by Ghost Night
“Is that all?” she asked him. “It’s been a long day, and I’d really like to take a shower, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll be ready to work whenever you need anything, but for now…”
She started to walk by him. He blocked her path. She looked up and was surprised to see that his golden eyes were opened wide and that everything about him was just slightly awkward. “Vanessa…I’m not good at this. And I’d like you to understand how things looked…. I’m sorry.”
She was startled by the apology. It was amazing, coming from him under the circumstances.
Maybe he just missed the sex. But then again, so did she.
And still…
“I don’t lie, Sean,” she said stiffly.
“I didn’t accuse you of lying.”
“Well, yes, actually you did.”
“I…I’m sorry. Okay, I’m not good at this…I don’t know what else to say,” he told her. “I’ll ask you again, see it from my side.”
She nodded and smiled slowly. “Just say that you know that I don’t lie, and that you’ll believe in me in the future. That will work.”
“I know that you don’t lie. I’ll believe you in the future,” he said, his smile broad.
“Thank you,” she said softly. They stood there for a moment, looking at one another, not quite touching, and yet…
“I played a pirate about to be hanged today,” she told him. “I really need a shower.”
“Okay.”
“You’re not moving.”
“You haven’t invited me up.”
“Come on up.”
Maybe showers were destined to be something special between them. And maybe there was something that was just right, amazing, or the intangible bit of animal magnetism, chemistry, or whatever it was that made one person choose another over others. There was nothing awkward in her room, and there was no pretense between either of them. When she walked into the shower, she knew he was behind her. She turned into his arms, euphoric with the feeling that he was there, hard-bodied, rock-solid, vibrant, hot and real. Thoughts and fears left her mind for excruciating moments as she simply lost herself in the beauty and urgency of touch, running her hands down the wet sleekness of his flesh, his sex, along his spine and buttocks, and feeling the deep thrust and hot persistence of his kiss, his tongue and his hands upon her.
They made love with the rush of the water and then, still enwrapped and absorbed in one another, they found towels and made their way to the bed. Once there, he started with a kiss again, hovering over her, golden eyes burning into hers, and then that kiss, his mouth on hers, and then moving to her throat, where he paused, feeling the thunder of her pulse, and moved on, sending a streak of lightning through her as he teased a breast and trailed his kisses onward again. His caresses were slow, a touch of agony in the midst of exhilaration and wonder. He touched and teased, drawing to a point of complete intimacy, and she twisted and writhed until her frantic energy and demand brought him back to her, and they locked together in a storm of frenetic energy that brought her to a point of climax after climax, shuddering in his arms.
He held her close then, murmuring, his kisses tender.
Eventually, their bodies cooled. Their hearts beat at normal rates, and the ragged sound of their breath was no longer a cacophony in the room.
He held her against him and then groaned softly. “Strange. I don’t want to get up. I’m starving, and there are things to do, and I don’t ever want to leave this bed.”
She laughed. “Of course you do. Eventually, you’d get bored here.”
“When the sun froze over,” he told her.
She stroked his face. “That was good. That makes up for your rather stilted apology.”
“Excuse me, that was real and heartfelt.”
“We could order food to be brought here,” she said.
He nodded and turned from her for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “We’re supposed to go over to Ted and Jaden’s workshop—the doctor of forensic anthropology arrived, and she’s been studying the trunk as we found it. She’ll give us what she can before she does all the tests on the body. Anything in the sea that long—even mummified, as the body appears—is very fragile.”
“Of course,” Vanessa said. She hesitated, wondering why she was so uneasy about the trunk.
Pandora’s box? If so, it was already open.
And yet, it hadn’t been something actually evil that she felt, just as if the chest was going to be a catalyst, and she wasn’t sure if she liked what it might cause to come about.
“Do you not want to come over there with me?” Sean asked.
“No, no, of course I want to come,” she said.
“Then I guess we have to get moving.” He stood, his back to her. “You know, I think you should get the tail end of your things out of here for good.”
