George
“Still waiting on that pot pie for table ten,” Charlotte yelled. I was behind the line cooking when she entered the kitchen to refill a glass of tea.
“Working on it,” Sniper called back.
Charlotte rubbed her temple, her features slightly contorted, clearly uncomfortable. She had another headache. Between the headaches and the insomnia, I was surprised she could even get out of bed. Somehow she managed, and then some. Since we’d returned to Warm Springs, she’d wanted to throw herself into our former routines, hoping the familiarity of it would get her back on track. That involved me managing, cooking, bartending, and serving if needed. Charlotte also wore all of those hats when needed, though she preferred to serve. I couldn’t help but watch her while she stood in front of the tea urn. It didn’t matter that we were always together; that we woke up to each other every morning, my eyes always found her, and they always would—I couldn’t help it. Charlotte was the kind of beautiful most men couldn’t not notice and look at, even though I’d thought she was nothing but a pain in the ass when she first showed up in town three years ago; though, if you asked her, she’d probably say she’d felt the same about me. It had started as the natural instincts of a man being attracted to a woman, but her presence was magnetic, and despite not being sure I even liked her, I couldn’t fight her pull. Over the years, her pull hadn’t waned. I still watched the beautiful woman—my wife—but now I needed to see her; I needed to know she was okay. It had been months since I’d felt like she was, and it was eating me alive. My job as her husband was to protect her, to defend her, to give her peace and happiness. I’d go to battle for her, no matter who, when, or where. But how does a man fight the dead? How could I protect her from something I couldn’t even see or hear?
“I see ya staring at her arse. Still pervy for her after all these years.” My gaze reluctantly pulled away from her as she left the kitchen and shifted to find Sniper watching me, a shit-eating grin on his face.
I snorted. He would know. Sniper was the king of pervs. “I wasn’t staring at her ass.”
“Well if that’s the truth, then I feel sad for ya, man, cuz her arse deserves to be stared at.”
I threw the hand towel on my shoulder at him, hitting him in the chest as I glared, “Don’t be talking about my wife’s arse, you ass.”
Catching the towel and flinging it over his own shoulder, he chuckled, “Well if you’re not staring at it, someone should.” Then he held his hands up in surrender and added, “But you are right. I shouldn’t be talking about your wife’s fine behind.”
“You trying to get me to kick you in the dick, or what?”
He chuckled before his smile faded as he leaned one hip against the counter and crossed his arms, continuing to watch me. “I know you weren’t staring at her arse,” he admitted, the humor in his tone receding. “I just wanted to get a rise out of ya.”
I looked away as I wiped the cutting knife on my apron.
“She’ll be alright, George,” he assured me, before returning his attention back to the orders needing to be prepared. After putting a few plates in the window and calling for pick-up, he turned back to me, his expression hesitant. “You know, I saw this show the other day—some lady-channel Anna had on,” he muttered, shaking his head as if ashamed to admit where he’d seen it. “Some wild-looking lass that is psychic and communicates with the dead.”
Vaguely listening to him I asked, “Like Charlotte?”
“Nah. Claims she can speak to the dead-dead.”
I furrowed my brow. “Dead-dead?”
He motioned his hand around. “Like the souls that crossed over already.”
“She seem legit?”
Sniper shrugged. “I guess. Someone would come in and want to know if their loved one was in peace and would want to say goodbye, and she’d connect with them. Tell ’em stuff only the loved one would know.”
“Who knows. There are so many quacks out there.”
“I just mean she seemed to have a good handle on it. Maybe she and Char could connect. Maybe it would be good for Char to talk to someone like her, ya know?
“That’s all we need. Another person who sees the dead.” The comment sounded harsh, and I winced. I hadn’t meant it that way. “That was a dick thing to say.”
He nodded in agreement. “She can’t help what she is.”
“I know,” I acknowledged.
I shook my head as I sliced an onion, my frustration coming out in hard, abrasive chops as I diced. “I wouldn’t change her for anything.” That was the honest to God truth. Charlotte was special, and her gift was a part of her.
“Aye,” Sniper agreed.
