Autumn's Healing

by HK Carlton

  “Stand down, motherfuckers. She’s all mine.” Salem staked his claim, in a low voice so she wouldn’t hear.

  “Pfft, we’ll see about that.” Fray, an ex-airman, straightened to his full height and puffed his chest out. He was the resident player of the group. Handsome, muscular but he had an ego that went with it, which sometimes turned the ladies off.

  “Was that a challenge for our fearless leader?” Piquet, another amputee, piped in.

  “No challenge,” Salem said firmly. “This isn’t up for debate, so you can put your pecs away, Fray, or you’ll find yourself doing all the shit work on this job.”

  “He’s fuckin’ serious,” Fray exclaimed, as Kaylah reached them.

  She looked like she had herself back together. And, to Salem’s surprise and delight, she tucked her hand in his.

  “Kaylah, I’d like you to meet Piquet.”

  “Ma’am,” he greeted, taking off his cap.

  “Piquet.” She smiled at the smaller man. “Nice to meet you.”

  “This is Kraft. Taggart and Thompson.” Barely sparing the last man a glance, he finished shortly, “That’s Fray.”

  She acknowledged with a nod. “A pleasure, gentlemen. I’ve got a pitcher of lemonade if anyone would care for some. Or later,” she rushed, looking to Salem, as if she hadn’t meant to overstep with his crew.

  “We can all grab a glass if you want, and we’ll give the men a tour before we get to work.”

  As a group, they walked up the path, but, as soon as they were all inside, Tagg paused. “I’m not workin’ here.”

  “What?” Salem snapped.

  The man scooted back out the door onto the porch. “Naw-uh. You can’t pay me enough to work here, Salem. I won’t. There’s somethin’ here. A couple of somethin’s.”

  “What the fuck are ya squawkin’ about?” Piquet demanded.

  “She knows what I’m talkin’ about.” He squinted at Kaylah through the screen. She watched him, wide-eyed. “Don’t ya? Look under her eyes. There’s something hounding you, isn’t there?”

  Slowly, she sought Salem’s gaze.

  “Ah, Christ, are we back to that mumbo jumbo, Tagg, ya fuckin’ weirdo? Oh, sorry, ma’am,” Piq rushed.

  “Say what you want, you fuckin’ little runt,” Tagg shot back, “but I’m never wrong. Somethin’ in this house is weighing on this poor woman.”

  “Get him outta here,” Salem ordered the other men. They pushed him down the walk, but he kept ranting.

  “Look at her eyes, Salem. Are you having violent mood swings, lady? Bad thoughts? Do you feel sick? Suicidal?”

  “Shut the fuck up, Tagg. You’re scarin’ the poor woman,” Thompson said, giving the Tagg a punch in the shoulder.

  “Don’t listen to him, Kay,” Salem attempted to console her. “He suffered a head injury and now he thinks he can sense things. He’ll come around. This is just an off day.”

  She swept her keys from the table by the door. “I’m going to go out for a while. You can show the men around.”

  She dashed down the steps and past the other men and Tagg, who crossed himself.

  Salem rolled his eyes and cursed under his breath as Kaylah slammed her car door. She started the engine then impressively squealed the tires as she sped away.

  Chapter Six

  Later that night, Salem sat at the street dance with the rest of the crew. They blathered on around him while he nursed his beer.

  By five o’clock quitting time, Kaylah had still not returned to the house. So, Salem had locked the place up and he and his team had vacated the premises. Not that they’d accomplished much, but they’d made a good list and placed a whopping order at the hardware and lumber stores for supplies.

  He’d tried texting Kay, but she hadn’t responded.

  He’d prefer to be at this stupid thing with her, but he’d rather be with his motley group than alone.

  “So what’d’ya think’s in that house, Tagg?” Salem asked before taking a swig of the draft.

  “I don’t know, exactly. I sensed something. A figure—male, I think.”

  Though he tried, Salem couldn’t quite stifle the quiver that followed.

  “Ya saw it, too, didn’t you?” Tagg asked.

  “I don’t know what I saw, only what Kaylah confided in me.”

