His Haunting Kiss

by Heather Marie Adkins

  Ian just looked at me, unamused.

  *

  Madison answered the door in an evening gown and heels.

  I raised an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

  “A charity gala. Are you okay to stay here by yourself?” She latched a long gold earring in one ear, and switched to the other.

  “I’m a big girl.”

  Jacob appeared from the living room, holding up his keys. “Found them. Hey, Boston! Great to see you!”

  He hugged me — which was cool. My family was never touchy-feely, so it was nice to feel some love. Jacob was just as picture perfect as Madison with his curly blond hair cut short and his tanned skin. He put an arm around Madison and asked, “You ready, babe?”

  She nodded. “Call me if you need me,” she said to me, then the two of them bustled out the door.

  The door shut with a heavy thunk, and my skin crawled in the eerie silence.

  “I’m amazed there’s only you here. And the dark entity,” I said, feeling Ian behind me. I turned, shaking my head. “This house is so big and so old. So many people passed through here. Where is everyone?”

  Ian stood on the bottom step, a commanding presence as if he were master of the estate. He grimaced. “The Horelands were not the best people. Many cheated their way to the top, unworried by who they might harm in the process. Maybe they were not offered a chance to remain.”

  “Even your father-in-law?”

  “Even him.” Ian ran a hand down his face, his eyes closing. “Ramona was a gem in the Horeland family. She was so kind and accommodating. She cared for others more than for herself. Of course, she died young.”

  “ ‘Only the good die young,’” I quoted Mellencamp.

  “Indeed they do.”

  I caught his gaze for too long, stuck to the floor by his crystal eyes and the longing I saw there. How much of that was because I looked like his wife? His dead-tragically-early wife?

  I broke eye contact, my heart pounding. “That leads in to what I need to discuss with you.”

  “Let us retire to the library.” Ian offered me an arm.

  God help me, I thought it was a cute gesture. I slid my arm through his and let him lead me to the rear of the house.

  The library wasn’t as grand as I expected. It was a fairly small space considering the size of the house. It was tucked between the kitchen and the den, with windows that opened onto the large glassed-in patio at the back of the house.

  “This wasn’t here when you were alive, was it?” I asked, running a finger over a bookshelf. The wood seemed new, unmarred by time and hands.

  “It was not. Jacob’s grandfather built it just after the war. His wife loved to read, and he wanted somewhere to store the family history.”

  “Do you think there’s anything worth finding here?”

  Ian shook his head. “I’ve pored over these books. There is nothing about me, and only passing mention of my family. Most of what is compiled for that time period is about Richard, Senior.”

  “Am I wasting my time trying to find answers that lie with people long dead and buried?” I slid a thin tome from the shelf. In gold leaf on the front, it read, Marvin Horeland, 1940.

  “Possibly. But will looking help you feel more in control?”

  Taken aback, I shoved the book into its spot. “Who said I was feeling out of control?”

  Ian grinned. “Boston. I may have only known you one day, but even I can tell you like to be in control. You do not feel you have a handle on the situation here at Horeland, and you’re grasping for anything to help you regain control.”

  I hated him for it, but he was right.

  “What did you wish to discuss?” Ian asked, motioning that we should sit down.

  I chose the couch, a claw-footed piece covered in burgundy velvet. To my surprise, rather than taking one of the matching armchairs, Ian sat beside me.

  “I read a blog post last night,” I started, well aware I could feel the heat of his body even with space between us.

  “What is a ‘blog post’?”

  “You don’t know about the internet?”

  “Ah, yes. The pink box your sister opens to post young cat photographs on the face site.”

  I giggled. “Kinda.”

  I explained Google, and blogs, and once he seemed to grasp the concept of online diaries, I told him everything I had learned from Arimea.

  He didn’t speak right away when I was done.

  “Do you think you are dead?” Ian asked quietly.

  “I honestly don’t know.” Horrified, I realized hot tears were threatening to spill over my lashes. It was one thing to read a blog post and see yourself outside of it, and quite another to admit to someone else that maybe it was right.

