Midnight Whispers Read online

  “You could always move to LA instead,” Chance suggested.

  Blake shook his head slowly. “I’ve pretty much decided on San Francisco. Besides, I bought a travel guide and everything.” He pulled a San Francisco travel guide from his bag. “You could stay in San Francisco.”

  “I live in LA,” Chance said. “Besides, I have to get back to school.”

  Neither of them said anything else until the train was at the station.

  As they parted, they promised to keep in touch. Chance wrote his phone number on a piece of paper. “Call me if you’re ever in Los Angeles.” Chance winked at him. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”

  “I will,” Blake was sorry to part with his new friend so soon. He folded the paper and tucked it in the back pocket of his jeans.

  He waved good-bye to Chance and carried his bag out onto the busy street, pausing to retrieve his San Francisco travel guide. As he did so, the paper with Chance’s phone number slipped unnoticed from his pocket and drifted down the street, carried by the wind.

  He was just the first of many Blake would forget.

  *

  Blake had picked San Francisco as his home not just because of its tolerant attitude toward gays, but also for its bohemian atmosphere. At least in San Francisco, Blake had reasoned, the fact that he came from a circus family shouldn’t seem too weird.

  He took an apartment in the North Beach neighborhood, situated above an Irish pub. As promised, he called his parents with his new address and quickly found work at an Italian bakery around the corner. Although Blake had no formal training, the owner, a boisterous Italian American named Carlo, was happy to have the help and taught him everything he knew. North Beach did little to free Blake of his ability to see ghosts and was full of spirits: the ghosts of Barbary Coast bandits, Chinese immigrants, and dead Beat Poets. The spirits of Janis Joplin and gangsters roamed the streets of the lively district beside the spirits of World War Two sailors and soldiers.

  Blake might have made a quiet life for himself there, except for a chance encounter one evening after work. Sitting at a sidewalk table at the Irish pub below his apartment, he had been joined by a blond woman in her fifties sitting at a neighboring table. She was tastefully dressed in a taupe, two-piece suit with matching high heels, and it was obvious that her matching bracelet, necklace, and rings had been carefully chosen. She was glamorous in a way only European women could successfully manage and was drinking a glass of red wine. She introduced herself as Donatella. As she prodded him for details of his life, Blake finally broke down and, somewhat sheepishly, admitted he’d grown up in a circus. The further confession that he could speak to the dead had made Donatella gasp. Blake sensed her skepticism.

  “Prove it,” she had said, and touched Blake’s arm. “Show me your gift.”

  Blake sighed. He was in no mood for theatrics, especially at a sidewalk table. But part of him was angry at her because she didn’t believe him and because, like so many others, she couldn’t see what was right in front of her.

  Or, in Donatella’s case, right behind her.

  “What do you want to know?” he had asked, and glanced from side to side to make sure no one else was listening.

  “Anything,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Are there any ghosts here?”

  Even though the sidewalk was alive with pedestrians and traffic was heavy on Columbus Avenue just a few feet away, she looked around as if they were alone in a darkened, haunted house.

  Blake closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them and looked at the expectant Donatella, he saw a bright, hazy light just over her left shoulder. As he stared at the light an old woman’s face came into focus.

  “Your Nana is here,” he said, still looking at the ghost of the old woman. “She says the china was meant for you and not your little sister.”

  Donatella jumped up and Blake was afraid he had said too much. She reached into her Gucci handbag and produced a business card, which she passed to him, her hands shaking.

  Blake took the card but, before he could look it over, Donatella stepped away from her table and out onto the sidewalk.

  “Call me,” she said, visibly shaken. “I think we can work together.”

  As she retreated down the sidewalk, her expensive shoes noisy on the concrete, Blake looked down at the embossed card in his hand.

