Chapter Twenty-Two

The ride to the house was short, but long. There was no chatter in the car; each occupant was lost in his own thoughts. As the house came into view, Angel Rose spoke up from the passenger seat.

"Marty, I think you should stay outside; at least at first."

"I have been in this house many times, and nothing has happened," he remarked. "Your ghost never so much as ruffled a curtain in my presence."

Ang turned in the front seat to face him. "Marty, I can’t explain it," she answered. "Maybe she didn’t know that you were there. She for sure didn’t see you; she couldn’t have. You would have known it if she saw you."

"All I’m saying is that there’s really no reason I can’t come in with you."

"But—" Ang started, but Richie interrupted.

"You’re right, Marty," he said, pulling up to the house and putting the gearshift into park. "Maybe if she sees you and Angel Rose together, once Ang tells her who you are, it will trigger a different vision. Maybe not. Either way, I want you to be very, very careful what you say or do. I will not be a happy man if you do something that makes Kirstin hurt Angel Rose."

They gathered on the front porch, and Richie put his hand on the knob.

"Ready?" he asked. Everyone nodded. "Then let’s go."

The first thing they noticed was that the house was a good fifteen degrees cooler than the outside temperature. Ang shivered and rubbed her arms briskly. "God it’s so cold in here," she murmured. "Kirstin is agitated."

Richie grabbed Ang’s hand and held on tightly. "Are you sure, absolutely sure, that you want to do this?"

Ang nodded. "It’s not ‘want’, Richie, it’s ‘need’."

The three of them ascended the stairs, noticing that it got cooler the higher they rose. By the time they hit the second floor, gooseflesh had risen on Ang’s arms. Richie wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tried to transfer some of his body heat to her. They approached a closed door. The door to Kirstin’s room. Richie squeezed Ang’s shoulder reassuringly and unwound his arm from her. He reached out to touch the knob and drew his hand back as a zing of electricity seemed to pass through him.

"What the hell?" Richie exclaimed, shaking his hand. He looked at his fingers, and saw his fingertips were blackened. "Jesus," he said.

Ang grabbed his hand and examined his fingertips. "This is not a good idea," she said softly, kissing the marks.

"The hell it isn’t," Richie said, pulling his hand back from hers. He wrapped his hand in the bottom of his t-shirt and poised it over the doorknob. With a muttered curse, he quickly turned the knob and flung the door open, ignoring the searing pain in his hand. He stood there agape, not quite believing what he was seeing. The room was in total disarray. Furniture was overturned and papers strewn around the room. The curtains were flapping in the window, and the rocking chair, Kirstin’s chair, was shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Oh my sweet Lord," Marty said, entering the room behind Richie. He looked around at the destruction. "Where is Kirstin?" he said, turning to Ang. "Is she here?"

Ang hadn’t yet entered the room. She was staring, slack-jawed, at the damage done. Her eyes scanned the room until they stopped on a shadow in the corner. "Oh no," she said, stepping into the room. She walked slowly toward that corner.

"What does she see?" Marty asked Richie. "Is that where Kirstin is?"

Richie shook his head. "I don’t know; all I see is shadow." He followed Ang across the room, and stopped just behind her. Ang reached blindly behind her, and Richie grabbed onto her hand. The instant their hands connected, Richie saw what Ang saw. He saw a huddled, scared woman, bloody and battered, cowering in fear. He watched as Kirstin looked up with a petrified expression on her face.

"Help me," she said. "Please."

"What’s happening?" Marty asked, coming to stand behind Richie and Ang. Kirstin looked at him and screamed.

"Jeremiah!" Kirstin shrieked, and Ang recoiled. It was the same tone, the same fright as what she experienced in her vision. Angel Rose blanched when she saw Kirstin reaching for Marty. "Help me, Jeremiah!" Kirstin cried. Richie and Ang looked at each other, then turned around to look at Marty.

Marty looked confused. He saw the looks of fright on Richie’s and Ang’s faces, but couldn’t see what they were so afraid of. "What are you two looking at?" he asked, turning to look behind him.

"You," Ang said. "Kirstin is reaching for you. Asking for your help."

"What should I do?" Marty asked, on the edge of unease.

"Give me your hand," Ang answered, holding out her other hand to the startled realtor.

Marty was hesitant, but grabbed on to the proffered hand, and gasped when Ang’s fingers closed around his. He now saw what Richie and Ang saw. "Good Lord, what happened to that poor creature?"

"Jeremiah?" A weak voice called. "Please help me."

Marty cringed for a moment when Kirstin reached for him, the tendrils of cold wafting from her. Very slowly, reached his free hand toward Kirstin’s. When they clasped, Marty shouted at the surprisingly strong grasp this ethereal creature had.

Richie felt the shock of the connection all the way through his body, and wondered how the hell Ang survived the jolt.

Angel Rose then saw clearly what she had missed in the first visions.

The Past

Crying and spitting blood, Kirstin begged the man attacking her for her life. "Please," she said. "Please, let me go back to my children. I will give you anything you want, just let me go home to my children."

"Shut up," he said, hitting her again, blackening her eye. He pressed his hand hard over her nose and mouth, and she couldn’t breathe. "Shut up or your precious children will be next." Kirstin grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand further into her mouth so she could bite him. He howled in pain, and reared up, shaking his hand. Blood droplets sprayed as he shook. Kirstin tried to lever the man off of her, but he was too strong. He grabbed her wrists and brought her arms down to her sides, pinning them with his knees.

His hands closed around her neck like a vice, choking off her airway. She started to get dizzy, and random images of her children and her husband floated through her head. She smiled at one memory, and the man got angry. "What are you smiling at, bitch?" he demanded, and loosened his grip long enough to smack her hard across the face. Kirstin snapped back to the present, and struggled anew when she felt his hands close around her throat once again. She was able to gouge his hand with her fingernails, but she was too weak to push him away.

As she struggled for breath, Kirstin tried to pull the mask away from the man’s face. She had to know who had done this to her. Maybe then she would know why. She caught the edge of the mask’s chin with a fingernail, and it slipped enough so she could make out her attacker. As her world started to turn black, she started to weep. She wept for her husband, her children, and herself.

Suddenly, she saw a glimpse of something, someone, over her attacker’s shoulder. A familiar face. She struggled against the pull if unconsciousness and tried to focus on another pair of green eyes. Kind eyes. "Jeremiah," she gasped in surprise. "Please, help me."

Her attacker turned toward Jeremiah. "Leave now, little brother."

"Isaiah, what are you doing?" Jeremiah was confused. Why was his brother hurting his friend? He stood, transfixed, while Isaiah’s hands closed tighter around Kirstin’s throat. He saw her eyes start to roll back as she croaked his name again.

His brother glared at him. "Now, Jeremiah."

"Jeremiah, please," Kirstin said once more, then she was still.

Isaiah shot a triumphant look at his brother before turning back to Kirstin’s body. "If you’re gonna stay, you may as well help me dig, boy," he said, clawing into the dirt. He heard a noise behind him and turned to see a tree branch speeding toward his face. "What the—" was all he got out before impact.

The Present

Ang jerked and twitched in Richie’s and Marty’s grasps. Papers and scraps of wood and fabric tossed around the room on their own. A horrible, high-pitched wind poured through the open window, even though the trees outside did not move an inch.

"What is happening here?" Marty asked, clearly scared. He couldn’t seem to pull his hand away from Kirstin’s, which terrified him even more. He watched as Ang’s color got low. He watched in horror as bruises and cuts appeared on Ang’s face. He struggled to pull his hand from Kirstin’s, but the icy cold grip was unrelenting. "Sweet Mother of God, what is happening to her?"

Richie swallowed hard. "She’s reliving Kirstin’s last moments."

"How can she stand it?"

Richie couldn’t answer, for he wondered the very same thing. He tried to slide his hand from hers, fully intending to pull Ang into his arms and flee the house, but he couldn’t get his hand free. Her grip was stronger than that of ten men, and she felt as unyielding as if she were carved into a mountain. Her strength, rigidity and immobility frightened him. Then, just as suddenly as the assault on the room began, it ended. Ang became limp and her hand slipped from Marty’s as she slumped against Richie. The shadow in the corner seemed to retreat. Richie hurriedly scooped Ang into his arms and left the room. He ran down the stairs and outside. Marty followed, slamming the front door shut behind him.

As soon as the warmth of the sun hit Ang’s face, she started to stir. Surprised, for last time this happened, she had to be brought far away from the house, Richie dropped to the ground, cradling Ang in his lap. Marty was half a step behind, panting as if he had run a marathon.

"What the blue-spotted hell just happened in there?" Marty dropped next to Richie and Ang.

"It wasn’t Jeremiah," Ang said softly, her eyes starting to flutter open. "Isaiah killed Kirstin, not Jeremiah. She called out to him for help, but it was too late." Tears sprang to her eyes as Marty swore. "Richie, we have to go back in there."

Richie shook his head. "No. No way. You’re bruised and cut again, Angel."

Ang struggled to sit up in Richie’s lap. "We have to. She showed us what we needed to see. We can ask her the right questions and get her to tell us how to help her." Richie was still shaking his head, and tightened his arms around her. "I know we can; please," she begged.

Marty put his hand on Ang’s shoulder. "Angel Rose," he said, "you can’t be serious."

"We have to help her," Ang said simply, the tears flowing from her eyes.

Richie sighed and stood, still cradling Ang in his arms. Slowly, he started back for the house. As he approached, the front door opened. The threesome stopped dead in their tracks. Ang saw Kirstin descend the once-grand staircase to the lawn. "Do you see that?" she asked in a low voice. "Put me down."

Richie complied and nodded his head. "I see her. Marty?"

"Yes. My God, I can see her too. Where is she going?"

They watched as she circled the house and disappeared.

Richie and Ang looked at each other. "The lake," they said in unison, then started to follow.

Marty watched after them for a moment, stunned beyond belief, and then followed as well.

When they reached the lake, they scanned the shore for Kirstin. "Where did she go?" Richie asked.

"Do you see her?" added Marty.

Ang just shook her head. "I don’t see her," she answered. She was pulled to the large boulder that sat by the lake, getting warmed by the sun. When she reached it, she would have sworn she heard the rock whispering. She rested her hand against it, shuddered. "Here," she said. "Kirstin was sitting here. She was feeding the water birds, and something startled her. It sent her back to the house in a hurry."

Marty frowned. "But the local lore says she disappeared on the way to a neighbor’s from her house. She wouldn’t have had to come this way," he said. "She wouldn’t have run into trouble out here."

