9. Bat
nine
Bat
The door thrummed with power behind me. Brad’s consciousness writhed somewhere deep inside his skull, fighting like a fish caught on a line. I shoved harder, pinning him down.
Funny how much easier possession got the second time round.
“Run,” I said again, pitching Brad’s voice higher. Breathier. Terrified.
Charlie’s eyes went wide. Good. He needed to be scared.
Any second now, he’d bolt up those stairs. I’d make sure of it. Get him away from this basement, away from what festered behind that iron door.
Except Charlie didn’t run.
He crouched down. Reached for my hand.
His fingers wrapped around mine—warm, solid, lovely—and he pulled.
“Come on!”
I blinked up at him. What the hell?
He heaved. Brad’s massive frame didn’t budge an inch. Charlie’s face went red with effort, biceps straining through his jumpsuit.
“Get up!” he snapped.
I stared. Why was he trying to help this absolute tosser? Brad had been nothing but horrible to him.
For a moment, I almost felt angry at Charlie.
Except it wasn’t anger. Not really.
Because Charlie was too good. Too kind. Too bloody lovely, standing here in this nightmare basement trying to save someone who’d been awful to him.
The cold I’d been pouring into the air dissipated. The dread I’d been feeding into Charlie’s veins evaporated like steam. I couldn’t maintain it whilst puppeting Brad’s body—possession took a lot of concentration, and right now I was entirely focused on making limbs move, lungs breathe.
Charlie glanced around. His shoulders dropped half an inch. He seemed to notice the absence—the way the oppressive terror had lifted.
He grabbed Brad’s fallen torch. Shone it directly in my face.
I flinched as Brad’s pupils contracted painfully.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Uhh… nothing.” Time to change tactics. I climbed to my feet, using the wall for balance. Brad’s knees wobbled. “But you’re right. Let’s leave the basement.”
Suspicion flickered across Charlie’s features. “Really?”
We stood inches apart in this cramped, stone coffin of a space. Too close. The torch beam between us carved harsh shadows on Charlie’s face, made his cheekbones stand out sharp and fine.
Heat radiated from his body. Living heat. Heat I hadn’t felt in years.
My throat tightened. Brad’s throat. I wasn’t Brad, and I needed to remember that.
This close, I could see everything. The gold wire rims of Charlie’s glasses. The way his curls caught the torchlight, turning honey-blond. A tiny scar on his forehead. The crinkle of worry etched between his brows.
Before I knew what Brad’s hand was doing, I’d reached out. Touched that warm, lovely forehead, with its soft skin. Tried to smooth the worry lines away.
Charlie went absolutely still.
“What… What are you doing?” His voice dropped to a whisper.
Shit.
“Sorry.” I snatched Brad’s hand back. But the damage was done. The thrill of being in an actual living body—skin touching skin, warmth meeting warmth—it warped every bit of common sense I possessed. “You had… dust on you.”
The frown deepened. “Your voice is all weird.”
“No it’s not!” Too defensive. Too high. I couldn’t quite nail Brad’s particular brand of aggressive swagger, even with his voicebox at my disposal. “I’m just… tired, that’s all. I tried to bash that door in too hard. Silly me.”
I should have insisted we leave. Marched Charlie up those stairs right then. Mission accomplished—get him away from the basement door, away from danger.
But holy shit, standing that close to him. Having a body again. Feeling the air move in and out of lungs, blood pulsing through veins. Seeing Charlie lit by torchlight, his chest rising and falling with each breath.
I hadn’t touched another human—warm, living flesh—since the day I died. However many years ago that was. And since carrying him yesterday, it was all I could think about.
My arm moved without permission. Reached out again.
“So much dust,” I murmured, brushing down one shoulder. Then the other.
Charlie froze. Became absolutely motionless, like I’d turned him to stone.
My hand travelled lower. Down his arm. The fabric of his jumpsuit felt rough under Brad’s fingertips. I relished Charlie’s body heat beaming through it, radiating like a furnace.
When I reached his wrist—the one not holding the torch—my fingers found that rainbow bracelet. The wonky one with the unusual, irregular beads. I’d noticed it earlier, when Charlie first arrived. Had wondered about it.
I traced the pattern. Felt each lumpy knot.
“This is nice.”
The words came out soft. Too soft, for Brad. I couldn’t stop touching the bracelet. Who made it for him? If it meant what I thought it meant… then maybe a boyfriend?
Jealousy prickled across my skin like gooseflesh.
Charlie scowled. “Are you kidding me right now? You didn’t seem to like it very much the other day.”
“What? Well, I didn’t get a proper look at it.”
