The Ghost In Number 9

HOST

UMBER

… Carter didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, run, or question

his sanity. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’ll
give you a minute to get out of here or else I’m calling the cops.”
Carter edged a few steps closer, so that he could snatch his pants from
the floor. He felt in the pockets, relieved when he grasped the outlines
of his wallet and phone.

He struggled into the khakis, almost losing his balance. All kinds

of creeps walked up and down Aurora, at all hours of the day or night,
and all Carter could think was that this one had gotten in when Tony
left, forgetting to lock the door behind him.

Yet, didn’t the door lock automatically? And what did the man

mean about always being in the room?

And while it was true there were prostitutes and thugs that

regularly walked the lengthy north-south traverse of Aurora Avenue,
none of them looked as neat (and neat was the best word) as this
character.

Carter shivered, even though the room had no air conditioning. He

grabbed his shirt off the floor and put it on, buttoning it with trembling
fingers.

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll just leave and I’ll let the guy at the

front desk know you’re here.” Why not? Carter had all his important
belongings now. He needed only to slip into his wingtips.

“Sit down.”
“What?”
“Grab a seat on the bed, bud. You know I’m not real.”
“Not real?” Carter neared the man. “You look real to me.” He

reached out to place a hand on the guy’s chest and it was like his hand
passed through a fog of cold air…

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LSO

ICK

EED

Beau And The Beast

The Blue Moon Café

Class Distinctions

The Course Of True Love

Dead End Street

Echoes

Fugue

Heartrace

High Risk

How I Met My Man

I Heart Boston Terriers

Incubus

The “M4M” Series

Man-Amorphosis

No Place Like Home

On The Edge

Orientation

Out On The Net

Pottery Peter

Riding The El At Midnight

Sluggo Snares A Vampire

Speed Demon

Superstar

Through The Closet Door

THE GHOST

IN NUMBER 9

RICK R. REED

MBER

UILL

RESS

LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

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HOST

UMBER

MBER

UILL

RESS

OOK

This book is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the

author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales,

or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

No portion of this book may be transmitted or

reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in

writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief

excerpts used for the purposes of review.

ISBN 978-1-61124-515-8

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

It was blistering hot for Seattle. As Carter watched for a break

in the traffic on busy, six-lane Aurora Avenue, he had to keep
pulling his pale blue polo from the small of his back. Sweat
persistently glued it there.

The cars swarmed the busy roadway, once Seattle’s main

thoroughfare before the construction of I-5. Carter desperately
wanted to get across the street because the Galaxy Gold Motel
beckoned from the other side.

He knew that in room number nine, Tony waited.
Part of the sweat coursing down his back, dotting his hairline,

and pooling in his pits was, to be sure, from the close-to-90-
degree-temperature. It was also because of anticipating Tony,
whom he knew would by lying naked in the darkened cheesy motel

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

room, waiting for him. Carter could see him now, his ebony body,
smooth and muscled, stretched out on crisp white sheets.

Lord. Carter could remember no man who had turned his head

as Tony had. And Carter had had a lot of men turn his head in his
thirty-two years on Earth, some even turning it hard enough to
make poor Carter resemble Linda Blair in The Exorcist.

Yet Tony was something different. Even now, with the sun

beating down on his head as if it would burn a hole in the top of it,
fringing  his  buzz-cut  blond  hair  with  blackened  soot,  he  could
think  of  nothing  but  Tony,  wanting  him  like  a  man  in  the  desert
wants  water.  Tony  set  off  alarms  throughout  Carter’s  body,  sent
neon pulses of electricity coursing through his synapses, made him
quiver with need, with want, with lust—all over. Like the old song,
Tony sent him.

Carter looked north, looked south, and could see the top of the

Space Needle rising up in the distance, beyond the Aurora Bridge’s
great span.

And the damn cars would not stop! Rushing like a river made

of  glistening  metal,  exhaust  fumes,  and  chrome,  the  whoosh-
whoosh-whoosh  of  the  traffic  speeding  by  seemed  endless,  as
though fashioned by Satan himself to keep Carter  from the object
of his affection, lust, obsession.

Tony.
It made it worse that he knew Tony was over there, in the motel

room, waiting, perhaps playing with his hard dick in anticipation of
Carter’s  arrival.  Carter  imagined  himself  entering  the  room.
Wordless,  he  would  drop  his  clothes  as  Tony  rolled  one  of  his
Magnum  condoms  down  his  cock.  With  only  a  shy  smile,  Carter
would approach the bed, forcing himself to make his advance slow,
his cock bobbing out in front of him, leaking pre-come. He would

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crawl  onto  the  bed,  never  looking  down  at  what  he  wanted,  but
catching  and  holding  Tony’s  gaze.  Oh,  those  gorgeous  eyes—
chocolate brown and flecked with amber. He  would slither up the
sheets  and  straddle  Tony,  grabbing  hold  of  his  thick  cock,
positioning it so he could slide down it in one fluid motion.

Then, and only then, would the two of them gasp and sigh in

unison.

Then, and only then, would Carter dare lean forward and kiss

this man for whom he had fallen—damn him—so utterly and
helplessly in love. He would part Tony’s lips with his tongue, and
explore the salty, sweet, and hot interior of his mouth. Their
tongues would dance a pas de deux, dueling, while the rest of their
bodies merged in a line of silken electricity.

Carter shook his head and let out a startled cry as a blaring car

horn shrieked at him, its wail losing force as the car swept by,
doing at least seventy. Carter stepped back, heart pounding even
harder, feeling the breeze and the grit the passing vehicle raised.

“Watch it,” he mumbled to himself, taking a couple steps

backward. His reverie had sent him right into traffic. “You won’t
be much good to Tony dead.”

He wished he had driven a little farther north, to a stoplight

where he could have executed a U-turn. Then he would have been
going south and could have easily parked on Aurora or one of the
adjacent side streets.

He wouldn’t have parked in the motel parking lot. Neither of

them needed their vehicles being seen there, not on a busy
Wednesday afternoon when both of them should have been at
work.

Finally, there was a small break in the traffic and Carter was

able to make it across. Barely. He stood gasping on the other side,

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

bent over and resting his hands on his knees. He had almost been
struck by a Ford F-150 pickup as he neared the western side of
Aurora.

But now the Galaxy Gold motel rose up before him, fifty-one

years old and looking every month of it. It had originally been built
to house the influx of tourists who descended upon Seattle for the
1962 World’s Fair, or, as it was dubbed, the Century 21
Exhibition. The Galaxy’s view of the Space Needle, the talk of the
fair, had been one of its great selling points. Now it was run-down,
a two-story dump dotted with rusting metal doors and darkened
windows, like eyes, that looked out on the busy thoroughfare.

The Galaxy was one of the few motels along this stretch of

Aurora  that  had  survived.  Yet,  graffiti-littered  and  paint-peeling
structures  still  stood,  filled  with  ghosts—echoing  years  past  and
foretelling  the promise of a future that  guaranteed demolition one
day.

Carter sucked in some exhaust-filled air, the taste of it sharp

and metallic in his mouth. The air was like a wet blanket, so rare
for Seattle summer, when the uninitiated might be surprised by the
city’s sunny, low-humidity days.

He started toward the motel, his pace quickening as he walked

toward  room  number  nine,  the  place  for  that  day’s  assignation.
Tony had texted him in the morning to meet him there at noon, his
words  bald  and  spare,  but  not  hiding  his  desperation  to  be  with
Carter  for  one  more  afternoon,  one  in  a  series  of  secret  meetings,
illicit and thrilling.

