Chapter 2 #2
It was well past midnight when she slid back down into the bed.
But not before rushing over to the overstuffed chair and pulling on her T-shirt and jeans.
And once she was back in bed, she kept the lights on, the covers up to her neck, and her thighs glued together. She did not fall asleep until dawn.
Columbia University, New York City
“Are you still unpacking?”
Alex started. Actually, she was in the midst of packing, and the various jeans and T-shirts and summer suits that she was taking to Tripoli were spread all over her bed.
An open duffel sat at the foot. She had not heard Beth enter her apartment.
Now Alex straightened and turned to see Beth standing in the center of her studio, her hands deep in the pockets of her shorts. Alex hesitated.
She had not told Beth a thing. Not a single thing since she had returned last week from Boston.
And in that entire time, Alex had done nothing but investigate Blackwell’s life.
Unfortunately, she had turned up very little on him.
Just a single paragraph in a short text on the United States war with Tripoli, which had begun in 1801.
“Alex? Why are you looking so guilty?” Beth approached and stared down at a pair of Levi’s and a white linen shirt. “You’ve been home a whole week and you still haven’t unpacked?”
“I’m packing.” Alex said reluctantly.
Beth was confused. “Where are you going?”
“To Tripoli.”
Beth laughed. “That’s funny. Now, where are you really going?”
Alex stared, then tossed a pair of silk trousers into the bag. She added a shiny patent leather belt. “I’m not joking.”
Beth slowly turned a ghastly shade of white. “Alex! You’re not serious? Are you insane? Haven’t you ever heard of Qaddafi? I didn’t know Americans could go to Tripoli!”
Alex sat down beside the duffel bag. “I got a student visa.” It was a lie. She was not about to tell Beth that she had to stop in Paris to obtain a forged French passport in order to get into Libya—and that the document was costing her dearly.
“You are insane.” Now Beth was angry. “This has to be a joke. Isn’t it?” Beth pleaded.
“No. It’s not a joke. I have to go. I’ll be careful.”
“Do you know what could happen to a woman like you?” Beth cried.
Alex did know. She might be a romantic fool, but she was hardly stupid. “I’ll be very careful.”
“They kidnap beautiful women, Alex, and throw them into harems. It’s called white slavery!” Panic laced Beth’s voice. “You’ll never come home!”
Alex did not answer. She knew that she was crazy to go, but there was this voice inside of her head, insisting that she go. She knew, she just knew, she would find out more about Blackwell there, where he had been imprisoned and murdered.
Beth came forward to stand in front of Alex. “What is going on? What has gotten into you? Has something happened that I don’t know about?”
Alex had to have someone to confide in. “Beth, you know I stopped in Boston last week. I went to Blackwell House. It’s a museum. It was once the home of this powerful shipping family.”
Beth stared. “I do not understand.”
Alex wet her lips. When she spoke, she heard the excitement in her own tone. “The heir to Blackwell Shipping at the turn of the nineteenth century was Xavier Blackwell. I saw his portrait there. His bedroom.” She paused. And his ghost, she thought. “He was an incredible man.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“He was executed in Tripoli, Beth, in 1804. You see, he was either running guns or grain, it doesn’t really matter.
But he was ambushed and captured off of Cape Bon.
He spent a year in captivity. Then, in mid-July of 1804, just a few weeks before Preble’s first attack on the city, he was publicly executed. ”
Beth gaped. It was a moment before she spoke. “Alex, this doesn’t make any sense. Listen to yourself, please! You’re going to Libya because some guy died there two hundred years ago?”
Alex sat down on the bed, regarding her hands. “I know.” Should she tell Beth about Blackwell’s ghost?
“You know?” Beth was incredulous. “Yet you’re going anyway? And what do you hope to find in Tripoli? His ghost?”
Alex slowly lifted her eyes to meet Beth’s brown gaze. “I’ve already found his ghost.”
Beth did not move.
Alex’s heart raced. “Ohmygod, Beth! I’ve seen him—twice! I’m scared, I admit it, I don’t understand what’s happening to me, but something is happening, and for some damn reason, I just have to go to Tripoli!”
Beth sat down beside Alex, pushing piles of clothing behind her. “You’ve lost all of your marbles. Alex. There are no such things as ghosts.”
Alex remained silent. She couldn’t tell Beth, her best friend, everything. That she was convinced now that Blackwell had tried to make love to her in her hotel room in Boston. She looked down at her softly tanned hands. Refusing to tell Beth that she was right.
Because Beth wasn’t right. She couldn’t be right.
For Alex also wasn’t certain that Blackwell hadn’t been with her the last two nights, there in her studio.
She had been unable to sleep, filled with tension, stiff as a board.
She had been afraid, no, almost terrified.
She had kept the lights on. Alex had told herself repeatedly that no one was there, that she was making up everything inside of her head.
But dammit, she had felt him, all around her, watching her.
“Change your mind,” Beth said flatly. “Don’t go.”
Alex hesitated. “I have to go, Beth. I wish I could explain, but I can’t.”
Beth didn’t speak for a full minute, “You’ve read too many romance novels, Alex.
” She jabbed an accusing finger at Alex’s bedside table where a romance novel rested atop a history text.
“There are no such things as ghosts. You know what your problem is? All you do is read, study, and work out. You haven’t had a decent date since Todd—and he dumped you three years ago.
I know you loved him—I know he was your childhood sweetheart, that you two always planned to marry, and I am sorry he shafted you, but you need a man, Alex, you need to have fun, you need a life.
A real life. If you had a real life, you wouldn’t be sitting here now telling me this crazy ghost story! ”
Alex did not reply. She couldn’t help wondering if Beth was right. But she still had to go to Tripoli. She had a forged passport and a visa waiting for her in Paris. She had already purchased her airline tickets.
Beth sighed and wrapped an arm around her.
“Alex, you have to stop this, now. Ghosts don’t exist. Okay?
I want you to meet John’s cousin. His name is Ed.
I want you to think about seeing a shrink.
And you’re not going to Tripoli, Okay? Just drop it.
End it. Now.” Beth smiled reassuringly. “Before something horrible happens.”
Alex looked at her friend, saw the concern and love in her eyes, and was briefly torn.
Beth really cared. She was Alex’s best friend.
She was all Alex had, really, and Alex considered her family.
And Beth was working on her masters in economics.
She was the epitome of logic, objectivity, and common sense.
Beth was probably right. She did not read romance novels.
“Tripoli,” he said.
Alex started, paling. “What?!”
“I didn’t say a thing,” Beth said, frowning.
Alex looked warily around her studio, which was filled with her wicker furniture and summer sunlight. She stood up. “I have to go,” she said.
“For godsakes, why?”
Alex wet her lips and finally verbalized what she had been afraid to admit, even to herself. “I’m in love,” she said hoarsely. “I’m in love with a man who’s been dead for a hundred and ninety-two years.”