Soldier of Love (5 page)

Toni felt the fabric of her dress brush upwards over her calves and watched her reflection in shocked fascination as the skirt rose—seemingly of its own accord—until it was pooled around her waist. She wore no underwear beneath her costume, and her ass was bare to the kitchen. The unseen hands passed over the outline of her curves, starting at the waist, smoothing downwards, then cupped her round ass. Cool fingers slid around her right side then groped at the fleshy mound between her thighs. The invisible touch kneaded and teased Toni’s hot, pulsing nether lips and she tried to push her pelvis forward and force the fingers inside her. She groaned in frustration when the hand returned to her hip. Toni moaned, reached between her legs and massaged her clit. The hard shaft pressed into Toni’s right ass cheek. He was rubbing it up and down against her soft flesh. Her pussy was dripping wet and hungered to be filled. He shifted to the left and she thought for a moment he would enter her.

Toni teased her own slick pearl as his erection teased her from behind. She held her breath as the hard rod slid from her right ass cheek, into the valley and up the left side. He relentlessly repeated the motion until Toni breathed out, “Please!” On the next foray, he jammed himself between her buttocks, the head of his cock resting on her tailbone. Toni tried to spread her legs wider, to encourage him to enter her but she seemed bound. She could only make small movements forward and back and she jerked her hips in staccato thrusts. He abruptly pulled back, then thrust into the divide of her thighs. The top of the shaft slid over the cleft of her pussy lips as he pumped. Toni struggled to open her legs so he would penetrate her. A crushing force kept her legs pressed together while the ghost roughly fucked the tight tunnel of flesh.

Her wet sex was grazed again and again by the tantalising rod while she rubbed tight, frantic circles on her clit. She glanced at the reflection again. She saw only an image of herself masturbating. But she could feel him! She could feel his hardness stroking her thighs. She wished she could spread her legs to signal to him that she wanted to feel that cock inside her. She could feel in delicious detail his left hand moving to her heavy breast while his right continued to pull her back into him. Toni felt the first hint of an orgasm and closed her eyes. She frantically massaged her clit and concentrated on the maddening tease of the ghostly cock tantalising the outer limits of her pussy. Even without his penetration, she was hurtling towards climax.

“Yes. Please. Don’t stop!”

He stopped.

Toni could no longer feel him. The smell of campfire and gun smoke was gone. Her skirt slid back over her hips and thighs until it hung down evenly around her ankles.

As she straightened up, Toni glanced out of the window over the sink and saw an unfamiliar vehicle pull into the drive. She turned and scanned the kitchen. It was completely empty. Everything was in its place. The dishes were draining in the rack. The sink was still slick from the dishwater it had held just minutes ago. The damp towel was folded neatly over the rod.

Before she went to the parlour, Toni put her fingers to her face. She could smell her musky sweetness on her fingertips. Her belly knotted. Had she imagined it all? Was she going to subject herself to scrutiny—via international television broadcast—only to have the “experts” conclude she was a delusional schizophrenic? Toni supposed anyone who’d known her six months ago would have agreed with such a diagnosis. On paper her behaviour had seemed completely irrational. She’d chucked everything—a three-year relationship, an obscenely inflated salary, a posh condo, a designer wardrobe, and a shiny red sports car—for an imaginary fuck buddy, an anaemic bank account, a rundown bed-and-breakfast, a closetful of neck-to-ankle calico dresses and a broken-down pickup truck.

Toni was overcome with regret at calling the Paranormal Research Team. She began to wonder if it was too late to cancel when her question was answered by the sound of a honking horn.

“Well, shit,” she muttered, realising it was, indeed, too late to back out now.

Toni stood on the front porch wishing she had changed out of her Civil War-era costume and into jeans and a blouse—something less insane-looking. The thick columns supporting the porch overhang were rotted at the bases and weather-beaten overall. She’d yet to address the overgrown front garden and the wooden steps were drooping to one side at a crazy angle.

Toni watched the team pile out of the SUV. She recognised each of them from the TV show—tall, broad-shouldered host, stunning redheaded assistant, thin, nerdy camera guy. They all glanced at her, then scanned the front of the inn. Their efforts to maintain poker faces were admirable, but it was clear to Toni that they thought she was nuts. They’d be crazy not to.

