To Summon Nightmares Page 5

  He bit his lip, bringing his knees up to his chest and rocking to ward off the cold. This wasn't good. He had no way of contacting anyone, and no idea how to get to town from here, never mind his new house. He stood and began to pace, the cold ripping venomously through his layers of clothes.

  Eventually he got up and stood on the bench, hopeful for service up higher. No such luck. Maybe he should try climbing the posts? The mental image of himself doing so would have made him laugh if he weren't beginning to stress so badly. He checked the time on his phone. It had been nearly an hour.

  The wind whirled and the clouds boiled, and a few tell-tale plunks sounded from the roof. A few seconds later the rain began to come down in earnest, dropping with greater and greater frequency onto the dust of the road. Cohen stood in the centre of the station, arms crossed against the impeding moisture, trying not to panic.

  At least he could get his coat out of his case. He bent down to open it, managing to keep his things from spilling out as he dug to the bottom for his coat. He paused to touch the plain black medical case that he'd stored carefully in the corner, its presence warming him somewhat. It contained a four month supply of medical testosterone and the accompanying syringes. The one thing that had finally made him feel human. He'd gladly throw away the entire contents of his suitcase as long as he could hold onto that small black bag.

  Well, hopefully that wouldn't be necessary. He managed to extract his coat, standing to pull it on and button it up quickly, his hands beginning to stiffen from the cold. He zipped the suitcase back up quickly, turning as he heard the unmistakeable sound of a vehicle driving up the road.

  His relief was short-lived. As the vehicle came to a stop in front of the station, Cohen saw that it was a beaten-up blue pick-up truck, definitely not the type his lawyer would drive, and the man peering out through the driver's side window was definitely not his lawyer.

  Cohen stood cautiously, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder and stepping towards the truck. The man reached forward and began to roll down the window, flinching from the rain as he did so.

  "There isn't a train!" he yelled at Cohen through the deluge.

  "What?" Cohen shouted back, unwilling to venture further out into the rain.

  "There isn't a train!" the man repeated. "It went by an hour ago, and it only comes by once a day!"

  Cohen glanced back at the tracks, before comprehending what the man was saying. "Oh! No, I got off the train! I'm waiting for my ride, but she hasn't shown up!"

  "Who's your ride, then?"

  "Sandy McIntyre? She's my lawyer!"

  The man glanced back in the direction he'd come, then turned to look at Cohen again. "Would you like me to give you a ride?" he yelled, gesturing at his truck.

  Cohen thought for a moment. It was possible that Sandy was still coming, and had gotten held up. But it was also entirely possible that he could be waiting here all night. He chewed his lip, staring at the beat up vehicle and the blurred face of the man who was obviously awaiting his response.

  "All right!" he yelled. "Just give me a moment!" He trotted back to grab his suitcase, pulled up the handle and rolled it to the edge of the platform. The man had already stepped out into the rain and grabbed it for Cohen as he jumped down. "Oh, thank you!"

  "It's no problem," the man assured him. "This bloody rain came out of nowhere." He stashed Cohen's bag in behind the passenger seat and then leaned over to unlock the door so Cohen could climb in.

  The short jaunt in the rain had left Cohen nearly soaked. He could feel his already curly hair frizzing, drops of water sliding off the curls and into his face. "I look a right mess," he said, bundling his coat around him and glancing at the man next to him.

  He was wearing a light jacket with a red button up underneath. It had a logo on it, and Cohen thought it might be some sort of uniform. He was tall and lean, with long legs and broad shoulders, and his face was angular. His short brown hair was wet from the rain as well, though not as unflatteringly as Cohen's was, and a small goatee accented the rest of his otherwise surprisingly young face. He couldn't have been more than a few years older that Cohen, although Cohen (courtesy of being only a few months into his transition) tended to look much younger than his actual nineteen years of age.

  The man was staring at him curiously. "I know you," he said, and Cohen felt his heart drop. "You make videos on the internet, right? And you write books. Cohen Brandwein."

  Cohen felt relief surge through him. "You used my name," he burst out, immediately becoming embarrassed. "I mean, most people use... you know, the other name. Because I was published under it."

