Catch Me in Castile

by Kimberley Troutte

Had I imagined the whole thing? My heart sank. Maybe. The car crash had been pretty traumatic. Was the ghost just a figment of my post-traumatic stressed mind?

  No, I can’t believe it. I won’t.

  “I am not a lunatic, raving or otherwise. Come out.”

  Nothing. I closed my eyes, took some deep calming breaths and listened.

  Did I hear…? Yes, there it was again, a sound softer than the whisper of the wind through long grass. But it was real.

  Thank God.

  “Madre de Dios. I am here.” Serena waved her arms. “Do you see me? Erin?”

  Holy cow, she said my name.

  It was the only word I could decipher. Her voice hissed like static. I stared at the spot I thought she stood until tears dripped out of my eyes.

  More movement. Good. Her shape was darker now, almost a shadow.

  “I see you.” I laughed. “Wow. I really do.”

  The static grew louder, as if someone had cranked up the volume but forgot to tune in the station. I thought I heard “say-on”. I frowned. Why did that word sound so familiar?

  “I can’t understand you,” I said slowly. “I’m sorry. Can you hear me?”

  The shadow flickered. A nod?

  “Good. I don’t know why you’re following me, but, and I mean this in the nicest way, will you please go away?”

  She flickered again. Yes, she would go away, or yes, she understood me?

  Serena was overcome with joy. She will help me go on. But how? She cannot understand me and barely sees me.

  An idea bloomed.

  Serena backed up a little until the heat from the fire flashed up her backside, then ran as fast as she could toward the sofa where Erin sat. With as much force as she could muster, she threw herself upon the hapless woman, yelling her name as she did so.

  “What the—? Ooh.”

  Something hit me, knocking me back against the sofa. I suddenly thought of the yellow lab I had as a kid. When I got home from school, he would race across the lawn and nine times out of ten knock me flat.

  “Serena?” I croaked. “Was that you?”

  “I’m here,” she said as clearly as if she were in my—

  “Head?” I screeched. “Are you in my thoughts?”

  “I…I am not certain. It is dark in here.”

  “Don’t strike any matches. It’s supposed to be dark. Dear God, I’m certifiable. There’s a dead girl in my head.”

  “Dead…girl?”

  “Sorry. Do you prefer lady? Woman? Nursemaid?”

  She made a tiny cry. “Are you speaking of me?”

  Was she serious? “Um, yeah, you are Serena the Tower Ghost, right?”

  “Oh dear. Then it is true. I died in the tower.”

  I crinkled my eyebrows. “More than five hundred years ago. You didn’t know?”

  Her sigh was as heavy as sand sifting through my own cells. “I have trouble remembering things.”

  “By ‘things’, you mean how you died?”

  “And how I lived.”

  “Wow. Bummer.”

  “I could not recall a single moment until I met you.” Her excitement rose and flushed my skin, “The longer I stay with you, the more I remember. You shall save me.”

  “What? Um, no. That can’t be right. I’m struggling to save myself from loonyville. Sorry, but you aren’t helping me there. I’m probably bonkers already. Talking to ghosts in one’s head is definitely not a good sign.”

  “It is my desire to help you.”

  “Ah good. Then you’ll go away?”

  “I cannot.” Her depression sank deep into my bones. “I do not know how.”

  “Maybe you just forgot? If you think real hard, it might come to you.”

  “I shall stay with you. You help me to see my past.”

  I sighed. I couldn’t shake her. A ghost with a memory disorder. Great. Just like Uncle Fred who kept forgetting where he lived and frequently crawled into bed with neighbors. Yep, sounded like someone I’d get saddled with.

  “You see, Serena, I don’t think I can help you. I’ve got my own issues to work out.”

  She grew frantic. “No, you must help me find my one true love. I do not know how to go to him. Please.”

  I narrowed my eyes at, well, thin air. “What about my true love? You kneed him in the groin, for cripes sake. You’ve got to leave him alone.”

  “I cannot. He is peligroso. I am concerned for your wellbeing.”

