Jacob Michaels Is Not Here (A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance Book 4) Page 2

  “Don’t you?”

  I had no answer to that.

  “Fortune may be smiling upon this worthless little town.” He added.

  “It’s not worthless.”

  The hooded figure chuckled, the sound like ice being rubbed along my spine as I watched the scene before me grow darker still.

  “You have returned.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “It was time.”

  “Running away didn’t suit you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you ready, then?”

  I turned to the hooded figure.

  “Let me see your face,” I said. “Again.”

  The figure continued to stare into the tavern.

  “Please?”

  “That is your choice, then?”

  “Do I have another?”

  Another chuckle; another spine tingle.

  “Of course, you do.” Said the voice. “You can just wake up. Go on with your life as it was. Go back…to Hollywood.”

  The way the figure said “Hollywood” made me shiver. I turned back to look through the window, only to find that the tavern was just a concrete lot…just like Barkley’s now was.

  “Where is everything going?”

  “You are taking too long to make your decision.”

  “I already told you my choice.”

  “Did you mean it?”

  Turning once more, I stared at the figure.

  “Let me see your face.”

  The figure stood there, ignoring me for a moment, then slowly turned to face me, though the figure’s face, aside from its nose, stayed in shadow. My eyes connected with the mass of shadow within the hood, but I could see nothing apart from that nose. Of course, I knew the face within that hood, so it was not absolutely necessary for me to see. However, before I could make my choice official, I had to see that face once more.

  “I have been waiting for this day, Robert,” The figure said. “I knew it would come.”

  I swallowed hard as the figure seemed to loom over me.

  “We’ve wasted so much time. That vexes me.”

  “You shouldn’t have presented me with options, then,” I replied.

  A chuckle once again, though it held no humor.

  “I had no choice then,” I added, “but now I do.”

  “Are you so sure?” The figure asked. “Or have the years and distance emboldened you?”

  “Where are we?” I ignored the question.

  “In the place between.” The figure answered. “The place between places, the time between times. The past, the present, the future, the here, the now, the then. What was, what is, and what could be.”

  The figure gestured with its pale hands as it spoke.

  “But this place is disappearing. Maybe forever.”

  “I’ve made my choice,” I said with finality.

  Gesturing around, the figure drew my eyes around the street as fires slowly faded out, and another building snapped out of existence. The post office, I think.

  “Have you?”

  “Let me see your face.”

  The figure chuckled a final time as the gas station blinked out of existence.

  “If I see your face, I will make my choice.” I pleaded.

  Another building blinked itself away, and the darkness crept in around us before another building disappeared, leaving nothing but a concrete slab in its place. The dark figure reached up, and pale, nearly skeletal fingers grasped the sides of the hood as I locked my eyes on the shadow within the hood. Slowly, the figure pulled back the hood, and as the face of the figure came into view, the darkness began to swallow us. Finally, before the last of my vision was swallowed by nothingness, I saw the face I had been longing to see once again.

  “Thank you.” I managed.

  “You’ve made your choice.” The figure responded.

  “Will it hurt?”

  “Oh, you will have your pain, Robert.” It responded. “There will be plenty of pain. All you have to do is wait. But this…will just sting a little bit.”

  Then everything went black.

  Oma was in the kitchen like she always was, preparing another breakfast, humming a tune to herself, cupboards suddenly slamming shut and shadows shifting as I gamboled into the room. Bacon and biscuits and sausage gravy perfumed the air—the signature scent of Oma’s house in the morning. Too hungry to entertain propriety, I plopped down into one of the kitchen chairs, prepared to eat. I was hungry. I was always hungry.

  “What have I told you about flingin’ your ass into my kitchen chairs?” Oma turned around, the large kitchen spoon in her hand was coated with gravy.

  It made my mouth water.

  “I’m sorry, Oma.” I blushed. “Your cooking just always smells so good.”

  “I guess I can take that as an apology.”

