Possessing Elissa

by Donna Sterling

  With a hint of self-consciousness, Suzanne said, “I thought I’d make sure you got in okay, and give you a key to the garage.” She held out a key. Absently, Elissa took it.

  Jesse emitted a deep, husky sound between a laugh and a snort. “You’ve got a hell of a sense of timing, Suzanne.”

  Elissa admonished him with a frown.

  But Suzanne didn’t so much as glance his way. Her attention dwelled solely on Elissa, in a friendly open manner without a hint of embarrassment.

  Jesse tightened his lips, crossed his muscle-corded arms and leaned against the mantel. “Hello to you, too, Suzanne. It’s only been a year since I’ve been home.”

  Suzanne ignored his mocking retort and launched into an account of problems she’d had with the kitchen appliances.

  Elissa gaped at her. She hadn’t acknowledged Jesse’s presence by the merest glance, let alone a greeting. It then occurred to her that Suzanne should be more than mindful of his presence—she should be stunned by it. She had attended his funeral that very day!

  An eerie tension stiffened her spine, and she looked back at Jesse for some clue to the woman’s behavior. He appeared to be as bewildered as she, watching Suzanne as she cataloged the contents of the pantry.

  “Suzanne,” she interrupted, “I no longer need to know any of this. Nor will I need a key.”

  Suzanne tilted her curly blond head as Elissa pressed the key into her palm. “Aren’t you the new owner of the house? The lawyer told me that your son is Jesse’s heir.”

  “True enough,” said Jesse, a hint of amusement softening his irate, almost belligerent voice. “Let’s just say that the change of ownership’s been postponed for a while.”

  Elissa awaited her reaction.

  But none came. None. Suzanne’s questioning gaze remained steadfast on Elissa, as if she hadn’t heard a word Jesse had said.

  “Suzanne!” exclaimed Elissa. “How can anyone inherit this house when Jesse’s not dead?”

  Surprise, at last, disrupted her calm. “Not dead?”

  Elissa regarded her in disbelief. Couldn’t she see that for herself? She cast an incredulous glance at Jesse, who stood with a fist on his lean hip, a frown on his mouth and an expression of fascinated puzzlement in his gaze.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Suzanne, holding up a finger, her cheeks ruddy. “You mean he’s alive in some sort of spiritual way.”

  Elissa’s jaw dropped.

  “Now, that’s questionable,” Jesse quipped.

  Bothered, irritated and just a touch frightened, Elissa snapped, “Don’t make light of the situation, Jesse. There’s obviously some...some problem here.”

  When she swung her gaze back to Suzanne, uneasiness had crept over the young housekeeper’s face. “I’ll just leave the key on the end table,” she said, sidling toward the door.

  “Wait, Suzanne, don’t go....”

  Suzanne had turned her back and now made a beeline toward the door. Baffled, Elissa followed her out onto the porch. “Please, Suzanne, I need to talk to you!”

  The housekeeper beat a steady path down the drive toward her car. Tense and confused, Elissa watched the headlights flare and fade in the cool Georgia night

  A vague resentment embraced her. Why had Suzanne ignored Jesse? She obviously wasn’t blind, and he’d been standing in clear view. Didn’t she comprehend the monumental significance of his presence? Didn’t she realize that a man-her employer—had been falsely declared dead? Didn’t that warrant a comment or two?

  Elissa didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe it was a psychological thing. Maybe Suzanne’s refusal to acknowledge his presence had been caused by denial—to protect her from a surprise too jarring. She found that hard to believe, though. If she herself had survived the shock of finding him alive, anyone could.

  Wrapping her arms around herself, she shivered against the October chill as she walked back into the house.

  “Jesse,” she called on her way into the living room, grateful for the golden lamplight illuminating the vast room. “She left, without ever saying—” She halted. He wasn’t in the living room. “Jesse?” She peered into the dining room, then paced to the kitchen. He wasn’t there, either.

  “Jesse!” she yelled from the bottom of the stairs. No reply from the second floor. Only her own eerie echo. “Don’t tease me like this. It’s not funny.”

