Novel Concept Publishing
Mind Games © July 2011 J.E. Taylor
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Mind Games
By J.E. Taylor
Dedication
This book is dedicated to my husband, Darren.
It’s been a hard road, with me buried in my computer night after night and you’ve been more than patient. I promise someday I’ll find a balance between the day job, our family and my writing career, until then, know I love you with all my heart!
Chapter 1
Adjusting the zoom on his camera, he panned; scanning the beach until he found her and his heart skipped a beat. Alone and still as beautiful as he remembered and he wondered if seeing her up close would have the same effect it used to, a rush of sudden electricity followed by consuming heat drowning all his senses to the point he forgot to breathe.
God, I missed her.
A quick click of the shutter captured her image and he lowered the lens, tossing the camera back in his car.
He stretched, waiting until she took the turn at the rocks lining the end of the beach and jogged by where he stood. Moving onto the sand, he sprinted until he was a few feet behind her. A few more strides and he jogged alongside her.
* * * *
She became aware of the shadow matching her stride, but didn’t look over. Instead, she sped up a little. The shadow kept pace.
“You a reporter?” she asked without looking at him, pulling the earphone out of her ear.
“Not in a million years,” he said.
That phrase stopped her beating heart for a moment, then the pounding resumed, tingling through her skin with the frantic pressure, and she put on the brakes, skidding to a stop in the sand, her eyes plastered to his form.
He ran a few steps ahead and turned, his sunglasses reflecting a sharp glare in the mid-day sun. Edges of dark hair curled around the backwards baseball cap and the smile, God that smile made her bones melt to molten jelly. She stumbled back a step.
He reached up and took his glasses off revealing the deep blue eyes she saw every night in her dreams.
“Ty?”
“Chris Ryan,” he said and approached her, extending his hand.
Jessica Whitman shook his hand and stared at him for a moment before tearing her eyes away from his intense gaze and scanning the beach. Relief settled in her at the sight of other winter beachcombers, giving her bones a more solid feel. She offered a curve of her lips, a slight smile, and began to jog again, putting the earphone back in her ear and giving her reeling mind time to think.
He jogged quietly beside her.
After a few measured yards, she popped the earphone out again. “Where have you been?”
“New York City.”
Jessica nodded slightly. Her heart raced faster than usual; it had been over five years since she last set eyes on him. She never expected to see him again, alive and so vibrant, not after leaving him bleeding to death in that hellhole.
“Are you okay?”
“I’ve been worse,” she lied and glanced at him.
The silence enveloped them and they continued jogging down the beach.
“How’d you know?”
“Tabloids,” he answered. “Where’s Tom?”
“California.”
“Is everything I read true?”
The loaded question stopped her in her tracks and she walked toward the water. The tabloids capitalized on her pain, splashing her daughter’s death and her impending divorce all over the rags. Her chest squeezed tight and she scanned the horizon. “Tom couldn’t deal with it. He doesn’t have a clue of what losing Em did to me. She wasn’t his daughter. He thinks I should snap out of it, get on with life and he just gave up trying. So yes, he left.”
“I told him not to hurt you,” he said, reaching to wipe a strand of hair out of her face.
Jessica nodded slowly. “He came back for the funeral, but . . .” She shook her head listening to the waves hitting the sand. “But he said it was over when he left this time.”
“How’s Eric?”
“Devastated, just like me,” she answered and the imaginary strap tightened around her chest trying to close the endless empty hole. “We couldn’t fix her.” Tears burned her eyes and she turned toward him. “Ty, we couldn’t fix her.”
He reached out and pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry Jess.” His voice waivered, filled with pangs of guilt.
The hole in her soul faded a fraction with his arms around her. Warmth radiated through the thin sweatshirt and she nuzzled closer, letting the sobs she locked in for so long have free reign. His hand ran idly over her back, creating ripples of electricity through her muscles with each lazy pass.
She pulled away and wiped her face looking up into his eyes. “Why now?”
“Thought you might need me.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked out at the white caps.
Jessica followed his gaze, squinting at the glimmers of sunlight reflecting off the ocean surface and gave an imperceptible nod.
“I missed you,” he said.
Without saying a word, she sent a glance in his direction before heading toward her beach house.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
She hesitated, not ready for him, not ready to let the overwhelming storm circling her rain down. “Ty…”
“-Please, call me Chris,” he said cutting her off. “Ty died on the floor that day.”
She inhaled, scanning him with her eyes. He was even more handsome without the scar and the flood of feelings she denied for the past five years overflowed the levies she built around her heart. Her eyes filled with new tears and she nodded. “I need you.”
His lips spread into a smile that twinkled in his eyes. “My car’s over there.” He pointed to a beautiful red vintage corvette stingray.
The flashy car brought a smile to her face.
“You like?”
She nodded.
“It’s yours.” He handed her the keys.
The shock of his statement unhinged her jaw and her eyes danced between the dangling keys and the red sports car. Candy Apple red. Unbidden, her hand reached for the keys, stopping just short of the glinting metal. She pulled her hand back, letting it drop to her side before she raised her gaze to his bright blue eyes. “I can’t take this.”
“I’ve got more money than God, remember?” He smiled, sliding his sunglasses back on. “You can have anything you want.”
“You can’t give me what I want.”
He reached out and pulled the hair tie out of her hair. The wind swirled her long locks around her face. “What do you want?” He stepped closer.
“I want Emily back.”
“You’re right, I can’t make that happen. But I can give you everything else you need.” He ran his hand into her hair and leaned over, gently kissing her.
