gave way to shock when he asked the young Mr. Norris who had donated the journal to the society. It took only a minute or so to find the name in the records - Philip Vaughn.

3. SEEM TO BE HAPPENING AGAIN

Ravenswood, crowned by its mansard roof and embraced by wrought iron lace balconies, loomed over Sam in the gloom of twilight. He was still marveling at the coincidence that Philip had once owned the Dinsmoore journal when he crossed the hotel's small lobby. Rounding a corner he saw a gasolier illuminating the salon. And as he approached, he caught snatches of a hushed conversation between a man and a woman.

"So there's a ghost in Ravenswood...What is it you're asking of me?"

"You don't understand, he's not a ghost...and soon he'll be trapped in that cursed mirror..."

They abruptly stopped talking and nodded in his direction as he continued on to the staircase. What the hell was that about - ghosts and cursed mirrors? Well, who was he to scoff? He was looking for a box with the answers to everything, wasn't he? Besides, this was New Orleans, after all.

He knocked on the door of 309 and heard the scampering of bare feet. The door swung open to reveal Philip wearing only a wet towel that clung to his trim waist and displaying a formidable bulge in front. Sam gaped at him. "I'm early."

Philip motioned for him to enter. "I'll be ready in a few minutes."

Sam stepped inside and immediately noticed a painting on the far wall. Was that a Vermeer? The apartment was tastefully but sparsely decorated with more than a few Egyptian pieces in the mix. And from another room he could hear music playing from what sounded like a Victrola, the needle probing the grooves of the vinyl to elicit a sensuous hiss and the indolent serenade of a horn.

Sometimes you think/you lived before/all that you've lived today/Things you do/come back to you/as if they knew the way

"Actually I was hoping we didn't have to go out," Sam began and stopped when he saw Philip's crestfallen expression.

"Oh, you're tired. I understand. You can take a raincheck."

"That's not it," Sam interrupted. "I'd love nothing more than to spend the evening with you. But yes, I am exhausted. Can't we just sorta, stay in? Call for take out?"

Philip beamed. "Sure, whatever you want. Let me just go change."

It was Sam's turn to look dejected. "Well, you don't really have to..." he ventured.

Philip grinned impishly, walking towards him. "Oh yeah? You think the towel looks good on me?"

"I think you'd look even better without it," he countered, pressing forward until he felt Philip's covered cock rub against his trousers.

"Without it - it is then," Philip concurred, stripping the towel away in one graceful move. And before Sam could say another word, they were locked in a feverish kiss. He succumbed to the pull of Philip's sinewy arms and willingly surrendered to being kissed with such force and familiarity it took his breath away. Sam quickly took off his own clothes then worked his lips and tongue down, down the slopes of Philip's granite hard body. His seeking mouth crawled lower from chest to navel to the immense, turgid organ protruding from Philip's wiry pubic hair. Sam inhaled the moist heat emanating from the delectable looking cock and wasted no more time trying to swallow the entire thing. He felt