Harrison Investigations 1 Haunted (30 page)

Then he turned to her, wrapping his arms around her and tilting
her chin upward. "If anything happened to you..." he breathed.

"Nothing will happen to me."

"How can you be so damned certain?"

"Matt!" she stared up at him, drawing her fingers through his
hair. "I know what I'm doing, honestly. And you mock me, you don't
believe any of it, so why..."

"I have a feeling," he said, and mockery sounded in his voice,
bitterness against himself, "I have a feeling. One of your fucking
intuitions, if you want. I have a feeling, and the feeling is fear.
Darcy, you should just let this go!" She didn't have a chance to
answer, because once again, it seemed, the desperate need to meld
together swept over him, and his mouth crushed down on hers, almost
violently, but it didn't matter. His hands were on her
shoulders, still a little rough, the white gown that might
have belonged to the spirit fell from her body to the floor, and
she felt the fire and ice of his heat and the room's coolness, and
she found her own hands on his chest, found that she was pressing
him back until they both fell on the bed and she was in a fever to
touch and kiss every inch of his length, sinking into the heat,
into the fire, into the need which had become stronger than any
sensation which had ever touched her before, in either the physical
or metaphysical sense. Insanity might have even created the
depths of the hunger just to touch, the knowledge that there was so
much hostility between them, in all that their thoughts ranged in
such disparate patterns. His flesh was vibrant with life, a
heartbeat pulsing against her lips wherever they fell. His
fingers ravaged her hair as she moved against him, and his whispers
were hoarse and taut and curt, sound, shadow, light, anger, need,
determination, all creating the most vital sense of arousal. She
dragged the length of her body against him, fingers, lips, tongue,
a starting point, an ending point, and a need, somehow, to make him
realize that she was a part of him, within him, burned against him,
never to be forgotten. He swept her beneath him with a surge of
power that caught her breath, thrust into her with raw and vivid
drive and emotion, and seemed to take her flying into a world of
heat, of dampness, where everything physical, the scent of
him, the feel of his arms, brush of his palm, ragged, searing,
movement, cotton of the sheets, seemed extravagantly wild and real,
and still, somewhere else, she was soaring, and the ecstasy for
which they arched and pounded was far beyond earthly pleasure. The
world exploded and rocked, and she felt the depth of him like fire
and steel inside her, and a slow withering that remained, for they
were loathe to part from one another. And yet, all in the same
moment, she found herself thinking of the dream, of the
near-desperate passion that had ranged between the two....

And then, how the man had killed the woman.

Chilled, she almost threw him off her.

She closed her eyes, fighting the sudden wave of recall.
This was Matt. She had lived a past life, seen murder, and
the memories lingered, and still...

All that anger. All that passion. All that hatred.

"Darcy?"

"Matt." She lowered her head against him, chin against his
cheek, not wanting him to see her eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

His knuckles brushed down the side of her face. Feather-light.
Erotic, sweet, tender. Her breath caught again. The lightest
movement caused a quickening in her.

"Everything is right," she murmured.

His arms tightened around her. She was startled when he said,
"I'm afraid now, when I leave you alone."

"Matt, I can take care of myself."

"Then why am I so afraid?"

"You don't trust in me."

"Maybe I do. More than I imagine. And maybe that's why I'm so
afraid."

"There is a ghost, Matt." She was quiet for a minute. The
thought of the violence done in this room, in this bed, still
haunted her. She fought the memories. This was Matt.

"You scare me, Darcy."

Tonight, for a moment, you terrified me,
Darcy
thought.

"Some things never can be," she said flatly. "But I'm glad I've
known you."

"Darcy-''

"Please, let's not talk. Not tonight. Just hold me."

"Trust me. I'll be here. Holding you. Until I've gotten you out
of this house," he said, his tone harsh, hoarse, and
determined.

But his touch belied his tone.

A touch, a whisper, a breeze.

As seductive as a dream.

And yet, later, as she moved against him, she found herself
asking, "Matt...did you follow me out as far as the
smokehouse?"

She thought that it took him a while to answer.

"No. When I reached the porch, you came flying into me.
Why?"

"I just wondered," she lied.

He didn't say anything more.

She lay awake, absurdly afraid to sleep, afraid that the dream
would return, and that it would be relived....

All that passion. All mat hatred.

She would be the woman.