  Donatella Ferrari

  Literary Agent

  *

  Blake was surprised at how easy writing came to him. Under the guidance of Donatella, Blake’s first book, Haunted: My Life as a Carnival Medium, became an instant bestseller. Suddenly, Blake was thrust into a spotlight he hadn’t quite counted on. There were book signings and lectures and even an interview in a PBS piece on the existence of ghosts. Thanks to Donatella, Blake was making more money than he knew what to do with. His first large purchase was a two-bedroom condominium perched atop Nob Hill.

  The prestigious address suited his new celebrity well, and from his living room windows Blake could see the Fairmont, the Mark Hopkins, and the Huntington hotels, the elder “gentlemen” of the hill. Just past the Fairmont, downtown San Francisco, Union Square, and the financial district spread across the landscape, leading up to the bay and the famous Bay Bridge. From his bedroom window Blake could see Chinatown and North Beach and, past that, Alcatraz and the distant shores of Sausalito. He felt like a king or an emperor up on the hill with its impressive views, the spectacle made all the more dramatic at sunset, when the dying sun in the west illuminated the surrounding hotels in fiery splendor.

  His second expenditure—the brainchild of Donatella—was to open a business, Danzig Paranormal Investigations, in a small storefront on the edge of Chinatown. Donatella had reasoned that with the success of his book, he would surely draw customers in need of his assistance. As usual, Donatella’s instincts had been right and, within a very short period of time, Blake had more business than he had imagined possible. The owners of haunted houses, apartments, and businesses kept Blake busy. Usually, Blake would merely ascertain for the owner whether the spirit was malevolent. Often, with the spirit’s consent, Blake would help them “cross over,” thus ridding the premises of the spirit.

  Blake’s next big break also arrived thanks to the machinations of the resourceful and well-connected Donatella. Gambling on the success of Blake’s book, she had approached the FX network with an idea for a ghost-hunting show based, in part, on the already existing success of the genre. Unlike the competition, she had argued, Blake’s gift was real and the fans of his book would become loyal viewers. Blake had at first balked at the idea of television, but when he realized he would be able to travel and that the pay was ridiculously high, he relented. Besides, Blake told himself, traveling around California would give him the opportunity to meet lots of men. The show, which aired under the title Haunted California, was a huge success. The premise was simple and only expanded what Blake already did in San Francisco. He would visit supposedly haunted locations—houses, museums, hotels and parks—and communicate with any spirits that resided there.

  Along with a camera crew, the network paired Blake with Melody Adams, a self-professed witch and clairvoyant. Although Blake had never doubted his gift, he was grateful for the assistance Melody offered, as his own skills had nothing to do with clairvoyance or psychic work. He was a medium, period, and had always shied away from the all-encompassing terms “psychic” and “clairvoyant.” Melody, however, was a clairvoyant in the true sense of the word. She could sense things in people and places in ways that amazed even Blake. Together, they made a team that the viewers of Haunted California came to love.

  Still in his early twenties, with more money than he ever imagined, Blake had grown into quite the successful young man, with a best-selling book, a thriving business, and his own television show. And, with his unassuming good looks, he quickly began to meet men attracted to his good looks and success.

  And then he met Brian.

  Chapter Three


  Brian Cox was a detective with the San Francisco Police Department. He’d been sent by the department to check out Danzig Paranormal Investigations, with the hope the supposed “ghost talker” could help them solve a number of unsolved murders. Brian had, of course, seen Haunted California but was still skeptical. In his opinion, shows like Blake’s were frauds. As a cop, Brian was more interested in physical evidence than smoke and mirrors.

  His Irish Catholic upbringing, paired with the no-nonsense approach toward life instilled in him by his father—a retired cop—had made Brian an almost stubborn skeptic. For him, the proudest moment of his life was the day he joined the force, following in the footsteps of his father and grandfather. He was one of the first openly gay cops on the SFPD.

