Charlotte
George faced me as he slept, his hands tucked under his pillow and propping his head up a little. I stared at him, studying the way the moonlight seeping in through the blinds met the sharp angles of his face—he was a beautiful man. Reaching my hand up, I was going to brush the hair from his face, but I stopped short, drawing it back. I didn’t want to chance that I’d wake him. I’d suffered from insomnia for weeks, and bless my husband, he always tried to stay awake with me as long as he could. He never lasted as long as I did, though, and I was glad of that. He needed the rest. I hated that I couldn’t sleep. Aside from it keeping George up, it was my time and place to reset.
Slipping out of bed, I tip-toed quietly into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Leaving the door open for light, I poured myself a glass of orange juice and took a few sips.
Furrrrrleese. Furrrrrleese.
I pressed my fingers against my temple as the sharp pain seared through my head, barely managing to set the glass I was holding on the counter. The pain never stayed long, it was rapid, on and off—like the flip of a switch—but it was always strong enough to stop me in my tracks.
Furrrrrleese. Furrrrrleese.
Inhaling a shaky breath, I tried to push down the fear I felt. “God, help me,” I whispered in prayer. “Help me.” I was slipping. I knew it. Something was wrong. It had been months, but I didn’t know how to fix it. It felt as if some kind of momentum was building, pushing me forward—but to where? It felt as if I was a button, pressed down, being held for a long length of time, and as soon as I was released, I’d explode.
Furrrrrleese.
The garbled word brushed my mind as I stared at the Tupperware containing meatloaf on the top shelf. We’d had dinner with the Mercer’s that night and Mrs. Mercer always sent us home with leftovers. George and I broke bread several times a month with the kind couple that had been so welcoming to me when I’d arrived in Warm Springs years before. Maybe it was the loss of their daughter Maggie, combined with the absence of my own parents for so long, but we’d bonded, and I was grateful for them. We had become a little pseudo family of sorts.
My lack of sleep gave me a lot of time to think…to reminisce. It still amazed me when I thought about just how much my life had changed in the three years since that rainy night I stood on the edge of a bridge, ready to end it all. If it weren’t for the soul of a murdered UVA student named Casey Purcell leading me to the location where her body had been left by her assailant, I wouldn’t have the tiniest shred of the life I have now. But life has a way of changing everything when you least expect it. My show, The In Between, was something I had agreed to do once my gift became public knowledge. All the proceeds have gone to Casey’s Ride, an organization we created in Casey’s name which offers free transportation to students. She’d been followed home from a bar and abducted, raped, and then murdered. Her assailant left her body under a bridge. With her guidance, I was able to locate her body, which allowed her family closure and helped her cross over, and in doing so I was led to Bath County where I met Ike and George.
I’d come to embrace my gift of seeing the dead—it was a part of me. It was an ability that had once hindered me so deeply I’d almost ended my life because of it. But life can be ironic. I wanted to die because of the dead—but it was the dead that ended up saving me. I was soaked and weary to my soul when the spirit of Ike McDermott found me on Anioch bridge, moments from flinging myself into the river and letting it drag me away from this life.
Listen, I don’t know you or what you’ve been through, but I know I’d give anything to still be alive right now, no matter what. Don’t waste what so many of us never got the chance to have.
Ike, a soldier who lost his life in war, a soul caught in limbo, brought me back to the land of the living with those words. He led me to Warm Springs, helped me find a job, and meet the right people. Ike gave me hope. I fell for him and his brother George. And he loved George and I so much, that when it was time for him to cross over, he found peace knowing we were together—that we’d be okay.
After Ike left, taking a part of both of us with him, George and I found a way to be whole again—together, though life hadn’t always been a fairytale. Between George’s past drug addiction and my ability to see the dead…things could get complicated, but we loved each other and fought for each other. I knew no matter what, George always had my back. And he knew I always had his.
