Touch Me in the Dark

by Jacqueline Diamond

  “I knew you were disabled, but I didn’t know the specifics.” Sharon couldn’t absorb that information now. She was too caught up by the passion on the canvas. “This is wonderful. You put your soul into it.”

  There was a physicality to the work that drew her inside. She could feel the rough canvas beneath her bare skin and the pressure of Ian’s limbs as they tangled with hers. They were pulling and pushing each other at the same time.

  “I’m not sure I can finish,” he said. “Frankly, the damn thing intimidates me.”

  “Why?” Sharon asked.

  He began to pace. As he moved, he finger-combed his shaggy hair, which fell back even more disheveled than before. “I think that, in the past, I was trying to capture something that I’d never actually experienced. This is the next stage. I’ve made a connection with the figures in my subconscious. It’s because you’re here.” He stopped in front of her. ”I’d ask you to model for me, but something tells me that would pose too great a risk.”

  “I don’t think I’d make a very good model.” Or that I want to put myself that much in your power.

  “Oh, yes,” he said hoarsely. “You’d be perfect.”

  He was staring straight into her, through her clothing and skin to the heat and longing she’d kept under control for so many years. If she posed for him, if he removed her clothes and arranged her body, his hands shifting her hips and tilting her shoulders, she didn’t think she could deny him anything. He might display her any way he wished in an act of both creation and possession. Dangerous. Delirious.

  Ian cupped her chin with one hand and bent swiftly. His lips closed over hers with gentle command. Sharon could think of nothing but the firmness of his mouth and the fire raging through her body. She ran her fingers up his back beneath the shirt, feathering against the skin.

  He held her as fiercely as he did everything else, shaping her to him. Devouring her with his mouth. The sensation was more intimate than anything she’d experienced with Jim, even when he was deep inside her.

  The room throbbed around her. She felt herself sliding. It would be so easy to give away everything and ask for nothing back. To leap into life and not worry about where she landed.

  Ian’s hands lifted her hair free from its clip. “You should always wear it this way. Stop holding yourself back from who you are, who you can be. From the first moment I saw you, I felt as if I were reclaiming a lost part of my soul.”

  “I…” She swallowed, her mind whirling. Images. Memories. Jim and the weight of their years together. Greg, his little face full of trust as she loaded him into her van and hauled him across the country. “I have responsibilities. I’m thirty-one, not twenty-one.”

  Ian turned her to face a full-length mirror she hadn’t noticed before. With his arms wrapped around her from behind, he seemed to frame her. “See what I see. A beautiful woman, sensual and alive. You understand me instinctively, don’t you? I need you, Sharon.”

  What about her needs? This man hardly knew her. “Do you need me or some woman you’ve imagined? Ian, think. The other night you were warning me to leave and now you’re telling me I’m part of your soul. It’s too sudden. What…”

  The lights flickered and the room darkened, or perhaps a sheen of moisture was blocking her vision. The only thing she saw was the man in the mirror, his arms encircling her. He’d changed too. His face was Ian’s, and yet alien. She could still feel his powerful body and hear his even breathing, but he’d become blurred, like the image in her window.

  The room filled with a gray presence. As if hit by a gust of wind, the house swayed and groaned. Sharon had the disconcerting sense that they had stood this way before, that she had indeed come back to this place, and that she’d committed a terrible mistake.

  A sense of evil filled her, of an old hatred unslaked. But not from Ian, she told herself. He had no role in his family’s tragic history. Why should it involve him, or her?

  His misty features sharpened and the eyes locked with Sharon’s in the mirror. Heavy lids unveiled a gaze so filled with rage and disgust that she shrank back.

  She’d seen that look on the screen of her TV set. The eyes weren’t Ian’s. They were Bradley’s.

  Chapter Five

  With a cry, Sharon pulled free of Ian’s grasp. Turning away from the mirror, she saw his own shocked reaction.

