A Haunting Experience

by Kessily Lewel

  The suggestion he'd offered would most likely be the best that she could hope for, and probably more than she could reasonably have expected, considering the situation. So now she needed to decide if this was a situation she could live with. The only answer that she could come up with was I'm just not sure.

  "I understand," she said.

  He sat up slowly, arranging her body so she didn't tumble off, and she was suddenly reminded that they were still in the bathroom How many hours had they been there? She longed to get up off the wide marble platform and go lie in the bed with him, but she definitely didn't want this all on tape, even if they only heard her side.

  But he was also considering her comfort and was leaning over to turn the faucets in the tub on. Steaming water came gushing out, splashing into the oversized basin and filling quickly. He got to his feet and then reached down to hold out his hand to her.

  "Join me?"

  She took the hand and let him pull her up onto her feet. The tub was generously sized and probably big enough for at least three people. She grinned.

  "Trying to seduce me with a bath?"

  "Yes. Will it work?" he asked, giving her a dramatically seductive wink as he stepped in and then turned to help her in after him.

  His assistance was unnecessary, but there was something caring and protective about the way he handed her in and made sure she had her balance before he let go of her and settled down in the tub. The water didn't rise as he got comfortable, and it took her a second to realize what was wrong. There was no water displacement—the professor would probably find that interesting. It seemed impossible to her.

  She was distracted by the observation and started to sit down before she'd gotten used to the water, and it was on the hot side, not enough to scald her skin, but enough to make her wince as she stopped and eased into the water more carefully. She chose to sit opposite him, letting their legs cross each other, so she could look at him. It was less romantic, perhaps, but they hadn't really resolved anything yet, and she wanted enough distance so she could think. When their bodies touched, it was very hard to say no to him.

  He seemed content to soak in silence, letting his head tip back as he relaxed. When the water covered her to the tops of her breasts, she shut the taps off and did the same. The bathroom was silent except for the occasional rippling of the water and the steady tick-tick-tick of the mantel clock on the counter. She kept waiting for him to break the silence, to say something, but he didn't.

  She wasn't ready to revisit the conversation about their blossoming romance or the consequences of that, so finally she decided to ask some of the questions that had been bothering her.

  "John?" she said tentatively.

  He opened one eye and tilted his head so he could see her. "Yes?"

  "Why—why are you here? Why don't you go on to—what's beyond? Do you know what happens after this? Are you afraid?"

  The words tumbled out of her mouth in a rush. He'd been expecting the questions to start eventually, so it was no surprise when she began to ask him all the things that had been on her mind. He knew she'd be disappointed with a lot of the answers; the great secrets of the afterlife were not his to share. But his history, the sad tale of it, that, at least, he could tell her.

  He didn't begin to talk immediately. In fact, she almost wondered if he was stalling, the way he took his time. First he let some of the water out of the tub, and then he filled it up again with fresh steaming water, and she was grateful for that, because it had started to get cold. Then he settled back and held out his arms.

  "Come. You'll be warmer with me," he suggested.

  Now that the subject had changed from one where she felt she had to stand her ground, she was willing to press her slick body against his and soak up the warmth of his skin. And he was warm. There was no longer anything unusual about his body temperature, as if he'd drawn the heat from her and now radiated it back at her.

  There were more questions she wanted the answers to, and she filed them away to ask him later. She relaxed against his body, her back to his chest, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly. She tilted her head back so she could look up at him as he began to talk.

  "My mother, as I mentioned, was an educated woman. She was English. My father was Greek by birth, Italian by nationality. After she received her degree, they married and decided that before they considered children, they would move here, to America. The opportunities were said to be boundless. People thought the streets were paved with gold and that even the poorest immigrants could become wealthy if they worked hard." He paused. "Some of that was true. Things were certainly more flexible here. There was less hierarchy and more chances to become someone.

  "My mother never intended to give up learning, which she considered a career. She intended to teach and write, and they thought that, here, people would be more accepting of a woman in those roles. They were wrong, but it worked out for other reasons, and they stayed. And so I was born a citizen of this country. I was well schooled, of course, and I did well for myself.

  "Eventually, I became partners with a friend. We owned several businesses, including a bank, which was our main concern. A few years into the partnership, I discovered he had been cheating me, stealing money and hiding it with double-entry bookkeeping."

  His voice had a far away tone, as though lost in the memories, until the last when it lowered, almost to a growl. The betrayal of that friendship had cost him dearly, and it showed.

  "Double-entry bookkeeping?" she asked, hesitant to interrupt the story, but trying to understand.

  He waved his hand, dismissing the importance of the question, but then explained it in a simplistic manner. "He wrote amounts in one book, which he showed me, and the true amounts in another book, which he hid from me. By the time I discovered what he was doing, he had stolen millions."

  "Millions?" she repeated, in a whisper. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to have so much money, let alone lose that much. And a million back then had been worth a lot more than it was these days.