His touch ignited that flame inside her, filling the void with heat and smoke and when she opened her eyes, he had the passenger side door propped open. She slid inside, watching him trot to the driver’s seat and smile at her as he turned over the engine.
He navigated the car through the winding streets, pulling into her driveway a few minutes later without any instructions from her.
“You knew where we lived?”
“I kept tabs over the years.”
Jessica fumbled with the keys, unlocking the front door and swung it open for him, following him inside. “Eric’s with his Dad for the week,” she said and closed the door behind them.
He removed his hat, running his hand through his hair, scanning the tastefully decorated beach house, just what he expected from Jessica. He walked to the windows that overlooked the bluff and the most photographed lighthouse on the east coast. “Hell of a view.”
The storm inside brewed and a tornado of feelings gripped her, the most pronounced being lust. She had forgotten how strong the bond between them was, not just the depth of their love, but the raw power of his physical proximity, the sinuous tingle to the air, the magnetism, the heat, the electricity.
“Ty,” she whispered and flew toward him.
He met her in the middle of the room, wrapping his arms around her waist and picking her up. Their lips met, unleashing the passion that had been bottled up for five years and he swept her off her feet, breaking the kiss to look at the layout of the living room, choosing the hallway to their left and she gave a nod of affirmation.
Seconds later, he kissed her, laying her out on the bed and running his hands through her hair, holding her face, his tongue dancing with hers, heat enveloping her, leaving her breathless.
“Tell me,” he whispered in his smooth sexy voice, moving his lips to her neck. His hands moved down her body and she trembled under his touch.
Jessica pulled at his sweatshirt and he leaned up so she could strip it off. Running her fingers over his perfect chest, she gazed up into his eyes. There were no scars anywhere and she understood the extent of the power her son unleashed, the power that healed the bullet wounds along with the scar on his face, the power she now felt in him.
“Say it Jessie.” He propped himself over her, staring down, his eyes intent and pleading.
His game, his need to hear the words took precedence over his passion and she crumbled, giving herself to him completely. “I want you, Ty.”
The change in his eyes, the longing satisfied, transitioned to an emotion so pure it owned her, body, heart and soul. He made love to every inch of her with his hands and mouth and she savored the feel of him, the smell of him, the sound of him, whispering his name over and over until he found her lips again, cutting off her need-laden voice.
“I love you,” he whispered and slid inside her.
* * * *
Jessica Whitman sat up in her bed calling his name. Her chest heaved and she looked around the empty room.
Tom stuck his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush in his mouth. “You okay babe?”
Jessica stared at him and around the room again. “Yes.” She nodded falling back on the soft mattress, staring at the ceiling, still feeling his hands on her body.
Chapter 2
Chris shot up in bed, his heart pounding, her voice still ringing in his ears.
The dream.
Again.
Profound sadness filled him, pressing down on his chest like an invisible hand reaching in and brutally yanking his heart out.
“Jess.” Her name fell from his lips and he stared at the ceiling, concentrating on breathing in and out, counting each breath until his seized muscles relaxed.
“Damn it,” he said and threw the covers off. He shook his head clear and made his way into the bathroom.
The cold water dripped from his face and he glanced at his reflection. Chris sighed, his eyes moving to his perfect scar-free cheek and he traced a line with his index finger. The line where the scar once broke the skin, from just below his lower eyelashes stretching all the way under his jawbone, jagged and angry.
After five years, he still wasn’t used to the blemish free profile. Every time he looked in the mirror, it reminded him of her. And every time the ache returned, the itch to waltz back in her life crawled under his skin. The dream didn’t help; it just made the itch all that much more insistent.
“I have to see her,” he said to his reflection.
Blue eyes looked back, telling him that wasn’t a good idea.
Irritated, he grabbed his toothbrush and walked into the bedroom polishing his teeth and flipping on the television to catch the morning news. Nothing relevant or noteworthy scrolled across the bottom of the screen, so he retreated to the bathroom and spit in the sink.
The dream grated on his nerves, the satin of her skin under his hands and lips fanned the fire that had been in his belly since the day he first laid eyes on her. And now this, this blatant carrot dangling in front of him all because he still had the healing power simmering in his veins.
Chris walked out on the terrace of his penthouse apartment with his coffee and leaned on the balcony wall, looking down at all the people rushing around like ants, amazed at the activity for such an early hour. The morning skyline a mixture of reds and yellows reflecting off the high rises did nothing to quell his restlessness.
A new thought dawned on him, stopping the coffee cup midway to his mouth.
What if the dream is real?
What if her daughter is dying?
A layer of arctic air brushed his skin, forming bumps along his exposed wrists and he shivered. If it was real, dear God, if it was real, he had to do something to fix it, even if that meant losing his freedom.
Looking beyond the buildings at the water in the distance, Chris made a decision that would change the course of his life forever.
Chapter 3
Jessica stood on the deck of their cottage overlooking the choppy ocean, the cool breeze whipping her hair away from her face.
Where is he?
“You had another nightmare?” Tom said, stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist.
She nodded, even though she would not quite categorize it as a nightmare, it was disturbing.
“You’re having them a lot. Is everything ok?”
She turned and kissed him. “Yes. It’s perfect now that you’re back. I hate it when you leave.”
“You can always come with me. I could see if they’d give you a walk on part on the show, you’re certainly hot enough,” he teased, knowing Jessica hated the spotlight. She would much rather be here on the quiet coast of Maine than in Los Angeles.
Jessica laughed. “I’m not one of the pretty plastic people.” She batted her eyes, heading to the door. “Like you,” she said over her shoulder and scooted.
