The Crossover (17 page)

The phone was sleek and ultra-thin. I was impressed, until I saw the sticker.

“Wow, that’s almost five hundred dollars in US money,” I said.

The assistant wasn’t finished with her spiel.

“Well, the phone has some amazing features. You can take pictures underwater, you can record conversations, and calls to the US and Canada are free for one year if you buy today.”

While the three of us were checking out this high tech phone the assistant pressed a couple of buttons and played back the last few minutes of the sales pitch. The clarity was amazing.

“Wow, that’s cool,” I said.

Jo had wandered off and found a cheaper pay-as-you-go phone.

“This is more my style. It’s a
Samsung.”

Monet took charge.

“In that case, we will have both,” Monet said as she presented her
VISA.

“Babe, what are you doing?” I asked.

“Honey, we have five grand to spend remember? Compliments of Ms. Deveraux. I am getting you the
Nokia
because it has unlimited calls to the States for a year. I’m getting the
Samsung
for Jo.”

Jo was very appreciative of Monet’s generosity. After we left the phone store the girls went shopping for Jo’s makeover. I wandered into the
Thomas Cook
travel store for some advice on sightseeing.

I browsed most of the brochures but the packages were mostly cruises and holiday packages. I wanted something a little more local.

The sale rep gave me an excellent suggestion.

“If you’re looking for something close by then you might consider Stonehenge in Wiltshire.”

Stonehenge is a mysterious boulder formation that predates Christ by over 3,000 years. I had seen it on the
Discovery Channel
years back but had forgotten the backstory.

“Stonehenge is one of the great wonders of the world. Some researchers say that it is a burial ground for the elite. Others say aliens put the boulders there. Some swear it’s haunted by a young boy.”

I was fascinated by the folklore behind Stonehenge and I calculated I could get there inside three hours. Monet explicitly told me she wanted to see more than the four walls of my bedroom. Stonehenge was my answer.

I met Monet and Jo at
Pizza Express
for lunch and we headed home from there. On the way home I kept thinking about making love to Monet. I couldn’t wait to see Jo off and disappear for a few days with Monet. Unfortunately, there were more pressing issues at hand. When we arrived home Monet and Jo bolted to Jo’s house to begin the makeover.

To say I was disappointed was an understatement. I went upstairs to write a few more chapters in my latest book featuring Monet. Before long, I realized that two hours had passed. I called Jo’s landline. There was no answer so I walked over to her house to see what was taking so long. I knocked on the front door.

“Hi, I’m the next door neighbor. I’m looking for Jo.”

“Clay, it’s me, Jo.”

“Wow!”

I
hope you aren’t mad because I wanted to see some sights before we made love. You do know why, right?” Monet said.

“I know. The Johnny Gill concert right?”

In 1991, Monet surprised me with tickets to see Johnny Gill in concert. Ten minutes before departure time we decided to squeeze a quickie in. That quickie lasted two whole days and we missed seeing our favorite R&B artist. The venue was on base less than fifteen minutes away.

“So where are you taking me, Clay?”

“To see one of the world’s wonders. I haven’t been myself so it will be a treat for me as well.”

“Clay, you haven’t said a word about the new Jo. She looks stunning doesn’t she?”

I turned the radio down and gave Monet a suspicious look.

“My dad never commented on another woman’s looks in front of my mom. Is this a trick question?”

“Clay, I spent a lot of time and effort with Jo’s makeover. You are complimenting my work, not her personally. She’s beautiful isn’t she?”

“Okay. Yes, you did a great job with Jo. I didn’t recognize her when she answered the door. The transformation was extraordinary. I’m sure she won’t have a problem finding dates online.”

That was an understatement; Jo was now in a league of her own. But more important than her new look was the look on her face. She was happy. My sister was happy.

Monet brought the Huntingdon local paper to read on the way. She read the headlines aloud.

“Parking Fines Soar.
Wow, it really must be a slow day at the office when your headlines talk about parking fines. It’s nice to know that the crime rate is low, especially if I get a job here.”

I opened up to Monet about the recent killing spree in London. I also told her I might get my shot at hypnotizing a survivor. Although she was happy for me she was unnerved about some lunatic targeting women and taking their lives.

It was getting dark and my Sat Nav was on crack giving me bogus directions. I decided to find a nice B&B, have a meal and head out to Stonehenge in the morning.

“Welcome to the
George Hotel.
Do you have a reservation?”

“No, ma’am, we are just passing through. Do you have any vacancies?”

Monet was still excited about the cobblestone pathway that led to this cozy manor house. Monet wandered off and stared at the dated, framed pictures on the wall.

“How old is this place?” Monet asked.

The young receptionist was eager to comment on the history of the manor house. Her name was Jenny.

“This was once owned by the Lord Protector Oliver Cromwell in the mid-1600s. He bought this place for his daughter Mary but she never resided here. The home was placed in the care of Lady Margaret and she looked after it until she died in the late 1600s. That’s her picture on the end.”

Lady Margaret looked beautiful in her day and her eyes followed you from all angles, kinda like the Mona Lisa. She had long, flowing, jet black hair and wore a gold locket around her neck.

“We have loads of available rooms.”