  “There may be more. I hightailed it outta there before I could acknowledge them. Don’t want ’em following me home—like that movie Ghost or something.”

  “No need to worry, Tagg. You ain’t Whoopi Goldberg. There’s no way Patrick Swayze is movin’ in with you.” Piquet laughed at his own quip.

  “You just wait, Piq. Mark my words. Something in that place is gonna scare the bejeezus outta you.”

  When the other men broke off into their own conversations, Salem leaned in closer. “Coulda been my brother you sensed.”

  “You’re still dreaming about him?” Tagg’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yeah.”

  “It’s quite normal, Salem, especially ’cause you and Rich were so close. Lots of people get visited by their lost loved ones. My grandma used to swear that the night my grandpa passed, he came and sat on the edge of her bed and told her he was fine. Said he held her and sang to her until she fell asleep.”

  “That’s sweet.” Salem traced his finger through the condensation on the side of his beer mug.

  “The thing is, you’re probably not actually asleep or dreaming,” Tagg explained.

  “You’re saying he’s really there?” Salem tossed his hands up. “I’m having conversations with my dead brother?”

  Tagg nodded. “It’s easier for you to accept if you convince yourself you’re dreaming.”

  “Lindsay says she sees him, too.”

  “All normal. Kids are more receptive to it.”

  Salem gulped his beer as his friend expanded.

  “You see… You’re more accessible for spirits to communicate with when you are half-asleep, when you’re essentially disconnected from the physical and more in touch with the subconscious. That transitional period from deep rest to light sleep is the ideal place. You’re relaxed and open. It’s like a middle-ground between here and where they are.”

  “Heaven?”

  “If that’s what you choose to believe, then yes.”

  “You don’t?”

  Tagg shrugged.

  “What’s going on over at the Cleary place, bossman?”

  “I think most of it is explainable. The wiring is a hot mess. There’s old pipes. But she’s a woman living alone for the first time in a strange house, in a new town. She probably hears every sound. Joists creak, wood expands. You know how it is when an old place settles or the weather changes, especially in a building that’s older than dirt.”

  “But there are inexplicable things too, right?”

  “She says she’s misplacing things then they reappear in odd places.”

  “That’s poltergeist activity.”

  “Shit! Like that movie? Is she in danger? Will the crew be?”

  “Not necessarily. Some poltergeists simply want to play—wreak a little havoc. They don’t want to be forgotten. They actively let the homeowner know they’re there.”

  “The doors slam spontaneously.”

  “That’s sounds about right. Poltergeist means ‘noisy spirit’. It’ll get bolder at some point.”

  “Fantastic,” Salem replied sarcastically, before finishing his beer in one swallow.

  “Though, Salem, I read an article recently which hypothesized some experts now believe poltergeist-type activity might not have much to do with the dearly departed at all. Normally, the odd happenings occur around one person—often one who is suffering some kind of psychological, physical or emotional upheaval. They called it ‘psychokinetic activity’.”

  Kaylah was under stress. Could being away from her daughter be the cause? Or worse, was the cancer back? Salem thought about how often she rubbed her chest.

  “Activity can run from knocking on wal
ls and doors, to affecting lighting and sometimes electrical stuff, to moving objects and, in some cases, physical incidents.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “From what you’ve described, it sounds harmless. And, sometimes, the very thing to make such things move on is to change things—remove the stuff that has been there for the last hundred or so years. If there is any past residual energy attached to it—good or bad—it’ll be gone. Then, perhaps, the lovely lady can have some peace. But I ain’t goin’ back in.”

  “Yeah, you’ve made that quite clear,” Salem chuckled through his response. “I’ve got some small jobs coming up. If you think you and one of the other guys could handle them, I’d really appreciate it. I’d like to devote all my time to getting the Cleary place in order for Kaylah.”

  With a nod, Taggart slapped Salem’s shoulder. “You got it.”

  All of a sudden, Fray let loose with a high-pitched whistle, drawing everyone’s attention. Salem looked up to find Kaylah approaching. She looked amazing. His heart rate picked up. She wore a light, floral summer dress that showed off her long, gorgeous legs, with a short coral-colored crocheted sweater on top. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was done up in a messy bun.

