Black Heart (6 page)

about her, but it was because he cared about her that he did it. He couldn’t drag her into his

hell. Nobody deserved that, least of all her.

Over the years he’d told himself that as long as she was able to have a long happy life

that’s all that mattered. Nothing on this earth would make him happier than knowing that

Marty was safe, happy, and living the life that she deserved. As much as it pained him, he

knew that he didn’t deserve to be in her life. She deserved more than a freak, and he would

make sure that she got it, but for now he just wanted to sit here and listen to the soothing

tones of her voice. Just one last time. That’s all it would be, he inwardly swore to himself

and to her. Then he would once again walk away.

-
-
-

The problem was that she didn’t feel like talking about herself. For once she wanted to

hear about him. She was sick of finding out everything about him from her father and

friends. It was never enough to tell her the one thing that would make this distance

tolerable. She wanted to know if he was happy.

Her eyes darted around the room, hoping to stumble upon something that would get him

to talk. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she looked out the window towards her house,

quickly coming up with something that she hoped would have him talking for a little while.

“How do you like your new house?” she asked, hoping that she didn’t sound too eager.

Please don’t let her sound pathetic.

Tristan leaned against the side of the large chair as he eyed her pile of books. He propped

his elbow on the arm of the chair and pressed two fingers to the side of his temple, making

his bicep bulge. Marty forced herself to look away from all that muscle and ignore the

unbelievably sexy pose he was striking.

“Too big,” he said, sounding annoyed.

She nodded in agreement even as she bit back a smile. Truth was, the old Thompson

place was the biggest house in Stanton. Over the past few years, only large families and a

few residential programs had showed any interest in that house. She was surprised when

she’d heard that he’d bought it. It was ridiculously large for a bachelor.

“Why did you buy it? If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, hoping to encourage him

to continue talking.

He looked away before he muttered, “I couldn’t beat the price.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed even to herself. Had she really expected him to say that

he’d bought the house because he wanted to be closer to her? She really was pathetic. They

hadn’t spoken in years and here she was harboring fantasies that he missed her, even cared

about her.

“I’d rather own my own home than deal with a possible rent hike or pain in the ass

tenants and landlords.”

She nodded absently as she thumbed through her notebook. “That’s why I decided not to

live at the dorm.”

“Yeah, dorm life can be pretty hectic,” he said distractedly.

Marty looked up at him and frowned. His jaw was clenched tightly shut and he seemed

to be averting his eyes to the left. His posture had gone from sexy to ramrod stiff in the

short time since she’d looked away from him. The backs of his knuckles were bleached

bone white against the dark tan skin covering his now clenched hands.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned that his shoulder was troubling him.

“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ve gotta go.”

He stood up, moving slightly to the left as if he were avoiding something in front of him

even though there was nothing even remotely close to him and headed for the door. She

noted that his eyes were still avoiding looking anywhere to the left.

“O-okay, I guess I’ll see you around then,” she said, frowning as he practically stormed

out of the room. A minute later she climbed off the bed to watch him walk across the street.

Whatever they were giving him for pain wasn’t enough, she thought as she watched him

walk stiffly towards his house.

Chapter
3

Tristan could feel several pairs of eyes watching him as he walked across the street. He

knew without looking back that his mother was undoubtedly watching him as she
tsked
at

him.

He had no idea what the woman wanted from him, never had. Truth was he loved her,

more than he’d ever loved his birth mother. For as long as he could remember, he tried not

to love her or even like her. He did his damndest to keep his new parents and older brother

at a distance, but slowly they’d managed to make him love and accept them. Problem was

that it felt wrong. He was a freak, a mistake. He used to feel like he was tricking them into

loving him. Now he loved them more than anything and couldn’t imagine a life without

them, which made him more careful around them. If they ever found out…..

A slight tremor ran up his back, letting him know that Marty was also watching him. He

fought against the urge to look back even while wondering if he’d see her smiling at him or

frowning. Probably frowning, he was a cold bastard after all. He knew the way he’d walked

out on her just now was rude, but he hadn’t had much of a choice. He wouldn’t have been

able to sit there any longer while enduring the screams.

“Hey! Look at me! I know you can see me!” the bastard who wouldn't shut the hell up

demanded.

Tristan cringed inwardly, but on the outside he remained calm, cold and unaffected. A

few seconds later the man screamed in frustration as he jumped in front of him, trying to

block Tristan’s path. Tristan rubbed the back of his neck as he smoothly sidestepped the

man and the metal pipe sticking out of his neck.

Tristan could have easily stepped through him and dealt with the sudden chilling effect

that always accompanied that move, but he detested that sensation, always had. As calmly

as he could, he walked straight for his front door, leaving the man trailing after him.

“Come on, don’t be a dick! All I want you to do is go to my house while my wife is away

and grab some things out of the house before she finds them. I don’t want her to find out

that I’ve been fucking her sister!” the man snapped.

Tristan shook his head in disgust. Why was he surprised? He really shouldn’t have been.

