Page 13 of After Life
“I think it might’ve been a bit of a mutual fuck up.” He sighed. “I was... No, I am feeling a little wrongfooted here. I’m not sure how to be without the context of the show these days. For so long, the only way I defined myself was as a medium, as who I was taught to be. I’ve been on all the time, ever since I was old enough to follow Grandmere’s directions. Some days I don’t know how much of me is Oscar and how much is Oscar Fellowes, Renowned Medium. When Ezra and I were making those videos, before it even became a channel, it felt safe, you know? I knew how to be this person, how to be Oscar Fellowes the Medium. And I didn’t have to worry about the world being a strange place to me. When Ezra had the idea to make it a show, I was more into it than I wanted to admit. Every day has been either an investigation, a séance, or preparing for them. And this week is the very first time I’ve been outside of that context in a long while. I felt like maybe you... like maybe you wanted me to not be Oscar Fellowes.”
“Who else would I want you to be?” I rasped. “I love you, Oscar. You. Not whoever your odd little fan club thinks you are, not the face you put on for the cameras.” Taking a chance, I reached out and laid my hand on his knee. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed under my touch. “You’ve been really stressed lately. And I wish I could help but you’re not letting me in. And I know that we’re really new here but still... I love you, Oscar, and I want to be part of your life.”
“That’s the problem.” He sighed. “I keep thinking, once you get a real feeling for my life, you’ll run screaming back to yours.”
“And you don’t want to be part of mine?”
“I didn’t say that,” he groaned. “It’s just... I don’t fit with yours, do I? Outside of the show or our time away from the real world, I’m not the sort of person you’d take around your friends from university, am I? I’m not a scholarly sort, and I don’t have some grand background in the sciences or research or—”
“Or,” I cut him off, leaning in to brush a kiss against his temple. He closed his eyes and shuddered against my embrace, making relief flare to life in my chest. “Or it doesn’t matter. Seriously. When was the last time you saw me hanging out with a bunch of egg heads, huh?”
“Egg heads?” he snorted. “Seriously?”
“I’m trying to defuse a tense situation with disarming humor. Is it working?”
“Not really.”
“Well. How about with kissing? Does that help?”
“Maybe.”
“Well,” I asked, tugging on his fingers as I struggled to my feet. “Maybe we should go diffuse the tension further upstairs?”
He grinned. “I think that is an excellent idea.”
WE MISSED DINNER. I had the feeling Sandra was annoyed about it, judging by the solid door-slam around eight. Neither of us cared much, Oscar snickering against my collarbone when I suggested I put on my robe and go make us a snack some time later.
“I think I’ll survive till breakfast,” he murmured. “Getting out of bed right now would make all that tension come back and we’d have to start all over.”
“Oh no,” I deadpanned. “No, anything but more sex with my boyfriend. Noooo...”
He laughed and moved to straddle my hips carefully, both of us sinking into long, slow kisses until sleep became too much of a necessity.
I’m not sure what woke me, but the room was quiet when I opened my eyes. Quiet darkness filled the room, but something felt wrong.
Someone was staring at me. It wasn’t Oscar. He was breathing steadily, albeit a bit wheezily, beside me on my right, his legs tucked up and arms flung out in childlike luxuriance, as if he had the space to himself and trying to clothesline me in his sleep wasn’t a thing.
So it wasn’t him at all. But someone was definitely staring at me. I could feel it in the stillness beside me on the left, between the bed and the window overlooking the back gardens. They were quiet, unmoving. I kept my eyes closed and strained my ears, trying to pick up on some indication of who—or what—it was. It’s a dream, I told myself. Not an uncommon occurrence, to wake from dreams sure whatever was in your mind was real for a few moments after waking. Hell, night terrors are a thing and those definitely feel real, real enough for people to think they’re being haunted or even physically attacked sometimes.
But night terrors and dream remnants didn’t last this long, did they?
Oscar snuffled, coughed, and shifted, his arms jerking as he tried to roll without untucking his legs. His hand flailed and caught my chin, making me wince. The stillness beside me erupted, a rustle of fabric and thump of steps with a rush of air as whoever it was moved, heading for the bedroom door. I rolled out from under Oscar’s arm to his muted, sleepy protest. “Hey!” I said sharply. The figure in the doorway stopped. They were facing away from me, I thought—hard to tell in the dark, even with the moonlight and faint glow of the backyard security light trickling through the warped window glass. “What do you want?” I demanded. “Put your hands where I can see them, okay? I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Julian?” Oscar murmured. “What’s going on?”
The figure moved then, disappearing into the dark of the corridor. “Shit! Stay here,” I ordered Oscar, who was slowly coming more awake. “Someone was in the room. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Julian! Wait!”
I grabbed my cane and was off, in as much as I could manage, after whoever it was. Behind me, Oscar was cursing at the bedsheets as he tried to untangle himself, but I didn’t slow down. “Hey!” Whoever was ahead of me was quiet on the stairs, their steps not making the old wood creak or even thumping on the risers. They must be the most light-footed person in existence, or... Well. Or.
I was considerably slower than they were, navigating the stairs in the dark. When I reached the bottom, I paused. The front door was closed, and surely I would have heard that one being shut even as far behind them as I was. That left the kitchen door, I decided, turning to head toward the back of the house.
“Julian! Stop!” Oscar panted, galloping to the top of steps, still tugging on his sleep pants.
“See if you can get Sandra on the phone,” I said. “Her number’s on the card on my side of the bed, on the nightstand. I doubt this island has a responsive emergency number this time of night.”
“Goddamnit, Julian!” he snapped, sounding angrier than I’d ever heard him. The kitchen door thumped, and I huffed a breath. “Please?”
