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The afterlife is tedious, Drake Manton thought as he drifted
through the thin walls of the motel. If he’d known he’d be doomed to spend the
rest of eternity confined to Hope Springs, Virginia, he would have been a lot more careful
about how he died. If only he could remember the incident....
Drake passed through another room where a couple snuggled
together to watch television and paused for a moment to watch the science fiction movie
unfold with a sense of wonder. One compensation for being a ghost was that he had been
witness to many marvels over the years, but it didn’t make up for the lack of human
contact.
He spent much of his time as a voyeur, caught up in the
day-to-day lives of the people in the town. But the familiar soon lost appeal, so he
searched for diversion by watching those who passed through Hope Springs, staying only
temporarily.
He glanced at the couple in the bed. They were doing more than
cuddling now, and that type of voyeurism didn’t appeal to him. As usual, the living
couldn’t see him, so Drake moved on, searching for Gina Charles, the woman who had
checked in earlier that day, shedding copious tears.
He found her in the next room, fast asleep, with her small shaggy
dog snoring softly beside her. Gina’s tear-ravaged face and the half-empty containers
of chips, ice cream, and wine scattered about the room bore mute testimony to her despair.
He surveyed her thoughtfully. What could such a beautiful woman
have to be so sad about? Her glossy dark brown locks tumbled in profusion about her head
and shoulders, and she slept with one hand curled against her ample bosom, as if
protecting her heart.
It was just such misery he’d tried to ease when he was
alive. But now that he was dead, there was nothing he could do. Still, the urge to comfort
her permeated his incorporeal being. He sat on the bed, staring down at her. Her lovely
face and the sight of her full, ripe body in its scanty covering would have stirred him to
lust when he was alive, but all physical sensation had fled along with his body.
Now, it stirred him to compassion. He wished he could take her in
his arms, wipe away her tears, and provide solace in the time-honored fashion, but that
was impossible. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to feel him, yet needing to do this for
his own sake, Drake curled up behind her and reached out to soothe her. He was fully
prepared to find his hand pass through her winsome form, but instead, his hand closed over
a mound of womanly softness.
Gina leaped up with a screech and scrambled out of the bed,
startling the dog who burst into a fit of high-pitched yips.
Good Lord, had she felt that?
She grabbed the neck of the bedside lamp, and throttled it
furiously. It didn’t budge.
Bemused, Drake wondered why she was wrestling with a lighting
fixture. "The switch is at the base," he said helpfully.
His comment just sent the dog into further paroxysms of barking.
With a small shriek, Gina ceased her attack on the hapless lamp and scrabbled about on the
bedside table. Grabbing something, she pointed it at him threateningly. "Don’t
move."
"Or what?" he asked, amused as he glanced at her weapon
of choice. "You’ll brush my hair?" Actually, he was more than
amused—he was overjoyed that someone could finally see him, hear him, feel him.
She threw the hairbrush at him, but missed by a foot. The dog was
making little rushes at him now, advancing and retreating, as it continued yapping. Gina
kept one hand out to ward Drake off as she inched her way toward the door in her scanty
nightshirt. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice quavering.
He smiled reassuringly and pitched his voice to be heard above
the dog. "Nothing. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you."
She reached the wall and flattened herself against it. "Then
why were you in my bed?"
"I didn’t think you could see me."
"Yeah, right."
"I assure you, it’s the truth. Most people
can’t—I’m a ghost."
"And I’m Mrs. Muir," she snapped back.
Drake almost chuckled with the delight of her spirited reaction
and the novelty of conversing with a living being, but he had to calm her. Unfortunately,
Gina continued to edge toward the door as the infernal mutt persisted its hysterical
barking.
Someone pounded on the door, yelling, "Shut that damn dog
up!"
In a flash, Gina was at the door. She fumbled with the security
latches, then wrenched open the door and tumbled out into the night. She accosted the man
outside, a burly truck driver who had checked in just before her, and grabbed him by the
arm. "Help me—there’s a strange man in my room!"
She seemed more irate than frightened, and the man’s
expression changed from annoyance to resolute determination. He peeled her off his arm,
then set her behind him. Flipping on the light switch, he peered around the room, fists
clenched. "Where is he?"
