Possess Me Please (3 page)

Too bad, Jimmy Boy, your time is up.

Cyrus found Jimmy’s black soul crouching near his heart, and engulfed it. It fought admirably—they all did—but Cyrus was stronger. He suffocated the soul, giving it no choice but to vacate its home for a chance of survival elsewhere.

Within moments, Jimmy’s mouth opened, and when he gasped, his black soul, nearly invisible to the naked eye, floated out and sank toward the floor. Cyrus opened what were now his eyes, and watched Jimmy’s soul disappear.

Yeah, you rot in hell, you bastard.

Instinctively, human souls knew there was a chance for survival outside a body, but they weren’t aware that there were only three choices available for that survival. Up, down, or floating around in limbo. Cyrus and his kind were the only ones capable of possessing a body and keeping it alive after the original occupant died—or managing a hostile take-over, as he preferred to think of it.

Humans rarely survived possessions because most spirits were only capable of compromising weak souls, souls that were tired of living. They were easy to overtake and control. On the rare occasion possession happened to a strong-spirited individual, the traumatic event was likely to cause some form of mental damage.

When Cyrus was first created, and learned that spirits could not invade a body unless invited to do so, he wondered how possessions could happen at all. People didn’t casually throw out invitations to the undead.

But, live and learn he did.

Invitations came in many unwitting forms. A body could become receptive to possession by a simple wish—maybe something as seemingly innocent as the desire to be more open to the world—and the mentally unstable were especially vulnerable.

For the most part, ghosts had no desire to possess the living, or didn’t realize they could do so. Mainly, those lost souls floated around in limbo until whatever tied them to Earth was gone, whether it was a loved one, a task not finished, or simply not being ready to move on.

However, not all entities were so benign. There were also the Havoc spirits. They were nasty entities who liked to cause problems simply for the hell of it.

Cyrus ran his fingers through his greasy hair and dragged them over his face and skin, feeling the physical features he’d been deprived of for fifty years. It felt damn good.

But it was time to get the hell out of Dodge, and wipe out the stain Jimmy left on Earth once and for all.

Cyrus got up and started for the door when he heard a soft voice behind him. “Jimmy, are you okay?”

He turned to find Daisy standing in the bedroom doorway, failing miserably at trying not to look scared. She seemed lost, and he was glad she would get a fresh start without Jimmy. For once, Jimmy would be kind to Daisy. “Yeah, darling. Go back to bed.”

Daisy’s eyes widened, as if shocked by his soft tone.

Cyrus sighed and walked toward her, watching as she tried to stop herself from shrinking away from his approach, an act she most likely got slapped silly for. He raised his hand, and Daisy flinched before he softly stroked his knuckles down her cheek. She kept her eyes tightly closed, as if she were waiting to be punched.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. I’m sorry I’ve been such a prick to you. You’re a beautiful, special woman, and you don’t deserve to be treated like shit.”

Her eyes opened wide. “Are you sure you are okay?”

Cyrus watched tears pool in her eyes and read thoughts that drifted to earlier times when Jimmy had been gentler with her, and she had loved him—times before the money trouble and drugs.

Cyrus kissed her on the forehead. “Go back to bed. I’m going to get some fresh air.”

God, he ached for a woman. He could have Daisy, and he’d make it enjoyable for her, but that would make him no better than Jimmy or the next scumbag. He’d be a rapist, and he wouldn’t sink that low.

He didn’t mind making a woman submit, was pretty open to bondage and other fun games, but only if the lady was willing. He would never intentionally make a woman uncomfortable during sex, and Daisy would be uncomfortable, if nothing else.

Cyrus turned and walked to the door where he was stopped once again by her soft voice. “Jimmy, thank you.”

After everything Jimmy had done to her, she was thanking the bastard for a few kind words? Jimmy didn’t deserve Daisy, and she certainly didn’t deserve the likes of Jimmy.

“Don’t thank me. Just promise me something. Don’t settle for anything less than your dreams, okay?”