Ang slapped her hands at her sides, sighing loudly in frustration. "Dammit, something happened here." She put both hands on the rock. After a moment, she rested her forehead against it and closed her eyes. Several minutes later, she pushed back, disgust in her face. "Something definitely happened here, but it wasn’t Kirstin’s death. We have to go back to the house. See if we can find her there."

"In my dream," Richie said, "she was on some sort of wooded path." The three of them turned their heads toward the thick tangle of rhododendrons. "Maybe that’s where she went."

"Then why would she lead us back here?" Ang asked, exasperated.

"I don’t know; you’re the expert," Richie retorted.

Marty spoke up, speaking softly and calmly. "There may have a path through there once. Several, in fact. There are acres of rhodies in those fields. Some of it’s been thinned, of course, as the developments and farms went in all around here," he said, "but I suppose it’s conceivable she entered the thicket from the house, and..."

"And that’s where she met with trouble and disappeared," Ang said.

Richie shook his head. "Conceivable, but it’s not probable. I read all those news articles; neighbors walked those paths for hours, days, looking for some sign of her." He held up a hand when it looked as if Angel Rose would interrupt. "But, we have to try," he said. "That’s where she reached out for my help. She’s got to be there somewhere."

"But –" Marty started.

"But nothing," Ang said. "Let’s go."

Chapter Twenty-One

The Past

Jeremiah Halstead had a tough childhood. He was a surprise pregnancy, and his mother died giving birth to him. His father hated him on sight for that, though it wasn’t anything Jeremiah had control over, and his upbringing was left largely to his older brothers. His brothers were a rough group, and were equally pissed at this child for taking their mother away from them.

The five Halstead boys were always getting in trouble for something or other, and more often than not, it was Jeremiah who took the brunt of the punishment. Since he was the youngest, he didn’t know any better than to listen to his brothers, and more than once he took the switch for something one of the older boys did.

Out of necessity, Jeremiah worked hard to be faster and stronger than his brothers. The beatings he withstood would have broken a weaker child, but Jeremiah was tough. He had to be. Any sign of weakness was pounced on by his bothers, and the beatings would only get worse if he cried.

All the hard physical labor meant he’d grown up bigger than his peers. To the young children who were his neighbors and fellow pupils in school, he looked older than he was, so they made fun of him for being "stupid". He got into many fights over this, and each time he did, his father or oldest brother would beat him more for fighting at school.

Jeremiah never knew a tender touch or a mother’s hug, so had no idea that there was gentleness or love in the world.

Until he met Kirstin St. Claire.

Kirstin joined his school when they were both fourteen. She was warned to stay away from "that creepy Jeremiah" by the other girls in the class, but she was brought up to be kind and considerate to everyone, so she chose instead to give him the benefit of the doubt. She saw how the other pupils treated him as a blight; in fact they called him "Jeremiah the Pariah" though few of them knew what the word meant. That only made her redouble her efforts to befriend the loner.

One afternoon, when the class had broken for lunch, Kirstin noticed the boy sitting by himself under the sprawling oak that dominated the area in front of the school. She watched as he furtively unwrapped a cold meat sandwich from a greasy wrapper, and took a bite, smiling a little in satisfaction. Then she watched as an older boy, clearly one of his brothers, strode up to him and took the sandwich from him. Jeremiah leapt to his feet in anger, but his brother pushed him down into the dirt.

Outraged, Kirstin ignored her friends and stalked over to the two boys, who were squaring off for a fight.

"Stop that this instant," she demanded, fury clouding her soft gray eyes.

"Who’s gonna make me?" the belligerent boy, whom she recognize as Isaiah, Jeremiah’s brother, asked her, raising his chin in defiance.

"I will," Kirstin said, stepping to stand between them.

Isaiah laughed. "You, a girl, cannot stop me from doing what I want, when I want." To prove his point, he kicked dirt at his brother, who was sitting in awe of this young girl who wasn’t afraid of Isaiah.

"I said stop that." Kirstin’s voice was getting louder, and some of the other pupils started to wander over to see what would happen. One student went inside to fetch their teacher.

Isaiah looked at his younger brother. "You gonna let this little whore do your talking for you?"

That shook Jeremiah from his reverie. He stood, fire in his gaze. "You don’t call her that filthy name."

His brother’s dirty laughing had Jeremiah pulling back his arm and letting a punch fly that sent his older brother staggering backwards, his arms wind milling to no avail; he fell in the dust, and Jeremiah smirked.

"You’ll get it later," Isaiah said, standing and brushing the dust from his pants. "Just wait until you come home." With that last threat, he turned his back and walked away.

"I’m sorry he called you that awful name," Jeremiah said.

"That’s alright," Kirstin said bravely, though tears clouded her eyes. "I notice he took your lunch; do you want to share mine? My mother always makes more than I can possibly eat by myself."

Jeremiah nodded shyly and the two sat under the tree and shared Kirstin’s cold chicken sandwich and chatting softly with each other.

Jeremiah was in love.

The Present

Richie had stayed with Ang, holding her deep into the night. They made love tenderly close to dawn, and woke to the blaring alarm clock when the sun was climbing high into the sky.

"Good morning," Richie said, kissing the side of Ang’s head.

"Mmmm, morning," Ang answered, and planted a kiss over Richie’s heart. "What time is it?"

"A little after eight-thirty."

"We should get going then, if we’re going to meet your realtor." She stood and looked at Richie; the sheets barely covering him. "Are you sure about this?"

Richie shook his head. "I’m not absolutely sure, but pretty sure." He slid out from under the covers, and stretched; his nakedness making Ang want to crawl back into bed with him. Instead, they showered and dressed, and stopped off at the Thompson Estate for Richie to change clothes. He set a record for fastest quick-change ever, relieved that Kirstin didn’t make an appearance, and the pair made it to the Historical Society a little before ten.

They had been standing over the counter, looking at the drawings they had spread over its expanse, when the door opened and Marty walked in. Ang turned white and gripped the counter for support. "Jeremiah," she whispered.

"Marty!" Richie said, striding toward the man with his hand extended. "Thank you for agreeing to meet us here this morning."

"Of course, of course," Marty answered. He saw Ang’s face, and frowned. "Are you alright, miss?"

"F-f-fine," Ang said, though she was far from fine. When she saw Marty’s face, she knew, beyond a doubt, that this man was descended from the man Kirstin called ‘Jeremiah’.

"So," Marty said, redirecting his attention to Richie. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

Richie flipped through some of the drawings on the counter and selected two. One of Kirstin, and one of the man who was chasing her. He showed them to Marty, whose eyes went wide as he scanned the pictures.

"What is this?" He tilted his head. "Why does this man look familiar?"

"’This’," Richie said, "is what I wanted to talk to you about. My house is haunted."

Marty started to chuckle, but stopped when he saw the look on Richie’s face. "Aw, damn," he said, resignedly.

"So you knew," Richie said, surprised.

"I knew there were rumors," Marty said, "but I didn’t know for sure." He dropped the drawings and held up his hands. "Nothing I had heard mentioned anything violent or malevolent; I just thought it was talk."

"I suspect you thought more than that," Richie said, "but that doesn’t matter right now. What does matter is that man you thought you recognized. Looked in a mirror lately?"

Marty blanched and picked up the sketch of the green-eyed man. "The chin is the same and the eyes....do you really think this looks like me? Where did this come from?"

"I drew it," Ang said. "After Kirstin Maddox showed him to me."

"Who?" Marty asked.

"My ghost," Richie said.

Over the course of the next couple of hours, Richie showed Marty the research he and Angel Rose had been doing, and told him about his experiences in the house. Marty didn’t so much as flinch when Richie told him about the scratches on his arm, and the rocking chair that moved on its own. He didn’t snicker or shake his head when Ang told him about making contact, and seeing through Kirstin’s eyes, what her last moments were like. He did go pale when Richie told him about the vision Angel Rose had had about being chased by a monster called Jeremiah.

"Angel Rose? Summerlin?" When Ang nodded, Marty just said, "huh. Are you sure you heard the name right?" he continued, looking from the drawing to Angel and nervously to Richie, who was hovering just behind Ang’s shoulder.

Ang answered, "Mr. Halstead, there are very few words that sound remotely like ‘Jeremiah’. In fact, I can’t think of a single one."

"Please, call me ‘Marty’," Marty answered distractedly. "And of course you’re right. It’s just – " He trailed off as he stared at the drawings and processed everything he’d been told.

Richie pointed at the drawing of the green-eyed man. "And you did admit he resembles you."

Marty nodded his head. "I do recall having an ancestor named Jeremiah," Marty said slowly, "but I never heard anything about him hurting anyone."

"Anyone but Kirstin, you mean," Ang interrupted.

Marty shot her an annoyed look. "No, that’s not what I meant at all. He was the gentle one. Now, if it were one of Jeremiah’s brothers – that I would believe. Isaiah especially was a real bastard." He looked at Ang. "Tell me exactly what Kirstin showed you."

Ang was surprised. "You don’t doubt that Kirstin spoke to me?"

Marty shook his head. "I knew your mother," he said. "She had the gift. She had thought that her birth mother, your maternal grandmother, did as well." He smiled an easy smile. "Besides, child, I’m from the south. Southerners have a predisposition to believing in the supernatural."

Ang smiled back, happy not to be ridiculed.

Richie was incredulous. "How do you know so much about Angel’s family?"

Marty chuckled. "Son, it’s a small town. Everybody knows everybody else’s business. Story goes that Joy was only 16 when her daughter was born. Her parents were mortified when their only daughter turned up pregnant one day. She was shipped off to a maiden grand-aunt, Beatrice, I think her name was, in Seattle until after the baby was born. A private adoption was made, though unbeknownst to her parents, Joy arranged to keep contact with the adoptive family. When Joy’s parents, Hope and Connor died, she made contact with Angel Rose’s ‘natural’ grandmother, I think her name was Aideen..."

Richie held up a hand. "Marty, I need a scorecard to keep up. Why don’t we just leave it at everyone knows everyone else’s business, and be done with it." He shook his head. Coming from the East Coast, this was totally foreign concept to him. Where he came from, privacy was valued, and outside of immediate family, events like teenaged pregnancy wouldn’t be so freely talked about.

"All right," Marty said with a smile. "Miz Summerlin?"

Ang smiled and leaned into Richie for support while she launched into her story. She told Marty about the contact she made with Kirstin in her third-floor room. A room that looked like it hadn’t been touched in the nearly 200 years since it was furnished. Ang told Marty about both she and Richie having a conversation with Kirstin, asking yes or no questions that she answered with her chair, and Marty just nodded. She next told him about the vivid vision she had: about a happy, carefree Kirstin being grabbed by a hand in the bushes. She told Marty about Kirstin fighting off her masked attacker and fleeing from him.

