Celeste Files: Unjust
Page 3
“Go about your normal business. If he makes his presence known, ask him what he wants, but be honest about your answer. If you can give him what he needs to move on and away from Celeste, he could go away on his own.”
“What if he doesn’t?” John asked.
“Let me make a few calls before I answer that.”
After they ended the call with Maxine, Celeste pocketed her cell phone. “I’m so sorry. I never meant—”
“I know you didn’t, and I would never leave you here because of this. You know that, right?”
She nodded. In her heart she knew John loved her, but she questioned how much more he could handle. They dealt with what she assumed most normal couples went through—the stress of balancing marriage, children, jobs, money. But how many couples had to add on visions, trances and ghosts to their daily load? John might have known what she was when he’d married her, but sometimes she wondered if he’d have been better off with a normal woman.
“I know,” she said. “But I also don’t want to expose Olivia to anything like this.”
“One step at a time. Let’s go inside, get you showered and then call Barney.”
Her heart quickened as memories of the curtains, and how they’d shaped into a human form, filled her head. “Don’t forget the glass of wine.”
John glanced to the bottle on the ground. “Not that one,” he said with a grin. “Come on. We can do this.” He reached for the doorknob, drew in a deep breath, then opened the door.
The room was just as quiet and inviting as it had been when she’d first walked inside the condo yesterday. She looked to her right. The curtains hung as they should. She glanced around the small, cozy space. Nothing was out of place. The air conditioning blasted cool air. The suffocating sensation she’d experienced before running from the condo was now a distant memory. Relaxed, she stepped further into the room.
John took her hand, and stopped her. “Are we alone?”
She shrugged. “I think so. I really don’t have any experience with ghosts.”
“Even when I was a kid I didn’t believe in ghosts or monsters.”
“And now?”
When he looked at her, she caught a flash of anger in his eyes before it quickly disappeared. “I’ve known plenty of monsters. Fortunately they’re either dead or in jail.” His mouth slid into a half-grin. “I’ll be honest, when we walked inside here I was expecting to see objects floating through the air.”
“Maybe the couch levitating?” she asked, and shut the door behind them.
“That, I don’t need to see.” He let out a breath. “I don’t believe in ghosts, but I believe you saw and heard something.”
“I don’t know,” she said, let go of his hand and walked toward the kitchen. “I have my doubts.”
He followed behind. “About the ghost?”
“About me.” She set an unopened bottle of wine on the counter. “This could be my imagination. Maybe my subconscious is screwing with me. Do you have any idea how guilty I feel about leaving Olivia with Ian and Cami?” She attacked the cork with a wine server. “Don’t even get me started on the Sugar Shack. Of all the weeks to leave… Did I tell you we have three weddings, two showers and four graduation parties?” When the cork broke, she let out a frustrated sigh. “That’s nine cakes, not to mention the cookies and cake balls that were also ordered.”
John placed his hands over hers, then took the bottle of wine and opened it with ease. “You told me all of this yesterday. Twice.” He poured the wine into two glasses. “Olivia, guilt and work. Maybe they’re your ghost, and are haunting you while you’re on vacation because you can’t let go and have fun.”
She straightened. “Olivia thinks I’m fun.”
“She’s eighteen months old. She thinks worms are fun. And I didn’t say you weren’t fun to be with, I said you can’t let go of your responsibilities long enough to relax.” He handed her a glass. “Things have been great since you hired the extra managers, but I’ve noticed your stress level has been on the rise again since we started getting the condo ready to sell, and since we’d decided to try for another baby.”
True, and true. She had baby fever, but worried what pregnancy would be like now that she had her psychic abilities back and a toddler running around. Could her worries and anxieties be her ghost?
She picked up her glass. “I need to take a shower. When I’m finished, I’ll give Barney a call. Why don’t you figure out where we should go to dinner?”
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
She stopped at the entrance to the hallway. “No. You said everything right. I won’t be long.”
Once she was in the bathroom, she started the shower. While she waited for the water temperature to warm, she stripped out of her damp clothes and eyed her reflection. John had said everything right. Even packing for their vacation and making sure Olivia had everything she’d need while they were gone had stressed her. She’d also had a short fuse lately. If she didn’t ease up on something in her life, or learn to find a healthy way to deal with the pressure she placed herself under, she’d age before her time.
She stepped into the shower-tub combination, then slid the shower curtain back in place. As she washed the sweat from her hair and body, she decided to hold off on calling Barney until tomorrow. She was here to have fun with her husband and to relax. If there really was a ghost following her, it could kiss her butt. If it wanted attention, too bad. She was more afraid of the living than the dead. And if her ghost turned out to be a figment of her imagination, then she’d need a psychiatrist, not a psychic therapist. Again, she’d worry about that when it became necessary. In the mean time, she needed to figure out what to wear. Maybe the tank-style sundress she’d bought for the trip. It showed off her cleavage, which John loved, and made her hips appear less curvy, which she appreciated. She’d also bought a couple of sexy bra and panties sets. Tonight, she’d wear the hot pink set. If that didn’t take John’s mind off ghosts—
The shower curtain swelled as a hot breeze floated into the bathroom. Despite the warm water dousing her body, goose bumps coated her skin. The steam in the air became thick, oppressing. She moved the curtain slightly. “John?” she called.