  In a blink, Ian scooted closer, resting one of his hands on my leg. “Do not cry, my sweet. We will find answers. If you are dead, well, then we will be dead together.”

  I laughed. His nearness alone settled my nerves. I felt his signature strongly, like a layer on my skin that had been missing forever. I breathed deeply of him, intoxicated by his scent and nearness.

  Intoxicated by a ghost as if he were a real man.

  “Even knowing our initial encounter was fueled partly by your scientific desire, I am so drawn to you.” Ian leaned closer, but he didn’t move to hold me.

  I leaned, resting my forehead against his. “Yeah. Me, too. Even knowing your attraction to me is because of your wife.”

  “My attraction to you has nothing to do with Ramona.” Ian pulled away, his brow drawn together. “Do you really believe that?”

  I shrugged, sad he’d moved away.

  “It was a different time then. Ramona was everything a man needed as a wife. I loved her greatly, and yes, I do still mourn her.” Ian took both my hands and cupped them. “She was very different from you. There is a fire in you Ramona never had. You are so alive, Boston.”

  I laughed. “You’re only saying that because I think I’m dead.”

  He smiled. “It made you laugh.”

  “When this is over, and we’ve figured out how to fix this house, will you go out with me?” I asked before I lost the nerve.

  Who knew? I was nervous to ask a ghost on a date.

  Ian cocked his head. “Go out where?”

  “Anywhere. Just you and me, getting to know each other.”

  “As in… courting, you mean?”

  His handsome face was so damn impassive and hard to read. I waited, my heart in my throat. I liked this guy with his strange clothes and formal way of speaking. It didn’t make a lick of difference that he was a ghost. I wanted to get to know him and see where things might lead.

  Ian finally bowed his head. “I would be honored to ‘go out’ with you.”

  He leaned to kiss me, aiming for my cheek, but I turned my head and caught his face between my hands.

  “These days, we don’t stand on ceremony,” I said against his lips. “I like you, you like me. Case closed.”

  “I wish I had more to offer you.”

  I didn’t like the double meaning in his words or the sorrow in his eyes. He really thought he wasn’t good enough for me.

  For goodness’ sake, I was most likely dead, too!

  So I threw my arms around him, and kissed him soundly. The world fell away. There was no evil spirit haunting my sister’s house. The guy I wanted to date wasn’t dead, and neither was I. We were two people, two sets of lips, two pairs of arms entwined together.

  I didn’t care that he was dead or that I might be. We were just a boy and a girl, sitting in the sunshine surrounded by books.

  This didn’t feel like death to me. It felt very much like living.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I knew where I was. The woods stretched around me, as familiar as my own face in the mirror. I’d run these woods throughout my childhood, along with Vespers and Trevor. The vast forest flanked the property my parents owned, stretching well into the Georgia wilds outside of Tory.

 
; It was brilliantly sunny. If I closed my eyes and turned my face to the sky, my vision lit pink and I could almost see the veins of my eyelids. The trees were bare, branches knocking together in the peaceful silence. It was chilly; I was in jeans and a coat.

  And I was alone.

  That was the strangest part. I didn’t remember ever going into the woods on our property without Vespers and Trevor. So this had to be a dream, not a memory. But it was all so vivid. I could feel the ground crunching beneath my tennis shoes and the brisk wind on my face. I had a runny nose.

  I walked north, headed for the Tory River. I could have made the walk in my sleep, navigating the nearly overgrown path with the kind of ease that came from growing up in the woods.

  When the trees broke, the river stretched below me, shining like black diamonds beneath the sun. The land jutted out over the water, a small outcropping that made a perfect seat. I sat on the edge of the cliff, my feet dangling over the water. I had no fear when I was a kid. It was easy to think you were invincible, and that tomorrow was promised.

  I lived in my head, then. I still live in my head now. So I sat for a while, lost in thoughts of my home, my parents, my friends, and whether Jack Flynn had a crush on me.

