The Ghost of Christmas Present (9 page)

"Starting now. Let's see. What shall we
do?" He paced the floor, then spun back around to point at her. "I
know! I want to see you paint. That's what you came here for, isn't
it? Yes. That's it. Can I watch you paint?"

She sniffed and rubbed the tip of her
nose with the back of her hand.

"That should be about as interesting as
watching someone fish."

He forced another grin and ushered her
toward her paints and the canvas by the window.

"Let me be the judge of that. Now, what
have you been working on?"

Alane picked up a tube of paint and
fumbled with the palette.

"Nothing, really. I...I can't seem to
find the passion. I just feel stale."

He draped himself across the leather
recliner.

"Then paint me."

Alane blinked and cocked an ear toward
him.

"Do what?"

"Why not? I'm better than a bowl of
fruit."

She studied him for a minute, then
shrugged with a smile.

"All right. Get comfortable. This could
take a while."

Jared shifted to a slightly more
dignified position and watched quietly as she prepared her
paints.

"Do you talk while you work, or do I
have to keep my mouth shut?"

She didn't even look up from her
preparations.

"Absolute silence. I don't even play
music."

"Okay. I can deal with that. I mean,
I've gone years at a time without talking, so a few hours here and
there will seem like nothing. Unless, of course, you want to try
something different, which, in that case - "

"Ahem!"

He snapped his mouth shut and grinned
as her brow furrowed in concentration.

She worked quietly for hours while
Jared tried to behave himself. It was harder than he'd imagined,
keeping his mouth shut and sitting still.

He watched her face change from
concentration to frustration. She chewed on her lower lip, squinted
first at him, then the canvas, frowned, sighed. When she pinched
the bridge of her nose and shook her head, he decided to break his
silence.

"You want to know what I
think?"

She raised her head and looked around
as though she'd forgotten she wasn't alone. "I think you're trying
too hard."

"How can someone try too hard at
something?" She frowned and dabbed the brush against the
canvas.

"When you suck all the enjoyment and
spontaneity out of something, you're trying too hard." He got up
and circled around behind her as she continued to make improvements
on her work.

What she'd done was good. Very good.
But Xavier Travis's daughter could do better. She'd painted a very
good, two dimensional portrait, but Jared knew she had the talent
to make him come to life on the canvas.

"If you'll lift your ban on my roaming
around in your head, maybe I can help."

She turned and gave him a suspicious
look.

"Oh, come on. What do you have to
lose?"

She chewed on the end of her brush for
a minute, crinkled up her nose and sighed.

"Why not? At this point I'm ready to
try anything." She sat back on her stool and looked up at him.
"What do I have to do?"

"Nothing," he said as he melted into
her. He heard her gasp, then felt her tense up.

Relax
, he told her silently.
Relax and
trust me.

She loosened up a little. "This is so
weird. I heard you and you didn't even speak."

I can hear you, too. Now
open your mind.

He felt her open to him, and he nudged
his thoughts into her consciousness. He fed her some of his
memories. Happy, carefree, funny memories. He sent them swirling
through her like an ever-changing kaleidoscope. She giggled at some
of the bits and pieces. He felt her heart tug when he remembered
seeing her father's work.

All right. You've relaxed a
little. Now pick up the brush and paint what you feel. Don't try to
make it perfect. There's no such thing.

She dabbed the brush against the
palette, then hesitantly applied it to the canvas.

Stop trying so
hard.

She took a deep breath and rocked her
head back and forth on her shoulders, popping her neck and
loosening her muscles. He cringed at the sound, so reminiscent of
those he heard while falling down the steps behind
Katherine.

This time she approached the canvas
without hesitation. She applied the strokes with confidence, and
each sweep of the brush was pure genius.

Beautiful! That's exactly
what I mean!

Alane was in her own world, focused on
her painting as Jared focused when he touched something. He slipped
from her body, fighting the emptiness he felt when he did, then
watched in awe as she brought him to life on canvas. She spoke only
once, to order him back into the chair. He obliged her and managed
to sit quietly while he drank in the sight of her.

Did she have any hint as to how
irresistible she looked, with a pale blue smudge on her cheek and
her hair still flopped atop her head in a wobbly
ponytail?

He closed his eyes and fought the pain.
No mourning. Not yet. He had an eternity to mourn when she was
gone.

Her deep sigh and the creak of the
stool as she sat back caught his attention. He opened his eyes to
the sight of Alane staring at the painting.

At her side in an instant, he too could
only stare at the life she'd breathed into the portrait.

"Magnificent. Perfect," he said, his
voice almost reverent.

She turned her head and looked at him,
then looked back at the painting.

"You said there's no such thing as
perfect," she stated, her awe equaling his.

"I lied."

They stared at the portrait, then at
each other. Jared's world shifted as she thanked him with her eyes.
He studied her face, so full of want and need, love and pain, and
he contemplated touching her again. As he raised his hand, the
sound of a car's tires crunching in the snow drew his attention to
the window.

He dropped his hand with a
curse. 

CHAPTER SEVEN

A brown station wagon rolled to a stop
behind Alane's car. Jared groaned at the sight of the two people
getting out.

"What is it? Do you know these people?"
Alane pulled the curtain farther back and peered out the window at
the couple getting out of the car.

"Chuck and Dot Hamlin, if memory
serves." He watched Chuck haul his girth from the car, looking like
a whale in his gray suede overcoat. Dot emerged from the other side
in Spandex pants, cowboy boots and a mink stroller. A cigarette
dangled from fuchsia lips, her helmet-like titian curls wreathed in
smoke.

