Silent Night, Haunted Night Page 6

  “Like the woman at the hospital this morning, the one who committed suicide.”

  He looked up from his food, green eyes sharp.

  “I saw her in the hallway. Her name was Angie Rayburn.”

  “You saw her?” He abandoned his chopsticks, leaving them in the carton.

  “It was in the corridor, right after she died.” I remembered the look of panic on Angie’s face when she’d come bursting around the corner, begging for help. “She felt terrible about what she’d done. She starting talking…babbling, really, about her son and her husband. She was pretty panicky.”

  “How sad,” he said quietly. Joe had a very caring nature—it was one of the things that made him such a good doctor. “Depression during the holidays is more common than people think.” He paused, then asked me directly, “Did you help her pass?”

  What a nice, simple word: “pass.” As if you could pass from this life into the next as easily as leaving a room. For some, the Light gleamed, then blossomed into brilliance, and it really was that easy. A step, and then peace.

  Unless the Dark slunk in from the shadows, and pulled you into its smothering blackness, miring you down until you were sucked into an altogether different existence.

  I shuddered involuntarily, not wanting to remember.

  “I don’t know if she passed or not,” I answered honestly. “I offered to give her family a message for her, though.” Which I hope I didn’t come to regret. I’d gotten myself into some sticky situations trying to help the dearly departed, as Joe was fully aware, having been in most of them with me.

  “And?” He was clearly anxious to hear the end of the story. “What did she ask you to do?”

  “She didn’t ask me to do anything.” I shrugged, trying to act nonchalant and probably failing miserably. “We didn’t get a chance to talk very long, because something…” and this is where I hesitated, “…something else showed up.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Something else?”

  “I don’t know how to describe it,” I said, abandoning my carton of lemon chicken. “It was black and cold, like a cloud of oily smoke, floating in the air, filling the corridor.” Trying to keep my voice from trembling, I told him all of it. “It came for her—the woman who killed herself. I’m pretty sure it was the Dark.”

  His expression didn’t change.

  “The Dark,” I tried to explain. “The opposite of the Light. It came for her.”

  Joe looked at me, speechless, I’m sure, for one of the few times in his life. Sting was singing about fields of gold, while I was talking about things that would make any sane person think I was crazy. I had a surreal instant of déjà vu, surprised at how normal everything seemed.

  “Did she go into it?”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about this next part. “No.” Part of me was proud of myself for keeping her out of the Dark, but that didn’t necessarily mean she’d gone into the Light. A big part of me was worried I’d stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. I mean, what if Angie Rayburn showed up again—would the Dark be with her?

  “Why not?” he asked, very quietly.

  “I told her to run.”

  Joe closed his eyes, briefly. “You told her to run.”

  “Yes, and she did. So did I.”

  He shook his head, once again at a loss for words.

  “And that’s it,” I finished, a little nervously. “I haven’t seen her since.” Although Ernie Phelps might’ve. No need to mention that, though—totally unsubstantiated, and not worth worrying Joe over. “That’s all there was to it.”

  He made an exasperated noise, leaning back against the ottoman behind him. Putting both hands in his hair, he kept them there while he stared up at the ceiling for a moment.

  “That’s it?”

  I could almost see him making mental calculations: How much trouble has she gotten herself into this time?

  I nodded, wishing I didn’t have to tell my boyfriend things like this. Other girls just worried about their boyfriends finding out how much they spent on a pair of shoes, or whether they’d hooked up with someone else over the weekend. I had to worry about my boyfriend dumping me because I saw dead people.

  “Okay, then,” he said with a sigh. Lowering his arms, he reached forward to pick up his chopsticks. “Let’s hope you don’t.”

  And that was it. And that was also when I knew that those girls with the too-expensive shoes and the weekend hookups weren’t nearly as lucky as I was.

