The only room she could think of to go where she wouldn’t be in the way was the master bedroom. Using her jacket as a pillow, she lowered herself to the paint-stained tarp she’d placed on the floor and waited for the meds to take effect.
Twenty minutes later, she still writhed in pain. The viselike grip on her head had returned, worse than before. A few times she thought she heard shouting voices. She prayed someone would search her out, but no one came. The thought that maybe she should go to the hospital had crossed her mind, but she had neither the strength nor the energy to call out to anyone to suggest it.
Instead, she lay on the floor in the master bedroom and cried.
***
“Stop it! Stop it now, you wicked woman!”
Hilary smiled as the “good witch” tried desperately to stop her onslaught against the young woman lying on her floor. She couldn’t. This new-found power delighted Hilary.
Staring down at her transparent hand, she rubbed the eyelash, Emma’s eyelash, between her thumb and forefinger. The lash seemed to float, but it felt like warm gel between her fingers. Each time she pinched it, Emma jerked in pain. Who would have thought that old superstition had merit?
“Why should I?” Hilary asked. “She deserves this.”
Ruby swirled around Hilary’s head, encasing her in a bluish hue. With a mere jerk of her chin, the haze blew away like a gust of wind and was replaced by a blood-red aura. “You may be stronger than me in the rest of the house, but not here.”
“You don’t think good can conquer evil, regardless of where it resides?”
“Prove me wrong, witch.”
Emma rolled from side to side clutching her head, much to Hilary’s enjoyment. “Stop yelling! Please, God, stop yelling!”
Hilary froze as did Ruby floating overhead. Both were speechless—only Emma’s whimpering broke the silence.
“She can hear us?” Ruby whispered.
“Yes, she can,” Hilary shouted.
“You are evil and vile, and you deserve the eternity of hell with which you are faced.”
Hilary grinned when she noticed the glittering in Ruby’s eyes. “Well, well, well, I didn’t know ghosts could cry.”
Without a word Ruby drifted toward the doorway.
“Where are you going?”
Ruby turned back to her. For the first time, Hilary saw hate in her eyes. “To put an end to this torture.”
Holding up her hand with the eyelash, Hilary squeezed even harder, causing the chimney sweep to let out a gasping sob. “Do your worst.”
***
“…so it was nice, if a little awkward during dinner, but I tell you, that woman can cook…”
Ryan tried to block out Tag’s endless banter as they installed framing studs. Ryan knew the iron taste in his mouth did not come from the nails he held clenched between his teeth but from the bleeding he’d caused by biting the inside of his cheek. If it hadn’t been for his ingenious idea to bite nails, he was quite sure he’d have gnawed a hole all the way through by now. Thankfully, Tag didn’t seem to find it odd that he had nails in his mouth while using a nail gun.
“I’m glad you had a nice time.” Ryan tried to sound supportive, which wasn’t easy with a bunch of nails in his mouth.
“I really did.” His friend sounded somewhat smug. “I think I might ask her out for this weekend. Maybe take in a movie.”
Ryan grunted in response.
“Any ideas on what movie to see?”
Fuck this! It was one thing to listen to his best friend go on about his new girl—a girl that could have been Ryan’s had things been different. He’d be damned if he helped Tag win her heart.
“How about taking her to a chick flick? I bet Emma would love that.” He felt slightly guilty for leading Tag wrong.
Slightly.
His friend scratched the top of his head. “Do you really think…”
Ryan wasn’t listening to him anymore. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a black fog that glided into the parlor. For the first time in his life, he literally spit nails. They made a loud clink when they hit the floor. “What the hell is that?”
Tag followed his gaze. “What? I don’t see anything.”
“It’s soot!” In a fit of anger, he slammed his nail gun onto the inverted trash can lid they used to hold tools. “Son of a bitch!”
Ryan stomped from the room to the stairway. When he made it to the top of the garden floor steps, he fumed. Sure enough, there was no plastic hanging over the doorway to stop the soot from getting to other parts of the house.
