He stared at her. “You mean you really believe Jesse is here,” he summarized in droll amazement, “in this room with us, right now?”
“No.” The word sounded bleak, even to her own ears, and she resented the relief that spread over Dean’s face. “He left a few minutes ago.”
“Good Lord, listen to yourself, Elissa! Babbling about ghosts and communicating with spirits!”
“I know it sounds crazy, but—”
“You’re obviously going through denial.” He reached out and drew her closer to him on the sofa with a gentle yet insistent arm around her. Concern shone in his pale blue eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner how...attached...you’d grown to Jesse.” His voice, though warm, resonated with a undeniable edge of bitterness. “I guess I should have seen it—your touchiness every time his name was mentioned, your certainty that he was alive.”
She pulled away from the patronizing embrace. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” With forlorn hope, she called out to the room at large, “Jesse, if you’re here, I could use some help.”
“You could definitely use some help,” muttered Dean, his stare laden with disapproval. “You have to stop this craziness, Elissa. Now, let’s look at things rationally. The first time you saw his...ghost...was while your day-care charges were sleeping, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” She wondered what that had to do with anything.
“So you were probably napping yourself and didn’t even realize it. You just dreamed that Jesse was there.”
“It wasn’t like that. I walked around and talked to him. Argued with him, for heaven’s sake. I’ve seen him a dozen times since then—spent whole days with him.” Since she’d gone this far, she decided she might as well sound completely bonkers. “He has extraordinary powers now. He can appear and disappear. He can walk through walls. He even slammed a door without touching it.”
The quality of Dean’s stare changed—from unrelenting disbelief to what Elissa swore was uncertainty. As if her last statement held more validity than the rest.
His lips tightened to a thin white line, and his eyes narrowed. “Did Jesse, or maybe my mother, say anything to you about his...well, his talent?”
“Talent? No. What talent?”
He hesitated, as if debating the wisdom of telling. “It wasn’t a normal skill. It never did anybody any good.”
“What was it?” she demanded.
Looking sullen, Dean took a deep breath, rose from the sofa and paced across the living room. “When Jesse was a kid, sometimes he’d get angry and things would...well, happen. Doors would slam, things would fall off shelves.”
She stared at him incredulously.
“If you’ve already heard about that,” continued Dean, “your subconscious mind probably twisted it out of proportion and now you’re having nightmares. Waking nightmares.”
“You’re telling me that Jesse moved things with his mind before he died?” The thought stirred a memory of Professor Lehmberg’s theories. Something about well-trained psychic minds gaining even more power in the spiritual realm...
“Damn it, Elissa, I wish you’d never met him,” swore Dean. “Jesse always meant trouble for me. I knew when he showed up at my door that I shouldn’t let him near you. He always drew the attention to himself, no matter where we were. Everyone saw only Jesse.” Realizing he’d gotten sidetracked, he ranted, “He was the devil’s spawn, Elissa. All the girls went crazy over him. Even the boys followed him around like he was some hero. No one knew him like I did. He took real pleasure in hurting people...especially me.”
Resentment stirred m Elissa. In the past when Dean had told her negative things about Jesse, she’d taken it as a friend’s warning against a heartbreaker. Now his words seemed only malicious. “I don’t believe that Jesse would intentionally hurt anyone.”
Dean glared at her as if she’d gone mad. “And I don’t believe your blind defense of him! I’d have thought that you, of all people, could see past his muscular physique and handsome mug to the real person. He’s the byproduct of a rape. And from things I’ve heard, he’s a chip off the old block. He himself wasn’t above forcing a girl now and then.”
“You must have been misinformed about that” Her voice shook, but she managed to keep it level. “One thing I know for sure is that Jesse’s no rapist. Both times I was with him, he made a point to stop and ask my permission, even when I was on the brink of...of...” she halted, appalled at what she’d been about to tell Dean.
“On the brink of what?” The curious prodding came not from Dean, but from the very air around her. And the voice, the deep, vibrant voice, was the one she’d been longing to hear.
