Collection 1

by Therese A. Kramer

  “I’ll set you up in one of the upper bedrooms,” Drew’s voice brought him back to their conversation. “And for some strange reason, there are some woman’s gowns still in the closet. Brock refused to let me get rid of them. Can‘t figure out why, they appear to be from the eighteen hundreds.” He looked her over. “You appear to be the right size, if you don’t mind wearing them, Trista.”

  Trista? No, way! The name’s the same but not the woman. He must have been hearing things.

  “Thank you Drew, you are very kind, considering you do not know me.”

  Drew laughed. “Any woman who loved Brock cannot be bad Ms. Walton.”

  Brock knew if he had any complexion, it would have drained from his face. How can this be? he wondered, completely baffled. Someone had to be playing a joke on him. No way was this his Trista. He had to touch her. He had read once that people are not attracted by looks, but chemistry. He touched her shoulder and it was a definite turn on; the feel of her warm skin upset is balance. And he had felt something; an attraction

  “Oh,” she gasped.

  “Are you all right?” asked Drew.

  “I felt a tingle on my shoulder. It made me shiver.”

  “Maybe I should warn you. When I purchased this old house, I was told that it was haunted by a female spirit. And crazy things happen in the night. Things break, things are moved from one place to another. Are you sure you want to stay?”

  “No ghost can frighten me as much as the man I ran away from. I’ll stay.”

  Brock was confused by her confession, but he was glad she was staying.

  Upstairs in her old room, she had a funny feeling that he was there. “I know you are here, Brock. Can you show yourself?” She waited but no one appeared. “Well, I know you are confused. But I assure you that I am Trista. It’s a long story.” The bottle of White Musk rose water, from the dresser, fell into her lap. “Oh, I knew it! Oh, Brock, I am so sorry, but at last I have found you.”

  Her eyes misted. “I love you. I screwed everything up, but I had no idea what fate had in store for you. If I had I would have waited.” He must have touched her shoulder again because she felt the tingle. “I wish I could see and hear you, but to know you are near is enough for now. Maybe in time you…”A tap in the door stopped any more of her words. “Yes?”

  The door opened and Drew stuck in his head. “I’m cooking tonight. Hope you are hungry. I am a pretty good chef, if I say so myself.”

  “Thank you Drew. I am a bit hungry.”

  “Good, see you in a half hour. I’ll enjoy your company.”

  When the door shut, a hair brush sailed across the room and hit the barrier. Trista laughed. “Are you jealous, Brock?” It didn’t take her long to know she was now all alone.

  Brock went down to the kitchen and sat watching his friend prepare the meal. Drew was whistling and smiled mischievously. He did not know what had come over him when he lost his temper before. Although, the woman claimed to be Trista and she seemed to have known him, claiming she loved him, but she was still a stranger to him. So why did he feel jealous? And what did she mean when she said she had ruined everything.

  Oh, if only he could communicate with her.

  When Drew left the kitchen, Brock turned the oven up higher and smiled. He walked away feeling a bit sorry for ruining the dinner. But just a tad. Not long after the smoke alarm went off and Drew rushed in finding his meat burnt to a crisp, the woman appeared by the door and asked what happened?

  “Damn if I know?” Drew scratched his head. “The oven was turned up. Crap! If I didn’t know better I’d think that someone or something wanted my dinner spoiled.”

  Brock saw the woman place her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. She knew it was him.

  “Oh, that’s too bad. It seems the spirit likes to play jokes on you.”

  “Yeah, well, when I’m gone, I suspect the spook will be bored. I hope the ghost likes you.”

  I think I will enjoy the beautiful lady, my friend, Brock mused.

  “Well, Trista, how do you feel about pizza? “ asked Drew.

  “I dunno I have never tasted one.”

  “No kidding? How long have you been held a prisoner?”

  “All my life.”

  They left and Brock knew she was telling the truth. “Bummer!” he grumbled aloud.

