in the extreme. Matthew’s
parents stood near, beaming. Colin sat on the couch with Josh.

Janelle wasn’t kidding when she’d said hers would be a small wedding with

only the briefest of ceremonies. Mom had thrown a fit over it and had tried to lay
a big guilt trip on Janelle. She went on and on about how she’d dreamed of her
daughter’s wedding since Janelle was a toddler. Mom offered to pay all the
expenses of a big wedding, but Janelle turned her down. Janelle politely but
firmly told Mom that she’d already made her decision, and a simple ceremony is
what she and Matthew wanted. I hoped Mom remembered what I’d told her
about giving Janelle and Matthew money for something they could really use.

Janelle confided in me that she believed that something as important as a wed-

ding shouldn’t be turned into a show. Far too many people made a big produc-
tion out of their weddings to show off their wealth to others, whether or not they
possessed it. She wanted to focus on what was important: the commitment she
and Matthew were making to each other. As far as Janelle was concerned, the
only official recognition she needed was from God.

I wasn’t the dating type, let alone the marrying type, but I knew I’d remember

Janelle’s words if I ever did want to commit to someone as Janelle and Matthew
were committing to each other. If that time ever came, the only recognition I
would need was from God, too. The conservative Christians could raise as big a
stink over gay marriage as they wanted, but whether or not gay marriage was
legally recognized was irrelevant. Sure, one could not get tax breaks and all that
crap without legal recognition, but that’s not what’s important about marriage.

Mark A. Roeder

170

Even I knew that. It was sad that so few others seemed to understand. I’d always
found it funny that so many heterosexuals made such a big fuss over gay mar-
riage. All that nonsense about “protecting the sanctity of marriage” was pure
bullshit. If they were serious about protecting the sanctity of marriage, then they
would take their marriage vows more seriously and not get divorced at the drop
of a hat.

I was far from the sentimental sort, but I found Janelle’s and Matthew’s vows

touching. They didn’t promise to “love, honor, and cherish” each other—words
repeated without meaning or feeling by so many. Instead, Matthew simply gazed
into Janelle’s eyes and said: “I love you and I will spend my life with you and my
new son, Colin.” Janelle smiled at him and said: “I’ve waited for you all my life,
and I will love you and be at your side until my dying day.” It was so simple, but
filled with such meaning. Theirs were no mindless passages, but simple commu-
nications from the heart. The preacher pronounced them married, Matthew
kissed Janelle, and that was that.

Right after the ceremony, we all set out for The Park’s Edge for the wedding

dinner. Janelle made two concessions to Mom—the dinner and the huge wed-
ding cake that sat on the counter in our kitchen.

Returning to The Park’s Edge so soon after my argument with Mom felt like

returning to the scene of a crime. I’d been waiting for Mom to say something
about our argument, but so far she hadn’t mentioned it or the fact that I’d kicked
Josh’s butt. We’d spoken little, but our few words were cordial enough. I was still
steamed, but I wasn’t about to ruin Janelle’s wedding day.

I seated myself between Matthew and Colin, and Janelle sat directly across

from me. Together, they formed a sort of buffer zone. Janelle knew Mom and I
had had words and that I’d kicked the crap out of Josh—twice. She was making
the situation as easy on everyone as possible. I, for one, intended to do everything
possible to avoid a scene, at least until the day was over. After that was a different
story, but even then I wouldn’t go looking for a fight. I had bigger battles to
think about.

There was a bit of tension at the table, but I think Mom and Josh were mak-

ing an effort to keep the peace for Janelle’s sake. Our meal was quite pleasant, and
the fact that Troy was our waiter didn’t hurt. The mere sight of him brought up
memories of our hot times together, the last with Jarret. I definitely wanted to get
it on with those two again.

Josh looked slightly disgusted by the looks that passed between Troy and me,

but Janelle and Matthew found them amusing. Mom pretended not to notice at
all, and Colin was truly oblivious, but then again, he was only six.

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171

I ordered barbequed ribs, a messy choice, but delicious. It had been far too

long since I’d had them. Unlike my previous visit to The Park’s Edge, I actually
got to eat what I’d ordered. I noticed that my order of ribs was unusually large,
but that’s one of the perks of sleeping with your waiter.

I grinned when I looked at Josh, not in an effort to be friendly, but because he

had a black eye and a bruised face. Apparently his dentist had been able to fix up
his teeth, because they seemed intact. I hoped he’d learned his lesson. I derived a
certain amount of satisfaction from kicking his ass, but in the interest of family
harmony I wanted to keep the ass-kicking to a minimum. That was up to Josh,
however. If he could keep his mouth shut, I wouldn’t bash in his teeth.

We skipped dessert since a huge wedding cake awaited our return. Soon, we

were all back at Janelle’s, or I should say Janelle’s and Matthew’s. Matt had
already brought a lot of his things over, and I’d offered to help him move the rest
of it the next day. Luckily, he lived in an apartment, so there wasn’t that much
more stuff to move.

We sat around eating cake and talking. When the effort of making nice got to

be too much for me, I asked Colin if he’d like to go for a walk. I suspected he
would be as eager as I was to escape from the house for a few minutes.

We stepped out into surprisingly warm March sunshine. We were still dressed

in our wedding attire, but I’d taken Colin upstairs before our departure so we
could both exchange our uncomfortable shoes for sneakers.

“So, how do you like having a new daddy?” I asked Colin.
“Matthew’s great!” Colin suddenly got a rather serious and thoughtful look on

his little face. “But, you’ll always be my Uncle Skye.”

I picked Colin up and hugged him.
“Always,” I said.
The first hint of spring had arrived in Verona. The signs were subtle, but

present in the appearance of daffodil shoots and the first tiny leaves. The grass
was just a bit greener, and the air definitely warmer. Already gardeners were till-
ing up the soil, and potted pansies were appearing on porches. I’d always thought
pansy was an odd name for such a hardy flower. After all, pansies could bear the
cold like few other plants. They couldn’t take the heat, however, so apparently
that’s how they got stuck with such an ignoble name.

I grinned to myself when I thought of how none of my friends would ever

dream that I thought about flowers. Male magnificence wasn’t the only beauty I
recognized, however. I wasn’t quite that shallow, despite the rumors.

I was still carrying Colin and admiring the first touches of spring when a

handsome boy with dark hair approached.

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172

“Look!” said Colin, pointing, “an angel!”
I grinned at Colin and then looked back at Mark, for the handsome boy was

indeed Mark and an angel.

“How did he know?” I asked as Mark stopped before us.
“Children always know,” said Mark. “They’re too young to have learned not

to believe.”

Colin looked awestruck but unafraid. He reached out for Mark and Mark

took him in his arms. I marveled at the sight. Mark looked like any other six-
teen-year-old boy to me, but Colin knew he was more. If I would’ve had Colin
with me when I first met Taylor, I could have saved myself weeks of trying to fig-
ure him out and a great deal of embarrassment, too. Mark looked at me just then
and smiled, as if he knew what I was thinking; of course, he probably did.

“I’m glad to see you, but where’s Taylor?”
“He’s attending to another matter at present.”
“I thought I’d be seeing one of you guys long before this,” I said. “Some seri-

ous … stuff has been going down around here.”

“There was no need for us to come, except for a few brief moments here and

there. You’ve been handling things quite well on your own,” said Mark.

“I wish one of you would have stopped Glen and Ben from working over

Nick.”

“Unfortunately—” said Mark. I interrupted him before he could continue.
“That was one of those things that had to happen. Everything happens for a

reason, right?”

“Exactly,” said Mark. “I, too, wish that Nick could have been spared that pain,

but it could not be so.”

“I’m deeply concerned about this psycho that’s been aiding the Evil Four,

well, the Evil Two now,” I said.

“Just keep on your present course, and all will be as it was meant to be.”
“What does that mean exactly? Does that mean Oliver and all the others will

be safe?”

“I truly wish I could tell you more, but any information I give you might

cause you to veer from your intended path. Foreknowledge is often an unfortu-
nate thing.”

“I guess I can understand that, in a way. Still, I’d like to know if all my friends

will be safe.”

“That will depend largely on you, Skye.”
“You’re not setting me at ease.”

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173

“You have the strength of character to face what is coming, Skye. Believe in

yourself.”

“You’re annoyingly vague, just like Taylor.”
“It’s a habit I picked up from him,” said Mark. I had the distinct impression

he was kidding.

“I need to be going,” said Mark. “I’ve said what I came to say.”
Colin leaned in and kissed Mark’s cheek, and Mark returned the gesture

before handing Colin back to me. I gazed at Colin for a moment, and when I
looked back, Mark was gone, just as I knew he would be. I turned my attention
back to Colin. He seemed completely unaffected by meeting a real angel, but per-
haps that was a gift of his extreme youth. Had I seen angels when I was his age? I
could not remember.

- 174 -

Sean

I felt someone tugging at my blankets. I grasped them in my sleep to hold them
firm.

“I don’t want to get up yet, Mom,” I said sleepily.
Another hard yank pulled the covers completely off me. The icy-cold air hit-

ting my bare skin brought me to instant wakefulness.

