Ghosted

Chapter Sixteen

O’Malley’s pub is almost empty. It’s Wednesday night and the weekend crowd has yet to descend on the island. Only a few people sit at the dark wood tables that fill the cavernous bar. Callum and I grab a booth by the fake-cobweb-draped window while Jason gets our drinks.

‘You should have booked something near the water,’ I shout, frowning at the bobbing ghost decorations hanging from the ceiling. Music booms from the jukebox, vibrating through the deep brown pleather of my seat.

Callum wrinkles his nose. ‘Too bougie. This is better. More fun. Besides, a lot of Irish settled around here, so this place is part of the town’s history.’

Callum raps on the table in front of me. ‘You look nice tonight,’ he says.

I look down at my sweater. It’s black with a red lightning bolt on the front. I’m not even sure why I packed it.

He points to the red lightning bolt. ‘It matches your hair and your personality.’

‘My personality?’

‘Yeah. Power. Energy.’ He smiles. ‘You light things up.’

‘Oh.’ I look down again, this time to cover my flush, and fuss with a flyer on the table promoting the bar’s upcoming Halloween party. ‘So, ah… tell me more about what you discovered at the historical society.’

‘Nuh-uh. We’re not talking work tonight. We’re relaxing, remember?’

‘Right. Are you sure you don’t just want a relaxing boys’ night with Jason?’

‘I know you’re desperate to get away from me—’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ I quickly interrupt, ‘and you know it.’

He leans forward and places his hand over mine. ‘Good. Because I want you here, Holly.’

I instinctively slide my hand away, then kick myself for doing it.

He sits back in the booth and smiles. ‘Besides, I’ve never really seen you drunk. Oh, except for the other night – you know, when you were drooling on me in your bed.’

‘ On my bed, Callum. We were on my bed.’

‘Who was on whose bed?’ Jason asks, as he puts a pitcher of beer and three glasses on the table.

‘Holly was threatening to leave us to our own devices,’ Callum says.

‘Bad idea, Holly. You have no clue how this guy can misbehave.’ Jason slides into the booth and slings his arm around Callum’s shoulder. ‘He bowls all the ladies over with his charms. The stories I could tell you. Like this one time, when we were—’

Callum clamps a hand across Jason’s mouth. ‘Shut up, dude.’ He looks back at me, shaking his head. ‘All lies.’

‘I’ll tell you later,’ Jason says conspiratorially.

‘That’s okay,’ I say. ‘I can probably live without a blow by blow of Callum’s romantic exploits.’

‘Jealous?’ Callum says. His foot gently taps mine beneath the table.

‘Green with envy,’ I deadpan in response.

His eyebrows lift, his smile deepening.

I roll my eyes, but I can’t contain my grin.

Two pitchers of beer and one perfectly cooked steak later, I’m more relaxed than I have been in a very long time.

The guys have been laughing about everything from their days at school to driving Callum’s aunt crazy by always breaking curfew, and I’ve been enjoying their shared jokes and stories of childhood mischief – a childhood very different from the one I had.

Watching them makes me realise how much I want my own family to be in my life.

As soon as I get back to town, I’m going to organise something.

Maybe I could even talk Maggie into lunch or a movie.

As Jason starts another story, Callum slips down in his seat and rests his knees against mine.

This time, I don’t move. I embrace his touch and all the feelings it stirs inside me.

He catches my eye, and everything I once saw in him, everything I once hoped for, the promise I once felt in the warmth of his lips on my cheek, is still there.

A wonderful, fluttering fills my stomach, and when he smiles at me I don’t just smile back, I beam.

The opening drum roll of Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born to Run’ roars from the jukebox.

Jason clears his throat. ‘I hate to interrupt this gorgeous moment, but…’ he stands, ‘I think we should all dance.’

‘Oh no.’ I wave him away. ‘I don’t dance. I have no rhythm. Honestly.’ I look up at Jason as he wiggles his shoulders at me. ‘Callum,’ I plead. ‘A little help here?’

He shrugs. ‘I learnt long ago not to get between Jase and The Boss. Sorry Holly, it’s out of my power.’

Jason offers me his hand. He’s not going to take no for an answer.

