"Why are you doing this?" he shouts, pounding the wheel.
Why am I doing this? I glare at him, stomping toward his car. Seth's eyes close, he shakes his head and swallows roughly.
"Because you left me without a word?"
"Whatever you want to believe, understand that I loved you more than life, Abigail. But it's time to move on." He shakes his head and pulls out of the parking lot, leaving me for the second time in two days.
This isn't how it’s supposed to end.
It's difficult to sift through my emotions, but anger is just around the corner. It creeps into my chest, and as luck would have it, the sky darkens on my way back to the inn, and it downpours.
When I arrive in the parking area, I'm as soaked as I was from my near drowning experience. I stop in my tracks, focusing on a dark figure on the porch—Jonathan. He stands hunched over the rail, forearms resting against it, his gaze on me, but no trace of a smile. Whatever he sees on my face brings him off the deck and toward me. His arms encircle my form and his lips brush a kiss against my head.
"If this will be a theme, tell me now, and I'll get some extra clothes for you."
I laugh against his solid frame, tears mixing with the rain cascading down my cheeks. "I don't know if I should trust your sense of style."
My statement earns me a raised brow in response. Nothing is wrong with Jonathan's style. He's wearing a form fitted t-shirt today, which showcases his firm chest and solid arms. The jeans he has on are a looser fit, but something tells me his legs are as muscled as the rest of him.
"Abigail—"
"Do you think—" We start at the same time, but when he pauses and nods his head, I continue. "Do you think I could stay here for two weeks? I have it off work, anyway. I'm not ready to go home… Or, rather, return to the shambles of my life."
Jonathan brushes a piece of wet hair from my face and tucks it behind my ear. "As long as you want to stay here, Abigail, you have a place at Green Meadow." His gaze lifts toward the sky and he chuckles. "But maybe we should head inside."
The rain continues to pelt us, and it doesn't take long for him to become as wet as I am. Perhaps I'm finally losing it, or it's the fact I'm set free from a dying relationship, but amidst my tears I laugh and grab Jonathan by the hands.
"Will you dance with me?" I blurt, hoping like the fool I am that he says yes.
At first, he doesn’t speak, then he moves closer and slides his arm around my waist. Carefully, he takes my hand in his. "Yes, I reckon I will."
And so we slow dance in the pouring rain, with lightning flashing around us, and the thunder rolling.
Water drips from Jonathan's lashes as he stares down at me. He gives me a lopsided grin, and he breaks our comfortable silence by speaking. "We should head in."
He's right, the rain is coming down in sheets, and the thunder is growing louder. In a blink, he scoops me up in his arms and dodges up the stairs, darting into the house. He's laughing, and it's not the chuckle I've grown used to, but a louder, playful sound.
Jonathan doesn't stop as he slides into the house. His large frame skates across the hardwood floor and his shoulder stops his momentum as he collides into the wall. Reluctantly, he releases me and I slip to the floor.
We're both still laughing and looking like half drowned cats.
A wild grin pulls at his lips, and those beautiful teeth flash against his dark skin. He's gorgeous. At this moment, with his hair slicked against his face and wildness in his gaze, I'm drawn to him. I shouldn't be, because I've known him for exactly three days, and yet I learned more about him in that time span than I ever did with Seth in five years.
We’re still close enough that his hair drips onto my upturned face. I lift myself up on my tiptoes, then pull on the front of his shirt. My eyes shouldn’t be open, but I wonder at the last minute if I'm reading the situation right. He leans in halfway. I can almost taste his lips against mine, but he stops just short of meeting me.
Jonathan's hands cup my cheeks, and he shakes his head. "Not like this. Allow yourself to heal, and then we'll see what happens."
Fair enough, but it feels like someone’s slapping my hand for sticking it in the cookie jar. I step backward, putting more distance between us than necessary, and the silly moment turns into an awkward one.
"I'm going to change—again." I point toward the stairs and promptly run up them.
Once I’m in comfortable, dry clothing, I collapse on the bed I claimed as mine. As I stare up at the ceiling, I can't seem to cry, or find anything other than anger in my heart. It’s finally time to let go of Seth, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.
