Ruby's Letters

by Maggie Van Well

  Hilary finally turned to her, those gray eyes as cold as ever. “I can go anywhere I wish in my house.”

  “Really?” Ruby backed up a few steps and made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Then be my guest.”

  With her translucent chin in the air, Hilary floated—walking seemed beneath her at this point—down to the garden floor. She hovered on the stairs, her brow furrowed in discomfort, before she made her way to the kitchen.

  Ruby stood back as her hostess hesitated a few feet from the doorway. “Something wrong, Hil?”

  Had she not already been dead, Hilary’s glare would have felled Ruby where she stood. Then, with a determination that any woman would envy, Hilary entered the kitchen.

  She froze.

  Her essence quaked, her face twisting into a grotesque image of melting flesh.

  A howl louder than any tornadic wind filled the home, so shrill, so painful, it shook the glass in the windows.

  Even to a ghostly being, the sound was horrifying. “Hilary,” Ruby cried out. “Get out of there!”

  But Hilary stayed, as if to defy anyone or anything who dared tell her there was someplace in her home where she was not welcome. The room turned red, dark, and sinister. The aroma of musk grew to a sickening level.

  Ruby could take no more. Entering the kitchen, she reached for Hilary’s bony wrist. Their essences fused, and Ruby pulled her from the room. The howling stopped. The blood-red aura that had colored the kitchen faded.

  “You are a foul, prideful woman, even in death,” Ruby shouted.

  “How dare They?” Hilary’s eyes burned red. “How dare They keep me from any room in my—my home!”

  “It’s not Them. It’s the house. You can’t go into the kitchen because that’s where you committed your greatest sin. You murdered. And you didn’t have time to confess. Your punishment is to stay here, but this time, you don’t own the house, the house owns you.”

  Hilary gritted her ghostly teeth. “Why don’t you just leave?”

  Despite everything Hilary had done and could still do, Ruby felt sorrow for her. “I have a way out. One that was offered to me and will be again. But you…you’re stuck here for all eternity.”

  ***

  The words before her blurred as Emma searched yet another ghost hunter’s website. She rubbed her strained eyes. For the first time since they’d met, her conversation with Sheila had not relaxed or comforted her. Instead it had produced more questions.

  There was an explanation. The red mist had to be light reflecting off the excessive dust particles floating through the air due to the renovation. The fear was her overactive imagination. And the cold? Well, it was a cellar, after all. How many were warm and cozy?

  Yes, that was it. It was all the power of suggestion. Finding the body in the fireplace had affected her more than she’d thought.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a reason for the musk scent in the cellar.

  The familiar odor reminded her of the master bedroom. But that was four stories away. How had the fragrance made its way down to the cellar?

  Oh, well, there had to be a reason for that too.

  With a warm smile, she picked up the recorder Sheila had loaned her.

  “Take this with you tomorrow and walk around the house asking questions. See if you capture any EVPs,” Sheila had insisted.

  EVPs. Emma shook her head. Only her deep affection for her friend prevented her from telling her she was being silly. Besides, what harm could it do?

  With another rub to her tired eyes, she shut down her computer and glanced at the time on the Tickety Toc clock hanging on the wall above her desk. Gasp! She jumped up from her chair and ran to the bathroom.

  “Nicole, is the table set?” she shouted as she brushed her hair. Tag was due any minute. She hoped her simple peach sundress wasn’t too much for a casual dinner, but she wanted to show him she owned more than her usual jeans and company T-shirt. She had high hopes for this evening, but there was a small part of her that thought it was a lost cause.

  “Yes,” came her daughter’s reply.

  Emma was a little nervous about this evening. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d had a friend over since Jared had moved out, but Nicole didn’t know Tag. She was worried her daughter wouldn’t like him. When she’d told her about their dinner guest, Nicole had narrowed her eyes at her. “Is he nice? He won’t boss me around, will he?”