“Yeah?” he yelled from either the kitchen or the living room. “Need something?”
She looked to the vent on the ceiling and near the wall. After her shower, she’d check the thermostat and make sure it was still set at a comfortable seventy-two degrees. “I’m good.”
She closed her eyes, and finished rinsing. When she opened her eyes, she slammed against the tile. Her heart pounded hard as the impression of a hand slid down the curtain.
“Go away.” She picked up the can of shaving cream, along with her razor. “Leave me the hell alone.”
The hand disappeared. The curtain whipped open. She gasped, and pressed the nozzle on the shaving cream. When the foam hit John on his bare chest and chin, she burst into laughter. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry,” she said, setting the shaving cream and razor on the ledge of the tub.
“Is this your way of saying you’d prefer to shower alone?” he asked, swiping a clump of cream from his chin.
“I said I was sorry.” She tugged at his arm. “I didn’t mean to spray you.”
“Or slice me with your razor? Did you think I was your ghost?”
She closed her eyes and dipped her head under the shower spray. “Sorry, what was that?” Arming herself with shaving cream and a razor had been ridiculous, and she’d rather play dumb than explain her reaction.
“I know you heard me.”
Instead of meeting his eyes, she glanced to the white foam on his chest. She scooped it up, then wrapped her hand around his erection. “Oh, my. It looks like you’ll need to get in the shower and wash off.”
“Celeste,” he said, then sucked in a breath when she stroked him. “Seriously, I saw your face before you assaulted me with the shaving cream.”
“Come in the shower with me.”
“Yes. I can’t help being a little paranoid.”
He stared down at her, his eyes holding understanding. “What do you want me to do?”
With the way his erection pressed against her belly, she had a few things in mind. She reached between their bodies and moved her hand along his length. “Well, we are naked.”
He grabbed her rear and pressed her against the tile. “I’m not talking about sex.” He touched her chin and searched her eyes. “Just when I think I’ve got this psychic thing down, something else happens. I want to be able to protect you, but with what we’re possibly dealing with, I don’t know how. Do you have any idea how much that pisses me off?”
Between working for the FBI or CORE, John had spent his adult life in law enforcement. He was used to going after killers, rapists and psychopaths, not ghosts. If that was what she was experiencing. Still, she knew what he’d meant. He took down bad guys, and had made it his career to play the role of the protector. Only he couldn’t shield her from something neither one of them understood.
“I love you and trust you with my life and our daughter’s.” She twined her arms around his neck. “Don’t feel like less of a man because you don’t always know the right answers, or know the best way to handle a situation.”
“It’s hard not to. I’ve spent years tracking criminals. How the hell do I track a ghost or keep it away from you?”
“We don’t even know if it’s real or my imagination.”
“I didn’t imagine the fear in your eyes when I opened the shower curtain.”
She grinned as she pictured what she must have looked like holding the shaving cream and razor. “I admit to being a little jumpy.” She shivered and tried to move away from the cold tile wall. “When you pressed your hand against the shower curtain, I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”
He kept her in place. “I didn’t touch the shower curtain until I opened it.”
Dread coated her body with goose bumps. Not wanting to alarm John, she half-laughed. “See? I told you I was paranoid. I also had water in my eyes. I must have seen your shadow just before you pulled aside the curtain.” Which was highly possible. As for the hot breeze, again, the air conditioning vent was located on the ceiling, about a foot away from the shower. The AC could have kicked on—at the wrong temperature—and moved the curtains. Logical. Explainable.
A total lie.
She knew in her gut that if it hadn’t been John’s hand against the curtain, then it belonged to the spirit following her. Just like on the boat and when she’d been alone in the condo, that same heaviness, the sensation of being suffocated, surrounded her before the shower curtain had swelled. Her ghost’s calling card. She’d prefer clanking chains to suffocation, but at least this was a sign she couldn’t ignore. At least she knew when he was present.
When she shivered again, John moved her under the warm spray. “You’re a terrible liar,” he said, smoothing back her wet hair.
“No, I’m not. You believed me when I said you looked good in the Hawaiian shirt you bought for the trip,” she teased. John could wear anything and look great.
He chuckled and kissed her. “Lying again. You were so turned on by that shirt, you practically ripped it off me before tackling me onto the bed.”
“I was ripping it off of you because it was making me dizzy.”
He squeezed her rear again. “I’m wearing the shirt tonight.” He grazed her lips with his. “Don’t keep anything from me. If you saw something, I want to know.”
“I saw the impression of a hand,” she said, then told him her thoughts on the ghost’s calling card.
“I suppose that makes sense. How do you feel now?” he asked.
She reached down, took one of his hands off her rear, then guided it between her thighs. “You tell me,” she said, pressing his fingers against her sex.
“Warm, wet,” he murmured against her ear. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She slid her hand along his erection. “What do you think?”
“My wife is sexy,” he said, then kissed her.
