Christmas Ghosts - Fiction River

by Fiction River

  She took the cat into the kitchen and grabbed the deli turkey. Tomorrow, she’d buy some dry food and a litter box. It was the least she could do for poor Rowan.

  ***

  Mallory spent the day looking for a job and running errands, coming home exhausted. After supper (chicken teriyaki she shared with Marshall), she made the cat a bed in the closet using a cardboard box and some fleece throws. She feared seeing the apparition again, but everything was quiet as she pulled on navy sleep pants and an aqua t-shirt. She popped Rowan’s It’s a Wonderful Life DVD into her laptop and crawled into bed. As she turned out the lamp on the nightstand, she bumped the snowflake clock. It flickered blue.

  The cat bed lasted about ten minutes before the big Maine Coon jumped in bed with her and stretched out, taking half the bed.

  “I bet you wonder where Rowan is, don’t you, big guy?” she said, stroking his head as It’s a Wonderful Life played, George Bailey telling Mary he’d lasso the moon for her.

  She thought about George saving his brother from falling through ice and stopping a druggist from dispensing a poisoned prescription. Why couldn’t she have been there to save Rowan?

  Marshall meowed, purring like a cement mixer as he walked across her pillow onto the nightstand. He grabbed the string on the snowflake clock and dragged it onto the bed.

  “You want to play, big guy?”

  He turned in a circle and pawed at the glowing clock. Then he sat down in front of her, staring with those unblinking, soul-deep green eyes as if willing her to do something.

  “Is this some kind of Maine Coon mind trick?” she asked.

  He meowed.

  She picked up the clock, pulsing blue like frozen fire, and stared at its delicate structure. Why hadn’t it been smashed to bits? He’d been running loose for nearly a year with this thing on his collar. It was amazing it was still intact.

  Save me, whispered a voice in her ear.

  “Rowan?” she cried, pausing the movie. She felt foolish. She was hearing things.

  There’s still time.

  Marshall turned to stare as the white mist coalesced into a man. He stood at the foot of the bed, reaching out to her.

  She wasn’t scared this time. “Rowan?” she called, reaching toward him.

  He moved toward the closet and Marshall bounded toward him.

  Mallory jumped up, her stocking feet sliding on the hardwood as she followed the smoky figure. She slid into the dark closet, snowflake clock still in her hand as the smoke vanished.

  Remembering Strother’s story, she felt for the clock hands. What could it hurt? With a flick of her fingers, she spun the hands backward.

  She turned, tripping over the cat, and fell headfirst into the closet.

  Everything went dark. She struggled to her feet, turning around to find the closet door shut. She struggled to turn the knob, but it seemed stuck. Several more times, she pushed until the door creaked open. Marshall shot out of the closet.

  “There you are!” a male voice shouted.

  Mallory froze. Who was out there?

  “I was afraid I was gonna have to crawl in there after you.”

  Crouching in the dark, Mallory peered through the opening, feeling confused and scared. Had someone broke into the apartment?

  A sandy-haired man with haunting blue eyes stood there in jeans and no shirt as he pulled on a grey t-shirt. He was lean and tall. He had a strong chin shadowed with sexy stubble and laugh lines that curved across his cheeks. The scents of cedar and sandalwood drifted toward her as the man turned around and picked up Marshall.

  Rowan Brophy!

  He was so beautiful. The photo in the paper hadn’t done him justice. But how was he standing here? She had to be dreaming this!

  “You gonna help me at the store today or break stuff like yesterday, big guy? We need to finish that Christmas display. It’s almost Christmas Eve.”

  He scratched the cat’s ears and set him on the bed. Then he grabbed a flannel shirt and pulled it over his t-shirt. He slid on brown hiking boots and hurried out of the room as the phone rang. Marshall trotted after him.

  Mallory crept out of the closet, pausing at the bedroom door as an answering machine picked up the call. She glanced at the snowflake clock. Its hands moved slowly forward.

  This was crazy! She had to be dreaming. But it was so real.

  Rowan stood by the desk, his back to her.

  “Rowan—pick up the phone, baby. Please?”