“Damn it!” He hurried down the steps.
He found two of the chimney techs laying bricks.
“Why isn’t there a plastic curtain over the doorway?”
“What are you talking about?” Mike looked at him in confusion. “There should be one there.”
“Yes,” Carlos said. “I put the drape up myself.”
“Where’s Emma?” Ryan demanded.
“She’s up in the master bedroom, but I don’t think…”
Ryan didn’t stay to hear the end of Mike’s sentence. Storming though the house, nearly ripping the plastic curtain down as he passed, he took the steps three at a time to the third floor.
When he entered the room, he couldn’t believe what he saw. Her men were downstairs screwing up his job, and she was up here taking a fucking nap?
“You have some damn nerve, lady—-”
“Ryan, please, I beg you, not now.”
His anger vanished as soon as he heard her voice. In a heartbeat, he was on the floor beside her. “What’s wrong?”
“I have a migraine.” Her voice was weak, and it seemed to pain her just to speak. “It’s nothing.”
“Bullshit. You can barely open your eyes.” Kneeling above her head, Ryan placed his hands just under her shoulder blades. “Come on, honey, sit up for me.”
“No, please, don’t. I can’t lift my head.”
“Trust me.”
With great effort, Emma raised her shoulders just enough so Ryan could massage the back of her head, finding the pressure point at the base of her skull. He could feel the tension there, so tight he was surprised her neck didn’t snap.
Within a few moments, her breathing seemed to calm a bit, the tension from fighting the pain subsiding.
“Okay, now you can lie down. Lay your head in my lap.”
Ryan sat lotus style so Emma could rest her head atop his crossed ankles. Framing her eyes with his fingers, he gently massaged her sinuses, above and below her eyes as well as around her mouth. Then he moved on to rubbing the pressure points in her face, temples, and top of her head to keep up the blood flow.
With her eyes closed, he had the perfect opportunity to study her face, something he couldn’t do under normal circumstances. He loved the glow of her skin, even if it was slightly pale at the moment, and the gentle arch of her eyebrows. Her impossibly long lashes surrounded those dark brown eyes so well they appeared framed. He longed to kiss her lips. He knew they’d be as soft as suede gloves.
Her breathing became steady. Ryan rearranged himself into a more comfortable position, saying a prayer of thanks that his brother had married a massage therapist.
Hoping not to wake Emma, he settled her head fully on his lap, continuing to massage her temples. Her lids fluttered open, her eyes glassy with pain.
“Feeling better?”
She licked her dry lips. “I saw this.”
“What?”
“I had a vision. It was exactly like this. You were massaging my temples with my head in your lap.”
Ryan brushed the hair from her forehead. “Go back to sleep, honey. You’ll feel much better when you wake up. I’ll take care of everything.”
She tried to smile, but he could see she was just too drained. “Thank you, Ryan. Thank you for doing this.”
It wasn’t until he was sure she was once again asleep that he whispered, “I’m beginning to think I’d do just about
anything for you.”
***
Ruby smiled triumphantly as Hilary strained to break through the glowing dome surrounding Ryan and Emma. Hilary was squeezing her thumb and forefinger together so hard that Ruby saw a ghost grimace. “You see, Hil? Even in your domain, love prevails over evil.”
Hilary lowered herself to the floor and tried to walk through the couple, her red aura glowing as bright as a dying sun. It had no effect. Whenever she came in close contact, a ribbon of brilliant white light shot from the dome, lighting the room. The ribbon acted as a barrier. One Hilary could not penetrate.
Ruby racked her consciousness for anything she could remember about soul mate ribbons. They wrap around soul mates the second they touch. Many humans interpret this as a shock of awareness, or chemistry. It pulls them together but does not bind them. Separation can still occur. She was pretty sure this was when they were at their weakest.
