by H. M. Ward
The hand that was playing with my hair is now drawing tiny circles on the sensitive skin on the back of my neck, and his breath is getting faster. Mine speeds up in response, and I know all I need to do is tip my head to the side and stretch for our mouths to touch.
Oliver realizes that at the same time I do and jerks back. His breath is no longer on my skin and his hand drops.
He clears his throat, moving his hand to the back of his own neck and massaging it. I watch in morbid fascination as his cheeks redden, and his eyes dart away from mine to look all around the room as if he's just noticing we're alone. "Uh," he clears his throat again, clearly uncomfortable, "It's getting late."
I know where he's going with this. Nodding, I agree. "Yeah. We should probably go to bed."
Oliver sags in relief, thankful I'm not arguing with him. He reaches out a hand to help me off the couch, holding mine for just a beat too long before gesturing toward the door. "Come on. I'll walk you to your room."
Nerves swirl within me, rising higher with each step. Is he going to expect a kiss goodnight? I want to kick myself for even thinking about kissing him. Now all I can focus on is his lips, lips that are full and look soft. But he pulled away before. I’m not sure what to do with that.
By the time we reach our rooms in the tower, tension arcs between us. Oliver's careful not to touch me and the more he doesn't, the more I think about the possibility.
I don't stop until his hand grabs mine, forcing me to turn and face him. My eyes fly up to his in question and find he's looking concerned again.
"Your room is right here. I mean, if you want to climb all the way to the roof we can, but..."
"Oh, sorry, I guess I'm just tired." I try to laugh it off, but I can feel my cheeks heat up.
"Goodnight, American Girl." His lips curl up on the edges in a small smile just before he leans over to press a soft kiss to my forehead.
Crap.
It's the opposite of romantic, the kiss a brother would give a sister, and I can't stop the small feeling of disappointment.
"Goodnight, Ollie." I try not to laugh at the face he makes.
"Gah, I hate that name."
This feels more like us, and I relax a little. I'm not paying attention to what his hands are doing, and suddenly his fingers are tickling my sides. We're so close to my door that I'm soon standing with my back right up against it, his hands on my sides and both of us breathing heavily from the exertion.
My room key is in my hand, so I insert it quietly while I turn the knob.
"Aw, sorry, Ollie.” I tease, smiling at him. “I'll try to remember that next time."
"You little..." He looks menacing, but I know he doesn't mean it. The door unlocks, and I open it just enough to slide in before he notices what I'm doing.
Grinning widely, I go up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his cheek. My action shocks him enough that he pulls back and blinks twice, as if he imagined it. It also keeps him from stopping me when I step back into my room.
"Goodnight!" I laugh like a lunatic and slam the door on a stunned Oliver.
“Hey! That wasn’t very lady like,” he says in the hallway. “You tricked me.”
I laugh once, loudly. “I thought you were clever?”
He’s smiling, I can tell by the sound of his voice. “So did I.”
“Sorry that’s not working out for you. What are you going to do about it?” I love teasing him. With a door between us, I can handle this kind of flirting.
“I’m not entirely sure. I thought surely I’d get laid. After all, I brought you to a castle in a helicopter. Somehow I ended up with a door in my face.”
He’s baiting me and I fall for it. I whip around and yank the door open. Oliver nearly falls in, but catches his balance by gripping the doorframe.
“Aw, and I thought we were sight-seeing out of the goodness of your heart.” I bat my eyes at him, waiting for his response.
Oliver raises a dark brow at me and stands there. “Kayla?”
“Oliver.” I hang on the door and tip my head to the side, before smirking at him.
He opens his mouth, still grinning, and nothing comes out. He stomps his foot once and slams his lips shut. “Damn! I’ve got nothing.”
“Ha!” I laugh and step back, slamming the door as I call out, “Goodnight, Ollie!”
I turn the lock and lean back against the door, smiling.
