by Glass, Debra
My heart stopped when her gaze sought mine. Her red gash of a mouth warped into a haughty smirk.
The blood in my veins turned to ice. If Briar was here…where was Jeremiah?
* * * * *
When I got home from school, I rushed straight to the attic. I pounded up the stairs, breathless by the time I reached the top.
Relief swamped me when I found him waiting for me beside the fanlight. I rushed into his open arms and all my fear and tension dissolved. Without words, I clung, burying my face in his shirt. “I was so scared.” I sobbed. “I thought she’d taken you away from me.”
His fingers threaded into my hair. I closed my eyes, so consumed with love for him I thought my heart would burst. But although he held me close, I sensed something different.
Something wrong.
Reluctantly, I lifted my head and looked into his dove gray eyes. “Jeremiah?”
His forehead creased. His gaze followed the path of his thumb as it tenderly brushed the length of my scar.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” I tried in vain to tamp down my welling panic. The hard look in his eyes silently conveyed something to me that I didn’t want to know. I refused to heed my psychic sense. I wouldn’t let it in.
“I’ve made you sad,” he drawled.
I shook my head. “No.”
“I never want to make you sad,” he whispered.
Relief swamped me and I sagged against him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew we cut a strange figure. Me with my modern skinny jeans and layered tops and him in his suspenders and homespun clothing. And yet, the century that separated our lives proved no barrier to our love.
“I would die if anything ever happened to you,” I said, meaning it.
“That won’t be necessary.” His face relaxed and the tiniest, cutest smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. His thumb moved to my bottom lip and I smoldered with need to feel his kiss.
Tilting my chin up, I leaned toward him. His ghostly body swelled with a deep breath and, as he lowered his mouth to mine, my lashes fluttered shut. My heart ran wild when the soft energy that transcended physical life became solid. Flesh on flesh, his lips grazed mine, making me desperate for more. And then his mouth claimed mine and for that one magic instant, nothing else existed. I embraced him. I drew him impossibly closer and as his kiss deepened, I arched into him, aware of every ethereal inch of him.
Love and desire spiraled through me with such force, I feared I’d collapse in his arms. I wanted to breathe him into my body, to feel his energy emanating from within me. I doubted I could contain it.
Cool hands cradled my cheeks and then slid down the sensitive column of my neck, trembling as they found and cupped my shoulders.
“Touch me,” I mewled, my mouth never leaving his.
A growl rumbled from deep in his throat and he hauled me against him. His fingers gripped and dug into my biceps as his kiss turned savage with hunger. His mouth moved to my ear and he muttered my name. One hand slipped around my waist and settled on the small of my back.
Liquid heat pooled inside me and when he pulled me tighter, he left me with no doubt he felt the same desire I did. He laid his forehead against mine. His chest heaved with deep breaths that sweetly fanned my face.
“I don’t want to stop,” he said huskily as his index finger made lazy circles at the center of my collarbone.
Electricity hummed in my veins. “Then don’t.” Brazen, I shifted against him but he took a step back.
Immediately, the awareness of the absence of his body next to mine left me aching. But when I moved to return to him, he caught my arms and held me in place.
“Jeremiah—”
He released me and turned away. “Wren, I’m not real.”
I took the step that closed the distance between us and gingerly touched his shoulder. “Yes, you are. You’re the most real thing I’ve ever known.”
Briar’s face flashed in my thoughts and, intuitively, I knew she had something to do with his reticence. “It’s her, isn’t it?”
My earlier desire faded, replaced with fear and anger. “You spoke with her.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.
He glanced guiltily over his shoulder. “I don’t belong here.” He turned to me. “Not anymore.”
“Jeremiah, don’t say that.” Alarm flooded me. “Don’t listen to her. She’s lying. She wants to separate us because she’s jealous.”
“I know what her intentions are,” he said. “But the fact remains you are a beautiful, living woman. I have no right to keep you from…life.”
I shook my head. The first time he’d done this, I’d been frightened. Now, frustration and anger replaced fear. “I trusted you. I told you things I’ve never told another living soul.”
“That’s just it. I’m not a living soul.”
Rattled, I stared. Heated words filled my thoughts but somehow, I kept from uttering anything I’d regret. “How can you say that?” I asked instead. Desperation clawed at my heart. “I’m the one with a choice, Jeremiah.” I tapped my chest for emphasis. “I’m the one who had the courage to…to come back. To live.”
His eyes narrowed and instantly, I regretted provoking him.
I realized I was crying. Again. With trembling fingers, I swatted the annoying tears away. “But I don’t have a choice about…loving you.”
His face softened and once again, I found myself in the haven of his arms. “Wren,” he whispered into my hair. “I love you so much it scares me.”
“Don’t leave me,” I pleaded, pressing a kiss to the spot where his shirt opened at the collar. “Promise me you’ll never leave me.”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he held me for what seemed like an eternity. “Come,” he murmured as his fingers laced with mine.
I would have followed him anywhere.
He led me up to the widow’s walk. I sat on the roof beside him and allowed him to draw my head into his lap. A cool autumn breeze contrasted the warmth of the afternoon sun and soon, I closed my eyes, refusing to think as he toyed with locks of my hair.
