Ghost (Executioners Book 1)

by J. M. Dabney

  Ghost

  J.M. Dabney

  © 2017 Jami M. Dabney (Hostile Whispers Press, LLC)

  ISBN-10:1-947184-00-8

  ISBN-13:978-1-947184-00-8

  Edited by: Laura McNellis

  Cover Design by: Winterheart Design (Lex Valentine)

  To all my readers who embraced Harper and wanted to know more about her, understood that she needed her happily ever after.

  A special thanks to my amazing Beta Readers Tracey, Meredith, Colleen, and Ash. They made this story great.

  Contents

  Author Note

  1. The Pain was All Harper Knew

  2. A Ghost in the House

  3. Handfasting

  4. Harper’s Lips Were Too Much Temptation

  5. Was This What a Date Was?

  6. Be Patient, Ghost, This is Harper’s Show

  7. She had Never Gotten Flowers Before

  8. Harper Wasn’t Going Anywhere, but Home with Him

  9. Harper Couldn’t Just Lie Here

  10. Dangerous Thoughts, Mr. Jane

  11. What Was She Going to Do?

  12. Joker Needed Bail Money…Again

  13. It Was So Good To Be Back at Work

  14. Ghost Really Should be at Home

  15. This Isn’t Happening

  16. Did Harper Regret It?

  17. Was Joker Actually Smiling?

  18. This was Supposed to be her Safe Place

  19. She Wasn’t a Victim

  20. There Was Only One Outcome

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Author Note

  This book contains scenes of domestic abuse, rape, and mentions of suicide and self-harm. Although, the rape is implied it is clear in the story about what happened.

  One

  The Pain was All Harper Knew

  Her reflection knew all her secrets—most of them weren’t pretty. Haunted eyes the shade of bright green stared back at her from the mirror. They were filled more often with tears than she wanted to admit. Harper Sage lived her life under the darkness of her desperation, and no one knew but her. She tilted her head down, her gaze and fingertips stroked the thick crisscrossed scars on one wrist, then the other.

  The newest scars were almost a year old. She still remembered the sting of the razor as it sliced easily through the thin, tender flesh. Warm water had turned pink as her heartbeat had steadily pumped the blood from her body. Harper had laid there, she’d grown tired, and her eyes had fluttered shut. Instead of the fear of death, Harper had only felt peace. The self-hate she’d felt for most of her life had washed away as waves ebbing back into the sea.

  Harper had thought her struggle was over until she’d awakened to a popcorn ceiling and the steady beat of a heart monitor. Her best friend, Kyle, and his wife were asleep in chairs beside her bed. Her sorrow that the peace she’d experienced was gone had choked her with a macabre sense of failure.

  Shaking those thoughts off, she sucked her lips between her teeth and forced back the sobs. Harper put her wide leather cuffs around her wrists to hide most of the scars. Standing up, the long flowing dress fell to her ankles, and the wide sleeves fell to conceal the fingertip bruises on her arms. Harper no longer hurt herself, but she found someone to take care of her self-destruction.

  It was time to put on the brave and cheerful face. The one she used to hide the pain of disdain she felt in her hometown. She bent and glanced quickly into the mirror of her vanity to check her makeup before she headed for her bedroom door.

  After she’d grabbed her purse, keys and phone, she exited her apartment. She stepped out onto the sidewalk and headed for work as if she were normal. Even though she was anything but.

  She turned left and walked passed all the funky little shops on Powers, Georgia’s side streets. Main Street looked like any other picturesque small-town scene. The diner, the hardware and farm supply store, salon, barber shop, even a tattoo shop, Twirled World Ink, and to be honest, it was all rather perfect.

  Born and raised there, everyone knew everyone else, and everyone’s dirty laundry somehow made it to the ears of all. Although Harper was adept at keeping her business to herself, there were some secrets that she couldn’t keep from the masses.

  Nightingale Books and Cafe was her place of employment, had been since she was sixteen. A mere ten-minute walk from home.

  She worked noon to close, but around there that normally meant no later than eight. Harper opened the door and smiled at the tinkling of the old-fashioned bell.

  “Oh, Harper, I’m so glad you’re here.” Her elderly boss Clora Devinne ran as fast as a woman half her age. The woman’s exuberance was addictive.

  “And why is that? Is Old Man McEnroe trying to seduce you again?” Harper stepped behind the counter and stowed her purse underneath it.

  “That old lech wishes he could have me. No, did you hear how our local hermit resident is starting to make an appearance?”

  “No, someone actually wants to be seen in this town,” she asked sarcastically.

  “This is a great town. I hear he’s rather handsome.”

  “Looking for your fifth husband, I see.” She leaned her hip against the counter and crossed her arms over her stomach.

  “You know no man can handle me. I’m seriously thinking about finding myself a nice girlfriend.”

  “Switching it up, I hear variety is the spice of life.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  She needed to change the subject quickly. “And with that, why are you so excited about the supposedly handsome, hermit resident?”

  “Well, you’re young and single.”

