Incorporeal

by Julia Barrett

  ***

  “I don’t understand.” Sara trailed light fingers over the damp skin of Nathan’s chest.

  Nathan gave a snort of laughter. As if I do. “What don’t you understand?”

  Her fingers dipped lower, skidding across his narrow waist. “Any of this, how this is possible and why I’m, why I’m a willing participant in whatever this is.”

  Lifting himself up on an elbow, Nathan ran a hand along the side of her face. He twined a lock of her auburn hair around his fingers, playing. “Are you saying you regret what we’ve just done?” He searched her eyes, waiting for an answer.

  “Strange as it sounds, no, I don’t regret being with you. But Nathan, it’s not real. It can’t be real. You’re a dream, or something straight out of a dream. You’re a ghost, incorporeal.”

  He reached for her hand and pressed her palm flat against his chest. “Can you feel that?”

  Sara nodded. “Your heart’s beating.”

  His eyes locked on hers, he drew the soft hand lower, until she caressed his erection. “Tell me, Sara, can you feel this?”

  She responded with a grin so crooked it brought a smile to his own face. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “I’ve already felt that part of your anatomy a number of times. But Nathan…”

  He stopped her words with a kiss. When at last he lifted his head, he heard her whisper his name once more, the sound barely more than a sigh against his cheek. He parted her legs with his own and entered her, his body shivering with need, eager to make up for five hundred years of delayed gratification.

  Eyes closed, Sara arched against him and if she had a question, Nathan sensed she’d forgotten all about it. His mouth descended once again, but this time, his lips closed around her small, hard nipple. She cried out with pleasure. Feeling warm for the first time in ages, Nathan pushed aside any thoughts of tomorrow and gave himself over to the heat of her willing body.

  ***

  Sara woke alone. Brushing the hair from her face, she sat up and peered around the dark bedroom. The only light, a washed out imitation of moonlight, came from the street lamp down the block.

  “Nathan?”

  Nothing.

  “Nathan, are you here?”

  No response.

  “Damn.” Sara dropped back down onto the pillows and closed her eyes. “This is so wrong, so very, very wrong. What time is it?”

  Turning onto her side, Sara reached for the clock. Nine-thirty. Plenty of time to get some work done. I have to print up two manuscripts and what I have of my work in progress, and get them ready for Kinko’s.

  “Crap!” Sara flew out of bed. By now the ice cream had probably melted all over her couch. Grabbing her bathrobe, she headed for the staircase and descended in a hurry, only to discover the grocery bag she’d left on the couch had vanished.

  “Where is it? Where the hell is it?” Sara didn’t see a stain, so she ran a hand over the couch, checking for cold, wet spots. Nothing.

  “I put your food away.”

  Sara jumped at the sound of his disembodied voice. “What happened? Where are you? I can’t see you.”

  “I’m here, near the fireplace.” He sounded weary, and more than a little annoyed.

  Sara glanced out of the corner of her eye. He was there, all right, but once again, he’d become incorporeal. “I’m sorry.” What else could she say? She heard him sigh.

  “Thank you.”

  Sara absently twisted the ties of her bathrobe. We need to talk. She cleared her throat. “We need to talk.”

  He cleared his throat in response, but said nothing. Sara’s eyes followed his faint glimmering trail as he moved farther away from her.

  “Don’t you dare vanish,” she said. “Not before we’ve had a chance to talk about what’s happening.” Sara held up a finger. “I’m serious. Don’t even pretend to go wherever it is you go when you are trying to avoid me. Make yourself visible so we can talk face to face.”

  “I’m not avoiding you, Sara.” She heard him mutter something. “I can’t become visible at this moment. It’s beyond my control.”

  “Well who has control?” Sara tried and failed to keep the anger out of her voice. “Who or what controls when you become visible.”

  From what Sara could discern, Nathan shrugged. She dropped down on the couch. “It’s very difficult to have a conversation with you when I can’t see you, but we need to talk.”

  “Sara.” His voice sounded right in her ear. This time, instead of jumping out of her skin, she managed to sit still. “I can’t have this discussion with you right now. I will be visible again, of that I’m certain. We will have your conversation, but not tonight. It takes a great deal of energy for me to…”

  “Become corporeal?”

