Ghosts Of Lovers Past Read online

  Justin glanced at his best friend. Tim was one of the most gifted psychics Justin had ever encountered and could almost instantly pick out ghosts from the other kinds of entities, both good and evil, that they encountered on a daily basis. It wasn’t exactly comforting that his friend couldn’t identify what was in the house, and it lent credence to Justin’s own feelings of unease. Time had taught them both to be wary of those kinds of situations. His back still bore the scars from a previous encounter to prove it.

  “Yeah, well according to the report, Miss Hamlin came here around six o’clock last night. No one is sure what happened, but whoever called Mia said they suspected paranormal activity. Not quite sure why, but her relatives claim the Hamlin woman is sensitive to it or something.” Justin had read the admittedly thin case report three more times on the thirty minute drive to Blue Spring, searching for some kind of clue as to what was going on.

  Tim frowned, his lips twisting the way they did when he was deep in thought. “Could she have stumbled onto something human-based, like kids using this place to hang out?”

  Justin shook his head. “Doubtful. There’s not a scratch on her and no sign of a stroke, heart attack or anything else. She’s just in a coma. The realtor found her on the front steps, out cold, and nothing the doctors have tried seems to help.”

  “Then the relatives got involved.” Tim shook his head. “I don’t know, man. It’s just that whatever is here is, I don’t know, different, like maybe a part of something living but not? I don’t know how to describe it. I’ve never encountered anything like it.”

  Looking up from a series of photographs he had been studying, Justin knew he had to ask the question that had the potential to seriously tick off his friend. “Are you sure it’s not a ghost and that maybe your run in with Mia this morning has your senses all messed up?”

  Although Mia had berated Justin that afternoon, he had heard from the office gossip vine that she and Tim had had a rare fight that morning. In Justin’s mind, the fight had more to do with Tim and Mia’s complex relationship than anything paranormal, but he kept those observations to himself. Still, it could have affected Tim’s abilities, at least temporarily.

  Tim shook his head. “Mia and I are screwed up, yeah, but it’s not affecting me that way. Whatever is here isn’t like anything we’ve ever encountered.” His eyes scanned the room with quiet efficiency and Justin knew his friend was looking for some tell-tale sign of spirit activity.

  Finally, his eyes came to rest on the staircase. “Upstairs. Whatever it is, it’s up there,” he said firmly and Justin needed no further encouragement. He took the stairs two at a time with Tim hot on his heels.

  Still, when he reached the second floor, he paused in confusion as waves of dizziness washed over him. The summer heat was thick in the house, making it hot and stifling. That didn’t explain what Justin was seeing however.

  It was almost as if the house existed in two different time periods. The rooms were a strange blend of modern and vintage – brightly colored walls mixed with antique furniture and sleek modern rugs matched with heavy brocade early twentieth century draperies. A kitschy black cat clock with a swinging tail and roaming eyes kept time on the wall to his left while an ornate gilded mirror set with what looked to be small pieces of cut colored glass in the shape of roses was to his right.

  “Who lived here?” Tim asked in bewilderment. “Did the previous owner have multiple personalities or some kind of mental disorder?”

  Justin shrugged, struggling to keep his mind focused. The feeling of unease was growing stronger and he had to fight his instincts to flee the house. Sweat poured down his back and he had to almost force his feet to move down the darkened hallway. Something bad had happened here; he knew it in his bones in a way he couldn’t explain. “Supposedly a young family of four that died in a car accident were the last occupants. I thought it was them in the photos downstairs, but maybe Mia’s info is wrong.”

  Tim arched an eyebrow. “Mia is never wrong about stuff like this. She’s nothing, if not thorough.”

  Justin let the comment pass as he moved towards a door that stood out from the rest. Unlike the other doors on the floor, which were all painted in light and airy, almost pastel colors, this one was merely stained wood. Old wood, if he had to guess. It was also closed and featured an antique doorknob and brass knocker. There were two other closed doors in the hallway, but Justin instinctively knew this one was different. Whatever he and Tim were looking for was behind this door.