  Blake had later told Brian that he’d been smitten with him the moment he stepped into his Chinatown storefront. Brian, too, instantly felt attracted to the tall, dark-haired “ghost talker,” almost forgetting why he was there in the first place. Although he had already noted from watching the show that Blake was handsome, whereas Brian had expected to find a smarmy, argumentative guy he found instead a warm and charming human being. And television did no justice to Blake’s eyes, the warmest brown Brian had ever seen, accentuated by his dark, heavy eyelashes and dark, thick brow. Blake’s full lips, too, seemed to glisten when he spoke and, although Blake’s attempt at a mustache and goatee were mere wisps, Brian was filled with the urge to nibble at the wiry growth sprouting from the ghost talker’s chin.

  Brian had planned to barge in, display his badge, and barrage Blake with questions, but his unexpected attraction left him confused and unsure where to start. After an awkward introduction and flash of his badge, he finally blurted out the reason for his visit. Blake had only taken Brian by the hand, a tender gesture that surprised him.

  “I’m used to skepticism,” Blake replied. “But ghosts are real. In fact, you have one that follows you everywhere.”

  “Really?” Brian looked nervously from side to side.

  “Would you like to know who he is?”

  “He?”

  Blake, still holding Brian’s hand, gazed just over his shoulder. Brian felt cold chills creep up his neck and quickly pulled his hand from Blake’s grip.

  “Prove it,” he said, unnerved. “Who is he?”

  Blake seemed to listen to something. “Your grandfather. He still wears his old uniform and follows you everywhere. He says he doesn’t want what happened to him to happen to you.”

  Brian could feel the blood drain from his face, and Blake looked concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “My…my grandfather was a cop,” Brian stammered. “He was killed in a botched bank robbery twenty years ago…out in the Sunset District.”

  “He says he’s very proud of you. And he loves you.”

  Although Brian had been only six years old when his grandfather died, he still had fond memories of the gruff old cop, and tears stung his eyes.

  “Thank you,” he finally managed. “I expected to come in and find a fraud, but instead you…you really blew my mind.”

  Blake passed Brian a tissue and, after he had wiped his eyes, Blake took his hand again. Brian dabbed his eyes, embarrassed by his sudden emotions.

  “You’re not married?” Blake asked.

  “No.” Brian laughed, feeling suddenly emboldened. “I’m gay.”

  Without comment, Blake rose from his seat and walked to the door. He flipped over the sign hanging on it so it read CLOSED from the outside and locked the door. When he returned, Brian was standing.

  “I’m on duty,” he said, weakly.

  “So am I.” Blake pulled him close.

  His defenses gone, Brian surrendered to Blake, allowing him to loosen his tie and unbutton the top few buttons of his shirt. They kissed passionately, their hands moving over each other’s bodies with a sense of urgency neither of them could deny. Brian’s body tingled at the sensation of Blake’s wiry upper lip pressed against his face, and he groaned loudly as Blake began to lick and suck his exposed nipples. He found the outline of Blake’s erect cock through his jeans and fought with the button fly for a moment before freeing the hard-on inside. Then he dropped to his knees and greedily swallowed the throbbing erection, causing Blake to gasp loudly.

  “Fuck, yeah,” Blake whispered. “Swallow that fat cock.”

  Brian sucked hungrily on the massive boner and pulled his own erection out of the front of his slacks, slowly masturbating as he gave Blake head.

  “Fuck.” Blake groaned. “That taste good? You like the taste of that fat dick?”

  Brian merely grunted his approval.

  “You want that fat cock up your ass?” Blake teased him.

  Brian looked up from his kneeling position on the floor and their eyes met. He managed to nod and released Blake’s cock from his lips. “Do you have a rubber?” he asked.

  Blake slowly nodded, never moving his eyes from Brian’s, and pulled him to his feet. He kissed Brian on the mouth, letting his tongue explore inside, and relished the taste of his own cock on the young cop’s lips. He grasped Brian’s meaty dick in his hand and felt him tense at the touch. With his other hand, Blake lowered Brian’s slacks and boxer shorts and reached around him, feeling his round, smooth ass. Brian inhaled sharply as Blake began to tease his asshole, touching the tight, pink ring.