  “Yes. I’m tired. I apologize, but I must have some time to recover.”

  Sara felt a cool breeze blow through her tangled curls. She knew it was no breeze; it was his gentle fingers. Sensing a slight pressure against her cheek, Sara closed her eyes, remembering his soft, sensuous lips.

  “Sara, I must leave you now. In any case, you have work to do - this publisher, remember? You must prepare for your meeting with her. I don’t wish to interfere with that.”

  I’m beginning to get a headache. “It’s all right, Nathan,” Sara said, rubbing her temple with her fingertips. “When you’re ready you know where to find me, but we can’t put this off much longer. I need an explanation.”

  “I know.” After uttering those two words, Nathan vanished altogether. Somehow, his absence felt more tangible than his presence. A block of ice settled in Sara’s heart. She didn’t want him to leave. If he was a living man, I’d never want him to leave. A rumble from her stomach interrupted her musings.

  Well, might as well find out where he put my groceries. How do you like those apples? I’ve heard of stacking ghosts, but I never imagined I’d be visited by a ghost who does household chores. Sara pushed herself off the couch and headed into the kitchen. Wow. She shook her head. This situation is kind of funny and it’s so not funny at all.

  Sara propped open the fridge door and stared inside. Nathan had arranged her groceries neatly on the glass shelves. What a ghost.

  Chapter Four

  “You’ve had sex.”

  “Dalton? What in the world? Where did that come from?” Cheeks flaming, Sara snatched up her coffee and headed out the door of the coffee shop.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about, girl.” Dalton caught up to her. “S-E-X. You’ve had it. I can see it in your eyes, in your walk. It’s evident in that pencil-thin black skirt you never, ever wear. You’ve had sex.” Dalton stepped in front of her, a big grin on her face, stopping Sara in her tracks. “Spill. Who is he and how have you managed to keep him a secret from me?”

  Sara stepped around her friend and kept walking. “There is no he. I’m not having sex.”

  “Fine, be that way. Keep it to yourself. I’m only your best friend.” Dalton gave a deliberate sniff and backed away, making sure Sara knew she was peeved.

  “C’mon, Dalton, I have thirty minutes to get these manuscripts to Kinko’s. I need them looking professional by Friday morning.” The two continued down the street in an uncomfortable silence. “Okay, fine.” Sara relented. “Yes, there’s sort of a man I’m sort of seeing, but I’m not ready to talk about it.”

  “I knew it!” Dalton practically crowed. “Why can’t you talk about it? We tell each other everything, and don’t say it’s complicated. I hate that cop out.”

  Sara laughed. “It is complicated, but I won’t use that as an excuse.” She gave Dalton a lopsided grin. “Let me put it this way, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Oh, I get it; you’re not convinced he has staying power.”

  He has plenty of staying power, just not the kind you’re thinking of. “Yes, I’m not sure there’s much future, well, I’m not sure there’s any future for us, so I’d rather keep quiet for the time being.”

  “Okay, I’l
l give you that, but tell me one thing, how’s the sex?”

  Sara nearly choked on her coffee.

  “That good, huh?” Whacking Sara’s back, Dalton laughed out loud. “When do I get to meet him?”

  Sara coughed out an incoherent reply.

  “Oh, so that’s how it is, huh? See if I ever buy you a coffee again.”

  “C’mon, you’re gonna make me drop my bag.” Sara readjusted the shoulder strap of her tote bag. “Let’s concentrate on one thing at a time. This,” she shook the tote, “is thing number one. My man, if that’s what he is, is thing number two.”

  “A big thing, I hope, for your sake,” Dalton mumbled.

  “Oh, don’t go there,” Sara admonished her friend, but she couldn’t help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “Okay, I won’t, but only because I’ve already got my answer. So, let’s talk about thing number one. Are you nervous?”

  Sara shrugged. “Not really. I haven’t had much time to think about it.”

  Dalton paused for the space of a heart beat. “You mean because thing number two is keeping you occupied?”

  “Oh god, you are so single-minded! Yes, Dalton, he’s fucking my brains out. Does that make you happy? Are you satisfied now?” Sara gave her friend a nudge with her shoulder.

