Haunting Ellie (35 page)

“W
e have to do something”

“
We will, I’m just not sure what,” he said, parting the curtains to look out at the town of Sapphire, just as she’d seen Alex do time and time again.

The afternoon sunlight poured through the window and shone on blond hair Jon had combed away from his face with his fingers. It had fallen into an off-center part and curled slightly behind his ears and over his neck.

He was deep in thought as he looked out the
window, his slow breathing making a circle of fog appear on the glass. He leaned a shoulder against the wall and continued to look out at the town, just as she’d seen Alex do time and time again.

And suddenly it all became clear.

Their movements were the same.

Their hair.

Their walk.

That slightly off-kilter smile, and that lopsided grin.

Jon might be six-foot-six while Alex couldn’t be much more than five-eleven, but...

No, she told herself. Her thoughts were crazy, and she laughed.

Jon turned around and smiled at her with eyes that curled her toes and warmed her heart.

Sapphire eyes—just like Alexander’s bright blue ones.

A quiver of excitement raced through Elizabeth’s body. She climbed off the bed and ran to Jon, reaching up and cupping his face between her hands. “Smile again.”

He laughed, but he smiled, too.

And she knew.

“You’re not related to Luke Winchester,” she stated.

“It’s not something I’m proud of, but he
was
my great-grandfather.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, Jon. You look like Alex. The same hair, the same walk, the same eyes.”

“You’re seeing something you
want
to see.”

“Luke Winchester had black hair. Yours is blond. Alexander’s is blond.”

“Family traits have a strange way of changing in a hundred years.”

“What about your grandfather? What did he look like?”

“Old,” Jon stated flatly.

“Not always. Surely there must be some pictures around here from when he was young.”

Jon shoved his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never been much of one to look at old photo albums. There might be one or two downstairs, or—” He frowned. “My grandfather kept a lot of things just as they were when he was young. I seem to remember a picture of him on the dresser in his mother’s room.”

“Show me.”

They slid into jeans. Elizabeth rummaged through the pile of clothing Jon had tossed on the floor the night before, found her red knit shirt, and pulled it over her head. Grasping her fingers, Jon led her to the second floor, to a part of Dalton House where she’d never been. They walked along the landing that looked out onto stained glass windows rising from floor to ceiling in the foyer and passed three doorways leading to bedrooms decorated in pastel florals with lots of ribbons and ruffles and lace. “My grandfather said his mother had once dreamed of filling all of these rooms with children,” Jon said.

“I imagine if Alexander had lived, there would have been half a dozen rambunctious kids running around this place.”

“You really think he was Thomas’s father, don’t you?” Jon asked, his fingers tightening around hers.

She nodded. “You’re so much like Alex. You have to be related, and
if you are, his threat of revenge won’t apply to you.”

“
His threat doesn’t worry me.”

“It doesn’t matter now, anyway.”

Jon stepped into the grandest bedroom on the floor. A mahogany bookcase with rosebuds carved
in the upper corners was centered on one wall, surrounded by richly framed oil-painted florals in the softest pastels. A four-poster was draped in heavy Venetian lace and swagged with pink satin ribbons and bows, as were the windows and a dainty vanity table with an oval mirror mounted on the wall above it.

Everything was beautiful, but what caught Elizabeth’s eyes was the ornate silver picture frame on top of the vanity. She pulled her hand free of Jon’s and crossed the room. Picking up the frame, she studied the picture. “It’s Alexander,” she said. “I can’t believe
Amanda kept a photo of him out in the open like this, especially after she married Luke.”

“I doubt it was around when Amanda was alive,” Jon said. “It’s probably something Thomas put there later, probably a picture of him, not Alexander.” Jon took the frame from Elizabeth’s hands, slipped the picture out from behind the glass, and turned it over. “
 ‘Thomas Winchester, age twenty-nine,’ ” Jon read. “See? It’s my grandfather.”

“Alexander was twenty-nine when he died.” Elizabeth looked into Jon’s eyes, the same eyes she saw in the picture, the same eyes she saw when she looked at Alex. “Alex is your
great-grandfather, Jon. Not Luke.”

He laughed. “You’re pretty sure about this, aren’t you?”

“I’m positive.”

Jon shook his head
, a slow grin tilting his mouth. “Well, I just lost a murderer as a relative and gained a ghost.” He leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Hell of a day, isn’t it?”

What could she say? In her mind, Jon was inheriting the better part of the past, but everything he’d known as his family history had suddenly changed.

“I wonder what else is in here?” he said, putting the frame back on the dresser and pulling open one of the vanity drawers.

“Are you sure you want to look? Wouldn’t you like to talk about what you’ve just found out?”

Jon cupped her cheeks in his hands and leaned over, kissing her softly. His hands trailed from her face, through her hair, then tightly wrapped around her back. He held her close, his kissing turning from soft to passionate, and as he lifted her toes from the floor, her spirits soared.

She sensed relief in his kiss, in his caress, and she saw the smile on his face when her feet once again touched the floor. “It’s a hell of a day, Ellie,” he said. “I can do whatever I want to Matt and not have to feel the least bit guilty about it.”

“I’m beginning to think a vengeful streak runs in your family.”

