Authors: Cassandra Gannon
Grace
refused to even listen to that beguiling image. The man wasn’t even there. She
deliberately didn’t offer him a ride, but he climbed in anyway. It was hard to
keep out a ghost who could just phase though doors.
No.
Not
a ghost.
She
was the only Rivera in sixteen generations who didn’t believe in ghosts,
because she was frigging
normal.
Grace’s trembling hands got the key in
the ignition and she peeled out onto the street, her hands clenched on the
wheel so tight that her knuckles were white.
Very,
very normal.
The
not-a-ghost beside her kept yammering. “You’ve been sent to help me. I
know
it.” He sat sideways on the upholstery, his patriot blue eyes staring at her
profile, willing her to engage in his craziness. God only knew how many poor women
the
real
Jamie Riordan had been able to win over with that hypnotic
gaze. “Please just listen to me and…”
She
reached over and turned the radio dial
allllll
the way up, drowning out
his stream of words. Salt-n-Pepa blared out, shaking the windows of the car
with the news that he was mighty good man. Jamie immediately tried to turn the
volume down again, but his fingers passed straight through the knob. She could
tell he was swearing in frustration, but she couldn’t hear it over the thumping
music and that was all that mattered.
Paying
attention to him would just lead to madness and she’d had enough madness in her
life. July 4
th
was just a few days away.
That
was why this
was happening. Grace should have known that the one year anniversary would
stir up bad memories and trigger… oddness. As soon as the holiday was over,
everything would go back to normal.
And
normal was good.
The
drive to Robert’s house only took five minutes. As curator for the
Harrisonburg Historical Museum, he was successful enough to have a large house
in the newest section of town. The upscale community was filled with identical
homes, all painted in nearly identical neutral colors with names like “summer
wheat,” “warm toffee” and “fresh cream.” Each blade of grass on the identical
lawns looked like it had been cut with a ruler. No basketball courts or
bicycles marred the identical brick driveways with evidence that children
played there. Not even fireflies dared to enter the HOA approved landscape.
Grace
felt suffocated every time she visited the manufactured perfection of Robert’s
neighborhood. The monotonous bland pressed down on her and she just wanted to
drive away as fast as she possibly could. But she didn’t. Bland was
good
.
Bland was
normal
.
She
just needed to keep telling herself that.
Grace
parked her car, relieved to see that Robert had read her mind and ordered in
food. There was already a red delivery truck was on the street, out of place
among all the luxury leases. Calling for pizza was unexpectedly thoughtful.
She’d half-expected him to go to the restaurant by himself, rather than break
his precious routine.
“Please
donea be telling me you live
here
.” Couldn’t-be-Jamie took in the rows
of cookie-cutter homes and made a face. “Slapped together and hellaciously
ugly. This part of town hurts my eyes. I expected better of you, lass.”
Because
that was
way
too close to what she’d been thinking, Grace shot him a
deadly glare. There was nothing worse than agreeing with a jackass. She
slammed the car door and started up the curved walkway.
He
arched a brow, seeing her annoyance. Like a misbehaving twelve year old, the
negative attention just encouraged him. “Oh, so
now
you’re
pissed.”
He hurried after her, his boots not making any sound on the pavement. “Why?
Because I’ve pointed out what anyone with working eyeballs already kens? This house
is a featureless monstrosity, like everything else built in the last forty
years. It should be a crime to fill up beautiful farmland with such dwellings.”
James
Riordan --serial killer and pirate-- would know all about crimes.
“You
may have been sent to help me, but perhaps I’m also supposed to help
you
.”
He persisted. “So far, your life is smashingly dull, Grace. Surely someone’s
needing to fix that for you or you’ll end up dying in this tomb of beige.” He
gestured to the house with a disdainful flick of his wrist.
Speaking
of dying, if he wasn’t already dead and buried, she’d be thinking up ways to
kill him.
“How
could such a lovely woman surround herself with such a morass of mass-produced…?”
He paused his sermon, his eyes falling on the mailbox where “Robert Johnson”
was stenciled in an elegant, curving font. “Wait, is this not your home?” He glanced
back at her, his stunning face outraged. “Oh bloody hell! Are you here to
visit a
man?
”
Grace
inhaled a cleansing breath. Stay calm. No negativity could find her in the
peaceful green cornfields of her center.
Not
that it wasn’t trying.
Captain
Wouldn’t-Shut-Up continued with his rant. “This man should
not
be a
part of your life. Not any longer. For whatever reason, you and I have been
brought together. You should be focusing on
me
.”
Her
eyes rolled so hard she nearly blinded herself.
“I’m
only trying to look out for you, lass.” He tried, switching tactics when she
didn’t respond to his illogical possessiveness. He made a show of checking her
hand for signs of a ring. “It’s unseemly for an unmarried lady to call on a
man at this hour of the night.” He arched a pious brow. “You’ll be giving
people the wrong impression.”
Grace
squeezed her eyes shut. Peaceful. Green. Cornfields.
“If
a man is courting you, he should be calling upon
your
residence,” lectured
the moral authority who knew the exact location of the town’s former brothel. “In
fact, given your injury, a
gentleman
would’ve come to collect you in his
car and driven you safely home. He should be there to assist you through this
crisis.” He gave a derisive sniff. “I was never a gentleman myself, but I
know the breed.”
Grace
couldn’t even imagine Robert coming to “assist her through a crisis.”
Maybe
her bewilderment showed, because the delusion smirked knowingly. “Of course,
ya didn’t
call
him for assistance, did you? That says much about your
relationship.” He watched her, blue eyes seeing far too much. “Do you have no
faith in this man? No expectation that he will be of service? Not even a hope
that he’ll offer you some feeling of safety?” He arched a brow. “Deep down,
do you know he’s
not
a gentleman?”
