"I love you.” The words brushed her face with a feathery gust of air, stirring a few loose tendrils against her cheek. “Until tomorrow, my love.” The gentlest sweep across her lips was the last thing she felt before falling asleep.
CHAPTER 10
Laura slowly opened her eyes. Shading her brow with one hand, she blinked several times in rebellion at the light spilling in through the gray tattered sheers dangling from the French doors near her bed. The sun's sharp rays crept between the shredded layers of flimsy material to fall across an equally tattered quilt covering her hips and legs. Dumbfounded, Laura stared up at the scraps of fabric hanging from the cracked frame of the half-tester bed.
Where am I? This wasn't the bed she'd awakened in before.
Her eyes darted about the room, quickly taking in the drab décor, splintered furniture, and broken windows. Dust particles hung in the air, glittering on the undulating waves of sunshine like tiny sparklers. Recognition set in and Laura bolted upright.
"Oh, my God!” This was her room, only it looked as though no one had been in there in years, and the furnishings had definitely seen better days—many pieces of which looked to have been thrown against the walls or simply smashed out of anger.
She gingerly fingered the worn coverlet beneath her, gasping in horror when it practically disintegrated beneath her hand. What's going on here?
Memories of the night before came flooding in, along with a whole new fear. Had it merely been a dream? Had all of this?
"Barnabas?"
No answer.
"Barnabas?” Alarm sharpened her voice.
Nothing.
Laura leapt from the bed and rushed to the chamber door. Yanking it open, “Barnabas?” she yelled down the empty hall. “William?"
She raced to the stairwell, taking the steps two and three at a time. She landed on the lower level floor with a loud thud! Cutting through the ladies’ parlor and dining room, Laura made her way back to the servants’ quarters and finally the kitchen.
"Rosie?"
No one was there, no butler, no housekeeper, and no Barnabas. The entire house appeared run down; all the lovely furniture and fancy décor were now either broken or faded, and covered with a layer of dust that bespoke years of neglect—probably decades.
Laura thought of the cab driver once again. Somehow, she'd managed to create a whole scenario involving people, thoughts, and feelings. They weren't real.
She stumbled back a few feet, bumping into the kitchen door frame. Her gaze shifted to the regal blue herrings dotting the pond out back. Many of them were broken—just a pair of concrete legs jutting up from water as black as night.
Am I having a nervous breakdown? She shook her head. But it was so real? I felt—
"Oh, God, what's wrong with me?” She fumbled backward through the doorway, caught herself before hitting the floor, then turned and ran for the stairwell. Whether she was losing her marbles or not, one thing was certain, Laura had to get the hell out there.
As she fled back through the ladies’ parlor, a picture over the fireplace caught her attention. The air was suddenly ripped from her lungs and she stopped dead in her tracks. Even through years of caked on dust and grime, there was no mistaking the delicate child portrayed, or her heart-wrenching smile.
Karey...
Hands knotted at her sides, she crept toward the mantle. “My little girl,” she whispered, feeling her heart lurch into her throat.
"When she died, you were never the same."
Barnabas's voice broke the stillness of the air like a rock through glass. Laura whipped around to find him leaning casually in the doorjamb—legs crossed at the ankles, arms folded neatly over his chest. His warm smile melted her insides.
He looked fresh, rejuvenated, as though their little fling from last night hadn't permanently affected his energy. Fire danced in his eyes as his gaze moved from her face to her breasts, then lower. When his tongue darted out to moisten his bottom lip, Laura's legs turned to jelly.
"Did you forget something?” he asked with a slow, enchanting drawl.
Laura glanced down and shrieked with mortification. She'd forgotten to dress before tearing out of her room like a wild woman. His mocking chuckle sent pulsating waves of excitement down to the juncture of her thighs.
"I don't see what's so funny!” Snatching a blanket from a nearby sofa, she quickly wrapped it around her naked form. Years of dust puffed up into the air around her, instantly bringing on a sneezing assault.
