Rhayven House (19 page)

     The door shut again, seemingly of its own accord. He heard the door knob turn as if someone had released their grip.

     Ian didn't care; he turned off the light and laid back down. He only wanted to close his eyes again and drift off into blissful sleep. He'd deal with anything else in the morning.

     It only felt like seconds when he heard the sound of the doorknob turning again. Glancing at the alarm clock, he realized he'd fallen asleep. The door started to open. Ian expected no one to be, there just like earlier.

     Opening all the way, it revealed Toby. He walked into Ian's room and tried to apologize. Ian told him he wanted to go back to sleep; they could talk about it in the morning.

     Instead of leaving, Toby closed the door and crawled into Ian's bed, under the blankets.

     “What the hell are you doing?” Ian asked.

     Pressing his chest against Ian’s back, Toby said, “Come on. Tell me you forgive me. I know you want to forgive me.”

     “Move.”

     “You don’t mean that.” Toby draped his arm over Ian and pressed his hand against Ian’s chest. “I can tell you want me closer because I can feel your heart slamming into your sternum. Admit it.”

     “Get out.” His breath caught in his throat. Ian said as evenly as he could, “You need to get out of my bed. Don’t do this.” He felt Toby's lips, Toby's tongue, on his shoulder.

     “If you say the words, I’ll let you have what you want for tonight,” Toby whispered. “I’ll give you what you’ve wanted for a long time.”

     “Toby, don’t. Not this way.”

     “Forgive me,” Toby said again as he took Ian’s hand, brought it back, and placed it between his own legs. Ian didn’t resist him. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” A deep groan escaped his lips as he used his hand to make Ian’s grip tighter. “But I bet you can make me hard. You already are. Feel it?”

     “This isn't you,” Ian said, drawing his hand away as he turned and sat up. “This is her. You know it and I know it. Stop.”

     “How can it be her when I'm the one telling you, giving you permission?” Toby began to pull the blanket back, uncovering himself.

     “Please, Toby. Just go,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “Fight it. You're stronger than this. Make yourself get out of my bed and leave my room.”

     Ian knew the struggle had to have been going on inside his friend. He felt Toby tense, his body becoming as stiff as if it were frozen solid.

     Silence hung heavily between them and finally Toby slid out of the bed, walked out of the room without saying a word, and closed the door behind him.

     Ian blew out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
It was her. And it wasn't fair.

    
Goddamn her.

~ ~ ~

     Next morning, the silence between them was more than merely uncomfortable. Ian didn't want the ghost using her abilities to mess up the friendship between he and Toby, a relationship they'd had for years and one he wanted to continue for many more years.

     “This can’t go on,” Toby said, not quite able to look at Ian. “I don’t know what happened to make me do that to you, but I’m sorry. There's no excuse.”

     Ian stared into those teal eyes; he almost got lost. Teal. Who in the world actually had teal eyes? Those eyes conveyed everything. Such an ethereal line between sexy and sinister. Whatever magical, mystical, metaphysical powers-that-be that laid hands upon him, sure as hell gave him more than just hot eye color. He mentally shook himself off the path to dirtier thoughts. “Apologies don’t always make everything all right again.”

     “Don’t let this abyss between us grow or it will eventually be deeper than the one in the Celebes Sea,” Toby told his friend. “We need to work on fixing this before it’s beyond repair. Don’t be so mad.”

     As difficult as it was to admit, Ian knew he had to put the truth out there. “It’s embarrassing. For me. Damn, you knew exactly which buttons to push, in exactly which order, and here I thought I wasn’t being obvious.”

     Toby smiled and reached for a cup. “It wasn’t a shining beacon but it wasn’t exactly a secret either, pal.” He filled the cup with juice and took a long swallow. “I don’t know what the hell happened last night to be honest. One minute I’d gone to bed and the next I was wrapping myself around you.”

     “Yeah, I remember. Do we really have to go into this? Can’t we just chalk it up to 'the Devil made you do it' and forget about it?”

     “Yeah.” Toby grinned. “Yeah, we can, although I don't think it was the Devil; I think it was our ghost friend because she has a penchant for manipulating stuff for her amusement.”
     “I agree. In fact, I'd bet my ass on it.” Ian scratched his jaw. “She might be getting a perverse kick out of controlling us, making us do stuff we wouldn't normally do if left to our own devices.” He hoped they could get past it and move on.

     Toby shrugged. “Chalk it up to outside interference and we move on. Maybe we burn this house down and then salt the ground the ashes fall upon.”

     “How about we don't?”

     The doorbell rang and Ian went to answer it.

     Pulling the door open, Ian came face to face with an older woman elegantly attired in a red and black suit, her blonde hair twisted up and piled on top of her head. She reached up to remove her glasses with one hand while offering the other to Ian. She looked so nice, Ian suddenly felt self-conscious in his t-shirt emblazoned with the Marines logo.

     “Perhaps you were expecting someone more along the lines of Tangina from
Poltergeist
,” she said with a wry smirk and a wink. “I hope I don't disappoint you. It's okay. Most people have the same expectation.”

     Grasping her hand, Ian felt a grounding effect—a feeling of utter calm emanating from her. “Of course not. Welcome to my home.” Releasing her hand, he stepped back and gestured with one hand. “Please, come in.”

     “Thank you,” she said as she stepped over the threshold. “I'm presuming you are Ian.”

     Part of Ian wanted to ask if she was psychic, shouldn't she already know, but instead said, “Yes, Ian.”

     “I'm Davida Monroe. I hope we can be on a first name basis.” She slowly turned in a circle as she looked straight up at the ceiling. “Let me start off by saying I'm not psychic.” She ceased the slow spin and looked at him as if she suspected what he'd thought. “I do not divine the future or read palms or give lucky numbers so you can play the lottery. Also, I hesitate to label myself a medium.”