  Oh, she knew where this was going, and she wanted to avoid it as much as a Clora play-by-play of Clora’s newest or prospective lover.

  “No, I’m quite happy being single.” She’d become accustomed to the lie, well not exactly a lie. Harper was some man’s secret. He fucked her as long as his Neanderthal friends never found out he spent nights with the transgender freak in town. She’d grown up there, everyone knew from the day she’d worn her first dress in public. Bill had threatened to kill her more than once if anyone found out—she had the bruises to attest to his temper.

  “No, you’re not,”

  Harper didn’t bother arguing because she knew it would do her no good. Sometimes matchmaking was Clora’s part-time job.

  “What sensible woman would want to deal with the backward yokels around here?”

  “They’re not all that bad.”

  “Can we change the subject?”

  “Fine, the guy is named—”

  Harper groaned and strode from behind the counter to the cart of books ready to shelve.

  “Don’t do that, you know you’re curious. I hear he’s in King’s band.”

  “No, I’m really not interested, and if he’s in King’s band, the man is more than likely gay.” She had one violent asshole that wouldn’t acknowledge her, and she didn’t need another. The one she had was plenty to enable her self-destruction and her masochistic borders only extended so far.

  “You’re no fun, honey,”

  “That I won’t deny.” She moved down each aisle, placed the books and continued all the while Clora dogged her steps.

  “You can’t spend all your time with Kyle or here. When is the last time you went out?”

  She spun toward Clora and the woman merely smiled. “I’m just not sociable.”

  “Not everyone cares, Harper, and you know that.”

  “I have proof to the contrary.” Surprisingly strong arms wrapped around her and hugged her tight. She blinked rapidly to chase away the tears. Harper smiled as Clora stepped back.

  “I’m going to go, community
dinner at Bohemia tonight. You should come out to the farm soon, it’s been awhile.”

  “Yeah, Buddha called me the other day to check on me. He’s such a pain in the ass.” The middle-aged man probably had a last name, yet no one ever asked. He had a small farm outside town. A little Bohemian paradise—a safe haven. In her teens, she’s spent more time there than she did at home.

  “Yes, he is, but he considers you part of the community, and you know he likes to keep his odd little flock close.”

  “I told him I’d come out Sunday for Rochelle’s Handfasting. She finally found the woman of her dreams.”

  “Love seems to be in the air out there. Be good, close up early if we don’t have anyone after seven.”

  “Okay.”

  She loved Clora, but the woman sometimes drove her nuts with the you need to find a boyfriend spiel. When the phone rang, she jogged toward the counter and picked up the receiver. “Nightingale Books, how can I help you?”

  “Yes, I was wondering what your hours were?”

  The gravelly voice was strangely attractive, and the thought took her by surprise.

  “The sign says eight, but if we’re not busy, we sometimes close at seven.”

  There was a long pause, and she was about to ask was he still there when he finally spoke. “Okay, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She hung up and went to finish the books.

  Hours passed slowly with sporadic customers, but Monday was normally a dead day anyway. She curled up on one of the couches with a book and a cup of tea. Clora had said to close up at seven, but she wasn’t ready to go home. A bit of reading then she’d get the paperwork done, lock up and then make the night drop.

  Harper heard the door open just as she turned the page and she looked up to find a ginger stranger looking around. He was bulky, but not like a bodybuilder, more like someone who worked hard. Yet his belly was rounded giving him a certain softness. His jaw was broad with a full beard and mustache, and he had surprisingly full lips and high cheekbones. His eyes were almond shaped, and they were an odd mix of pale azure and moss green. The stranger’s clothes were in good condition, but slightly dirty as were his black work boots.

  “Hi, can I help you,” she asked as she set her book aside and stood.

  “Yeah, I called earlier.”

  Wow, the voice was sexier in person.

  “I’m Harper.”

  “Gideon. I was told there was a bookstore in town, but I don’t come to town much outside of errands.”

  “For a small store, we have a great selection, but if there’s something you want that we don’t have, we’ll do special orders. You looking for something in particular?”

  “I like mysteries and thrillers.”

  “Heard of O’Brien Shaw?”

  “No.”

  “You’re in for a treat, come on, he has a great series. We have most of them, so if you like the first one, we can set you up with the rest.” Harper’s fingers stroked along the spines. She knew the layout by heart and found what she was looking for easily.

  “What kind of books are they?”

  “Fifties Noir detective. Very gritty. Damaged hero, but I always find those the most interesting. His writing style is unique. Here.” She slipped it from the shelf and handed it to him, Gideon seemed to avoid touching her.

  He turned the book over in his hands, and she waited while he read the back.

  “Would you like coffee or tea, we have some pastries, cookies.”

  “No, thank you. Do I have time to look around?”

  “We’re open until eight.”

  “But you said you closed at seven, I don’t want to keep you.”

  “It’s fine. Take your time and when you’re ready I’ll be up front.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered and turned his attention back to the book.

  She nodded and backed up a few steps, she took the long way to avoid squeezing through the small space between his big body and the shelf.

