The Ghost and Mr. Moore (23 page)

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Authors: Ryan Field

Tags: #Erotica, #Romance, #Fiction

BOOK: The Ghost and Mr. Moore
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For the next two weeks, he spent his days in the study. He told everyone he was

 

working, which was a plausible excuse. But he was really just sitting at his desk staring

 

out the window. Sometimes he spoke to the empty room. He’d lean forward in his chair and said things to Captain Lang, hoping Lang might appear to him. But no one ever

 

replied.

 

After two weeks had passed, he went down for breakfast one morning as usual.

 

Brighton was playing with Cleo and Marion was making coffee. He smiled and said good

 

morning, then sat down and opened the newest edition of Provincetown’s local

 

newspaper,
The Banner
.

 

While he was reading, Marion looked up from the coffee machine and said, “You

 

know, Mr. Moore, something is different around here.”

 

He lowered the paper and turned to face her. “Different?”

 

She lifted a mug from the counter and filled it with steaming coffee. “I know you

 

think I’m daft, but the house seems different to me. When I wake up and walk into the

 

kitchen, all the cabinet doors are shut, just the way I left them the night before. And

 

nothing strange or out of the ordinary has happened in over two weeks. To be honest, I

 

kind of miss it. I know that sounds silly, Mr. Moore. But I got used to all these strange

 

little things happening around the house. It felt normal.”

 

Dexter’s stomach jumped and his heart raced. He wanted to talk about Captain

 

Lang with someone. There were so many words and emotions ready to burst from his

 

mouth. But he maintained an even expression and said, “Maybe you’re just getting used

 

to the house, Marion. I haven’t noticed anything different.” Then he leaned forward and

 

grabbed the end of an old sock hanging from Cleo’s mouth. He pulled the sock and said

 

to Brighton, “You don’t notice anything different, Brighton, do you?”

 

Brighton laughed and shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t wake up all tucked in

 

every morning anymore.” While Dexter pulled the sock in Cleo’s mouth, Cleo pulled back as hard as he could. But Cleo couldn’t manage to secure his footing on the wooden

 

floor. His feet slipped and his body went forward.

 

Dexter let go of the sock and Cleo fell backward on his hind quarters. “What are

 

you talking about, Brighton?” He knew he hadn’t been tucking her into bed at night.

 

She reached for the sock in Cleo’s mouth and said, “While we’ve been here in this

 

house, I used to always wake up tucked in. Now I don’t anymore. I miss it, too. I always

 

felt safe and warm.”

 

Dexter gave Marion a look. “Have you been tucking her into bed at night,

 

Marion?”

 

Marion’s eyes were wide. She put down the coffee mug and pressed her palm to

 

her cheek. “I have no idea what she’s talking about, Mr. Moore. I kiss her goodnight and

 

close the door. But I never actually tuck her into bed.”

 

Dexter didn’t want to continue talking about this. He reached for the sock in

 

Cleo’s mouth and pulled it out with one quick tug. “Sit down and eat your breakfast,

 

Brighton. You’ll be late for school.”

 

Brighton stood up and went to her chair. Marion came to the table with a mug of

 

coffee and looked down at Dexter with her lips pursed. She placed the mug in front of

 

him and said, “For the first time since I arrived in Keel Cottage, I feel like the house is

 

empty.”

 

Dexter laughed and waved his arm. “Marion, you have an overactive imagination,

 

is all.”

 

She turned and crossed back to the island. “Maybe so, Mr. Moore, but I know

 

something’s different around here. I just don’t know what.” Dexter lifted the mug and took a sip of coffee, then lifted the newspaper and

 

pretended he hadn’t heard what she’d said.

 

In the months that followed, Dexter returned to his normal routine. He’d resigned

 

himself to the fact that Captain Lang was not going to return and that life continued. He

 

stopped talking to empty rooms. He started to go out again. He met Elliot for drinks, he

 

went to dinner parties with friends, and he kept busy with his work in the Retail

 

Association.

