As bad as that was, she wasn’t haunted by what Michael did to her. She was haunted by the voices of the other women. The ones he had killed.
The voices had started before she woke. She was dropped into the middle of a conversation between half a dozen ghosts sharing the room with her. Sharing their darkness.
They spoke in whispers, even knowing Michael couldn’t hear them. They were that afraid.
How could Rachel help Garrett understand? Hearing those spirits, she could almost feel their pain—pain strong enough to keep them chained to this world even after death.
“What you’re imagining is… It’s not what happened,” she said. “It’s not what anyone thinks.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “I’m listening.”
She took a deep breath and blew it out to steady her nerves before she began.
“I had been avoiding Michael all week. I would tell him I was busy setting up Dante’s loft after work at the gallery—which was true. But I went out of my way to make sure I didn’t have any spare time. When opening night for Michael’s show was close, I realized I couldn’t avoid him any longer. We met for lunch and I told him we were done.”
“I can’t imagine that went over well.”
“That’s the thing—it did. He said he was proud of me for figuring out what I wanted and saying something about it. That it was high time I took a stand for myself.” Her stomach churned at the memory. “I ate it all up. Every word. When he asked me for one last favor, it seemed such a small thing. He seemed reasonable.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted me to sit for him. To pose for a final portrait so that he could keep a piece of me near him forever.” She let out a tinny laugh. “Little did I know.”
She shivered. Garrett scooted closer to her, but she didn’t let herself lean into him for comfort. The whole point was to let him know that she was stronger than he thought—that this hadn’t broken her.
“Rachel, you don’t have to tell me this if it’s too hard.”
“What’s hard is the way you’ve been looking at me. How worried you are about what Michael did.”
“How could I not worry?” he asked.
“I won’t lie. It was terrible and sickening and for a while I didn’t know if I would make it through with my sanity intact. But there were other things going on. Things that made what he did to me more bearable—less awful in comparison with what he had done to others. Because I escaped. Do you understand, Garrett? I escaped.”
Garrett looked perplexed. His brow furrowed and he shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
She didn’t want to come out and say it. Saying it made it more real. But she had to. She had to help him understand.
“The others didn’t.”
Her eyes burned with tears, but she held them back. Understanding flowed over his features as he sucked in a breath.
“There were ghosts with you? People he had…”
“Killed. Yes. Half a dozen that I could distinguish. I heard whispers as soon as I arrived at his house. They were so quiet, I could barely hear them. But I didn’t even try. I tuned them out, like usual. If I had only tried to listen to them, maybe I could have escaped. Prevented what happened to Elsa and Dante.”
Garrett shook his head. “No. You can’t let yourself go down that road again. Remember what Dante had to say on that. None of this is your fault. You can’t keep beating yourself up over what Michael did.”
She closed her eyes and the tears she had been fighting spilled over. The lump in her throat grew. She forced out the words anyway, her voice raw with guilt and fear.
“I can’t keep hiding my head in the sand, either.”
She had to start helping people—the living and the dead. She was sick of always being the one who needed to be rescued.
“After I woke up, the women kept talking about what happened to them. About what was going to happen to me, in graphic detail. They said I was lucky because…”
“Rachel—”
He started to put his arm around her, but she needed space to get through telling him. She shook her head and put her hand on his chest, which was…probably the best possible thing she could have done.
The sadness and fear dispersed as she took in the feel of him. The soft texture of the hair on his chest. The heat of his skin and the strength of the muscle beneath.
Warmth flooded her—not the fiery chemistry she was used to fighting with him, but soft waves of well-being and safety. She felt his desire to comfort her and drew on that strength to go on, her voice much stronger than before.
“They said the women he had killed more recently were lucky because he had more practice. He was better at taking blood and knocking us out when needed—even at using the blood for his paintings. He had it down. They said I was lucky because it would be over quicker.”
She could feel each deep breath he took, her hand rising and falling with the movements of his chest. Focusing on the rhythmic motion helped her go on.
“Thanks to Dante and Elsa, I was only there for one day. The other women were held for days or even weeks. And the ones that couldn’t move on after… The ones haunting him were with him for years.”
“God, Rachel. That’s awful.”
“Do you see now? Those women—they were alone when this happened to them. They couldn’t hear the voices of the others hovering near them.”
She shook her head. “What happened was terrible. But I didn’t go through it alone. They were with me. Knowing what they went through forced me to make peace with whatever was going to happen to me. To accept my fate. If I didn’t, I knew my spirit would linger.”
She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She never wanted to lead the existence of the ghosts she heard. Whatever was on the other side, she wanted to be willing and able to cast herself into it instead of clinging to a shadow of her life.
