Haunted (59 page)

"Lizzie's still in there," she said normally. "In the house. All the others, the ones Christabel had trapped, they left. But Lizzie didn't."

"I think she was waiting for us," David said.

"Then why didn't she leave when we did?" Melanie asked in that same soft, sad voice. "She stayed on the veranda."

"I don't know. Maybe she's gone now. Maybe she's got unfinished business."

"It's cold out here," Melanie said, moving closer to him. He slipped his arm around her. "Do you think Lizzie and her captain will find each other now?" A cool breeze eddied around them, fluffing Melanie's hair and tickling his ears.

"I hope so." As he spoke, he turned to face her, determined to ask his question at last; that she had moved closer to him and now cuddled into his arm, gave him the courage. But he stopped short as he detected a vague movement of shadows against the pale lighthouse wall. "Look," he whispered.

She followed his gaze. "What is it?" she murmured.

"I think it's the answer to your question." He took her hand, and as they walked slowly toward the tower, he knew he was right. Drawing nearer, he could see the shadows take on form, but no substance. The spirits of the long-lost lovers stood facing one another. Ezra Wilder, free now of Christabel's curse, had lost the solidity he'd acquired when his doll was broken.

"Dear God," Melanie whispered. "She was waiting for us to leave so she could find her captain. Do you think we should leave? They probably want privacy."

"No," David said. "Let's wait a moment."

They halted a few feet from the spirits, who were caught up in one another, and seemed unaware of them.

Lizzie, the green of her dress barely discernable in the dim gray light of dawn, tilted her face toward her captain and, slowly, Ezra lifted his hand to touch her cheek.

But his fingers merely brushed through her image. Her face sad, Lizzie tried to take his hand, but neither one could seem to touch the other. Longingly, they gazed at one another.

"David?" Melanie murmured. "Do you think we could--"

"Yes. Come on."

Hand in hand, they approached the ghostly lovers. The spirits, lost in their own world, didn't seem aware of them until Melanie reached out to Lizzie, letting her fingers drift into the cool, ghostly energy. The spirits studied them for a long moment, then looked back at one another. Ezra smiled gently at the luminous face of his beloved.

And then they joined with the living couple and, as Ezra slipped into his body and mind like a cool sea breeze, David felt hot tears of joy, his own and the captain's, spring to his eyes.

Slowly, he lifted his hand to touch Melanie's radiant face, marveling anew at the feel of her soft, smooth skin, then bending to kiss away the hot tear that fled down her cheek. Mingled images shot through his brain, memories of himself and Melanie in other times, and the captain's memories of Lizzie, clothed in different times and places, yet identical in their joy and longing. In their love.

Trembling, he moved his lips to hers and, as they embraced, all thought fell away in a fire of emotion, in a blaze of love requited. Eighty years or a few months, they felt the same bittersweet, rapturous joy.

At last, David sensed that the captain was ready to depart. He and Melanie parted, though they still held hands and, as the spirits moved away from them, the living couple· stared into one another's eyes, speaking without words, as they had done so often in times past.

A swirl of lavender drew their attention and they turned to see Lizzie Baudey and Ezra Wilder watching them with pleasure on their faces and, as he drew Melanie closer to him, he knew that he and Melanie had been Lizzie's unfinished business.

Lizzie and Ezra's time on earth was complete now, and as he watched them, they became more and more transparent, fading away until they were only flickers. It seemed sad, in a way, to see them go, though there was only joy on their faces as they disappeared.

The first low rays of sunlight were shooting through the pines near the lighthouse as David turned to Melanie, pulling her closer and looking into her emerald eyes. "I once found my one true love," he told her softly, "but I didn't know it. I was foolish and I lost her."

She brushed a lock of hair from his eyes then ran her finger down over his cheek and across his lips. "Funny," she said, just before he kissed her, "the same thing happened to me."

Tamara Thorne has collected ghost stories, true and fictional, since she saw her first Twilight Zone as a tot, and continues to this day. In addition to writing novels and stories of the paranormal, she also writes non-fiction and is an active ghost hunter. She makes her home in southern California with her husband and their feline family and when she’s not writing, can be found haunting ghost towns, phantom-filled hotel rooms, and other spooky places.  Tamara loves to hear from her readers. Whether you have questions or comments or would like to share your own ghostly experience,

TamaraThorne.com

For John Scognamiglio--

Nobody does it better

Jared Anderson, G. J. Phoenix, and Jennifer German: I couldn't have done it without you. Thank you for your friendship and your help!
 

Acknowledgements:

An odd lot of thanks are in order here. First, thanks to my keepers, Kay and John, for moral and immoral support. It wouldn't be any fun without you two.

Much of the inspiration for certain aspects of this book came from late-night bar bitching, so cheers to bar buddies Craig, Matt, Rick, Lisa, Nancy, Ginjer, Chris, and Charlie.

Thanks to Kevin Shrock, M.D., for answering my blood-soaked questions. Leaps of logic should be blamed on the author, not the doctor.

Last but not least, thank you to the man who puts the Pismo in Pismo Beach, my darling Damien, explorer of caverns and grottos, keeper of the fire down below.