“Dammit, Avery! I don’t feel like any of your games!”
I fell silent. Avery wasn’t in my room; neither was my mother. My parents

weren’t even in the house. They were gone for the entire weekend—off to some
flea market in Ohio Mom couldn’t stand not to attend.

“Sean, get up. You’re in danger.”
“Who’s there?” I asked, even as I climbed from my bed and flicked on my

flashlight.

I was alone in my room, which I didn’t find particularly surprising. Now that

I was fully awake, the intense cold registered in my mind. It was cool enough out-
side, but it was a good thirty or more degrees colder in my room than it had been
when I went to bed. I knew that meant the presence of a ghost.

“Edward? William? Is that you?”
“Call for help, Sean, and hide. They’re coming for you. They’re bent on

revenge.”

“Revenge for what?”
“Hurry!”

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An icy wind blew through my room, throwing open the door. I’d pulled on

my clothes by then. I grabbed my shoes and raced down the hallway toward my
cousin Avery’s room.

“Avery! Avery! Wake up!” I shouted as I entered his bedroom.
My cousin begin to stir as he lay in bed. I rushed to his side and shook him.
“Avery! Please wake up!”
“Wha-what?” he asked, groggily.
“Get up!” I said, taking him by the arm and pulling him out of bed. “Get

dressed!”

“What’s going on?” asked Avery as he continued to awaken. Already he was

pulling on his boxers and jeans.

“Someone’s coming. We’re in danger.”
“Who’s coming?”
“I don’t know!”
I quickly told Avery the tale of being awakened in my room, as he dressed and

I put on my shoes. Avery had lived in Graymoor long enough not to scoff at
ghosts and spirits.

“Think it’s the remnants of the Evil Four?” asked my cousin.
“Could be, or that psycho murderer who’s leading them, or both. Come on,

we’ve got to call for help!”

I was tugging Avery toward the door, but he tore away from me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“You said we need to call for help,” he said, holding up his cell phone.
“Oh,” I said, feeling suddenly stupid. I’d planned to make for the phone

downstairs.

“Welcome to the Twentieth Century, Sean,” said Avery with a mischievous

grin. “Who should I call?”

“Skye! Hurry!”
Avery punched in Skye’s number as we hurried from the room and down the

hallway. We were nearly to the stairwell when we heard voices and movement
coming up from below. My plan had been to climb the stairs to the fourth floor
and enter the secret passage in the library. Starting up the stairs was too great a
risk, however, so I pulled Avery back the way we’d come.

Avery told Skye of our plight as we hurried along. I feared the intruders would

hear his voice, but he completed his task soon enough. I walked purposefully
toward a painting and tugged at the edge. It swung open, just like the ones that
hid the entrances to the ballroom and the tower. This one, however, hid a small

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doorway that led to a narrow passage. We stepped quickly along until we were
several feet down the narrow corridor and then stopped to listen.

We could hear footsteps grow louder and then fade, but we could not quite

discern the location of the intruders or their number. My heart pounded in my
chest as the sound of the footsteps faded into nothingness.

“Should we just stay here or move on?” whispered Avery.
“Let’s try to make our way to the first floor. This passage leads right to the par-

lor, if I can remember my way. Keep as quiet as you can. We don’t want to risk
them hearing us.”

I led Avery along the corridor, with a plan forming in my mind. We’d make

our way to the parlor and wait there, hidden behind the secret door, until Skye
arrived. We needed to join up with him as soon as possible. The last thing I
wanted to do was play a game of blind man’s bluff, searching through Graymoor
for Skye while the murderers searched for us.

I fought hard against it, but the memories of a similar flight forced their way

into my mind. It wasn’t that many months before when I’d raced along the pas-
sages within the walls of Graymoor, seeking to escape the boys intent on my
death.

I hate it when history repeats itself, I thought to myself, but didn’t dare speak

my thoughts out loud for fear our pursuers would hear. With any luck, those who
sought us were far away, lost in some dusty corridor of Graymoor, but who knew
if our luck would hold?

I began to feel disoriented. I found a stair leading down, but it wasn’t familiar.

Had I taken a wrong turn somewhere, or had I merely become confused?

Within a short time we came to a doorway, but it didn’t feel right. I turned to

Avery and held my finger to my lips, flicked off the flashlight, and slowly opened
the door. The faint glow of many different colors filled the space before us. I
turned on the flashlight, and its beam reflected off the floor and onto the stained
glass of the opposite wall.

“This isn’t the parlor,” said Avery, needlessly.
“I must’ve gotten turned around.”
“Should we go back and try again?”
“There isn’t time. Skye could get here any minute. Let’s try to make our way

through the halls. With any luck, our pursuers are still somewhere on the upper
floors. They’ve probably gone to check out my bedroom first.”

We made our way across the floor, ignoring its disorienting affect. Soon we’d

passed through the main entrance and swung open the painting into the outside
hallway. We crept silently down it like a couple of mice. Avery grasped my shoul-

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177

der once to halt me and took a sword from its resting place in a niche in the wall.
I felt a little better knowing he was armed and wished for a sword of my own.

We crept down the dark hallway. I made as little use of the flashlight as possi-

ble, for its light could be as useful to our enemies as it was to us. My heart
thumped loudly in my chest. I hadn’t been so frightened since the last time mur-
derers had pursued me through Graymoor. Why did my life have to be so
damned exciting? One thing was for sure, I’d never complain about being bored
again. Days of mind-numbing boredom seemed quite an attractive prospect just
then—far better than the terror of this night, for sure.

After what seemed an eternity, we reached the parlor at last. I heaved a sigh of

relief when I spotted Skye silhouetted against one of the windows. I flicked on
my flashlight and immediately embarrassed myself by screaming like a girl. Avery
and I nearly fell over each other in our haste to reverse course. We bolted down
the hallway, quite literally for our lives. It wasn’t Skye revealed by the illumina-
tion of my flashlight. It was a man I’d never seen before—blond, well-built, and
middle-aged—the psycho gay basher that Skye had warned us to avoid at all
costs. We’d nearly walked right into his arms!

We raced down the hall. I tripped and went sprawling on my face. I was just

sure I’d feel strong hands grasping me, and in fact I did, but it was Avery helping
me to my feet. We ran on through the twisted corridors, turning left and right in
an effort to throw off our pursuer, until even I was hopelessly lost. When my
heart threatened to explode and my breath came in gasps loud enough to wake
the dead, we stopped. Avery and I stood in the darkness and listened, but the
only sound was our own ragged breathing.

“I think we lost him,” said Avery. “That was too close.”
“How are we ever going to find Skye before the psycho finds us?” I asked. “I

wonder how many of our enemies are in the house.”

“I don’t know, but I’m guessing Jeremy and Ben are in here, too.”
“It’s like blind man’s bluff, but with a grisly death for whoever gets caught.”
“Thanks, Sean, I wasn’t scared enough yet.”
“Avery,” I said, “maybe we should split up. They’re after me, not you.

Chances are that if they found you they wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I doubt that freak we met in the parlor much cares. I’m sure he’d happily kill

me if he got the chance. As for Jeremy and Ben, well, they’re no friends of mine.
They consider me guilty by association, I’m sure. In any case, if you think I’m
going to abandon you to save my own neck, you’ve seriously underestimated me,
Sean.”

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178

“I think Skye is beginning to rub off on you. Are you developing a hero com-

plex, too?”

Avery actually laughed for a moment. “No, but if those jerks think I’m going

to let them hurt my cousin, they are sorely mistaken. I hate bastards who think
they can pick on someone just because he’s gay. I used to be one of those guys,
and I hated myself for it.”

“You were never that bad, Avery.”
“I was bad enough.”
“That was the past. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me. I’ll always remember, so that I’ll never be like that again.”
Avery actually did look rather heroic there in the moonlit corridor, with his

chest heaving and his sword glinting in the light. He looked like some fierce char-
acter out of a fantasy novel.

“I hear voices again,” I said.
“Damn, how do they keep zeroing in on us?” asked Avery.
“I’m sure they have help. No doubt our not-so-friendly, neighborhood evil

spirit is ratting us out.”

“I am really sick of him. It’s enough to make me wish he was alive again so I

could punch him in the face.”

Devon was quite the thorn in our sides at times, but at the moment the living

were far more dangerous. I led Avery silently down the hallway, away from the
voices. We crept on and on. I felt a bit like I was in one of those video games
where one explores a subterranean labyrinth, dodging monsters and looking for
treasure. We weren’t underground, but there was treasure about and unfortu-
nately monsters, too—the human kind, which could be the worst of all.

A guttural scream rent the air near at hand, loud enough to vibrate the suit of

armor we were passing. There were sounds of a scuffle and running footsteps.
Avery grabbed my arm, and I just about wet my pants. I was accustomed to
screams and moans in Graymoor, but not like this. It wasn’t a ghostly voice that
had just cried out in torment. It was human. Tears flowed from my eyes as I
feared the worst.

“That sounded like Skye!” I said. “Oh, my God, what if they got him?”
I was bordering on hysterics. Avery grabbed me by the shoulder and shook

me.

“Knock it off, Sean, or I’m gonna slap you in the face!”
“But what if—”
“There is no use in freaking out when we don’t know what happened. Maybe

Skye just got that psycho guy.”