Once soul mates share a kiss, the ribbon entwines, strengthening their bond even further. A spoken declaration of love tightens the ribbon, reinforces it. At the wedding, God himself ties the ribbon into a lover’s knot. The combined parental love of a child forms a bow.
Ruby prayed Ryan and Emma’s ribbon entwined soon. Every day that went by, Hilary’s hate grew stronger. She grew stronger. Eventually she would be able to break through the dome. She could never completely break the ribbon—only a spoken vow before God could do that—but Hilary could damage it.
“They are not in love,” Hilary said.
Ruby hid her concern, hoping and praying her foe knew nothing about soul mate ribbons. “They will be if they’re not already. Even if they never declare their love for each other and go their separate ways, the bond still exists and it cannot be broken.” She floated over, looking her enemy right in the eye. “Not by you, not by anyone.”
Finally giving up on her torment, Hilary drifted above the floor again. They both paused when footsteps pounded on the stairs…Tag’s footsteps.
“Outside influences can have their own consequence on someone’s happiness,” Hilary said with a sneer.
“Don’t interfere! Let the cards fall where they may.”
“Do you really think Ryan will pursue Emma when she is the woman of the only true friend he has left?”
“They’ve been on one date. She is hardly Tag’s woman.”
“Ryan won’t see it that way.”
Ruby didn’t respond, for the first time entertaining the possibility this wasn’t meant to be.
Hilary turned away and stared out her window. “Nobility is not always a good thing. Neither is doing what is expected of you.”
There was a time when Ruby thought Hilary a sad, misunderstood soul. That belief left her forever when she witnessed the delight the evil woman received by causing Emma, an innocent young lady, such excruciating pain. Which was why, when she faced her, Ruby felt no remorse for her words.
“You deserved all the unhappiness and pain in your life, and I will not shed a tear, ghostly or otherwise, on the day I go home and leave you here to rot in your own little hell. And believe me, I know how to make it a living hell.”
Fear flickered in Hilary’s eyes before anger pushed it aside. “What do you mean?”
“C’mon, Hilary. You’re well read. You should know this. Never give away the ending.”
Chapter Seven
RYAN HADN’T REALIZED he’d fallen asleep until the footsteps on the stairs jerked him awake. He sat with his back up against the wall, his legs straight out in front of him.
He was leaning forward, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to work out the kinks when Tag stopped short in the doorway. Ryan knew what he must be thinking. Here he sat, with his hand in Emma’s hair, her head in his lap.
Tag’s eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”
There was no reason for guilt, so why did the heat rise in his face?
“She had a migraine. A pretty bad one from what I could tell.”
His friend took two steps into the room, seeming to size up the situation. “Why didn’t you come get me?”
Ryan scratched the back of his head. Tag could really be a selfish bastard at times. “It never occurred to me, she was in so much pain. Besides, Rachel is a massage therapist. She showed me how to help my mom when she suffered with them. I knew I could to help Emma.”
After a long moment, Tag nodded. His stance relaxed. “Good.”
Shifting in his seat, Ryan reached for Emma’s jacket. “Could you give me a hand?”
Tag kneeled and lifted Emma’s head, his fingers caressing her face.
Her eyelids flickered but didn’t open. “What’s going on?”
Tag sat her up, pulling her into his arms. “Nothing, sweetie, it’s okay. Ryan needed to get up. You can go back to sleep.”
Anger, resentment, and sorrow raged inside Ryan. He should be the one holding her, whispering words of comfort, not Tag. He should be the one caressing her hair, offering to take her home, to help take care of Nicole, not Tag. It should’ve been him having an awkward dinner with them last night and then kissing her.
Not Tag.
His friend helped Emma lie back on her makeshift pillow. She caught Ryan’s eye. The grateful look made his heart pound.
Unable to handle any more, Ryan fled the room. He decided to go assure Mike and Carlos their boss lady was okay. He met up with Mike on the garden floor.
“I assume you know Emma is feeling poorly?” Mike asked.
“Yes, but she’s resting now.”
“She suffers terribly from migraines.”
