Wanted: One Ghost (6 page)

She stopped and turned. “I can see you. But you’re not real…I don’t know…”

“You make me feel real again,” he said softly, his voice wavering with emotion.

She shook her head and muttered profanities under her breath to her Aunt Vickie and someone named Wilton. “I don’t have time for ghosts. I’ve a case to solve. Go back to wherever it is you came from.” April waved him off, holding her forehead as if warding off a headache.

“I can’t. This is where I am. Right here, right now. There is no place for me to go back to.” He would hold her in his arms if only he could touch her. James knew this couldn’t be easy for her to understand. “Perhaps I could be of assistance to you, since you know who I am.”

“You’re a ghost. I need tangible evidence of James Addison’s life. I’ll be a laughing stock to my employer if I try to tell him my research is based on facts from a ghost. I need proof. Besides, how do I know you really are James Addison?”

“You don’t,” he agreed. “But what would it take to prove to you I am?”

“Tell me where he is buried,” she challenged.

James shrugged. “Easy enough, but I would prefer to show you.” He began to lead the way, deeper into the cemetery grounds.

“I call bullshit. There is no record of his burial, I’ve researched his information. If he was executed, his body parts could be anywhere.” She scoffed heavily and turned away, moving toward the front of the cemetery, back to the entrance from where she’d started with the rest of the tour group.

She was leaving, not only the cemetery, but him. He couldn’t have her walk away from this moment, from him. Somehow he knew he needed to be with April Branford no matter what.

“Of course there are no records. My remains were buried in a pauper’s grave after having been displayed publicly to warn others who might wish to commit treason.” He scoffed. “Each night I return to my gravestone only to wake in the past, savoring the life I knew at the mill, like you witnessed the other day. Then I’m transported here into the present and walk the streets of Kings Mill, searching for someone to see me, help me, or perhaps guide me to move on. I can’t prove anything. I’m hoping you might believe in me, if only a little.”

Biting her lip, she stopped walking. James noticed she nibbled the luscious bit of flesh when she seemed uncertain or nervous. With tentative steps she approached, daring to get closer to him. Those sparkling eyes narrowed speculatively as she reached out to touch him and of course—went right through his ethereal body. Closing her eyes, she shook her head skeptically. His soul ached wanting to dispel all of her fears as she struggled to come to terms with what he was. Spooking her was the last thing he wanted to do.

When her gaze met his again, he knew, deep in whatever he was made of, April Branford was his destiny. If only he knew how to convince her to feel the same way. He needed her to trust him. But how did a ghost coerce a practical woman to accept who he was and believe in him?

Moments ticked by. Finally, her rigid stance lessened on a deep sigh and she gave him a curt nod.

He smiled, touched his tricorne in salute, and led her deeper into the cemetery.

They stopped short of the linked fence surrounding Lilac Grove. Stately oaks, bare of leaves, towered overhead, but the wind whispered through them as if in greeting. Other than the grounds keeper, no one viewed this area much. Not even flowers or flags marked the passing of time.

He peered down on the woman. She hadn’t said a word, just followed him blindly. She was still shaking. James occasionally caught her looking at him, and then she'd move away. It didn't seem to be in repulsion. Perhaps it was in confusion.

She stiffened her body and forced her arms to her sides by shoving her hands deep into her coat pockets. She was as tightly wound as the eight day clock he had purchased for his mantle years ago. He didn’t want to see her springs explode from the tension she held.

“Are you warm enough in your woolen coat?” he asked, hoping casual conversation might help her relax.

“I’m fine…” She stopped talking and stared wide-eyed into his eyes again.

He wished he could soothe her wariness. Perhaps if he could kiss her it might erase all her fears. He’d been known to make a woman forget her troubles a time or two in the past. A kiss from her would definitely do something for him.

She looked around, frowning.

“Where are we?”

“The least visited area of the cemetery,” James replied, knowing without taking his eyes from her, exactly where they were.

April viewed the solemn rows of tiny marbled bricks sticking out of the ground. “The paupers’ graves.”

James nodded.

The only indications of the graves were a series of numbers imprinted onto the tops of the most identifiable bricks. Some were so cracked and decayed from time and the overgrowth of roots they weren’t recognizable. Others were barely visible, eaten up by the shifting of the earth beneath them. One stone seemed generally intact, the number ten barely visible, etched on the top. April stepped closer to inspect it more thoroughly.

She knelt down. Removing her gloves, she brushed a bit of leaves and debris off of the grayed marble, then respectfully caressed the stone.

“James Addison’s grave.”

He hadn’t needed to tell her. She knew as if drawn to it. Her reverent touch across the old marble pierced his soul, as if it’d been caressed by her fingers.

