“And this device is never wrong?” He snorted in disbelief.
She held up her fingers before reading more. “In this ceremony, performed in the center of Lake Guatavita, four other principal chiefs accompanied the chieftain to be on the raft.” She paused to see him shaking his head. “What?”
He smiled triumphantly. “That is not it.”
She ignored him and continued reading aloud, describing the procession of women decked out in gold and the jewels that were loaded into the raft.
“I’m surprised it floated,” he added critically.
“Do you want to hear this?” She looked at him.
“Continue.” He waved his hand over her lap, the lacy cuff at the end of his sleeve blurred her vision of the screen.
She glanced over at him and adlibbed. “They rowed out to the center of the lake and proceeded to dump everything over the side, making golden offerings to the demon.”
“The demon?” He looked over at her in alarm. “Is that it?” he asked when she stopped reading. “Is there more on this demon?”
Jessie read the article again to herself. “Nothing on the demon per say, but it does mention that the goddess, Guatavita, lived in the center of the lake. I’m assuming. . . .” There was that word again, she thought as he held up his hand indicating for her to stop. “She’s who they mean.”
“Non, she is not.” He dismissed it, waving it off as if it was nothing.
“Not what?” Jessie asked.
“The demon,” he said as if it should be obvious.
She wasn’t sure if he was serious or not. “Demon?” She swallowed. “As in real demon?”
“As real as this figment of your exhausted imagination.” He indicated his sheer body.
She threw a Porky pillow at him. Its tail once again protruded from his stomach.
“I dislike this so.” He sighed. “Such childish behavior from a doctor.”
“I’m sorry,” Jessie said instantly contrite, that is until she was barraged with every one of Aunt Katie’s pig pillows. “That is not fair,” she said, ducking the last little piglet. “I cannot retaliate.”
“I suppose you are right,” he said, standing in the middle of the room, far too pleased with himself as far as she was concerned.
“What?”
“It’s nothing.” He started to laugh.
“What?” she asked again, turning to catch a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She did a double-take. Her hair stood at odds with gravity, splaying out from her head. “How is that possible?” She placed her hands over her head in an attempt to control its wayward strands. “I used half a bottle of cream rinse.”
“Ah . . . that may not have been cream rinse.”
“What did you do?” she asked.
“I may have switched it with something else,” he admitted.
“You what?” She jumped up and ran to the bathroom, picking up the bottle. She sniffed it. “What is this?” she asked him warily.
“Hand soap.”
She ran to the sink, squirting some hand soap onto her fingers, she felt its greasy consistency. She narrowed her eyes on him. “This is because I locked you in the cabinet, isn’t it?”
“Perhaps, oui.” He nodded.
She turned back to her image in the mirror and started to laugh.
“You are not mad then?” he asked.
“Mad?” she said. “I’m livid. Can you not see my hair standing on end?” She pointed to the door. “Out!” she demanded, but her voice held a note of humor, not the anger he was afraid she might feel.
“But of course,” he said, drifting into the bedroom.
“And don’t you dare come back in here until I have finished,” she ordered before closing the door.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, ma chérie, unless of course you invite me.” He smiled before disappearing.
~*~
Jessie was sitting on the bed fluffing her wet hair with a towel when he reappeared. “Where have you been?” The grin he wore made her wonder if he’d been spying anyway. “You promised.”
He held up his hands. “I was outside.”
“The window?”
“Non.” He chuckled. “Checking the grounds for intruders.”
“Oh,” she said. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have the ultimate Scooby Doo alarm system.” He was still smiling at her as he walked toward her. “What?”
“You are just very beautiful.”
She was immediately flustered and felt a heated blush clear to the roots of her hair.
“Did your husband not tell you so?”
“No,” Jessie sighed. “Apparently, he was too busy telling other women.”
“That is a travesty,” Jacques said. “I have lived many years and seen many women, and you, Jessie, are a very beautiful woman.”
“I—I,” Jessie inhaled slowly. The hardest thing about a divorce from a cheating spouse was the havoc it wreaked on your self-esteem. “Thank you,” she forced herself to say.
“Think nothing of it,” he said lightly. “I am going to watch some television.”
“Oh,” she nodded awkwardly, “okay.” She looked around the room when he vanished, feeling oddly alone. She already missed him. “Get a grip, Jessie,” she whispered to herself. “He’s a ghost.”
“I heard that.” She heard him call out from all the way downstairs.
“With super hearing,” she muttered, her shoulders sagging. Whatever his response to that he kept it to himself. Besides he, himself, had said to think nothing of it, right?
She glanced over at the clock that read 11:11. Her eyes lowered to the base of it, now oddly fearful of the key it housed. What the heck was in that cabinet? She wondered as she settled back on the pillows of the bed that he’d straightened for her and pulled up the coverlet.
She was tired, but not enough to sleep. She eyed the books that still rested on the bed. At the very least, maybe she could find some answers. Picking up one about spirits and hauntings, she started reading.
Jacques found her there two hours later. Her glasses were perched low on her nose as she read. The same expression he’d worn before flashed across his face. Maybe she was the one. He almost felt guilty thinking it. Whatever else she might be, she was beautiful. He sighed.