She continued on, telling Marty about Kirstin trying to run for the lake, and being pushed from behind. Richie noticed Ang rubbing at her hands as if to take rub the sting of the fall away. She gripped Richie’s hand when she told Marty about the man hitting Kirstin, splitting her lip and blackening her eye. Richie interrupted to tell Marty about how matching marks marred Ang’s face while she was in the throes of the vision. When she told Marty about the choking, tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered the terror she had felt at reliving Kirstin’s memories.

"She reached out and snagged part of the mask," Ang said. "That’s when I saw the green eye, and heard her say ‘Jeremiah’. It had to be him."

Marty leaned back in his chair as Ang finished her story. He thought for long moments until Ang thought the silence would drive her mad. "Well?" she demanded.

Marty stood. "I want to show you something," he said. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket. From a protective sleeve, he took a small photo. "Do you have a magnifying glass?"

Ang nodded and retrieved it from her desk. Marty handed her the picture. "Look at the picture," he said. "Look very closely at all the men in the photograph; tell me what you see."

She scrutinized the photo for several minutes, then turned the glass over to Richie. He looked, studying the men’s faces. When he was done, he and Ang shared a look.

Angel Rose blew out a breath. "It’s kinda hard to tell, but the men all appear to have green eyes," she said.

Marty nodded. "The young men in the picture are me, my younger brother, and three cousins on my father’s side. The older men are my father and two of his brothers. Green eyes run in the men in my family. All the color photos and family oil portraits show the Halstead boys having green eyes. It very well may have been Isaiah that Kirstin saw, but she thought it was Jeremiah."

Ang looked shocked, and shook her head vehemently. "No, I don’t believe it. Why would Kirstin use her dying breath to say Jeremiah’s name if he wasn’t the one who killed her?"

"Are you sure it was her dying breath?" Marty asked. He held up a hand when it looked as if Angel Rose was going to protest. "From your own words, you lost consciousness, and therefore contact with Kirstin before the very end."

Richie started to speak, but Ang put a stalling hand on his forearm.

"No, I’m not sure, but it sure felt like she was dying." Ang was getting irritated.

"I’m not trying to minimize what you saw or felt, or claim innocence on my family’s behalf. If someone in my family tree did in fact kill someone in yours, I’m truly sorry; but before we update the family Bible with that, I want to be certain." Marty was quiet for a long moment. "Do you think she would talk to me?" he asked.

Ang just shook her head. "I think she’d take one look at you and, well, freak out without some forewarning. I should go with you, and see if she’s receptive."

Richie stepped protectively in front of Ang. "There’s no telling how it would affect Ang if that happened. I don’t think it’s a good idea."

"How else are we going to figure out what happened?" Marty asked.

"We?" Richie echoed, arching an eyebrow.

"I think I have just as much a vested interest in this now as you do," Marty responded. "Maybe even more so, if my blood was involved in something so sinister." He shook his head. "What if Angel Rose stays here?" he asked Richie. "Does Kirstin talk to you?"

Richie rubbed at his arm and smiled ruefully. "Not so much talk as gouge and scratch," he said, making Ang chuckle.

"Richie, I should go," Ang said. "We know she has a connection to me, and you can take me out of there if something starts to happen." At the frown on Richie’s face, she hastened to add, "besides, I know she will talk to me, do you KNOW she’ll talk to you?"

Chapter Twenty

Some time later, Angel Rose awoke, finding it dark in her bedroom. She closed her eyes and sighed when she felt Richie’s warm presence still behind her. He had his arm around her, anchoring her to his chest. Being held like this felt wonderful. She shifted slightly, testing to see if he was awake.

The hand that was draped over her began stroking her stomach lightly. Slowly, his hand crept upward until the very tips of his fingers were grazing the underside of her breasts. Ang sucked in a breath but made no move to stop him. Richie palmed one, kneading and squeezing gently. He was kissing her neck; slow, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that ended with just a little teeth, and he felt her nipple pebble up against his palm. He pinched it lightly, then traced gentle lazy circles around it until Ang thought she was going to scream. Then he moved on to the other breast, torturing it the same way.

Ang shifted restlessly on the bed and the friction of her motions was causing Richie to sweat. He was impossibly hard, and he wanted her again. “Sweet Angel Rose,” he said to her softly, as he kissed and nipped her neck and shoulder. He levered up on one elbow to roll Ang beneath him so he could see her face. “Hey there,” Richie said.

Ang just smiled, her eyes darting back and forth between his.

Richie dipped his head, fully intending to kiss Ang gently, but the taste of her had him deepening the kiss until he couldn’t breathe. Ang threaded her hands into his hair, sealing his mouth to hers, and tangled her tongue around his. She shifted underneath him so he was seated in the apex of her thighs, and sighed. The pressure of Richie against the slow, throbbing ache that pulsed there was almost unbearable.

Ang ran her hands down Richie’s neck and explored his strong chest; her fingers playing over the muscles and sprinkling of fine dark hair. She lightly scraped her fingernails across Richie’s nipples, and he hissed and arched into her, making Ang moan.

“Good Lord, woman,” Richie groaned, and bent to capture her mouth again. He trailed kisses across Ang’s cheek and to her neck, and kissed his way down her chest to a tender, pink nipple where he sucked. Ang cried out and wrapped her arms around Richie’s head.

Richie looked at Ang, his brown eyes nearly black with passion. He flexed his hips and rubbed against Ang again, making her back arch and her head loll to one side. He took advantage, nibbling on her earlobe and neck and Ang wound her arms around Richie’s shoulders and hung on.

“I’m all out, darlin’,” Richie whispered, as he continued to slide his cock against her.

“Night stand,” she croaked back, and waited for Richie to sheathe himself.

He devoured her mouth as he pushed into her slowly, savoring the way her body all but pulled him into her. He started moving slowly inside her, letting her catch up to his rhythm, and within minutes, she was whispering his name, asking, begging for more. Richie moved faster, his cock slamming mercilessly into her. Ang purred and moaned and dug her fingernails into Richie’s shoulders, trying to pull him onto him, wanting to feel his weight. He complied, gathering her into his arms, holding her close while his hips worked furiously to bring them release.

Ang cried out softly when the next wave engulfed her, and the spasming was enough to bring Richie along for the ride. He slowed then stopped his movements when he felt Ang go completely limp beneath him. He rolled off her and gathered her to his chest, kissing her temple.

She was quiet for so long, Richie felt a finger of dread dance down his spine. “Angel Rose? You aren’t having regrets, are you?”

“No,” Ang said, meeting his gaze. “No regrets at all. It’s what I needed, what I wanted – YOU were what I needed and wanted. No regrets.” She was quiet for a minute. “That other, stuff; everything that happened up at the house, that changes everything,” she said softly.

“How?”

“I saw him,” Ang said. “If I close my eyes, I can picture him clearly.” She rolled away from him and sat on the edge of the bed, stretching slightly. “I can draw him.”

Richie stood and stretched before heading to the bathroom. He came back with a warm, wet washcloth and a small towel. He helped Angel Rose clean up before holding out a hand for Ang to take, and he pulled her to her feet. Wrapping his arms around her, he kissed her soundly, loving the feel of her arms looped around his neck, and the press of her body against his. When they ended the kiss, Richie looked around and saw their clothes in a wet heap on the floor. “Uh, Angel, darlin’, not that I mind being naked, but, uh…”

Ang smiled. “C’mon, I can fix you up,” she said, scooping up their clothes and heading for the little room off the kitchen she had set up as her laundry room. She tossed everything into the dryer and fished two clean sets of sweatpants out of the basket on the washing machine. She handed him one, saying, “they’re clean, but they’re gonna be short. You can pull up the legs.”

Ang stepped into her pants and watched as Richie yanked up the uncooperative cotton sweatpants. She nearly groaned out loud when she saw how they cupped him. He tugged on the legs, bunching the elastic around his knees, and the sight of his strong, tanned, hairy legs sticking out from the very snug grey cotton nearly took Ang’s breath away. She raked her gaze upward, scanning his broad chest. Smiling wryly, she added, “unfortunately for you, all my t-shirts are going to be way too tight on you, so you’re gonna have to do without.” She pulled a t-shirt out of the basket for herself and slid it over her head before leading him from the laundry room.

She started a pot of coffee and walked into the living room, to where she had left her pad and charcoals. Richie could feel the fear wafting off Angel Rose and hugged her close. He could feel her shuddering against him, still shaken by what happened at the house, and afraid of what she would see when she drew this Jeremiah. Richie had to admit, he was a little shaken, too. He wasn’t a neophyte by any means, but he had never seen a woman so desperate for a physical connection like Ang was. He tilted her face up with a gentle finger under her chin. After searching her face, he kissed her so softly, so lovingly, that fresh tears sprang to her eyes.

“Don’t cry, sweet, Angel Rose,” Richie said. “I’m here with you. I’ll protect you.”

“You can’t protect me from this,” she said. “You can’t save me from my own mind. But it’s sweet that you want to try.” She stretched up on tiptoe to brush her lips against Richie’s. He caught the back of her head and held her there, pouring all the emotions of the past day into his kiss. His arms trailed down hers, settling around her waist, anchoring her to him while their mouths played over each other. Long minutes later, Ang eased back from the kiss and cuddled into Richie’s chest, pulling strength from him.

With a sigh, Ang gathered up her drawing supplies and took a seat in her chair by the window. Silently, Richie sat by her, watching as the pencil flew over the page. Her hand was a blur as it sketched lines and circles, each joining the last in creating an image of a man, Halfway through, Ang growled in frustration and tore the sheet from the pad, letting it flutter to the floor. “Nose is wrong,” she muttered.

Even before it hit the rug, her arm was hastily moving back and forth across a fresh page. She got further this time before she tore this page from the pad in exasperation and tossed it to join the other on the floor. “Lips. Fuller lips.”

On and on she went, discarding one sketch after another, muttering about the shape of an eyebrow or the cleft of the chin. Finally, when she had nearly exhausted the pad of paper, and had gone through three pencils, she dropped the pad from her lap. “That’s him,” she said, pointing a shaky finger at the sketch.

Richie bent to pick up the pad, but before he could look at it closely, Ang said, “Wait,” and took it from him. She colored the irises of the eyes an eerie jade green. “NOW that’s him,” she amended, and handed the pad back over to Richie.

He stared at the drawing for a full minute. “I know this man,” he said.

“Of course you do,” Ang said. “This is Jeremiah.”

