Ghosts of The Heart -- Ch. 8 is up.

Friday night seemed to take forever. Lucas sat on the couch, reading one of his favorite novels for what had to be the fiftieth time. He’d read the book so many times that the spine had given out on his first copy. He’d replaced it a few months ago, but this one was already showing some signs of serious overuse.

Anna seemed as restless as he felt, pacing around and muttering. She would direct a comment or question at him from time to time, but didn’t seem bothered when he wouldn’t answer her. She chewed at her nails and glared at the clock as though she could make it speed up.

Finally, around ten, she gave up. “I’m going to bed.” She told him, and he looked up from his book. “I’m going to go take some sleeping pills and hope to God that when I open my eyes again, it’ll be Saturday.” She came over to the couch and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight.” He told her, and watched her disappear into her room. A frown creased his forehead and he listened carefully. Sure enough, about five minutes later, he heard the very faint but very unmistakable beeping of her dialing her cell phone.

She must think him incredibly stupid. He supposed that the hiding, the lying, the secrecy, were all somehow justified in her head. He tolerated it not because he wanted to, or because he understood, but because he knew that if things did not improve for Anna, things would not improve for him. He supposed this was selfish, but he also knew that if it weren’t for Anna in the first place, he wouldn’t be in the position he was in today.

Part of him had always blamed her for the spectacular destruction of his life back in high school. Yes, David had lied. Yes, Lucas had overreacted. But after that day, the last time he’d seen David, Lucas had needed someone to push him, to get him back on track. He’d needed someone to shove him and make him look at how pathetic he was acting. He needed a reality check. Instead, Anna had coddled him and told him that it was all right to ignore his problems and act like David had never existed. It was easier for both of them, and Anna had gotten what she wanted; Lucas, all to herself.

He guessed that this was both cruel and unfair of him. She had done what she believed he’d wanted; she’d taken care of him. Lucas had not asked her to push him towards reconciliation with David, so it was not his place to blame her for not doing so. He shouldn’t blame her for being there for him, for loving him, for helping him. He blamed her anyway.

He loved Anna. He also hated her. The life he’d wanted and the life he was living were not the same. In his head, he should be off somewhere in a tiny house in the woods, with David in his bed every night and his mind free of this constant weight; the huge pressure of realizing this dream (which he had wanted, but not expected or prepared for), his desperate loneliness, his regret. Anna took care of him, yes, she loved him and gave him support and help, but she also held him back.

He supposed he was holding her back as well. If she didn’t feel that way, why would she hide? He’d known about this Patrick person for almost a year now. It bothered him that she hid him. It was also none of his business. He tried not to think about it.

His thoughts were interrupted at the sound of Anna’s muffled but still audible shriek. Frowning, he got up and tiptoed towards her closed door. He pressed his ear to the wood and listened.

“…until you tell me what you’re doing.” She said under her breath. There was a pause. “Patrick, this isn’t fair. You tell me you can’t talk to me for a week and expect me to just…” she stopped, listening to the man on the other end. “This has nothing to do with Lucas, and don’t even date bring him up.” She stressed him in a way that made Lucas sure she was talking about two different people; himself and another. Who? He heard Anna sigh. “Okay, I’m sorry. I just… it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and I hate when we don’t talk.” She made a confused growling sound at whatever Patrick had said. “What is that supposed to mean? What’s changing?”

He went back into the living room, scowling. What the hell was going on? He laid down on the couch and put one hand over his eyes. He wrapped his ponytail around his fist, tugging at it absently. He needed to sleep. Tomorrow was the big opening. He thought about getting up and going to his bed, but he didn’t have the energy. The aggravation and confusion from what he heard, all the questions, made him want to just lay here and mope.

Sleep eluded him for most of the night.
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Saturday
Deacon looked up from his painting as his bedroom door opened. Jess stuck her head in and grinned at him. “Busy?” she asked, and came in before he could tell her yes. “I thought we could go have breakfast.”