And he would be the killer.

Somewhere in the wee hours, she slept, and she did not dream.
When she woke, Matt was gone. The hour was still early.

Darcy rose, showered, dressed quickly, and hurried down the
stairs. She was in time. Matt was at the breakfast table along with
Penny, Clint, Carter, and Adam. Clara Issy saw her, smiled, and
poured her a cup of coffee.

"You're still sleeping in that awful room?" Clara said.

"It's actually a beautiful room," Darcy said.

Clara sniffed. "Anything eventful happening in it?"

Darcy looked at her for a moment, praying that Matt wouldn't say
anything, and that her cheeks wouldn't flood to a brilliant
red.

"There is a ghost there," she said, "and we'll understand
her problem soon enough."

"Tell her to quit hitting people!" Clara said.

"I'll try," Darcy assured her.

"We're burying the skull in the churchyard today," Penny said.
"Poor Amy! At one this afternoon, she'll be all together again.
Well, in a way. One ghost down. But then, this place is riddled
with ghosts, really, right, Adam?"

Adam set his coffee cup down. "Benign ghosts. Some aren't
miserable, you see. They linger because a place meant something to
them. And only those with truly acute senses ever know that they're
about. So...actually," he said, and paused, winking at Penny, "some
should be more than welcome to remain."

"Do you think they ever party together?'' Carter mused.

"The ghosts?" Clint said.

"Well, I was wondering, if they all haunt the place, do they
become friends? And do they talk to one another? Like, 'Hey, Beau,
you there, Civil War guy? You spook out the parlor today and I'll
take the upstairs rooms?' Whoops, sorry, Adam," Carter apologized.
"I know how serious this is to you."

"Maybe they do correspond. I don't really know," Adam said,
hiding a smile.

"Hey, I wonder if any of them can beat Darcy at pool," Clint
said, smiling at Darcy. "Boy, kid," he told her. "Can you play
pool."

"Thanks." She was grateful. It seemed that he was trying
to take the attention away from a subject that always turned
uncomfortable when Matt was in the room.

"I have to admit, I was amazed," Carter told her. "Who knew?
She's gorgeous, she sees the future and she's a pool shark!"

"I like the game," Darcy said, sliding into her seat.

"You should play Matt. He's the best," Penny said.

Matt set his napkin on the table. "We'll have a tournament
one day," he said, rising. "I've got to run into the office. I'll
see you all at the church. And Penny, please tell me you didn't
call every newspaper in the state."

"No, Matt, I didn't," Penny said.

"See you there," Matt said, waved a hand, and left them.

"I only called a few of the newspapers," Penny said softly when
he was gone.

"Penny, Penny, Penny!" Carter chastised.

"They weren't that interested, I'm afraid," Penny said. "Except
for the obnoxious guy that Matt already hates. And Jason Johnstone,
of course, will do a piece. But the town will be gearing up. The
reenactment of Stone Gorge is this Saturday. Carter, are you taking
part in that?"

"Definitely," Carter said.

"A battle reenactment?" Adam said with interest.

"I'm not so sure it was a battle. It was a major fight, not like
Spotsylvania or the Wilderness. But there was cavalry
involved, and a few companies, North and South, fought a desperate
battle for a little hillock on the water, just off the main road.
This year, the anniversary falls on Saturday, and the land is
available-privately owned, but rented out to a living history
company-and so people are very excited about it The Wayside Inn is
completely booked for the weekend, as is everything near here. It's
great fun."

"And educational for the kids," Penny approved.

Carter grinned at Penny. "Wow. She likes me."

"Silly boy," Penny said.

"That does sound interesting," Darcy said. "Where do we go to
watch?''

"The main road, just the other side of the forest. Clint and I
will take you around. Clint has agreed to be a private in my
company this year. We're short a few fellows."

"Yeah, they're all dying off," Clint said.

"So, we had a few old geezers. Armchair history buffs who have
gone on to that great battle in the sky. It's still living history,
and pretty cool," Carter said.

"Yes, and I agreed to join your company," Clint said. He stood.
"One o'clock for the skull burial, huh? Adam, mind if we take your
car? We can all go together that way. That Navigator is great."

"Sure," Adam said.

"Where are you off to?'' Penny asked him.

"I'm a busy man, Penny-I've just had you fooled all these
years," Clint told her.