He chased her inside around the living room like two teenagers, laughing as he caught her and tickled her, dragging her to the couch. His tickling quickly drifted into foreplay and he kissed her, peeling the bathrobe she wore off.
“I missed you.” He pulled away from her lips. “I wish you would come with me. The thought of you here alone, of what could happen...” He trailed off.
“It can’t happen twice.” She went to kiss him.
He pulled away. “Jess, they never found his body. If he’s out there...”
“---He hasn’t come collecting. If Ty was alive, he would have already tried,” she lied to appease him, to keep the pretense of their marriage as solid and sure.
If he knew Ty was alive and masquerading as Christopher Aris, his insecurity would barrel back to the forefront and she didn’t want that. He hated Ty with a passion that the years had not erased. There was no forgiving the murder of his wife. No forgiving the fact Ty hurt her in ways Tom deemed unforgivable no matter what the reasoning. If he ever found out she knew Ty was alive, Jessica didn’t know what he would do. And she did not want to find out.
Tom nodded a little and looked down at his hands. “And if he did?”
Jessica reached over and gently cupped his chin, turning his face toward her. “Tom, I am in love with you. Nothing can change that.”
“Then come with me next week.”
“I’ve got the kids next week. April vacation.”
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “I forgot.” He took a deep breath and she straddled his lap, running her finger down his bare chest.
“Now where were we?” She leaned in, kissing him with a fraction of the passion her dream produced, hell bent on forgetting the feel of Ty’s hands, focusing only on Tom. She smiled under the kiss as he stood carrying her into the bedroom to finish what he started.
Chapter 4
The late morning sun glistened on the Piscataqua River as Chris crossed the bridge into Maine. With the top down, the unseasonably warm early April air whipped the edges of his hair and he glanced at his speedometer, keeping his speed in check, resisting the urge to open her up on the nearly empty road ahead.
“What am I going to do when I see you?” he asked the road ahead of him. “What the hell am I going to do?” He didn’t have an answer but his stomach growled, prompting him to take the Kittery exit in search of a late breakfast. His GPS gawked at him, repeating the command to turn around and get back on the highway in order to reach the programmed destination. He flipped off the sound and pulled into a restaurant between the shops lining U. S. Route 1.
The bank of local real estate magazines caught his attention and he grabbed a couple before following the hostess to a seat overlooking an inlet. Flipping through the pages, he stopped, studying an oceanfront estate with good acreage and a security gate enclosure, remote enough to provide the privacy he craved and not far from where Jessica lived. The price wasn’t listed in the magazine and by the look of it; Chris figured it was in the double-digit-million range. He smiled and folded the page, rolling up the magazine and sliding it in his back pocket.
After scoffing down breakfast, he punched in the address for the realtor’s office, following the pleasant voice of his GPS right into their parking lot. Everything about York was quaint, even the realtor’s office and he strolled inside.
“I’d like to see this property,” he said to the perky receptionist.
A few moments later, a pretty blonde agent with the nametag “Betty” stepped out into the small lobby area.
“I understand you want to see the Carrington property.” She looked him over and a skeptical creased appeared between her brows.
“If you wouldn’t mind.” Chris offered a smile, dripping with sincerity.
She nodded and escorted him to her car, waiving him into the passenger seat and promptly took him to the estate. She attempted to engage him in conversation, and he avoided more than the necessary congenialities but that didn’t dissuade Betty from aimlessly rambling about the estate and its history.
The Carrington’s apparently owned the entire outlet at the end of Roaring Rock Lane, along with the modest 5,000 square foot English Tudor on a bluff overlooking the ocean. The grounds impeccably maintained with an iron gate surrounding the entire thirteen acres. According to Betty, this was a rare find and it included a lovely in-ground pool.
He stood at the thigh high rock wall that bordered the cliff, scanning the ocean and the marina at the mouth of the York River and inhaled. Sea air, salty and refreshing blanketed the back yard and he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.
“I’ll take it. All of it, as is, including the furniture,” he said, spinning around and locking eyes with Betty.
“Um, Mr. Ryan, this is a sizable estate,” she stammered.
He walked to her car and slid in the passenger seat without another word. Betty following on his heels, rattling on about other properties that may suit him better.
“I have no interest in other properties,” he said, ignoring her chatter and looking out the window until she pulled into the parking lot.
“Mr. Ryan, I don’t think you understand. The Carrington estate is...sizable.”
“How much?” he asked as they walked into her office.
“The listing is for thirteen and a half million, but I need to talk with the owners about the contents,” Betty floundered.
He almost laughed at the pittance. His penthouse cost almost twice that figure, but then again this wasn’t New York City or the Hamptons, this was Maine and that figure was probably considered outrageous here. “Offer them fifteen million for all of it and tell them you will have the money tomorrow,” he said, smiling and taking a seat. “When can I move in?”
Her jaw dropped momentarily but she quickly recovered, handing him the forms. “If you would be so kind as to fill out these forms, I’ll give the sellers a call.”
She returned a little while later. “They accepted the offer and you can move in as soon as the funds are verified and the paperwork is settled. That will take a few days.”
Chris nodded and handed her the completed paperwork. “I assume you have an escrow account, so where should I have the money wired?”
She nodded. “I’ll need to verify the availability of the funds.”
Chris pulled out his wallet and handed her a business card for the firm that managed the majority of his money.
Betty dialed the number on the card and asked for the contact. She explained the situation and handed Chris the phone.