And disappointing.
If you had told Carter, at the beginning of summer, he would be

playing out some naughty Peyton Place scenario with a married
man, he would have laughed, scoffed at the very idea. There were

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scores of young, attractive, out-of-the-closet, and available gay
men in Seattle. They populated its gathering places on Capitol Hill,
manned its LGBT sports teams, met at Gay City’s library space for
readings and book discussion groups, prowled the Internet for
connection. So many men, Carter once joked to his friends, and so
little time.

Why did he have to end up with one who was married? Married

and firmly stuck in the closet by a wife and a family who harbored
beliefs that being gay was a choice and, worse, a sin.

He had met Tony, he was embarrassed to admit, at the city’s

Woodland Park, really only a short walk from the motel. The park
was a beautiful oasis of green in the city and aside from its zoo,
dog park, tennis courts, and running and hiking trails, was one of
the most popular cruising spots on the north side.

Carter would check it out when he had his horns up and

desperation  forced  him  there.  It  was  not  his  place  of  choice  for
finding  a  man—he  preferred  a  more  refined  connection  than
ducking  into  the  bushes  for  a  quick  blow  job  that  could  result  in,
yes, a climax, but also possibly an arrest.

Three months ago, he had found Tony there, sitting by a picnic

shelter  in  his  white  pickup  truck.  Carter  noticed  him  right  away.
For one, he  was  gorgeous, some kind of ebony  god in a tank top,
muscles  rippling  and  shaved  head  glinting.  For  another,  the  guy
looked scared out of his wits, like the rabbits Carter had once seen
in  the  woods  ready  to  bolt.  He  was  so  unlike  the  older  men  who
cruised  the  park,  but  later  Carter  would  discover  he  was  indeed
very similar to many of them, in the fact that he was married.

Carter had known instinctively this one would not follow him

into the shaded woods. He had approached his truck cautiously, the
way he might near a wild animal, sniffing the air for predators.

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

And Carter did feel like a predator as he wandered up to the

open window of the truck, making small talk about the weather. It
had  been  drizzling  that  day,  the  sky  pewter  gray,  hanging  heavy.
Not  many  people  were  in  the  park,  yet  Carter  could  still  see  the
anxiety  in  Tony’s  restlessly  darting  eyes,  the  nervous  way  he
tapped his hands on the steering wheel.

They had done nothing that time. But the following week,

Carter was drawn back to the park and he knew, in the back of his
mind, it was to see if a certain white pickup would be there.

It was.
This time, Tony was a bit more open. Carter didn’t know why

Tony had told him his tale of an unhappy marriage, made when he
was nineteen, and how trapped he now felt, but knew no way out.
Maybe it was simply because Tony did not know Carter, and
speaking openly to a stranger had been easier, especially when it
seemed he had been shouldering this burden for so long.

Not a soul knew he was gay, Tony had said. He’d hardly had

any experience  with  men, but the  more he tried to force his urges
away, the harder they returned, invading his dreams with salacious
imagery  that  left  him  panting  in  bed  next  to  his  wife  in  the  early
morning  hours,  the  sheets  dotted  with  his  sweat  and  his  cock
pulsing out its last dribbles of come into his briefs.

“I don’t know if I can stand it, this longing,” Tony had

confessed. “It’s like a living thing, always with me, never letting
me have any peace, you know?” Carter did.

And still, Carter wasn’t sure Tony would ever go the extra mile

and actually touch another man or allow himself to be touched.

But, as it always did, desire eventually won out. And the two of

them traveled to this seedy motel only a quarter mile or so from the
park’s 50th Avenue entrance.

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And thus began a torrid affair. It was fun at first, Carter playing

the teacher and Tony his eager pupil. They left the room after each
assignation in disarray, the force of their coupling so strong it left
the sheets torn from the mattress, its striped ticking visible.  Carter
was  certain  that  when  the  people  who  cleaned  the  room  entered,
they would still smell the come and sweat hanging heavy in the air.
They  would gingerly pick  up the condoms littering the floor, find
perhaps one of Carter’s blond hairs curled on a pillow, telling tales.

The fun morphed into frustration, though, when something

happened to Carter he hadn’t expected. He had fallen in love with
Tony. It didn’t happen the first time they made love, when Carter
left Tony panting in the room to get back to his job at Amazon in
South Lake Union. It didn’t happen the second time, when the pair
of them cautiously exited the motel room, looking around for
witnesses to their depravity and lust.

But the third time, when Carter lay in bed next to Tony, after

their epic session had ended and their bodies were glued to each
other by sweat and semen, something clicked, like the tumbler of a
combination lock falling into place.

Carter had felt, lying in Tony’s strong and warm embrace,

complete,  safe,  at  home.  He  remembered  closing  his  eyes  against
the  sensation,  which  was  like  a  drug,  hot,  coursing  through  his
system.  The  feelings  made  him  want  to  run,  want  to  grip  Tony
tighter,  want  to  dance,  want  to  cry,  laugh,  and,  finally,  to  never
leave this tacky motel room, as long as this man lay beside him.

He hadn’t told Tony he loved him that day, but he had the next

time they got together. And Tony said, “I love you, too, Carter. But
nothing can ever come of it. I’m a married man and my family
would disown me. Stephanie would probably get creative on me
with her chef’s knife. I’d lose everything.”

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

After that response to his “I love you” Carter had dressed

hurriedly, tears in his eyes, and left Tony lying on the bed, saying
that, to save his heart, he could never see him again. Tony had
solemnly agreed, still smarting, Carter supposed, from the guilt and
shame that always assailed him after the pair had made love. “It’s
the right thing to do,” Tony had said. “This is bad. It’s wrong.”

Yet they were back at the Galaxy Gold the following week.
Tony was like a drug and Carter knew he had fallen deeply into

both love and addiction.

The trap had sprung closed and Carter realized the only way to

get free would be at the expense of great personal harm, as an
animal might chew off its leg to get free.

All of these memories passed through Carter’s brain in an

instant, leaving him nearly winded, vague anxious butterflies
hitting against the inside of his gut.

His remorse, his common sense, told him to move along, but

even as those voices rose in their outrage, he was moving toward
the chipped green door of room number nine.

So focused was he on the door and, more importantly, what lay

(literally) behind it, he almost didn’t see the little boy zoom up in
front of him on his bicycle.

“Whoa!” the little boy, about ten, cried, screeching to a sudden

halt right in front of Carter, nearly propelled over the bike’s raised
handlebars.

Carter could have snapped something along the lines of telling

the  red-haired  boy  to  watch  where  he  was  going,  but  he  didn’t,
because he knew the  near-collision  was all  his fault. He had been
focused  instead  on  the  immediate  future,  which  lay  beyond  the
sunny  confines  of  Aurora  Avenue.  So  all  he  said  to  the  kid  was,
“Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”

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“You sure as fuck weren’t!” the boy said, but he laughed.

Carter took in the boy’s impish features, his pug nose and freckles
that put him in mind of Howdy Doody.

“No, I sure as fuck wasn’t. I apologize.” Carter made to move

around the bike, a retro job–lime green with a black banana seat
and raised handlebars—that Carter suddenly recalled were referred
to as “sissy bars” when he was a lad.

“Hot date at the motel?” The boy, who should have not even

been aware of such adult goings-on, eyed him.

“None of your business,” Carter said, keeping his words gentle.