Laura gripped the top edge of a tall, wing-backed chair for support until her attack had passed. She sniffed a few times, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. Her hair had to be a wreck, and she knew her nose was likely as red as a beet, not to mention the fact that tears streamed down her cheeks from her recent allergy fit.
Suddenly feeling a little self-conscience, she wiped the moisture from her eyes and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I don't understand what's going on,” she murmured, sniffing once again. “If I died all those years ago, how am I alive now? And if I am, why aren't you? Or ... are you?"
Barnabas pushed himself away from the doorway and started toward her. “It's ... complicated."
Holding her hands out before her, Laura backed a few feet away. “That's close enough, thank you. I can hear just fine from where you are."
His thick brows twitched with amusement. “Why, Laura, are you afraid of me?"
"Yes! No. I'm not sure. Should I be?” She rubbed both palms over her eyes, feeling strangely tired.
"Why don't you sit?” he suggested with a wave toward the chair beside her. Almost instantly, the fabric brightened and dust disappeared, once again becoming the vibrant shade of mauve it was when first constructed.
Laura gasped and leapt aside. “Barnabas!” His parlor tricks were almost as unsettling as he. “I can't take any more of this whammy-jammy voodoo magic!” New tears stung her lashes; only this time, allergies weren't the cause.
With a defeated sob, she collapsed onto the chair. The velvety material against her backside was hardly reassuring. At that moment, she wasn't sure she could tell the difference between reality and Wonderland. For all she knew, her seat might disappear and she'd land on the floor on her crusty blanket-covered ass!
"Shh...” Barnabas crooned, trying to sooth her rumpled nerves as she poured out her frustration into her palms.
His hands caressed her hair, her neck, her shoulders. “You're not crazy, Laura. Nor are you imagining things."
His fingers were causing too many mixed emotions. She needed her wits about her right now, and him touching her presented far too much distraction. Brushing him away, she stood up, then stepped a few feet aside, putting a little distance between him and her resurfacing needs.
"You did all this, didn't you?” she accused, sweeping one arm out to the side. “You tricked me into coming here, into believing you. Why?” Explosive currents of anger and denial raced through her veins, filling her voice with rancor.
A pained expression crossed his features. “I didn't mean to trick you, Laura. But would you have come had I shown you the reality of things? Had you seen a run-down, dilapidated mansion, would you have given it a second thought? Or would you have simply tossed the card in the trash?"
Laura felt as though the air had been ripped from her lungs. “You were in my house! The postcard ... you ... that was you!"
A boyish grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I'd come so close to getting you back, I couldn't just let you throw it away."
Heat blistered Laura's cheeks as she thought about the incident in the bathroom. “How ... long were you there?"
Barnabas's eyes glittered with amusement. “Long enough to see that you needed me, too.” His voice became a sultry purr. “Apparently, in more ways than one."
Laura's voice strangled in her throat with a muffled groan. “That really wasn't fair,” she snapped. “You invaded the privacy of my home!"
Barnabas threw back his head and let out a
hearty peal of laughter. “Oh, come now,” he said, regaining control of his mirth. “I found your ... self-pleasure quite stimulating. Tell me, what is that thing in your dresser? The one resembling a man's—"
Laura covered her ears with both hands. “Stop!” Her heart hammered in her chest. She'd never been more embarrassed. “You had no right to go through my drawers!"
"Well, it wasn't intentional,” he rebuffed. “I had to do something to get your attention."
Laura shook her head with disbelief. “You manipulating ... I can't believe you even used Ms. Waterby against me!” she charged, livid, pointing a stiff finger in his direction.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “It worked, didn't it?"
"Oh! You! Ooo!” Exasperated, Laura looked for something to throw at him. Spotting a pillow on the sofa, she snatched it up, then launched it at his head.