  Emma smiled. Funny how kids gauged people. Sometimes they were a better judge of character than adults. “No, sweetie, I promise, he won’t.”

  The doorbell rang at exactly seven. Emma was delighted when Tag handed her a bouquet of flowers. She invited him in.

  His eyes lowered and brow rose. “Wow, you have legs!”

  “Who woulda thunk it, huh?” Turning toward the kitchen, she spied her daughter lurking in the doorway of the family room. “Nicole, come say hello to Tag.”

  If Nicole walked any slower, she’d be moving backward. Once she reached them, she gripped Emma’s hand and smiled shyly at their guest.

  “Hello, Nicole.” Tag nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Nicole held out her hand. “Hi.”

  Tag shook it.

  Emma’s shoulders relaxed. “Honey, why don’t you go put the bread in a basket for Mommy?”

  Without a word, her daughter stomped from the room.

  She grinned apologetically, confused by her daughter’s reaction. “I’ll be right back,” she said, then headed for the kitchen.

  Nicole stood at the dinette table, pulling apart the pre-cut Italian bread, and arranging it in a linen-lined bread basket.

  “Are you okay?”

  As if she’d waited for that exact question all night, Nicole’s objections burst forth. “Why does he have to be here?”

  Emma frowned. “Tag is a friend of mine, and I wanted you to meet him.”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “Why?”

  Nicole crossed her arms and pouted. “Because he looks mean.”

  She squatted down. “He’s not mean. If he was I never would’ve invited him over.”

  “After I shook his hand, he wiped it on his pants.”

  Emma sighed. “Come here. Give me a hug-a-bug.”

  Nicole went into her arms reluctantly, but after a few seconds hugged her back.

  “Give him a chance. I’m sure once you get to know him, you’ll like him as much as I do.”

  With a sigh of resignation, her daughter nodded.

  Emma summoned a bright smile. “Now, how about helping me serve dinner?”

  ***

  Awkward.

  That was the perfect word to describe the meal, but only because horrendous seemed a tad too strong.

  Tag was very patient with Nicole, even though she gave him only one-word answers to his questions. After a while he stopped trying.

  Emma was relieved when dessert finally rolled around. As soon as Nicole and Tag, at his insistence, helped clear the dishes, her daughter headed to the family room. Tag and Emma chose the living room.

  “I’m so sorry about Nicole.” She sat on the sofa, making room for him as he took a seat beside her.

  “Hey, don’t worry, I understand.” He pondered for a moment. “Although I don’t understand why she doesn’t like me. Most find me very charming.”

  Emma grinned. “I know I do.”

  Tag slid an arm around her shoulders and leaned forward. He settled his lips against hers.

  The feelings that whirled around inside drove her crazy. She liked Tag, really liked him, but her reaction to him was far from passionate. Oh, he was a seasoned kisser for sure, but his technique wasn’t the problem. It was her. This wasn’t the man she wanted on her couch.

  She pulled away. “Tag…Nicole….”

  He sat back and swatted his forehead with his palm. “I can’t believe I’m so stupid.”

  Guilt inched its way up. Using her daughter as an excuse not to kiss a hot guy? Had she no s
hame? “It’s okay, really.”

  He stood. “No. No, it’s not. The last thing I want to do is upset her.”

  Emma lowered her head.

  Tag hooked a finger under her chin, raising her face to look at him. “I’m going to go. Thank you for dinner. You’re a great cook.”

  His warm fingers linked with hers, and he pulled Emma to her feet. “Thank you. I’m glad you could come.”

  Glancing toward the family room, Tag winked before kissing her cheek. Then he was gone. Emma closed the door with a deep frown.

  When she saw the disaster that was her kitchen, she took a breath and got to work. The only problem with mindless labor was she had a lot of time for thinking…something she didn’t want to do at the moment, but she needed to clear her head before talking to Nicole. Her behavior tonight was not to be tolerated.

  If this was her daughter’s reaction to meeting a friend, how would she respond to someone Emma might date?