  "Right," the man grinned at Cohen as he leaned forward, put the vehicle in gear and pulled back onto the road. "I saw your video about that. It's rude to use your old name, right?"

  "People are rude." Cohen shrugged, sinking into himself. The man had leaned quite close to him, and he smelled good in the rain. Cohen's vestigial uncertainty about his bisexuality was fast dropping with the man's proximity. He supposed he ought to thank him for that.

  "Well, I'm not," said the man. "My name's Niall." He held out a hand and Cohen shook it, still feeling a little dazed. "Are you staying in town?"

  "Oh, no, at a house called the Coughton. Have you heard of it?"

  Niall nodded, squinting a little in the rain. "Yeah, I live right close. Didn't think anyone lived there, though."

  "No one does," explained Cohen. "My aunt left it to me when she died a few years ago, and I inherited it on my birthday last month."

  "You'll be living there on your own?" Niall glanced at him, eyes raised, and Cohen ducked his head down.

  "Yeah, well I just... I sort of wanted to get away."

  "I shouldn't lie." Niall looked a bit sheepish. "I saw your video about it. For what it's worth, I'm sorry people are being, y'know, shit to you."

  "People aren't being shit to me; well, I mean most people aren't. It's the ones who are that get to you though."

  "I know the feeling," agreed Niall. "Seriously though, are you going to be okay living there all by yourself? I mean, is anything even hooked up?"

  "I'm fine." Cohen couldn't help but laugh at this total stranger's concern. Although he supposed the fact that Niall had potentially seen all of his videos meant he knew several intimate details of Cohen's life, without Cohen knowing anything about him. It was a strange thought. He always forgot real people saw his videos. He hoped Niall wasn't disappointed by how boring he was in real life. "My lawyer's on it. Or she was supposed to be." He frowned. "She got the electricity and the phone line hooked up, and she was supposed to pick me up and—ah, shite."

  Niall glanced at him. "What?"

  "The key," moaned Cohen. "She was supposed to pick me up, drive me there and give me the key to get in."

  "There's no spare? Rubbish looking for it in this weather, I suppose." Niall squinted out at the rain again. Cohen was surprised he could even see the road through the deluge outside.

  "I don't even want to try," Cohen pulled out his phone again, glancing at the screen to confirm its uselessness. "I wish I could just call her."

  "Tell you what," said Niall, glancing over Cohen as he pulled into what looked like a driveway. "Go see if you can get in and if not, I'll bring you to my place and you can use my phone."

  Cohen heaved a sharp sigh, glancing at Niall. "Thank you," he said. "I really appreciate it. All my plans have gone down the drain, it seems."

  "That's the way of things," said Niall with a small smile. "Good luck out there."

  "Thanks." Cohen threw his hood up, buttoning the front of his jacket, and then threw himself out into the rain. He trotted as quickly as possible towards the large grey shape that looked like a house, aware that Niall was probably watching him run and wishing he owned a jacket that made him look a bit less like a balloon with legs. He tried not to think about that. The steps were stone, and the water pooled in between the cracks in his trainers in no time. He hurried to stand under the ledge, pullin
g his hood back a little as he did so to look around.

  The large door was heavy lacquered wood, and the handle was brass. He tried it, not really expecting anything, and his suspicions were confirmed. He was locked out. He turned back to the direction of the truck, lifting his arms in a defeated position, before turning back to the door to try once again for good measure. Nothing.

  He looked around. The walls were made of the same stone as the steps, and the only windows he could see were on the second story, above the ledge. Untended flower beds ran along each side of the door, and he didn't much feel like stepping through them, or along the wild growth that was the lawn, to check for a spare key or another opening. It was ridiculous to think that it wouldn't have been locked up tightly anyway. The only person here in years had been Sandy and she... well, he'd thought she was reliable. Maybe not.

  He hurried back to the truck as quickly as possible, attempting futilely to shake off some of the rain before ducking back onto the seat.

  "No luck?" asked Niall, and Cohen shook his head.

  "I mean, if you wouldn't mind taking me back to town, I'm sure I can get a room there." He shook his arms, effectively spraying water all over the dash and seats. "I'm really sorry about this."