"There." Gina pointed at Drake, now standing at the
foot of the bed.
The man advanced farther into the room. "Where?"
Drake had hoped the man could see him as well, but his gaze
passed right through him. It appeared only Gina could see him—and of course, the dog,
who continued to bark.
Gina scooped the dog up in her arms. "Hush,
Scruffy." Scruffy quieted, but continued to emit a low growl. "He’s right there,"
she said. "At the foot of the bed."
The man relaxed his fists and glared at her. "There
ain’t no one there."
Apparently emboldened by the truck driver’s presence and
Drake’s lack of reaction, she came back into the room and glanced doubtfully at
Drake. "There is, too. Can’t you see him?"
Tiring of this farce, Drake said, "No, he can’t.
No one has been able to see me since I died, except for animals. And you."
Gina shot him a disbelieving glare, then addressed the
truck driver. "Are you telling me you can’t hear him either?"
"Hear what?" The man peered suspiciously around
the room and stooped to check under the bed.
When the driver’s head passed unimpeded through Drake’s
torso, Gina collapsed into a nearby chair with a whimper and her eyes grew wide.
Her would-be rescuer rose, then stopped suddenly, his gaze
arrested by the half-empty wine bottle on the floor. "Lady, you’re seeing
things. Maybe you shouldn’t drink so much." Giving her a disgusted look, he
stomped toward the door. "Sleep it off—and keep that damn mutt quiet."
As the door closed firmly behind him, Gina muttered,
"Scruffy is not a mutt. He’s a purebred cairn terrier, just like Toto in the Wizard
of Oz."
That little hairy nit had a pedigree? "I’m sorry,"
Drake said. "I didn’t mean to frighten you—I didn’t know you could see
me." Or feel me.
She stared blankly at him. "But he didn’t see
you. And he passed right through you."
"Yes, I know," Drake said as gently as he could.
"I told you, I’m a ghost."
She froze, her eyes wide, and he could see the pieces of the
puzzle visibly click into place. She opened her mouth to scream again, but he swiftly
moved to smother it with his hand, feeling a frisson of excitement at the realization he could
touch someone.
Her eyes grew even wider and she struggled for release, but he
held her gently imprisoned in the chair between his arms with his new-found power of
touch. "Shh," he said soothingly. "I won’t hurt you."
The dog scrambled frantically between them, to no avail. Since
Gina seemed to be attempting to speak beneath his hand, he removed it cautiously, prepared
to replace it at the mere hint of a screech.
"Wha—what do you...want?" she asked, her voice
trembling.
"Nothing." At her disbelieving expression, he added,
"I just want to talk to you. If I wished to ravish you, I could have done so by
now."
Some of the fear left her eyes at this manifest truth. "Why
me?"
"Because you’re the first person who’s been able
to see or hear me since I died." He concentrated on projecting soothing thoughts in
hopes of diminishing her fear.
Apparently, it helped. She relaxed and a perplexed expression
replaced the fear. "If you’re a ghost, then why can I feel you?"
Relieved that she seemed to regain some of her former spirit, he
said, "I don’t know—this is new to me, too. Perhaps...are you a
spiritualist?"
She snorted. "No, I’m a dog trainer, not a ghost
trainer."
He backed away cautiously, prepared to move swiftly if the need
arose. "So you believe I’m a ghost now?"
She shrugged. "I can’t believe you’re anything
else when the evidence is so plainly in front of my face." Though her words were
brave, her voice quavered and he suspected she wasn’t as blasé as she pretended.
Her voice rose as she ticked off the reasons on her fingers.
"Let’s see, you got into my room through a bolted door, a man walked right
through you, you’re transparent, and you’re dressed in old-fashioned clothes no
modern man would be caught dead in."
He glanced down at his clothing. "Actually, I was
caught dead in them."
"Very funny." She slumped farther into the chair,
cuddling the little terrier to her chest. "I may not be the smartest person in the
world, but I figure either you’re a ghost, or I’m delusional." Her mouth
twisted in a grimace. "Naturally, I prefer to think I’m not crazy."|
"You’re not. At least, I don’t think so."