CHAPTER 21
The room is too quiet. I've been lying here for almost an hour attempting to avoid sleep and imagining Lady Gray rocking in every corner. Older buildings have creaks, cracks, and bumps in the night, but in the castle they are so much louder than a normal house's settling noises. I hear rustling noises and duck under the covers, certain ghosts are coming to discuss my past.
Even with the fireplace lit the room feels chilly and damp. It's probably the room preparing itself for supernatural interference. The fact that it's now raining doesn't help. I can hear the water hitting the windows and while normally that would lull me to sleep, tonight I just can't relax.
There's a sudden tap, tap, tap on the window and my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. We're too high up for it to be a person, but I'm immediately imagining scenarios where a serial killer has scaled the castle walls.
Or maybe it's the ghost of a dead knight, trying to find the valuables without getting his head lopped off. Either way, it freaks me out. I remain perfectly still, trying not to move.
I hear the tapping again, louder this time. I nearly jump out of my skin. I sit straight up in bed, forcing myself out from under the covers to look over, but there's nothing there. It stops for a heartbeat and I lie back down, trying to slow my pulse.
Suddenly the noise starts up again. It sounds like fingernails on the window. I’m ready to screech. I can't stay here in bed listening to it without looking. I move slowly, not wanting whoever is out there to see me, but when I get to the window, there's nothing there.
The tapping stops and I start to breathe easier.
Thank God. It was nothing. Sighing heavily, I turn back to the bed and it starts again.
What the heck? I whirl around, but there's nothing there. As I move closer to the window, it’s clear that the tapping isn't in the same spot. It sounds higher. I look up.
The sound gets louder, and I run back to bed, climbing in and pulling the covers over my head--like that's going to save me. I lie under my blankets wearing a tank top and sleep pants, shivering from the terror racing through my veins.
The noise gets louder still and I uncover my head, my eyes roaming the room for the source of the tapping. It sounds like it's coming from the chimney now, echoing through the quietness in the room. It’s so loud I can't even hear my heartbeat anymore.
My pulse is hammering in my head and I’m pretty sure I stopped breathing five minutes ago. I’m covered in that spooky feeling and the hairs on my arms won’t go back down. My eyes widen when I hear the rustling of petticoats. I’m not talking to a ghost!
I count to three and jump out of the bed, running for the door hoping not to see whatever is making that noise. I fling the door open and run straight across to Oliver's room and knock frantically.
"Oliver," I cry out. I look over my shoulder toward my room and pound on the door again. “I won’t call you Ollie anymore. Please, let me in!” As I'm gearing up to knock again, the door swings open, revealing Oliver pulling a shirt over his head.
"Kayla?" My fear must show on my face because he's instantly alert, his posture straightening and his eyes searching for the source of my terror. "What's wrong?"
It's going to sound so stupid, but I say it anyway. I'm not going back in there alone.
"There's a noise in my room."
He blinks at me. “Are you messing with me?” I shake my head and step closer to him. He steps back and adds, "It's an old building, and it’s probably just a natural sound of the castle."
"No, it's more than that. Something is in there." I try to whisper, as if it can hea
r me. Oliver isn’t sure if he should laugh or not.
Reaching out, I grab his hand and tug. "Please, come listen. Don't make me go back in there by myself."
He laughs, “But you’re not by yourself. You just said—”
I snap while tugging on his wrist, “Oh, I know what I said. Just come and chase it away. Ghosts don’t like you.”
“How do you know?” He sounds offended.
“Because she’s not in your room! Come on.” I tug again. Just the thought of being in that room alone causes me to tremble. Normally, this’d embarrass me, but right now I'm just too afraid to care.
"Ah, American Girl," he to with a smirk, "if you wanted to cuddle, all you had to do was ask.”
I smack his arm—his rock hard, too muscular for a guy who lives in a suit arm. "Come on, Oliver. Where's your sense of chivalry?”
“In my other pair of iron underpants.” He smirks as he says it.