“No,” Richie said. “I mean yeah, that’s who it is, but I’ve seen him. I know I’ve seen him. Or at least a someone who looks like him.” He racked his memories, trying to remember. “I almost have it,” he said.

“Don’t force it, or it’ll never come,” Ang counseled. For her, it was the opposite. If she tried to force it, the images would never leave her head. “Are you hungry?” she asked. “Come on, let’s make something to eat. It’ll distract you, while you figure out who this man is, and you’ve got to be ravenous.”

They bustled around the kitchen for a few minutes, making sandwiches from what they found in the refrigerator. They ate at the kitchen table, an easy, companionable silence between them. As they were cleaning up their mess, Richie stopped. He strode to the discarded sketch pad and picked it up. He stared at the drawing for a moment, standing statue-still in the middle of the kitchen. “Where’s my wallet?” he asked.

“Probably still on the floor in the bedroom,” Angel Rose answered.

Richie jogged from the kitchen, snagged his wallet, and was back in less than a minute. He pulled a small white card from his wallet and held it up. “I’ve got it,” he said to Ang. “Can I use your phone?”

She motioned to the wall where a fire-engine red phone hung. “Go for it,” she said. “Who? Who does Jeremiah remind you of?” Richie had dialed and had the phone pressed to his ear.

Richie held up a finger as the caller answered. “It’s Richie Sambora. Listen, sorry to bother you at home, but something interesting happened at the house, and I want to talk to you about the house’s history.” Richie listened for a few minutes. “That’s fine. Can we meet at the Historical Society, say at 10 tomorrow?” He nodded. “Great. See you then, Marty.”

“Marty?” Ang asked, confused.

“Yeah, Marty. Halstead. My real estate agent.” He pointed to the drawing as he spoke. “He has eyes just like this, and the chin is the same.”

Ang shook her head. “Richie, do you know how many men have green eyes and a cleft in his chin? I think you’re trying too hard.”

“I know what I know,” Richie said, taking another swallow of his beer. “We’ll know for sure tomorrow.”

There was a bit of an awkward “what now” silence between them. Angel Rose cleared her throat. “Are you heading back to your house tonight?”

Richie shook his head. “Uh-uh. Not tonight. Not when Kirstin is still in poltergeist mode. That was messed up.” He looked at Angel Rose, and sensed the real question she was asking. “Oh,” he said. “Do YOU want me to head back to my house tonight? I mean, I’ll need fresh clothes for tomorrow, but I’d like to stay if you’d like to have me.”

Angel Rose smiled. “Of course I want you to stay.” She reached out to pull the pad from Richie’s hands, and studied the drawing. “I wonder what made this man attack Kirstin,” she said.

“Well find out, Angel Rose. I promise you.”

Chapter Nineteen

Richie carried Ang back to his car. She kept her face buried in his chest the whole way, and was trembling. When they were in the shadow of the house, Ang cried out, sobbing in anguish and pain.

He hurriedly climbed into the front seat of his truck, pulling Ang to sit across him, and fumbled for the key. When the engine roared to life, Richie threw the transmission into gear and tore out of the driveway, a rooster’s tail of gravel kicking up in his haste. Speeding down the lane toward the main road, Ang gradually released her death grip on Richie’s neck until she finally felt secure enough to slide across to the passenger’s seat. She curled up into a ball on the seat and closed her eyes.

Richie kept one eye on Ang and one on the road until he saw Ang slump against the door. He pulled over and stopped the truck, leaning over to make sure she was still breathing. Relieved that she seemed to be okay, he straightened and dropped his head back on the headrest. What the hell had just happened? Ang was living Kirstin’s life – well, her death anyway. He had never seen anything like that before. If he was scared, Ang must be terrified. But, he thought, at least now that she’d gone through that nightmare, they had something to work with – they had a name.

He started the truck again and headed toward Ang’s house. When he pulled into the driveway several minutes later, Ang still hadn’t stirred. He turned off the truck and circled around the front of the vehicle to open Ang’s door, and she spilled out into his arms. He held back a sigh as he carried her up the steps to her door. He tried the knob, it was locked. “Of course it’s locked, you idiot,” Richie muttered to himself. He sat with Ang on the porch swing and gently set it swaying. The soothing motion, combined with the emotional turmoil of the afternoon’s activities had Richie snoozing within minutes.

A rolling rumble of thunder startled Richie awake. A zig-zag crack of lightning flashed in the distance, and dark, menacing clouds were rolling in. Ang was unaffected by the noise and the light. Richie gently shook her shoulder and talked in her ear. “Angel Rose, the skies are gonna open soon, and I can’t get into your house.” Nothing. “Angel!” he called louder. She stirred, but didn’t wake. When the first fat raindrops started splattering against the pavement, Richie looked at the house, then at the woman in question.

He followed the porch around to the backyard, and descended the three steps into the lush green grass. The rain was cool and felt cleansing, and Richie tipped his head back to feel the drops hit his face, Ang frowned in his arms as the rain began to fall harder, plastering her hair to her scalp and soaking into her clothes. Richie sat on the lawn, water soaking into his own clothing, holding Ang close to his heart, and waited.

Ang came to with a gasp, startling Richie.

“Shhh, Angel Rose, it’s alright,” Richie said.

“Where, how, what happened?” Ang was disoriented. It looked like she was home, but why were they sitting out in the rain?

“You don’t remember anything about being at my house and Kirstin?”

Ang’s face went ashen and her limbs began to shake. “Oh, God, that wasn’t a horrible dream?”

Richie just shook his head and gathered Ang to him, trying to soothe her trembling. “I’m so sorry, Angel Rose,” he said. “Please don’t cry.”

“How can I not?” she said simply. “God, you must think I’m insane,” Ang said, shaking her head. She braced her shaky hands on Richie’s shoulders and pushed like she was going to stand up, but Richie held fast. At her questioning look, Richie’s eyes hardened, and Ang’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands slipped down his shoulders, skimming his biceps before coming to rest on his forearms.

“I do not think you’re insane,” Richie said slowly. “I think you’re going through something awful and scary and just plain fucking SICK, and it’s a wonder you’re NOT insane.” He gave her a little shake when she looked away from him, clearly embarrassed. “I don’t know how you were linked with her, I mean it was like you WERE her, and you were DYING for Christ’s sake; that was just about one of the scariest – ”

His words were cut off abruptly when Angel Rose tightened her grip on his arms and pressed her mouth firmly to his. When their lips met, the tenuous hold Ang had on her control shattered. She sobbed and raised her arms to wrap them around Richie’s neck, and shifted so her legs were around his hips. She held him close, feeling his heart beating against her chest, trying to get his warmth to seep into her body, and she kissed him as if her very life depended on it.

Richie gently broke the kiss and tilted his head to one side, confused. “Angel Rose, not that I’m complaining about kissing a pretty girl,” he smiled and smoothed her hair away from her face, “but what’s going on?”

Suddenly, Ang was a frantic ball of energy, tearing at his shirt and hers until they were skin-on-skin. “Darlin’, what are you doing?” Richie asked in between kisses.

“Please,” Ang answered. “Please, I need to know I’m still alive,” she said, nipping at his neck. “I need to know I’m still ME, and not HER,” she said, scratching her nails down his chest. “Please, help me.”

Richie grabbed her hands. “Angel Rose, you don’t want to do this. This isn’t like you.”

Angel Rose pulled her hands from Richie’s grasp. “You don’t know anything about me,” she said as her face turned red. This time she stood without his interference and headed to her house.

“Son of a bitch,” Richie muttered, and followed her. He caught up with her on the porch as she was pulling a spare key from under a flowerpot on the railing. Richie stifled a chuckle. He’d never thought to look there – didn’t think she’d be so obvious. “Angel Rose. Please, listen to me.” He put his hand on her shoulder to stop her but she shook him off.

“If you don’t want me, just say so,” she said. “I’m a big girl.” She got the door unlocked and flung it open. When she tried to slam it in Richie’s face, he slammed at the door with the flat of his hand.

“I asked you to listen to me,” he said. He was still dripping with rain, the water beading up into drops on his face and chest. His jeans were glued to his legs; outlining his thighs, and cupping his obviously hard cock. “I never said I didn’t want you, Angel Rose.”

Ang just gulped as she stared at the man in her doorway. His eyes were burning holes into her, seeming to see all the way through to her soul. She took an involuntary step backwards as he crossed the threshold into her house.

“I-I-It’s just that – ” Angel Rose started to explain but Richie shook his head.

“I know what you were trying to do,” he said, stepping further into the kitchen. “You wanted to use me to ground yourself.”

Angel Rose wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I never meant to – “

This time her words were interrupted as Richie closed the distance between them and hauled her into his arms. “Did I say ‘no’?” He drilled his tongue into her mouth and kissed her until she was breathless. He palmed then roughly squeezed her breasts, and smoothed his hands down her sides and to her ass, pulling her fully against him so there’d be no mistaking his desire for her.

“Be sure,” he rasped, as he pulled away from her to suck on the side of her neck.

“I’m sure,” she answered, grabbing fistfuls of his hair into her hands.

Mouths fused once more, they stumbled through the kitchen, dropping their shirts with a wet plop onto the linoleum. They passed through the living room and into her bedroom.

Richie leaned Angel Rose against the wall and unfastened her jeans. Though they were wet and tight, his need was growing to be as great as hers and his strength doubled as he wrestled with the wet fabric. He buried his face in Ang’s curls, inhaling the scent of her mixed with that of the rain. Tentatively, he stretched out his tongue for a taste. In response, Ang widened her stance and threaded her hands in Richie’s hair.

Smiling, Richie licked and lapped at Ang until she was gripping his scalp almost painfully hard. He backed away long enough to blow cool air on her over-heated flesh, and she screamed and bucked. Richie pushed her hips roughly against the wall, holding her fast, and drove his tongue into her, curling it so he could stroke her from within. When Ang’s cries became more fervent, he swirled a calloused fingertip around her clit. He could feel her tensing, and he eased back.

Angel Rose gasped, “NO!”

Richie looked up at her face. There was something raw and primal and scared in her eyes and he was so very afraid of doing what she asked because he didn’t want her to regret her rashness later.

“I’m sure,” she said again, sinking to the floor with him. She unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them as far as she could while he was on his knees. She kissed him as she wormed a hand into his pants and over his coarse hair but there wasn’t enough play in the fabric to allow her to explore the way she wanted. She stood, urging him up with her before sinking to her knees again to haul down Richie’s wet denim. She pulled on his pants until they had joined hers in a wet heap on the floor, and rose to lead him to the bed. Richie stopped for just a moment to pull a condom from his wallet while she pulled back the covers, then he followed her.

