Ghost in the Pages

by Angela M Hudson

“Um . . .” Ali had the answer she needed. “Never mind,” she called back, not wanting to worry him.

  She pushed the turret door open and walked inside, almost choking on the smoke. This ghost was becoming more aggressive, and Ali wasn’t sure if it was due to her being here or maybe because of the relationship between her and Sam. That fire seemed to light itself almost every time Ali and Sam had sex, and no matter what the spirit’s intentions, Ali didn't trust an entity that could physically manipulate things. A part of her wanted to leave and find her own place, but she had an inkling that things were about to change dramatically between her and Sam. They’d been together for three months now and things had moved faster than they had with any other relationship she’d been in, but it didn't feel wrong. It felt like it was the right pace for them, for what they’d both been through, and she would be damned if she let a ghost ruin that.

  Ali shut the turret door and leaned her back against it, looking up the hollow at the center of the spiral stairwell. Fifteen years ago a woman hung from her neck until she choked to death right there on that spot. Fifteen years ago Sam’s life changed forever. But that was all fifteen years ago. It was time for everyone to move on.

  “Fuck off, okay?” she said quietly so Sam wouldn’t hear, when all she wanted to do was scream it out. “Just leave us alone or I’ll get a priest out here to exorcise you.”

  The ghost didn't answer, or show itself. Nothing changed at all in the room expect that the orange glow Ali could see over the iron railing up there suddenly went out.

  “Right.” She dusted her hands off, opening the door. “Keep it that way.”

  ***

  Ali had the most amazing birthday present for Sam. The inkling she had last month turned out to be a strong gut feeling that quickly became reality. She’d bought him a first edition Harry Potter for Christmas and he’d bought her a new typewriter—one that apparently belonged to Hemingway—but nothing would top what she had for him for his birthday. Even though they never planned for it, and hadn’t spoken about it, Ali knew it would be a welcomed gift and she was okay with what that would mean for both of them, no matter what happened from here.

  She laid the pregnancy test down in the box with the plus sign up and wrapped it carefully. It would be hard to keep this a secret for even a second longer, but she’d kept it silent all through Christmas when her period didn't come, and through the new year when she got her confirmation. But as it got closer and closer to Sam’s birthday, she decided it would make a much better present than it would an ordinary piece of news she threw at him one night.

  Sam came in just as she finished the blue bow and his brows went up. “Is that for me?”

  “Not until tomorrow, mister!” Ali hid it under her shirt as he tried to snatch it.

  “Aw, come on. Just a little peek.”

  “No.” She got up and walked away.

  Sam followed. “Can I shake the box?”

  “No.”

  “Wow. And you thought I was the mean one.”

  “It’s for your own good.” She put it away in her bedroom closet and shut the door, making a mental note to move it later in case Sam decided to snoop. She wanted to see his face when he found out. Her whole heart expected a good reaction, but there was still a lot of pain for what had happened with Sarah that he hadn’t moved past, hadn't really even talked about yet, and a small worrying voice in Ali’s head wondered if he might ask if the baby is his. She was prepared for that though. He might not find it easy to trust anyone now and she had already decided not to hold it against him. If it made him feel any better, she’d get a DNA test done when it was born. Like it or not, Ali thought, pressing her hands to her flat belly, this little miracle was Sam’s twenty percent.

  “You okay?” Sam asked, looking down at her hands on her tummy.

  “Oh, um . . .” Ali snapped out of her reflective moment quickly and smiled. “I think I’m getting my period,” she lied, knowing that would throw him off.

  “We should go into town then.” Sam started down the stairs. “I need to pop into—er, I gotta go pick something up, and you haven’t bought girl stuff in a while now, you must be running out.”

  “Um. Yep.” Ali smiled, fighting so hard with herself not to tell him. Instead, she followed him out to the car and put her safety belt on.