  He backed away from the desk.

  “Why do you keep pushing me away? I thought I meant something to you! We’re soul mates!” A pause. “I’m tired of talking to this goddamned machine! Pick up! Please, call me back so we can talk about us. Don’t you understand? We have to be together on Christmas. Please! I miss you. Don’t make me beg.” A pause. “You’ll regret pushing me away. I promise you will.”

  Rowan cursed under his breath. He was shaking, hands over his face. He leaned his head against the wall and sighed, so deeply and with such hopelessness that she wanted to go to him.

  “God, I hope she doesn’t find this place,” he muttered.

  He grabbed a navy blue parka off the desk chair, picked up the cat, and left the apartment. Outside, Mallory heard an engine start and a vehicle drive away. To her surprise, it was light outside. What time was it?

  The phone rang again. The answering machine picked up. Lindsey Tull again.

  “You think I don’t know you’re seeing other people? Think you could hide at Bella Luna’s with your friends? I saw you with Emily Raintree. And I know Hildy Geller set you up with Mallory Winter. Don’t you want to know how I found out you were cheating on me, Rowan? I see everything you do. Everywhere you go.” A long pause. “You’re lucky I’m so forgiving. I’ll make you come back to me. You’ll see. I won’t let you ruin Christmas. If you do, you’ll be sorry, Rowan Brophy. Very, very sorry.”

  The line went dead.

  Mallory remembered Lindsey’s frequent drama in high school, her weekly grasps for attention, a.k.a. suicide threats, made-up boyfriends and relationships, and chronicled visits to the emergency room. Mallory had kept her distance.

  The phone rang again. A hang-up. The machine’s counter read eighteen messages. She gasped at the date: Thursday, December 20, 2012.

  Rowan only had five days to live.

  She stared at the snowflake clock in her hand. Had this thing somehow brought her to Rowan? Helped her travel a year into the past?

  Could she actually save him?

  As long as he was still alive, there was a chance. She’d borrow some clothes from her friend, Hildy, and head into town to find Rowan.

  ***

  Rowan Brophy’s gift shop, Island Dreams, stocked the most magical treasures on the island. He was finishing his annual Christmas display: A Mermaid Christmas. Draped with sheer blue organza, teal silk, and twinkling lights, the window glittered with dichroic glass shells and starfish. Pastel seahorses, plush sea turtles, and green seaweed hung from fishing line, a small fan making them undulate across mermaid statues, dolls, and prints. He’d placed plush narwhals and orcas in the center. Washington State loved its orcas. In the center stood a white coral Christmas tree he’d fashioned out of wire and bleached coral. He’d wrapped it with colored lights, tiny glass ornaments, earrings, and necklaces.

  He couldn’t concentrate this season. His stomach was in knots, his dreams fitful, fearing Lindsey Tull would show up. For nearly a year, the woman had harassed and stalked him. He jumped whenever the phone rang, dreading her daily barrage of messages. He’d changed his number twice. His stomach dropped into his feet whenever he saw blonde hair. Everywhere he went, she showed up. Watching him at a distance.

  They’d only gone out twice when she told him she loved him, describing their kids and planning their Christmas Day wedding. She demanded he meet her parents and fill out wedding registries. She’d scared the hell out of him. He told her that he didn’t want to see her again.

  Enraged, she�
�d thrown a drink in his face, accused him of cheating on her, and stormed out of the restaurant. The next day, she blew up his answering machine, leaving thirty-seven messages, begging, crying, accusing, and threatening. And stalking. Sitting outside his shop, following him everywhere. She was destroying his life.

  Most of the time, he stayed home, afraid of what might happen. He couldn’t sleep, could barely eat or concentrate. The police said they couldn’t do anything unless she broke the law. For the longest time, he was afraid to file a restraining order. Until last month. But he feared what would happen next and had contemplated selling the store and moving.

  The bell chimed, the door opening behind him.

  He lurched up from the window, his heart in his throat.

  A young woman with a shy smile stepped inside the shop. She had thick sable hair and intense grey eyes. She wore black yoga pants and a black North Face fleece, black purse over her shoulder. God, he loved a woman in yoga pants!