“I’m working.” He told her, and looked back to his canvas. He was wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans, and his face, chest, and arms were streaked with paint. To Jess, it was obvious that he hadn’t slept at all. The painting he’d been working on all week was finished and leaning against the far wall. It was of two naked women on a rock in the middle of the ocean, one kneeling, one lying down with a hole in her side. There was a column made of storms and broken ships above them, and inside, a huge, reptilian eye. Jess knew that it was a scene from one of his favorite novels, but the whole thing seemed morbid and pornographic. She knew that the novel involved incest, too, and was struck, not for the first time, by how incredibly strange Deacon was.

She walked over and looked at the painting he was working on. Reds and dark greens and black, strange unreadable writing, all swirled together in a way that made her feel sick. There was a pair of hands, strangely posed, and something that looked like a burning tree to her. She frowned.

“You’ve been working a lot.” She said, and he made a low, noncommittal sound. “Take a break.”

She saw his shoulders tense, and wondered a little fearfully if he was about to have one of his tantrums. He was scary when he was mad; he screamed a lot, punched holes in walls, said things he claimed he didn’t mean when it was over. She took a step away from him, prepared for it, but when he turned to look at her, he seemed calm.

“You’ve broken the mood.” He told her, but he smiled a little when he said it. “I guess I can stop for now.” He dropped the brush he’d been holding into the jar of water on his table and looked down at himself. “I should shower.”

“I’ll wait in the-“

He grabbed her arm. “Take one with me.” He said, his smile becoming a grin. “Come on.”

“I already took a shower this morning.” She told him, but let him pull her towards the bathroom.

She’d only planned on taking him to breakfast; she had to work at noon. By the time they got out of the shower, it was eleven. She had to leave. She left Deacon laying on his back, smiling softly at the ceiling, half asleep. When the elevator doors opened, she nearly ran face first into her brother. She stepped back, surprised.

“Johnny. What are you doing here?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve got some things I want to talk to Deacon about.” He said vaguely.

“You’re going to see him tonight.” She pointed out. It made her uncomfortable that Johnny spent so much time with Deacon. They both acted very different together than they did apart. It set her teeth on edge and made her suspect that she was missing something very important.

He rolled his eyes at her and shoved his sandy blond hair away from his eyes. “Jess, has it occurred to you that you need something in your life other than your obsession with Deacon’s life away from you? Go away.” He brushed past her.

“You’re jealous.” She shot at him, and he stopped and turned to face her. “You are. You think I’m stupid? You have a thing for-“

“Shut up.” He snapped, and she shut her mouth, shocked. “Jess, you think you have him on a short little leash, don’t you?” he smiled. “You don’t know anything about him. You’re just a girl he wastes time with.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

“What I know is that when push comes to shove, he would rather spend his time with me than with you.”

“He’s my boyfriend!” she practically shrieked, and stomped her foot.

“He’s something much more important to me.” He told her, and she frowned at him. “You’re going to be late, Jess.” He turned and walked into the loft without knowing.

Jess stood there, fuming. Sometimes she wished she could see what Deacon and Johnny did alone together, but most of the time she knew it would make her unhappy. There was this unformed, painful fear about what was between them that she tried not to think about. Ever. It made her sick. When the elevator opened again, she stepped into it and pretended nothing had happened.

In the loft, Johnny was undressing at the foot of Deacon’s bed. “Another fight?” Deacon asked him, stretching his arms above his head and smiling. “You two are terrible.”

“We fight over you.” Johnny told him, crawling up the bed. “It’s a losing battle. Neither of us will ever win.”

Deacon rolled his eyes. “Please, Johnny. You like the way things are.” Johnny said nothing. He was more interested in getting under the covers with Deacon. “Jess has to deal with my mood swings, my attitude, my bullshit. You get all the good stuff.”