Awash in relief that he’d returned—and embarrassment at what he’d heard her say—Elissa felt color heat its way up her neck to the very roots of her hair. “Never mind. That’s not important now.” And with unfocused eyes, she spoke to the vibrant air, “But I finally understand what is.” She directed her gaze back to Dean, who obviously hadn’t heard Jesse’s remark. “Just rest assured that Jesse Garrett is far from being a rapist.”
Dean’s thin lips twisted. “Did you say, both times you were with him? When could you possibly have been with him a second time? Unless we’re counting a postmortem visit.”
Her warm color refused to recede. “I’m sorry, Dean, but that’s none of your business.” The question probably wouldn’t have bothered her so much if Jesse hadn’t been listening to every word. “Jesse, if you’ll just make your presence known, this confrontation will go much smoother.”
Can’t. The reply was too quiet to be called a whisper. It was more of a thought that shimmered through her mind.
Dean stared at her in horror. “Do you really believe that you’re conversing with Jesse now?”
“No, I wouldn’t call it conversing. It seems he needs more rest to build up his energy to a sufficient level.”
“Rest? He needs more rest? For God’s sake, he’s dead! How much more rest can he get?”
Tired of Dean’s negativity, she spouted, “Dead is as dead does!”
Burying his head in his hands, Dean sank down onto the sofa. “You’re cracking up, Elissa. Cracking up over Jesse.” When he lifted his head, his eyes were shiny with tears. “He’s not worth it, I’m telling you! Don’t you remember what he did to you? He screwed you, then took off, without even answering your letters.” The air around them suddenly chilled, deeply and dramatically. Elissa felt it and shivered, but Dean was too caught up in his distress to notice. “You should have heard him when he called me from those brothels in Asia.”
Brothels? The word exploded in her mind like a tossed hand grenade.
She bit her lip in consternation. “Are you sure he was calling from brothels?”
“Hell, yes. He told me!” insisted Dean. “I heard the women giggling in the background. You didn’t really think that a stud like Jesse would go for even a few days without having himself serviced, did you?”
Again, a silent reply ripped through her: Self-service only, that whole damned year. While I was thinking about you. Elissa could virtually hear the growl in Jesse’s voice; see the anger in his eyes, invisible though he was. Her blood warmed to him.
“You must have misinterpreted the situation,” she said to Dean. “He was probably calling from a restaurant or bar.”
I made no calls to Dean.
Elissa froze. No calls? He’d made no calls? But how could that be? Surely Dean wouldn’t have lied...would he? Jumped to false conclusions, yes, but not lied.
“I told you what Jesse said when I mentioned your pregnancy,” reminded Dean, a brutal edge to voice. “He laughed. Then he said, ‘Just because I play a game of pool doesn’t mean I want to lug the pool table around with me.’”
The plunge in temperature this time was too severe to be ignored by even the angriest man. Dean shivered, looked around and rubbed his arms. “It’s getting cold in here,” he muttered. “Damned cold.”
Elissa was more mindful
of a tension in the air, an odd, watchful tension, as if Jesse were waiting. Wondering whose side she would believe...
She gazed keenly at Dean, who was now chafing his hands to warm them. Could he have told her such destructive lies at a time when she’d been in desperate emotional need?
“Dean,” she said quietly, “that address you gave me for Jesse. Where did you get it?”
His gaze jerked back to hers. “Where did I get it? From my address book. Jesse’s mother gave me that ad dress.”
Wrapping her arms around herself to fight off the bitter cold and the trembling that had taken hold of her, she asked, “Jesse didn’t give you an address? A more recent one?”
Dean frowned. His neck and face slowly turned an unbecoming red. “No.” The word sounded suspiciously tentative. “I guess he just didn’t think of it. He knows I’m not one for writing letters.”
“May I see your wallet?”
“My wallet?” He blinked. “Whatever for?”
“Humor me, Dean.”
“But I don’t understand why—” He grabbed for his back pocket, too late. His wallet had slipped through his hand and fluttered to the floor. With a start, he stared down at it in disbelief.