The host jerked his head from side to side as if relieving stress kinks, while the redhead trailed behind, clipboard in hand. The host forced a smile as he approached. He extended his right hand.

“Toni? Hi. I’m Thomas.”

Toni accepted the handshake. She concentrated on appearing sane. He was gorgeous! His small-screen appearance was pleasing, but up close and in person one could fully appreciate his attractiveness. On camera the team spent so much time in dimmed rooms, or lit only by night-vision cameras, the reality of his green eyes were lost. His smile—forced as it might be—was broad, with white even teeth framed by full, Cupid’s bow lips.

“This is Bridget,” he said, nodding to the redhead, “and that’s Brad,” he added, motioning to the man wrestling equipment from the vehicle.

Toni wished she’d flat-ironed her hair, curled her lashes, and put on something that didn’t scream 1864. She realised that she had a death grip on his hand when he raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat.

Toni snatched her hand away.

“Please, come in,” she managed.

Brad slung a video camera onto his shoulder, dropped a small gadget into his pocket and deposited the rest of his equipment in the foyer. The three followed Toni into the parlour and each found a seat on the formal furniture. While Brad watched through his camera lens, Bridget read dispassionately from her notes, reviewing the odd activity that Toni had reported over the phone to the show’s producer. Thomas seemed to struggle against boredom and disdain. Toni folded her hands in her lap and tried to sit still. She felt like an insect under a magnifying glass, and Thomas looked like he despised insects.

Bridget’s questions were succinct and she recorded Toni’s answers on her clipboard, even though Brad was filming every word. Thomas sat back in the wingchair opposite Bridget. His cell phone was lying on his knee and he stole surreptitious glances at the screen. There was a long silence and Toni saw Bridget staring at Thomas. He was sliding his finger over the tiny screen on his leg.

Toni pulled her lower lip through her teeth. She was gathering up the courage to tell her strange guests that she’d been wrong to summon them, then—as politely as possible—to show them the door. Mercifully, Bridget broke the silence before Toni was forced to prove herself an ungracious hostess.

“Brad, what have you got?” the redhead asked.

The thin man set his camera on the end table and fished in his pocket. He produced an object the size of a small calculator and held it out at arm’s length. He paused a moment, squinting at the screen, then glanced up at Bridget. Toni saw his eyebrows rise. He passed the gadget to the redhead, then picked up his camera and pointed it at her. Bridget looked at the small blinking piece of equipment. Her forehead wrinkled. She stood and held out the device towards the centre of the room. She turned towards Brad. Toni followed her gaze.

Brad’s eye did not move from the viewfinder. He raised his free hand and formed it into a thumbs up. Bridget noted the signal, then looked into the lens.

“We’re in the parlour of Buckman Inn, a bed-and-breakfast catering to Civil War re-enactors in the tiny town of Soldiers Orchard. It’s late October and we’ve come here at the request of innkeeper Toni Bianchi.”

Toni turned from Bridget to Brad, expecting the camera to swing in her direction. Brad’s camera remained trained on Bridget.

“The subject has been briefing us on alleged paranormal activity on the premises.”

Bridget held the device towards the camera and Brad stepped forward to bring it into frame.

“The EMF meter is going gonzo!”

Brad took two smooth steps backwards, then dropped to one knee. Bridget turned the meter towards her, regarded it, then peered back into the camera.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, and this is the highest reading I’ve ever seen. I have no doubt that the Buckman Inn holds many secrets. It’s our job to unlock them.”

Bridget stared into the camera for a long moment.

“And, cut,” Brad said, before dropping the camera to his side.

Bridget broke her pose, then walked over to Brad.

“Is this right?”

Toni watched Brad’s Adams apple slide down and up his long, skinny throat. He nodded.

“What the fuck?” Bridget whispered.

Brad nodded.

Thomas looked up from his cell phone.

“What’s up?”

Bridget turned the EMF meter towards the host. Thomas rose slowly to his feet and took the meter from Bridget. He studied the screen, then handed it back to Brad.

“This can’t be right. Get the spare.”

Brad loped to the foyer and returned with a black canvas duffel bag. He rummaged through the pockets until he’d found an identical device. He slid a switch on the side and a series of lights flashed. He passed it to the host. Thomas stared at the screen, then turned to Bridget and Brad.