  Ten years peeled back and his heart melted. Mallory Winter.

  Her shapely long legs filled out those pants. He even forgave those ugly damned snow boots.

  “Mallory Winter,” he replied.

  She nodded as he stepped forward.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d recognize me.”

  He laughed. He’d know her anywhere. “You look like you just stepped out of the yearbook, Mall. It’s great to see you.”

  Had the universe just started turning backward? Was his horrible luck beginning to reverse itself? This woman took his breath away and thanks to Hildy Geller, he was taking her out next week.

  “You haven’t changed a bit, Rowan. It’s great to see you.”

  Mallory squeezed his hand. The moment her fingers touched his, an electric rush of energy flooded his body. The powerful surge of emotions almost knocked him to his knees. She gasped, glancing at her hand and then his face, a momentary look of surprise changing to a grin. She’d felt it, too. He’d never felt such an intense attraction to anyone before. God, it was intoxicating. He could barely breathe.

  Finally, he let go of her hand. “Can’t wait to have you show me around Anacortes,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh,” she said, her cheeks reddening. She looked disoriented. “Right, Anacortes.”

  His heart dropped. She’d come by to cancel out on him.

  “Hope you don’t mind that I stopped by your shop, but I thought maybe, if you had time, we could get together this week for coffee. If you’re busy, I understand—”

  “No, no,” he said, moving toward her, relief washing over him. “I’ve definitely got time this week.” He couldn’t help but smile. She seemed sweet and considerate. He glanced at his watch. Almost noon. “What about this afternoon? Three o’clock. The bakery off Mullis?”

  Mallory returned his smile, running her hand through that thick, dark hair. Her intense grey eyes seemed lit from within and they made his heart race every time she smiled at him.

  “Three o’clock it is,” she replied, those grey eyes bright.

  High school memories flooded back and he remembered passing the long-legged sophomore in the hall every day just before lunch. She always looked a little shy, standing there in Doc Martens and ripped low-rise jeans (that embraced every curve) as she’d smile at him over her books. By her junior year, she’d graduated to miniskirts and midriffs (at basketball games and the spring festival). He’d been too scared to ask her out though, since she was constantly surrounded by half the guys in school. He thought he’d grown out of that crush, but seeing her brought it back full force. He’d even been dreaming about her.

  At twenty-seven, she’d barely aged. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t taken. When Hildy urged him to text her, he thought it was a joke. After so many bad dates—and that psycho, Lindsey Tull—he’d considered either the Peace Corps or the priesthood.

  Maybe things were starting to turn around? He’d get his grandma to watch the store—and Marshall—this afternoon. He was taking out Mallory Winter, the woman of his dreams.

  “I’ll meet you there,” said Mallory, moving toward the front door.

  Rowan waved as she walked out.

  He could barely hold the phone as he called his grandmother.

  ***

  Mallory sat near the ferry terminal, smartphone in hand, collecting every bit of information she could on Lindsey Tull. The salt air mixed with the cool scent of pine. Front Street faced the harbor where moored boats bobbed in the Salish Sea’s deep teal waters and the ferry docked. The sleek white and green ferry offloaded passengers, cars pouring onto Front Street and up Spring Street where dozens of unique shops and local restaurants lined both sides.

  Lindsey made it easy. She’d posted so much personal information on Facebook and her abandoned Myspace page. Address. Phone number. The name of the antique shop (Granny’s Attic) where she worked. Mallory found even more by searching Google images, finding pictures of her car, restaurants she frequented, and where she shopped. And a creepy photo-blog that should have been titled Way Too Much Information.

  Her blog was filled with posts about Rowan and how this Christmas would be the best ever. It was plastered with photos of Rowan in restaurants, with friends, and on the street. Captions beneath the pictures read: my adorable fiancé, my beloved, my soul mate, and father of my future children.