The requests he received from the dead were never selfless. They either wanted help

catching their killer, which as a detective, he really didn’t mind doing. Hell, it was the

reason he took the job. He figured he’d put his abnormality to good use. Other than that, he

received requests for revenge. He couldn’t even count the number of times ghosts begged

him to kill on their behalf. Other times he was asked, no, more like ordered, to straighten

out the shit the dead left behind. They wanted to make sure the relatives that they’d hated

didn’t see a cent of their money, or they wanted to rub it in their spouse’s face that they

screwed around. No one ever sought him out with an unselfish motive.

Well, that wasn’t completely true. Shayne had come to him eighteen years ago to help

him
as unbelievable as that sounded. Back then, he’d been an eleven year old kid, scared

shitless and angry at everything and everyone. His parents were at their wits end, but unlike

his birth parents they weren’t willing to give up on him. They did the opposite in fact.

His father started to refuse overtime so that he could spend more time with him. They

went to ballgames, weekend trips to Boston, movies and just hung out. His mother bent

over backwards to race home between classes so that she could be there when he got home

from school everyday. She’d bake him cookies, play a game with him or help him with his

homework before she had to race back to Reese College to teach her next class. Hell, even

his brother Denny started dragging him along on his dates and, when any of his girlfriends

bitched about having a little kid along, she was history.

It helped quite a bit at the time, but none of their good intentions fixed what was really

wrong. During the day he was still harassed and assaulted by the dead. He’d learned after

he was adopted how to act like nothing hurt or bothered him. By the time he was ten, he

could sit in algebra class answering a question while he was being punched, kicked, and

clawed by the dead who were pissed at being ignored by the only person that could see

them. He’d also learned that the best way to keep his parents and teachers from asking

about his bruises and cuts was to keep them covered. At night he’d figured out that sleeping

under his bed made it more difficult for them to hurt him.

Nothing helped the rage building inside of him. He hated his life. Most of all he hated the

fact that he was different and couldn’t tell anyone or he’d be taken from his family. He

lived in constant fear that he would say or do something that would ruin everything. The

only time he felt at ease was when Marty was around. She made him feel almost human.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop him from getting hurt and she’d been too young to confide

in.

By the time Shayne came around, Tristan was a shell of his former self. For so long he’d

acted like nothing mattered until it finally hadn’t. He didn’t think anything could be worse

than being stalked by the dead. The night Shayne showed up proved that he didn’t know

shit.

Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that night to clue him into the hell that awaited

him. He’d said goodnight to his parents. Then after scoffing down ice cream with Denny he

went to his room. He was halfway under the bed when a cold hand clamped down around

his ankle.

Tristan prepared himself for a fight as he was dragged out from under the bed. He didn’t

have much time to react before he was pinned to the floor and his pajama bottoms were

torn from his body. To this day he could still remember that raspy voice in his ear.

“I’m going to fuck you hard, boy,” the ghost had said, cruelly laughing while Tristan

struggled against the urge to scream.

He’d never been more afraid in his life. Desperately he tried to free himself, but the man

had been stronger. Tristan vomited the ice cream he’d just consumed all over the floor as

the man rubbed against him. He sobbed quietly, knowing there was nothing he could do or

say to escape. Yelling for help wouldn’t have done anything except bring him more shame

and he’d had more than enough of that. Just when he’d accepted what was about to happen

to him, Shayne arrived.

“Get your hands off the lad,” Shayne had said with a thick Irish brogue.

In seconds, Tristan was free to crawl back beneath the bed where he squeezed his eyes

shut and desperately tried to stop crying. He listened as the men fought, praying that they

would just leave him alone.

“Come on out, lad. He’s gone,” Shayne said calmly a few minutes later when the sounds

of fighting and shouting suddenly stopped.

Tristan lay beneath the bed, trembling and terrified of what would happen to him if they

got their hands on him again. “N-no.”

Shayne sighed heavily, “That’s fine, lad. I’ll just sit here and make sure that no else

bothers ye tonight. When ye feel comfortable, ye come on out and I’ll tuck ye into bed.”

Tristan didn’t trust him so he stayed under the bed, quietly sobbing. He didn’t know how

he was going to make it through another day, especially knowing that he could be hurt in

other ways now. Beatings were one thing he’d come to accept, being molested was

something that he would never be able to live with.

When morning came, he had no choice but to crawl out from under his bed. He

wondered how many ghosts were in his room ready to pounce on him with their demands

and hurt him when he couldn’t help them. To his complete shock, there was only one ghost

in his room waiting for him.

From a glance he could tell there was something different about this one. Every ghost

looked solid to him. So much so that sometimes he had to pay attention to the little things

that gave them away like walking through things and not being able to touch anything, but

him.

This man comfortably sat on the love seat in his room. He’d never seen a ghost able to

handle their form well enough to manage that. Normally they fell through the couch. This

man sat there studying the welts and bruises that covered Tristan with sympathetic green

eyes that matched his own.

Shayne gave Tristan a friendly smile. “Good morning, lad.” He cocked his head to the

side to study Tristan. “Everything’s fine. They’ll never hurt ye again,” he’d promised.

Tristan didn’t believe him, didn’t trust him so he did what he always did with ghosts. He

ignored him. Shayne didn’t seem to take it personally. He remained by Tristan’s side day