  As they drove toward town, the idea of telling him niggled at Ali. But it wasn't so much that she wanted him to know now; she was more worried about his reaction and decided to test the waters a little—see what he’d say if she brought up the idea of kids again.

  “Hey Sam?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We don't talk much anymore,” she said.

  “What are you talking about? We talk all the time.”

  “Yeah, but . . . we talk about my books and your shop, and—”

  “Not much else,” he said with a nod. “I know.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just still coming to terms with it all, Ali,” he said softly, turning the corner carefully on the icy roads and taking the slope toward town. “All these years I thought I’d lost a baby and I had to live with the hate I had in my heart for Sarah. Now I find out she was possibly drugged and raped, and all that hate has gone away. I’m not angry anymore, which means my grieving process has sort of . . .” He sighed. “Started all over again.”

  “Because you’re grieving a different person than the one you lost?”

  “Yeah. I guess. So just give it time, okay?” He reached over and patted her knee.

  “Okay.” Ali didn't push any further than that. Now wasn’t the time to ask him how he’d react if she ever fell pregnant. He just wasn't ready.

  They pulled into town under the usual stares the locals gave them when they spotted Sam in his truck with Ali beside him—still beside him. He was known for his mood swings and Ali supposed no one ever thought Sam could keep a woman around this long. She had to wonder how long it would be before it was old news.

  Sam dropped Ali at the market to grab the stuff she needed and drove across town to get something he’d placed on order. Distracted, as he hurried down the street before anyone could see where he was headed, Sam didn’t recognize the man that burst around the corner and grabbed his arm until he spoke.

  “If you think this is over, think again,” Grant growled.

  “Back off.” Sam gave him a hard shove, ruffling both their coats.

  Grant jerked away, hands up. “I’m not here to fight you. I just wanna make sure something is damn clear—”

  “That you raped my wife,” Sam said through his teeth. “That you drugged her and she was carrying your child.”

  Grant dusted his shirt off, picking a fingernail absently as he spoke. “She was carrying my child, yes, and it was my child that she killed!”

  “You raped her. You don't get a say!”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I won’t have you further staining my reputation!” He leaned in close, a full head shorter than Sam. “I’m gunning for you, Mad Harvey. You can’t make a false police report and get rid of me that easily. Did you really think I’d skip town—”

  “If I were you—”

  “Well you’re not. And I’m not going anywhere. In fact, I’m gonna stick around just long enough to destroy you. And that little whore you’re living with.”

  “Fuck off, Grant.” Sam shoved him with one hand and walked past. “I’m not intimidated by you.”

  “You should be,” Grant called.

  Sam just laughed, feeling like he was in high school again. The only person around here with anything to fear was that punk himself. Sam would make sure of it, one way or another.

  ~20~

  Sarah Harvey’s Revenge

  Ali woke to Sam charging down the stairs. She heard the front door open, the dead of night seeping in to their warm little home and snaking under her door, and opened her eyes to listen as Sam spoke in hushed tones.

  “R
ight,” he said softly. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed.”

  His footfalls came back up the stairs and stopped by Ali’s door.

  “I’m awake,” she called.

  The door creaked open. “It’s Marv. We got a kid gone missing up on Hedge’s Ridge. Been gone going on six hours now. Marv needs anyone with experience out there helping find him.”

  Ali sat up in her bed. “Well I’ll get dressed. I’ll come help you.”

  “No, stay here. It’s shitty weather out there right now and you don’t know that ridge like I do. It’s dangerous in broad daylight, Ali. I’ll be back in a few hours, okay. Not sure we’ll find much out there in the dark, but we’re damn well going to try.”

  As Sam closed her door Ali checked the clock. 1 A.M. What on earth did they hope to find out there at 1 A.M.?

  A few moments later, a car engine started up in the driveway and the headlights beamed through her window as it backed away. She closed her eyes and drifted off sleepily, saying a little prayer in her head to keep everyone safe and find that kid before it was too late.