“Makes us rather interesting, don’t you think?”

“Just as long as you never turn your retaliation against me.”

He kissed her forehead. “Not a chance. Personally, I prefer you taking your anger out on me. You have a damn fine way of apologizing, and I’m giving serious thought to picking fights with you every single day.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re the best thing that’s ever come into my life.”

Elizabeth thought for sure he was going to kiss her again, but instead, he smiled with those sapphire
eyes and she stood back and admired the man she loved as he rummaged through the vanity drawer.

“Well, what do we have here?” he said, withdrawing a small heart-shaped box decorated in ribbons and lace. Elizabeth remembered Alexander’s story of how the first time he’d seen Amanda she was dressed in pink and carried a ruffled and lacy parasol of pink-and-white stripes. Elizabeth could see Amanda vividly, gliding around this room, putting keepsakes in that box, or sitting on the front porch, being plied with Alexander’s protestations of love. They’d missed so much together, but at least their love had had a chance to live on—in Thomas, in Thomas, Jr., and now in Jon.

He lifted the lid of the box and sorted through buttons and hair ribbons until his fingers slipped around a thin gold chain. A heart dangled from the bottom, and Jon carefully opened the front. A small picture of a man had been wedged into one side, and Elizabeth knew instinctively that it was Alexander she looked at this time, not Thomas. His clothing was from an earlier period, his hair parted slightly off-center and curled behind his ears. His mustache was waxed and curled at the ends—just as Alex appeared today. On the other side of the locket the gold had been inscribed
Alex loves Amanda.

A tear slid down Elizabeth’s cheek. She wrapped her arms around Jon’s neck and rested her head against his chest. “We have to tell Alex about Thomas, about everything.”

“I’d rather show him,” Jon said.

“That’s impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible. We just have to figure out a way to get him here.”

oOo

Jon watched the curtains flutter in the attic room as he and Elizabeth neared the hotel. He saw a thin, drawn face, and piercing blue eyes through the window, too—his eyes; his great-grandfather’s eyes—and he couldn’t help but smile.

His pace quickened, and he barreled up the stairs and through the front door, pulling Elizabeth with him. “Come on. He’s upstairs. I saw him.”

Elizabeth tugged on his hand. “He could be down here by now, too.”

You’ve told him, I see.
The disembodied voice thundered through the parlor, and for the first time Jon realized he didn’t remember it solely as the sound of a ghost. Instead he remembered his grandfather. The two voices had the same lilt, even when angry. Funny, how he’d never noticed it before.

A cool breeze circled like a slow tornado in the middle of the room. When it stopped, Jon heard crystals tinkle against each other, and when he looked up, the chandelier hung a bit off-kilter.

“Yes, she’s told me,” Jon finally answered. “She’s read the diary to me, too, and we’ve talked about the property, your death, and how much you loved Amanda.”

The chandelier wobbled and Jon heard a thud on the floor just a few feet in front of him.

Has she told you about my vow of revenge?

“Yes, she’s told me about that, too.”

And you’ve come anyway?

Jon could sense Alexander’s pacing, could hear the creak of floorboards with every footstep.

“You’ve had many opportunities to harm me. I’m not afraid.”

Winchesters are lying, thieving, lily-livered buzzards,
Alexander bellowed. His pacing stopped and his voice softened.
You’re not a typical Winchester. If you were, you wouldn’t be here now.

“I’m here, Alex. And one way or another, we’re going to get you out.”

Alexander slowly began to materialize. His face, his hair, his shoulders, his chest, and his legs. Jon wanted to reach out and touch his great-grandfather, but Elizabeth had already warned him it wouldn’t work. They’d also made a pact not to reveal the truth about his relationship to Jon. They wanted to take him to the home that should have been his, take him to Amanda’s room and let him see the photo of his son. They wanted him to see the truth, not hear it, and let it sink in slowly.

“How do you propose to get me out of here?” Alex asked, when he’d fully materialized.

Jon clutched the back of a chair as he looked at his ancestor, struck by their similarities. He watched Alexander Stewart walk and smile; he listened to him talk and laugh.

“I’ve tried everything,” Alex continued, “but I can’t go beyond the outside walls.”

“Have you concentrated really hard?” Elizabeth asked. “You told me it took you nearly a year to figure out how to move from room to room and even longer to speak. Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough.”

“I’ve tried hard enough. I’ve tried again and again. Do you want to see what happens?” he bellowed. “Watch. I’ll show you.” Alex sucked in a
deep breath and squinted. “Keep watching.” He marched through the parlor and the entry and smacked face first into the door leading out to the front porch, bouncing away as if it were rubber.

He turned around with his arms folded across his chest, a stance Jon knew very well. “It doesn’t work,” Alex stated.

“Try again,” Jon said.

Alex glared at him. “You want to try it? You think it’s fun, looking like a silly-assed fool bumping into doors? Well, I don’t. I’ve done it in private and now I’ve done it for you. That’s enough!”

Alex walked over to the chesterfield and slunk down into the cushions. “Got any other idiotic notions you’d like me to try?”

Jon crossed to the chair in front of Alexander. He sat down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
He began to twiddle his thumbs.

“Am I boring you?” Alex asked, staring at Jon’s hands.