by Jill Sanders
“I’ll go see what’s in the kitchen. I’m sure there’s still enough food in there to feed an army.” He watched her disappear into the back hallway. As he finished building the fire, he heard her banging pots and pans in the next room and decided to take a look around the big room.
He’d admired the huge place for over a year. Her parents had been private people, too private to ever invite him inside. The large winding staircase was something to look at. He imagined it had been a bitch to build. He looked around and guessed that must have been in the early 1800s. He didn’t know the history of the place, but after living in the small town for about a year, he knew that it had always belonged to the Warren family.
He guessed that this place was way older than his house, and in a million times better shape. Here, the furniture was dated, but still had years of life left. He frowned when he realized that the large room didn’t have a television in it. He’d never seen a home without at least a forty-inch flat screen before.
His eye caught on a wall next to the stairs filled with family photos. He walked over and glanced quickly at them, then noticed that the majority were in black and white and had been taken before the turn of the century.
There was only one photo of Christina and he guessed she’d been around five years old. Her long hair was a stark blonde and was pulled back tight in long braids. Her green eyes looked lost and she looked like she was on the verge of tears. He supposed it was a school photo, but he couldn’t be sure.
He heard her curse just as a crash sounded from the kitchen. When he walked in, she was on the floor picking up the shattered pieces of a mug.
“I always hated this stupid…” She broke off as her voice hitched.
He felt like running back to his house, but something held him there. It was the lost look in her eyes that dug deep into his heart. Instead of leaving, he walked over and gathered her into his arms and held her as she cried.
Chapter Two
Stupid. She was being stupid. She’d thought that she’d cried all her tears years ago, but seeing her mother’s favorite mug had caused her hands to shake. Then she’d dropped the damn thing and the only feeling that flooded her was relief that it was gone. That they were gone.
So, she’d cried for her freedom and for her lost childhood. When she finally came back to her senses, she realized just how wonderful it felt to be held. Then she froze in place as her breath hitched. She waited, ready to jerk away at any moment, but nothing happened. Nothing.
She didn’t get the expected zing up her back, or the fire shooting through her veins. Testing herself, she reached out and touched his bare arm and held her breath. When all she felt was his warm skin under her palm, she leaned back.
“I’m sorry.” She looked into his brown eyes, expecting… something. But, once more, nothing happened except his lips curving upward in a slight smile.
“I’d say you were due a good cry. After losing your folks.” He dropped his arms and stood up, then held out his hand for hers. She’d avoided shaking his hand the first time, but she was curious and took it this time.
Once more, all she felt was the warmth of his palm, the scratch of his calloused hand against her softer, smaller one.
“Is something wrong?” He glanced down at their joined hands, breaking her from her spell.
“No.” She quickly pulled herself up with his help. “I guess the long drive is finally getting to me.”
He nodded, then glanced over when her mother’s old-fashioned kettle started whistling.
“Wow, I haven’t seen one of those since…” He chuckled. “Ever, actually. At least not in person.”
She walked over and removed it from the flame. “My folks were a little… old school.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I hope you’re okay with oolong.”
“I might be if I knew what it was,” he joked.
She smiled. “It’s a kind of calming tea. My mother swore by it. I prefer green tea myself, but since she never would…” She dropped off when she realized he probably didn’t want to hear her life story. “Anyway, it’s okay with a couple scoops of honey or sugar.”
He nodded, then walked over and leaned against the counter.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” he asked.
“No, I’m an only child.” She felt another wave cross over her core and turned to the task of preparing the tea.
“I have a brother,” he said, glancing around.
“It must have been nice growing up,” she said, dumping some honey into her cup, then she walked over to the large walk-in pantry and pulled out a box of crackers.
“It had its perks. Our folks could never really tell who had caused most of the trouble.” He chuckled. “So, naturally we either got out of punishment, or we both got punished, depending on the extent of the damage.”
She smiled and leaned into the fridge to pull out some of the smoked cheese her father always loved.
“Can I help?” His voice came from right behind her, causing her to jump slightly.
“No,” she said, straightening up. “I’ve got this. If you want, you can carry the tea in while I put this on a platter.”
“Sure.” He took the two mugs and walked into the living room. She could already feel the warmth from the fire radiating into the house.
Setting the plate of cheese and crackers on the coffee table, she took her mug from his hands and sat down in her mother’s leather recliner. “Please.” She motioned for him to sit next to her in her father’s matching chair.
“You’re right, it warmed up quickly in here. Looks like I’ll need to make plans to install one of these.” He motioned towards the iron stove.
“You only need a fire once in a while around here, but when you do, it’s nice to have one. How long have you been seeing her?” she asked after taking a sip of her tea. Even with a large dollop of honey and two teaspoons of sugar, she still cringed at the memories the tea brought up.
“I moved in about a year ago, so…” He tilted his head and thought about it. “Since that first night.” He shivered, a standard sign of the first fleeting hints of the supernatural.
