Date: Fri, 4 May 2001 09:52:35 EDT
From: Aterovis@aol.com
Subject: Chapter 9 of All Lost Things

Chapter 9

	We didn't speak much as we got in the car and left the detention
center. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer.

	"You have feelings for him, don't you?"

	Asher looked surprised. "What? Who?"

	"The Pope. Who do you think? Caleb."

	"What do you mean?"

	"You know what I mean. Stop avoiding the question."

	"Do you have feelings for Jake?"

	"Where did that come from?"

	"The same place your question came from. I can tell what's going
on."

	"Then please fill me in because I have no idea what's going on. All
I asked was whether or not you have feelings for Caleb. I'm not even saying
I have a problem with it. It was just obvious from the way you talk about
him, your body language back there, everything."

	"So you admit you have feelings for Jake?"

	"I didn't say that! Jake and I had a good talk last night. We're
going to just be friends. I don't need any kind of relationship right
now. I told you that." We were quiet for a minute, then I said, "You still
haven't answered my question."

	"I thought you had answered it for me." He sighed. "The truth is I
don't know how to answer it. You say you're confused, well so am I. I have
some sort of feelings for Caleb but I haven't figured them out yet; if
they're attraction, friendship, protectiveness, or what. Like you said
earlier, we're both pretty inexperienced in this whole area."

	"Well, if you do like someone else, whether it's Caleb or whoever,
I want you to know that I'll be ok with it."

	Asher looked over at me for a second before answering. "I'm not
sure how that makes me feel," he said quietly. I didn't say anything.

	After a few minutes Asher asked if I would mind if we stopped by to
see Will on our way back. I told him it was fine with me, I had been
intending to call him anyway since I hadn't seen Darin since the day we
brought him home from the hospital.

	"He's grown a lot," Asher said as he turned the car in the
direction of Will's house. We were both visibly relieved at the
introduction of a safe topic of conversation.

	"How much could he have grown, he's only a month old?"

	"Well to hear Will talk you'd think he was going off to college
with us this fall."

	I laughed. "How's Will doing?"

	"Ok, I guess. I think the baby is really keeping him worn out. I
know he still isn't painting."

	"Who would have time? I meant more in an emotional sense though. Is
he still in mourning over Aidan?"

	"I don't know. He hasn't mentioned him lately and I'm not about to
bring it up." Avoidance seemed to be something we were too good at.

	We pulled into Will's driveway and Asher turned the car off. His
mom's car was gone, which meant she was probably at work, but another car
sat in its place.

	"It looks like he has company," Asher said with his hand still on
the key in the ignition. "Maybe we should just go and I'll come back
another time."

	Before we could make a decision Will opened the front door. His
face broke into a wide smile when he saw us.

	"I thought I heard a car pull up," he said. "I thought maybe it was
Mom with the groceries."

	"Hey, Will," Asher said as he climbed out of the car. "If you have
company we can always come back later."

	"No, it's ok. Come on in."

	We followed him into the house and into his living room. A slightly
familiar young man sat on the couch holding the baby. The guy was wearing a
pair of denim shorts and a Hawaiian shirt with sandals. I had a feeling
that I should know him but I couldn't place him in the present
setting. There was a slight sense that he seemed out of place.

	"You remember Bryan, right?" Will asked. It was clear by the way he
said it that he fully expected us to know him. Asher must have been as
blank as I was, though, since an awkward silence stretched out, making it
obvious that we did not, in fact, remember Bryan.

	"He performed my wedding?" Will prompted. I was surprised at how
easily he mentioned the wedding, without any outward sign of grief.

	"Oh!" I said, suddenly placing him, "You look different when you're
not in a suit."

	Bryan laughed. "I get that a lot."

	"You're the pastor at the Metropolitan Community Church here on the
Shore, right?" Asher added, proving he remembered now as well.

	"Right," Bryan confirmed, "And if I remember correctly you're
Killian and Asher. I've heard a lot about you guys. How's your dad,
Killian?"

	I blinked in surprise until I realized what he meant, "You mean
Adam?"

	"Yeah, did I mess that up?" He smiled in an appealing,
self-depreciating manner. "Aren't you Killian Connelly, Adam's son?"

	"Well my name is Killian Kendall, actually. I'm not really Adam's
son, although he's been like a dad to me; closer than a dad, really. He's
good. Him and Steve, that's his partner, are buying a house and turning it
into a bed and breakfast."