Chris authenticated his identity and gave the directive to verify the funds and wire fifteen million dollars to the realtor’s escrow account for the purchase of a home. He handed the phone back to her and she listened to the banker as he disclosed Chris’s account balance verifying the availability of the funds.
Betty slowly sat down and smiled up at Chris as she fumbled through her desk. She gave the routing and account number for the wire and hung up. With a strained smile, she called the realty firm’s bank to let them know what was coming and to notify her once the wire was confirmed.
He stood to leave.
“Thank you for choosing Stanford realty,” she said and her eyes twinkled with a whole new level of interest. They dropped to his ring-less fingers and her smile widened when her gaze returned to his. “The paperwork will be completed by the end of the week. Where can I get in touch with you?”
“You can get in touch with me through the number on that card.” He never gave out his private numbers for any reason. His banker and his lawyer were the only ones who knew how to get a hold of him and he liked it that way. Chris glanced at his watch. It was almost one. “Will Friday be acceptable to sign the papers?”
She nodded and he walked out of the office, leaving her holding the business card in awe.
Chapter 5
Jessica lay on Tom’s chest and he lazily ran his hand through her hair. “What do you have going on today?”
“Nothing until later this afternoon. I’ve got a couple dance classes scheduled. You should come watch. There are some talented girls up here.”
“I’ll pass. You know what watching you dance does to me. I’m not sure that’s appropriate for the kids to see.”
She laughed and climbed out of bed, pulling on her jogging shorts and top. “You coming?” she asked and twirled her hair into a clip.
“Not today. I’m still a little jet lagged.”
“It’s almost one in the afternoon.” She kissed him and left the room. “Lazy shit!”
“You wiped me out,” he called after her.
Jessica walked briskly to the beach and trotted down the stairs. She needed her daily routine, jogging on the hard packed sand, losing herself in the music filtering through the tiny speakers in her ears. But it wasn’t enough to lose the dream. The slight chill in the air penetrated to her bones and she shivered.
What if he really did show up?
* * * *
His heart doubled down at the sight of her, jumping in his chest and causing his hands to tremble. Swallowing with a mouth suddenly devoid of saliva, Chris took off his leather coat and threw it on the passenger seat along with his sneakers and socks.
This is it.
He walked to the middle of the beach, right in her jogging path and waited, with his thumbs hooked into his back pockets to keep the shakes in check. The cool salty breeze grazed his cheeks. He stepped forward at the sound of her footfalls.
So intent in her quest, she almost bumped into him and recovered with a stumbling sidestep, mumbling an apology.
“Jess,” he said before she could get back into her stride.
Her body went rigid, her eyes widened and her mouth parted in disbelief. She actually took a few steps back, her cheeks losing all color before suddenly blooming red.
Chris took his glasses off. “We need to talk.”
Jessica closed her mouth. This isn’t how the dream went.
“No, it isn’t.” Chris answered her thoughts and took a step toward her. “Not at all like the dream.”
She reached up and slowly removed her sunglasses. “You can read my thoughts now?”
“I guess.” He lifted his shoulders slightly before letting them settle back down. “You and Eric changed me.”
“I can see that.” She nodded but now that she was face to face with him, she didn’t know what to do.
“Me neither.” He smiled and looked down at the sand. He brought his eyes back to hers after a moment.
“What?” She whispered shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“Now that I’m here, I don’t know what to do either.” He stepped closer. “I just needed to see you again.”
Jessica stopped moving. “I never thought . . .” She trailed off and looked toward the bluff where she lived. “Ty, Tom and I got married.” She looked back at him.
“I know. I kept tabs on you.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I’m not sure.” He studied the sand again and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Does Tom know I’m alive?” he asked after a few minutes.
“No.”
“But you did.” He looked up at her.
“Yes, when I saw you on TV.” She paused and looked out at the ocean. “I knew when you used the phrase ‘not in a million years’ in that interview.”
Chris looked out at the ocean, nodding, that was precisely why he used that phrase. He wanted her to know. “I changed my name.”
“Yeah, I know. You stole your brother’s identity.”
He nodded feeling the heat bloom in his cheeks. “But after all the crap went down, I got the inheritance and changed my name again. I legally changed it to my father’s name.”
Jessica hitched her breath in. “Chris Ryan?”
“Yeah.” Biting his lip, he lowered his eyes to the sand and inhaled before bringing them back to her. He reached out and wiped a stray hair out of her face and as his finger grazed her cheek, she closed her eyes. “If you knew I was alive, why didn’t you say anything to the police?”
Her eyes opened to his question and she shook her head slowly. “I killed Marion. I killed her to save you.” A tear finally slipped out of the corner of her eye. “I kept quiet for you,” she barely whispered, her breath shaky and full of emotion.
They stared at each other.
“I think I have something you’re going to need.”
Jessica didn’t say a word.
He stepped closer putting his hand on her cheek.
Leaning her face against the weight of it, she closed her eyes. His lips grazed hers and she shot back a few steps.
“No.” She put her hands up in front of her and bolted toward her home.
Chris did not follow. He watched her run, listening to the waves gently slosh on the beach, the hollowness in his chest filling with a devastation he had no words for. The fear in her eyes just before she ran cut him deeper than Frank’s knife had and he took a seat on the sand.
“What the hell do I do now?” He closed his eyes. He wanted to go grab her and force her into the car, disappear with her, wipe the fear from her eyes. He wanted her in his arms again, to feel her skin, her mouth, like in the dream.
He eventually climbed the steps to the road and slipped into his car.
He leaned back, looking in the rearview mirror and stopped breathing.