Cyrus turned his back and walked out of the trailer, and away from Daisy. Daisy would never see Jimmy again, and soon she would realize what a true blessing that was.

He got on Jimmy’s bike and made his way out of town. He didn’t care for motorcycles much. He preferred sleek, fast sports cars, and he would remedy that situation tomorrow. He also didn’t like dirty, beer-soaked clothes, greasy hair, or body odor. He would take care of all that tomorrow as well.

Tonight, however, he would ride as far away from here as the next twelve hours would take him. Wherever he was at that time, was where he would form his new life…at least until he took another body and moved on. Things never got redundant or boring.

He exited the sleazy town and roared onto the highway. The cold air felt good on his skin. Cyrus experienced nothing when he was in demon form. Not caresses, pain, pleasure, taste, nor smell…nothing. He had missed the sensations of corporal life. He couldn’t wait to bite into a giant steak and savor the taste of the meat and juice as it coated his tongue. He also looked forward to sinking inside a woman, to feeling that incredible warmth and wetness surround his cock. His new body twitched in anticipation at the mere thought. There were many things he’d missed, and he didn’t know which one to do first.

He tossed his head back, laughed at the joy of existing in the flesh once again, and throttled the motorcycle hard, sending it roaring down the highway.

* * * *

“
Isssabellllle, I’m commming for you.”

Isabelle tossed and turned, fighting the invading nightmare. It had been a while since Stephen had invaded her dreams, but his slimy face was making a re-entry into her subconscious tonight.

“I’m going to find you again.”
The whispered voice was similar to fingernails on a chalkboard, grating down her spine.

She wanted to cover her ears with her hands, but she knew it wouldn’t block out the unwanted words crawling through her brain.
“What do you want, Stephen? I’ve never done anything to you.”

“Oh, but you have. You can’t imagine how long I waited for the opportunity to possess a juicy tidbit like you. But you had to get clever, didn’t you? Just as I was about to win. Next time, I’ll get you. Next time, you will be mine. I’ve never liked losing, and you inspired feelings of revenge in me like I’ve never known.”

“It’s my body. How can you want revenge for losing something that was never yours to begin with?”

“I don’t care about your body, you stupid bitch. I only care about winning.”

“Then what? You want to kill?”

“It’s not as though I have anything better to do. Now, why don’t you be a good girl, and let’s get on with it!”

“No! Stay away from me, Stephen!”

Isabelle ran, but no matter how long she kept up the pace, Stephen stayed close behind.

The fight for her soul was happening all over again, drowning her in pain, fear, and anguish. She wanted to give in.

Just as Stephen was clawing at her soul, the pain receded, and fog swirled thickly around her, comforting her. She sighed, but her relief was short-lived.

She jumped when another man suddenly appeared with his back to her.

Curiosity eventually won out over apprehension, and she cautiously started toward him. “
Who are you
?” Her voice floated and echoed softly as it always did in her dreams.

The man remained motionless. He was tall, with an impressive muscular physique and thick black hair.

“
Hello? What are you doing here?”

As she walked closer, the man took a few steps away from her. When he turned his head she caught a glimpse of his profile, which showed a straight nose, sculpted cheek and strong jaw line.

Damn
. He was freaking gorgeous. He might be the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on, and she was only getting half of a picture.

His lips moved as he whispered something, but she couldn’t hear what he said. He was getting farther and farther away, the fog closing around him, stealing him from her view.

“
Wait! I can’t hear you
.”

The man disappeared, and she was left standing alone in a nightmare gone…what, exactly?

Her body calmed, and she slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Three

Isabelle woke the next morning with vivid memories of her dream. She shivered, disturbed by the mere thought of Stephen Banks.

But who was the mystery man who had made an appearance? It was as if he had chased Stephen away. Why would he do such a thing? Was it her mind’s way of coping with Stephen?

It may have been silly, but she felt as though the newcomer had been protecting her. She wasn’t one to shrug dreams off as inconsequential. She believed dreams were doors to the unknown, to the spirit world. One’s subconscious was receptive to things considered out of the norm when awake.

