The dog barked, drowning out her words. The mutt looked to be a mix of some type, shaped like a basset hound, but its ears were short and the coloring a reddish-brown. The mutt barked again, but didn’t approach.
“How strange,” Samantha commented. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say the dog is trying to communicate with you.”
Gillian nodded. “The first time I saw the dog was in front of my apartment, then at school. It trotted into my classroom as if it belonged there. It took all I could to shoo the animal out and calm the kids down again. The principal and one of the other teachers tried to catch it, but it managed to slip away
.”
“You’re sure it’s the same dog?” Samantha asked, mystified over the animal’s odd behavior.
“I’m sure
.”
Gillian moved toward the barking animal. She hadn’t gone very far before the dog turned, trotting off in the opposite direction. “Hey, come back
.”
Gillian started to go after it, but Samantha’s words reeled her back in.
“What do you think you’re going to do? Chase the dog through town?”
Gillian’s gaze followed the animal as it weaved in and out of pedestrians. A part of her wanted to ignore Samantha and find out where the dog would lead her. It seemed imperative she catch the animal, and yet she couldn’t understand her urgent need to do so. Maybe she really
was
suffer
ing from
a nervous breakdown after all.
She glanced at Samantha whose brown eyes were looking upon her with pity. Gillian shrugged and braved a smile. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”
***
As she turned into the parking lot, Gillian fixed her eyes on the Queen Mary permanently docked at Pier J in Long Beach, California. The old ship had started her career as a luxurious ocean liner that catered to the needs of every passenger. Chefs were brought in to prepare lavish dishes to be served in the largest dining salon ever built. During World War II, she transported over 800,000 troops as well as passengers and refugees. In her heyday, people from every walk of life sailed together, enjoying her finery.
Once inside, Samantha headed for the restroom, while Gillian signed the registry. The girl, named Tara according to her nametag, looked up from her computer. “Hmm, I’ll need to check with my manager about this. I’ll be right back with your key.”
A few minutes later, Tara returned with the hotel manager, a short, balding man named Mr. Sommers. He straightened his tie and cleared his throat three times before he spoke. “Miss Metcalf, I don't know how to say this.”
Mr. Sommers frowned at Tara before looking at her again. “There’s been a mix-up with your room. We have the Scottish Society this weekend and all our staterooms seem to be booked, except for … well … uh …”
“Really, it doesn’t matter,” Gillian hurried to say. She couldn’t believe it. After they had called her to confirm the reservation, now it wasn’t available.
“Is something wrong?”
Samantha had returned from the restroom to join her.
The manager and the receptionist exchanged an uneasy glance. “Do you believe in ghosts?” Mr. Sommers asked.
“Pardon me?”
Gillian chuckled.
“Did you say ghosts?” Samantha piped in.
“Yes. I wouldn’t even mention it, but it is hotel policy to do so. You see the only stateroom unoccupied is the one that is allegedly haunted.”
Gillian knew they offered ghost tours, but she hadn’t thought anyone believed they were true accounts. Seemed a little extreme, but maybe this was all part of the fun.
Tara decided to help her manager explain. Gillian had the impression he wished she hadn’t. “Did you know that the psychic Mable Fortescue-Harrison predicted the Queen Mary would know its greatest fame when she no longer sailed? It’s true. The ship is now listed on the National Register of Historic Places. It contains the Hotel Queen Mary with 365 restored original First Class staterooms, and … ” She leaned close for this as if she feared they would miss her words. She flipped her dark hair over her shoulder. Her bright blue eyes widened for the effect and her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. “She’s considered haunted.”
Mr. Sommers cleared his throat. “Of course we will automatically include the haunted encounter tickets, dinner and the ghostly cocktail in the observation bar, at no additional cost.”
Gillian and Samantha stared at the two Queen Mary employees wondering if they were serious. When no one laughed, Gillian realized this wasn’t a joke. “Sure, that will be fine.”
