HauntMe

by Lena Loneson

  It was the low sound of male laughter that finally surfaced in his mind.

  Someone was in the house.

  Chapter Nine

  Awakened

  Minerva’s dreams were a strange blend of the portentous and the erotic.

  She lay tied to an altar, marble cold against her back, ropes tight around her wrists and legs, the fraying knots digging into her skin. She should have been frightened but the pain only heightened her arousal. Bram kneeled above her, legs resting on either side of her shoulders. His ass pressed into her chest, holding her down as forcefully as the ropes. She craned her neck, raising her mouth to his cock. A bead of pre-cum shone eerily blue in moonlight whose origin she couldn’t see. Her mind vaguely registered that tonight was a new moon, so if she could see the light she must be dreaming. She strained forward, parting her lips and releasing her tongue to taste with the tip. She leaned closer and closer, watching the liquid shimmer in the moonlight.

  Hot damn, she was cold. But it wasn’t the marble at her back.

  She shivered and rolled over, then rolled again, reaching out to grasp the blankets that should have been covering her sleeping body, the log cabin patterned quilt passed down from her grandma—

  The quilt was hovering three feet above the bed.

  Even without any light from her bedroom window, Minerva’s eyes made out the lighter gray among colorless tones in the room. What the fuck?

  Her left arm fumbled for the bedside lamp.

  No. Bram’s voice was urgent. Terrified.

  “What is it?” she whispered, trusting completely in the moment between sleep and wakefulness that her husband was a ghost and there to help her, even if her consciousness hadn’t quite accepted it yet.

  There’s someone in the house. Bram’s voice. Certain. Authoritative.

  Shit. Her whole body froze, lying still on top of the bed. She took a deep breath and sat up slowly.

  Minerva’s first thought was of the alarm system, but no, she clearly recalled touching the buttons beneath her fingers as she’d wandered back in from the pool, a ritual so familiar that it would be strange not to complete, the female “Armed” voice soothing in her normalcy. The alarm had been set. There was no way someone could have gotten in without setting off a ricochet of squealing warnings complete with a phone call from her security company and the arrival of the police if she didn’t answer.

  She’d left her cell by the piano earlier but she’d still hear it. And certainly there were no police sirens.

  If she’d been alone, Minerva would have dismissed her apprehension as that of a paranoid, nightmare-filled mind. But Bram had been the one to wake her, to warn her.

  And now she heard the hardwood floor creak directly below her.

  Yes. Footsteps—no mistaking them. Minerva took a breath and held the oxygen deep within her lungs, forcing herself awake and focusing solely on her sense of hearing.

  Two creaks, heading northeast toward the stairs. Whoever it was, he was coming upstairs.

  In her mind she pictured the last location of her cell phone. Before she’d gone outside to the pool, she had tossed it haphazardly on an end table by the piano. She didn’t have a landline, believing them to be outdated and useless. There was no way to summon help from anywhere on the second floor.

  Minerva slid one foot off the bed, touching her toes to the plush area rug below. Another creak. She slipped a second foot down to join it and clenched her core muscles, pulling her body to the edge of the bed. She reached down, fumbling in the darkness for her prize—a baseball bat she kept secreted beneath the bed.

  Her hand at first met solely air and rug. She leaned farther, grasping desperately at the blank space where her weapon should be. When her manicured nails touched the aluminum of the bat, she sucked in a sigh of relief.

  She grasped the bat in both hands, curling her fingers around the metal weight of it. She rose to her feet, steadying herself, the last vestiges of sleep gone. How long had it been since she’d played baseball? Her heart rattled in her chest. Her hands felt numb and bloodless. Would her body remember the experience of swinging a bat properly, her hips thrusting to the right and filling her arms with energy? How long had it been since she’d taken a self-defense class? Would she know the right time to drop the bat and go for a man’s eyes with her nails, for his throat with her teeth?