"I've got work to do, too," Carter said. "We'll meet in the
foyer, say twelve-thirty?"

They all nodded agreement. Both Carter and Clint started to
leave. Penny cleared her throat, causing them to pause.

"Dishes. Kitchen," Penny said.

"Yes, ma'am!" Clint said quickly, saluting her with precision,
as if he were practicing for the battle to come.

Darcy leapt to her feet, anxious to get Adam to herself. She
picked up her own plate, and a number of the serving platters,
telling Adam, "Meet me in the Lee Room."

Within fifteen minutes, they had extricated themselves from
Penny and me kitchen and were sitting together in the Lee Room.

"I saw it all the way through, Adam, last night."

"Good. So...?" He moved around the room, hunkering down, picking
up the plug to the video, which was not in the outlet. "You decided
not to tape?"

"The plugs came out after the dream. We might have something on
the video."

"Tell me about it first," Adam advised, taking the chair in
front of the secretary.

"I've been in it from both sides," she said, "that of the
victim, and that of the killer. I've felt their emotions, but I
haven't seen their faces. Not clearly. But in life, they were very
hot and heavy lovers. Then something went wrong. I think that the
man did care about the woman, or, at the least, he was absolutely
sexually fascinated with her. When he arrived at me house, he was
contemplating murder. He arrived, she saw him, they
struggled...and he almost stopped. But she had been angry
when she'd been in the house alone. Angry, and writing something at
the secretary. The murder may have been averted by lust, but
then he saw what she had written. And then killed her. Here, on the
bed. He had brought a strap of leather with him, but he wound up
doing the deed by hand."

"So, we still don't know who, but we do know what," Adam
said.

Darcy hesitated. "The ghost beckoned to me after that. She led
me out of the room, down the stairs, and outside. I got as far as
the smokehouse. Then she disappeared."

Adam was silent for a minute. "We'll have to get Matt's
permission to do some digging. And," he added, wagging a finger at
her, "we're going to have to set a few parameters for you,
Darcy. You're telling me that you followed the ghost down the
stairs-and outside?''

She hesitated, then nodded.

"But you didn't think to get me?"

"Adam, I would have lost her."

He shook his head. "I'm right down the hall. I should have heard
you leaving.''

"It was all right." She hesitated. "Matt came out."

"Good."

"Adam, there was something more. At the smokehouse, when the
ghost disappeared, she didn't slip into a wall or anything. She
just...faded. And I felt her sense of fear. Then...I saw a shadow.
The shadow of a man, as if he were following, too, but lost her at
the smokehouse as well. Either that, or..."

"Or?" Adam demanded.

"He was following me," Darcy said flatly.

"This shadow was ethereal-or real?''

"I don't know. Yes, maybe, real. Because I heard
footsteps. I felt...stalked."

"So?" Adam prodded.

"I ran."

"To the house?"

"To the porch. That's where I ran into Matt."

"Are you certain that Matt wasn't the one who had followed
you out? Maybe he came partway to the smokehouse, then turned
back," Adam suggested.

"He said that he wasn't out there," Darcy told Adam.

"You don't sound certain."

"I am certain-I think," Darcy said, causing him to smile. "Adam,
how well do you know Matt? You were friends with his grandfather,
right?"

He smiled. "Yes." Then he looked a little sheepish. "Once upon a
time, Darcy, I was fascinated by history to the extent that I
joined a reenacting group. A Pennsylvania group, of course. I was
Yankee. Captain of a company that was involved in the skirmish
here, at Stoneyville. I met Matt's granddad then. We would spend
long nights on the porch, talking about 'what ifs.' He didn't have
a strong belief in the occult or ghosts, but he was willing to
admit that things happened in his old place that he couldn't quite
explain. But nothing bad. Never anything that could be construed as
dangerous. There were lots of stories about guests seeing a Civil
War soldier in the parlor. Now and then, a door would open and
close. There would be a chill in the room. He didn't believe that
anything ever happened in the house that couldn't be explained. As
in the one woman who was certain she had seen a soldier probably
did see one. It was this time of year, and lots of folks were
preparing for the annual reenactment. And the cold...well, it's an
old place. There are drafts. As to the doors opening and closing,
it might have been the wind as well. So he enjoyed the stories, but
didn't feel that the place was in any way haunted."