His face tilted. He studied me like I was a puzzle with missing pieces. Then he shook his head. Violently. “Listen, I’m not falling for this ‘nice Brad’ routine again.” His voice hardened. “Stop playing games with me. Else I’m going to report you to Gerald for harassment.”
I dropped his wrist. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” The hurt in Brad’s voice surprised me. Genuine. Unguarded. “I was just curious about the bracelet, is all.”
Charlie’s jaw worked. “My niece made it for me.” His tone softened. “Lily. She’s only seven, but super smart. I don’t get to see her very often, so I wear it to feel close to her. And her mum. My sister.”
Something deep, deep, inside of me, inside of me, ached.
I moved closer to him. Couldn’t help it. Charlie’s back hit the wall with a soft thump.
“Why don’t you get to see your sister very often?”
“They live up north. I don’t have a car. And I…” He cut himself off. Shook his head. “Why do you care?”
“I’m just trying to get to know you.”
I sounded upset. A flash of guilt crossed Charlie’s face.
For fuck’s sake, Bat. Really? Just what was my plan here? The inevitable result of continuing down this line would only be Charlie getting hurt again. Because when I gave Brad back his body, he’d go straight back to being a dickhead.
“Why?” asked Charlie, folding his arms.
“I want us to be friends.”
The words tumbled out before I could stop them. Pathetic, really. But this was my first conversation with a living human in who knew how long. And it felt like a drug. Charlie felt like a drug, even with that glare, that frown splitting his forehead in two.
“Friends,” Charlie repeated. Scepticism dripped from every syllable. “You and me?”
“Is that so crazy?”
I tried for a cute, lopsided smile. The sort that used to work on people back when I had my own face. Brad’s mouth cooperated, pulling up at one corner. Must’ve succeeded, because Charlie’s hard edges softened.
“But friends are nice to each other,” he pointed out.
Fair.
“I’ll… try to do better.” Brad’s voice came out quiet. Vulnerable in a way the real Brad would never be. “I just have trouble expressing myself sometimes. Expressing my… feelings.”
Charlie’s face changed again. A flicker of understanding, maybe even sympathy? His shoulders relaxed, his head tilted. Oh dear. What had I done now?
He reached out. Touched my arm.
Electricity shot through Brad’s nervous system. The contact burned, even through the jumpsuit fabric. Charlie’s palm pressed warm and solid against muscle and bone, and I wanted to grab his hand, hold it there forever.
“Hey.” That lovely voice of his went gentle. “I completely get it. Expressing your, um… feelings can be tricky. It can take some time. And that’s okay.” He squeezed my arm. “Just no more spiders, yeah? Or calling me Chaz.”
All I could do was nod.
“Shall we go back up now?” Charlie’s hand dropped away, and I tried to mourn its loss a semi-reasonable amount. “I can make you a cup of tea for real this time?”
Molly. She’d been leaving tea all around the house earlier. Couldn’t help herself, poor thing.
“I’d love that.”
We walked up to the kitchen, with its peeling linoleum and damp patches blooming across the ceiling. Charlie set about filling the kettle, muttering under his breath about how the Lancasters thankfully left them tea at least.
He pulled two mugs from the cupboard. Dropped teabags into each.
“Sugar?”
“Two please.”
The words rolled off Brad’s tongue automatically, before I could think. Before I could remember that Brad probably took his tea black, no sugar, or protein shakes only.
Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Two sugars?”
“Yeah. Treating myself.”
He spooned them in, passing the mug across with a tiny quirk of a smile.
I couldn’t wait for it to cool. I brought it straight to Brad’s lips and sipped.
Heat flooded Brad’s mouth. Sweet, bitter, perfect. The liquid exploded across taste buds, and suddenly I was somewhere else—
A park. Autumn. Leaves crunching underfoot. Someone sat beside me on a bench, their thigh pressed against mine, sharing a flask of tea. Their laugh—
The memory dissolved like sugar in water.
I slurped more tea. No. No good, the memory had gone. Damn. But this tea, though? This tea was fucking delightful.
It wasn’t until I caught Charlie’s alarmed stare that I realised I was moaning. Aloud. Over tea.
“Sorry.” I wiped Brad’s mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s the sugar. I don’t normally let myself have it.”
“Fitness thing?” Charlie leaned against the counter, cradling his own mug. “Do you still play rugby? Even with your dodgy knee?”
Did Brad still play rugby? Probably. He never shut up about it.
“Yeah. Every Saturday.” I flexed Brad’s biceps experimentally. Disturbing, all this muscle. These thick thighs and broad shoulders. Nothing like my own body had been—skinny, scrawny, all sharp angles. “Plus, I work out.”
Charlie’s eyes locked onto Brad’s arms. Couldn’t seem to tear them away.
Another hot lick of jealousy twisted through me. Surely he didn’t actually find this meathead attractive?