  At 2:38 A.M. her eyes flung open again, going straight to the clock and then to the beaming lights coming through her window. Not quite two hours had gone by. Ali knew the ridge was an hour’s drive away, so if they’d returned so soon it could only be with good news. She hoped.

  For a while, she lay waiting for Sam to pop his head in and see if she was awake, to give her the good news, but when he finally came through the door he went straight up to the turret, and Ali knew it was bad news. That kid must have been found dead, she guessed; it would be the only reason he’d go up there in that turret, as if to punish himself. Blame himself.

  She lay in bed, tense and worried, trying to decide how to handle this. When the smell of smoke wafted through the house, though, creeping up the walls and under her door like the cold night had earlier, she couldn’t just stay in bed any longer. Sometimes Sam needed a push to open up, so she put her white robe on and wedged her feet into her slippers, heading down the stairs to go talk with him. After all, tomorrow was his birthday and she wanted him in a good mood to receive his present. Not to mention, if she didn’t do something about that smoke, the whole house would stink by morning.

  ***

  Sam took a deep breath of Marv’s car as they rolled slowly along the clearing up by the ridge. He’d slept most of the way, worried his tired mind wouldn't be much help to anyone, but as they pulled up, instincts kicked in and the sight of flashing lights and fifteen different guys running around with torches took him back twenty years to when he first started as a ranger. It woke him up, switched him on, like autopilot.

  “So what do we know about this kid?” he asked, stretching his legs.

  “Not much,” Marv said. “Eight years old. Never been out this way before. Staying here in town with family.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Ben.”

  “Ben.” Sam said the name to himself, sorting in his head through every person he knew in town. “Whose kid is he?”

  “Nephew of Grant Pryce—”

  “What!”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he sung, waving his palm at Sam. “I thought you wouldn’t help if you knew the connection—”

  “Marv, what kind of a man do you take me for? That wouldn’t stop me from helping.” Sam sat back, rubbing his face. Until something clicked: words spoken in haste on a street corner. Details Sam had about Grant’s past. His family’s past. “Marv. Stop the car.”

  “But—”

  “Stop the car!” He pushed the door open and got out, darting frantically through the gathering, blinded by headlights, tired eyes and the stinging cold. “Where is he?”

  “Where’s who?” Old Tom Larson asked, looking up from a map he had spread out over the hood of his truck.

  “Pryce? If his kid nephew is missing, where is he? He should be here!”

  “He’s back home, comforting his sister-in-law.”

  “His sister-in-law, whose only son died when he was ten?” Sam yelled.

  Blank faces stared at him, and Sam’s entire body felt cold. His mind raced to his house where his beautiful girlfriend was sleeping safely, and the warning Grant barked at him played out like the echo of a horror film. He ran for the car.

  “Get your sirens on, Marv!” he demanded. “I need to get home. Now!”

  “Does this mean the search is off?” Marv said. “Did that son-of-a-gun make a false report and bring us all out here in the middle of the damn—”

  “Just get in the car,” Sam insisted. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  ***

  Ali pushed the turret door open and immediately the smoke was stronger. She saw Sam move away from the banister as he dropped a long, heavy rope from the top floor down through the stairs. At first she wasn’t sure what to make of it—if maybe it was a joke or perhaps he was doing some odd renovations—but the rope had a noose on the end. And if that kid had died out there Sam would blame himself. Maybe even enough to want to join Sarah.

  “Over my dead body,” she grumbled, lifting her dressing gown a little as she climbed the stairs. But when she reached the top, the solid shape she found warming his hands by the fire wasn’t Sam.

  “Grant?”

  “It was too cold in here. Do you mind?” He motioned to the small fire.

  “How did you get in here?”

  He tossed a small key at her feet, the pinging sound echoing for a moment. “Everyone knows Sam keeps a key on the doorframe.”

  Ali wanted to throw up. “What are you doing here?”

  Grant shrugged dismissively, and Ali hated how attractive she found him even though he was the scum of the earth. “You might say I came to ‘light some fires.’”

