The Book of Eleanor (15 page)

I heard her gasp as soon as the light clicked on. I placed my glass down on the counter, sensing trouble.

“Leave my things alone!” she shrieked even as I raced down the hall.

Another strange sight met my gaze. I stopped in the doorway and sighed. The restless spirit had been at it again. The large bed was covered with clothing, obviously Grey’s, and it had been arranged in a series of neat piles, sorted by color.

“I’m guessing it’s not laundry day?” I asked.

Grey turned her angry gaze on me. “You think?”

She stepped to the nightstand and picked up a small book. She slammed it into my belly and shoved me out the door.

“Just do your damned work and leave me be,” she said, pushing the door shut.

I stared at the closed door for almost a minute, the book clutched to my body. She was fierce when riled. I almost felt sorry for the ghost of Mary.

Oscar Marie watched me with cool disinterest when I entered the living room. I switched on the lamp next to a Queen Anne chair against the wall and took a seat.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, Oscar Mayer,” I told the cat as I settled in and opened the small volume, a collection of poems by a woman named Eleanor Copeland.

By glancing through the poetry, I figured out she was one of the Beat poets of the late forties or early fifties. I tapped the book on my chin, pondering. What did this book have to do with the haunting? I stilled as a sudden image formed in my mind.

She was a slim, pale woman with a thick shock of red hair and soft blue eyes, thickly outlined with black liner. She smiled. I saw that her prominent outer incisors curved inward, giving her a distinctive, impish grin. She faced away from me, but looked back to laugh at me as the wind blew hair across her face. She was young and beautiful, and I loved her
. My Annalise...

I shook my head to clear it even as I realized I was freezing. It was a bone-chilling cold, clammy and distasteful. About the same time, I realized the temperature had dropped. I also realized that I could no longer breathe.

Cold, hard fingers were clenched so tightly around my throat that no air could get past them. I panicked, intensely confused, and afraid. My body reacted instinctively, thrashing to escape the deadly pressure around my windpipe. I pushed out against thin air, but it did no good. The fingers were relentless. My heels pounded the wooden floor. I finally used my elbows to try and rise from the chair, anything to escape the heavy weight crushing me.

Light slanted across the room. I spied Grey racing toward me from the bedroom. She was screaming angrily as she grabbed my arms and pulled me from the chair. Only then did the frigid weight move off me. The fingers loosened around my windpipe. Gasping for air, I fell to the floor, whimpering in pain. My throat felt raw and heated now that the coldness had fled.

“Oh, my God, Angie, please tell me you’re okay. Please…” Grey knelt beside me.

I waved my hand at her to let her know I would be all right if I could just catch a full breath and ease the pain in my throat. I tried to rise and she leapt to help me.

When I gained my feet, I heard her gasp. “Oh, Angie, your neck.”

I wanted to ask her what was wrong, but my voice was a sad croak. She stared at my neck and reached out a hand to touch the area. I touched her arm, opened to her, and saw that my neck was scratched, with red welts and purple bruises already appearing. I was going to have a lot of fun explaining that to Mama.

“Let me get you some ice to put on that,” Grey said.

I shook my head. I’d had just about enough cold for one night.

I watched Angie as she slept in my bed, Oscar Marie curled next to her. Angie was so beautiful and the brutal welts and bruises on the delicate skin of her neck made my heart hurt for her. I was also terrified.

I had figured, perhaps expected, that a ghost was too vaporous to do physical damage. That their damage consisted of the psychological terror they caused by catching us off guard. But here was Angie, bearing the actual marks of a spectral attack. I didn’t know how to file that away and make it innocuous.

I glanced down the hallway into the brightly lit living room. There would be no way I would turn off all the lights at night ever again.

All was quiet right now, though, and I was grateful for that. I had cleaned off the bed, putting my clothing back into the covered bins at the foot end. I was so glad that I had finished when I had, or Angie might have been hurt even more seriously.

I sure was getting tired of neatening up after this bothersome spirit. I thought of the Suzy panel, knowing I would have to fix that in the morning.