“No shit?” he asked.

“No shit,” the two replied in unison.

“What is it?” Toni asked.

Brad walked over to Toni and swivelled until they were shoulder to shoulder. He switched off the gadget and paused a moment while Bridget gathered up the camera, adjusted it on her shoulder, then gave a thumbs up. Brad turned the meter so Toni could see. He seemed suddenly unaware of the video camera pointing at him.

“Ask me again,” he said quietly.

“What is it?” Toni repeated.

“Right. So, this is an EMF meter. It detects electromagnetic fields.” Brad pointed to an arc of tiny lights on the face of the meter near the top. “This series of lights indicates both electric and magnetic fields.” He traced two diagonal lines of lights, which met at the bottom of the meter’s face to form a V. “So, the right line measures electric fields and, you probably guessed, the left one measures magnetic.”

Brad turned and glanced at Toni as if to gauge her understanding. She nodded and he continued, “Um, yeah, so the normal range—you know, from stuff like electrical wiring, appliances, TVs, and that type of thing—well, you’d expect to see only these lights lit up.” He tapped on the far bottom of the V and the far left of the arc. “But when we scan this place…well, look.”

Brad switched on the gadget and held it out at arm’s length towards the centre of the room. The front of the meter lit up like a Christmas tree. The lights on the arc raced right, then left then right again before they all remained illuminated. The lights of the V reacted the same way. Toni watched the display for a moment. When it was clear that every light was going to keep on glowing, she turned to Brad. Toni had been in her high-school productions of Bye, Bye, Birdie, Nicholas Nickleby, and Auntie Mame, so she was no stranger to acting. She pulled back her shoulders, ever so slightly, and made sure that a bit more than half of her face was towards the camera.

“So, what does it mean?” Toni asked.

Thomas didn’t give his cameraman a chance to answer. He crossed to where the two stood, took the meter from Brad and laid his broad hand on Toni’s shoulder. When she shivered in response, it was not for the camera’s benefit. Toni could see in her periphery that Brad had slid unobtrusively out of the frame. She kept her gaze fixed on Thomas. The handsome host turned a flattering angle towards the camera, all the while staring at Toni.

His voice took on an ominous tone. “I’m afraid, Miss Bianchi…may I call you Toni?”

Toni nodded. She was actually a bit embarrassed by her physical reaction to Thomas’ touch and stare.

“I’m afraid, Toni, that these EMF meter readings can mean only one of two things. Either this inn is built over a nuclear reactor, or”—Toni’s attention remained fixed on Thomas as he turned to face the camera—“or you’re living with one hell of an energetic ghost.”

Thomas held his stare for a couple of beats then said, “Cut!”

He dropped his hand from Toni’s shoulder and rushed over to Bridget.

“Oh my god! Did you get that?” he asked.

Bridget just nodded.

Thomas turned back to Toni.

“Toni, that was
great
! Incredible! That’s some of the best prelim footage we’ve ever gotten. You were just amazing!”

Toni was bowled over by the sudden shift in energy.

“Uh, okay. Thanks?” she muttered.

Thomas gathered up her hands in his. “No, really, Toni, that was great. You’re going to help Paranormal Research Team go out on a high note.”

Toni scrunched up her forehead. Go out? She looked at Bridget. A flash of concern crossed the redhead’s flawless face before she quickly regained her composure. Bridget seemed to force a breezy smile then snatched up her clipboard from the threadbare settee.

“Toni, why don’t you show us around?”

* * * *

Toni and the team gathered in the cavernous kitchen. After the mysterious exchange in the parlour, Brad had sprinted to the truck and returned with a fresh collection of equipment. He quickly turned the kitchen into an impromptu production studio. He arranged a series of lights on metal stands—some with white, umbrella-shaped diffusers—and a large camera attached to a long, diagonal arm. Toni showed him the television, remote control and cordless phone. She tried to stay out of the way while Brad tested the levels with a light meter and made miniscule adjustments to the tripods.

Thomas had been sitting at the long, farmhouse table in the centre of the room. At Brad’s cue he stood and crossed to the sink. Brad held the meter up to Thomas’ face, tilted one of the diffusers a fraction of a degree, re-metered Thomas’ face, then nodded. “Lights,” Brad said then positioned himself behind the big camera and gave Thomas the thumbs up.