Page 10 of A Haunting at Keystone Manor

“You can just say ‘yes, sir,’” he says cheekily.

I can’t help the smile I feel forming. “You’re bossy, has anyone ever told you that?”

“All the time. Admit it, you like it.”

I do.

He’s quiet for a minute before he says, “I’m surprised you don’t know how to dance. I thought this was something all rich people did. Waltzing and stuff.”

I shake my head.

“Salsa? Line dancing? Twerking?”

I bark out a laugh. “None of the above, brat.”

“I thought we agreed you’d call me sir.” He gives me a mock glare.

“I’m not calling you sir. You’re a brat, I’m calling you brat.” My voice is stern, but he can tell I’m trying to be playful because he gets a twinkle in his eye. I’m not sure yet if that’s a twinkle I’ll live to regret. But he doesn’t say anything else, just leans his head against my chest and sighs deeply. For some reason I allow it and hold him a little tighter.

I don’t know how in the space of a dance he’s begun to pierce the wall I’m trying desperately to hold up around myself. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s the first person to ever actually care about anything I have to say. I feel defenseless against that. He doesn’t play fair.

I decide to give him one small piece of me. To shut him up for a minute, I tell myself. But really, I want someone to know. I'm so tired of feeling alone.

I’ve longed for real connection for so long, for someone to want me and not just want to use me. It’s something I’ve always been denied.

“As you have no doubt figured out, my family is not conventional. My father is rich, yes, but that’s never done anything good for me. He mostly ignored me until he decided he wanted me to learn the family business. I still don’t understand why. I barely even understand what his business dealings are.” I do my best to avoid his gaze. I hate talking about my family.

“And you don’t want to?” he asks softly.

“No, I don’t. I didn’t. I guess it doesn’t matter now that I’m dead, but I never wanted anything of his, as I told him many times. I wanted to make my own way, do something legitimate, and I’m pretty sure that doesn’t include running businesses that require bribing the authorities in order to stay out of trouble.” I shudder, and Alex squeezes me. “Andrei tried his best to keep me in line, but I’ve always been too stubborn for my own good. I feel like I’ve been running from my father for most of my life.”

“Andrei. He’s the one that was here the night you died. The big, scary Russian with the tattoos?” he asks, looking up at me with concern in his eyes.

“Yes. I think he’s the one that killed me,” I admit. “I wish I could remember. That night is a complete blank in my mind.”

“Were you hiding from him? I noticed you made yourself scarce that night.”

“You were stalking me from the moment I got here, weren’t you?” He hums in agreement.

I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment, trying to decide how much I want to tell him. He’s so easy to talk to and I find myself wanting to open up. Needing to purge whatever it is inside that feels like it’s slowly poisoning me.

“I was trying to get away from him,” I admit. “He’s my father’s right-hand man; he’s always been around the family. I never liked the way he would stare at me when no one was looking, and when my father gave me over to him—” I cut myself off, suddenly not wanting to continue.

“Did he hurt you?” Alex holds his breath as he waits for my answer.

“No, it wasn’t like that," I say, staring at a spot over his shoulder. "He used to always look for excuses to be around me, and my father encouraged it because he thought he was training me to take over. God, the things I’ve seen him do. He used to brag about the ways he’d take his enemies apart. How good it felt. He got off on their fear and pain. I’m a grown man. Someone my size shouldn’t be so intimidated by that. So weak. I hated being around him, but my father didn't care as long as he could keep me in line.”

I’m no body builder but I have a solid physique. I work out. I should be able to defend myself, but clearly, I’m not up to the task. I guess in the end I had good reason to fear him. It doesn’t make me feel like any less of a coward, though.

“You’re not weak. Not at all, Jake. That feeling is called survival instinct—don’t even say it. That’s not weakness. It sounds like you were put in an impossible position and were doing your best to navigate it.”

“You sound so reasonable, I can almost believe what you’re saying.”

“Good, you should. And if Andrei comes back, I’ll protect you. You’re not alone anymore.”

I can’t help but laugh at that. “You’re going to protect me, are you? I’m a ghost, he can’t touch me, remember? And you can’t touch him.”

“That’s beside the point—”