She glanced up at the noise and smiled. “There you are.” She yawned, stretching.
He stood mesmerized, watching one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.
“I’m getting sleepy.” She smiled bashfully at him.
Correction, he thought. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Now, he really found himself hoping she wasn’t the one.
“I think you might be a memory image,” Jessie said the last in a yawn.
“A memory image?” Jacques repeated, highly amused.
“Yes. Jessie nodded. “According to this, you are neither spirit nor ghost.”
“And you believe this?”
She looked straight at him. “Yesterday I would have laughed in the face of anyone that thought you existed.”
“So you are sure now that I am not a figment of your imagination.”
“Fairly certain. Yes,” Jessie said. “I don’t think it was me that hit Thor over the head with a fry pan. If it was, my physical abilities have really improved of late.”
“Thor, huh?” Jacques laughed. “I think of him as a real life Bam-Bam myself.”
“Bam-bam?” Jessie giggled, patting the bed next to her again. “Let me tell you what I’ve learned.”
Jacques jumped in the air, floating down like a feather until he was next to her. “All right tell me why I am not a ghost.”
“According to this, spirits float about three feet up from the ground,” Jessie said.
“I float.”
“Ah, but here is the catch.” She looked at him. “Ghosts are still in this plane, therefore, they walk about on the same level the living do.”
“I walk on your level.”
“Ex
actly.” Jessie looked back down at the book. “You do both, but apparently ghosts don’t float and spirits don’t walk on this level. According to my powers of deduction, you are neither of those, so you must be a memory image.”
“I don’t think I’m just a memory,” Jacques said distastefully. “Are you sure you are not just trying to call me a figment of your imagination with this new language?”
“Moi?” Jessie asked innocently.
“What is the criteria for spirit again?” Jacques asked, looking a little more interested than before.
“Well, they float three feet above the ground.”
“Check.” He nodded.
“Ah, let’s see.” Jessie thumbed through the pages. “Do you remember going towards the light?”
“Ah . . . non.” He shook his head.
“According to this, there is a grand city that spirits can visit at will and are not confined therein. Whereas, it seems ghosts are bound to certain areas.
“I’ve never heard there was a difference between the two before,” Jacques said curiously. “Tell me more.”
“They are both dead,” Jessie said, watching as he shrugged his shoulders conceding the point. “Although ghosts sometimes don’t know it, and for some reason they won’t go toward the light.”
“Perhaps because it is not light that is seeking them,” Jacques said quietly, almost too quietly.
“What do you mean?” Jessie looked at him. He stared down at the page she was on where it started a new topic, Demon Possessions. “Are you talking about a demon?”
“Perhaps we have done enough study for one night, yes?” Jacques said brightly as he moved to get up.
“Don’t go,” Jessie said.
“Don’t go?” Jacques asked in surprise.
“I just don’t want to be alone.” Jessie sighed. “Quite frankly I’m a little freaked.”
“Freaked?”
Jessie nodded. “Perhaps if I’d read this a week ago, I could have closed the pages without a second thought, but tonight I’m afraid it will haunt me.”
“Let me make sure I’m understanding this correctly.” Jacques smiled at her. “You want me to stay here and keep you safe from boogie men when I myself am one, correction, a memory image?”
“Yes,” she smiled, closing her eyes.
Jacques settled in beside her. “Jessie,” he whispered. “Are you still awake?
“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, opening her eyes. “What is it?”
“There is something that puzzles me.” Jacques rolled towards her, resting his head on the palm of his hand
“What’s that?” Jessie asked.
“Why are you not interested in the treasure?”
“Are you serious?”
“Oui.” He stared into her eyes beseechingly. “Why?”
“Why don’t I want it?” Jessie asked. “You mean other than the fact that it does not look like it’s been entirely healthy for you?” Jessie gazed down the see-through length of him.
“But how do you know that the treasure caused this?”
“I don’t.”
“So why?” he asked. “What other reason is there?”
She sighed sleepily. “I suppose it’s the same the reason I am a doctor. I want to help you. It’s in my nature.” She closed her eyes again. “Good night, Jacques.”
“Good night,” he said, watching over her in pained reality. She was the one. His heart was heavy with the knowledge. . . . He could save her from every monster, but himself.
Chapter 7
Ding-dong!
Jessie awoke with a start. “What was that noise?” she asked sleepily as she rolled over to find the space beside her on the bed empty. “Jacques?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. She was slightly startled to find him standing in front of her when she opened them. “Who is at the door?”
“A woman who is impersonating your Aunt Katie. Can you can believe it?”
“Impersonating my aunt?” Jessie asked doubtfully, yet he’d sounded truly upset by it.
“She’s trying to look just like her,” Jacques whispered as the doorbell rang again. “Though I cannot imagine why someone would do such a hideous thing.”
“What are you saying?” Jessie took umbrage.
“Non!” Jacques said. “I love your aunt, but she can be a bit eccentric.”
“Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!” Jessie gestured to his outfit. “And what kind of love are you talking about exactly?”
“No, you misunderstand me.” Jacques held up his hands. “She has been like a mother to me.”