 

In the late spring, he began traveling to promote the second book, which was

 

launching that summer. With the first book, he hadn’t done as much promotion because

 

of the reality show. But this time he had to do talk shows, magazine interviews, and radio

 

shows. He met James Campbell in New York to discuss the book launch. James bought

 

him small gifts, took him to quiet, romantic restaurants, and continued to flirt. He wasn’t

 

shy. One night while they were standing outside Dexter’s hotel, James put his arms

 

around Dexter and said, “I’m in love with you. Tell me there’s some hope, Dexter.”

 

Then he boldly slipped his arm under Dexter’s jacket and grabbed his crotch.

 

Dexter stepped back and straightened his jacket. “I need time, James,” he said.

 

“I’m still in love with Michael.” Then he kissed James on the cheek and went into the

 

hotel alone. He clenched his fists all the way up to his room. He wanted to feel the same

 

way about James. But he didn’t feel anything more than friendship.

 

By June, the second book was released and Dexter started jogging in the early

 

mornings. He discovered that strenuous cardio workouts helped ease stress. And it helped

 

him forget about his sexual frustrations. He masturbated often. But he hadn’t had sex

 

with anyone since Captain Lang. He’d jog down the driveway at six in the morning and run all the way to the east end of town and back. He smiled and nodded at the same

 

people every morning. There were a handful of other people in town with the same

 

routine. He’d been in Provincetown for two years, yet it felt as if he’d been there all his

 

life.

 

Then one morning in the middle of June, he jogged down the driveway and

 

noticed an unfamiliar car parked in the street at the end of the driveway. He’d never seen

 

this car; it had New York tags. The summertime tourists were returning and he knew

 

unfamiliar cars were common. But this one caught his eye. It was a twenty-five-year old

 

Lincoln Town Car, with faded gold paint and a chocolate brown vinyl roof that had

 

frayed edges. You didn’t see cars like that in Provincetown often. Most of the tourists

 

drove new SUVs or expensive foreign cars.

 

The front windows in the Lincoln were down. Dexter jogged past the driver’s

 

door and looked inside. There were two young men in the front seat. The passenger had

 

long, light brown hair and a scruffy goatee. He was wearing a dark green T-shirt, faded

 

jeans, and dark sunglasses that covered the top half of his face. The driver had black hair.

 

He wore a black T-shirt and dark jeans. His seat was all the way back and he wasn’t

 

wearing shoes or socks. His left leg was up and his large bare foot was resting on the

 

dashboard. There was a tattoo of a snake on his ankle.

 

Dexter nodded at them and smiled. They reminded him of the rough guys he used

 

to see all the time in California, riding their skateboards down Santa Monica Boulevard

 

with their shirts wide open and their pants falling below their waists. These guys all had

 

three things in common: dark, sexy eyes; huge, thick dicks; and an innate sense of entitlement that suggested the world owed them something for just being young and

 

handsome.

 

The driver looked up at Dexter and nodded, then reached between his legs and

 

scratched his crotch a few times. He did it with sudden jerks so that his dick would move

 

around. The only thing he could have done that would have been more obvious was

 

pulling his dick out and shaking it in Dexter’s direction.

 

Dexter pressed his palm to his throat. He blinked and continued jogging. When he

 

reached the next block, he turned around and looked back at the old Lincoln. The driver

 

was standing outside the car now. He was leaning against the front door, with his elbow

 

on the roof, watching Dexter. Dexter couldn’t see the expression on his face. But he did

 

see the guy reach down and grab his crotch again.

 

When Dexter returned an hour later, the car was gone. But it was back again the

 

next morning. When Dexter jogged by this time, the guy with the dark hair was sitting on

 

the hood of the car. His shirt was off and his jeans were so far down Dexter could see his

 

pubic hairs. The other guy was in the passenger seat. He looked Dexter up and down with

 

a sly grin on his face. Dexter nodded and smiled.