She took the key from the manager and his expression relaxed. “Am I guaranteed to see a ghost?”
she joked.
Tara took the question seriously. “Absolutely, there are artifacts from this riverboat, the Ida Belle and ever since we received the items this cute little—” the manager nudged her and she fell silent.
“It’s all in fun,” the manager chuckled.
“Right.” Gillian looked to the manager then to Tara who shrugged
.
As they headed for the stairs, Gillian turned toward Samantha. “Did you find their behavior odd?”
“You think?
They just told us the Queen Mary is haunted and if I didn’t know better, I would say they believed it
.”
She laughed. “Give me a break. They’re just promoting their ghost tours. You’re not scared are you?”
“Well yeah,” Gillian claimed. “And you would be wise not to make fun of the dead.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. Let’s get rid of our bags and head over to the observation bar
.”
***
The ghostly cocktail proved to be potent on an empty stomach. Gillian felt a little woozy. She leaned near Samantha, who was talking to a couple they met from Canada. They’d been on the ghost tour before and told them what to expect. The whole theatrical endeavor spooked her, but Samantha seemed excited over the prospect of seeing an apparition.
“I’m going to go back to the room. I want to change into something a little more comfortable.” Gillian had worn her blue sundress and cute sandals to match, but thought it might be wiser if she wore her tennis shoes for the excursion. After dinner, a paranormal host would show them where the vortex was located. Supposedly ghostly activity had been detected there.
“Do you want me to go back to the room with you?” Samantha asked.
“No, I’m fine. Stay here, I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.”
Gillian changed into her designer sweats: The midnight black one with lace trim. It flattered her slim figure, hugging all the right curves. The top had rhinestone buttons and a lace collar. The hem of the top hit right at the bellybutton and the material was soft, lightweight and comfortable. It was a great workout outfit, but fancy enough to wear out. She slipped on her Nikes and was ready to go.
As she turned on the light near the bed, she glanced up at the framed photograph on the wall. It depicted a family standing in front of a riverboat, but the family wasn't what had caught her attention. “The dog. It can’t be.” It was uncanny how similar the markings were:
S
hort eared, squat basset hound appearance. She leaned closer looking for something, which might identify the date of the black and white print, but she could detect nothing. Judging by the clothing the family wore it had to be about the mid to late 1800’s. Obviously, the dog in the photo couldn't possibly be her mutt. She stared at the photo a moment longer. An inkling of recognition hit her. “I know this picture.” She couldn’t place why. She’d have Samantha take a look at it and see if she had any ideas.
Gillian grabbed her room key and purse before she opened the door to her cabin. She took a step only to jump back in surprise. “What in the world.” She stood face to snout with the mutt who’d been following her. It sat there on its haunches as if it had been waiting for her. Gillian’s gaze riveted to the photo half expecting the mutt to be missing from the picture.
The mutt stood and barked, drawing her attention. It wagged its reddish-brown tail before turning and trotting down the corridor. She took a step to follow, but then the unbelievable happened. The mutt disappeared, simply vanished as if some invisible force had swallowed it whole. She stood frozen in disbelief. The little hairs on the back of her neck rose and she started to hyperventilate. The temperature plummeted, making her breath look like small puffs of smoke. She stumbled back into her room. The lights dimmed and crackled. She closed her eyes. “The cocktail sure did a number on me.” Her eyes snapped open when the stateroom door slammed shut.
The bark behind her made her whirl around. The dog stood there, tilting its head to the side. A scream choked in her throat, making it impossible for any sound to escape. She made a dash for the door, desperate to get out, but her feet tangled beneath her and she fell hard to the floor. The mutt leaned close and sniffed her. She lifted her hand to cover her face but not before the mutt’s slobbery tongue licked her cheek. “What do you want? What are you?” She didn’t anticipate an answer, but the questions slipped out anyway. She jumped when the dog barked at her. It turned and ran toward the cabin door and disappeared right through it. “Omigod, this is not happening.” Her vision blurred and darkened. She blinked rapidly. “Oh, please don’t pass out,” she commanded herself, but her body didn’t listen.