“Aside from the fact that we have to hide.” Johnny pointed out, sliding his hand across Deacon’s hip. “She gets to have you where everyone can see.”

“I don’t think a lot of people want to see what we have, Johnny.” Deacon told him seriously. “Besides, that little kink of yours would be gone if I stopped fucking your sister.”

Johnny had to admit that was true. He moved to straddle Deacon, bending down to place his lips against the side of Deacon’s throat. Deacon wrapped his arms around Johnny, pulling him closer, and lifted his hips. Johnny pushed his own hips down, and they found a rhythm of movement that pleased them both. Johnny kissed him, pushing his lips part and thrusting his tongue into Deacon’s mouth. At the same time, he grabbed Deacon’s wrists and forced his hands above his head. Deacon made a moaning, growling sound and resisted a little. Not enough to get away, though.

Johnny pinned his wrists together with one hand, his other reaching up to search for the ever present cuffs that hid behind the posts of Deacon’s bed. He found them easily; he’d installed them, he knew their exact positions. He got them on deacon without much force. Deacon played at resisting, but that’s all it was; the darker haired boy loved this game. When Deacon was secured, Johnny pulled back, sitting up and lifting himself onto his knees so there was no contact. Deacon looked up at him, half smiling, his mismatched eyes sparkling.

“I think you like our arrangement, too.” Johnny said, and ran the tip of one finger long Deacon’s stomach. “You like the idea of fucking both of us, don’t you? Having brother and sister.”

Deacon arched up a little at the touch. “That doesn’t make me more fucked up than you.” He pointed out, and Johnny turned the delicate touch into a painful scratch. Deacon smiled. “You’re the one who gets off on the fact that I’ve just spent the better part of two hours fucking your sister.”

“How was she?” Johnny asked, sliding his fingers up and brushing Deacon’s right nipple gently.

“Boring.” Deacon arched up again, and frowned. “Stop teasing me.”

Johnny ignored this. He took his time, touching and stroking, slowly working his way down, until Deacon was writhing beneath him, his hand sin fists above his head. “What were you thinking about?” Johnny asked him softly, his hands drawing meaningless patterns on Deacon’s skin.

Deacon leaned his head back, his bottom lip between his teeth. Johnny’s hands were barely an inch above where he wanted them most, but no matter how much he struggled, Johnny refused to touch him there. “You.” He whispered, and heard Johnny laugh. “I always think of you when I’m with Jess.”

“Why?” he asked, and dug his nails into the skin of Deacon’s hip, making him hiss through his teeth.

“Because you’re better than her.” Deacon told him, and moaned loudly when Johnny wrapped his fingers around his cock.

“Of course I am.” Johnny said quietly, and Deacon felt him shift. A moment later, his mouth wrapped around the head of Deacon’s erection, and he pushed his hips up. Johnny gave him a few moments to enjoy this, then slid down farther, pushing Deacon’s legs up and apart. Deacon closed his eyes, panting, as Johnny pushed his tongue inside of him.

He was vaguely aware of movement somewhere in the loft; footsteps and laughter. He bit his lip to keep from making too much noise. Johnny kissed and licked at him until he felt like he was going to explode, and when he felt a finger join the tongue inside of him, he let out a low, long moan. After what felt like an eternity at the hands and mouth of his talented friend, Deacon squeezed his legs together against Johnny’s shoulders. “Please.” He whispered hoarsely. “Johnny, now.”

Johnny lifted his head, smirking. “Are you sure?” he asked, and his fingers kept up their steady, torturous work.

“Yes. Now.” Deacon growled at him. Johnny got up onto his knees, positioning himself against Deacon. For a moment neither of them moved. Then Johnny pushed forward, sliding himself into Deacon, his eyes closing. “Fuck.” Deacon breathed, his teeth gritted together. “Wait a second.” He needed time to relax and adjust.