Barnabas didn't even flinch when the fluffy square passed harmlessly through his face and struck the wall behind him. His mocking chuckle only infuriated her even more. “Oh yeah?” she screamed, scanning the room for something a little more substantial. “You think that's funny? Try this!"
Grabbing a porcelain statue from mantle, she cocked her arm, ready to fire it like a torpedo, but before she even turned back around, she knew he was there. His hand clamped around her wrist in a vise-like hold, preventing her from moving it at all. When she refused to drop her weapon, he squeezed a little harder until she finally conceded. The figure crashed to the floor, shattering into several pieces.
Barnabas clucked his tongue with disapproval. “That fiery temper is going to get you into trouble one day."
Laura's shoulders slumped. She yanked against his grip and he instantly let her go. With a defeated sigh, she trudged back over to the chair and sank down onto its cushy seat. She was quiet a long while before finally breaking the silence.
"When I got here, the cab driver kept asking me if I really wanted to stay. I thought he was crazy. What I saw was a beautifully refurbished mansion. What did he see?"
Barnabas's gaze swept the room before settling back on hers. The corner of his mouth twitched and he gave a little shrug of his broad shoulders. “This,” he said quietly. “The disguise was only for you."
"No wonder he looked at me like I had two heads,” she mumbled, staring down at her hands lying motionless in her lap. “What about William? Rosie? Were they just ... illusions?"
"Pretty much."
"But why?” She threw her arms up with frustration. “Why go through all of this? And if you died all those years ago, then why aren't you—"
"Dead?"
Laura didn't respond, but rather stared at him in silence, waiting for a suitable explanation. At that moment, she wasn't too sure what that would be. What could he possibly tell her that was acceptable, or at the very least, believable?
CHAPTER 11
Barnabas paced the room in silence, his actions reminding her of a caged lion. Instinct warned her that whatever he was about to say would likely shock her more than anything else thus far. She felt herself shrink back against the chair, suddenly not so sure she could handle the truth, or why he'd sought her out in her reincarnated form.
"When Karey died, it devastated you."
Laura jumped at the sound of his voice as it shattered the stillness about the room.
"I think I knew, even before you did it, that you would take your own life. I just didn't know when. I sometimes wonder, even if I'd been able to stop you then, would it have made a difference? Or would you have simply tried again and again, until you finally accomplished your goal."
He looked at her then, his expression tight with the burden of guilt. His eyes silently begged her to answer. He needed to know.
Laura thought about it for a long moment. Something inside told her he would have only succeeded in delaying the inevitable. Memories of her daughter seemed to hover about the borders of her consciousness—vague images of them together, brief snatches of childish laughter, the coo of a newborn child.
Part of her wished she could remember more, but the other feared the repercussions of those memories, the pain they would bring. “I would have tried again,” she said softly, knowing it was the truth. If anything, perhaps he could put aside the remorse of having not stopped her.
Barnabas nodded. “I can't even begin to explain what I felt when I found you that morning. It was something no man should ever have to experience. And while I can't attest to a mother's grief, it was probably akin to what you'd felt when our daughter died. It was like ... my soul had been cleaved from my body.” He pounded his fist against his chest. “I knew I couldn't go on. I'd lost too much."
Laura felt the pain in his voice like a dagger through her heart. It was all so confusing. In a past life she'd done this terrible thing. She'd taken the easy way out of mourning and devastated a man who'd obviously loved her more than life itself. And while she was that woman of long ago, she also wasn't.
Now she was Laura Flannery. Born in 1969. Secretary for a thriving law firm. Neighbor to a nosy old woman. Ex-girlfriend to a string of jerks. Her life now didn't have a husband, a child, a butler, or a housekeeper. So who was she, really?
She glanced up at Barnabas, noticing the trembling of his shoulders. Suddenly, it didn't matter. In this man's eyes, both Laura Flannerys were one and the same, and he loved her now as much as he did then.
