Safe Landing (7 page)

“Wouldn’t that be awesome!” Gina piped up. “To have a guy so in love with you he would actually kill himself for you.”

Seth stared at her for a second. There was a look on his face that made it pretty clear he had no intention of jumping off a freeway overpass for Gina any time soon.

“That place is great. It must be cool living there,” Seth said.

I gave him a look that said you must be kidding. His eyes locked with mine for a long moment. We didn’t say anything. I motioned for him to move so I could slide out of the booth and head for that terrific haunted house I now called home.

Mom looked up from her laptop as I walked into the family room. “How was it? Did you have fun?”

I decided not to tell her about the conversation with Dad. Not because I worried about her feelings. She didn’t seem to think much of Dad anymore, and she might not even care that he was meeting Cynthia’s parents. Mostly I wanted to avoid her patronizing told-you-so response.

I sorted through the mail stacked on the end table. “You know, Mom, you’re delusional if you think I’m just going to fire up a brand new social life out here. I’m not gorgeous and perfect like Tyler and Raymond, and frankly, I’m not that interested in meeting new people.”

She went back to her keyboard. “Well, if you’re not interested then I’m not going to worry about it.”

I plucked my
Horse and Rider
magazine from the pile of mail. “Good, don’t. I will just wither away friendless, and eventually, I will live in a small, rundown house surrounded by a thousand cats and stacks of old equestrian magazines.”

Mom stood from her computer and sat down next to me. She patted my thigh with her hand. “You won’t be completely friendless, kiddo. As you may have noticed, no matter how bitchy you are to me, I always love you.”

I swallowed a lump in my throat and rested my head on her shoulder. “I know. You’re even more pathetic than me.”

We sat there for awhile staring at the cracked plaster on the wall and listening to the waves crashing in the ocean that was now our backyard. Then Mom kissed the top of my head and jumped up.

“I’ve got to start dinner. The boys will be hungry.”

“I’ve got some homework.” I looked back at her as I reached the staircase. “Do we have any holy water or something?”

Mom laughed. “Do you want me to go into your room first? Or you could take Darcy up with you.”

“Yeah, she’s such a menacing character and all.” Now I was feeling like a goofy little kid again. “I’ll go it alone. Story of my life lately.” I climbed up to my room and took a deep, calming breath at my door. I would have to get over my paranoia or end up sleeping downstairs on the couch. The room was still when I entered. From what I could tell, nothing had moved and there were no strange odors.

I changed into sweats and was about to go back downstairs to do homework when the old letters caught my eye. It really wouldn’t be wrong to read mail from people who were dead, I convinced myself as untied the black string.

The paper felt thick and dry as I removed it from the envelope. Someone had hand painted a border of flowers on the letter. Yellow and purple blossoms trailed up a long twisting green vine, which climbed over one side and across the top of the paper. The letter was dated 1880 and the handwriting looked like calligraphy.

My Angel, My Love, My Emily,

I have sent you this sprig of orchids. You must lend your sweet fragrance to them for they have none.

Time is endless without you here on the bay. Not a day passes, not a moment when my heart does not speak the precious, poetic syllables of your name. Alas, I combed the white sands of this wretched, lonely beach in an attempt to clear my mind of its insatiable longing for you. But the curve of the cream colored conch only reminded me of your wholly adorable ear. The ear I teased between my lips not more than a month ago. An action, which I confess, I performed only to hear your unforgettable laugh. As evening sky blushed pink from the sinking sunlight, I could only think how it reminded me of your cheeks. That smooth, pink skin where my kisses feel so at home.

Pray, do not cause me this agony any longer, my flaxen-haired enchantress. It is not but six months from my eighteenth year when father’s trust becomes mine. We could live happily here at the bay, or on a cloud, or on star, or wherever you’d like. Some people need food and shelter to survive. I need only you.

Yours eternally,

Sebastian

“Geez, that was over the top,” I mumbled as I turned to sit in my chair. Instead, my butt landed with a jarring thud on the hard floor. As I smacked the ground, I was sure I’d heard the chair scrape the floor as if someone had suddenly moved it. I twisted back and looked over my shoulder. The chair was two feet away. How did I miscalculate that? I jumped to my feet. “Who’s there?” I asked. My voice stuck in my dry throat. I stared at my chair and backed up to the door. My plan was to run out of the room, shut the door behind me, and never enter again, but curiosity drew me to the stack of letters.

Maybe my room was haunted. Maybe it was this Sebastian guy, and I’d insulted him with my remark about his corny letter. I was tired of these games. Suddenly, I wanted, no needed, to know if I really was going crazy or if this house was truly haunted. And at this point, I wasn’t sure which conclusion I feared the most.

I picked up the second letter. This one was thicker as if it had something inside besides a letter. My fingers shook like crazy as I ripped it open.

There was a square postcard with an intricate painting of a fairy inside. She was amazing with long golden hair and sheer, blue and silver wings. A mystical glow framed the entire picture. This guy could paint. I placed the fairy painting on the desk.

The second card was a faded brownish photo. It was the letter writer. It had to be. I turned it over. Written neatly on the back was the name Sebastian Middleton, January, 1880. I turned it back over. Even though the picture was faded, I could see his face clearly. His brown hair was long and curly and his eyes were round and dark. His expression was serious, but there was this hint of troublemaker in the firm set of his mouth. He looked rather uncomfortable in his stiff looking suit and high white collar. He held a black top hat in his hand. Too bad those don’t come back in style. I could think of several guys that would look deadly sweet in a top hat.

