The Ghost Hunter (32 page)

He didn’t want to sleep because he didn’t want to miss a moment with her. His body thrummed with life and the need to breathe. For the first time since he could remember, he actually wanted to be here on this earth. Life seemed full of possibilities.
 

“Cristian.”
The voice was hard and demanding. A voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. A voice the typical human would never hear. A voice he couldn’t dare ignore. But then he’d known it was coming. His heart clenched.
 

Slowly, he moved from the mattress and as quietly as he could, he dressed, all the while his gaze still pinned to her, trying desperately to memorize every detail of Ashley. There was no written rule, but even he knew that sleeping with a Seer would be unforgivable. He wasn’t here to indulge in his own wishes and desires. He was here to atone, to help others. He’d strayed, to be sure.

His heart hammered loudly as he paused, his hand on the cool, porcelain handle. For the briefest of moments, he closed his eyes and remembered last night. He fought to keep the moment engrained, knowing it would have to sustain. He couldn’t resist one more glance. He couldn’t see her face from where he stood. How badly he wanted to see her face. On her stomach, the white sheet just covered her backside. Her elegant back was long and bare and his fingers itched to touch her.

His heart ached, the pain almost unbearable as he realized that this might be the last time he’d see her. Slowly he turned the handle until the door popped open. He swallowed over the lump of emotion in his throat, released a shaky breath and peered outside into the growing dawn. Through the trees, Raphael glowed. Cristian made his way down the path, determined to get his punishment over with. The angel stood in all of his glorious splendor in the clearing behind the pub. His silver wings sparkled under the rising sun, his face achingly beautiful. He wore armor, as they all did when heading toward earth.

“Cristian, it’s time,” the angel said out loud.

Confused, Cristian shook his head. “Time for what?”

The angel’s hands were clasped in front of him, a serene look upon his face. “It’s time for you to come home. You’ve done what you can here. We’re proud of you, my son.”

Heaven? Cristian froze, hardly able to believe the words. They were taking him to Heaven? He’d paid his debt. For centuries he’d wanted this, determined to see his punishment through and leave this earth for good. Now, the time had come. Yet, he found himself hesitating, his mind turning to Ashley, alone in that cottage, waiting for him.

Leave Ashley? Could he? She didn’t love him, she loved Devon. Would it be best if he left? Best for her?

“If you stay, you will be mortal,” Raphael said, knowing the way of his thoughts. “You could die. You’ll still have your powers, but you will not be free from pain and death.”

His words sent his heart thundering, but not from fear. No, fear and death did not worry him. He’d seen too much to care. His heart raced because he knew he would stay.

He could be normal, he could be with Ashley. If she’d have him. “I understand.”

“No!” Ashley cried out, stumbling from the trees. Her hair hung down around her in wild waves, her clothes back in place. She looked frantic, half asleep, as if awoken from a nightmare. But it wasn’t her nightmare, only his.

She didn’t want him.
  

“You can’t do this! I know how much you want to leave.” Tears brimmed in her hazel eyes, turning them a mossy green. She wanted him to leave, but only because she thought he wanted it. His heart filled, bursting.

She was so stubborn. So brave. So beautiful. How could he not love her?

“Do ye want me to leave?” he asked quietly.

Her lips set into a firm line. For one horrifying moment he thought she’d say yes. Then her face crumbled, the tears falling one by one down her pale cheeks.

“No.” She closed her eyes. “Damn it, I’m selfish, but no. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want you to leave me here to face this by myself.”

She didn’t say she loved him. He didn’t care. “Then I’ll stay.”

She opened her eyes, wild with panic. “You can’t! Not for me. I already have too much guilt on my conscience.”

“Then I’ll stay for me.” He looked at Raphael who was watching them curiously, confused, no doubt, by their silly human emotions.
 

“You’re sure?” the angel asked.

Cristian gave a curt nod, his heart racing with possibilities. “Positive.”

Raphael didn’t try to stop him. Instead, the angel smiled. “I don’t blame you.”
 

In a flash of brilliant white light, he was gone. Silence settled heavily around them. Ashley’s lower lip trembled, her emotions so mangled, he couldn’t catch one. What was she thinking?

“Cristian, you shouldn’t have done this for me. You’ll regret it, you’ll hate me eventually. Call him back.”

“I know yer in love with
Devon
, but if—”

“Stop.” She rushed forward and pressed her palms to his chest. “Listen to me. Yes, I’m depressed that my dad is truly gone. Yes, I feel horrible for
Devon
, knowing he’s suffering, but we’ll figure something out, right? We’ll help him.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. What was she getting at?

“But I’m not in love with
Devon
. It’s you, Cristian.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “For one horrible moment I was relieved when it wasn’t you who died. I know,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks once again. “I know I’m a horrible person for thinking that way.”

He clutched her upper arms and pulled her against him. “Stop it, yer not.” He held her close, silently thanking God for this moment. “Tell me…” he whispered desperately. “Tell me ye—”

“I do,” she said. “I love you Cristian.”

He crushed his mouth to hers; a kiss of possessiveness, of passion, of love. He felt that kiss all the way to his soul. But all too quickly, she pushed back.

She looked up at him, hope and despair mingling in her eyes. “Tell me you won’t regret this. Being human, being mortal.”

The sun was rising, birds chirping their merry morning welcomes. It was a new day. A new beginning. This is what it felt like to be human; to believe in hope and possibilities and love.

“Being human means being able to love. And I love ye more than ye could possibly know.” He cupped the sides of her face. “Even a moment with ye would be better than a lifetime without.”