Over the next week, Jonathan surprises me with an extra set of clothes, minus panties and a bra. While it isn't an outfit I'd rave about, it’s something. I laugh at the screen-printed tee that reads Mud and Mascara, which oddly seems to fit the state I constantly find myself in. The jeans are a duplicate pair of the ones I already have, meaning he purposely inspected them.
On my last day in Russell, South Carolina, I lounge on the porch swing with Jonathan. How was it already time to leave? The days have dragged on slowly, giving the illusion I've been here a lifetime. I lean against Jonathan's shoulder, and his arm wraps around me instinctively.
Tomorrow, I'll be leaving. Not just the inn, or South Carolina, but Jonathan, too. Something about that doesn’t sit well with me.
"What happens when I go home?" I turn, looking up at his sharp nose.
"What do you want to happen?" he asks, staring down at me with his unreadable expression.
What I want is foolish. I want to stay, to learn more about Jonathan, and explore what could happen between us—if anything. But there’s a life back at home waiting for me, too. My job. My cat. My family.
Jonathan's fingers slide along my jaw, up into my hairline, then he taps on my forehead. "Always thinking, but never speaking." He smiles as he withdraws his hand.
I'm a terrible speaker. Not just in public, but I have issues voicing my thoughts and opinions, so he isn't wrong, and I'm not offended. But I'm also tired of just talking and not acting. I can't stand the idea of returning home and never experiencing what it's like to kiss Jonathan. Without thinking, without speaking, I lean forward and capture his lips between mine. At first Jonathan tenses, then his arms envelop my waist, and he tugs me into his lap. I straddle him as I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against his in a sensual, slow dance.
Jonathan tips his head back, his long hair cascading over the bank of the swing as we savor one another. He groans into my mouth, then shifts beneath me. I can feel him straining against his pants, heating my core further. Desire unfurls in my belly, spreading like wildfire through my veins. I want to explore every inch of him and soothe the yearning tearing through me.
It's reckless and stupid, but this is what I crave more than anything right now. Judging by Jonathan's response, I think it's what he wants, too. I rock my hips against him, and in return he sucks in a breath.
His arms tighten around my waist, then in a quick movement, he stands up and walks us into the house. He hesitates for a moment, then turns into the living room and lays me down on the oversized couch.
Jonathan peels his shirt from his body and tosses it aside. I swallow roughly and lean up, letting my fingers trace along the ridges of his abs; muscle lays over muscle. I hesitate over raised scars, tracing them in a feather light touch. Who would do this to him? Who would hurt this gentle, beautiful man?
Jonathan reaches out and his hands cup my face tenderly, drawing my attention away from the scars. His lips begin a slow dance with mine, and every piece of me aches as he draws it out.
"Please," I murmur. I don't want teasing kisses or touches, only the physical contact my body desperately yearns for.
He hesitates for a moment, as if wondering if he should continue his delicious torture, but in a blink, he peels away my shirt and bra. Each touch, each kiss is warm and exquisitely slow. Jonathan's full lips trail down my bell
y, and he slips my pants and underwear off.
I'm naked before him, my bodily imperfections on display, but his eyes are open and full of hunger. I lean forward, undoing his jeans and pushing them down his slender hips.
"I don't want to forget this," I whisper against his lips.
"I'll do my best to ensure you don't." His laughter rumbles in his chest, then Jonathan makes good on his promise. Imprinting himself on my body and mind.
After, Jonathan carries me up to his room, and curls his arms around me, pulling me against his chest. For the second time, I fall asleep against his warm body. As my consciousness tumbles into darkness, all I can think of is this moment, Jonathan's crooked smiles, and his husky voice.
When I wake next, he's nowhere to be found. I quickly dress, then wander around downstairs in search of him. A thud upstairs on the third floor catches my attention, and I jog up the spiral staircase. After two weeks of being here, I know where all the rooms are, and head toward the sound. I'm feeling a little frisky and maybe he's ready for a second round already, too.