He now felt in a quandary. Should he pretend to be walking south
on Aurora and delay his meeting with Tony so this little imp
wouldn’t have his suspicions confirmed or should he simply say
fuck all and go into the motel room?

Why did it matter that a little boy would witness him going into

a motel room on a sunny summer weekday?

In the end, as it always did, desire won out. He was too full of

need for Tony to let anything, including this little rascal, derail him
from connecting with his man.

He swerved to avoid the chunky front tire of the boy’s bike and

continued his steady progress toward room number nine.

The little boy called after him, “You be careful, now, sir.” The

boy’s laughs were high-pitched. Carter did not turn around, but
continued forward. “You watch your ass!” the boy shrieked.

Carter ignored him. When he stopped at the door, his hand on

the knob, he turned to regard the little boy.

But all he saw was that same traffic swarming by on Aurora. A

semi growled loudly as it rumbled past. A scooter trailed it,
buzzing like a bee.

The boy was nowhere in sight.

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

* * *

“I thought you’d never get here,” Tony said when Carter

opened the door. It took a moment for his eyes, pupils dilated by
the blinding sun outside, to adjust to the murky dim of the room.

Carter felt blinded. He stood still for a moment, letting his eyes

adjust to the darkness of the room, the sun nearly blotted out by the
room’s cheap vinyl mini-blinds, pulled shut against the glare. Tony
always had the room darkened this way, as though he was afraid
his wife perhaps might drive by and decide to peek in the window.

After a moment, though, the room, the bed with its cheap

veneer headboard, the writing desk in one corner, the two worn
pleather guest chairs, began to take on form and definition.

And so did Tony.
As Carter had imagined, he lay sprawled across the white

sheets, his dark skin a breathtaking contrast. His thick thighs were
spread  and  his  dick  had  already  risen  to  half-mast,  simply,  Carter
presumed,  by  the  excitement  of  his  entering  the  room.  Tony’s
workman clothes (he worked construction) lay in a heap at the foot
of the bed, signaling to Carter that  he  couldn’t  wait to  get out of
them.

Almost as exciting as Tony’s naked form laid out before him

like a feast, were the clothes he had discarded: a pair of worn and
ripped jeans, a T-shirt from which Carter would swear he could
catch the manly tang of Tony’s pits rising up, the reflective bright
lime green and black vest, the steel-toed boots, one straight up, the
other overturned nearby. Of course, alongside all of this, was
Tony’s tool belt, worn leather.

Exciting as the clothes were, and they were, even more exciting

was Tony himself. Although the dimness didn’t reveal them

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clearly, Carter could still imagine Tony’s incredible amber-flecked
eyes and the way he knew, right now, he couldn’t take them off of
Carter, which sent a frisson of passion through him. He eyed the
man on the bed and sucked in a breath, struggling now to rip off
his own clothes, a pair of khakis, a pink Oxford-cloth shirt, socks
and wingtip shoes.

In seconds, his own work uniform-of-sorts joined Tony’s on

the floor. The small striptease alone and the knowledge of knowing
how much Tony appreciated it had Carter’s cock fully erect. He
moved toward the bed, thinking only briefly of how trapped he was
by his passion, his love. But then need took over, wiping out the
reality of how impossible and fragile their union was.

There was only now. Carter slid into bed beside Tony and Tony

leaned over him, gathering  him up in his arms,  kissing  him like a
starving man. Tony’s tongue darted into Carter’s mouth and Carter
sucked  it,  hungry,  savoring  its  sweet-sour  essence.  Both  pairs  of
hands, Carter thought, seemed to have minds of their  own as they
roamed  the  other’s  body,  delighting  in  the  touch  of  hot,  smooth
skin.

After rolling around on the bed for several breathless moments,

Carter pushed Tony back and crawled between his sprawled thighs.
In one fluid motion, he took Tony’s cock down his throat and Tony
groaned.  Carter  brought  his  head  back  up,  reveling  in  the  dank
odor of Tony’s crotch, still sweaty from his labors, and went down
again, so far his nose pressed against the coarse pubes. Carter slid
his  tongue  out  to  lave  Tony’s  balls,  eliciting  another  groan  from
the  man.  Tony  grabbed  Carter’s  head  and  thrust  almost  savagely
into  his  mouth  and  Carter  did  his  best  not  to  gag,  although  he
would have not stopped the mouth-fucking for anything.

“You keep that up, buddy, and I’m gonna fill your mouth with

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

come.”

Carter stopped his ministrations only long enough to look up at

Tony, a mischievous grin playing about his features. “Is that a
promise?”

He went back to work and about five minutes later was

rewarded with the first gush of semen splashing hard against the
back of his throat. Carter held on, hand firmly on Tony’s chest, as
he bucked and writhed, working through his orgasm. Carter shut
his eyes more tightly, made delirious by the muscular pumping of
Tony’s cock, savoring the brine of his juice.

When Carter was certain the last drops had pumped out, he

lifted his head and took the heavy cock in his hand. He squeezed it
so that a lovely drop of pearlescent come formed in the piss-slit
and then licked it away.

“Yum,” he whispered.
“Lord,” Tony said, slumping back against the headboard,

reaching out in a cliché move that Carter had to admit he loved, to
snag his hard pack of Marlboro Reds off the nightstand. He lit up
and exhaled through his nostrils as Carter curled into his arms,
resting his head on his chest.

“That was just the appetizer,” Carter breathed, looking down at

his own stiff cock, leaking precome.

“I know. I know. Just give me a few to recover. I know what

you want.”

After the cigarette and some small talk, Carter slid himself up

to  position  himself  at  Tony’s  mouth.  He  loved  the  taste  from  the
cigarette  and  kissed  Tony  hard,  moving  to  straddle  him.  Once  he
was  on  top,  he  ground  his  hips  into  Tony’s  lap,  delighted  to  feel
the cock raising its head once more.

After more kissing, of lips, ears, neck, Carter pulled back to

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peer at his man. “You ready?”

Tony only growled in response.
Carter rolled off of him and lay next to him. Slowly, he pulled

his legs up so that his knees were practically touching his ears.
“That’s one hungry hole, man.”

Tony got up to position himself between Carter’s thighs. “That

hole’s  gonna  get  fucked.  Hard.  Good.”  He  reached  over  and
grabbed  a  condom  off  the  nightstand,  tore  it  open  with  his  teeth,
and  quick-as-a-blink,  rolled  it  on  to  his  cock.  “You  ready?”  he
asked again.

“Oh, just fuck me,” Carter pleaded, wriggling his ass so that the

head of Tony’s cock was knocking at Carter’s ring of muscle.

Tony took only a second to drop a dollop of the Corn Huskers

lotion he had brought onto his dick, rub it up and down, and smear
a swatch of it along Carter’s inner cheeks.

And then, with very little effort, he was inside Carter. “Oh

God, yeah.” Carter shut his eyes and bucked against Tony, forcing
him in so deeply Tony’s rough pubes tickled the smooth skin of his
ass cheeks.

Tony threw Carter’s legs onto his shoulders and piston-drove

into him. The fucking was merciless and went on for a long time,
just what Carter wanted.

When Tony’s thrusts quickened and his face contorted, Carter

urged, “Yeah, shoot it in me, baby. Fill me up.”

And Tony did.
Carter came without even touching himself, jets of come arcing

to splash onto his chin, chest, and belly. He arched his back, losing
for a moment his hold on reality. The room, its cheap furnishings,
the slatted sunlight coming in through the blinds, even Tony
himself, disappeared as Carter surrendered himself to this breath-

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

stealing, nerve-tingling pleasure.