“And it’s terrible and yes I have nightmares about it still, but I can handle all that. What I can’t handle is knowing that those women are still out there. Still suffering. And I don’t know how to help them.”
“Why didn’t they move on when he died?”
Rachel’s heart gave a little sideways-leap, like it was trying to escape her chest. She was about to chisel away another bit of his peace of mind.
“I’m sure some did. But not all of them. Some were too hurt, too angry.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because they’re directing that rage at me. That’s why I freaked out when we left my mother’s house. I saw them in the reflection in your car window.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. You didn’t have anything to do with what happened to them.”
“Toward the end, some of them figured out that I could hear them. They begged me not to kill Michael. They were afraid he’d be able to hurt them on the other side—to pick up where he left off.”
Garrett hissed in a breath. “But they were wrong. You said Michael is gone.”
“He is now. Now that his body has been cremated. For those few days after his death and before that, I…I don’t know for sure what happened.”
Garrett’s voice lowered to a growl. “Did you ever hear him?”
“No. Usually it takes a while for a spirit to collect itself enough to figure out what they are and remember who they were. He might have been able to manifest more quickly.”
The guilt from her choice was still crushing her. She didn’t want Michael to inflict even a moment’s more suffering on those women. But she also couldn’t let him hurt anyone else. He had to be stopped.
“For whatever reason, some of his victims are still lingering. They need help to move on and I don’t know what to do for them.”
“We’ll figure it out,” he said.
“No. I will. You’ve done enough already.”
&
nbsp; He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. She could sense his disappointment, sharp and bitter through her chest.
“I don’t understand what happened,” he said. “What made you stop letting me help you?”
“You help me all the time.”
“No, I rescue you when you’ve gotten yourself in so deep you can’t see a way out. You call me in as a last resort.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
She would just think it.
She started to pull away, but he covered her hand with his, pressing it firmly against his chest.
“Listen to me. I know you’re dealing with a lot. And I know you’re trying to handle it on your own. You said those ghosts helped you through your ordeal. That it was easier for you because you weren’t alone. You aren’t alone now. You haven’t been for a while.”
She knew her friends would help. But she didn’t deserve it, didn’t want her own drama to impact people she loved so dearly.
“Garrett—”
“You’re not an echo of your mom,” he said. “You’re not set-dressing for her life—something to be seen and not heard. You don’t have to figure out all your problems on your own.”
It came out of left field, but it was exactly what she needed to hear. How did he always know just what to say? She felt enveloped in his warmth and compassion. Accepted. And he wasn’t done.
“You’re a vibrant, brilliant, kind-hearted person, and you deserve to be surrounded by people who appreciate you and are happy to help you. Like I am.”
She let out a little laugh and said, “Are you trying to make me cry again?”
“Never.” He put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her forward, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.
God, she wanted so much more than that. She wanted to plant her hands on his shoulders and push him back on the bed. She wanted to put all this talk about ghosts and death far behind her and just sink into him.
She wanted so much—too much from him. She was already tilting her head up, staring at his lips. Their faces were close enough that her nose grazed his cheek. His stubble tickled her skin.
He smelled like the ocean. Salt-tang and open spaces.
Flutter-thump.
They both jumped. Garrett muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Damn grasshoppers.”
But it was a good thing. A strong reminder of what it meant for someone like Garrett to be with her. Someone who didn’t know what he was signing up for.
Lubbers weren’t active at night. She was sure of it. Which meant something was influencing them to fly against her window. Something or someone.
She remembered the ghosts at her mother’s house. The anger in their eyes as they lifted their arms to show Rachel the bloody wounds they had once all shared.
The accusation.
If Michael’s victims had found out where Rachel was staying, going outside might become outright dangerous—for her and the people around her. The people who dared to help her.
Even the genial ghost who had talked to her on Garrett’s patio was at risk. If they thought he was standing in their way… She almost felt bad for him.
She felt bad for everyone at the moment.
“They seem to like this window. I think I’ll sleep on the couch tonight,” Rachel said.
“You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“I wouldn’t hear of it.”
He shook his head. “If you think I can’t be as stubborn as you, you’re wrong. I’m taking the couch. Come on.”
She didn’t have it in her to fight him on it or resist as he stood and pulled her up after him.
Chapter Thirteen
Garrett’s couch was not meant for someone his size. He sat against the cushions, another of Rachel’s books open in his lap.
The things he was reading about made his skin crawl. Bad enough to know that ghosts could be walking around him all the time, but learning that they could actually affect the physical world? He shuddered at the thought.
The chapter on poltergeists had been a particularly rough read. He’d seen enough movies to know about them throwing around stuff. He didn’t know about the scratches, scrapes, bruises, and bite marks that sometimes came along with it.
