Once Haunted, Twice Shy (The Peyton Clark Series Book 2)

by H. P. Mallory

  “How is it that we’re sitting in the music room? I don’t remember this house ever having one,” I asked, trying to make idle conversation. The look in Drake’s eyes, along with the overbearing silence in the room, was beginning to make me nervous.

  “We are in exactly the same room we were in when I requested the pleasure of your company just now,” Drake replied before taking another sip of his libation. He was staring at me like I was a turkey on the fourth Thursday in November.

  “The guest bedroom?” I asked incredulously. I looked around and shook my head. I could not understand how that could be since the room I was sitting in now was much bigger than my guest bedroom. Probably by at least one hundred square feet or so.

  “Oui, the very same, ma minette. It was my music room before someone converted it into another bedroom.”

  “Hmm,” I said as I took in the space again and realized the original room had not only been converted into the guest bedroom, but the guest bathroom as well. That made sense concerning the extra hundred square feet. “It’s a bit of a bummer that someone took out the music room,” I started, and sighed over the fact. “I like the looks of it.”

  “Oui,” Drake said with a polished smile. “Vous ne pouvez jamais tenir compte des goûts de l’autre. You can never account for the tastes of another.” He smiled at me quickly before gulping some more of his whiskey. “The reason I called you here, ma minette,” he continued, taking a seat in one of the leather club chairs, “is because I am concerned about you.”

  “Why are you concerned about me?” I asked with a frown. Why did it feel like I was in the middle of an intervention when he was the only one drinking? ’Course, I was the one who couldn’t seem to keep her eyes to herself. Ugh! That was frustrating too. I definitely didn’t want to give Drake the wrong idea . . .

  “I can sense your discomfort regarding the spiritual activity of late,” he continued, glancing down at his whiskey, which he swirled amusedly in his glass. “I can feel your anxiety and your fear, ma minette, and your discomfort upsets me.”

  “Why, because whatever I feel, you feel?” I asked, frowning, and figuring he was irritated that my worrisome nature might be communicable, given our arrangement.

  “I will admit that it is less than comfortable to be sharing your body at the moment,” he answered nonchalantly, but quickly shook his head. “Mais non. But no, my concern stems from a more compassionate and empathetic concern for you, mon amour. I do not enjoy seeing you upset and it was my intention to discuss the matter with you, if only to discover whether there is something I might be able to do to help you?”

  Sometimes Drake was so thoughtful and caring, it struck me speechless. After a few seconds, during which I managed to wipe the dumbfounded expression off my face, I also managed to find my voice.

  “I’m fine, Drake, and thanks for worrying about me.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so, but I appreciate your concern.”

  “I do not like the fact that the activities of late are upsetting you so, ma minette,” he continued, his eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead as he scowled.

  “Apparently I’m the only one who finds them upsetting. You aren’t concerned about any of the weird stuff that’s been going on?” I asked, crossing my arms against my chest as I exhaled. I wondered why no one else seemed to be bothered that New Orleans was becoming a bed of paranormal activity. Well, more so than usual, anyway. Ryan sort of just shrugged it off and now it seemed Drake was following his lead.

  Waiting for Drake to respond, I sighed and leaned forward, my elbows on my knees. I didn’t notice both of my knees bouncing up and down until I felt the reverberation through my elbows and up my arms. Leaning back into my chair, I took a deep breath and ran the pads of my fingers across the soft leather of Drake’s club chairs. The leather felt so real, I had to remind myself, again, that I was simply living in my own mind. Everything around me was no more than a fabrication, created from Drake’s memory. It seemed so strange to me that I could smell, touch, and hear things as if they were completely tangible, rather than just mere illusions of my mind.

  Drake shook his head finally, after taking his time with a prolonged swallow of whiskey and an even lengthier sigh. “I would not say that I am not concerned about the activities of late, ma minette,” he answered before finishing his drink. He paused a little while longer and we just stared at one another.

  “Then what would you say?” I nudged.