She looked up at him. “Odd, how would I know that?” She returned her interest to the stone marker. “It’s as if…”

April Branford cried out. Her hand began to glow where it lay on the stone. The stone took on an illumination, radiating from within her, outward like a candle's dancing flame, only brighter.

Before James could answer or help her, the light fragmented and penetrated him like a sword. He was thrown backwards. Pressure and pain ripped into his chest, intensifying as it spread outward through his extremities. This wasn’t gentle. His immortal soul was being pierced, ripped asunder by an invisible hand.

Stumbling, James gasped, clutching his chest where he knew his heart would have been, if he had one. What was happening? The marble brick beneath April’s hands continued to radiate an inferno of orange light. Even though she cried out for him to help her, she kept her hands stationary against the glowing marble, her face contorting as she squeezed her eyes shut against her shock and pain. He could feel it. What she felt echoed in his senses, reverberating between them as if they were mirrored objects catching the same reflection. The glow of light illuminated her, cascading through her and blasting him with its brilliance.

Bloody Hell!
The pain drove him to his knees.

“Stop!” he choked out, gasping from the ache.

James shielded his eyes from the bright intensity. A prickling of awareness crept into him. Peering down at his hands he realized he glowed with the same unearthly light as did she and the stone. His soul stretched and ached to fill with solid mass. Agony and pain wrenched through him, making him wither on the ground, until the pain lessened to a dull, quivering twinge. Then he heard it, for the first time in over two hundred years, the mortal thumping of his heart.

Lifting his head he searched April out across the small space between them. Her body was lying across his gravestone, her eyes wide with shock. Her lips moved, speaking to him, but he couldn’t hear her through the intense ringing and cacophony of sounds blaring in his ears. The pain slowly ebbed. Gingerly, James breathed. Sharp, icy shards filled his lungs, like a babe sucking in new life. His bare fingers dug into the rich earth. Wet leaves and soil feathered from between digits of flesh and bone. Inhaling the fragrant scents of dead foliage beneath his nose, a thousand sensations bore down upon him, overwhelming his mind. He was alive!

Unable to speak because of the emotion clogging his throat, he gave silent thanks to the woman. Whatever power she possessed, she was the answer to his prayers.

He noticed April had not risen from his grave. With her eyes closed tightly, she struggled for release from his stone, but it held her fast. She groaned and sobbed before the illumination around her dimmed and darkness surrounded them. She lay exhausted and weak across his meager tombstone. Opening her eyes, she was able to slowly remove her hand and reach out to him, seeking his help.

His body struggled to rise, but he was too weak to support the new mass of weight. Exhausted, he slumped back to the ground, vividly shaking as tremors rocked through him.

“It’s you. You really are James Addison,” she gasped in between breaths.

Her voice shook. She lay there, quivering in the aftermath of what they had witnessed together. Raising her hands in front of her face, as if she were uncertain who they belonged to, she turned them over, studying them.

Slowly, painfully, he inched his way across the few feet that separated them. Reaching her side, James held out his hand, spanning the ground between them. His hand shook, partially with fear but mostly with wonder. Would she be able to take hold and actually sense his touch now?

Her sobs were muffled, but she slowly rolled over, reaching out for his hand in return. Her eyes roamed in a quick beat from his hand to his face, checking for permission to touch him. The smooth, warm silkiness of her palm encompassed in his set his body on fire, in a good way. No woman had made him feel this alive, even when he lived centuries ago. What power did this woman have to make him feel whole again?

“Dear God, you are alive!
What have I done
?”

April felt Aunt Vickie’s eyes bore into her from across the parlor without even glancing towards the woman. Minutes ticked by on the mantle clock, the Westminster Chimes still echoing the quarter hour. James Addison walked about the room, touching everything, marveling at his re-born senses. They hadn’t spoken directly to each other since the gravesite. Still shaking inside, April was relieved she was sitting down. Her brain had disconnected somewhere between feeling James’s hand touching hers and arriving back at the house. She didn’t even remember dialing Aunt Vickie’s number much less how she’d managed to get back to the entrance of the cemetery.

Vickie had arrived within moments, annoyed for having been taken out of her Sangria and Séances party, until April explained the man’s presence. The shock and uncertainty echoing in her aunt’s eyes proved to April what happened wasn’t normal by any means—even to a woman who dealt with the paranormal on a daily basis.

Barely recovered from the fright of meeting her first ghost, April was thrown into the unknown of how she brought a ghost back from the grave. Over and over again she muttered, ‘What have I done?’ First to James and then to her aunt.

