by Amy Ravenel
“Can we get back to the point?” Tristan’s voice rose. His hands shook. His lunch pitched and tossed in his stomach. He leaned forward, his grip tightening on his bottle. “Why did you keep this from me?” He waved his bottle in a circle, encompassing the room.
Zack raked a hand through his hair. “You’d have used it as an excuse, man. You were looking for anything to keep you in your parents’ basement, locked away like some crazy person. I wasn’t going to give you one.” He sat back, his face beaming. “Besides, history bothers you, not ghosts. It’ll be fine.” He took a swig of beer. “She won’t bother you at all.”
“But she touched me.” Tristan fidgeted in his chair as his eyes darted around the room. The memory of her icy touch lingered in his mind. Part of him wanted to see her again, but the other part wanted her to never come back.
“She touched me the first day we moved in, too. I think it’s her way of saying hello.”
Kayla snuggled closer to Zack. “I still think there’s more to her. I’ve never seen her, though. She only seems to let men see her.” She trembled. “It’s weird.”
Tristan gulped down the rest of his beer, hoping to dull the nerves. “Yeah, weird.”
If I ignore it, it will go away. Tristan wasn’t sure how true that mantra was, but he was going to apply it to the ghost situation. She didn’t reappear for the rest of the weekend, and for that, he was grateful. She had studied him like he was a curious insect. Why had she touched him? Why had he been so tired after she had? He had seen other ghosts a couple of times before, thanks to Drew’s love for hunting them. None had ever touched him, though, or left him feeling like his arms weighed a ton.
Who was she? And why did she haunt an apartment building? If any ghost would haunt that place, he thought for sure it would be one of the three men who had apparently died there. He shivered at the thought. Death visions were the worst, especially when he felt the person dying along with seeing it.
Tristan stepped out of the building late Monday morning, determined to forget all about Saturday night. His days of dealing with the supernatural were over. All he wanted to do was go to class, do his job, and live his life. He was too busy keeping visions out of his head. He didn’t have time to deal with a ghost.
He pulled his jacket tighter around him. Even in late August, the mornings were chilly in the mountains. Adjusting the shoulder strap on his messenger bag, he headed for the college.
His building, Hidden Forest Apartments, sat on the edge of the small Blackwood College campus. The college was half the size of the larger UNC-Asheville and focused on the liberal arts. Most of the students who went there continued on to get master’s degrees and PhD’s. Tinier was better in Tristan’s opinion, and being able to walk to school and work was a bonus.
Minutes later, he was following Dr. Isaac Smith out of a medium-sized office.
“I’ve got a good feeling about you, son. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders.” Smith talked a mile a minute as he walked. For a portly, older gentleman, he moved fast. Tristan jogged to keep up with him. “It isn’t easy to be a graduate assistant, what with all the freshmen, papers to grade, and your own school work. But I bet you’re going to like it.” They zipped around a corner.
Tristan broke in when Smith took a breath. “Yes, sir. I’m glad to be here.” He was surprised he got a word in edgewise. Smith had been talking since the moment Tristan entered his office two hours earlier. If he had been allowed to head to his own office in the first place, Tristan would have made it there much faster. He was the newest graduate assistant, though, and Smith said that he liked to give tours to the new recruits.
The morning had already been long. He had spent it signing papers and meeting everyone from the history department, probably the whole college. There were so many people he couldn’t keep their names straight.
He had said hello to Dr. Ian Cameron, the head of the history department. He was a jovial, slender white man with brownish-green eyes and gray hair who asked Tristan way too many questions. He wanted to know where Tristan saw himself in five years and what he planned to take away from his studies at Blackwood. Tristan couldn’t remember the other questions he had been asked after he left Cameron’s office.
Smith took a sharp turn and stopped short in front of a wooden door at the beginning of a corner. Tristan caught himself before he bumped into the older man’s back. Smith grinned and gestured to the doorknob. “Welcome to your home away from home, son.” He stroked his graying beard, pleased with himself.
