Christmas Ghosts - Fiction River (10 page)

Her heart dropped—Rowan Brophy.

The caption read,
Twenty-seven year old local, Rowan Brophy, was shot to death on Second Street around 6:30 P.M. on December 25, 2012
.

Her eyes welled with tears. No wonder he hadn’t shown up for coffee last December.

She had such a crush on him in high school. Last year, a friend reconnected them. They’d exchanged texts, agreeing to meet. She just thought he stood her up. She had no idea he’d been murdered.

Her stomach twisted into a knot, hands shaking as she read the details. She couldn’t stop staring at Rowan’s photo. Large, wide-set blue eyes that looked into her soul. Sandy blond hair and sweet smile that went right through her. He’d always been so funny and so kind in school, quick to help anyone with anything—homework, moving, a ride home after too much beer. It was so unfair.

She read both articles, sickened when she saw classmate Lindsey Tull’s mug shot. The woman stalked him for nearly a year, leaving dozens of messages every day on his phone, showing up at his shop, at his house, and outside his store. The restraining order had only kept her at a distance.

Two gunshots thundered through the apartment. All the lights flashed.

Mallory screamed, dropping to the floor.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs and someone knocked on the door.

Heart racing, Mallory got to her feet. She straightened her lavender sweater and opened the door.

Her landlord, Strother Kittering, stood in the doorway, brow furrowed, thin white hair disheveled. He was tall and stocky with wide-set, clear blue eyes. He and his wife Stella lived below.

“Mallory?” he asked, glancing past her into the apartment. “Are you all right? I heard you scream.”

She nodded, still out of breath. “Didn’t you hear those loud bangs?” she asked.

He shook his head, frowning at her.

“Must have been a car backfiring or something.”
Had she somehow imagined it?
This apartment was starting to unnerve her.

One of the newspapers tumbled across the hardwood, wrapping around Strother’s leg. He picked it up, his face turning white.

“Where’d you get this?” he demanded.

Mallory pointed behind her. “It was on the desk. The previous tenant must have left it.”

He shook his head, his lips turning pale. “That’s impossible.”

“Why do you say that?” Mallory asked.

His eyes turned watery. “My grandson was the last tenant. He was murdered in front of his shop last Christmas.”

Mallory gasped and took the paper out of Strother’s hand.

“You’re Rowan’s grandfather?”

Strother nodded.

Rowan was gone and here she was living in the place he called home. Sitting on the sofa he probably made plans on, dreamed of things on, lived his life. So many remnants of unfinished things he’d left behind and couldn’t finish. She felt sick.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “Please, come in.”

Strother stepped inside and walked through the apartment. He seemed lost in thought as he touched some of the furniture.

“Going through his things was hard. We weren’t very thorough in clearing everything out I’m afraid. Probably left behind some important things. Stella still can’t come up here.”

“We went to high school together. We were supposed to meet for coffee last year after Christmas. I didn’t know until now that he’d been murdered. I’m so sorry.”

Strother smiled, a tear sliding down his cheek. “Everybody loved Rowan. He was the kindest, sweetest guy. He did everything around this place for Stella and me. Helped people all over the island. There were over a thousand people at his funeral last year.” He pointed at the hand-painted chest with beach scenes. “Rowan painted that. He was quite an artist.”

It was Mallory’s favorite piece in the apartment. “I loved walking past his shop. His displays always brightened my day.”

“That shop was his pride and joy,” Strother said with a nod. “It was his way of bringing a little more magic to the island. He was always filling the shop’s windows with little treasures. Rowan was such a light in this town. Killing him was like shooting down the sun.”

Mallory felt a breeze brush across her face, like fingers against her cheek, a hint of sandalwood warming the room.

There’s still time
, a voice whispered in her ear.

She glanced at Mr. Kittering, but he didn’t react.

“We haven’t got much to remember him by. Not even that cat.”

“Cat?”

Strother bowed his head. “Rowan and that cat of his were inseparable. Found the four-week old kitten in the middle of a rainstorm and bottle-fed it until it could eat solid food. Vet said it was a purebred Maine Coon. Marshall ran off the night Rowan was shot. Stella and I searched for months, but finally gave up.”

“Too bad no one ever found him.”

The old man wiped away tears. “God, I miss that boy. He was like a son to me and Stella. She cries every day. Rowan never hurt a soul and he had his whole life ahead of him.”

Mallory put her arm around Strother and hugged him. “I’m honored you’d let me live here.”

He kissed Mallory on top of the head. “Rowan always said you were something special, Mallory. I see that now. Wish you’d been with him instead of that crazy woman. Why’d she have to kill him?”

Mallory winced. Crazy had no rules and it only heard its own voice. “I’d give anything to go back and change it,” she said.

She’d been crushing on Rowan for so long. She couldn’t believe it when he’d texted her about meeting for coffee. Now, he was gone.

“Didn’t mean to go on so long,” said Strother. He moved back to the door and Mallory followed. “Just wanted to make sure you were all right. If you need anything, just call.”

“I will, Mr. Kittering. Thank you.”

Strother started out the door, but paused a moment then turned around.

“Mallory, have you come across a small crystal clock? Shaped like a snowflake? It’s a family heirloom. I looked all over, but couldn’t find it. It’s been in the family for generations. Stella gave it to Rowan a week before he died. To help him find his true love.”

“What?” Mallory asked. A magic snowflake clock? She didn’t believe in magic.

