What Hides Inside: Bay City Paranormal Investigations, Book 2

never forgive himself.
Sighing inwardly, Sam shuffled down the hall to the restroom to get himself cleaned up. If he did his own crying and cursing and wishing things were different, he figured it was his own business. Bo didn’t need to know.
Sam ran, the cold air burning his lungs, sweat trickling down his back as his feet pounded the pavement. Bienville Square slipped slowly past on his right. The gnarled old oaks loomed half-seen through the early morning fog, bare branches dark and sinister. Sam imagined they were reaching for him, grasping vainly at his clothes as he passed.
Normally, he wouldn’t be out this early on a Sunday. He preferred to laze around his little apartment on his mornings off, curled in the chair in front of the window, sipping his coffee and watching the city come alive. Today, however, he’d woken before dawn after a few hours of restless sleep, with a smothering sense of being caged. Unwilling to examine the cause of it too closely, he’d pulled on sweats, gloves and a knit cap, and gone for a run.
He’d set out in the gray stillness before the sun rose. An hour had passed, the fog beginning to glow as golden light filtered through the trees, and he still hadn’t run far enough to escape the previous day.
Bo had spent the afternoon acting as if nothing had happened between them. If it hadn’t been for the tension in Bo’s shoulders and his carefully neutral expression, Sam would’ve doubted his own memories. They’d parted with a terse goodbye in the late afternoon, and Sam hadn’t seen or spoken to Bo since.
Vaulting a tree root protruding from a crack in the sidewalk, Sam veered down the narrow path into the midst of Bienville Square. The usually bustling little park was empty and quiet. The melancholy feel of it fit Sam’s mood.
As he rounded a corner in the path, Sam saw a figure sitting on a bench on the edge of the park. The person was bending forward, elbows on knees, head resting in his hands. Sam slowed to a jog, wondering what had brought this solitary wanderer here. Some personal sorrow, no doubt. It seemed to be the morning for it, Sam thought with a wry smile.
The figure drew clearer as Sam got closer, the shrouding fog thinning, but Sam didn’t recognize him until he lifted his head and stared straight into Sam’s eyes.
“Hey, Sam,” Andre called as Sam came to a halt next to the bench. “Thought I’d be alone out here.”
“Yeah, me too.” Sam plopped onto the bench, panting and wiping the sweat from his forehead. “You okay?”
“No.”
“The school was hard, huh?” Sam guessed, watching Andre’s unrevealing profile. “Too much like Oleander House.”
Andre’s silence was answer enough. Sam brushed his fingers over his friend’s hand. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Andre’s voice was flat and emotionless, but Sam wasn’t fooled. He’d learned a lot about Andre in the past few months, and he could see how badly the man was hurting. He wished, not for the first time, that he could go backward in time and bring Amy back. Sometimes, he felt he’d give his soul to have Amy alive again, smiling and laughing in Andre’s arms.
Not knowing what to say, Sam settled against the bench, offering Andre his silent support. They sat there for another half hour, neither speaking, just watching the day brighten and burn away the fog. When the first early riser appeared on the paths, jogging along with a Rottweiler on a leash loping beside her, Andre rose to his feet.
“Thanks,” he whispered. Taking Sam’s hand, he squeezed it hard, then walked away without looking back.
Somehow, the fact that his presence had helped Andre melted away some of Sam’s own sadness. Nodding to an elderly couple who were strolling handin-hand along the sidewalk, Sam turned and began the long run home.
    Back at his apartment, Sam started the coffee brewing, then went to take a shower. He couldn’t help imagining Bo there with him, wet and naked. Holding him, kissing him, running soapy hands over his bare skin. The mental image of Bo’s bright, loving smile made Sam’s chest constrict. He scrubbed himself until his skin was red, trying to wash away the feel of Bo’s arms around him.
    He spent the next couple of hours prowling his apartment, trying to find something to occupy his mind. To make him forget what he’d said the previous day, and the hurt in Bo’s eyes. Nothing worked. By ten, he’d had enough. Shrugging on his jacket and shoving his wallet and