When it was over, Carter gradually reeled himself back to

Earth. Tony was lying next to him, a dribble of sweat coursing
down between his smooth pecs. He stared straight ahead, smoking.
Carter couldn’t even remember when he had lit it. Carter grabbed
the cigarette from Tony’s fingers, took a drag, and exhaled a plume
of blue-gray smoke into the room. “Yuck,” he whispered. “I don’t
know how you smoke these things.”

Wordlessly, Tony took the cigarette back, took a long drag, and

then extinguished it into the ashtray next to the bed. He wasn’t
looking at Carter and made no move to caress him, as he often did
after they had both come.

“Is everything okay?” Carter asked. “Was it good for you?”
“Oh, it was great, man. It always is.” He rolled over and eyed

Carter. “I was just feeling a little guilty again. I don’t know if I can
go on like this. I’m a good guy, you know? And good guys don’t
cheat on their wives.”

“Yeah, but you’re gay. You can’t get what you need at home.”
“Am I gay?” Tony asked.
Carter rolled his eyes. “You have to ask that after what we just

did?”

“If I use that logic, then I’m also straight because I fuck my

wife, too.”

Carter felt a nearly wince-inducing pang of jealousy take a stab

at  his  heart.  Unrealistic  and  illogical,  but  the  heart  had  never
subscribed to things that made sense. Carter asked, “You want to
stop?”  He  hated  to  say  the  words  because  he  imagined  a  world
without  even  this  small  part  of  Tony  as  a  very  bleak  one,  empty.
But  yet,  there  also  danced  behind  the  words  the  promise  of
liberation. There was also the hope that once the pain of losing this

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married man faded, Carter would once more be free to pursue a
love that did not have to be confined to motel rooms and shadows,
hidden. Still, he didn’t know if he could bear it if Tony said,
“Yes.”

Tony looked at him, reaching down to plant a feathery kiss on

his lips. “I should. We should. We both know it’s the right thing to
do.”

“Do we?” Carter wondered. Who knew what was the right

thing to do, anyway? Who decided that? Maybe the right thing
would be for he and Tony to be together and his wife cast aside to
find herself a man who liked women—and only women. Why
wasn’t that the right thing?

“I took vows.”
“I know you did.”
Tony sat up. “I don’t know. I walk out of here, give you up,

what would happen then? Would my heart shrivel up and die?
Would I forget you?”

Carter thought the sad truth was, he probably would. Maybe

not  next  week,  next  month,  or  even  next  year,  but  he  eventually
Carter knew the memory of his touch, how he felt, what his smile
could  do,  would  eventually  fade  away.  And  then  where  would
Tony find himself? Carter looked away, staring up at hairline crack
that  ran  across  the  ceiling,  not  wanting  to  hear  the  answer  to  that
last question, which taunted him in his own mind.

He’d be back in the park, more experienced now, looking for

another Carter, another young man to lure away to the motel and
this  whole  sad,  yet  blissful,  scenario  would  play  itself  out  once
more.  Perhaps  it  would  happen  many  times,  until  Tony’s  wife
found  out,  or  Tony  brought  the  wrong  guy  back  to  the  motel,  or
who knows?

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

Carter sat up. “The romantic me would love to say yes, your

heart would shrivel up. You’d miss me so much it’d be like a
physical ache. You would just not be able to go on. But the realist
in me knows the truth—you’d go on.”

“And be a faithful and loving husband?”
Carter turned to face him. He shook his head. “You’re kidding

yourself if  you think that. You told  me once  your  need for a  man
was like a living thing and it wouldn’t leave  you alone. You told
me  that  the  harder  you  tried  to  suppress  it,  the  stronger  it  would
come back.”

Tony stared down at his thighs, at the dick coiled between his

legs. He snatched the sheet up to cover himself.

Carter leaned toward him, touching his shoulder gently. “I’m

sorry. But it’s true.”

“I know it. It’s a mess.”
Carter asked again, “Do you want to end it?” He was split right

down the middle. One part wanted Tony to say yes, another
despaired that he would.

“Of course not. I love you.” And Tony looked over at him,

catching  and  holding  Carter’s  gaze.  Carter  didn’t  need  words  to
know  that  this  was  the  bottom  line—their  love.  Sure,  the  sex  was
mind-blowing,  the  best  he’d  ever  had,  and  he  suspected  the  same
was  true  for  Tony,  but  it  wasn’t  really  about  the  sex.  If  it  was,
Tony could go on being married and have some secret encounters
on the side, perhaps for years.

But Carter knew they both wanted more. But how to get it?

How to get it and not hurt so much those around them? Carter was
single, but it didn’t erase the complicity he would feel in the
heartbreak of a woman’s heart if her man left her to be with him.

“I love you, too.”

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THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

Carter sat back, leaning against the headboard, his shoulders

touching Tony’s. “So where do we go from here?”

“Why do we have to go anywhere?” Tony asked dully. Carter

thought he was referring to leaving the motel room. But his next
words clarified what Tony had met. “Can’t we just keep things like
this?”

The words simply came out of Carter, without forethought.

“Forever?  Would  you  be  happy  with  that?  I  wouldn’t.  We  love
each other.” Carter looked away, a stream of images parading by in
his  head.  “What  we  do  here  is  flat-out  wonderful.  I  mean  it!  But
the words ‘I love you’ encompass so much more.” Carter stretched
his  arms  open  wide.  “I  want  us  to  get  out  of  this  motel  room.  I
want to have dinner with you at one of the restaurants in Pike Place
Market  or  maybe  you  and  me  at  the  top  of  the  Space  Needle,
spinning as the sun sets behind the Olympics. I want to ride a ferry
with you from Anacortes to Friday Harbor. I want to get in the car
and take a weekend road trip down to Portland and end up in some
little  B&B  on  the  Oregon  coast.  I  want  you  to  come  to  my  place
and I’ll make my mom’s meatloaf for you. I want to open presents
under a Christmas tree. I want watch you blow out the candles on
your birthday cake.”

Carter bit his lip, hating the big, painful ball that had formed in

his throat, making it painful to swallow, as though a torrent of tears
and a bunch of sobs were the only thing that could dissolve it. “I
want to see your clothes hanging next to mine in the closet.”

Tony stared at him for a long time. Finally, he shook his head

and rose up from the bed. He began to dress.

“You’re not gonna say anything?” Carter wondered. It was

weird how the room had gone from the heights of blissful passion
to the depths of despair so damn fast. “I just poured my fuckin’

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

heart out to you, man. And you’re gonna give me back silence?”

Tony pulled up his pants and struggled to pull his T-shirt over

his head, saying nothing. At last, he said, “If I had answers, I’d
give ’em to you.”

He gathered up his tool belt and then kissed Carter on the

forehead. Carter looked up at him. “Same time next week? Room
9?” Carter asked. The question seemed inane, after the dreams he
had just confessed. He might as well have said, “I’ll take whatever
crumb you give me.”

Tony shrugged. He moved to the door, opened it, and let in a

blinding block of light. He was only a silhouette as he stood there
in the brilliance, the sound of traffic suddenly loud behind him.
Carter barely heard him say, “I have to think.”

And then he closed the door, plunging the room back into

murky darkness. Carter was alone.

He slumped back on the bed, staring down at his feet. He

moved them back and forth, trying not to think. Was this the end?
It sure felt like it.