  Carefully, Salem rose to his feet and straightened out his leg.

  “Hello, gentlemen,” she said, nodding to the guys at the table.

  They all returned her greeting in kind then watched intently.

  “You made it,” Salem exclaimed. He leaned in and kissed her cheek. Perhaps it was a possessive gesture, but he didn’t care.

  “Can I get you a drink?” he asked.

  “I’d like that.”

  He reached for her hand. She took his without hesitation, but it wasn’t enough. As soon as they began to walk side by side, Salem slid his arm around her slim waist. She maneuvered her arm behind him and tucked her thumb into his back pocket.

  Together, they walked to the makeshift bar.

  “What can I get you?” the tender asked.

  “Uh, something light and fruity?” Kaylah replied.

  “I’ve got just the thing. It’s a new wine cooler. The ladies are loving ’em tonight.”

  “Sounds good.”

  As the server turned away, Salem began, “I’m really sorry about earlier today.”

  “Don’t. It’s okay. We both know there’s something about the place. No need denying it. Probably means your friend’s head trauma only heightened, perhaps, a gift he’s had all along.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. Sometimes he wears his underwear on the outside of his pants.”

  She chuckled then stopped as he again tried to maintain a straight face.

  “You’re joking. Right?” she asked, as the barkeep placed the bottle on the counter in front of them.

  Salem paid for the drink.

  “You’re a hard man to read, Jerusalem,” Kaylah remarked as she picked up the beverage.

  “Naw, you’ll get used to me.”

  With a nod, she took a tentative sip.

  They strolled toward the table but Salem was reluctant to share her with his men. He wanted to keep her all to himself.

  “Wanna dance?” he asked.

  “Oh, uh, sure.”

  He wrapped his arm around her again and they made their way out into the cordoned-off street that was the designated dance floor.

  Willingly, she came into his arms. The bottle in her hand clunked against his back when she placed her arms around his shoulders. “Sorry.”

  “No problem,” he mumbled, already staring at her lips.

  As the music played, they did little more than sway. It wasn’t even a slow song.

  “God, you smell good,” he mumbled. Inhaling deeply, he lowered his mouth and skimmed his lips at the curve of her neck and over her collarbone.

  To his delight, she made a humming sound and raised her shoulders as if she enjoyed the action.

  “You don’t smell half bad yourself.” She eased away a little and looked at him. “I like your hair all slicked back like that, too.” The soft look in her eyes made his stomach heat. She stroked his neck with her free hand, her fingernails lightly scraping the short-shorn hairs there. His skin tingled at the touch. He couldn’t seem to drop the military crew cut altogether. So far, he’d only allowed the top of his hair to grow out. The rest he kept mega short, unable to stand the feel of it on his neck. As soon as it started to get too long, he’d grab the clippers.

  “What? The beat-up ole CAT cap not workin’ for you?” he teased, though he’d probably never give up wearing Rich’s worn baseball cap. Somehow, it made it seem like his brother was closer when he had it on.

  “Not at all. You look sexy both ways.”

  His lips rounded on an ‘oh’. No sound came out his mouth but an unexpected growl gurgled deep in his throat. God, she makes me feel good. “So how does that fruity concoction taste? Any good?” he asked.

  As he’d hoped, she kissed him, swirling her sweet tongue around his mouth, giving him a second-hand sample. His cock surged. And, to his pleasure, she tucked her hips under to meet him, as if she knew exactly what affect she was having.

  When she backed off, he said, “Yeah, it’s really fuckin’ good.” He wasn’t sure about the drink, but Kaylah was certainly intoxicating. His body was on high alert.

  She licked her swollen lips, which made his dick throb. Her eyes flared slightly. It wasn’t as if he could help it. She felt so good against him. Christ, how he wanted to touch her. He fought the urge to reach down and cup her cunt. How would she react to such a bold, possessive grope—in public, no less? Would she slap him across the face or would she allow him to bring her that pleasure? They were so tightly pressed together and in the cover of the oncoming darkness and with her skirt as camouflage, he could easily tuck his hand between her legs, part her labia and stroke her sensitive clit. No one would know but them. He almost went cross-eyed thinking about how she might look, trying to hide it from everyone else as she came.