How did Rachel do it? How did she walk around with a smile and pretend that everything was normal when she knew about all this—when she heard them all the time?
His appreciation for her grew. Along with his desire to help her. To support her any way he could.
The book also explained how salt helped to neutralize ghosts. It was all about energy. Salt could disrupt them. What he was still struggling with was how intention factored in. He was having trouble wrapping his mind around…the mind being able to influence the spiritual world.
According to the books, some clairsentients—people like Rachel who could perceive ghosts—weren’t just receivers but could transmit energy into the ghostly realm as well. He wondered if there were any spectral objects on the other side that could be thrown around by psychics. Give the poltergeists a taste of their own medicine.
He snorted and turned the page. The next chapter was all about possession. Great.
He skimmed the introduction, but stopped cold at the first section header. In bold print, it read, “Spectral Influence on Animals.” Attention caught, he read each word with care.
No. Freaking. Way. Ghosts could control animals?
The text used words like impel and motivate, but it boiled down to the same thing. Some ghosts could get animals to do what they wanted. If the ghost was powerful enough, they could even control several animals at a time.
Shit.
Garrett thought back to the scorpion in the dishwasher. To the lubbers bouncing off the windows. The possibilities were chilling.
What if the ghosts who were ticked at Rachel were impelling animals to try to get into the house? To get to Rachel. What if they were pissing the animals off in the process?
Grasshoppers were no big deal, but that scorpion could have been a problem. Florida had any number of dangerous and mobile species running around. An angry ghost could find a sick bat and get it to fly at Rachel, or send wasps her way, pathogen-carrying mosquitoes, snakes…
His mind reared back from that concept like a startled horse. He set aside the book and leapt up from the couch, then paced back and forth in his living room.
If there was more than one ghost after her, and they figured out how to send more than one animal at a time… Things could get hairy fast. How could he possibly keep Rachel safe at this rate? The poppets and saltwater kept the ghosts outside, but they hadn’t been effective against that scorpion.
He had to deal with this. To address the issue at the source—the ghosts. Maybe there was some way he and Rachel could help them to move on. Resolve their issues, like the books talked about.
That seemed the best solution. The permanent solution.
But once they had dealt with these ghosts, what about the next batch? Rachel hadn’t hedged around the fact that Florida was filled with lingering spirits. If they all came for her, wanting closure or resolution or whatever, how could she handle that?
He wouldn’t let her do it on her own. That was for damned sure.
If she wouldn’t let Garrett help her, he’d recruit Elsa and Jazz. Rachel couldn’t stand against that pair. And if they all worked together, they could find a way to make sure that Rachel could lead whatever kind of life she wanted. He was certain of it.
Too bad that life didn’t include him.
She had been opening up with him about so many things. He hoped she would explain her mixed messages at some point. The way she kept touching him, nestling close, then pulling away…it was driving him crazy.
When she’d patted the bed next to her, part of him had wondered if it was a different kind of invita
tion. Then she had put her hand on his chest and left it there for what felt like forever. His heart had pounded the whole time—from what she was saying and her touch.
Nuzzling his neck, his cheek… Her breath warming his skin.
He had nearly lost it before that lubber went and broke the moment. Damn bugs. He couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if they hadn’t been interrupted. Scenarios danced in front of his mind, an array of possibilities he had longed for.
There was no time to feel sorry for himself. He had too much to do. Too much to learn.
He picked up the book again and opened it, then flopped down on the couch. The topic he happened across was psychometry—the psychic ability to read the history of objects through touch. Finally, something he knew about. He shook his head and started to read, just in case the book had more to teach him.
Chapter Fourteen
Sleep had eluded Rachel until light was just starting to peer around the edges of the blinds in Garrett’s room. His sheets, his pillow, everything smelled like him. That alone would have been enough to keep Rachel awake in his huge bed.
His huge empty bed.
Everything else going on—the spirits outside, Garrett on the couch, her with no ideas about where to go or what was going to happen next—that didn’t help either. It also didn’t help that her resolve to stay away from him was breaking apart after only one day.
Instead of thinking about why they shouldn’t be together, her mind kept conjuring up possibilities that just might work. What if she could shield him from the spirits in her life?
Her parents seemed happy together, though Rachel doubted her father was in on the secret Rachel and her mother shared. If Rachel could block the voices, she might be able to lead a normal life with Garrett.
A fake normal life.
No. She was tired of pretending. She wanted to be real, to feel real.
She was different. It was time to admit it. Embrace it. Do something with it. Like help the women that Michael had killed.
Rachel checked the clock when she woke up after a fitful few hours of rest. Ten in the morning. She had slept late.
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