The image of his dead stepbrother Frank returned his gaping stare. “I’m going to cut her to pieces and there is nothing you can do to stop me this time.” Frank laughed and disappeared.
Chris’s heart hit triple time and he jammed the car in gear, the little corvette all but flying over the barren mid-day streets of York. He slid into her driveway and without hesitation ran toward the door, bursting into the house and sprinting toward the screams.
He slid to a stop in the bedroom doorway and his mind stalled. Tom struggled against invisible bonds holding him in the chair, his eyes wild and locked on his wife.
Chris followed his gaze to Jessica suspended against the opposite wall, her arms raised above her head, her wrists crossed like they were bound and her toes dangling inches from the floor. A knife, dripping with her blood, hung in the air in front of her slowly waving back and forth; it slashed out again, tearing through her flesh.
Her cry laced with pain and her gaze glued to the mirror next to her. Fear draining all color from her face, leaving her calico eyes wide and stark against the paleness of her skin.
Chris narrowed his eyes at the image.
Frank held the knife and looked in his direction. “Well isn’t this just the perfect trio. My little whore, pretty boy and Ty.” The ghost laughed and slashed out at Jessica again.
Another slice ripped through her abdomen and Jessica screamed.
Chris picked up a paperweight on the bureau. “The name’s Chris you son of a bitch!” He pitched it, shattering the mirror and the knife fell to the ground. The invisible bonds holding Jessica to the wall released and he moved swiftly from the doorway, catching her before she hit the floor.
“Who the hell are you?” Tom bellowed.
Chris laid Jessica on the bed and looked up. Recognition flashed in Tom’s eyes.
“Jesus,” he whispered and his face turned beet red, the kind of red that usually accompanied rage. “Get the hell away from my wife!”
“I can fix her.” Chris looked down at the cuts on her arms and stomach and back up at Tom. “I can fix her,” he said again and stepped away. “Please let me.”
“Tom, it hurts,” Jessica said, her breath hissed between her teeth, controlled but still filled with pain. Blood seeped out of the wounds, running down her sides and staining the sheets. She reached for her husband and Tom stepped closer, taking her hand, his eyes bouncing between her and Chris.
“She doesn’t have the power to fix herself anymore,” Chris said, and even he heard the desperation in his voice. “Please.”
Jessica nodded and squeezed Tom’s hand. “Either call 911 or let him fix me.”
Tom stared at her and the red in his face dropped a shade or two, Jessica’s plea breaking through the stubborn wall of anger enough for him to make a decision. “Ok, do it.”
Chris sat on the side of the bed and took her other hand. He looked over at Tom for a second before focusing back on her. “This is going to hurt,” he informed her, “At least it did for me.” Putting one hand on her shoulder and the other on the opposite hip, Chris hung his head for a second, gathering strength. Then he leaned over and kissed between the stab wounds on her stomach, feeling the power shift from him back into her where it belonged.
Jessica arched her back and screamed, her body healing under his touch, infusing her with power and she slipped into blackness. Somewhere in the back of her subconscious bright light spilled out of the edges of a door that had lay dormant for five years.
Light danced over her body. “Sweet Jesus,” Tom whispered and looked at Chris in disbelief.
Chris sat up, meeting his gaze. “I’m sorry.” He wiped her blood from his lips and moved away, dropping his gaze to Jessica. She opened her eyes, colors swirled in her irises again like they had five years ago.
Tom watched the light dissipate and the colors come to rest in her eyes. “What the hell happened?” He shot a glare in Chris’s direction.
Chris ran his hands through his hair nervously, looking at the shattered bits of the mirror. He licked his lips and glanced over at them. “I think it was Frank’s ghost.”
Jessica nodded her affirmation.
“How did you find us?” Tom pulled his hand out of Jessica’s grasp and it curled into a fist.
“I’ve known where you were all along.” Chris’s eyes darkened, challenging Tom, but he heard the silent protest from Jessica, dropping his eyes to hers and inhaling. “I gotta get out of here.” Chris backed out of the room, his gait hurried as he shot out the front door.
“Wait,” Jessica called.
He stopped with the driver’s side door open and swung his gaze to her. Blood covered her abdomen, but no trace of where it had come from was visible and his eyes kept jumping between the bloodstains and her eyes as she approached the car.
“Thank you,” Jessica said and laid her hand on his.
The magnetic jolt pulsed through him at the touch of her fingers and Chris pulled his hand away. “It’s my fault. I must have led him here.” He glanced at the house where Tom glared through the window. “I’ve gotta figure out how to kill a ghost,” he whispered in disbelief and looked back at her. “Mirrors,” he said offhandedly and something else clicked in his head. That’s how Eric and Jessica communicated before and how Eric found him - through mirrors. His eyes went wide. “Jesus, Frank got to you through the mirror. Stay away from mirrors.”
“You gave it back to me, didn’t you?” She felt the warm power inside her again. It was different from before and she couldn’t figure out why.
He nodded. “Now you can fix Emily.”
His words caught her by surprise, swinging the door open on her dream, the bits and pieces she never could remember came barreling through her consciousness. “Oh Ty,” she whispered and the tears came.
“If I had waited...” He trailed off.
“I would have lost Emily.”
“Yes. But now, I’ve brought something worse.” He looked back at the house and slid into the car. “Just stay away from mirrors.”
Chapter 6
“When we saw him on television, did you know? Did you know it was him?” Tom shot at her when she re-entered the house.
Jessica nodded, her heart thudding in her chest and a different kind of fear filled her mouth with a metallic tinfoil taste.