Johnny ignored him. He pushed himself into Deacon as far as he could, then rocked back. Deacon made a strange, whimpering moan, biting down hard on his bottom lip. When Johnny pushed forward again, he leaned down and licked Deacon’s throat. Johnny worked up a rhythm that pleased him, watched Deacon’s face carefully as his body tried to figure out if it was experiencing pleasure or pain. Johnny hooked Deacon’s leg by the knee with one arm and shifted their position, and the next time he thrust, Deacon’s head snapped back and he screamed. Johnny smiled, wrapping one hand around Deacon’s cock and using the other to keep his knee up. He worked up a rhythm that had Deacon arched up off the bed and sobbing. Johnny shifted a little, then thrust again, and Deacon came abruptly, spilling semen all over Johnny’s hand. The tightening around Johnny’s cock was enough to make him shout his own release, and he collapsed, panting, onto Deacon.

They lay there, panting and tangled, for a long time. Neither of them wanted to move. Eventually, though, Deacon’s shoulder began to ache, and he nudged Johnny in the side with his knee. “Let me up.”

Johnny sat up and moved to undo the restraints. When he was free, Deacon immediately got out of bed and headed for the shower. Johnny watched him go, smiling. Unless he was drunk or really tired, Deacon wasn’t much of a cuddler after sex.

Johnny glanced at the clock. It was one. He stretched out, getting comfortable, knowing he had plenty of time for a nap before the theater opened. He reached over and set the clock to go off at four. That way they could get something to eat before the show.

He heard the shower hiss on and closed his eyes. He could smell his sister’s perfume on the sheets, and it made him both happy and disgusted with himself. He shut the thoughts out entirely and let himself drift.
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Deacon was leaning over his motorcycle, fiddling with something on the side that kept making a ticking sound when he rode. It was three thirty, and Johnny was still asleep upstairs. The theater across the street had been busy all day; people coming in and out, workers and performers for the show, a man carrying boxes. He glanced up now, and to his immense luck he saw the long haired man coming out the double doors. He was walking with his head down, a small notebook in his hand. Deacon hopped off his motorcycle, snagging the keys, and jogged across the street. The man had not noticed him, so Deacon fell in beside him quietly and walked with him for almost the entire block.

As they came up beside the diner, Deacon said, “You should really be careful where you lose your wallet, Mr. Chase.” The long haired man let out a startled squawk and dropped the notebook. Deacon smiled at him and held the wallet out. He’d been carrying it around in his pocket. “Anyone could’ve ended up with it.”

Lucas just stared at him, and Deacon realized after a moment that the man was terrified. He scowled. “I’m not going to hurt you or anything. I’m just returning-“

Lucas snatched the wallet away from him. “Thank you.” He said, his voice so quiet Deacon almost didn’t hear him.

“It’s all in there. Forty three dollars and a really interesting photo.” Deacon’s smile widened a little, and the man looked sick. “When was the last time you spoke to David Johnson, Mr. Chase?”

Lucas opened his mouth, then closed it again. He attempted a deep breath, failed, and spoke. “You know about David?”

“I know he looks like me.” Deacon said with a small shrug. “I found him through you, online. Who is he? Why do we look the same?”

Lucas shook his head. “I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in almost fifteen years. I’m sorry.”

Deacon sighed and looked away. “I was hoping you could help me.” He muttered, and caught the look on Lucas’s face out of the corner of his eye. The long haired man looked somewhere between despair and sympathy. Deacon wondered which way he would go when pushed. “I don’t know anything about my real parents, so when I saw this…”

“You’re adopted.” Lucas whispered.

Deacon nodded. “When I was first born. My parents never told me. I found out not too long ago. Since then, I’ve been trying to find them. My real parents, I mean.” Deacon shoved his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry I bothered you, Mr. Chase.” He took a step back. “I’m coming to the opening tonight, but I won’t disturb you or anything.” He turned and looked to make sure the street was clear.

“Wait.” Lucas said, and Deacon looked over his shoulder at him. “What’s your name?”

