“I’ve been dreaming about her.” He turned the book around to show her the picture, and her stomach tied in a knot.
He’d perfectly captured the sad look Jessica’s eyes always held when Emily refused to talk about ghosts. Her bobbed haircut. The mole above her lip. There was no mistaking this for anyone else. Sean had drawn her sister.
Her hand shook as she reached for the sketchpad. It wasn’t possible. “How did you? Did you see a picture of her in my apartment?”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“How did you know what she looked like?” Embers of thought warmed at the back of her mind. If she allowed them to spark, she’d know exactly how he knew what she looked like, but she squelched the ideas before they could form.
“I think you know, and I think it’s time to talk about it.”
“No.” She gave her head an adamant shake. “No, you saw a picture of her. It’s the only explanation.” It had to be. But the embers ignited. The thoughts began to swirl.
No.
She wouldn’t allow her mind to go there. She couldn’t.
“Emily, I didn’t see a picture. I saw her spirit.”
“No.” Her hands trembled as she flipped to the next page of the sketchpad. Blank. She turned back a page, and he reached for the book.
“Don’t look at that one.”
She yanked it away and peered at the sickening image. The bulging eyes. The rope burn on her neck. Tears pooled in Emily’s eyes, cascading down her cheeks. “This is what she looked like when I found her.” Her voice was barely a whisper forced over the lump of hot coal wedged in her throat. “Is this some kind of joke?” She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the page.
“No. I would never joke like that, Emily. I hope you know that.”
She chanced a glance at Sean, but the hurt in his eyes was too much to bear. She focused on the drawing. Emily had been the one to cut the rope while Robert held on to Jessica’s lifeless body and lowered it to the ground. A sickening feeling churned in her stomach, and the page tore under her clenched grip.
Sean pried the book from her hands and set it on the nightstand. “Sometimes spirits have a hard time crossing back over. When they first try, the only way they can show themselves is in their death state. The first few times she appeared to me, this is what she looked like. As she gained strength, she was able to appear as she looked in life.”
“No, Sean. Just…no.” She rolled out of bed, kicking the tangled sheets from around her legs and stumbling to the bathroom.
Leave. She needed to leave.
“Emily.”
“No.” She shoved her legs into her pants and pulled her shirt over her head. Clutching her shoes and underwear in her hands, she stomped to the door. She couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t think about this. Ghosts weren’t real. Her sister hadn’t visited her in her dream.
“Emily, wait.”
She was vaguely aware of Sean following as she threw open the door, and the alarm beeped a countdown.
“Damn it, Emily. Stop.” He punched in the code and followed her out the door.
The damp grass on her bare feet sent a chill running up her spine to the top of her neck. She fumbled to put her shoes on and dropped her bra in the grass.
Away. She focused on the only safe thought. She had to get away.
“Where are you going to go? We came here in my car.” Sean leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. Barefoot and bare-chested, his hair tousled from sleep, he was the epitome of sexy. She instinctively stepped toward him.
A pang shot through her heart. She couldn’t do this. As much as she cared for him, she couldn’t continue to live in denial when he made his living on the one thing she wanted to avoid. Sean could see ghosts; therefore, they had to be real. Her knees nearly buckled as she finally allowed the thought to take hold in her mind.
Ghosts were real.
She shook her head. She couldn’t deal with this now. “I want to go home.”
“I want you to stay.” He walked down the steps and held out his arms. “Please, Emily. You can trust me.”
She stood in the yard, the morning fog dampening her skin, and looked at the road. She couldn’t walk all the way to the French Quarter with her underwear in her hand, so she shoved them into her purse and looked at Sean. If she were to trust anyone with this secret, it was him. But could she trust her own mind? She took a tentative step toward the sidewalk.
He didn’t make a move to stop her, but his pleading gaze pinned her to the spot. “Please come inside.”
Taking one last look at the street that could lead her away from the explosion of worms opening this can would cause, she nodded and shuffled back inside. He didn’t reach for her as she passed, allowing her to come in willingly.
She could do this. It was only a conversation. She settled onto the sofa as he closed and locked the front door. She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, clutching her trembling hands in her lap. “How long has she been talking to you?”
Sean sat next to her and rested his hand on her knee. “It started shortly after I met you.”
That made sense. If Jessica was trying to contact her, she’d find someone who was open to spirits. But why on earth would her sister need to talk to her now, after a year? “Why do you—”
Her phone rang from her purse, and she shoved her hand inside to grab it. Thankful for the interruption, she answered it even though the number was blocked.
Sean sighed and leaned back into the sofa, his irritation obvious. But she needed a distraction. Anything to postpone swimming her way out of this sea of denial.
“Hey, Emily. How are you this morning?”
A flush of ice washed through her veins at the sound of Phillip’s voice. “What do you want?”
“To talk to you. I miss you, and you haven’t been returning my calls.”
She tightened her grip on the phone and lowered her voice. “Is that why you blocked your number?”
“Well, you wouldn’t have answered if I didn’t.”
Her eyes rolled involuntarily. “It’s six-thirty in the morning, Phillip. Why are you calling?”