He spun away from her and marched onto the balcony, leaning against the railing with shoulders that sagged with anger and disappointment.
“I’m sorry,” she said, stepping behind him.
Tom glared in her direction, still shaking from the rage filtering through his skin. “How many times have you seen him Jess?”
“Today was the first time since we left Albany.”
Tom stared at the water.
“I love you, not him.”
“Are you sure about that?”
She nodded, but she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure at all.
“Then come with me next week and bring the kids.”
“I hate L.A. Besides, the kids love it here.”
“And he is here.”
“No.” The first hint of anger reached her eyes. “Damn it Tom, this has nothing to do with him. I hate going west because I do nothing out there. You go off to work and I wander around the house that you lived in with your previous wife and I feel guilty. It’s my fault that you’re not with her today.” She stormed into the house.
* * * *
Tom shook his head, glancing between the living room and the ocean, his anger diffusing. He never thought of it that way. She had given up claim to everything she had to be with him. She made a fresh start, away from her friends, her family, her kids, but he still had all the same contacts along with the house he and his prior wife bought and everything they collected together. He hadn’t made much of a fresh start because he never really let go.
“What if I sold that house?” he asked as he entered the bedroom.
She didn’t respond at first. “I would still hate L.A., but it would make it better.” She flipped on the shower, peeling off the bloody exercise outfit. “I need to get ready for work.”
“I’m coming to the studio with you.” He didn’t like the idea of her being alone with Ty Aris in the same town.
“Fine.” She nodded and stepped under the spray.
Tom turned, his eyes landing on the bloody splotches on the carpet and the ruined sheets on the bed. A chill grabbed his tailbone and skittered up his spine. I’ll deal with that later.
He paced in the living room, mulling over everything that happened in the last hour.
Ty Aris, alive. How the fuck did that happen?
He had witnessed the gunshots, four bullet holes in the man’s chest. How does someone walk away from that?
Jessica stepped out dressed in her leotard and dance skirt, her hair pulled back in a bun. Her eyes wary, watching him trace his steps back and forth.
“You really had no idea he was here?” She shook her head keeping eye contact. “He caught me on the beach and basically, I freaked out. That’s why I was out of breath when I got home. I ran at full speed. And then...” She waved toward the bedroom, drawing a shaky breath. Grabbing the keys off the hook in the hallway, she gave him a final sigh and headed in the direction of the garage. “You coming?”
Inhaling, he nodded and followed her out of the house, jumping into the passenger seat of her car, still gnawing on the day’s events. Silence filled the car and he didn’t speak until they rolled down the road in the direction of the dance studio.
“I have a bad feeling about this.”
Chapter 7
Chris watched the car back out of the driveway and he followed them to the dance studio.
Mirrors. Jesus, doesn’t she ever listen?
He pulled a u-turn and parked across the street, slamming the gears into neutral and yanking on the parking break. Irritation threaded through him at her blatant disregard for his warning. He inhaled, and settled in, his eyes planted on the front studio through the now open mini-blinds.
Distracted by her warm up, his gaze kept drifting to her instead of the large mirrored wall, flaring the old heat, filling him with bitter desire and he closed his eyes.
What am I doing here?
He opened his eyes, his answer came with a flash of the mirror, and he bolted from the car, his heart pounding as Frank’s image wrapped his hands around her throat. Again, he slid into the room, giving Tom a quick glance before growling his command. “Let her go!”
* * * *
Jessica’s glance flicked from the image of Frank to Chris. She clawed at the invisible hands crushing her windpipe. Her gaze swung back to Tom, frozen in the chair with the same wild-eyed look as before.
Help me! Her mind screamed and she glanced at Chris. The rage in his eyes aimed at the image in the mirror hiked her already frenzied pulse. He reminded her of the predator he once was as he advanced.
“The mirror Jess,” he said, his eyes never leaving the glass. “Break it!”
How?
* * * *
Chris’s head jerked in her direction and her pleading eyes set him in motion. He stepped forward, throwing all his weight behind the punch he sent into the mirror. A great web spread into the glass, but it didn’t shatter.
It was enough to break the spell and Tom stood, swiveling and careening the chair toward the splintered image of Frank. Shard of glass sprayed the room, the mirror shattering under the violent impact.
The chokehold on Jessica released and she crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, looking up at the two men and the fragments of glass behind them.
“Damn,” Chris shook his wrist, snapping red droplets across the floor. He raised his eyes from the bloody mess that represented his fist. “You are such a stubborn fool sometimes. You could have broken that.” He crouched in front of her.
She blinked, not quite understanding his train of thought. “How?”
“Same way you blew those doors off their hinges,” he replied.
She shook her head. “I had the energy from the electric chair. It was different”
Tom gawked. “I, I thought it turned off?”
“No it was still live,” Jessica said, “I burnt the crap out of my hand but the energy helped me blow your restraints. If you had still been strapped in when I was shot, the power surge would have killed you.”
“I didn’t know,” he said and took her hands.
“You didn’t need to,” Jessica said. “A lot of things that happened down there you don’t need to know about.” She swung her gaze to Chris.
“You still can do those things. You just have to learn to do them to save your own ass and not someone else’s.”
“I wasn’t able to save Mike.” The name rolled off her lips easily considering she hadn’t spoken it since they escaped the barren jail in Albany.
Chris dropped his gaze, feeling the flare of pain that accompanied the name within her. “That was my fault,” he finally said. “I shouldn’t have left you alone there.” He took a deep breath. “But you still can do these things Jess.”
Jessica reached out to take his bleeding hand.