  He stood up and turned around, giving me a view of his taut backside, which did look very fetching in his tailored pants. Groaning inwardly at myself, I watched him reach for the decanter on the desk behind him. He poured himself another generous glassful and took a sip before turning around again to face me. He was wearing the smile of someone who was in the know; as in, he knew I’d been checking out his butt. “I would say that this recent resurgence and awakening of everything spiritual in this town is of primary concern to me as well as to you.”

  I took a deep breath and my mind raced with the possibilities of why everything ghost-related seemed to be blowing up all around me. Then something occurred to me. “Since you’re a member of the spiritual world, Drake, why can’t you find out what’s going on? You must still have some sort of link to the afterlife, right?”

  He looked perplexed. “How would it matter if I did?”

  I shrugged, the answer so obvious to me. “Well, those voices that were on Prudence’s recording seemed to know something was coming, right? Remember how one of the voices said ‘it’s coming’ or something like that? And then another one mentioned something about hiding?”

  “I do recall, yes.”

  “Well, the spirits on the recording had to have gotten that information from somewhere, right?” I took a deep breath, and, without waiting for him to respond, continued, “So, if we decided to play the what-do-each-of-these-have-in-common game, we’d see that the voices on the recording belonged to the deceased; and since you’re deceased . . .”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “I am afraid it is not so simple, ma minette. As to my own ties to the paranormal world, I do not know the answer to your question—whether I have maintained them or not. As I am now in a human body, and quite a delectable one at that,” he added in a licentious tone, “I believe things will work contrarily to what I used to be accustomed to.”

  “Okay,” I started, and then took a deep breath. “So there’s only one way to test that, right?” When he didn’t respond, I continued my argument. “Let’s test it right now. Let’s see if you can still interact with the spiritual world.”

  Drake flashed me a quick frown that said he didn’t necessarily think this was going to be a fruitful exercise, but then he nodded. “Très bien. Very well.” He eyed me for a second or two as neither of us said anything. “You will need to open your eyes, ma minette, as I cannot access anything with us both in this dream world,” he instructed with an amused smile.

  “Oh, right!” I answered and then did exactly that. I focused on the television from where I sat on my bed in the guest bedroom, which had once been Drake’s music room. “Okay,” I thought, “work your magic!”

  I could hear Drake’s chuckle as it echoed through my head and died away moments later. “I am not familiar with the way in which to go about this task, mon chaton,” he started in a hesitant voice. “This will be a learning experience for us both.”

  “Okay, that sounds fair.”

  “Very well, please do not speak or otherwise take my concentration away, ma minette. I am going to attempt to reach out to the spirits, to bypass the limits of your corporeality.”

  I just nodded and thought about closing my eyes in an attempt to help him focus but then worried doing so might return us back to the dream plane where we could more easily interact with each other. And, apparently, Drake hadn’t thoug
ht that was a good idea. So instead, I tried to allow my eyes to zone out on the wall across from me. And I tried to clear my brain of any thoughts that might derail him on his quest to secure a connection with the afterlife.

  As I allowed my eyes to blur while staring at the wall across the room, it didn’t feel as if anything was changing inside me. I wasn’t sure what to expect but I imagined that if Drake were successful in establishing communication with the beyond, I’d at least feel or see something other than what I currently was.

  After another few minutes of receiving nothing at all, my eyes started to tire and I found it increasingly difficult to keep my mind from traveling. I didn’t say anything, though, because I was hopeful that Drake might have been making some headway in his attempts.

  “C’etait une quête inutile. That was a useless quest,” he answered at last, his voice in my head sounding drained.

  I immediately closed my eyes, thinking it would be easier to interact with him “face-to-face.” That, and my eyes were stinging like SOBs. “So, what happened?” I asked once I recognized his music room and found him standing before me, wearing a frown.

  He shrugged. “I attempted to contact the spirits multiple times but was fruitless.”

  “Damn,” I said, and sighed.

