How To Bring Your Love Life Back From The Dead

by Wendy Sparrow

  He’d never attended church and perhaps this was payment for a certain amount of hedonistic carelessness. Perhaps this was actually hell disguised as paradise because he could feel the minutes of solid form flying. His hours with Ana were being spent in minutes. Yet, he couldn’t stop. It had simply never felt this good.

  When the tingle of intangibility began, he pulled back, knowing that he’d waited too long. Taking several steps back, he said, “I’m so sorry, Ana. I wanted to talk with you, but my energy is waning.”

  Ana’s eyes nearly broke his resolve to spend his last few minutes talking. She cared for him too deeply. How would he ever be able to tell her not to come here? Perhaps he’d have to start a fight to end it. Maybe he’d need to break her trust of him and force her to hate him. Wouldn’t that be ironic? It wasn’t too difficult to recognize that he was falling in love with her, and it might just take her hatred to save her life from being wasted with an apparition.

  He cleared his throat. “You said there was one more thing?”

  Her eyes flew to the open book—the one about the local occult practices. “Yes. That woman—Agnes Weatherby?” She flipped a few pages and pointed.

  He was nearly smoke rather than flesh and blood, and if he got next to her—he wouldn’t be even that. “Read it to me, little mouse.”

  Nodding, though she frowned at his six foot distance, she read, “It was commonly believed that the deceased Agnes Weatherby was the town’s one true witch, and she’d mentioned just days before her death that Charles Franklin would be making a payment on a curse she’d enacted at his request. Whether this had anything to do with his partner’s recent disappearance or not was never discovered as Charles killed the old woman days later.” She glanced up from the book. “Did you believe her to be a witch?”

  “Honestly I only vaguely remember her. I never believed in the occult, so I ignored her presence in town. It seemed small-minded to buy into such things. I seem to remember she was a thin, wiry, old woman who’d always reminded me of a crow. She had these beady, black eyes that would look into your soul.”

  “Creepy,” Ana remarked.

  “Indeed.” The end of his energy was looming. “Ana, I have only a few breaths left. I’m so sorry. You should go home and get some sleep.”

  It was a sad smile that she gave him as she said, “Perhaps I’ll dream of you.”

  Then he was gone in form and voice. The essence of his mind was still present enough to ache as he watched her gather up everything. At the door to leave, she turned and blew a kiss to the room, saying, “Good- night, Shane Blythe, resident spook.”

  Analise woke up and stretched in her bed. It had been a long time since she’d slept that well. Plus, she’d had an incredible dream about Shane. Somehow she doubted that most people had good dreams about ghosts. She also had an idea. A really good idea.

  An hour later, she walked into work. “I have an idea,” she announced to Jenny.

  Jenny held up an energy drink with a look of inquiry.

  Brushing the offer away, Ana said, “Okay, so you know how we hit a brick wall yesterday with finding out how Shane died?”

  “Yes,” Jenny said slowly while narrowing her eyes. “You met that guy last night again, didn’t you?”

  Ana brushed this away with a wave of her hand also. “Okay, so we decided that my great, great grandfather might have been involved, right?” They’d brainstormed on this—with Ana acting like her interest was purely in its connection to her family history.

  Jenny shrugged.

  “What if Charles hired Agnes to poison Shane?”

  “Wait, did we ever figure out why we think Shane is at the library—if that’s even true?” Jenny asked.

  Oh, it was true. Kissing him had been amazing. No wonder Ana had good dreams. “I think it has something to do with his painting being there. It’s got to. That’s the only way it makes sense.”

  “Makes sense?” Jenny repeated.

  “Well, he wasn’t killed there. So, it’s got to be the painting, right?”

  “You just uttered the words ‘it makes sense’ while talking about a ghost who haunts a library. We may have parted ways with sense. Normally, I’m the one coming up with the crazy stories and wild fantasies. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with being the sane one,” Jenny said. “Also, on that subject, Nathan left a message saying that he won’t be able to do that local history presentation at the retirement home later today. He’s come down with a nasty bug, and he doesn’t want to give it to a bunch of elderly folk.”