"They stayed here a couple of years ago
and I thought I would go mad. They watched twenty-four hours of
professional wrestling. And when they weren't cheering on Mad
Monster Max, they were bickering about everything from which log to
put on the fire to who closed the curtains last."

The couple slipped and slid their way
onto the porch. When they knocked, Jared cloaked himself so he
wouldn't be seen.

Alane opened the door and a gust of
cigarette smoke wafted across her face.

"Can I help you?" she asked after a
delicate cough that got her point across. Dot took one last drag,
blew it out the side of her mouth, then flicked the cigarette into
the snow with the tip of a gold, dagger-length
fingernail.

"Dot and Chuck Hamlin. We're here to
measure the cabin for curtains and carpets."

Alane cocked her head and tapped her
fingers irritatedly against the door.

"You're the buyers?"

"Yep," Chuck spoke up.

Jared moaned. The odd couple's eyes
widened and they craned their necks to look past Alane into the
living room.

"I specifically told the rental agency
that today wasn't convenient. I'm sorry but you'll-"

"We just knew you wouldn't mind, since
we were out here anyway. It'll only take us a sec." The screendoor
whined as Dot pulled it open and marched past Alane into the living
room.

Chuck waddled in behind her, wheezing
with each labored breath.

"Dot, I don't think this lady wants to
be bothered. I told you-"

"Hush. It'll only take a second. You
don't mind, do you, sweetie?" She rummaged around in a gold lamé
purse the size of a suitcase and finally fished out a tape measure,
ignoring any answer Alane might have given.

Jared hovered behind Alane and
whispered in her ear.

"Have you any idea how long I had to
wander the limits of my boundaries when these two started making up
from one of their arguments? In front of the fireplace, no
less?"

Alane's laugh sounded more like a
strangled choke.

"Hurry up, Dot. We're bothering the
lady." Chuck turned to Alane. "Hey, you don't mind if I turn on the
match, do you?"

Before she could answer, the TV flared
on and an announcer screamed about the body slam just
delivered.

"Jared, get these people out of here,"
Alane whispered through clenched teeth. "We can't let them buy this
place! You'll be figuring out a way to kill yourself all over
again!"

As if to drive her words home, Chuck
bellowed at the television, belched, then threw his hands in the
air and dropped to the couch. The unfortunate furniture creaked and
popped as he bounced to the edge.

"I'll see what I can do. Play
along."

Rumbling from deep within his chest,
Jared gave forth with his best blood-curdling moan. Dot and Chuck
both froze, their wide eyes turned to Alane.

"What was that?" Dot barked.

"What was what?"

"You didn't hear that gawdawful
sound?"

Alane shrugged and shook her head. "No.
It was probably the house settling. It does that a lot."

They both studied her for a moment,
then Chuck grunted and turned his attention back to yelling at the
TV. Dot shrugged and went back to her measuring. Jared walked over
in front of Dot, focused his energy, then grabbed a window blind,
pulled it down and let it fly back up to rattle at the top of the
window. Dot yelped and jumped away, and Chuck cowered in the corner
of the couch.

The clock on the wall chimed three
o'clock, and Jared moved the hand backward, groaning while the
Hamlins gaped at the clock suddenly running
counter-clockwise.

"Hey! What's going on here?" Dot rasped
when she finally found her voice.

Alane looked at the clock and pursed
her lips.

"Might be the resident
ghost."

"Ghost?" Chuck squeaked. Dot suddenly
developed a hacking cough.

"Yes. Sometimes he misbehaves. Takes a
dislike to some people and just-"

The floor upstairs creaked and groaned
as Jared stomped across it.

"Is someone else staying here?" he
heard Dot ask with panic in her voice.

"No. Just me. Why do you
ask?"

"You don't hear that racket
upstairs?"

"Why, no. I don't hear any-"

For the
coup de grace
, Jared made himself
visible, removed his head from his shoulders and tossed it down the
tiny, narrow stairway. As his head bounced down the steps, Dot went
rigid, screaming, and Chuck nearly stuffed himself inside the
couch. Alane's eyes widened momentarily before she fixed a look of
inquisitive confusion on her face.

Jared followed his head down, trying
not to stagger from the vertigo of having one's head bounce down
the stairs. This was not his favorite trick.

Dot's scream at the sight of his
headless body would have done a horror movie proud.

Chuck scrambled over the arm of the
couch, grabbed his rigid wife and shoved her toward the
door.

"Is there a problem?" Alane asked with
a straight face.

The couple ignored her as they fought
to get the door open, Dot still screaming and Chuck puffing with
exertion, whining like a puppy.

The door flew open and they shot out,
one after the other, onto the porch, down the steps, then loped
across the snow to their car. Before the doors were even shut,
Chuck had the car in reverse and backing out of the
drive.

While Alane watched them flee, Jared
recovered his head, tucked it under his arm and joined her at the
door. She watched, laughing and holding her side, as the car
fishtailed down the road.

"Oh, my," she breathed as she closed
the door and turned. "Do you think we've seen the last- Oh, Jared,
put your head back on."

*******

Alane hummed along with the Christmas
carol on the radio as she turned onto the road leading to the
cabin. She braced herself for Jared's arrival, and the moment the
car passed over his ancient property line, he appeared in the
passenger seat.