“Ass head,” I laugh and shove his chest. “Come on! I’m being serious. Help me. Something is freaking me out. Go tempt the lady ghost into following you back to your room. I won’t tell her you don’t put out on the first date or anything.” I yank his arm and he stumbles into the hallway.
"Fine, but if this is just a ploy to get me in your bed..." he trails off, still teasing me, but I ignore him.
I don't let go of his hand until we're back in my room, and the door shuts.
We both stand there and listen, neither of us moving. The sound is gone.
“It was here a moment ago. Please, wait a second.” I stand there shivering, rubbing my arms. The stone floor is so cold.
Oliver nods, his face suddenly serious. He points to the bed.
“Climb under the blankets. There’s no point in both of us freezing. And holy mother, that’s a huge ass bed. You could fit ten people in that thing.”
I grin. It’s the biggest bed I’ve ever seen.
“I can roll over four times before I fall on the floor.”
“And you know that because?”
“Because that’s when I fell on the floor. Duh.” I give him a look and laugh. “Jeez, Oliver, pay attention.” I walk back over to my bed, extremely conscious of my lack of clothing, crawling back in and covering as much of me as I can while sitting.
Oliver sits beside me on top of the covers and we listen for the tapping to start. All is quiet. The longer we sit without any noise, the more I start to fidget. He's staring at me, head cocked to the side like he's trying to figure out if I just imagined things, or if I really did just want to get him in my bed. He probably thinks I was just messing with him.
"I'll stay until you fall asleep and keep the monsters from eating you." His voice is teasing, he's not mad at me for bothering him.
“Who said anything about eating?” I swat him. “Damn Oliver!”
“I know there’s no noise, Kayla. You just wanted to get me in this enormous bed.” He flops back on top of the sheets, staring up at the canopy.
“You keep trying to be clever. I’ll let you know when you’ve got it.” We both laugh for a moment, and the room goes silent again.
I scoot down in the bed until I'm lying on my pillow. Oliver sits up and scoots so his back is against the headboard beside me. His legs are stretched out with one ankle crossed over the other. His feet are bare, and his hair is messy like he's been running his hands through it. I wonder if he was having as much trouble sleeping as me. I can feel the heat coming off his body and he still smells just as good as he did down in the library.
Why am I thinking about how good he smells when there's probably a ghost watching us? Maybe Lady Gray is bored hanging out with children and wants to watch people getting it on. Of course, she saw us downstairs and figured we were a couple, so when I came back to my room alone she was angry. She started the tapping so I'd go get Oliver, hoping I'd bring him to my room and end up banging him. There are worse explanations.
I feel my eyes widen as the realization hits me. Oh shit. Shit, shit, shitty shit. Holy shit! I want to bang Oliver. It's not just that he smells good and he's nice to me and we're friends. I want to be more than friends with him.
Oh, this just sucks. I’m in the middle of a mental panic attack when it starts.
Tap.
Tap.
TAP.
Oliver's head whips around and our eyes meet. His eyes widen.
"Ha! See! I told you I wasn't just trying to get you into bed." I whisper smugly, but I'm suddenly envisioning me and Oliver in bed, limbs all tangled, and my face turns red.
Tap, tap.
Scratch.
“What the hell was that?” I sit up straight, searching the room for the source of the sound, but there's nothing.
Tap.
Oliver gets out of bed.
Tap.
He walks over to the window, looking outside, but not seeing anything.
Bang!
Something falls into the fireplace and we both jump. I yelp and slap my hands over my mouth. Oliver walks slowly over to the fireplace, studying the fire.
"What was it?" There's a tremble in my voice.
"I don't know," he says. "All I see is a few charred pieces of straw."
The noise stops, and he sits beside me on the bed again.
Tap.
Tap.
Scratch.
"I hope you didn't bring me in here to die with you." He looks over at me.
"That noise is making my skin crawl. Not funny, Ollie."