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179

“But what if it was Skye? We should go back.”
“No! Skye came here to protect us. The last thing he would want us to do is go

running toward the Evil Two.”

“But what if it was him who screamed?”
“Then he’s probably dead already,” said Avery.
I just stood there staring at him, his words cutting into me more efficiently

than the sword in his hand could ever have done.

“I’m going back,” I said.
“No, you’re not.”
We stood there in the hallway, staring each other down. Common sense began

to cut through my grief and anger, and I realized Avery was right. Skye would
kick my butt himself if I put myself in danger when he was risking his life to save
me.

“Come on,” I said quietly, walking deeper into Graymoor.
I still didn’t quite know where we were, even though I was more familiar with

the first floor than with any other. We wandered down corridors and through
rooms I couldn’t remember visiting before. At last we neared familiar territory. It
must’ve started raining outside, because I could hear the falling water of the foun-
tain in the Solarium. I followed the soothing, siren-call sound of the water, but
began to feel perplexed. It was the sound of water I heard, but it was more like
great splashes than falling water, and it was much too loud. The waterfall
couldn’t be heard until one was quite near it, and we weren’t even in the Solar-
ium yet.

We stepped into a large space; the stars shined through the glass roof over-

head. There was no sign of cloud or raindrop. The skies were entirely clear. We’d
stepped not into the Solarium, but the Natatorium. The sounds of water were
even louder, and I could discern voices, too. The voices stirred up no fear in my
heart, for they were not the voices of pursuers bent on murder, but laughing
voices calling to one another. Avery and I looked at each other, perplexed, and
stepped nearer to the source of the noise.

Soon we were standing by the edge of the pool, and we could clearly hear the

noisy swimmers playing about in the long empty pool. There was no sight of
them to be caught by flashlight or starlight, but we could hear them distinctly as
if they were right before us. Suddenly, the room went silent, and Avery and I just
stood there staring into the old pool. If our situation hadn’t been so desperate, I
would have been fascinated by what we had just experienced.

Avery and I both jumped as his cell phone rang. He quickly pulled it from his

pocket and answered. I had an irrational fear it was Jeremy or Ben or perhaps

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180

even the psycho gay-basher calling to torment us, but that fear was ridiculous and
soon dispelled.

“Skye!” said Avery. “Are you alright?”
Avery listened and then nodded to me. I grinned and felt as if the weight of

the world had been lifted from my shoulders.

“We’re in the Natatorium. No, we know our way around better. We’ll come

to you. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“He was calling from the kitchen,” Avery told me.
“Let’s cut across the yard; it’s the fastest route,” I said.
It was also the most exposed. If one of the murderers was waiting outside, we

would be in perilous danger, but they were more likely looking for us inside. No
doubt Devon would give away our location as fast as he could no matter where
we were, inside or out. The one thing I knew for sure is that I’d feel a good deal
better once Skye was at my side.

Avery and I exited through a glass door at the side of the Natatorium. We

raced across the grass, and every nightmare I’d ever had about being chased
through the dark tormented me. It was as if those nightmares had become real
and I was seconds from a gruesome death.

We reached the kitchen door at last and burst into the room. Skye stood there

waiting for us, the most welcoming sight I’d ever seen in my life.

“I was afraid you were dead,” I said, the memory of grief nearly bringing tears

to my eyes again.

“We heard someone scream,” said Avery. “It was horrible. It was a death

scream if there ever was one.”

“You do live in a haunted house,” said Skye.
“It was no ghost!” I said. “Someone screamed. Someone real!”
“I can assure you it wasn’t me,” said Skye grimly. “Now, you heard voices?”
“Yes!” I said. “I was awakened by a spirit and told I was in danger and that

they were coming for me. Then, I heard voices on the stairway, human voices. I
knew someone was in the house, and then later, we saw him.”

“Him?”
“That guy you warned us about: Chip. We made our way to the parlor, and

we thought he was you at first, but it was him!”

“We barely escaped,” said Avery. “The second we realized our mistake, we got

the hell out of there.”

“Wise move,” said Skye. “Now, we need to figure out our next move. I can

hunt him down more easily myself, but I don’t want to leave you two alone. He
could find you before I find him.”

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181

“Or Jeremy and Ben could find us,” I said.
“Exactly. Are your parents home?”
“No.”
“Avery,” said Skye, “call Ethan and Nathan. Call Coach Brewer and Casper,

too. We’ve got to get this guy while we can, and they can protect you while I’m
hunting.”

“What about the others?” I asked, even as Avery looked through the Verona

phone book for Mr. Brewer’s number.

“They’re safer where they are. Our enemies are here, and the last thing I want

is Oliver and the others wandering around Graymoor with those murderers
about.”

I swallowed hard. The image Skye painted in my mind was not a pretty one.
“It’s okay,” said Skye, putting his hand on my shoulder. “This ends tonight.”
Skye exuded an aura of such strength and confidence that I did not doubt

him. I knew also that if Jeremy, Ben, and Chip all burst in on us at once Skye
could protect us. I felt safer than I had all night.

Avery dialed up Coach Brewer on his cell phone, and I called Nick’s house on

the phone in the kitchen. I figured every second counted. Ethan sounded as if
he’d been asleep, which was not surprising since it was now past one a.m., but he
snapped awake when I told him of our situation.

“Ethan, Nathan, and Nick will be here as fast as they can get dressed and drive

in,” I said after hanging up.

“Brendan and Casper are on their way,” announced Avery a moment later.
“I hate just standing here waiting, but they’ll never find us if we wander off,”

said Skye.

The tension in the room was so thick I felt as if I could almost see it. Avery

fingered his sword as he glanced nervously about. I knew that our enemies could
burst upon us at any second, and even though Skye would protect us, the idea
was still unnerving. I’d had more than my fill of murderers in my lifetime! Some-
times I felt as if I was walking around with a target painted on my chest.

Time crawled by. It seemed as if we waited in the kitchen for hours, but it was

probably no more than fifteen minutes before Ethan, Nathan, and Nick arrived.
Brendan and Casper showed up not two minutes later. The kitchen was filled
with our allies. I felt we were prepared for just about anything with the addition
of the adults, and it felt just plain good to have Nick by my side. He hugged me
with a worried look on his face, but I told him I was fine.

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182

We hadn’t even begun to discuss our plan of attack when the loud thuds of

someone running across the parlor vibrated the floor. Seconds later, Ben burst
into the room with a look of sheer terror on his face.

“Don’t let him get me!” he screamed, crying and trembling.
It was not what I expected, not at all. Skye burst through the kitchen door

toward the parlor, followed quickly by Brendan and Ethan, but they returned
moments later, having discovered nothing. Ben was cowering in a corner, terri-
fied by the presence of so many of his enemies no doubt, but even more terrified
of whatever had pursued him into our arms. Something had frightened him, ter-
rified him to his very core.

“What’s going on, Ben?” demanded Skye.
“He’s going to kill me! He killed Jeremy! I think he killed Glen and Alex, too!”
“Who?” asked Ethan, scowling at Ben. Ethan was no fan of Ben. He no doubt

was fighting the impulse to pummel him in retaliation for attacking his son.

“Chip!” cried Ben.
“I thought Chip was on your side,” said Skye.
“We did, too!”
“You told me Chip hated gays because of what had been done to him when he

was a kid,” said Skye.

“That’s what he told us! I swear! Please, please don’t let him get me! I saw

what he did to Jeremy. He killed him right before my eyes!”

Ben trembled and actually went down and clasped Skye’s knees.
“Please don’t let him get me!”
“Get off me, you coward,” said Skye, pushing him away.
“Please!” screamed Ben. “Please!”
“We won’t let him kill you,” said Ethan. “Now, do you know where he is?”
“No,” said Ben. “He was right behind me coming down the stairs. I thought

he followed me across the parlor, but … I don’t know. Maybe he gave up and
went after the other guy on his list.”

“His list?” asked Skye.
“Just before he killed Jeremy, he said he was nearing the end of his list, that

soon he’d have us all. Right after he killed Jeremy and I ran, he called after me.
He said, ‘Three down, two to go.’”

“Who was the other?” asked Skye. “Did he say?”
“Yeah. Josh.”
“Josh?” asked Skye, a tone of surprise in his voice.
“Yeah, that guy who attacked you at school.”
Skye looked stricken. “He’s going to my mom’s house,” he said.

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183

“Let’s go,” said Ethan.
“Avery, call my mom,” said Skye. “Tell her to lock the doors and that we’re on

our way.”

Skye quickly gave Avery the number and Avery punched it in on his cell

phone, even as the lot of us made our way outside into the March night. My head
was spinning with the sudden turn of events. The psycho gay basher we’d all
feared wasn’t a gay basher at all. He was going after the bashers themselves.

“What about me?” cried Ben.
“Come with us,” said Nathan.
I could tell Nathan was disgusted by Ben, but he wouldn’t abandon him

either, not even after what he’d done to Nick. Nick himself seemed to take pity
on Ben, and even I felt for him. I still wanted to kick his ass, but Ben was nearly
hysterical with fear. Ben couldn’t stop trembling, tears flowed from his eyes, and
he constantly looked about, as if he expected to be attacked.