She crawled up on the mattress, and lay on the pillows, opening her arms to him. “I want this,” she said. “I want you.”

He crawled up to kneel between her legs, rolled the condom on and slid into her, pushing slowly past her constricting walls until he was fully seated in her. He waited a moment for her to accept his size, then started stroking her; his abdomen muscles bunching and flexing as his hips began their dance.

When Richie was satisfied that he wouldn’t hurt her, he knelt up and grabbed Ang’s calves. Pushing at them so her knees were spread wide, Richie started pumping faster. Ang made a little nose in her throat and Richie stilled. “Am I hurting you, darlin’,” he gritted through his teeth.

“No,” she whispered in response. “Don’t stop,” she begged.

Richie started his motions again, slowly, and watched as his sweet Angel Rose, for she most certainly was his now, blushed pink from her chest to her forehead. He watched as her hands flailed about, trying to decide where to go, and finally fisted into the sheets on either side of her hips. He watched as the veins on her neck stood out and her head tilted back, and her back arched ever so slightly, and he watched as a slow smile crept across her face a second before she screamed with release.

The vice tightening around Richie made his head drop back in pleasure, and he let go of Ang’s legs. He dropped so his hands were braced on either side of her head, and he pounded into her until the top of his head flew off, and “Sweet mother of God” escaped from his lips. He stayed seated fully in her until his arms grew weak, and he rolled them to the side, keeping them intimately joined.

He kissed her gently as her pulse calmed, and after a few moments, slipped from her and her bed to take care of the condom in the bathroom. When he came back to the bed, he saw she was lying on her side, and had pulled the covers up over her. Her eyes were almost closed, and she smiled and got into bed on the other side of her, and gathered her close.

“Thank you,” she said sleepily, gripping his hand in hers.

Chapter Eighteen

Richie framed Ang’s face with his hands and examined her eyes. They were haunted, pain-filled, and she looked afraid. After a moment, Angel Rose eased back and started to stand. Richie sprang to his feet and helped her up, waiting for her to tell him what was next.

“Do you understand what just happened to me?” she asked. She needed to be sure that he knew what he was getting into.

“I think so,” Richie said. “You were somehow possessed by Kirstin’s memories? Reliving what must have been her last day?”

Ang nodded. “Something like that. I saw her memories as if they were happening now. Snatches of colors, sounds, smells, emotions” she broke off, shaking her head. “It’s all in there, mixing around with my own memories. I can’t stop it, and I can’t control it, so I need you to understand that. When we go in there, it’s going to get strange.”

Richie chuckled. “And the last half hour, what was that?”

Ang’s smile was wobbly and didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That was just a teaser. I’m going to say the same thing to you that you said to me: you don’t have to go in there with me.”

Richie looked surprised. “The hell I don’t,” he said. “Not only is it my house, but I promised Kirstin that I would help her.” He smiled a wide smile, his eyes crinkling and his dimples showing, “And I never break a promise to a woman.”

Ang nodded. “I can feel her getting more agitated,” she said. “If we are going in, it should be now.”

Richie looked into Ang’s eyes, and saw steely resolve there. He knew she wouldn’t back down from this. There was nothing he could say to change her mind. The pair turned to the house and brushed the dirt and stray leaves off their clothes, before joining hands. They made their way slowly back around to the front of the house. They climbed the dilapidated steps to the porch and opened the door. With a shared shudder, they passed into the house.

It was cold.

Very, very cold.

Angel Rose gently pulled her hand from Richie’s to wrap her arms around herself. Richie looked around at the living room, surprised that everything appeared to be just as he had left it. There was no upended furniture, no shattered glass. He touched a few things, surprised to find them warm when the room was so cold. He turned to find Ang staring up the stairs. As if in a trance, she climbed; her step heavy on the treads. Richie followed silently, unsure and a little afraid about what was going to happen next.

They stopped outside Kirstin’s door, and it opened of its own accord. Ang’s eyes went wide as a rush of frigid air passed through her. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. Richie was blown back by the force of the air that came through the door, and he had an almost overwhelming urge to snatch Ang up into his arms and leave the house.

Richie and Ang stood on the threshold of the room, and he gasped. He could see Kirstin in the middle of the room. This Kirstin was the woman-thing from his dreams. Her hair hung in damp, dirty clumps around a badly swollen face. Blood and dirt crusted her lips. As he watched, Kirstin’s eye blackened and he could hear a snap that was unmistakably a bone breaking, and watched in horror as a welt rose on her cheek. Her head was snapping back and forth as these marks marred on her skin.

“What is happening?” Richie asked, horrified.

Tears were streaming down Ang’s cheeks. “She’s being beaten,” she whispered. Richie looked at her, and was horror-struck. Matching welts and bruises were covering Ang’s face.

“You, Angel, your face…” Richie reached out a fingertip to trace a blemish on her forehead.

“I know,” Ang said.

Richie shuddered. “This is her death?” Ang nodded. “Sweet mother of God,” he whispered. He wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and block out the scene in front of him, but he couldn’t. He felt helpless as he watched Kirstin relive her last moments.

The Past

“Where are the children?” Kirstin asked her beloved, as she shut the front door behind them.

“They are preparing for the party tonight,” Geoffrey answered. He hugged his wife and kissed her temple. “You’re shaking, my love,” he commented. “Is everything alright?”

Kirstin laughed a carefree laugh and waved him off. “Oh I am quite fine,” she answered. “Just got a bit of a Hallow’s Eve scare down by the lake. An animal was walking about in the bushes.” She blushed. “I thought it may have been you coming to join me for a tryst,” she finished softly.

Geoffrey groaned and pulled his wife fully to him. “Ah, my dear, had I only known,” he said on a rumble, “I would have loved to lay you atop that boulder.” He leaned in to trail kisses from her mouth to her ear. He lowered his voice even more, and breathed to her, “I would have worshipped your body.” He bit her earlobe gently, and laved away the sting. “I would have stripped your clothing from you, one garment at a time, until you were fully nude,” he said, nibbling on the pulse point under her ear.

Kirstin’s heart quickened at her husband’s words. “Then what would you do, my love?” she asked, softly, breathlessly.

Geoffrey chuckled. “You will just have to wait until tonight to find out,” he said, sipping from her lips. A knock at the door brought them reluctantly apart.

“Yes?” Kirstin called. “Come in.” The door opened to reveal a child, one of the neighbor’s, standing on the porch. Kirstin smiled. “Well hello, Nell. The children are about somewhere,” she said. “You’re a bit early for the party.”

“Mrs. Maddox, Mama sent me to fetch you. She said she needs help with her costumes.”

Kirstin sighed and smiled. “Alright, Nell. Tell her I’ll be along directly.”

Nell smiled. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Maddox!” She dashed in to hug Kirstin. “Mama is beside herself. Daddy’s ready to shake her.”

Kirstin laughed. “You tell your daddy I said he will do no such thing.” Nell nodded and with a ‘yes, ma’am’, took off. Kirstin looked to Geoffrey. “I am looking forward to the unveiling later,” she said, smiling wickedly. She leaned up to press a kiss to her husband’s lips. “I love you,” she said.

“And I you,” Geoffrey answered. “Hurry back.”

“To you? Always,” Kirstin answered, and left to help her friend.

Kirstin skipped down the road like a child. She was so happy she couldn’t help it. She had her husband’s words in her head, the promise of tender and passionate lovemaking making her heart sing. She trailed a hand along the shrubs that lined the lane, feeling the silky texture of the gorgeous purple blooms. Before she could leave the boundaries of her property, however, a large hand sprang from the bushes and grabbed her arm. Kirstin let out a scream, twisted free, and started to run.

She couldn’t run fast enough. Every time she chanced a glance over her shoulder, he appeared closer -- this faceless, hulking monster that chased her. He wore a mask, a simple burlap sack over his head, but it was enough that she could not identify her attacker. She thought of her children as she fled, and her Geoffrey, and put on an extra burst of speed, willing her God to give her strength to keep running. She stumbled just once, but it was enough for the man to just reach out and touch her sleeve. With a scream, she veered off the lane, crashing through the rhododendron bushes, trying to get far enough ahead of him that she could hide.

Maybe if she could just get through to the lake, she’d take her chances swimming across.

Kirstin raised her arms against the branches that were battering her face. She ran deeper into the thicket until it became difficult to maneuver. She heard the masked man’s horrible laughter follow her through the beautiful blooms.

“You can’t run from me, Kirstin,” he sang, like a child. “I will catch you!”

Her heart tripped at his words, adrenaline pumping into her system anew. She chanced a half turn to look over her shoulder. She didn’t see him coming up from beside her, and he pushed her. She started to fall.

As soon as she hit the ground, he was upon her, straddling her thighs and tearing at her dress. “Stop! No! Geoffrey, help me!” she screamed.

“Your precious Geoffrey can’t help you,” the man said, barely out of breath. Kirstin thought she recognized the voice, but with the blood pounding in her head, it was hard for her to be certain. One thing she did know, she did not want this man to soil her body with his seed. With all her strength, she brought her knee up, firmly coming into contact with his manhood. The man hissed and backhanded Kirstin, and she felt her lip split.

Crying and spitting blood, she begged the man for her life. “Please,” she said. “Please, let me go back to my children. I will give you anything you want, just let me go home to my children.”

“Shut up,” the man said, hitting her again, this time blackening her eye. He pressed his hand hard over her nose and mouth, and she couldn’t breathe. “Shut up or your precious children will be next.” Kirstin grabbed his wrist and pushed his hand further into her mouth so she could bite him. He howled in pain, and reared up, shaking his hand. Blood droplets sprayed as he shook. Kirstin tried to lever the man off of her, but he was too strong. He grabbed her wrists and brought her arms down to her sides, pinning them with his knees.

His hands closed around her neck like a vice, choking off her airway. She started to get dizzy, and random images of her children and her husband floated through her head. She smiled at one memory, and the man got angry. “What are you smiling at, bitch?” he demanded, and loosened his grip long enough to smack her hard across the face. Kirstin snapped back to the present, and struggled anew when she felt his hands close around her throat once again. She was able to gouge his hand with her fingernails, but she was too weak to push him away.

As she struggled for breath, Kirstin tried to pull the mask away from the man’s face. She had to know who had done this to her. Maybe then she would know why. She caught the edge of the mask’s chin with a fingernail, and it slipped enough so she could make out her attacker. There was only one person on this planet that possessed those dead, green eyes. As her world turned black, she started to weep. She wept for her husband, her children, and herself. She thought she saw a shadow looming behind her attacker, but she couldn’t focus. She was so weak. With her last breath, she gasped a name…

The Present

Back in Kirstin’s room, Richie watched in horror as Ang slumped toward the floor. He caught her and laid her down gently. “What’s happening?” he asked, hating that his voice wasn’t strong for her.

