She took the bouquet, smelled the roses, smiled. “Why so formal?"
"Just wanted to make sure I was still welcome. After all, I did leave in a hurry and didn't even bother to call while I was gone,” he explained.
"That's true,” she said. “Maybe I should make you come back tomorrow, or call for an appointment. Let's see ... Wednesday would actually be a better time for me."
He knew she was teasing, but gave her his best stricken look, followed by an endearing pout until she took him by the hand and ushered him inside, planted a big kiss on his lips. He smiled then, kissed her back. “Did you miss me?” he asked.
She smiled wryly. “Actually, I have been quite busy; didn't have a lot of time to miss you,” she barbed. “Guess I may have been about as busy as you, seeing you didn't even have time to call to see if things were all right."
"Well, I suppose I deserve that,” he confessed. “Have things been all right?"
"They are now, thanks. It was a bit sketchy for a while, but we pulled through, even without you here to help."
"What? What happened?"
She put the roses into a large vase, set it on the coffee table before she answered his question. “I just finished writing the whole thing up. You can read all about it in the morning."
"In the morning?"
"Well, yes. It is a quarter to eleven and I was about to go to bed,” she said.
"Oh."
"Oh, what?"
"Just oh. I guess I should have called before barging in on you. I couldn't wait to see you, though. I really did miss you. I didn't even think about the time. All I could think of was seeing you again."
Liz turned off the light in the kitchen and then proceeded to turn off the lights all the way up the hall to the front stairs. “So—you coming?"
"Coming where?” he asked.
"To bed, of course."
"I—uh—won't Kim mind if I—?"
"She's not here,” she said.
"You mean, you have been here alone all evening?” he asked.
"All weekend, actually,” she said.
"What? She left you here while she is away for the weekend?"
"Yep."
"I can't believe it!” he exclaimed. “So where is she?"
"Camping out—with Mark."
"Mark? She's seeing Mark?” he asked.
"Yep. Now tell me, are you going to stand here gassing all night, or are you coming to bed?"
A slow grin spread across his face as he started up the stairs behind her. “I should have gone away sooner, if this is the way you greet me when I get home,” he said.
She arched her brow, shook her head. “Don't push your luck, mister,” she warned.
"I wouldn't presume. Come here, you!” he said as he pulled her to him.
She giggled, broke from his grasp and ran toward the bedroom with him close behind. She wanted to tell him all about what had happened after he left. She wanted to tell him what Benjamin had told her about being his past life. She wanted to make him tell her something to prove he really knew, in the back of his mind at least, who he had been and that he recognized her from their past life together. Then again, she couldn't say anything that would prove to him she had been Constance or that she had recognized him, so she let it go for tonight, because more than she wanted anything else, right now she wanted to hold him. She deserved it and she was going to indulge herself, just this once....
* * * *
The entity watched the lovers in the silence of the early morning. Poor simpletons believed it was over, thought the threat of Ptarmigan was behind them. He was content to wait a bit. Let them have their little celebration, for now. The woman was his. He'd waited an eternity to reclaim her; he could wait a while longer. Better for his purposes to let them think they had the victory; more interesting in the long run for them drop their vigilant caution against the spirits of the manor—Elizabeth had almost glimpsed the true nature of the mystery when she considered another entity might be orchestrating control over the rest, but then she conveniently let the thought escape from her consciousness. She'd not expect his next attack.
He rather liked the game he'd been playing, though he wasn't happy to have lost his hard-won servants. Thanks to Moira, he at least still had the dolt, Ian, though the bungling fool was not much of a prize. He still might prove useful, though; one could never be sure. The time had come to plan his next assault, and he knew exactly what that assault would entail. Yes, he liked this game a lot....
THE END
About the Author
Charlotte Holley has an inborn love of all mysteries and the supernatural, and has been reading and writing about the paranormal for more than forty years. A mass communications major, she has written and published newsletters, magazine and newspaper articles, as well as poems and short stories since receiving her bachelor's degree in 1980. As a beaded jewelry designer, she has also self-published nineteen pattern collections on CD and in ebook form and has produced over 250 individual original patterns.
Having spent several years as a professional psychic, she has had extensive experience with the spirit world and has observed supernatural dramas that defy all rational explanation. Charlotte uses her expertise and story-telling ability to weave a powerful tale of mystery and horror, of love and deceit and of the overpowering desire of the human nature to make things right.
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