She gave him a wavering smile. “Do you mean it?”

Grinning, he scooped her up into his arms and started for the cottage. “I love ye Ashley Hunter, yer crazy arse and all.”

The End

About Lori Brighton

Lori has a degree in Anthropology and worked as a museum curator. Deciding the people in her imagination were slightly more exciting than the dead things in a museum basement, she set out to become an author. She sold her first book,
Wild Heart,
to a New York Publisher and has since started self-publishing.
 

To find out more about Lori visit her at: www.LoriBrighton.com

Interested in more? Read an excerpt from Lori’s Young Adult Book,
The Mind Readers!

The Mind Readers

Lori Brighton

Chapter 1

The man sitting across from me at the café was thinking about murdering his wife.

He imagined stabbing her and pretending like it was a robbery. Or perhaps, he thought, he’d take her hiking, push her off a cliff and say it was an accident; that she’d slipped. I wanted to tell him it wouldn’t work, that in those CSI shows on T.V. they always suspected the husband first.

Instead, I huddled deep within my down jacket, the diner booth pressing uncomfortably hard against my back. I didn’t dare move for fear of drawing attention to myself. I didn’t want to know his thoughts. I wished he’d keep them to himself. But I suppose he couldn’t help it. The thoughts seeped from his mind like the fog currently drifting in from the harbor.

Slowly, I slid him a glance out of the corner of my eye. With his thinning brown hair combed neatly into place, and his blue button-up shirt free of wrinkles, he looked like a normal suburban dad. But if there was one thing I’d learned early on in life it was that normalcy, as we thought of it, didn’t exist. It was amazing and frightening what humans were capable of.

His pale blue eyes met mine. My heart slammed frantically against my ribcage. I dropped my gaze, my long, dark hair falling around my face like a curtain. He’d noticed me looking at him. He was wondering if I was a virgin. He hoped I was.
Pervert
. Bile crawled up my throat. I wrapped my hands around my cup of Chai tea, hoping the heat would warm my insides. It didn’t.

But the guy sitting at the table next to me who’d been imagining killing his wife and was now imagining seducing me wasn’t the problem. No, it was the guy sitting across from me, the man with his bright orange hunting cap pulled low over his eyes, the guy waiting for the right moment to rob the café… he was the one who worried me.

For a second I thought about alerting the owner. Common sense and years of warning got the better of me and I remained stubbornly silent. With a trembling hand, I latched onto the strap of my bag, gripped my cup and slid from the booth.

My conscience screamed at me to return, to help, say
something
. Years of warning overtook any soft feelings. Shifting my bag strap to my shoulder, I scurried from the café before guilt got the better of me. Outside the air was crisp, cool. It was early fall and the bees were swarming an overflowing trashcan. Dumping my cup, careful to avoid the stinging insects, I pulled my hood atop my head and stuffed my hands into the soft, fleece-lined pockets on my jacket, trying to get warm…always trying.

A black truck zoomed by, sending fall colored leaves of orange, red and yellow into the air. For one brief moment, as the leaves settled around me, I felt like I was in the safety of a snow globe. But safety was an illusion. We were never safe. Not the people in the café. Not the few pedestrians strolling down the sidewalks. And certainly not me.

A deep shout resounded from inside the café, a muffled demand. I shouldn’t have been surprised, still my heart made a mad leap for my throat. People screamed, the sound noticeable even through the thick glass windows. I wouldn’t turn back. Trembling, I stepped off the curb, glanced left, then right and darted across the street. I had five minutes to make it home in time and couldn’t be late…
again
or Grandma would worry. I focused on the long road that led to our small Cape Cod style cottage, focused on the crunch of brittle leaves under my sneakers, focused on breathing. I would not react to the scene around me. I couldn’t. As Grandma repeatedly warned, my very life depended on silence.

Boom!

A sudden blast rang through the air, vibrating the glass windows. A flock of black starlings burst from the maples lining the road. I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath of cold air and resisted the urge to drop to the cracked sidewalk. Surprise faded quickly and guilt churned deep within my gut. A sickening guilt that was almost unbearable. So much guilt. Angrily, I shoved the feeling aside.
 

A woman with gray hair who was walking her poodle next to me froze, her gaze pinned to the café. “My God, I think they’re being robbed!”

I didn’t respond but continued down the sidewalk, forced my feet forward as she fumbled with her cell phone.

Taking in a deep breath, I slipped the ear buds of my iPod into my ears. Home. I had to make it home before I was late, before nerves got the better of me and I was sick all over the sidewalk. Or worse, before I turned and raced back to the scene.

But even as I attempted to ignore the guilt thrumming in time with the music, anxiety clawed its way into my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I knew, deep down, I could have stopped it. If only I wasn’t a coward. If only….

Sometimes it really sucked to be able to read minds.

Chapter 2

“Café was robbed, one person shot. They just announced it on the news.” Grandma lifted her remote and turned the volume down on the T.V. nestled in the far corner of the counter. She was settled behind the round table where we ate all of our meals. A table that, according to her, had come across the ocean with her English grandparents over one-hundred years ago. I was pretty sure I remembered her buying it at a garage sale when I was a kid.

Hello to you too, Grandma.

I dropped my backpack on the kitchen table and headed straight for the refrigerator, my sneakers squeaking over the pea green 1970’s linoleum. I shouldn’t have been annoyed by Grandma’s blatant attempt to pry. I’d been living with her since I was five and my ability had surfaced. Grandma hadn’t said so, but it was obvious Mom pretty much thought I was a freak and had shoved me into Grandma’s capable arms, the one person who understood. Another freak.