What bothered her, though, was her aunt couldn’t even answer her question. Aunt Vickie stared at her as if she were the anomaly and not James.

“What did you do, April?” Vickie asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you would be able to answer the question. You are, after all, the expert.”

“There are those of us who can talk, see, and sometimes communicate in their realm but never have I heard of someone being able to revive the dead.” The older woman shook her head in befuddlement. “I don’t even know where to begin. What did you do?”

“I don’t know!” April stood up abruptly, and then realized she wasn’t quite ready to stand. Her legs shook. She grasped the doorway arch and pressed her forehead against the smooth, polished woodwork. “One minute I was removing leaves from the stone and the next my hands were plastered to it like magnets. I saw James glowing and writhing in pain. I couldn’t pull away no matter how hard I tried, and then…” She trailed off as James stared at her.

The look in his eyes stole her breath. What did this man want of her? He had said he needed her, and she was the only one who had ever seen him, been able to talk to him. She’d known it was him. He bore all the characteristics of the portrait she’d seen in the book. Why didn’t she connect the two? Oh, who was she kidding? She had. Everything in her mind had screamed for her to accept the fact. From the moment her aunt told her about the orb she should have known. Only she wasn’t willing to accept the truth.

“How do you feel?” Aunt Vickie asked James as he walked around the chairs and sat down.

James Addison cut an elegant figure of man. Maneuvering around the closed confines of the parlor as if made for the room, April saw the regal bearing in his stance. His demeanor spoke of charm and grace even for a man as tall and broad of shoulder as he was. She couldn’t help but admire the pull of his breeches across his thighs and hips as he sat carefully on the settee, his arm stretched out along the back of the cushion.

“I feel alive, thanks to the good doctor.” He smiled, picking a piece of lint from his sleeve. His stomach rumbled, echoing in the room. “And perhaps a bit famished,” he added.

“I should think so. It’s been awhile since you’ve eaten,” Aunt Vickie replied, getting up from her seat. She turned to April. “Sitting here with a slack jaw isn’t going to solve anything, dear. Here’s your chance for actual historical knowledge, in the flesh. Why not make the most of the opportunity you’re given and collect as much information as you can? But I think some food and perhaps taking him shopping for some proper clothes might be beneficial first.”

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“There’s a SuperMart and a diner nearby that are open twenty-four hours. Take him to get something to eat and then fit him with some clothing and articles he may need to see him through for awhile.” Waving a hand as if warding off a pesky fly, her aunt rose from the chair and approached the stairs.

April panicked. She couldn’t be alone with James Addison. Not yet. She needed her aunt to answer more questions. “Where are you going?”

Vickie stopped and looked at James first, and then back to April. “To prepare a room for our guest. Then I’m calling your mother and grandmother. I have a feeling we’re going to need all the paranormal help we can get.” Her aunt pointed a finger at her. “
You
are going to take Mr. Addison out for a bite to eat. Go easy though, we want to introduce food to him slowly. He’s your responsibility, April.”

***

Half an hour later, sitting across from James in the diner, April still couldn’t believe the man she’d known only a few days was really James Addison. She looked up from her menu.
What did you talk about with someone you just brought to life?

What had she done to cause him to re-materialize into a flesh and blood being? What power did she have connecting her with other realms? Being able to see or hear dead people was fine. Bringing them to life, not so much! Did it have something to do with James Addison in particular, or with her unique ability?

She needed guidance. If Aunt Vickie couldn’t tell her anything useful, what good would it do to have her grandmother and mother here? Contacting her mother would be a lost cause. The woman struggled with her own ghostly abilities. Knowing her daughter could reincarnate the dead? The situation would throw Virginia Branford over the edge. She would lose her mind. April didn’t want the guilt of having put her mother in a straight-jacket.

“What do you recommend? What is a ham-bur-ger?” James Addison frowned, looking over his menu and sounding out the word.

She could still hear the excessive rumblings of his bi-centennial empty stomach. He was out of his element with modern day cuisine. Williamsburg taverns and restaurants would have been more adaptable to his time frame but this wasn’t Williamsburg.

“A hamburger is ground beef cooked in a patty and placed between two rolls or buns. You can get it cooked to your liking and they top it with all sorts of fixings.”

“How do you prefer your hamburger?”

“I like mine medium-rare with mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato and the fries are actually strips of potatoes fried in oil. They’re very good.”

“Then I shall have one with fries!” he announced slapping the menu closed. “Do they serve ale?”

“No. Not here. Try the cola, it’s really good, especially with hamburgers and fries.”

The buxom-blonde waitress took their order, smiling and flirting shamelessly with James. The woman couldn’t take her eyes off him.