  I never saw it coming. The rumbling barely registered as the ground fell away beneath me and I fell.

  The water wasn’t deep beneath the cliffs. I didn’t gently splash into the deep blue and come out laughing. I hit the surface, and then I crashed into the rocks concealed by the gleaming water.

  All I knew was black.

  *

  I woke up in the curve of Ian’s body, his warmth surrounding me and his arm gently clamped over my waist. It was so comfortable, so peaceful with the sun rising outside the library windows, and our bodies wrapped together as if we slept this way all the time.

  I rolled over in the circle of his arms to find his eyes open.

  “We fell asleep,” I murmured, shifting to pull a book out from beneath us. I’d lost both my flip flops at some point, and had my bare feet tucked beneath his legs.

  “Research is tiring,” he offered with a chuckle. He kissed my forehead. “Did you nap well? Alas this couch is not so comfortable.”

  “Believe it or not, that was the best sleep I’ve had in months.” I sat up, his arms falling away from me.

  We’d stayed up late going through the collection of Horeland books. Madison and Jacob had returned home at one point and checked on me, Madison bringing me a soda and a sandwich while Ian played invisible. Then they’d gone to bed, and we’d continued reading.

  We didn’t just read. We talked. Which was crazy, when I thought about it. We were polar opposites from two different eras, and we never ran out of things to talk about.

  “I’m sorry if I kicked you in my sleep,” I told him, standing up to stretch. “Madison always told me I was a nightmare to sleep with.”

  He sat up, throwing his still-booted feet on the floor. “You never moved. It was a pleasure to share a couch with you.”

  “There’s somewhere I need to go,” I said, sliding my feet into my flip flops. They had been hiding under the book I’d fallen asleep reading.

  “Would you like that I accompany you?”

  I loved that he didn’t question me about where I was going or why. He simply offered to go.

  “I would like if you came with me. This might suck. A lot.”

  *

  My parents were on vacation in Florida, something they did quite a few times a year the older they got. I navigated their driveway as I had since I was a teenager, the gravel crunching under my tires and the low hanging tree limbs intermittently scratching the roof.

  The farmhouse came into sight around a ninety degree turn, as steady and worn as ever. Four decades ago, the house had been white, but Georgia weather had made it harder and harder for Dad to keep it that way. The swing on the wraparound porch swayed in a light breeze, as if propelled by ghosts.

  For all its age and horror movie appearance, no spirits dwelled there. Home had always been blessedly devoid of the dead. It was my safe haven.

  Ian and I didn’t speak as we walked through the trees. I didn’t trust myself to say anything: not about what was happening with us, not about what I expected when we got to the cliff. Both were equally terrifying.

  I held my breath as we passed the barrier of the forest and crested the small hill to the outcropping. The sky had darkened as we walked, and thunder rumbled in the distance.

  I knew the minute I saw the cliff that my dream hadn’t been a dream. It had been so many years ago that the grass had regrown, but it was obvious the shape of the outcropping was vastly different than it had been before part of it fell away into the water.

  With a nine-year-old girl sitting atop it.

  My knees went weak, and I fell to them, clutching the grass with both fists.

  It was true.

  Oh, God.

  “Boston.” Ian squatted beside me, a strong arm pulling me close, supporting me. “What is it?”

  “My body is somewhere at the bottom of the river,” I said, my voice cracking. I laughed, sniffing as tears spilled over. “Well, probably not. Twenty years have passed. It probably made it to Gulf of Mexico by now. That’s where the Tory goes, right? The Gulf?”

  Ian fell back onto his behind, tugging me into his lap. As I cried, he rubbed my back and rocked me, the feeling as natural as breathing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  We sat on the swing on my parents’ porch, watching the sun rise higher in the sky.

  Ian pushed us, his feet planted to the old boards as I sat Indian-style, my head on his shoulder. It was peaceful and still, if a little warmer than comfortable.