Peaceful.
Green.
Cornfields.
Grace
was staying
so
frigging calm and envisioning
so
many cornfields
that she didn’t even bother to knock on the door. She just slammed into the
house and headed for the living room. Robert had a bar set up and, possible
concussion or not, she seriously needed a drink.
“Holy
Mary, the inside is even worse than the out.” The man who wasn’t, wasn’t,
wasn’t
Jaimie Riordan came in behind her and looked around with a disapproving tsk. “Anyone
who lives here must be an absolute wanker.” Everything in the McMansion had
been picked by a decorator to be unobjectionable, but he was apparently not a
fan of matching shades of taupe.
How
unsurprising.
Braveheart
2.0 was the least subtle man she could imagine. Eighteenth century garb was known
for its outrageous use of color. Gentlemen of fashion never wore suits that
matched and Not!Jamie was clearly a fashionable guy. Dressed in a vivid yellow
waistcoat and a contrasting blue jacket, with shiny gold buttons, no one in the
modern world would ever call his outfit “tasteful.”
So
why did he look ten times better in the gaudy mix of patterns than Robert ever did
in his tailored business suits?
“You
should have seen
my
home, lass. Your beauty would’ve glowed in such
surroundings.”
Grace
sent him a surprised look. Was he flirting with her?
He
gave her a quick grin, which made her insides dip. Darn it, how was his smile
so white, if he was from the 1700s? Didn’t everybody have rotten teeth back
then? Her subconscious was totally cheating. “Aye, a bonny lass like you
would have liked my ship. The boldest shades. The most fashionable
furnishings. The best fabrics.”
Oh,
she had no doubt that he’d built a veritable palace out of his stolen
treasures. His personal style was clearly the Playboy Mansion meets
Versailles, with a little bit of Elvis-era Vegas tossed in. Grace snorted,
already picturing the circular beds and strategically placed mirrors.
The
delusion let out a rapturous sigh, ignoring the fact that she was ignoring him.
The man kept up a constant, steady stream of conversation. The subject didn’t
seem to matter as much as the knowledge that
someone
could finally hear
him. He’d barely taken his eyes off of her since she’d woken up, like he was
terrified to lose their connection.
If
this wasn’t all happening inside of her head, Grace would’ve guessed that he
was lonely. Who could blame him? She couldn’t even imagine what it would be
like to live in total isolation for centuries, with no one to…
No.
She
shook her head. No way, no how. She
refused
to feel sorry for someone
who didn’t even exist. He hadn’t been alone for hundreds of years, because he
wasn’t there at all!
“Sweet
Jesus, how I miss the
Sea Serpent
.” The pirate-who-wasn’t-there continued.
“That ship was like one of my own limbs. Sank in the War of 1812, if you can
believe it. When I heard of it, I nearly wept in…” He stopped mid-word,
muttering a quick Gaelic curse.
Grace
turned to see why he’d stopped talking. Even though she was
definitely
ignoring him, she was getting used to his chatter. His sudden silence caught
her attention. Looking around, she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary
with the surroundings. Robert wouldn’t have tolerated anything out of the
ordinary. Even the fringe on the carpet was combed straight.
“Um…”
Maybe-Jamie pushed his tri-corner hat back on his head, his eyes fixed on the
French doors leading to Robert’s office. He seemed to engage in a quick mental
debate and then moved towards her. “Let us be returning
later
, lass.”
He held out a restraining hand, like he wanted her to stay where she was. “Much
later.”
What
in the world...? Was he hiding something from her? Grace marched forward, determined
to see whatever he was trying to prevent her from seeing.
Jamie
dodged sideways, attempting to block her. As he did, his elegant palm
inadvertently passed through her chest. Passed through her heart. It was like
walking into a mist. Cool and tingly against her skin. It wasn’t being
touched
exactly, but she felt him and, judging from the astonished look on his face, he
felt her, too. For one endless beat of time, blue eyes locked onto hers.
And
Grace knew, whatever had just happened, it was real. This man standing in
front of her was
real
.
Oh
God.
As
it impossible as it seemed, Jamie was really and truly there. She was kidding
herself, pretending that he was some figment of her imagination. She was a
Rivera and Riveras weren’t normal enough to be crazy.
Jamie’s
lips parted in astonishment. “Grace…”
“No.
No
.” This couldn’t be happening. She
refused
to be some nut who
believed in ghosts, like her deranged second cousin Modesty and all her
invisible cats. …Even if Grace sometimes heard their eerie meowing, too. Shaking
her head, she quickly looked away from Jamie, desperate to focus on something
sane.
Unfortunately,
all she saw was her boyfriend’s naked ass. Robert was “busy” alright. Really,
really busy with his head buried between the thighs of the pizza delivery girl.
Grace
couldn’t do anything but stare for a long moment, descending into shock for yet
another time that evening. The man she’d thought she’d marry was a lying
bastard… but that didn’t surprise her nearly so much as the
messiness
of
the affair.
She
wrinkled her nose. Robert was too fastidious to even walk across the carpet in
his bare feet and he was having sex on the
floor?
Engaging in oral sex
with a girl covered in tattoos? He hadn’t even folded his clothes first. They
were bunched up on the ground. Maybe Robert was right and she was semi-frigid,
after all. Or maybe her therapist was right and she just had “unrealistic
expectations” about sex, because all of this just seemed kind of icky to Grace.
Darn
it, why did
everyone
have more fun than she did?
Jamie
flashed Grace a quick glance, gauging her reaction. “I donea think the man was
expecting you.” He ventured.
No
kidding.