Authors: Patti Berg
But now, in the darkness, she felt so very alone, and so very vulnerable.
Her muscles tensed. “Please,” she whispered with a quiver of fright in her voice, “don’t hurt me.
The fingers stilled at her temple, then slowly drew away.
Elizabeth rose, balancing herself on her elbows, and searched the room. The new white lace panels fringing the window parted and she knew the invisible occupant of the hotel was once again standing there.
“Why do you look outside?” she asked, her voice low and trembling. It seemed insane, talking to the unseen thing, yet she felt compelled, as if something strong and powerful was willing her into a conversation.
But no one responded. The curtains didn’t move. Nothing stirred at all except the fright rushing through her veins.
“Is there someone out there you want to see?”
The curtains dropped back into place, rippling slightly until they stilled, hanging lifeless once again. She could easily imagine someone at the window turning abruptly, staring at her, trying to think of a response to her question.
But no one spoke.
Cool air moved around her again. The icy fingers touched her face. She reached out, wondering if there was anyone or anything there to touch. But only the freezing air surrounded her, swirling faster and faster, and in an instant the caress ended.
Light footsteps crept up the stairs. A moment later Elizabeth heard a soft, plaintive cry.
It was the loneliest sound Elizabeth had ever heard, and she had to follow.
She pushed out of bed and ran up the stairs to the attic room, where she knew she would find him.
Him?
Yes, she was certain now of that fact. Only a man would stroke her hair so gently, caress her cheek like a lover, softly, tenderly; it was the touch of a man who wanted something he couldn’t have.
Amanda.
The tender sigh filled the room—a man’s voice, unbearably sad—and tears fell unbidden from Elizabeth’s eyes.
She crossed the room and leaned against the wall next to the window. She didn’t look outside, just continued to stare at the emptiness beside her, the lonely spot in front of the dingy pane of glass she knew was occupied by the spirit of a man.
“Why do you call her name?” Elizabeth asked.
S
he heard only a sigh, and once again a ring of fog clouded the window.
“Is there any way I can help?”
No response.
“Who are you?” she implored. “Please, tell me.”
The air stirred. The dust-filled curtains shifted, and Elizabeth wondered if he was going to appear. The thought frightened her, yet talking to an invisible man frightened her even more. How many more sleepless nights would she spend wondering if he watched her, wondering if he would hurt her? How many more restless nights would she spend listening to him roam the halls and the rooms, crying in the darkness, laughing behind her back? She had to make him stop.
But how?
“Please, let me be your friend,” she said. “Let me help you.”
I don’t want any friends,
his voice boomed, loud and angry. The walls reverberated with the sound.
Go away!
“I’m not about to leave,” Elizabeth barked back, just as she would with any other man who told her what to do. “I’m not going to run away, either. This is my home.
You’re
the intruder, and I’m not about to sit around and let you scare the hell out of me or my friends whenever the mood strikes you.”
I
haven’t frightened you!
The windowpane shuddered at his booming voice.
“No?”
No! Frightened people snivel or cower in a corner.
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Maybe I haven’t sniveled or cowered, but I am afraid. I’ve never encountered a ghost before.” She took a deep breath. “Of course, it would take a whole lot more than your crazy antics to scare me away.”
Maybe I’ll try harder.
Elizabeth smiled, remembering the events earlier in the evening. “You didn’t have to try very hard to frighten Matt Winchester.”
He’s a coward.
A ghostly laugh echoed through the room. Elizabeth could sense him stalk across the floor and stop suddenly. An old parasol lifted into the air, twirling around and around while tattered silk and lace fluttered about its metal frame.
Again Elizabeth felt the prickly sensation of fear on her skin. Why didn’t he show himself? But did she really want him to?
Suddenly, the parasol sailed across the room and slapped against a wall, falling, bent and broken, to the floor.
Matt Winchester’s a buzzard,
the voice boomed again.
A thieving, lying bird of prey who’s got nothing on his mind but pecking away at your bones and eating your heart. He’s just like every Winchester who’s ever walked the streets of Sapphire.
Elizabeth fought the urge to laugh again. “I take it you don’t like him?”
I won’t be happy until every Winchester is dead or gone from this town.
“Why?” she asked. “What do you have against the Winchesters?”
One of them buried me alive,
he said matter-of-factly.
And I won’t rest until I get revenge.
“I don’t believe you.” Elizabeth cried out. Jon couldn’t be a murderer. Not even Matt. It wasn’t possible.
It’s true, whether you choose to believe or not. Now, go away.
She heard defeat in his voice.
If you have no trust, you cannot help. So, please
—
just leave.
“And you’ll continue to haunt this place. You’ll
laugh and cry and make my life miserable?”
I will continue to do as I have always done,
he said, his voice fading to a whisper.
I’ll try to drive you away. I’ll make your life hell, just as mine has been. Now, go.
oOo
From her bed, Elizabeth heard dishes rattling in the kitchen. Stairs creaked. Crying rang out from the attic. She jumped at every sound as night moved closer to morning. If she wasn’t frightened, why were her nerves on edge? Lack of sleep? Tension? Or the startling realization that she was sharing her home with a disagreeable spirit, a being that was living up to its threat of making her life a living hell?
She pounded her fist into her pillow, buried her head deep into its softness, and tried to sleep.
A loud scraping noise made her crack open an eye just in time to see her nightstand slide across the floor.
Elizabeth wrapped the pillow around her head and tried to drown out the noise.
Lights flicked off and on.
She squeezed her eyes tighter.
Something tickled her nose, but when she opened her eyes, nothing was there. She closed her eyes again and dozed.
Bzzzzz.
