by Layla Frost
“Yes,” he drawled, surprise evident in his tone. “Can you see me?”
“No.”
And it makes my heart ache because I’ve never wanted anything so badly.
Leaving the thought unsaid, I got back on topic. “What were you saying about last night?”
“You left while I was occupied.”
As ridiculous as I felt talking to an empty room, my curiosity overrode the logical part of my brain. “Being a ghosty template for Halloween decorations? Haunting the Hawthorne statue? Sorority slumber party to crash? Oh, were you at a sleepaway camp with slutty cheerleaders and people who haven’t learned not to go down to the freakin’ basement?”
“This isn’t funny, my little hellion.” Earnestness and frustration roughened his voice. “You were in pain. So much pain. And I couldn’t get to you.”
Gasping, I jerked away as something cold and very real grazed my cheek. “Did you just touch me?”
His voice held the same astonishment. “Did you feel that?”
My hand covered the spot, finding it cool to the touch. “Yes. What’s going on?”
“Why were you in pain? Did someone hurt you? If they did, I’ll make sure they feel the same agony tenfold for the rest of their days.”
Shaking my head, I tried to clear my racing thoughts. “I got sick. It was partially from improperly prepared casserole and partially because I drank too much.”
“You’re supposed to drink responsibly.”
“Thanks for the lecture.” Remembering my near nudity, I crossed my arms over my chest. “I know Malik was wrong about who you are.”
“You do?”
“Yes. And I also know who you really are, so you’re fine to go now.”
“And who am I, exactly?” he asked, making a chill travel down my spine.
“Well, I mean, I don’t know all that. But I do know you’re not my subconscious. I was freaked out at first, but then I figured out my grandma sent you, so it’s okay. I get the message. I need to get out and have fun, date—”
“I wasn’t sent by Eve.”
“You know my grandma’s name?” Disappointment sat heavy on my chest as the tenuous bond I’d created between me and Grandma was severed. “Who are you?”
“That’s the million-dollar question.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“No.”
My eyes narrowed because I only enjoyed playing games when they were the board, card, or video kind. “Why not?”
“Because, my little hellion, I don’t know.”
The Voice
Torture.
My cursed existence, or what I knew of it, had been nothing short of torturous. The kind that left blackness deep in the pit of something which at one point had resembled a soul.
No matter what I’d been through, I also knew it didn’t compare to the torture of having Denny so close and yet so far.
Since the day she’d moved in, I’d wanted nothing more than to talk to her. I’d screamed and yelled until my voice was gone and then I’d hoarsely whispered more. I’d only stopped when my throat grew so raw that the metallic tang of blood hit my tongue.
Her presence had given me peace. Hope. If just being near her could offer me that, I’d thought communicating with her would ease my misery.
But I’d been wrong.
Hearing her speak to me was another layer of torment.
As she rubbed her upper arms, flashes of pink nipple peeked through and I had to turn away.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” she asked.
“Exactly what I said. I don’t know who I am.”
No name.
No memories.
No body.
And up until the surprising night when she’d heard me complaining about her TV choices, no voice or freedom, either.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“A while.”
“Like a couple years?”
“A couple hundred.” Hoping for something more definitive, I paused to think but an answer didn’t come. “At least.”
“What?” she exclaimed before rapid firing off questions. “How is that possible? How do you not know? Are you… dead? And why does your voice sound weird again?”
“Because I’m facing away from you. I might be some sort of specter, but I’m still very much a man.”
“Oh, hell.” There was a rustle before she spoke again. “You can turn around now.”
I did as she said. What I didn’t do was tell her I felt just as much need when I saw her in clothing as when I saw her without. I craved her no matter what.
“To answer your questions,” I said, “I don’t know how it’s possible. No, I’m not dead. And time passes quickly, especially when one does nothing to make the time their own. Days only matter when they are lived.”
“So you are a ghost.”
“I didn’t say that. I’m not dead, nor am I living. At least I wasn’t until recently.”
Not until you moved in.
Haden’s nose scrunched. Despite being unable to see me, her eyes narrowed, and she somehow glared directly into my own. “I hate riddles.”
“I wish it were a riddle. Those, though tricky, can eventually be solved. I can’t offer you an answer. I’ve been here for a couple hundred years. You’re the first and only person to hear me, and I’m still puzzled by that.”
Her head tipped. “And you could tell I was sick last night?”
The ache in my gut that’d faded at her nearness came back at the reminder. I’d never experienced pain and frustration like I had the night before. That it was my own fault had eaten at me as I’d paced the room, waiting for her to return to me.
Jaw clenched at the memory, I gritted out, “Yes.”
“God, this is bizarre. I keep expecting Rod Serling to come out and tell us to imagine if we will, before announcing we’ve entered the Twilight Zone.”
My lips curved up. It was still an unfamiliar feeling, but I’d smiled more in the few months with Denny than I had in the previous hundreds of years combined. “I wish I could solve all these mysteries, but I’ve spent the last couple centuries just as lost as you.”