The unfairness of Mary ruining the panel paled in comparison to her hurting Angie. I looked at the sleeping woman again. She stirred restlessly. I laid a calming hand on her leg where it rested beneath the comforter. She whispered my name in her wounded, croaking voice, and I looked at her to make sure she was still sleeping.

Even as roughly spoken as it was, I thrilled when she said my name, which meant she was thinking of me. I realized an interesting truth about myself then: it was imperative that I be important in her life. I had never thought about it before, but as much as I missed Mary, I was also craving being important to Angie.

Feeling restless, I rose and walked through the eerily quiet apartment. Often at night, I heard voices outside. Not tonight. Instead, I heard the persistent slap of the waves, but nothing else. The sound was womblike. I felt as though it was the calm before a storm, and an odd sense of unease began to steal across me. I rubbed my palms over my bare arms for comfort. I was glad I wasn’t alone tonight.

After checking the door to the Bookmark to make sure it was firmly locked, I checked the door to the deck outside. Everything seemed secure. I turned off the overhead light in the kitchen, but left on the two lamps in the living room.

Angie remained deeply asleep when I returned to the bedroom. I went quietly through my usual bedtime preparations in the bathroom, and then returned to the bedroom.

I looked down the hall, at the small couch I could easily convert into a cozy bed. I looked at Angie one more time, at her bruises, and carefully joined her under the blankets.

I woke to a horrible pain in my chest and throat and a delightful sensation in my arms. I lay on my side, my arms around Grey, who rested in the front curve of my body. I felt the warmth of Oscar Marie on top of the comforter, tucked into the curve behind my legs. I let my face fall into the sleekness of Grey’s flaxen hair. She smelled heavenly. Even though I was in pain and needed to help Mama with breakfast, there was no place on earth I would rather be than right here.

I opened to Grey, but she was still asleep and dreaming. I don’t receive dreams well, but I enjoyed the bonding I felt by opening fully with her. I was always afraid to deeply enter the senses of someone I cared about. I didn’t want to know too much about how they felt. Mostly because it was an invasion of privacy and secondly, I didn’t want some momentary ill will about me to come across. Receiving that kind of information was like being bludgeoned with a weapon. I would not set myself up for that, but here, lying together with Grey sleeping, it felt good to allow the bonding on that intimate, deeper level. I’m not sure I would have done it with her awake, but I had no problem venturing in while she was slumbering. I did feel that her sadness had abated somewhat, which pleased me.

Grey woke slowly, probably disturbed by my slight movements or a change in my breathing patterns. I felt it and began closing off. For a brief moment, she snuggled into my embrace, but realization dawned and I sensed her pulling away.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she murmured, slipping from my arms.

“No.” I discovered my throat was raw and the words just wouldn’t come out normally. My hands flew to my throat. I managed a whisper. “Not a problem. Like it.”

Sitting on her side of the bed, she turned to me. I melted. She looked so beautiful in the early morning sunlight, all warm and tousled from sleep, her hair cascading across her face. Her green eyes were clear and emerald colored this morning.

She saw my neck and sorrow tarnished her gaze. “I am so sorry Mary hurt you.”

I wanted to tell her that it may not have been Mary, but didn’t feel as though I could get out enough words to explain. She saw my difficulty and rose, showing me a beautiful glimpse of bare thigh below loose tap pants as she shrugged into a long flannel shirt.

“Let me get you something warm to drink,” she said. “Coffee. I’ll be right back.”

After she left the room, Oscar Marie stretched and followed her, so I eased off the bed to my feet. I still wore the shorts and shirt I’d worn yesterday. Stretching my sore body gingerly, I followed them into the kitchen.

Grey was leaning to switch off the lamp in the living room. I became transfixed by her long, tanned legs and the gentle curve of her bottom beneath the silky short pajamas. I felt an uncommon wetness pool in my center, but knew I had to wait until all this haunting craziness was solved before I could acknowledge the depth of my attraction.

“What are you doing out of bed?” she asked while standing in the center of the dining room, her hands on her hips.

I shrugged and splayed my hands helplessly.

She pulled out a chair from the table. “Well, at least sit down. I’ll get you some coffee. Do you think you could eat scrambled eggs?”

