Ghosts of the Falls (Entangled Ever After) (2 page)

Were roses in the woods not common? He knew of several in the vicinity. So caught up in watching her, he walked into a tree, almost losing his physical form in surprise.

“Are you all right?” She rushed toward him, stumbling a bit on loose stones.

He brushed a leaf from his hair and straightened his shoulders. “You didn’t see that.”

She paused, chuckled, and held a finger up to her mouth. “Sure. I saw nothing.”

He fought the urge to reach out, push her delicate hand away from her lips, and find out if she tasted as sweet as the sound of her laughter. If he indulged that much, he’d be tempted to suddenly forget how to find the gravesite, forget that he brought her here to end him.

He turned away. He had to stay focused.

They moved on.

“You like roses?” he asked.

“I like the woods. I’ve never seen rose bushes like that growing wild. They’re far more beautiful and alluring out here than in a pampered garden. Someone must have planted them, though. Who takes care of them?”

“I’m not sure. Not my thing.” In truth, the roses and all the other flowers had always been there. He’d first seen them when he’d been alive, working for the logging company, clearing the area. After the clear-cutting, the trees and the flowers had grown back more quickly than he would have thought possible. But he’d been a ghost at that point, leaving him much less of a skeptic than he’d been in life.

She kept touching trees as she passed them, holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand. “Maybe they grow on their own. Spirits as powerful as the one haunting this forest are usually associated with an abundance of the naturally occurring energies that help life thrive.”

“Energies?”

“Life feeds off more than water and sunlight and nutrients.” She lifted her chin, her lips thinned, and her voice took on a defensive tone. “Science will advance enough to identify a dozen different energies that support life, probably soon.”

“I believe you.”

She missed a beat and stammered. “You do?”

“Looking at this place, it’s hard not to. And I already believe in ghosts.”

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“Could the energy in question trap the spirit in this world?”

“Trap him, no. Make him strong enough to appear, have conversations with fishermen, and burn down motels? Yes.”

“I see. But how do life-strengthening energies affect him? He’s dead.”

“Souls are living things,” she said, her voice quiet, somber. “They don’t belong in this world any longer, but they are still
us
.”

Interesting. He was still a living thing, on some level? In his physical form, it felt that way, but he considered those feelings and sensations illusions. He was dead. His bones lay in the earth less than a half-mile away, shattered from his fall into the gorge.

Having company chased away the emptiness that usually filled his chest. He took a side trail to show her the old-growth hemlocks, a cluster of massive, five-hundred-year-old trees.

“The logging company left them so the workers had a shady place during the day.”

“They’re beautiful,” she said, standing next to a trunk wider than her arm-span, staring upward.

“Yes, they are.” He stared at her, the real beauty of the spot. If only he could have a woman like this in his afterlife, he wouldn’t be in such a hurry to end it.

“How does an exorcism work? Anything like the movies?” Just last spring, the park’s outdoor theater had shown
The Exorcist
, giving Dutch the idea. Unlike the demon, Dutch wouldn’t fight, so the process wouldn’t be that violent, he hoped.

“Nothing like in the movies. My family is nondenominational, and clairvoyance is strong in our bloodline. We can sense spirits in our vicinity, and when we read from the text my great-grandfather wrote, we can destroy them.” Her throat worked and the humor in her expression vanished. “No theatrics involved. First I’ll bind him so he can’t escape, then I’ll read, which will erode his power until there’s nothing left. Unfortunately, it’s extremely painful for the spirit, and the stronger they are, the longer it takes.”

Dutch clenched his teeth, steeling his resolve. “May I ask why an exorcism is so severe? Is there no way to simply send a spirit on to heaven or hell or wherever it is they’re supposed to go after death?”

“Well…” She blew out a heavy sigh. “My great-grandfather, the first known clairvoyant in my family, wrote all the incantations we use, giving us a variety of tricks. Binding, exorcism, stripping a spirit of its will and commanding it like a puppet, etcetera. There are even passages that allow us to inflict pain on the spirit for as long as we want, with no purpose except to draw out the torture.”