  He looked like himself again, both in person and in the mirror. Had he transformed his expression or had that been a trick of Sharon’s imagination? Now that she’d snapped back to herself, she was startled to see how brightly illuminated the room was, although it had seemed dim only a moment before.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought I saw something strange in the mirror. I hope I’m not coming down with the flu, just when I seemed to be getting over whatever I had.”

  Ian brushed his fingers across her forehead. His touch was affectionate and apologetic. “No temperature. What did you see?”

  “You stared at me as if you were angry. I thought you were Bradley.”

  He ducked his head. “Must have been a small seizure.”

  A seizure. That was a rational explanation. On the other hand, since Ian hadn’t been present while she and Greg were using the Ouija board, it didn’t explain that incident. “I saw the same face on my TV.”

  He clenched his fists. “Damn Bradley. I could almost believe his spirit refuses to leave this place. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not claiming there are ghosts, exactly. It’s something inside me, some link to him.”

  Needing to put space between them, Sharon wandered across the room and pretended an interest in Ian’s collection of CDs. He had eclectic taste in music, from classical to reggae to Broadway musicals.

  “When you had therapy, did you try hypnotism?” she asked.

  “We did,” Ian said. “Dr. Finley couldn’t hypnotize me. I guess I’m just hard-headed.” After a moment, he added, “I wish it had worked. I’ve always felt as if I were responsible for my parents’ death in that car crash, although I was five years old and wasn’t even with them. I’ve never been able to remember the day they died. There’s this block.”

  Perhaps she ought to share what she and Karly had learned, not that it was likely to shed any light on his parents’ deaths. Before she could broach the subject, however, a tap at the door drew him away. When he answered, a booming voice told Sharon that their neighbors had turned up.

  “Sorry to intrude.” Pete Gaskell didn’t appear sorry as he marched into the room. “Bella swore she smelled smoke. I told her someone must have burned something in the kitchen, didn’t I, Bella?”—he spoke over his shoulder as his wife followed him—“and then we came out and boy, what a stench from your apartment, Sharon! Are you all right?”

  “We had a small fire. No serious harm done.” She was grateful that Ian didn’t offer either of the pair a seat.

  “We should investigate all phenomena to get the true picture.” Bella had swapped her Palm Springs sweatshirt for a gold and blue kimono, which went oddly with her hoop earrings. Although she’d brushed back her unruly brownish-gray hair, it threatened to escape the restraining headband. “Perhaps this is the result of spirits.”

  “It was a malfunctioning TV, actually.” Sharon found herself reluctant to tell these people any more than necessary. She didn’t dislike them, but neither did she want to get sucked into their nonsense. “By the way, I’m afraid the Ouija is too grown-up for Greg. You know how kids are. If something doesn’t jump around on a computer screen, they’re not interested.”

  “He might have the gift,” Bella said. “You’ll never know unless you let him experiment.”

  “The fire didn’t occur for no reason,” her husband added. “If your son is channeling spirits, that might have set off a spark.”

  “Unless we’re talking about the Disney channel, I don’t want my son to have anything to do with such nonsense,” she retorted.

  “We believe you both came here for a reason,” Bella said. “We felt
that way as soon as Jody mentioned you.”

  The way Bella’s and Pete’s eyes burned reminded Sharon of a pair of cats. “I don’t want to be insulting, but I don’t share your fascination with the occult. My son’s still recovering from his father’s death and as far as I’m concerned this kind of thing is unhealthy for him.”

  “She’s right,” Ian said. “You two lose your perspective sometimes. So do I.”

  “We should find the truth,” Pete insisted, “if only to relieve your mind.”

  “You mean your minds.” Ian turned to Sharon. “This unholy duo has been trying to persuade Jody and me to stage a séance ever since they moved in three years ago. We told them to go ahead on their own, but they keep insisting they need our help. Don’t let them talk you into it.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

  Sharon didn’t have to believe in ghosts to suspect there might exist forces that people couldn’t control. Forces of good and also forces of evil. Although she wasn’t religious in the conventional sense, she did believe there were powers in the universe that science hadn’t yet explained.