  “I do not believe it is possible for me to maintain my ties to the supernatural world, ma minette.”

  “Why? Just because you weren’t able to this time? Maybe we should try again?”

  He shook his head. “I am afraid I am bound by your body, and, therefore, unable to sustain my ties to the spiritual world. I feel as if I have become corporeal; but, of course, that is just my hypothesis.”

  “Great,” I grumbled.

  “I do not know for certain, ma minette, if what I say is true,” he started with a handsome smile. “Let us simply call it a hunch. Perhaps your lady friend who assisted with the exorcism would know?”

  He was referring to Lovie. Actually, getting in touch with her wasn’t such a bad idea. Lovie might know if Drake had somehow maintained his connection with the spiritual world and if he had, she’d know how to tap back into it. Granted, I could have also gotten in touch with Christopher, the warlock, who worked with Lovie. However, when it came to affability, Christopher missed the boat a long time ago. Yes, I definitely felt more comfortable approaching Lovie. “Good idea. I’ll try to get in touch with her right away,” I said as I leapt up from my chair and closed my eyes, intending to return to my own space and time so I could contact Lovie right away.

  “Attendez-vous! Wait,” Drake called out as I opened my eyes again and turned to face him curiously. “There is one bit of information that I take particular issue over regarding the messages from the deceased that I must first speak to you about.”

  “Go on,” I prodded when he took another sip of his whiskey, apparently enjoying the fact that I was waiting on pins and needles for his response.

  “On the trollop’s recording,” he started, throwing me for a second before I recalled that “trollop” was his nickname for Prudence. “One of the voices of the deceased said ‘the second day.’”

  “Right,” I said, pausing to ponder where he was going with this. “Oh my God,” I whispered aloud. I involuntarily recalled one of the scariest incidents from when the malevolent entity resided in my house, which I now believed was the spirit of the Axeman of New Orleans. He had been a serial killer who attacked his victims by chiseling out panels into the back doors of his victims’ homes, climbing inside, and violently doing them in with their own axes, which they most often left by their fireplaces.

  “Do you recall the incident, ma minette?” Drake asked, eyeing me purposefully.

  I just nodded because it was a moment in my life I could never forget, much to my own chagrin.

  “Please try to remember the incident in detail,” Drake continued. I closed my eyes and allowed my mind to wander, returning in time to the moment when the entity first made contact with me . . .

  I couldn’t see through the fog billowing through the guest bedroom but I forced myself forward, forced myself to the bathroom door. Grasping the knob in my palm, I turned it and felt like I was moving in slow motion. I pulled the door open and was blinded by the overhead light while the steam hit me full force in the face.

  The air in the room was so incredibly hot, I shielded my face with my arm as I followed the sound of rushing water that was coming from the bathtub. Stumbling forward, I slid the glass door to one side and reached into the bathtub, gripping the hot water knob and turning it off. Standing up again, I turned back around and noticed the steam suddenly evaporating as if on fast-forward.

  The memory was so distinct and concrete that it felt as if I were reliving it a second time. I could tell my breathing was getting quicker and that my heart rate was escalating.

  “Please do not stop, ma minette, please continue to remember the details. As I was not with you at that moment, I must see what you saw, and experience what you experienced,” Drake said in a hushed tone. He hadn’t yet taken possession of my body at that point. Instead, he’d been fighting for his own soul against the entity’s oppressive power.

  I opened my eyes and noticed his were closed, as if he saw the images playing out behind my eyelids as easily as I did. I closed my eyes again and allowed myself to drift backward in time, seizing the imagery of the bathroom and the hot steam pouring from it. Watching myself glance into the bathroom mirror above the sink, I felt my breath catching in my throat. My heartbeat was already racing, pounding through me until I began to feel light-headed.

  The steam clung to the mirror, obscuring my reflection. But as the vapor began to dissipate, it left words behind on the mirror, paragraphs of text.

