He’s a…
My vision blurred and my feet dropped out from under me as I fell.
Chapter Three
I heard before I saw. I felt before I heard. The back of my head throbbed.
“You had yourself a little spill,” the man’s voice cracked with a chortle.
I was lying on the floor, my torso propped in his lap and arms. When my vision cleared, I saw his face. He was truly handsome; he had a cleft in his square chin, his jaw was sharp, his eyes perfectly set under his straight-lined eyebrows. He’d kept his shoulder-length black hair tidy and clean. The man wore a tunic and breeches that would have blended well at a renaissance faire. Though he smiled softly, he seemed sad.
“Wha-what happened?” I rubbed at the swollen knot that had formed on my head. He aided my attempt at rising to my feet. I felt slightly relieved that he seemed solid. “I guess,” I shook my head, “I just got carried away with thinking you were a—”
“Ghost,” he finished. He looked for a reaction in me and when he found me silent, he continued. “I am, actually. I have outlived many generations of people.” His face became sullen, mostly morose. “My name is Chesley Davis Renshaw the third. I come from a long line of Englishmen and journeyed to Ireland—of all ironies—in hopes for a peaceful life.”
“Are you saying you are a ghost?” I recalled what was revealed to me the other night. “I met with Steven Davis Renshaw. Is he your relative?”
“I believe so. He would be my great-grandson, I suppose,” he looked up in thought. “He just passed away actually.”
Shivering, I agreed. “How do you know such?”
“I may not be able to leave this place, but the world I… live in is more complex.” The expression on his face saddened a bit more.
“Why here and not somewhere else?”
He turned to the large table and opened the desk drawer that I knew wasn’t there before. Pulling out a tome and moving to a chair, he waved me over. As I approached, he opened his book. He showed me small, oil-painted pictures throughout the volume. “This tome contains portraits of my family. My wife died in childbirth, but she had two others, two boys, before the girl that was lost with her.” He flipped through the book until he stopped at a woman that resembled the subject in the portrait. “She was my lady, the life of this place.” He looked around until his gaze fell on me. “This house we built together.”
Thinking about the commercial development company about to tear down this man’s world, I couldn’t help but feel powerless. “Steven warned me about getting involved.”
He seemed fully aware of his condition. “I cannot do what you can in this world anymore. Though I have some manipulation of items and general communication with the living, I am bound to this place,” he spoke softly. “Save it.”
“Why me?” I couldn’t believe what he was asking of me. Sure, I want this place. And to save it from high corporate raiders, but I don’t know what I can do to help. My face expressed the feeling of helplessness.
“I am not really asking anything of you, but I do like the prospect of having this place tidied up a bit.” He smiled. “It would make my effort to keep this place nice much easier.”
I laughed at the thought of being his mortal housekeeper. He clearly didn’t know the true situation. “Sure, so I happen to help you. Then what?” I knew what it would take to keep this wonderful place for myself, except for Chesley. I looked at him again, studying his face, his body. I could fall for a man such as this one, if he were alive, that is. “Mister Renshaw,” I began, “do you know that there are people wanting to come and knock down your house?”
He sighed. “I would be a fool to think not.”
It occurred to me that Chesley Renshaw had a knack for repeating his moves, yet he was quite fine manipulating and conversing with the physical world. His situation was upsetting. I never knew a man of such caliber until I found this manor and discovered its inner workings. I felt that I fit in here with no problem. I explained my feelings as best I could.
Looking him in the eyes, I stuttered, “I-I want you to know that from the moment I stepped on this property and came into this mansion, I had no fear. In fact, I feel completely at home being here. I like this house—and as I’m a property assessor, I can say those words are huge compliments coming from me.” I knew I had money enough for this. For a moment, I sat motionless. He watched me intently, his steely eyes fixed on me. “I want to buy this house, build it back the way it used to be for you, but in order to do that, I would definitely have to ask that you share it with me.”
It could be a partnership, if nothing else. He could help by guiding me on what to do and how to do it, since he built this entire area of land to suit his wife’s desires. A symbiotic relationship, if nothing else, was all I wished. His exquisite taste was complimentarily to mine.
Without word one, he rose and walked out of the room.
Once more, I was alone in the dark. For the first time, I felt cold and empty and in response, a shudder racked through my body. I used the flashlight to look around the room while I waited, hoping for his return. As I became certain he was not coming back, he did, bringing the warmth and light back into the room. He carried life and light with him. It was present in his physical manipulation of the entire space his spirit occupied.
I took the item he held in front of me and asked, “What is this?” I started unrolling the scroll before he could reply.
“These are the floor plans. I drew them up many moons ago,” he furrowed his brow. “I wonder. How will you stop these fellows of which you speak?”
“Simple,” I glanced at the drawing and carefully rolled it loosely. “I’ll buy this land. For what its true value is, the price is very reasonable. I’ll contract out help on the lower two floors and I will personally pay special attention to the third floor, so as to not hinder your mobility up here. I can get you the tools and materials you need for this floor. I would like my own style for my bedroom across the hall, if you don’t mind. Oh, and also, I need amenities like electricity in parts of the house.” It sounded like a nice plan to me. I was ready to take on a haunted house, so long as the haunting came from this refined, handsome man.