“I don’t know, man. She’s not sleeping. She keeps getting these headaches. She’s putting on a good front, but she’s off. I feel it.” It had been weeks since she’d slept—like really slept. We’d spent hours in bed the night before, kissing, rubbing, fucking—everything to exhaust her, to give her relief. Only then did she sleep, the fatigue of her body overpowering the relentlessness of her mind.
Sniper glanced at the door that led out to the dining room. “I know you’re worried,” he pulled the towel from his shoulder and started wiping down the counter as he spoke, “but the woman is tough. She’ll get through it.”
I chopped faster, the events of the last few months swirling in my head. The fear and uncertainty in Charlotte’s voice the day we entered the Hell House, just before we stepped inside, replayed over and over in my mind. That was the moment. As soon as I heard her fear I should have taken her and hauled ass out of there.
“Something really, really bad.” It was impossible to miss the fear lacing Charlotte’s tone as she stared through the doorway into the abandoned house.
I tried to keep my cool, but Charlotte’s words had every nerve in my body on high alert. Aside from the fact something had frightened her so badly she’d nearly fallen on her ass, she was trembling. “We’re not going in,” I informed everyone.
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if clearing her head before she moved her stare back to the door, her expression void as she attempted to hide her concern. She didn’t want me to know she was afraid. “We have to.”
I wasn’t going to let her off the hook that easy. “Charlotte, you’re shaking like a leaf.”
“There are little girls in here, George. Children.” She shuddered before adding, “I have to go in.”
Sniper and I exchanged uncertain glances before he gave me a shrug. He knew where I was coming from, and he didn’t want to go inside anymore than I did, but he understood we had to. For my wife, it never was as simple as walking away. If we left at that very moment and headed back to the hotel, Agnus, and possibly the little girls, would just follow her. Spirits could be relentless. They would not let Charlotte rest until they rested. Which meant Charlotte needed to go in. We couldn’t deal with the dead for her, but we could do our best to keep her safe in all other areas.
“Okay,” I finally agreed. “But Sniper and I are still going in first to check the place.”
She nodded, a hint of nervousness visible in her features for the briefest of moments before she steeled herself. “Thank you.” My girl didn’t like anyone to see her afraid.
Sniper turned a stern look on Anna, who was waiting on the bottom step of the porch, her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she watched us. “You,” he pointed a firm finger at her, “wait right here. Do not come in.”
Anna nodded in acknowledgement, her eyes filled with concern. It was evident she had no desire to enter the house and didn’t try to argue about it.
Sniper and I did a quick sweep of the two-story townhome before returning to the porch where Charlotte appeared to be talking to herself, but we knew she was speaking with Agnus.
“This place is a shite hole,” Sniper announced unnecessarily when we stepped out. “No one is in the house, but it looks like someone could be squatting here, so we should make this quick in case they come back.”
“Lead the way, Agnus,” Charlotte said, her voice confident as she stepped aside and gestured to the open doorway. A moment passed before Charlotte stepped inside the house and froze, sucking in a deep breath as if steadying herself.
“Are you okay?” I asked, gently resting my hands on her shoulders
“I’ve never felt…what I’m feeling.” She trembled subtly, and I gripped her shoulders tighter, hoping it would steady her. “It’s like a wave of…crushing despair. I don’t know how to explain it,” she murmured, her voice hitching with emotion. My stomach twisted. Over the years, she’d managed to build a shield more or less, a way to protect herself from becoming too affected by the things she saw. She wore her protective barrier well, but today it seemed to be wavering. Seeing her rattled concerned me. It meant there was a chink in that armor. And if something really was getting through her impenetrable wall…it had to be bad.
“I’m right here with you,” I reminded her, making sure to keep my voice strong and steady so she’d feel safe. “If anything gets too intense, or you get overwhelmed, say the word, and I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here.”
Leaning back to press against me she whispered, “My hero.” I had to admit, that felt good to hear. I wanted to be her hero; her protector. It was nice to know she believed it too.
As we moved farther into the house, she absentmindedly twirled a piece of her long hair around her finger, something she did when she was thinking.
“Where is Agnus?” I asked.
“Top of the stairs.”