  He didn’t answer.

  Forcing a calm she didn’t feel, she methodically searched the house, room by room, shadow by lonely shadow. Her efforts proved to be in vain.

  Jesse had simply vanished.

  DRIZZLE-GRAY LIGHT seeped through the hotel room’s blinds and permeated Elissa’s fitful sleep the next morning, a Saturday. Before she had fully awakened, the events of the previous night crowded in on her, resurrecting the questions that had stormed through her then.

  Where had Jesse gone? Why had he made such a sudden exit, without an explanation, without a goodbye? Those were the questions she allowed herself to ponder. But just beyond those lurked the ones she refused to examine—the ones that had suggested unthinkable possibilities throughout the hellish night.

  As she lay alone in the hotel suite staring at the ceiling, those unasked questions imposed themselves on her. Why hadn’t Suzanne acknowledged Jesse’s presence? Why, when she’d later searched his room, had she found no signs of occupancy, other than the unmade bed? No clothes or shoes out of place; no coins or sundries on his dresser. His toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, razor—even bar soap and shampoo—were all stored away in cabinets. In the kitchen, the refrigerator had been void of food. The trash containers stood empty and unlined.

  Perhaps he was simply neat. She’d heard that the military often instilled obsessive neatness. In her heart, though, she believed that Jesse hadn’t spent a single night in his house since his return from overseas.

  Which brought her to the next set of questions. How had he returned from overseas? And why hadn’t he known about the plane crash, which had been on television, radio and in newspapers? Where had he been since he’d left her kitchen that morning a few weeks ago? And why, when she had telephoned for a taxi from his house last night, had her phone call gone through unimpeded?

  Jesse’s hadn’t. The colonel’s answering service and the long-distance operator hadn’t been able to hear him.

  Huddling beneath the covers, she drew her knees up and tucked her chin to her chest, trying to stop her trembling.

  Everyone thought Jesse was dead. Should she notify his family that she had been with him last night? She imagined what Suzanne’s version of events might be: Ms. Sinclair thought Jesse was with us, but I didn’t see him.

  Her trembling worsened. What are you thanking? she asked herself wildly. Just come out and admit it. But she couldn’t even fathom the possibility that this last encounter had anything to do with paranormal phenomena. He’d been there last night—solid, warm and alive.

  Which meant that he had been there, physically been there, in her kitchen three weeks ago. Again, a question reared its ugly head. How had he popped in and out through solidly locked doors and windows?

  She had come to believe that that encounter had been a telepathic link with him as he died. Telepathy wasn’t too hard to understand; she herself had experienced vague bouts of it from time to time. But that’s all she had believed it to be—a reaching out from one human mind to another, with brain waves much like television or radio waves. She had never for a moment allowed herself to believe that the visit had been of a spiritual nature.

  And, of course, it hadn’t been. He’d been in her kitchen then, just as he’d been in his house last night, fully alive. How could she believe anything else? He had touched her.

  Hadn’t he?

  A serpent-cold doubt slithered through her. He had brushed his lips against hers. Thinking back, she remembered a profusion of sensations that had coursed through her. But had she felt the actual contact of his mouth?

  No. She hadn’t.

  Stop it, just
stop it, she told herself. Ghosts couldn’t kiss like that. Ghosts, if they existed at all, which she strongly doubted, were spiritual beings, with no mass or substance. No sexy smiles, or muscled biceps, or lightly furred chests. Ghosts were like illusions; holograms; vaporous masses; tricks of light, temperature or air pressure. Weren’t they?

  Of course they were. Her trembling lessened.

  There was always another possibility, she realized with growing dismay, another one that she wouldn’t entertain for even a moment. Maybe she was losing her mind.

  She had to pull herself together. Had to ground herself in reality. Shoving her hair back from her eyes, she sat up by the bedside phone and called her mother. After asking about Cody and his teething problems, she had her mother hold the receiver to his little ear.

