by B. N. Toler
I spent another hour talking to Click, hoping maybe if I created a familiarity with her, at some point she’d snap to and I could help her. Eventually, George insisted we head back to the hotel. We had a quiet dinner at the hotel bar and decided to hunker down in the room for the night. Hiding out had become our thing; I was less likely to see spirits if we weren’t out and about.
“That thing looks like it could fit three of you in it,” George said of the hotel robe I’d opted for after showering off the filth of the Hell House. He chuckled as I attempted to wrap the ridiculous amount of fabric around me.
“You talking to Char?” Cameron’s voice exploded from George’s phone.
“Hi, Cameron!” I hollered as George turned his phone so I could see the screen, revealing a grinning Cameron in the FaceTime window.
“Char! How’s my favorite sister-in-law?”
“I’m your only sister-in-law,” I pointed out.
“Technicality,” he jested. “How you doing, little sis?” I rolled my eyes. George’s much-younger brother loved pointing out the fact he towered over me in height.
“I’m good. You behaving?” I asked in my most maternal tone, popping a hand on my hip, indicating he’d better be.
“Char, I can’t help it if the ladies are throwing themselves at me down here.” He shook his head ruefully and cut his gaze off camera, feigning dismay before adding, “I’m breaking hearts left and right.”
“You’re so full of crap,” I chuckled.
He grinned, his perfect white teeth filling his smile. “But you love me anyway.”
“Yeah, I do,” I agreed. “Just try not to ruin too many ladies for the rest of the male sex, okay?”
“Yes ma’am. And hey…George is right, that robe could fit three of you.”
I pulled the clip from my hair, letting it fall down my back before combing my fingers through it. “Well, when he hangs up with you, maybe I’ll see if he can fit in it with me.” I winked at George playfully. George’s head jerked toward me before he immediately flipped his cell screen back to him.
“Gotta go, Cam. Wear condoms.”
Whatever Cameron said was lost as George wasted no time ending the video call and tossed his phone on the nightstand. Waggling his brows at me, he slunk comically around the king-size bed toward me in an exaggerated predator’s lope. “So what were you saying about…fitting me in?”
I laughed so hard I snorted, then covered my mouth in embarrassment. It’s a wonder I’ve ever managed to be intimate with a man, given how much of a dork I am.
George grinned wickedly. “Now...you see there…that’s doing things to me,” he crooned.
“Don’t use cheesy sexual innuendos. It makes me snort-laugh, which isn’t sexy at all,” I groaned through my hand.
“Oh,” he replied, deepening his voice to a sultry growl before continuing, “I beg to differ. Why, your snort has excited all my…” he paused for effect “…man places.”
This time I didn’t even try to suppress the snort as I laughed at his antics. “Man places,” I finally managed to say between residual giggles. “Nice, babe.”
Still giggling, I grabbed my brush from the dresser, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. I felt the mattress dip as I began brushing my hair and pretended I didn’t see George crawling seductively across the bed toward me in the mirror, enjoying this rare playful moment we were sharing and not wanting it to end. I tried in vain to stifle a whimper as he reached me and nuzzled the crook of my neck, kissing it softly. I loved it when he kissed me there.
“Let me do it, babe,” he said stopping my hand, our eyes meeting in the reflection of the mirror as I relinquished the brush. Gathering my hair in his hand, he began gently brushing the ends. I loved the soft way he took control; it grounded me in a way I’d never known was possible. As he focused on his task, I let my gaze drift over his reflection. Shirtless, the dim light danced over his perfect shoulders as he moved, enhancing his already swoon-worthy looks. The man was a feast for the eyes, but the real treasure was his kind genuine heart. I knew he doubted it, that he struggled to forgive himself for his past, but he had a truly good soul.