She rubbed her face and continued. “A spirit killed my great-grandmother. My great-grandfather began writing exorcisms the next day. He never bothered to develop an incantation that would help a ghost move on. In his journal, he stated they didn’t deserve such mercy, that earth-bound spirits were inherently evil. Considering the number of malicious spirits that roam the earth, every generation has subscribed to his teachings without much question. It does seem that the majority spirits go insane and turn violent if stuck in this world.”

“I see.” Dutch shivered. The grief-stricken exorcist had been a bigot to judge all spirits in such a condemning way, but he hadn’t been far off the mark. The few other spirits Dutch had run into had been reservoirs of malice, intent on playing deadly games with the living. Thankfully, they’d all had such a low power level that the humans had noticed only cold drafts and strange noises, at most.

“I hate it,” she bit out. “It’s torture and forever destroys a human soul, yet we perform them at the drop of a hat.” She lifted a hand to her forehead. “Sorry. I’m… I can’t believe how much I don’t want to do this!”

He blinked, touched her arm, and pulled her to a stop. “What are you talking about?”

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. “I believe we perform too many exorcisms without being certain the spirit deserves such an end. For years, I’ve been researching, trying to write an incantation that would send spirits on to the next world without hurting them, to heaven or hell or wherever they’re supposed to go, like you say. I’ve failed so far. Recently, a spirit I thought was innocent tricked me, and my beliefs got an innocent woman killed.” She nodded and straightened her spine. “So… Let’s get going.”

He stared after her as she strode off ahead. Someone had been killed? “
What?
”

She stopped but didn’t turn. Her shoulders slumped.

“How’d she die?”

“The ghost I refused to exorcise,” she said, spitting the words.

Dutch rejoined her and reached out to touch her arm, but she took a step back.

“I need to finish this job,” she said, her voice firm but bitter. “If I don’t do my job
again
, people will get hurt or killed.”

“You were trying to find a better way to do that job,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care.

“It didn’t work.” She resumed walking. “I wish it had, but it didn’t.”

“It was worth the attempt. You didn’t kill that woman. You gave a spirit a second chance and he chose what to do with it.”

“I enabled him. By not exorcising him, I gave him the opportunity.”

“Bull. Every person you meet on the street could hurt someone someday. It’s not your fault if you think better of them.”

She stared at him, her arms folded. “Thanks.” She paused. “I’m sorry to act so unprofessional. I’ve had a rough couple of days.”

“I’m the one who is sorry. The last thing I want to do is add to your troubles.” He swallowed the desire to assure her that he’d never hurt anyone, that she could walk away guilt-free. But he needed this. He couldn’t continue enduring decade after lonely decade. She was his salvation. “Why do you do this if it bothers you so much?”

“It’s my job.” She smiled, though her chin trembled. “It’s my responsibility to protect people from violent spirits. I could leave and get a normal career as a normal person, but if things in the exorcist community are going to change, I need to be there, pushing for that change. If I keep researching, writing new incantations, maybe I’ll find the best solution for both the living and the deceased.”

He touched her hand. “I’m sure you’ll succeed.”

“Thank you.” She stared at their hands for a moment, then met his gaze. “Would you like to get dinner?”

He blinked. “Dinner?”

Color rose to her cheeks. “I’m asking you out to dinner. I know we just met, but—”

“I’d love to have dinner with you.” He tightened his grip on her hand and stroked her wrist with his thumb. “But… I’m sorry. I won’t be available.”

“Oh.” Her smile faltered.

“The grave is just up here.” He hurried forward before she could question him. Ahead, mist from the falls thickened the air and sunlight filtered through the thinning trees. “Watch your step. The rocks are wet and slimy.”

They approached the falls. After the burial over a century ago, he’d avoided the gravesite the way most people avoided angry grizzly bears. The water cascaded a hundred feet into the gorge, surrounded by rocks covered in bright green mosses and ferns.

