Whispering Hearts (14 page)

She shook her head. “What happened was terrible. But I didn't go through it alone. They were with me. Knowing what they went through forced me to make peace with whatever was going to happen to me. To accept my fate. If I didn't, I knew my spirit would linger.”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks. She never wanted to lead the existence of the ghosts she heard. Whatever was on the other side, she wanted to be willing and able to cast herself into it instead of clinging to a shadow of her life.

“And it's terrible and yes I have nightmares about it still, but I can handle all that. What I can't handle is knowing that those women are
still
out there. Still suffering. And I don't know how to help them.”

“Why didn't they move on when he died?”

Rachel's heart gave a little sideways-leap, like it was trying to escape her chest. She was about to chisel away another bit of his peace of mind.

“I'm sure some did. But not all of them. Some were too hurt, too angry.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because they're directing that rage at me. That's why I freaked out when we left my mother's house. I saw them in the reflection in your car window.”

“That doesn't make any sense. You didn't have anything to do with what happened to them.”

“Toward the end, some of them figured out that I could hear them. They begged me not to kill Michael. They were afraid he'd be able to hurt them on the other side—to pick up where he left off.”

Garrett hissed in a breath. “But they were wrong. You said Michael is gone.”

“He is now. Now that his body has been cremated. For those few days after his death and before that, I…I don't know for sure what happened.”

Garrett's voice lowered to a growl. “Did you ever hear him?”

“No. Usually it takes a while for a spirit to collect itself enough to figure out what they are and remember who they were. He might have been able to manifest more quickly.”

The guilt from her choice was still crushing her. She didn't want Michael to inflict even a moment's more suffering on those women. But she also couldn't let him hurt anyone else. He had to be stopped.

“For whatever reason, some of his victims are still lingering. They need help to move on and I don't know what to do for them.”

“We'll figure it out,” he said.

“No.
I
will. You've done enough already.”

He shook his head and let out a deep sigh. She could sense his disappointment, sharp and bitter through her chest.

“I don't understand what happened,” he said. “What made you stop letting me help you?”

“You help me all the time.”

“No, I rescue you when you've gotten yourself in so deep you can't see a way out. You call me in as a last resort.”

“I wouldn't say that.”

She would just think it.

She started to pull away, but he covered her hand with his, pressing it firmly against his chest.

“Listen to me. I know you're dealing with a lot. And I know you're trying to handle it on your own. You said those ghosts helped you through your ordeal. That it was easier for you because you weren't alone. You aren't alone now. You haven't been for a while.”

She knew her friends would help. But she didn't deserve it, didn't want her own drama to impact people she loved so dearly.

“Garrett—”

“You're not an echo of your mom,” he said. “You're not set-dressing for her life—something to be seen and not heard. You don't have to figure out all your problems on your own.”

It came out of left field, but it was exactly what she needed to hear. How did he always know just what to say? She felt enveloped in his warmth and compassion. Accepted. And he wasn't done.

“You're a vibrant, brilliant, kind-hearted person, and you deserve to be surrounded by people who appreciate you and are happy to help you. Like I am.”

She let out a little laugh and said, “Are you trying to make me cry again?”

“Never.” He put his hand on the back of her neck and drew her forward, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

God, she wanted so much more than that. She wanted to plant her hands on his shoulders and push him back on the bed. She wanted to put all this talk about ghosts and death far behind her and just sink into him.

She wanted so much—too much from him. She was already tilting her head up, staring at his lips. Their faces were close enough that her nose grazed his cheek. His stubble tickled her skin.

He smelled like the ocean. Salt-tang and open spaces.

Flutter-thump.

They both jumped. Garrett muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Damn grasshoppers.”

But it was a good thing. A strong reminder of what it meant for someone like Garrett to be with her. Someone who didn't know what he was signing up for.

Lubbers weren't active at night. She was sure of it. Which meant something was influencing them to fly against her window. Something or someone.

She remembered the ghosts at her mother's house. The anger in their eyes as they lifted their arms to show Rachel the bloody wounds they had once all shared.

The accusation.

If Michael's victims had found out where Rachel was staying, going outside might become outright dangerous—for her and the people around her. The people who dared to help her.

Even the genial ghost who had talked to her on Garrett's patio was at risk. If they thought he was standing in their way… She almost felt bad for him.

She felt bad for everyone at the moment.

