Till Death Do Us Part: A Paranormal Why Choose Romance (Vows Duet Book 1)

Chapter 8

Present Day

Satisfied. That’s the word that describes how I feel when I look at the cupboard I designated for the pantry, the refrigerator, and the freezer—now all decorated with various foods for me to cook so my sister gets something besides microwave meatloaf.

And veal.

I shudder at the thought.

I purposely avoided those packages of meat when I was putting groceries away, not wanting to think of the poor baby cows being butchered.

Don’t get me wrong. I eat meat; you can’t tear me away from a juicy steak. But there’s something about knowing it was a baby that makes veal and lamb a no-go for me.

Closing up all the doors, I quickly wash dishes Rhea left in the sink, setting them in the drying rack. I pick up the towel to wipe my hands dry, just as a chill settles over my skin.

Not again.

I close my eyes and steady myself, ignoring that I actually feel relief at the coolness against my overheated body. No matter what happens, I cannot react.

The chill becomes a biting cold. I let my eyes open, recognizing that the long rectangular florescent light fixture is blinking erratically. Without acknowledging any of it, I make my feet move at a normal pace until I reach the door to my room. Curiosity gets the best of me and I glance over my shoulder. I flinch when I do, hiccupping in a breath when I see the room I left behind.

Every cupboard door is standing open.

I study them from afar, frowning. This is abnormal. I mean, besides the fact that it’s abnormal because there’s clearly a ghost in this house, this sort of behavior only happens in movies. I have watched ghosts for more than a decade and haven’t once seen one use kitchen cupboards to communicate.

It’s almost like whomever it is wants to intentionally scare me and took their cue from every ghost movie in the last fifty years.

I cock my head as the light hums and settles, and then there’s nothing. No cold. No moving objects. No whispered names.

Done lingering in case my ghost nemesis decides to keep messing with me, I snatch up a set of comfy clothes—a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top—and head for the bathroom. Closing the door, I pause before locking it too. I don’t know why. Ghost don’t use doors. But it makes me feel safer anyway.

I sit on the ledge of the tub after locating towels under the sink, turning the knobs until I figure out how to get the water temperature right. When it’s where I want it, I slip my clothes off and step into the cool water, letting a low groan out as it cools my heated skin. Carrying two armloads of groceries in hundred degree heat for over a mile is not for the faint of heart.

Once I’ve cooled off, I bump up the heat until it’s a little lower temperature than I normally use, letting the warmth work on the aches in my arms from the unintentional exercise today. As I relax, I close my eyes and smile, thinking about my new friend.

After orientation was over for the day, Tilly and I went for coffee at a shop near the campus. Well, Tilly went for coffee. I can’t stand coffee. But the iced chai I got was delicious. We’d talked for a couple of hours before she had to leave to go to work, promising that she’d see me tomorrow for our second day of orientation.

True to her word, Tilly did in fact use every curse word known to man—maybe even a few that were unknown to man. And, just as I told her, I didn’t mind if she used them. I just couldn’t fathom using them myself. Dad was always very clear—profanity out of a woman’s mouth was a punishable offense. While I knew he couldn’t punish me here, I couldn’t break the habit of carefully selecting my words. It makes me anxious to even consider it.

With a sigh, I open my eyes and reach for my shampoo, pausing as my attention lands on a clump of blonde hair next to Rhea’s various bottles of wash. I furrow my brows as I pluck it up, twisting it with my fingers this way and that, studying it. It’s relatively short hair and neither I nor Rhea are blonde. It looks like the little tuft was cut or pulled, with the way it’s stuck together.

With a shrug, I slip my hand out of the curtain and toss the chunk of in the trashcan next to the toilet. I don’t want to know if my sister is bringing home random blonde men, or what she might be doing with them in the shower.

It’s not that I’m a prude, though many people have called me one with my inability to swear or wear anything that shows too much skin. In fact, I’m not even a virgin. I lost my virginity last summer to the boy who lived next door to us; Tony, a senior who had just graduated and was leaving for college in California.

When Tony came over a couple of days later to ask me out on an actual date, Dad flipped out. I don’t think he had suspected anything like sex had happened between me and Tony. Regardless, he sent Tony away and then bruised my ribs with several kicks while I was on the floor from being backhanded, informing me that only loose women had men coming to their doors.

Tony left a couple of weeks later without speaking to me again, and I started my senior year the week after that.

I wash up, relishing in how clean I feel with the layers of sweat removed, and turn off the water. Flinging the curtain to the side, I step out, snatching up towels to wrap my hair and body in. The room, the water having been just hot enough to make it steamy, makes it difficult to dry off. Swiping most of the water off, I step in front of the foggy mirror.

I dig through the little basket of my toiletries I put in here, finding my moisturizer. Squirting a dollop in my hand, I glance up and jolt, knocking the basket to the floor. Through the vapor on the mirror, I can see a figure standing behind me.

The hair stands on the back of my neck and on my arms as I keep my eyes fixed on the blurry shape, the air turning frigid and making me shiver with the dampness still clinging to my skin.

“Go away,” I murmur.

“Nova,” a voice drawls in a whisper; the same voice from last night.

A wave of annoyance hits me and I spin, intending to give my visitor a piece of my mind about invading people’s space. But as when I turn, he’s gone. I check around me, but there’s no one here—ghostly or otherwise. The chill recedes.

“Gosh darn ghosts,” I mutter, glancing to my hand, which is still holding my moisturizer.