  Ana blinked, trying to focus on the business, instead of this wild hare idea of hers. “I think I have a copy of the notes for that one. I guess I can go do it.”

  Jenny looked at her watch. “Okay, so we have thirty minutes to devote to whatever weird research plans you have for today before I have to go meet with the tour bus driver and talk with him about making more stops for the senior tours. We had a complaint that he just drove by that old Cary Grant movie site rather than letting everyone get out and take pictures for an hour.”

  Ana stared at her friend. “This is really creepy. It’s like we’ve done a brain trade.”

  Jenny threw her hands up in the air. “That’s what I’m telling you. I’m half-tempted to let you run the haunted tours. Ever since you got onto this research, it’s like you’re obsessed.”

  “Not obsessed…intrigued,” Ana corrected, wincing.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s cool that we’ve found something you’re excited about. You’ve been a little dead to the world since Keaton. But, having you so excited about ghosts—is almost less believable than actual ghosts. I expect words no one sees outside of the dictionary and then this relentless attack on the bottom line so you can tell the entire Franklin clan what they can do with their money. That’s what I expect from you. I’m the one who believes in ghosts. I’m the insane one who rams us down every conversational tangent I can.”

  “It’s an interesting subject!”

  Jenny laughed. “It is fun to make you all defensive about it too. Okay, what’s the plan for today?”

  Ana pulled out the book. “Okay, so I’m hitting a dead-end with both my family and Shane’s history, but I was thinking…what if we tried the history and journals of some of the other people around during that time?”

  “Like?”

  Ana pointed at the book again. “People involved in the occult in those days. If Agnes was involved in Shane’s death, maybe she told someone.”

  “Okay, start throwing out names, and I’ll look them up,” Jenny said, opening her laptop.

  *****

  The librarian he didn’t like, Catty, was standing in front of his painting, staring. He hated it when she did that. She had one of those things in her hand—a phone—and she was talking at it.

  “That’s what I’m telling you,” she hissed. “She’s your relative, and she’s been here a lot lately. Lara said she took a book on the occult history of Seaside with her.” She tapped a foot and glared at his painting.

  He blew a cold wind across her neck. She swatted around and looked suspiciously in his direction. Shane decided to do the same thing from the other side. Hah. Fun.

  Catty kept talking. “I didn’t get a chance to deal with it. It must have come in while I was with you in Cabo. If this goes south, I still expect payments.” She gasped. “You wouldn’t dare tell anyone about that!” She snarled at something the phone said. “Easy for you to say. How am I supposed to get her kicked out of the collection when she is his great, great grandchild? Had you thought of that?” Another pause and she started pacing. “Yeah, because that won’t seem suspicious if you call and insist!”

  Well, he couldn’t blow on her neck if she was moving. Shane blew a book off the shelf and then laughed when she went to pick it up.

  Another person entered the collection room. Not the red-headed woman he wanted to see. Maybe she had a pencil. Was he still collecting pencils? That might be fun.

  Lowe
ring her voice, the librarian woman said, “Ana is staying after hours at night. I’m watching her during the day already.”

  Ana. That was her name. She came at night. She was his. Ana. His Ana. Shane focused on the conversation.

  “Okay, maybe that’s possible. I can tell Lara she spilled something in here or destroyed books and shouldn’t be allowed in here at night. Oh! I can make a huge mess—make it look like she went insane and yanked everything off the shelves before splashing it with soda. Something serious she could be prosecuted for. Of course your family’s lawyers could get her off.” She sniffed. “That’d be good. Just leave her there a few days. What? Oh, I think it’s difficult to get someone declared insane…even with your money…even if she is acting crazy already. I can look into it, though.”

  He blew another book off.

