WILLEM (The Witches of Wimberley Book 1)

by Victoria Danann

  Again, this was not how I pictured this. I’d imagined a lengthy goodbye with lingering kisses, maybe a few tears. This was not the way it was supposed to go.

  I pushed the passenger door all the way open and got out. Before I closed the door, I bent down and said, “I’m sorry.”

  She took off without waiting for me to close the door. I stood on the driveway and watched until she disappeared around the bottom of the hill, out of sight. The door opened behind me.

  “Come in, Will. We have a few things to talk about. Raider will be home shortly.”

  Raider. He was probably going to finish the job he started in the river the day I tipped him over.

  I turned around. I’d never seen Harmony look sad and it didn’t make me feel good, knowing I was the one who’d put that look on her face.

  Without a word I climbed the steps and went inside. I followed her to the morning room and sat at the glass top table.

  “You want something to drink?” she asked.

  “Uh, no. We just ate at the tavern. I’m good.”

  “Well, let’s get started then. First of all, you should know that you have the infamy of being the first and only contest winner to ever leave at the end of his one year contract.”

  Since there was nothing to say to that, I said nothing.

  “When Ravish’s man arrives with the car and your things, you’ll be escorted to the gates. You have from now until the time you cross the city limits to change your mind. Once you drive past the Wimberley city limits, you will have no memory of anything that has happened since before you took the card with the contest number on it. Do you understand? Is this what you want?”

  That was such a complicated question. “It’s really not what I want, Harmony, but it’s what I have to do.”

  “Alright then. I’ll leave you alone. If you need anything to eat or drink, you know the way to the kitchen.”

  She left me to the silence and solitude of the morning room in the afternoon. Since the sun was overhead, it was less bright, but not less beautiful. I was thinking about all the things I would miss, when the ghost appeared, standing across the table from where I sat.

  “Willem Draiocht. You shall not leave.”

  He ‘spoke’ in an accent that was English, but not like any I’d heard.

  “Is that what you meant when you said, ‘No’, before?”

  “Leaving Ravish Wimberley would be a grave error in judgment. Are you dead set on walking the hallways of hell with me?”

  “I can’t stay.”

  “You cannot leave.”

  He vanished after that repeated pronouncement, just as someone from the kitchen popped her head in.

  “Can I bring you something while you wait, Mr. Draiocht?”

  “No. Nothing. Thank you.”

  She hadn’t been gone a full minute before I heard Raider’s heavy boot stomp coming toward the morning room.

  “Will! Goddamnit. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  He didn’t look any happier than Harmony.

  “I can’t stay, Raider.”

  “Why the fuck not?”

  The Voice was screaming that same question at me, over and over. “I can’t live behind a locked door.”

  He shook his head. “What does that mean?”

  “If I promise to stay in a permanent no-way-out relationship with Ravish, I might as well be a prisoner at Huntsville.”

  He looked at me like I was certifiable. “Huntsville? There’s not a single guy in Huntsville who wouldn’t do anything to trade places with you. Don’t compare your life here to prison. That’s ridiculous.” He ran a hand through his hair. “What about your friends? Forget that. What about Rave? Don’t you care about breaking her heart? Don’t you love her?”

  “Yes. I care about her and I don’t like breaking her heart. But no, I don’t believe in love.”

  “You don’t believe in love.” His repetition was dripping with derision. “Well, wake up, fool. It just so happens that love believes in you. That thing that you’re feeling right now? The pull that says you’d like to kick your own ass for hurting her? That’s love. When you go to Austin to take your little classes and can’t wait to get back to her? That’s love. When you can’t imagine ever fucking another woman no matter what the circumstances? That’s love.

  “The way you looked at her when you sang that old song on her birthday? You wouldn’t find one person who was in that room who wouldn’t swear that what they were seeing was, yeah, you guessed it. Love.”

  That was probably more words than Raider had spoken in a week, but I just sat there shaking my head.

  He raised his arms and let them fall to his sides. “You’re really going through with it,” he said, beginning to resign himself to the fact that I couldn’t be talked out of it. He pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “You know it’s permanent. You can’t change your mind later. If you leave, you’re gone for good. There’s no way back.”

  That made my heart beat faster. I hated the idea of no way back. That was another kind of permanent that was unappealing, but I’d made up my mind. “I know,” I whispered.

  Raider sat without speaking for half an hour then rose and left the room without another word. Another twenty minutes after that, someone was sent to tell me that my things were waiting for me outside.

  Making my way back to the front, I realized that I was sorry to not have the chance to say goodbye to Kellan and Simon and so many others I’d come to feel close to.

  The Boxster was waiting with the top down and the driver’s side door open. It was polished and detailed to showroom perfection.

  Ed stood next to the car. “Your things are packed and in the trunk, sir.”

  “Thank you, Ed. For everything.”

  He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Sorry to see you go, sir.”

  Harmony and Raider had come out onto the porch. Big tears were streaming down her face. Raider was embracing her from behind, looking both angry and grim. He probably wanted to kick my ass for making his wife cry.

  “Sorry,” I said and it sounded lame even to me. “Tell Ravish I said thank you for the car and… everything.”