Chris pulled away; pretty sure he had broken his hand. “No. You need that for someone else. Besides, it isn’t that bad.”
“You’re lying.” Jessica glanced at his hand and raised her eyes, meeting his stare.
Chris smiled and stood up. “Take her to California with you Tom.”
“You, you followed us,” Jessica stuttered, her brain just catching up.
“I told you to stay away from mirrors. A dance studio has mirrors, so yeah, I followed you.” He walked out of the building, looking at his hand. “Shit,” he whispered and picked a shard of glass out from between his knuckles.
Chapter 8
Jessica and Tom swept up the glass in the studio in silence.
“How long has he been here Jess?” he asked her again.
“Today was the first time I saw him since we left that God forsaken place,” Jessica snapped back, her eyes filling with tears.
“Then how the hell does he know about the dance studio or that I want you to come to California?”
“I have no idea.” She looked at him for a long time. “Tom, the dream I keep having,” she began and stopped as the bell on the door rang and her first student arrived.
Jessica walked into the lobby. “I’m sorry, we are closed today. There was a little accident and the mirror broke, I will be out of commission here for a few weeks until this get’s fixed. I apologize for any inconvenience.” She smiled over and over as she turned away her students. When the last one left, she locked the front door and walked back into the studio.
“What about the dream?”
“You left me,” she replied. “Emily died and you left.”
“I would never...”
She cut him off. “But you did,” she whispered, “You will.”
“It was just a dream Jess.”
“No, it was a glimpse of the future. We both had the same dream, over and over, Tom. It was a glimpse of the future that Ty changed by coming here today.”
Tom was speechless.
“In the dream Ty asked me what I wanted and I told him he couldn’t give it to me.”
“What did you want?” Tom asked, dreading the answer.
“I wanted Emily back,” she said, surprising him. “He found a way to do that. He made sure the dream would never happen, even if that meant losing me again.” She hitched her breath in and the tears came.
“Jess.” He reached for her.
“I’m sorry Tom, but it hurts. I never remembered the entire dream, but I used to wake up very sad, now I know why. Today I understood. You’re going to end up really hurting me.”
“I love you Jess,” he said and wrapped his arms protectively around her. “And I would never intentionally hurt you.”
“I know,” she said. However, you don’t love me like he does. She looked out the window, shivering.
Chapter 9
Chris went to the emergency room giving a lame excuse of slipping and flailing into the mirror at the hotel he was staying at. They patched up the cuts and sure enough, the X-ray showed a few broken bones in his hand and wrist. They put it in a cast and sent him home with some pain pills.
He checked in at the hotel across from the beach and literally passed out from exhaustion.
The sun shone bright in his room when he woke, he rolled and glanced at the clock. His eyes went wide and he shot into a sitting position. It was almost eleven.
After he went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, he slipped his baseball cap on and headed out for a run. He trotted across the street and stopped at the top of the stairway. A very thin patch of sand greeted him, high tide lapped the rest of the beach and he sighed, turning on the sidewalk to execute his exercise regimen. Hanging a right onto the road that passed her house, he barely gave it a glance, jogging past and stopping at the lighthouse a few blocks away. Chris climbed down the rocks and found a peaceful spot to sit for a while.
“You lied.”
Her voice startled him and he turned, looking up at her, too shocked to respond. She climbed down, taking a seat next to him and reached out, running her fingers over the blue cast.
“I like the color.”
He stared at her and blinked, unable to believe she had followed him. Blinking again, he glanced down at the cast and shrugged. “I didn’t realize how much of a pain in the ass a broken arm really is.”
“How bad is it?”
“It’s just a couple broken bones,” he said, shaking it off. “What really sucks is I’m right handed and my car’s a five speed, and I hope I don’t get any shit about my signature on the paperwork at the end of the week.”
“Stop whining.” She laughed and leaned into him, bumping him with her shoulder on purpose. “And don’t you have a league of lawyers to sign things for you?”
He grinned and shrugged at the not so subtle jab. “Normally, but I didn’t consult with legal council this time.” He bumped her back and winked. “I decided to buy some property all on my own.”
“Getting tired of the city?”
“I kind of like it up here,” he said looking around and then returning his gaze to her.
“Why?”
“You have to ask?”
She hopped to her feet and stepped away, putting distance between them.
“Jess?” He looked up at her, squinting.
She waited.
“Did you love me?” he asked her sunlight framed form.
She squatted so he could see her eyes. “You have to ask?” She stood and walked away.
Chris jumped to his feet, turning toward her. “Yes, I have to ask,” he called after her. She turned in surprise and he took the opportunity to cross the distance. “Did you love me?” He saw the turmoil in her eyes as she debated whether to answer him or not.
“Yes, Ty, I loved you.”
The sigh that came with the words tempered his impulse to take her in his arms and the doubt and underlying fear in her eyes struck him like a dagger in the abdomen. “But?”
“But I chose to marry Tom. I love him very much and I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have. So you moving close to here may not be the best of ideas.”
“I disagree.”
“How long before you do something you’ll regret?” she asked, striking him silent.
The sharp pang in his stomach twisted and he shook his head. “I don’t know.” The plea in her eyes belied her words and he stepped closer, the electricity between them increasing as he towered over her, trembling against the urge to touch her, to reach out and run his hands into her hair, to feel her lips under his, to taste her again. “How long until you give in to your feelings?”
She was quiet. “A million years,” she finally said and walked away.
Chapter 10
Chris sat in the library combing through ghost folklore but her words kept coming back to him and each time the phrase echoed in his mind, the rock on his chest pressed down. Being near her again just increased the pain, and the knowledge of the futility of his actions.