  He grasped the knob to open the door but was immediately struck by what felt like a thousand steel bands tightening around his head. Gasping in pain, he turned and reached for Tim, but his friend seemed farther away than Justin remembered.

  For a moment, it was as if Justin was looking through a gauzy veil and time seemed to shift and swirl around him. At first he wondered if it might be heat stroke, but then the room itself seemed to change. Dusky late afternoon light filled the room, rather than the pitch black of night. He could still see Tim but his friend no longer wore his favorite blue polo shirt. Instead, Tim was dressed in almost all black clothing with a skinny black tie, off-white shirt, long duster-style black coat, cowboy boots and carried what looked like a beat up medical bag.

  Tim was talking with two other men Justin didn’t know, all the while looking at the floor. That’s when Justin looked down as well and saw his body, clad in period clothing similar to Tim’s, lying on an Oriental rug, blood pooling beneath him. Instantly, Justin knew he was dead. He had died in this hallway, in front of this door, trying to reach her, to protect her and keep her safe. He prayed that she had somehow escaped.

  Without warning, time shifted again and the haze Justin had been looking through disappeared. The clock and mirror reappeared and Tim once again wore his beloved shirt. The pain in Justin’s head eased and he could only blink in shock.

  What just happened?” Tim was beside him now and nearly shouting. Justin turned to look at him with bleary, blurry eyes.

  “Could you lower the volume a notch, dude?” Justin whispered, barely able to find his voice. “My head is killing me.”

  Tim put his hands up. “Sorry, man, but that was freaky. One minute I’m talking to you and the next, it’s like you can’t hear a word I said. Almost like you weren’t here.”

  Justin leaned against the door, exhaustion settling into his muscles. “I was here, in this house, but not in this time.”

  “Not following you, Jus. Sorry.” Tim watched Justin as if he were afraid his friend was going to fall over in a faint.

  “I was here,” Justin said, now looking around the hallway more carefully, his strength gradually returning. “But I was seeing this like it was in the past. You were here. I think you were a doctor. Maybe? I’m not sure. And I was…” He swallowed hard before continuing. “I was dead. I think I’d been shot.”

  His friend’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Dead?”

  Justin nodded. “There was an Oriental rug right there.” He pointed to an area just behind Tim. “I was lying there and blood was pooling around me. I’d been trying to get to someone, but I must not have made it. She died. I think.”

  Tim frowned. “Even for us, this kind of experience is not normal. Do you think you had a past life regression? I know you’re not psychic, but it has been known to happen sometimes.”

  “I’m not sure what it was,” Justin confessed. “All of the sudden, I just know that I’ve been here before. I’ve lived in this house. Ever since we came in, I’ve felt off, like there’s some reason I shouldn’t be here. I think it’s because, a long time ago, I died here.”

  “Oh, my love, you did die here, so very long ago. I prayed that fate would allow you to return to me, someway, and finally, my prayers have been answered.” The voice seemed to come out of nowhere and both Tim and Justin yelped and spun around.

  Chapter Three

  Standing at the far end of the hallway was a woman that Justin could only describe as a ghost, y
et somehow not. She wore a long cream colored dress and what looked like flat ballet shoes that seemed to be tinted pink. Her thick, auburn hair was held back by a ruby-studded hair clip. Matching diamond and ruby earrings hung at her ears and her brilliant silvery eyes didn’t miss anything, including the way he was staring at her.

  His cock tightened at the sight of her and suddenly, Justin wanted nothing more than to lay her on the floor and take her, even with Tim standing there watching. Desire raced through his veins and he had to summon a reserve of willpower he hadn’t known he’d possessed to stop himself from grabbing her and stripping her out of that gown.