A smile spread across Tristan’s face. He was going to have a normal life, as long as he kept his head down and stayed out of his own way. He placed the key in the lock and twisted the knob.
The office for the history graduate assistants had been a large classroom at one time. Two wooden desks faced each other from opposite sides of the room. One was to the right, beside the door. Nothing but a computer sat on the desktop. The other one rested between two large windows and had a huge purple bag lying on it. Picture frames, their black backs visible to Tristan, sat around the desktop computer. Wooden bookshelves lined the back wall, filled with musty books. It was everything he had dreamed.
“You’ll be sharing this space with one other graduate assistant, Jaime Liu. It looks like she’s stepped out right now, but I’m sure you’ll get a chance to meet her,” Smith said. He indicated the empty desk. “This’ll be yours.”
A slender woman with long, wavy, brown hair bounced through the door, a bottle of Mountain Dew in her hand. She smiled when she saw Tristan. “Hi.” She held out her tan hand. “I’m Jaime.”
Tristan shook her hand and introduced himself.
“Welcome. It’ll be nice to have someone new around here.” She bustled over to the desk near the windows and set down her drink.
“Thanks.”
Jaime grinned as she settled in her chair. “First day, huh?”
“Yeah.”
She leaned forward. “It’s not so bad here, but that one,” She pointed to Smith, “will talk your ear off.”
Smith chuckled. “Ms. Liu, you flatter me.”
Tristan smiled as he touched his desk. It was worn and well used, but it was his. His skin tingled, and his vision shifted. Jaime and Smith vanished. The room changed right before his eyes.
“Tell me you love me.”
Empty desks sat in straight rows. A stack of papers and a briefcase lay on the teacher’s desk. He had so many papers to grade, but he didn’t want to leave the room. Not yet. A beautiful young woman with long, dark hair sat in the corner front desk. Her legs were crossed at the ankle and her red dress stopped at the knees. She smiled, and her whole face brightened. Bangs fringed her eyes, a red hair band with a rose on the side held the rest of her hair back. A hint of lavender wafted past him.
She leaned forward. “Tell me you love me.” She stood. “Tell me like you mean it.”
Heat ran through his entire body as his breath caught. He opened his mouth to answer her.
Tristan closed his eyes as he remembered who and where he was. She’s not real. She can’t be real. He sank into the empty chair, frustration seeping into his chest. His heart pounded. Sweat beaded his brow. He was torn between taking the woman into his arms and pretending she wasn’t there. Neither of these feelings belonged to him. They belonged to whoever’s past he was witnessing. He had to remember that.
“Mr. Johnson?” Smith’s smooth cadence broke through the vision still playing out against the back of Tristan’s eyelids. It was enough to anchor him in the present. He opened his eyes to see both Smith and Jaime hovering over him.
He took a deep breath. “I’m good.” He forced a smile back onto his face, but it felt more like a grimace. The small bit of pain he felt earlier bloomed into a full-blown headache. He met Smith’s worried blue eyes and Jaime’s concerned light brown ones. He had to remain calm and seem normal. He didn’t want anyone to think he was unhinged on his first day.
Tristan scanned the room once more. Everythin
g looked like it had when he walked in. There was nothing left of the strange vision. Even though he had seen the office when he interviewed for the position, this was the first time he’d set foot in it. He’d expected the usual shadows and whispers, but he hadn’t expected an image that strong. He took a moment to adjust the strength of his shields.
Smith cleared his throat. “Well, if you’re all right, I’ll leave you to the rest of the paperwork. If you have any questions, I’m right down the hall.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Smith left, his whistle echoing down the passageway.
“You sure you’re okay?” Jaime continued to hover near his desk.
He waved her away. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He patted his stomach. “Not enough breakfast.”
Jaime cast one last worried look at Tristan before walking back to her desk.
Tristan sank into his seat and prayed he wouldn’t see anything else.