Strother shrugged. “Stella says it has a strange power to it. It draws true love to the owner. We met because of that clock. Stella says relationships are like snowflakes. No two loves are alike. When two matching hearts find each other, they can start an avalanche. Sounds silly, doesn’t it? Just takes a turn of those clock hands during Christmas and the snowflake will glow in the presence of true love.” He let out a heavy sigh. “Rowan never got the chance to find his.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“Thank you, it might bring Stella some comfort,” said Strother, closing the door.

Mallory headed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower and drying her hair. She ate some leftover chicken fried rice and streamed
Modern Family
on her laptop until her eyes were closing. She slipped on a yellow nightshirt and turned out the lights, the shimmering stars and galaxies on the ceiling lulling her into a restless sleep.

Around two A.M., she awoke to the sound of clicking against the hardwood. Somewhere nearby, a bell tinkled.

She sat up, glancing around the room. Clock on the nightstand burned red numbers into the darkness, everything so deathly still.

Click, click, click. Jingle.

Her breath quickened, the sound closer.

Click, click. Jingle, jingle. Thump!

Mallory froze, her heart pounding as a dark shape appeared in the bedroom doorway.

Two glowing orbs stared back at her. She couldn’t move, her breath ragged and aching through her chest as her heart slammed against her rib cage.

Whump! Jingle.

Something hit the bed and Mallory screamed, fumbling for a light.

A large, cat-shaped object sat on the bed, staring at her with green eyes the size of nickels. It had huge pointed ears, tufts of cream-colored fur streaming out like a lynx. It had long white whiskers, a pink nose, and black stripes against a thick grey coat. A worn green collar was fastened around its neck, a tiny bell and something bright hanging from it. It was small and gleamed with a strange light. The snowflake clock!

The cat looked thin. Its long, shaggy coat was cold and wet. It poked her with a big paw then rubbed against her shoulder.

“I hope you’re not planning to eat me,” she said, the fear dissipating.

She let out a sharp breath and cupped the silver tag that hung beneath the snowflake clock. The cat meowed, poking her again. Mallory turned the tag toward the light. Marshall. Beneath it was a phone number.

“Rowan’s cat!” she cried.

She hugged the huge cat and he rubbed his face against her cheek, purring like a buzz saw. He was beautiful. And the biggest cat she’d ever seen!

He tapped her with his paw.

“You must be hungry, huh?”

He head-butted her, lifting his chin and she stared at the snowflake clock again. She tried to unwind it from a tangle of string, but finally used some nail clippers to free it.

The faceted snowflake clock was small, only about three inches across. It gleamed with a strange, inner blue light, looking like a fallen star that had frozen solid. The clock hands were loose.

Save me
, a voice whispered in her ear.

Near the window, the air shimmered, a wispy coil of white smoke floating through the room.

She froze when it took on a ghostly human shape, like a man.

There’s still time, Mallory
.

A hand stroked her hair, fingers brushing her cheek. Then the apparition disappeared into the closet.

Mallory couldn’t move. Was that Rowan’s ghost? Or maybe she just needed to lay off the caffeine?

The cat meowed again, the bell on its collar jingling.

“Let’s get you some food,” she said and bolted out of the bedroom, turning on every light in the apartment.

She took the cat into the kitchen and grabbed the deli turkey. Tomorrow, she’d buy some dry food and a litter box. It was the least she could do for poor Rowan.

***

Mallory spent the day looking for a job and running errands, coming home exhausted. After supper (chicken teriyaki she shared with Marshall), she made the cat a bed in the closet using a cardboard box and some fleece throws. She feared seeing the apparition again, but everything was quiet as she pulled on navy sleep pants and an aqua t-shirt. She popped Rowan’s
It’s a Wonderful Life
DVD into her laptop and crawled into bed. As she turned out the lamp on the nightstand, she bumped the snowflake clock. It flickered blue.

The cat bed lasted about ten minutes before the big Maine Coon jumped in bed with her and stretched out, taking half the bed.

“I bet you wonder where Rowan is, don’t you, big guy?” she said, stroking his head as
It’s a Wonderful Life
played, George Bailey telling Mary he’d lasso the moon for her.

She thought about George saving his brother from falling through ice and stopping a druggist from dispensing a poisoned prescription. Why couldn’t she have been there to save Rowan?

Marshall meowed, purring like a cement mixer as he walked across her pillow onto the nightstand. He grabbed the string on the snowflake clock and dragged it onto the bed.

“You want to play, big guy?”

He turned in a circle and pawed at the glowing clock. Then he sat down in front of her, staring with those unblinking, soul-deep green eyes as if willing her to do something.

“Is this some kind of Maine Coon mind trick?” she asked.

He meowed.

She picked up the clock, pulsing blue like frozen fire, and stared at its delicate structure. Why hadn’t it been smashed to bits? He’d been running loose for nearly a year with this thing on his collar. It was amazing it was still intact.

Save me
, whispered a voice in her ear.

“Rowan?” she cried, pausing the movie. She felt foolish. She was hearing things.

There’s still time.

Marshall turned to stare as the white mist coalesced into a man. He stood at the foot of the bed, reaching out to her.

She wasn’t scared this time. “Rowan?” she called, reaching toward him.

He moved toward the closet and Marshall bounded toward him.

Mallory jumped up, her stocking feet sliding on the hardwood as she followed the smoky figure. She slid into the dark closet, snowflake clock still in her hand as the smoke vanished.

Remembering Strother’s story, she felt for the clock hands. What could it hurt? With a flick of her fingers, she spun the hands backward.

She turned, tripping over the cat, and fell headfirst into the closet.

Everything went dark. She struggled to her feet, turning around to find the closet door shut. She struggled to turn the knob, but it seemed stuck. Several more times, she pushed until the door creaked open. Marshall shot out of the closet.