  “Very satisfied.” Her friend sounded smug. “I’ll ask again, when do I get to meet him?”

  Never, girlfriend, you never get to meet him. What a sad thought. “Soon. I’ll try to arrange something soon.” Sara reached for the glass doors leading into the copy place. “Right now we focus on thing number one. I want these manuscripts presentable for Ms. Leah Rosen.”

  “It’s gonna cost you an arm and a leg, but it’ll be worth it when she reads them.” Dalton squeezed her elbow. “I just know she’ll read them. I think you should stick a few gift items in with the books, you know, personalize the submissions.”

  Sara took her place in line at the order desk, Dalton trailing after her. “I’ve already thought of that,” she replied. “I’m planning to give her a couple bags of homemade granola…”

  Dalton interrupted. “Oooh, that almond granola I like so much?”

  “Yes, plus I thought it might be nice to add a box of scented soaps and lotions, and maybe a few candles. You know how stale a hotel room can get.”

  “Perfect. While you’re in line, I’m going to find you the ideal gift bag, nothing tacky; something that says you’re serious about your work, but romantic when it comes to your fantasy life. You know, exactly the kind of woman a romance writer is supposed to represent.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Hey, Sara, don’t kid yourself, I know so. Romance is all about fantasy and make-believe, that’s why it’s addictive. It’s like the old Calgon commercial, Calgon, take me away! You write about every woman’s fantasy man. We all know he doesn’t exist, but we can pretend, can’t we? Seriously, there’s nothing better than a virile, larger than life, pretend man.” Dalton lowered her voice. “A good romance hero is like the fuckinator. He’ll fuck her. That’s what he does. That’s all he does.”

  “Go, before I snort coffee through my nose. Go, Dalton, please.” Sara’s shoulders shook with laughter as she watched her friend walk away. A fuckinator? What a great idea for my next story. Guess I have my own personal fantasy fuckinator.

  I hope Nathan’s there when I get home. This disappearing act is worrisome. Actually, when I think about it, it’s this appearing act of his that should be worrying me more.

  Why aren’t you worrying about that, Sara? Don’t you have way more to fear from a corporeal ghost who can, as you told Dalton, fuck your brains out?

  I don’t know why I’m not afraid of him, but I’m not. I’m not afraid of Nathan. I’m not entirely sure he’s even a ghost. Maybe that’s worse.

  God only knows what he really is. You are fucking a semi-incorporeal being with powers and abilities far beyond your understanding and you haven’t considered committing yourself to an asylum. What’s wrong with this picture, Sara?

  Oh, honey, there is so much wrong that I wouldn’t know where to begin.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  Sara forced herself to attend to the clerk. “Yes, I have several items I need professionally bound.” She pulled three separate manuscripts out of her shoulder tote and set them down on the counter.

  “When do you need these by?”

  “Friday, noon at the latest.”

  The clerk’s brow furrowed slightly. “We can probably get it done today, but we’re short staffed this week and pretty backed up. Let me talk to my manager and see what kind of price I can give you.”

  “Thanks,” Sara called to his retreating back. Great, I love spending more money I don’t have, but if it gets my stuff read, then it will be worth every penny.

  ***

  Nathan returned home, to his dark, dank, deserted corner of purgatory, but the place no longer looked familiar. The stones were wrong, faded; darker than they’d been, if that was possible. He strode from one corner of his abode to the other, feeling the chill of death seep into his bones, and he shuddered. He could hear Sara’s voice – What bones? You have no bones, you ghost. The cold had never bothered him before; he’d welcomed it. It bothered him now.

  This is not my home. I don’t belong here. I never did. Nathan knew with clarity that he’d been wrong to remain separate as long as he had. If he’d allowed himself to enter the next realm, he’d have been reborn long ago, centuries ago, born again and again until perhaps he’d have been born into this time, into Sara’s time. He could have loved her as a man loves a woman, protected her, provided for her, given her children, grown old with her and passed on to the next life with her.

  Damn. Nathan slammed his clenched fist against a wall that was not a wall. It existed only in his mind. He knew he’d created it, along with this space, although he didn’t know how. The rock felt solid nonetheless, and the pain he experienced seemed as real as anything he’d felt when he’d walked the earth as a man. He shook his hand, reminding himself that the sensation was not real.