  He sat up and waited for them to return; you’d think he was their parent. Finally, he heard the key in the lock and the front door opened, followed by laugher.

  “Oh, Drew that was delicious. I really enjoyed myself.”

  “Thank you, Trista. I did too. I’m sorry that I’ll be leaving in the morning. I would’ve liked to have cooked you a meal to show you what a superb chef I am.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Good night, Drew.” The woman placed a chaste kiss on his friend’s cheek and left.

  Whatever you are thinking sport, forget it. Brock wanted to scream.

  He sat in the darkness for awhile then he went into the woman’s bed room. She was asleep and he gazed down at her. Her soft brown hair spread over the pillow like a halo, and her full lips seemed to be smiling. Was she dreaming of some one? She was indeed a beauty. Then he frowned. Funny, but he had not noticed before, but her nose was shaped like Trista’s. He shrugged, it was possible that it was the way the night shadow fell on her face. He spent the rest of the night sitting in the corner chair, wondering what he had done in his life to wind up as a spirit. He definitely had to have pissed some one off!

  Chapter Eighteen

  Trista opened her eyes in the morning wondering if Drew had left yet. To her delight, she found that the bathroom had been completely modernized. Also, a mirror had been added. Again she looked at her reflection, and she still had a hard time believing she was in another woman’s body. But to her delight, this Mara appeared to be in her late twenties. Ah, she was young again.

  She showered and put on one of her gowns, happy that Mara and she were the same size and height. She descended the plush carpeted stairs delighted in the way the place looked. Every room was newly painted and furnished with today’s furniture, although she did prefer her antique décor.

  Well, she was now a modern woman, so it was time to live like one. All she had to do was learn to use all the modern appliances. Trista found that the library was still stocked with her family’s books though many new ones had been added. This pleased her because she liked to read and she was not interested in the television.

  She pulled out a favorite novel, Gone With The Wind and curled up on the sofa. The house was quiet she was all alone, well, sort of. She knew Brock was around and she wondered why he had not shown up. She listened to the mantel clock tick away the minutes as she read. But as the time ticked by, she found she was becoming a bit annoyed by the man.

  Finally, she slammed the book shut and snapped, “All right, I know you’re here somewhere. And I know you ruined Drew’s dinner. And I’m certain you were a bit jealous that I went out with him. Why? That is the one thing I do not know.”

  Her heart squeezed in anguish. “Look, I know you are confused, and probably still uncertain as to who I am. But you are attracted to me, so that should tell you something.

  My face, eyes and hair color are different, but I am still Trista inside. Maybe if I explain things to you, it might help you.”

  The window opened and a warm breeze fluttered the lace curtains and the smells of the outdoors filled the room. “Good, now I know I’m not talking to myself. When you disappeared that morning, I knew I had lost you forever. I resigned myself to the fact that I’d never see you again. And it had only taken me two centuries to find the right man who could have released my soul. A man I could have spent eternity with. So I had nothing to live for, err, bad choice of words I know. But I had lost you, so my existence for what it was worth, was nil.”

  She looked up for a second and she thought she saw a form undulate in the corner. “Oh, Brock, I think I saw you. Keep trying, it will happen. I want so much
to see and touch you.” She wondered if she should ask Brock if Dream Weaver ever appeared to him. But, was sure the spirit was only interested in women’s souls.

  “Brock, to make a long story short, I was given another chance to live. The woman you see before you was dying and I was given her body. I had hoped, by chance that we could have met and fallen in love all over again. But there’s one problem, err, two: One, I discovered when I came out of the hospital the woman, Mara, who’s body I was given, was engaged to a monster who kept her a prisoner. Taking her place, I was also chained to her life, but I escaped, and now I find I am once again trapped here until I can figure out what to do. And two: you had died.”

  She wished she could speak with Dream Weaver again, but she felt that it would not make her problems go away. Apparently, he had no idea that Brock would die, or he wouldn’t have given her a second chance. Although, this was not a laughing matter, she did laugh.

