Still, Forever, Promise

by D. L. Merritt

  A feather-light caress ran up her arms, but no hands were visible. She held her breath as the invisible touch traveled across her shoulders and down to the middle of her chest. Suddenly, the pressure intensified and she was shoved back onto the pillow, her heart jackhammering against her ribcage as she struggled to breathe in life-giving air.

  I’m too young to have a heart attack, she thought, her eyes desperately searching for her cell phone which rested on the nightstand inches away. She wanted to call for an ambulance, but she was unable to move. A scream lodged in her throat, begging for release. All that escaped her parched lips was a slight mewling sound.

  Then a dark mass appeared, hovering inches above her frozen body. Its foul-smelling breath wafted across Brianna’s face, and she swallowed back the overwhelming urge to vomit.

  This has to be a nightmare. Wake up!

  She blinked rapidly, willing the specter to disappear. It didn’t. She was face-to-face with the apparition of an angry, middle-aged woman whose eyes glowed red in the moonlight. Maggots squirmed in a hole in the figure’s cheek, and Brianna turned her head to avoid the slimy grubs that threatened to fall on her face.

  The phantom’s seething fury was palpable. Brianna’s pulse rate accelerated, pole vaulting her into a state of panic. She fought for her life as the creature kept a vice-like grip on her heart and tried to rip it from her chest.

  Her eyes bounced around the room in a desperate attempt to find a way to escape. Finding none, she stared back. This woman held an uncanny resemblance to the picture Ms. Jane had shown her that afternoon—the same angular face, cold, emotionless eyes, and thin lips.

  Ms. Kennedy!

  Brianna shivered as the air grew frigid around her. Intent on getting herself out of this predicament, she concentrated with every ounce of strength she had left until a weak moan escaped her freezing lips. She mustered an even louder scream, and it gave her the strength to push up and away from the evil mass pressing down on her.

  Keeping a wary eye on the specter, she sprinted to the light switch by the door, hoping the evil presence was a figment of her imagination. As light flooded the room, the mass moved at a rapid pace from over the bed to the center of the room and glared at her.

  Brianna kept her eyes glued on the angry spirit. Fear was in control. They were at a standstill. She decided to make the first move.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, doing her best to sound fierce and authoritative, despite the slight quiver in her voice. “What do you want?”

  The specter remained silent. The only change was a slight movement in the woman’s upper lip when it rose into a feral snarl.

  Feet firmly planted, Brianna waited for the woman to attack, to gouge at her skin with those long talons that had once been fingers. She wanted to run but her legs wouldn’t cooperate.

  As she prayed for courage, a white mist drifted up from the floor, surrounding Ms. Kennedy’s spirit in a luminous light. Seconds later, a look of surprise crossed the ghostly figure’s face and it disappeared, evaporating into the air along with the bright, swirling vapors.

  Brianna stared at the empty room and felt a shiver run down her spine—not from the temperature but from the horror of facing such evil. She regretted not begging Ben to stay. Why had she been so flippant to think she was untouchable, that the ghost of Monroe Manor only went after men? Because she hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  So, it was Ms. Kennedy who was the black shadow at the foot of her bed, the trailing mist seen on the video, and the one responsible for the painter’s and Ben’s attacks.

  Brianna snatched the robe from the end of the bed and wrapped it around her body, grateful for its warmth. Now what? She couldn’t stay in the house. Not alone.

  She contemplated calling Beverly, but George worked the graveyard shift, and there were the kids to consider. She decided to call Jackie.

  The bedside clock flipped to 1:30 a.m. She hesitated for a second longer, hating to wake her friend. With fear still controlling her emotions, she picked up the phone.

  Jackie answered on the fourth ring, her voice raspy.

  “Jackie, it’s me, Bree. I know it’s late, but I didn’t know who else to call. Something weird happened tonight. I . . . I don’t know if it was a dream or real, but I’ve never been this scared before. Do you think you could come over and spend the rest of the night?”