Except, when I make it to the doorway of the room he's in, the sight of his naked torso makes me pause. Light filters in through the window, passing straight through his scarred chest, and the wall-length mirror he stands in front of shows no reflection. I swallow roughly and stumble back, my foot catching on a raised floor board.
Falling backward, I crash into the wall. My heart thunders away as I piece everything together. How Jonathan always seemed to show up out of nowhere, how he was always there when I needed him.
Jonathan turns around, his ebony hair framing his face. Mixed emotions flicker in his gaze, and I have trouble deciphering them. Surprise, guilt? He holds his hands by his side as he approaches me, slowly, like I'm a cornered wild animal liable to run away. I want to run away.
"I can explain," he begins.
I laugh. My hands cover my eyes and as I pull them away, they are coated in salty tears. "I've lost it," I murmur, shaking my head. "You're not real."
But last night... I felt him, my body still aches from our actions.
"No, you haven't, Abigail. I promise I am real." Jonathan crosses the distance between us, but I step away from him, shaking my head in disbelief again. "Will you listen to me?" He lifts a hand upward, approaching me slowly. "Please?" he asks quietly.
Hysteria blooms in my mind. A smile tickles my lips, and I wave my hands toward his still bare torso. "Go ahead."
But I wonder, is Jonathan a figment of my broken mind? I'm no stranger to mental health, I've had my fair share of panic attacks, but I've never hallucinated before. I frown, rubbing my temples as I sort through my recent memories. Could I have imagined him in my loneliness?
"Abigail," Jonathan says, snapping me from the dark rabbit hole I started down. “You're not seeing things. I'm not... of this world anymore, but neither am I a part of the afterlife. Some people call us revenants, others ghosts. I can become as real as the house, as anyone else. I can touch, you can feel me, but I can also fade to nothing."
"Like Casper?"
Jonathan squints as me, as if trying to figure out who Casper is. "I don't know who that is."
"He's a friendly cartoon ghost." I cover my lips with my fist, realizing how stupid I sound.
"Maybe?" Jonathan stares at me, confusion still crinkling his forehead.
Casper doesn’t look like Jonathan, not in ghost form or human form. Devon Sawa is pale, has blond hair and blue eyes, and was gorgeous to my ten-year-old self. I remember watching the movie when I was little and wishing to high heavens that he'd remain alive, and human, to stay with Kat. Selfishly, I wanted them to have a happily ever after, but those don't always exist in the real world.
Maybe this is a dream. That would explain the similarities between Casper and whatever this is.
Jonathan lifts his hand and touches my cheek. I jump in response and he reluctantly pulls away. "I didn't tell you, because I didn't think you'd stay this long. I thought you'd leave and forget me."
"Forget you?" I echo. "I couldn't forget you."
I drag my gaze from his scarred chest to his eyes. They're full of a deep sadness that makes my heart clench and ache. Death may separate us, but what we experienced earlier was something. I believe in ghosts as much as I believe in wearing white after labor day.
Something clicks in my head. "Was that you... in the nursery?"
Jonathan reaches forward, and this time I allow his hand to continue moving. His fingers brush along the side of my neck, up my cheek, and the motion is so feather-light, I close my eyes.
"It was. Every time you were alone, every time you'd break down, I was there, trying to comfort you."
As he speaks, recent memories of the past two weeks filter through my mind. In the nursery I felt him, in the kitchen while I choked on a sob his presence was there behind me. Even before I met him, I knew him in some manner, which would explain why the connection was so easily made.
"Are you all right?"
"... Yes. I think—I think I'd like to stay for a few more days."
Jonathan dips his head down, brushing his lips against my temple. "You can stay as long as you'd like, and if forever's how long you wish to stay, then forever I'll keep you."
How does he know what to say at exactly the right time?
My hands rest against his chest, and I can feel the scars beneath the shirt. "Now that I know, can you tell me what happened—the entire story?"
He nods, but withdraws from me as he turns toward the nursery. "You saw something when you were here."
