Page 82 of The Haunting of Lockton
“Sorry,” I whispered. Which, as earlier established, was less of a whisper and loud enough to earn me another death glare from the woman.
The morning had started off amazing. I’d woken up to Paxton’s long body wrapped around me and his face in my hair. I had pecked kisses along his neck to wake him, and then I’d woken another part of him. We had rutted between the sheets, still groggy from sleep but becoming more alert as our hands explored and lips fused together. Morning sex had led to us showering together, which had led to me dropping to my knees and deep-throating him as the water rained down on us.
Afterward, in the kitchen with coffee brewing, biscuits in the oven, and ham and eggs frying on the stovetop, my brother had come knocking on the door. Alan, who had been chatting with us, instantly disappeared.
Did Julian make him nervous? Between the two of us, I was the rowdier one with a sharp tongue. Julian was the nice one. The mellow brother. The scariest thing about him was his fashion choices, which mostly consisted of plaid shirts and jeans with holes in them, like he was trying to be another Winchester brother.
He didn’t find mySupernaturalreferences nearly as funny as I did.
“This is the only mention I’ve found of Roy,” Paxton whispered, shifting the book of records toward Julian and tapping the small passage. He had such sexy hands. Long fingers and those pronounced veins I had most definitely licked and nipped at earlier.
Julian skimmed the paragraph. “Does it say when he was sent to Lockton? That should give us a time frame for narrowing down the patient list to those who would’ve been there with him.”
Paxton shook his head. “No date for when he arrived, but he’s listed in the death records. Died on Tuesday, September twenty-sixth in 1911. And the riot slash brutal massacre directly followed.”
“The two have to be connected somehow.” Julian frowned at the page. He flipped to the next one, and that frown deepened. “Is this all it says about the riot?”
“Yep,” Paxton answered. “I’ve read every report and document pertaining to Lockton, trying to find more info on it, but that’s it. Just a few small paragraphs.”
“I don’t understand,” Julian said. “Why is it that something so significant, so tragic, is barely mentioned in any of the newspapers and reports we’ve searched through? It’s glazed over.”
“Maybe the ones in charge were too ashamed it happened and didn’t want to shed light on the tragedy any more than they had to?” Paxton suggested. “But even then, there’d still be newspaper clippings or something that delved deeper. Journalists wouldn’t have kept quiet.”
“What about that one dude?” I asked. “The one who escaped. Did he say anything about it?”
Both of them looked at me.
“What?”
“That was actually a good question,” Julian said.
“Actually?” I touched my chest. “Ouch.”
My “good question” didn’t amount to much though. Christopher Beckham, as far as the interviews went, didn’t seem to have seen what happened during the riot. He’d seen the opportunity to flee as soon as the chaos erupted, and he took it. He’d been too focused on survival to pay attention to much else.
“So we’re back at square one,” I said, slouching in the hard chair. My butt hurt, and not in the good way.
“Not necessarily,” Julian said. “I have more perspective now.”
“Perspective on what?” I asked.
“Mainly about where we should focus our efforts for the investigation. Lockton has so many secrets waiting to be uncovered, but my gut tells me the riot is where we should put our energy. It was the beginning of the end for the asylum. Many lives were lost during it.”
“After it too,” Paxton chimed in. “Samuel Howard hung himself once the place came under investigation.”
“What if the riotisrelated to Roy’s death?” Julian tapped his finger on the closed book in front of him.“When we go back, I want to center our questions around the riot.”
Luckily for me, the torture session at the library didn’t last much longer. Paxton needed to be at work at one o’clock, so we left around eleven thirty to grab lunch from one of the nearby restaurants. It was the same diner Julian and I had eaten at a few days ago with the mouthwatering, juicy cheeseburgers.
“Order whatever you want,” I said to Paxton. We were seated at a booth against the wall, me and him sitting side by side and Julian across from us. “Lunch is on me.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Hush.” I pressed my leg against his as I opened the menu and looked it over, damn well already knowing what I was going to order. But it couldn’t hurt to take a peek anyway. “It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for us. Being the sexiest tour guide ever, all the home-cooked meals, and helping us review the footage.”
A waiter came over and took our drink orders—a Coke for me and water for Julian and Paxton—and then we each ordered a burger basket. My cheeseburger was massive and loaded with everything, including onion rings, bacon, a sweet and tangy barbeque sauce, and jalapenos.
“Oh god.” Julian’s face scrunched up. “I can smell your breath already. It’s going to be rancid after that burger.”