  Most disturbing was the latest entry, pictures of her stalking Rowan all the way to work, from truck to parking lot to the shop, all taken from a distance. She’d badly edited the photos, putting herself beside him in every shot. She wrote about how they’d had a fight and he’d hung up on her. She ended the post saying she’d make it up to him with dinner. The post ended with her writing that she expected him to propose on Christmas Day.

  Mallory squinted at the post’s time stamp: Thursday, December 20, 2012, 1:14 P.M. The time on her phone was 1:24 P.M.

  She shuddered. Ten minutes ago.

  Mallory walked toward Rowan’s shop, searching for his stalker.

  Tourists walked up and down the streets lit with Christmas lights. They wore heavy jackets, fanny packs, and cameras around their necks, walking two and three deep, carrying sacks and coffee cups. Lindsey blended in with them.

  She saw a bleached blonde with too much makeup sitting on a bench across the street from Rowan’s shop. She had a camera with a huge telephoto lens in one hand, smartphone in the other. She wore a white stadium coat, her hard brown eyes looking wild as she snapped photos, shutter clicking continuously, lens pointed at Rowan’s store window. At five eight, Mallory always felt like she’d towered over her in school. She seemed oblivious to anyone around her.

  Mallory sat on a bench, pretending to read a real estate guide as she kept a close but distant watch on Lindsey Tull.

  The woman’s gaze never left the shop and never wavered as people passed her on the sidewalk. She had a trance-like expression on her face as she alternated from camera to smartphone, snapping pictures and texting.

  After thirty minutes, Lindsey walked away, crossing Spring Street. Mallory followed at a distance.

  It was a ten-minute walk to Sunshine Alley where Lindsey went into Granny’s Attic. Mallory waited a few minutes then entered the store.

  The long shop was cavernous, furniture stacked like a flea market sale. The air smelled musty and dry as Mallory walked down the main aisle. One side was filled with tables and chairs, the other arranged with sideboards, dressers, bed frames, and sofas. Stacks of old Depression, carnival, and milk glass dishes and knick-knacks lined the back wall. An antique cash register sat on a display case where Lindsey stood beside a sixty-something woman with curly, reddish brown hair.

  “How was lunch?” the older woman asked as Lindsey wrapped a milk glass vase in tissue paper.

  “Good. Sorry I was late. The place was packed and it took forever to get my food. I’ll make up the time on Tuesday.”

  “That’s Christmas Eve.”

  Lindsey grinned, handing the bag to a customer. “I know. Rowan�
��s taking me to the Duck Soup Inn. To propose.”

  Mallory cringed, wanting to gag. This woman was delusional. And dangerous.

  Customers left the store, the bell jangling. The older woman raised thin eyebrows, bright hazel eyes looking confused.

  “Weren’t you married before on Christmas Day?” the woman asked.

  Lindsey’s eyes narrowed, a look of almost hatred burning on her heart-shaped face. “Where’d you hear that?” she snapped.

  “Your mother and I have been friends since you were in diapers, young lady.”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “Until that Christmas when he left me for some whore.” She grinned. “I got the house and half his paycheck in the divorce. He never loved me like Rowan does.”

  Mallory wandered out the door.

  Lindsey was married once on Christmas. That explained the fixation with Christmas. And the cheating husband explained the crazy.

  If any of that were true.

  The alarm on her phone chimed. Fifteen minutes until coffee with Rowan. She hurried up the street toward the bakery.

  ***

  Rowan was waiting when she entered. He seemed more relaxed. They stood in line, ordering separately, and then slid into a wooden booth against the wall. They removed their coats. In the light, he looked tired, his bright blue eyes shadowed.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually here with you,” said Rowan, resting his elbows on the table, grey flannel shirt sleeves rolled up.

  “Why’s that?” Mallory asked.

  He bowed his head a moment, looking a little shy, sandy hair windblown. “I’ve wanted to ask you out since high school.”

  Mallory’s mouth fell open. “Are you serious?”

  He looked up, nodding. Those laugh lines curved across his cheeks, giving him a boyish look that melted her.

  “In school, I waited two years for you to ask me out, but you never did. Why?”

  He looked shell-shocked, the smile fading. “You mean you’d have gone out with me?”