* * * * *
When I awakened, I was alone. Jeremiah had left the trap door to the attic open for me. Numb, I made my way downstairs to my room. All day long, my one goal had been to read the papers Waylon had given me until I’d seen Jeremiah in the attic.
Now, I didn’t want to face the information Waylon had collected for me. But I had to. I had to know what Briar was capable of doing.
I climbed onto my bed and emptied my backpack, and then, with dread, I unrolled the papers. I smoothed the wrinkles out with my palm and squinted to read the small print on Briar’s Facebook page. She’d shared several images of pentagrams and emo characters.
Despite the decidedly melodramatic appearance of her page, the posts Waylon had chosen to print for me left me stunned. Briar belonged to a larger group of Goths that stemmed from some New Age shop based in Nashville. Video links and testimonies from people whose houses she had cleared abounded on her page. I wished I could watch the videos so I could see her in action.
Waylon had followed one link for me and copied the information which spelled out what a clearing involved. Apparently, Briar acted as the group’s psychic. She claimed to possess the ability to ferret out a ghost’s presence by using a pendulum which looked like a crystal of some sort suspended from a necklace chain.
Waylon had obviously hit print screen in the midst of a slideshow and although the resolution of his printer was not photo quality, I could make out pictures of what he’d referred to as orbs which were glowing balls of energy that showed up on film.
Jeremiah had made a more lifelike appearance on Waylon’s camera, but still, the lens hadn’t captured Jeremiah as I saw him. Beautiful. Bathed in a ghostly glow.
Wren, I’m not real…
He was wrong. He was the most real thing I had ever known in my life.
Reading the pages, I remembered that Jeremiah had never either admitted or denied that
he’d spoken with Briar. I inhaled, reading further.
Using a thick bundle of dried sage bound together with twine and called a smudge stick, Briar indicated that earthbound spirits could be spellbound by the fumes created when the stick was set on fire. At that point, they could then be directed to the Other Side—which is where she thought earthbound spirits belonged.
I don’t belong here…
Did Jeremiah realize that Briar intended to send him to the Light? Anxiously, I wondered if that’s why he’d backed off earlier, before we had a chance to become more intimate. Did he want her to send him?
The image of her smug smirk rose like a bad omen in my thoughts. My stomach knotted.
I had to convince him to stay with me—at least to wait for me.
* * * * *
Not even my scar made me as self-conscious as wearing two pounds of makeup and stiffly sprayed hair. I could practically feel the eyes on me as I walked down the hall toward where the photographer was set up. Staring straight ahead, I shifted my backpack higher on my shoulder and pressed on.
Everyone else had already gotten their senior pictures made at the beginning of the year.
Not me. I’d shown up well after the first day of school and now, it was some sort of big deal that I get the pictures taken so they could put them in the yearbook.
I’d almost purposefully forgotten to tell Mom but some well-meaning school secretary had called her and now I had to get the picture taken.
When I arrived at the area behind the stage curtains that had been set up as a makeshift photography studio, three other nerds waited in line. One red headed boy wore a mock tux jacket and shirt. A big clamp that reminded me of Mom’s jumper cables drew up the excess fabric in the back. One girl wore a crimson velvet drape and the other had on a navy blue drape.
I was beyond caring what color they stuck on me.
A withered old lady with bright yellow hair eyed me and then prowled through a suitcase until she found a sage green drape. “Here you go, honey,” she said in her gravelly smoker’s voice as she handed it to me. “You can go behind that curtain there and slip this on.”
She also passed me a baby diaper pin.
How I’d ever get it fastened in the back, I didn’t know but I discarded my backpack and then wandered behind the stage curtains to change.
Wriggling out of my sweater and cami proved every bit as awkward as I’d imagined, but I managed to secure the drape in the front and twist it around so that it hung around my shoulders like it was supposed to.
By the time I’d gotten the drape to fit, the photographer was ready for me.
“Have a seat right there,” the yellow-haired lady told me, gesturing toward a low stool.
Clutching the drape as if it might come plunging down at any moment, I carefully sat in front of a gray backdrop. I squinted against the bright lights, barely able to make out the assistant and the guy behind the camera.
The yellow-haired lady drifted over to where I’d adopted a stiff pose and held up some sort of meter. After she called out some numbers to the photographer, she turned an eagle eye on my face. I cringed inside when her gaze fixed on my scar. Please don’t let her ask me about it.
“Why don’t you turn this way, sweetie?” She stooped to guide my knees so that my good side faced the camera.
Something ugly welled up inside me and I blinked, fighting threatening tears. Why did it matter? Why did I care? I didn’t want my stupid picture taken anyway.
The old woman hadn’t said anything. She’d just looked at my scar and then turned me so it wouldn’t show in the portrait. Although I hadn’t wanted her to mention it, I thought it almost would have been easier for me if she had.
The lady stepped out of the shot and the photographer encouraged me to smile. I tired. I really did. But I had the feeling I grimaced more than smiled.
“Show me those pretty teeth, sweetheart,” the photographer said from the shadows.
