Ghost 05 - Fairytale Come Alive

by Kristen Ashley

  There was a big tent there, made of silk, next to an apple tree, its blossoms carpeting the roof of the tent and all around. The flaps of the tent were opened wide and inside there were soft rugs, a comfy armchair with ottoman next to which there was a ready supply of the grisly crime novels Fiona liked to read. There was also a lovely guitar she could play and a big bed with a downy mattress, stacks of pillows and a fluffy duvet.

  Fiona was real there. She walked with her feet on the ground, she didn’t float. Her body was solid, not see-through. She could feel things and move things without concentrating.

  And there was night and day and she slept there.

  She went there directly after she died and she thought, at first, it was heaven.

  It was heavenly enough but she was alone and she didn’t think heaven would be eternal solitude. That would stink, and heaven, in her mind, didn’t stink.

  But she’d been tired back then, tired from fighting the pain and tired from knowing what her body’s weakness was doing to her family.

  So, when she first arrived, she slept a lot. And she slept well. And she got used to no pain and tiredness (but not to being dead).

  Then one day she was walking along the stream and trying to figure out the different scents of the trees (because what the bloody else was there to do?) and zip, all of a sudden she was a ghost in her great room watching Prentice and Jason, both looking handsome but haggard, in dark suits, and Sally, looking confused and exhausted, in a pretty little black dress, coming through the front door.

  At first, she didn’t know she was a ghost and thought she’d been granted a reprieve.

  She was back, she was in her home, she had no pain and there was her family.

  It didn’t take long to realize they couldn’t see her because, looking down, she could barely see herself and that she was dead, dead, dead because they’d just arrived back from her funeral.

  It did take awhile for her to get used to this cruel twist of fate but she did and she’d been with them ever since. She spent her time haunting them (of course), being pissed off (of course) and learning how to materialize and dematerialize, not only in her house, but anywhere in the village.

  She tried to go somewhere else, like Los Angeles where she’d always wanted to go but she couldn’t leave the village even in the company of, say, Prentice or her sister Morag when they left town. Any time she’d try, she’d automatically dematerialize and end up back at the house (which also pissed her off).

  She hadn’t been able to be seen or heard, not that she tried too hard because she’d involuntarily damaged her family psychologically enough without them hearing her ghostly voice or seeing her ghostly body.

  Now, with Bella around, she’d been so excited about her new abilities, she’d spent the last two days testing them.

  And she’d spent that time watching Prentice and Bella play their crazy game.

  The abilities part was good. She was getting stronger, understanding the focus she needed to manipulate things, happy that her anger, frustration and grief at being dead had some use. She got so good at it, she couldn’t only move things; she could even pick things up and hold them.

  She was also able to talk to Bella. Bella definitely heard her. That was why the laundry got done, the ironing got done, the vacuuming and sweeping got done (her house was going to be taken over by dust mites if Bella didn’t do something about it, and she did, without hesitation, after Fiona screamed at her that it had to get done) and Sally got a chocolate cake (her favorite) but only after she ate her broccoli.

  Of course, Bella did these things for other reasons too. Fiona knew that. After all she saw and heard these last days; she knew Bella wasn’t what she’d thought Bella was for all those years.

  Instead, Fiona knew Bella’s soft heart and unique understanding meant Bella would have taken care with Fiona’s children, even if, perhaps, she wouldn’t have ironed Prentice’s shirts while she was doing it.

  And Fiona had to admit, she was grimly fascinated by Prentice and Bella’s game.

  They bickered a lot.

  And Prentice obviously enjoyed it.

  In the time Fiona and Prentice were courting before they married and a few years after, Fiona had worried she’d never live up to all that was Bella.

  Prentice and Bella had an obviously passionate relationship. Everyone knew it because they saw it and they were amused by it because, even all that fighting and bickering was somehow sweet especially considering, when they weren’t fighting and bickering, they were clearly deeply in love.