“Have you been in her bed too?”
“Augh!” he actually gasped. “She is an old woman.”
“And what? You’re a spry chicken at 250 years?”
“I am only 4 and thirty if you don’t count the ghost years,” he defended himself. “I’m sure I don’t look a day over 30,” he said as she continued out into the hall.
Ding-dong!
“Be careful,” Jacques added cautiously. “I think it’s some type of trick, a demon in disguise, or worse. Perhaps it is a ploy to take over Katie’s life now that she has left. Perhaps steal her identity even and sell my house.”
Jessie tried to catch a glimpse of the woman through the glass of the door as she slowly went down the stairs.
“If the eyes glow demonically,” Jacques added in a whisper, “don’t open it.”
“Demonically?” Jessie faltered in her step.
“Jessie, darling,” the woman called out as she knocked.
“Mom,” Jessie answered as she rushed to open it.
“Mom?” Jacques’s eyebrows went to the roof. “I-ugh- sacré bleu!”
“What are you doing here?” Jessie asked, throwing open the door and hugging her mother on the veranda.
“Did I wake you?” her mom asked in surprise. “Oh, what that man hasn’t done to you.”
“What man?” Jessie asked innocently.
“Your husband, Steve, of course.” Her mother looked at her oddly.
“Ex-husband, Mom, the divorce was final two days ago.”
Jacques looked surprised by that information as her mother hugged and kissed her again.
“Oh, you poor baby,” her mother consoled.
“Mom,” Jessie said. “I’m all right. Seriously, I haven’t really given Steve a second thought.” She glanced at Jacques, who winked at her.
“Well, I’m here now.” Her mother wheeled in her luggage. “I will not leave you alone at this time.”
Jessie glanced at Jacques, who looked altogether amazed at this new surprise visit. “Momma,” Jessie said, closing the door. “What about Dad?”
“Oh, he’s fine.” Her mother waved a hand in front of her. “He’s at a conference until the end of the week.”
“Oh.” Jessie took the luggage from her mom and started up the stairs with it. “Which room do you want?” Jessie asked as she neared the top of the stairs. “Betty Boop or Ol' Yosemite?”
“I think I’ll take Katie’s room, the one with the heart shaped bed.” Her mom smiled. “I’ve always wanted to try it.” Her smile faded as she watched her daughter. “Didn’t you get the pajamas I sent you?”
“Ah—yes, I loved them,” Jessie said. “In fact, I’ve worn them so much they are in the wash.”
Her mother nodded happily before heading towards the kitchen. “I’m going to start a pot of coffee.”
“Sounds great!” Jessie hollered over the side of the railing. “I’ll be right down.”
“How long is she staying?” Jacques whispered, even though it hadn’t appeared that her mother could see or hear him.
Jessie turned back to Jacques who hovered nearby. “I don’t know.”
“What did you say, dear?” Her mother backtracked to ask.
“Ah-nothing, Mom,” Jessie replied before gifting Jacques with a look of censure. “Demon?” she whispered upon entering the Betty Boop room.
“How was I to know this was your mother?”
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“They are twins,” Jessie said, turning to face him. “And . . . you are going to have to be on your best behavior,” she warned.
“I will be an angel,” Jacques swore.
“You had better be.” Jessie waved a finger at him. “This is my mother we are talking about, and if she knew you were here, she’d call in the priests for an exorcism.” She watched as Jacques shuddered. “I want you to promise,” Jessie demanded.
“I will be on my best behavior,” Jacques said.
“I can’t protect you if you go around bopping people over the head with iron skillets in front of her.” Jessie put her hands on her hips and waited for his answer.
“I promise to behave.” Jacques smiled. “On my honor. Do you want me to swear on my mother’s grave?” Jacques asked when she still looked doubtful.
“The one who married you to a troll?” she asked, lifting a skeptical brow.
“The one and only.” He grinned widely.
“Augh,” Jessie sighed as she rubbed a hand through her hair and tucked a strand behind her ear.
“What is the matter?” Jacques asked as she started chewing on her lower lip. “On my grandmother’s grave then, oui?”
“No.” Jessie shook her head. “That’s not it. Yesterday they threw my shoes away at the salon and stole my pajamas. How am I going to explain that to my mother?”
“They stole them?” Jacques asked scandalized, though he’d had no love of them himself. Knowing that her mother had purchased them for her cast a new light on the Minnie Mouse ensemble, however.
“I’ve got to find new ones.”
“Maybe you can find them on the shopping network.” He nodded sagely as she gifted him with a knowing smile.
“You watch the shopping network!” she teased.
“Non, it is your aunt that does, as well as the soaps. Voilà, what that Diane woman has not been through, n'est-ce pas?”
Jessie giggled at him, sure that he was just trying to lighten her worry now.
“Jessie,” her mother called out. “What is taking you so long?”
“I’ll be right down, Mom,” Jessie answered.
“Please hurry,” her mom hollered. “It looks like the nice little lady from next door is on her way over.”
Alarmed, both Jessie and Jacques looked at each other saying, “Oh, no!”
Treasure of the Jaguar Warrior - Mystery of the Mayan Calendar Page 6