  Minerva felt a small gust of wind against her back, warm and steadying. Bram. Whatever she had to do, he would be with her, guiding her. He’d woken her, warned her. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark and she knew the house—she could see the stepstool by the open bedroom door, a potential tripping hazard, and she could see the steep flight of stairs less than six feet past the door. Whoever they were, she knew the house better than they did.

  She knew the sound of feet on the third stair. A squeak almost silent to ears other than hers. Someone was coming up to meet her.

  Her mind flashed back to the vision she’d had at the studio—a dark-haired man with sunken cheeks, his hands soaked with blood, holding a beating heart high in the air.

  Minerva’s hands tightened on the bat. She wanted to whisper to Bram but she couldn’t risk giving away her position. With luck the intruder would stumble into the upstairs bathroom first and she could surprise him. The footsteps on the stairs moved higher.

  A flicker of light passed over the hallway floor. Whoever it was, he had a flashlight, so Minerva’s advantage wasn’t a hundred percent—but he didn’t know she was awake.

  And he doesn’t know you have me. However faint my powers might be.

  If only Bram were strong enough to creep to the stairs and find out what was going on! What good was a ghost who could barely protect his wife? Just as Bram had promised to be the provider but gambled their money away, now even in the afterlife he was letting her down.

  What a horrible thought. Minerva was glad he couldn’t read her mind. She told herself it was the stress and not her true feelings.

  The light trickled through the hallway and into her bedroom. Within seconds the intruder would see her.

  You have to move now!

  She knew! Damn it, she wasn’t an idiot. Minerva rushed forward, swinging the bat high. As she stumbled into the hall, leaden-footed, she grasped the bat in her hands, twisting at the waist for power, and began to swing—

  “Wait! Nerv, it’s me!”

  Minerva stopped suddenly, confused. The bat jerked from her grip, though she kept hold of it with one hand. The intruder held the flashlight to his face.

  “Don’t hurt me!” It was a high male voice, more a child’s than a man’s.

  Light glinted off a tangled mop of red hair. His hands held the flashlight high above his hand, both arms raised in surrender. It was Greg, his pale, guileless face making her laugh out loud in relief at her foolishness.

  “Greg, what the hell are you doing in my house? You scared the shit out of me!” Minerva Silence, Sex Psychic, never used profanity unless it was in describing something fantastically dirty, but she let the words escape her mouth now. She dropped the bat and her lips formed into a smile. Thank the spirits, it was just Greg.

  “I’m sorry, Nerv. I didn’t mean to scare you—” he continued, but her overstressed mind couldn’t focus. Her stomach was doing somersaults with fear and she couldn’t rein it in.

  Speaking of spirits, was there a something forming behind Greg? A body seemed to coalesce in the air, the faint outline of a man shimmering behind her assistant. Yet this one triggered no fear. Towering over Greg at at least six-two, Minerva could see a mist forming, gray lighter against the blackness of the hallway, Bram’s height…was it him? Could she finally see him? Her smile grew bigger, until she realized he was pointing, holding his arm outstretched in front of his ghostly body, shaking it, desperately gesturing behind her—

  That’s when the hand clasped at her mouth, pressing a cloth to her lips and nose. Minerva inhaled involuntarily, noxious fumes traveling down her airway, and her last dizzy thought
was a ridiculous plea that the intruder not harm Greg, he was just a kid, really, and one of her best assistants.

  Chapter Ten

  Bram

  He was helpless as they tied her down.

  Why was he still here, tied to the Earth, if there was nothing he could do to save her?

  There must be something.

  There must.

  Chapter Eleven

  Power

  When she woke up, Greg’s twisted grin was the first thing she saw. Well. She didn’t have to worry about his safety, then.

  Her mind didn’t bother playing justification games, puzzling out benevolent reasons why Greg might have had a friend drug her. No, he’d betrayed her. The situation wasn’t okay.

  Minerva closed her eyes quickly, keeping her body limp. She was fastened to the chair from her makeup table, hands cuffed behind her. The wooden back of the chair dug into her spine through the silk of her robe. The thin, pink fabric didn’t protect her from the chill in the bedroom.

  How long had she been there? She was freezing.