	"I've met Steve. Where's the house?"

	"In Chicone."

	"Not too far from here then."

	"How do you know Adam and Steve, just from the wedding?"

	"No, I knew Adam before the wedding. That's why he called on
me. The gay community is small enough here on the Shore that if you are out
and at all social you pretty much know everyone. Hey, I don't mean to be
dominating the conversation. You didn't come here to see me. I'll get going
and let you guys talk." He stood up and handed Darin over to Will. We made
a token protest but he waved them away and let himself out.

	I waited until I heard his car door slam before I spun around to
face Will. "So, does the Reverend Bryan come around often?" I said with a
teasing grin. Asher carefully took Darin from Will's arms and settled in
the middle of the sofa.

	"A few times," Will said blushing, "It doesn't mean anything. He's
just making visits, you know, like for the church."

	I cocked an eyebrow, a trick I'd learned from Adam. "How often do
you attend his church?"

	"Well, I've never been..."

	"And does he make all his visits dressed like that?"

	"It's a relaxed church," Will said defensively.

	I burst out laughing. "I'm just teasing you, Will. Don't get your
boxers in a bunch. Although, you never know, maybe he is interested in
you."

	"I'm not ready for that yet, Killian. Don't rush things."

	"Ok, ok. So how are you feeling?" I sat down on one side of Asher
and took Darin's tiny hand in mine. Will plopped down on the other end of
the sofa with a sigh.

	"Tired! He's such a good baby, but if only he would sleep through
the night, just one night. Mom tries to help out as much as possible but
she works all kinds of shifts so she needs her sleep more."

	"Are you painting?" I said even though I thought I knew the answer.

	"Are you kidding? I don't have enough energy to walk to the mailbox
some days."

	"Maybe you should get some help," Asher suggested.

	"Like what, a nanny? I can't afford that."

	"Well if you had, like, a daycare person you could get a job, maybe
start painting again. Nikki would still sell your stuff, right?"

	He shrugged, "Maybe, I don't know. I don't know if I want to paint
anymore and I don't know what else I would do. You guys want something to
drink?" It was an obvious attempt to change the subject. While he was doing
better I didn't think he was completely healed yet by a long shot.

	"Sure," Asher said, accepting the dodge.

	"Killian, would you give me a hand?"

	"Ok," I said, caught a little off guard. I followed Will into his
kitchen. "Are you and Asher back together?" he asked me as he pulled three
glasses out of the kitchen cabinet.

	"No," I said quickly.

	"I didn't know with the two of you arriving together and all."

       "My car is out of commission and Asher wanted me to meet someone so
we drove over together. I could have driven Adam's car but since we were
going to the same place it seemed silly."

	"Well, at least you're getting along. You're going to try the whole
friend thing?"

	"I guess. It's awkward. Sometimes I feel myself slipping back into
habits. I have to keep reminding myself not to kiss him or put my arm
around him, little things. I think it's over between us, though. We've both
started moving on."

	"Well, I know I'm probably a little biased, seeing as how Asher is
my cousin and all, but I think you guys were great together. I hope you
work things out."

	"I'm not sure there's anything to work out," I said as he handed me
a full glass of iced tea. "What about you?"

	"What about me?" he pulled a pitcher of iced tea out of the fridge
and poured it into the glasses.

	"Are you moving on?"

	"I don't follow."

	"From Aidan, are you ready to move on? Bryan seems like a great
guy."

	"Don't start that again, Killian. I told you, he's just being
nice. It's part of his job. You know, visit the less fortunate and all
that."

	"What if it's more than that? You can't hold onto this
forever. Aidan gone, he would have wanted you to keep living your life."

	"Can we drop this please?" he said. He handed me two of the glasses
and gave me a gentle shove towards the living room. He followed with the
third glass.

        I talked Asher into letting me have a turn holding the baby as Will
caught us up to date on his progress. It seems he was starting to smile
when he heard Will's or his mom's voice and he loved Veggie Tales. I'd
never been around babies so this didn't sound like much of an achievement
to me, but Will seemed convinced he was raising the next Einstein so I
tried to look suitably impressed. He was certainly a beautiful baby. He had
inherited his parents' fair hair and blue eyes. I couldn't help but think
as I looked into his tiny face that I hoped that was all he inherited from
his biological parents.