Curiously, the sobbing and tears that had threatened to erupt

had seemed to have left along with Tony. Right now, there was
only a curious numbness. He supposed his mind and his heart were
both doing what they could to protect themselves from the pain he
was certain lay in wait.

He got up, crossed the room, and lifted a blind to look outside.

Tony’s  truck  was  gone  and  the  same  river  of  traffic  flowed  by,
relentless,  leaving  Carter  feeling  isolated,  as  if  he  were  the  only
one  in  the  world  with  such  problems.  The  little  boy  he  had  seen
earlier, the little red-headed imp, zipped by on his bike, laughing,
on  Aurora  itself,  and  Carter  wanted  to  open  the  door  to  tell  the
little  idiot  to  get  off  the  highway,  use  the  sidewalk,  where  it  was

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safer.

But the boy was in and out of his view before he even had a

chance to move to take any action.

Carter let the blind drop back into place. He went into the sad

little bathroom and showered, then dried off after with a towel that
was so thin and rough it barely absorbed anything.

When he returned to the bedroom, a man was sitting in one of

the  chairs  opposite  the  bed.  His  legs  were  crossed  and  he  made
Carter think of the TV series,  Mad Men. He had that perfect Don
Draper look: dark hair neatly parted at the side, a crisp white shirt
with the sleeves rolled up to  reveal  hairy forearms, a pair  of  gray
slacks,  creased,  and  a  pair  of  black  wingtips.  The  man  was
smoking a cigarette and blowing the smoke into the air in rings.

He looked over at Carter as though he had been expecting him.

He smiled.

For Carter’s part, he didn’t know whether to scream, laugh,

run, or question his sanity. “How did you get in here?”

The man sighed. “I’m always here. I was here when you and

your boyfriend were fucking today and every time before.”

Carter cast his gaze around for an unnoticed closet where the

man could have hidden himself, but there was only the
freestanding wardrobe in the corner and Carter doubted he could
secret himself there.

“Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but I’ll

give you a minute to get out of here or else I’m calling the cops.”
Carter edged a few steps closer, so that he could snatch his pants
from the floor. He felt in the pockets, relieved when he grasped the
outlines of his wallet and phone.

He struggled into the khakis, almost losing his balance. All

kinds of creeps walked up and down Aurora, at all hours of the day

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

or night, and all Carter could think was that this one had gotten in
when Tony left, forgetting to lock the door behind him.

Yet, didn’t the door lock automatically? And what did the man

mean about always being in the room?

And while it was true there were prostitutes and thugs that

regularly walked the lengthy north-south traverse of Aurora
Avenue, none of them looked as neat (and neat was the best word)
as this character.

Carter shivered, even though the room had no air conditioning.

He grabbed his shirt off the floor and put it on, buttoning it with
trembling fingers.

“You know what? Forget it. I’ll just leave and I’ll let the guy at

the front desk know you’re here.” Why not? Carter had all his
important belongings now. He needed only to slip into his
wingtips.

“Sit down.”
“What?”
“Grab a seat on the bed, bud. You know I’m not real.”
“Not real?” Carter neared the man. “You look real to me.” He

reached out to place a hand on the guy’s chest and it was like his
hand passed through a fog of cold air.

Carter jumped back, heart thundering.
“That’s right. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m a ghost. I’d

shake your hand, but you saw what happened when you tried to
touch me. Damned ectoplasm. My name’s Bill Silver.”

Carter stood, simply staring. He realized his mouth hung open

and he shut it.

“You gonna take a load off? I have some things to tell you.”
“Tell me? What?” Because Carter felt like if he didn’t sit down,

his legs would give out, he reluctantly seated himself at the edge of

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the bed. You’re asleep, that’s all and this is just a dream. Play
along. “So, uh, Bill, what it is you wanna tell me?”

Bill took a puff off his cigarette and snuffed it out in the

ashtray.  Carter  wanted  to  giggle  when  he  had  the  thought  that
ghosts  didn’t  have  to  worry  about  the  health  hazards  of  smoking.
And  what  would  a  ghost  cigarette  taste  like,  anyway,  menthol  or
regular? Carter couldn’t help it. He let out of a little titter.

“I’m glad you’re amused. Now, if I could begin.”
Carter gestured with his hand that the floor belonged to Bill.

“I’m listening.”

“As I said, I’ve watched you and that colored guy have sex.

Pretty racy. In my day, even here in Seattle, that kind of behavior
could get a man in a lot of trouble. The queer stuff is bad enough,
but throw in mixing of the races and even in the northwest here,
you’ve got big trouble. Still, it looked very sexy, watching that
colored dick go in that white ass.”

Carter started to get up. “Is this what you want? I’m not into it,

dude.”

“Sit down, sit down. You know, because you touched me, I’m

a ghost. And I was just setting the stage a bit, letting you know I
know the score.

“What I really want to talk to you about is me. What happened

to me right here in this room, just before the World’s Fair opened
up back in 1962.

“I was twenty-nine years old, had a little Craftsman over in

Wallingford,  wife  named  Gloria  and  two  kids,  Bill  Jr.  and  Sally.
Worked  as  a  CPA.  Everyone  that  looked  at  me  thought  I  was  the
perfect  young  man  who  had  secured  for  himself  the  American
dream.

“And I had.

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

“But what no one knew was what you and Tony understand—

how good it feels to be with a man. See, I knew even before I had
ever touched another fellow, knew because it was like a piece of
me was missing. What could fill it up?” Bill grinned. “I think you
know. But it’s more than that. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I needed a man to love me, even if I couldn’t admit it to

myself, let alone anyone else. I kept thinking if I just stayed true in
my marriage, concentrated on being a good dad to my two kids,
worked hard, all those longings I felt in the middle of the night
would eventually go away.”

Bill looked over at Carter and Carter thought the man seemed

as real as Tony had only an hour or so ago.

“But you know the end to that story, don’t you? Nothing went

away. If anything, it got stronger the more I tried to hide it. I’d be
out with the kids and Gloria, over at Green Lake, and we’d be
hanging out at the beach, and I’d see these young guys in their
trunks and, man—”

The guy’s gaze drifted away and Carter knew he was seeing

those almost-naked young men right now, robust, diving into the
water, endless yards of tanned and muscled skin. Carter could see
it himself in his own mind’s eye, but because of when he had been
born and the life he had led, he felt no guilt at his appreciation and
even arousal at the thought.

He knew, though, for Bill it was different.
Bill seemed to rein himself back in and looked over at Carter

once more. “I felt helpless, like there was nothing I could do to
stop these feelings, these urges. I felt like I was bad. Weak-willed.
I thought if I could just toughen up, I could make these feelings go
away.” He laughed.

“I even talked to a priest about it once. In the confessional, of

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course, so I could be anonymous. You know what old Father Frank
told me?”

Carter shook his head.
“He told me to pray and that God would lift the burden from

my  shoulders.  He  told  me  that  if  I  lived  a  good  life  and  one  of
devotion to God, God may see fit to take this trial from me.” Bill
paused.  “Or  he  may  not.  But  even  if  he  didn’t  take  the  feelings
away,  it  was  my  duty  as  a  Catholic,  as  a  husband  and  father,  to
resist what my body was screaming at me to take.