  “You know what?” I slid off the couch and onto my knees, coming over to him on the floor. I took his chopsticks away and laid them down very carefully before climbing onto his lap, straddling his thighs and trapping them between my own. Winding my arms around his neck, I brought my face to his, smiling into his eyes. “You’re the best boyfriend ever.”

  He grinned and slipped his hands down to grab my butt firmly with both hands. Giving both cheeks a squeeze, he maneuvered me into a slightly better position. “I am, aren’t I?”

  I laughed, enjoying his cockiness.

  He nuzzled his face into my neck and kissed me just where I liked to be kissed. His warm breath touched my ear as he murmured, “I think we’re a pretty good pair.” He kissed me again, nipping the lobe of my ear.

  My nipples sprang to life, and I felt him begin to harden beneath me. Rubbing myself against him shamelessly as I offered my neck for more attention, I agreed completely.

  And while the candles flickered, the food cooled, and Sting sang about love, we made some of our own, right there on the living room floor.

  Sometime later we got up and went into the bedroom, and made some more.

  The clock by my bed read 3:00 a.m. I wasn’t sure what woke me; the room was dark and the house was quiet. I stretched out a hand for Joe, but the bed beside me was empty.

  I lay there drowsily, half-listening, expecting to hear a toilet flush or Joe’s footsteps in the hall on his way back to bed, but there was nothing. The harder I listened, the more awake I became. Finally I tossed back the covers and got up.

  The hallway was dark except for a faint spill of light from the nightlight I kept in the bathroom. There were no lights in the living room or kitchen, either. Just as I was beginning to seriously wonder where he was, I heard Joe’s voice, a low murmur, coming from the living room. He must’ve gotten paged while I was sleeping, and gone in the other room to return the call.

  And least that’s what I thought, until I heard a woman’s voice, answering him.

  I stood frozen, certain I had to be imagining things. But then I heard her again, this time ending whatever she said with a light laugh, and I was frozen no more. My feet carried me double-time into the living room, and what I saw left me dumbfounded.

  Joe was standing by the window, stark naked. His head was thrown back, hands out, palms up. He was rock-hard, an erection jutting from his hips.

  There was something about his pose that was incredibly erotic—he looked like some dark, pagan fertility god, gilded by the moonlight that slanted through the blinds. A living statue paying tribute to the night sky; leanly muscled, nude, and completely unashamed.

  Most importantly, and perhaps most puzzling, he was alone.

  There was no woman, though a moment ago, I’d been certain I’d heard her laugh.

  “Joe?”

  He didn’t answer me. Didn’t even move, so I went closer. “Joe? What are you doing?”

  It wasn’t until I touched him on the arm that he reacted, jerking as if I’d stung him. He swung his head toward me, staring with wild eyes as he pulled away.

  “Joe, what is it?” I took another step toward him, touching him on the shoulder this time. “Are you okay? What are you doing in here?” The wildness left his eyes as he took a deep, shuddering breath, and it dawned on me that he might’ve actually been asleep.

  “Where is she?” he mumbled, sounding befuddled. “What’ve you done with her?”

  Her?

  “Joe,” I said sharply, “wake up.” I
leaned over and switched on the lamp by the couch.

  We both flinched at the onslaught of light, even though I was prepared for it and he wasn’t. A quick squint around the room showed it was definitely empty but for Joe and me.

  And yet I could’ve sworn I heard a woman.

  “What the…” He’d raised a hand to shield his eyes. “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.” I looked pointedly at his erection, which was still rock-hard.

  He squinted down at himself, obviously confused. “What time is it?” He glanced around. “Why are we in the living room?”

  I wasn’t sure why I was mad, but I kinda was. “You tell me.”

  He looked baffled, then a little sheepish, as he looked down at his now dwindling hardness. “I was dreaming.”

  “Must’ve been some dream.” I crossed both arms over my middle.

  He looked at me blankly for a second, and then, to my surprise, he started to chuckle. “Wow. I haven’t sleepwalked since I was a kid.”