	Soon it was time to go so I handed Darin back to Will and we
left. We didn't talk much on the way home, I drifted in and out of that
semi-hypnotic state that it's so easy to fall into in a warm day in the
car; not quite sleep but close to it. I arrived home to find an empty
house. I called everyone's name a few times and, getting no answer, went up
to my room with a shrug.

        I decided to write down as many details as I could remember from my
interview with Caleb while it was still relatively fresh on my mind. I took
out the notes I'd scribbled while there and used them when my memory
stuck. I tried to accurately record his answers to my fumbled questions,
including his expressions and tone (or lack thereof). I also included my
impressions, whatever they were worth.

	I had just finished writing when I heard the front door
open. "Hello?" Steve called out, "Anyone home?"

	"I'm up here," I yelled. "I'll be right down."

	"Hey, Kill," he said as I trotted down the stairs, "Feel up to
driving to Chicone with me?"

	"What for?" I asked.

	"I just came from seeing Victoria. Since we have so much work that
needs to be done to convert the house to a bed and breakfast she's given me
the go ahead to start seeing what needs to be done. To do that I need to
get in there with someone who knows what they're doing. I'm supposed to
meet a contractor there this afternoon. Since Adam won't be back from
taking Kane to his mother's until late and I didn't know if you'd want to
come along; assuming you don't already have plans."

	I didn't. I'd forgotten that Adam was driving Kane up to his
mother's today. Adam was driving right back but Kane would be staying for a
few weeks. That meant my options were staying home alone or going with
Steve to the haunted house - tough choice. Sometimes it really sucked to be
single.

	"I guess I'll go with you."

	"Don't sound so excited, sport. Let's get going then."

	The drive up to Chicone was filled with a constant stream of
chatter about color swaths, fabric samples, paint combinations, security
concerns, licenses, promotional plans, and landscaping. Needless to say,
Steve did most of the talking.

	By the time we arrived in Chicone the morning mugginess had become
oppressive as heavy dark clouds descended in a gathering darkness. The wind
picked up, and as we climbed out of the car I thought I heard a distant
rumble of thunder.

	"It was a dark and stormy night," I mumbled under my breath.

	"What did you say?" Steve asked.

	"Nothing," I said as I followed him to the front door. Steve pulled
a red plastic key ring out of his pocket and unlocked the heavy,
wood-paneled door. We stepped into the foyer and I made sure I carefully
closed the door. Might as well spare Amalie the trouble I thought darkly.

	"It's incredible, isn't it?" Steve said sounding like a kid on
Christmas morning.

	The entrance was quite spectacular, all paneled walls and hardwood
floors, dusty now, but it was easy to picture what it would look like
polished and sparkling with the multicolored light cast through the
stained-glass transom above the door. This room alone was almost as big as
our entire living room where we lived now. I leaned back against the door
and allowed my mind's eye to take me back to what it must have looked like
when Amalie first stepped through this very door. What did she think when
she saw the splendor and elegance? Was she used to such extravagance or was
she as impressed as I felt?

	My ruminations were interrupted by a sudden rapping on the door
that sent vibrations through my whole body. I leaped away with a yelp,
thoughts of Amalie filling my fertile imagination. Steve gave me a funny
look. "That's probably the contractor," he said. I got the impression that
he was trying to suppress a smile.

        He opened the door to reveal a very ordinary, very alive
middle-aged man wearing paint stained jeans and a denim work shirt. A
tape-measure was clipped to his belt and he wore heavy work boots. He held
out a rough hand with a friendly smile.

	"I'm Reid Schubel, you must be Mr. Redden."

	"Please, call me Steve. It's nice to meet you, Reid. This is
Killian Kendall."

	Introductions out of the way, Steve took Reid on a quick tour of
the house. The whole time they kept up a steady stream of technical talk
that wafted somewhere slightly above my head, or at least above my interest
level. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't dredge up any concern over
lead-paint tests, wiring checks, plumbing checks and structural
integrity. I was beginning to think that staying home alone would have been
a better choice. When they went off to inspect the roof I decided to poke
around Amalie's old room, the one that had been used for storage.

	The electricity hadn't been turned on for the old house, and Reid
had recommended rewiring anyway, so the room was dark and musty. The only
light I had was what managed to filter in through the streaked windows;
which wasn't much considering their state and the premature darkness
outside.

