Page 37 of Heart, Haunt, Havoc
He needed to control his heart, get his business in line, move on. He needed to figure out how to saygoodbyeto Bishop. How to get in his car and drive away. Colin needed to do a lot—too much.
But he said, “Yeah, sure.” And met Bishop in the kitchen. Watched them blow on a naked candlewick and coax a flame to bloom, then kissed the magic from on their lips, and mouthed at their neck, and tasted dust and dirt and sweat on their supple skin. He thoughtGod, give me strengthwhen Bishop peeled his shirt away. Stole their beer and took a sip, yanking at their belt with his free hand. They made love on the floor, and fucked on the couch, and spoke sweetly to each other in front of the fireplace.
Show me how to let them go.
Dear Colin Hart,
I think my ex-wife is a witch. I’m pretty sure she cursed me after she found out about the affair—
DELETE
To Colin Hart,
Hi! We’re a team of amateur spirit searchers on a quest to find PROOF of the afterlife! We’d love to set up an interview if you—
DELETE
Hello,
My name is Ginger Stockholm. My nineteen-year-old son killed our rabbit yesterday. He’s always been a sweet boy. Very mild-mannered and soft-spoken. I’m sure you’ve heard stories of the unbelievable—according to your website, you’re comfortable with handling these sort of things. I wish I was, too. But Danny is getting worse. I don’t know my own child anymore. I’ve done research. I know the signs. Insects, bodily changes, attitude shifts, animal slaughter, inhuman behavior. He killed our rabbit yesterday, and today we rushed him to the hospital to reattach his pinky finger. He’d bitten it off. Flies have infested the garage, burning themselves to death on the lightbulb because I refuse to turn it off. I’m a good Christian woman, Mr. Hart. I go to church, I read the gospel, I pray at the dinner table, but I am no exorcist.
And I believe I’m in need of one.
Colin read the email twice. He sat cross-legged on Bishop’s bed while they groomed in the bathroom. The whir of the clippers filled the air and a bird chirped on the frozen windowsill.
Ginger Stockholm lived in Little Rock, Arkansas. If he left after dinner, he could drive through the night and make it to her house by tomorrow afternoon. His hands hovered over the keyboard, arguing with the rest of him. After a breath of hesitation, he typed and hit SEND. One minute later a response came through, bolded at the top of his inbox.
Dear Ginger,
I can schedule a consultation for tomorrow evening if you’re still in the market for a specialist.
Best,
Colin Hart
Colin,
Yes. Don’t be alarmed when you arrive. We’ve boarded the windows but we’re home. Drive safely. Please hurry.
Blessings,
Ginger
He sighed through his nose.
“You look pensive,” Bishop said. They stood in the doorway between the attached bathroom and the bedroom, scrubbing their palm over their freshly shaved head.
“Someone in Arkansas is dealing with a possession. It seems urgent,” he said, pointing at his laptop.
“So, you’re leaving?”
“After dinner, yeah.”
Bishop chewed their bottom lip and pulled at the webbing between their fingers. Their eyes flicked to the frosty window. “Should we order take-out?”
“We can,” Colin said. The unspoken twisted between the two of them. Colin didn’t want to leave, but he couldn’t stay; Bishop didn’t want him to go, but they couldn’t ask him not to.
Since the moment Colin had arrived at the unstable house and met Bishop, they’d danced around each other. Found comfort in each other. Made something with each other. But the job was done, the house was clean, and Colin didn’t know if their togetherness was a result of loneliness or grief or genuine compatibility.
