Harrison Investigations 1 Haunted (28 page)

She made the shot, setting up the eight ball so that she could
easily call the side pocket. A second later, she sank it as well,
and victory was hers.

Her effort was met with thunderous applause, and a round of
congratulations from the friendly folk around her. She smiled, and
saw that Adam was watching from the bar, and that he seemed very
pleased to see her having a good time.

Matt still hadn't glanced her way.

Clint set his cue down and walked away, but came right back,
bearing two beers, one for her, one for himself. He clicked his
bottle to hers. "I concede. With tremendous graciousness, of
course."

"Thanks."

They both leaned against the table. He looked at her, smiling
ruefully, shaking his head. ' 'So you can play pool, too. Who would
have known?"

"My dad liked pool," she told him.

"I'm supposed to be pretty good, you know," Clint said. He
leaned closer to her suddenly. "Don't look now, but Carter is
putting the moves on Delilah at last."

"Good for him," Darcy said.

"Not a bad match," Clint mused. "He prefers to hang around
Melody House, but Carter's quite a mogul. He needs to clean up a
few of his holdings, but, hey, he has invested in a number of good
land and property deals. And there's the young councilwoman. Should
work out well, don't you think?"

Darcy nodding, sipping her beer, studying Clint. ' 'What do you
want out of life, Clint?"

He laughed suddenly. "Am I nothing more than a sad reprobate,
living off the largesse of my far more responsible family
member?" he said.

"I did not ask a question anything like that!" she
protested.

"I've actually been working very hard on a project that should
come through at any time," he told her. "But don't give me away,
huh?"

"I can't give you away. I don't know anything about it," Darcy
told him.

"Hm." He studied her. "You can't read my mind?"

"No."

"And..." He hesitated. "You really don't know anything
more than what you're saying about the ghost at Melody House."

"No. I can intuit things, sometimes, but I can't read minds,"
she told him.

His grin deepened. "That's good."

"Why?"

"Because you'd probably want to slap a lot of people a lot of
the time, if you knew what they were thinking.''

"In a strange way, I think that's a compliment."

"It's meant as a compliment-even if a strange one." He lowered
his head to whisper against her ear. ' 'What do you think old Matt
is doing here?''

"Having a beer."

"I don't think he can let you out of his sight."

"I think he'd be delighted for me to be permanently out of his
sight."

Clint shook his head. "No. You've gotten under his skin. Big
time. He's just being a jerk. Want to make him jealous?"

Darcy smiled. "Thanks-but no."

"He's nuts about you. And he should just admit it."

Darcy touched his cheek affectionately. "Chat, I'll agree that
he was attracted to me. But nothing will go beyond that."

"Why?"

"He can't deal with me."

Clint weighed that for a minute. "He can't deal with his fear
for you."

"Why should he be afraid
for
me?"

"Darcy, you should have seen him last night. Of course..."

"Of course what?" she demanded.

"I'll tell you myself. It was damned scary. And this afternoon
was worse."

She didn't answer him, but took a long swig of her beer.

"Darcy," he said, "could you take on a past experience with such
reality that you could die?''

"I don't think so."

"You don't
think
so?"

"No. I never get into a trance or allow myself to be hypnotized
unless Adam is running things. I trust him implicitly.
So...it never gets that far. He says a single word, and I snap out
of it."

"Not today."

"What do you mean?"

"He spoke to you twice before you recognized his
command."

"He probably didn't speak loudly enough," Darcy said.

"He spoke loudly," Clint told her. "Darcy, I have to admit, this
afternoon was scarier than last night. I know how determined and
confident you are, but...maybe you ought to just drop this case.
What if you wind up being in the soul or spirit or whatever it is
of the ghost-and unable to get out? Today it was as if...as if you
were
dying."

"But I wasn't."

"Still, Darcy," he said, "Aren't you ever scared
yourself?"

"Terrified, at times," she assured him.

"Then why do you do this?" he asked.

"Why do people become cops, or firefighters? What I do is
nowhere near as dangerous as anything like that."

Clint exhaled, shaking his head as he looked at her, and yet
doing so with a certain admiration. "You are a good kid, Darcy.
Still, you should give this one up."

"I can't," she said simply, and determined to change the
subject. "What about you, Clint? What is it that you really want
out of life?"

"I think I'm going to get it very soon," he said.

"What?" she pursued.

"I'm afraid if I tell anyone, I'm going to jinx myself," he
said, laughing. "Hey, but I'm not the old ne'er-do-well you think I
am. Ask Matt. Penny runs the household, Matt is the sheriff. Sure,
he has final say. And, of course, we have Sam to run the grounds.
But who do you think makes sure that the little things get done on
a day-to-day basis? I find the right roofers and carpenters, I see
that the outbuildings are repaired. I'm not such a bad guy,
really."

"I didn't suggest that you were," Darcy said. "I was just
curious about what you really wanted."

"Um, sure, because the house is Matt's." He laughed suddenly.
"Don't look at me like that. I don't have any plans to off my kin
so that I'm the only Stone left to inherit the place. I'm not sure
I'd want Melody House. The place can be a damned headache. The
upkeep is exorbitant. But don't worry about me. I have a few
college degrees of my own-I taught for a few years, did you know
that?''

"No. What did you teach?"

"English. Hey, don't look now, but the sheriff has been watching
us suspiciously. Want to make him jealous?"

"No," Darcy said, smiling as she shook her head.

"Too bad," he said, but lightly.

"Well...what shall we do now? Want to order some food? I'm
ravenous."

"Sounds good."

"And there's an empty table over there. Let me see if I can
gather the forces."

They headed for the table Clint had indicated, gathering their
group as they did so. Adam had been deep in conversation with
Matt, but the two of them joined them. Whatever his anger had been
earlier, Matt displayed none of it at the Wayside Inn.