The simplicity of the moment felt so natural, so normal, that the weight of my abilities fell away, and I caught a glimpse of life without the dead always on my doorstep. A vision of George brushing the hair of a little girl, eyes matching mine and hair the color of his, while she played with her dolls, floated through my mind, and it was so beautiful it nearly took my breath away. It had been a long couple of years, and the last few months even longer, but he’d stood by me and never complained. I wanted more than anything to help Click, not just because she needed it, but so I could give my husband the life and family we’d dreamed about on that early summer night in New York because in this moment, I finally knew I wanted it too. How lucky was I that this man wanted to build a family with me?
His gaze pierced mine as they met again through the mirror, sending a heated rush down my spine. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he scorched me with his eyes, causing me to run my tongue across my suddenly dry lips. I slowly untied the robe’s sash, as I kept my eyes fixed on his, and slipped the robe over my shoulders to let it pool at my waist, delighting in the surge of heat in his eyes. Shifting from his knees to sit behind me, his legs on either side of mine, he set the brush aside and ran his free hand along my shoulder as he gently coaxed my head to the side with the hand still fisted in my hair, giving him access to my neck. He drifted slowly closer, watching me as he moved, breaking eye contact only just before he skimmed the tip of his nose along the nape of my neck, his warm breath tickling it. A moan escaped as I reveled in his touch.
“Do you ever worry about me?” he whispered against my neck. I blinked in confusion, caught somewhere between lust and worry as I met his clouded gaze in the mirror. “I mean the drugs and all? Do you ever worry I’ll do it again?”
Where had that come from? Was he thinking about doing drugs again?
He smiled as he watched me, seemingly reading my mind through my expression, adding, “No, babe. I don’t want to. I just meant…there are different kinds of highs in life.” He kissed my shoulder, his one hand still holding my hair, the other snaking around my waist until the tips of his fingers brushed my inner thigh. I leaned against him, the excitement of his touch shooting a delicious ache through me. “I just mean…you, babe.” His voice was husky, riddled with want. “You’re my drug. You are my greatest high.” Sliding his hand up, he stroked me softly, groaning when he felt just how excited his touch had made me. Lost in the sensations, I let my head lull back until he gently commanded, “Look at me, Charlotte.”
I met his stare in the mirror, his hand still moving between my legs. I was panting as he stroked, building me higher. “Does that feel good?”
I whimpered in response, my breath shuddering as my hips moved against his touch, yearning for more. It did; he knew it did.
“That’s my high, Charlotte. Making you happy. Making you feel good. It’s everything to me.”
Something in me broke, something that felt so good it hurt. I cried out in pain and pleasure, destroyed in the best way. Why did it hurt to be loved so much? It scared me, but it was everything to me. George sacrificed so much for me, gave so much. Standing, I pulled the robe away and tossed it as I turned to him. Climbing on his lap, I held his face in my hands as I peered into his dark eyes. This night would be for him. I would worship him. I needed to—I needed to love this man like the gift he was.
“I couldn’t be without you, George,” I confessed, every ounce of conviction I felt emboldening my tone. “I’d be lost without you.” He closed his eyes and sighed, his features easing the slightest bit, as if my words had soothed a pain hidden deep within him. Had he doubted this? Could he not see—feel—how much I needed him? The thought wrenched my heart. I held his face and stroked his cheeks gently with my thumbs. “If I don’t say it, show it enough, I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t cry, babe,
” he whispered as he wiped a tear from my cheek. I hadn’t realized I was crying, but it made sense. Love is terrifying. It has the power to seep its way through your body like heroin, giving you the most exquisite high, or blaze you over and scorch you to ash. So many people chase it, while others run away. We’re addicted to the pleasure and the pain. I understood what he meant about me being his high—George McDermott was my drug of choice. And it terrified me.
“I mean it, babe,” I shuddered, fighting the emotion choking me. “When this…gift,” I hesitated, not liking that description. Calling it a gift always felt wrong to me. I knew most people thought of it that way; thought I was so blessed to be able to see the dead, but it never felt like a blessing to me. George watched me intently, his expression patient as he waited for me to find the words. “Whenever it gets so heavy I think I’ll crush under the weight, you’re always there, lifting it from my shoulders and carrying it for me.”