She rose as well, coming around to look at him. “You want me to come over because I’ll be safer? Or because you want me there?”
“I’d say both, and that’s pretty obvious,” he said. She smiled.
She was glad to be invited.
Ecstatic, actually!
And it was true that she didn’t want to be here alone. She had horrendous nightmares, she saw figureheads in the water, and on top of that, she kept thinking that she saw Carlos Roca and an unknown pirate who looked at her—and then faded into the air.
Really. They were going to have to lock her up soon.
“It’s late,” he said huskily. “Let’s grab pizza downstairs and then get over to Ted and Jaden’s.”
Dr. Tara Aislinn was in her midfifties, an energetic and enthusiastic woman who greeted Sean and Vanessa with real warmth. Her colleague, Ned Latham, was more subdued but apparently just as eager to be there. They had studied the chest and the victim within but hadn’t taken the body from the chest. They had come down in their van and, with permission, of course, would be moving the chest and the body to the lab in Gainesville.
Liam and David had come and gone, Sean discovered. They were late, of course, really late, but in his mind, that was fine. He hadn’t been in a serious relationship in a long time; he didn’t think he’d ever been in a relationship where he’d felt so lost and empty when it seemed that it had ended. David and Liam were capable, as were Jaden and Ted, and he knew that he’d never understand half of what the scientists could learn from the body, so everything had gone in the right direction without him.
“David is calling the media and letting them know what it was you brought out of the water,” Jaden told him.
“What exactly is he telling them?” Sean asked.
Dr. Aislinn laughed softy. “Just that we have arrived and are taking the chest and the body, and that we believe that the chest is early eighteen hundreds, and that a unique set of circumstances have preserved the body of a woman who died in the early eighteen hundreds, as well. More details will follow after we have conducted out tests.”
“And what can you really tell us?” Sean asked.
“That she’s not Dona Isabella!” Jaden burst out.
“What?” Vanessa said.
“Come, come, I’ll show you,” Dr. Aislinn said. “Dr. Latham, if you’ll assist me?”
They walked over to the chest and Latham carefully opened it and offered Dr. Aislinn a set of latex gloves from his pocket. After pulling them on, she reached in and touched the woman’s bodice. “This is cotton, and if you’ll notice—it’s difficult to see with the staining. If you’ll hold the flashlight up, Dr. Latham?—that’s home sewing. Dr. Latham, the hands if you will? I can’t draw them out—we’d break up the mummy—but you’ll note the nails. They’re chipped and broken, and not the nails of a lady. Whoever this woman was, she didn’t grow up in the lap of luxury. From what I’ve learned about this story, your Dona Isabella was supposedly killed on Haunt Island—or she went down with the ship in the storm. I don’t know who this is, but it’s not a lady of the time.”
“Can you date the corpse to a certain age?” Sea
n asked.
“Not without a more comprehensive examination,” Dr. Aislinn said. “But…” She shrugged. “My guess? Between twenty and thirty. I’m going to need X-rays of the teeth and skull, the hips—all those things help establish age. However, I think you’ve found a pirate’s wench, perhaps a poor girl traveling as a maid or a servant.”
“We hope to be able to give you a great deal more,” Dr. Latham said.
“I’m sure you’re disappointed that it wasn’t a chest of gold doubloons, but this is just an amazing scientific find!” Dr. Aislinn said. She looked at Vanessa. “It’s extraordinary. I heard you also discovered the pendant—the exquisite mermaid pendant—that Ted showed me earlier. You’re quite an amazing woman, Miss Loren. You might have missed your calling as a salvage diver or treasure seeker!”
To Sean’s surprise, Vanessa’s smile seemed forced and her face seemed pale.
“Oh, I rather like what I do,” she said.
“How did you find these relics?” Dr. Latham asked.
“Beginner’s luck,” she said with a shrug. “And I wasn’t looking? I don’t know.”
