Chapter One: The Boy in the Book Lady

PART ONE:

New Boy in Town

March 2016

CHAPTER ONE

The Boy in the Book Lady

Brad was browsing the Mystery section in Book Lady on Liberty Street when he noticed the boy staring at him. Well, not a boy exactly. He was probably in his early twenties, more of a young man. The older Brad got, though, the younger everyone else looked to him.

Jesus, you’re only thirty-six, stop casting yourself in the role of a geriatric. Although you are closer to forty than twenty. Hell, you’re closer to forty than thirty . . .

Blocking out his own inner voice, Brad glanced back toward the staircase lined with stacks of books. The young man still stood there, practically in the children’s section, still staring at him. He wore a pair of capri pants and a gray hooded sweatshirt, his black hair done up in meticulous bed-head, ample time spent to make it appear he spent no time on his appearance. Mild amusement marked his face. Instinctively, Brad reached up and brushed at his chin, wondering if a bit of his lunch had gotten stuck in his goatee.

The young man finally walked over to the Mysteries and said, rather abruptly, “I know you.”

“Um, I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“No, we haven’t . . . but I know you. You’re Bradley Storm.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Brad said in a tone of voice suggesting he was admitting to something shameful like bedwetting or playing the ukulele. Even though he was a successful author with five bestselling horror novels and one short story collection to his credit, he still hadn’t grown accustomed to being recognized. Truth be told, it made him uncomfortable. He much preferred the anonymity and solitude of sitting at his desk, plugging away on the laptop, to the public display of interviews and book tours. Then again, writers weren’t exactly movie idols or rock stars; the instances of him getting recognized in public were rare. Being in a bookstore increased those chances a bit.

“You know,” the young man said, “I read your first book, Out of the Shadows, Into the Dark.”

“Well, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I didn’t say whether I liked it or not.”

This surprised a laugh out of Brad. “Touché.”

“I’m just messing with you,” the man said, wearing an infectious grin. “I thought it was a great book, creepy and atmospheric. The movie adaptation, on the other hand . . . that was a real stinker.”

“I thought it turned out okay, all things considered.”

The young man tilted his head and gave Brad a skeptical look. “You’re just trying to be all diplomatic, but you have to admit they really dumbed down your story. Even the title change to Shadow Monsters was dreadful; sounds like something they’d air on SyFy after the latest Sharknado.”

Brad tried to hold a neutral expression, but he couldn’t keep the corners of his lips from curling. “Well, the check cleared, I’ll say that much.”

“I hear you. Didn’t Stephen King say something once about how a bad movie version of one of his books can’t actually tarnish the book; that it’s still fine up on the shelf, something along those lines?”

“Actually, I think he was quoting James M. Cain.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You’re the writer, after all.” The young man held out his hand. “By the way, I’m Tobias Silver, but my friends call me—”

“Let me guess, Toby?”

“Bias, actually. I tend not to do anything traditionally.”

Brad laughed and shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Bias. You can call me Brad.”

“Wow, you’re the first real live breathing author I’ve ever met. What brings you to Savannah? Book signing?”

“No, actually I just moved here.”

“Shut up! Really?”

“Yeah, I bought a house right here in the Historic District.”

Bias grimaced and said, “Downtown.”

“What?”

“If you’re going to live here, you should know only tourists call this ‘the Historic District.’ Locals just say ‘downtown.’”

“Ah, thanks for the tip. It’s good to have insider information.”

“I’m not a native myself, but I have lived her for three and a half years. I’m a student at S.C.A.D. That’s the Savannah College—”

“—of Art and Design,” Brad finished. “I do know a thing or two about the city.”

“Cool. I have a little studio apartment on the corner of Jones and Bull. Where are you living?”

“I bought a house just off Crenshaw Square.”

Bias instantly went rigid and his mouth fell open like that of a broken Nutcracker. At first he didn’t speak, didn’t even seem to breathe, and Brad wondered if he was going to be sick. Finally Bias said, “Are you shitting me? Are you the person who bought 324 Abercorn?”