We raced across town toward the home where Skye’s mom had taken up tem-

porary residence with Josh. I knew Skye wasn’t at all happy about his mother’s
marriage to his former best friend. Skye and Josh had recently had it out, and if
they didn’t hate each other, they came close. Even so, Skye was coming to Josh’s
rescue. Sometimes life was just too weird.

We all jumped out of the vehicles upon our arrival. I kind of felt as if I was in

one of those cop shows where the police surround some building where the bad
guys have sought refuge. Then again, we weren’t surrounding the place, and none
of us had guns, so I guess it wasn’t like that at all.

We heard a scream from inside that was undoubtedly Skye’s mom. I won-

dered if maybe we’d arrived just a little too late. Skye ran to the door and yanked
on it, but it was locked.

“Skye!” yelled Nick, pointing through the window.
The light was on, clearly illuminating the occupants inside. Josh was standing

near the window. Chip had him in a headlock and was shouting at Skye’s mom. I
couldn’t tell exactly what he was saying, but he seemed to be telling her to get out
of the room. Chip released his hold on Josh and grabbed him by both sides of the
head. It looked to me as if he was going to snap his neck. That’s when Skye did
something that up until that moment I’d only seen in the movies. He hurled
himself right through the large picture window, knocking down both Chip and
Josh and sending glass flying everywhere. I just stood there and gawked for a
moment.

Ethan and Brendan leaped through the window behind Skye and were on

Chip in a second. In no time at all, they’d pulled him to his feet. He fought like a

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184

wild animal to get away, but there was no breaking their hold. Skye unlocked the
door and the rest of us entered.

It was my first good look at Chip. Close up, he didn’t look like a psycho. My

fear had made him into a monster, but he looked like just an ordinary guy. He
wasn’t, of course. He’d killed Glen, Alex, and Jeremy. Casper took one look at
him and stopped dead in his tracks. Chip stared back at him and actually smiled.
Brendan looked back and forth between them, confused, but then understanding
dawned on his face.

I didn’t know what the heck was going on, but Casper told Brendan and

Ethan to take Chip outside, and no one argued with him.

“We’ll take care of him,” Casper said to Skye. “Come to the house as soon as

you’re done here, but tell no one.”

Skye had his hands full with his mom, who was freaking out over the

near-murder of her young husband. Josh was sitting in a chair in shock. If Skye
hadn’t saved his butt, he would have been lying dead on the floor instead.

I followed Casper and the others.
“What’s going on?” asked Nick, clearly as confused as I.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” said Casper. “Meet us at our place.”
I watched in confusion as Chip voluntarily climbed into Coach Brewer’s

truck, and Casper climbed in after him. What the heck was going on? None of it
made sense!

“Can I get a ride?” I called out to Ethan.
“Sure, hop in.”
It was crowded in the cab of the old Selby truck, and Nick had to sit on my

lap, but neither of us complained about that. Ben was squeezed in right beside
me. He wasn’t even acting human. He just sat there trembling, uttering a whim-
pering noise that made him sound like a wild animal.

“Do you guys know what’s going on?” I asked.
“I have the barest clue, but I’m not sure,” said Ethan.
“Casper acts like he knows that guy,” I said.
“I think he does,” said Nathan.
“But how?”
“I imagine we’ll find that out soon enough,” said Nathan.
Soon we were at the Brewer farm. We parked in front of a large and comfort-

able looking farmhouse, although it was hard to make anything out in the dark.
Brendan, Casper, and Chip were already going inside, and we followed.

Moments later, everyone was seated in the living room, except for Casper and

Chip, who stood there gazing at each other. Cowering behind Brendan and

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185

Ethan, Ben stared at Chip with a look of pure terror on his face. After just a few
moments, Casper cautiously approached and hugged Chip. This was getting
weirder and weirder!

“Jason,” said Casper finally.
I was as confused as ever, and I wasn’t alone, although all the adults seemed to

understand fully.

“Huh?” said Nick.
Brendan looked over to Nick and me. “Jason is Casper’s brother,” he said.
The psycho gay basher, who wasn’t a psycho gay basher after all, was Casper’s

brother?

“Jason! My God, what have you done?” asked Casper as he stepped back.
“I protected you, just like I promised I would.”
“But Jason, those boys …”
“Those boys were murderers.”
“But Jason, you can’t just …” Casper rubbed his temples.
“I don’t care what happens to me, as long as you’re safe.”
“Were they really a danger to me, Jason?”
“Yes, they were. You don’t know what they had planned. If they had suc-

ceeded, they would’ve killed all of you,” said Jason, looking around the room.
His gaze stopped, and he held my eyes with his own, but I did not fear him, not
anymore. He spoke to me. “The boys I killed—Glen, Alex, and Jeremy—they
were there the night your friend died. They helped to kill him.”

“And that’s why you killed them?” I asked.
“Partly, but mostly to keep them from killing again.”
“But Jason, murder?” said Casper.
“I was far more humane to them than they were to their victims.”
“I can’t believe this,” said Casper, sinking into a seat, holding his face in his

hands.

Skye arrived just then. Apparently he was as eager to find out what the heck

was going on as the rest of us. Brendan quickly brought him up to speed.

“You’re the one who sent me the note!” said Skye. “You sent me the note say-

ing I didn’t need to worry, that all my enemies would be vanquished.”

Jason nodded.
“I sent the ignorant cops in this town anonymous notes, too. I gave them

everything—names, events, times, but they did nothing! The incompetent fools!
I had to take matters into my own hands. I had no choice.”

“Was Ben in on Marty’s murder?” I asked Jason, who obviously had inside

information. He’d made the Evil Four believe he was an ally, and no doubt

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186

they’d told him everything. I looked over at Ben for a moment. He was squirm-
ing in the seat he’d taken on the couch, no doubt still fearing for his life.

“No,” said Jason. “Out of all those you called the Evil Four, only he was inno-

cent of your friend’s murder.”

“Why were you going to kill him too, then?” asked Skye.
“Because he is a danger to you. He is innocent of murder, but he is not inno-

cent.”

“Please don’t kill me!” pleaded Ben, gazing around for a friendly face.
“No one’s going to kill you, Ben,” said Nathan, impatiently, “although I have

half a mind to take you to the woodshed.”

“Why did you attack Josh?” asked Skye.
“Because he attacked you. He was clearly your enemy.”
“You were there?”
“At a distance, yes.”
“How did you even know about the Evil Four?” asked Nick.
“I was too late to come to your aid last spring,” said Jason. “If I’d known you

were in such danger, I would have been here then. I read about the murders in
the paper, but I arrived too late. Since then I’ve been watching and waiting. It
took time, but I discovered there were others involved with the murders last
spring that the rest of you knew nothing about. I knew the danger wasn’t over
and was determined that this time I wouldn’t fail you.”

“Oh, Jason,” said Casper. “You’ve gone too far this time. What are we going

to do?”

There was silence for a few moments. Chip, I mean Jason, had murdered three

boys. As much as I hated to think about it, what could we do but turn him in?

“We’re going to help him escape. That’s what we’re going to do,” said Bren-

dan, finally. Both Casper and Jason turned to him.

“I don’t approve of what you did, Jason. Murder is always wrong, but consid-

ering why you did it and who you killed … I can’t see myself turning you in.”

“He did kill three boys,” said Ethan, who looked somewhat shocked that

Brendan wanted to help Jason.

“… who would’ve killed us if they had the chance. They very nearly got Nick.

Believe me, I’m not a big fan of Jason, but who knows what would have hap-
pened had he not been here?”

“I don’t know,” said Ethan, obviously debating within his own mind. “I don’t

know if I can live with myself if we just let him walk away.”

“Could you live with yourself if we turned him in?” asked Nathan.
Ethan looked doubtful.

Mark A. Roeder

187

“Maybe letting him go isn’t the just thing to do,” said Brendan, “but are all

the gay bashings that happen every day just? Are all the lies that fanatical churches
spread against us just? Is the discrimination and abuse we receive just? I don’t
approve of his methods any more than you do, but I’d be lying if I said I was
sorry those boys are gone. They were murderers themselves, and maybe they got
what they had coming. We should turn Jason in, it’s true, but why should he suf-
fer for protecting us? I say we let him go. Society owes us this one.”

Ethan nodded. I understood his dilemma. I shared his feelings. To me, the

thought of taking someone’s life was unthinkable. I could do it in self-defense,
yeah, and to protect someone I loved, but … I guess Jason had done it to protect
someone he loved: Casper. Even though the danger wasn’t imminent, it was real.
We were wading through a huge gray area. Jason wasn’t someone I wanted to
emulate, but he was just looking out for his little brother. How could we con-
demn him for that?

“We’d better get you out of here,” said Casper, facing Jason once more. “The

farther away you are when Jeremy’s body is discovered, the better.”

A shiver went up my spine. Somewhere in Graymoor, Jeremy lay dead. His

wasn’t the first dead body to be lying in my home, but I wasn’t looking forward
to seeing him. I’d had enough of death.

Casper led Jason toward the door, and no one objected.
“I’ll come with you,” said Brendan.
“No,” said Casper, “I want to do this alone. Besides, Jason and I have a lot of

catching up to do.”

Jason gazed into Brendan’s eyes. “Don’t worry; my days of hurting Casper are

far, far behind. I only want to protect him now.”

