STARTING OVER (22 page)

"He was a ghost." She knew it sounded ridiculous. Even she wouldn't have believed it . . . if she hadn't seen it for herself.

Rusty's
expression changed from bewilderment to worry. Drops of water fell from his wet clothes onto her, reminding her of the water dripping off Doug's cadaverous face, and she squeezed her eyes shut to block out the image.

Gently Rusty laid her head down on a pillow. The softness beneath her made Kate realize she was on the living room couch.

"How did I get here?" Her inquiry was suspicious. She didn't know much about ghosts and whether or not they were strong enough to carry a person around. She cringed at the thought that it might have touched her.

"I heard you scream and found you lying in the hall. You must have fainted. So I carried you in here." He stood up. "I'm going to get you a glass of—"

"No!" she practically screamed. "Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone with . . . it."

He dragged his fingers through his wet hair, pushing it off his forehead as he continued to study her. "Okay, I'll stay," he said with gentle indulgence. He could see the terror in her eyes. She wasn't a fanciful person, and he believed she had seen something.
A shadow maybe, caused by the lightning or the flickering of the candle flame. But it couldn't have been a ghost.

He turned to the lantern and lit it, chasing the darkness from the room. Outside the house, the winds were building and the rain was beating against the windows again. The eye had passed, and the storm had returned.

Rusty wasn't sure how to handle the situation. Kate was near hysteria. And it was clear there was nothing he could say to convince her she hadn't seen a ghost.

"What did it look like?" he asked, hoping there would be something in her description to give him an idea of what she might have glimpsed.

"He was dressed in white, something long and flowing that covered his whole body except for his face." She shuddered as she continued. "He was wet and pale . . . like a person who has just drowned." She buried her face in the back cushion of the couch. "It was awful," she cried her voice muffled.

Rusty stifled a helpless sigh. He had pulled C-Breeze back from the verge of bankruptcy with no money in the bank and no contracts. He had helped deliver a baby when usually he tried to avoid even the briefest glimpse of blood. He had flown a tiny helicopter through a vicious storm. But he had no idea how to relieve Kate's troubled mind.

"Look, I've got to get out of these wet things." When she started to protest, he hurried to add, "I'll make Rebel stay in here with you, and I'll stand just outside the door while I change."

Nervously, her tongue raced around her lips. "I'm being silly, I know. But this sort of thing has never happened to me."

He wanted to tell her not to worry, but he was afraid he couldn't make it sound convincing when he was so concerned himself. Instead, he dropped a kiss on her pale cheek and ordered his dog to stay where he was lying next to the couch. Rusty grabbed the last clean, dry outfit he had brought from his bag, and, as he had promised, stood in the hallway while he changed. Everything seemed to be fine, so he stepped into her bedroom and pulled a folded comforter off the end of the bed.

Before he went back into the living room, he paused standing where he had found Kate crumpled to the floor. Looking toward the living room, he tried to visualize what she had seen. But there were no windows for lightning to flash through and no furniture to cast shadows. Except for the doors on each side of the corridor leading to the two other bedrooms, it was a clear shot all the way down to the front entry hall.

"Rusty...." she called. But there was no fear in her voice, so he knew she was just trying to hurry him.

"I'm coming," he answered. "I just wanted to get you a blanket."

As he walked toward the living room, he inspected the floor and the walls, searching for a clue. A slightly darker patch of carpet caught his attention, and he bent down to examine it. Rubbing his fingers over the spots, he lifted his hand and saw it was wet.

Kate had said the figure she saw had been wet, but Rusty had another theory. She had seen someone, all right. But it hadn't been a ghost.

A trickled trail led to the spare bedroom on his right. He glanced at it and saw that the door was slightly ajar. Silently, carefully, he pulled the flashlight from his back pocket and shone it into the bedroom as he swung the door open.

The room was empty.

This was the bedroom that Doug had used as a study. A search around the furniture and in the closets told him that whoever had been there was no longer around. He followed that up with a quick look into the bedroom that was Shanna's nursery, Kate's room and the bathroom. But there was no one in any of them, either.

"Rusty...."

He jumped, almost tossing his wet clothes into the air. The voice was directly behind him.

Whirling around, he found himself face-to-face with Kate.

"What are you doing?" she asked, shining her flashlight up at him.

He pushed it aside to get the light out of his eyes and tried to steady his erratic heartbeat. "I was looking for your ghost."

"Did you find him?" She was obviously trying to be brave, but he heard the quiver in her tone.

"No." He didn't mention the wet carpet for fear she would use that to validate her vision. With studied serenity, he hung his clothes over the shower curtain pole and guided Kate out of the room. "You're looking better," he commented, noticing that some of the color had returned to her face.

"I feel a little better." She leveled a serious look at him. "I really did see something."

Suddenly, the front door burst open and slammed against the wall. Kate gasped and pressed into
Rusty's arms. He felt his own still unsteady heart leap in surprise.

All that entered was a flurry of leaves and rain blown in by the storm.

"It must have been the wind." Rusty's chuckle was nervous. The lightning, the tornadoes and now the ghosts had him a little on edge.

"Yes, the wind," she echoed weakly.

She didn't let go of his arm as they walked down the hall. Together, they pushed the door shut, then leaned their backs against it as they caught their breath.

"The lock must not have held," she added.

Rusty stepped away, cautious, waiting for the wind to blow it open again. It didn't move. He clicked the lock shut, then tried jerking on the door. But still it remained firmly closed.

"It seems fine," he commented, studying the hardware thoughtfully. "I don't think it was locked."