  “You’re concerned? Then stop haunting me.”

  She fell silent.

  “Sorry. I…I guess I don’t mean it. I’ll help you, if I can. Provided you leave Santiago alone. I don’t expect you to understand, but I’ve been…ill. And he heals me.” I smiled, hearing the truth ring in my words. I peeked down the hall to make sure he wasn’t listening to the conversation.

  Ha. What conversation? He would only hear me talking out loud to the voice inside my head. What would he make of that? My heart fell. His motorcycle would fly down the mountain faster than the speed of light and I’d never feel the good doctor’s hands on my skin again.

  “Every part of me springs to life when he looks into my eyes. I know as soon as I say this it’s going to sound stupid, but here goes. He makes me feel like a goddess, like I am the most important person in the world. A feeling to die for.”

  “I will not let him kill you.”

  “Ow, jeesh, stop yelling, it’s just an expression. He’s not killing me, unless you count the moments my heart stops when he kisses me.” Warmth pooled in my girlie parts just thinking about those lips. “You’ve got to stop hurting Santiago.”

  “Will you vow to help me find Andrés?”

  “Your one true love? I will do everything I can to help, but—how can I put this?—you know he’s dead, right? Buried five hundred years ago. How do you suppose we find him?”

  She sighed and I felt the weight in my shoulders. “I know not. Perhaps, when I remember—” a shudder went through her and my entire body spasmed, “—everything.”

  A thought occurred to me. “You don’t recall the moment you died, do you?”

  She shook her head and mine shook too. Her fear made my heart thunder at a scared rabbit’s pace. Suddenly, it occurred to me that Serena was repressing her memories. Something terrible had happened to her. Maybe Santiago was right in assuming she had been murdered.

  “Post-traumatic stress disorder,” I said.

  “Perdón?”

  “I think I understand why you can’t remember. Maybe a little psychoanalysis—”

  “He comes,” she interrupted and ripped herself out of my brain.

  Sure enough, I could see Santiago’s dark shape coming down the hall.

  “Remember your promise,” I whispered. “Leave my man alone.”

  Chapter Twelve

  I rose to meet him in the hall. “Everything all right?”

  He exhaled deeply. “Come in here. We need to talk.”

  Oh. No. That didn’t sound good.

  I followed after him into our—my room. He sat heavily on the edge of the bed as if what he was about to say was really, really awful.

  I sat next to him and rubbed his shoulder. “Who was it?”

  “Maria. I missed the call and she didn’t leave a message. I dialed back immediately and got the answering service. I called the house too. No one’s picking up.”

  “She probably meant to call someone else and hit your speed-dial button by mistake. She does that to me all the time.” I tried to sound reassuring. I knew he was worried about his mother.

  “Maybe.” Just then the cell beeped. “Text message from Maria.” As he read the message his face pinched with worry.

  “What does it say?” I was alarmed by the way his cheeks were losing color.

  “911.” He grabbed his helmet. “We’ve got to go. Now!”

  “Hold on. It’s not an emergency. It’s code.”

  He gave me a dark look. “What do you mean?”

  “Maria and I dev
eloped a text message code at work. ‘411’ meant ‘juicy office scuttlebutt’ and ‘911’ was used when one of the partners was heading down the hall. It was the code for ‘Look out, danger coming your way’. But honestly, Santiago, I have no idea what she means by it right now. Do you?”

  Instead of answering, he punched redial three more times. His body became more and more tense when Maria didn’t answer. Cursing, he turned his back to me and dialed again. This time he spoke to someone on the other end.

  “What’s going on there?” he demanded. “Go check. Make sure they’re safe.” He hung up and turned toward me.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  “Protection.”

  “For who? From what…?” I was thinking about his mother. Maybe her situation was scarier than I thought.

  “It’s complicated,” was all he’d say. His face was tired, and deeply sad.