His stare darted away for a moment before flicking back to mine. “I always feel like I’m failing this husband gig, ya know? I want to protect you from it all, but I’m helpless against what I can’t see. I hate that.”
Gripping his face tighter, I pressed my forehead to his, my heart fisting in my chest. I needed to make him believe he was my hero, my safe place, my rock. No, my husband would never be able to shield me from the spirits I saw, but he never stopped trying. He was always there, and that meant everything to me.
I shifted closer to him, my breasts pressing against his hard chest as he wrapped his arms around me. “George McDermott,” I whispered. “I could not bear this life without you. Do you understand that? Before I came to Warm Springs, before I met you…all I wanted was for it to end. You make me want to endure, George. You give me the strength to endure.”
His strong hand gripped the back of my neck and squeezed. We made love that night with a fierceness we hadn’t had before. It was slow and raw, and beautiful.
Charlotte
“I’m going for a run,” George said the next morning and bent to kiss my temple as I lay on the bed, wrapped in the sheet. “When I get back we can get brunch before we head to the Hell House.”
“That sounds good,” I murmured lazily.
He nodded, inhaling deeply, as if relieved. “Try to sleep some more, babe.”
Curious of his mood, but too content to ask about it at the moment, I grabbed his head and pulled his mouth to mine again, flicking my tongue playfully between his lips. “I love you,” I mumbled against his mouth. “Have a good run.”
His mouth turned up on one side, a knowing smirk playing across his lips. He’d fully satisfied his woman, and that made him feel good. “I love you, too,” he whispered.
After he left, taking with him the distraction his mouth and body offered me, the anxiety I felt about Click slowly returned as my eyes traced a crack along the ceiling.
Furrrrrleese.
My head ached as the word rolled over in my mind. It was the only thing she ever said, and I could not, for the life of me, figure out what it meant. Mom lit up across the screen as my cell rang, and I debated whether to answer or not. Since we’d reunited in Warm Springs, my relationship with my parents had been strained, to say the least. Mostly with my father, but things weren’t stellar with my mom, either.
In the end, I decided whatever she had to say would be a welcome distraction from the torturous word and answered the phone just before it went to voicemail. “Hey, Mom,” I chirped, my voice higher than usual in an attempt to sound happy to hear from her. “How are ya?”
“I’m good,” she answered. “It’s good to hear your voice, sweetie.” She always managed to sound like nothing had ever happened, that she hadn’t let my father send me away, and I instantly regretted answering the call. Despite my efforts to forgive and forget, all too often I was reminded of their cruelty and abandonment.
“Yeah, you too,” I said, mimicking her easy tone. Thankfully, she hadn’t caught on to video calls. At least I didn’t have to try to make my expression match my voice.
“So how are you?”
I closed my eyes, trying not to sigh. A part of me wanted to tell her the truth, but no good would ever come from it. My life was centered around my ability to see and speak to the dead, and since that was the very thing that led my father to send me away, it wasn’t exactly the most popular topic of conversation, which left me only one option. “I’m great,” I lied.
There was a long pause followed by a sigh of her own. “Charlotte, I know we haven’t been close in a long time, and yes, that is largely my fault, but could you at least give me a chance? Please? Would you let me back in a little?”
Guilt washed over me, only to be consumed by anger. Why should I feel guilty? Maybe it was the headache gripping me, or the hurt I still felt from her betrayal, but I lashed out, “Fine, Mom. You want in?”
“Yes.”
“You really want to know what my life is like right now?”
“More than anything, Charlotte,” she confirmed, the desperation evident in her voice.
I let it all spill out. “I found the souls of three young girls in a house in New York. I’ve only managed to help two cross over. The third child is trapped in a dark bedroom, and I can’t get her to communicate with me. Nothing I do is working. Helping her is all I think about. I can’t sleep because all I hear is her voice saying the same word, over and over. My poor sweet husband is torturing himself trying to help me, which is damn near impossible because the one thing causing all my problems is dead, and he can’t see the dead. But I can, only in this case, my gift has been worse than useless because I can’t figure out how to help Click.”