  Justin had no idea where these feelings were coming from, but they scared him, more than a little. While he had a healthy appreciation for the female form, it wasn’t like him to want to jump a woman the first time he saw her. Not to mention that she appeared to be a ghost.

  To be fair, she did look real enough to touch, but there was a shimmering glow around her, almost like a full body halo. It gave her a soft, gauzy look, yet somehow Justin knew that if he touched her, she would feel solid beneath his hand. Even though she was dead. Somehow, he knew that, too.

  The only problem was, Justin wasn’t supposed to be able to see ghosts. He didn’t have the ability. He risked a quick glance at Tim who confirmed with a nod that he, too, could see the woman.

  Instantly, a memory flashed through Justin’s mind, a memory that he knew wasn’t really his, at least not in this life. A man with his face was making love to this woman in the attic above. It was where they made love every afternoon when he could sneak away from work. He could see himself driving into her, their bodies becoming slick with passion as they coupled madly. The attic was their secret place and this was, or had been, his woman. His wife.

  “Rose,” he said quietly, the name flowing easily off his tongue. Until now he hadn’t known her name but he, or at least the man who looked like him in the visions, had moaned it in the depths of passion he had just witnessed. This was the woman he had been trying to reach when he died. Actually, when he was murdered.

  “You remember,” she whispered and brushed a tear from her eye. That caught his attention. Ghosts didn’t cry. At least no ghost that he had ever heard of did.

  “Not really,” he finally told her, still studying her shimmering form. “I just saw a glimpse of something. A few somethings, actually. Me, lying dead on the floor over there mostly, but the two of us together in the attic, too. But not today and not in this time.”

  Rose nodded, her eyes sad, and for an instant, Justin was filled with an overpowering need to pull her close and tell her everything would be fine. He wasn’t even sure that was possible. People weren’t supposed to be able to touch ghosts, at least not the way he seemed to want to touch her.

  “I had hoped you would remember, but I see that isn’t the case.” When she looked up, Justin could see a determined set to her jaw and realized that, in life, she must have been a formidable woman. The kind of woman he was attracted to now, actually. “Come, then. There is much to discuss and perhaps you can help me. Your friend needs to hear this as well.”

  She turned and walked down the stairs, and much to Justin’s amazement, he heard her footsteps. Ghosts didn’t make noise when they walked, or at least not consistently. Phantom footsteps, sure, but not normal foot falls. He was beginning to think that Rose might not be a typical ghost.

  “Just go with it,” Tim said and gave his friend a small shove to get him moving. “You have a beautiful ghost that wants to talk to us and doesn’t, at least at the moment, seem overly inclined to either kill or maim us. We don’t get that everyday. Count your blessings.”

  Chapter Four

  Once they were all downstairs and brief introductions had been made, as well as reassurances given that the men were here to investigate and not immediately banish Rose from the house using some kind of spell, Tim and Justin settled on the couch while Rose curled up in a nearby chair. It still amazed Justin that she seemed to be able to interact with physical objects without losing any of her glow or energy.

  Apparently, Tim had noticed as well because once they were settled, his friend wasted no time in jumping right into questioning the pretty ghost.

  “So, Rose,” Tim said as she pulled an afghan over her shoulders as if she were cold, “you are a ghost, right?”

  She nodded, though she didn’t exactly confirm that she was a ghost. Justin took note of that. “I died in this very house the same night my husband did, killed by the same man who took his life. Your life.” She directed that last comment toward Justin.

  “But you can touch things, move objects,” Tim countered. “That makes you different from other ghosts. You have to know that.”

  Again, Rose nodded, and Justin realized that it was a reflex while she gathered her thoughts. She had always done that. He quickly pushed that thought away, annoyed. He shouldn’t know anything about Rose and at the moment, he didn’t want to. She had to be confused and despite what he’d seen upstairs, he wasn’t really her dead husband.

