“What in the…?” If the photographs of Adrian DuBois had been appealing even to Ben, the man walking closer looked so,somuch better. Which, in a way, was worse. “Spike, stop it!” DuBois gestured with his left hand so distinctly that even Ben could translate as some sort of signal instead of random flailing.
The dog quieted, rounded Ben, and parked its butt next to DuBois’s bare feet.
“Sorry, he’s old ‘n a bit senile, and he keeps waiting for a friend of mine to come home. Doesn’t hear or see much at all so that’s why he got you from behind like that.” DuBois’s eyes twinkled and Ben blushed deeper when he played back what the man had said. Either DuBois was all for teasing poor, possibly straight, guys off his property, or he just had a wicked, non-apologetic sense of humor. Or maybe he hadn’t meant it like that at all and it was just Ben and the fact that he was attracted to the man, had accepted that for the face value, and his thoughts were already running away from him. And they were running in a decidedly dirty direction.
“It’s okay,” Ben said. “He just scared me a bit.”
“I’m Adrian DuBois, but you probably already know that.” The grin DuBois shot at Ben, while extending a mostly-clean hand for a shake, was wicked.
“Ben Grifton, and yes, I am here for a purpose.” He shook the offered hand and smiled weakly.
“And that is?” DuBois raised an eyebrow, then seemed to remember his manners. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude. I’m just in the middle of something and….”
“I understand, I… I should’ve called,” Ben admitted, running his palm over his hair.
“But now that you’re here, care for something to drink?” DuBois—Ben forced himself to call the man Adrian in his head—gestured back at the barn.
Relaxing a little, Ben smiled and nodded. “Sure, thank you.”
They walked into the surprisingly cool space, and Ben realized it was a studio. A massive, light, and airy studio with large windows in the back wall. It seemed perfect for such a purpose, and there was order in the chaos he could see around him.
“This is… incredible,” Ben breathed the words, staring at the art surrounding him. It was mostly stacked along the walls, but there were some paintings on the walls and on easels here and there around the open space, too.
“Thanks. It’s a bit chaotic, but if someone wanders in here, they’re usually here for the art anyway, so they pretty much think it’s normal and don’t bat an eyelid.” Adrian shrugged and handed him a cool bottle of water he’d procured from somewhere while Ben wasn’t looking.
“Iamhere for the art, sort of,” he said, twisting open the bottle. He took a sip to moisten his suddenly dry mouth, and peeked at Adrian, wondering if he’d understand. “Bear with me, okay? This will sound seriously weird and out there, but….”
Adrian tipped his head to the side and considered Ben, before taking off the flat cap he had on and scratched his scalp. His hair, Ben noticed, was short and quite red, with a similar, slightly high, hairline to his own.
“Okay….” Adrian said and gestured for Ben to go on.
“I should probably start by saying that until about a couple of months ago, I didn’t really believe in ghosts. Or maybe I should ask if you believed or not… I don’t know.” Ben explained, hating how quickly he spoke, how nervous he felt even though he had already lived with Sal for all those weeks.
"Okay, Ben, calm down a little before you hyperventilate, man." Adrian came closer to Ben and placed a hand on his shoulder. "When it comes to your question… I’m not sure, but I’m willing to listen to what you have to say, okay?"
The kindness in Adrian’s voice and expression wasn’t what someone might show to a crazy person they thought harmless, so Ben soldiered on. “I bought this painting from a yard sale. Then suddenly there’s a spirit in my house. Like… an actual thing that’s like a mist that I can see sometimes and… and then I realized it could sort-of communicate with me and….”
Ben felt himself being moved, pushed toward one of the walls, and then he was plopped very unceremoniously onto a well-worn, red leather couch.
“And then what happened?” Adrian asked
“I used the last couple of weeks trying to figure this out. It… it seems to be….” If explaining the thing to this point had been difficult, suddenly Ben understood he was the harbinger of bad news. “Shit… okay. This is the really bad part.” He looked up at Adrian and beckoned him to sit down too, which the big man did. Ben wasn’t small by any means, but Adrian had him beat by at least couple of inches, and with what his mother would call a “lumberjack build”, the man was impressive.
“Okay.”
“So…. I finally found out that the g-ghost is connected to the painting. And that it’s some guy who was killed in a hit and run near Saxton.”
Adrian frowned slightly. “Right…?”
Ben took a deep breath and blurted out the rest in the same, nervous, rapid-fire. “It’s one of your paintings, Adrian. I think the ghost and the guy who was killed is the guy in the painting.”
Adrian frowned, and his jaw worked a bit. He seemed to be thinking of something. And then he jumped off the couch, looking at Ben with wild eyes. “W-what’s the painting like?”
“I have it in my pickup.” Ben got up and barely beat Adrian to the truck.
He wrenched the passenger’s side door open, and Adrian reached in, tugging the painting out from under its cover.
Ben reached for the painting, and it was good that he did, because as soon as Adrian had taken in the scene, he crumpled into the dirt, and a sound of utter grief burst from him.