‘Oh god,’ I squeak, as I take it. I look down at Callum. ‘Are you coming or what, Jefferies?’

He laughs. ‘Right behind you, Daniels.’

I’m not sure that what I do could be called dancing; it’s mostly laughing and when I’m not laughing, I’m struggling to find the beat.

Callum is surprisingly reserved, looking almost as awkward as I feel.

Jason, on the other hand, is jumping around like a bean pole on springs, his black hair flopping wildly back and forth.

When Callum suddenly stops dancing and strides away, Jason grabs my hand and attempts to spin me.

I squeal as my eyes follow Callum across the floor to the jukebox.

He studies the list, presses a couple of buttons, then leans against the machine smiling at me.

Then Springsteen fades out and Guns N’ Roses’ ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ fills the bar.

Jason throws his head back with a groan, then steps aside with a sweep of his arm and a grin on his face. Callum takes my hand and draws me to him.

‘Callum, I really can’t dance. Didn’t you notice?’ My voice is weirdly high again.

‘You don’t have to dance, Holly. You just have to sway. Unless you really don’t want to?’ His brows raise in question.

‘No, I want to – but,’ I scrunch my nose, ‘Guns N’ Roses?’

In one smooth move, he snakes an arm around my waist and pulls me in. The air puffs from my lungs with an oof as my breasts flattens against his chest. Then he dips his head, puts his lips to my ear and whispers, ‘Don’t knock the Gunners.’

The warmth of his breath fills me with everything from desire to terror. He must see it all flash across my face because he says, ‘Don’t panic. It’s only a dance.’ I nod up at him, try to relax and begin to sway.

Heat radiates off his body, running the length of mine as we press together, rocking back and forth, moving as one.

His fingertips caress my spine and I melt into him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek against his chest. He quietly sings as we dance, and the words thrum through me, vibrating right into my heart.

Should I be doing this? His muscles flex as he shifts his body.

Oh yeah, I should be doing this. I should be doing this and more .

I’m so tired of arguing with myself and letting fear rule my life.

Maybe it’s the buzz of the beer, or the way we’ve laughed tonight, or maybe it’s the thrill of having Callum up against me, solid and real and so beautiful, but I feel like it might be time to take that risk that Jason was talking about.

Give myself a chance at the happiness he thinks I deserve.

My heart does a little skip, and I laugh giddily.

Callum looks down with a quizzical frown. I smile up at him and loop my arms around his neck. I actually see the moment his breath catches, and then a genuinely happy smile bursts across his face.

‘Oh god,’ I whisper. Every sensation new, and wonderful, and terrifying all at once.

When the song ends, we keep swaying, moving to a rhythm all our own, with my cheek nestled against him and his chin gently resting on the top of my head.

‘I think the song’s over,’ I finally say, my words muffled by his shirt.

Callum takes a small step back, his gaze meeting mine. And there it is, his desire on clear display, just for me. Wide dark pupils in luscious pools of green.

‘That wasn’t too bad, was it?’ he asks.

He leans into me, and I swallow hard as his mouth gets closer. But he just kisses my cheek.

‘We should sit down,’ he says, taking my hand, ‘before Jason finishes all our beer.’

The rest of the night is a blur of tingly feelings and a happiness I’m not used to, and when Callum says we should call it a night, I’m seriously disappointed. I don’t want this night to end.

His foot gently rubs the side of mine. ‘You ready to head back, Sunshine?’ he asks.

‘I guess,’ I say, and I don’t tell him not to call me Sunshine. Because I love it when he calls me that. I’ve always loved it when he calls me that.

On the short stroll back to Maddison House, I relive every beat of our dance, every smile, every foot tap, every knee bump and gentle touch. Every delicious, thrilling sensation that fills my body and throbs in my heart. I can’t stop grinning.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Nothing.’

He tilts his head and drops one of his dazzling smiles on me.

Fear flashes through me then. Do not trust the handsome man .

What if Callum is the handsome man? Should I put these feelings on hold, at least until the job is finished and we’re back in the city?

But then he reaches for my hand and links his warm fingers through mine, and every thought of restraint is drowned out by a fresh wave of desire.