  What was he doing there? Her assistant had violated her bedroom, her most private space. How had he gotten past the alarm? She wanted to thrash and fight, throw herself forward in the chair, bite at him, yank at her arms, breaking the cuffs.

  If he hadn’t seen her awaken, better to take a few moments to figure out the situation. The room reeked of sweat. The overhead light had been turned on. It hurt Minerva’s eyes but she focused on not blinking or making any sudden movements. She kept her eyelids low, peering out beneath long lashes.

  Greg loomed over her, red hair glinting clearly in the room now with the light turned on. Greg’s eyes were bright and frantic with excitement rather than fear. He wore black from head to toe. Farther back, leaning against the wall, was another man, Mexican and also clad in black, wearing a bored expression, his eyes lazily tracing up her bare legs.

  Instantly Minerva thought, He’s the experienced one. Greg is the weak link.

  She could beat this.

  The next thing she noticed was the bulge under his T-shirt, at his side. He might have been happy to see her but she was pretty sure that was a gun. Her evaluation of the situation moved from “bad” to “dire”.

  Minerva focused her attention again on her own body. Her shoulders were thrust forward awkwardly with her arms restrained behind her with a pair of handcuffs. The metal was cold against her skin. She couldn’t feel her fingers. She slowly wiggled her toes, making no sudden movements. Her bare feet, buried in the plush rug, were the only parts of her that felt normal. The rest of her body was bruised and sore. Likely she’d fallen before they’d hauled her up onto the chair, treating her without any particular consideration. Her wrists ached. She imagined they’d been rubbed raw but she didn’t crane her neck behind her to see them. She wouldn’t take her eyes off Greg.

  He was silent, standing three feet away, towering above her, staring. His eyes roved over her arms, flicking quickly over the cleavage exposed where her robe gaped at her breasts. Unlike the Mexican, Greg’s staring wasn’t of the bored, seen-it-all-before variety. That smile twitched at his lips. The fingers of his right hand drummed frantically on his thigh. His left hand held a switchblade, gripped lightly between the fingers, but awkwardly, as if it were unfamiliar in his hand. She wondered if he was on something.

  What were they going to do to her?

  How was she going to get out of there?

  She squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in air through her nose, trying to calm herself. She felt her pulse hammering in her neck and wrists. Her body began to shiver.

  With her next inhalation came the scent of citrus and tea.

  Bram.

  She felt light, warm fingers rubbing against her shoulders, flicking lightly through her hair, massaging her temples. Her body stopped its shivering. Her pulse slowed and relaxed.

  He was still here, then. She hadn’t dreamed the encounters in the shower and in her dressing room. His warning tonight had been correct.

  Minerva didn’t believe in the afterlife but she had to accept that her husband was now a ghost.

  Because having a ghost on her side might be her only advantage.

  Greg’s pocket exploded into noise, a recording of Neil Diamond’s Cherry Cherry playing. He pulled out a cell phone, read a text. He smiled and texted back, one-handed, his other still on the knife. He chuckled to himself as he typed. Then as he moved to put the phone back, it rang with a different tone, an old-fashioned telephone ring. He read it, frowned and put the cell away again.

  Greg made a sudden movement toward her, raising his switchblade high. “Wakey-wakey.” Minerva jerked her head backward, her body rocking in the chair, kicking out at Greg with her feet, nearly toppling herself over. So much for keeping her cool. She yanked at her arms. The cuffs held her in place.

  To her credit, Greg jumped a little in return. The man by the wall didn’t even move. “Looks like she’s already awake,” he said.

  “Yeah, I got that, Jose.” Greg sniffed and rubbed at his nose with his fingers. He kept the hand with the knife raised. “Welcome back to the world of the living, lady psychic.” He laughed nervously, looking back at Jose. “Get it? ’Cause she sees ghosts and stuff.”

  Jose rolled his eyes. If it were possible, he looked even more bored than previously. Even another leer and Minerva’s legs didn’t seem to interest him.

  “Let me out of here.”