Brendan nodded. “Just be careful what you do to protect him. No more kill-

ing.”

“Brendan,” said Jason. “Thanks.”
Brendan smiled.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” said Casper. “It might be a couple of days,

but I’ll call tomorrow.”

Brendan and Casper hugged and then kissed. I hoped Nick and I were still

going strong when we were their age. The thought made me smile. All those years
with Nick was something to look forward to.

“You,” said Jason, pointing at Ben. “You count yourself lucky! If I hear you’ve

been up to any nonsense, and believe me I’ll know, I’ll come back for you.”

Ben swallowed hard, and his face paled. I don’t know if I’d ever seen anyone

so frightened before.

Mark A. Roeder

188

Casper departed with his brother, and the room grew silent for a few

moments.

“I guess we should take this one home,” said Ethan, indicating Ben.
“You’ll say nothing about what happened here tonight,” said Brendan, staring

down at Ben.

“Yes-s-s-ir. Wh-a-a-t are you guys go-o-ing to do to me?” he asked. Suddenly,

Ben had developed a stutter.

“That depends on your future behavior,” said Skye, grinning evilly.
“You’d better be glad we’re much more forgiving than your friends,” said

Ethan, gazing at Ben in disgust.

We next discussed how to report the murder of Jeremy. We decided it was

best if I phoned the cops from Graymoor. They could find the body, and I’d
make no mention of Jason. It certainly wouldn’t do for us all to be there when
the cops arrived, and I’d be safe enough with Avery. Three of the Evil Four were
now dead, and Ben was too terrified to step out of line. There was little to fear. It
was all over, just as Skye had promised.

“We should all be getting home,” said Nathan.
Skye dropped Avery and me off at Graymoor on his way home. I called the

cops and then sank into a kitchen chair. I was exhausted, but we still had a long
night ahead of us. Soon the flashing lights of squad cars lit up the front of the
house. We told the cops our story of being chased through the house and about
hearing a horrible scream as if someone had been killed. It only took them some
forty-five minutes to find the body. Jeremy lay crumpled on the floor, a sword
sticking right through his chest. He probably died almost instantaneously. Jason
was right; he was far more humane to his victims than they’d been to their own.

The sun was beginning to rise by the time I crawled into bed. My one thought

as I drifted off was: “It’s finally over.”

- 189 -

Marshall

A dark cloud had been lifted, and we all felt a good deal safer walking the streets
of Verona. The Evil Four had been reduced to only Ben, and he wasn’t the same
cocky, belligerent punk he’d been only a few days before. He had received a dose
of his own medicine and now seemed afraid of his own shadow. The mysterious
Chip, whom we’d feared, had turned out to be on our side. Sean had told me the
whole story, and, like all the others in our tight little circle, I would take the
secret to my grave.

While my friends had experienced a sense of closure, I had yet to do so,

because I knew the story was not yet over. As dangerous as recent weeks had
been, or rather as dangerous as we had believed them to be at the time, far more
serious events had been playing out. Those poor tormented souls who were for-
ever earthbound by the guilt of their murderer were already suffering a fate far
worse than death. I was determined to do all I could to free them, but I had no
idea if I would succeed. I couldn’t afford to fail, however. If I couldn’t help them,
who could?

More specters had appeared to me; each implored me to help. I could hear the

tormented souls calling to me for help even in my dreams. I had little trouble
convincing Sean of their plight. The days when he thought me an oddball and
doubted my sanity were long since past. Seeing is believing, they say, and even
though Sean could not see the spirits in the crypt as I could, he had witnessed my
reaction to them. I still feared the secret crypt, as I had never feared any thing or
place before.

Mark A. Roeder

190

Sean reluctantly agreed to a séance, which we arranged for Saturday night in

the dining room of Graymoor Mansion. Those poor trapped souls needed help,
and a séance was the only way. I just hoped I wasn’t in over my head.

I arrived at Graymoor an hour before our stated meeting time of 8 p.m., more

to gather my thoughts than to prepare for the séance. I placed the single white,
pillar candle on the center of the dining-room table, lit it, and turned off the
lights. Sitting there gazing into the flame, I hoped I could help those who had
come to me for aid. I feared facing the malicious spirit of Mr. Graymoor, but I
feared failure even more. What would I do if I couldn’t accomplish the task at
hand? I emptied my mind of such negative thoughts, as I sat and stared into the
flame. All those souls were depending on me.

I withdrew to a quiet little sitting room down the hall when the others began

to arrive. I needed to maintain my focus. Sean, Nick, Avery, Zoë, Skye, Jarret,
Oliver, and Clay were all coming. I needed as many people as possible there, but
I elected not to ask Kate or Noah. I feared it would be too much for Noah, and I
could not bring myself to put him at risk. Kate could handle it, but I cared too
much for her to place her in unnecessary danger. Even I didn’t know what was
about to happen.

As the Evil Four had bit the dust one by one, a disturbing thought had entered

my mind: what if the restless spirit of Mr. Graymoor had once more taken up his
killing spree? My fear had been unfounded, for it was the living and not the dead
who were responsible for the murders. Still, the spirit of Mr. Graymoor was not
to be trifled with. Was I taking too great a risk? I would not have dared making
contact merely to satisfy my own curiosity, but much was at stake here—more
than any of my friends, with the possible exception of Sean, could understand.

Precisely at eight, I entered the dining room. Light from the single flickering

flame of the candle danced on the faces of my friends, making them look eerie
and unfamiliar. The ancient room was perfectly still. We all knew that a grave
moment had come. Even Skye, who had once scoffed at otherworldly business,
was quite serious. I took my seat at the head of the table, and we all joined hands.

I took a deep breath to center myself before I began. Despite my meditation

before the séance, my heart raced. I willed my breath to slow and sought calm in
the light of the candle. It would not do to let the others know I felt fear. They
were edgy enough as it was.

I began to call upon the spirit of Kenneth Graymoor. He was the key. He was

the only one who could tell us why his guilt bound his victims.

Knowing that such events often did not happen quickly, I was prepared to call

upon the spirit for a good long time. I was surprised when my summons was

Mark A. Roeder

191

answered almost immediately, as if the spirit had been waiting to be called. The
temperature plummeted, and goose bumps appeared on my skin. My attention
was momentarily drawn to the mirrors. Ice was forming on the mirrors, making
such a loud cracking noise that at first I thought they were breaking. The cold
became intense. I was accustomed to a thirty-degree temperature drop when a
spirit appeared, but my best guess was that the temperature plummeted twice
that amount. I began to tremble as the icy air traveled down my back, like cold,
dead fingers.

Zoë gasped. I jerked my head up. I could see the spirit clearly, hovering above

the table in such emotional torment I feared he would be unable to speak. The
others could not see him, but I could tell by the stiffness of their bodies that they
were aware of his presence. His aura was so powerful even those with the least
psychic abilities would have felt him. Zoë was staring straight at him, and I won-
dered if she could indeed see him.

I had expected to be assailed with anger and malevolence, but curiously there

was not a trace of these. There was only guilt and remorse—tremendous, over-
powering, and nearly unbearable. Tears flowed from Oliver and Zoë’s eyes, and a
glance around the table told me no one was unaffected. Even Skye had paled
from the force of it.

“Why does your guilt bind your victims?” I asked, getting straight to the

point. I did not know how much time I had. The details meant nothing. All that
mattered was uncovering the secret.

“So many lives lost, so many futures snuffed out. The innocent paid the price

for my weakness—over and over they paid. There is no forgiveness.”

I could tell by Oliver’s yelp and the startled expression of those around the

table that they heard the ghostly voice, even if they did not see his form.

“There is always forgiveness,” I said soothingly, trying to calm the spirit.
“Not for me!” he wailed. “From the time I was a boy, I was cursed.”
“How were you cursed?”
“I killed him. I didn’t want to kill him, but I was compelled.”
“Who? Who did you kill?”
“My own best friend. I loved him. I never wanted to harm him.”
“You were compelled to kill him? By whom?”
“I do not know—by some ugliness inside me, by some predilection for evil.”
The séance had traveled in a completely unexpected direction, but I was

beginning to get the glimmer of an idea. The spirit believed himself wicked, that
the urge to prey on others came from within, but he himself had said “com-
pelled.” Was force exerted from the outside?

Mark A. Roeder

192

“You murdered. What happened then?” I asked.
“I sank into despair and waited for God to strike me dead. I wanted to die. I

couldn’t bear to live.”

“But you were not struck dead. You didn’t die. What happened?”
“I swore to myself I would never take another life, but … I did.”
The spirit of Kenneth Graymoor wailed again, and the very sound of it was

torment to us all. The heavy table shook violently, and the candle only just
missed toppling. The air grew colder still. Nick’s teeth chattered. Most of those
around the table trembled violently, but whether from the deathly chill or fear I
did not know. Each breath of the living was visible, and it seemed as if the room
itself was filling with fog. Oliver and Zoë were both sobbing, but it was not from
fear, but from the waves of sadness and remorse that flowed from the spirit. Tears
ran down my own cheeks as I fought to concentrate. His sorrow was nearly
unbearable.

I struggled to carry on the conversation with the spirit of Kenneth Graymoor.