  "Yes, and he spent all of it here, on this house. He was my best friend and he robbed me to have this castle built with every luxury. The parquet floors in the ballroom alone took a team of men weeks, and cost—" He stopped and shook his head.

  She hadn't even realized there was a ballroom. The attorney had left it off the tour, and she'd been too busy between the research team and her ghost to do much exploring. She was going to have to make that a priority.

  "So, what did you do when you found out?" she asked quietly.

  "I confronted him, of course. I demanded an accounting of his actions! We fought; there was a great deal of shouting. I threatened to call the constables and expose his perfidy, even though it would likely have destroyed the bank. Reputations were important back then," he explained. "Faced with that threat, he crumbled and, in the end, we made a deal. Much of this house had been built with my money, and so he would sign it over to me the moment it was finished. He expressed great remorse for his actions, and I believed him. I wanted to believe that the man I had thought he was still existed."

  His tone and language had shifted to a more formal, old-fashioned style of speaking; she'd noticed that he did that sometimes, but this time it was blatant.

  She listened with rapt attention as he spoke. He even seemed to gain a slight accent of some kind. He went silent after that, and she waited. Seconds dragged into minutes, and just when she was about to ask what happened, he started to speak again in that lost tone.

  "When the house was almost completed, he invited me here one night to inspect my new property, as he phrased it. I was a fool, of course. I should have known he wouldn't hand it over without a fight, but I went. He was excited, enthusiastic about showing me around. He acted like I'd commissioned him to build it for me, continually looking for praise on the designs he'd chosen.

  "In the end, he took me down to the basement. I was tired; I'd returned from a trip just that day, and was ready
to go home and sleep, but he insisted there was something special he wanted to show me. Trusting fool that I was, I went down the steps of my own free will, and at the bottom they were waiting for me. Hired from some back alley, no doubt, course, rough men, two of them. They caught me as I set foot on the concrete floor, and one held me while the other slit me open like a fish."

  There was another pause at that point, and he shifted to sit up, moving her to his side so he could show her.

  "Here."

  His finger traced the thick white scar that bisected his abdomen. She realized that she should have known it was the cause of his death. Such a large injury probably wouldn't have been fixable back then, especially not a gut wound.

  "The basement runs the length of the house, and just that day the workmen had poured concrete on a sizeable section before going home. He'd planned my murder carefully, and afterwards they sank my body into the wet floor and smoothed it flat again. And if anyone looked, they never found me, and never will. My bones are still there, part of the house. So you see, this house really is mine. In more ways than one," he finished.

  She realized when he finished his calm recitation of betrayal and murder that she was crying. Slow tears rolled down her cheeks, and he looked down and noticed with a start. He frowned, and then his face softened, and he brushed a tear off her cheek.

  "It was a long time ago, April. Don't—don't cry for me," he said, soothing her with gentle kisses that followed the path of the tears.

  Chapter 4

  The other questions she'd wanted to ask, she put aside for the moment. They no longer seemed as urgent after hearing his story. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be betrayed by your closest friend like that. Suddenly leaving the house, leaving him, seemed like a terrible idea. Maybe it was partly motivated by pity for what he'd gone through, but there was a part of her that desperately wanted to make him happy.

  "If I stay here with you, how would this work? You're a ghost, and I'm alive and I just don't—"

  She trailed off. Could she spend the rest of her life with a man she couldn't marry, couldn't have children with? Couldn't go for a walk in the park with? There were so many ways they'd be limited.

  His thumb stroked the line of her jaw; he liked the shape of it; it gave her a stubborn look that he suspected wasn't just her appearance. He sensed a fire in the girl.

  "I don't know, April. I don't know how or if things would work out for us. What I do know is that I find myself drawn to you in a way I can't explain. From the moment you stepped into the house, I knew that I wanted you. And not just for a night, but forever. I know all too well what you'd be giving up." His voice was neutral, but she could sense a tang of worry and guilt. "I had thought that it would be unfair to ask anyone to give up a full life to lurk here in the shadows of death with me. I consoled myself with the idea that she'd be getting this valuable property in return, and for many people the bargain might be worth it, but now that you're here, I find myself doubting it would be enough." His brow furrowed with worry.

  "The house is beautiful,” she said, “and I'd love to own it, but, of course, most people don't commit to spending their whole lives in a house. They consider a future where they might sell it and move, and that won't be possible for me. So if I'm to stay here, I need a reason, a very good reason, to give up my life to remain here with you, and I also need to know what the consequences are," she concluded firmly.

  "You do, and before the month is over, I will ensure you have all the information you need to make your decision, but until then—" He stopped and sat up, moving her into his lap and turning her so he could look into her eyes. "Until then, let's learn about each other and see how we fit together. It's perhaps a bit too late to suggest courting you, but that is what I would like to do during the time we have, so you can see both the good and the bad sides of staying with me."

  She stared into his eyes, lost in his sapphire gaze, and slowly nodded. "Yes, yes, let's do that," she said decisively.