“So I did. I willed those feelings down just as hard as I could. I

concentrated  on  making  Gloria  happy,  being  a  good  dad.”  He
shook  his  head and  Carter  wished  he could touch him because  he
could  see  the  ineffable  sadness  engulfing  his  features.  “They  had
no  idea.  No  one  did.  And  that’s  what  made  life  so  awful.  That’s
what made me down one too many highballs on the  weekend—to
escape  the  fact  that  no  one  knew  me.  I  wore  a  mask.  And  in  my
darkest  hours,  I  would  think  that  if  people  did  know  me,  my
family, my mom and pop, my sis out in Omaha, the whole slew of
aunts  and  uncles  and  cousins,  even  my  co-workers  and  friends,  I
thought  if  those  folks  knew  who  Bill  really  was,  they  wouldn’t
hold  him  in  such  high  regard.”  He  shook  his  head  once  again,
staring down at the thin and stained carpet.

He whispered, “They wouldn’t love me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Carter wished he could tell the man,

the ghost, how much had changed since 1962.

And then he thought about Tony and about how much it hadn’t.
Still, he wished he could offer Bill some kind of succor, so he

said, “You would have still been you. You aren’t just the sum total
of your urges. Those people loved you for lots of reasons, reasons
that wouldn’t change. You loved them, too, you know.”

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

Bill looked over at him and Carter was surprised to see that

ghosts could cry real tears. “Nice try, buddy.”

Bill fell silent then and Carter wondered if he would simply

vanish and the silence now present in the room would disappear
along with him to be replaced by car exhausts, horns, and sirens.

Would he wake up?
But Bill spoke again. “You probably have no idea why I

showed up here.”

Carter smiled. “Um…yeah.”
Bill let out a breath, almost like a sigh. “One thing I’ve learned

over  here  on  the  other  side,  is  that  we  ghosts  stick  around  for  a
reason. Usually it means we have to work something out and, for a
long  time,  I  didn’t  think  that  was  my  purpose.  But  now,  I’m
beginning to see that  what I thought of as  my purpose plays right
into working something out for me.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be confusing. I’m here to help

you.”

“Help me?” Carter didn’t want to say it, but how could this

relic from the closeted past help him?

“Yeah. I want to tell you the rest of my story and how it plays

into the Galaxy Gold motel.”

Carter swung his legs up on to the bed and placed his arms

behind his head, reclining. “Shoot.”

Bill chuckled. “I like you.”
And Carter surprised himself by saying, “I like you, too.” He

realized he really did, absurd as the notion was.

“As I was saying, I fought my attraction to other fellas like

Cassius Clay boxed, fiercely, only stopping throwing punches
when I fell asleep. And even then, my dreams usually had a thing
or two in store for me. How did I know Denny was gonna come

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into my life?”

“Who was Denny?”
Bill’s eyes grew wistful and a smile whispered across his face.

“Denny was the love of my life.

“Every summer, the CPA firm I worked for would have an

accounting major in from the University of Washington to work as
an  intern.  Most  of  these  guys  were  hired  on  after  they  graduated.
Denny  was  coming  up  on  his  senior  year  and  he  was  sharp  as  a
tack.  We  all  knew  that,  once  next  summer  came  around,  he’d  be
full-time.”

Bill sucked in a breath. “You should have seen that boy! All

the gals in the secretarial pool were gaga over him. They’d all
giggle when he walked by. Tall, tan, black hair and blue eyes. A
cleft in his chin just like Kirk Douglas.

“I didn’t want him to be assigned to work with me. He made

me a little weak in the knees. He caused other things to happen to
my body I didn’t like either. I got tongue-tied around him even
though he was almost a decade younger.” He shook his head.

“I had had urges before, like I said, but they passed. I’d look at

a handsome fella out of the corner of my eye or take a gander when
I thought he wouldn’t notice. Sometimes, I’m ashamed to admit,
I’d store the memory away to bring out later to give myself some
kind of release.” Bill’s gaze met Carter’s. “I know you know what
I mean.”

Carter nodded.
“But Denny was something more. At first, I told myself,

embarrassing as it was to admit even in the privacy of my own
brain, that it was just a crush. It would pass. But it didn’t. Not only
was Denny a swell-looking guy, he was funny. He made me laugh.
He used to make up these stories about one of the secretaries and

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

the sick shit she would get up to on the weekends. You have to
understand this woman was probably fifty and had grandkids and
was the sweetest, most church-going lady you’d ever want to meet.
I think they invented that phrase ‘pure as the driven snow’ for her.”
Bill laughed. “She made Doris Day look like a floozy.”

Carter said, “I get it.”
“Anyway,” Bill continued. “It got so I stopped paying attention

to Gloria and the kids most nights, I was so eager to get to work
the next morning so I could see Denny.

“It went on that way for most of the summer. Sometimes we’d

exchange  a  look,  you  know?  Our  eyes  would  connect  for  just  a
second  or  two  longer  than  what  was  proper.  But  I  told  myself  it
was  my  imagination,  sick  wishful  thinking.  Or…or  our  hands
would  brush  against  the  other’s  and  it  would  send  a  charge  of
electricity through me. And Denny would smile, like he knew what
was going on in my head—and farther south.

“It was August, I remember. Denny and I stayed late to finish

up on the books for a local paper products company and we had
ordered some burgers in.” Bill stopped for a moment, unable to
continue. His breath caught and he leaned forward like he wanted
to lift one of the blind’s slats and peer outside.

“You know what happened, don’t you?”
Carter nodded.
“Those looks, those touches. I didn’t imagine things. Denny

felt the same about me. The office was empty. It was a Friday
night and everyone had gone home to their families. I barely
thought of Gloria and the kids.

“Even though Denny was younger, he made the first move. I

don’t know if I could have ever done it. But we were looking over
some ledgers and he leaned over me and I could smell his after-

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shave—Old Spice. He looked down at me and there was this
impish grin playing about his mouth, color had risen to his cheeks.

“He whispered, ‘You want it bad as I do, don’t you?’ I couldn’t

pretend. I didn’t even try to lie. I couldn’t talk anyway!

“And just like that, he leaned down and kissed me. It was the

first time I had been kissed by a man and I think there were alarms
going off inside me. I think I levitated off the ground for a second
or two. I do believe my heart stopped, for just an instant.

“It was like something released, uncaged. I grabbed him,

grinding my face into his, my tongue halfway down his throat. I
had been starving and didn’t even know it.

“I was rough with him, but he didn’t seem to mind. Not at all.

We ended up in this very motel, in this very room.

“And so began a very long affair. We would meet on weekday

afternoons, on our lunch hour. The time was all too brief, but I
know you understand what two men can get up to in an hour if
given the right motivation.” Bill raised one eyebrow, staring at me.
I grinned and nodded.

“We did everything. It was as though I was blind and suddenly

my vision was 20/20. All these years I had gone, subsisting on a
diet of bread and water when I never realized there was a feast
waiting for me. I couldn’t get enough of Denny…and he of me.

“At first, it was just fucking and sucking. I’m sorry to put it so

baldly,  but  it’s  the  truth.  I  had  held  my  feelings  in  check  for  so
long  that,  once  I  released  them,  I  was  like  an  animal.  And  that
Denny? He took everything I could dish out.  And  he taught  me  a
whole lot more. That kid was insatiable.

“But then things started, along about the time he was due to go

back to school, things started to turn a little more serious. We both
realized that somewhere along the way, with all the sucking and

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

fucking, we had fallen for each other. In love.

“I didn’t know what to make of it. See, all along, even in my

darkest hours, I had thought my feelings for other men were simply
all about sex. I didn’t even entertain the notion that I wanted
something more. I didn’t even think there was anything more.

