Free Laying a Ghost by Jane Davitt, Alexa Snow

piece of peat as John got down beside him again, unable to keep from seeing how Nick twitched at the movement. “Put the peat on top,” Nick repeated, not sounding like himself at all. “Put the peat on top and light the kindling.” He picked up the matches and opened the box with an uneven force that caused them to scatter all over the floor and hearth. “Fuck.”
    John stretched out his hand and caught Nick’s wrist as he started to pick up the matches. Nick’s skin was cool and clammy . “Leave them. I’ll do it.” Nick’s head was bowed again, a wide strip of smooth, tanned skin exposed between his hairline and the collar of his sweatshirt. “You’re still tired,” John went on, keeping his voice steady. “There’s no rush to do everything all at once and I should’ve remembered that.” He let go of Nick’s wrist and began to brush the matches together into a small heap.
    “Sorry.” Nick struggled to his feet. “I’m sorry. I’m just going to go upstairs for a minute, okay? I’ll be right back.”
    He didn’t wait for John to reply, but turned and headed almost blindly for the stairs as John watched him. Nick bumped into the wall at the foot of the staircase, his shoulder hitting it, and John had to quell the impulse to get up and go after him, make sure he got up the stairs okay. It almost looked as if he were trying to walk with his eyes closed. The sound of his footsteps on the wooden stairs was uneven, too quick considering how unsteady he’d been on his feet. John breathed a sigh of relief when Nick reached the top and the bathroom door slammed shut.
    He couldn’t help but listen as he gathered up the matches from the hearth, putting them back into the box. What the hell was wrong with the man? It was clear that he was recovering from some kind of trauma, but John was starting to doubt that it was as simple as a car accident and a broken wrist. He didn’t, he realized, know anything more about Nick than what the man had told him. For all he knew, Nick could be sick. Mentally ill.
    He could hear the sound of footsteps back and forth on the bathroom floor, and what after a few moments began to sound like a muttered voice. It got louder and more anguished, though; Nick was talking to himself, begging for ... something.
    John hesitated and then went over to the stairs. Growing up amongst people who were by nature reserved made him feel awkward, even embarrassed, about intruding, but he couldn’t leave Nick, not when he was in this state. It didn’t matter that the man was new into his life; he liked him, and when it came down to it, right now he was the only friend Nick had.
    Hoping that a friendly ear was all that was needed, not a doctor, John climbed the stairs, hearing fragments of words mumbled too low to be intelligible, although when Nick’s voice rose on a frantic “Please!” it was clear enough.
    He came to the closed door and raised his hand to knock softly on it. He caught his breath, his hand falling to his side as that disconcerting sense of wrongness crawled over him again, making him shudder convulsively, every hair on his body raising as his skin prickled into goose bumps.
    “Nick,” he said urgently, his voice cracking. “Let me in, man. Let me help you.”
    He wasn’t sure if he wanted himself in there, or Nick out here on the landing, but he was beginning to feel strongly that company would be welcome.
    Nick was still pacing, from the sound of his footsteps, and still muttering, but now John was close enough to hear most of it clearly. “No,” Nick was saying. “No, no, no. No! Stop it. I can’t -- God, shut up! Just ... I can’t understand. No. Please.” The last word was half sob, half whimper, the sound of it going straight to John’s heart like he’d imagine the twist of a knife would. A grown man shouldn’t sound like that. It wasn’t right.
    “Nick. Open the door.” He reached for the handle.
    There was a violent thump inside the bathroom, as if