He crosses toward the crawl space and opens the door. Reaching for something, he pulls out a newspaper and hands it to me. "That's me. The reason Seth's sensors went off when he spoke about Rainwater, it's because I am Rainwater."
My eyes fall to the paper I remember from two weeks ago. The shadowy figure hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat. Braids tumble over the man's shoulders, but I don't have to see the face now to realize who it is. It's Jonathan. Jonathan Rainwater, the young man who was murdered in this house almost a hundred years ago.
"Now you know the missing pieces. Why they did it, I don't understand. No one ever looked into it, and the house promptly went on the market again. It's passed through several hands, but no one has ever stayed." He pauses, grinning. "Maybe I'm a poor house guest."
I can easily guess why someone would do it. Prejudice back then was far more vicious than it is now, but my heart breaks for him. But I doubt that he’s a rude resident.
"Oh, Jonathan," I murmur, dropping the newspaper. "I'm sorry."
A sad smile touches his lips, but not his eyes. "It was long ago." Moving around me, he exits the room and sighs.
I follow him, then take his hand and lead him down to his bedroom. Pushing him into the sunlit room, I quickly remove his shirt, and make love to him until the sadness washes away from his expression.
Reluctantly, I wake. Jonathan’s arms wrap around me, his chin resting against my shoulder. His body against mine comforts me in a way I desperately need. I can't speak—can't move. I'm trapped in an in-between state where dreams, or perhaps distant memories, dance before me. Blurry faces bob in my mind's eye, but no voices accompany them. The sensation of phantom touches coats my body in goosebumps, as well as a cold sweat.
The impression of hands against my body sends chills throughout, because Jonathan is still, and he isn't moving. Which means the touches I feel are in my head, but the foreign, unknown touch is a caress, and my anxiety eases. It's a strange pull, tempting me to move from the bed, but Jonathan's presence is enough to cement me in place.
When he wakes, he brushes the hair off my neck. Tension oozes from me, but as his lips leave a trail of kisses beneath my ear, he whispers softly, "Come back to me, Abigail." How can he know I’m slipping away? "I'm here, Just come back to me." His arm tugs me closer to his frame, then his nose buries into my neck. "Don't leave."
The images flicker violently in my head, but Jonathan's words trickle
into my mind, and I focus on them. On the way his body feels against mine, and how he sounds so utterly broken.
"Come back," he repeats, his voice cracking.
His tone undoes whatever is holding me prisoner. I lift my hand, letting my fingers graze his forearm. Jonathan raises his head, squeezing me tightly.
"I'm okay," I say. "It was just a weird dream."
But was it? Or was it something else? It's similar to the same pull from the pond. The all-encompassing dread, the feeling of plummeting into a darkness that will consume me until I’m nothing more.
Jonathan says nothing in response. Does he sense something off, I wonder, or were his words directed toward the fact I'll be leaving soon?
Slowly, I sit up and run my hands over my face. They're trembling, but Jonathan is there, as he has been since I arrived. My heart twists, because I realize then I'm falling for a ghost—a man who isn't even alive.
His hair tumbles over his bare chest in a tangled mess, his somber gaze focused wholly on me. So intense, so full of anguish. I lean over toward him and trace his full lips with my thumb.
"I'm here. I don't plan on going anywhere." The words slip from me, surprising me, and even him.
"Is that so?" Jonathan's lips shift into a slight smirk. "Can you promise that?" He moves so quickly I don't have the chance to move away. His arms encircle me again, holding me hostage in his lap. "I'll hold you to it, Abigail," he purrs my name.
"If it's anything like this, I'm okay with that." I laugh, which quickly turns into a gasp as he shifts beneath me. The mood lightens as desire spreads between the two of us, and it draws my eyes to his bottomless pools of black. "I think..." I whisper. "I love you."
Jonathan's gaze remains shuttered until I speak. "I don't have to think about that." He leans in, kisses the column of my throat and then moves to my ear. "I've loved you since you stumbled into my life." Jonathan chuckles, slipping a hand against my cheek. "If you want to call my existence a life."
Something in the Shadows Page 19
