Chapter 11
Nikki
My favorite Christmas memories are the ones spent without rushing, taking my time just enjoying mundane things, sipping on hot chocolate and watching the glow of the Christmas lights.
Days spent baking and filling the house with the warm scent of desserts that we piled onto mismatched platters on the counter and wrapped in plastic to deliver to the neighbors.
It's how Noah and I spend our day… baking and basking in the warmth and comfort of Cole’s home.
It’s not exactly a place of luxury, but it’s clear he has someone come clean up after him. I wonder how long it will be ‘til they show up and find his body… or rather, what’s left of it.
Noah explained that Cole's parents died but his older sister still tries to care for him by sending someone to check on him.
It gives us peace of mind that we won't be discovered before we're ready.
And that peace of mind lets us explore..
. each other, our abilities, our limits.
Even if it's just simple touch as we lay together watching Christmas movies.
It's kept me busy so that I haven't had time to think about my mother or siblings, to wonder how they're handling all of this. Somehow, it managed to be both a long, comfortable day and also pass by in the blink of an eye.
Now I know what Noah meant when he told me that he'd waited an eternity for me.
I've been dead for less than twenty-four hours, and it somehow feels like an infinity.
Except, it's a comfortable infinity now, because we are together, and somehow all the rage has settled.
But as we get ready to make our next visit, I feel it returning, stirring inside me like leaves being swirled around in a storm.
"Pie's done." I say, looking up to find Noah watching me with a soft smile. "You wrapped the presents?"
"Of course." He brandishes the box, imperfectly wrapped. One side is visibly short of wrapping paper, leaving a little cardboard to peek through, and I can tell he did it himself. Apparently we grew strong and omniscient in death, but he still can't wrap a present.
"Beautiful." I assure him with a laugh, glancing around Cole's house to make sure I'm not forgetting anything.
I want tonight to be perfect.
"You sure are." Noah grins, his eyes sweeping over me, taking in the long green evening gown.
Being a ghost has allowed me to be something of a shape shifter.
I can take different appearances, and I decide whether I want to be seen or not.
I suspected as much when the neighbor didn't notice us outside this morning, and confirmed it when we dropped the firewood on her porch, pre-split and ready for use.
It's nice, especially because I died naked, and I don't want to appear to my own killers that way.
The look on Cole's face when his brain must have convinced him that I was alive was priceless.
I can't wait to see that same look on Brant's face.
I don't have to wait long, either, because we've just gotten comfortable in his home— which is far nicer than Cole's— when the headlights cut through the night as his car pulls into the driveway.
Brant still lives at home in his parents' half-million-dollar mini mansion.
It was an interesting experience, testing whether our presence would trip the alarm system or be caught on video.
But tonight, his family is out kissing babies and shaking hands the way politicians do, and his sisters are with his grandma in her more modest house, safe.
They won't see the carnage that's going to unfold here.
The pneumatic sound of Brant punching in his access code to the alarm pad is our cue, so I step back into the shadow of the Christmas tree, all twelve feet of it, and watch as he opens the door, throwing his keys on the entryway table that's covered in flowers.
He loosens his tie and sheds his jacket, eager to get out of the suit that makes him look like an upstanding citizen and productive member of the community, moving to the kitchen where the pie and the gift box sit together on the gleaming marble, just waiting for him to notice them.
He does, and he doesn't hesitate to move toward them, immediately checking the name on the gift tag, where I scrawled his proper name in red ink: Brantley.
"Someone got me a gift..." He muses, like he's having a conversation with someone.
And, it turns out, he is, because a fluffy white cat pounces on the counter next to where he stands, appraising the gift.
"Should I open it?"
I don't know if he expects the cat to answer, so I do.
"Yes."
I watch his spine straighten with the sudden realization that he's not alone. It takes a moment for him to turn around, scanning the room in search of whoever is in his house. "Who's there?"
"You'll see. But first, open your present."
Brant seems a little too at ease with the idea of a stranger he can't see in his house.
"Are you my present?" He asks, craning his neck to try and see around the Christmas tree. He wouldn't see me even if he was looking right at me... not until I want him to. "Can I unwrap you?"