“What has she said or done?”
“Said?” he asked and his face lost all of its color. Reaching over, she touched his hand.
“It’s okay, I doubt she can actually talk.” She held in a chuckle and watched his color return.
“Um, all she does is stand there, with her arms out towards me. Freaking me out every night.”
“What do you feel when she’s around?” She popped a cracker with cheese into her mouth. She hadn’t stopped for dinner, since she’d wanted to be home before sun-up. Now, her stomach was rewarding her with large growls and pains.
“Loneliness,” he answered, taking another sip of his tea.
“Yes.” She sighed and ate another cracker.
“Why are you so sure she’s not a ghost?” He leaned closer as he put his elbows on his knees, his brown eyes getting more intense.
She wasn’t sure how to explain the differences. Instead, she chose to ask him more questions.
“Why are you so sure she is one?”
He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Now you’re sounding like my shrink. Always turning my questions around and asking me other ones.”
Her eyebrows drew up. “You’re seeing a psychiatrist?”
He smiled. “A grown man tells you he’s seeing what he believes is a ghost for the last year… so, yeah, I’m seeing a psychiatrist.”
She sighed and rested back.
“I’m not crazy,” he broke in. “At least…”
She opened her eyes and could see the worry cross his eyes. Eyes that somehow looked familiar. Then it dawned on her. She’d seen the same look everyday of her life staring back at her in the mirror.
“No, you’re not crazy.” She wanted to reach across and touch his hand but held back.
“Has anyone else lived in the place since the McCullens?” he asked after a moment of silence,
steering them off the dark path their conversation had turned down.
She took her time answering, then slowly nodded. “Yes, just one other person.”
“Did he or she ever see the woman?” He leaned forward again, and she could tell he was trying to solve the same puzzle she’d tried to solve once before.
“No.” Xtina felt the shiver run down her spine. This one had nothing to do with the supernatural. “He only lived there for a summer.” She picked up her mug and finished the tea in one swallow, trying to clear the sour thoughts from her mind.
“Well, then.” Mike leaned back in the chair and rested his head back. “I guess the question is, why us?”
She looked at him, her eyebrows going up. He leaned forward and set his almost-empty mug down next to the plate of crackers. “I know for a fact that others can’t see her.”
“Oh?” She set her mug down and picked up another cracker, nibbling on it slowly so he couldn’t see her fingers shake.
“Yes, my brother, Ethan, spent the night once. When I woke him, he laughed at me. She was standing there just like tonight, only…”
“He couldn’t see her,” she supplied.
“Yeah, why do you suppose that is? That he couldn’t see her?”
“Maybe she didn’t want him to see her.”
“What the hell does that mean?” His voice sounded tired. “Why me? Why you?” He ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it and making it stick up. Somehow, it only caused him to look even sexier than before.
She shrugged. “Does she scare you?”
“Doesn’t she scare you?” he almost chocked out.
“No.” She shook her head lightly. “Never.”
He was silent for a moment. “You sit over there, telling me that seeing a ghost…” When he noticed her eyebrows shoot up, he cleared his throat. “Or whatever she is, that it doesn’t scare you. You’re the kind of person who invites a stranger into your house at…”—he glanced down at his watch and whistled— “three in the morning. I could be a psycho, a murderer or a…” He shook off that thought then turned to her. “What exactly does scare you?”
She looked at him for a moment, then decided to tell him the truth.
“My parents,” she said under her breath as she felt a zip down her entire body.
***
Mike couldn’t help being shocked. He knew she was seeing it in his eyes and on his face, so he leaned down and took up his mug again and drank the rest of the honeyed liquid.
“They must have done something right.”
“Not really.” Then she laughed. “Actually, they died. I guess you can say that was something in my favor.”
He glanced towards the door, wondering if he should be the one worrying about his own well-being.
Then she laughed. “Now you’re thinking I’m the crazy one.” When he just continued to look at her, she finished. “I’m sorry, I guess you’d have to know how I was raised to understand.” She leaned back and rested her head back, much like he’d just done. “Don’t worry, I’m not a murderer or a…” She smiled over at him. “I’m just a bitter daughter who was stripped of her childhood because my parents thought I was evil for seeing things, for feeling things, for… being different.”
He frowned and leaned towards her. “But, she’s real.” It was more a question than a statement.
“Yes,” she agreed, “she’s real. So are other things.”
“Okay, now you’re officially freaking me out.” He stood up and walked over to the fire, hoping that the sudden chill he’d gotten was from his nerves instead of… He quickly glanced around the room.
“No, the place is clean. I’ve only seen her near your house. As for the rest…” He watched as a shiver racked her body. “It has always come and gone without notice.”
“Some childhood.”
“Yes.” Her voice was low and he could tell she had grown tired.
“Okay, you and I have to finish this some other time.” He walked over and set his mug down next to hers. “I can tell you need rest and I have a few hours before I have to get to work.”
