HauntMe (7 page)

Jose was frowning now. “What’s she talking about?”

Greg shook his head. “Nothing. She couldn’t know. It
happened after she left tonight. She couldn’t know that. Maybe she bugs her
dressing room. TV stars are paranoid.”

“Yeah.” Jose nodded. “Yeah, they are.”

Minerva massaged her freed hands, working feeling back into
her fingers. She felt Bram’s hands on her own, pressing into her palms. Her
wrists screamed in agony but she was free.

She pulled her hands back. Time for him to get the lights
again.

“Is that why you’re pulling this job, Greg? To use the money
to get Rachel something so she’ll scream when she rides you? You’ve forgotten,
she’s the producer, nearly as rich as I am. Your cut of my money, after
splitting it with this idiot and Victor himself, won’t even make a dent in
Rachel’s fortune.”

“It’s not about the money. It’s about respect. You never
respected her, or any of us. You think you’re the star, you’ve got us fooled
with this bullshit psychic stuff, but really—”

Bram flicked the lights again. They went out for three then
back on.

“What the hell
is
that, Greg?” Jose was worried.
Minerva saw him fumbling at his waist for the gun.

“Again!” she screamed.

The lights went out.

“How is she doing that?”

“I don’t know.”

“And back on!” she commanded.

The lights flicked on for a second, long enough for Minerva
to see their terrified faces and for her to point at a mirror on the bedside
table behind them. As she pointed, the mirror fell off the table, shattering,
the shards spinning out toward their feet.

“Bram, get the gun!”

As the lights went out again, she moved. Minerva went
straight for Greg, tackling him. She heard a lamp fall, other items being
thrown against walls, either in Bram’s struggle with Jose or as a
distraction—she trusted Bram to plot the best course of action. She fell hard
onto Greg’s body and heard his breath rush out of his chest in response. He was
shaking, terrified.

For a moment she remembered the kid who had first walked
into her studio as an intern, one of Rachel’s pet projects. He’d been all red
hair everywhere, ridiculous stubble, wide eyes and promise.

Jose cried out, “Something’s got me! There’s someone else in
here!”

Minerva brought a knee down between Greg’s legs. He gasped
and choked. In the dark she felt his knife slice her arm and she cried out.

Nerv! You okay?

“I’m okay, love. Kill the bastards.” Whatever she said out
loud would only confuse the men more. It was a shallow cut but it felt as if
fire were dancing across her right bicep. She couldn’t fight him if he still
had the knife. She didn’t even know
how
to fight.

Minerva rolled off Greg and kept rolling to the wall,
bracing herself on it and rising to her feet.

She had two advantages.

One, a ghost husband.

Two, she knew the house.

She ran.

Minerva felt the rug beneath her feet, soft and warm. When
she hit hardwood floor she knew she was at the doorway. Her fingers brushed it
as she moved past. One of the men in the bedroom screamed incoherently. She
managed to choke out, “Bram, get ready for the lights.” She sucked in a deep
breath of air as she rushed down the hall, turning left then stopping at the
railing and taking three long sidesteps to the right. She clasped the railing
and waited.

Jose’s shorter strides—he wasn’t as tall as the gangly
Greg—approached the stairs, stumbling. She couldn’t tell quite where he was but
he was getting closer. Did he have the gun? It wouldn’t matter.

“Lights!”

They flickered on once, briefly, then off, like an
interrupted strobe light. Just enough for Minerva to see Jose’s position. She
was expecting it and registered him in an instant. He, not having known the
light would turn on, was confused and paralyzed.

She reached out with her leg and tripped him. She grabbed at
his arm and pulled, using his momentum to send him tumbling down the steep
staircase to the hardwood floor below.

He seemed to take forever to fall. She heard him scream, the
crack of bones, then a grunt, a wet sound as he landed that suggested internal
damage.

Then there was nothing except the faint sound of Greg crying
from her bedroom.

She kept moving.

Minerva stumbled down the stairs, clinging to the railing.
When her foot touched Jose’s body she nearly screamed. But instead she calmed
herself and bent down, trying to find his neck, feeling for a pulse. She
touched hair, wet and slick with blood, and something mushy and broken. Bile
rose in her throat.

Then warm air rushed over her. Bram.

He’s dead. It’s okay, Nerv, I’ve got you, but you have to
run. First—

Bram pressed something into her left hand. Jose’s gun.

“I don’t want it.” But she took it. Then she ran, slipping
on the floor, stumbling out toward the backyard, through the kitchen, her eyes adjusting
to the faint light from outside. It was a new moon but in a city there was
always light.

She heard Greg moving on the second floor above her.

Where was her cell phone? She could call for help. Her
laptop?