“She’s –” Ang licked her lips before trying again. “She’s being suffocated.” Her hands scratched at her throat, but there was nothing there to loosen.

Richie watched as a look of recognition came over Ang’s face, and he heard her croak out the name “Jeremiah” before she passed out. Her breathing had become shallow, and her complexion ashen. Richie scooped her up and ran down the stairs. He ran outside with her in his arms, and started up the lane. The further he got from the house, the better her skin tone looked, so he kept running. He ran until he got to the main road, and then crossed the street into the wheat field beyond, not caring whose property he was on. He ran until Angel Rose started to stir in his arms, then he stopped, and sank into the chest-high stalks.

“Ang,” he said breathlessly, rocking her and kissing her forehead. “Come back to me. Breathe for me.” She started to moan, and Richie encouraged her. “That’s it, come on, you can do it.” He had tears in his eyes. “You’re safe here.”

Suddenly Ang sat upright, nearly knocking heads with Richie. “Jeremiah!” She screamed. “I think I saw the man who killed Kirstin. She called him ‘Jeremiah’.” She burst into tears and curled into Richie’s chest.

“Oh, Angel Rose, I’m so sorry. I should never have brought you into that house. I’m so sorry.” Over and over he apologized while this poor creature sobbed in his arms. He started to rock her back and forth, and eventually, Ang’s tears subsided.

“Richie,” she said in a small voice.

“Yes, Angel Rose?”

“I think I want to go home now,” she said. Richie picked her up in his arms again and slowly retraced his steps, heading for his car. When he crossed the street to his property, Ang’s arms tightened around his neck.

“Are you alright? Do you want to wait here and I’ll get the car?”

“N-n-no,” Ang said, unconvincingly. “I’ll be okay. Just don’t let me go, ok?”

“I promise,” Richie said. Who the hell was Jeremiah?

Chapter Seventeen

They drove to Richie’s house in silence; there were no words to distract them from the dreadful images that Ang had captured. Richie was horrified on Ang’s behalf. No wonder she called her gift a curse. To have these images mingling with her memories... Richie just shook his head. He wouldn’t be able to stand it. He couldn’t get those drawings of Kirstin being attacked out of his head.

Ang was lost in her own thoughts. She was grateful that Richie didn’t dismiss this whole episode as too weird for him. She thought about warning him that it was going to get a whole lot weirder, but decided against it. He would find out for himself soon enough. Ang tried to relax and prepare herself for the next onslaught. She knew it would take a lot out of her. She fidgeted in her seat, twisting her hands around each other nervously.

As Richie drove, he saw Ang’s discomfort. He reached across the seat to touch his hand to hers. With a grateful smile, Ang twined her fingers through his and drew from his strength. As they approached the house, the sun was shining brightly in their faces. When they pulled to a stop at the top of the driveway, that room, Kirstin’s room, was spotlighted by the sun, at an angle almost impossible from the sun’s position in the sky.

“What the hell?” Richie asked, pointing upwards as they got out of the car. The window to Kirstin’s room was open, and though there was no breeze, the curtains flapped visibly through it.

Shading her eyes, Ang looked up at the third-story window. “There’s no way the sun can shine at that angle. Something’s wrong,” she said softly.

“Jesus,” Richie swore. “What could be happening?”

Ang shuddered. “I think she’s scared. Or pissed.”

“Pissed?” Richie asked, his mouth ran dry. “As in ‘Poltergeist’ pissed?” He had visions of all his belongings strewn around the room. Of furniture upended and shattered against the walls. He suddenly didn’t really want to go inside anymore.

Ang shook her head. “Most likely not. More likely, she’s scared. She’s probably reliving her death.”

Richie jerked his head back to Ang. “Reliving it?” He was horrified.

“Yes. Until her spirit is at rest, she’s doomed to relive the end her life, over and over.” Ang had tears in her eyes, and Richie felt like crying himself.

“That’s just awful,” he said, his deep voice thick with emotion. Then he had a thought that made his blood run cold. “Can she feel it? I mean how does -- ” Richie knew what he wanted to say, but didn’t have the slightest idea how to say it.

Ang knew. She knew more than she wanted to say. “Yes, she can feel everything; the physical and emotional pain. She doesn’t have a body, but her soul remembers. It remembers everything. And it hurts. The fear, the betrayal, but mostly the actual death.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It hurts so much.”

Richie looked at her, something in the tone of her voice catching his attention. “Ang, look at me,” he said. Richie waited until she did, then continued speaking. “These footprints she – they – leave…” He trailed off, almost afraid of the answer.

“I remember it too,” Ang said in a small voice. “All of it. The fear, the heartache, the pain, all of it. The memories become as real to me as my own until I can exercise them.”

Richie didn’t know what to say. “You mean now?”

Ang nodded. “I feel so scared, I’m ready to throw up. I feel a panic welling up inside me like a giant air bubble. I want to run, but I can’t move. I want to scream, but I just can’t.”

“Jesus,” Richie said, wrapping her in his strong arms, trying to protect her. “And the pain?” Richie’s voice was quiet, soothing in Ang’s ears.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t feel it yet. I think the bastard toyed with her first. I don’t know, but that’s what I feel. But it’s coming. It’s in there and it will come out.”

“Can you see him?”

“Not clearly. I see a vague shape: green eyes, wild hair; you saw what I drew. I have a sense of him being big and powerful. And strong, so strong just his presence is intimidating. Kirstin didn’t show me fully the man who killed her.” Ang slumped toward the car, and Richie reluctantly let her go. “Whoever he is, he’s long dead now. There’s no justice to be had for Kirstin. But maybe we can give her peace.”

Ang sighed, straightened from the car and started forward toward the house. Richie watched her take a few hesitant steps, then gasped when Ang’s whole body stiffened. “Angel Rose?” he said tentatively, and stepped toward her.

Ang felt the cold a moment before her head exploded with colors, sounds, and smells. She could smell the fall flowers that were native to this area. She could smell freshly carved pumpkins. The smell of pumpkins was overpowering. She could see flashes of green and purple, and there was breathing. Labored, evil breathing.

Angel Rose whipped around to look behind her. She saw a large man behind her, and started to run. Richie ran after her. Ang headed around the house and into the maze. She was so fast, Richie thought.

“ANGEL ROSE!” he called, but she didn’t respond. Almost immediately, Ang stumbled on the overgrown hedges, and cried out. She started to fall, but Richie caught her. “Get away from me!” she screamed, her eyes glazed over. “NO!! GEOFFREY!! HELP ME!!”

Richie held fast, though Ang was struggling against him. He could feel her heart pounding, and knew his was beating just as rapidly. She pounded at his chest, and was screaming and thrashing about, trying to hit him with her head. “Angel,” he said softly. “Angel Rose, come back to me.” He repeated that over and over, and eventually, Ang stopped fighting back.

Ang was in a panic. In her head, she was being chased by this large shadowy figure, and he was gaining on her. She stumbled on a root and started to fall, and suddenly he was upon her. No matter how she struggled, he was bigger and stronger than she was, so she could not get free. The panic was so complete that it took some time before she heard a familiar voice in her head calling her “Angel”. She concentrated on that voice, and gradually, the feeling of terror subsided and was replaced by a feeling of safety. Slowly she realized where and who she was. She was sprawled on the ground in Richie’s arms. His face was a mask of fear and confusion, and she all at once wanted to run away again.

“Richie?” she asked, and the tremor of unshed tears in her voice broke Richie’s heart.

“Right here, sweetheart. I’m right here.” He kissed her temple and rocked her, holding her close to his heart, not giving an inch. She sat there, her head pressed against Richie’s warm chest, listening to the erratic sound of his heartbeat, and cried.

There were no words of comfort he could offer Ang. Nothing he could do to take the pain away. He drew her closer into his embrace and kissed the top of her head. He held her for a long time, while she sobbed. She sobbed for Kirstin’s pain and anguish until her throat was raw and her eyes were burning. With a final squeeze, she looked up at Richie.

“Thank you,” she said to him.

Richie dropped a light kiss on her temple. “You don’t have to go in there,” he answered. “In fact, I don’t want you hurting anymore than you already are. You should go; I’ll figure something out.”

Ang took his hand. “It’s too late for that, Richie” she said. “Kirstin and I, we are already linked. I already feel what she feels, and she’s so afraid...we have to go to her.”

Chapter Sixteen

Slumped over a mug at the kitchen table, idly stirring in her creamer, Ang thought back to last night, trying to sort out when it was that she climbed into bed with Richie. She vaguely remembered waking to pee and she must have been on autopilot and gone back into her room. If she hadn’t been so mortified, she would admit to herself that there were far greater hardships than waking up in the arms of a handsome man. She allowed herself a delicate shiver at the memory of his body pressed against hers. Ang couldn’t believe she was so out of it last night that she didn’t remember having a guest, and chuckled. She sobered quickly as she remembered just why she had an overnight visitor.

Kirstin. And her curse. Her damned curse. It was a wonder Richie wanted to be anywhere near her with all this spooky stuff. As her brain turned over everything that had happened at the Thompson Estate yesterday, the whispering started in the far corners of her mind. Resigned to helping Kirstin and Richie she tried to reach past her self-taught reluctance toward the voices, straining to hear them more clearly. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing her concentration on the wall in her mind. She visualized a small sliding partition on the wall. In her mind’s eye, she reached toward the partition and opened it just an inch. A swirling white mist seeped from behind the wall to envelop her. She struggled to remain calm as the mist transformed into a woman’s form. Slowly, Kirstin’s features became clear in her mind, and the ghost-thought smiled.

“Thank you, child,” Kirstin said softly. “Thank you for helping me.”

“What do we do first? Where do we look? How do I find you?” Ang murmured softly.

“Child, you already know. You dreamt it.”

Ang gasped loudly as her eyes flew open. She bolted upright in her chair and jostled the table, sending coffee sloshing over the rim of the mug and splashing onto the table. In her haste to get to her study, she upended her chair, oblivious to the loud noise it made in her otherwise silent house. At her desk, she grabbed a pad of paper and a set of charcoal pencils. Her hands were shaking as nightmarish visions swirled in her head.

Stifling a cry, she swooned, bracing herself against the wall as vicious images flickered faster and faster in her mind, making her dizzy. After several minutes, she was able to walk, albeit on shaky legs, and went into the living room. She settled into a comfortable armchair by the window. “I’m listening, Kirstin,” she said tearfully, as she started to sketch.