“Do as you must,” he nodded. “It sounds like a wonderful arrangement. We have an accord.” He smiled when I shook his extended hand.
“Very well, then,” my voice cracked. “I’ll head back tonight to my apartment and rest. In two days, I’ll come back with the drawing and we’ll go over what needs to be done. I’ll round up cleaning supplies and shop for miscellany tomorrow.” Subterfuge hid my inner doubt that I could convince my boss or the corporation of a buy-out on the property.
“Fair thee well, milady.” He reached for my hand and, after bringing it up to his lips, kissed the back side softly, his gaze never breaking mine.
For some unknown reason, his action sent a wave of heat through my body. Yes, I had to admit, this man was very attractive. With my hand released, I smiled nervously and left the room. I welcomed the cool air of the dark hallway.
Once outside, I looked at the mansion, at every window, for a sign of him. Nothing. Slightly disappointed, I headed back to my apartment. As I grew more distant with every mile, my mind started turning over ideas. Excited with the new project ahead of me and nervous about the possible impending legal fight, I filled up with mixed emotions that grew into a chaotic mind-storm churning in my head. I supposed this was how I came down with a pounding headache that evening.
Chapter Four
The rain battering on the roof of my apartment awoke me. The desire to hear Chesley’s near-melodic voice replaced my headache. I swallowed a couple pain relievers in case the aching set in again, sat on my bed cross-legged, took up my recorder and propped my back against the headboard. Closing my eyes, I pressed play.
I’d forgotten I had recorded Steven Renshaw’s testimony the night he died, until I heard his voice. I decided to replay the visit. Most of th
e conversation was audible, but I had to turn it up and replay some areas muffled from being in my pocket. “Please heed my warning about that place. I just know it’s haunted and you’ll fall prey to its power.” Not having heard that statement before, I replayed it a time or two until I definitely knew what he said. “That is almost creepy,” I mumbled in disbelief. The warning was clear, yet felt out of place with the feelings I had when in the presence of Chesley.
Fast-forwarding it to the visit at the mansion, I played it when I heard Chesley’s voice. His slight chuckle when I awoke from my fainting spell made me smile. I backed up the recorder until I heard the thudding sound of me falling down and listened intently. I heard feet shuffling, something spoken inaudibly and after that a sentence I never heard due to my unconscious state.
“Forgive me touching you without your permission, but you need my aid, my beautiful baroness.”
Maxing out the volume and similarly in Steven’s conversation before, I replayed it repeatedly until I knew definitely that what I heard was real.
Sighing, I spoke aloud, “I’m no baroness. Clearly, he has me confused with his lady, the woman in the paintings.” Could this mean he was a baron of some sort? Why hadn’t the townspeople mentioned something so important about his social standing? Feeling that there was more to the story than what the townspeople had told me, I pocketed the recorder, shuffled my paperwork together, stuffed my bags full with notepads and readied myself for a trip to the town’s library.
“Ma’am,” I waved at a librarian for attention. When she walked over with a smile, I greeted her. “I’m looking for anything about the Manor of West Creek. I need information concerning that land, manor and its occupants, including its builder and original owner. Do you have such?”
“Yes,” the older woman smiled politely, as if she would be better employed as a greeter at a large retail store. “Why do you ask?” Her tone changed from outwardly friendly to inquisitive. She flipped through past news articles until she reached the subject in question.
“I’m a property appraiser and need the information for legal purposes,” I assured her with a smooth, steady voice. “It’s somewhat personal as well,” I added.
“Ah,” she breathed, “then you should talk with Wyatt Verner.” She pointed out the front window, up the road. “He lives a couple of blocks from here. He can tell you all about that place.”
“Who is he to know more about it than others?”
She sat across from me at the table. “His father was the caretaker of the place when the Osland family lived there.” She bent closer, whispering, “He thinks it’s haunted.” She looked around and in a hushed tone continued, “Never did I really like the place myself.”
Curious, I raised an eyebrow. “Why should you not like it? Have you experienced anything there before?”
“Not really,” she shook her head. “My girlfriends and I had a sleepover once. We dared each other to sneak out of the house and teepee the trees around that place. None of us did, though. My excuse was I didn’t have the keys to my daddy’s car, so I couldn’t go. No one else went that night.” She looked down at the table.
I waited to see if there was more recollection she wished to share. “So, did you know anyone that actually went there besides Mr. Verner?”
“No,” she spoke with a frown, seemingly upset.
“Well, I’ll need his address, if you don’t think he’ll mind a surprise visit from me after I check out these articles. How far do these go back?” I wanted to make sure I covered all grounds of news this time, not just what the locals handed me freely. It seemed many of the people were hiding something.
I politely dismissed the librarian and, after she was gone, called my boss for help. “I would like to buy the West Creek Manor, Bill.” Discouraged by his burst of laughter, I continued, “Well, you know. How many times have you bought property that you assessed, repaired and flipped it to a realtor?”