Sean arched an eyebrow, and she gave him an apologetic smile. The tension in the room was already palpable. But now with her boyfriend sitting next to her and her ex-boyfriend on the phone, she could’ve sliced through the pressure with a butter knife.
“Why are you in the Garden District this early in the morning? I thought you lived in the French Quarter.”
“How do you know where I live? Wait…how do you know where I am?”
Phillip laughed. The sound used to be music to her ears, but now it sounded slimy and cruel. “You never turned off location sharing on your phone. C’mon, Em, you know deep down you wanted me to find you.”
“No. That’s creepy.” She glanced at Sean, who sat silently watching her, an expectant look on his face.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time at this address. Are you seeing someone?”
“What does it matter if I am? We broke up seven months ago.”
“Are you screwing him? You must be if you’re spending so many nights with him.”
A spark of anger ignited in her chest and spread through her body like flames. How dare he have the audacity to speak to her this way? “Yes, okay? I’m screwing him. I screw him almost every night, not that it’s any of your business. And I’m going to keep screwing him, and there’s nothing you can do about. Don’t call me again, Phillip.” She pressed end and opened the phone settings menu. Her fingers trembled, but she managed to shut off the location sharing feature.
“We’re screwing?” Sean sat rigid, his hands fisted on his knees. “Is that all this is to you?”
“What?” She dropped her phone into her purse. “No. Those were his words. I threw them back at him.”
“So we’re screwing.” He shot to his feet and paced around the sofa.
“No, we’re not screwing. He ask
ed if we were, so I told him. What did you want me to say?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that you have a boyfriend. That you’re in a relationship. Not that you’re screwing someone.” The pain in his eyes broke her heart. Could she make this situation any worse?
“He caught me off-guard. He knew where I was. He knows where I live. I just…I’m sorry.”
He stood there, his arms by his sides, looking so helpless. “Are you still in love with him?”
“No. God, no. I’m not in love with anyone…except… I mean…”
“Me? Don’t try to say you’re in love with me. I know you’re not.”
“Sean…” She reached for him but let her hand fall into her lap.
“It’s okay, Emily. I know you don’t love me. You’re still holding back, and I get that you don’t trust me yet. But here’s the deal: you have all of me. One hundred percent. I feel like I’ve only got about half of you.”
“You have more than half.” And she did love him, didn’t she? Why couldn’t she bring herself to say it? “But my feelings for you are complicated.”
“Why?” He sat next to her. “Why are they complicated? My feelings for you are simple. So simple it’s not even funny.”
He stood again and paced in front of her. “I love you, Emily. Completely. Unconditionally. With every fiber of my being, I love you.” He let out a cynical laugh. “This isn’t the way I imagined telling you. I was hoping for moonlight and flowers, but you need to know. I would do anything for you.”
He held her gaze with the sincerest eyes she’d ever looked into, and despite everything...despite the ghosts, the trouble Phillip caused, the way he just told her…in spite of it all, she smiled. Sean loved her. And she loved him too. If she could only make herself say the words.
“Sean, I—”
“Don’t, Emily. Don’t say you love me just because I said it to you. I wouldn’t believe you anyway. Not as long as you’re keeping secrets from me. I know you believe in ghosts. I know you’ve had some kind of experience that left you scared to death, but you can trust me. I would never ever hurt you. I might even be able to help you.”
Tears pooled in her eyes, and she reached for him. She needed the safety and warmth of his embrace to give her courage. She hadn’t talked about it in more than ten years. “Please come sit with me.”
He lowered himself onto the sofa a few feet away, so she crawled into his lap and buried her face in his neck. Her tears dampened his skin as he wrapped his arms around her, and she molded her body to his. She needed this man like she’d never needed anyone, but could she handle what opening herself up to him would bring?
“I’m so scared, Sean.”
He stroked her hair and pressed his lips to her head. “I know you are, but we need to talk about this. I’ve been so careful not to mention my ability around you, and that’s hard. It’s part of me. It’s who I am, and I’ve been avoiding that part of myself a lot since we met.”
She sobbed. It wasn’t fair to him. He deserved better. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. Honestly, I haven’t minded too much—aside from the headaches I get from blocking things out. It’s been worth it to get to know you. To fall in love with you. But I can’t avoid it forever. I see dead people. All the time. And I hope that’s something you can learn to live with because I would be devastated if you left me.”
She closed her eyes and inhaled his masculine, woodsy scent. She’d never felt safer than when his arms were wrapped around her. If she was ever going to deal with her past, right here with Sean was the time to do it.
Lifting her head from his shoulder, she gazed into his deep, dark eyes. “Okay. I’ll tell you.”
* * *
Sean wiped a tear from Emily’s cheek and gave her his full attention. He didn’t know how much she’d be willing to share, but he didn’t want to miss a single syllable. Leaving her legs draped across his lap, she slid back and leaned against the arm of the sofa.
She sucked in a shaky breath and stared at her clasped hands. “I know ghosts are real because I’ve seen them before.”
He held his breath, waiting for her to continue. When she didn’t speak, he rested a hand atop hers. “Take your time, sweetheart. I’ve got all day.”