“Deacon Carter.”

“Are you hungry?”

Deacon smiled and turned to fully face him. “Mr. Chase, I’m an eighteen year old boy. I’m always hungry.”

Lucas almost smiled at this, and Deacon saw he was actually very handsome. Sad looking but handsome. “Come on.” Lucas turned and went into the diner. After a pause, Deacon followed him.

They sat in a booth near the back, and Deacon lit a cigarette. Lucas bit the inside of his mouth at the sight of the familiar packaging; David’s brand. He wondered if it were possible that Deacon really was David’s son, if certain traits could be passed down instead of picked up.

“I knew David when we were in high school.” Lucas told Deacon, tracing patterns on the side of his water glass with the tip of one finger. “He had a child, when he was very young. Fourteen, actually.” Deacon smiled a little. “You’re eighteen. That would make it possible. He never got to see the kid, never knew his name, never even knew if it was a boy or a girl.” The waitress came over, and Lucas ordered coffee. Deacon ordered waffles, bacon, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, coffee and orange juice. Lucas waited until the waitress was out of earshot. “I was… with David.” He said, and Deacon immediately got the context of the words and nodded wisely. “Deacon, you look exactly like him.” He made a strange sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “It’s like sitting with a ghost.” He covered his face with both hands for a moment.

“You two didn’t keep in touch, though.” Deacon asked, and Lucas shook his head. “Well, fuck.” He took a hit from his cigarette and glared at the ceiling for a moment. “I found him, you know, online.” Lucas made another one of those strange noises, and Deacon looked at him carefully. “Things didn’t end well between you two?”

“Understatement of the century.” Lucas muttered, making Deacon laugh. The sound was both surprising and horrible; it was David’s laugh. The idea that this kid wasn’t David’s was beginning to sound a little like wishful thinking to Lucas. “We broke up the day after Christmas, actually.”

“That’s rough.” Deacon tapped his ashes into the ashtray. “But it was a long time ago, right?”

Lucas smiled wanly, staring at his hands. “Deacon, have you ever been in love?”

Deacon laughed. “Mr. Chase, I can’t even figure out what sexual orientation tag I fit under. Hell no I’ve never been in love.”

“Then you won’t understand this, but what happened between David and I was a long time ago, even though it doesn’t always feel that way. Sometimes I wake up and it’s all distant, foggy, and it only hurts a little. Other days, its like it was yesterday, and I walk around all day feeling like someone stabbed me in the stomach.”

“I think I’ll stay away from love then.” Lucas smiled out the window. “You haven’t looked at me since we sat down.”

“It’s hard to.” Lucas admitted, flushing. “It’s too many feelings, you have to understand.”

“You still love him, huh?”

Lucas shrugged. “Lack of closure kept the wounds from healing right, and over the years I’ve realized that people like David don’t really exist.”

“Tell me about him.” Deacon rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. Lucas finally looked at him, and Deacon watched the war in his eyes; confusion and pain and something like excitement. “Please.” He added.

Lucas opened his mouth. “Deacon…” he frowned. The name was too close to David on his tongue. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up about him. He might not be your father, and if you get hurt because of this…” he looked away again.

Deacon thought about this for a moment. “You look like an interesting man, Mr. Chase.” He said after a moment, and was pleased to see the ghost of a smile on Lucas’s face. “Even if this David man is not my father, I want to get to know you. I know I’m young, and you probably don’t have a lot of time for friends at all with the theater, let alone ones that are still in high school. But you aren’t busy at the moment.”

“Actually, I was going to pick up some important stuff for the opening.” Lucas told him, his smile widening the tiniest bit.

“Indulge me anyway.” Deacon waved his comment off. “I like new people, and I’m starting to like you, even though we’ve only talked for a little bit.”

“It’s hard to sit here.” Lucas admitted. “It’s hard to remember that you aren’t David.”