Much of it was gibberish, and I doubted the sanity of the spirit. He was
half-crazed by his guilt, and perhaps that’s what gave it the power to bind others.

“Why do you keep your victims here? Why do you restrain them?” I asked,

using every ounce of concentration I possessed to force the words out of my
mouth. The cold had grown so bitter I could hardly think. I couldn’t feel my fin-
gers anymore.

Focus, Marshall. Focus.
“I don’t keep them here. They believe I’ve imprisoned them, and who can

blame them? I’ve tried to release them, but I don’t know what holds them. Please
believe me, I’ve tried!”

The spirit descended into speaking gibberish again, and I could not compre-

hend was he was trying to tell me. He was on the edge of madness. Periods of
lucidity alternated with periods of near mindlessness. I felt as if I was close to an
answer, if I could only keep the spirit focused. Apparently Mr. Graymoor’s guilt
was not what bound his victims. I had resisted that idea all along. Something else
was at work here. If only I had time to think! If only I could keep my mind on
the task at hand!

Oliver began to sway in his chair. He pitched to the side, and before anyone

could catch him, he hit the floor.

“Clay, take him out of the room,” I said. I feared Oliver would expire in the

cold if he was left unconscious in it for very long.

The energy I could draw upon was weaker now. Two of our number were

gone. I pushed Oliver from my mind. I couldn’t spare him a moment’s thought.

Mark A. Roeder

193

I had to solve this mystery, and I had to do it before anyone else succumbed to
the bitter cold and the overpowering emotions flowing from the spirit of Kenneth
Graymoor. I wasn’t sure how long I could bear it myself.

How could one who experienced such anguish over taking a single life do so

again and again? The first murder had filled Kenneth with remorse, yet dozens
had died by his own hand—even his own family in the end had been butchered
in the very house where we now sat. I could barely stand his sorrow as it assailed
me. How could one filled with such repentance have ever raised his hand to harm
so much as an insect?

My question was soon answered for me. I felt ignorant for not recognizing the

solution sooner. Perhaps I could be forgiven, however, for I felt as if I’d been
driven nearly to insanity myself. I was so very, very cold, too. I just wanted to lie
down and go to sleep. My thoughts turned to warm blankets and hot cocoa by a
fire. I felt consciousness began to slip away, but then I was snapped back to
awareness by the sudden emergence of an evil so powerful that it made the spirit
of Devon seem like the good fairy. Gone were thoughts of cold and sleep. So
much malice was directed toward me that I trembled under the force of it. There
were cries of terror from my friends as they sat with joined hands, but they did
not abandon me or our purpose. I fought to get myself under control. It was a
struggle not to bolt from the table in utter terror, but if my friends would not
abandon me, I sure as hell would not abandon them. I had to do this!

An icy gale roared through the room. The candle not only went out, but was

blown from the table. My skin stung from the cold, and I felt my very tears turn-
ing to ice. I was in over my head. I had to do something or we were all going to
perish.

I turned to look at Skye and found him glaring at me with pure hatred. He

was Skye, but not Skye. All eyes were drawn to him. Everyone present could feel
the loathing that emanated from whatever was inside Skye.

“Who are you?” I asked.
The entity did not answer, but glared at me with loathing and contempt. I

swallowed hard, fearful of what was about to happen. I knew my life was in dan-
ger. Whatever it was, it had chosen to inhabit Skye, the most powerful of us all. I
truly didn’t know if the rest of us combined could stop him if he attacked.

I was cold, so cold. The temperature continued to fall, turning the dining

room into an ice palace. How long could any of us survive? I felt as if my very
heart was beginning to freeze.

Stay with it, Marshall! Focus! Think!

Mark A. Roeder

194

The fear cleared from my head as a revelation hit me. Images from the not so

distant past filled my mind like a bad dream—memories of trying my best to kill
Sean even as I fought desperately to prevent it. It was not of my own free will that
I attempted murder, but the result of possession.

“Release your guilt,” I said, looking once more at the spirit of Kenneth Gray-

moor. “Release your guilt, for the guilt is not yours.”

I wondered even as I said it if this was the key. There was a strong possibility

that the solution had nothing to do with guilt at all. The presence of the malevo-
lent entity made me strongly suspect that it was responsible for holding the spirit
of the victims bound to Earth. Regardless, the spirit of Mr. Graymoor had to
release his guilt, for his own sake, if not for the sake of others. I could feel it
within my soul.

Whatever possessed Skye screamed in rage and lunged at me. I jerked back

from the fearsome spectacle. The entity made it not two feet, however, before a
brilliant white light forced him back. The entity snarled and raged, but was con-
tained. I could feel the angelic presence even more strongly than that of the
malevolent spirit. I thanked God for the intervention, for I was truly in over my
head. Skye fought to free himself and come at me again, but his efforts were
futile. The gale still raged, but the temperature once more began to climb.

I returned my attention to the spirit of Mr. Graymoor.
“This creature,” I said, pointing at Skye, “is responsible. You took none of

those lives, not even those of your own family. It was by your hand that they
died, but you were merely the weapon. It was he who killed them—not you.”

I knew in my heart it was true. Kenneth Graymoor had been possessed repeat-

edly during his lifetime by a malevolent spirit intent on bringing death. From
boyhood until his own grisly demise, Mr. Graymoor had been plagued by an evil
that violated him as surely as it did the victims. Where the spirit had gone after
Mr. Graymoor’s death I do not know. Perhaps it was responsible for the Jack the
Ripper murders; perhaps it possessed the serial killers of the modern day. Who
knows how much responsibility for death and grief could be laid at its feet?

“Do you hear me?” I asked. “You are not responsible for those deaths. You

were a victim as surely as they were. You are not the guilty one.”

“Not I?” asked the spirit of Kenneth Graymoor.
“This evil creature forced you,” I said. “You had no choice in the matter.”
Sean and I exchanged a look. He understood completely. It made sense now

how one could kill again and again, even when consumed by guilt and grief. How
tormented his poor soul must have been and how horrible that his life was stolen

Mark A. Roeder

195

from him, for whatever life he lived had been tainted by the evil that plagued
him.

Thwarted in its attempt to harm me, the spirit inhabiting Skye began to

scream and writhe. He cried out in tremendous rage as the white light enveloped
him and suddenly both the spirit and the light were gone, leaving behind a fright-
ened looking Skye.

“What the FUCK was that?” Skye asked loudly. In another situation, I would

have laughed.

“Not I,” said Kenneth Graymoor, smiling for perhaps the first time since he

was a boy.

The waves of pain and remorse began to weaken as the temperature began to

climb. The tears that had freely flowed from my friends slowed and then ceased.
The spirit was releasing his guilt.

“Not you,” I said. “Go, linger here no longer. You are free.”
The spirit of Mr. Graymoor floated away, released from the earth at last. Even

as he departed, the room filled with bright, white light, or rather with dozens of
small white lights—so many of them they appeared to be one. They were the
trapped souls, released at last, departing from their earthly prison. Their light
shone upon all our faces as we looked at them in wonder. In moments, they too
were gone, and we sat in darkness. I righted the candle and lit it once more.

Everyone around the table looked around the room, and I knew that they,

too, could feel the very atmosphere of Graymoor lighten. The ancient evil that
had lived there for who knows how long was gone at last.

“Okay, that was fucked up,” said Skye, still looking pale.
This time I did laugh, although perhaps more with relief than at Skye’s com-

ment.

Clay came to the door leading Oliver. I was relieved to see Oliver had recov-

ered. They both reclaimed their seats at the table.

“What was that, Marshall?” asked Sean.
“I don’t know. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I wonder what kind of

malevolent spirit would target young men and boys—and why? Perhaps it
doesn’t matter. He’s gone now.”

“So that—whatever it was—forced Mr. Graymoor to kill his family and all the

others?” asked Nick.

“Yes. I think that it was responsible for holding them all here, too. The spirits

of the victims believed they were held here by the guilt of their murderer. I can
well understand that, having felt his guilt, but I believe they were wrong.”

“Do you think Devon is … was possessed by that thing, too?” asked Oliver.

Mark A. Roeder

196

“I don’t know. I have a feeling the answer is ‘no.’ Love as well as hate drives

Devon. This entity, whatever it was, possesses no love.”

“So we can’t blame Devon for once, huh?” asked Skye.
“Innocent until proven guilty,” I said.
“I thought we were screwed,” said Jarret.
“Yeah,” said Avery, “and I about froze my nuts off!”
“You’re a hetero. You barely use them,” said Skye.
Jarret and a few others laughed at that. It was good to hear the sound of laugh-

ter. Only minutes before I couldn’t even remember what happiness was like.

“Well, I for one am going home and turning up the heat!” said Skye. “Now I

know what a popsicle feels like.”

Everyone slowly cleared out, except for Nick who stayed to spend time with

Sean.

“I want to check something out before I go,” I said. “Avery, do you mind

accompanying me down to the crypt … just in case.”

“I’m there,” he said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Sean. “Nick and I are going to go and …”
“Have kinky sex!” said Avery loudly. “If you’re still going at it when I go to

bed, try to keep it down, okay? You woke me up with all that moaning last time.”

