The Phantom and the Psychic: A Paranormal Erotic Tale

Copyright 2013 by Sophia Jones

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Adult Reading Material

My deepest gratitude goes out to D.B. Sieders who helped me revise and edit this story; your efforts have made it a better tale. 

*****

“Are you my psychic?”

The petite, curvaceous brunette arched a sle
nder brow and graced the man with a smile.  “I’m
a
psychic, yes.  You must be Mr. O’Toole.  I’m Alyssa DeAngelo.”  She stretched out her hand to the elderly castle owner, her bewitching smile still in place.  

O’Toole
fumbled with the ornate handle of the heavy wooden door before he managed to clasp her hand in his. 

Dominic shook his head, surveying the scene with equal parts amusement and disdain. 
Old fool’s clearly smitten.

“Come in, Ms. DeAngelo, come in.”

Through the open entranceway, Dominic savored the glimpse of blue Italian sky and lush green hills visible beyond
Castello Rocha’s
paved courtyard before O’Toole ushered his guest in and hefted the door shut.
Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be free of this infernal castle!

Enclosed in the dark
interior once more, he turned his attention to the woman.

“Please, Alyssa’s fine.  Ms. DeAngelo is my grandmother.”
  Her voice was rich, husky.  The kind of melodious, sinful tone that would have given him a cockstand centuries ago. 

“Well, if your grandmother is as
fine a lass as you, then she must be a beautiful woman indeed,” said O’Toole with a flirtatious grin. 

Dominic
snorted.  “Say what you mean, O’Toole.  You’d like to plant yourself between those luscious thighs and die a happy man.”

Neither the man
nor the woman acknowledged him.  No surprise there, though unexpected disappointment stabbed through him.

“Bah, some psychic you are
,” he muttered, his tone dismissive and angry.  A part of him had hoped ...

She
laughed.  “Mr. O’Toole, how does an Irish sweet talker like you end up owning a castle in Italy?”

The old man’s merry eyes turned wistful
, then sad.  “Through my beloved.  We always talked of moving to Italy one day.  Buy a hotel, kick back and let the tourists make us rich.”  His voice broke, and Alyssa placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  He continued, “Well, my Mary, she passed away before we could make any of that happen.  But there was the insurance money, and nothing left for me at home ...”

She
finished where he faltered.  “So you bought this beautiful, old castle to honor the dream you two shared.”

O’Toole nodded.  “Aye, this beautiful, old,
haunted
castle.”  He looked undone, his body slumped in defeat.

Hand remaining on
his shoulder, she led him through the dark foyer and into the somewhat brighter great room.  Still sullen, Dominic followed, hovering behind the pair.  Muted sunlight crept in from a dozen large, dusty windows, revealing high arched ceilings, elaborate crown molding, and an immense chandelier.  She guided the old man to a maroon divan, then sat down beside him.

In a gentle voice, she asked, “Do you have any more information on the murders
?”

O
’Toole shook his head, “No, just what I emailed you.  It started with my very first guest.  Young, healthy lad.  Found him dead the next day, his door still locked from the inside.  Had to bust it down.”

“Right, no marks on his body, no
signs of a struggle in his room,” Alyssa confirmed.  “The police said it was a heart attack.”

“
Aye, and then a woman, exactly the same thing, in the same room a few weeks later.  Two people dead of heart failure.  That’s when I closed down for the season.  Maybe forever.” Despair laced his words.

She
reached for O’Toole’s hand and gave it a squeeze.  “I’m here to help.”

Dominic interjected,
voice heavy with scorn, “I’d like to give you something to grope, you fraudulent wench.  Sure you’re here to help ... to help relieve the old bastard of the last of his money.”

She
turned O’Toole’s weathered hand over, and traced her pale little fingers over the deep grooves and fine lines.  “Did you know palm reading isn’t about predicting the future?”

O’
Toole shook his head, seeming content with his hand resting in hers. 
And why shouldn’t he be? 
Dominic looked back through time, to his days of flesh and blood. 
When was the last time I held a woman’s hand?

She
continued, interrupting his musings. “It shows the past.  See here?  That’s your heart line, your love line.  Yours is deep and long.  I can see how much your Mary meant to you.”

Dominic harrumphed, i
nexplicable anger filling him.  “I’ll give you deep and long.  How ‘bout my hard cock pounding into you, punishing you for being a wicked woman who takes advantage of helpless old men?”  He moved from his place behind them to materialize in front of the woman.  “Look at you wench, in that scrap of scarlet fabric.  Why, it barely covers your arse!”  His gaze trailed up her long, shapely legs to the place the material stopped, high on her thighs.  Instead of disdain, longing washed through him.  Disgusted by his own neediness, he dragged his eyes to her face ... and felt his heart break. 

“
Christ, such beautiful brown eyes,” he muttered in a whispered rasp.  Dominic reached out a phantom hand to caress the woman’s cheek, only to pull away in utter shock.