2
“Oh, man! How can you handle sauce that hot?” Zack winced as he gulped down his beer. He shook his head, his eyes watering. “I’m going to need some water.”
Tristan bit into one of his chicken wings, moaning. Spicy goodness danced on his tongue. It didn’t compare to his mother’s cooking, but it was still good. “It’s in my genes. Besides, I didn’t ask you to eat one.”
“You know I can’t resist a challenge.” Zack took a bite out of his bacon cheeseburger.
“How you can eat anything with mayonnaise in it, I’ll never understand.” Tristan rested his back against the brick wall and put his feet on the empty end of the wooden seat. He finished off the wing, savoring the burn. Ah, the spicier, the better. Even if it wasn’t as spicy as he liked.
“You’re jealous because mayonnaise gets all the hot girls.” Zack nudged Kayla’s side.
She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re both idiots, you know that?”
“You love me anyway.” Zack planted a noisy kiss on her cheek.
Tristan relaxed, half-listening to his friends banter back and forth. This Friday night celebration was needed after making it a full week at the new job. He had spent it planning and preparing for the two classes he was teaching, but the best part was all the visions of the past had left him alone. Well, except for the strange girl he kept seeing in his office. Trying to convince his office mate he was fine was getting harder. Jaime was too perceptive for her own good.
The restaurant celebration had been Zack’s idea. They hadn’t seen much of each other since Tristan moved in. Zack was busy doing lawyerly grunt work for his boss while Kayla eased her second graders into the school year. And, of course, there was the wedding planning. Tristan had invited Drew to join them, but he said he had a ghost in a church to destroy. Drew had a tendency to exaggerate.
“Okay, I’m glad I’ve got you here.” Kayla grinned, and Tristan knew something about the wedding was coming. “We need to get you sized for your tux.”
“Honey, the wedding isn’t until April.” Zack popped a fry into his mouth.
Kayla pinned him with a glare. “Do you realize how much work goes into planning a wedding? Do you? Everything has to be perfect, Zack. Everything.”
Zack held up his hands. “I surrender.” Lowering them, he wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m your willing servant.”
Tristan chuckled. “Just tell me where to go, and I’ll be there.”
“Good. I’ll get you all of the information. Now.” Kayla relaxed as she sipped her drink through her straw. “How is the life of a college professor?”
“I’m not a college professor yet.” Tristan popped a fry into his mouth, his head bopping to the rock song playing over the speakers. “Got several more years before I get there.”
“Still. What’s your office like?”
Tristan thought about the vision of the strange girl and almost shared it with them. No. He wanted the night to be normal. No vision talk. “It’s big. Used to be a classroom once. I share it with one other person, Jaime. She’s almost finished with her history PhD and knows way more than I do.”
“Oh?” Kayla perked up.
“No.” Tristan pointed at her with a wing. “No matchmaking.”
She nudged his foot. “Come on. You haven’t been on a date in forever.”
“I’m not dating my office mate, Kayla.”
“Any? You know?” Zack twirled a finger around his ear.
“Crazy people?” Tristan asked, welcoming the change in subject.
“No. You know, the vision stuff.”
Tristan laughed. “That was not the universal symbol for visions, dude.” He shook his head and bit into another wing. Instead of answering, he slid into another line of conversation. “What about your ghost? Seen her lately?”
Zack shrugged and sat back. “Off and on. She looked a little brighter the other day.”
“Brighter?”
“More solid, maybe.”
Kayla shifted in her seat. “Can we talk about something else?”
And that line of conversation was dropped.
That night, Tristan tossed and turned, but sleep wouldn’t come. He opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. Wide awake with energy to spare. Something was off, but he had no idea what. The fine hairs on his arm stood on end.
A white glow appeared at the foot of his bed. He bolted upright and slid back into his headboard. Huddling in the corner, he yanked his blankets to his chin. Cold crept into his bones as the back of his neck prickled. It was like he was five again and terrified of a thunderstorm. A wind only The White Lady felt tossed her long hair around her face.
