Ghost Moon

by Rebecca York

  As they trudged on, she felt him weakening.

  “You have to stop.”

  “Soon. It’s dangerous to be outside.”

  “You think they’re coming back?”

  “Someone will come back with them. Someone who thinks they were on drugs when they talk about the ghost.”

  “People were on drugs seventy-five years ago?”

  “Of course. Native Americans smoked dried mushrooms before Columbus discovered America. And reefers were big in my time.”

  “What are reefers?”

  “Marijuana.”

  She didn’t know what that was, and she didn’t have the breath to ask.

  They trudged on, and finally they came to a narrow gravel road. It led uphill, which made walking more difficult for Caleb, but he kept doggedly putting one foot in front of the other. Then, through the trees, she saw a long, low building, different from anything she’d seen in this world—or her own.

  “What’s that?”

  "A ... hunting lodge. Men come here to stay for a week and shoot deer.”

  “For food?”

  He made a disgusted sound. “For fun.”

  “Why?”

  “Some men enjoy it.”

  She peered at the house. “They could be here now.”

  “This is not hunting season.”

  “How do you know?”

  He managed a bark of a laugh. “I’ve been in the woods for a long time.”

  In the distance, thunder rumbled. It was raining somewhere,and maybe the storm was moving this way.

  “They don’t come here often?”

  Caleb struggled to the front steps and sat down heavily, then leaned his head against the stair railing and closed his eyes. It took several seconds before he answered, “They may come around holiday times.”

  His face was flushed and covered with a fine sheen. She hated to keep asking questions, but it wouldn’t be good if the owners came back and found someone in the house. She knew from Logan that they might call the police. Or they might use guns to defend their property. “Which holidays?” she asked.

  Again, the answers came slowly. And now his speech was slurred. “Thanksgiving. Christmas.”

  She knew about Christmas. In her world, it was a big wintercelebration, although it seemed to have lost the original religious meaning.

  Logan had explained Thanksgiving to her. Maybe when there had been a United States of America, people in her world had kept the holiday. But not now.

  “It’s a long time till Thanksgiving and Christimas,” she answered.

  “Good.”

  She watched Caleb sitting with his eyes closed and his head thrown back. He couldn’t have gone much farther. But they were still outside the house.

  Lightning flashed in the clouds. This time the storm was much closer. And the branches of the trees around them beganto sway in the wind.

  Quinn glanced at the sky, then the hunting lodge.

  “How do we get in?”

  “They leave the key under there.” He pointed to a rock beside the steps.

  “Nobody in my world would do that.”

  “This is not your world,” he said, his voice heavy. “When I was alive people didn’t lock the front door.”

  He had said it automatically. But now he was alive. That was sinking in. Still, she kept arguing. “We don’t have the right to use this place.”

  “We won’t stay long. And we will clean up after ourselves.”

  “We’d better take off our shoes, then.”

  “And bring them in. So nobody will see them.” He fumbledfor the laces on the boots, but he seemed to have reached the end of his strength.

  When a few fat drops of rain hit the steps, she knelt besideCaleb and untied the boots for him. Then she hurried to the rock and found the key.

  The sky had turned as dark as the inside of a storage room. Quickly, she unlocked the front door, kicked off her shoes, and went back to Caleb.

  He was holding his hand in front of his face, turning it one way and then the other.

  “What are you doing?”

  “It’s not my hand,” he said in a strangled voice.

  “You just figured that out?”

  He didn’t answer.

  More drops began to fall, along with leaves the wind had blown off the trees, and she knew they were moments from a downpour. “We’re going to get wet. We have to get inside.”

  He dropped his hand and pressed against the stairs, trying to heave himself up but didn’t quite make it. Quinn leaned over him. On his next try, she pulled upward under his arms and got him to his feet.

  Wavering as he walked, he staggered through the front door just as rain pounded the porch.

  Inside, he leaned against the wall, breathing hard.

  “Got to lie down.”

  Wind shook the house as he started down the hall. She followed close behind to make sure he didn’t fall. When he came to a bedroom, he threw himself on the bed, not botheringto take off his clothing.

  “Don’t leave the shoes outside. And don’t go out,” he muttered.

  A bolt of sound crashed nearby, but he seemed to not notice.

  She went back for the shoes and set them on the little rug in the front hall. Then she locked the door. When she returnedto Caleb, he looked like he was dead, lying facedown on the bed.

  Fear stabbed through her, and she crossed quickly to the bed. Easing onto the edge, she pressed her hand to the back of his neck and was reassured by the warmth of his skin. And as she looked at his back she could see that he was breathing steadily and evenly.

  “Caleb?”

  He made a muffled sound, but he didn’t wake.

  A crack of thunder made Zarah shiver.

  “Are you afraid of storms?” Rinna asked.

  “Not usually.” She licked her lips. “But Quinn must be out there.”

  “She was gone again when I got up,” Rinna said. “I wish I knew what she’s up to.”

  Zarah turned her spoon over and over in her hand as she and Rinna sat at the kitchen table. Since Logan was out working on a landscaping job, they had made themselves a cauliflower and cheese soup for lunch, but she was only able to get down a few swallows before she started feeling sick.