  It was something he and Fiona didn’t have.

  Prentice and Fiona had a comfortable, easy life filled with laughter.

  They had great sex, a lot of closeness and Prentice was affectionate but Fiona wasn’t nearly as passionate as he was so that part stayed only in the bedroom.

  It didn’t spill out to life.

  It spilled out everywhere with Prentice and Bella.

  Bella and Prentice, when they were together, fought and they bickered.

  And Bella challenged Prentice in a way Fiona knew she never could. Bella was well-educated, read a great deal and she’d travelled. Prentice, too, got top marks, got into a top university, read any book he could get his hands on and had spent three summers abroad, backpacking on the cheap and with a relentless schedule to see as much of the architecture in Europe as he could.

  Fiona liked it in her village and rarely left though she wanted to see Los Angeles, not enough actually to go when Prentice offered it as a family holiday. Fiona said they’d go when Sally was older so Sally could go to Disneyland (what a fool she was). She read her crime novels but she didn’t read anything high-brow and she didn’t read many of her crime novels either.

  She was happy with the simple life and, after awhile, Prentice convinced her he was happy with it too.

  But the longer Bella remained in the house, the more alive he seemed.

  And if she wasn’t already dead, watching that would have killed her.

  She was back to hating Bella when, the night of the stag party, even though she knew it wasn’t right, she started to read Bella’s journals.

  She floated, cross-legged above the floor by Bella’s bed while Bella slept and Fiona read.

  And she couldn’t believe what she read.

  One day, years ago, Fiona was in the fruit and veg shop when Hattie had made some vicious comment about some famous pop star who’d gone off the rails and Old Lady Kilbride, who was also there, heard her.

  “You don’t know the demons she carries, Hattie Fennick,” Mrs. Kilbride said sharply. “You don’t know. Her life may seem charmed and glamorous to you but everyone has demons. Everyone.”

  Old Lady Kilbride was right.

  And Isabella Austin Evangahlala had demons and her demons were doozies.

  She seemed like she had it all. She was beautiful, rich, well-educated, jet-set, stylish, classy.

  But she had an abusive father who used to berate verbally and alternately beat her mentally unstable mother.

  This, Bella had witnessed.

  He also verbally berated and sometimes slapped Bella.

  She had a best friend who’d lost her joy for life and Bella worked for years trying to help her find it again and luckily succeeded, Fiona learned through the journals, that while she and Prentice were encouraging Dougal from close by, from a distance, Bella was also encouraging Annie.

  Bella also had a husband who played around on her constantly, even once she’d walked in on him and another woman.

  He’d also taunted her with her inability to give him children, something Bella yearned for to the point of despair.

  And he’d not allowed them to settle down even though she wanted a home. They owned several properties but they never stayed in one long. They travelled around like nomads from party to party, yacht to yacht, ski resort to ski resort, event to event, incessantly.

  Bella missed her mother who she adored and she had vivid, excruciating dreams,
even after all these years, of finding her dead in the tub.

  And last, but not least, Bella loved Prentice in a fierce, beautiful way that Fiona had to admit that even she hadn’t loved him.

  And that love never, never died.

  Ghostly tears were falling from her ghostly eyes at all Bella had endured (and it was never-ending, no wonder the woman clenched her fists, all that pain had to be unleashed somewhere) when Fiona sensed Prentice’s presence nearing the house.

  She flipped shut the third journal (her ghostly abilities extended to super-fast reading which had been a boon) and carefully arranged them in the tidy pile in which Bella liked them.

  Then Fiona dematerialized and materialized in the living room.

  Prentice was standing stock-still staring at the rug.

  He looked angry.

  Oh for goodness sakes. What was he pissed off about now?

  Then he took off his coat, flung it on the chair and stalked to the hallway.

  Fiona followed him, worrying so much she was wringing her hands and shouting at him to leave Bella be. She needed her sleep. She had to get some rest for the wedding tomorrow. She didn’t sleep well and she was sleeping soundly now.