He’d felt
... something.  Heat.  Delicate silkiness. 
God’s teeth, I haven’t had the sensation of touch is six hundred years!

Alyssa jerked her head up, and for a moment it seemed she stared right at him.
  Dominic froze, a burning, elated hope shooting through him. 
Could it be?
  But no, her gaze wasn’t focused on him, but
through
him, and soon enough she dropped her head, continuing to speak to O’Toole.

“And see this line here? It’s your life line, and from it I can see you’ve had a long journey, a determined journey.  You’re not a quitter, Mr. O’Toole.”  She released his hand and stood, pacing back and forth in front of the grand
stone fireplace.  “After reading your emails, I wasn’t sure if I could help you.  The deaths could have been natural, just horrible, tragic coincidences.  But the moment I walked into this place, I could feel evil lurking here.”

Still shaken from earlier,
Dominic choked out a bitter laugh.  “Evil?  That’s going a bit far.”

O’Toole gasped
at her announcement.  “Yes.  Yes.  I never would have bought the place, if I’d known its history.”

She
nodded.  “Can you take me to the room?”

Worry settled over
O’Toole’s features.  “Are you sure about that, now?  Could be dangerous.”

Alyssa smiled.  “We should be fine.  After all, both occurrences happened at night, while the victim
s slept.  And let’s not forget, they were alone.”

O’Toole
dipped his head in a hesitant nod.  “I’ll need to retrieve the skeleton key.  I’ve had the room locked up tight, since the last, uh, occurrence.  Pardon me, I’ll be right back.”

“Sure.” 
She gave him a nod and another soft smile, and she returned to her place on the divan.

Once
O’Toole’s back disappeared around the corner, Dominic settled in beside her.  He
had
to touch her again, to see if that first experience had been real, even as he cautioned himself not to get his hopes up.  “Ah, just you and me now wench.  What shall we do to pass the time?” he asked, stretching out a hand towards her.

Alyssa turned to him.  “Well Casper, for starters, we could work on your vocab
ulary.  ‘Wench’ is horribly outdated, you presumptuous asshat.” 

*****

Alyssa burned with anger from the phantom’s insults, her fingers actually trembling with rage.  “You think I’m here to take advantage of that poor old man?  He’s already been through ..."

I
nvisible hands clasped onto her shoulders, interrupting her rant.  White hot energy sizzled at the points of contact, and she cried out in shock at the waves of pleasure-pain rolling through her being. 

Immediately the hands dropped aw
ay, and that floating, masculine voice from earlier was now a broken whisper.  “Forgive me, madam.  I pray I didn’t hurt you, but Blessed Mother of God, you know I’m here.”

After long moments,
she recovered from his touch, and stood, stepping away from the divan.  Her anger melting away, she answered, “Yes, I can hear you, and I can feel you, but I can’t see you.”

“I gathered as much,” the phantom
replied from very nearby.  He’d followed her.

“Tell me your name.”  Knowing a spirit’s name gave a person power over them.  She knew he wasn’t the initial, looming evil she’d sensed upon entering the castle, but he could
still be dangerous. 

“I am Dominicus Romano.  During life, I was a servant of the church
.”

Alyssa snorted.  “That’s quite a mouth you have on you, for a priest.”

“I was not a priest.  I was a solider for the church, six hundred years ago.”  Voice heavy with repentance, he continued, “But aye, madam, I have no excuses for my sorry behavior.  I’m a damned soul, and the worst of my hell is boredom.  Forgive me for entertaining myself at your expense.”

She
couldn’t see him, but imagined him bowing.  She took in the heavy regret in his tone … and believed him.  How many souls had she helped to find closure through the years?  Dozens.  They all spoke of the endlessness.  Of their eternal, listless existence, devoid of human interaction and love.  She imagined herself in his situation, here in this castle for six centuries.  Trapped.  Alone.  Unable to move on and find any peace. 

She
responded, “Apology accepted, though you have to know, I’m truly here to help Mr. O’Toole.  I would never exploit him.  That’s not who I am.” 

“I believe you, madam.”  H
is answer was quiet.  Solemn.

“Call me Alyssa, please.”  She found herself wanting to hear him say her given name.  Though his words regarding Mr. O’Toole had enraged her, his other comments
in that deep, sensual baritone had affected her.  She was honest enough with herself to admit they made something stir hot and low in her belly.  Anger evaporated, and another primal emotion took its place. 

“
Very well, Alyssa, then you must call me Dominic,” the phantom entreated in a husky rasp. 

A smile touched her lips
.  "Your English is excellent."

"The priests I
once worked with were from England.  And this castle has been owned by many people through the years, people who spoke a variety of languages.  I listened, and learned.  Not much else to do."

Mr. O’
Toole returned before she could respond.  The castle owner held up a large metal key.  “Here we are, Alyssa.  I don’t mind telling you, though, the thought of going into that room terrifies me.”