In the hall outside our rooms we say goodnight. Jason and Callum hug.

‘What time are you leaving in the morning?’ Callum asks.

Jason groans. ‘Sun-up.’

‘Let me know when you get home.’

‘Will do, mom.’ Jason turns to me. ‘Next time Cal comes over for dinner, feel free to come with him.’

My cheeks tingle as I flush. ‘Oh. Thanks. And thanks for… everything.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he says and steps into his room. The click of the door closing behind him echoes in the hall.

Callum and I linger awkwardly.

‘So, um, I’ll see you at breakfast?’ I dig my key from my pocket. ‘We can talk over how we want to move forward.’ I pause, and then quickly add, ‘With the job, I mean.’

He leans in closer and whispers, ‘I’m already looking forward to it.’ Then he smiles and slips inside his room, leaving me breathless outside mine.

My eyes spring open. The room is icy. Even in the darkness I can see the white puff of my breath hanging in the air.

There’s a presence in the room, heavy and oppressive and I try to focus on it, but the energy is too forceful to shut it out.

My heart quickens and I clutch the comforter, pulling it around me as I peer into the gloom.

This is not George, the Maddison’s benevolent ghost. This is something else.

I fumble for the lamp, the click sounding unnaturally loud in the dense silence, and recoil as light glances off the spirit of Elizabeth, standing at the end of my bed.

My racing heart shoots to my mouth.

Get a grip , I tell myself. It’s just a ghost. Just a ghost .

I concentrate on slowing my breathing, my heartbeat, clawing back some kind of control as my gaze passes over Elizabeth’s spirit, as real as if she were still alive, not dead nearly four hundred years.

There’s no blood on her clothes where the dagger ripped through them, and her bonnet is neatly tied. Jason would be so disappointed.

‘They are close to you now,’ Elizabeth says.

I jolt, still shocked to hear words coming out of a spirit’s mouth and not just a ghastly howl.

The way she speaks is slow and deliberate, like she has to concentrate to find every syllable, and there’s an echo to the sound of her voice, as if it’s layered with more than one.

My mouth is so dry I can barely get my tongue to work.

‘Who are they ?’ I croak out.

‘We can stop them.’

‘Stop who?’

‘You must let us in.’

‘Whatever that means, it’s not going to happen.’ I yank back the covers and stand in front of her. ‘Are you Elizabeth Howell?’

She gives a single nod then says, ‘Be warned. The handsome man… he is not what you think.’

‘So what is he then, who is he?’ I’m suddenly so angry, tired and scared I yell, ‘Can’t you just give me a name?’

Elizabeth suddenly glances around. Her dead eyes widen, her form flickers.

‘Wait! Don’t go. Are we related somehow?’

Callum bursts through the door. ‘What’s happening?’

I ignore him frantically calling, ‘Elizabeth, I’m sorry, please!’ at the spot where the spirit just stood.

‘Holly!’ Callum grabs my hand.

I look up at him. His eyes are wild. I look down at his other hand. ‘Why are you holding your boot?’

He looks at the motorcycle boot he’s clutching. ‘I – I heard voices.’ He quickly tosses it into his room, where it lands with an awkward clunk. ‘I thought you were in trouble.’

I drop to the edge of my bed and laugh despite my galloping heart. ‘You were going to defend me with a boot ?’

‘I don’t know. I was asleep, it’s the first thing I grabbed. What’s going on?’

I scrub a hand across my forehead. ‘The spirit was here.’

‘Which one?’ He spins around, examining the room.

‘The girl from the highway.’

Callum flops onto the bed beside me and runs his fingers back through his sleep-messed hair. ‘She was here?’ He looks around again.

‘She said—’

‘Whoa, whoa whoa… The spirit spoke to you?’ I nod. ‘Like… words?’ I nod again. ‘Did she speak to you on the highway, too?’

‘Is there any of that whiskey left?’

Worry clouds his face, and he disappears into the darkness of his room, returning with the bottle and two glasses.

‘Do you feel like sitting by the fire in the lounge?’ I ask. ‘I want to get out of here for a bit.’

‘Will you tell me what’s going on?’ he says.

‘I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’ And for the first time in maybe forever, I mean it.