     Her confession somewhat confused Ian. “Okay,” he said, slowly drawing out the two syllable word.

     “Instead, I prefer to think of myself as a person who is sensitive to the energies, the presences, of entities most people would call ghosts or spirits,” Davida explained.

     “Okay,” Ian reiterated because he didn't know what else to say.

     Davida smiled. “I understand how confusing it all sounds. Let me say this: there is an entity here, specifically a female, and she exhibits quite the dichotomous nature—from one extreme end of the spectrum to the other. A Chimera quality to her emotional reactions.”

     Ian snapped his fingers. He understood what she was describing, having been on the receiving end of both of those extremes. “I wanted to describe it the same way—my experiences with her, I mean. Almost as if she's two distinct people. Why do you think she's like that?”             

     “I don't know; I hope she reveals the explanation to me.” Davida adjusted the stone-studded brooch on her lapel. “But I must give you a warning: sometimes I don't get the big answer for which you are looking. A lot of times, the best I can do is fill in some of the blanks and answer some of your questions. It all depends on the spirits state of mind, whether or not they feel like providing answers and details.”

     Ian realized he must have had an odd look on his face because Davida said, “Perhaps we could sit and discuss this further. Take a moment to talk about my first impressions. Feelings.”

     “Yes, the living room is this way.” Ian looked for Toby, but his friend had made himself scarce. “Please, have a seat.”

     After they'd sat, Ian remembered his manners and offered his guest a drink.

     “Maybe later,” she said, and then continued explaining about ghosts. “Spirits are actually in charge of the communication. Meaning, if they don't want to chat, then we don't get any interaction, any information. I hope the spirit here will be cooperative.”

     “So do I. Because I'd very much like to know what's going on. For instance—”

     Holding up a hand, Davida asked him to stop. “I don't like to know much before we begin. That way any information I receive is from the entity or the area.”

     “Understood.” Ian watched the medium as she looked toward the ceiling again. “There isn't much I know about the house; I pretty much have a complete lack of knowledge concerning the history of the house.”

     Waving away his words, Davida said, “I feel her walking, pacing. Back and forth upstairs. Her anxiety level is elevated, but I can't tell if it's because of my presence or if she is reliving a moment from her living existence.” Davida held a fist to her heart and looked Ian in the eyes. “There is both fear and anger; she's afraid of something happening, but she's also very angry with someone—angry with a lot of people. She feels she's been deeply betrayed, and that is a very powerful feeling.”

    Closing her eyes, she took a breath, held it, and then slowly exhaled. She opened her eyes. “It's quite strange, experiencing her maelstrom of emotion.”

     “I imagine so,” Ian didn't know what else to say. His curiosity was getting the best of him. “What else? Is she still upstairs?”

     Nodding, Davida said, “I wish you could hear her footsteps the way I do. She has fear and anger, yes, but there is an underlying sadness, as well.” Her eyes glittered with unshed tears. “What's bizarre is the feeling I get from her—not necessarily revenge. She feels she was wronged, severely wronged through no fault of her own and the thought of...making it right, for lack of better words, has consumed her.”

     “I've experienced some of that, I think,” Ian said. “I've gotten the feeling she's obsessed with the idea of vengeance. I've described 'Never Forgive. Never Forget' to you and you will see one example for yourself upstairs.”

     Tilting her head a little to one side, Davida said, “How about we talk about another experience you've had with a spirit.”

     “I'm not sure—”

      “From way back when you were a child. Tell me about the white-haired man.”

     Without realizing, Ian stood up. “How on earth did you know about him? I've never told anyone outside of my immediate family. Not even Toby knows.” She didn't have enough time to research his family, travel to them, and blackmail or beat the information out of them. So she must really be a sensitive.

     “I'm picking up he was a close relative, but you didn't know him very well.”

     “Correct,” Ian said as he sat back down. “My paternal grandfather who died shortly after I was born, six months almost to the day.” This was new and weird for Ian. He wished Toby would come downstairs and be moral support.

     “And you were named after him,” she said. It wasn't a question. “That's why he feels the bond with you, why he looks after you, checks in on you from time to time. Have you felt his presence since you've gotten older?”

     “No. I remember seeing him as a child, as far back as I can remember up until right before my teens. Then nothing after.” No sightings, not even the feeling the spirit of his grandfather was near.

     “While I don't necessarily feel his presence now, I know he's been around you throughout much of your life, up to and including recently. I feel he has watched over you; and even though you may not know it now, he is still around you.”

     “Maybe that's why I've always been fascinated with the subject of ghosts. My favorite books and movies have always been about ghosts or haunted houses.”

     “Quite possibly,” Davida said.

     “Maybe that's why I was drawn to this house. Because she was here and needed help. My help.”

     “Forget about trying to understand why you were drawn to this house. Instead, let's try to communicate with her to gather more information, to see if we can help her rest. She needs to move on, not only because you said on the phone, things have escalated to the point where you don't believe you will be able to continue living here otherwise. She has to move on because that's the next step; it's not the natural order of things for anyone to linger after death.”

     Gathering his thoughts, Ian was silent for a few seconds, and then he spoke. “I've done research on different types of hauntings or ghosts for my writing. You don't think there's a chance this situation is a strong case of place or residual memory—where whatever happened back then is imprinted on the house and is replayed over and over, like a recording?”

     “I don't believe that to be the case here, any more than I believe two time frames in the space-time continuum are overlapping.” Adjusting her lapel, Davida gave Ian time to digest what she'd just said. “No, I strongly feel her spiritual presence here, in the house with you. She resists my attempts at contact. For now. She may come around and it may turn out like I said earlier—we may not get the answers to your questions.