  The ringing phone snatched her out of her thoughts. Absently, she answered it.

  “Hey, Emma, how’d it go?”

  At the sound of her ex-husband’s voice, Emma threw the sponge into the sink and sank into one of the kitchen chairs. “Not great. Nicole was miserable the whole time.”

  “Ah, it’s going to take some time.”

  Emma pictured Jared sitting at his desk, playing a game of solitaire on his computer, his small oblong glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Not a hair out of place. He probably still wore the medium brown or slate blue business suit he’d worn to the office that day.

  Emma sighed, wishing she could see the smile that had always managed to comfort her. “I know she’s young, but I have to wonder if it’s too soon to consider dating.”

  “You can’t put your life on hold for her.”

  “Sure I can.”

  “If you wait for the right time, it’ll never come.”

  She ran her index finger along the edge of the blue-glass bowl she kept as a centerpiece. “Jared, do you think it’s a help or a hindrance that we’re so close? I mean, maybe we shouldn’t talk or see each other as much.”

  Jared let out a long, slow breath. “Well, I can see your logic, but I think in the end, it’s better for her that we get along.”

  “But won’t it keep a small bit of hope alive that we might get back together?”

  “All kids have that hope when their parents get divorced, even when they fight like cats and dogs.”

  Emma swiped her hand over her head, sensing the deep pounding in her head that always preceded a migraine. Shouldering the phone, she rubbed her temples. “I know you’re right. I was just looking for the easy way out.”

  “That’s not like you. What’s wrong?”

  Emma hesitated, wondering if she should share the business about the house she was working on…and her unexplainable attraction to a certain general contractor.

  She pulled away from the idea. How could she talk to her ex-husband about her feelings for Ryan Atkinson when she didn’t even understand them herself?

  “I think I’m getting a migraine.”

  “Oh jeez, take some medicine and get to bed right away. I’m sure Sheila wouldn’t mind coming over and putting Nicole to bed.”

  Standing, she walked over to the phone base. “Yeah, I might do that. Thanks for listening. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “Goodnight, hon.”

  Emma finished cleaning the kitchen, but she didn’t call Sheila. Instead she settled in her office.

  After opening her favorite search engine, she typed in the words paranormal activity. As she scanned the first page of results, she clicked the images tag right above the first listing.

  Hundreds of pictures came up of what ghost hunters called orbs, ectoplasm, apparitions, and streamers. Emma shook her head. The orbs looked like nothing more than dust particles, while the streamers were probably a moth or some other flying insect. Even to her untrained eyes, the apparitions looked like a clever kid playing a prank. The ectoplasm was more of a mystery—

  Emma jerked upright in her chair.

  Closing the web page, she clicked through her documents until she came upon the pictures she’d taken the first day at the Brooklyn Heights brownstone.

  As she scrolled though them, her heart pounded in her ears.

  What she’d originally thought was shoddy photography now looked like pictures one might find in a parapsychologist’s journal.

  She’d never noticed all the pictures were perfectly clear—except the ones taken in the master bedroom.

  The first picture was of the fireplace. Directly above the mantel, lingering right above Carlos’s head, was a small round orb and a streak of light. It’s just dust, or a reflection from the old mirror above the mantel. But the orb seemed more solid and larger than a particle of dust or a mere reflection.

  The next pictures were also of the fireplace, but from different angles. When Emma studied the pictures side by side, the orb appeared to be in the exact same spot.

  Dust didn’t stand still. Reflections moved when looked at from different angles, or disappeared altogether.

  The first three images had her hands shaking. She was afraid to go through more. But she carried on.

  She clicked the mouse and studied the pictures she’d taken, not for work purposes, but for her own pleasure. The master bedroom window facing the Brooklyn Bridge.

  Emma’s face moved closer to the screen and a small gasp escaped her lips. A faint glow of gray mist hovered right near the window.

  Wait. There was something in the mist. Most of the image was blurred, except one area.