“Guilty.”

“Oh man, when I saw they were fixing up the place last year, I thought someone might have decided to turn it into a museum like the Juliette Gordon Low House, but you’re actually going to live there?”

Brad laughed. “That’s the plan. Why?”

“You know about the house’s reputation, right?”

“You mean stories of spooks and ghoulies?”

“Yeah, it’s one of the most haunted sites in all of Savannah and that’s a verified fact.”

Brad’s tilted his head and looked skeptically at Bias. “You don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?”

“Absolutely. Ghosts are my bread and butter.”

“How so?”

“It’s my job. I host a walking ghost tour around the downtown area. That house—your house—is one of my major stops.”

“Thanks for the warning. I’ll try to remember to close all the blinds before walking naked around the house.”

“Have you spent the night yet?”

“Actually no, tonight will be my first full night in the house.”

“And you’re not even the slightest bit nervous?”

“Of course not. It’s just a house . . . my house, as you said.”

“I can’t believe it. You’re Mr. Horror, and you don’t believe in ghosts? How is that even possible?”

“Okay, Bias, I’m going to blow your mind with one hell of a revelation about writers and their stories. I’m pretty sure Lewis Carroll never fell down a rabbit hole into a magical Wonderland; it doesn’t seem likely that Anne Rice believes in vampires; and I highly doubt J.K. Rowling has met any real wizards. That’s what makes it fiction and not nonfiction.”

“You’re breaking my heart. Next you’re going to tell me that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John didn’t even know Jesus personally.”

The two men stared at one another for a moment before breaking into giggles. “Sorry,” Brad said. “Didn’t mean to sound like I was lecturing you.”

“It’s okay. I tend to get too passionate about the supernatural. It’s one of a myriad of quirks and eccentricities I suffer from.”

A silence settled between them and Brad’s usual self-consciousness when interacting with people he didn’t know well reasserted itself. He pulled out his cell and checked the time. “Well, Bias, it was great to meet you, but I really do have to run. The cupboards are bare, and I need to do some shopping before I head back home.”

“Hold on just a sec.” Bias took his wallet from his back pocket and dug through it until he came up with a slightly bent business card, which he held out to Brad. “My number and my email address are on there. Keep in touch. I’d love to come by the house sometime.”

Brad took the card without really looking at it. “You would?”

“Definitely. I’ve been talking about 324 Abercorn on my tours for years. I’d kill to get a peek inside.”

“Oh, of course. Maybe once I’m all settled in, I’ll have you over and give the tour guide a tour.”

“I’m going to hold you to that. Maybe you’ll even sign my book for me.”

“Sure thing.”

Another awkward pause and then Brad shook Bias’ hand and wandered off toward the exit. For just a moment, he’d thought Bias might’ve been flirting with him, but he should have known better. While thirty-six didn’t exactly make him an old man, to a twenty-year-old he must seem ancient. Not that Brad was interested. After a rather disastrous six month relationship with a twenty-four-year-old back in South Carolina, he’d sworn off younger guys. Besides, though his gaydar had dinged a few times during the encounter, Brad didn’t know for sure whether the young man was even gay. He was probably just imagining—

“Hey Brad.”

Brad turned and looked back toward Bias, who still stood among the Mysteries. “Now that I know you sometimes walk around your house naked,” the young man said with a crooked grin and a wink, “I’ll be sure to snap a lot of pictures at the windows during my next tour.”

Heat suffused Brad’s face and he thought he could actually be blushing. After nodding at Bias rather dumbly, he hurried from the store. Once outside, he finally glanced down at the business card in his hand. On one side was a crude but strangely accurate caricature of Bias himself with a phone number and email address underneath it, while on the other side, in calligraphy script, were three lines of text:

Tobias Eugene Silver

Student, Artist, Paranormal Investigator,

And All-Around Awesome Dude!

With a smile, Brad slipped the card into his own wallet, and then headed off toward the City Market.