  The kind of activity that the Gaskells were proposing was exactly what she didn’t want. If evil forces focused on locales where terrible crimes had occurred, they might be unleashed even by people with the best of intentions. And she had no idea whether the Gaskells’ intentions were pure or not.

  “The fact is...” Pete stretched his shoulders as if shifting a burden. “The fact is that Bella’s and my lives have been subject to unexplained influences. What I mean by that is, tragedies.”

  “My father never recovered from the sudden onset of a mental disorder. And our only child, a little girl, died at birth,” Bella said. “The doctors could find no reason.”

  “Three months later, I was discovered to have testicular cancer on both sides, which is rare,” Pete went on. “That ended our chance to have more children. Because I’d had cancer, we couldn’t get approved to adopt.”

  “You might have gone overseas,” Sharon said. “If you’d wanted to.”

  Bella spread her hands. “After all we’d been through, we couldn’t subject a child to those risks.”

  “So you’re trying to exorcise your own ghosts by holding a séance?” Sharon said.

  “You’re quick.” Ian folded his arms and studied her admiringly. “You really nail people.”

  “I don’t mean to be harsh.” Sharon knew that some people considered her too frank. Jim had mentioned the matter more than once.

  “I like your directness,” he said. “You cut right through the crap.”

  “We know what we sound like when we discuss the occult,” Pete said mildly. “Sometimes I think it’s crap myself. But we didn’t make this stuff up.”

  “We see ourselves as psychic detectives,” Bella explained. “My mother was Bradley Johnson’s sister. After his death, she claimed he was innocent. She said the whole truth hadn’t come out and that until it did, his spirit couldn’t rest.”

  “My mother-in-law wished she had investigated the incident at the time, but she didn’t,” Pete said. “She always felt that she’d let her brother down. One séance and we could lay all our questions to rest.”

  “I doubt that,” Ian said. “And I’m uneasy about the possible effect on my seizures. It’s not worth the risk.”

  “We don’t mean to make trouble,” said Bella.

  “Anyway, we just dropped by to make sure Sharon doesn’t need any help, because of the fire. We’ve said our piece, and now we’re off.” Pete signaled to his wife. Forehead wrinkling, she left with him.

  When they’d gone, Sharon said, “I hope they’re not the type to go off the deep end.”

  “If they pester you or Greg, let me know,” Ian said. “I’ll ask Jody to turn them out.”

  “Does she know they want to call up ghosts?” Sharon asked.

  “I doubt she cares. She lives in the present, as you may have noticed.” Ian smiled fondly. “I think she sees them as comic relief. Or maybe as an educational example of what happens when people cling to the past instead of getting on with their lives.”

  “Isn’t that what you’re doing?” she couldn’t resist asking.

  “There you go, skewering me again,” Ian said lightly. “Maybe I am. Maybe you’re just the person to help me break free, Sharon.”

  She didn’t know how to answer. There was no denying the attraction between them, but his words implied more than she was ready to give.

  Greg saved her the need to respond when he came dashing into the room. “Jody’s cooking dinner and she wants you guys to join us.”

  “That’s kind of her.” Sharon had meant to go to the supermarket today, but she and Greg had slept late and then gone to visit Karly.

  “I’m glad she’s accepting you into the family,” Ian said. “You’re a bright spot, both of you.”

  Her son hopped up and down in excitement. “She’s making spaghetti, my favorite. She says you can cook tomorrow night if you want to.”

  “Sounds great.” Her mind busy trying to figure out what she should fix, Sharon followed him out the door, with Ian right behind.

  Sharon waited until they’d finished the meal and were enjoying their ice cream sundaes to break the news about her and Karly’s discovery. “You weren’t wrong, Ian,” she said after explaining about the photo album. “There is a connection. I guess I got a larger-than-normal dose of Susan’s genes.” He sat regarding her with an unreadable expression, so she turned to his great-aunt. “Jody, I hope this isn’t distressing news.”