  Catty looked around with a frown as she picked it up. She cleared her throat. “I can’t do it this morning. It’ll have to wait. Lara’s already been in here this morning, so she’d know I was lying. Tomorrow. I’ll get here early tomorrow and really mess stuff up. Still, I can’t watch her every day. I have days off. Besides…she’s your cousin. I’m not getting enough out of this to become her stalker.” Her mouth dropped open, and she pulled the phone back to stare at it before putting it back up to her ear. “You wouldn’t dare. You’re in it up to the top of your precious Franklin head.”

  She didn’t want Ana here at night. Shane concentrated on that. He’d need to remember that so that his night self could do something about it.

  The librarian poked the phone and strode off.

  Catty is trying to get Ana in trouble. She doesn’t want Ana here at night. Concentrate, Shane. This is important. You really, really like Ana.

  The other person in the collection room dropped a pencil—it rolled across the floor, distracting Shane. A pencil. Did he need a pencil?

  *****

  Ana was half-way through the presentation at the retirement home when something about one of the older women caught her eye. It was a necklace; she’d seen it somewhere before. It was a moon made of large pieces of polished jade, segmented in pieces to resemble the phases of the moon. She knew she’d run across it in her research. The rest of her presentation couldn’t go quickly enough and after she’d answered all their questions and been invited to stay for luncheon, she sought the woman with the necklace out.

  The elderly woman was sitting in a corner, staring through a window. The plate of small sandwiches lay forgotten as she twirled the necklace with her fingers. Her cheekbones were defined and sharp and, perhaps it was that and her white hair, but her dark eyes seemed more intense than any Ana had ever seen. They were nearly black and when she’d turned to stare at Ana as she approached, it felt as if she was staring right through her. That niggled a memory too.

  Her smile was warm, though, and she said, “I enjoyed your presentation. I think it’s a shame that so much of history is lost to us simply because of disinterest or poor record-keeping.”

  “Thank you,” Ana said. “I noticed your necklace. It’s very striking. I’m sorry, I don’t remember your name.”

  “Dolores. Dolores Weatherby,” she said, leaning forward to give Ana a closer look at the necklace. “It belonged to my great, great aunt.”

  Ana held the large pendant in her hand. Of course, the moon necklace. She’d seen a photo of it in the occult book. It’d been locally made and had a shallow history of its own. “Your great, great aunt was Agnes Weatherby?”

  Dolores’s black eyes opened wide. “Why yes. Yes, she was. Amazing. I’d never have guessed you were that well-versed in the town’s history.”

  Ana smiled, letting the pendant drop from her hand. She felt guilty taking credit for the knowledge as if she knew everything about the town’s early history. “Well, as it happens, I belong to that family of Franklins. So, really, my great, great grandfather killed your great, great aunt.”

  After a moment of surprise, Dolores chuckled. “Well, I guess that makes us mortal enemies, my dear.”

  “May I sit down?”

  “Of course. I’ve always dreamed of having lunch with a mortal enemy, and I don’t have much time left for long-range goals,” Dolores said, waving a hand at a nearby seat.

  Ana took an immediate liking to Dolores. Her eyes were intense, but the crinkles around the corners of her eyes certainly softened them. “I don’t suppose you know anything of Agnes’s history, do you?”

  Dolores grinned. “As it happens, I’ve been working on a family history to pass on to my nieces and nephews and Agnes’s stories are, by far, the most interesting. It’ll make the boring bits easier to stomach.” She leaned forward. “I had a very boring Uncle Sylvester who collected glass bottles and that was as exciting as he ever got.”

  Ana took out a pen and paper. “You don’t happen to know anything about the dark occult she was said to have done, do you?”

  Dolores clapped in excitement, drawing the attention of those around them. “Those are, by far, the best stories—barely a lick of truth in them, but exciting as hell.”

  A giddy exhilaration was bouncing around inside Ana. She swallowed a large gulp of lemonade to try to quell the bubbles building from a hundred questions wanting out. “Have you ever heard about Shane Blythe?”