  She cackled and turned back to the stove. Oma had rules in her house and a strict sense of what was and wasn’t proper behavior. While she was quick to correct breaking the rules or displaying improper behavior, she was just as ready to laugh and forgive. Oma wasn’t one to ever genuinely hold a grudge against anyone. Besides the Kelly family. As far as I knew, she’d never actually punished me for anything. Of course, Oma had a way with her looks and her words that let one know you would never want to suffer one of her punishments. So…I was a pretty good kid.

  “Now,” Oma said, the metal spoon scratching against the cast iron skillet, “what have you been up to the last few days?”

  Summer sun was streaming through the window, making everything look soft and lazy and warm.

  “Nothing.” I shrugged.

  “Nothin’.” She snorted. “Nothin’ my wrinkled ass, Robbie.”

  “Oma…”

  She waggled her head. “Rob.”

  “Thank you.” My pubescent voice cracked.

  “I’ll never get used to calling you that.” She turned to me, putting her fists against her hips. “You’re not a ‘Rob.’ You’re too damn sweet to go by ‘Rob.’ I’m just goin’ to call you ‘Robbie’ and you can hate me if you want.”

  She gave me a wink and turned back to the stove. Since Oma’s back was turned and she couldn’t see it, I let myself smile.

  “You’ve been stayin’ away from the house from sun up to sun down the last few days.” Oma teased over her shoulder. “To me, that spells out that you’re sweet on some girl.”

  I shrugged, though Oma couldn’t see it, as I sat at the table.

  “You just gon’ be quiet about it?” Oma chuckled to herself. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a fifteen-year-old boy catchin’ sweet on a girl. All y’all go through it. Bunch of hormonal idiots just waiting for a chance to smooch…and do other things…with some willing girl.”

  My cheeks were red, and I was staring down at the table. Oma talking to me about the birds and the bees—such as it was—was bad enough. The fact that I didn’t have a thing for any of the girls at school was another. Oma turned to me, her eyes locking onto mine.

  “You’re going to be a heartbreaker, Robbie,” She sighed. “I mean, hell…just look atcha. Now that you’re growing into yourself. You make sure you’re bein’ a gentleman until they tell you it’s okay to act otherwise. Don’t you let me hear a single word about you treatin’ a girl wrong.”

  “You won’t, Oma,” I mumbled.

  “Good.”

  She turned back to the stove.

  “I don’t have any crushes on any girls anyway.” I found myself practically whispering.

  “Well, that’s okay, too.” Oma nodded to herself. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with bein’ a late bloomer. Keep you out of trouble as long as we can.”

  Oma laughed. I didn’t.

  There’s a time in every young person’s life where they decide the person they want to be with their parents—or their parental figure. Do they want to show their most authentic self and risk that it won’t be good enough…or do they try on a persona so that they don’t have to find ou
t if the person they truly are is good enough to be loved? My teenage self chose the former.

  “There’s a boy I like, though.” I felt the truth slide from my mouth.

  The “skritch-skritch” of the spoon in the skillet stopped, and Oma seemed to freeze at the stove. My teenage heart palpitated within my chest as I waited for whatever was to come to…come. Thick, heavy silence grew between us in the kitchen as bacon sizzled in the other skillet, creating a soundtrack comprised of delicious sounds and smells. Just when I thought that I might scream out just to break the tension, the “skritch-skritch” of the spoon in the skillet started up again. Oma let the spoon rest against the side of the skillet and turned to me again, her hands on her hips once more.

  “You know they got one them ‘LGBT’ centers over in Toledo?”

  I shook my head nervously.

  “Well, they do.” She nodded. “I been thinkin’ about goin’ over there to volunteer while you was in school all week long. Help the boys and girls out. I guess that’s just what I’ll do.”

  Then she turned back to the stove and started stirring the gravy again. I allowed myself to give a wary smile.

  “Maybe you can go with me?” She suggested gently.

  “Maybe…”

  “Who’s this boy?” Oma didn’t let my hesitance overtake the conversation. “Do I know him? I should. I know everybody around here. Better not be one them Kelly boys. Ugly, Irish assholes.”

