by J. D. Mason
Home …
Come to m …
Voices, but not coming from any one place, filling his head, dizzying and chaotic whispers.
Ghosts? Abby’s ghosts? She’d talked so much about them, though, that more and more of her stories were starting to have an effect on him. That conclusion made sense. Nothing else did.
Not over!
A man’s voice. Angry.
Crying. A woman was crying.
Show him!
Jordan wasn’t afraid as much as he was confused and anxious. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What? What wasn’t supposed to happen? A wave of panic washed over him. Regret and anger.
Show him … what?
Show … home?
He took a step farther into the living room. Screams echoed through the small space, but they weren’t real. They couldn’t have been. Jordan looked all around and up. Fuck! Was he dreaming? Exhausted?
He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready. Emotions flooded him as if they were his own but they couldn’t have been.
He meaning Jordan? No. No, that didn’t make sense. Where was Abby? Alarm swelled in him for her safety. Was she all right? He composed himself and began making his way down the hall to her bedroom at the end of it. The door was closed. His heart raced as he began to worry about what he’d find behind it. Jordan managed to quietly push the door open and saw her sleeping.
How could she have slept through all that? He turned and looked back down the dark hallway, and there was nothing. All that turmoil, all that commotion was gone. Jordan looked back at Abby, quietly stirring in her sleep. What the fuck just happened? he wondered, staring back down the hallway and then looking back at her.
It took a few minutes, but he eventually pulled himself together. Jordan sat in a chair across from the bed, watching her sleep, and it made him realize just how exhausted he was. He’d been up since five the previous morning and hadn’t slept in nearly twenty-four hours. It was after 4:00 A.M. He must’ve sat there for ten minutes trying to find a rational answer to what he’d just experienced. The thought occurred to him that she could be right. It wasn’t fear that had consumed him in her living room just now. Jordan felt the strain of loss, losing. Desperation had taken hold of him and anger at not being able to keep what he’d wanted more than anything else. His gaze rested on her.
Jordan undressed without waking her and then stood over her, realizing that he was about to scare the shit out of her. There was just no way around it. And of course, she should be afraid. He showed up in the middle of the night, naked and in her bedroom, without calling, magically getting in through the front door without a key. Yeah, she was bound to be terrified.
As Jordan carefully lowered all six feet three inches of himself onto the bed, Abby naturally was startled awake, looked at him with wide, frightened eyes, and her mouth gaped open to scream.
“It’s all right, sugah,” he said immediately, staring back at her quickly trying to reassure her. “It’s all right, Abby. You’re safe, baby. It’s just me.”
“Jordan?” she asked, stunned and trembling, gradually relaxing and letting him pull her against his chest. “Jordan?” she repeated again, breathless.
“It’s me, baby,” he said again. “You’re fine, Abby.”
The two of them eventually relaxed, took a couple of deep breaths, and settled into position.
“H-how’d you get in here?” Abby finally managed to ask. “How’d you get into my house?”
He thought about it, and the only answer he could come up with sounded absolutely foolish, but as much as he knew, it was true. “Your ghost let me in, Abby,” he finally admitted, staring at the dark passageway beyond the bedroom door.
And that’s when he saw it—him. He stood at the end of the hall closest to the living room, wearing a white button-down and dark slacks. Jordan couldn’t make out his face, but he recognized his shape, his coloring. And he froze. Julian.
The longer he stared, the more the image began to fade, until it was completely gone. All of a sudden, he became aware of Abby and how quiet she had gotten and how still.
“Did you see that?” he reluctantly asked.
After a pause Abby nodded, wrapped her arm tightly around his waist, and buried her face in his chest.
* * *
Need.
He’d felt it before. And it was powerful. Addictive. He was weak to it. All men were. It was love, but not certain at first. Like this one. Like him. Like her. Like Ida and Julian.
Show him. She kept saying that, over and over again. Show him. Show who? Show him what? He didn’t know. And it frustrated him and pissed him off. But he understood the overwhelming need. Because it was the same as his.
Show him!
Oh, Ida! Stop with these games. I got no time and no patience for your silly games, woman. Tell me what you want from me. Tell me what I need to do to have you with me again.
His soul ached, damn near crippling him. Weary and lost, he was starting to lose hope. It was all he had—hope. Hope that one day he could touch her and hold her again, and love her. Taste her. But she seemed to be moving away from him. What had he done wrong? How could he fix this?
Fix it, Julian! He scolded himself. Hurry the fuck up and fix it before it’s too late! But how?
They shared something. He knew this man. But he couldn’t recall him by name. They shared a need.
He looked down the hallway at Ida standing in the doorway of the bedroom, watching. Watching. How many times had he run down that corridor to her, only to lose her before he could touch her? Too many.
Selfish.
Her voice carried through the house.
Tell him. Show … him.
Julian walked with him down the hall to her room. Step for step. Loneliness. They shared that, too. It felt good connecting again to someone, even to this other man in his house. As they drew closer to Ida, closer than he had been in so very long, she began to disappear, and Julian’s sorrow returned. But he’d gotten so much farther than he had before. Somehow, he’d managed to get within reach of her. Julian had been fingertips away from a touch. He stopped just outside the bedroom as the other man entered, and he waited. Enviably. He looked on with envy as the man climbed into the bed and pulled her into his arms.