Elissa knelt and picked up the wallet that had fallen open on the Persian carpet. She gathered the folded money and business cards that had rained out.
Dean stuttered, “H-h-how did...how did that...”
“Jesse obviously wants me to see it.” Her voice had grown cool and curt. She took no pity on Dean despite the little-boy look of bewilderment on his stunned face.
“You did that, didn’t you?” he whispered. “You have the same psychic power as Jesse. I never knew you could do that I don’t think you should. I hated it when he made things move...hated it....”
Elissa ignored his flustered rambling. One by one, she flicked through his business cards until she found his hairstylist’s—Pierre’s House of Beauty. With a heaviness already weighing down her heart, she turned the card over. She knew full well what she’d find.
“An army base in Asia.” She raised demanding eyes to him. “Whose address is this, Dean? It’s not the one you gave me for Jesse.”
“I...I forgot all about that address. It was so early in the morning when he wrote it.”
“You lied to me.” Her faint voice shook with sad, incredulous discovery.
“Lied to you? I didn’t lie to you!”
“Things might have been so different for Jesse and me.”
“Damn it, Elissa, he wasn’t good enough for you.”
“I should have been the one to judge that.”
“I was protecting you! I love you. Jesse never did.”
“At least he never lied to me.”
“You only met him once.”
“And you meant to keep it that way, didn’t you.”
With a curse, Dean grabbed her by the shoulders and dragged her to him. “I know what you’re missing,” he fumed, “and it’s not Jesse.” Twining his arms forcibly around her, he panted, “He’s not the only one who can give it to you.”
Startled, she wrenched away from his desperate attempts to kiss her and shoved at his chest. He staggered backward with much more force than her push had warranted. In fact, he crashed against the end table and flipped over it, as if a huge, angry man had slung him there.
As if.
Stunned, Dean pulled himself to his feet, too outraged to question the strength of her shove. “It’s my turn, Elissa,” he ranted, beating at his thin chest with one fist. His face and neck had turned a blotchy red and sweat trickled from his forehead. “It’s way past time for my turn. I was good to you. I was willing to marry you even after your scandal. I was ready to take in Jesse’s bastard!”
Elissa gasped as the razor-sharp hurt of betrayal sliced through her. He was talking about Cody, her baby, with a malice that shocked her.
“You like it this way, don’t you?” he spat, advancing with a resentful gleam in his eyes. “Rough and dirty must be your style—or you wouldn’t have jumped into the sack with Jesse. I knew you for years, Elissa. Years! Jesse was a damn stranger. So why the hell did you go to bed with him, but not with me? How could Jesse’s touch turn you into a—”
He never got the chance to finish. He was jerked up by the throat—as evidenced by choking noises and a gaping mouth—and slammed backward against the stairwell wall so hard that pictures jumped and crashed to the floor.
Dean hung there choking, pinned to the wall with his tassled loafers kicking uselessly above the floor. Doors all over the house slammed, lights flickered and a wintry wind blustered around the living room.
The vase of roses Dean had brought her leaped from the mantel and shattered, strewing the flowers across the hearth. The popcorn bowl flipped off the sofa and sprayed kernels into the wind, which howled like a pack of banshees.
“Stop it, Jesse!” cried Elissa, her hair whipping furiously around her as popcorn bounced off the walls and flower petals fluttered before her eyes. “Just stop it this instant!”
The commotion kept on. Books fell off shelves, vertical blinds clanged together, and Dean’s head banged violently against the wall as he choked to a ghastly purple.
Elissa crossed her arms, lifted her chin and tapped her slippered foot. “Go ahead, Jesse. Kill him. But if you do, I won’t speak to you.”
It took a moment, but the chaos gradually lessened. First the wind died down, then the lights stopped flickering. Doors quit banging; books stopped leaping from their shelves. And finally Dean was lowered to the floor.
He collapsed there, gulping for breath and trembling. Wild-eyed, he gazed around the room. “It is you, isn’t it, Jesse,” he squeaked when he finally regained his voice. “Even death couldn’t keep you in your place.”