Whether they were dealing with a real ghost or something her imagination had manifested, she was going to enjoy her vacation and her time with John. Unless the temperature in the room skyrocketed, and not due to body heat, because she had no intention of having sex in front of a pervy ghost.
Chapter 3
THE FOUL ODOR of rotting eggs woke Celeste. Concerned the sewage must have backed up during the night, she opened her eyes to wake John, and drew in a sharp breath. A dark-gray cloud undulated above her. Smoky, curlicue tendrils emerged from the mist and trickled toward her neck and arms. Panicked, she rolled to her side to escape it.
A powerful force slammed her body against the bed. She turned her head toward John just as the wisps of smoke coiled around her neck, arms and ankles. “John,” she said, on a strangled whisper, the smoky tendrils, now more like thick black cables, tightening around her throat. Terrified, she fought against the restraints, opened her mouth and drew in a ragged breath. The dark cloud fell against her, knocking what little air she had left in her lungs.
“Rise and shine, sugar,” a man’s raspy voice filled her head, as the dark mist filled her mouth.
She snapped her jaw shut, but the strong tendrils pried at her lips and teeth. Unable to buck, unable to move, she grunted and groaned, hoping to God John would wake up and the thing above her would disappear.
“Don’t fight me. Let me inside. Let me show you something.”
Celeste watched in horror as the heavy mist poured into her mouth. She tasted its malice, choked on its evil despair. Her stomach painfully nauseous and cramping, her body now paralyzed, she stared at the ceiling and prayed that this was only a nightmare.
“You’re awake and I’m very real. Why don’t I introduce myself?”
Everything went black. She could no longer see, let alone hear the sound of her breathing or John’s. Yet, she could move. Terrified of this place, frightened by the bleakness and unfathomable darkness, she carefully eased down into a crouch. When she reached for the floor, her hand touched air. Panicking, confused, she ran her fingers over her feet, slid them between her toes and was met with nothingness. Dread made her head ache and her heart beat out of pace. She glided her hands under her feet, then suddenly plummeted.
Hot air brushed her skin as she fell into an unknown abyss. This place, this dream, was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before and she just wanted to wake up and curl next to John.
“Not a dream, sugar. Welcome to my nightmare.”
Celeste screamed, but nothing came out of her. As she plunged through the blackness, she fought the pressure of the air around her and reached for her mouth. Her lips were gone, replaced by smooth skin.
As she tried to scream again, her tormentor’s chuckle resonated through her head and made her skin crawl. “Don’t be scared, and don’t deny what’s happening. You believe in me and you’ll be back in bed with your man in no time.”
She didn’t want to believe in him. She didn’t even know what he was.
“We met today. Remember, sugar? Didn’t you feel the water filling my nose and mouth?”
Oh, God. The vision of the boat captain being dragged under the murky water, his eyes wide, his body convulsing as he fought against the strong current and net had been real. Which meant the ghost hadn’t been a manifestation brought on by stress.
She’d had visions of the dead in the past and none of them had ever physically controlled her body while she’d been awake. Trances had been different and difficult for her to manage, hence the need for the psychic mentor. What was happening to her now wasn’t a vision or a trance, at least she didn’t think so. She didn’t know what to call it, but she knew one thing—when the dead came to her, they wanted something.
What did the boat captain want from her?
; She stopped falling. Her body suddenly became buoyant.
“That’s it. All you had to do was believe. Now, let me show you what I am.”
Celeste looked up and gasped. She touched her mouth, skimmed her fingers along her lips, then grinned. As she floated upward, tiny stars began to dot the blackness and cast light onto the pair of panties and tight cotton camisole she’d gone to bed wearing. While she still feared this unfamiliar place and the man who’d brought her here, her terror and denial must have been what had thrust her into the darkness and sealed her mouth. Rising higher and higher, she realized accepting the situation might be the only way to end this living nightmare. She also needed to discover what the boat captain wanted from her. The sooner she could help him, the sooner she could rid him from her life.
“Are you still there?” she asked.
When she received no answer, she hung suspended. Her body weightless, she swiveled and looked down. The Earth, bright and beautiful, was below her, inviting her to come back, to explore its wonders. She should be terrified. She should be begging for her ghost to come back. Except her curiosity, her fascination with this strange and yet magnificent dream-state had her longing to remain here. To thank the ghost for showing her such beauty.
“Find me.”
She looked around, but there was no sign of the gray smoke. “Where are you?”
Heat surrounded her. “Come see how bad I can be. Come see what I am.”
His words chilled her and brought her back to reality. She wasn’t in outer space. She was in Everglades City, Florida, sleeping next to her husband in their vacation rental. She looked to the Earth, poured her focus onto the United States, and flipped herself until she mimicked Superman. Nothing happened. “Go,” she mumbled under her breath. “Fly.” Still nothing.
The man laughed.
“If you want me to meet you, tell me how to move and where to find you,” she demanded.
“C’mon, sugar,” he said, still half-laughing. “You brought yourself here, you can take yourself back on home. I’m on my way now. Catch me if you can.”