Sean shook his head. “Goodnight guys, and Marshall, congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Avery and I grabbed flashlights and headed down into the crypt. We climbed

through the narrow opening in the wall and followed the twisting route to the
secret burial chamber. This time there was no spirit to guide us, but we had
merely to follow the string left behind on our previous expedition. I was just itch-
ing to explore the labyrinth, but a more important task was at hand. I knew the
trapped souls had departed, but I felt compelled to return to the secret crypt, just
to make sure.

I surprisingly felt no fear as we drew closer to our destination. Soon, we were

standing in the crypt, the beams of our flashlights revealing the grisly sights that
surround us. The bodies were still there, of course, but gone were the spirits; gone
was the sense of suffering and dread. I knew then that every last trapped soul had
departed. I smiled. My task was done.

- 197 -

Skye

On Sunday evening the clink of silverware on china filled the dining room in
mom’s temporary residence. I looked across the table at Josh, and he nodded at
me. Mom sat beside him. Now and then they smiled at each other. Josh did make
her happy; I’d give him that. Janelle and Matthew were seated at the table for
Sunday dinner as well. Colin sat on one side of me and Jarret on the other. Mom
had insisted on inviting Jarret, even though I explained to her he wasn’t my boy-
friend. I think it was her way of showing acceptance, and I appreciated the ges-
ture. Jarret seemed overly pleased. I truly hoped he wasn’t reading more into the
situation than he should.

If you think this is where I tell you we all lived happily ever after, you’re dead

wrong. Real life isn’t like that. Mom and I were trying to patch things up, and
even though things weren’t perfect, they were better. Josh and I were making an
effort to get along, too. I think he was still freaked out over my “alternative life-
style,” as some call it, but since I’d saved his life, he was a good deal nicer. He had
even thanked me in front of everyone when I arrived. I was going to try and put
aside my anger and forget about the past. Mom was back now, and she and Josh
were married. Despite everything, I wanted Mom to be happy, and deep down, I
wanted Josh to be happy, too. It was going to take some doing, but I knew I
could adjust to the situation. After all, I’d performed much more difficult and
dangerous feats. Of course, if Josh stepped too far out of line, I’d still kick his ass.

Mom had gone all out for dinner, making it a celebration. There was a big

banner on the wall that read, “Our Hero, Skye.” I found it a bit embarrassing,
but I knew it was Mom’s way of saying thank you. I don’t really know if I saved

Mark A. Roeder

198

Josh for Mom’s sake, his own, or both. All I knew is that I had to save him. Per-
haps the threat to his life cut through all the anger and the bullshit. I don’t know,
but I’m not going to analyze what I did. I’m a man of action, not thought.

I was still kind of tired after all the excitement, despite having slept for nearly

twenty-four hours after whatever the hell happened during the séance in Gray-
moor. I was not too tired to dig into the turkey, dressing, and mashed potatoes
Mom had prepared in my honor. It was March, but Mom had fixed a Thanksgiv-
ing dinner, complete with cranberry sauce, fresh yeast rolls, and pumpkin pie.
There wasn’t much talk at the table as all of us devoured our dinner.

Jarret squirmed in his seat when Mom talked to him as if he was my boy-

friend, but I think he liked it. I found it amusing and even put my arm around
him, just to watch him turn a bit red. I wonder what he would have done if I told
everyone at the table what we did when we were alone. I nearly laughed out loud
thinking about it.

After dinner, I planned to go home and sleep some more. Now that the Evil

Four were out of the picture once more, I could take things a bit easier. There
was still Ben to deal with, of course, but he was close to being a basket case since
his near death experience. I doubted he would give the gay boys of Verona much
trouble. He was now on his own and in our debt. He was scared to death that
Jason, a.k.a. Chip, would come back for him if he stepped out of line, too. I was
sure I had my work cut out for me, though. My recent experiences were merely
battles in a very long war. I remembered well what Mark had told Oliver not all
that long ago: “This isn’t the end. It’s only the beginning.”

- 199 -

Other Books by Mark A. Roeder

Listed in Suggested Reading Order

Gay Youth Chronicles:

NCIENT

REJUDICE

REAK TO

UTINY

Mark is a boy who wants what we all want: to love and be loved. His dreams are
realized when he meets Taylor, the boy of his dreams. The boys struggle to keep
their love hidden from a world that cannot understand, but ultimately, no secret
is safe in a small Mid-western town.

Ancient Prejudice is a story of love, friendship, understanding, and an age-old
prejudice that still has the power to kill. It is a story for young and old, gay and
straight. It reminds us all that everyone should be treated with dignity and respect
and that there is nothing greater than the power of love.

OCCER

IELD

MPTY

The Soccer Field Is Empty is a revised and much expanded edition of Ancient
Prejudice. It is more than 50% longer and views events from the point of view of
Taylor, as well as Mark. There is so much new in the revised edition that it is
being published as a separate novel. Soccer Field delves more deeply into the
events of Mark and Taylor’s lives and reveals previously hidden aspects of Tay-
lor’s personality.

Mark A. Roeder

200

Authors note: I suggest readers new to my books start with Soccer Field instead
of Ancient Prejudice as it gives a more complete picture of the lives of Mark and
Taylor. For those who wish to read the original version, Ancient Prejudice will
remain available for at least the time being.

OMEONE

ATCHING

It’s hard hiding a secret. It’s even harder keeping that secret when someone else
knows.

Someone Is Watching is the story of Ethan, a young high school wrestler who
must come to terms with being gay. He struggles first with himself, then with an
unknown classmate that hounds his every step. While struggling to discover the
identity of his tormentor, Ethan must discover his own identity and learn to live
his life as his true self. He must choose whether to give up what he wants the
most, or face his greatest fear of all.

A B

ETTER

LACE

High school football, a hospital of horrors, a long journey, and an unlikely love
await Brendan and Casper as they search for a better place …
Casper is the poorest boy in school. Brendan is the captain of the football team.
Casper has nothing. Brendan has it all: looks, money, popularity, but he lacks the
deepest desire of his heart. The boys come from different worlds, but have one
thing in common that no one would guess.
Casper goes through life as the “invisible boy”; invisible to the boys that pick on
him in school, invisible to his abusive father, and invisible most of all to his older
brother, who makes his life a living hell. He can’t believe his good luck when
Brendan, the most popular boy in school, takes an interest in him and becomes
his friend. That friendship soon travels in a direction that Casper would never
have guessed.
A Better Place is the story of an unlikely pair, who struggle through friendship
and betrayal, hardships and heartbreaks, to find the desire of their hearts, to find
a better place.

Mark A. Roeder

201

OMEONE

ILLING

OYS OF

ERONA

Someone is killing the gay boys of Verona, Indiana, and only one gay youth
stands in the way. He finds himself pitted against powerful foes, but finds allies in
places he did not expect.

A brutal murder. Gay ghosts. A Haunted Victorian-Mansion. A cult of hate. A
hundred year old ax murder. All this, and more, await sixteen-year-old Sean as he
delves into the supernatural and races to discover the murderer before he strikes
again.

Someone is Killing the Gay Boys of Verona is a supernatural murder mystery
that goes where no gay novel has set foot before. It is a tale of love, hate, friend-
ship, and revenge.

EEPER OF

ECRETS

Sixteen-year-old Avery is in trouble, yet again, but this time he’s in over his head.
On the run, Avery is faced with hardships and fear. He must become what he’s
always hated, just to survive. He discovers new reasons to hate, until fate brings
him to Graymoor Mansion and he discovers a disturbing connection to the past.
Through the eyes of a boy, murdered more than a century before, Avery discovers
that all is not as he thought. Avery is soon forced to face the greatest challenge of
all; looking into his own heart.

Sean is head over heels in love with his new boyfriend, Nick. There is trouble in
paradise, however. Could a boy so beautiful really love plain, ordinary Sean? Sean
cannot believe it and desperately tries to transform himself into the ideal young
hunk, only to learn that it’s what’s inside that matters.

Keeper of Secrets is the story of two boys, one a gay youth, the other an adoles-
cent gay basher. Fate and the pages of a hundred year old journal bring them
together and their lives are forever changed.

Mark A. Roeder

202

NOW

HAT

I L

OVE

The lead singer of the most popular boy band in the world has a secret. A tabloid
willing to tell all turns his world upside down.

In Do You Know That I Love You, Ralph, a young gay teen living on a farm in
Indiana, has an aching crush on a rock star and wants nothing more than to see
his idol in concert. Meanwhile, Jordan, the rock star, is lonely and sometimes
confused with his success, because all he wants is someone to love him and feels
he will never find the love he craves. Do You Know is the story of two teenage
boys, their lives, desires, loves, and a shared destiny that allows them both to find
peace.

ASKED

ESTINY

Masked Destiny is the story of Skye, a high school athlete determined to be the
Alpha male. Skye’s obsessed with his own body, his Abercrombie & Fitch ward-
robe, and keeping those around him in their place. Try as he might, he’s not
quite able to ignore the world around him, or the plight of gay boys that cross his
path. Too frightened of what others might think, Skye fails to intervene when he
could have saved a boy with a single word. The resulting tragedy, wise words for a
mysterious blond boy, and a unique opportunity combine to push Skye toward
his destiny.
Oliver is young, a bit pudgy, and interested in little more than his books and pos-
sibly his first kiss. As he slowly gains courage, he seeks out the friendship of Clay,
his dream boy, in hopes they will become more than friends. Oliver is sought out
in turn by Ken, who warns him Clay is not at all what he seems, but Ken, too,
has his secrets. Oliver must choose between them and discovers danger, a link to
boys murdered in the recent past, and the answers to secrets he’d never dreamed.