This isn’t a game I’m destined to win.
He huffed and stared at the open book in front of him, not seeing the text, only a jumble of letters that didn’t compute. “I never lose,” he mumbled under his breath and glanced out the window at the bank of woods surrounding the town library.
With a deep inhale, he closed his eyes, wiping his face. “Focus asshole.”
This time he saw the words on the page clearly and he scanned the passages, trying to find a hint of a way to send the ghost of his stepbrother back to hell. There was nothing useful to address their particular situation in any of the dozen books he had stacked on the table and he left in frustration.
As quaint as the rest of the town, the center was lined with little ocean-side gift shops and the delicious scent of boiling lobsters reached his senses. His stomach growled and he followed the smell into a roadside market, ordering a lobster roll for lunch. Taking a window seat, he ate scanning the street until his eyes landed on a small sign advertising a fortuneteller. He raised his eyebrows and exhaled. That’s an avenue to consider.
Inhaling the rest of his sandwich and leaving the money for lunch on the table, including a hefty tip, he exited and crossed to the shop, standing outside and debating for a fraction of a second before he wandered inside. The foul stench of incense and sweat accosted him and he breathed through his mouth to quell the sudden lurch in his stomach. Removing his sunglasses, he scanned the scant room once his eyes adjusted to the dim light. A small table covered in black fabric with glow in the dark stars flanked by two rickety chairs graced the room and in the center of the table stood a hazy crystal ball. Fog permeated the crystal, swirling, creating patterns that coincided with periodic infusions of smoke. A stack of tarot cards sat on the table, almost hidden from view behind the glass sphere. This room had all the cheesy trappings of a hoax with one exception.
The fortuneteller herself.
A shiver tried to take hold of him but he dismissed it.
The fortuneteller’s beady eyes narrowed and she studied Chris with black eyes that peered out from her wrinkly skin. Her white hair provided a stark contrast to her dark skin and brightly colored sari. She stood, circled him, sizing him up and returned to her seat, her robes settled and she leaned on the table, waiving her hand at the opposite chair.
“What ails you boy?” Her voice was scratchy, as if she had just smoked a case of cigarettes.
Pulling out his money clip, he peeled five twenties off the stack of bills and laid them on the table. “I need to know how to get rid of a ghost.”
Her head cocked and she closed her eyes, her hand slowly caressed the crystal and then stopped. A gasp slid from her lips and her eyes flew wide like a broken shade. “Boy, you’ve got yourself one evil sidekick and he’s out for revenge.”
Chris nodded looking frankly at her. “So how do I send him back to hell?”
Some of the luster faded from her cheeks and hand gripped the glass sphere like she was holding on for dear life. “He found a way to reach into the physical world.”
“Yes, through mirrors.”
Her hand relaxed and she turned her wide-eyed stare toward the crystal ball, staring at the swirl patterns. He could almost hear the whisper of the air moving around in the sphere and this time, when she spoke, he did shiver. “You must kill his spirit in the physical world.”
“How?”
“Take away his power and he will fall.”
Irritation crawled over his skin. He needed an answer, something he could work with, not this cryptic mumbo jumbo. “How?”
“You must lure him into the physical world and take his path away.”
“How?” he asked again and the slithering sensation on his skin made him shift in the chair. Uneasy didn’t begin to describe the feeling, it was more of a gripping dread itching at his balls but he ignored it, focusing on obtaining information he could act on.
“She is the key, but you need to take the stand without her,” she said. “You must make him think he has won. That is when he will be most vulnerable.”
The picture she painted in his mind formed clearly in the crystal ball and Chris’s eyes strained in their sockets. Dread turned into icy terror layering deep into his core and he trembled, understanding exactly what was expected of him. He shook his head, slowly at first and then much more adamantly. “No,” he whispered. “I’m not gambling with her life.”
The fortuneteller stared into his eyes. “You must or all will be lost.”
Chapter 11
Jessica hung up the phone, her blood thickening to pea soup quality, draining all color from her face, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She turned toward Tom.
“What is it?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Em,” she answered. “Em is sick.” She flew into the bedroom and began frantically throwing clothes in a bag. “I need to go to Connecticut now.”
“I’ll drive,” he said and tossed a few items into the bag.
Jessica stopped. “All the headaches, all the complaints, why the hell didn’t I see it coming?” Blinking back the mist covering her eyes she stared at him. “I really need you on this one Tom.”
He crossed to her and gave her a hug. “I’m here for you babe.”
“I’m serious.”
“I am too.” He picked up the bags and headed to his truck with her in tow and they pulled out of the driveway as the sun dipped below the horizon.
Please God, please let the power he gave back to me be enough to save my baby girl.
Jessica prayed quietly, making empty promises in exchange for the miracle she already possessed. Tears slowly cut hot paths down her cheeks and she reached for Tom’s hand, clasping it tightly as the power wound into a tense ball in her stomach, centering, focusing, growing inside her, taking a life of its own.
Quiet permeated the car laced with the soft echo of music coming from the speakers. The CD looped over and over just loud enough to be heard over her silent tears.
“She’ll be ok Jess,” Tom said and pulled off the highway, navigating the roads to her ex-husband’s house easily.
They hurried out of the car and rang the doorbell. LeAnn Connor opened the door with red and puffy eyes doling out hugs to Jessica and Tom as they entered.
“Where’s Emily?” Jessica asked, wiping her own wet cheeks.
“Upstairs, sleeping,” Daniel said walking around the corner into view.