Though there was the one episode.... "I assume you have a good explanation for
strangling the lamp earlier?"
She blushed. "I intended to use it to brain you, but
it’s bolted to the furniture."
"Ah, I see." Drake was encouraged by her calm reaction
and the fact that she no longer seemed to feel the need to "brain" him. An
unfamiliar elation rose within him. Finally, the monotony of his death had been alleviated
by the simple fact that at least one person on this Earth could hear him, see him. More
than that, this had to be a sign that she was the key to ending his boring existence.
"So why am I the lucky one?" Gina asked.
"I don’t know why you can see me—this is a first
for me, too."
"No, I mean why were you groping me?"
Mortification swept through him, though he couldn’t feel
sorry for savoring the softness of a woman’s body once again. "Please accept my
apologies. I saw you crying earlier, and I was merely offering solace."
"By copping a feel?"
Exposure to modern movies had given him understanding of that
peculiarly crude expression. "Again, I apologize. I didn’t think I could
actually feel you—or you me. I wanted only to comfort you."
"Oh. Well, you can’t. Nobody can."
"Why not?"
Her face crumpled. "This was supposed to be my wedding
day."
Though Drake found it difficult to suppress his elation at
conversing with a living being, he contained it. She couldn’t help him until he
helped her first. To do that, he needed to determine the cause of her distress. "Did
your fiancé jilt you?"
"No." Gina sniffed as a tear tracked down her cheek.
"I left him—the creep."
"Then why are you so upset?"
"Because of the reason I dumped him."
Drake sat on the edge of the bed and gave her his most
encouraging look. "Why don’t you tell me about it?"
Gina sniffed again, but appeared relieved to have someone to
confide in. "We were supposed to rehearse the wedding ceremony, but my fiancé
decided to rehearse the wedding night instead—with my maid of honor." She
glowered. "Ha! Maid of dishonor is more like it."
"The man is obviously a low-bred cur."
Scruffy growled again and Gina shushed him. "Worse. At least
a dog is faithful. But Jerry couldn’t even be discreet about it—the whole
wedding party found them making like minks in the limo. And it was going to be the perfect
wedding, too," she wailed.
Sniffing and wiping her eyes, Gina continued, describing her
wedding plans in intricate detail, all the way down to using Scruffy as the well-trained
ring bearer.
One hundred and eighteen years of living in limbo had taught
Drake patience, if nothing else, and his work as a mesmerist had shown him the value of a
sympathetic ear. So, he listened.
It seemed to help. Gina settled down after relating her tale of
woe, ending with, "The worst part is, I sold my dog training business, sublet my
apartment, and cut all ties to my former life just so I could devote the rest of my life
to Jerry. Now what will I do? My life is gone."
"Perhaps your parents will help you."
"Forget it. My father would have, but he died three years
ago. And Mom..." She snorted. "Even after we found Jerry and Bette doing the
wild thing, Mom still wanted me to go through with the wedding. Typical."
Drake’s eyebrows rose. Not exactly a model loving mother.
"No wonder you ran away."
"Yeah, but what am I going to do now? I have nothing to go
back to."
He considered for a moment. Though he wanted to assist her, he
wanted even more to keep her nearby so she could help him. "What do you want
to do?"
She paused, thinking, and a spark of determination entered her
eyes. "I want to start over, somewhere new. Somewhere far away from Jerry, my mother,
and my so-called friends."
"Then that’s what you should do. Why not stay
here in Hope Springs?"
"Here? Why?"
Because he couldn’t leave the confines of the area, but he
was loathe to tell her that. In fact, it would be better to let her think he could follow
her anywhere. "Why not?"
He needed time to think, to plan how to elicit her help. Seeing
the dark smudges beneath her big brown eyes, he said, "You don’t need to make
that decision right this moment. For now, you should sleep."
She yawned. "Good idea. I’m beat." She shut off
the light and crawled back into bed, giving him a stern look. "But no more groping,
okay?"
"All right." He wouldn’t touch her again, but he also
wouldn’t let her out of his sight. Gina Charles was the key that would allow him to
escape this limbo-like existence, and he wasn’t going to leave her side until he
found it. |