“They seem to like this window. I think I'll sleep on the couch tonight,” Rachel said.

“You can have my bed. I'll take the couch.”

“I wouldn't hear of it.”

He shook his head. “If you think I can't be as stubborn as you, you're wrong. I'm taking the couch. Come on.”

She didn't have it in her to fight him on it or resist as he stood and pulled her up after him.

Chapter Thirteen

Garrett's couch was not meant for someone his size. He sat against the cushions, another of Rachel's books open in his lap.

The things he was reading about made his skin crawl. Bad enough to know that ghosts could be walking around him all the time, but learning that they could actually affect the physical world? He shuddered at the thought.

The chapter on poltergeists had been a particularly rough read. He'd seen enough movies to know about them throwing around stuff. He didn't know about the scratches, scrapes, bruises, and
bite marks
that sometimes came along with it.

How did Rachel do it? How did she walk around with a smile and pretend that everything was normal when she knew about all this—when she heard them all the time?

His appreciation for her grew. Along with his desire to help her. To support her any way he could.

The book also explained how salt helped to neutralize ghosts. It was all about energy. Salt could disrupt them. What he was still struggling with was how intention factored in. He was having trouble wrapping his mind around…the mind being able to influence the spiritual world.

According to the books, some clairsentients—people like Rachel who could perceive ghosts—weren't just receivers but could transmit energy into the ghostly realm as well. He wondered if there were any spectral objects on the other side that could be thrown around by psychics. Give the poltergeists a taste of their own medicine.

He snorted and turned the page. The next chapter was all about possession. Great.

He skimmed the introduction, but stopped cold at the first section header. In bold print, it read, “Spectral Influence on Animals.” Attention caught, he read each word with care.

No. Freaking. Way. Ghosts could control animals?

The text used words like
impel
and
motivate
, but it boiled down to the same thing. Some ghosts could get animals to do what they wanted. If the ghost was powerful enough, they could even control several animals at a time.

Shit.

Garrett thought back to the scorpion in the dishwasher. To the lubbers bouncing off the windows. The possibilities were chilling.

What if the ghosts who were ticked at Rachel were
impelling
animals to try to get into the house? To get to Rachel. What if they were pissing the animals off in the process?

Grasshoppers were no big deal, but that scorpion could have been a problem. Florida had any number of dangerous and mobile species running around. An angry ghost could find a sick bat and get it to fly at Rachel, or send wasps her way, pathogen-carrying mosquitoes, snakes…

His mind reared back from that concept like a startled horse. He set aside the book and leapt up from the couch, then paced back and forth in his living room.

If there was more than one ghost after her, and they figured out how to send more than one animal at a time… Things could get hairy fast. How could he possibly keep Rachel safe at this rate? The poppets and saltwater kept the ghosts outside, but they hadn't been effective against that scorpion.

He had to deal with this. To address the issue at the source—the ghosts. Maybe there was some way he and Rachel could help them to move on. Resolve their issues, like the books talked about.

That seemed the best solution. The permanent solution.

But once they had dealt with these ghosts, what about the next batch? Rachel hadn't hedged around the fact that Florida was filled with lingering spirits. If they all came for her, wanting closure or resolution or whatever, how could she handle that?

He wouldn't let her do it on her own. That was for damned sure.

If she wouldn't let Garrett help her, he'd recruit Elsa and Jazz. Rachel couldn't stand against that pair. And if they all worked together, they could find a way to make sure that Rachel could lead whatever kind of life she wanted. He was certain of it.

Too bad that life didn't include him.

She had been opening up with him about so many things. He hoped she would explain her mixed messages at some point. The way she kept touching him, nestling close, then pulling away…it was driving him crazy.

When she'd patted the bed next to her, part of him had wondered if it was a different kind of invitation. Then she had put her hand on his chest and left it there for what felt like forever. His heart had pounded the whole time—from what she was saying and her touch.

Nuzzling his neck, his cheek… Her breath warming his skin.

He had nearly lost it before that lubber went and broke the moment. Damn bugs. He couldn't help but wonder what would've happened if they hadn't been interrupted. Scenarios danced in front of his mind, an array of possibilities he had longed for.

There was no time to feel sorry for himself. He had too much to do. Too much to learn.

He picked up the book again and opened it, then flopped down on the couch. The topic he happened across was psychometry—the psychic ability to read the history of objects through touch. Finally, something he knew about. He shook his head and started to read, just in case the book had more to teach him.