He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. Part of him wanted to convince her to call this off so he could take her to dinner. But he would be a fool. A selfish fool. He wasn’t alive. What did he have to offer her?

Nothing.

And now it was time to leave this existence.

Chapter Three

Jade stepped with care across a moist ledge and peered into the gorge. The roar of the water cascading over the rocks and pummeling the bottom filled her ears. The cool mist thickened the air and condensed on her skin. A shudder shook her body—not from the chill, but from the mental image of the spirit’s death. “This is where he fell?”

“Yes.” Dutch motioned her to join him where he stood a couple yards away.

A solitary stone reposed at the base of a gigantic American elm. The roots had crowded the little monument and forced it to lean at a sharp angle to the side. Despite the thick layer of moss that grew in patches on the slate, the inscription remained readable.

Derrick Hutchinson

Died May 23, 1890

Aged 24 years

“Why is there no birth date?”

“I guess the loggers who buried him didn’t know exactly when he was born.”

She ran her fingers over the chilly, damp stone. “No proper cemetery burial? No family?”

“I don’t know. I guess that information is lost to history.” Dutch backed a few feet away, a frown on his face, his arms folded.

“This really bothers you?”

He shrugged. “Naw.”

What a terrible liar. She grinned inwardly. “Dutch.” She stood and took his hand, pleased that he didn’t pull away. “Thank you for showing me the way out here.”

“No problem. It was a pleasure to meet you, Jade Clarence.” He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, sending her heart rate into a frenzy. The smile faded from his face as he released her. “I should get going.”

“Huh?”

“I assume you don’t want an audience.”

“I don’t mind, actually.”

He smiled, but the expression chilled her. His eyes seemed sad all of a sudden. “Sorry. I have someplace I need to go.” He paused. “Take care, Jade.”

“Okay, bye.” She turned away to avoid watching him leave. Why hadn’t he said something earlier about having plans? He hadn’t acted rushed. Maybe he didn’t really believe all her nonsense, after all.

Her heart sank, but she forced aside the disappointment and focused. Kneeling at the side of the grave, she set the flowers she’d picked at the base of the stone and set a rock on the stems to keep them in place.

“What are you doing?” Shock filled Dutch’s voice. He rejoined her and knelt, his brow furrowed.

“A grave out here all by itself is too lonely. The least I can do is leave him some flowers.”

He stared at her. “That’s…very thoughtful of you.”

She glanced back at the gravestone.
Let’s do this
. She spoke the Latin words to bind the spirit: “Requiescat in pace, Derrick Hutchinson.”

Dutch choked and collapsed, panting against the ground. His body jerked.

“Dutch! What’s wrong?” She reached out, but he faded before her eyes and vanished.

…

“What the hell?” Jade sat, alone, next to the old grave marker. Dutch’s brown shirt lay in the dirt where he’d fallen. She picked it up and brushed the pine needles away.

Still warm.

She turned back to the slate memorial. Derrick Hutchinson.

D. Hutchinson.

Dutch. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

Dutch is the spirit.
She held her head in her hands. What was going on here? He could have stopped her at any point since she had arrived. He’d called her family in the first place, for goodness’ sake.

Did he want to be exorcised?

“I was right, wasn’t I? You played puppeteer with the furniture to clear the motel. What were you trying to do, set up the need for an exorcism? Why would you do that?”

Dutch didn’t answer, of course. She had paralyzed him and bound him to his grave beneath her feet. Acid shot up her throat. The preternatural bindings couldn’t be reversed with words; they were meant to be a one-way street to an exorcism. However, they weakened in time. Strong spirits had broken free in the past when the exorcism had been interrupted or delayed. She just had to wait.

He must have been wearing only the pants and boots when he died if they dematerialized with him. Where had he gotten the shirt? She lifted the soft cotton to her face and inhaled his scent: faint cologne mixed with the fresh air from their walk and the natural essence of his skin.

She imagined curling up at his side under a blanket, turning her face into his hair, and breathing him in. Only minutes before, she’d wanted a dinner date, perhaps a little more. How long had it been since she’d enjoyed a simple walk and conversation so much?