He’d almost talked himself into believing she wasn’t real. But there she was, floating at the end of his bed. And Zack was right. She did look brighter and a little more solid.
“Who are you?” Tristan tried to climb out of the bed, but his legs wouldn’t move. Nor did his hands release the blankets. “What do you want?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she floated to the left side of his bed, her unblinking eyes staring at him. A finger rested on her lips signaling for him to be quiet.
Everything inside of him told him to run, but his muscles disobeyed. He stayed still as she reached for him. She placed her hand on his forehead, an unmoving block of ice. Something pulled on his brain as if it were tied to the end of a rope. A small ache pulsed between his eyes, growing more painful with each tug. He opened his mouth to yell, but nothing came out. The longer the ghost touched him, the heavier his arms and legs became. The White Lady glowed brighter until she was solid. The edge of Tristan’s vision dimmed. He sank into his pillows. It took so much effort to lift his arm.
“What did you do to me?” he mumbled.
The White Lady removed her hand with a whispered, “Thank you.”
When she vanished, the room grew warmer.
He lay there, staring at the empty space where she had been. He winced as a headache erupted behind his eyes. It was as if a truck had slammed into him. Pain killers. He needed a pain killer. He moved the comforter, and his feet hit the cool hardwood. It took effort to wipe his eyes. It had to be a dream. A weird, strange nightmare. For some reason, the ghost was in his subconscious. That was all.
But he was so tired. He shook his heavy head and glanced at the digital alarm clock on his nightstand. Two a.m. He tried to stand and stumbled under his own weight. He pressed his palms against his nightstand, taking a deep breath. Then another. When he was no longer wobbling, he inched away from the support until he had his balance back.
Whatever had happened might not have been a dream after all. He looked back at the place where The White Lady had been. What had she done to him?
Pulling on a white T-shirt, he dragged his feet down the hall. He padded into the kitchen and poured a glass of milk. Grabbing some medicine, he stepped onto the balcony. The cool air hit his skin. He breathed deeply, letting the air rejuvenate him. The night was clear, and he picked out several constellations. The moon peeked out over a line of trees in the distance. H
e tossed back the pills and chased them with milk before leaning against the railing. He let his head droop forward.
Tristan loved this time of year in the mountains, summer fading into fall. The nights and days grew cooler, and the leaves exploded into different colors. The mountain ranges burst with reds, golds, and oranges. It was much better than the humidity that hung around the coast until January.
A loud crash shattered his thoughts. Tristan’s head jerked up in time to see someone pitch backwards out of a window at the other end of the building. The man’s body tumbled down, his scream ringing in the quiet night. He smacked the pavement below, a sick wet thump. Dark liquid pooled around his body. The glass of milk slipped from Tristan’s slack fingers.
He shut his eyes. Was it another vision? He checked his shields. Nothing slipped. He ran his hands over his face. He was tired. Maybe he was sleeping standing up. Opening his eyes, he saw the body still there and lights coming on in the windows around the one he fell from.
Tristan raced inside and grabbed his cell phone.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“I just saw someone fall out of a window.” He threw on a jacket. “No. No, it looked like someone pushed him.”
He flung open his door, racing for Zack’s apartment. The man fell from that end of the building. Maybe Kayla and Zack had seen something.
“Sir, what’s your address?”
Tristan rattled it off as he raised his hand to knock on his friends’ door. It swung open before he had a chance. Kayla stood there, her eyes wild.
“Zack’s dead! He’s dead! She pushed him!” She ran past him, leaving him stunned in her wake.
Tristan stood in the open doorway. Zack was dead? But he couldn’t be dead. He had seen him earlier. Zack was fine.
“Sir?” The dispatcher’s voice was distant.
A woman laughed, the sound like musical notes in the hallway. Then, the door slammed in Tristan’s face.
3