“But there was one August afternoon I recall so clearly. We

had done what we normally did and both of us were sticky with
sweat and, well, come, and I was holding Denny in my arms, the
way I used to hold Gloria. I stroked his hair and realized how nice
it felt, how natural.

“But it couldn’t be natural, could it? Not when everyone in the

world I knew of, my friends, family, the church all told me it was
wrong, it was sick, deviant. What I now recognized as my kind
needed help, treatment.

“Denny didn’t seem as bothered. He started talking about our

future, how we could get a little place together, tell people we were
just a couple of bachelors, sharing expenses. No one would have to
know that our second bedroom was just for show.

“Talk like this thrilled me. It scared the shit out of me.
“I would go home to Gloria and the kids and feel the guilt

rushing in, pressing in like a heavy weight on my chest. How could
I hurt them? It was easy for Denny, or at least easier, because he
didn’t have the ties, the commitments that I did.

“Still I couldn’t help but dream how sweet it would be to come

home to him at night, to make dinner together in some little
kitchen with the radio on while we cooked. I couldn’t help but see
Denny’s face as we sat beneath our Christmas tree and him
opening up the presents I had got for him.”

Bill blew out a prolonged sigh, and Carter could hear the

despair in it. “The tension became unbearable between what I

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wanted and what I knew I needed to do, to try and be.

“I had to end it with Denny. There was no other way. I might

be miserable for the rest of my life, clinging to the crumbs he
would leave me, but I was a family man, I had responsibilities I
had to live up to. Men just didn’t play house together. I needed to
get rid of that notion. The ones who did were fruits.

“And in spite of it all, I wasn’t a fruit, not like that Jimmy who

cut my wife’s hair. Neither was Denny.”

“Did you end it?” Carter asked, his heart aching for this man

who saw no way to love the person he truly cared for. Today, they
could probably work things out. Or could they? Carter wondered,
thinking of Tony and his wife.

“Of course I did. I think it broke both of our hearts. We were

standing there at the door, getting ready to leave, and I remember
how  blinding  the  sun  was.  Denny  said,  ‘I  can’t  bear  this’  and  he
grabbed  me  and  kissed  me,  right  there  with  the  door  open.  And
God help me, for those few moments, all I could think of was the
feel  of  his  lips  on  mine,  the  crush  of  his  body  pressed  close.  I
thought I needed to hang on to the feeling, because it would have
to  sustain  me  for  a  long,  long  time  because  I  knew  I  could  never
put myself through this turmoil again.

“When we broke apart, that’s when I saw him. Racing away on

his bike like someone had lit his tail on fire.”

“Billy Junior?” Carter asked. “Red hair? Freckles?”
“How did you know?” Bill shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.

Yes, my little Billy. He had seen everything and I think the poor
kid was so broken up and confused by what he had witnessed that
he rode right into traffic.”

Bill stopped and his head slumped to his chest. Carter knew he

was unable to go on. There was a stillness in the room and Carter

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

thought he could see, dimly, the outlines of Bill’s form
shimmering, as if he was getting ready to vanish.

“Bill?”
Carter thought he heard something, a voice from very far away,

and he could see Bill’s mouth moving and noted how his face was
alive with terror. Carter strained to hear the words. “Billy! Stop!”
was what finally came clear to him.

The room came back to a kind of reality and Bill was once

more before him, sharp as a real person. He looked right at Carter
and said, “He didn’t stop.”

Outside, there was the sound of squealing brakes and a muffled

scream. Carter turned his head to the sound.

When he turned back, Bill was gone. Carter shook his head, as

if he could dislodge the images that had just been there. He got up
and peered through the blinds, looking for some evidence of the
squealing brakes, an accident perhaps, but traffic sped by on the
busy road as usual.

Carter surveyed the room once more, assuring himself that it

was, indeed, empty.

He sat for a long time in silence, in the murky half-light,

waiting. For what? He wasn’t sure. For Bill to come back to him?
For the red-haired kid to knock on the door and make some
obscene remark? For the roar of Tony’s pickup?

At last, he got up and gathered his wallet and watch from the

nightstand. He slowly pulled himself together, checking his
appearance in the mirror. Then he opened the door to leave, casting
a brilliant rectangle of light on the opposite wall.

And there it was, no mistake. The shadow of a noose, gently

swaying. Carter sucked in a breath of air, staring, one hand raised
toward the black oval and its tragic message. “No,” he whispered,

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THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

and then, “senseless.”

Carter hurriedly closed the door and plunged the room back

into dark. When he opened the door again, the shadow was gone,
but he understood that Bill had returned to this room one final time
back in 1962—alone. Carter shook his head, a lump forming in his
throat from the waste of it all.

Carter stepped outside, shielding his eyes from the sun with his

hand and knowing that this time, here in room number nine, was
his final time. He would never set foot in the Galaxy Gold again.

Not for any reason.
Not for anyone.
It took him a couple of days to make the call. Carter spent those

days thinking, pining, and wondering if what he had seen in the
Galaxy Gold motel was real. If it was, then he thought Bill was
sending him a powerful message.

If it wasn’t, then he thought Bill was sending him a powerful

message.

Either way, it was a message that couldn’t be ignored.
As he walked along the beach at Golden Gardens Park,

watching the sun set over the Olympic Mountains, he pondered
that message. Boiled down, it told him that what he and Tony were
doing had been wrong.

No, no, no, not the fact that they were two men coupling in a

sleazy hotel room. That might have been in poor taste, but the act
itself wasn’t wrong. Carter hadn’t felt guilt about having sex with
another man since he was about sixteen years old and, even then,
the shame was fleeting, pushed out by another wave of lust and a
desire for more.

No, it was wrong because he and Tony were hiding their love.

They were living a secret life. And secrets signified shame.

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

The only shame Carter could see, and it was a very real shame,

was that he and Tony both were going behind the back of Tony’s
wife. He knew nothing about the woman, but he did know this—
she didn’t deserve to be cheated upon. She didn’t deserve to be in a
marriage where a man could only give her half his heart.

No one deserved to be lied to.
One day, Tony would no longer be able to sustain the tension

of trying to live his real life and a secret one. And when that day
came, it would end in one of two ways. First, Tony could follow
Bill’s path. His actions could hurt people and that pain could drive
him to make the ultimate sacrifice.

Or, he could end the tension by owning up to who he was and

what he wanted. Carter hoped for this second scenario and he
prayed that what Tony still wanted, when and if he came to this
realization, was him, Carter.

Carter sat down in the sand. He removed his Keen sandals and

dipped his toe into the surf, which was frigidly cold. He drew his
legs back, pulling them up to his chest, and encircling them with
his arms. There was a nip in the air that foretold autumn.

For Carter, autumn meant new beginnings. Sure, many people

thought the same of spring and maybe it was just being
conditioned by years of school starting in autumn that made him
feel this way, but for Carter, autumn equaled a new start.

He knew people would get hurt when Tony owned up to who

he was and what he wanted—no, what he needed. What was
natural for him. His wife would probably be devastated, especially
if she had no idea about Tony, which Carter thought was unlikely.

There were always signs.
Still, even if she did have an inkling, it wouldn’t lessen the

pain. Sometimes, Carter thought, wondering if this was true of

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THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

Tony’s wife, we make it very easy to turn our heads from what’s
staring us right in the face.

It would be hard for Tony, too. One thing he’d always gotten

when Tony talked about his wife was that he loved her. Once upon
a time, Carter would have thought such a thing impossible—a gay
man loving a woman. But love came in many different forms, and
one could be just as powerful as the next.