  In general, Justin didn’t believe in reincarnation and at the moment, was less inclined to believe than normal, partly just to be contrary. He didn’t want this. Instead, he wanted to get this case solved and get out of this house, back to his comfortable, predictable life being chased by the media. Something was not right here and he was afraid the longer he stayed, the more drawn into this world of madness he would become.

  His life didn’t need that kind of complication. He liked things they way they were. He was not about to let some ghost, albeit a very pretty one, draw him into her insanity.

  “I am different,” she finally said. “I don’t know why. I wish I did. However, I’ve always been this way, or at least since I regained consciousness after I passed on.”

  “I’m not following,” Justin cut in, despite his private vow moments before not to get involved. “When you die, your spirit separates from your body, but you never really lose consciousness. Do you?”

  “You’re not supposed to,” Rose said, this time without the nod. Justin knew that this time, she was sure of her words. “At least my grandfather, Ben, told me you’re not. I saw him when I woke up.” She frowned at that. “You’re not supposed to see your deceased loved ones immediately either, not on this side anyway. You don’t see them again until you cross over.”

  “But you did.” Tim was leaning back in his chair now, studying her.

  “My grandfather didn’t know why I was different, either. He just knew that he had been sent from the Other Side, to help me, at least for a time.” She pleated her dress with her fingers, as if she were nervous, another emotion not generally attributed to ghosts.

  “Help you adjust to being dead, you mean?” Justin leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. Despite his reservations and his still growing desire to get the hell out of this house, Rose intrigued him, partly he supposed because he had seen her completely naked in his vision. Her back had been arched in the throes of sex, her firm breasts thrust high and luscious, and he had more than liked what he had seen.

  “To being dead and to the idea that I was trapped in this house.” Rose ran a delicate finger over the arm of the chair and Justin felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. She had done the same thing to his back, years before. Much as he wanted to fight the idea, he couldn’t. Instinct told him they had been lovers once and he felt familiar, but not completely unwelcome, feelings stir in his gut.

  “Whatever happened, it made me a different kind of ghost and tied me to this house in a way others are not. It’s not uncommon in the spirit realm, as I’m sure you know, but it is uncommon that I cannot seem to move on to the Other Side, even with help. Not to mention that everyone alive can see me. You don’t need to be a psychic or gifted in any way.”

  Justin studied her for a moment. “That means that whoever lives in this house can see you.” He paused before continuing, realizing the implications of what she’d just said. You must have need
ed to learn how to stay hidden since you couldn’t leave.”

  Rose nodded as if it were a minor detail. “For the most part, that wasn’t difficult. As new owners came and went over the years, I remained hidden until I knew for certain whether or not they would be favorably inclined towards me. Despite what you might think, given your line of work, most people are rather accepting of ghosts in their house.”

  “The last family to live here allowed you free reign of the house, didn’t they?” This question came from Tim, who continued to study her thoughtfully. “You lived here like a member of the family. Otherwise, you wouldn’t move around as freely as you do now.”

  More tears unexpectedly glistened in Rose’s eyes. “They were very kind to me. I watched television with the children, told them stories about the history of house and Blue Spring, helped with small chores, and sometimes even sat with them at the dinner table.” When Tim raised an eyebrow at her in disbelief, she rushed on. “I don’t eat, obviously, but for some reason, I can move most objects without draining my energy or hurting myself. They enjoyed my company, my stories, and it pleased me to interact with them.”

  “Then they died and Sophia Hamlin inherited the house. Now she’s in a coma.” Tim’s eyes had an odd glint to them, as if he were working on a rather difficult puzzle.

  Justin didn’t like the way Tim was questioning Rose and felt an overwhelming desire to tell his friend to back off and leave the ghost alone. However, he didn’t say anything. He was no longer sure he could trust his emotions where Rose was concerned. The longer Justin was in her presence, the more shadowy images of a past he couldn’t completely recall, one liberally dosed with large amounts of sex, sprang into his mind. Past and present seemed to be mixing in his brain, rendering him truly unable to tell past from present.