Her expression softened as she, once again, looked directly at me. “That must be so awful. I’m sorry.”
With no reassurances to offer, I whispered, “You should get some rest.”
She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “Good idea. I need a clear head to process this.”
Her steps were slow as she trudged upstairs. I’d expected to hear the shower—and worried I’d hear more—but the only sounds were her soft, shallow breaths when she fell asleep within minutes.
There were things I should’ve been doing while she slept, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. I took my usual spot and hoped she’d ease the constant ache that filled me.
Like always, she did.
Chapter Seven
Don’t Neglect the Meatballs
Denny
CHECKING MY ASS IN MY mirror one last time, I grabbed my shoes and ran downstairs.
It was date night.
Dan and I had texted a few times throughout the week to set and confirm our plans. I didn’t know much about him, but since he was a friend of Lula and Chase’s, I’d broken one of my rules and agreed to let him pick me up.
Tossing my shoes down, I stepped into them as I pulled my jacket on.
Casual dinner with a normal guy. Well, a lawyer, so normal-ish. I can do this.
I checked the time and saw I still had almost twenty minutes. My butt hit the couch before I immediately stood and went to the bay window. Plopping down there, I realized if he saw me, he might think I was waiting for him with my nose pressed against the glass like a little puppy. Though I was waiting for him, I didn’t want to show all my crazy upfront. I preferred to let it out in small bursts.
Walking across the room, I sat at my desk and began organizing my organizational accessories.
By the time t
he doorbell rang, washi tape, pens, labels, sticky notes, and countless clippies were strewn about my desk and floor like an office supply battlefield.
“Shit,” I muttered to my empty house.
And it was empty. After our conversation the weekend before, I hadn’t heard boo from the voice. Part of me wondered if it was because I had been correct about him being sent by Grandma. Like, his mission was completed, and he was on to the next assignment. There’d been no weird sensations on the back of my neck. No commentary about my TV choices. Not even a muttered ‘told you so’ when I dumped half my daily smoothie down the drain.
He was gone.
And I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
Leaving behind my mess, I grabbed my purse and checked the window before throwing open the door. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Dan returned, his smile boyish and charming.
I locked up before turning to him. “Ready?”
He gestured toward the driveway where his car waited. “After you.”
“Thanks.”
After opening my door for me, Dan walked to his side and got in. “Are you okay with Italian? I know you said you enjoy a lot of different foods.”
For a moment, images of my date with Paul flashed through my mind. We’d had Italian food followed by a hefty serving of disturbing, brain-bleach-needing creepiness.
A lawyer and Italian food. I’m having traumatic flashbacks.
Is it Groundhog Day? My dating life seems to be stuck on repeat.
During our text exchanges, Dan had admitted to being a picky eater who wasn’t a fan of spice. Since I routinely made my mouth numb and gave myself hiccups from different curries and peppers, we were on opposite sides of that preference scale. Usually, that would be a strike against him because of incompatibility, but I needed to be less finicky.
Plus, I liked Italian just fine. In all their shapes and flavors, bread and cheese were always a win.
I nodded. “I don’t eat it often, but I like it.”
“Good.” Backing the car out of the driveway, he looked around. “I’ve never been over here. When I was in college, a bunch of people would come up on Halloween.”
“You never came?”
Dan skewered me with a look before returning his attention to the road. “I was at Brown to work my ass off and get hired by the best firm, not waste time with ghost stories.”
Ouch.
Okay, that’s a strike against him.
Glancing at me again, his expression softened. “Sorry, that sounded pretentious.”
That’s one word for it.
His smile turned sheepish. “I guess I’m still a little bitter. I always worked hard in school so I could have a good life, but I missed out on a lot.” He tipped his head. “Of course, now I’m able to enjoy Friday game nights where I meet beautiful and charming new friends. I’d say that’s better than blowing off studying to hear spooky stories.”
Fine, half a strike.
Returning his smile, I asked, “So you went to Brown?”
The mood eased a little as Dan began telling me about Brown and living in Rhode Island.
No more strikes were added.
_______________
All the strikes.
All of them.
And each one against me.
The rest of the car ride and ordering our food had been uneventful. The arrival of our drinks, however, was where it’d started to go downhill.
“I’m so sorry,” I said for what seemed like the hundredth time.
“It’s okay,” Dan lied, blotting his light gray shirt.
At least it used to be just light gray.
When I’d reached for my glass of wine, I’d knocked it over, somehow managing to launch the liquid across the table and onto his shirt.
Then, like some sort of dumbass, I’d leapt up as if my speed could magically undo the spill and promptly knocked over his glass. The small splatter of red wine had turned into a much larger one, which included dripping onto his pants.
Giving up, Dan tossed the towel down and picked up his new glass of wine. After taking a sip, he set it far to the side. We talked for a bit about his job before he asked, “How long have you known Chase and Lula?”
“I’ve known Lula since third grade and Chase for four years.”
“You all seem close. I got the impression—” His words were cut off by the server dropping off bread.