 

The guy lifted his chin and said, “Hey, baby. I like those shorts. Nice ass.” His

 

voice was deep and hoarse, with a naughty, playful tone. Guys flirted with each other all

 

the time in Provincetown, so this wasn’t completely out of the ordinary.

 

Dexter’s eyes opened wide. He wondered if the guy could sense how sexually

 

frustrated he was. He almost tripped on a crack in the pavement. He was wearing a pair

 

of tight, black Spandex athletic shorts and a white cotton tank top. He had a red baseball

 

cap pulled down over his eyes. Guys did this to him all the time; he was used to it. But at that hour of the morning, he didn’t feel sexy, and he wasn’t interested in flirting with

 

anyone. He didn’t know how to respond to the guy, so he smiled and said, “Thanks,

 

man,” and kept jogging.

 

The car was gone by the time he returned. And for the next four days, the pattern

 

repeated. Sometimes both guys were standing outside the car. They always made a

 

comment about Dexter’s ass and they always made an obscene gesture with their crotches.

 

He should have called the police. If Dexter had been a woman he most likely would have

 

called the police the first day this all began. But Dexter was a gay man, and contrary to

 

popular stereotypical beliefs, gay men did not think like women. Dexter thought like a

 

man, and had the ego of a man. And men didn’t call the police, or ask for any kind of

 

help, unless it was absolutely necessary.

 

One morning the dark-haired guy actually unzipped his pants and adjusted his

 

underwear. The morning after that, the guy with the lighter hair licked his lips and

 

whistled at Dexter. Dexter still didn’t think it was serious enough to call the police. They

 

seemed harmless enough; they were always smiling. He just figured it was a couple of

 

smart-asses passing through Provincetown, hoping to make sexual conquests. If he

 

ignored them, they’d lose interest and disappear.

 

After a few days of awkward encounters, Dexter decided to change his routine.

 

Instead of jogging in the morning, he waited until nine o’clock one night. The guys

 

weren’t there when he left the house. He took a deep breath and sighed. But when he

 

returned from his run an hour later, the old Lincoln was back again. They must have been

 

watching his every move from a distance. The guys were outside the car, tossing a

 

Frisbee to each other in the street. It was dark outside, but they were near a streetlight. Dexter could see they were both shirtless. Their baggy jeans were pulled down to their

 

hips and it looked like they weren’t wearing any underwear.

 

Dexter was drenched in sweat. His tank top was clinging to his chest and his

 

white running shorts hugged his body. When he slowed down to a walk, the guy with the

 

dark hair looked at him and said, “Hey, baby. Can we use your phone? We’re having a

 

little car trouble and we need to call someone.” He even sounded like the guys on Santa

 

Monica Boulevard, with a streetwise accent that had quasi-ethnic undertones. But these

 

guys weren’t ethnic.

 

There was no way Dexter was going to invite them into his house. He took a deep

 

breath and said, “I’ll get my cell phone, guys. It’s in the house.” He was planning to call

 

the police.

 

The guy with the dark hair dropped the Frisbee in the street. The guy with the

 

lighter hair grinned. Dexter smiled at them and turned toward the house. But while

 

Dexter was walking up the driveway, the guy with the dark hair grabbed Dexter’s arm

 

and the guy with the lighter hair placed his hand over Dexter’s mouth. Dexter tried to

 

break free. But they were too strong to resist. The one with the dark hair reached down

 

and grabbed Dexter’s ass, then whispered, “Let’s go inside, baby. You’re gonna like this.

 

I’ll bet you have a lot of nice things in that house, too. We’ve been watching you and

 

your little family.”

 

After that, everything happened fast. First, they tied Dexter to a chair on the front

 

porch and gagged him. Then they went inside and tied and gagged Marion to her bed.

 

When Cleo barked, the guy with the lighter hair scooped him up, brought him to the

 

garage, and threw him into the trunk of Dexter’s car. Brighton was sound asleep in her room. She didn’t know what was happening, and Dexter, still tied to a chair, prayed she’d

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