by Susan Conley
“Yes.” He slowly pulled back out, then pushed every inch back in just as slowly, until they found a rhythm of giving and taking.
“I can’t take any more. Please … I want this, I need this.” She pushed herself over him as the waves of pleasure came harder and faster. “Yes!” she screamed, wrapping her legs around him, holding him inside her, as he continued to stroke with greater urgency, his hands fondling her softness, brushing over the redness of her rosettes. He stroked one last time before his release tore from his lips.
Chapter Thirty-Four
They lay beneath the sheet, his fingers made lazy circles on her back, her head rested on his shoulder. She hid her face. “I’ve never done that before, not the candles, the bath, the wine, or the strawberries. Do you want one? They’re great.” She brushed her fingers over the velvety tee of his chest hair, tickling his flesh.
“I’d rather taste it from your lips.” He smiled as he looked down at her. “Or from other places.” Her face flamed to a soft pink, and he threw his head back with a laugh. “Now you get embarrassed?”
“I told you I’d never done anything like that before.” She hid her face again.
He lifted her chin, and looked into her blue eyes. “That’s what made it so special, it was only for me, it was all mine.” He kissed the end of her nose. “But we should probably get up and put out the candles before the house catches fire.”
“I know,” she sighed sleepily, “but it’s so warm and comfortable here.”
“And it will be again, as soon as the candles are out.” He sat, and pulled her up with him. She reached for her robe, and he slipped jeans over his nakedness. “I don’t know why we bothered, we’re coming back to bed.” His eyes lingered, hungry for her body. He just had his fill, and yet he wanted more of her, needed to have more of her. How had it happened, he wondered. How had he fallen so completely in love and not known it?
She pinked again and stepped closer, running her hand over his bare chest. “If you say so.” She giggled. “You’re the one who’s supposed to go to work tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I’d rather hold you all night long than sleep a wink.” His lips grazed hers, lowered to her neck, and to the soft hollow between her shoulder and throat. “Who knows, maybe I don’t have to go to work.”
“Yes you do. I’ve changed your life enough without keeping you from your job.”
But if he could have frozen the moments and repeated them over again, he would have because nothing quite felt like making love to Chelsea’s body. He nuzzled her neck, pushing her head further aside, and nibbled at the tender flesh.
“Candles?” she said, though her eyes were closed and she reached over her shoulder to brush her fingertips over his stubble-covered cheek.
He sighed and released her only to pick up her hand. “Right, the candles.”
They made their way through the house, talking softly, laughing, putting out the flames, some of them already gutted, drowned by the wax.
In the living room, when Brad realized Chelsea wasn’t answering back, he turned and caught her pale expression. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked as he gazed over her features.
Chelsea swallowed and took a step back. “There, I saw a flicker from over there.” It was then she heard the buzzing, someone or something was looking for a way into her world.
Chapter Thirty-Five
She turned and looked around the room. “There! There it is again.” Her heart beat erratically within her chest. She felt herself being pulled toward the shadowy presence, and tried to stop herself from stepping closer.
“I don’t see anything, are you sure?” Brad stepped toward where she pointed.
“Yes, I’m sure.” Chelsea backed away. “Please leave me alone, please,” she begged to the shadowy outline.
“Chels, what can I do? How do I help?” His fingers slipped into hers, he pulled her closer, hiding her behind his body.
She shuddered, let her hair fall to cover her face, let him be the barrier between her and the unknown. Then she sighed. “Brad, move out of the way.”
“Chels … ” he started.
“I can’t hide, I can’t let all this,” she gestured to the world around her, “I can’t let it control me, keep me afraid, keep taking away my life. I have to face it.” She tried to smile for him. “Besides, what if it’s someone like the little boy … what if it’s someone I can help? I can’t turn my back on someone like that, freaked out or not. I have to try.”
Brad squeezed her hand, and let her go. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” He leered at the shadows, but they were only shadows to him. “I’ll be close by,” he said quietly, kissed her forehead, and turned toward the kitchen.
She could hear him opening the fridge, putting a pan on the stove, just loud enough to reassure her. She stepped into the shadow. “Is anyone there?” But no one answered. “Who is it?” she asked again to no reply. “Okay, last chance, then I’m going too.”
A voice squeaked from the corner, and a girl not much younger than Chelsea stepped into the dim room. Light brushed her features, and she stepped deeper into the shadows, hiding her face. “Hi … I didn’t know if you were for real or not. You really can see me?”
Chelsea smiled and reached out her hand. “I’m Chelsea Karmikel, and you are?”
The younger girl gave a slightly crooked grin. “Unbelievable.” A coolness brushed over Chelsea’s fingers, and she got a better glimpse of the girl’s face. It was battered and bruised. “I’m Angie Blackwell. I don’t know if you can really help, but some of the others … ”
“What?” Chelsea asked.
“Some of the others said that there was someone who could see us. Someone who could help us.” Angie stepped closer. “I was afraid to come, but someone has to make it stop. There are others and there’s going to be more.”
“Make what stop?” Something gnawed at Chelsea’s gut, something bad.