  “Where’s Ben?”

  “On assignment in Canada. He left yesterday.”

  “I would if I could, but I’m in Atlanta at a drug abuse seminar. Have you called Beverly? She always did love a good slumber party.”

  “Thought about it, but George works nights. She’d have to get the kids out of bed and drag them with her. Tomorrow’s a school day.”

  “Right, but if you’re that freaked out, you shouldn’t be alone. It must be bad or you wouldn’t be this rattled. You’ve always been the brave one in the group.”

  After an uncomfortable silence, Brianna responded, “I feel better now that I’ve talked to you. Go back to sleep. I’ll see you when you get back.”

  “Are you sure? I could stay on the phone for awhile and keep you company.”

  “Don’t be silly. You need to be at your best tomorrow. I’ll be fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Say good night, Jackie.”

  After a deep sigh, Jackie replied, “Okay, but call me back if you get scared again.”

  “I will.”

  They hung up and Brianna scrambled downstairs, eager to be out of the bedroom. She paced in front of the reception counter, wringing her hands to stop them from shaking.

  The prospect of facing Ms. Kennedy’s ghost again had her doubting any reason she could think of for staying. She would spend the night in a hotel and worry about the manor tomorrow. She grabbed her purse from the foyer table and headed for the door, but stopped halfway, her natural stubbornness kicking in.

  She stomped her foot, and the sound echoed through the foyer. “I’m not leaving!” she said out loud. “You’re not going to frighten me out of my own house.”

  She dug through the side pocket of her purse and pulled out a colorful business card. She chewed on her bottom lip as she focused on the bold lettering. Riley Rutland—Photojournalist.

  Should I call? Can I handle the consequences?

  Discretion lost. Fear won. She dialed the number. The phone rang twice before he answered.

  “Riley, I . . . oh, never mind. I shouldn’t have called.”

  “Anya?”

  “I made a mistake.” She tried to sound calm, but her voice was a pitch higher.

  “You dialed the wrong number?”

  “No, it’s—”

  “I know something’s wrong. I can hear it in your voice.”

  “I had a bad dream. All the stories about the manor being haunted have me a little spooked, that’s all.”

  “Where’s Ben?”

  “Out of town.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t see. I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry I disturbed you. Good night, Riley.”

  “Not a chance. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” He ended the call before she could reply.

  Calling Riley was the worst idea she’d ever had, but the fear of encountering Ms. Kennedy’s ghost again pushed all thoughts of caution aside.

  What am I going to tell Ben?

  She fiddled with the tie on her robe, and realized she wasn’t dressed. Scanty clothing in the presence of an old lover wasn’t such a good idea. I’ll have to worry about it later, she thought as she raced upstairs to change.

  Riley knocked on her door in eighteen minutes. She could tell by his messy hair and mismatched socks that he’d rushed to get there.

  “I told you it wasn’t necessary for you to come,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

  He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m here now and I’m not leaving, so where’s the body, and where do you want me to bury it?”

  She smi
led at Riley’s attempt to lighten the situation.

  “Why don’t we go up to your apartment?” he said with a gentle touch on her shoulder. “I’ll take a look around, check under the bed and—”

  “Riley—”

  “You know it’ll make you feel better.” He gave her a playful shove toward the stairs. He searched her bedroom, checking in the closet and under the furniture before wandering into the adjoining room that she’d made into her personal living room. She followed as he went from room to room through the house.

  When they returned to her apartment, she motioned for him to take a seat in the cushioned chair while she sat on the sofa. He ignored the invitation, and sat next to her.

  Riley’s brows furrowed as he scanned her face. “What happened here tonight? You sounded terrified when you called. It wasn’t a nightmare was it?”

  “You’ll think I’m crazy.”

  “I’m sure I will, but go ahead and tell me anyway.”

  “I was sound asleep when all of a sudden I woke up. I couldn’t understand why, but the room felt different, like I wasn’t alone. Then I felt hands move up my arms to my chest.”