Her hand flew across the page, working of its own accord. Ang was staring sightlessly at the piece of paper, not seeing the markings her hand made. Slashes of color punctuated her black-and-white drawings, and as each page was completed, she’d tear it from the pad and drop it to the floor before starting on the next one.

In the bedroom, Richie smiled as he woke from a wonderful dream and only opened his eyes when the aroma of dark, rich coffee invaded his senses. He rolled out of bed, pulled on his jeans and t-shirt, and followed his nose. He frowned at the overturned chair. “Ang?” he called, but there was no answer.

He turned to check out the living room, and stopped short in the doorway when Ang caught his eye. She was sitting by the picture window; the morning light bathing her and making her glow. She was writing something and it had her full concentration. Richie watched as she tore a page from her pad, tossed it behind her, and started on another page. That’s when he noticed the papers strewn all around her chair. Squinting at one, he could see it looked like a drawing. He took a closer look at Ang, and she looked like she did last night when they were talking to Kirstin: there but not quite all the way.

A bit apprehensive, he cleared his throat softly and spoke quietly so he wouldn’t startle her. “Mornin’, Angel Rose,” he said.

Ang’s head cocked slightly to one side at the sound of Richie’s voice, but she didn’t acknowledge him, and her hand never stopped moving. Richie ventured closer, moving slowly across the room. He was more than a little worried for Angel Rose; she looked like she was in some sort of trance.

“Are you okay, Angel Rose?” he asked.

Ang’s head turned a bit to follow her ear. When her eyes caught sight of him, her vision snapped into clarity, and she dropped the pencil. She barely registered the fact that his bare feet poked out from the legs of his jeans and his hair was sexily rumpled from having been in her bed. She slumped against the back of the chair and gasped as her hand cramped up.

Richie sat on the ottoman at Ang’s feet. “How long have you been sitting here, Angel Rose?” he asked. He cast glances at the papers all around Ang’s feet. He bent to scoop some of them up and sorted through them.

He sat forward abruptly, his pulse racing. “What is all this?” he asked, horrified at what he was seeing.

He looked up at Ang, who had tears in her eyes. “I dreamed it last night,” she said. “I dreamed it, and I think this is what happened to Kirstin.

Richie looked from the drawings in his hand to Ang and back again. “Sweet mother of God.”

The first drawing was a close up of a very terrified woman. Her eyes were wide and unseeing, her pupils mere pinpricks in her eyes. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream, and the way her hair was drawn, it was clear to Richie that she had whipped her head around and caught sight of something horrifying. Ang had perfectly captured a feeling of abject terror. The drawing made Richie extremely uncomfortable just looking at it.

The second drawing was of the back of a man’s form. He was drawn large and menacing; tall and muscular, and broad through the shoulders. His hair was wild and scraggly, and most of it was tucked under a watch cap. Just past him, Richie could see a flash of peach and a woman’s arm. It dawned on him that the arm belonged to Kirstin – and that she was wearing the dress she died in. This man looked like he was chasing Kirstin. He studied the drawing closely. There were no hints as to where the scene took place. No landscape or other background images. It was just the two figures, stark against the white page.

But it was the next drawing he flipped to that had Richie’s heart pounding and all the air squeezing out of his lungs. The perspective was from someone on her back. A delicate, dirty hand was held up, palm facing out, a woman’s hand, as if to ward off a blow. Between the fingers of the hand, Richie could see part of the angry features of a man. Even in this drawing, he could see the crazy in the man’s eyes. A shovel was flying through the air behind the man, and his hands were reaching for the prone person. Richie couldn’t make out the man’s face from the drawing; just one deep green eye.

Hands shaking with rage, he reached for some of the other drawings on the floor. They were pretty much just more of the same. Richie never wanted to burn anything as much as he did these papers right now. “What – how – does this happen all the time?” Richie asked Ang.

“Not all the time,” she said, wiping tears away, “not anymore. But I don’t know how. I just know that when I stop fighting my curse, they, those poor souls, leave footprints in my memories.” She shuddered, and started crying again in earnest. “I had a dream last night, a terribly vivid dream. It came back to me as I was stirring my coffee – and I knew I just had to draw. I had to get these images out of my head before I went mad.” For the first time, she realized how many sheets of paper littered the floor around her. “What are they? What did I draw? What memories did Kirstin leave for me?” With shaking hands, she took the pages from Richie. They burned her hand as if they were aflame, and she cried out, dropping them to join the others on the floor.

Without giving it a second thought, Richie knelt in front of her and gathered Ang into his arms. Ang curled up into herself while Richie’s arms wrapped around her. He rocked gently, murmuring nonsensical platitudes to her as he would a scared child. Ang’s tears finally dried, and she looked up to Richie. “Sorry about that,” she said in a small voice.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Angel Rose,” Richie said.

Ang leaned back gently, breaking Richie’s hold on her. She reached down to gather up some of the papers. With shaking hands, she flipped through them gingerly, afraid of the horrors they held. When she finished, she looked up and met Richie’s eyes. “We have to go back to your house,” she said. “We have to talk to Kirstin about this.”

Richie sighed. “Can you tell from these, or from what you didn’t draw where this all happened or who the green-eyed man is?” He reluctantly picked one of the drawings from the pile. This one showed a woman’s foot in a slim boot stepping on, actually nearly tripping over, a tree root. That could be anywhere.

Ang shook her head. “No, that’s why we need to talk to Kirstin. Now, while this is all still fresh.”

Richie sighed. “Are you absolutely sure?” he asked. When Ang nodded, he said, “Alright let’s go.”

Chapter Fifteen

Satisfied, Kirstin settled back into her chair and vanished from view. Richie sat there, mouth agape, staring at the chair. “Holy shit,” he breathed, sitting back in his seat. After a few minutes, he asked, “Is she really gone?”

“Yes,” Angel Rose answered in a tiny voice. Richie looked over at her, and was dismayed to find her swaying on her feet. He jumped up to steady her, and helped lower her into the rocking chair.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”

Ang held up a hand briefly to stop his questions. “It’s alright,” she said. “It’s just been a while since I let them in, and I’d forgotten what a toll they can take.” She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “I just need to go home and get some sleep. I’ll be okay.” She stood and immediately started to fall. Richie again caught her in his arms.

“You can’t be driving when you can’t even stand; let me drive you home. We can sort out your car in the morning.” When Ang just nodded weakly, he helped her downstairs, and sat her in one of the window seats while he stuffed his pillow into his duffel bag and scooped it up.

“What’re you doing?” Ang asked as she slumped against the side of the seat.

“I’m a little freaked out at the moment,” he answered honestly. “Is there anyplace in town I can stay after I drop you off?” Richie asked. He kept glancing back at the stairs, apprehensive a about spending the night.

Ang checked her watch. “Not without waking someone up or heading out of town,” she said. Richie checked his own watch and saw it was pushing ten o’clock. “The B and B’s are pretty much full or asleep for the night.”

“Holy cow, how’d it get so late without my noticing it?” He could have sworn it was dinner time, but nearly four hours had passed. He’d missed dinner, and wasn’t even hungry.

“That’s just how it works,” she said, shrugging. “You lose all track of time.”

Richie looked at her, nodding in agreement, though he had no idea why. “OK then, after I take you home, I’m going to sleep in the truck tonight while I wrap my head around this whole thing.” He helped her up and supported her weight as they made their way to his truck. He dropped his bag on the ground and helped Ang up into her seat. She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes. Richie tossed his stuff in the backseat and slid in behind the wheel.

She gave him directions to her place, and soon he was pulling into the little driveway in front of her cottage. “Cute place,” Richie said.

“It is,” Ang agreed. The short drive with the windows open had perked her up somewhat, but she was still bone tired. She poured out of her seat and braced herself on the door handle. Richie chuckled and went around to her side of the truck. He led her up the few stairs and waited while she unlocked and pushed open the door.

“Are you going to be alright?” Richie asked.

Ang nodded. “Yeah, I just need to sleep. Thanks for taking me home.”

“Of course. Well, good night.”

Richie started to back out of the door when Ang stopped him.

“Look, if you don’t want to sleep in your truck or drive all over the place to find somewhere to stay, you’re more than welcome to crash here.” Richie just looked at her. “What’s the problem?” she asked. “We’re both adults, and I think I can trust you, right?” Richie nodded. “Then there isn’t any problem. Go get your bag.”

By the time Richie returned, Ang had pillows and a blanket stacked on the foot of a short sofa.

“You can take your bag into the bedroom,” she said. Richie just winged an eyebrow. Blushing, Ang said, “Look, you’re much bigger than I am, and you won’t fit on the couch.” He started to object, but Ang put up a hand. “I’m gonna be asleep in about 40 seconds,” she said, yawning widely to emphasize her point. “I won’t even notice. End of discussion. There’s some food in the fridge if you’re hungry; please help yourself.”

“But – ” Richie protested.

Ang just gave him a look. “I promise you, I will be fine. Please,” she said, yawning widely. “Have something to eat, and get some sleep. There’s a television in the armoire if you’re not sleepy yet. I’ll see you in the morning.” With that, she took a blanket and pillow from the closet and tossed them on the couch. She disappeared into the bathroom where Richie heard the rustling of clothes and the run of water as she brushed her teeth and changed for bed.

He smiled when she came back into her room wearing a long t-shirt over light yoga pants and heavy socks. She smiled sheepishly as she fluffed up her pillow and sat on the end of the sofa. “My feet are always cold,” she said. “There’s extra pillows in the hall closet, and clean towels in the bathroom,” she said, shaking out the light blanket and effectively dismissing him.

“Good night, Angel Rose,” Richie said, and backed into her bedroom, closing the door as Ang settled in on the couch.

Ang sighed when she heard the bedroom door snick closed, and she relaxed into the cushions. She wasn’t kidding when she’d said she’d be out like a light in a matter of seconds. After these encounters, she always slept; it allowed her brain to unwind. She stuffed her arm under the pillow behind her head, pulled the light blanket up to her ears, and fell asleep.

Richie changed into jogging shorts and a tank top, and opened the door. He smiled when he saw Ang all but passed out on the couch and continued into the kitchen. He fixed a thick sandwich, grabbed a Coke, and went back into Ang’s bedroom. He set the plate down on the nightstand and crossed the small room to open the armoire. He snagged the remote from the top of the TV and sat on the edge of the bed to pop the top of his soda. He flipped through the channels until he found a baseball game and reached back to grab his dinner.

As he chewed through his hearty meatloaf sandwich, he thought back to the encounter with Kirstin. He was amazed at everything that had transpired, and knew he had to help the poor woman. Ghost. Whatever. No woman deserved to be beaten like she was, he didn’t care when it happened.