LTERED

EALITIES

Marshall only wanted to help his friends, to undo the pain of the past, but a few
moments of thoughtless action changed everything. Altered Realities is the tale
of a changed world. All bets are off. Nothing is as it was and what is to be is trans-
formed too. Mark, Taylor, Ethan, Nathan, Brendan, Casper and nearly the entire

Mark A. Roeder

203

cast of the Gay Youth Chronicles come together in a tapestry of tales as they all try
to deal with the consequences of Marshall’s actions. The road to hell is paved
with good intentions.

EAD

OYS

Marshall’s experiences with ghosts and the supernatural are legendary, but when
a boy a hundred-years dead turns up in his bedroom with the cryptic message
“Blackford Manor,” Marshall realizes his adventures with the other side have only
began. As more specters appear to Marshall, he begins to assemble the pieces of a
puzzle that lead him to Graymoor Mansion and a set of crimes more heinous
than those of modern day serial killers.

Just over a year ago, Sean’s best friend, Marty, was murdered and Sean narrowly
escaped the same fate. Now, the evil four, a group of boys who were involved
with the death of Marty, have returned. Sean, Skye, and the other gay boys of
Verona can do little more than watch and wait for the terror to begin again.
Soon, Skye learns of a psychopathic homophobe who is in league with his ene-
mies. Things take a curious turn, however, when one of the evil four is brutally
murdered. Suspicion turns to Skye. Has he finally gone too far to protect his
friends? Skye isn’t the only one with a motive, however. All the gay boys of
Verona are suspect. This time around, the shoe is on the other foot.

HIS

IME

ROUND

What happens when a TV evangelist struggles to crush gay rights? Who better to
halt his evil plans than the most famous rock star in the world?

This Time Around follows Jordan and Ralph as they become involved in a strug-
gle with Reverend Wellerson, a TV evangelist, over the fate of gay youth centers.
Wellerson is willing to stop at nothing to crush gay rights and who better to halt
his evil plans than the most famous rock star in the entire world? While battling
Wellerson, Jordan seeks to come to terms with his own past and learn more about
the father he never knew. The excitement builds when an assassin is hired and
death becomes a real possibility for Jordan and those around him. Jordan is
forced to face his own fears and doubts and the battle within becomes more dan-

Mark A. Roeder

204

gerous than the battle without. Will Jordan be able to turn from the path of
destruction, or is he doomed to follow in the footsteps of his father? This time
around, things will be different.

UMMER OF

ISCONTENT

The Summer of My Discontent is a tapestry of tales delving into life as a gay teen
in a small Midwestern town.
Dane is a sixteen-year-old runaway determined to start a new life of daring, love,
and sex—no matter the cost to himself, or others. His actions bring him to the
brink of disaster and only those he sought to prey upon can save him. Among
Dane’s new found “friends” are a young male prostitute and the local grave rob-
ber who becomes his despised employer.
The boys of A Better Place are back—Ethan, Nathan, Brendan, and Casper are
once again dealing with trouble in Verona, Indiana. Drought and circumstance
threaten their existence and they struggle together to save themselves from black-
mail, financial collapse, and temptation.
Brendan must cope with anonymity after being one of the most popular boys in
school. Casper must face his own past—the loss of his father and the fate of his
abusive brother, who is locked away in the very hospital of horrors from which
Brendan escaped. Letters from his brother force Casper to question his feelings—
is Jason truly a monster or can he change?
Dark, foreboding, and sexy—The Summer of My Discontent is the tale of gay
teens seeking to find themselves, each other, and a better place.

ISASTROUS

ATES

& D

REAM

OYS

Disastrous Dates & Dream Boys is the story of teenaged boys who want what we all
want, to love and be loved. The boys from A Better Place are back. Shawn yearns
for a boyfriend, but fears his father’s wrath if he discovers the truth. Dane, too, is
seeking a soul mate and trying to leave his checkered past behind. He yearns for
Billy, but if he approaches him will the result be happiness or disaster? Brendan
has created a new life for himself and his boyfriend, Casper, but what happened
in his old hometown haunts him and he realizes he must face his father if he is to
ever be at peace. Nathan also has issues to resolve with the parents who gave him

Mark A. Roeder

205

and his little brother up far too easily. Disastrous Dates & Dream Boys is a tale of
fathers & sons, lovers & friends, and above all love and understanding.

UTFIELD

ENACE

Outfield Menace is the tale of Kurt, a fifteen-year-old baseball player, living in a
small, 1950s, Indiana town. During a confrontation with Angel, the resident bad
boy of Blackford High School, Kurt attacks Angel, earning the wrath of the most
dangerous gang in town. When Angel finally corners Kurt, however, something
happens that Kurt wouldn’t have imagined in his wildest dreams. As the murder
of a local boy is uncovered, suspicion is cast upon Angel, but Kurt has learned
there’s more to Angel than his bad boy image. Angel has a secret, however, that
could get both Kurt and himself killed. Outfield Menace is a story of friendship,
love, adventure, and perilous danger.

HANTOM

ORLD

Toby Riester is sixteen, gay, and searching for his first boyfriend. He discovers
many potential candidates—Orlando, a cute sixteen year old boy of Latin ances-
try who works with Toby at the Phantom World amusement park—C.T., a
blond, seventeen year old who is obviously gay—and Spike, a well-built sixteen
year old from the internet. Each boy has his own seductive qualities and each is
more than his seems. One of them, however, is far more dangerous than Toby
ever guessed.
Orlando finds himself a girlfriend at Phantom World, but that’s only the begin-
ning of his story. When he meets his girlfriend’s twin brother, Kerry, his world is
turned upside down.
Mackenzie Riester is the athletic younger brother of Toby. He has little respect
for his queer big brother and joins with his new found friend, Billy, in playing an
elaborate practical joke on Toby that becomes more perilous than he ever
dreamed.
Phantom World is the story of three very different boys—their triumphs, heart-
aches, and their search for love and acceptance.

Mark A. Roeder

206

ECOND

TAR

IGHT

Cedi, a eighteen-year-old British import to the town of Blackford, Indiana, is
determined to be a rock star. No one quite knows what to make of the new wild
boy in town with his blue hair and overpowering-enthusiasm—not the jocks he
torments in revenge, nor his new friends Toby and Orlando. Cedi is certain of his
future until his path crosses that of Thad, a tall, dark, older man who tells Cedi
he has no talent. Cedi is infuriated, but intrigued. He becomes obsessed with
Thad, who wants nothing to do with him. Cedi isn’t about to give up, however,
and wedges his way into Thad’s life. Cedi finds himself caught between his love
for Thad and his dream. Just when he has what he thinks he wants, his adventure
truly begins …

Mark A. Roeder

207

Other Books

AMPIRES

EART

Ever wonder what it would be like to be fifteen-years-old forever? Ever wonder
how it would feel to find out your best friend is not what he seems? Graham
Granger is intrigued by the new boy in school. Graham’s heart aches for a friend,
and maybe a boyfriend, but is Josiah the answer to his dreams? Why is Bry Hart-
nett, the school hunk, taking an interest in Graham as well? When strange hap-
penings begin to occur at Griswold Jr./Sr. High, Graham’s once boring life
becomes more exciting than he can handle. Mystery, intrigue, and danger await
Graham as he sets out on an adventure he never dreamed possible.

- 208 -

About the Author

This is the latest novel published by Mark A. Roeder. To date he has written and
published Ancient Prejudice Break To New Mutiny, The Soccer Field Is Empty,
Someone Is Watching, A Better Place, The Summer of My Discontent, Someone Is
Killing The Gay Boys of Verona, Keeper of Secrets, Do You Know That I Love You,
This Time Around, Masked Destiny, Outfield Menace, Altered Realities, Second Star
To The Right, Disastrous Dates & Dream Boys, and The Vampire’s Heart.

Document Outline

Cover
Dead Het Boys
- Acknowledgements
- Sean
- Marshall
- Skye
- Sean
- Marshall
- Skye
- Sean
- Marshall
- Skye
- Sean
- Marshall
- Skye
- Oliver
- Sean
- Marshall
- Skye
- Sean
- Marshall
- Skye
- Sean
- Marshall
- Skye
- Sean
- Marshall
- Skye
- Other Books by Mark A. Roeder Listed in Suggested Reading Order
  - Ancient Prejudice Break to New Mutiny
  - The Soccer Field Is Empty
  - Someone Is Watching
  - A Better Place
  - Someone Is Killing The Gay Boys of Verona
  - Keeper of Secrets
  - Do You Know That I Love You
  - Masked Destiny
  - Altered Realities
  - Dead Het Boys
  - This Time Around
  - The Summer of My Discontent
  - Disastrous Dates & Dream Boys
  - Outfield Menace
  - Phantom World
  - Second Star To The Right
  - The Vampires Heart
- About the Author

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