  “Quite the opposite.” The older woman handed Greg the chocolate topping. “Go ahead and take extra if you want. It’s all in the family.” To Sharon, she said, “I suspected something when I saw your sister. She reminds me of my father around the mouth and the eyebrows. You, of course, are a dead ringer for Susan. Amazing how things come full circle.”

  Ian leaned on one elbow, ignoring his dessert. The deep the hollows of his cheeks gave him an air of ferocity. “It’s eerie, that’s what it is.”

  “We speculated that we might have visited here as children or at least someone might have pointed out the house to us,” Sharon explained. “That would explain why Karly was drawn to the place.”

  “I hope Ian hasn’t brought up these ideas he has about his grandfather.” With a corner of her napkin, Jody wiped a smudge from Greg’s T-shirt. “There are no ghosts here, I can assure you.”

  Hoping she could safely raise the subject, Sharon said, “The subject seems to fascinate the Gaskells.”

  Jody waved a hand dismissively. “That Bella! She’s unstable, if you ask me. I wish I’d known what they were up to when they asked to rent from me. Bad enough that my sister was murdered without having people try to paint her killer as some kind of victim, but I try not to let them bother me. To them, it’s ancient history, like doing research into the Roman Empire. I can’t expect them to understand that sometimes my memories seem so fresh, I can almost hear my sister’s voice.”

  “So we’re cousins,” said Ian, who didn’t appear to have been listening to his great-aunt’s comments. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

  “I think it’s great!” Greg had been excited when Sharon explained the situation to him on the drive back from Karly’s house.

  “So do I.” Jody reached for the scoop. “Who wants another round of ice cream?”

  “Me!” he cried.

  While the elderly woman refilled his bowl, Ian’s gaze swept Sharon. She found, unexpectedly, that she was less wary of him than before.

  At least a little of the same DNA shaped them both. It was only natural that they should be drawn together. That didn’t mean they were destined to be lovers.

  But, she conceded, they weren’t related closely enough for their kinship to be an obstacle, either.

  On Monday, Sharon took Greg with her to visit College Day School, since he’d be transferring into second grade there. The weather having cleared, their f
irst glimpse of the campus came in sunshine. First impressions counted, she mused a she regarded the handful of low stucco buildings set around a courtyard lush with azaleas.

  She would probably always picture the Fanning House as windswept and rainy. She hoped she would always envision College Day School bathed in sunshine and afloat in lavender butterfly blossoms.

  “This doesn’t look like a school,” muttered Greg, who whose old school had been a three-story brick structure. “You have to go outside to get from one room to another. What about when it snows?”

  “It doesn’t.” Sharon steered him toward the office, the only door that stood open. Sometimes she forgot that, unlike her, Greg had never lived in a land where the sun shone most of the year and azaleas bloomed in January.

  The director came out of her inner office to greet Sharon as they entered. Ellen Lieber was a short woman in her mid-thirties, not much older than Sharon, with a brisk, pleasant manner. Sharon had liked her the first time they met, at an education conference in Buffalo, and was grateful that the woman had remembered her when a position opened up.

  After shaking hands with her and Greg, Mrs. Lieber said, “I’ve got a stack of papers for you to look through, fill out, all that bureaucratic junk. But I’ll bet you’d like to see your classroom first, wouldn’t you, Mrs. Mahoney?”

  The manner of address was deliberately formal, so they wouldn’t slip in front of the children. The school took a traditional approach to education, with an emphasis on good citizenship, the basics of learning, and the arts.

  “Absolutely,” Sharon said. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all.”

  When they entered her classroom, halfway around the quad, her heart swelled. Drawings taped to the wall, the lingering scent of chalk and sneakers, and a list of names on the wall brought home the reality of the children. Fifteen of them, fresh-faced and eager to learn, would return to these seats in one more week. As Sharon and the principal discussed lesson plans and upcoming special events, Greg wandered to a row of picture books.