So when the show started becoming too much for me, he supported my decision to not sign on for a third season. Outside of the direction the producers were going—attempting to make me in to some kind of decked-out-Barbie-ghost-hunter—I was tired. I’d been prepared to help the dead, but what I hadn’t been prepared for was the tremendous sadness. It seemed the more souls I met, the more tragic their demise had been. Not every person passes old and warm in their beds. Some die heinous and awful deaths. There was so much ugly in the world, and it seemed relentless. The longer I went on, the more I seemed to feel. It was becoming harder and harder to cut off my emotions; to not take on the despair many of the cases I came upon rendered. Ultimately, I found myself questioning everything from my gift, my purpose, and even God. I wanted to know why. Why did He make me this way? Why did He let so many terrible things happen? The list of questions went on and on, never finding answers.
I tried to focus on everything I had to be thankful for instead of what was eating away at me, robbing me of my sleep. It had been three months since I’d had a good night’s rest. Three long, grueling months of insomnia and headaches. It’s funny—actually it isn’t, and I never understood why people use that expression when they’re actually talking about something that isn’t humorous at all—how you can be floating along one day, lost in a moment, naively believing you have everything under control, only to have a single event change your life forever.
Furrrrrleese.
Images followed the word this time—dark blank eyes and frail fingers tapping against the wall. The images and sound played on a loop in my mind, over and over, pulling me back to the night we stumbled upon the Hell House and discovered the horrors within its decaying walls.
We’d wrapped production on the second, and final, season of the show earlier in the day and had just finished a farewell party with the crew at a swanky New York restaurant. Despite being well into June, the summer heat had yet to fully descend on the city, and we’d decided to take advantage of the pleasantly warm evening and enjoy our last night in the Big Apple. George and I were walking slowly, holding hands, our fingers linked together, basking in the contentment of a chapter closing in our lives and looking forward to the next. Sniper and Anna were walking twenty feet behind us, his massive arm draped over her shoulders, enjoying their own lover’s stroll. The two had finally decided to officially be together after years of heinous flirting and off and on dating. I’d never seen Anna happier. Leaving Anna’s daughter River with her mother, they’d come up to join us for a long weekend to celebrate.
“Are you excited to head home tomorrow?” George asked as we walked aimlessly down the sidewalk, not paying any attention to where we were going.
I smiled up at him, the idea of sleeping in our own bed curling like a warm embrace around my heart. “I am. Are you?”
“I’m ready for some time…just you and me. I’m ready to…maybe start thinking about making a little you and me.”
I froze in my tracks causing him to stop and face me, the corners of his mouth lifting in an uncertain smile. “A baby?” I whispered, darting my eyes toward Sniper and Anna, hoping they didn’t hear.
His smile fell, his features going slack, when he took in my panicked expression. “I mean…not saying right away, but I thought we could start thinking about it…maybe.” His words drifted off as he shifted my hands to his chest, pulling me in before pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
A baby? Was I ready for this? I wasn’t so sure. What kind of mother would I be when I see dead people? What if the baby saw them too? What if I seriously screwed up our kid?
“She’d have your eyes, those fucking amazing gray eyes,” George murmured against my forehead, his voice somehow tempering the panic building inside me. My heart melted a little. He’d said she. He wanted a girl. God I loved him for not being the stereotypical male that wanted a boy. Beverly McDermott had raised her boys right. A flicker of what felt like déjà vu blazed through my mind, bright and sudden—a memory of when Ike had said something similar. The McDermott men were always making my faith in the male gender a little stronger. “She’d have my hair,” he continued matter-of-factly, as if it wasn’t up for discussion. “I don’t like to brag, but I have some nice dreads, dude.”
I grinned as I tilted my head up and met his dark gaze. His smile was wide across his face causing a flutter to arise in my belly. God, he was handsome—though seemingly simple, that one word held a weight that perfectly summed up George’s features. Reaching up, I gently threaded my fingers through his thick hair. “You do have some pretty luscious locks, Mr. McDermott.”
He shifted, tucking me to his side, his arm protectively around my shoulder, and resumed our stroll. After a few quiet moments he added, “I’d teach her how to hunt and fly fish…” he paused meaningfully, turning his head slightly and cutting his eyes at me “…like a proper lady.”
I chuckled, my lingering concerns dissipating as I became enraptured in the daydream my husband was having about our hypothetical future daughter. When George was happy it gave me immense joy—and I knew by the lilt in his voice, just the thought of us having a baby made him ecstatic. I reached up and intertwined my fingers with his hand that hung over my shoulder, a rueful smile on my lips.