  “Are you ever going to be nice to them?” I teased. “Besides, they’re all a lot older than me, Oma.”

  “I’ll sit up in my coffin to spit at them if they show up at the funeral.” Oma waggled her head as she cooked. “Who’s the boy, damnit?”

  “Luc-Lucas Barkley?” I stammered, suddenly very nervous.

  Oma turned to me again, the spoon in her hand dripping gravy onto the floor. She didn’t notice.

  “That Jackson Barkley’s grandson?” She asked quickly. “The one who plays football?”

  I nodded jerkily.

  Oma cackled and then noticed the gravy on the floor.

  “Shit.” She admonished herself before retrieving a paper towel to clean up the mess she had made.

  Oma bent down to wipe up the gravy.

  “Well,” She grunted as she wiped, “Lucas is a good kid. But Jackson Barkley will shit his britches knowin’ that his grandson is…”

  She glanced up at me, stopping herself from saying whatever it was she was going to say. I stared at her.

  “I wasn’t gonna say nothin’ too bad.” She waved me off as she stood up and deposited the soiled paper towel in the trashcan. “I don’t even know if Jackson will give a shit, to be honest.”

  “Oma…”

  “Well, I’m sorry.” She snapped, but she didn’t have the heart to put the full force of her sass behind it. “I was just gonna say he ‘had a little sugar in his tank’ is all.”

  “It’s not the most offensive thing you’ve ever said,” I mumbled, and Oma shot a squinty-eyed look over her shoulder, silencing me.

  The cellar door creaked open suddenly, and I looked over to see Ernst come out, looking around as though to make sure that there were no visitors. Once it was clear to him that it was just the three of us, his eyes locked onto me.

  “Good morning, Ernst.” I beamed.

  “Good-mornin’, Rob.” He smiled back.

  Ernst exited the cellar and shut the door gently behind himself as Oma gave him a “good mornin’” over her shoulder. Ernst returned the sentiment and sauntered over to the table to stand beside me, his head barely higher than my lap in my seated position.

  “Didja sleep well, Rob?”

  I didn’t respond verbally. Instead, I smiled and scooted my seat back, making the legs scrape against the linoleum unpleasantly. Ernst didn’t hesitate as he climbed up and sat on my knee. Oma cast a disapproving glance over her shoulder and shook her head as she began piling a plate high with the heavenly concoction she had whipped up for breakfast. Doing her best to not slap the plate down on the table, Oma set the breakfast in front of Ernst and me before shaking her head once more. I picked up my fork while Ernst grabbed a strip of my bacon and began nibbling at it happily. It had taken a few years for him to sit at the table with me, under the watchful eye of Oma. He had become less fearful of showing impropriety when it became clear that Oma wouldn’t say anything while I was around. Ernst was my friend. Oma let it slide.

  “You two are thicker than thieves, ain’tcha?” Oma stated blandly as she made her own plate.

  Ernst nibbled nervously and looked up at me, and I just gave him a wink.

  Lucas never liked meeting anywhere we might be seen by the other kids we went to school with each day. Being a naïve, mostly sheltered country kid myself, I assume it was because I was a theater kid and he was a football player. It was a personal “head-slapping” moment for me when I realized the actual reason behind his secretive behavior. Of course, when Lucas and I had first started hanging out, I thought we were becoming just friends. I had known that I was gay…or, at least, I had a pretty good idea. Lucas hadn’t indicated that he was gay when we started becoming friends, so it never crossed my mind that anything besides friendship was developing. Later, when we kissed for the first time, I had an Oprah “Ah-ha Moment.” Obviously, he was gay—or gay-ish, which were the only LGBT terms I understood at the time—and wanted more than friendship. Knowing this, he wanted to keep the fact that we hung out a secret, even though I was not out of the closet to anyone except Oma at the time. I had just been too dense to understand what was unfolding before my very eyes. Lucas, of course, had been much quicker at figuring things out than I had been. He had always been smarter than me.