He frowned. “This is a common thing for her?”
“Yes, although this was a particularly bad one.”
“I hope I helped her get through it then.”
Mike nodded, shifting uncomfortably.
Ryan’s gaze traveled the room, searching for something to say that would end this tension between them. “I see you put the plastic up.” He nodded in the direction of the kitchen.
Mike’s eyes reflected concern. “Ryan, I’m telling you, that curtain has been there the whole time.”
“No, it hasn’t. I came down here because soot was getting all over the house.”
Mike stared at him as if he’d finally lost his mind. “That’s not possible. We already cleaned out the flues, so there shouldn’t be any soot. I saw Carlos put the curtain up, and it was there when I went to check, after you left to find Emma. You must’ve had to move it aside to get through.”
The hair stood up on the back of Ryan’s neck as he stared at the curtain. Thinking back, he realized he had actually swiped it out of the way. How could he have not noticed, when that was the reason he’d been searching Emma out in the first place? He was sure it hadn’t been there before.
What the hell is going on here?
Ryan fought to stop the shiver that ran down his spine and turned to Mike. “You’re right. I’m sorry, buddy. My only excuse is, it’s been a long day and it’s not even lunchtime yet.”
Mike gripped Ryan’s upper arm. “This house seems unholy at times. I can understand your confusion.”
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
The mason gave it some thought before saying, “I believe it’s possible there are souls who have lost their way. Some good, some bad, some who haven’t followed the light.”
“Do you think it’s possible they affect us in our daily lives?” Knowing Mike was a man of God, Ryan seriously wanted to know his thoughts on the matter.
Mike studied the chisel in his hand. “There may be some spirits who continue to do wrong in death as they did in life. Whether they can actually touch us emotionally or physically, one can only guess.” He stepped closer. “I will tell you this. There are times when I walk around wanting to dance and whistle, and other times when I have this unexplained surge of anger. My moods are pretty stable, except when I’m here. That’s not normal for me.”
“Seems to be normal for me lately.” Ryan moved away but Mike’s next words stopp
ed him in his tracks.
“There’s something off about that third floor bedroom.”
Ryan was hesitant in meeting his eyes. “You’ve felt it too?”
“Yes, and I have no problem with the view.”
“What are you talking about?” God, he hated this feeling of helplessness that wrapped itself around him.
“Tag told me. Please, don’t be angry with him. I may…uh…I may have guilted him into it.” Mike’s eyes grew pained. “How could you not tell me? We knew how Colin died, of course, but Ryan, what you must be going through.”
The panic that always accompanied any mention of how his brother died punched him in the gut. “I’d rather not talk about it.”
“That’s fine, but I won’t lie to you. I’m glad I found out. It sheds some light on a few things.”
“I never meant to hurt you or anyone.” His throat closed up. Oh, please, God, don’t let me lose it. Not here, not now.
“I’ll admit it pained us when you turned your back on me and my family. But I want you to know, I understand. Know you have a friend in me. When you’re ready.”
With a gentle pat to Ryan’s shoulder, Mike left the room. Ryan watched him go, wishing he could call him back.
But he couldn’t.
Too much time and too many painful scars wouldn’t allow it.
***
Miraculous.
That was the only word Emma could think of to describe how she felt. Never before when she’d suffered an especially bad migraine had she felt like skipping from room to room while humming “Spoonful of Sugar.”
Okay, this Mary Poppins kick Sheila has me on is going to my head. Next I’ll be flying kites and kicking my knees up to “Step in Time.”
The house was quiet, the crew out getting lunch. Emma walked from room to room, her head free from pain. Relief coated her like a warm blanket.
Not even stepping into the damp, dreary cellar could ruin her mood. She didn’t know what it was, but it had something to do with Ryan Atkinson.
Dragging her mind off her G.C., she studied the recorder Sheila had lent her. She felt like an idiot, but if she was ever to get over her fears, she had to do this. She pressed the record button and held her hand out into the room.
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