Chapter Fourteen

Sleep had eluded Rachel until light was just starting to peer around the edges of the blinds in Garrett's room. His sheets, his pillow, everything smelled like him. That alone would have been enough to keep Rachel awake in his huge bed.

His huge empty bed.

Everything else going on—the spirits outside, Garrett on the couch, her with no ideas about where to go or what was going to happen next—that didn't help either. It also didn't help that her resolve to stay away from him was breaking apart after only one day.

Instead of thinking about why they shouldn't be together, her mind kept conjuring up possibilities that just might work. What if she could shield him from the spirits in her life?

Her parents seemed happy together, though Rachel doubted her father was in on the secret Rachel and her mother shared. If Rachel could block the voices, she might be able to lead a normal life with Garrett.

A fake normal life.

No. She was tired of pretending. She wanted to be real, to feel real.

She was different. It was time to admit it. Embrace it.
Do something with it.
Like help the women that Michael had killed.

Rachel checked the clock when she woke up after a fitful few hours of rest. Ten in the morning. She had slept late.

She slid from the bed quietly and made her way to the kitchen. The living room came into view as she approached the counter that separated the rooms. Garrett was sprawled on his couch on his stomach, one arm under his chest and the other above his head.

He didn't even have a pillow, poor guy. He must be exhausted.

His chest rose and fell with his breath and his hair was splayed over his cheek. Rachel was tempted to dust his bangs away from his face, but she didn't want to risk waking him. Making breakfast was out, since the noise would certainly disturb his sleep.

She decided to start in on her plan to help Michael's victims. And she was going to listen—in part—to Garrett's advice.

She would ask for help, but from the ghosts themselves. They were the ones who knew what they needed. She just had to find a way to get through to them, to get them to understand that she wanted to help.

The first thing she needed was more information. She didn't know why they were lingering when Michael was gone. Did they want Rachel to tell their families what had happened to them? Was there something the police had missed? What could help them let go and move on? She headed for the sliding glass door.

Opening it slowly and quietly, she glanced back over her shoulder at Garrett. Still asleep. She slipped outside into the muggy morning air, then slid the door shut behind her.

Initiating a conversation with a ghost wasn't something she had done before. Even with Hiram, he had been the one to introduce himself.

Sweat was beading on her chest before she finally said, “Hello?”

“Good morning, my pet.”
The voice was male—the older ghost from last night.
“Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough, thank you.”

Her heart was beating fast and she had the urge to run back into the house. But that would wake up Garrett and then he'd insist on helping her—rescuing her again. She watched for possible threats to keep herself safe. Flying insects, birds, even fire ants.

“You don't need to be concerned, my dear. It's just the two of us.”

The thought was mildly comforting. She glanced around at the palms swaying in the breeze and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

After all the hours of social etiquette classes her mother had sent her to and all her practice, she was having trouble making small talk. The ghost bailed her out.

“Where is your gentleman friend?”

“He's still asleep. Just inside.” She corrected herself quickly. No sense in letting the ghost think she didn't have backup, even if she didn't want to call on Garrett.

“Goodness. Well… I remember those days.”
The ghost gave a chuckle that made her blush.

“He's not… We didn't…”

“My dear, I didn't mean to embarrass you. It's nature, regardless. I thought your generation was less stogy about such things.”

“We are. I just don't want you to get the wrong idea about Garrett and me.”

There was a pause, as if the ghost was considering her words.
“How on earth could that idea be wrong? A beautiful woman, a handsome man. You're obviously attracted to each other.”

“That doesn't mean we should do something about it.”

The ghost chuckled again.
“My dear, when you cross over to this side, do you think you'll regret a night with that handsome man or all the nights you spent alone because you never dared to reach for him.”

His words struck her soul like a tuning fork, chills flowing over her skin. He was right. He was absolutely right. Rachel would go to her own grave regretting never having the chance to be with Garrett. But she had reasons. Good reasons.

The irony that a ghost was giving her tips on how to live… Her irritation was tempered by how much he reminded her of Hiram.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Misha. I think you knew a late colleague of mine.”

“You knew Hiram?” Her voice rose to a squeak. She coughed to clear her throat.

“Yes, pet. We weren't much more than acquaintances in life, but grew a bit closer afterwards. He was always so fond of you. He asked me to keep an eye on you after he moved on. I've done my best, but you didn't make it easy.”

