Monday, February 25, 2013

Secrets of the Dead Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Washing the foul taste from her mouth, Jessie took a moment to calm herself. She didn’t want to think about the reason she had just spilled her guts in the toilet. Sure, a good part of her queasy stomach might be attributed to her hangover, but not all, and it was the other part she didn’t want to think or rehash in her mind.

Feeling more stable, she lifted from the sink and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She looked…she didn’t want to even think deathly, but it was close. Wiping her hands on the towel, she was reminded of the episode in the shower. The hands on her body had felt so—she cut her thoughts off, giving her head a shake.

She didn’t care to go there right now.

Opening the door, she was surprised to see C.J. standing in the hall, leaning against the wall across from the door, waiting for her.

“Feeling better?”

“No. I need something to eat, though. I’ve got the shakes.” Was it from lack of food or the revelation of what had actually happened to her that brought it on? She couldn’t be sure.

“I’ll scrounge something up for us to eat. Feel like talking?”

“No.” She really didn’t.

“I think you might feel better if you talked about what happened to you.”

“And give that bastard the satisfaction of knowing what he did to me is affecting me? I think not.”

“Okay.” He helped her down the stairs. “Wow, you’re shaking like a leaf. Are you a diabetic?”

“No. Why?”

“You’re pretty shaky, and you said you needed to eat.

Probably just shock, and spilling your guts in the toilet.

It’s raining again.”

Glancing out the window on her way through the living room, she saw that it was. “I would love to feel that on my face right now.”

“Doors are still sealed tight. Someone doesn’t want us to leave here.” He helped her to a chair then turned to the cupboards. “How does soup sound?”

“Perfect.” She didn’t think her stomach could handle anything else. “You made me that stupid bet knowing there were spirits here? That’s unfair.”

Smiling, C.J. opened a can of vegetable soup.

“Thought that one got past you.”

“Memory like a—what has a good memory?” Her mind currently was a little off.

“Elephants,” he supplied, stirring the soup in the pot.

“Right. Is there anything to make a sandwich with in the fridge?”

“I’ll check.”

He moved to the fridge and as he bent over she

admired just how well his jeans fit against his nice firm ass. “So, back to my discussion—”

“Wasn’t a discussion, you were accusing.” He carried the meat and cheese to the counter.

“Whatever. That was pretty crummy of you, but what I want to know is how you knew I would believe in ghosts after two days? Unless you had an inside track on that as well? Did they tell you they were going to lock us in here?”

He turned to see her eyes narrowed in on him. “No, I didn’t know they were going to lock us here. I had hoped something would show up to sway you from your adamant disbelief, but that wasn’t the reason why I made the bet.”

“Then why did you make the bet?”

“I wanted to know what it was like to kiss you.” He set the plate of deli meat on the table, his eyes lowering to her with a seductive slant.

“You wanted to know what it was like to kiss me?”

“Yes, I did.”

 “You don’t even like me, or at least you didn’t. I hope that’s changed now, though.” A man didn’t do what he had done with her—to her—if he disliked a woman. But she had to make sure.

“I liked you just fine before, Jessica, even more now; I just liked aggravating you, still do,” he replied comically, setting the hot pot on the place mat on the table.

“Gee, lucky me.” She slapped meat between two pieces of bread, then took a huge bite. “How do I prevent him from touching me again?” she asked apprehensively after swallowing the food in her mouth.

“I’ll stay with you.”

Her brow lifted. “As in, sleep with me?”

“Unless you have a problem with that, yes.” He handed her the bowl, then filled another for himself.

“We’ve had sex, Jessica.” He supplied after a moment’s silence.

“I know that.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“We hardly know each other.”

His eyes lifted to her with surprise. “We had sex,

Jessica,” he repeated a little slower this time.

She snorted in response, stirring her hot soup. “Sex is different than sleeping with someone, and besides, I was drunk.”

His hand stopped midway to his mouth. Dropping the spoon back into the bowl of soup, he replied. “Are you saying that the only reason you had sex with me was because you were drunk?”

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Oh, oh, I get it.” He pushed from the table, obviously angry. “That’s nice, Jessica, fucking nice. Thank you for that.” Marching past her, he left her alone at the table.

“I was going to add that I don’t normally sleep with people I barely know, and that I didn’t regret having sex with you. Until now.” She whispered the last, anger rippling off of her. The room suddenly quiet, she felt uneasy being alone. Looking around, she hoped the entity was no where near her now.

She kept a watchful eye – not that she would be able to do anything if he tried something. Great, not only was she angry but now she was paranoid as well. Great, fucking great.


To keep himself busy and his mind off of a certain female he refused to acknowledge, C.J. went over every bit of information he had accumulated thus far, making sure he had everything documented properly and coded on disc with his own pass code. He wasn’t taking any chances with this evidence.

She only had sex with you because she was drunk.

Growling under his breath, C.J. flipped through his printouts. What was wrong with him, obsessing over what Jessica had said? It shouldn’t matter what she thought, or what she said. It was her loss if she didn’t want to be with him. She was just going to have to fend for herself from now on and find a way to keep Mr. Greedy Hands from copping a feel.

Oh, who was he kidding, he couldn’t do that, couldn’t leave her to deal with the entity on her own. He cared too much about her to do that to her.

The familiar tickle drew his attention. Lifting his head from his papers, he saw her standing before him, that now familiar solemn look on her face. “Hello, Andrea.” She didn’t respond and he hadn’t expected her to. “Why do you always look so troubled? I know your death was tragic, but I sense something else is behind your misery.”

Moving in soundless steps, she closed the distance between them until she was a breath away. She had incredible brown eyes, and he wondered if they had lit with glee when she had been alive. He felt her presence as she touched his hand. It was an odd sensation he had felt only a few times before, but it was never forgotten. A cool feeling like that which occurs from sucking on a mint, came close to what he felt when she touched his hand. And when his hand lifted without his assistance, and began to write on his pad, he was compelled to watch.

Save us.

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