  "It's not a problem." Niall seemed much more amused than annoyed. "If you want to go into town I can bring you there, but my place really is like five minutes away. You can stay there. Really."

  Cohen bit his lip. "I-I'd like to really, but I don't want to impose."

  "Trust me, you won't be imposing. I like to entertain."

  "Do you entertain a lot?" asked Cohen as they pulled out of the driveway, and Niall laughed.

  "I wish. You'll find the locals are a pretty tight knit group. They don't welcome strangers easily."

  "Well, that's probably a good thing. I'm supposed to be writing, not canoodling with the natives."

  Niall snorted. "Are you going to write the next one in the series, then?"

  "Oh, god, you've read them." Cohen leaned forward to hide his face between his knees, and Niall laughed again.

  "I said I did, didn't I?"

  "They're so bad. They're—I wrote them when I was sixteen. How would you like to have something that you wrote when you were sixteen published?"

  "I thought they were good."

  "Well, they're fine, but..." Cohen straightened up again, letting out a long frustrated moan. "They're just, they're not what I would write now. Not at all, and that's why I'm having trouble writing the next one."

  "So write something completely different," said Niall with a shrug.

  "But people want the next one. You just asked me about the next one."

  "Well, yeah, but screw what I want. Write what you want to write."

  "Yeah," Cohen leaned on his fist, staring out at the rain. "It's easy when you say it like that."

  *~*~*

  Niall carried Cohen's luggage into the house for him, much to Cohen's never-ending thanks. They made a mad dash for the house and managed to get in without drowning. Cohen stood shivering on the porch while Niall hurriedly unlocked the door.

  It was blissfully warm and dry inside, but Cohen barely noticed that, too preoccupied with the contents of the house.

  "What is all this stuff?" he asked, turning in circles and staring at the rows and rows of strings hanging from the ceiling and walls. They were draped over openings and doorways, lined under windows, even along the floor on either side of the hallway, and from all of them hung all manner of strange things. Dried plants mostly, and roots and beads and unlit candles. The smell of them was at the same time musky and delicious, and Cohen almost felt light-headed.

  "Well," said Niall, once again looking a little sheepish as he locked the door and tied a string of beads across the entrance. "I'm sort of a witch."

  "You're sort of a witch," repeated Cohen, gawking at Niall. He didn't know whether to be impressed or terrified or strangely turned on. "I'm Jewish, you know."

  Niall bit his lip, looking just a little bit wicked. "Are you going to stone me?"

  "No, we don't do that anymore," said Cohen, looking around the house again, distracted. "What's it all for?"

  "Protection, mostly. Good luck, that sort of thing."

  "It's a little extreme isn't it?" Cohen glanced at Niall, who was still looking a little guilty.

  "Suppose so. Now you see why I don't entertain much. Kitchen's this way."

  It was a small house, only one storey high, and Cohen could only see a few rooms down the hall. The kitchen and the sitting room were only one room. The floor was linoleum, the carpet old, and the wallpaper was peeling. Despite all that, it was warm and comfortable. Niall turned on the dim light and lit a few candles. He opened the blinds in the sitting room to reveal large bay windows, currently assaulted by the heavy rain, and closed them again with a tsk.

  "No service," he said, tossing a sleek cordless phone to Cohen. It seemed strangely out of place amongst the aged browns and greens of the decor. "You can try to call your lawyer on that though."

  "Thanks." Cohen sat on the ageing couch, undid the laces on his now soaked trainers and pulled them off before he dialled Sandy's number. It rang five times, then went to voicemail. He left Sandy a message explaining what had happened and requesting she call him back. Then there was nothing else to do. "Are you sure you're all right with me staying here?" he asked Niall.

  "It's not a problem at all," Niall assured him. "Just let me get changed and make up the spare room."

  He left, and Cohen called Halley to let her know what had happened.

  "Oh Cohen, good! Mam was starting to get worried! Is everything all right?"

  "Sort of." Cohen leaned back on the couch, allowing himself to relax for the first time since the rain had started. "Sandy never showed up at the station, though."

  "What? Where are you then?"

  Cohen explained everything to her as Niall came back into the room. He had changed into a pair of jeans and a light t-shirt. His body looked amazing underneath it, and Cohen almost forgot what he was saying to Halley.