  Brock listened to her incredible story. Maybe there was a time he wouldn’t have believed this could have happened to him, but now he found himself believing her. The moment he died, he recalled everything that had happened to him in this house when he was in a coma. And he remembered Trista Walsh was truly real. A real spirit that is. Fate had dealt them a cruel joke, for sure. And damn, he wanted to hold her, kiss those lips again. He frowned looking at her sweet mouth, thinking that they seemed to have change a little; become fuller, more like Trista’s mouth. He couldn’t blame the shadow this morning, the sunlight brightened up the room. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on his part.

  Brock listened to how she had awakened in the hospital and what that bastard did to her. He knew she could not stay here forever, especially when his friend returned home. And if she went outside again, who could say that she would not run into the son-of-a-bitch she had been engaged to?

  Though he had no concept of time he believed he was falling in love with Trista all over again. Every time he saw her, her face changed a little more and he could swear she was looking more and more like the Trista he had known before. He made it a habit of watching her sleep, what else could he do?

  One night, he discovered by accident, he could write to her. He picked up a tube of red lipstick from off her dresser and absentmindedly made a mark on the mirror and it appeared. He made another and to his delight, he realized that this could solve a problem. He wrote her a message.

  Dear Trista. I believe what you said. Yes, I have been listening. I too cannot conceive what happened to us, but I know I loved you before and I can love you again. I do not know if it is my imagination, but your features are changing the longer you stay here. Do you see it also? I am always by your side. Well almost always I do give you some privacy. Brock. XO

  Before he knew it, the sun rose and he heard Trista stir. She yawned and rose and stretched. The negligee was so thin it left nothing to his imagination when the sunlight filtered through the window. He waited patiently to see if she noticed the mirror and his message; she did not and went into the bathroom. He heard the shower run and she sang softly to herself. She had a beautiful voice and he wondered if it belonged to her or the other woman. He could listen to it forever, but he knew that was not possible. She came back into the room wearing just a big terrycloth towel. Her skin glistened from the water and her hair was dripping wet. She was humming now, and walked over to the mirror. Her face showed her surprise and she dropped the towel.

  They both gasped together.

  As her eyes remained on his message, his gaze remained on her body. If he had a heartbeat it would have surely ceased. But no matter, he could have sworn he had felt something hit him full force in the chest! She was exquisite.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Trista saw the writing in the mirror and a chill ran through her. She read it and she had no doubt that he was in the room. And there she stood stark naked, but she didn’t feel embarrassed, in fact the thought of Brock gazing at her made her innards grow hot.

  “Brock,” she whispered looking into the mirror. To her, her reflection was the same, she was still Mara. She didn’t see what he saw, but they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Maybe for Brock, this was what he saw. Then she wondered if her reflection was lying to her. Did she see what she wanted to see?

  “Oh, darling if only I could see you,” she rasped. Wishing must have made it so, because slowly his form began to vaporize before her shocked eyes. And within moments, he was standing beside her and a passionate fluttering arose at the back of her neck. “Oh, Brock, you did it!” was all she could say.

  In spirit form, Brock frowned. Apparently, he did not realize that he had materialized. Her fingers ached to reach over and touch him.

  “You can see me?”

  “Oh, yes!” She reached out. “And I can feel you.”

  The confused man scratched his head. “I don’t know how I did it, but hell, I’m not going to complain.” His eyes smiled along with his mouth. And with those words he swept her into his arms and her body tingled from the contact. His mouth covered hers hungrily and she could not believe this herself. She also could not fathom how wonderful his lips felt against her mouth; it was a delicious sensation. Trista kissed him back, lingering, savoring every moment.

  “Oh, lady, I cannot explain but my cold body is beginning to grow extremely hot and I want you more than I have ever wanted a living soul.”

  “You do have a way with words darling.” She took his hand and led him over to the bed and sat. Trista lifted her mouth into a smile and asked, “Do you plan to stand there all day gaping? I believe that since I’m unclothed, you might want to think about joining me.”

