Blake’s friends might make fun of him and call him boring but he wasn’t into the whole party scene. He would have rather been anywhere than at a costume party on Halloween night but his so called friend wouldn’t let him stay home. “Man this place is sick,” Josh said as he thumped Blake on the back, causing him to jolt forward and spill his beer. “Yeah, it’s something.” The party was being thrown by one of their classmates, a popular girl named Tiffany whose family owned half the town their collage was in. She had announced that this year her Halloween party was going to be held at an old abandoned farm house that her family owned. “Okay, gather round for the ghost story,” Tiffany said as she flipped her long dark witch’s wig over her shoulder. She clapped her hands and one of her friends turned the music off and put on a spooky track with howling wind and maniacal cackling. Blake rolled his eyes and went off in search of something stronger. “One hundred years ago, nearly to the day,” Tiffany began. “Adam Jensen was murdered right here in this very house.” Some of the party guests looked around, smiling in delight, while others ignored her all together. “Legend says that an escaped convict, crazed and hungry for blood, came knocking on Jensen’s door late one night. Not knowing who he was, Jensen let the man in. He fed and clothed the stranger, as there was naught but goodness in his heart.” Blake actually heard himself scoff. No one used the word naught anymore. He grabbed a handful of M&Ms and a bottle of bourbon and pushed his way through the crowd toward the front door. “That night, as he lay in bed sleeping, the convict wrapped a piece of rope around his neck and dragged him out to the barn where he—” Blake didn’t hear anymore of the story because he’d finally made it through the masses. Once out in the cool night air felt like he could finally breathe. While other people had gone all out with their costumes, Blake had simply put on his leather jacket and white T-shirt and claimed he was James Dean. Playing dress up wasn’t exactly his thing. He walked around the grounds for a while, slowly eating his candy and wondering how long he had before his friends came looking for him and dragged him back inside. The farm was huge. It was sad that it sat empty. There were no animals and there was nothing growing in the fields except grass. He spotted a building down by a creek and found himself walking to it. There were vines growing over it, and the windows were thick with dust. The large door at the front looked warped. “Huh,” he said to himself as he remembered the story Tiffany had been telling. “The infamous barn.” He was about to leave it and start heading back to the party when he saw something, a faint, flickering glow was coming through the window. “Hello?” he called out. “Is someone in there?” He tried to look through the window but they were so dirty it made it impossible. He walked around the building until he found another door, a much smaller one. It was already open a crack. As he went in he found himself hoping he wasn’t walking in on people having sex. “Hello?” he called out again. There were candles lit, dotted around the room, and on an old wooden bench sat a man reading a book. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Blake said as he walked closer. “I saw the light and got nosy.” The man looked up at him with a curious frown on his face. He was in his early twenties, pale with blond hair. His costume was elaborate, handmade probably, but Blake couldn’t exactly say what it was. The man was wearing tight pants with braces that he had left hanging down and an old fashioned billowy shirt that was open nearly down to his navel. “Oh,” the man said, setting his book down on the bench. “Hello.” Blake held up a hand in an awkward wave. “Cool outfit. Though, if you’ve gone to that much effort, why aren’t you at the party?” The man cocked his head. “I uh, I needed some air.” Blake smiled at that. “Yeah, I hear ya. Tiffany’s a little much, huh?” The man stood up, showing himself to be slightly taller than Blake, and held out his hand. “Jensen.” Blake shook his hand and then remembered the story Tiffany had been telling. It was then that he saw the rope marks on Jensen’s neck. “Oh man, I get it,” Blake said with a laugh. “You’re Adam Jensen, right?” Jensen looked surprised but nodded his head. “And who might you be?” “James Dean,” he said, indicating his costume. “I’m Blake.” Jensen looked at him like he was confused before he nodded againg and sat back on his bench. “The party too much for you?” Blake asked. “I’m not really fond of parties,” Jensen said. Blake didn’t know why the guy had gone all out with his costume if he was just going to spend all night hiding in the barn. “So you know about what happened to Adam Jensen then?” Blake asked as he sat down beside him. “I mean, before tonight. You some kind of local history buff?” “You could say that,” Jensen said. “Though the stories they tell are wrong.” “Oh?” Blake asked, taking a sip of his bourbon. “Adam Jensen wasn’t murdered, he killed himself.” Blake looked up at the rafters. There was nothing there but in his mind he could see a piece of rope hanging from it. “Wow, that’s…worse, I think.” “His parents didn’t want the shame of their son committing suicide, so they invented a story,” Jensen told him. Blake offered Jensen his bottle and the other man took it. He brought it up to his nose and sniffed it before drinking it. “I guess back then it was easy to do,” Blake said. “No CSI: Ye Olden Times.” His joke fell flat and Jensen simply handed the bottle back. “Am I