  But, of course, he didn’t hear her. In fact, when he encountered Bella’s closed door, instead of knocking or, better yet, turning away, he walked right in.

  Fiona followed and as she would have floated over the threshold, she disappeared and reappeared in her whatever-it-was place.

  And there she remained, all night.

  She’d tried to dematerialize and go back but she couldn’t. Her efforts exhausted her and, finally, she slept.

  Opening her eyes, she saw the light coming through the silk tent.

  She threw off the covers wondering again why she was bloody well there, hoping she wouldn’t be there long and terrified she’d be there for eternity.

  She had to warn Bella that Prentice was angry.

  She walked out of the flaps of the tent and instantly vaporized, returning to her home.

  Returning to the guest suite in her home.

  To be precise, the bedroom of the guest suite in her home.

  She floated back, reeling at what she saw and nearly floated through the wall of the room (she tried not to float through walls, it gave her a spooked feeling, seeing insulation and floating through supports, it was creepy).

  She drifted and stared at the bed.

  Prentice and Bella were in it sleeping, the sunlight shining through windows on their bodies.

  They were naked, the covers down to their waists though Fiona couldn’t see much of anything considering Prentice had Bella tucked tight to him, his arm around her, his bicep shielding Bella’s breast from view. His arm was cocked, as was hers under his, their fingers laced, hands resting on the mattress in front of her face which was tilted forward on the pillow. Prentice’s head was tilted too, his face in the hair at the back of her head.

  Fiona felt her ghostly chest tighten at the sight of them.

  Prentice cuddled Fiona only after they’d made love and sometimes when they went to bed together (he usually worked late or read and came to bed after her).

  And he usually did this only for awhile, eventually rolling away from her.

  Never sleeping with her cradled in his arms. Never holding her all night like she was a precious possession he was keeping safe.

  Fiona knew why whatever powers that be sent her from her home last night.

  And she was thankful for that.

  But she was in agony over what she was witnessing right now.

  She wanted to scream, she wanted to rail, she wanted to tear her hair out or, better yet, Isabella Austin Evangahlala’s long, thick, golden tresses.

  But before she could do any of this, Bella’s eyes opened.

  For a second she looked sated, satisfied…

  Happy.

  Nearly instantly, that look disappeared and utter fear filled her expression.

  Fiona forgot her wrath and stared.

  What on earth?

  Taking great care, Bella uncurled her fingers from Prentice’s and, gently, with agonizing slowness, she exited the bed.

  Prentice didn’t move.

  Once he was in a deep sleep, Prentice could sleep through almost anything. Fiona had been lucky he didn’t snore, he would never wake if she had to shove him or kick him, that’s how deeply he slept (which meant, when they were babies, Jason and Sally never woke Prentice with their middle of the night cries and Fiona practically had to push him out of bed when it was his turn to feed them which drove Fiona up the blooming wall).

  Therefore, Prentice slept through Bella leaving him in bed.

  And he slept through Bella, on silent feet with silent but trembling hands and completely silent tears, packing every single possession that was hers in the guest suite.

  She did this quickly but tidily, leaving behind only the scented candles she bought.

  Then she dressed in jeans, a sweater and high-heeled boots that she’d set aside. Then she carried her cosmetics case and her heaviest suitcase out to her rental car.

  Fiona floated in the bedroom while all this happened, not sure what to do.

  Fiona Cameron, Prentice Cameron’s wife, wanted the woman gone.

  But Fiona Cameron, the dead woman who loved her husband and children, had conflicting thoughts.

  She looked at Prentice, unaware and asleep.

  He was a handsome, fit, forty-five year old widower who deserved more out of life than grief, a heavy workload, an anguished son and a constant mountain of laundry he hated to do.

  He deserved to bicker.

  He deserved to be challenged.

  He deserved to laugh.

  He deserved to have a beautiful, rich, well-educated, jet-set, stylish, classy woman in his life (and, also, one who was corporeal and breathing).