“The bad man, the one who did this to me. Don’t ask me to say his name. The darkness might hear.” She glanced over her shoulder before she stepped into the full light. It was worse than what Chelsea imagined. Her lower lip was split, her left eye blackened, swollen closed. Even the sick little boy, Bobby, appeared healthy when he’d come to see her. Why would this apparition be so damaged? Why didn’t she look like she had before death took her?
“Who did this to you?” Chelsea questioned in a whisper, horrified. She reached out her fingers to brush Angie’s face, but the girl stepped back.
“Don’t, I’m so scared!” She visibly shook, terror showed in her features.
Chelsea’s voice broke. “Let me help you.” The horror of what one human being could inflict on another astounded her. “Why do you look this way?”
“This,” Angie let the light brush her features, “this is why I came, I can’t move on, I can’t heal until he’s stopped.” She stepped further into the light. “Someone has to make him stop.” Then she backed into the shadows as if afraid something else might come after her too. “You know who I’m talking about, right? You know him. Don’t let him fool you.” She warned. “If he can’t get to you, maybe his friend will.”
“What are you talking about? Who do I know?” Chelsea asked, baffled. She didn’t know anyone capable of this kind of violence.
“You know.” Angie’s eyes pleaded, and she turned again as if to look for something in the darkness. “I’ve said too much now. But I had to come, I had to see, if you can … you have to stop him. Because he’s coming for you too.” Angie headed back into the shadows. “And maybe even your boyfriend.” Her voice became a whisper, then she fled into the pitch blackness, vanishing from sight.
Chelsea stood in her living room, a growing sense of dread washing through her. Who could have done this? Who did she know? Who could be coming afte
r her? Why would they want to hurt Brad? What the hell was happening now?
Grendel growled and slinked out from under the sofa; every hair on her small body stood on end. She looked at Chelsea and then into the sea of darkness where the girl had vanished. Chelsea met the cat’s gaze, but when Chelsea bent down to pick her up, she hissed and danced away. Chelsea’s heart rose to the throat — something else still stood in the darkness, just out of her sight, but not out of Grendel’s.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chelsea stood there, watching the shadows, waiting to see if something else might step forward. The trembling started in her thighs. She wanted to turn and walk away, but she couldn’t. When her knees started to bump together, it shocked her into backing from the shadowy darkness. She hid her hands in the pockets of her robe — if she didn’t, Brad would see, he would know. She didn’t want to weird him out any more than she already had. The shaking would stop in a few moments, and if not … well, she’d come up with something then.
When she knew she wouldn’t shake apart in front of his eyes, she walked toward the kitchen. Warm scents of toast and eggs filled the air, not that she was hungry, not after her latest encounter.
“All done?” Brad raised an eyebrow, and watched her sit at the table.
“Yeah, just someone else who the world’s abused. Someone who needs help.” Chelsea pushed her hands through her curls, resting her forehead in her hands. She stared at the wooden surface of the table. What was she supposed to say? Someone bad was coming after her? The gnawing in her gut grew, and she started to feel physically ill.
“And?” Brad asked. “Are you going to tell me? Maybe I can help?” He came over to where she was sitting and massaged her neck. Chelsea sighed; what he could do with his fingers was exquisite.
“It’s nothing.” She made herself smile up at him. She couldn’t tell him what had happened — pretty soon he’d be running away, and she wouldn’t be able to blame him. “I’ll figure it out.” She put a hand over his and squeezed. “It’ll be fine.” She’d have to learn to be a detective too. After all, that was what they made Google for, wasn’t it?
“Okay, let me know if I can help. Hope you’re hungry.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her hair, made curlier by their shared bath and heat.
“Starved.” She forced another grin, but it felt fake. When he placed the plate of food in front of her, her stomach flipped, she almost gagged, but she forced herself to take a bite. “Mmmm … ” She pretended to relish every bite, but it tasted like sawdust to her. She didn’t know if she’d ever truly be hungry again.
• • •
Chelsea yawned and stretched, before lifting up on an elbow to kiss Brad. “I’m exhausted. Are you going to be up long?”
“No, just long enough to go over this report. You go ahead, sleep, it’ll do you good.” But he pulled her closer to his side.
“Okay.” She closed her eyes, waiting for sleep to take her. Brad, true to his word, shut the light off and wrapped his arms around her middle, sighing, and his warmth seeped in. She was able to relax at last, but sleep stayed stubbornly away. The conversation with Angie Blackwell played over and over again.
The house settled and still, Chelsea lay silent, listening to the soft even breaths as Brad slept beside her. No matter what she did, the last words uttered by Angie Blackwell stuck in Chelsea’s head. The way Grendel had hissed at the darkness. The scene picture perfect in her mind’s eye.
Every brush of the branches outside her bedroom window, every chirp of the crickets, every shadow that passed through the moonlit night caused new panic to stir. She wriggled carefully from Brad’s arms, though she was loath to leave the safety of his warmth and comfort. She jostled the bed as little as possible as she slipped silently from the security of Brad’s embrace, while his steady breaths continued. She crept from the bed, tying the belt of her robe snuggly before entering Teresa’s old room, now Brad’s office. His laptop provided a guiding light, and as quietly as possible, she tiptoed across the darkened room. She jiggled the mouse, waking the computer as she sat in front of it.