She sat on the ground and leaned against the tree behind the grave. She held the shirt in her lap. Their morning together ran through her mind, every smile, every brush of his hand in slow motion.

He’s a ghost
. Jade shut her eyes and shook her head. She pulled a book from her bag and settled in to wait.

…

A rocking motion roused Jade from sleep. She’d fallen asleep? Groggy, she lifted her eyelids. Pitch blackness surrounded her, but so did warmth. “Dutch?”

He held her in his arms. Leaves crunched underfoot as he walked.

“Hello again.” His voice washed over her like a balm, but strain edged his tone. “I’m taking you back to your car.”

The brown shirt he’d worn earlier lay across her chest like a small blanket. Her head rested against his bare, warm chest and his heart beat steadily under her ear. She lifted a hand and pressed her fingers to the pulse point on his neck. “That’s unbelievable.”

“It’s an illusion,” he said, his voice toneless.

She lifted her face, trying to make out his expression in the dark. “You’re damned lucky you came back to question me about the flowers. If I hadn’t seen you disappear, I wouldn’t have realized—”

“I didn’t want you to know who I was. I called you here to perform an exorcism.”

“I was afraid of that.” She paused. “How did you make that call, anyway?”

“There’s a courtesy phone in the park office. I found out about your family in the first place while searching for exorcists on the computer on the desk. I haven’t had much to do over the years except watch people, so I know how to use modern technology for the most part. This was my first time in a car, though. Can’t say I enjoyed that very much.”

Dutch stepped onto the road, where moonlight glinted off her parked car. He set her on her feet. She held on to his shoulders and didn’t move away.

“We need to talk, but it’s late.” He lifted a hand to her arm. “You should go back and get warm.”

He vanished. His face inches from hers, gone. His hand on her arm, gone. A cold breeze kissed her skin. A second later, even though she stood alone by the car, a hint of warm air brushed her ear and cheek like a soft caress.

Dutch’s voice whispered, “Goodnight, Jade Clarence.”

“Dutch?” Jade stood by the car, still holding the brown shirt. Insects buzzed around her head. “Dutch, come back.”

And then his voice, gone.

“Fine, but you better come see me tomorrow. First thing.” She could summon him with an incantation and confront him now, but that’d cause him more pain. Observing Aaron during an exorcism one time, she’d witnessed a begging spirit describe being summoned as having a flaming noose around his neck. The poor creature had clawed at himself in a useless attempt to break free.

Chilled to her soul, she got in the car and headed back to the cabin. She showered and pulled a nightgown over her head. Her mind buzzed, churning over the day’s events, and her muscles were in knots. The clock chimed ten times, but how could she sleep when she was this tense?

She opened the long, black case that traveled everywhere with her and took out her viola, the scent of resin filling her nose. Her mind calmed the moment her fingers brushed the strings. Standing in the low light, she played from memory. Her musical hobby had kept her sane over the years, and the soothing activity didn’t disappoint this time, either.

She spent an hour in her own personal heaven, running her favorite solos one after another. The strings vibrated under her fingers and her chin.

Her heart rate slowed, her muscles relaxed, and her mind calmed. Tomorrow, she would figure this mess out.

The sharp ring of her phone interrupted the musical passage and her thoughts.

The screen on her phone displayed her little brother’s name.

“Hey, Jay,” Jeremy greeted her. “How’d it go? You didn’t call.”

“Sorry. It was…an unusual day.”

“Unusual?” Concern filled his voice. “What happened?”

She swallowed. “The spirit isn’t hostile.”

“Jay—”

“This is nothing like the barn spirit.”

Jeremy cursed. “But you didn’t perform the exorcism.”

“No.” She groaned internally. If only she could lie to her little brother. “I have to go. No one is in danger here and I’ll explain later. Bye.” She cut off his protest with the disconnect button.

Shit. Jeremy would have to tell Aaron. She muttered to herself, “This is not going to end well.”