  I walked around to the driver’s side, but before I could slide under the wheel, Deck Durbin appeared, blocking my way.

  “You will not go,” he said.

  “This is getting old. Get out of the way. I’m going.”

  “Who is he talking to?” I heard Raider ask Harmony.

  I looked up in time to see her shake her head. “You don’t see him?”

  “See who?” she asked.

  “The ghost. Deck Durbin.”

  “No, Will. I don’t see him.”

  I turned back to the car. “Whether they see you is neither here nor there. Get out of the way. You’re just prolonging the inevitable.”

  “Love is everything,” he said. “I refused to accept that when I was alive and now I’m cursed to live like this. In hell. You know what hell is, Willem? It’s knowing I’ll never see Pleasant again. There’s no second chance for me. But you can be saved! Don’t go. Listen to your heart. Stop while you can.”

  When I reached up to shove him out of the way, he vanished.

  With one last look at Raider and Harmony, I got in the car and drove away. Slowly. Reliving the memories I’d made during my year in the colony. Good memories. Memories I wished I could treasure forever.

  I knew where I was headed. Southeast to San Marcos, on to I10 which would take me all the way home to Fairhope. Twenty yards away from the city limit sign, the car stalled. Just as I was thinking that was impossible, Durbin appeared in the passenger side of my car dressed like a highwayman.

  He’d become more than a supernatural curiosity. He’d evolved a first rate pest.

  “Christ,” I said.

  “I was like you,” he began. “So sure there was more. There wasn’t more. When I was home with Pleasant and our girls, I held everything in my hands. I gave it away for an illusion.
It was an illusion that cost me my soul. Hear me well, Willem Draiocht. You are about to surrender your own soul to a life of empty searching, trying to recapture what you already have, but failing.

  “Love is the only thing worth dying over and the only thing worth living for. From this side of the veil I can see more clearly than you. For your own sake. For the last time. Do. Not. Go.”

  The worst part was, I think I knew deep down that he was telling the truth. But I was so stubborn, I left anyway.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I was speeding east on I10 when I ‘woke up’. I don’t have any other way to explain it. I became aware of my surroundings when I heard a siren behind me. I looked in the rearview mirror and, sure enough, I was being pulled over. After easing to the shoulder, I turned the car off and waited.

  While the patrolman was doing whatever they do, I tried to get my bearings. I was in one incredibly sweet ride although I had no idea how I got there. It wasn’t my car and I hoped to heck that while I was sleepwalking, or whatever, I hadn’t stolen it. But I must have stolen it. How else would I be driving it and why else would I be stopped by law enforcement?

  My heartrate shot through the roof while I imagined being sent to federal prison to become designated chew toy for some beefy tattooed guy with an IQ that equaled room temperature. I was lost in the horror of that scenario, when the patrolman approached.

  “Good day, sir.”

  “Officer,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound too shaky.

  “Can I see your license and insurance?”

  “Um, sure.”

  I leaned over to retrieve my wallet. When I opened it, I realized it contained a lot of hundred dollar bills. It also contained an Alabama driver’s license showing my parents’ address in Fairhope.

  “Here you go.” I handed him the license, then opened the glove box to look for proof of insurance, hoping to hell there wouldn’t be a gun in there. Or drugs. After all, I was a high end car thief who might also be high. There was no telling what I’d done.

  There were papers. One was the car registration with my name and the Fairhope address. Under that was proof of insurance, also with my name and the Fairhope address. The relief almost made me sag in my seat, knowing that however I’d come by the car, it probably wasn’t dishonestly.

  Handing over the insurance, I said, “What exactly is the problem, Officer?”

  “You were doing eighty-seven in a seventy-five mile per hour stretch. And I’m going to have to write you a speeding ticket for that.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  I sat quietly while he wrote out the ticket. When he was finished, he handed it to me. “You can pay by mail or show up for your court date. Your choice. Here’s your license and insurance. Have a nice day.”

  “Yeah. You, too.”

  I put my license back in my wallet, threw the proof of insurance back in the glove box, and started the car. The next exit was Schulenburg. I pulled into the Whataburger conveniently located on the off ramp. Inside, I headed straight for the men’s room. After closing myself in a stall, I pulled out my wallet and counted the bills. Five thousand dollars.

  Looking down I saw that I was wearing faded jeans, a faded Luckenbach tee shirt, a Tag Heuer watch that looked like it was more valuable than the franchise I stood in, and cowboy boots that were not only gorgeous, but felt great on my feet.

  Huh.

  I decided to put a Whatachicken in my stomach while I was trying to sort out where I was and why. Maybe I had amnesia. On the way in I’d looked back at the car and noticed the license plate. Alabama. The one with the pretty blue water and sky. It was personalized and said ‘GON4GUD’. Another strange piece of a truly bizarre puzzle. It did make a pretty contrast with the tomato red Boxster though.

  I got the sandwich, took it to a back table, and sat down where I could keep an eye on the car. Everybody who pulled into the Whataburger slowed down to get a look at it. I guess they didn’t see one of those in Schulenburg every day.