  “You’re worried about Quinn,” Rinna said softly.

  “Yes.” She stopped turning the spoon and raised her head. “I saw her this morning. I knew why she was going out.”

  Rinna tipped her head to the side. “And you didn’t say anything?”

  “She said not to.”

  “What happened?”

  “The ghost called her. He said something had happened, and he needed her.” Once she had started speaking, the words tumbled out in a rush. “She said not to tell anyone— unless she didn’t come back.”

  “And she’s not back,” Rinna finished.

  “I should have told you sooner.”

  Rinna stood. “I’m going to call Logan.”

  “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “What if the ghost wants to hurt him?”

  Rinna knit her fingers together. “What if he already hurt Quinn?”

  “He wouldn’t do that,” Zarah answered quickly.

  “How do you know?”

  “He loves her.”

  Rinna stared at her. “Where do you get that from?”

  “He risked his life, well, not his life—his existence—to save us. He didn’t have to do that. He did it because she meant something to him.”

  Rinna kept her gaze on Zarah. “What are you not saying?” she asked.

  Zarah dragged in a breath and let it out. She had gone this far, and she knew she had to go a bit further, if she was goingto be honest about the situation. “I think she loves him, too.”

  Rinna absorbed the words. “She loves a ghost? What good is that going to do her?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Outside, the storm raged, but Caleb slept on. Quinn stro
ked his broad shoulder, still struggling to absorb what had happened in the past few hours. She’d gotten into a relationship with a ghost. Now he was alive, and he looked completely different. But it was still Caleb. At least, he knew what she and Caleb had talked about—and what they’d done together. Or was this some horrible trick that she didn’t understand?

  She wanted to wake him and ask him questions. But he was obviously so tired that he didn’t even know she was there.

  And she couldn’t leave him—in case he needed her. Then there was his caution about going outside. It could be dangerous,although maybe not for her because the two men hadn’t seen her.

  Or they could have seen her rushing down the trail. She couldn’t even be sure of that.

  Still trying to figure out what to do, she took a tour of the house. In her world, rich people would have lived in a dwelling this big. And she suspected it was the same here— at least for someone who could afford to keep a large house empty most of the time.

  It had a living room, six bedrooms, and three bathrooms. And a spacious kitchen. She stepped inside, opening cabinetsand the refrigerator. There were cartons of beer and other drinks inside. The freezer compartment at the bottom was large and stocked with a lot of carefully labeled packagesthat contained meat. There were also many vegetable combinations. She’d seen Rinna thaw meat and cook frozen vegetables, so she knew how to do it.

  In the pantry were boxes of cereal and other grain productsas well as boxes of milk and cans of soup, pork and beans, and stew.

  A phone hung on the wall. Hurrying across the tile floor, she picked up the receiver. But she heard no dial tone. Apparently,it was turned off.

  Sorry that she couldn’t communicate with the Marshall house, she went back to check on Caleb again. He hadn’t moved. And he didn’t stir when she leaned over and put her hand on the back of his neck.

  She gnawed on her knuckle, fighting the impulse to wake him. She had so many questions. About the two of them. And about the two men who had buried him alive.

  They’d beaten him. Or somebody had. They had been talking about a military man—a colonel—who had sent them. Or could the title be just a courtesy term? Like the Colonel Sanders who sold fried chicken?

  She was too exhausted to think about it. Maybe rest would give her some perspective on things. And maybe when Caleb woke up, he’d remember something about the blond-haired man. It was strange to call him that, but it was the best she could do.

  The storm eased away as she began opening drawers and closets. After finding a man’s T-shirt she could wear, she went into one of the bathrooms, took a shower, and washed her hair, then dried it with a towel.

  She thought about lying down next to Caleb. But that seemed like a bad idea. So she investigated the other rooms. Most were furnished only with a wide bed and a chest, and nobodyhad made much attempt at decorations, which reinforced Caleb’s assertion that men came here to hunt. Women would have added some homey touches.

  The sun had come out again, and she pulled down the window shades to darken the room before crawling under the covers. The bed was comfortable, like the ones in Logan’s house.

  For a few minutes, unanswered questions swirled around in her head. But she was bone-tired, and she quickly dropped off into a troubled sleep.

  SOME time after he had fallen onto the bed, Caleb’s eyes blinked open. He pushed himself up, grimacing as pain shot through his arm. Rolling to his back he looked to his left and right. When he realized he was alone, a chill skittered over his skin.

  He had come here with Quinn. He remembered stumbling into the house in the middle of a thunderstorm with her.

  Where was she now?

  Quickly he levered himself out of bed, then had to stand still for a moment because his head was spinning.

  Staggering across the room, he leaned against the door-jamband saw a hallway that he barely remembered. When he found Quinn two doors down the hall, he breathed out a sigh of relief.

  She was here. He stood gripping the door frame for long minutes, just staring at her.

  He could see her face and her beautiful hair, but her body was covered by a blanket and sheet. He wanted to wake her.

  But he felt an unfamiliar pressure in his abdomen and struggled to identify the sensation. Then it came to him. He had to pee.