Feeling very selfish in what she'd done, she reached a shaky hand out toward him. “I'm so sorry, Barnabas.
He gave her a reassuring smile. “I know.” Then his smile faded. “But what I did next was ... unforgivable."
The silent sadness in his expression caused her physical pain. Nausea formed in the pit of her stomach. What could he have possibly done that was any worse than her discretion?
"I was like a madman,” he said, moving over to stand beside the window.
Tattered curtains spilled across the floor by his feet, the hem splintered and torn like used tissue. Laura couldn't help but focus on them. They were once thick panels of the most gorgeous fabric...
An image of Karey playing on the floor next to the very same window suddenly popped in her mind, startlingly clear in every detail, even down to the shine in her daughter's beautiful red hair. Laura bit her bottom lip until it throbbed with each pulse to keep from crying. She tore her gaze from the curtain's hem and returned it to Barnabas. Tears blurred her vision.
"I cursed God and everything good in this world. I ran through the house, bellowing my pain and smashing every piece of furniture I could get my hands on. Then, I collapsed onto the floor next to the table upon which your motionless body was laid, spent and defeated. I begged God to take me out of my pain. But he didn't answer. Didn't listen."
Barnabas grew very still, very quiet. While she prayed she was wrong, Laura felt she knew what came next. A chilling sensation of intense sickness swept through her insides. Her teeth chattered and her body began to tremble.
"When you begged the Devil, he didn't turn you away. Did he?"
Even though Laura had never been an intensely religious person, she did feel that God loved all his children, and would never have put anything on Barnabas he didn't feel he could handle—even the death of his wife. While it would be easy to accuse him of being selfish, of taking the easy way out, Laura hadn't made any less of a selfish decision in taking her life. And somehow, she knew Barnabas's pact with Satan, whatever it was, had been anything but easy.
"What did you agree to?” Her voice was flat and emotionless.
Running a shaky hand through his hair, Barnabas looked out the window through unseeing eyes. “I begged for your soul, in exchange for mine."
"What?” Laura leapt from the chair and stormed across the room toward him.
Shocked by her sudden fury, Barnabas back a few feet away from her advancing frame. “I couldn't stand the thought of you spending eternity in Hell. I had to do something,” he explained, throwing his hands out to the sides.
"So you sold your
soul to the Devil?” she demanded, trying to ignore the ridiculousness in her words. There was nothing ludicrous about them. Apparently, it was the truth.
Barnabas took a deep breath, held it, then let it all out in one big whoosh! Air whizzed by her ears, spiriting several strands of her hair. They briefly danced about her face, then settled back down around her shoulders.
"Yes, well, one should take heed when forming vital pacts with the Prince of the Underworld. Unless certain rules are specified, things tend to change."
Laura crossed her arms over her chest and waited with forced patience for him to continue. It was a good thing he was dead, or undead, or whatever he was, because at that moment, her mind entertained some pretty murderous thoughts.
Sensing her homicidal ideas, Barnabas put his fist to his mouth and cleared his throat. “During our ... negotiations, it was commented that had I been the one to die, you wouldn't have taken your life, because your feelings for me weren't as great as they were for Karey."
Laura's hands instantly balled into fists as she threw them down to her sides. “That's not even a fair assessment. Of course things would have been different. A mother wouldn't leave her child to fend for itself, no matter how great her grief was. It doesn't make her love for her husband any less!"
Barnabas smiled. “I know. I know,” he said, trying to sooth her ruffled nerves. “But stupid me bought into it anyway. You've got to remember, I'd just lost you and wasn't thinking too clearly."
Cocking a brow, Laura re-crossed her arms over her chest. “Go on,” she said. One foot tapped noisily against the rug.
"I defended you,” he said with a shrug. “I declared that, had Karey not been in the equation, you would have taken your life over me."
Laura groaned, letting her hands fall to her sides once again. “I don't think I want to know anymore, but I don't suppose there's any point in backing out now. And?"
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