“We’ll take the most expensive room,” Monet said as she approached the counter.

The receptionist did a stutter step.

“Are you reporters?” asked the receptionist?

Monet and I were confused by her remark.

When Monet signed the credit card receipt she noticed the room we selected was twice as expensive as the rest. There were no extra amenities and I couldn’t see the extra value for money. I didn’t want to sound too money conscious in front of Monet so I remained silent.

The room looked like it belonged in the 1600s. Candle holders were mounted on either side of the large canopy bed. It had period furniture which looked very authentic. I looked out the window and there was a small cemetery out back which gave me the creeps. The wind blew leaves across the headstones. I quickly drew the curtains. The room had an eerie feel to it. It almost felt like we were trespassing.

“I wonder why she asked if we were reporters?” I asked Monet as we unzipped our suitcases on the bed.

“I don’t know, honey, but I think I know where we’re going in the morning,” Monet said.

“So you’re psychic now? Tell me.”

“Stonehenge. I saw the sign 40 miles to Stonehenge just before the last exit. Clay, speaking of psychics. Did you ever figure out the message Winnie relayed from your dad?”

“No, I’m still scratching my head on that one. What could
Hold up the light
possibly mean?”

Monet felt an instant chill and I could see her breath. I searched high and low for a thermostat but I couldn’t find one. Monet began to shiver so I decided to go downstairs to ask about the heat.

Jenny assured me there was central heating. She accompanied me upstairs to our suite at the end of the long corridor.

As we approached the suite we could see our breath. I walked in first and the smell of pungent perfume was prevalent.

“Baby, easy on the perfume. I can smell it from outside.”

Monet was sitting on the bed with her back toward me. She was hunched over sobbing.

I told Jenny to wait at the door while I checked on Monet. I sat next to Monet and put my arm around her. She seemed distressed.

“Baby, tell me what’s wrong. What happened, sweetheart?”

It took a while for Monet to gain her composure. Jenny entered the room and offered Monet
Kleenex.
She sat on the other side of Monet.

“Clay, she was here. I saw her,” Monet revealed.

Jenny stood and asked Monet one question.

“Did she sing to you?”

Monet nodded in between sniffles.

“Yes, it was beautiful,” Monet replied.

Somewhere logic got lost in the conversation and it was frustrating as hell.

“Timeout, timeout. Who was here?”

In a very caring tone, Jenny explained.

“Mr. Thompson, Lady Margaret was here. This was her room. We routinely rent this room out to reporters who are doing a paranormal documentary. Last year she appeared during a ghost walk outside near the cemetery. She sang a few high pitched notes before vanishing into the fog. Lady Margaret is great for business.”

Monet calmed down. Her tears were not from fear they were tears of joy.

“Clay, I wasn’t scared. She sat next to me on the bed. She was white all over but her eyes were hollow. I couldn’t see them. She smiled at me. Then she sang the most beautiful song I’d ever heard. Her voice was angelic. Then she vanished moments before you walked in.”

If Monet wasn’t so serious I would’ve thought the whole thing was a joke.

“Maybe jetlag is kicking in and you were hallucinating?”

“Mr. Thompson, I know Americans struggle with the concept of spirits but here in England it’s nothing new to us. Most English folk believe,” Jenny commented with authority.

Monet interjected.

“Where I come from we have a haunted library. We call her the Grey Lady.”

I was at the end of my tether.

“Just in case nobody noticed, we are having a real conversation about ghosts and spirits. Monet, how about we find a ghost-free B&B, somewhere else?”

“No, we are staying right here. I’m not going.”

Jenny sensed an imminent conflict so she excused herself and returned to the front desk.

“Honey, you said you saw a ghost. I think that’s a sign and not a good one.”

“Clay, I have just one regret. I regret not hearing her song all the way to the end.”

I walked to the window and poked my head behind the curtains, the wind was howling. I saw the headstones below and quickly looked away. I didn’t want to see Lady Margaret. I know I would have handled it differently if it were me. I would’ve run like hell. This was no longer about ghosts and spirits it was about maintaining my sanity at all costs. If ghosts were real then they knew better than to visit me. Maybe that’s why my dad never came to visit because he knew I couldn’t handle it.

The room warmed up and the smell of perfume dissipated. That night Monet slept like a baby while I slept with one eye open praying not see Lady Margaret.

M
y eyes finally closed about 5am. I was awakened by a hand laid across my chest. It was Monet, she was half-asleep. I looked under the duvet and her mocha-colored thighs caught my attention. I wanted her. I rolled the duvet back and positioned myself between her legs. Monet opened her eyes and raised her sheer nightgown above her waist. Finally! I was just hoping that Lady Margaret wouldn’t haunt us during sex. I really wasn’t in the mood for one of her recitals.

Monet and I made passionate love off and on until checkout. I was glad Lady Margaret behaved.

Stonehenge was a little disappointing. The large boulder formation was roped off and in the middle of nowhere. We took a few pictures and headed back after about fifteen minutes of viewing. On the way back we passed the
George Hotel,
I was so glad to see it in my rear view mirror. I’d heard ghost stories before but never from anyone so close to me, until now. I would never mention it again. It was too disturbing and it challenged my faith.