  “Yeah, not gonna happen.” Greg had dropped the deferential, awed tone he’d used with her back at the studio. His voice was full of disgust. “Vic has big plans for you.” He laughed cruelly, snorting back air.

  “Vic?”

  Minerva remembered the name written on her mirror in lipstick. Bram’s warning.

  Victor Grayson. Her husband’s warm voice filled her mind. The one who killed me. For the first time Bram’s voice sounded worried. It was quiet—too quiet, as if he stood at the end of a long tunnel.

  What the hell did Victor Grayson want with her?

  I don’t know.

  But Greg and Jose seemed to. They grinned at each other and some excitement finally crept into Jose’s eyes. He still languished by the wall but directed his next words at Minerva. “Boss-man said to wake you, get you nice and worked up, all ready for his arrival.”

  Minerva swallowed. “And when will that be?” She pictured the man in the studio, dark-haired and thin through the face, cheekbones protruding. His cold eyes staring up at her. His hands filled with blood, a beating heart pressed between them, the bodily fluids leaking out and dripping from his fingers. Bram’s heart. She knew it now as a warning about whatever this was. A kidnapping? Another murder?

  It’s okay, Nerv. I’m here. We’ll beat this.

  She trusted him but he sounded so far away. And Victor had killed him once already.

  “When will it be, hmm?” Jose pretended to consider the question. “What do you think, Greg? When she’s good and scared? How much work will it take us to get her ready?”

  “Not too much if I get first crack.” Greg’s face was boyish and eager. He held the switchblade high, fumbling with it as he tried to set the blade free.

  Jose’s laughter in response was short and cruel. “Don’t get too excited, lady. This little boy isn’t the one you have to worry about.” He raised his T-shirt just high enough to expose his gun. A revolver? Minerva wished she knew more about firearms. If it would help. “Nor am I,” he continued. “We’re just the first course. The croutons on the salad to get you nice and hungry for pain. By the time Vic is done with you, you’ll be begging for an ending.”

  She needed information. Minerva allowed her eyes to widen with fear. It didn’t require any of her acting talent—the fear was natural.

  “Who is he?” They didn’t know that she already knew.

  Greg began to move, pacing, as if bored with her questions. His voice bounced out of his mouth. “Oh, Vic has been talking to me for a long time. He wants you. More than any
thing. He’s going to have so much fun with you.” He turned and stopped his pacing, staring at her. His pupils were almost completely dilated. How could he even see in the bright bedroom light? “He’s the one who killed your husband, sucked up his life like snorting coke through his nose. And apparently it’s an even bigger high. He’s going to show us. He’s gonna show me, in exchange for getting close to you.”

  How had Minerva not seen this side of Greg before? Was she totally blind?

  She’d only ever focused her talent on her audience. Reading them, manipulating them.

  And she’d been the one manipulated.

  It’s not your fault, Nerv. You didn’t even know you were psychic.

  But she wasn’t.

  Well. Except for the fact that she was talking to a ghost. And seeing visions. Well shit. Who knew?

  “What’s in it for you, exactly, Greg?”

  “A fuck ton of money of course. And the opportunity to watch you bleed.”

  Jose, still against the wall, watched them with amusement. He was the quiet one. Hired muscle? She wouldn’t get much out of him unless it got to the point where Greg’s talkativeness annoyed him. Maybe she could work with that. A ghostly, comforting hand touched her neck. Just as quickly as she felt it, it was gone.

  “Why me?” She let the hurt seep into her voice. It was real too. Hadn’t she been good to him, letting him work his way up from intern to assistant, from fetching coffee to playing an integral role in her show?

  “You’re a fake, Minerva Silence.” Greg’s lip curled as he sneered at her. “You’re nothing like Victor. He’s real.”

  A cold, leaden weight dropped into her stomach. What the hell did he mean by that? The cuffs around her wrists felt like ice, burning her skin with cold.

  Where the hell was Bram? The more scared she became, the farther away he seemed. She couldn’t feel him at all now.

  Jose rolled his eyes. “There are ways of hacking alarm systems that don’t involve being psychic.”