  Staying on the final step, Ali hesitated to go any closer. Grant was a creep, but she doubted he was here to hurt her, and still she couldn’t get her mind past that rope in the stairwell. “Enough with the semantics, Grant. What are you doing here?”

  “There are things you don't know, Ali.”

  “Like the fact that you raped Sarah and she was having your baby?”

  Grant smiled at the flames, shaking his head, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was an unnerving one. “What kind of a woman does that?” he asked.

  “Does what?”

  “Kills a baby just because she didn't want it?”

  Ali’s first clenched. “She had every right to do that, Grant. She was raped!”

  “She wasn't raped. I didn’t force her to have sex with me—”

  “No, you drugged her!”

  “And tell me exactly”—he twisted at the neck to look at her—“how is that rape? She wasn't screaming.”

  All the rage Ali could possibly ever feel in a lifetime came rushing to her fist. “Get out.”

  “Make me.”

  “Oh, I’ll make you! I’ll push you over the damn bannister if I have to!” She marched over and grabbed Grant’s arm, tugging hard, but he didn't move. He was a lot stronger than her and she regretted entering the room as she suddenly realized that.

  He sprung upright so fast that Ali gasped, trying and failing to jerk away when he grabbed her wrist and held tightly.

  “You offended me, Alice. I wasn't going to hurt you that night. You would have gone to sleep and never known what happened. I would have been kind, showered you with gifts, compliments—”

  “Is that what you think a woman wants in exchange for sex she knows nothing about?” Ali tried to tug free but he shook his head and walked them closer to the stair railing where the rope was fastened.

  “I don't care what a woman wants. That’s not what turns me on, babe. You have to understand something about me—”

  “What are you doing?” she cried, panicking as he slid the heavy rope up from its drop. No matter how much she pulled and scratched at his hand, he wouldn’t release her. She dug her nails in and tore up a chunk of skin but he didn’t even flinch. It was like he was on drugs
or something.

  “Will you stop that, Alice? Please,” he said, as though he was asking her to stop tapping her foot.

  “No. You stop it! Let go of me—”

  “See, you’re not listening,” he cut in, shaking her arm as he dragged her closer. “I do what I want, when I want. With you, with your body, with any woman I desire. And if you question me, or get in my way, I will hurt you.”

  Ali fought him again, kicking his shins and the tops of his feet as he wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and wound the rope in a tight coil over her arms, trapping them at her sides. “Get off me!”

  “I want you to know something,” he said, sitting her down against the banister and gently brushing her hair off her face. “Sam loves you. When I ran into him in the street yesterday, he was headed into Lorrette’s. Do you know what that is?”

  “Let me go.” Ali struggled, her chest heaving as he placed the noose over her head, catching her hair in it.

  “It’s a jewelry store. Everyone knows there’s only one reason a man goes in there. So I waited, watching,” he explained in an eerily calm and pleasant voice. “He went in, paid for a small box and came out with it tucked into his pocket.” Grant stopped fussing with the noose and smiled down at Ali. “He was going to ask you to marry him.”

  Ali folded over, the blood rushing to her face as she cried out, trying to force her arms off her body to break the impossibly tight rope. It made a steel cage out of her lungs and she could hardly draw a full breath to scream out for help.

  “He probably has all these plans for you two—for your life together. But instead, he’ll come home to another letter from another girl he loves, explaining why she had to take her own life to get away from him.”

  Ali looked up, holding her breath. “What are you talking about?” Until now, she thought Grant was going to tie her up and humiliate her, rape her at the worst. But murder? “You can’t kill me!”

  “I can, actually.” His tone was so factual that Ali almost thought he was joking. “Just like with Sarah. See, I put the idea in her head to leave him,” he said, and then laughed like he couldn’t believe his luck. “And she wrote that letter. It wasn’t even a suicide letter but it just fit so perfectly. I arrived here that day just as she was headed to her car. I was almost too late.”