  Exiting into the hall, he found the bathroom between his room and Quinn’s.

  After using the toilet, he stood with his hands clenched for long moments. He wanted to avoid the inevitable. But he knew he had to deal with reality. So he walked the few steps to the mirror and stared at his face.

  He suppressed a gasp as he regarded his image. Not the face he remembered. Not at all. He saw blond hair. Icy blue eyes. Thin lips. A wide chin. He rubbed the blond stubble on his cheeks. It was thinner than the facial hair he remembered.

  With a feeling of unreality, he raised his hand, looking at his broad palm, seeing a row of calluses. How old was he? Who was he?

  To hang on to sanity, he said his name, “Caleb Marshall!”

  Then said it again. It sounded wrong in his mouth. This man’s teeth were bigger, and his tongue hit them differently.

  He closed his eyes, trying to call up some memory from the man’s past. He could only remember Caleb Marshall.

  He had been dead. A ghost. And now he was alive. The reality made his throat close and his vision swim. His heart started to pound wildly. His heart?

  He gripped the cold edge of the sink, waiting for the physical sensations to settle down.

  He wasn’t even sure how he had gotten into this body. He’d sensed the man die. Heard him call out. Not aloud, but in Caleb’s mind.

  He shuddered as he remembered the feeling of the man’s spirit passing his—shooting upward toward the place he’d never been able to go himself.

  He couldn’t go to the other side. But somehow he’d been able to change from ghost to man.

  He came back to the question of what—exactly—had happened. There was still no answer.

  He only knew that he had been dead. And now he was alive—in another man’s body. Apparently, because the man had wanted it.

  He felt his chest tighten and his body begin to shake. Struggling for calm, he held more tightly to the cold porcelainof the sink.

  He felt his heart pounding again. Another man’s heart beating inside another man’s chest. If he thought too much about it, his head started to spin.

  He looked at a smudge of earth on his neck, and another truth came slamming back at him. He’d been in a grave, and the clammy feel of the dirt made him shudder. He looked towardthe shower and pictured water cascading over his body.

  Not his body. Another man’s.

  “Stop it,” he muttered. “He’s dead. It’s your reality now.”

  He reached to turn on the water and stopped. Instead of knobs there was one sleek-looking lever sticking out from a circle of shiny metal.

  He’d never seen anything like it, so he twisted the lever. Still nothing. Finally he figured out that he needed to turn it like the hand of a clock. He yanked it all the way to the oppositeposition. At first it ran cold, but soon the water turned warm, then hot.

  Moving it back, he got the right balance between hot and cold and stepped under the spray that came down from above like rain falling on his head.

  The sensation of the water hitting his body was amazing.

  After a few minutes of simply enjoying the falling water, he washed his body with the cake of soap in a wall niche, captivated by the way the soap slicked over his skin and made him feel new-minted.

  The sensuality of it made him think about Quinn, and he found himself instantly hard. He looked down at his cock. He had no foreskin, and he blinked as he took that in. Circumcision.He had heard of it. It was supposed to make you less sensitive during sex.

  He circled the girth with his fist and slid his hand up and down. Big mistake. He was plenty sensitive. Yeah, with just a few strokes he had made himself so hot that he though
t he might go off like a Roman candle.

  He pressed his hands to his sides, willing himself to calm down. When he had a measure of control, he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry, avoiding looking at his face in the mirror.

  The towel slid over crisp blond chest hair. Hair that should be dark. The look was all wrong. And when he glanced farther down, he saw that the hair above his cock was blond, too.

  Wrong again. The guys in the Marshall family were all similar in appearance. No matter who they married, they bred true to type.

  He made a low sound.

  He didn’t want to think about his physical self and what it meant now. He only wanted to use the vessel he’d been given.

  Quinn had accused him of stealing another man’s body. He supposed you could call it that. But the man had left it for him. Invited him to take it.

  Did that make a moral difference?

  He hoped so.

  He opened the medicine cabinet and found a can of somethingthat read “shaving cream.” It was like nothing he had ever seen before. He shook it and tried to turn the nozzle, like the shower control, but nothing happened. By accident, he pressed on the top, and white foam came shooting out.

  Next to where the can had been was a plastic thing that might have been a razor. But again, it was totally unfamiliar.

  It suddenly struck him that he had a man’s body. Thank God. Would he have taken a chance at life if the dead person had been a woman?

  He could hardly imagine that scenario. And he realized all over again how lucky he had been. He was a man. And the woman he wanted to make love to was just down the hall.

  But before he went to her, he should brush his teeth. The medicine cabinet also held a new toothbrush in a see-throughcontainer. He pried it out, then used something called “toothpaste” that promised to whiten his teeth, sweep away plaque, and give him healthy gums. He squeezed too much out of the tube and had to rinse the foam out of his mouth several times.

  But the clean taste felt good.

  The dirty clothes he’d been wearing were scattered around the floor. Burial clothing. With a grimace, he stuffed them in the trash can, then returned to his room where he rummaged in the dresser drawers until he found soft, loose pants made out of some knitted material. They had a stretchy band and a drawstring at the waist.