Julia's Journey (A Coming Home Again Novel Book 2) (24 page)

 
The tour guide is a zombie with greenish-gray
skin that’s peeling in certain spots. He is dressed in tattered chauffer garb
complete with the hat, and Greyson made him an offer for the hat on the spot.
The zombie said they would talk at the end of the tour about that. Even the
living dead cannot resist the charms of Greyson Stone. The gruesome guide sort
of attacked me right when we arrived. He hounded me until he deemed me too
blonde and declared I would not have enough brains to fill him up. Of course,
Greyson got a kick out of this. I did not.

We are all tucked inside
the hearse that was actually used to haul the dead back in the late nineteen
fifties. This fact has the desired effect and now I am completely creeped out
before we even start.

“We are going to begin this
little party by heading over to the Gribble House. What better way to start the
night than with a triple murder?” With this, the zombie cranks up the radio
that is playing none other than “In the Midnight Hour”. How appropriate…

He
creeps
the hearse along in an unhurried fashion until we are parked in front of a dark
warehouse. “This is the site where three women were murdered at the hands of an
estranged husband. An axe was thought to have been used with the beatings and
two women met their demise by a slit throat. I hear all the time hell hath no
fury greater than a scorned woman, but seems to me maybe a man scorned doesn’t
need to be overlooked.” He slowly rolls the hearse to the farther edge of the
creepy warehouse. “The house was torn down subsequently. The realtor couldn’t
get one taker for the bloody home.” He
tsks
as he
pulls away.

Next, the zombie pulls up
at this grand four-story brick building with rows of windows lined with green
shutters. Gas lanterns cast shadows along the exterior and I find myself
holding Greyson’s hand tighter.

“This is the Marshall
House. It is a haunted hotel, but they promise that most of the ghosts are
fairly friendly. Built in eighteen fifty-one, the Marshall House was occupied
by injured troops in the mid eighteen sixties and used as a hospital. Documents
recorded that the winter was brutal during that particular time, and the ground
in Savannah was frozen solid. Those doctors had to get inventive, so they
commenced to burying amputated arms and legs under the floorboards in the
patient rooms. You
gotta
give them docs a
hand
for thinking fast on their
feet
.” He eases the hearse a little
farther down the road as we gaze at the haunted hotel. “It’s a nice place to
stay. Just keep your feet under your blankets. Ghosts have been known to creep
around tickling guest’s feet.” He cranks the music up and we are now listening
to “Somebody’s Watching Me”.

The zombie chauffer drives
us all over Savannah to haunted place after haunted place. I’m totally creeped
out by the time we park at a spooky graveyard. The zombie instructs us to get
out. He gives the spiel about the history but I’m too spooked to listen. I’m
clinging to Greyson like my life depends on it, plus it’s more chilly than I
thought it was going to be on this early October night. Greyson kept telling me
to grab a jacket, but I didn’t listen, thinking jeans and a thin long sleeved
shirt would be sufficient.

Greyson slides his coat off
and helps me pull it on. “One of these days you think you might learn to listen
to me?” he asks while nipping my earlobe playfully. He gently pulls my long
hair from under the jacket collar.

“Probably not, honey,” I
warn.

“Listen up, you humans. You
have thirty minutes to explore and make it back out of the graveyard maze alive
or I’m leaving you here.” The zombie then drags his left leg while making his
way back to the hearse. The guy hasn’t broken character once tonight. He’s
quite good at being a zombie.

Greyson grabs my hand and
starts pulling me towards the gated entrance. “Umm…I think I just want to stay
here,” I mutter.

“With
the zombie?”
Greyson cuts his eyes at
me skeptically.

“Good point,” I say even
though he has already begun pulling me inside the graveyard. The guide wasn’t
wrong with calling it a maze. I feel like we are lost immediately. Paths weave
in and out of the graves in all directions. The place is spooky as all get out
with mossy trees and fog casting an eerie vibe all around. We pass creepy
statues of angels and animals, but the creepiest is of a little girl sitting on
a bench. It’s like she is watching me.

“If that girl hops off that
bench and starts chasing me, I’m just
gonna
fall out
dead on the spot,” I whine, clinging to Greyson for dear life. He does as he
did with the scarecrow back in Tennessee and gives the evil little statue
plenty of space as we pass.

“I think I’ll join you.
She’s downright creepy.” He pulls me along and then it seems we get turned
around at some fountain.

“Please don’t make us walk
past that girl again,” I whine some more.

“No worries,” he mutters as
he studies the paths.

“We’re lost.”

“Nah,” he says, but doesn’t
seem so confident on that.

I hear some animal wail out
in what sounds like misery somewhere in the fog. “What was that?” I now have my
entire body secured to his side.

Greyson doesn’t answer me,
just keeps walking. I look around the tombs and they look ancient. The weather
has erased most of their identifications. The fog is rolling in and whirling
around in an undulating fashion and I swear I see someone glide past us in it.

“I’m ready to go, Stone.
I’m over this. Please…” Before I can keep begging something flashes by my feet
and I scream out with all my might.

“It’s just a cat. Chill,
Julia.” He rubs my arm, trying to calm me down.

“What’s with you and all of
this creepy stuff, anyway?”

“It just adds to the
adventure, don’t you think?” He laughs out like this is funny. But then a hand
clamps him on the shoulders and he screams out like a little girl. I would have
laughed at him, but I’m too busy screaming myself. We take off running like we
are on fire.

We run along the winding
paths until we are back near the gate. I’m about to shoot through, when Greyson
grabs me by the waist and drags me close to him. He’s breathless and laughing
as he pins me against the stone wall. He keeps laughing until he’s not. Now his
hands are exploring my hips and his nose is skimming along my neck. And it
feels like he cannot get close enough to me. I’m close to losing myself in this
man. It’s both scary and exhilarating at the same time.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” I
ask. My patience is running out.