When he didn’t resume his thought, I prodded, “You were saying?”
Dan’s lips pressed tight as he reached for a slice of bread. “I was under the impression you’d known Chase longer.” He pushed the bread basket closer to me. “What is it that you do?”
“I’m a graphic designer.”
It was barely noticeable and, had I not grown up with a disapproving father whose nuanced expressions I’d needed to memorize, I might have missed it.
The slight downturn of his mouth.
If that meant what I think it did, a strike against him. That makes it one and a half for him to three million for me.
Give or take.
“I’m not really familiar with what exactly that entails,” he said.
“I design advertisements. Right now, I’m working on new brochure for one of the witch houses in my town. And I recently finished a series of newspaper and online ads for the Chamber of Commerce’s Halloween events.”
He leaned in. “That’s interesting. Do you enjoy it?”
“I love it. Sometimes it can be frustrating, but it’s worth it to see the finished product. I even spend my downtime doing projects for friends. I’m almost finished with Lula and Chase’s invites.”
There was a pause in the conversation as the server dropped off our meals. Dan picked up his fork, immediately pushing any chunks in his red sauce to the side.
He looked at me, his grimace smoothing out. “I got the save the date. Was that you?”
“Yup.”
“Even though it made me break into a cold sweat just looking at it, it was nicely done. I was surprised.”
My brows furrowed. “What—”
A loud vibrating noise interrupted me.
“Is that your phone?” Dan asked.
Without looking, I reached into my bag and pulled out my cell. The sound of vibrations stopped, but there were no missed calls or messages. “Weird. Sorry.”
The noise started again, louder than before, but my screen still stayed blank. I reached into my purse again, this time my hand wrapping around something long.
And thick.
And made of silicone.
I yanked my hand away as though it’d been burned, turning panicked eyes to Dan. “Sorry, uh, phone.”
His eyes dropped to the cell in my hand.
“My, um, other one.” I put my hand back in my bag but couldn’t feel the source of the loud vibrations. Lifting the purse to look inside, someone knocked my elbow with enough force to send the contents flying.
My new vibrator, the one that was supposed to solve all my problems, majestically soared through the air in all its bright pink glory. It landed in Dan’s spaghetti, positioned perfectly between two extra-large meatballs. The vibrations kicked into overdrive, rattling the plate and spraying red sauce everywhere.
This is it. The murder scene of my love life.
Snatching the vibrator, I switched it off, wrapped it in a napkin, and tossed it back into my bag. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know how that got in there.”
Dan’s shocked eyes met mine. “I’m not mad because I’m taking it to mean you’re slutty.” His brows lowered, but he kept going. “If the sex is as wild as I’m thinking, I’ll continue to see you while making sure you make the changes I expect. Or until I find someone who fits my criteria better.”
My stomach dropped, fire running through my veins. “What?”
“Of course, just sleeping with you is my end goal, so this date can get even worse, and I’ll still tell you it’s been the best.” His eyes narrowed to slits as he looked from
his wine glass to me. “You slipped me something.”
My overheated blood turned to lava-esque temperatures as I fought to hold my temper. “You’re the one being a jackass and you have the fucking nerve to accuse me of something so vile?”
“I knew I shouldn’t have asked you out. I hate Chase and only came to that ridiculous game night because he’s getting the promotion I should’ve gotten. Who the hell has game nights? We’re lawyers, not children.” He clenched his jaw, his words forced through gritted teeth. “I’ve been applying to different firms, but wanted to bang his hot fiancée before I left. Then I met you, and figured I’d bang you. Or both of you at once since you seem like the types.” His tight face growing redder and redder, he reached for his wine, sniffing it. “How are you doing this?”
“I’m not doing anything, asshole.”
“I have no clue who you are but stay the hell away from me.”
My matching glare and anger were nothing to sniff at. Only my fury wasn’t aimed at him.
Well, not all of it.
I bolted up, my thigh barely catching the edge of the table. Still, it toppled and spilled everything onto Dan’s lap—a knife landing dangerously close to Little Dan.
Not bothering to respond to him, I stormed out of the restaurant and hailed a cab. I didn’t say a word on the ride. I needed to call Lula, but it could wait. My anger stewed and only once I was in the seclusion of my own house did I speak.
Oh, and speak I did.
“You bastard!” I yelled to the seemingly empty room. “I know it was you. I may be cursed, but this is too much. No one has this much bad luck!” When there was no response, I spun around. “What? Too chicken to come out? You’ve been all up in my business, but now you’re giving me privacy? Come out and fight like a man. Ghost. Whatever!”
A long, exasperated sigh came from across the room. “What are you going on about, my little hellion?”
I whipped around to face… nothing. Still, I pointed my finger and shouted, “You!”
“Me?”
“You know what you did.”
“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.”
“You ruined my date. I don’t know how you did it, but you did.”
“I have no clue what you’re referring to.”
I threw my hands out. “My vibrator was in my drawer. How did it get in my purse?”
