by Ann Cory
Strange movement from the corner of the room drew her gaze. She watched the curtain billow and then a face press into it. With a gasp, she made a run for the door. Before she reached it, the door slammed shut. The lock clicked, its sound of finality making her entire body tremble.
From behind her a low gravelly voice whispered, “You’re mine, all mine.”
Chapter Four
Armand continued to pace around the house. Inside the ballroom, he observed Bastian looking deep in thought. “What are you doing in here?”
“Reflecting.”
“About what?”
“The past year. Shayla. This house.” His voice was low and listless.
“Sounds serious. I’ll leave.”
Armand went to turn when Bastian gripped his shoulder. “Wait. We need to talk.”
“Oh?”
“I’m concerned about Shayla.”
And he wasn’t? “I share your concern.”
“It kills me to see her in so much pain.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“That pain is solely because of us. We’re to blame for her unhappiness.”
Armand sighed. “She was unhappy when she first came here. We helped bring her out of her shell.”
“And since then we’ve become the source of her unhappiness,” Bastian reasoned. “Ever since we asked her to choose between us she has started to withdraw.”
He’d seen it too, but felt helpless in how to help. “I’ve already tried things your way and that didn’t work. What else do you suggest? And don’t you dare say we should choose for her.”
Bastian gave him a grim look. “That isn’t what I’m saying.”
“Look, her happiness means the world to me, but what other choice do we have? She can’t have us both. This is her choice to make and hers alone. We can’t toy with her emotions.”
Bastian nodded. “I agree.”
“I only feel bad because you’ll have to deal with the outcome. And here I was ready to become friends with you.” He realized it came out more pompous than planned, but it was too late to take it back.
“Right.” Bastian ran a hand through his hair. “We tolerate each other, nothing more. I don’t know what her choice will be, and for the moment, I don’t even care. I’m asking you to back off. Don’t make this more difficult for her. I can’t stand the pain it’s causing her.”
Armand felt punched in the gut. “You back off. I came to her first.”
“Only because you do everything in a brash manner, while I have tact.”
“No, you have poor timing,” he spat. “You’re weak and waste time mulling things over.”
“I’m not here to fight you, only to make it easier for her.”
“You couldn’t fight if you wanted to,” Armand challenged.
Bastian chortled. “You know I have the upper hand. You don’t have experience with swords, so it would be an unfair fight.”
“Sword or not, it doesn’t mean I can’t fight.”
“If you want to have a go, I’m ready.”
Armand couldn’t believe that they hadn’t duked it out earlier. Now on the last day before one of them would be chosen, Bastian wanted to fight?
“Here,” he asked incredulously. “Right now?”
“Unless you’re afraid.”
That little remark really set him off. “Sounds like the best invitation I’ve had in centuries. But we’ll fight with fists not swords.”
“Fine. I’ll still win.”
Armand got into a warrior stance, his fists in front of his face, knees bent.
Bastian swung first and Armand went down.
“You asshole,” he groaned. “That’s going to leave a mark”
* * * *
Shayla tried the doorknob but it wouldn’t open.
Damn, she cursed.
“Shaaaylaaa,” the creaky voice moaned.
She turned, her eyes darting all around.
“Who’s there? What do you want?”
The face moved along the curtain until the ghost of a man appeared. An older man with eyes that pierced straight through her. She was certain she’d seen him before. When she figured out from where, her blood ran ice cold. He was the man from the portrait.
“What do I want? I want you, Shayla.”
A lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. “Who are you?”
“Someone who wants to take away all the sadness that surrounds you. I’ve waited for you. Watched you. And now I finally have you all to myself.”
His deep voice vibrated through her stomach. Bile crept up her throat.
The ghost moved toward her at a languid pace. A thin, dark smile bowed his lips. He smelled of death and something else—evil was the first thing to come to mind, though she didn’t know what evil smelt like.
Her lips quivered. “I-I think you have the wrong person.”
“No. I don’t. I studied your pictures for years. I memorized each line of your angelic face and every scintillating curve of your body. You’re even more stunning in person.”
What was he talking about? “What pictures?”
“The ones your parents kept in an old album on my desk.” He motioned with his chin. “I listened to them talk about you. Listened to your mother cry over your absence and wish you’d come to visit. I knew you were special and it was time to bring you back here.”
Her throat tightened. She reached behind her and blindly tried the knob again. “I don’t understand. You’re a ghost. How did you bring me back here?”
“Through your mother’s letters.”
Blood drained from her face. “My mother?”
“Yes. I used her to make you return. Your father too, though he didn’t provide much use. Too hard to control the way I wanted. But I got what I wanted out of them until I no longer needed them. They would’ve only been in the way. Understand?”
She couldn’t process what he was saying. “No, I don’t understand.”
“You will in time. All that matters is we’re together. I’ve watched you since you returned. Inhaled your heavenly scent, and waited until I couldn’t stand to wait anymore.”