Not every single dream had to have a deep meaning, of course. Sometimes it was as simple as a warning to quit eating chocolate before your butt exploded out of your jeans.

Yet, many
could
contain important messages. The trouble and confusion lay with trying to filter the meaningless from the meaningful. The bigger problem was deciphering the code of the dream to figure out the message.

Isabelle laughed.
I am pitiful. This is how I spend my spare time?
She giggled again, then sighed. She needed to get out more.

She tossed the comforter back and looked at the clock. Good grief! It was eleven already. The session last night must have been more draining than she’d thought.

After dressing in a comfy T-shirt and jeans, she brushed her teeth and pulled her thick, golden-brown hair into a long ponytail.

Her next scheduled session was for the day after tomorrow, but it was four hundred miles away. She planned to leave tomorrow morning and stay over in a hotel near where her appointment would take place.

Scarlett Young, who had gotten Isabelle’s number from a friend who was a former client, had contacted her four days earlier, insisting that she have a session with Isabelle. The woman had recently lost her husband and had sounded desperate on the phone. Isabelle had only asked for a number and directions during the short phone call. She’d also given a brief explanation of what her services entailed—which did not include psychic readings or a séance—and that there were no guarantees. Allowing her clients to give her any more than the basic information before a scheduled session only opened up more room for accusations.

Accusations of her being a phony because she had enough information to perform extensive research.

Some clients got snippy when she informed them of the no-guarantee-thing, but she couldn’t help that. Spirits were unreliable. While it was true that she could feel their presence, knew who they were, sometimes even got an image in her mind of what the departed spirit looked like, she could not force an appearance. It was hard to explain to people that spirits spoke to her telepathically. She never heard voices or conversed verbally. Instead, all the communication popped into her brain. She thought a question and…
voila
. The answer would appear with another thought from the spirit.

Isabelle made a spur-of-the-moment decision to do something she hardly ever did—take some time for herself. She’d leave early—today—stretch her travel time and enjoy it, maybe do some sightseeing. She never took the time to do things like that, and it was time to start.

Excited at the prospect, Isabelle gave herself a final once-over in the mirror. Satisfied with her appearance, she retrieved a duffel bag from the closet and began tossing the clothes she would need into the bag, along with her anchoring potion. She carried the potion in her purse as well, but one could never be over-prepared when it came to being possessed.

After she zipped the bag shut and lugged it down the hallway to set it by the front door, Isabelle went to the fridge to grab a bite to eat. That was the plan anyway, until she opened the door and saw the sparse choices. A half-rotten bag of baby carrots, an inch of milk in a gallon jug—probably spoiled—a squashed loaf of bread, and a couple of containers of yogurt stared back at her. She shut the door and decided she’d stop at Martha’s Diner on her way out of town.

She pressed a button on her key fob, and the trunk of her car popped open. Her black BMW, with its heated leather seats, kick-ass stereo, and an engine that purred at twenty or a hundred, was the one luxury she had allowed herself. The car was gorgeous, sleek and fast, just how she liked them. It might seem strange to some that a chick liked fast cars, but she didn’t care. Isabelle would take the car over makeup, shoes, and frilly things any day.

Although, she did like her silk panties.
Hmmmm.

Nope, the car would still win. She’d go commando before giving it up.

She put her bag in the trunk, closed it, and tilted her face toward the sky where the sun peeked out around the clouds. The heat felt fabulous on her skin, and she imagined how lovely it would be to lie naked on an exclusive beach somewhere, allowing the sun to turn every inch of her light skin golden brown. Isabelle wasn’t a sun goddess by any means, but she still bet it would be a heavenly experience.

After opening the driver’s door, she sank into the soft leather of the seat, turned the engine over, and listened to it purr like a leopard, ready to roar but content merely to enjoy the attention until it was time to stalk.

She eased the black beast into reverse, backed out of the driveway, and headed to Martha’s. Twenty minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot, and when she got out and locked the doors, her stomach grumbled.