  The shrill ring of the phone caused her to jump, and she rushed to answer it.

  “Nightingale Books, how can I help you?”

  “I’m coming over.” Bill’s voice made her cringe.

  “I won’t be home for a while.”

  “You should be closed by now.”

  She could hear the impatience in his voice that didn’t bode well for her. The guys he worked with shouted in the background. Some of the voices she heard were slurred and just meant her night would get so much worse.

  “I have a customer.”

  “I’ll be at your place in fifteen, get rid of 'em.”

  “I can’t kick him out. I’ll be home after he’s done and I finish the paperwork.”

  “Fifteen minutes.” The called ended.

  Harper held the receiver to her ear as she nervously chewed on her bottom lip. Her hands shook as she hung up. To keep her mind from the pain in store for her when she got home, she started cleaning and getting ready to close. Time passed, and she was turning the open sign off.

  “I’m done.”

  She jumped as Gideon spoke.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine, my mind was elsewhere. Did you find everything you were looking for?” She turned to find him awkwardly holding an armful of books.

  “Yes,” he answered and turned toward the checkout counter.

  Harper walked behind it and started ringing him up, smiling to herself at some of his choices. She hadn’t taken him for the philosophy type, but there were several books by Sartre, Nietzsche and Schopenhauer. She packed them into reusable bags that they used instead of paper or plastic.

  “Are the bags extra?”

  “No, we don’t use anything else. Repeat customers just bring their bags with them. Clora, she owns the place, is very environmentally conscious.” She gave him the total, and he handed over his card.

  While he signed the slip, she placed several cookies into a paper bag and packed them into one of the bags.

  “How much,” he asked.

  “On the house.” He just nodded. “Have a good night.”

  “You too. It was nice meeting you.”

  Gideon picked up the bags and headed for the door, she noticed he darted one last look at her before opening the door. Harper wondered what the stranger thought or if he’d heard all the rumors, and she was just the town spectacle.

  She watched him until he disappeared from sight and her shoulders drooped, she collapsed into herself. As quickly as possible, she counted the register and ran the credit cards. It didn’t take long to write out the deposit. On autopilot, she finished and locked up for the night.

  The bank was just across the street, so she put the bag in the night drop and turned to head home. Harper kept a slow pace. She couldn’t call Bill her boyfriend, friends with benefits wasn’t right either. He was like the slice of a razor, the one she no longer used on the inside of her thighs or wrists. He was the cigarette burns on her stomach. Yet like those things, she didn’t want them, but the part of herself that still hated what she used to be, craved them.

  She paused at her door, placed her palm on it and closed her eyes. Harper opened it and stepped inside.

  “About fucking time. Didn’t I tell you fifteen minutes?” Bill kept his voice low, but the backhand to her cheek was loud enough.

  Stars exploded behind her closed lids, and her ears rang.

  She stumbled backward into the door. His fingers enclosed her throat, and he increased the pressure slowly to draw out her fear. She clawed at his wrist as she struggled to breathe.

  “You do what I say, who else would want you, freak.” It wasn’t a question.

  No one else did, or have, and no one else ever would.

  Her visions fogged at the corners, the ripping of fabric highlighted his intent. She quickly found herself bent over the couch, there was no kiss or gentle preparation only grunts and searing pain. Each time more violent and painful than the last, but how long did she have to wait for him to
do what she couldn’t—how long did she have to wait to die?

  Two

  A Ghost in the House

  The deep bass of the drum beat vibrated beneath the thick soles of his work boots as it came from the speakers in every corner of the open room. Gideon Jane lifted his perspiring mug to his mouth at regular intervals while he studied the crowd at Brawlers.

  His cousin Gregory was wrapped around his husband Bull on the opposite side of the room. Gregory was gorgeous like a model and Bull, twenty years older, with his black hair more silver and his rough edges, perfectly complemented Gregory. They strangely fit and to be honest, he was pathetic by the jealousy he felt over the obvious love Bull had for Gregory. He’d thought he’d had that.

  The last few years were filled with too many downs. His twenty-yearlong partnership to the person of his dreams ended. The man he’d thought he’d spend the rest of his life with moved on quickly.

  It started out as an awkward blind date in college. Gideon’s first with a man. He’d realized he was bisexual in his teens, but with his family, he’d kept it to himself. Once he was away at college, he wouldn’t hide anymore. Joe was handsome, a few years older, charming, and funny. The kiss which ended that date was perfect. A year later, they were living together.

  Gideon wasn’t a small man. Always oversized and too padded around his abdomen, but Joe hadn’t minded. Seemed to love the chubby ginger eighteen-year-old. They’d spent hours holding each other; cuddling on the couch or in bed. Or at least that’s what he’d believed.

  It started out with a perpetual diet, gym memberships, and endless comments about his weight. He wanted to think it was out of love and he’d let himself believe it for years until the first affair he’d forgiven; along with the ones that followed. Men who were lean and handsome, women that were willowy and gorgeous.