  Riley snickered. “Sounds kind of erotic to me.”

  “Stop being disgusting, and let me finish my story.”

  Riley listened as she explained the details of her encounter with Ms. Kennedy’s ghost.

  “You know I’ve heard stories about this place all my life,” he said when she stopped to catch her breath. “Maybe you should consider finding somewhere else to open your spa . . . though I certainly don’t mind coming to your rescue.”

  “I’m not going to let some ghost scare me away, Riley. No matter how evil they are. And I only called you because Ben’s out of town and neither Jackie nor Beverly could come.”

  “Well, that doesn’t matter now. I’m here, and I’ll stay as long as you need me,” he said, wedging his body closer to her.

  His nearness made her remember how safe she’d always felt in his arms, but she resisted the urge to seek his comfort. “Thank you,” she whispered, hanging her head.

  Riley lifted her chin and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear. His eyes captured hers, and the tension level in the room rose. He leaned in, inch by agonizing inch, until his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers.

  She couldn’t move or didn’t want to. Her mind screamed that she needed to protest, but her body had its own agenda. Her lips throbbed as she waited in anticipation. When he kissed her, tiny electrical shocks ran the length of her body. Nothing had prepared her for that. She hadn’t expected his kiss to be so caressing or intoxicating, and she leaped from the couch to get as far away from temptation as she could.

  With her feet firmly planted and her hands on her hips, she stared down at him, faking a composure she didn’t feel. “Riley, you need to leave.”

  “Anya—”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “You’ll always be Anya to me,” he said with an audible sigh. “I know I shouldn’t—”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  “Please, sit down.” Riley tugged on her hand. “I promise it won’t happen again, unless you want it to.”

  “I don’t want it to, and I can promise you that!”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  Riley didn’t budge.

  She didn’t either.

  “Look, you’re still shaking, and I’m not leaving, so why don’t we get comfortable? We can make popcorn and watch TV. There’s a Buffy the Vampire Slayer marathon on tonight. I was into the second season when you called.”

  Brianna paced the room. Her options were limited, and morning wasn’t that far away. She sat back down.

  “Now that that’s settled, I need to use your bathroom, and you need to make the popcorn.”

  “It’s down the hall. The room next to my bedroom,” she said, pointing out the door. “I’ll meet you back here with the popcorn and drinks. Cola okay?”

  “Sure. On second thought, I’ll go down with you and lock my car.”

  Riley escorted her to the kitchen before he went outside, and then returned upstairs to use the bathroom.

  Brianna entered the third-floor living room, balancing a heaping bowl of popcorn and two sodas. She settled into the sofa cushions and turned on the television.

  Riley’s footsteps thumped across the hall floor but stopped short of her apartment door. She heard him mumbling to himself.

  “What’s going on out there? Who are you talking to?” she asked, poking her head around the doorframe.

  Riley’s face had lost all color, his breathing heavy. “The stories about this house are true. It’s definitely haunted.”

  Her face blanched. “Did you see the woman in black?”

  “I’m not sure what I saw. I’d turned the light out in the bathroom, and had headed back to your apartment. The hall was too dark to see what was right in front of me. I thought I was about to have a head-on collision with you, but it wasn’t you, and whoever it was went straight through me. It was so cold, like walking into a freezer.”

  “What did she look like?”

  “She was about your height, wearing a long dress or maybe it was a nightgown, white or pink, I think. I was too shocked to pay much attention. All I know is you’re not crazy. There’s something weird going on in this house.”

  Brianna had been certain she’d encountered Ms. Kennedy tonight, but Riley’s description didn’t match hers. The woman she saw worn all black, right down to her muddy boots. Did the manor have more than one ghost? Was the spirit he described Rebecca or Sarah? Could the white mist that saved her from Ms. Kennedy be the same entity Riley encountered?