  Eyes.

  Looking directly at the camera.

  Emma zoomed in, darkening the image.

  Eyes. Nose. A face.

  Shoulders.

  In the mist was an unmistakable image of a woman dressed in nineteenth century clothes.

  Emma rubbed her eyes, refusing to believe what they were telling her. Her eyes always lied to her. They’d lied when she thought she looked good as a blonde, and when she thought that slinky blue number she’d worn to Jared’s Christmas party had flattered her butt.

  She grimaced, massaging the nape of her neck. “No, it’s just a trick of the light. I’m tired. I’ve strained my eyes too much today, and I have this damn headache. That could make me see anything in a picture.”

  “Mommy, who are you talking to?”

  Emma jumped at Nicole’s unexpected voice. She had to get a bell for this kid.

  “I was just talking to God, sweetie, don’t mind me.”

  Nicole nodded. “I talk to him a lot, too. Especially when I’m sad.”

  Her throat closed up, knowing she had given her daughter plenty of reasons to be sad. “Yeah, he’s good to talk to.”

  “I think it’s my bedtime.”

  Emma looked up at the Tickety Toc clock. “Yes, it is. You’re such a smart girl.”

  Nicole took her hand. Emma stood, but the pain in her head almost made her sit down again.

  “Are you okay, Mommy?”

  “Yeah, I just have one of my headaches.”

  “Do you want me to get your medicine?”

  She caressed the top of Nicole’s silky brown head. “No, I’ll get it after I put you to bed.”

  Once she’d tucked Nicole in, Emma took some pain medication and went to her room.

  She covered her eyes with a cool cloth as she waited for the drugs to take effect. The coolness did help somewhat. She tried to clear her mind of the pain, willing herself to fall asleep.

  Somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, visions tiptoed through her brain.

  An image took shape. Her head resting in Ryan’s lap while he massaged her temples flashed into her thoughts, and the pain eased.

  While Emma’s waking mind would be horrified, her semiconscious mind didn’t seem concerned at all.

  Chapter Six

  THE BLARING of a horn the next morning had Emma jerking up in her seat as she
idled at an intersection, waiting for the light to change. She had taken the precious extra seconds to rest her head against the steering wheel, knowing some kind New Yorker would let her know when it was time to move along.

  Her skull felt as if it might split in two, and the world around her seemed to take on a whitish hue. She continually fought the nausea that threatened to overtake her at any minute. She hadn’t taken any medication, knowing it would make it unsafe to drive.

  Please, Lord, just let me get to the job site and get the guys set up so I can drug myself up and lie down.

  When she arrived at the brownstone, her men were already there gathered on the front stoop. Their hoots and hollers of “Boss Lady” and “You’re late, it must be good to be the queen” changed to whispers of “What’s wrong? Do you have another migraine? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’ll be fine,” she assured them in a voice that was barely a whisper. “Let’s go over what we need to do today, so I can find a comfortable spot to pass out.”

  Mike took her aside. “Do you have another migraine?”

  Just the slight nod she gave him made her head scream.

  “We’ll set up real quick. I’ll keep you in prayer.”

  Giving him a grateful smile, she patted his back and walked up the steps of the house. As soon as she moved inside, she let out a small sob. The pain had worsened the second she’d stepped over the threshold.

  Carlos grabbed her elbow. “¿Emma, estás bien? Is your head breaking?”

  “I don’t know. The moment I walked in the door, it felt like it was caught in a vise.”

  “Siéntate, you need to rest.”

  “Do you want some water?” Bart asked. “I promise I won’t add vodka this time.”

  She smiled her gratitude. “Yes, thanks. I’m going to need some to take my pills.”

  After a few minutes’ rest, she couldn’t put off going through the day’s schedule any longer. Once Bart returned with her water--sans vodka, as promised--she walked the men through the various projects that needed to be done that day. The pain lessened considerably while she was in the kitchen. Still, she was relieved when she could rest.