Gone. They’ve taken them. Smashed them or hidden them,
I’m not sure. I looked.

Outside then.

She clutched at the handle of the sliding door. Her right
arm was too damaged from the knife wound to grasp it properly. Her left held
the gun and she moved to shift it but the door slid of its own accord—Bram
helping her. She stumbled out into the night.

Her pool sparkled beneath the glow from the distant city, an
oasis of safety. The air smelled fresh and clean.

Get the gun ready.

Right.

She could do it. She’d seen this in the movies. Hell, she’d
done
this in the movies. It was a revolver, she’d been right. No silencer on the
end, but then they’d planned to cut her heart out rather than shoot her—the gun
was just in case, she supposed. Six-shooter, she reminded herself. Six rounds.
If they’d loaded it. The safety was off. She’d have to trust that there was a
bullet in the chamber, because she had no idea how to check without blowing her
own head off. They’d never had her check in the film. That wasn’t the glamorous
part.

Minerva turned her back to the pool and pointed the gun
straight at the glass door to her kitchen. She aimed with her left hand, the
good hand, and braced herself with the right. Her cut arm trembled with the
exertion.

Then Greg came staggering through the doors. His skin was
pale in the faint light. She wasn’t sure where the blood on his face ended and
the hair began.

She pulled the trigger. It was louder than she could have
imagined. The recoil nearly took her off her feet. Greg screamed and the glass
shattered, sprinkling around him, twinkling like stars.

“Wait! Stop!”

Minerva fired again. No hit. She wasn’t very good at this.
They hadn’t taught her how to
aim
as an actress, only to look hot while
doing it. Holy hell, it was loud. Surely the neighbors would call the cops, at
least?

She had a vision. She was coming to know them now. The
kindly face of Detective Andrews, gray bushy eyebrows above his green eyes,
behind the wheel of his unmarked car. His face was concerned, desperate. Was he
coming here?

“He’s coming, Minerva. Let me go and I can help you.”

Detective Andrews?

Victor.

No. Greg was stalling.

“He’s going to be here. Soon.”

Her hands trembled. She raised the gun to fire again. Then
she felt Bram’s hard body pressed against her back, leaning in to her.

I don’t know how to shoot either. But I can steady you.

This time the bullet took him down.

Minerva didn’t look. She dropped the gun and fell to her
knees. Her whole body shook, shoulders heaving, arms trembling. Bram held her
but his strength was faltering. She’d had him do so much tonight. She’d be dead
if it hadn’t been for him.

“Thank you.”

Any time, love.

Minerva felt her husband’s lips press to her forehead. She
leaned her face upward, straining to meet him with her own. He parted her lips
with his tongue. He pulled her into his lap, running his hands through her
hair. They were growing less and less substantial. His fingers were as soft as
feathers, his kisses like a cool summer mist.

“Well, seems as if I have awful luck finding good help these
days. Guess I got here in the nick of time, didn’t I? Now let’s see what a real
psychic can do.” The voice was male, and deep. It came from somewhere near the
garden at the far side of the house.

What the hell?

Minerva fumbled for the gun, getting ready to face this new
opponent.

That was when hands wrapped around her neck and pulled
Minerva into the pool.

Bram

No!

Bram hadn’t seen him coming.

Victor Grayson, the man who killed him, stood shrouded
behind a near-forest of bushes. His dark hair blended in with the night. His
hands, outstretched, formed claws with his fingers. His nails were filed to
sharp points. He flexed his hands as if holding on to something.

In the pool, Minerva was drowning.

Bram couldn’t help her. He dove down to reach her, hovering
at the surface of the water, trying to part it with his insubstantial hands.
He’d done so much—spying on Greg’s texting, stealing the handcuff key, playing
with the lights, grappling with Jose, helping Minerva with the door and the
gun—that he’d wasted his power on the insignificant muscle for hire. The ones
Minerva could have terrorized all on her own.

He hadn’t saved anything for Victor.

Minerva’s brown curls streamed out around her head in the
water, floating at the surface. Her red highlights twinkled in the light. Her
face was a mask of fear, her mouth open to scream but sucking in water in and
choking. Her arms flailed and her legs kicked at the invisible assailant
holding her under. The pink silk gown was nearly in shreds now, torn in all the
fighting, but it too seemed to imprison her.

On her neck were ten perfect crescent moons of blood, from
Grayson’s fingernails digging in, although the man was standing at least
fifteen feet away.

Power.

Bram reached out to her. Her eyes were glassy, reflecting
the sky above her but not seeing him. He screamed her name, over and over,
Minerva!

But she didn’t seem to hear.

Bram turned away and flew at Grayson, fists thrashing,
trying to pummel the man. He sailed right through him. His body was as
insubstantial as air. The evil man didn’t even notice him.