“Work?” She stood up and followed him towards the door.
“Well, my work.” He chuckled at the private joke. “If you can call it that. I spend half my days working on the house and the other on the computer.”
“You work from home?”
He nodded and smiled. “Another time then? Maybe you can come over tomorrow for dinner.”
“Can’t.” He watched sadness creep into her green eyes. “The funeral is tomorrow followed by a dinner here.” She looked up at him. “If you feel like it, you’re welcome to stop by. There will be plenty of food.”
“Of course. I didn’t really know your parents all that much, but your father was nice to me when I saw him. What time and can I bring anything?”
She smiled. “It starts at six and you could bring a bottle of wine, since I know there isn’t any here and none of my parents’ friends would dare partake. Nor would they condone the drink in my parents’ home.”
He smiled. “Then I’ll bring a couple bottles and we can have some drinks after everyone leaves.”
“I think we’re going to get along just great,” she said, leaning on the open door. “Good night, Michael.”
“Good night, Xtina,” he said, making sure to use the name he guessed made her more comfortable. Then he reached out, not sure why he did, and ran a finger down the side of her cheek. When he headed back across the yard towards his place, he felt her watch him as he crossed the yard. Warmth spread through him knowing she was so focused on him. He couldn’t explain the instant draw he’d had towards her, other than the fact that she was another human being that had witnessed something that no one else could.
When he stepped into his house, the air seemed warmer, friendlier somehow.
Walking back to his room, he paused just outside the door and peeked in. The room was empty. Letting out the breath he’d been holding, he decided to start work early and headed into his office. He had a few clients whose files he needed to update after working on them this last week. He loved his new job, something he hadn’t been able to say for a long time.
Since the accident over a year ago, he’d been debating what to do. He’d received a nice settlement check for his pain and trouble. Big enough to put a chunk down on the house and start the remodeling process. The monthly settlement checks helped keep him eating until he’d started Kincaid Investigations.
He had quickly gained clients through word of mouth from some of his buddies still on the force. Over the first several months, the number of clients had grown and he was slowly becoming so busy, he was actually thinking of hiring some help, someone who could handle the mundane office chores he so detested. He hoped he’d get big enough to add another investigator in a year or so.
Digging into people’s backgrounds for a living had turned him cautious. He supposed that’s why he’d been so abrasive with Christina at first. Trust was something he was working on, but after what he’d been through, who could blame him?
He knew it was bad, but his fingers itched to type her name into the computer and find out more about the sexy, dark-haired beauty next door. Instead, he opened up the local paper and reread about her parents’ accident.
Over an hour later, he flipped his computer off and frowned as he made his way into the bedroom to pull on his jogging clothes. Something unsettling was running over and over in his mind, and the only way he knew to clear it was to sweat it out on a long run.
He was usually right about these kind of things. It was one of the main reasons he’d chosen the career path he had. He’d always had a knack for… just knowing. Especially when things were off or hidden. He’d always known when someone was lying to him or when someone was hiding something. Like Xtina had earlier.
But something deep inside him told him she was just hurt and confused.
As he set off on his daily run, he wondered why the local police had quickly closed the
case and marked it an accident. The more he ran, the more certain he was that Christina’s parents had been murdered. And that the local police were covering it up. So many questions ran through his mind. Did she know? Was she involved? He played over their conversation several times in his mind. She hadn’t even hidden the fact that she was relieved that they were gone.
She’d never hinted at why, or what they had done to her to make her feel so bitter. As he rounded the corner, he stopped and took a deep breath. He hadn’t meant to run to the bend in the road where her parents had skidded off into a large oak. But standing there with the sun just rising, he started questioning his skills.
The spot looked like a place that it would be easy for a car with bald tires to slide off the slick asphalt. But something still nagged at his gut. Why?
He walked over and touched the large tree with the gash in it. Instantly, his vision grayed and his knees went weak.
Behind his eyes, he witnessed a scene right out of a horror story.
A young couple stood over a large metal tub filled with steamy water. The couple’s hands were clasped tight together, holding one another back. There, in the deep water, lay a very young girl with long flowing blonde hair. Her green eyes stared up at them in horror until finally, they closed in death.
He woke from the dream state when his knees hit the trunk of the tree. His fingers dug into the dirt as he threw up, emptying the tea and coffee he’d drunk that morning.
What the hell had that been? He took a moment to steady himself before he stood up again, making sure not to touch the tree or its large roots.
Taking a few steps back, he glared at the thing. If her parents had died there, did that mean they were still around?
He did a quick 180, his eyes moving over every tree branch, every bush, in fear. There was no way he was sticking around if more ghosts would be haunting his nights or days.
Then he remembered Xtina’s words. “She’s not a ghost.”
If the lady in his bedroom wasn’t a ghost, what exactly was she?
He turned around and started back towards the house at a slow pace, his mind racing over the scene that had just played in his head.