  “That’s all you’ve got to say? Aren’t you going to tell me about your dream?”

  With a grin, he said, “Nope, no point. People can’t be held responsible for what they dream.”

  I had to agree. In dreams, little green men from Mars could come and paint your kitchen bright purple, using two-headed cows to do it. No one was to blame for what their brain cooked up while they were sleeping.

  Exasperated, I gave in. “Okay, okay. But what happened to your clothes?”

  “I believe I went to sleep naked.” His grin was infectious, daring me to remember why that had been the case. He shook his head, bemused. “No more Chinese food for a while.”

  “You going to blame the Chinese food for that, too?” I teased, pointing at his groin.

  “What can I say?” He grinned at me, unashamed. His green eyes glinted as he led me back toward the bedroom. “I could give you all kinds of scientific reasons why men get erections in their sleep, but the truth is, it really was quite a dream.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “I don’t care how many times you try those on, they’re still going to make your butt look big.”

  “But they’re my size,” I argued, twisting in the mirror to see the truth of Evan’s statement for myself. “Original Chess King bell-bottoms. The woman I bought them from said she wore them to Woodstock.”

  “She should’ve left them there.” He eyed me critically in the dressing room mirror, giving a dismissive shake of the head. “The rainbows on the back pockets make your ass look huge. Either that or it was all those extra helpings of mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving.”

  “Hey!” I hadn’t eaten that many mashed potatoes.

  He turned away with a teasing little smirk, twitching the curtain closed. “Magically delicious they are not. Put them back on the rack and hope someone else will buy them.”

  Frustrated, I stuck my tongue out in his direction, knowing he couldn’t see.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger,” he sang out, knowing me all too well. “It’s definitely the pockets.”

  With a sigh, I took them off. Evan’s fashion sense was rarely wrong. We disagreed, occasionally, but when he played the “big butt” card I knew better than to argue.

  So I slipped back into the black tights and plaid miniskirt I’d been wearing. I was plenty warm enough, particularly with a lightweight black turtleneck and a fleece vest. Once I pulled on my black leather boots, I was resigned to giving up the bell-bottoms. My mental motto of “Look like a million bucks, feel like a million bucks” would never work with them now. With a final peek in the mirror to fluff the pink in my hair, I came out of the dressing room to find Evan flipping through the takeout menus we kept beneath the counter.

  “How about sushi for lunch?” he asked absently.

  “Ugh.”

  “Burgers?”

  I put the jeans neatly back on the hanger. “Again?”

  “Pizza.”

  I shrugged, not very hungry after all that talk about my butt.

  “You’re a big help.”

  “A grilled chicken salad would be good,” I said. “Any type of salad, actually.”

  Evan sighed. “Boring.”

  “I know you are, but what am I?” I deadpanned, using one of Pee-wee Herman’s favorite phrases.

  “You’ve been watching old movies again, I see,” he said, giving me a look. “Don’t you and Dr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome have better things to do in the evenings?”

  I smiled at him archly, remembering exactly what we’d done last night—several times—but not about to share the details. Warm skin beneath my hands, warm lips against my…

  “Never mind,” he said hastily. “No offense, but picturing you naked will spoil my lunch. I’m going to call Butch and see if he can bring us something from that new deli over on Highland.”

  “Sounds good,” I answered absently. “Grilled chicken salad for me. I’m going to walk down to the dry cleaner and pick up the sweaters I dropped off last week.” One of the nice things about being in a business district like Little Five was that ev erything you needed was within walking distance. “Maybe I’ll even stop by the bookstore on the way to the dry cleaner, do a little Christmas shopping.”

  He gave me a sideways glance. “I need to do a little Christmas shopping, too.”

  I knew a hint when I heard one. “Okay, you closed by yourself last night, so when I come back you can leave early. I’ll close up tonight.”

  It was only fair, and it made him happy.

  “I’ll be back in an hour, tops.”