"But that's not possible. I always check the front door before I leave. And we've only been using the back door."

Rusty brushed a tattered leaf off her cheek, then hooked his finger under her chin and forced her eyes to meet his.

"Then someone must have unlocked it. Your ghost, perhaps?"

"But I saw..." She paused as if trying to recall the exact details of her encounter.

"You might have seen a person in a white or clear raincoat. Maybe one of your neighbors didn't know you were home and was checking on your house. Does anyone around here have a key?"

"Yes, I leave one at the Richardson's house, across the street. But if it was Jack or Carrie, they would have identified themselves and not disappeared when they saw me."

"Okay, then, maybe it was a looter. Disasters seem to bring out the worst kind of slime who like to take advantage of people leaving their houses so they can burglarize them. He might have picked the lock and was either going in or coming out of the spare bedroom when you walked out and startled him." He decided to go ahead and tell her about the wet spot he had found on the carpet, hoping she would see it had just been drops of rainwater.

He saw she was listening, considering the possibility, so he continued, "And before I got back, he ran out, not shutting the door all the way when he left. Then all it took was a gust of wind to pop it open."

Clearly, she wanted to believe it. But there was still a doubtful frown etched across her forehead. "That's possible," she admitted. "But I saw his face. It was Doug."

"It might have looked like Doug. But you said he was almost completely covered and the lighting was poor. Doug's never been far from your mind, and even a slight resemblance might be magnified by the distorted beam of your flashlight." He rubbed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the raindrops that had showered her. "Katie, your ghost was a real live person."

Kate stepped forward and pressed against the comforting strength of his body. It sounded logical. The person could have been wearing a long raincoat. She was familiar with stories of looters who swarmed like vultures during a time of crisis.

But she had seen his face. It had looked like Doug, only different.
Thinner, paler, unhealthy. Like a dead man.

All at once, she was so tired she couldn't stand without
Rusty's support. She felt ill. Dizzy from her fever and her trauma, she leaned heavily against him, her hands grabbing the front of his T-shirt to keep herself from crumpling to the ground.

"You're burning up. No wonder your imagination is running wild. Come on," Rusty said, bending and sweeping her almost limp body into his arms. "I'll get you some aspirin, and you can try to get some sleep. It sounds like the worst of the storm is over."

He carried her to her bedroom and stood her up next to the bed. He pulled back the covers, then eased her down onto the cool sheets. After returning with the tablets and a glass of water, he instructed, "Leave your clothes on in case we have some sort of emergency: I'll sleep on the couch."

Kate yawned. It became a physical impossibility to keep her eyes open. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

"Sorry for what?"

"For ruining the evening."
She yawned again and snuggled deeper into the softness of her pillow.

"I'll take a rain check."

She smiled as he kissed her lightly on the lips. She wished she could stay awake, but the hours of missed sleep from last night with a fussy Shanna, the long day of worry about Rusty, the rough night of waiting out the storm, and now the shock of seeing whatever or whoever she had seen proved to be too much for her. Reassured that Rusty was just a few feet away and that he wouldn't let anything had happen to her, her system simply shut down and she drifted off to sleep.

HE MOVED toward her. "Have you missed me, Kate?" His voice was slurred as if he were speaking underwater. "Do you still love me?"

Kate wanted to rush forward and tell him that she had missed him and still loved him. But he frightened her. Doug had never spent a lot of time outdoors, so he rarely had a dark tan. But now he was deathly pale. From the dark hollows of their sockets, his eyes glowed like hot, burning coals.

"Who is that man in my house? What is he to you? Have you no loyalty to my memory?"

"But you're dead," she cried. "Rusty has helped me a lot."

"But it's more than that, isn't it? You're falling in love with him, aren't you?"

"Doug, don't do this to me. You know I loved you. But you're gone, and I can't stay alone forever. Shanna needs a daddy. And I need someone, too. He's really a nice guy. You'd like him."

Doug reached out and touched her cheek. His fingers were cold and wet, and it took every ounce of self-control she had not to flinch.

"I don't like anyone who would take my place in your life. If you had been the one to die first, I would never have fallen in love again." He stepped closer. "Kate, you are the only woman I've ever loved. Wait for me, sweetheart."

"Wait for you? But Doug, you're not coming back."

"I'll stay here with you."

"No, you can't. You're not alive."

"Not even death can separate us, my love. This is my house and you are my wife."

Kate took a step backward as he leaned closer to kiss her. "No," she repeated more emphatically. "You're gone: I had to start my life over without you."

"But I'm here now. Can't you see me?" His smile was possessive, evil. "Don't you want me to stay?"

She felt the solidness of a wall against her back, effectively stopping her retreat. As Kate thought of
Rusty's gentle, teasing grin and the tender way he treated her and Shanna, she knew that she didn't want Doug to come back. Never had she felt so loved and cherished as she did with Rusty.

"No, Doug. You can't stay. You're dead, and I'm alive. Leave me alone."

He had kept up with her, moving forward as she moved backward. His hand was still on her cheek, but now he let it slide down her jawline. His fingers felt bony but strong as they closed around her neck, gradually closing off her air supply. "If I have to go, then I'm going to take you with me," he growled in a low, gravelly voice.

"No!" she screamed louder and more desperately. She gasped, but she couldn't catch her breath. She could barely squeak out, "Go . . . away." The room started spinning around her, and she felt herself falling. But the death grip around her neck never eased. "Help . . . me . . . Rusty," she called weakly.

"I'm here, Katie. Wake up."