  She felt a foolish warmth rush to her eyes. “Hi, baby. It’s Mama. I love you.” And though she knew that at three months of age, he wasn’t actually responding to her greeting, he nevertheless made a contented gurgling sound, the kind he made after a comfy nap. Her throat tightened up. “You’re my sunshine, my angel, my heart.” Her eyes blurred; she knew she was being ridiculous. She’d only been away from him for one night, the first he’d ever spent apart from her. “Did you miss me last night? I missed you,” she whispered.

  Her mother reclaimed the phone. Elissa assured her she was all right and said she’d be home later that day, after breakfast and the four-hour train ride.

  As her mother issued her usual warnings about traveling alone, an appetizing aroma wafted over from the adjoining sitting room. Coffee.

  She remembered noticing a coffee maker on the countertop when she’d arrived last night. Had it been set to brew this morning? A lovely idea. Odd, considering the hotel had no way to know when the occupants would rise.

  As she promised her mother that she’d follow her instructions to the letter, a voice rang out from the sitting room. A gruff, familiar, masculine voice.

  “You take yours black?”

  4

  AS THE AROMATIC COFFEE drizzled into the pot, Jesse wondered if Elissa had heard his question. Probably not. Her attention was obviously monopolized by her phone call. And that was precisely why he had brewed the coffee—for an excuse to interrupt her.

  Who the hell was she talking to, anyway? Her words weren’t clear, but her tone and pitch were. Soft, intimate murmurs. A hint of tears held in check. The sound of a kiss being sent across telephone wires.

  If she didn’t hang up the damned phone soon, he just might have to hang it up for her. The ferocity of the impulse rooted Jesse to the spot. Her phone calls were none of his business, and he knew it.

  Was it Dean on the other end of that line? Jesse shook his head in self-disgust. What did it matter who was at the receiving end of those soft endearments? Just because she’d never spoken to him in that tender voice wasn’t any reason to feel like he’d been punched in the gut.

  Dammit, she’d practically been cooing in there.

  It was everything he could do not to go to her now and make her forget all about the guy at the other end of that intimate conversation. He could, he swore he could. He’d make her see that he, Jesse, should be the only one she would ever...

  His thoughts screeched to a halt. What was he thinking? He’d be gone in a month—one short month—off to his next assignment He certainly had no intention of tying himself to anyone, or tying anyone to him. If she wanted to whisper love talk to some S.O.B., that was fine with him. Just fine.

  But it wouldn’t stop him from claiming some of her time. And her mouth. And her body. Soon. The shortness of his leave time added a kind of desperation to his resolve.

  As the coffee finished brewing, Jesse morosely reached for the cups beside the coffee maker, then experienced a profound realization. He didn’t know where he was.

  Stunned, he stared around at the room—green plaid furniture, a coffee table, a miniature refrigerator with a price list posted on its door, floor-to-ceiling draperies that most likely covered sliding glass doors. A hotel suite.

  With Elissa?

  Why couldn’t he remember? He looked down at his favorite pair of faded jeans, ones he hadn’t seen in ages, and a T-shirt he’d practically lived in during his last leave. He couldn’t remember dressing in any of it. His memory was blank.

  This much he vividly recalled—Elissa and he had been interrupted by Suzanne at the start of a kiss. Even now, his body responded to the memory. Though he had barely brushed his lips across hers, the tantalizing taste of her had been even sweeter, more intoxicating, than he’d remembered.

  A question hit him squarely in the libido. What if he’d made love to her and couldn’t remember it? That possibility was more than he could bear. Something had to be done. He’d have to see a doctor about these memory lapses.

  He suspected that the problem had something to do with the trauma of his last mission. The lack of food, the intense cold, the filth of the prison, the less-than-hospitable treatment he’d received at the hands of his terrorist hosts. All this may have somehow left an effect on him. Delayed shock syndrome, he guessed, thinking of what some of his men had suffered after various missions.

  As he began to unwrap a coffee cup, movement from the open doorway caught his eye.

  Elissa stood there, staring at him. Her long pink robe was loosely tied at her slender waist and her white lace gown was open at the throat. Her dark hair glinted and fell in a glorious, uncombed billow; her lips glistened a smooth, natural pink. She had very obviously just risen from bed, and Jesse wanted nothing more than to take her back there.