She nodded and pressed her lips together hard like she was trying to hold back tears. “I have vague memories of seeing them as a child. My sister and I both saw them, I think, but our mom would always tell us to ignore them. Pretend they weren’t there. It must’ve worked because, like I said, the memories I have are vague and from when I was very little. I guess I blocked them out?”
She looked at him now, and he nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“Anyway,” she cast her gaze to their hands, “I stopped seeing them when I was awake, but they always came to me in my dreams.” She traced the tendons in his hand with her finger. “I don’t know why I couldn’t block them from my dreams. I tried, but they kept coming.” She let out a long sigh and laced her fingers through his, never lifting her gaze.
“That’s normal, you know? Not being able to block them from your dreams. Even I can’t do that. You’re much more open when you’re sleeping. You can’t block the channel.”
She glanced at him, the corners of her mouth turning up into a sad smile. “Well, my mom did some research and discovered the salt trick. They never bothered me again after that.”
“Dreamcatchers do work, by the way. I wasn’t lying about that. They only trap negative energy.” He clamped his mouth shut. This wasn’t about him. He needed to stay quiet and let her say what she needed to say.
“I know. I didn’t think you were lying. I do trust you, despite how I may come across.”
“So you’ve been blocking out the spirits since you were a kid?” He needed to get her back on track. There had to be more to the story.
“Sort of. When I was sixteen, Jessica was eighteen. Her boyfriend, Ricky, was murdered, his body dumped in the bay. It was gang-related; he wasn’t the nicest guy.” She let out a cynical laugh. “I hate to admit it, but at the time I was relieved. It’s not the kind of lifestyle you want for your sister, you know?”
“I can see why you’d feel that way.”
She turned his hand over and traced patterns on his palm. “Jessica was devastated, of course. She sat in her room and cried all the time. No one knew who killed him, and that killed her. So we tried to contact him. Jessica and I took Trish to the cemetery to Ricky’s grave. He hadn’t been buried a week. The upturned earth was still fresh.”
She wiped a tear and shook her head. “God, I can still smell the damp dirt. The piles of decaying flowers. The grave was new; the dirt hadn’t settled, so we set the Ouija board on the mound of mud over his coffin, Jessica and I on one side and Trish on the other. We sat with our knees in the dirt, our fingers on the planchette, and we called to Ricky.”
She rubbed her hands over her face and tipped her head back. “I can’t believe I’m talking about this.”
“You’re doing great, sweetheart.” He rested his hands on her thighs and gave a light squeeze. “Please keep going. You called Ricky…”
“We called to him, and nothing happened. It was June, and the air was sticky-wet like it usually is in Houston in the summer. I let go of the planchette and sat on my heels. I said, ‘This isn’t working. Maybe we just imagined seeing ghosts when we were kids.’ Boy, was I wrong.
“A frigid gust of wind flipped the Ouija board off the grave, and the plastic planchette shattered against a tombstone. It felt like my blood turned to ice, and my goose bumps grew so hard it felt like needles piercing my skin all over.”
She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “I was so scared.”
“Hey.” He reached for her, pulling her back onto his lap. “It’s okay. You’re here with me now, and I will keep you safe. Do you need to stop?” Please don’t stop. He needed to hear how the story ended.
“No. I’m okay. I just haven’t thought about this in a
long time. Ricky was there, along with what seemed like every other corpse in the graveyard. Looking back, there were maybe five other spirits, but to a panicked sixteen-year-old it felt like more.”
“I can imagine.”
“And they all looked…well, like that first picture you drew of Jessica. They were mangled and messy, bloated and bloodied. Ricky had a bullet hole in the center of his forehead, and a single stream of blood oozed down to his right eye. I know Jessica saw them too, because she went whiter than a sheet and her mouth hung open. She was frozen to the spot.
“I screamed, and as soon as I did, Trish jumped up and ran. I grabbed Jessica by the arm and dragged her away, all the while yelling at the spirits to go away and not follow us. I’ve never been so scared in my life.”
“Wow. That must’ve been awful. Did Trish see them too?”
“No. She didn’t see a thing. She felt the wind and saw the board fly, but she only ran because I screamed. I started having nightmares—obviously from my imagination because I poured the salt extra heavy after that. So…I convinced myself it wasn’t real. That ghosts didn’t exist. Jessica went the opposite way. She was obsessed. She tried again and again to contact Ricky, but I guess he didn’t want to talk to her. She found others to talk to, or she told me she did, anyway. Of course, I didn’t believe her. It started to affect our relationship. I didn’t want to be around her anymore, because all she wanted to talk about was ghosts. She was upset with me for ‘ignoring my gift,’ even though I didn’t believe in it.
“Finally, she stopped talking about it, but our relationship was never the same after that. There was always a heavy weight between us that we couldn’t get rid of.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been hard.” Thank goodness she was telling him this. Opening up to him. He couldn’t imagine having that same heavy weight between the two of them.
“I was always worried about her. She really was obsessed. Always trying to find ways to communicate with the dead. And not the way your ghost hunting team does with investigative equipment and stuff. I mean séances, and spells and rituals. Magic. She’d do anything to communicate with spirits.
Love & Ghosts: Crescent City Ghost Tours Page 19