With sharp, jerky movements, I slather the lotion on my face and neck and towel dry my hair. I hang both towels on the empty hooks on the back of the door and get dressed, my irritation doubling as the clothes stick to my clammy skin.

Jerking the door open, I pause, my attitude falling away when I see Rhea’s door ajar. It wasn’t when I went in to the bathroom to shower. I can’t help the way curiosity creeps up on me. Is her bedroom as bad as the kitchen was?

I reach for the doorknob. One peek wouldn’t hurt anyone, right? I just want to make sure the space she sleeps is clean. If it’s not, I can convince her to let me clean it as part of my gratitude for letting me live here.

The closer I get to the door, the stronger the pull is to see what’s on the other side. My heart beats faster, like my body knows what I’ll find isn’t what I expect. My hand rests on the doorknob and I flinch back, the cold metal surprising me.

I let out a little squeak as a cupboard door slams in the kitchen, bringing a hand to my chest as I pant. A strangled laugh flows from my lips, my own ridiculousness amusing me. Without thinking about it too much, I grab her door handle and pull the door shut, ignoring the bite of cold. It’s none of my business what her room looks like unless she wants to show me.

I pad toward the kitchen, finding Rhea rifling through the fridge. She’s dressed in comfy clothes like me, mumbling to herself.

“Hey, I was going to make dinner a little bit early, if you want me to make you something,” I say cheerily, joining her in the small space.

Rhea glances at me. “Why did you have all the cupboard doors open?”

I avoid looking at her. “Sorry. Must have forgot to close them after I put away groceries.”

She doesn’t miss beat. “You got a lot of groceries.”

“Yeah? I said I would.”

She straightens, closing the fridge door. “Where did you get the money?” she asks, sounding suspicious.

I shoot her a confused look. “I’ve been saving up from the job I had at the grocery store at home.”

“You worked at the grocery store?”

I blink. “Yes,” I answer slowly. “I told you that on the phone before, when we’d talk, remember?”

Rhea looks at the fridge again, then back to me. “Oh, that’s right,” she murmurs, her voice light. She flashes a smile at me. “Just woke up. Haven’t had any caffeine yet.”

I force out a small laugh, confused by the whole exchange. “Did you want some dinner? I was going to make pasta.”

She nods. “I’ll go get ready for work.”

I push away the distraction of our odd conversation and get to work, noting the kitchen tools I need to purchase as I work, making do with the limited supplies Rhea has. By the time Rhea reappears, freshly showered and dressed in khaki slacks and a red polo shirt, I have two plates of chicken alfredo sitting on the counter. The table is too cluttered to use, so I also note that it should be my next project.

I’ll prove to Rhea that I can pull my share of the weight, if it’s the last thing I do.

We eat in the kitchen, holding our plates and leaning hips against the counter.

“This is good,” Rhea says through a mouthful of pasta. “I don’t remember you cooking like this before I left.”

I shrug. “I was tired of frozen dinners and I took culinary arts my last two years of high school. I started making dinners every night.”

She snorts. “I bet Dad just loved that.”

I push noodles around on my plate, worried her sarcasm is directed at me. “Yeah,” I say quietly.

The kitchen goes silent and I look up, seeing Rhea’s scrutinizing stare directed at me.

“Turned you into his little wife, didn’t he?” she asks, studying me. “What else did he have you do?”

I shrug. “You know. Cleaning. Cooking. Laundry.”

“Anything else?”

I hear the implication in her voice and turn bright red. “No,” I reply, my voice shaking. “Nothing like that.”

Rhea’s breath catches, and she clears her throat, her eyes going to her plate. “He’s a miserable old bastard. But at least he kept his hands off you that way.”

My stomach feels queasy, so I set the plate down on the counter, the soft clink of it seeming to echo in the quiet room. “Did he—Rhea, did he do something to—?”

“No,” she snaps at me. “Don’t be disgusting, Nova.” Setting down her empty plate in the sink, she stomps out of the kitchen, leaving me feeling twice as uneasy.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I call after her, my voice trailing off when I hear the front door slam.

She left.

The tears come unbidden, skating down my cheeks. I wipe at them with the back of my hand, sniffling. I don’t know why I’m crying, honestly. It’s just been a long day—that’s it.

With that in mind, I find my phone, abandoning the dirty dishes to deal with later. I curl up on the couch and pull open my book app, letting myself disconnect from this world and enter one full of adventure and romance and questionable morals.

Hours later, I finish the last page of my book with a gasp. Dang authors and their cliffhangers. I want to start book two immediately, but I have some cleaning to do. Sitting up, I stretch, my body sore from laying in one position for so long. The sun is just setting, casting multi-colored glow across the living room walls.

I clean up my mess from making dinner, snagging a couple of cookies to munch when I’m done. I mosey over to the table as I eat them, poking through the papers. Most of it looks like old bills, but one chair is stacked so high, I don’t know how it could be only that.

In the time it took me to clean, the sun had set, leaving just a hazy purple hue that does nothing to light up the increasingly dark room. I flip on the switch for the dining room light, deciding there’s no time like the present, and to tackle the table now.

I reach to grab the first stack to sort through when the light above me flickers. I freeze, keeping my eyes on the papers I was intending to pick up. The flickering turns to full on surges, finally pulling my attention when it glows so bright, it hurts my eyes.

And then the light bulb bursts, plunging me into darkness.