  “We could go down to the bowling alley,” I suggested as we walked along the shore of Lake Erie, beyond the woods bordering Oma’s property. Lucas was skipping rocks sporadically, and I was collecting interesting pebbles in my pocket. We were fifteen and should have had more exciting things to do. “We could go see a movie or something. Ernst said he would show us some more tricks if you want.”

  Oma wasn’t aware, but I had introduced Lucas to Ernst within days of becoming friends with him. I had known that he would be able to keep a secret. Just as I had suspected, and though Lucas had been gobsmacked by the appearance of a Kobold, he had kept his lips shut. He and Ernst had taken to each other after Lucas’ initial shock wore off and they always talked at least a little bit every time Lucas showed up to hang out. Lucas stayed clear of the house, though. He hadn’t wanted Oma to see him. We always met at the edge of the yard or down by the lake. But Ernst would always at least say “hello” to Lucas before the two of us left to do…whatever it was we decided to do.

  Lucas’ reply was slow to come, “I like just being out here.”

  “Okay.” I shrugged and bent down to grab a rock so black and shiny that it looked like obsidian.

  Shoving the rock in my pocket, I turned to watch Lucas skip another one across the eerily calm surface of the lake.

  “The play was really good,” Lucas stated as he slid his hands into his pockets and stared out at the lake.

  “Thanks.” I smiled widely. “Oma took me to Toledo afterward last night. We got burgers and milkshakes and saw a movie and…it was kind of cool, I guess.”

  Lucas smiled, still looking out at the lake.

  “I mean, it was kind of stupid, too.” I backtracked. “I kind of just wanted to hang out with the cast. Grandmas, right?”

  I sighed as though the weight of the world was on my world-weary fifteen-year-old shoulders. Cool kids don’t feel happy about spending time with their parents or grandparents.

  “I think it’s cool.”

  Surveying Lucas’ face for hints of a lie as he looked out at the lake, I found none.

  “It was cool,” I confirmed.

  “Mrs. Wagner seems really nice.”

  “You never come inside…”

  “I know. You were an amazing Professor Harold Hill.”
r />   “When in Rome.”

  “Ohio?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Don’t let an Iowan hear you say that.” Lucas laughed. “They’ll be fit to be tied over in I-Oh-Way.”

  “We’re both going to be in trouble with a capital ‘T’.” I teased.

  Lucas smiled crookedly as he turned his gaze from the sun-sparkling water and looked at me. I did my best not to swallow down whatever it was that was making my belly feel the way it felt as he looked at me. His blonde hair seemed to practically glow in the spring sun. His eyes looked even more like jade than they usually did. Puberty was having its way with Lucas—in all the best ways. His jaw was becoming sharper, stronger. His baby fat was being shed, and days playing football was making him lean and muscular. But none of that accounted for what hid behind the jade of his eyes. Kindness can be exercised, but it can’t be learned. Lucas was intimately familiar with the concept.

  “You’re really funny.”

  I shrugged.

  “What does that mean?” Lucas mimicked my shrug with a small chuckle.

  “I don’t know.” I had to keep myself from shrugging again.

  Lucas stared at me for a moment before turning to walk along the shore of the lake again. I followed silently, my hands still in my pockets. Suggesting more activities we could do instead of nothing came to mind, but I let it go. Spending time with Lucas at the lake had actually become my favorite activity very quickly. I just didn’t want him to get bored with it.

  “Are you coming to the football game on Friday?”

  “I guess,” I said, “I mean, I always do, right? Everyone does.”

  We both chuckled.

  “Do you usually watch the game…or do you ignore it like everyone else?”

  “I watch.”

  He glanced out at the lake quickly then gave an upward nod.

  “Do you…I mean, you cheer for me, right?”

  I gave him a nudge with my shoulder as we walked.

  “Obviously.”

  He smiled, his eyes down.

  “Grandpa cheers really loudly, so if I can single anyone out in the crowd, it’s usually him.”

  “I guess I’ll have to cheer louder.” I shrugged, regardless of my desires.