  "You mean you got into a car with a man you don't know, and now you're at his house?" Halley was nearly whispering. "That is so not safe! What am I supposed to tell Mam and Dad?"

  "That I'm fine, Halley, just tell them a nice man is letting me stay with him."

  "Cohen, just because you're a guy now, doesn't mean it's safe to go home with strange men. And anyway, what if he knows who you are, and he knows that you're really—" Cohen flinched, and it was almost as if Halley could hear it over the phone. "I'm sorry, but why do you have to make us worry about you?"

  "It's not really my fault," said Cohen, a little crosser than he wanted to be. "I did have everything planned out, things just... went wrong. Anyway, I can't go through life not trusting anybody."

  "You're just stupidly optimistic, is all," said Halley, sighing. "All right, I'll tell Mam and Dad you're fine, and call me in the morning, and tell this bloke you're staying with that you're going to, okay?"

  "I will, okay?"

  "What's he like anyway? Is he old?"

  "What? No."

  "Is he, you know, hot?"

  "Uhm." Cohen cleared his throat. "He's in the room."

  "Oh!" Halley giggled. "Okay then, fine, I'll leave you to that. And call me when you get to your place, all right?"

  "I will, I'll call you in the morning, and I'll call you when I've got to the Coughton, and also when I've brushed my teeth. I'll be fine, Halley."

  "Well, you're my little sis—" She cut off with an intake of breath and Cohen flinched violently. Niall who had gone into the kitchen to put the kettle on, glanced at Cohen, looking concerned.

  It's okay, Cohen mouthed at him. The line was silent.

  "I'm really sorry," said Halley, sounding wretched. "Cohen, I'm really sorry, okay? I just forgot."

  "I know." Cohen nodded, trying to breathe. "It's fine, really Halley. I appreciate that you're trying."

  "I am trying," sh
e said. "Really, I am."

  Niall took a step into the living room. "Do you want me to go?"" he asked, and Cohen shook his head.

  "It's okay." Cohen forced a smile into his voice. "You're my sister, so I can't be mad at you."

  "Yeah, right." Halley gave a forced laugh. "Okay, call me tomorrow, kid. You hear me?"

  "I will," he said. "I promise."

  "G'night little brother."

  "Goodnight."

  He hung up the phone, leaning back against the couch and breathing slowly. His tolerance for being misgendered had gone down now that it wasn't happening all the time. When it had happened all the time, it had just been like a slow burning, unidentifiable sickness. Now every 'he' was a relief, and every 'she' and 'sister,' every mention of his birth name was like a punch to the gut. He hated it.

  "Are you okay?" asked Niall, looking concerned as he pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboard and began to make tea. "What happened?"

  "Just..." Cohen put a hand to his face. "I can't really explain. Nothing, really. She's worried about me, of course. Spending the night with a strange man."

  "I am a bit strange," said Niall, glancing at his magical mobiles. He sounded a little sad about that. Wistful.

  "I don't think you are," said Cohen. "Anyway, we're all a bit strange, right? It's fashionable these days."

  That brought a laugh from Niall. "I'll make you dinner," he said. "I'm sorry, I'm a vegetarian, so you might not like anything I have."

  "Ah." Cohen fretted. He wished he wasn't such a picky eater. "Vegetarian sounds good?"

  "You say that now," said Niall with a laugh. "Oh, cream or sugar?"

  "Both please," said Cohen. "Why are you a vegetarian?" he asked, turning to watch Niall as he left the tea to steep and produced a package of tofu and some vegetables from the fridge. "Is it like a health thing? I mean, you look pretty fit." He flushed, wishing he could eat his words for dinner. "I mean you look healthy. You know what? Just ignore everything I say for the rest of the night."

  Niall laughed as he turned the stove on and poured a bottle of dark sauce into a pan. "I could probably get in better shape if I ate meat," he admitted. "It's hard to put on weight eating tofu but," he paused, wrestling momentarily with the package. "I just can't. I'm a big softie, I suppose, and once you really look into what they do to the animals..." He smiled, glancing at Cohen. "Well, I won't go into it."