Yes. Julian knew how good she must’ve felt.
I need you, Ida. Please. Please baby, tell me what to do.
Watch Us Play
IT WAS AS SCARED AS she’d ever been in that house. Abby had never actually seen the ghosts before last night, and if Jordan hadn’t been there, she’d have run out of the house screaming. He held her until he eventually drifted off to sleep. How he could sleep after something like that was absolutely amazing. Abby didn’t dare doze off until she saw the sun starting to rise outside the bedroom window.
Late the next morning, the two of them sat outside in the backyard on Abby’s swinging sofa, sipping on coffee. Jordan had been unusually quiet all morning, giving her the feeling that if she didn’t bring it up, then he wouldn’t either.
“I’m positive that I locked the front door, Jordan,” she said, studying his handsome profile.
He sighed and nodded slightly.
All sorts of questions ran through her head. The main one being why that ghost would unlock the door in the first place. She knew that the ghost had to have been Julian. It looked like a man.
“Was it your father?”
He didn’t say anything, but his silence on this subject was not allowed. Jordan’s father was haunting her house, and if he had an opinion on the matter, then he certainly needed to express it.
“What do you think he wants?”
He sighed and shook his head.
“I may never be able to sleep inside my house again after last night,” she said dismally. “What do you think he wants?”
Finally, he looked at her. “How am I supposed to know, Abby?”
“He was your father.”
“Who died thirty years ago,” he reminded her. �
��And I don’t believe in ghosts. I didn’t believe in ghosts.” Jordan paused and thought for a moment before continuing. “I honestly don’t know what to say about what I saw last night.”
So, how was she supposed to live here now? It was broad daylight, and Abby absolutely did not want to go back inside that house. And when it came time for Jordan to leave, she definitely didn’t want to go back inside. He must’ve seen the trepidation in her eyes.
“Let’s go to my ranch,” he suddenly optimistically offered. “Put some space between us and this house.”
She stared back at him, surprised.
“No ghosts there.” He smirked. “I promise.”
By nature, Abby had never been an impulsive person, but Jordan had been challenging her in all sorts of ways lately, forcing her to step outside her comfort zone. An impromptu trip, even if it was only to Fort Worth, was a major break from the norm for her, but a welcome one, considering that her other option was spending the weekend in the house with Jordan’s dead father.
* * *
Personally, she’d never seen an actual mansion, but that’s exactly what this was. Jordan pulled his truck into the circular driveway in front of the house, and all of a sudden, Abby was starting to get a much clearer understanding of what it meant to be wealthy. It was one thing to read about Jordan on the Internet, but it was another to see him represented on a twenty-thousand-acre ranch with a humungous Mediterranean-style house planted in the middle of it.
“You live here?” she asked, staring in awe of the grand entrance with its dramatic mahogany floors and trim, ornate iron stair rails, and massive windows.
“Sometimes,” he said, closing the door behind her.
* * *
A cute, round Latina immediately greeted them at the door.
“Señor Gatewood,” she said in a thick, Mexican accent.
He handed her Abby’s bag. “Please take this upstairs to the bedroom, Lydia.”
“Sí.” She nodded and smiled as she passed Abby.
“Gracias,” Abby said politely.
The woman nodded appreciatively. “De nada.”
His home. It was beyond grand. Beyond massive. Elegant and sophisticated. Rich. She was no art collector, but Jordan had pieces worth thousands, maybe even millions. How in the world was she ever supposed to put someone like this in perspective? All of Blink, Texas, could’ve fit in here. It was an exaggeration, of course, but not much of one.
Suddenly, Abby started to wonder if she wasn’t just dreaming. In reality, Abby was probably lying in her own bed, sleeping peacefully, and she had dreamed buying that house, and meeting him that day when Marlowe confirmed that it was haunted. She’d dreamed Smitty’s and her birthday touchdown and that kiss. She’d only dreamed they’d made love, because how could she possibly ever meet anyone like him in real life? And she’d probably dreamed Julian Gatewood’s ghost too. Abby decided that, yes, she was in fact dreaming and that it was a good-enough fantasy to continue running uninterrupted. She made up her mind that she wasn’t ready to wake up yet.
After giving Abby a tour of the 15,000-square-foot house, Jordan took her to the stables that housed half a dozen thoroughbred horses. Jordan actually raced three of them, but one in particular, a huge black stallion, was his personal favorite.
“He’s beautiful,” Abby said as soon as Jordan brought out the regal horse to introduce him.
“This is Ares,” he said proudly.
“Like the Greek god Ares?” she asked, smiling.
He smiled. “Exactly.”
Abby stared admiringly at the horse. “Suits him.”
The horse was already saddled. “Let’s ride?”
Abby was taken aback. “Oh, I don’t know how to ride, Jordan.”
He smiled. “I do, Abby.”
* * *
“Scoot back on the saddle, baby.”
Abby inched back away from him.
“You’re crushing my nuts.”