“Well,” Dr. Aislinn said. “You have made an absolutely amazing discovery here. The mermaid pendant, of course, is beautiful. But the body! We can’t thank you enough. We’re delighted to be doing the research!”
“Wait!” Ted said. “You didn’t tell them the most gruesome part yet.” He looked at Sean and Vanessa and shook his head. “I mean, we know that the pirates could be violent. And what with the story of Haunt Island, it shouldn’t be surprising.”
Jaden said, “Horrible, just horrible. But—of course, long over now.”
“What?” Sean demanded.
“At first,” Dr. Aislinn said, “I thought that someone must have cared for this young woman deeply. Most of the time, those who died at sea were wrapped in shrouds—if that!—and sent overboard. This young woman was sealed in a chest. I thought that we’d discover that the cause of death had been consumption or the ravages of some other disease. But look at the neck—that’s not just decayed fabric there, or a shawl or scarf or any other such object. She was strangled. That’s the fabric with which she was strangled. I’m not sure what it is yet. We’ll know when we take a sample.”
“She was murdered,” Vanessa murmured.
“As you said,” Sean noted, “violence was common, I’m afraid.”
“Yes, but it’s curious,” Dr. Latham commented.
“Pirates blew one another to bits with cannons. They slashed with swords and cutlasses, and they shot one another with their pistols. It’s unusual that they would have strangled a woman.”
“She must have made someone very angry,” Jaden said.
“It’s going to be just fascinating to try to discover just who she was!” Dr. Aislinn said. “Of course, I understand all of you are heading out soon to start filming—a most fascinating documentary, I must say! But I’ll be in touch constantly by cell phone, and you can reach me anytime you like.”
“Thank you,” Sean told her.
“So,” Ted said, “we’re packing her up—the chest and the mummy—in the university van tomorrow morning. Tara and Dr. Latham are leaving then. But Jaden and I are about to take them out for a night on the town, Key West–style. Can you join us?”
Sean didn’t have a chance to reply.
Vanessa spoke quickly. “Oh, thank you, and I hope you’ll forgive me. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, I’m afraid. But hey, you guys—take them to O’Hara’s. They’ll have a great time there.”
“O’Hara’s?” Dr. Aislinn said, grinning and looking at Sean.
“It’s my uncle’s place, and you will have a great time,” Sean said.
“Sean, I’m sorry, I’m really exhausted, but you, of course, are more than welcome to join them,” Vanessa said quickly.
She seldom looked vulnerable; for some reason that night she did. Sean felt a surge of tenderness, wanting to make sure that she was safe and warm and protected at all times.
“Sorry, all, and forgive me, too. These have been really long days. My uncle’s place has good food, reasonable drinks, and my sister is doing karaoke tonight. It’s a bit of a walk down Duval,” he said.
“Well, I do love walking, and I don’t get down here nearly enough!” Dr. Aislinn said.
Sean and Vanessa left, thanking them again. As they walked down the street, he took her hand—it was crowded that night. Girls were out in skimpy outfits and wench attire; some men were still in pirate costume while others were in jeans and T-shirts. It was Key West. A little cool that night for anything so simple as body paint, but anything might have been worn along Duval.
Vanessa was quiet, and she still seemed disturbed. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.
She made a face. “The body is creepy. I’m glad they’re taking it to Gainesville.”
“It’s not really creepy. It’s another mystery. We—you—found a pendant, which did belong to Dona Isabella, at least according to historical sketches. Then, we—you—find a body in a chest, and it proves not to be Dona Isabella. That’s interesting. I don’t remember anything about a maid traveling with her, though, of course, a woman of her stature probably did travel with a servant. Ah, maybe Mad Miller threatened her by killing the maid, and then gave her something of a decent burial. Or, God knows, maybe Kitty Cutlass did the deed.”
Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see what they discover. Both of those doctors seemed fascinated and thrilled, so it was an incredible discovery.”
She was silent.
“Hey, you all right?”
“Of course.”