bothering you?” Blake asked, not wanting to force his company on the guy. “No,” Jensen quickly said. “Not at all. It’s nice, actually, to have some company.” Blake internally fist pumped. Jensen, or whatever his real name was, was seriously cute. “So why’d he do it?” Blake asked, motioning to Jensen’s neck and the rope burn makeup. Jensen looked down at his hands. “It was a different time. He couldn’t bare the fact that his parents were forcing him to marry a woman.” “Oh,” Blake said. “He was gay?” Blake couldn’t help but hope that Jensen had chosen his costume because they had that in common. He took another sip of his drink. “Killing himself seemed like the only way out,” Jensen said. It was easy to think about how far things had come and yet there were still stories about people killing themselves for that very same reason. Things might be better but they were far from perfect. “How do you know all this stuff?” Blake asked. “I uh, I read his diary,” Jensen quickly said. He reached out for the bottle again and their fingertips touched. “I came out six years ago and my grandpa can still only talk to me if it’s about sports,” Blake told him. “My parents are cool, though.” Jensen gave him a small smile but didn’t offer up his own coming out story, if he had one. “Do you go to the college?” Blake asked. “I haven’t seen you around.” “No,” he said simply, not expanding on his answer at all. “Do you want to go outside? You can really see the stars out here.” Star gazing sounded like it could be a romantic thing to do. “Sure, I’d like that.” Blake followed Jensen outside. There was a pretty old blanket that Jensen shook out and placed neatly on the ground. The two of them laid on it, side-by-side, and took turns drinking from the bottle. “Wow,” Blake said. The black sky was lit up with stars. “Do you know any of the constellations?” “Some of them,” Jensen said. “Knowing the stories behind them ruins the beauty of them, though.” “What do you mean?” “Perseus and Andromeda, for example. He found her chained to a rock by her parents. They were sacrificing her to appease the god Poseidon who had sent a monster after them for boasting about how beautiful Andromeda was. And just in case you don’t think the woman in the story has suffered enough for no reason, she was going to be forced to marry her uncle.” Blake looked up at the sky. “Okay, I see what you mean. The Ancient Greeks, huh? Their gods were sure fucked up.” “It has a happy ending though,” Jensen told him. He took hold of Blake’s hand and pointed up at a star. Jensen’s hand was cold but firm. It made Blake shiver a little. “Perseus rescued her and killed her parents. Now they spend their lives as celestial beings, floating around together for all eternity.” Blake moved a little closer to Jensen and turned to look at him, their hands still loosely clasped. He watched Jensen for a moment, despite the pale makeup and dark circles under his eyes he really was hot. Blake was feeling a nice buzz from the bourbon keeping him warm. Jensen must have felt Blake looking at him because the other man turned his head. Their faces were close. It would be the easiest thing in the world to close that small distance and kiss him but Blake had only just met him and he didn’t know if would go over well. The decision was taken out of his hands when he licked his lower lip and Jensen’s gaze darted to it. Slowly, Jensen moved in and gave him a kiss so soft that he barely felt it. When it ended Blake smiled at Jensen and the other man ducked his head. “Will you stay here with me tonight?” Jensen asked. “Looking at the stars.” He worded it in such a romantic way. It wasn’t like the typical guys he hooked up with. “I’d like that,” he said, giving Jensen’s hand a squeeze.
* * * *
Blake was freezing and his head was a little foggy. In his hand was an empty bottle of bourbon. “Shit,” he said. “We really drank a lot, huh?” He turned on the blanket, blinking in the dim morning light, and saw that Jensen was gone. “Jensen?” he called out. It was crazy that he didn’t even know his real name. Blake sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was so cold and his head was a little sore. He got up and folded the blanket, putting it over his arm as he went back into the barn. It was empty. “What the fuck?” He couldn’t believe Jensen had just left him there like that. Looking around outside Blake saw no sign of movement anywhere. Feeling like shit he walked back to the house, hoping that his friends were still there. The house was a mess. There were empty bottles and red cups littered all over the floor and people were passed out everywhere. He walked through the hallway, looking for his friends, and stopped when he saw an old photo hanging on the wall. There were three people standing in front of the barn. 1916, the date read. He felt as if a cold spectral hand had slid down over his back. There, front and center, was Adam Jensen, the real Adam Jensen, only they were one and the same. The man in this photograph had the exact same face as the man he’d spent the night with. “What the hell?” “Blake? Where’d you get to? We thought you’d left,” his friend said as he came up behind him. Blake didn’t even know how to begin to tell his friends what had happened, and he doubted they would believe him if they did. “Uh, just, around. You know?” He glanced at the photo again and remembered how cold Jensen’s lips had been. He shuddered. “Let’s get out of here.” Blake left, torn between wanting to forget what had happened, telling himself he had simply had too much to drink, and wanting to go back to see if Jensen would appear again.