I opened the letter and read it.

Dearest Emily,

I have come up with a million excuses as to why the letter I wrote you was returned unopened. Perhaps the Earth was not quite even with the Sun that day, or the crickets chirped too loudly in the summer night air. Or maybe it was the fault of the overwrought postal service. It cannot be anything else.

I have read your letters over and over again until my eyes blurred. Perchance you were angry with me for not sending the photograph you had asked for months ago. I’ve enclosed it now, accompanied by this lacy-winged wood sprite. She is not to return without word from my angel’s velvet lips.

My heart aches and I’m defenseless without you. You must know this, my love.

Yours always,

Sebastian

“No wonder she returned the letters unopened,” I spoke into the cool air of the room as if someone were listening. “Desperation is a major turn-off.”

My chair rolled across the room into the wall, and I flew out of the bedroom and down the stairs as if a madman was chasing me. And quite possibly there was.

My mom pushed her head out from the kitchen. “You sound like a herd of buffalo coming down those stairs.”

I stopped to catch my breath. “Normally, I would be completely insulted by that,” my hand went to my chest as I took another deep breath, “but at the moment, I’m more freaked out by the ghost in my bedroom.”

Mom smiled and disappeared back into the kitchen. I followed. “Mom, really, I need some kind of exorcist, or priest or something. That guy is haunting my room.”

“What guy?” she asked not looking up from the salad she was chopping.

“The crazy, lovesick guy who killed himself here.” I rested my hands on the edge of the counter trying to steady them.

Mom swept up a pile of lettuce and dropped it into a bowl. “Grandpa said the story was greatly exaggerated. He apparently drowned while taking a swim.”

“No, I think he died because he was obsessed with some girl. His letters were in that old bookcase. I read some of them, and seriously, he was stalker material.”       

Mom wiped her hands on her apron and reached back to untie it. She handed it to me. “I have to pick up the boys. You can finish cutting the tomatoes.” She looked at me. “Zilly, I know this move has been hard for you, but—”

I could feel heat rising in my face. I snatched the apron from her hand and put it on. “You’re right, Mom. It’s all in my imagination. Run along and I’ll finish dinner.” My words could not have sounded angrier if I’d said them through gritted teeth.

The herd of animals followed her to the door then sat to wait for her return. I was alone. The hair stood up on my forearms as I chopped the tomatoes. They looked better prepared for spaghetti sauce than salad by the time I had sawed through them. I reached for the cucumber but dropped it as an icy breeze blew across the back of my neck. It bounced to the floor. Darcy raced over and grabbed it. The dog trotted toward the family room with her prize but spit it out five feet from the door. A growl vibrated from her throat as she stared at the kitchen table. The cats ran from the room, but it wasn’t Darcy’s growl that frightened them. I snatched up a radish and threw it at the dog’s butt. She whimpered and ran from the room leaving the vegetable on the floor.

Now Lizzie’s attention had been drawn to the table only instead of a growl, she wagged her tail nervously. Even the animals were possessed. I turned back to the cutting board.

“You know nothing of love,” a deep voice came from behind me. I froze, clutching the knife tightly in my fingers. My gaze flashed sideways to Lizzie. She stared at something directly behind me. I would have screamed if the sound had not lodged in my chest. Slowly, I turned around.

“How do you do? I am Sebastian Middleton.”

The knife slipped to the floor, barely missing my toes. “Holy crap,” the words sputtered from my lips.

“Very poetic. I can see why you have such a problem with my writing. You are obviously a genius when it comes to prose. ”

The room began to spin, and I swayed back and forth. A kitchen chair slid across the room and circled behind me. I plopped down hard. “This is impossible. There is no way you’re real.” The long white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and his feet were bare. He looked just like his picture but less solid, nearly transparent in fact. I could see past his body right through to the clock on the wall.

“I am real.”

I lunged for the knife on the ground and hurled it at him. It slid right through him and landed point first in the door.

He shrugged his sheer shoulders. “Well, I’m real in the stuck between this world and the other world sense, anyhow.”

I pressed my hands over my face. “Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

“You’ve destroyed those tomatoes.”

I dropped my hands. “What do you want from me? This has to be a bad dream. Soon I will wake up in my cozy bed.” I pinched my arm but it didn’t wake me.  

“It’s not a dream, Brazil. And I must say that is the strangest name I have ever heard.”

I stood and circled behind the chair as if it could provide some kind of protection. My gaze flitted to the door. I contemplated making a dash for it, but my legs felt as wobbly as pudding.

Lizzie had already bored of the whole thing and had returned to her sentry station at the back door. Wheels crunched the gravel on the driveway, and my heart jumped to my throat. “Don’t move,” I told the wavy vision of dark curls and penetrating eyes in front of me. “I want my mom to see you.” I flew out of the back door and nearly ran into the front end of the car as Mom parked it.

She jumped out of the driver’s seat. “Brazil! What are you doing? I could have hit you.”

My voice cracked painfully out of my throat as I motioned wildly to the back door. “He’s there, in the kitchen.” I grabbed her arm and began to pull her along. “The ghost is in our kitchen.”

The twins raced past us and through the back door. We stepped into an empty kitchen.

“You jerk, Zilly. There’s no ghost in here,” Tyler said.

Aside from the animals that had run in to greet Mom, the kitchen was deserted.

“I swear, Mom, there was a guy standing right there. See the knife in the door? I threw it and it went right through him.”