Her lungs ached from holding her breath so long. She was certain she’d pass out soon. “I’m sorry if you have some sort of expectation of me, but I don’t want to be with you. Let me out of this room right now. I beg you, please.”
He advanced closer. “Soon. But it will be on my terms.”
“Please, I want to leave now.” Her pulse pounded like a jackhammer in her ears. “Let me go.”
“Go where? You have nowhere to go. You’re all alone in the world. At least, you were. You’ll never be alone again, and you’ll never have to leave this house again. Once you’re dead, we’ll remain here forever.”
“What do you mean when I’m dead?”
The ghost chuckled and moved an inch closer. “You don’t have to be afraid of death. Accept it and it can be almost poetic. Your mother accepted her death, though your father didn’t and as a result his death was painful.”
She couldn’t stand to hear him talk about her parents. “You really want me to believe that you killed them?”
“You should. It’s the truth.”
“But, why? Why would you harm them?”
“To get to you.” He smirked. “I knew while they were alive I’d never have you to myself. My choices were limited.”
Tears filled her eyes. “But my mother, she was a beautiful and kind-hearted person.”
“She was. I enjoyed driving her mad.”
Shayla remembered the cryptic words she received in the mail. At the time, even she thought her mother had sounded off her rocker, mad even. Her heart raced. “Then the letters—”
“Yes. Frantic cries of help. I directed the pen, controlled the words and made her think she heard voices in her head. There was only one way to stop them and I offered her that luxury too. She was such a fragile thing. Much too easy to manipulate.”
She choked
back a sob. “And my father?”
“Just a formality. I was able to make him call you the one time, but he fought me. So, I pushed him to his death. Now that I think about it, I didn’t feel any remorse when I killed him, not the way I did for your mother. You look like her.”
She felt the walls close in around her. “You’re the one who’s mad.”
“I did it for you, out of love. I thought you’d appreciate the lengths I’d go to for your respect and admiration.”
“I don’t. And I assure you, I don’t feel anything for you. I never will.”
He threw his head back and chuckled. When he stopped, his eyes narrowed and held her captive in his stare. “Why, because you think the vampires will give you what you want? I’d hoped you would tire of their games. They don’t care for you the way I do. They don’t understand that you long for the kind of freedom only I can offer.”
“What kind of freedom are you talking about?”
“Death,” he replied. “Once you’re dead you’ll know the sweetest peace. All the regrets and sorrow you surround yourself with will disappear. With them, you’ll live forever with the pain of your past. I know they want you to make a choice, but now you won’t have to. I’ve made it for you. I’ve been patient enough, and will not allow anyone else to have you.”
Shayla shook her head. “I’d never be with you.”
“Why, because you don’t love me? I don’t require it at this time. We’ll have forever for you to learn to love me. Besides, when you die you won’t remember any of this.”
Her mind raced. To know how her parents died. What they’d experienced. Knowing the truth hurt far worse. And now this thing, this ghost, wanted her dead just to be with him? Her stomach wrenched.
“You’re sick and twisted. I won’t have a thing to do with you.”
“You’ve no choice. No one will save you. No one knows you’re here.”
He closed in on her. She pressed her back flat against the door. Shayla remembered this wasn’t a man, he was only a ghost and she should be able to go right through him. She took a step forward when the large walnut desk slid in front of her and pinned her against the door. With all her strength she tried to push it away but it weighed a ton.
The ghost grinned and floated so close he was only a hairsbreadth away. She turned her face to the side, straining as far as her neck allowed. His hands pressed against her face tight, and he made her face him. She tried to pull him away, but her hands went through him. Somehow he could touch her, but she couldn’t touch him.
“Please, no. Leave me alone,” she begged.
“It won’t be this way for long. Once you’ve taken your final breath you’ll be able to touch me and pleasure me back. If you want, I can prove my love for you. I can pleasure you and show you what you can look forward to.”
“No,” she cried. “Don’t touch me.”
A frown marred his dark slits for brows. “I’ll do what I want with you. You’re mine.”
Against his ashen face, the cold black of his eyes disturbed her, like two black marbles. Shayla saw her reflection in them. The fear on her face. His putrid breath disgusted her. She felt dizzy and wanted to retch.
“Keep away from me.”
He wrapped his ghostly hand around her neck and squeezed. An evil smile played at his lips and his eyes widened to big black saucers. He meant to kill her.
She fought him, but the desk had her pinned and she couldn’t catch her breath.
“Don’t fight it or it won’t be as sweet of a death. I’ve imagined all the ways to kill you, but couldn’t bear to see you bleed. Finally I realized I’d get the most satisfaction if you died by my hands.”
To prove it, he squeezed her throat tighter.
This couldn’t be her fate. She tried to speak, to plead with him to let her go, but all that came out were a series of squeaks and gasps.
“It’s beautiful to watch life leave a person. With you, it’s almost more than I can stand. You’ve stirred something in me I didn’t think existed. I can’t wait to have you in my bed. To hold your cold, pale body against mine. We’ll be together for an eternity.”