	With my limited knowledge of antiques, mostly gleaned from watching
Antiques Roadshow on PBS, I didn't see any great treasures right away. It
seemed most of the items were detritus of the various generations spanning
the century and a half the house had stood here. I guessed that each
occupant had left their own contribution. The was a broken phonograph from
the early 20th Century, a couple mismatched chairs, an old wicker basinet
that had begun to deteriorate, several ugly lamps from the 60's, and that
was just what was in the front. As I pushed farther back things got older
and looked to me to be much better antiques. There was a beautiful wooden
bed with a carved headboard and next to it a dusty armchair whose seat some
rodent had used to make a nest. I wondered who had left them there and why.

        Then I noticed an ornate gilt picture frame sticking up above the
mattress on the far side of the bed. I pulled and tugged on an old dresser
that was missing handles on the top two drawers and slid past it. I had to
crawl across the bed to reach the frame and a moldy, unpleasant odor rose
up with a cloud of dust. I pulled the frame out and retreated in a fit of
coughing. It was surprisingly heavy. I realized why when I looked down at
my find. It held a portrait of a young woman.

	It was dark with age, but beneath the grime was a beautiful oil
painting. The woman on the canvas had dark hair which had been pulled back
and hung in curls at the back of her neck. She wore a scoop necked dark
blue dress with white lace collar and a beautiful and intricate gold pin on
her bosom. She had been posed carefully in front of a beautiful fireplace
that I thought might one of the ones in the ballroom downstairs, her hand
rested lightly on the mantle. The woman herself looked barely more than a
girl, her eyes large and framed by dark lashes. She wore a somber
expression but there was a sparkle of humor about her eyes, as if at any
second her lips would twitch up into a smile. She looked like someone it
would have been nice to have known. I thought the artist must have caught
her very accurately. I wondered who she was, if she could be the mysterious
Amalie or some other former resident of the big house.

	While I was examining the painting I heard what I thought sounded
like soft footsteps from behind me. I set the portrait down and turned
around expecting to find Steve or Reid, but no one was there. I felt the
hair on the back of my neck rise and a strange chill crept down my spine.

	"Hello?" I said; it came out in a hoarse croak. I cleared my throat
and tried again, "Is someone there?" There was, of course, no answer, just
an eerie echo of silence. I wanted to leave the room and go find Steve but
I was afraid to step out into the hallway, afraid of what I might
find. Hearing noises that may or may not be footsteps was bad enough; I
didn't want to come face to face with a ghost.

	"I see dead people," I whispered, quoting one of my favorite
movies, and then I had to giggle. I was being silly. I would be turning 18
in one week and here I was acting like a little kid scared of the
boogieman. I took a deep breath and stepped into the hall. I exhaled in
whoosh of relief when I saw it was empty.

	I hadn't taken two steps before I heard another strange noise. I
froze in mid-step to listen. If I had been a dog my ears would have perked,
I was concentrating so hard. Somewhere in the distance I heard what sounded
like the faint cries of a distressed infant. The crying continued for what
must have been a full minute before my fear released me enough to move. I
took the stairs two at a time on my way down and bowled into Steve at the
bottom.

	"Whoa, slow down! Where's the fire?" Then he grew serious, "There
isn't a fire is there?"

	"Did you hear that?" I gasped.

	"Hear what?"

	"That sound, did you hear it?"

	Reid walked into the foyer from the ballroom. "Only thing I heard
was the sound of a herd of water buffalo stampeding down the stairs," he
said with a grin.

	Steve's face had taken on an intense expression, "What did you
hear, Killian? What did it sound like?"

	"It sounded like a baby crying somewhere."

	"In the house?"

	"I couldn't tell."

	"It was probably just a cat," Reid offered, "Or a mockingbird;
those things can make some strange noises."

	I tried to make myself accept his explanation. It was infinitely
more acceptable than what I had been thinking, but somehow I couldn't
convince myself that what I had heard had such a simple rationalization.

	"You didn't hear it?" I asked again, just to be sure. Maybe the
creepy old house was getting to me, playing tricks on me.

	Steve shrugged. "I didn't hear anything," he said. He looked
somewhat disappointed.

	"I didn't hear anything either," Reid repeated.

	I nodded my head and looked over my shoulder back up the
stairs. Just my imagination, I decided. I would accept the easiest
explanation for now, but I didn't think I would be wondering around the
halls by myself anytime soon.