His chuckle subsided to reply, “Plenty. Why do you ask?”
I had always appreciated European history better than that of the United States, because everything on this continent was much older. “I love this site. It would be such a waste to demolish it. There’s a lot of history involved with it and that alone would raise its value exponentially.” I tried to sound as convincing as I could. The standard rebuttal came, but I had a prepared defense. “I’m not allowing this historic place to be wiped off the face of the planet. I’m so passionate about it that I’m willing to move up here and clean it up.”
“Now, now, don’t be irrational,” his tone grew serious. He couldn’t afford to lose his top assessor so easily. “Are you really considering that?”
“Yes!” I nearly stamped my foot under the seat. “I’m going to fix it up and I’ll fight the corporation in court if I have to.” I changed my tone slightly to reflect conviction of my decision. “I know what it’s going to take to hold my ground, but I believe the townsfolk around here will help me.” Down deep, I lacked confidence that they would; they’d rather see the eyesore gone in the wake of a new shiny mall, but my voice did nothing to reflect my bluff. “I hope you can understand.”
Relenting, Bill had nothing more to say other than, “Claire, I’ll help as best as I can. I have experience with working around red tape within this field of work. Just let me know when you’re in need of my help. I’ll do what I can. Are you planning to continue with the assessment though?”
His voice was obviously filled with concern, so I did my best to console him. “I plan on staying with you and your company for now, however I can’t say that will be a permanent situation.”
Having the promise of his help made the conversation much more pleasant. I knew he wouldn’t yell at me or fire me, but I hated going to him with problems because it seemed he usually had bigger fish to fry. I knew I would be sorely missed if I did leave though and that saddened me. I didn’t wish to throw a monkey wrench into his company. After a few exchanges of pleasantries, I hung up the phone and looked down the road, toward Mr. Verner’s home.
Chapter Five
My knock on Mr. Verner’s door was loud, the thud sharp in the cool air. My impatience grew as I waited, thinking about the transcripts in the library revealing little past the turn of the last century. I waited what seemed like five minutes and knocked once more.
I smiled immediately when the door opened, gave Mr. Verner onceover glance and spoke. “Hello,” I began, feeling a bit awkward. “Mr. Verner?” At his nod, I continued. “I’m Claire-Anne. I’m an assessor for a company sent out to investigate the property of the West Creek Manor. I’ve heard from people about some of the residents and some dealings within the grounds of that property.” I waited for a nod, but received none. “May I have a few minutes of your time?”
He looked me over and allowed me inside with a low-scoop sway of his left arm and a small, crooked smile. “Would you like a beverage?” he asked. “I believe my wife has chilled tea.”
When I thanked him for the drink, he fetched it and sat down on a chair near the couch to which I was directed to make myself comfortable.
“Yes, I have had some experiences out there that could be considered a bit…questionable.” He shifted in his seat. “Why do you need to know about that if you’re just supposed to review the place for monetary value?”
“Actually, I want to buy it out from under the business that employed my company to assess it,” I explained. “They want to tear it down and pave it over. I’d like to restore it. It’s gotten to be rather personal.” The palms of my hands became sweaty. “I discovered an entity there.” I looked for scrutiny and, finding none, continued. “I think you know what I’m talking about.”
He studied me and mouthed slowly the next words, Chesley Renshaw. He continued when he saw the acknowledgment on my face. “What do you know about the Renshaw family?”
I really didn’t want to divulge too much information, either to jeopardize the manor or seem foolish
. “Well, I know very little about the family actually. Not many people are talking to me about it and I cannot seem to find any information about the house, its owners, or anything of the sort past the last few decades.” Reiterating that fact was a bit flustering, so I took a drink of chilled tea to cool my face. “Any help would be gladly appreciated.”
“Are you serious about being…personal with that house?” Mr. Verner rose and walked to a bureau. Unlatching the domed door, he brought out an old book similar to the one that Chesley showed me. When I fervently nodded with excitement, he brought me the tome. “This explains everything about the man that started it all and the townspeople that ended it all.”
Wrapping up the session with Mr. Verner, I shook his hand graciously, made my complete appreciation well known, promised to return the tome to him when I was finished reading through it and exited his house. I was extremely enthused with the tell-all book in my possession. Finally, I could get some answers.
Striding with a quicker pace, I made it back to my apartment in record time. Once inside, I threw the keys on the table and heard a knock at the door. Swinging around to answer it, I realized I had just come in that door and no one was out there or right behind me coming up to the front of the apartment. I hesitated, then slowly looked through the peephole. No one waited there. Slowly, I opened the door and saw Steven Renshaw standing there, smiling.
My heart skipped a beat and my breathing froze. Reaction took effect and I slammed the door. He’s a dead man! Get a grip on yourself, Claire. He’s not that bad of a guy and I should be getting used to seeing dead men.
Sighing to extinguish my fear, I shrugged my shoulders to loosen them and opened the door again. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I apologized immediately.
“May I come in and speak with you, concerning the history of my family?” His politeness matched his great-grandfather’s mannerisms. That merit was hard to resist honestly.
Life Eludes Him Page 2