  Riley stumbled into her living room and sank to the sofa, cradling his head in his hands. When he looked up at her, his eyes softened. “Forget what I said. It was the change in light, and your story that had me seeing something that wasn’t there. I say we watch some TV.”

  Riley surfed through the channels until he found the correct station, and tossed a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “This is my favorite episode,” he said, leaning back into the cushions.

  She knew he wanted to ease her fears by playing down what he’d seen. The decision to call him tonight might turn out to be a huge mistake, but right now she was grateful he was there.

  Chapter 24

  Lieutenant Holcomb had read Mr. and Mrs. Rossi’s autopsy reports for the thirteenth time and hadn’t found anything new. He picked up the photo of them standing in front of the family restaurant at the grand opening, and studied their smiling faces. They appeared happy, at ease with each other. By all accounts, they were respected, squeaky-clean, immersed in community service and charity work. Everyone he’d interviewed said the Rossis were a great couple. Not one person had anything bad to say about them. With all the positive feedback he’d gotten, they were damn close to sainthood.

  He threw the reports and photo back on his desk, frustrated with the slow progression of this case. He hadn’t found one piece of incriminating evidence to support a possible motive for their murder.

  The swivel chair swung away from the desk as he eased back and rubbed his temples. The dull throbbing in his head had now turned into full-fledged pounding. He pulled out the middle drawer of his desk, tossed back four aspirins, and washed them down with a swig of Diet Coke. He hoped it would ease the discomfort. He’d come in before the sun was up, and he had a long day ahead of him.

  Deputy Gray had called forty minutes earlier to say he was on his way back to the precinct. Where was he? This case rested solely on whether the deputy found the tattoo artist. If he did, they’d have their first real lead. If not, well . . .

  He picked up the coroner’s photos taken right before the autopsies. These pictures weren’t so flattering. The bodies, bloated and bloody, had taken a beating on the rocky shore. He tossed the photos aside and flipped through the file until he found the enlarged photo of the mystery woman.

  The wig, baseball ca
p, and sunglasses did a good job of disguising her identity. There was nothing to distinguish this woman from a thousand others. They couldn’t even get fingerprints. The woman never touched the contract when she signed it, and she’d used her own pen. The skiff had been cleaned and rented so many times since the accident that it was too contaminated for there to be any credible evidence left.

  He’d racked his brain since they’d collected the surveillance videos, but he couldn’t remember where he’d seen that tattoo. The grocery store? The corner diner? The dry cleaner’s? The options were unlimited.

  The daughter was still his prime suspect. She was pleasant but always guarded when they spoke, as if she had something to hide, though he hadn’t gotten one negative comment about her from anyone he’d interrogated. The stories were all identical—she was smart, hardworking, kind, and had a great relationship with her parents.

  He’d dug into her background and found it spotless. No tickets, didn’t smoke, didn’t drink much. She even helped with her parents’ charities. She was another candidate for sainthood.

  Disgusted with the lack of evidence, he tossed his half-eaten pastrami sandwich in the wastebasket and gulped the last ounce of Diet Coke. He crushed the can but stopped himself from throwing it away. The precinct had a new ordinance about recycling. He’d make sure to deposit it on his way out.

  Deputy Gray rushed toward the lieutenant’s desk, waving a piece of paper. “I’ve got it!” he said, panting as he pitched the paper toward Holcomb and flopped into the chair opposite his desk. He watched while the lieutenant read the information he’d presented.

  Holcomb’s eyes skimmed over the paper, deep furrows etched between his eyebrows. He yanked open the side drawer and grabbed his keys.

  “You coming, Gray?”

  “Where we goin’, sir?”

  “To get a search warrant. We’re going to tear her condo apart.”

  “Think we’ll find anything? She’s been pretty careful up to this point.”

  “Her first mistake was not covering up that tattoo. If she screwed that up, there might be more. I’ve never had a case I didn’t solve. I won’t let this one be the first. If we’re going to nail her, we need to find solid evidence to present to the DA.”