It tickled her nose again. A fly? she wondered. Elizabeth swatted thin air.
Bzzzzz.
Her eyes popped open.
Bzzzzz.
No fly. No bee. No sleep!
Deep laughter filled her room.
Fooled you, didn’t I?
“Go away.”
I believe I said the same thing to you, yet you’re still here.
“Yes, but I have nowhere else to go.”
Maybe. But at least you have the option.
He sighed deeply.
I have no choice. I cannot leave.
Elizabeth heard light footsteps across the floor, then all was quiet.
I cannot leave,
he’d said, and once more she wondered what she could possibly do to help.
oOo
The loud, incessant knocking woke Elizabeth from the deep, sound sleep she somehow fallen into.
“Go away.”
She buried her head deeper beneath the comforter.
Knock. Knock.
Groaning, Elizabeth peered out from under the blanket and peeked at the clock. Seven forty-five. “Oh, heavens!” She never slept that late.
She pushed out of bed and wrapped up tightly in her robe. “This had better not be another trick,” she muttered, as she crept downstairs.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“I’m coming. I’m coming.” She padded across the floor and pulled open the door. No one was there, only the most glorious blue-skied day she’d seen in years. Snow sparkled on rooftops and on the ground, and for the first time, she didn’t seem to mind the cold, or the fact that her companion had tricked her once again. This place must be growing on me, she thought.
But when she turned around, her mood shifted from good to not too thrilled. Picture frames hung helter-skelter on the walls in the parlor. Furniture had been pushed to the center of the room and stacked like a pyramid. And high above the melee was a red satin bra, draped casually over the brass rungs of the chandelier.
Elizabeth shook her head and headed for the kitchen and coffee. Good, strong coffee.
She pushed through the swinging door, half expecting to find the kitchen flooded or gutted by fire, but this morning she was lucky. “Thank you,” she whispered to anything that might be within earshot.
Still half asleep, she filled a mug with yesterday’s coffee and popped it into the microwave she’d purchased on a trip into town. It wouldn’t taste great, but it would be fast—and she needed a jolt of something strong to get her going. She crossed the room, pulled open the refrigerator door and a dozen eggs crashed to the floor. She closed the door again and leaned against it, eyes closed, and wondered what could possibly happen next.
With another deep sigh and a halfhearted laugh, Elizabeth began the nearly impossible task of cleaning raw eggs from the hardwood floor.
She was just taking a sip of coffee when footsteps sounded behind her. “Oh, please!” Her exasperation exploded in a huff. “Must you bother me this morning?”
“I don’t have to, but I’m going to do it anyway.”
She spun around. It wasn’t the ghost this time. Jon
stood behind her, arms folded across
his chest. “I couldn’t miss the mess in the parlor. Matt didn’t hurt you, did he?”
“Do you really care?”
He reached out and touched her cheek. Dark circles pooled under her reddened, tired eyes, and he felt the need to gather her into his arms and comfort her. “I care. I was an ass last night. You have every right to hate me.”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t dislike you, either. The problem is, you don’t trust me. Maybe you have reason. The more time I spend with Matt, the more I realize why he’s so despised. I don’t want to be his partner, Jon. I don’t want anything to do with him.”
He drew her into his arms, holding her close, his hand smoothing the long, silky lengths of her hair. “You didn’t answer my question, Elizabeth. Did he hurt you?”
She shook her head. “No. He didn’t make that mess, either.” She pulled away and ran her fingers through her hair. “I drank too much last night. I was mad at Matt, and I was even madder at you. I just started throwing things.”
Jon couldn’t help but smile. Her explanation sounded fabricated, but he hated to think about what might have really caused the mess. Had the ghost been playing tricks? If so, did she know the ghost existed? Unfortunately, he couldn’t ask. People had thought he was crazy once. He didn’t want to go through that again.
“Y’know, I hear a punching bag does wonders for aggression.”
“Are you volunteering?”
“If I can withstand a two-by-four, I think I can
stand up to whatever you feel like dishing out,”
She laughed. ‘No, I don’t want to hit you. I just want to go upstairs and get cleaned up.”
“Good. I’ll straighten up the parlor, and when you come down, I’m taking you out of here.”
“Why?”
“For starters, we need to talk. Second, you’ve been cooped up in this place too long, and you need a change of scenery.”
“Where do you plan on taking me?”
He smoothed his fingers over her cheek and looked deep into her sparkling amber eyes.
“Have you been to heaven lately?”
oOo
An eagle soared across the blue horizon, its wings spread wide as it circled the snow-covered meadow. On the ground, a cottontail peeked out from under a sheltering shrub and cautiously hopped out into the open. Its winter-white fur blended with the snow, a perfect camouflage, except for its tellt
ale shadow.
Jon stood a short distance fro
m the place where Elizabeth sat and pointed toward the eagle. It was hovering now, watching, waiting. Suddenly it swooped toward the ground, talons extended, and the rabbit ran, snaking out a zigzag pattern across the snow, dodging the raptor’s claws at the very last second and diving into its hole.
Not one heartbeat was skipped as the eagle climbed back into the sky, coming to rest on the top branch of a naked birch. It tucked its wings into its sides and sat there, stately and serene, the master of its surroundings, with its head erect, and alert.
They’d driven nearly half an hour on unplowed and rugged roads and hiked for another fifteen minutes to reach the spot where she sat on a blanket Jon had spread out over a fallen log. Before her, a narrow stream of water could be seen in the center of the ice-and snow-blanketed river, and the sun beat down, slowly melting away the cover of winter. All was quiet except the trickle of water, the call of a bird somewhere far away, and the lightness of her breathing.