  A woman who had loved him for twenty years.

  A woman who had carried around his photo in a silver frame and wore his ring on a chain around her neck for twenty fucking years.

  As much as Fiona hated it, she knew he deserved it.

  And her son deserved to live with a woman who understood the depths of his pain.

  And his daughter deserved chocolate cake and she needed someone to teach her how to make them and, Lord knew, Prentice couldn’t do that.

  And Bella…

  Well, Bella wasn’t the only one with a soft heart and Fiona knew that Bella deserved all of them.

  When Bella came back to get the last two cases, Fiona’s decision made, she dashed to her and started shouting.

  What are you doing? Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave!

  Bella shook her head as if clearing her thoughts and Fiona knew she could hear her.

  Don’t do it, Bella. Don’t. He needs you and you need him! You need all of them!

  Fiona heard Bella’s breath hitch as she held back a sob but she exited the front door and threw her cases in the boot of her car.

  Think of Annie! Fiona cried.

  “I’ll not let Annie down,” Bella murmured and Fiona would have gasped (but, obviously she didn’t as she couldn’t) when Bella spoke directly to her.

  Good, then go back!

  “I can’t go back.”

  Fiona closed her ghostly eyes and shouted her frustration.

  Then she panicked.

  For, she knew, Prentice was a two strikes kind of man.

  He’d forgive you anything.

  Once.

  Twice, he’d never forgive.

  Wrong him twice and you were dead to him. If Bella left him twice he’d never forgive her.

  Ever.

  Fiona thought fast as Bella slammed the boot of the car.

  Then it came to her.

  Go back, write him a note. You don’t have to explain. Just say good-bye.

  Bella shook her head again, moving toward the driver’s side door.

  Just good-bye. That’s it. Don’t leave without saying good-bye.r />
  Bella opened the door.

  Fiona wrapped her hands around Bella’s arm and pleaded, Please, tell him good-bye. He deserves that!

  Bella shivered and looked down at her arm.

  Please, Bella, just tell Prentice good-bye.

  Bella hesitated, shook her arm and Fiona saw with great relief, headed back to the house.

  Fiona’s eyes rolled skyward and she said a hearty thank you.

  Then she darted after Bella.

  Floating horizontally over her head, Fiona watched Bella write the note.

  I’m sorry, Prentice. This can’t work. No good will come of it. I’m so sorry.

  Good-bye, Isabella

  Fiona would have written different words like, I’ve loved you for twenty years, and, You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and, Don’t be a jackass and let me go this time. But she didn’t have a say (well, she did, she shouted her opinion, Bella just didn’t listen to her).

  Fiona watched Bella turn to the door but she hesitated, did a stutter step, stopped and turned back.

  Then she made coffee, all but switching on the pot, including sprinkling the ground coffee with cinnamon.

  She went back to the note and added a PS and then propped it against the coffee machine.

  Then she took in a deep breath, looked around the house, a single tear slid down her cheek and she gracefully walked out the door.

  Fiona floated to the note and read the postscript.

  PS: The coffee’s made, just flip the switch and there’s Danish in the breadbox.

  Reading it, Fiona burst into silent, ghostly laughter.

  * * * * *

  Fiona waited (impatiently) watching while her husband slept the morning away.

  Then she watched as he woke, instantly reaching out to an empty bed.

  Then he came up on an elbow, his eyes narrowing on the bed. He sat up and looked to the bathroom.

  The door was open.

  His eyes fell on the nightstand. Bella’s things were gone. Fiona saw that he noted that immediately.

  He got out of bed and stalked naked to the wardrobe.

  Empty.

  He strode angrily to the bathroom, pulling the chord for the light, yanking back the glass door to the tub (even though he could see through the glass, for goodness sake).

  Then he went back to the bedroom, tugged on his jeans and stopped, gazing around, jaw tight, fury pounding off of him.