A Ghost of a Chance (24 page)

“
Would you step back Ma’am, please.”

“
Yes, but could you please tell me where you’re taking him. I just want to make sure he’s all right.”

His head was throbbing but he managed to open his eyes. The blurriness cleared just for a minute and he saw the paramedics who were bending over him and then not far behind them . . . She looked at him with her eyes, her soft, sweet, brown eyes, filled with worry.

"If you had another chance Jack, would it be different?"

"I’d be different, and I’d spend my life making her happy."

“
You can follow us Ma’am. We’re headed to St. Vincent’s.”

She nodded. “I will,” and repeated emphatically, “I will follow you.”

Finis

About Evelyn Klebert

Evelyn Klebert (1965 to present) is an author in the grand old city of New Orleans. She's written ten acclaimed books: four paranormal novels, three collections of supernatural short stories, and two esoteric poetry collections. She is an avid reader and student of esoteric studies intent on examining the "big questions" in life as are her characters. One of her latest novels
Treading on Borrowed Time
is a love story set in New Orleans which explores the issue of past lives, karmic obligations, as well as other dimensional beings. Stay tuned for her next collection of Paranormal Short stories entitled
White Harbor Road and Other Tales of Paranormal Romance
.

Visit her at
www.evelynklebert.com

Excerpt from Sanctuary of Echoes

Prologue

“
Do you think it’s wise at this point, friend?”

He looked about the darkened parlor for perhaps the last time. Surely he had no business returning here. The handful of men sitting near him, on the sofa, and in adjoining chairs didn’t exactly move in the same circles as he. One he knew for a fact worked as the captain of a cargo ship along the Mississippi River; his business had kept him away for the majority of their gatherings. Another was from a very prestigious and wealthy old family in town — one that his new earned wealth simply did not allow him to rub elbows with, at least under ordinary circumstances. And then there were others, perhaps only one that he during his ordinary life counted as a regular acquaintance.

But there were seven here tonight, enough to open and enough to follow through with the business at hand.

He brought the glass of brandy lightly upwards to slightly graze his lips, but didn’t actually take a sip, just enough to rouse a weary mind. The week had been impossible, a heavy rush of nightmarish landscape as he buried his still young wife.

The physicians had no definitive answer for him about her death, a fever around the heart —
”just a weakened constitution.”

He lowered the glass. “Wise? I see no alternative. For myself I am now the single parent of two young children. I have no time for such clandestine endeavors any longer.”

“
Clandestine? You insult us.” The heavy voice traveled to him from the fireplace where its author stood. And not for the first time he felt a chill travel across his back. “I meant no insult. Perhaps I should have said secretive. The point is that the world is changing, and I see no benefit in continuing.”

Again the heavy voice, “But perhaps you do not speak for all of us.”

And then from other quarters, “He speaks for me.”

“
And me as well.”

And then after a hesitation one more voice. “I agree. The danger has begun to outweigh the benefit.”

He leaned back in his chair, an unexpressed sigh of relief in his chest. That was four of them; all they needed was a majority to disband. But then the figure he distrusted most moved out of the darkness into the semi light of the fireplace, that long, pale pinched face. “There is so much that remains untapped. The documents we’ve acquired thus far. . .”

“
Must be destroyed,” he finished his statement.

“
Destroyed? Are you out of your mind? We’ve only begun to scratch the surface. This city is filled with treasures that we’ve had yet to tap into.”

“
There is too much opportunity for abuse.” And then he smiled kindly, trying to assume a less threatening pose. “My friend, power is a tool, depending on whose hands it falls into it can be used for good or ill. And speaking for myself I wouldn’t want to be entrusted with such a responsibility.”

“
Perhaps you are just weak. I have no such doubts about my capabilities.”

“
And that could be your greatest weakness,” he remarked pointedly.

Another figure moved out of the shadows, a more welcome one. “He is right. It all should be destroyed. I can do it myself. The Ariadne is setting sail day after tomorrow. I can dispose of everything on the voyage.”

He nodded, “Buried in the turbulent waters of the river. That seems appropriate.”

“
You’re all mad. We’ve collected a wealth of information, rare books of immeasurable value. “

And then a different voice, an older man, frail, full into his seventies — at least thirty years the senior of every other member of the group. “Don’t forget Joseph Marchand.” A silence fell across them all at the mention of his name. He had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to bring him into this. But the resistance had made it unavoidable.

The old man continued, “The doctors say he will never recover his reason again.”

“
You can’t blame that on us. The fool rushed things, tried things before we were ready.”

“
Do you honestly believe Gabriel that we could ever be ready for these kinds of forces? Ever truly be prepared?” The old man’s voice had risen to a volume that he honestly didn’t think him capable of anymore. And it seemed to have squelched the dissenter.

He rose to his feet, “Shall we take a vote now?” It was true that all they needed was a majority. But the vote was unanimous. As he gathered his coat and hat he knew that he would never step foot in this house again and that his dear, sweet wife could rest easy now.

Chapter One

She watched from a distant vantage point as he approached one of the stone benches in the park. He sat there waiting and it chilled her. She must have contemplated approaching him for five minutes at least, five long daunting minutes. It was inconceivable in some ways, the thought of opening this particular door again. It had been so long since they’d last met — ten years, perhaps longer. She’d changed in immeasurable ways, and assumed he had as well. And it was indeed a chapter of her life that she had closed, albeit not so firmly as she’d liked. But circumstances as they were, well suffice to say necessity overrode inconvenience and all other considerations.