And Angel Rose. She called her gift a “curse” but he thought it was just incredible. She had the ability to interact with the spirit world. He tried to imagine what it would be like to be that in tune to the cosmos around him. He thought it would be phenomenal to be able to talk to his ancestors, for example, to find out what their lives were like. Or to have a conversation with some of the great men and women of history. He frowned, thinking more on that. What if he couldn’t choose who came to talk to him? What if there was so much noise in his head, it drowned out his own thoughts? He shuddered. That must be what Angel Rose means by curse.

Whatever it’s called, for the moment it was fascinating and new and a little bit scary, and he wanted to experience it again. “Not going to be tonight,” he said to himself as he polished off his sandwich. He brought his plate and empty can back out to the kitchen and placed them in the sink. He stopped to watch Angel Rose sleep for a minute, wondering if she was dreaming of Kirstin.

He grabbed the extra pillows from the closet before closing himself into Angel Rose’s room and climbed into her bed. He was a sprawler, and probably would use up the whole bed. He shucked his shirt and lay in the cool sheets, Ang’s scent teasing him. It was fresh and clean, and nothing like the death and decay he had smelled at his house. “Olfactory Hallucination” is what Ang called it. He didn’t care. It was creepy, and this was much preferred. He was mulling things over in his head, trying to grasp the enormity of what had transpired earlier that evening. Eventually, though, his brain gave up the ghost, so to speak, and he drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

In the middle of the night, Ang partially awoke, needing to go to the bathroom. She stumbled into the bathroom without turning on a light and did her business, already on the way to being asleep again. Barely conscious, she went into her bedroom and climbed into bed, totally unaware of the other person sleeping there. A short time later, Ang was dreaming that she was suffocating. She was being buried alive. The air was heavy in her lungs, and she couldn’t breathe. She clawed at the dirt, but it didn’t help. A faceless man hovered over her, his hands reaching for her throat as he threw his shovel aside. With a strangled scream, she wriggled with all her might and sat upright. She looked around the room, frightened, and completely disoriented.

The scream and motion woke Richie, who bolted out of bed. “What the hell?” he asked, and fumbled for a lamp. “Angel Rose? What are you doing in here? “

Ang blinked and looked around again, her eyes still unfocused. “Am I ok?” she asked in a small voice.

Richie nodded slowly. “Yes, darlin’, you’re perfectly safe, but...”

Ang was already sinking down into the bed again, her eyes closing. Staring at her, Richie watched as she drifted off to sleep. She probably wouldn’t even remember this in the morning, but now what the hell was he supposed to do? Ang sighed and turned away from him, apparently deeply asleep. He shrugged remembering her “we’re both adults” statement earlier, and got back in on the other side of the bed, careful not to touch her. He rolled away from her, closed his eyes, and tried to go back to sleep.

When the first rays of sunlight peeked in the blinds, Ang woke slowly. She was toasty warm, but not uncomfortably so. When she woke a little more she tried to stretch, but something was holding her down. She came all the way awake when she realized it was Richie’s arm. He was spooned against her, holding her to his chest.

Ang swallowed hard, and groaned to herself. She had no recollection of getting into bed with Richie, never mind cuddling up with him. She mentally took inventory, and determined they didn’t actually do anything last night. Judging by what was pressing into her backside, she’d definitely be feeling it this morning if they had. She smiled and blushed, then gave herself a mental shake.

Gingerly lifting Richie’s arm, she tried to sneak out from under him. He murmured incoherently and pulled her closer, nuzzling her neck. “Mmmm, where’re you going?” he rumbled sleepily.

“Richie, wake up,” Ang said softly.

“Don’t wanna,” he whined.

“Okay,” Ang said softly, “then let me up for a minute.”

“You’ll come back?” he mumbled as he released her, his words barely discernable.

“Sure thing,” she answered as she slid out of bed, not intending to do anything of the sort. In fact, she hoped he had no memory of this at all. She was mortified beyond belief to have found herself nestled in bed with him – a man she barely knew. She pulled a robe from the closet and put it on, then hurried to the kitchen where she started a pot of coffee.

Chapter Fourteen

“You’ll really help me?” Richie asked. Ang nodded.

Richie was quiet for a long moment, taking everything in. “So, we know some of the rumors, and some of the history, but we need to know more. We need to know what happened to her,” he said. “We’ll be able to find out?”

Ang sighed. “We can simply ask her,” she said. “Depending on what she remembers, then yes.”

“And you’ll really be able to hear her?” Richie was shocked. He never believed this would be possible, never mind happening to him.

“Yes, I will,” Ang said quietly. She got up from the ground and brushed off the seat of her jeans. Richie stood behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. “Any time you want to leave, I will take you home.” She nodded and led the way into the house.

Right away, Ang felt chilly. She looked at Richie. “She’s waiting,” Ang said. “Let’s get upstairs.” Ang unerringly led Richie led up to Kirstin’s door; a door that was again closed. Ang tried the handle, but the door was locked. She looked at Richie who took the key from his pocket and handed it to Ang. “Why’d you lock the door?” she asked him.

He looked at her and shook her head. “I didn’t.”

They went into the room, and Kirstin was rocking in her chair. She stopped when she saw the woman enter. Good heavens, that girl looked just like her Hope! Her eyes misted over, and she waited for the woman to come to her. She was still a little hurt that the girl had fled from her, especially knowing they were relations. She was leery of showing herself to the girl until she was certain the child wouldn’t run away again.

“Did you see that?” Richie asked. Ang just nodded. “Can you see her?” Richie asked in a low voice.

“Not just now; she has to want to let me,” Ang said in her regular voice.

“Is that what happened before?” Richie said, still speaking softly.

Ang shook her head. “No, being in that hidden room relaxed something, or made my curse stronger or something. Not now.” She thought a moment before continuing. “I can feel her blocking me from seeing her at the moment.”

“Do you think she’ll show again?”

“I don’t know,” Ang said. “And for the record, you don’t have to whisper. Kirstin, is that you?” The chair started rocking again, then stopped.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked. The chair didn’t move.

“My name is Angel Rose Summerlin. Do I look familiar to you?” The chair moved.

Richie watched with wonder on his face as Ang had a stilted, painful conversation comprised of yes/no questions that didn’t really tell them anything they didn’t already know from the mounds of paperwork they had found. Finally, she asked one last question of the chair. “If I promise not to run, will you show yourself to me? To us?” She looked at Richie, who nodded, though his stomach was in knots.

Very slowly, the chair rocked forward and back, just once, then stopped; like someone had gotten up out of the chair. The door to the room slammed shut, which made Richie jump, but Ang put a calming hand on his arm. She drew him over to the couch, and motioned for him to sit, and she sat next to him.

Slowly, the chair moved again, as if someone were getting into it. Ang put her hand on the arm of the chair and waited. Slowly, the smell of earth filled the room. Richie nearly gagged from it, but Ang seemed unfazed. She closed her eyes concentrated hard on opening her mind and she felt a door open in her head. A blinding pain hit her between the eyes for a millisecond, and was gone. Ang took a deep breath, and opened her eyes.

“What do you see?” Richie asked, whispering. “I can’t see her,” Richie said, frustrated.

Ang described the young woman sitting serenely in her chair, hands folded in her lap, and elbows resting on the arm rests. “She’s the woman from the photo, isn’t she? The one I saw in my dream?” he said, and Ang nodded.

“Holy shit,” Richie said, and Kirstin flinched.

“What he means is,” Ang said, casting a withering glance at Richie, “is that he’s disappointed he can’t see you like I can.”

Kirstin looked at Ang. “Can you hear me as well, child?”

“Yes, Kirstin, I can,” Ang nodded slowly, her eyes tearing. The voice was somehow viscerally familiar to her. She needed no other proof; she knew without a doubt that she was descended from this woman. Ang looked at Richie, who shook his head. He couldn’t hear her either.

Ang put her other hand in Richie’s and squeezed. “Don’t force it,” she said. “Just relax and let her come.” Richie closed his eyes and concentrated on the woman he saw in the maze, and the battered creature he saw on the path leading back from the pond, and his heart squeezed. The smell of earth started to recede, and a different, more disturbingly cloying scent filled the air. “Richie,” Ang said softly. “Open your eyes.”

He did, and gasped. Sitting in the chair in front of him was the woman from his dreams.

“Hello,” he said to her, not quite believing what he was seeing. He had a death grip on Ang’s hand, not wanting to let it go for fear of breaking contact with Kirstin.

Kirstin nodded. “Good evening,” she said in a soft voice.

Richie sucked in a breath. That same voice had begged him for help in his dreams.

Richie looked at Ang, unsure what to do. Ang, for her part, was surprised it was this easy for Richie to see her. In her experience, most people were reluctant to believe this was even possible which made communication difficult at best. Richie was so open to this, it was just amazing to her. He didn’t seem the type. “Talk to her,” Ang said. “You don’t need me for this.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Richie begged Ang.

She gently shook the hand Richie had crushed in his grip. “I couldn’t if I tried,” she said.

Richie looked at Kirstin. “You asked for my help,” he said to her. Kirstin nodded. “You want me to find you. What does that mean?”

Kirstin shook her head. “I am trapped here,” she said. “Trapped in this house while my family has gone. I watched my beloved wither and suffer in this house. Saw my children turn from hopeful to mournful, and it broke my heart. I wasn’t able to watch over them like a mother should.” She turned away now, tears in her eyes. Richie felt for her. He didn’t understand any of this, but he felt like he was talking to a real flesh-and-blood woman, not a specter of who she used to be.

“When I saw you on the path, you were hurt,” Richie said delicately.

Kirstin kept her gaze averted, staring out her window to the grounds beyond it. “I was,” she said sadly.

“Who hurt you?” Richie asked.

Kirstin shook her head again. “It makes no difference now, he’s long since dead, and I’m sure his God has seen to his punishment.”

Richie grew angry. “It does matter; people should know who did this to you.” Kirstin smiled at the indignation on Richie’s face, and reached out to touch his face. Shocked, Richie felt her touch, as real as Ang’s hand felt under his.

“You are a warm and caring man,” she said. “But truly, it would do no good to anyone to bring this man’s family shame.”

Richie nodded. “As you wish,” he said. “How will I find you?”

Kirstin shook her head. “I haven’t a single notion. I just know I cannot rest or leave this house to be reunited with my Geoffrey until you do. Please,” she looked at Richie, “will you help me?”

He looked into smoky gray eyes filled with desperation and hope. “Of course I will,” he said. And, he added to himself, I will find out who hurt you.