  I draped my arm over his shoulders. “I’m sure everything’s okay. Maybe Maria was jerking us around, bummed because we didn’t bring her along.” I had an image of her as a little girl in pigtails covered with the snowball her brother had smashed over her head. Didn’t she say she always got even? Sending a cryptic message in the early hours was her way of getting under her brother’s skin.

  The lines bunched up in his forehead told me he was still puzzling over some great dilemma. “Hope you’re right.”

  I kissed his cheek. “I am right. And a little cold. Care to warm me up?”

  Instead, he plopped back against the bed. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he stared at the ceiling as if trying to read answers written on the glass. “I’m not good at this.”

  I bent forward and kissed his neck. In his ear I whispered, “Oh yes, you are. Very…very…good.”

  He lifted my chin. “No, I’m not.”

  My heart sank. He was pulling away. Again.

  “I didn’t plan for any of this…” The sentence hung in the air. “Please understand,” he started slowly, “I can’t. We need to stop before someone gets hurt.”

  I took his hand in mine. “I’m not planning on hurting you.” I nibbled on his thumb. “Much.”

  “This is serious.”

  I leaned over him, my hair draping his face, my eyes on his. “I’m a big girl, Santiago.”

  He lifted my hair and tucked it over my shoulder. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

  “I know what I want.”

  “It’s safer if we remain friends.”

  The word “friends” stuck like an arrow in my heart. Did Helena have the same arrow in hers? “Sheesh, you Spaniards and your safety issues. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  “There are things you don’t know, about me, my family. It’s too dangerous. I won’t let you get mixed up in…my problems.”

  “Every family has a few skeletons in the closet.” Take me, for instance. A white airbag popped into my mental picture. My stomach flopped. “So why don’t you tell me about your problems? I told you about my ghost.”

  He exhaled and stood up. With his back to me he muttered, “I can’t. I swore an oath.”

  “Uh-huh.” I followed him. My blood pressure was skyrocketing, my cheeks aflame. “You know what I think your problem is? You like me, but you’re just not that into me. Story of my life.”

  He groaned. “I’m not into you?”

  “You swore an oath is the best you could come up with? And if you tell me the real reason, you’ll have to kill me, right? Why do men think they can spout any old line and women will just buy it? None of you like to commit. I get it.”

  “It is not a line.”

  I blew through my lips in disgust.

  “I’m telling the truth.”

  “You don’t want to have sex with me, why don’t you just say it? You don’t want me—”

  He rounded on me and slammed me against the wall. His hands cuffed my wrists and he held my arms over my head so tightly I couldn’t move if I wanted to. Rock-hard chest, abs, thighs, held me captive. The heat from his body deliciously seared every inch of my skin. All that strong, unrelenting power made me weak.

  My passion mounted, matching his fury. I arched my back and pressed my breasts against his muscled chest. Those wondrous hands still gripped my wrists, refusing to release me while his lips bruised mine. A truckload of frustration burned in that kiss.

  I kissed him back, stealing air when I could. Breathing was highly overrated when his lips were on mine. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. Silently, I begged him to take me right there. Strip off my clothes and pound his hard self into me over and over…

  When he pulled back, his breath was hot on my face. “We can’t always have what we want.”

  As I struggled to catch my breath, he walked away, closing the door to the adjoining room behind him.

  He flattened his back against the wall and yanked the phone out of his pocket. “Well?” he demanded.

  “The house is quiet. Dark. They’re asleep,” the man reported.

  “How can you tell?” Santiago pounded his forehead with his fist.

  “I’m inside,” the man whispered.

  Santiago’s eyes flew open. “Are you crazy? I told you how dangerous this is.”

  “I’m fully armed, Doctor Botello. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

  “No, you don’t. None of us do.”

  “Relax. I’ll call you if there’s trouble.”

  “If there’s trouble, you won’t have time to dial. Watch your back. I can’t be responsible for you too.”

  dc

  It sounded like a party going on in the lobby. Dressing quickly, I went out to meet Rodrigo’s family. Santiago came out of his room a moment after me, catching me in the hall. His hair was rumpled, his eyes dark. He stifled a yawn.

  “Sleep much?” I asked.