***
Gillian fell into a deep sleep, allowing the dream to resurface and take her back. She was on a ship, but not the Queen Mary. Before her stood a fog-like hallway
. It looked eerie with the lamp
lights hanging on the walls. She forced her herself not to be afraid. The man she loved was waiting for her. She felt him near and she had to go to him before it was too late.
The dog was there, too. The mutt looked up at her before it turned and headed down the corridor at a trot. Gillian followed.
CHAPTER
TWO
June 1870
Zachary Creighton finished his third game of poker aboard the riverboat, Ida Belle. He had won over two thousand dollars, and to his pleasure, most of it was from his rival, Cyrus Locke. He pushed back his chair and stood. “Well gentleman, I believe I shall call it a night.”
“Now!” Cyrus bellowed and pounded the table. He narrowed his eyes and his chubby face turned bright red. Zachary always waited to see if steam would explode from his ears, but the man always disappointed him.
“Yes, now. It’s late
…” He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “Or should I say early.” He snapped the watch closed again, returning it to his pocket. “I for one would like a few hours sleep before we dock.” He placed his hat on his head with a nod of farewell. “Until we meet again.”
“Why you—” Cyrus stormed to his feet, but the other men held him back.
Zachary turned away with a smile. He loved to get under the man’s skin and he had succeeded tonight.
He whistled all the way to his room. He locked the door behind him and put the key in his trouser pocket. He took off his boots throwing them down where he stood. Next, he peeled off his clothes and neatly arranged them over the back of the chair by the door. He then placed his colt on the nightstand and his trusty knife under his pillow. Gambling had become a dangerous business. He found a man lived longer if he was well armed. He never knew when he would come up against a sore loser. It was best to be well prepared at all times.
He pulled back the covers and plopped himself into bed, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the pill
.
***
Gillian grabbed her head as she came out of her drugged-like sleep. The veins at her temples pounded in time with her heartbeat. She forced her eyes open and stared at the ceiling. For a moment, she couldn’t understand why the ceiling didn’t resemble the smooth plaster one in her bedroom, or why she felt like she was swaying back and forth, when she knew she hadn’t moved. Turning her head to the right of her, her vision latched onto a hairy arm dangling over, what she assumed was the edge of her bed. Why was Jerry in her bed and why was she lying on the floor?
She frowned. Hadn’t she broken up with Jerry? For one awful, horrible moment, she thought maybe she had really gone through with the wedding after all. She rubbed her eyes as her muddled thoughts began to organize. Then she remembered:
H
er conversation with Samantha, the Queen Mary, and then the vanishing mutt. “I passed out. I dreamt the dog led me …” It was a dream, wasn’t it? Where was she?
She sat up abruptly, more confused than ever. Again, she felt the swaying. If she didn’t know better, she’d think the ship was afloat, but that was impossible since the Queen Mary lacked the capability of going out to sea.
The person on the bed stirred, bringing her attention back to him. She crawled to her feet. She looked down at the man's face, which was turned toward her in slumber. Gillian swallowed with some difficulty as her gaze locked onto the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. He had jet-black hair, a strong chiseled face with a slight cleft in his chin. He looked like he hadn’t shaved for a few days, making him look a little scruffy, but this did nothing to sway her opinion. Her eyes took in the rest of him. Long limbed, his feet hung over the edge of the bed. He wore faded red colored … she supposed they were long johns. She frowned. Strange attire, but she had to say he filled them out rather nicely. But, who was he?
How in the world did she end up in a room with him?
She didn’t condone casual flings. She glanced down at herself relieved she still wore what she had on last night. Perhaps this meant nothing happened. Maybe they were simply two fools who had too much to drink. She scratched her head. She only remembered the one cocktail. And where was Samantha?