I forced a smile and the lights flashed, temporarily blinding me. As the instructions to smile and the flashes continued, my heart began pounding. Not once did they turn me to get the scarred side. I rubbed my damp palms on the knees of my jeans. Every part of me wanted to run and rip this dumb drape off and hide somewhere. I was about to do just that when I felt a warm, tingling energy surround me.
Jeremiah.
At once, a sense of calm eased my tattered nerves and I relaxed.
Even though I couldn’t see him, I felt the sensation of a hand on my shoulder, steadying me.
Beautiful…
Inhaling, I faced the camera and smiled.
* * * * *
I stood in a cemetery.
My gaze swept the moon-bathed tombstones. Where was I?
I tried to think, to remember, to recall why this place seemed familiar but all I knew was that Jeremiah was in danger.
A crenellated spire loomed darker than the night sky. I ran toward it. Terror gripped me and I wondered if I was too late.
I rushed up a set of stairs and seized the big handles on a thick wooden door. It wouldn’t budge. “Let me in!” I screamed, pounding on the unyielding wood until my fists ached.
I knew Jeremiah was inside although I didn’t know how I knew.
There had to be another way inside. I stumbled down the stairs, falling, ripping the knee of my jeans on a rock. Pain shot through my kneecap but I ignored it as I clambered to my feet and hobbled around the side of the building.
I had to get inside. I had to stop it.
Somewhere inside my head, it registered that I didn’t know what I had to stop. I just knew I had to save Jeremiah.
As I came around the corner, the front steps appeared as out of a thick fog. My feet were so heavy, I could hardly climb them but I managed to drag myself up them.
Yellow light seeped through the crack between the double doors. I fell into it, pushing it wide open.
And the sight I beheld shocked me so badly, all I could do was gape and gasp for the breath to scream.
“Wren!”
My eyes snapped open. Realization struck that I lay in my bed, in my own room.
In Jeremiah’s arms.
Trembling, I searched his face, trying to grasp what had just happened.
“You were having a nightmare.” He brushed a lock of damp hair away from my face.
Exhaling raggedly, I reached up to touch the energy I perceived as his face. He was really with me. He was safe. I sighed and burrowed into the safe haven of his embrace.
“What did you dream?” he asked into my hair and drew me closer.
“I…was trying to…find you,” I muttered, grappling for the hazy details of my nightmare. My pulse still raced and I clung to Jeremiah, gripping fistfuls of his shirt as if I could somehow hold onto his soul that way.
“You’re safe, now,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep.”
“Don’t leave me.”
He remained silent for what seemed like an eternity before he reiterated his promise. “You’re safe now.”
Twelve
A month later, my life at school relaxed into the easy senior year every high school student anticipated. Although I didn’t extend Laura, Holly, Frank and Waylon’s friendship with me to include after-hours phone calls and hang out time, they considered me a part of their group.
Waylon had kept my secret about Jeremiah and, because of that, I bonded with him in a way I hadn’t with the others.
Even Briar had stopped cornering me by the lockers and glaring at me in the halls. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or suspicious.
But I chose not to dwell too much on it. I was so happy with Jeremiah, I didn’t want to think about unpleasant things. Like Briar.
During gov-ec class one morning, I mindlessly took notes, when suddenly, Jeremiah’s unmistakable energy moved over my hand. My pen began to scrawl across the paper and I gaped as he wrote a message through my hand.
One long word formed on the lined page of my spiral bound noteboo
k. Iloveyou.
I deciphered the odd, florid scribble and a slow smile crept across my face. I love you, too, Jeremiah.
* * * * *
Thanksgiving came and went and while everyone else geared up for Christmas, I spent my afternoons with Jeremiah. On warmer days, we sat on the roof. On colder days, I bundled up and joined him in the attic where we could be alone, out of earshot of Mom and David. And far away from Ella’s curious eyes.
Each moment I spent with him, I fell more and more in love with him.
Sometimes, we walked hand and hand in the woods surrounding the house, talking about his life and mine. Despite the century and a half that separated our lives, we found our experiences were not all that different. Both of us felt pressured by expectations. Both of us knew tremendous guilt over the deaths of others and lamented that our feelings weren’t understood by our parents. Each of our lives had been altered by events beyond our control.
The more we talked, the more I loved him and, while we often sneaked kisses behind the dilapidated barn, Jeremiah never made a move to take our relationship any further. I didn’t push him, but I couldn’t help wondering about his reluctance. He came from another time and even though I knew he found me attractive and that he respected me, it was obvious he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
In Jeremiah’s day, women were not as open about their wants and needs. And as I walked with him now through the orchard, my gloved hand entangled in his, I glanced up at him, amazed as always at how the setting sun’s rays shone through him. Times like this reminded me of the intervening century existing between our physical lives, of the fact that he was a ghost. Although I’d accepted it, I couldn’t deny the stark reality.
“Do you miss it?” I asked.
He cut his gaze at me and his eyebrow arched. “Miss what?”
“Life.”
His hand tightened around mine. “Not really,” he said thoughtfully. “At least I didn’t until you came along.”
Joy and despair warred inside me at his words.
“Do you wish I was alive?” he asked.