  “Yes.” She pointed at the pad of paper. “Now, this is a story you’ll want to write down. If any of it was true, we’d have the makings of a first-rate Hollywood blockbuster on our hands.”

  He could feel her presence the instant he materialized. He breathed it in like it was as vital as the air the living needed. No, Ana was more vital than that to him. She was sitting at the table with a dozen books spread around in front of her and a notepad she was making notes on. She looked more beautiful than ever, and there was something about the intense concentration in her expression that touched his heart.

  “Good evening,” he said, sitting down beside her.

  Her smile lit up the room, and it sent a memory from the day sliding forth into consciousness. His day self had been focused on a phone conversation in which the librarian from the day didn’t want Ana coming in at night ever again. He was vague on the details, but his vapory day version had wanted to warn Ana. Maybe he shouldn’t. Perhaps it was the perfect excuse to make sure Ana didn’t waste her life in here with him. She was young, and she deserved better than that. If the librarian insisted, that would be better than hurting Ana’s feelings enough so she’d stay away. Breaking her heart would have been nearly impossible. This was better.

  “I have huge news,” Ana said, tucking stray curls behind her ears. His fingers itched to touch her and do the same thing.

  Concentrate, Shane. This might be your last night with her. This might have to last you another century…and another…and another until you finally got off this blasted plane.

  “Huge news?” Her enthusiasm was catching. Plus, he couldn’t feel depressed when her smile was on the verge of contributing its own luminescence to the room.

  “You’re not dead.” She threw her hands up in the air and leaned back in the chair.

  Okay. That wasn’t what he was expecting. How was he supposed to argue the point with her? Besides, how was she managing to argue the existence of a ghost to whom she was actually speaking? Clearly, he was dead. He was here, wasn’t he?

  “Ana, love, you’re not making much sense,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke her cheek to soften the comment. “I’m a ghost. You don’t get much more dead than that.”

  She waved a hand at that…as if it was a minor technicality. Had she hit her head? Was she sick? Having seen his family die of cholera, he couldn’t imagine a worse fate for his Ana. She couldn’t be sick. Besides, weren’t doctors that much better today than they once were?

  “I spoke to Agnes Weatherby’s great, great niece today, Shane. You’re not going to believe this.” She gestured at the pad of paper. “My great, great grandfather hired her to put a hex on you.”

  “A hex?” he repeat
ed.

  “Yes, well, I don’t know what to call it, actually. I’ve been looking for more information in all these books.” She gestured at the pile of books. Indeed—she’d been busy. It looked like Ana would become a leading authority on the occult if she kept this up. He picked the nearest book up and flipped through it. No. There was no way he’d allow this. The book was filled with graphic images that turned his stomach. Thankfully, this book was from the main portion of the library otherwise, even as a ghost, he might have had nightmares.

  “No, Ana, you’re not reading any more of this. I forbid it.”

  Ana frowned at him. “You forbid it?”

  “Yes, you’re not reading any more of this on my behalf. I absolutely forbid it.” Shane pushed the stack to the edge of the table in disgust. There’d been a headless chicken on one of the pages.

  “They’re not all as bad as that one. That was more medieval dark practices. There was even an entire chapter on Vlad the Impaler…which I skipped, because it was gross.”

  They both stared at the book with matching looks of revulsion.

  Then, Ana’s zeal returned. “No, but, wait. That has nothing to do with what I needed to tell you.”

  He’d have to get her promise on putting the books back later—after he’d heard what she had to say.

  “Charles wanted control of the company, and he needed to get his partner out of the way, so….”

  “His partner being…me?” He pointed at himself. “Me.” She was forgetting he’d been there. They were talking about him as if he was just a name in a story, but he’d been there.

  Ana’s eyes dropped to her notes. “Yeah. It’s weird to think you knew Charles. Let alone that this all happened over a hundred years ago.”

  She had no idea. Even hearing her mention Charles’s name was surreal in the extreme.