He places his lips to the
skin of my neck, causing me to shiver all over.

“On my lips,” I clarify,
even though I know he understood me the first time.

“I want to… So bad…” He
pauses to kiss my neck again—damp and hot. “I’m scared,” he whispers hoarsely
in my ear and it makes me ache. “Julia, if I kiss you, I’m scared I won’t be
able to stop. I’m so in love with you, it scares me. I don’t want to start
something on this trip only to not be able to keep you at the end of it.”

He leans back so he can
meet my eyes in the dim night light. I feel tears swimming in my own. I want to
tell him not to be scared, but then I would be lying. I’m scared myself. We
stare at each other for a few beats longer. Greyson cups my face in his gentle
hands and brings my face so close to his that I think he’s changed his mind,
but then he speaks, causing the tears to spill from my eyes.

“I’ve survived a lot in the
last couple of years.
So severe that the doctors didn’t
expect me to survive.
No one did… I beat the odds and so here I stand.
But I know beyond anything that there is no way I would be able to survive
losing you.” His thumbs wipe the tears from my cheeks. “I love you, Julia
Thorton
.”

“I love you, Greyson
Stone,” I barely whisper out.

Before we can continue, the
horn beeps, causing us both to jump. Greyson kisses me on my forehead before
releasing. He pulls me close to his side and walks us out to join the others
back at the hearse.

We make it back to the RV
after three in the morning. Some of Greyson’s new friends wanted to go out for
a super-early breakfast. Of course, he said yes. Even the zombie joined us. I
swiped Greyson’s phone and snapped a picture of him sitting beside the zombie,
whose name is actually Robbie, with his phone. Funny, I know. I kept teasing
him by calling him Robbie Zombie. In the pic, Greyson is wearing his newly
acquired chauffeur’s hat with two tall stacks of pancakes set in front of them.
I text the pic to his parents with the caption
– Look at the company your son is keeping these days, xoxo Julia.
I
hit send and looked up to see Greyson watching me.

“Please tell me you didn’t
just text that to my parents.”

“Yeah.
Why?”

“It’s two in the morning.”

As he said this the phone
pinged with two messages.

It’s
way past you twos bedtime
– from his mom.

Then his dad text –
What she said.

I looked up from the phone
and found Greyson’s hand held out so I handed it over. After he checked the
message and sent one in return he pocketed the phone. He looked at me sternly
with those green eyes, and I could clearly see the irritation in them.

“Sweetheart, it’s never a
good idea to text this time of the night to the parents of a guy in remission.”

“I didn’t think… I’m so
sorry.” I instantly felt like an idiot.

“No worries. I’m sure they
are over their heart attacks and back to snoring.” He had forced a smile, but I
still saw the ticking of his jaw. I’m still floored he mentioned such in front
of these new friends. Greyson never talks to anyone but me about his cancer.

Just as quickly as the
tension had appeared, it disappeared when Greyson launched into a lame zombie
joke.
Why
did the zombie ignore all his new Facebook friends? He was still DIGESTING all
his old Facebook friends!
Everyone
laughed and I planted my composed pleasant face on while everyone dug into
their mile-high stacks of pancakes. When Greyson polished off his stack, I slid
my untouched plate over to him. He didn’t harass me about eating as usual so I
knew he was still upset with me. I have no idea what all Greyson and his
parents went through during those two years with him being sick and the impact
it has made on them. It’s obvious it is more than I can comprehend.

I’ve just slid on my
nightshirt and am standing by my bed. I hear Greyson settling down in his bed
and I can’t help but go to his room. I stand by the door nervously. I’m still
spooked from the tour. I hear all kinds of weird noises and see things that I
know aren’t really there. But my imagination just isn’t having it.

“I’m scared,” I say and
bravely go in and climb on the bed. As I lay down, I hear him sigh deeply.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t sleep all the way
out there by myself.”

“All
the way out there?
Seriously?
You are right on the other side of my wall. Stop being a wimp,
Thorton
.”

He’s trying to tough love
me but
tough
. It’s not working
tonight. I don’t move, so he starts trying to shove me out of his bed. I
quickly cling to him. “This is your fault. I’m staying,” I demand as he keeps
wrestling with me.

“After the naked dance
earlier, I just don’t think I can handle this.” He grunts the words out while
he tries pushing me away again, but I’m holding on like Velcro.

“Again,
your fault.
You’re just going to have
to suck it up because I’m staying.”

We are both breathless from
the struggle by the time he finally gives up. He lets go and slings himself
back on his pillow, grumbling under his breath. We lay here, both seeming to
not be able to sleep. Greyson keeps adjusting his pillow and sighing loudly in
aggravation. I stay on my side of the bed, trying to relieve some of his
discomfort. It’s obviously not helping.

“You’re becoming too much
of a temptation and I’m growing weak,” he says, nearly growling and actually
sounds like he is in pain.

“Greyson Stone! What
happened to my perfect angel?” I tease. I look over and find him staring at me.

“I’m not a perfect angel.
I’m a flawed man,” he admits gruffly as he reaches over and runs his hand
through my hair.

I want to scoot into his
arms, but I stay on my side and keep my own hands to myself. “Tell me something
I don’t know about you.” I hope this will help us get our minds off
things
.

He keeps his hand tangled
in my hair and says nothing. I wait for the longest time, but begin to think
he’s not going to tell me anything. I’m about to nag him when he whispers, “I’m
dyslexic.”

“What?” I ask as I roll to
my side to face him. His bare chest glints in the moonlight and my eyes have a
hard time finding his face.