“Maybe this ain’t such a good idea, Jordan,” Abby said, panicked, wrapping both arms tight around his waist.
Ares was huge, and Abby was terrified.
“Calm down before you spook him. He’s sensitive.”
Good Lord! She was sitting on top of a giant monster of a sensitive horse who could buck her off at any moment, and he wanted her to be calm? Abby squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath as soon as they started to move.
“Relax, honey,” he said soothingly.
“Me? Or the horse?”
He laughed.
After about ten minutes, she did relax, even enough to enjoy a short canter to where a massive herd of cows, including some longhorn, grazed as if they hadn’t a care in the world. There had to have been hundreds of them.
“Whoa,” Abby said in awe as Jordan helped her down off the horse. “What do you do with all those?”
“Dinner,” he said indifferently.
Abby jerked to face him. “How could you possibly joke about something like that?”
He chuckled. “You’re lovely.”
“You’re teasing me,” she said, rolling her eyes and turning back to look out over the herd.
Abby waited for him to object. He didn’t.
Jordan sidled up behind her, leaned down, and kissed the side of her neck. That man in that cowboy hat was mesmerizing.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
She nodded. “If you mean, am I recovering from my ghost sighting? Then yes. Are you?”
He straightened up and took a deep breath. “Still trying to figure out what it could mean,” he finally confessed.
Abby turned to him. “So, you’re not trying to ignore the fact that you saw him?”
He shrugged. “I saw … something.”
“It was him, Jordan. Why can’t you accept that?”
“And what if it was? What difference does it make if I accept it or not? He’s dead, Abby. If he chooses to hang around thirty years after that happened, then that’s not my problem.”
“He let you in my house, Jordan.”
“The door unlatched. Faulty lock. You might want to check on that.”
“My lock is fine,” she argued. “What happened when you walked in? Did you see anything? Hear anything?”
“Not really,” he said uneasily.
“What does that mean?”
Jordan was hiding something, but he seemed dead set on keeping it to himself, which was probably for the best. The less she knew, the better as it pertained to last night. Abby was already freaked out enough. She didn’t need to add fuel to that fire.
“Me and you aren’t that different, Jordan. I don’t want to believe in ghosts either, but I know that they’re real. I’ve known since I was a little girl.”
He just stared out at that livestock.
“My momma died in a car accident when I was five,” she began explaining. “She was taking me to school. It was my first day of kindergarten, and I was riding in the backseat.”
“Mexicano negro,” she said, rolling a perfect “r.”
“Black Mexican,” Jordan clarified.
“Sí.” She smiled. “She always made it a point to introduce herself to strangers that way, like she was so proud of the fact that she was both.”
Abby paused for a moment in reverence to the memory of her mother.
“I don’t remember much about that day,” she continued. “We were singing my favorite song while she drove. It’s still my favorite song to this day.” She laughed. “Es el ojo del tigre … Elevándose hasta el desafío de nuestro rival,” she sang.
Jordan thought for a moment, latching onto the melody. “I know that song.”
Of course he knew it. Everybody knew it.
“‘Eye of the Tiger’ by Survivor,” she reminded him. “From Rocky?”
He laughed.
“We sang it in Spanish, which, by the way, was no easy feat.”
Abby paused again to collect her memories, recalling a violent jolt that shook her whole body.
“I remember feeling like I was falling, and I was scared because it happened all of a sudden. It felt like I was flying through the air.” She stared off at nothing in particular across the landscape. “And then”—she looked at Jordan—“there she was, smiling, holding her arms open, waiting to catch me.” She smiled. “And she hugged me real tight, and then moments later, she sat me down on the sidewalk, kissed me, and told me, ‘You be good, Abby. And I’ll see you later.’
“I woke up and saw Daddy asleep in a chair across the room, and I called to him and asked him where Mommy was.” Her voice trailed off, and tears filled her eyes. Abby blinked and wiped them away before they had a chance to fall. “It was a hospital room,” she clarified. “She’d died on impact.” She looked at Jordan. “And I should’ve. No one could understand why I didn’t, but later, as I got older, I began to understand.”
“You sure you didn’t dream that?” he asked tenderly.
She shook her head. “She saved my life, after hers was already gone.”
He looked skeptical. Everyone she’d ever told that story to looked skeptical, except for Marlowe and Miss Shou.
“Wanna know what I think?” she asked.
“If I say no, are you going to tell me anyway?”
“Of course.”
He waited.
“I think he’s trying to communicate with you.”
“I doubt that. He’s not haunting my house.”
“But he’s the one who let you in. I’m sure of it. It wouldn’t make sense that she’d unlock that door for you.”
“What’s he trying to communicate, Abby?” he asked impatiently.
“I don’t know. But I think he’s reaching out to you. Maybe there’s something he wanted you to know before he died that he never got a chance to tell you. Things like that happen.”
“Again, he’s haunting your house, not mine. If I’d never shown up that day when we first met—”
“But you did. Don’t you think even that’s a miracle?”
“I think it’s a coincidence.”
So he was in denial or trying really hard to get there. Abby could see in his eyes that he was going to be stubborn about this, and she concluded that probably nothing she said was going to change his mind.