Her chest ached. She couldn’t get air to her lungs. Her thoughts turned from panic to acceptance. She deserved to die this way with how she treated her parents. How she let them down and let them die. Maybe it was better to forget. Maybe in death she would finally find happiness.
Shayla realized it was hopeless. She stopped struggling and waited for the darkness to take her.
Chapter Five
The sight of blood on his rival’s face made Bastian stop. He hadn’t meant to hit Armand with such force. He let his anger and frustration get the best of him.
“Okay, this is stupid,” he spat and backed away. “I could beat you to a bloody pulp and you know it.”
Armand wiped away the small slit of blood from the corner of his mouth. “Sounds to me like you’re giving up, coward.”
“Hardly. But I’m not willing to hurt Shayla further by using you as a punching bag.”
The vampire stood and cast him a cold stare. “It was a lucky punch, but I guarantee next time you’ll get yours.”
Bastian realized they could go round and round all day, but in the end, it didn’t accomplish the goal. Through all their petty quarrels, Shayla’s well-being kept getting lost. He decided to swallow his pride.
“Look. We both love her. We both care about her and want the best for her. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be putting ourselves through all this. Neither of us wants to see her upset.”
Armand folded his arms. “We’ve established this.”
“I think it bears repeating. You heard her yourself. She wants us both. Like it or not.”
“I’m trying to forget that part.”
“Well, you can’t.” He thrust his hands on his hips. “For someone who absorbs poetry, I’m surprised you aren’t more sensitive to her needs.”
Armand’s eyes widened. “I am. Believe me, I am.”
“Are you prepared to lose her?”
“Not a chance.”
“If we don’t find a way to get along, we’re going to find out the hard way what it’s like to be without her. I’m not willing to find out how that feels.”
Armand waved his hand. “She’s just messing with us. Getting us back for hounding her about her decision. She’ll make a choice, and it will be the right one.”
Bastian wasn’t so sure. “Shayla isn’t like that.”
He started to say something else when he heard a muffled cry from the doorway. “Did you hear something?”
“No. I—”
“Shh. Listen.”
The little girl ghost from the gardens ran toward them, rubbing her red, puffy eyes.
Bastian bent to his knee and spoke gently. “What’s wrong little one? Why have you been crying?”
“Shayla, she’s in danger and being held against her will.”
“What?” He shot a look to Armand. “Where?”
“In the study. The bad ghost has her. He’s going to kill her. She doesn’t have much time. Please, you have to hurry.”
He didn’t know anything about a bad ghost, but a sickening feeling in his gut made him believe the little girl. “Stay here, okay? We won’t let anything bad happen to her. I promise.”
Bastian rushed upstairs and tried the door.
“Damn. It’s locked.”
Armand looked around. “I don’t know where a key would be. What the hell is going on? What bad ghost?”
“I don’t know, and we don’t have time to figure it out. The only other way in is through the window.”
Together they bolted into the next room and out the window. Bastian climbed out to the slope of the roof and gripped the exterior of the manor. It was just a few short steps, but the rain made the rusted shingles slippery. When he’d reached the window, he kicked it in and dropped in followed by Armand.
Seeing Shayla pinned against the door with the entity’s hand around her neck mad
e him snap. He’d never seen her so deathly pale, or with such fear in her eyes.
“Step the hell away from her,” he bellowed.
The ghost turned, his face screwed up into a hideous scowl. He removed his hand from Shayla’s throat long enough to send a lamp sailing straight for them. Bastian ducked, and watched Shayla sag forward onto the desk. He scanned the room and saw a decorative sword on the wall. He pulled it down and aimed the pointed tip toward his enemy.
“What do you plan to do to me with that thing?” the spirit shrieked. “I’m a ghost, you idiot.”
Bastian tossed it to the floor. “Fuck.” He looked to Armand. “How do I kill a ghost?”
He returned a blank stare. “No idea. You’re supposed to be the fighter.”
“I’ve never fought a ghost. Have you?”
“No.”
Bastian swung at the ghost only to have his fist go right through.
“Damn.”
A pair of bookends came straight toward him. Again he ducked. He looked to Shayla and panicked. She lay on the desk unmoving. He needed to find a way to get her away from the ghost and out of there.
More objects flew toward him, including an old telephone. All he could do was bat them away.
“Look, freak,” he spat. “I don’t know who the hell you are, or what you want with Shayla, but you’d better leave her the hell alone.”
The ghost got right up in his face. “She’s mine and belongs with me. You’ve both had your chance with her and blew it.”
A letter opener that looked more like a dagger rose from a small table in the corner and aimed right at him. He refused to duck this time. It hovered and flew toward him. The tip stopped short of piercing his side when the doorbell rang, its eerie notes echoing throughout the entire house. Armand rushed to the window.
“It’s the ghost carriage.”
What a strange time for that, he thought to himself and noticed the letter opener had fallen to the floor.
The doorbell rang again followed by loud banging on the door.
“Okay, it’s never done that before.” Bastian pointed at the ghost. “Is this one of your tricks?”
