Restless Spirits

“Oh God, Pierce.”

“That’s right, baby. I’m the one making you feel this way.” Her thighs came together, and he tilted his hand, finding the spot he’d sought. Her muscles locked. Warm liquid covered his fingers. He growled in the back of his throat, pulled away, kicking off his shoes, and stripped down. Nude, he helped her shed her clothing and knelt between her legs.

“I want to be inside you, D.” He palmed his dick, teasing her with shallow thrusts. “To feel that tight little pussy of yours around my cock.” He slipped the head inside and paused.

“Don’t you dare stop.” Her eyes went wild, and she tried to rock her hips. He held her down onto the mattress with a firm hand on her waist.

“I’m waiting for your answer.”

“Yes, now.”

He pushed inside, stretching her slowly, and they both moaned. Buried inside the woman he’d loved for years, he found heaven. They moved together like dancers who’d performed a carefully choreographed number. She met him thrust for thrust, gripping him tight with her legs and the fingers she wound around his arms. In her eyes, he saw the potential for a lifetime of happiness. They came together in an explosion that burned molten.

* * * *

Demi sat up in bed and glanced at the man beside her who slept soundly. Why am I awake? A look to her left at the clock beside revealed the early hour: 3:30. She sat up on the bed and frowned. Nothing looked out of place, and the room remained silent. A cold draft crept over her skin. A white cloud developed in front of her, and she rubbed her arms. She’s back. The lights flickered in the bathroom, and she stood, padding silently across the floor. Pierce wouldn’t want her to go in, and she felt compelled to do just that. Careful not to wake him, she entered the bathroom and slowly closed the door behind her. The lights came on full power, and the coldness increased in the room.

“Hello?” she asked quietly.

The woman appeared before her. Demi jumped. Unsure what to do next, she remained still and silent. The woman leaned forward and touched her shoulder. The room tilted on its axis, and wet cotton filled the space between her ears. Demi reached out and clutched the bathroom counter to steady herself. The sensation passed, and she opened her eyes. The scene played out in front of her on an invisible movie screen. The hotel as it once looked stood in front of her with the ghost, alive and well, though solemn. She turned to look at the apparition.

“This is you?”

The apparition nodded and pointed. She raced to the desk, her hair flowing behind her back.

“Any word yet from my love?”

“Any news from William?” the ghost asked.

The clerk gave her a sorrow-tinged smile. “Not yet, Bronwyn.”

“Oh.” The ghost, Bronwyn’s, face fell. “You’ll let me know when something comes in.”

“Of course.”

“Well I’m off to work my shift in the pub.” Bronwyn gave a wave and a forced smile before turning away from the desk and moving back down the hall. The scene replayed itself on a loop. Each time Bronwyn grew more despondent. Her skin took on an unhealthy, pale tint, and her skin stretched over knobby bones.

“Bronwyn!” A dark-haired woman ran into the pub, waving a letter. “This just came in for you!” She waved the white envelope like a victory flag. Color rose in Bronwyn’s checks, and she walked away from the bar, snatching the letter from her friend’s hands.

“Go ahead, open it,” the dark-haired woman said, waving her hands in excitement.

Bronwyn tore the letter open and pulled out a beige piece of paper. Her eyes scanned the letter, and she gasped. Her body swayed. The letter fluttered to the ground.

“Bron!”

Bronwyn fell back into her friend’s arms, dazed and shaken. Tears rolled down her face, and her chest heaved.

Demi glanced down at the letter. William McDaniel perished at sea. Her heart ached for the waif beside her. This was her tragedy. The death of her fiancé had trapped her in this hotel. The power love had to ruin had never been clearer. Images shifted like a flip book. Bronwyn morphed into an old woman. Stooped, alone, and followed by grief. Panic set Demi’s heart a gallop like a runaway horse. This was what she’d decided to open herself up to. The scene had played out like a ghostly movie, each shape distinct yet slightly transparent.

An icy hand gripped her shoulders, and she jumped. Bronwyn pointed at the door.

“You want me to follow you?”

Bronwyn nodded and turned, pausing to look over her shoulder. She glided through the door, and Demi gathered her courage and followed behind her. Slipping out of the room unnoticed, she trailed the apparition. Benevolent and incredibly sad, the ghost, Bron, touched a soft spot inside her. How could Demi pass on the chance to end someone’s suffering? If only I had been able to do the same for my father. Memories of the slow fade after her mother’s unexpected death twisted her gut. Maybe she could make up for her own failings in some tiny way. Nothing she said had swayed him, and the uncanny resemblance had acted like a knife twisting the blade deeper into his broken heart, further shattering what was left of his spirit. They made their way down the stairs and outside the front door, wrapping around the building. When they came to the corner, Bronwyn moved forward and knelt down. She touched the brick pattern, and Demi shook her head.

“You lost me.”

A pained looked crossed Bronwyn’s face. Her image flickered, and one of the gray bricks moved.