“Angie Blackwell” filled the Google search bar. Within seconds, the computer screen streamed information at her, most of it useless since she didn’t know Angie’s address or place of birth, or even her birth name. Was Blackwell a married name, maiden? Was her given name Angela, Angelina, Angel? Or maybe Angie was a nickname for something else entirely. She didn’t know. Chelsea paged past the entries asking if she wanted to find Angie Blackwell, until her eyes came across a news listing. She read it carefully, and then read it again before she clicked on the entry, unsure if she really wanted to find out what she needed to know.
“Angela Blackwell, age 20, was found beaten to death in the alley behind a local restaurant,” the article read. “She attended Northwestern University where she was a sophomore. The police are investigating her death, but refused to comment at this time. Her family is asking for anyone with information to please contact the police … ” The article went on, but there really wasn’t any need to read further. Chelsea recognized the name of the restaurant, recognized the pretty picture of the smiling young college student, and she knew why Angie Blackwell looked familiar, where she’d seen her before.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” The words came quietly from behind her.
She spun around to see Brad standing there, waiting as she cringed. She’d been so engrossed, she hadn’t heard him enter the room. He’d read the article from over her shoulder.
“When I saw her in the living room, I had this gnawing feeling. I couldn’t place her, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her either. How did I know her?” She took a step closer to him. “I had to find out about her, find out how where I could have possibly seen her. It wouldn’t leave me alone.”
He stepped in front of her. “Is this why you didn’t want to tell me? Why you wanted to handle this on your own? Angie Blackwell, she was Sam’s date on that first night.” He watched her as he spoke.
“Brad, it doesn’t have to mean anything.” She picked up his hand, but he pulled further away. “Her face was so battered. It scared me, so far all those who have sought my help look like they did before death came, regardless of the circumstances, and when … ” Chelsea swallowed.
“What? What is that you were afraid to tell me?” He dropped down on his knees in front of her, his hands wrapped her cheeks, his thumbs brushed the soft skin under her eyes.
“This … ” She hated using the word ghost. “Angie Blackwell … she said that whoever hurt her … she said he might try to hurt me.” She swallowed again. “And maybe you too.”
Brad’s hands turned icy, and he dropped them from her face. “No, she’s mistaken, it can’t be.” He shook his head. “No.” He backed away, and Chelsea stood to follow him. “He wouldn’t do that.”
“But you saw him, she was in his car. We saw them both. We have to check it out.” Chelsea reached out to him, and he stopped, dropping his head forward. “Maybe it was someone else who hurt Angie, anything could have happened.” Chelsea’s face filled with fear as his eyes grew harder.
“Of course, you’re right. I have to find out. I have to know. There’s only one way to do that.” He glanced up, and it wasn’t with gentle care.
“Look, let me help you. Let me see if I can get Angie to come back. I’m not sure how, but maybe I can talk some more with her,” she pleaded.
“Have you ever tried to call one of them back to you?”
“No, but I can try. I can … I don’t know. Something.” She sounded desperate, even to her own ears. “Your Aunt Deloris came twice, when she realized you might need someone else’s help. Maybe this is part of what she was hoping I could help you with.”
He thought for a moment. “I have to go into town tomorrow. You’re right, I’ve been ignoring my work. I have to talk to Sally, I hav
e to have her check on some things.” He turned to her, picked up her hands. “Come back to bed, okay?”
“Would you like me to go with you tomorrow? Maybe there’s something I can do to help?” She reached out to stroke his cheek. “I’ll go in with you.”
“No, I have to do some checking. It’ll be okay, it’s all some kind of mistake.” But he held her hand over his heart, and it thudded heavily.
It felt like goodbye.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Brad left early the next morning. He didn’t say if he’d be back, he hadn’t talked to Chelsea much at all after seeing what she’d found. He’d just held her, and it was all she needed. She held him back just as tight and hoped it was all he needed too.
Chelsea hadn’t talked much either, afraid to ask what he thought, or if he’d be back soon, afraid of what his answer might be. She watched him drive off, her heart breaking with every mile that carried him further away. Tough days were ahead, and she knew he was going to do something he thought would never happen. He was going to have to investigate his own brother.
• • •
Grams came home in the late afternoon. She found Chelsea upstairs in Teresa’s old bedroom. Brad had packed all of his belongings — his toothbrush, his razor, all of it was gone, and it didn’t bode well for their future together. She already missed him, she already felt like crying.
“He’ll be back, sweetie,” Grams said.
“I know.” Chelsea smiled at the older woman, so like her. “He just needs a little time and space. It’ll all work out. And if it doesn’t, well then, it was never meant to be.” Chelsea moved into the hall, and back to her own room. What she knew, what came from her lips, did little to help the sick feeling deep inside her. The place where her heart rested, even as it was breaking. “I’m going to lie down. Would you like me to cook or do you want to?”