Page 14 of Shadowing My Dreams
Damn, he really was cute.
6
Archie
It’s absolutely infuriating how hot Jack Johnson is. For a moment, I enjoyed watching him discover the truth – how it made him feel – the pain it caused. The way his ego shattered as he came face to face with his reality. Then I remembered that Jack wasn’t him. No one was, even if they may have a few things in common. Jack wasn’t Pedro.
He was just another dumb, muscle-bound jock boy. But damn… His hair was so black, and his eyes were so brown… I mean, sure, his face looks like some painter created the most beautiful man in the world – his body looked like it was about to rip out of his clothes just by moving. Who needs clothes that tight? It’s just… He’s an exhibitionist; aren’t all of those gay boys? He’s used to smiling and people falling all over themselves to make him happy.
It annoys the living shit out of me. People like him are… They are what’s wrong with gay culture. I bet he goes out every night and bangs a new twink before going to another place and findingsomeone new. I… I’m much more aware now than I was when I first moved here.
Pedro was gorgeous, and I fell instantly in love with him. Insta-love is a real thing, and when he kissed me, I lost myself. I couldn’t believe that he seemed to feel the same way, but after six months of what I thought was happiness – things shifted. His energy got all twisted up, and I tried to ignore it. I wanted to be happy and… I knew in my heart that things were falling apart, but I held on, hoping that this was just a speed bump and we could work through it.
We didn’t. He left me a note and the key to my apartment. He didn’t even have the balls to do it in person. I saw him a few times after that, and he would turn to his bros and laugh. I should have made a scene – I deserved it – but I couldn’t.
Fuck him. Fuck all boys like him. That included Mister Jack Johnson. God, even his name sounded stupid.
Let those thoughts go. You have work to do, and you’re here to help an innocent soul, not obsess over some himbo. I cleared my thoughts once again and cracked my neck.
This was uncomfortable – sitting here on the floor with my legs crossed. I should have gotten a pillow off his bed, but… The window seemed to have the most energy for some reason, so if I was going to connect, it would probably be here.
I opened my mind and released my energy. I placed my hands on the windowsill and concentrated as I felt for the residual source of the spirit. If I could find that, perhaps I would be able to find him.
He was silent.
I had been sitting here for almost two hours, and I had learned almost nothing. The energy was male and angry. It left a red tinge wherever he had been, and the house was full of it even though it had faded everywhere but the bedroom. Maybe he died here. Thiswasthe master room, but was it always? I hadasked Jack to find out as much about the house as he could, and he had already contacted the city of West Hollywood to find out anything that might help us.
It was frustrating. I wish that I could do exactly what most people think when they hear the word "psychic." It would be easier to just open my mind and know everyone's thoughts. However, it would also be terrifying and chaotic. Reading energy made my day-to-day existence hard enough. Passing someone on the street who was sick, and not saying something was… I usually said something, and they looked at me like I was insane. But maybe I helped a few before it was too late. Cancer was a dark hole of energy, and it radiated a deathly hum of impending doom. How could I not say something? My life would be easier if I could learn to shut my mouth, that’s for sure.
I could shield myself in some ways so I could exist like everyone else. But it always broke through, eventually. Being out in public for long periods of time was exhausting and complicated.
Wait!
“Who are you?” I had felt a flash of something.
I waited.
Nothing came back to me. But he was here, and he was hiding. Why would he hide from me? What was it? This wasn’t normal, but it wasn’t also unheard of. Some spirits were weak and could barely communicate as it took every ounce of energy to find form orspeak back to me. Others had their own reasons. I had once found the spirit of a little boy who had been murdered, and it had been so horrible – he hid, and it took days to finally get him to trust me enough to come forward.
Was this something like that? I had looked at the police records for this address, and there had been nothing to find. No murders had happened inside. At least, none that the police knew about.
The window… It kept drawing me here as a focal point. Why here?
I let down my guard once again and felt for the energies. I closed my eyes, and my inner vision flashed. A hand on the windowsill – a cup of coffee – another hand holding his, smaller but masculine – and a…
The vision ended as forcefully as it came. Angry energy, but not the kind of angry I often found. It wasn’t lashing out because of the new owner… It was internal, as if the anger was directed at itself… himself. Why? I was missing some key part of this story, wasn’t I? The spirit was not new – the energy was wiser and older… not that old, not ancient. Not recent. When? “Give me something?” I begged.
“What do you need?”
I fell over and spun around.
“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to…” Jack stood there in an obscenely short pair of gym shorts and a black tank top that only a himbo could get away with.
“Don’t do that?” I huffed as I stared at him. He looked like he had just gotten off a cover shoot for some stupid health magazine. Jesus, I may think he’s a prick, but his dressing like that should be illegal. Those arms were a thing of beauty, and I’m sure they would feel great wrapped around me as they crushed my heart into tiny pieces.
“Sorry. You’ve just been up here a bit, and I thought I’d… Do you want anything?” I was taken back a little. This may have been one of the only nice things he had ever said to me.
“I’d love to get this spirit to actually talk to me. But that is proving quite difficult.” I sighed and rolled my neck.