"After the one on the counter." I assure him, falling silent as I move toward him, clocking the hopeful grin on his face.
"Who is it?" He narrows his eyes a little. "Natalia or Mitzi?"
"You'll see." I tell him. "Once you open your present..."
Brant grins, pleased with himself, and turns to inspect the gift.
"You need to work on your wrapping skills..."
I say nothing; I don't want him to realize how close I am to him... not yet.
The sound of paper shredding fills the kitchen, which is so vast that everything echoes, and I step up to his back, pressing my body against his, circling his waist with my arms. I dip my hand just low enough, testing the erection straining against his black pants, and he groans.
"You're so eager for my cock, why don't I open the present later, Christine?"
God, how many women does he have that are willing to sleep with him? Even before yesterday, you couldn't have paid me to touch him like this, but he's acting like he has a roster of willing women.
"Not Christine." I whisper, palming his dick. "Keep going."
"I will if you will..." He says, popping the tape on one side of the box.
I can feel him growing harder beneath my touch, and when I slip my hand beneath the waistband and slide it against his boxers, I feel it jump for me, eager for the pleasure to come.
"What is it? A new toy?"
"You could call it that." Noah says, his sudden voice making Brant jump and try to wheel around to search the darkness.
"Who the fuck is there?"
"Don't worry about him." I say, pressing my lips to the back of Brant's neck. "He's just here to watch."
That seems to appeal to him, because Brant visibly relaxes against me, the tension dropping out of his shoulders as he opens the box to look down at the layers of tissue paper.
"Do you think you're on the naughty list this year, Brant?"
"I know I am." He chuckles. "And I'll get you on it with me, baby."
I smirk against his neck, trying to contain the wicked thrill coursing through me as he lifts out the swath of tissue paper and begins to peel it back to expose his gift.
"I think I got myself on it when I got your present."
"Oh yeah?" His laugh is heady, full of excitement and arousal as he finally gets the paper peeled back.
At first, he only blinks, clearly unsure what he's looking at. If it's a toy, it's a small one, considering Cole had such a disappointment between his legs.
He only stares a moment before lifting his palm to the glow coming off the polished kitchen; he never bothered turning the lights on.
"What is..." His voice trails off as he lifts it between his fingers, raising it higher, inspecting it.
"What the fuck?" Realization slams into him and he drops the severed penis, jumping backwards and wiping his hands on his pants, looking affronted.
"What's wrong?" I ask, smiling the slightest bit. I see him look at me, but the awareness doesn't click yet thanks to the low lighting, the shadows around me. "You just admitted you belong on the naughty list. Naughty boys get Cole for their gifts."
He blinks at me, squinting a little as he tries to see through the dark to see who I am. "Coal?" He asks, turning back to the counter, where his best friend's dick is stark white, now that it's been drained of all blood.
"Cole." I nod, taking a step toward him and reveling in the horror that dawns on his face when he realizes who's in his house.
"What the fuck?" He shakes his head, like maybe I'm just a vision, a hallucination that will disappear when he readjusts. "You can't be here."
"Why not? It's such a lovely home."
"You... you're..."
"Dead?"
He nods.
"Did you check? You just trusted Nick was right." I shake my head, drawing close enough to wrap my hand around the back of his neck, anchoring him close to me. "What if I was still alive when you dragged me into the woods? What if I was still alive when you threw me into the lake?"
I close my eyes, focusing on the image I want to project. Around us, the kitchen disappears in a cloud of falling snow. "What if I climbed out after you left?"
"That's not possible..."
He's doing a good job trying to convince himself that none of this is real, but I plant the scene I want him to imagine.
.. me, naked and soaked, climbing through the ice, dragging my body out of the pond.
For all I know, I'm still there, the shell of me floating beneath the ice just waiting for someone to glance down and see me there, or the ice to melt.
"No!” He snaps. “This isn't real. None of this is real."
"You're right." I sigh, letting the illusion dissolve so that he can see we are clearly still in his kitchen. "It's not real. But I feel real, don't I?"
Brant stares at me, wide-eyed and shaken. "What do you..."
His voice trails off again when I run my fingers along his cheek and down his jaw, stroking across his lips.
"It's really me."