Yet, but through the pain of this separation, Carter thought,

could come the potential for real healing, honesty, and hope. For
all of them.

He got up and brushed the sand from the back of his cargo

shorts.  He  spotted  a  couple,  two  older  guys,  one  with  silver  hair
and cool retro glasses and what was obviously his partner walking
beside  him.  The  other  man  had  salt-and-pepper  hair  and  a  little
goatee. Their hands were loosely linked and Carter could see about
them  the  comfort  of  years  together.  They  weren’t  talking,  but  it
was  obvious  they  were  together.  A  little  dog,  a  Boston  terrier
Carter  thought,  trotted  along  just  ahead  of  them,  looking  back
every so often to make sure her pack was still close behind.

Carter wanted that.
When he got to his car in the parking lot, the light had almost

faded behind the mountains. In the sun’s wake, there was a lovely
striation of color: tangerine, yellow, pale blue, violet and, at the
very top, an almost navy blue. The first stars were beginning to
blink on.

He leaned against the car and groped in his pocket for his cell

phone. He pulled it out and texted Tony. “How have you been?”

And Tony immediately responded with a sad face and the

words, “I’m alone. It’s okay to call. If you want.”

Carter touched the screen to connect. In a second, Tony’s voice

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

came through, that rich baritone Carter had come to love.

“I miss you,” Tony said, without any preamble.
“I know. Me too.”
“Should we set up another date?” Tony asked, the hope in his

voice apparent.

Carter shook his head, marveling at how fast the darkness had

come. “No. I’m through with that.”

“I’m not surprised. You deserve more.”
“I do. And so do you.”
“Me? I made my bed, now I have to lay in it.”
“You don’t have to lay in it alone.”
“I know. Steph’s a good wife.”
Carter laughed. “That’s not what I meant.” Carter drew in a

breath. “What are you doing, Tony?”

“What do you mean? Sitting here, drinking a beer, watching

some dumb reality shit on the TV, some damn housewives of
fuckin’ Poughkeepsie, New York or something like that.” He
laughed.

Carter laughed, too, but he grew serious when he repeated the

question. “No, I mean what are you doing?”

“I just told you.”
“I know you’re not dense. Quit avoiding the question.”
There was a long silence and then Tony said, “I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do with the rest of your life, Tony?”

Carter said softly. He didn’t want to force the issue, didn’t want to
make Tony uncomfortable, but he had to know. He had to at least
try, before moving on.

He loved this man.
Carter spoke, partially to fill the silence hanging in the air

between them, but mainly because there were things he needed to

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THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

say. “I won’t do it anymore—hide our love in the dark, like it’s
some guilty secret, something dirty. Something we should feel
shame for. The only shame we should feel is from the deceit we’re
living and letting grow and fester. We need to bring our love, our
light, out into the open. That’s the only way it’ll grow.”

Tony didn’t say anything and as the silence deepened, Carter

imagined himself saying something along the lines of, “Well, okay,
then. I’ll leave you be. Goodbye, Tony,” and he would hang up and
begin the business of healing, start anew the process of looking for
a relationship that was true, open, and honest.

“You’re right,” Tony said, at last.
“I am?”
Tony laughed. “You know you are.”
It was Carter’s turn to be silent and he let it drag on for a while,

uncertain of what to say next. “So where does this leave us?”

Tony said, “Meet me?”
“At the Galaxy Gold Motel? Room number nine?” Carter

shook his head and slipped inside his car. He knew Tony would
take his meaning metaphorically, but he knew the truth when he
said, “That place has too many ghosts.”

“Right.” Tony chuckled. “It will always have sweet memories,

though. You can’t deny that.”

“No, I can’t.” Carter allowed himself to remember, for a

second, the first time they had entered the room, seeing Tony
undress, watching, waiting. Sweet was certainly the right word. So
was hot.

“But,” Carter went on, “it’s time to come out into the light. Can

you come out, Tony?”

“I just told you, we should meet up.”
It was Carter’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Where?”

THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

“Where are you now?”
“I’m at Golden Gardens, over in Ballard? I’m just sitting in the

parking lot right now.”

“Wait for me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Tony hung up.
The wait, although only about ten or fifteen minutes, seemed to

take forever. Carter thought it was because he was waiting to
discover how the course of the rest of his life would go. Would he
celebrate or despair?

After what seemed like hours and hours, he perked up at the

bass sound of Tony’s pickup. He was sure it was Tony. Carter
jumped from the car.

The light around them was dim, a silvery opalescence from a

night illuminated by clusters of stars and a low-hanging half moon.
Carter could hear the rush of the surf behind them.

Tony didn’t say anything, just moved rapidly toward Carter,

and when he was next to him, pulled him into his arms and kissed
him. Deeply. Passionately. A kiss that made Carter’s knees go
weak, forcing him to clutch at Tony’s back for support. Clutch to
draw him closer, too.

When Tony pulled away, he looked into Carter’s eyes,

searching. “I told her,” he whispered.

Carter took a step back. “You did?”
Tony nodded and Carter could see the glimmer of tears in his

eyes. Carter reached up and touched his face. In a strangled voice,
he asked, “Oh baby, was it horrible?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He looked away, breathing hard and Carter

knew to give him space. He was trying to rein in his emotions.

After a while, Carter asked, “Are you sure?”
Tony stared at him for a long time. “You can’t be asking me

that.” Tony swallowed, drew in a deep breath. “I never knew what

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THE GHOST IN NUMBER 9

love was until I met you.”

Carter felt like something hot had sliced through him, both

delightful and painful all at once. He grabbed hold of Tony’s hand
and squeezed it. “You knew. You loved her. Love her.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah, I do. But it’s not the same. I love her like

a sister, like a good friend. But with you…” Tony shook his head.
“This isn’t gonna be easy, but it’s gonna be right.”

Carter shrugged, smiling. All he could say was, “Right.”
Tony pulled him close again, simply hugging this time. All

around them were the sounds of the night: the roar of the surf, the
wind whispering in the trees, the call of a night bird. All around
them was the night.

And the outside.
They were out. And they were in love.

ICK

EED

Rick R. Reed is all about exploring the romantic entanglements of
gay men in contemporary, realistic settings. While his stories often
contain  elements  of  suspense,  mystery  and  the  paranormal,  his
focus  ultimately  returns  to  the  power  of  love.  He  is  the  author  of
dozens  of  published  novels,  novellas,  and  short  stories.  He  is  a
three-time EPIC eBook Award winner (for  Caregiver, Orientation
and  The  Blue  Moon  Cafe).  Lambda  Literary  Review  has  called
him,  “a  writer  that  doesn't  disappoint.”  Rick  lives  in  Seattle  with
his  husband  and  a  very  spoiled  Boston  terrier.  He  is  forever  “at
work on another novel.”

Visit  Rick’s  website  at  http://www.rickrreed.com  or  follow  his
blog at http://rickrreedreality.blogspot.com. You can also like Rick
on  Facebook  at  www.facebook.com/rickrreedbooks  or  on  Twitter
at  www.twitter.com/rickrreed.  Rick  always  enjoys  hearing  from
readers and answers all e-mails personally. Send him a message at
jimmyfels@gmail.com.

* * *

Don’t miss The Blue Moon Cafe

by Rick R. Reed,

available at AmberAllure.com!

2010 Book of the Year—Rainbow Awards for Excellence

2010 Best Horror Erotic Romance—EPIC eBook Awards

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