“I didn't know.”

Hiram hadn't mentioned anything to her. But it did seem like something he would do. He was always looking out for her. Protecting her.

“Well, I'm glad to finally get a chance to talk. I've been watching you with the good doctor and I haven't been able to figure out for the afterlife of me why you aren't together. It's obvious you care deeply for each other.”

“Garrett deserves a better life than I can give him.”

“Has he said that? He strikes me as a man who would rather have a choice.”

“He can't make an informed decision. What I'm offering is too…alien.”

Misha scoffed.
“So you string along other men who don't really have a chance with you? How is that fair to anyone?”

Advice was one thing. Criticism was another. She didn't like his tone or what he was saying, even if there was truth to what he said.

She hadn't thought about her dating distractions in those terms at the time. She hadn't thought at all. Thinking made things harder.

Most of the men she'd dated seemed self-absorbed. She joked with Jazz that they didn't even notice when Rachel broke up with them. Maybe Misha had seen things she hadn't.

“I didn't mean to hurt anyone,” she said.

Misha was quiet for a long time. Long enough that Rachel wondered if he had left.

“Misha? Are you still there?”

“Yes, pet.”

His voice was a bit thinner. Sharper. The hairs along her arms stood on end.

“You sound angry.”

“I apologize, my dear.”
His tone was genial again.
“I'm a bit distracted keeping the others from speaking with you.”

“Others? What others?”

“Those bothersome women who have been troubling you.”

Her stomach lurched. Michael's victims
were
there.

“How are you keeping them from talking to me?”

“I can be persuasive.”
He laughed shortly.

“I need to talk to them.”

“That's not a good idea. They're quite angry with you.”

“I want to help them. Can you tell them that for me?”

“Help them how?”

“If they tell me what they need to be able to move on, I might be able to do something for them.”

“Oh, pet,”
he said.
“I don't think you'll like their answer. The afterlife has not been kind to these women. They're focusing all that rage on you.”

“But I want to help.”

“It's kind of you, but they've made their choice.”

“No. I'm not going to let them keep suffering. I'm not going to give up. Let them talk to me.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said,
“I'm afraid they've gone away for a bit. As I said, I was keeping them from you. But now that I know your wishes, I won't do that again.”

“Can you tell them I want to help? Try to get through to them?”

“I shall do my very best. But in the meantime, perhaps
I
can help
you
.”

“I don't need any help.”

“Oh but you do. My sweet pet, you are wasting your life by focusing on the dead. You fear us so much that you haven't really even started living.”

She didn't like hearing it from him, but couldn't argue his point. “What do you suggest?”

“I think you should walk right into that house and kiss the good doctor.”

“You seem keen on us getting together.”

“What can I say? I'm a romantic. I'm also keen on seeing you happy. And I think you two can make each other happy—unlike your other misadventures in romance.”

“I know he would make me happy, but all I would bring him is…strangeness and anxiety. He was happier before he knew that ghosts were real and everywhere. Having me around is a constant reminder.”

“I hardly think his mind is occupied with thoughts of death when you're standing close.”
He paused for a moment while she digested his words.
“Have you talked to him about it? Asked him what he thinks? What he wants?”

“No…”

“Maybe you should. You of all people know how terrible it feels when others make decisions for you.”

Another good point. “I guess you've sat in on some family dinners.”

“A few. Your mother is a most intriguing woman.”

“That's one word for it.”

He chuckled again.
“Pet, I know that you are lonely. It's difficult to watch you prolong your suffering—and that of the good doctor.”

“I don't mind suffering if it gives him a chance at a normal life.”

“He doesn't want normal. He wants you.”

Rachel snorted and shook her head. “You have a weird way of giving pep-talks.”

“Forgive me. My manners are a bit skewed from dealing with the dead for so long. But please believe me that my sole purpose is to make you happy.”

Strangely, she did believe him. She wasn't sure she trusted him yet, but he seemed sincere in this at least. He had been watching her—and Garrett. And whatever Misha had seen convinced him that they were right for each other.

If she could admit it to herself, she already knew they
felt
right together. Being with Garrett felt like home—like…forever.

She didn't want to have regret at the end of her life. She wanted memories. Wonderful memories. She didn't want to deny either of them that potential.

Rachel smiled at the thought, excitement bubbling up through her. Maybe it was time that she started focusing on living her life instead of avoiding the dead.