  What about the sensation I feel when I’m with Sara? It seems real enough. God in heaven, it feels real.

  But Sara’s home isn’t mine any more than this no-place is. What do I have to offer a living woman? Nathan’s laugh echoed in the empty space, sounding bitter to his own ears. Nothing whatsoever. I am not a man. I am dead and buried and I’ve been so for centuries.

  Then why does my heart seem to beat? Why can I feel the warmth of a fire, the heat of her body; the silky softness of her skin beneath my fingertips? Nathan closed his eyes and ran his ghost fingers through his ghost hair.

  “I don’t understand.” He spoke the words aloud and as he expected, he heard their faint echo. He turned in a slow circle, staring at the cold, silent space surrounding him. This is not what I want. I want more. I want her. Nathan knew what he had to do. It was time to join the dead.

  Chapter Five

  “Nathan?” Sara gave the door a shove with her hip. She held the bound manuscripts in her arms, while the straps of her purse and the tote bag managed to dig jointly into her shoulder. It would be nice if he’d show off by opening the door for her. “Nathan?”

  There was no answer.

  Eyes lighting on the fireplace, hoping for the warm glow of a fire, Sara saw only dark, cold ashes. She turned in a slow, methodical circle, searching for any glimmer of her ghost. The room contained nothing but furniture and empty space. Sudden tears slid down her cheeks, surprising her. She tried and failed to wipe them away with her free shoulder, feeling a chill settle into her heart.

  How odd that a long-dead incorporeal spirit could bring such light and warmth into a home. She’d grown so accustomed to Nathan’s presence in recent months that his absence felt almost like an amputation. And there was no mistake, he was absent.

  She tried again. “Nathan, where are you?” Not a murmur, not a single, sibilant, ethe
real, hiss, not the slightest brush of cool air as he passed by. The room was filled with pure, unadulterated, unbroken silence.

  “He’ll be back. He’s done this before, vanished for a day or two. He’ll be back.” Fuck. He’d better be.

  Sara dropped manuscripts onto the dining room table, along with her purse and the heavy tote. After she shut the front door, Sara closed her eyes and listened one more time. The ice maker groaned and dropped ice into the plastic tray with a clack. Somewhere a faucet dripped. A far-off siren sounded like the howl of a lone wolf. There was no Nathan.

  “Well this sucks. He leaves without any explanation or a fare thee well and I’m stuck talking to myself. I don’t even have the foggiest notion why he showed up in the first place. Great, just great. I was going to make him tell me about that tonight. I want an explanation.” Her voice rose. “Do you hear that, Nathan? I demand an explanation for your presence.”

  What if I never get it? Sara’s feet refused to move. What if I never get an explanation for his presence because I never see him again? Oh my god. Wobbly legs dictated she sit on the couch before she fell onto the floor. Do you want to see him again? The answer came to her in a flash. Yes. I want to see Nathan again.

  Are you falling in love with a ghost? Sara, be reasonable.

  What’s to be reasonable about? There’s nothing reasonable about this situation. C’mon, brain, admit it, you’ve fallen in love with a ghost. He may be incorporeal much of the time, but he’s the best man that’s ever happened to you.

  Stop. Stop right now. The situation is impossible. A living woman cannot be in love with a dead man.

  “Oh yeah, remember last night? Well he didn’t feel dead last night. His heart beat; he was warm to the touch. I swear, I don’t know what Nathan is, but one thing he’s not is your run-of-the-mill ghost.”

  There you go again, talking to yourself.

  Irritated, Sara rose to her feet. She cried out loud, “Well who the hell else am I going to talk to? There’s not a soul who knows what I can do, what I can see. Not even my best friend knows, and if she did, she’d run for the hills. She thinks I have a vivid imagination. She likes my stories, but that’s all they are to her, made up stories, fairytales. But they’re not. What happens to me is real.” Her voice shook. “It’s as real as eating a piece of toast or driving to the grocery store or watching a movie or taking a long, hot shower. I can’t keep pretending otherwise. I see ghosts. A ghost has been living in my house for almost three months. I’ve been making love with him. I have to face the fact that I’m involved with a dead man.” Sara stomped her foot. “Deal with it, brain.”