Neither did he come particularly near Darcy. When the
conversation at the table started to veer toward the haunting
at Melody House, Matt stepped in to ask Carter about some of his
properties, and Adam kept the ball rolling, wanting to know more
about the general area. The meal passed pleasantly, and when it was
over, yawns around the table indicated that it was time to go
home.

Darcy drove back with Adam, Penny, and Carter. They reached the
house first. Darcy went straight up to the Lee Room. Adam went with
her, taking the video and audio tapes that had been running from
the recorders, and resetting them.

' 'You are all right in here?'' he asked.

"Absolutely," she assured him.

"I can stay in the chair, if you want," Adam said.

"Adam, if I don't let these dreams come, I'll never see it out
to the end."

He nodded. "But you're sure you're all right?"

"Yes! Get out, Adam. Go to bed," she told him.

He kissed her cheek, and left her.

Darcy had just started to doze when she thought she heard
movement on the balcony. She lay in bed for several seconds,
listening.

After a moment, she got up and went to the French doors, but
didn't open them. She paused, and listened. Sound...movement. She
moved the draperies, her heart seeming to pound in her throat.

There was someone on the balcony. Matt. He was at the rail near
the door to his own bedroom suite, looking out at the night.

She hesitated, wishing she could go out. There was no reason to
do so.

Painfully, she turned, and went back to bed.

The woman in white.

That night, Darcy saw her, standing at the foot of the bed. She
was in a haze; Darcy saw no details in her face, no colors, just
the woman, in sheer white, standing at the foot of the bed.

Then, she faded.

And the dream came. Somewhere inside herself, Darcy knew that
the woman was growing more desperate, determined that Darcy
understand.

Darcy slipped into the entity. Into the woman. And into the
past.

She ran.

She made it out of the bedroom, and to the landing. And
it was there that he caught her, falling upon her.

She struggled briefly, aware of his heat and strength
as
he grappled her down.

Once...

It had been so different. But now, she knew.

Still, she fought fiercely, struggled, desperate, aware that
her life was at stake. The very urgency gave her a burst of power
she might have never known that she possessed. She scratched,
swore, kicked, punched, and fought to gouge out his eyes. She
caught him with such a blow against the jaw that he went immobile,
and she took full advantage, shoving wildly against his body,
casting him off. She crawled to free herself from the sprawled
weight of his limbs. She staggered up herself, and made the first
step, but his fingers entwined around the hem of her gown, dragging
her back down. She fell atop him, the breath knocked from her, and
for a moment, they both lay panting. The pain in her temple
dazed her; she realized she had hit her head on the second step. At
her side, while she remained paralyzed, he rose up to a half-seated
position beside her. And again, their eyes met. Something within
his softened suddenly. He reached out a hand. She flinched, but his
fingers felt as gentle as raindrops against her cheeks. "I did love
you so much,'' he said.

She touched him in return. He came to his feet,
reaching
for her hands, drawing her up and against him,
and it might have been as many another night, when they had melded
together, when passion had reigned every thought, when she could
not bear to keep her hands off him, or he her. The room continued
to spin, the pain in her temple was deep...but it seemed that he
was whispering now, the words that could so arouse...and his hands,
they were on her, his lips...nuzzled those whispers against her
throat.

It was a fight, surely, nothing more. His eyes could
not
have been so deadly.

His whisper came again, against her lips, throat, her
earlobes, her mouth, hard then, crushing against her. And
she was falling...into his arms. She was aware of the sound of
his footsteps against the hard wood floor, aware of his movement as
he bore her weight.

They returned to the bedroom, and he set down upon the bed,
tenderly. She closed her eyes, thinking that the affair was too
passionate, ruled by the senses, nothing more, and yes, so totally
wrong. But he moved away, and she knew. Knew that he had left her
only to shed his clothing so that he could return, and flesh
could burn against flesh.

But...

Silence. Nothing.

The moonlight pouring into the room, but no touch of his
warmth, no vibrance and heat as he crawled atop her for he did not
do so.

A dog howled, a cry to heaven, to the night, mournful,
pathetic, prophetic.

Perhaps a storm was coming, and there would be thunder
outside, like the rage of desire that was all that had ever really
been between them. But a storm could mean a tempest, and that would
be fine, for she still felt the adrenaline racing in her
veins, but what she had seen before could not be, for he had loved
her, loved her more than she had loved him, wanted her first
without thought of consequences.

The wind blew...

But his silence continued.

A howl sounded again, eerie in the night. A rage of wind?
The baying of the hound. She didn't know. She merely felt her
heated flesh began to chill.

She came up on her elbows, searching for
him.

He stood still at the secretary. He had not moved, not cast
off his clothing in fevered abandon.

He was reading, reading what she had written. He stood dead
still, his eyes riveted on the paper, and the words that she had
written.

Then he turned to her, slowly. She saw the tension build in
his hand, and rock through his arms and chest. She felt his gaze
fall upon her with fury, greater than that she had ever seen
before, even when he had first come that night.

Fear, like icicles, ripped into her.

Terror curled around her heart.

His eyes, oh, God, his eyes.

' 'You wasted no time,'' he said aloud.

She had to escape. But perhaps, her only chance lay in
playing a game. Pretending that she didn't see the death in his
eyes.

"I was angry. You meant to leave me.''

He walked slowly to the side of the bed. "A woman scorned,''
he said lightly.

She would never know what the outcome might have been if she
hadn't sat down to write that evening. Perhaps, no different. She
had seen her own destruction in his eyes when he had first come;
this look was only a compound of that, and when they had struggled
in the hallway, it had been a reprieve and nothing more. She had
seen him when he had first arrived, seen the way he had looked up
at her from the first-floor landing, far below, staring up the
stairway, to see her at the railing.