  "Good. Now we need to get out of the tub before you wrinkle up like last season's apples," he said as he turned her hand over and looked at the crinkled pads of her fingers.

  Time moved differently for him, ebbing and flowing like the tide, and he tended to lose track of it, but glancing at the clock, he realized they'd been in the bathroom for hours.

  He stood and pulled her to her feet along with him. She bent to let the water out of the tub, and when she turned back, he was wrapping her in a towel, one of the few that hadn't cushioned their love making. The bathroom was a disheveled mess after their adventures, and she laughed softly as she stepped over the pile. She looked towards the door and frowned, pushing her sleek wet hair back behind her shoulder and starting to wrap it up in a turban to dry.

  "What's wrong?" he asked. He glanced at the door but saw no fault in it to give her that look.

  Unlike her, he looked perfectly dry; the water hadn't clung to him at all, and that caught her attention for a second as she answered.

  "I kind of hate to go back out there. I hate being recorded all the time, and I like being able to talk to you without them hearing it," she explained.

  He nodded and then sighed. He agreed with her, but, unfortunately, she couldn't spend a month in the bathroom.

  "You realize that they won't be well pleased if I only interact with you in here. Their entire purpose is to capture evidence of the afterlife, after all. We will have to accept that and put on a show for them. I have some plans of that nature," he said enigmatically, and she looked at him sharply, eyebrows going up.

  "That sounds kind of ominous," she said.

  "Yes. That's a good word for it." There was an amused look on his face as he ignored the implied question. "Now go on, no more dawdling," he said as he shooed her towards the door.

  She moved reluctantly, especially when she realized that she'd have to go out into the bedroom in a towel in order to fetch clean clothes to change into. She lingered in the doorway, debating whether or not to put on her discarded clothes first, when she felt the towel lift in the back. He gave her a heavy handed swat across her ass that sent her stumbling into the bedroom with a startled squawk.

  Her movement set off the motion detector, and the red eye of the camera flashed to life just as she looked back and said, "Hey!" in an angry tone.

  He jerked a head towards the crimson eye, and she frowned and turned away in a huff. She didn't want to draw attention to the fact that they'd been spending time together in the bathroom. She dug through the drawers and grabbed a modest pair of pajamas and then ducked back into the bathroom to change into them.

  While she was drying off and changing, she told him exactly what she thought about his actions. "That was rude! I'm going to have to explain that, you know!" She tugged the cotton pants on and then faced him with her hands on her hips. "They might guess I was with you in here," she pointed out with a growl.

  The last thing she wanted was for them to realize the bathroom was no longer a dead zone. The next thing she knew, they'd be stringing up cameras in there, too.

  "You seemed to need a push to get you going. I know you don't enjoy them monitoring everything, but you did agree to it. We both did, and cooperating is the only way for us to get what we want. I don't like it any better than you, believe me. I am not pleased that other men will see what is mine but—"

  "What is yours?" Her eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline, and she glared. "I am not yours, not yet, and maybe not ever, if you're going to treat me like I'm property."

  "April, I have explained to you that I am a man of my times. I am well aware that you are an intelligent, independent woman, but you will be my woman if you stay, and we did agree that you were to see how things would be between us. This is part of how things will be," he said bluntly. His eyes had narrowed, and he looked none too pleased by her attitude and tone. "I suggest you settle down, because we do need to go back where they can see you, now." The now was strongly emphasized as an order.

/>   "I barely even agreed to consider this, and you're already giving me orders," she complained. The determined shape of her mouth twisted into a pout as her arms crossed over her chest.

  There was the stubbornness he knew was in her. It hadn't even taken much to bring it out.

  "April, right now we have one room in this house where we can be alone together; if we continue to linger here, we will likely lose that. Is that what you wish?" he asked with a sigh.

  It was for her own good. He hadn't thought he would need to point this out to her, but if that group of science people didn't get the exciting footage they hoped for, he would lose his chance to keep her. He wasn't going to let that happen—in fact, he was determined to give them such a show that they'd willingly hand over the house in return.

  She glared at him, hazel eyes glittering angrily, and then slowly the line of her shoulders softened, and she shook her head. She realized it wasn't him she was angry at really, but that her privacy had been so thoroughly stripped away from her. She'd experienced so much that night: her first time having sex, the best orgasms she'd ever had, and a potential relationship with a man who would never judge her or be frightened of her. She'd wanted to drift along on a cloud of euphoria, but the reality of the situation had yanked her firmly back down to earth against her will.

  She took a slow breath as her hands dropped to her sides. "You're right. We need the privacy; hell, I need the privacy. I am not going to use the toilet on camera," she said firmly.

  His mouth tightened briefly at her use of the word hell, but he let it go. "Yes, so you've had no dinner, and I may not be mortal, but it hasn't been so long that I've forgotten that you need to eat, especially after our—exertions." He smirked a little, looking pleased with himself, and she laughed.