She was still leaning against me when I felt her back tense as she inhaled sharply. She was bracing herself. Then, in a flash, she rushed the steps. Momentarily stunned by her sudden movement, it took Sniper and I a few moments to react before we followed her up the stairs to the second floor, slowing as we caught up with her at the open door of one of the bedrooms. She stood just outside of it, staring in.
“Hello,” she greeted quietly, her voice tentatively echoing into the empty room. “Don’t be scared.” She raised a hand as if to offer reassurance that she meant no harm, but dropped it. “My name is Charlotte, and I’m here to help you.”
“May I come—” Charlotte moved to enter the room but froze mid-step. She stared at the empty room, her expression riddled with concern. “Who will hurt me?”
Sniper and I glanced at one another before we scanned the area around us. Had we missed something? Was someone in the house?
“What bad man?” Charlotte whispered, her face contorting in horror.
“George,” Charlotte called, jerking me from my thoughts. “My pot pie, babe?” Dark circles hung under her eyes, and her cheek bones were more prominent, a sign she’d been losing weight. She hid it well, but in the harsh light of the kitchen I could see her features were more sullen and hollow.
“It’s coming, lass,” Sniper answered for me. She grabbed some napkins and rushed out of the kitchen.
My surroundings spun around me, the colors and sounds blurring. I closed my eyes, attempting to calm down. You should have stopped her from going in.
Entering the house, Charlotte expected to find the souls of the two girls she’d seen in the window, but she did not expect to find a third. Two souls crossed over…one still remained.
We’d been back to New York twice since that day, but even after the second return trip, Charlotte hadn’t been able to interact with the girl, and though we would leave New York and the Hell House, the spirit of the little girl trapped in the dark bedroom where Charlotte found her, in a way always came back to Warm Springs with us. Charlotte wasn’t haunted by the girl’s ghost; no, she was haunted by her failure to help the child.
I hated that fucking house—the Hell House. I hated Agnus and what she had done, not only to the children, but for what the whole thing was now doing to my wife. Since the day we entered that shit hole, my wife slept less and less and suffered more. The more I thought about it, the hotter my blood pumped, and the faster I chopped.
“George,” Sniper said, concern in his tone.
I tensed as he said my name, losing my focus on the task at hand, and pressed the blade into the pad of my thumb. “Shit,” I hissed as I pulled my hand back and assessed the wound. Sniper grabbed my wrist and wrapped a towel around it. The Army had taught him how to act swiftly, and I found a situation seldom arose when Sniper was present that wasn’t immediately addressed.
“That’s going to need stitches,” he said bluntly.
“I just need a bandage is all,” I insisted, pulling my hand away.
“What happened?” My head jerked up at the sound of Charlotte’s voice.
“Just caught my thumb. It’s no big deal.” My reassurance didn’t sway her. She rounded the line and stood in front of me, taking my hand and lifting the towel, wincing when she saw it.
Her concern laced eyes cut to mine. “You need stitches, babe.”
“Told ya,” Sniper added.
“It’s fine,” I tried one more time, attempting to keep my cool. I wasn’t upset with either of them, just pissed at myself.
“Come on, I’ll drive you,” she said, ignoring my attempt to dissuade them of concern.
Shaking my head, I untied my apron with my uninjured hand. “You have tables.”
“Anna can handle them. Let’s go.”
“I’ll drive myself,” I grumbled as I tugged the apron off and tossed it on the floor. “Will you clean this up for me, Sniper?”
“Got it,” he said agreeably.
“I’m driving you,” Charlotte voiced stubbornly as I stepped around her.
I cupped the back of her head with the hand not currently gushing blood and pulled her to me, pressing a kiss to her forehead. I appreciated her concern, and I knew she only wanted to help, but I needed some time to myself to decompress. My number one priority was to help her, protect her from stress; right now I needed to protect her from myself. “You stay here, babe. I’ll be back soon.” I walked out of the kitchen and through the back door. I was in a terrible mood, and it had nothing to do with the cut on my hand. It had everything to do with feeling like I had no control, and that was because I didn’t. The thing I didn’t want to admit, though, was the only other time I’d felt this way was after the death of my brother Ike. And I didn’t like where those feelings had led me.