Mom was quiet for so long, I was about to make sure the call was still connected when she finally spoke, “Click?”
I groaned, not wanting to explain because it meant having to go into more detail about my ability, and I couldn’t deal with her disbelieving judgement right then. “You wouldn’t understand,” I grumbled.
“Try me,” she pushed, her tone firm.
I snorted, recognizing that tone from my teenage years, when she would try to relate to my world-ending teenage problems. The thing about those years, though, was she was actually pretty good about putting things in perspective, but I’d let myself forget because of how much she and my father had hurt me. I sighed and explained, “Click is the little girl. She died over twenty years ago and is trapped in an abandoned house in a dark room, and no matter what I try, I can’t get her to respond to me. And if I can’t get her to respond, I can’t help her cross over.”
My heart sank with every second the line remained quiet. Telling her was obviously a mistake; I knew she wasn’t ready for the truth. She still thought I was crazy, just like my father did.
“How did she die?” she finally asked.
“You don’t want to know, Mom,” I said exasperated.
“Yes, I do, Charlotte.”
How could she? It made me sick to think about any of it—Agnus, her husband, what they did to those poor helpless girls. How could anyone want to know about such atrocities? I was about to refuse to tell her, but stopped. I couldn’t ignore the fact she’d even asked. That was the last thing I’d expected from her. Sitting up, I shifted the pillow behind my back and leaned against the headboard. “There was a man that apparently liked little girls…” I paused, my voice softening reflexively, “His wife helped abduct them, but Click was given to him. Her father couldn’t deal with her, so he cast her away. I guess some people find it easier to just get rid of your kid when they don’t act the way they want them to.”
She didn’t acknowledge the insinuation I’d made about what they’d did to me. “You mean the wife knew he would—”
“Yes,” I interrupted her.
I let the silence stretch, knowing there was nothing else I could say.
“Bless those sweet little girls’ hearts,” she eventually murmured, pain filling her voice.
My guard dropped another degree at hearin
g her genuine sympathy. “The things they endured, Mom…I just…that terrible man and his wife…what they did to them.”
“Well it’s not Christian to damn people to hell, but I think the Lord might throw me a gimme on this one.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it. Only my mother could say she hoped someone rotted in hell in a way that seemed almost polite.
“They killed them? In the house?” she went on.
“Yeah. Well, he did. Then he killed his wife before ending his own life.”
“Oh, Charlotte,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry you have to see so much ugliness, sweetie.”
Her words shredded my defenses. I believed her words, but more than that, I believed she finally believed me—believed I wasn’t crazy and could actually see the dead. For the first time in more years than I cared to count, I wanted nothing more than for her to pull me into her arms and let her soothe me with her warmth the way she did when I was a little girl; when the world seemed so big and scary, yet somehow, just by simply sitting in her lap with my head nestled in the crook of her neck, inhaling her perfume as she hummed a soothing tune, I knew everything would be okay.
“The girl, Click. Can she not hear you?” she asked, jerking me back from the memory. “If she were deaf in her life, would she be deaf as a spirit?”
I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it in utter disbelief. Was she brainstorming with me?
“Uh, no. Not deaf. She can hear,” I fumbled, completely at a loss at the turn of events. What if she was brainstorming with me? It’s not like I was getting anywhere on my own, and I had to help Click. “Mom, I don’t know what to do.” My voice caught as the tears welled up. “I’m scared I won’t be able to help her. I don’t understand why I was given this ability if I can’t help all lost souls.”
She was quiet for a long moment, perhaps shocked by my honesty. There’d been a locked door between us for years; one she’d been banging on, begging to be let in. Suddenly, I’d cracked the door open, and she didn’t know whether to charge inside, or wait for me to open it a little more.