  He then realized that the glow in her amber brown eyes was not desire. It was anger. Incredulous anger, as if he had sprouted horns before her very eyes and incinerated her favorite sofa.

  “You do want coffee, don’t you?” he asked.

  She didn’t reply, but stood glowering at him, her fists clenching and unclenching at her sides.

  With a half shrug, he offered, “Orange juice?”

  Slowly she advanced, her bare feet peeping out from beneath her robe, her eyes seething. He set down the coffee cup. He’d seen her angry before, but never to this extent Her full bottom lip was tight and a vein pulsed at her temple. “You!” she finally spat out in a tone of loathing.

  Baffled, Jesse frowned. “Care to elaborate on that?”

  Immediately she complied. “You are despicable. Vile! The worst, the very worst person I’ve ever known.”

  “That’s plenty ’nough elaboration for me.” He eyed her in total bewilderment

  “What’s your game, Jesse?” she cried. “Are you trying to drive me crazy? You left me last night, just vanished, letting me search all over the house for you.”

  “I left you?” Impossible.

  “And that thing with Suzanne. Why did she act like she didn’t see you?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe I ticked her off. Seems like I’m pretty good at riling up women without even knowing it”

  Elissa paced back and forth like a caged lioness, glaring at him. “And those phone calls you supposedly tried. When I called for a cab, my call went through just fine.”

  “Good for you. But how should I know why mine didn’t? The lines were obviously messed up. Maybe the army’s covertly taken over the running of the telephone company.”

  “Were the lines really messed up?” she scoffed, ignoring his feeble attempt at humor. “Or was that whole scene part of some scheme?” Her eyes widened at another possibility. “Is Suzanne in it with you? Are you pretending to be dead to hide from the military?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “If this is a scheme, it’s cruel. And illegal. How does it involve me?” Another thought lowered her voice by a decibel. “And how did you know where to find me this morning?” Her tone took on the hush of disbelief. “You must have followed me last night!”

  Jesse could only stare at her in dismay. He hadn’t the first clue as to what the hell he’d done last night. Vaguely he remembe
red a weariness overtaking him; an insidious drain on his energy. But what happened after that?

  Elissa interpreted his silent reflection as guilt. “You did follow me! How did you get into this private suite?”

  Again, he had no answer. Not even a reasonable guess. And in her current state of mind, she probably wouldn’t buy the truth—that he simply didn’t remember. One lesson he’d learned in the military: when in doubt, keep your mouth shut.

  Never had he been more in doubt.

  She was circling him now, her eyes blazing with contempt. “Did you use some maneuver you learned in your juvenile delinquent days to pick the lock of my hotel door? Or did you lie to the front desk clerk, tell her we were together, ask for my room key? If anyone else tried that, it wouldn’t have worked. You’re a con man, Jesse. You had me believing things that are too crazy to even admit. I should have listened to your aunt She said you’ve always had ways of charming the ladies, no matter who got hurt....”

  “Ah, so that part of my dream was true, too.” Anger had, at last, stirred him. “Did you enjoy my aunt’s little spiel about how I sprang from bad seed?”

  A fission of eeriness penetrated Elissa’s anger. His aunt had said exactly that. “You dreamed that?” she asked skeptically. “You dreamed she said those words to me?”

  “And what about the fact...notice, I say fact, that the blood of a rapist runs through my veins?” His voice had grown soft and harsh; his glare burned her cheeks. “She also mentioned the incident in my teenaged years when they ‘apprehended’ me in the girls’ dorm. What did you make of that, Elissa?”

  His glowering nearness forced her back a step. She moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “You...you hadn’t been accused of...rape...had you?”

  “Close.” He smiled, entirely without humor. “Breaking and entering.”

  “You do seem to be rather good at that.”

  “Think, Elissa. With parentage like mine, what else would I have been doing, lurking in the hallway of a girls’ dorm in the middle of the night?”