April had never been the jealous type but suddenly, the little green monster in her came to life.

James seemed to be enjoying every moment of banter. He was, after all, James Addison. If he was anything like the books said, between his charm and womanizing ways, she would have her hands full keeping history from repeating itself.

“The serving wench is nothing I expected,” James noted in a whisper when their server left.

“She’s not a ‘serving wench.’ They are referred to as waitresses or servers. Wench is a derogatory term now.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t much different in my time. But it was acceptable in certain circles.”

April watched him touch everything around them as they waited for their food. The napkin holder fascinated him. He pulled napkin after napkin out, examining each piece of paper, making a mess as he tore the pieces to shreds. She let him. The man hadn’t been able to touch anything in so long. April would gladly plant a few trees to cover the ones sacrificing themselves for his curiosity.

“I’ve seen progress evolve over the years. But I never thought I would be more than a spectator.”

He fingered the glass ketchup bottle, nearly knocking it over. The little packets of sugar and artificial sweeteners were next. He tasted each one, preferring the real sugar over the rest. A pile of yellow, pink, blue, and white paper packets littered the table, mingling with the shredded paper napkins. Finally she had to stop him. People from the other booths were beginning to stare. He was like an obsessed, hyperactive child who couldn’t keep his hands still. He finished pouring the sugar from the last white sugar packet into his mouth. Great! More sugar to hype him up.

“It’s amazing to see sugar in such abundance. A cone of sugar was an expensive item only the wealthy were able to afford. Even then, we used nippers to pinch off pieces for our tea to make it last longer. Now it comes in so many packages.”

“Cost of production is not as expensive. We process it here in the states. It’s transported in from other parts of the country.” All the things he didn’t know! April wasn’t sure exactly where to start.

When their food arrived he dove into the burger with a vengeance.

She grabbed his hand, marveling at its warmth and solid form for a moment before remembering why she wanted to stop him. “Take it easy. I’m not sure how your stomach will handle food yet.”

James nodded and slowed down, savoring each bite. She offered a bite of her turkey melt. His eyebrows raised in delight over the mixture of meat and cheese on toasted sourdough. Dredging a fry in ketchup, April held it out for him to try. He nibbled the crispy potato from her fingers. Soft, masculine lips nipped the tip of her finger causing a fluttering of butterfly wings low in her belly. The shivery sensation made her squirm in the vinyl booth.

“What do you think?”

“Delicious.” His eyes darkened, dangerously so. “The crispy potato was, too.”

“You’re impossible.” Heat radiated up from her collar. His silver eyes were bluer than the luminous gray she was used to. Did his eye color change have anything to do with his mortality? What was the state of his mortality? Was this permanent or would they wake up tomorrow to find him a ghost again?

James took a large gulp of cola, only to immediately cough and sputter. April reached for a napkin and handed it to him. Okay, carbonation was new to him.

“It’s a bit fizzy. Try sipping it.” On the verge of bursting into a full-fledged giggle, April bit back a smile. “Here, try it with a straw. Take small sips.” This whole situation was too much to take in. Here she was with a two hundred plus year old man trying to teach him the things she’d always taken for granted. Wow! Wait until he got a load of a television or her laptop.

***

James noticed people coming and going while they ate. A couple of young men walked in the diner wearing pants hanging off of their hips, sporting caps worn backwards and big holes in their ears. He shivered at the idea of wearing such things.

He was comfortable in his attire and didn’t think he would be able to wear the clothing he saw. Why some even looked like rags the way they were tattered in the knees. Not very many people wore his clothing—except for the ghost tour guide on the weekends, so he would have to adapt.

His brow wrinkled. He hadn’t realized the situation until the waitress returned and asked if he wished for another refill on his cola, but he had drunk a few glasses of the dark brew and found himself in need of relief. Dear Lord! He hadn’t had a need to drink or eat in so long, he’d wondered if all of his internals worked.

“I’m afraid I might need use of a…” How did one broach the delicate subject in this day and age? He looked around, unsure of what to do or where he needed to go.

“Oh, a restroom?” April asked.

“Well, I won’t be resting, no, I need to--”

“It’s called a restroom. See where the man went?” She motioned with a nod of her head to a man in a red hat. He’d walked through a door off to the side of the diner. “There’s two doors, one for women, one for men.”

“I shall return momentarily.”

The room was well lit with a row of three basins along the wall and stalls painted red along another. The man with the red cap stood at one of the two troughs against the other wall opposite the basins, relieving himself. This was all new to him. He walked up to the other trough and proceeded to remove himself from his breeches as the man looked at him with oddity.