“You’re the only person who makes incredible finds who seems depressed by their talent. The pendant…well, I can see that as a fluke. But none of that chest was showing above the sand. How in hell did you become so certain there was something there?”
She paused and stopped walking and stared at him. “You really want to know? If you make fun of me now, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I will not make fun of you.”
She took a deep breath, her eyes sharp on his. “I keep thinking that I see a figurehead in the water. I dream about it, actually. It’s scary and creepy. It has Dona Isabella’s face.”
He felt his lips start to twitch and remembered he had promised not to make fun of her.
“I see,” he managed to say.
“You don’t believe a word,” she said.
“I’m not saying that!” he protested quickly. He started walking again, eager to get to his home on Elizabeth Street before he somehow managed to lose her once again. “Here’s what I think,” he said, still holding her hand, and swinging their arms easily between them as they walked. “The story goes that poor Dona Isabella was kidnapped from her transport to Spain by Mad Miller and his pirates. She was forced to Haunt Island and either murdered by Mad Miller or Kitty Cutlass, or still a prisoner—probably one who was raped and abused—when the pirate ship went down in the storm. So you see the face of Dona Isabella because you feel such sympathy for her. And it would be natural that you see the face in the water—as a figurehead—when you are instinctively honing in on something. How’s that?”
“Psychology 101?” she asked dryly.
“The mind can do amazing things,” he told her. “Then, face it, you’ve had horrible nightmares since your friends were murdered on Haunt Island—and you found them. There are all kinds of wonderful defense mechanisms in the mind.”
“What if the spirit of Dona Isabella is lurking in the water?” Vanessa asked. “Or…worse! What if Mad Miller is a decayed old pirate like Geoffrey Rush in Pirates of the Caribbean?”
He laughed.
Then he realized that she was serious.
“I remember one time, when Katie and I were small, and we were at the old cemetery, bringing flowers to the grave of one of my mom’s friends. Katie was acting nervous. My dad told her that the dead were the safest people in the wo
rld—that they couldn’t hurt anyone. He told her that she had to learn to be very smart and wary and savvy—it was the living who hurt one another.”
She nodded. “Of course. I didn’t think that Mad Miller or Kitty Cutlass rose out of the sea to kill and dismember Georgia and Travis.”
“Of course not. It’s sad to say, because I know you liked him, that most probably Carlos Roca was responsible.”
She seemed to start, and to shudder.
He set his arm around her and pulled her close.
“Hey, sorry!”
“It’s all right,” she murmured. “I just— I doubt it. All right, I know that there have been horrible serial killers who had neighbors who had sincerely believed they were just nice, quiet people. But I knew Carlos. And I don’t think so—no matter how it looked.”
They had reached the house and he opened the door, drawing her in. He locked the door and asked, “Do you want something to drink? A shot of…something. Kahlúa and cream, cup of tea, water, cola, soda…?”
She laughed. “Hmm. Tea and whiskey.”
“The old Irish remedy for anything that ails you,” he said. He walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on.
As the water boiled, he tried to casually look around the house for Bartholomew. The ghost was nowhere to be seen.
Probably out with his lady in white, Lucinda, the new love of his life.
Probably still angry with him.
That was all right; he didn’t want to be haunted that night.
The water boiled. Vanessa got out two cups and he procured the tea cups and the whiskey. When both were prepared, he suggested, “Let’s take them up to bed.”
She nodded. “Works for me.”
He meant to have a little finesse. Give her a few minutes, watch a bit of a late-night comedy. But they were still too new to one another. Once they had shed their clothing, they made love. He couldn’t bemoan his lack of subtle courtesy, because she was so passionate, so urgent, and completely and erotically seductive. She seemed to come beneath his very skin. It was one thing to feel the ultimate in climax and satiation. Sex was instinct, it was breathing, it happened all the time. But it was something else to feel the wonder when he lay with her after, something else to feel that nothing in the world could ever be so complete, so fulfilling…even so necessary.