“What?” he asked, noting my expression.
My smile grew bigger. I couldn’t help teasing him a little. “You know, if you have a daughter—”
“I gotta worry about all the dicks,” he finished, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know the saying.”
Laughing, I turned my head and kissed his hand. “She’s not even conceived yet, and you’re already a protective daddy.”
“I’m not worried about the boys,” he argued. “Between me, Sniper, and Cameron…pfft…” He gave a dismissive shrug.
“Did I hear my name?” Sniper asked, his sexy Scottish brogue drifting toward us. He and Anna had gained on us while we were stopped.
“Just stating the fact that with Cameron, you, and me around, no guy would ever get near any daughter of mine,” George explained.
“God help the lad that tries,” Sniper agreed.
“We’ve already started keeping an eye out for River,” George called over his shoulder.
“You two are ridiculous,” Anna chuckled.
Twisting my mouth, I felt a little sorry for hypothetical-baby mademoiselle McDermott. George was right, with the three of them around, she’d be lucky if she even kissed a man before the age of twenty-five.
In that happy moment, when we were all laughing and caught up in our reveries, I forgot about my reality for a split-second; forgot that “normal” plans weren’t a luxury afforded to me. That’s when I felt it. My stomach clenched, and I struggled to mask any outward reaction as I cautiously glanced around for the source. My skin tingled as my gaze caught a flicker just ahead of us. Someone was watching us as we walked toward them. I glanced at George to see if he’d noticed, but he seemed perfectly oblivious to the older woman perched on the stoop. George was prattling on about names—Georgeanna, apparently, was at the top of his list—when the woman and I first locked eyes. I jerked my gaze away, hoping she wasn’t dead—maybe George was too caught up in his daydream and hadn’t noticed her, but when the hairs on my arms stood up, I knew. George didn’t see her because she was dead.
“Damn,” I muttered, causing George to freeze.
“Where are they?” he asked, his voice low, darting his gaze in every direction. Guilt squeezed at my insides. I hated this. Just seconds before my husband had sounded like he was on top of the world, and now he was all business.
Glancing around, I realized we’d somehow taken a wrong turn. “Where are we?” I asked myself quietly. While walking, lost in our daydream, our group had actually gotten ourselves lost. The neighborhood surrounding us was derelict, the streets lined with half-dilapidated townhomes with broken-out windows. Most of the houses had construction signs hanging on them—maybe they were about to tear this all down and rebuild. “She’s on the steps,” I answered him as I glanced back at her. When our eyes met this time, she perked up. She knew I’d seen her. Like a bullet, she morphed in front of us causing me to jerk a little. Damn I hated when they did that. No matter how many times the dead did that to me, it always freaked me out.
“You see me?” she questioned, her pale blue eyes wide in disbelief.
“Yes, I see you.”
“She’s already talking to you,” George sighed. My heart sank. However burdensome my gift could be for me, I knew it was hard for him, too. He was constantly stuck watching me talk to people he couldn’t see or hear.
“How is this possible?” the woman asked.
I spent a few minutes explaining to her about who I was and what I do. When I finished, she clasped her hands together and begged with desperation, “Please help me. I cannot go until someone knows the truth.”
“The truth about what?”
Her thin mouth tightened as she turned her head and fixed her gaze on the townhome beside us. As I looked up at the shanty of a house, a chill ran down my spine causing my skin to pebble with goosebumps. Something felt off, but I had no idea what. “What he did to them,” she murmured dismally.
Narrowing my eyes at her, I opened my mouth to ask her what she meant when her features softened and she spoke again. “You are a very pretty young lady,” she complimented, her voice soft. “I bet your hair would look lovely braided. I was good at braiding when I was alive.”
I closed my mouth and watched her for a moment. This woman was odd. Her demeanor had changed, her pale gaze flipping from despair to eager in just a matter of seconds.
She morphed to the steps and looked back at me. “You must come in,” she informed me before morphing to the porch.
I scanned the house again, dread and uncertainty blooming in the pit of my stomach. The house was enough reason on its own to feel uneasy, but add in the odd woman, and my gut instinct was screaming at me to abort mission.