"Love, what’d I tell you about calling me Ollie?" He offers a wicked smirk and wiggles his fingers in front of me, indicating I’m going to be tickled. But before he can retaliate a loud bang comes from the fireplace again.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Holy shit! Something is coming down the chimney! It’s bouncing around in there like a ping-pong ball. I practically jump in his lap. More stuff falls and then something moves.
I definitely scream this time, though not so loud I don't hear him do the same, as something dark comes through the flames and into the room. It's black and small, moving quickly around the room up near the ceiling.
"What the hell is that?" I ask, half cowering, half ready to grab the log poker off the fireplace and whack at the thing. Banshee piñata.
Oliver walks in front of me so I can’t grab the poker. “No, wait a second.”
“We’re gonna die!” I'm clutching Oliver so tightly he can't move. He peels my fingers off his arms and I cringe seeing the marks my fingernails left on his forearms.
The thing flies over our heads and lands on the windowsill. I glance around Oliver and finally see what was making all the noise.
It's just a tiny bird.
Oliver walks slowly over to the window, trying not to scare the little beast. It watches him but doesn't fly away. He opens the latch quietly, pushing the window open just a little, not enough to let in any lingering rain, but enough for the bird to get out. It hops on the sill, not taking its beady little eyes off him, and then it darts away, soaring into the night.
He latches the window shut, turns around, and looks at me. We both laugh in relief. Oliver is in front of me in a few short steps. He wraps his arm around me, pulling me into him and hugging me tightly.
"There, love. It's okay. Just a bird."
I’m laughing so hard tears form in my eyes. “I think I peed a little. That little bird scared me to death! And you thought I made it up!”
He laughs. “I did. Although when it started to use its claws I was concerned. That wasn’t a nice noise. And what were you going to do with the fireplace poker?”
I shrug. “Whack it?”
He shakes his head. “You’re so cute.” He presses his finger to the tip of my nose.
I take a deep breath and step back. “It was just a bird.”
It's like an omen. First I thought it was a ghost. I can never seem to escape my own ghosts, so a ghost finding me here didn't seem far-fetched. I feel like fate is pushing me back
home, but I can never go back. I can't face the things that happened or what I did after.
I sit down on the bed, pat the spot next to me and speak quietly.
"Do you believe in ghosts?" My voice is almost a whisper.
"No," he says without hesitation, his voice firm and final. "Do you?"
"I don't know. Maybe?" He doesn't say anything and doesn't make me feel stupid for not being sure. I look at my fingers, bending them back one by one as I speak. "Sometimes it seems like they haunt me," I whisper, afraid of how he'll react.
"What do you mean haunted?" I can tell he genuinely wants to know, and it makes me want to tell him. I’d like him to understand, although I never thought he would. But, now, here—I’m not so certain anymore.
"It’s complicated. I mean," I start, trying to figure out how to tell him this without exposing all my secrets. Telling everything would ruin not just the trip, but also our friendship. If he knew the horrible thing I did... "I don't think the people we lose just leave us. I think they hang around, trying to comfort and console us, or just unable to move on."
I look up at him anxiously, trying to gage his reaction. The pit of my stomach dips and I shiver.
There’s no judgment in his eyes. Oliver looks thoughtful as he constructs his reply.
"When I die, I don't want to roam Earth able to see people I care about, but unable to touch or talk to them. What kind of afterlife is that?" He pauses. "I prefer to believe when a person dies, they move on, regardless. They don't stick around here worrying about what we think or feel. They're at peace. That’s the one thing we all strive toward during this life. I’d like to think that’s what’s there in the end."
"Do you think everyone just goes to Heaven?" I swallow hard, wondering.
Oliver shrugs, "Or Hell." There's something in his voice when he speaks of Hell, but since I don't want to tell my secrets, I don't ask about his.
"You don't think anyone stays here to deal with their unfinished business?"
"I don't think you worry about unfinished business after you die," he says, shaking his head. "Worry is the opposite of peace. And I’m not talking about rest, I mean peace. People who didn’t get justice in this life will be shown mercy in the next. Everything that robs you of sleep, of joy, will suddenly slip away.”