  “No,” he admitted.

  “Good.”

  “You think I’m an ass.”

  “Nope. Just a man.” I walked as fast as I could to outpace him to the kitchen where the voices were coming from.

  “I didn’t handle things well, I admit, but I had your best interests at heart. You must believe me.” He sprinted to get in front of me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

  Damn if his touch didn’t send a little shiver of excitement through me. “Next time, please keep your hands off my best interests. I’m smart enough to make my own decisions.”

  “Of course you are. I didn’t mean—”

  “Hola, bella,” Rodrigo called from the front entrance. “You are here.”

  “Can we help you with those?” I wiggled around Santiago’s formidable frame and rushed to take one of four grocery bags from Rodrigo’s arms.

  “Sure, there are others in the truck,” Rodrigo said over his shoulder to Santiago.

  Before Santiago headed outside he said to me, “I would like to have a word with you later.”

  I ignored him. “Jeez, Rodrigo, you feeding an army?”

  “Worse—my family. They can out-eat any army. You will love the food.”

  I followed him into the kitchen. “If it’s anything like the food at the restaurant, I know I will.”

  A short, round woman was putting pound after pound of meat into the sub-zero refrigerator. All I could see was her wide backside as she dipped and stretched to make room for the mass quantities of food lining the countertop.

  “Marta, come here a minute,” Rodrigo said. “I want you to meet someone.”

  To my surprise she threw her massive arms around me and planted a kiss on each of my cheeks. “Ereen, it is a pleasure.”

  I was dumbfounded. Who was this woman?

  “Now Marta, give her air, for the sake of God. Erin, this is my beautiful wife of thirty-eight years.” Rodrigo smiled.

  “Lovely place you have here. Very kind of you to invite us.”

  “Where do you want these?” Santiago asked and then put his heavy load where Rodrigo pointed.

  “Santiago!�
�� Marta screeched, smothering him in her meaty arms before I had a chance to warn him.

  I stifled a laugh at the surprised look on his face. “This is Marta, Rodrigo’s wife.”

  “Ah,” Santiago said after taking her kisses on his cheeks. “Nice to meet you.”

  “So glad you two could come. Rod has told me so much about you. Did you choose nice rooms? Oh my dears, there wasn’t any food in the kitchen, you must be starving. I’ll make you something straightaway.”

  “No, we made do,” Santiago said. “Please don’t trouble yourself.”

  “What trouble? How about a tortilla Española? Steak and eggs? American-style pancakes?”

  “No, please, we are fine. We don’t want to impose. Santiago bought some food in town.”

  “Bah. There are no decent restaurants in these mountain villages. You go, read one of the newspapers. I will make you a real breakfast.”

  “Better do as she says, or none of us will have any peace,” Rodrigo teased.

  “Hush, you.” She swung a dishtowel at him. “I am just getting to know these nice folks. I do not want them listening to your nonsense.”

  “See? Just give in. It’s safer.” Rodrigo went back outside.

  “Well, if you’re sure,” I said.

  “Of course I am. Go now. Go. Go.” She shooed us away.

  As we walked down the hallway, Santiago tried to reach for me. I ducked and swerved away. “I’m going to take a shower, see you in a bit.”

  His mouth remained open, his hands shoved in his pockets as I closed my door.

  “How can we possibly eat all this food?” I whispered to Santiago who was sitting on a barstool waiting for me.

  “I don’t know, but we better try.”

  “Sit down,” Marta commanded from the hallway. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

  The plates were full of scrambled eggs, a vegetable frittata, bacon, sausage, pancakes and potatoes. Where to start?

  “Oh my gosh, Marta. This frittata is amazing. How’d you do all this?”

  “You are a dear. It is easy. I have been cooking longer than I can remember.”

  “At the restaurant?” Santiago asked.

  “Some days. It used to be every day, until Rod started worrying about me being on my feet for so long. He tells me I am not a young girl anymore. I say sixty-nine is not old either. Still he worries. We have hired another cook. What do you think of the breakfast?”