“Come in,” she persisted, gesturing her hand toward the front door. Her voice was still soft and inviting, but it was the tightness in her face that gave her away. Kindness was the persona she was attempting, but it wasn’t hard to tell that it was an act. In fact, it seemed almost painful for her to have to pretend.
Though I found her suspicious, and my gut instinct said not to trust her, I couldn’t deny something about the house was pulling me.
“She wants us to go in the house,” I explained to George as I moved to climb the steps. Grabbing my arm, he halted me.
“We’re not going in there,” he scoffed like I was insane. “Who knows if it’s even safe to walk in there—the place is in shambles.”
Glancing back at the house, I sighed. He was right. It looked like a total shit hole. Though I agreed with him, I couldn’t deny I was curious. Something inexplicable was drawing me to the house. “Well I can at least peek in and see,” I wagered. That seemed like a fair compromise.
“Charlotte, lass,” Sniper intervened. “We don’t know if anyone is in there. What if there are squatters, or crackheads?”
He had a good point. The place looked sketch as hell. It also looked like a perfect place for people to hide out.
“There’s no one in here,” the lady called, having heard their concerns.
Looking at Sniper, then at George, I relayed what the woman had said. “She says it’s vacant.”
George shook his head, unsure. “Why do we have to go in? Why can’t she just tell you what she needs to tell you out here?”
Again. A valid point. My curiosity hadn’t yet superseded my common sense. Though a part of me wanted to enter the house, the smarter part me was still open to reason.
“Can you just explain everything out here, please?” I called. “We’re not comfortable entering the house right now.”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she bristled in frustration. All the effort she’d been putting into appearing kind and patient evaporated. “I have to tell you in the house. I can’t tell you here. You must come in.”
Narrowing my eyes at her, I studied her. Her features were tense; discomfort etched across her face. But she was dead—it would be impossible for her to feel physical pain. Turning toward the house, I scanned it top to bottom, feeling that same pull. But why would the house pull me? The thought of simply walking away didn’t set well with me.
That’s when I saw her—a tiny, dark-haired, dark-eyed girl peering out of one of the second-story windows. Then almost as soon as our eyes met, another little girl with similar features appeared beside her. My stomach knotted as they stared down at me. They were children…just girls. And they were dead.
“Who are the little girls?” I asked the woman, causing Anna, Sniper, and George to whip their heads toward me.
“There are little girls, too?” George asked.
“They’re here?” the woman gasped. “Where?” She jerked her head around as if they might be standing beside her. Her shock made sense. She wouldn’t have known they were present. For some reason souls in limbo couldn’t see each other.
“You see children?” Anna gasped, her voice already cracking with emotion. Maybe it was because she was a mother, and the thought of a child suffering touched her heart a certain way, or maybe she just didn’t have the constitution for any of this—dealing with the dead.
“Shh,” Sniper hushed her, knowing I needed to focus, and multiple people speaking at once wasn’t helpful.
I ignored Anna and George, snapping my gaze to the woman, this time my mouth tight in frustration. My mind was running away with all kinds of crazy thoughts. They didn’t look like her. Not in the least. “There are two of them.”
Morphing back to the steps, she clasped her hands in front of her. “You have to come inside.” Looking away from me, she lifted her chin in indignation. This woman was getting on my damn nerves. She wanted me to help her, but thought she was going to call all the shots. Normally, I would have put her in her place, but…there were the girls. I had to know what happened to them. I had to help them. So I bit my tongue, afraid if I lashed out at her she might withhold the information I was seeking.
Looking down at my feet, knowing what I was about to say would upset George, I stated quietly, “I have to go in. I’m sorry, but I have to.”
I could feel George tense as he inhaled a deep breath, while Sniper and Anna exchanged worried looks. I knew George wasn’t mad at me, we were just ready for a break. We wanted to go home and take a breath, but here I was about to take on another lost soul, or rather, several lost souls.
When I raised my gaze back to the girls, they hadn’t moved. Their souls were merging, blurring together, neither of them knowing they were standing on top of each other. My chest ached as I wondered how long they’d been caught in limbo, both feeling alone even though they were together.
“I’ll go in first and check it,” Sniper volunteered after a moment, moving us along. This was something I loved about him. He didn’t hem and haw about a task. He always stepped forward and worked with the situation at hand, no matter how shitty it was.