  “For a lady that was once over two hundred years old, you are very forward.” He began removing his clothes with a smug grin on his handsome face. “But I’m not complaining, mind you.”

  Brock quickly folded into her waiting arms and the man needed no further coaxing from her. His gentle massage of her breasts sent currents of desire through her as he roused her passion her emotions reeled as if short-circuited. His mouth grazed her earlobe and there was a dreamy intimacy to his kiss. His tongue then blazed a trail down her ribs to her stomach, making her body quiver and she gasped as he lowered his body over hers. Her breasts tingled against his hair-roughened chest. Brock’s hand caressed the skin of her thigh and she grabbed his buttocks, and squeezed.

  “Sweetheart, I cannot wait another minute,” he rasped.

  When he entered her she began to soar high until the peak of her delight was reached, and together they found the tempo that bound their bodies together. She exploded in a down-pouring of fiery sensations.

  “Dear God, I think I have died and gone to heaven,” whispered Brock.

  “Touché”

  To her disappointment, her lover vanished. But, she knew all too well that spirits come and go and most of the time they have no control over it. And if her memory served her correctly, she never had any recollection where she was when she was not in spirit form. She did however recall that the longer she remained a ghost, the shorter her bouts of lost time became. Now that Brock can show himself to her, it will take awhile before he will be able to remain longer in spirit form.

  Trista spent the next two weeks in Brock’s arms whenever he appeared. But, sooner or later, when his friend Drew returned, her happiness would be gone. And he did.

  She was reading when she heard the lock in the front door turn. Placing the book on the table, she went to greet the man. He was setting his luggage against the wall when she entered the foyer.

  “Hi, how was your trip?” she asked.

  “Hi, how was your stay, Trista?” he asked her a question of his own.

  Trista shrugged. “Nothing exciting,” she lied.

  “Ditto,” he answered hers. “Just business and I am glad to be home.”

  He removed his light jacket and walked into the kitchen. “I’m hungry and I had promised you a diner before I left. Must make up for that ruined meal,” he scratched the nape of
his neck. “I sill don’t know what happened. Oh, by the way, did my ghost bother you while I was away, Trista?”

  “Bother me?” Oh, he bothered me all right, she thought but left it unsaid. “Well, to be truthful, strange things did happen while you were gone. But I ignored it.”

  “Maybe I should call the Ghost Busters, or have a séance to rid the prankster.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary, he…or it seems to be harmless,” she sat and traced a crack in the kitchen table. But not harmless to my heart.

  An hour later she sat in the dining room ready to eat a delicious looking pasta meal. Drew lit candles and set a bottle of wine on the table. There was no doubt in her mind that the young man was romancing her. And she knew that Brock was not happy about it. When Drew popped the cork, the bottle some how jerked in his hand and wine spilled on his white shirt. She hid a smile behind the napkin knowing she was not being nice but she just couldn’t help herself.

  The fire in the hearth went out three times and lights blinked. By the end of the meal, Drew was cursing and he swore he definitely would hire someone to rid the house of the troublesome spirit.

  Chapter Twenty

  Brock loved his friend Drew but right now he wanted to strangle the man. How dare he try to steal away his girl!

  Who are you kidding, sport? You are dead and he’s flesh and blood, and too damn handsome! What chance have you?

  He wanted to smash every stupid knickknack he could lay his hands on but that would be infantile. He couldn’t stay around Trista and left to go up to her room. He sat on the bed and forced a smile, thinking that piece of furniture had given him so much pleasure these past weeks. He wished Drew could see him also, but what good would that do? What could he say?

  “Hey, pal, the woman’s mine. So hands off! Yeah, right!”

  Brock thought how Trista had made him feel when they made love. And as time went by her features changed so that now she was truly Trista. She claimed she could not see it, but it didn’t matter. They loved one another, and she said that she’d love him until death. He told her she had a strange way of expressing her feeling and they laughed.