  “Turn around,” Blake whispered.

  Brian complied and Blake pushed him over the cluttered desk in front of him. Bent over the desk, with his pants around his ankles, Brian quaked in anticipation as he could hear Blake, behind him, stripping off his jeans. Brian peered to one side for a better look and was turned on to see Blake, totally naked, standing behind him. His chest and legs were a mass of curly black hairs that covered his olive skin, and his erection, thick and veiny, pointed at the ceiling. Without a word, Blake knelt behind him and spread his ass cheeks. Brian was afraid he might shoot his load when Blake stuck his tongue in his ass and began rimming him.

  “Fuck,” he groaned, grasping the desk beneath him. “Yeah, eat my ass.”

  Blake grunted and shoved his tongue in deeper, rimming the tight, willing ass in front of him. He pulled back and teasingly licked the pink anus and ran his tongue over the sparse blond hairs that encircled it. Then, without warning, he shoved his tongue back in and licked inside, savoring the flavor of man ass.

  The sensation of Blake’s wiry facial hair on his ass was nearly too much for Brian to bear.

  “Fuck me, Blake,” he groaned. “I want your dick inside me.”

  “You ready for it?” Blake was working a finger into Brian’s asshole.

  “Yes, please.”

  Blake arose from his position on the floor and spun Brian around. He pulled off Brian’s pants and tossed them onto a nearby chair and unbuttoned the remaining buttons on his shirt. This he tossed, too, onto the chair, leaving Brian wearing only his striped tie, which was flung over his shoulder. With one hand, Blake opened a drawer on the desk and produced a condom and a bottle of lube. Brian watched as he opened the condom wrapper with his teeth and expertly rolled the rubber onto his stiff cock, then poured a bit of the lube onto it.

  Now lying on his back across the desk, Brian lifted his legs as Blake pulled him closer, and he gasped loudly as Blake pushed his swollen meat into his ass.

  Blake looked down and admired how beautiful their bodies looked together as his dick slid in and out of the man beneath him.

  “You like that?” he asked, their eyes meeting again.

  “Fuck, yes. Fuck me, Blake.”

  “Jesus, Brian…”

  Before Blake could finish his sentence, his nuts tightened, his nipples became erect, and a dizzy feeling came over him. He unloaded into the condom for what seemed like an eternity and continued fucking until Brian shot his own load onto his tight, white torso.

  Blake collapsed onto Brian and, breathing heavily and sweating, neither of them moved for a very long time.

  “Well,” Blake said, finally, ri
sing on one elbow, “I think we’re going to work together just fine, Detective.”

  Chapter Four

  “Are you excited about your first case?” Brian asked. He looked from Blake to Melody, who had met him at police headquarters to begin work on some reopened cold-case files.

  “Of course,” Blake said. “What is it?”

  “Do you remember a serial killer the press dubbed the Doodler?”

  Blake nodded, but Melody shook her head. “Vaguely,” Blake said, “but we were all pretty young when that happened.”

  “Why was he called the Doodler?” Melody asked.

  “Because,” Brian held open a door for his two guests, “at the scene of each murder he left graphic cartoons of the slayings. The murders all took place on or around Twin Peaks, so we believe he lived up there.”

  They walked through a metal detector and Brian continued talking.

  “Anyway, the SFPD has long been criticized for not solving the killings, and Police Chief Norris is feeling a little heat from the families of the victims. You,” he said, looking at Blake, “are his last hope.”

  “That’s encouraging.” Blake laughed.

  “Chief Norris is no fan of psychics,” Brian replied, his voice low. “That’s why you, Melody, might not want to mention that you’re a witch.”

  “Should I also leave out the fact that I’m a lesbian?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

  Brian ignored the comment.

  As he and Melody followed Brian through the labyrinth of the central station, visitor tags affixed to their clothing, Blake couldn’t help but have a little fun with his new boyfriend.

  “You know, Brian,” he whispered, “there are ghosts all over this place.”