At my nod, she busied herself in the kitchen. I stared out at the bay and pondered my next move. First, I would pop over and see Mama, and then go home, pack a bag, and come back. I would stay here with Grey until I got to the bottom of this insanity. What did the ghost want from Grey? Obviously, if it
was
Mary, she was violently jealous. I fingered my neck thoughtfully. But what about the attractive redhead? How did she fit into this? I noted the book of poetry. Grey had rescued it from the floor and placed it facedown on the coffee table.

Grey handed me a cup of coffee. I saw its paleness and looked at her quizzically.

“Yes, I added cream. And sugar. It’ll soothe your throat. Deal with it.” She disappeared back into the kitchen.

I had to chuckle to myself, even though it hurt. One just didn’t say no to Grey Graham.

I sipped the coffee and indeed, it was soothing. I drained the cup just as she set before me a plate of softly scrambled eggs with a side of mixed fresh fruit cut into very small pieces. She took my cup and refilled it while I dug in. She joined me moments later and we breakfasted in companionable silence.

“It’s good having you here,” she said finally. “Comforting. I’m glad I don’t have to go through this insanity alone.”

Nodding, I found I could speak again, albeit roughly. “You shouldn’t. I’ll be here until its over.”

“You know,” she began, idly smoothing her thumb against her ceramic cup. “My mother was a big believer in ghosts. I always thought she was blowing smoke, trying to scare me. I’ll never doubt her again.”

“Life changing,” I agreed.

I thought about Mama’s stance on ghosts and realized that it wasn’t something we’d ever talked seriously about. I wondered about Grey’s relationship with her parents.

“Where are your parents?” I asked.

“Mother died of breast cancer when I was sixteen…”

I grasped her hand across the table, feeling her loss. She looked at our clasped hands, but let them remain together as she continued.

“My father remarried. To a woman he worked with. They moved to Wyoming so I don’t see them but once a year.”

“Siblings?” I released her hand after seeing her mother’s face. Grey looked much like her.

“Nope, an only kid. That’s why I started cartooning, I think. To make friends for myself.” She smiled. “Suzy is actually my longlost older sister.”

I returned her smile. “Me too,” I whispered. “Just me and Mama.”

“Your mother is sweet,” she said, cocking her head and studying me. “I like her a lot.”

I nodded, and then laboriously explained my plans for the day.

She glanced around the apartment. “How about I go with you? Would you mind?”

I captured her gaze. Something passed between us, as solid and tangible as the dishes on the table. I realized anew that we would be together. I saw that she was coming to understand it as well. Not on that psychic level where I lived, but on her own earthly plane. I think she knew we’d found one another at last. That she had found her home in me.

“Come with me,” I whispered.

Grey blushed, the crimson starting at her smooth neckline and moving upward to her hairline. “I’ll…I’ll get ready,” she said quickly.

It was good seeing Angie’s mother, Maylie, again, but I’m not a hundred percent sure she accepted our abbreviated account of how Angie got hurt. She kept looking at me like I had done it, which perplexed me. I didn’t want to give credence to the idea by mentioning it, yet at the same time, I wanted to reassure her I would never deliberately hurt Angie. Never.

We spent a good half hour trying to get Angie the day off, as Maylie made a few calls to find people who could cover her
daughter’s obviously day-long shift. I realized then how much of a partnership the two women had in operating the business.

I sat at the bar, observing and sipping even more coffee, and watching the weather on the television behind the rail. A storm was brewing. There was much debate about how low in the nation the front would drop.

Dallas would be affected for sure, but the storm was slated to dip as low as Houston. I knew Houston was prone to severe flooding, so hoped the bad weather wouldn’t linger long. The forecast called for several inches of driving rain, high winds and lightning.

“Okay,” Angie whispered, approaching me from behind and laying a hand on my shoulder. She glanced at the television briefly and shook her head as if in disbelief.

I followed her to her Jeep. We had a pleasant ride through Port Isabel and out into the Fingers region that I had read about in the brochures. We passed a large, formal yacht club and a quiet residential neighborhood, and then we were at a small cottage—Angie’s place. The small home fronted North Shore Drive, but the back appeared to open right onto Laguna Madre Bay.