  “How do you just forget something as traumatic as dying?” I murmured.

  “Possibly because it is so traumatic,” Ian said. “Especially so young, my sweet. You needed to forget.”

  I held up a hand towards the sun. It blocked the light, and there was a sheen of perspiration on the back. “I’m solid.”

  “So am I. And we know for a fact that I’m deceased.” Ian chuckled.

  “It doesn’t make any sense. Everything I thought I knew about ghosts, all the years I’ve investigated and pulled together theories and — ”

  Ian shifted, putting his arm around me so that I was tucked against his side. “It does no good to dwell, my sweet. I have been around for a long time. It becomes easier to forget that you are dead and everyone you once knew is gone.”

  My heart thudded. I looked at him, aware my mouth was open but unable to fix it. “Everyone I knew. God, everyone I love is going to die and I won’t.”

  Ian was suitably abashed. “I did not mean to add to your worries. I am so sorry, Boston.”

  I waved away his apology. “I’d figure it out sooner or later.”

  We stayed in the swing a while, our thighs touching, not speaking, just sort of… being. My emotions warred within me. But one thing was sure — if I was an Earthbound, destined to an immortal exist as my family left this plane one by one, I could choose a worse partner in crime than Ian Clarke.

  *

  I parted from Ian with the promise that I would stay home and rest this afternoon.

  “I will keep your sister safe, my sweet,” he said, kissing my forehead. “You need to rest. You have had two head injuries and a rather large shock in the past two days.”

  “But — ”

  “No buts, Boston.” Ian did stern well. “Do this for me.”

  I couldn’t say no to that.

  I had even held up my end of the deal to Vespers. I mean, yes, I had gone to Horeland the night before, but it wasn’t in a ghost-hunting capacity. And nothing had happened the entire time I was there! Mostly because I was sound asleep for a large majority of the night, tucked safely against Ian.

  The drive home passed in a haze. I was haunted by the original me, dead for fifteen years. The memory returned full force now: the dreadful cold of the water as it stole my breath
and the red burst of impact on the rocks. I came to on the rocky shore, soaking wet, and I just walked home, ate dinner with my parents, and went to bed as if nothing had changed.

  And nothing had changed! That was the part I couldn’t wrap my head around. I was as real and solid as Vespers. My body still functioned as a living body. Those physics did not compute.

  It begged the question, could I disappear like Ian? Could I walk through walls? Ian could travel long distances in the blink of an eye, blipping from Horeland Estate to the library as if he were simply walking room to room.

  The idea fascinated me. Come to find out, I literally knew nothing about ghosts and what they were capable of.

  Bernie was outside his door, a cigar hanging from his mouth. He bit down on it and smiled as I walked up. “Where were you last night?”

  I stopped in front of my door, jiggling my keys. “At my sister’s. Why?”

  “Meatloaf would have tasted better if you’d come to dinner.” He shook his head and tsked.

  “Oh my God! I completely forgot about your note!” I slapped my forehead. “I’m an idiot. I got hurt last night on a job. I think it rattled my brain.”

  “Alright, Elvis. Why don’t you come tonight for leftovers?”

  “I’ll be there.” I kissed his jowly cheek and went inside my apartment.

  *

  I spent the afternoon cleaning my apartment and chatting with Sherrie. By the time dinner rolled around, my apartment was starting to smell like Gladys’ meatloaf.

  My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since I’d woken up.

  I rapped on my neighbors’ door and waited, listening to the usual round of “Gladys! Get the door!” “No, Bernard, you get the door!”

  On the bright side, some things never changed.

  Bernie finally pulled open the door, his cheeks and nose red. “Boston! Come on in. Gladys is just about done.”

  “You already broke out the wine?” I asked him, eyeing the mostly empty glass in his hand.

  He winked. “You try dealing with Gladys in the kitchen when she’s cooking.”

  “I have,” I reminded him. “We got along just fine. So maybe you’re the problem?”