Slowly she stepped from behind the pavilion and made her way to the stone bench. She felt sure that he knew she was approaching but didn’t turn round to acknowledge her. He simply sat there quietly, waiting. She stopped at the side of the bench, silently determined that he would speak first. He rose to his feet, a foot or so taller than she. He was dressed nicely for their meeting, in a brownish sports coat with a light colored shirt and dark pants. But when she looked into his eyes she flinched for a moment, feeling the jolt of an old connection but mentally blocking herself from it. He wouldn’t get the better of her.

She eyed him deliberately with no flicker of emotion. It was best to establish a distance right at the start. He sported a short clipped beard, and his thick dark hair ever so slightly graying at the sides, the signs of age.

And in that moment she wondered distractedly how much age showed in her face now. “Corey,” he murmured, the same low, graveled voice.

She responded with a cool deliberateness. “Iain, I’m glad you could meet me.”

Then there was something in the dark eyes that rose to the surface, sparkle, challenge, something indefinable, “How could I refuse?”

She nodded, again trying to appear detached but feeling acutely as if she were a fifteen year old girl again, rather than the thirty-eight year old woman that she’d become. There were benefits of age, benefits she’d become accustomed to — a respect, an ease of being unconcerned with things that plagued her in her youth, a knowledge that she was past particular aspects of life. All of these shields of age felt suddenly stripped away from her in the deep gleam of his Baltic, amber-colored eyes. She’d forgotten and in this moment truly hated how ill at ease this man had always made her. She crossed her arms in front of her walking a few paces and then turning to address him directly. She felt calmer, more secure from this vantage point. “How long have you been in the country?”

There was a slight smile that flickered across his face as though she amused him, and that rankled her greatly. She had accomplished much in her lifetime already, well-respected in her chosen profession. What she didn’t need was condescension from this particular man.

“
Actually only a few months, I’ve been keeping a low profile.”

Her heart was feeling uncomfortable in her chest at the underlying tension of their exchange. “Yes, well you were difficult to track down.”

“
But you managed to do it.” His words came fast upon her own. And then his eyes passed over again with that slight smirk of amusement that incensed her. “Would you like to sit? Or are you more comfortable glowering at me from afar?”

She dropped her arms from their protective stance, suddenly feeling very foolish. “I’m not glowering. It’s just that this is a little awkward for me. Surely you can understand this.”

He shrugged, “Well let’s endeavor to get the awkwardness out of the way. Are you still with that ignorant, idiot Morris?”

She jolted, in shock, feeling as though the air had literally been ripped out of her lungs. How dare he, how dare he drag their ugly past into this bright, clean present when she had worked so hard to eradicate it from her life. She glanced away; there were children in the distance playing on a swing set. And for a moment she wondered how it would be to start over, to start everything over. “Why would you ask such a thing?” she murmured.

“
Curiosity, don’t worry I’ve ceased to care about any of that a long time ago.”

“
Then why bring it up?” She eyed him directly, but he met her gaze unflinchingly, calmly. And that had always been his way to never avoid any confrontation.

“
I wanted to see if it matters to you.”

“
I haven’t seen him for over five years.”

An expression flickered through his eyes that was so fleeting and quickly replaced by icy detachment. “Well my congratulations, at least you’ve begun to develop some sense.”

And then something inside her hardened at his insult, a coldness enabled her to close off those places he could still reach. “Iain my time is valuable and I do not desire to waste it on things that don’t matter. I have something serious to discuss with you or I wouldn’t have expended the time and energy to find you.”

He frowned a bit, “Yes Corey always business with you. Well it’s a lovely October day. So why don’t we take a walk, and you can tell me all about it.”

Her fingers seemed to tremble as she attempted to bend the soft metal into place. It was so delicate that the gloves she wore felt cumbersome. This piece was too fine to manipulate from behind a shield. It was reckless but she removed the gloves, then shaping the metal of the necklace with her own fingertips. It was a malleable piece, a rare silver alloy, yet oddly resistant to her will. It required her to use all the strength she had in her slim fingertips to force the issue, and then she dropped the whole ornament onto the softly padded surface of her work table. Her index finger began to ooze dark red.

She’d been punctured by a sharp edge — so much for the rewards of trying to force things.

She leaned back in the leather, swivel chair with a deep sigh. Corey had thought working on some of her jewelry would relax her this evening or rather distract her. But thus far it had only succeeded in feeding her frustration. She’d been a fool to think that Iain would be of any help to her. She knew and so did he that there was entirely too much history between them.

Some things, her father had always told her, were simply not worth salvaging, and some things were simply dangerous to attempt to salvage. She reached across her work table to its edge to retrieve a glass of brandy she’d poured earlier. It burned her throat as she sipped it, but it comforted.

Jewelry-making was a skill that her father, Clayton Knight, had taught her. It served as a hobby now and a comfort, although there were times when she did accept commissions from selective clients who needed a piece for a special purpose. For the jewelry she constructed was not merely ornamental. That too was a skill her father had passed on to her.

“
I’m curious. Why approach me with this Corey after all this time? Surely you have enough friends or just contacts that could help you.”

“
I’m not sure any of them could be trusted with this.”

“
What makes you at all sure that I could be?”