A gold letter opener rose up off the cluttered floor, launched across the living room and stuck in the wall beside his head, vibrating with an audible twang.
Dean whimpered and cowered away from the daggerlike weapon. “There’s no reason for you to be mad, Jesse. You should be grateful. Grateful!” He took a moment to swallow as he inched his way along the wall toward the front door. “You told me to watch out for Elissa until you got back. That’s all I’m doing—watching out for her. Who else is going to take care of her now that you’re dead?”
The coat-closet door opened and slammed with eloquent fury. Elissa winced.
“Stop deluding yourself, Dean,” she said. “I’ve been the one taking care of you.” With cool arrogance, she then sauntered closer, the frigidity of the room matching the state of her heart. “I thought you were a friend,” she said. “You hurt me. Deeply. But I thank God for that. Because now you’ll never get the opportunity to hurt my son the way you and your pompous family hurt Jesse.” Clasping her trembling hands behind her, she nodded toward the door. “Now, you’d better get the hell out of here...before I let Jesse decapitate you.”
With a grateful sob, Dean scrambled to his feet and loped toward the foyer. As he neared it, he either performed a remarkable leap in a uniquely arched position, or an invisible foot connected with his backside and booted him out the door.
11
“SHHH, IT’S OKAY, CODY. Everything’s okay.” Elissa hugged the wailing baby fiercely to her. The noise of banging doors and shattering glass undoubtedly had woken him. Cuddling him against her shoulder, she rocked and hummed and pressed her cheek against his sleep-warmed head, savoring his baby scent.
She loved him so much. Why hadn’t she seen the danger she’d almost subjected him to? If she’d married Dean, Cody would have grown up with the same steady diet of poison that Jesse had been fed as a child. For all his caring ways, Dean had resented Cody with a spite that shocked her. He’d called him “Jesse’s bastard.”
Pain shot through her—not for herself, but for her sweet, innocent son; that anyone would scorn him, devalue him as a person, before his personality had even formed, before he had a chance to develop a defense against the hatefuln
ess.
How had Jesse prevailed against such malice, aimed at him from birth? She thought back to his funeral and his aunt’s viciousness, his mother’s lack of grief. The pain in her intensified—this time for Jesse. “Oh, God, Jesse, hadn’t your own mother defended you against the family’s spite?”
My mother’s not to blame. The quick, silent reply came to her as clearly as spoken words. Elissa glanced around the darkened bedroom, but saw no one.
“Not to blame?” she repeated in a pained whisper. “How could any mother not defend her child against hatred? How could she let them say you were born from bad seed, with bad blood....”
“She didn’t understand any of that.” This time, the words were spoken aloud, quietly, from the direction of the doorway. “As an adult, I came to realize that.”
“What do you mean, she didn’t understand?” Elissa continued to search the shadows, desperate for the sight of him.
“She had a severe case of scarlet fever as a child. She’d been exceptionally bright before that, from what I gathered. A writer, a poet. But the fever...well...” Sadness hung heavy in the darkness. “She believed whatever my aunt told her.”
Elissa wanted to enfold him in the same kind of hug she now held Cody in. She sensed within his spirit a raw, gaping wound, and wanted so much to heal it. Through a tightened throat, she asked, “Then how did you turn out so good?”
Silence answered her—and Jesse materialized in the shadows near the foot of the crib, a stunned look in his cloud gray eyes. Wariness gradually crept into his stare, as if he was waiting for the inevitable put-down....
She realized then that she had wronged him far worse than Dean and his family. She’d fallen in love with him, given him a son, and still refused to see the honor in him.
He had asked Dean to watch out for her until he returned from his overseas duty. All he’d received in return had been her brief, cold letters notifying him of their baby—and demanding he relinquish his parental rights. Even so, he had provided for Cody and her in his will. Death itself hadn’t stopped him from coming to see them, trying to resolve the conflict she had created. She’d sent him away even then, her mind set against him by gossip. Why had she allowed herself to be so swayed? Why hadn’t she listened to her own heart?
Possessing Elissa Page 14