  Speaking of that, where was Schulenburg? I got out my phone and pulled it up on GPS. Schulenburg was on I10 in far south Texas. Apparently I was heading east toward Houston.

  Or home.

  Yeah.

  I must be going home.

  What was the last thing I remembered?

  Of course. I was quitting acting. That’s why I was going home. That didn’t explain the car or the memory loss, but whatever had happened, I seemed to have landed on my feet with a dream ride, five thousand dollars and damn nice boots.

  As I was sliding back into the Boxster to get back on the road, a local kid yelled, “Sweet wheels.”

  I smiled and waved, sincerely wishing I could remember how I came to be the owner of the car.

  It was just about six when I blew past the Houston city limits. Since I was going to have to stop somewhere for the night, I thought Houston would be a good choice. There wouldn’t be another five star hotel before New Orleans and, for some reason, I was feeling drained. I couldn’t leave a car like the Boxster in the parking lot of a Motel 6 overnight. Hell no. Nothing less than secure valet parking in a hotel with excellent insurance just in case the parking turned out not to be secure.

  After pulling off the road, I pulled out my phone. It was bigger than I’d remembered and in a nicer case, but everything worked the same. I looked up five star hotels near I10. Four Seasons. I dialed the number.

  “Four Seasons Houston. How may we help you?”

  “Reservations.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “Reservations. How can I help you?”

  “I need a room for tonight. You got something?”

  “We do. Yes. But there is a large meeting taking place here and we’re almost full. We’ll need a credit card.”

  “Oh. Alright.”

  I didn’t know if I had a credit card. I pulled my wallet out of my pants and found several cards including a black American Express. Surely I’d remember if I’d won the lottery. Right?

  After reading them the number and expiration date, I put the Four Seasons address into the car’s nav system and decided to put the top up because it was looking like rain. I popped the trunk. Lo and behold. In addition to the deck where the soft top was stored, there were two large and one small rolling suitcases. The luggage was leather and looked like it could easily hurt Bill Gates’s travel budget. Huh.

  My curiosity about what was in the bags could wait until I got to the hotel. The task at hand was getting the top on the car. Well, I’m not the most mechanical sort and the top came in two user-unfriendly pieces. Thank goodness for video instruction guides online. The car manual was practically useless, but I followed YouTube instructions and got the thing on. I wouldn’t swear it was hurricane-proof, but the wind noise wasn’t bad.

  On the road again, I decided to turn on the radio and discovered two things. First, the car had satellite. Second, I learned that I have damn good taste in music. The dial was set to Road Trip. New music. Old music. Innovative covers. Good stuff.

  At the hotel, I told the valet to have all the luggage sent to my room. The clerk looked impressed by the black American Express and smiled when I asked him to break a hundred dollar bill for tips. I wasn’t sure why I felt so at home in a five star hotel. But I did.

  I got on the elevator with a guy wearing a tux. He looked me up and down and said, “Nice boots.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks. They’re my favorites.”

  I didn’t know if that was true, but it sounded good and could be true. Hell. Maybe I was an actor after all.

  The room was nice enough. I was thinking it was nothing to write home about when it hit me that I must have gotten used to a luxurious lifestyle at some point. My life was a mystery, but at least I woke up in a five star lifestyle.

  When the luggage arrived, I gave the guy a nice tip.

  After turning on the TV news I unzipped the first case to see what kind of stuff I’d packed for my trip home. That was when I heard the ann
ouncer say that it was the twentieth day of October, a year later than my last memory.

  Jesus. I’ve lost a year?

  How could that be possible? On the other hand, how could it be possible that I’d acquired a Porsche, luggage too good for Prince Charles, and a black American Express? Not to mention the cowboy boots.

  Hold on. That meant the AX was expiring in eleven days, at the end of the month. I wondered if they’d be sending a new one to my parents’ address, but my intuition doubted it. I don’t know why.

  After sitting down on the side of the bed to process losing a year, I looked at the news and tried to absorb what I might have missed through current events. It seemed like life had pretty much marched on with or without me.

  After a few minutes I was recovered enough to want to look in the luggage again. I opened the heaviest bag first and quickly found out why it was heaviest. One entire zippered side contained cowboy boots. Six pairs. The other side contained jeans, twill pants, and shorts.

  The second bag had tees and collared knit shirts neatly folded on one side, with socks, boxers, flip flops, Chucks, and a leather jacket that managed to look both expensive and cool at the same time on the other.

  Whatever I’d been up to, I was a casual kind of guy.

  That left the smallest case. Toiletries, a professional hair dryer, and a book about sightings of a ghost in a little town called Wimberley, Texas. The name sounded familiar.

  Was that what I was doing? Paranormal research? I’d gone chasing after ghost stories? It’d be nice to know what I found out. Maybe I was one of those ghost hunter guys on TV. Or maybe I was a producer of a show, scouting around for good material. Maybe I’d just been heading home for a visit.

  I pulled out my phone and went through the contacts list. All my acting contacts were there. All my bartending contacts were there. Nobody else except for family.

  Messages didn’t give up any clues either. No messages at all. None sent by me. None received by me.

  Pressing my mother’s contact number I listened to the ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Mom, hey.”

  “Will! How are you?”