  “Don’t hurry,” he said, with a wave. “If I’m leaving early, you can take a long lunch break. Walk around the block a few times and work off those mashed potatoes.”

  I gave him the evil eye, but he just laughed.

  The air outside was perfect; crisp without being too cold, filled with the scent of wood smoke from somebody’s fireplace. Crystal Blue Persuasion had traded their regular New Age music for instrumental Christmas carols today, and the notes of “Angels We Have Heard on High” spilled out onto the sidewalk through the open doors of their shop, mingling with the tinkle of wind chimes. I hadn’t been in there in a while, so I ducked inside, thinking a set of wind chimes might make a nice gift for Grandma Bijou. I could just picture her on the big front porch of her house in Savannah, lis tening to them while she rocked in one of the old wicker rockers.

  The smell of incense overcame the scent of wood smoke, and I breathed in deep while I browsed, letting the peaceful atmosphere work its magic. Ten minutes later I was enjoying a beautifully illustrated J.R.R. Tolkien calendar when I felt the presence of someone by my side.

  I glanced over to see a young girl, about eight, staring at me. Shoulder-length brown hair with bangs, tucked behind her ears, Kewpie doll lips.

  I barely had time to be surprised, because right then I heard a familiar laugh, warm and seductive, which instantly got my attention.

  Craning my neck around the calendar display, I saw the person I least wanted to see: Selene, flirting with the guy behind the register.

  “She’s much better today,” Selene was saying. “Thanks for asking.” She smiled at him with those ruby red lips, and the guy’s eyes glazed over—I mean, you could practically see the drool begin.

  And no wonder, because she was beautiful. Movie-star beautiful. Flawless.

  “Last night, after we left the hospital, my daughter realized she’d lost her blanket. It’s pink and white—she last remembers having it here, just before my mother collapsed. Has anyone seen it?”

  Eager to be of service, the drooler checked under the counter. “No pink and white blanket in the lost and found, but I’m due for a break—maybe I can help you look for it.”

  That was about all I could take without puking, but I had nowhere to go. Besides, the little girl was still staring at me. It was creepy, actually, how she was staring at me…

  “Hello,” I murmured, giving her my best fake smile.<
br />
  She didn’t answer.

  “Oh no,” said Selene to the clerk. “Katie Bug has had that blanket since she was a baby, and it would be such a comfort to her right now. She’s been practically hysterical without it.”

  Katie Bug didn’t look hysterical. She looked calm and thoughtful, the expression in her eyes far older than her years.

  Let her remember, the little girl had said, floating over my bed. She brought it on herself, and what can she do about it? She’ll just think it was a dream, anyway.

  Abruptly, Kate giggled, as though she’d read my mind.

  I broke out in goose bumps. “Damn,” I breathed, feeling strongly that whatever ill wind had brought these people into my life was not a fluke. I was back to square one, thinking the weird dream had not been a dream, and that their appearance in my store and my neighborhood was no coincidence.

  “You said a bad word,” Kate said loudly. Spitefully, she added, “Mommy, this lady said a bad word.”

  So much for slinking away when Selene’s back was turned.

  “Oh, Nicki, it’s you.” If I was supposed to be flattered that she’d remembered my name, I wasn’t. “We didn’t perhaps leave it in your store, did we?”

  She was smiling in a friendly way, yet the hair went up on the back of my neck.

  “No,” I answered, evenly enough. “I haven’t seen it.”

  She strolled toward me, tossing her hair back as she shifted her purse on her shoulder. She was wearing red heels today, with black slacks and a camel-colored coat. “Are you sure? Maybe that nice man behind the register has seen it.”

  I shook my head. “You didn’t bring your daughter into my store. You were alone when you came in.” I didn’t want her in my store again, ever.

  “Mother is so much better today,” she offered. She stopped to idly pick up a candle, admired it, then put it back on the shelf. “I’m so relieved.”