Bram heard a gasp from the pool. He turned and saw Minerva
rise to the surface, her sodden hair clinging to her face. For a moment she
seemed to break free of Grayson’s hold. She threw her arms out in a mad doggie
paddle, holding herself afloat, gasping at the air, choking and spitting out
water.

Had Bram distracted him somehow?

Bram heard her call his name before she was yanked back
under. He looked at Grayson again and saw the man’s hawk-like features still
tight with concentration, seemingly nothing diverting him. His teeth were bared
in a horrible mockery of a smile. He squeezed his fingers tighter. Bram
couldn’t watch.

Why had Grayson released her only to drown her again? Why
not just kill her?

He realized that with her fear, Grayson grew more and more
powerful. How long would he do this, drown Bram’s wife over and over with her
screaming and struggling until she was too tired to do even that? With Bram
himself completely helpless to stop him?

But he had a different kind of power.

And Bram did one of the hardest things he’d ever had to
do—he closed his eyes.

He blocked out the gasps of his wife as she resurfaced. He
ignored the way her scream seemed exhausted, too quiet. He shut out the sounds
of splashing, the feeling of terror rising through his non-corporeal body.

He thought of their wedding night.

* * * * *

Minerva was beautiful in her gown. She’d kept it on through
dinner and dancing, refusing to change into something more comfortable. She’d
told him it was the first time she’d had a dress that nice that wasn’t a
costume. She wasn’t playing a character on stage or in a film, she was just
herself, marrying the man she loved, in an insanely gorgeous, lacy, sparkly
hunk of fabric.

He thought about taking it off her.

She put the veil back on as they reached their honeymoon
suite, coquettishly flirting with him from beneath the white lace. Her skin was
tan from a summer of the California sun and her shoulders stood out golden and
healthy against the white strapless top of the dress.

He pulled the veil off first, his fingers fumbling with
bobby pins. He tugged at her curls, freeing them from her updo, watching the
mahogany locks shine in the candlelight of their suite. He had to stop to kiss
her, intending to go for a chaste, schoolboy kiss to tease her at first, but
she sucked his lower lip into her mouth, biting him, and he lost all pretense
at patience. Their tongues twirled together, hungry and happy. She tasted of
champagne and smelled like the roses from her bouquet mixed with her own
personal sandalwood scent.

He was still kissing her as he reached behind her, trying to
undo the lacing of her bodice.

Bram remembered them speaking during their first night,
teasing each other, bringing up highlights from the wedding, the reception,
telling jokes about family members and friends who had made it. But for now he
focused on how she’d made him feel.

He remembered sliding her dress off her body, watching it
fall to the floor, his cock hardening more than he’d thought possible at the first
glimpse of her body as man and wife. Pulling off her strapless bra and watching
her breasts spring free, the pink nubbins already pebbled for him. He splayed
his fingers over her breasts, squeezing them, feeling the weight of them in his
hands, kissing her mouth again. He remembered the way she ground herself
against his hard-on through his pants, Bram still in his tuxedo, Minerva now in
panties and garters only.

He remembered after the tuxedo was off, the two of them on a
bed strewn with rose petals, something he’d thought clichéd when she’d first
mentioned it but that seemed incredibly sexual as he watched her body slide
over the petals, as he watched them cling to her hair. Skin against skin and
sweat against sweat, her body was so hot on his and when she spread her legs
and took his cock between her folds she was slick and ready for him as she’d
never been before. The heat of her undid him. He’d have come right away if she
hadn’t whispered in his ear, “Oh, fuck me, Bram. Fuck me. I’m so happy to be your
wife.”

And he remembered coming inside her, moaning out loud as he
thrust harder and faster, pounding her into the bed, the two of them giggling
and wondering if the hotel charged a higher or lower rate for booking someone
into the honeymoon suite. As he released his seed inside her, he realized there
was nowhere else he could ever possibly want to be but there, buried deep
inside his vital, living, loving wife.

* * * * *

Bram opened his eyes. He felt his feet land solidly on the
stone deck surrounding the pool. The stone was cold and slippery with water
beneath his toes. He took three steps forward, toward the man who had murdered
him. And too late Victor Grayson took his eyes from his new victim in the pool
and saw death coming for him.

Bram snapped his neck with one easy movement. He took no
pleasure from it, nor did he stop to smile over the still-warm body as it fell
to the ground.

He rushed to the pool, pulling Minerva from the water and
cradling her in his lap at the side of the pool. Her skin was cold and pale.
Her lips were blue—he hoped it was the light. With his momentarily solid lungs,
he sucked the breath of life into his body, then pressed his lips to hers and
exhaled, pushing the air into her body with all the strength he had.