“Then don’t look at me. Just talk. You look like you could use a good rant, get whatever all of this is off of your chest.”

Lucas glanced at the boy, who seemed positive that his words would get Lucas to talk, to stay and uncover all the old hurt and guilt from almost a decade and a half ago. He sighed. “I can’t. I have too much to do.”

Deacon nodded, looking disappointed. “Perhaps another time.” He saw the waitress heading their way, laden with his food. “I’ll pay for your coffee, Mr. Chase, and thank you for you time.”

“Lucas, and I already offered to pay for your food.” He dropped a twenty on the table and stood up. “I hope you enjoy the opening.”

“I will, trust me. I love old sci-fi flicks, even if they are really nerdy.”

This made Lucas laugh, actually laugh, and the sound of it surprised both of them. “That was a little too close for comfort.” Lucas told him, not specifying his meaning before he left the diner. Deacon watched him go, confused and a little annoyed that nothing had come of this. It didn’t occur to him until halfway through his waffles that he’d enjoyed the small moment with Lucas anyway. It realization made him smile.
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Lucas sat in the office upstairs in the theater, his chair leaned back and his hands over his face. He’d taken the boy into the coffee shop to explain about David’s past, to let him know that while it was possible, Lucas had nothing to offer him in his search. He’d felt sorry for the boy; he’d only wanted some answer. Lucas could relate. It wasn’t in Lucas to judge the boy based on his likeness to David, which was uncanny, and the look on the kid’s face, that disappointment, had compelled him to at least give Deacon someting.

He’d realized that there were differences; the slightest tilt of Deacon’s nose that made it softer than David’s. His lips were wider, a little fuller, his eyebrows arched differently. His voice was completely different, although they both rasped a little. Lucas imagined it was the smoking. Deacon held himself different, seemed more open, more secure with himself.

Still, the likeness hurt Lucas, and it had been hard to sit there and look at the boy. Worse, he knew that part of him had felt an attraction to the kid, not because of who he was but because of what he made Lucas remember. It made him disgusted with himself.

He’d been okay for it, though. He’d sat there calmly. He’d faced the boy. He hadn’t had a heart attack, or broke down crying, like he thought he might when he first looked up from his notebook into those mismatched eyes. He’d survived it, and despite the rolling, seasick feeling in his stomach and the ache in his heart caused by memories surfacing that he’d long ago buried, he felt pretty much okay.

He was proud of himself. He dared to hope that this meant he would really and truly heal, after all this time. He rocked the chair back onto all fours and stood. He wanted to talk to Anna, tell her about what had happened. She would be happy. She would say things to help him forget the feelings in him, and everything would be okay again. Now that he had faced Deacon, he didn’t have to think about it anymore; he could learn not to look towards the loft buildings, he could learn to ignore the slightly distorted ghost if he ever walked into the theater. There was a new possibility for betterment, and Lucas was going to run with it.

Smiling to himself, he headed down to the main floor, where he’d last seen Anna on her cell phone. He felt better than he had in a long time.
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Thanks to everyone who gave me a review!

pesterme2: Your review pleased me greatly. I'm glad someone, anyone else, is annoyed with Anna. I always hear "oh that poor girl blah blah blah" and I've never really liked Anna. And that's sort of the point of Lucas: he doesn't have a back bone at all. He's needy and subservient most of the time. I love him tons, though. Much more will be revealed about everyone's past mistakes and their motives now, so keep reading, and I'm so glad you love the story!

Lisa: Yea, I don't have anyone double checking my stuff before I post it, and I only reread crap that goes in my novel; I'm kind of lazy like that. I'm so glad you're digging the story, despite my little slip-ups. =)

And for anyone you going "WTF?! More David." It's coming, so keep your pants on. =)

Also, if you haven't read it already, go back and read my A/N in the second chapter and check out the thing about the interactive story I want to do. If you want more info, my contact stuff at the bottom of chapter 2.