  “Why don’t we go home?” she suggested, startling him from his dirty, dance-floor fantasy.

  Yes! They were on the same wavelength. “I thought you’d never ask. Let’s go to my place. It’s closer.”

  With the majority of his blood flow heading downward and not up, he really had to concentrate for the first few steps, putting one foot in front of the other. But Kaylah kept her arm around his waist, steadying him.

  Once they’d said their goodbyes to his buddies, they walked down the boulevard, arm in arm.

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she said, a slight smile playing around her lips, as she stared straight ahead.

  “What? Trying to get you home as fast as I can so I can fuck your brains out? I thought it was plainly obvious.”

  “Well, that, too, but”—her grin widened—“you want to move this to your place so you don’t wake up to an audience in the morning.”

  “Ya got me. I didn’t really enjoy that at all. I’m guessing you don’t, either.”

  “No, your employee really got to me this afternoon. I have been experiencing some of those very symptoms he explained. So, you’re not really twisting my arm about not staying there tonight, especially alone.”

  “Well, I don’t know a lot about that kind of thing, but Taggart thinks tearing out the old and putting in new stuff will put the run on whatever bad mojo comes along with the place. We’ll give it some new life, without any memories or whatever attached to it.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Salem slowed in front of his building. “This is me.” He held open the door and she stepped inside. Taking her hand, he guided her down the dimly lit corridor to his apartment.

  Once inside, he offered her a drink, which she promptly declined.

  She moved toward him and gripped the front of his shirt, a gesture he was beginning to enjoy.

  “Show me your bedroom, Salem,” she whispered.

  “It’s not a real big place, honey.
Step about two feet behind you and we’ll be in it,” he said, concentrating on her lips, while sliding his hands down to her shapely ass. He pulled her nice and snug against his rock-hard cock.

  Her eyelids fluttered, as he moved her. “Oh, Salem, there are so many things I want to do to you. I wanted to this morning.”

  Unable to stifle it, he groaned. “Right back at ya, baby, but I think it’s gonna be a quick thing again. You’re far too hot for me to handle just yet.”

  “Then maybe I could take the edge off for you first.”

  He choked at her words. He wanted to weep with joy.

  Kaylah gripped the front of his jeans then unfastened them. She began to sink to her knees in front of him. He gritted his teeth in anticipation.

  Last night, they’d done it in the dark. Tonight, he’d left a light on by the bedside. No matter how he tried to get over it, he was still self-conscious about his injuries.

  Salem gripped her chin. “Kay, wait…”

  “No, I want…”

  When he shifted nervously from leg to leg, she said, “It’s okay. I know how it is. It doesn’t matter, Salem.”

  “Please… It’s not just my leg. Gimme a sec.” He sat down on the edge of the bed. She shuffled over, still on her knees. Her eyes glowed as she looked up at him.

  “I have scars from some shrapnel,” he began. “And some from burns.”

  Her mouth tightened a little and she nodded.

  How did he tell her they were mostly in the groin area? Well, she’d soon find out.

  Kaylah got up and perched next to him.

  “Can you tell me about it?” she asked softly.

  This wasn’t the time. It would definitely kill the mood, but she seemed insistent.

  “It was shift change. We rolled up to a checkpoint in a Humvee. Our detachment was already questioning several occupants from a vehicle they’d stopped. We got out and began to approach. All of a sudden, the passenger detonated an IED inside the car. When the vehicle exploded, it sent burning debris in every direction. Bright orange shrapnel rained down on us like fireworks on the Fourth of July. One of the rear-rotors took out my knee, like a missile. I never even saw it.” Absently, he rubbed his thigh. “For a split second, the pain was excruciating, until I fell and my head made contact with the tarmac. I’m told it bounced like a basketball. I don’t really remember much after that, thankfully. I was rushed to surgery where they tried to save my knee, but it was fucked. I vaguely recall snippets of conversation, including the one where two surgeons made the decision to take my leg, but I couldn’t communicate with them. In that moment, if I could have, I would’ve told them to let me die. I spent the next week or so in a drug-induced coma.”