“I’ll come with you,” George called, following behind him. As he passed by me, I seized his hand causing him to turn back and meet my gaze.
“Thank you,” I mouthed as I peered into his dark eyes, hoping he could see I knew how badly this sucked, and how appreciative I was. Giving my hand a quick squeeze, letting me know it was okay, he released it and continued to trail Sniper up the steps to the porch.
“There’s no one in here,” the woman insisted, clearly agitated as she morphed to the porch in front of the door, as if trying to block them from entry.
I didn’t bother telling the guys what she’d said. While the guys were busy inspecting the place from the outside, I would gather any information I could from the less-than-delightful spirit, starting with the basics. “What is your name?”
She stared down her nose at me. “Agnus.”
Letting that roll around mentally, I bobbed my head a few times. The name fit her well. “Agnus,” I began, walking up the steps until I was in front of her. Sniper and George peered in through the dirty windows before moving to the front door. “We’re going to check the house to make sure it’s safe. Then, if I agree to come inside, you will explain to me who those girls are.”
Her stern gaze jerked from mine, shifting her line of sight past me, but she didn’t lower her head. She was a proud woman and knew how to maintain a confident stance—as if she believed appearing rattled made her look weak and put her at a disadvantage. I could tell she didn’t like me calling the shots, but she must have known, in her current situation, challenging me wouldn’t do her any favors, so she remained silent.
The front door was stuck, and Sniper grunted as he jammed his shoulder against it, forcing it open. Agnus startled at the sound and morphed away from the door as Sniper pushed it open and stepped back. The battered door creaked eerily as it slowly swung open, the sound sending a shrill chill down my spine. My stare was fixed on the door, when something intense and heavy slammed into me, knocking the air out of me. Stumbling back, I almost fell, but George grabbed my arm, righting me.
“Are you okay? What is it?” he asked as I met his concerned gaze.
Flicking my gaze back to the house, I peered inside and sucked in a ragged breath. I wasn’t sure. Physically, nothing had touched me, but it felt like I’d been clothes-lined by a wave of immense fear and crushing despair. A hard lump rose in my throat, that hard ache you get when you want to cry but you’re fighting it.
“I don’t know,” I croaked through the fog in my mind, an icy burn of confusion and pain circulating through my veins. Cutting my eyes to Agnus, I found her nervous gaze fixed on me, confirming what I was feeling was accurate.
“It’s bad.” Dread laced my tone. “Something really, really bad.”
“Hey you,” George’s deep voice startled me from my thoughts. How long had I been standing in the kitchen with the fridge door open?
“Hi.” I shook my head, clearing it. Pressing my fingers to my temple, I rubbed slightly as another sharp pain ebbed. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t,” he rounded the counter, wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, giving me perfect view of his chiseled body. Working out had become his new drug of choice. He loved the high he felt after torturing his body in the gym, and it showed. Grabbing my waist, he lifted me onto the counter with ease and moved between my legs. I was only wearing one of his cotton t-shirts and thong panties, so when his hands slid up my thighs it wasn’t hard to see the way my body responded when the thin fabric revealed my hardened nipples.
“I don’t like waking up and not finding you beside me,” he mumbled as he brushed his lips against my neck. “You can’t sleep.”
It wasn’t a question, but I felt the need to respond anyway. “No. My mind won’t stop racing.” My hands gripped his shoulders as I let my head fall back, relishing his touch, a small moan escaping me.
Pulling away, he cupped my chin in his hand and met my gaze. “I’m going to take you back to our bed and make love to you until you’re comatose.” My breath hitched as he jerked me forward, slamming me against him, my ass barely resting on the counter as a delicious ache grew in my core. My husband knew me well and knew exactly how to distract me. When I couldn’t sleep, when my mind was running wild, he knew how to quiet the noise by wrenching every ounce of energy from my body. Fisting his hair, I kissed him hard. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead to mine, groaning as he let out a ragged breath, his desire as strong as my own. “You ready, Mrs. McDermott?”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, linking my legs around his waist as he lifted from the counter and walked us to the bedroom. “I’m ready, Mr. McDermott.”