  Hell, April 15, 2014

  Esteemed Mortal:

  They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the ether that surrounds your earth. I am not a human being but a spirit and a fell demon from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians and your foolish police call the Axeman.

  When I see fit, I shall come again and claim other victims. I alone know who they shall be. I shall leave no clue except my bloody axe, besmeared with the blood and brains of whom I have sent below to keep me company.

  If you wish you may tell the police not to rile me. Of course I am a reasonable spirit. I take no offense at the way they have conducted their investigation in the past. But tell them to beware. Let them not try to discover what I am, for it would be better that they were never born than to incur the wrath of the Axeman.

  Now, to be exact, at 12:15 (earthly time) on next Tuesday night, I am going to visit again.

  The Axeman

  As frightening as the beginning of the letter was, it was nothing compared to that final sentence.

  Next Tuesday night, I am going to visit again.

  The final sentence was now settling in my stomach like an anvil.

  My heart was pumping so quickly, I feared I might pass out. I opened my eyes and saw Drake beside me as he assisted me into the leather club chair again. The visual of the memory was still gripping me, the replay so intense that I wasn’t sure if it was still holding me captive. I glanced up into Drake’s caring face and shook my head. “I don’t understand what just happened,” I said in a breathless voice. “It was like reliving the memory again. It felt so real, like I was actually there all over again.”

  Drake nodded. “I accessed your memories to help you recall the situation, ma minette,” he answered evasively. He acted as if his comment wasn’t any big deal, as if I wouldn’t wonder how that could even be possible. “I needed to understand it, to experience what you saw and felt, so I could try to make sense of it.”

  “How did you access my memories?” I demanded, but Drake shook his head as if he had neither the time nor the inclination to respond.

  “Concentrat
e, ma minette.”

  Figuring I could pin him down later about the whole total recall bit, I simply nodded. I remembered seeing the words appear on the mirror, writing themselves as if by an invisible hand, except they had been formed by the steam in the room.

  “Next Tuesday night, I am going to visit again,” I said, in a flat, empty voice.

  “And the words on the recording?” Drake prodded, his police officer roots suddenly visible. I could just imagine him, back in his own day, assuming the role of peace officer. It was really no wonder at all that Drake was so popular with the ladies.

  “The second day,” I answered hollowly.

  “Oui,” Drake commented, and said nothing more. He just continued to stare at me, studying me with narrowed eyes.

  “Somehow the spirits knew,” I said in a daze. I couldn’t seem to tear my focus away from the beauty of the piano across from me.

  “Perhaps but perhaps not.”

  “The second day of the week,” I continued, not even aware of what Drake was talking about. It was like I was on autopilot, listening to my own stream of consciousness. “The spirits must have been referring to the Axeman’s letter.” I swallowed hard as the next four words emptied out of my mouth. “To this coming Tuesday.”

  Drake nodded as he took a deep breath and placed his whiskey glass back on the tabletop. “Oui, ma minette, and the date today is?”

  “Saturday, April 19,” I answered, starting to awaken from my trance. I shook my head and then my hands to emerge from my stupor. Ignoring the pins and needles that ran throughout my entire body as my feeling was restored, I focused on Drake’s handsome face. “That means we have tomorrow and Monday, Drake . . . until . . . until I don’t even know what?”

  He shrugged. “Je ne sais pas, ma minette. I do not know. It could be something, but also nothing at all. Perhaps it is only the sounds of static on a very old recorder.”

  “How could it be nothing?” I asked, suddenly feeling alarmed as I stood up. I wrapped my arms around myself. Drake was instantly by my side, enfolding me in his embrace as if he feared I might faint. I relished the warmth of his body as it settled around mine, and the tingle of his breathing against my neck. I had to fight to keep my eyes open. The scent of whiskey was still on his breath, and that, mixed with the faintness of the cigar smoke in the room, suddenly overcame me with the urge to kiss him. “What I’m feeling,” I started, but immediately felt incredibly embarrassed. I left the words to die unspoken on my tongue.