Three Years Later...
An unwelcomed visitor, an anniversary, a birthday and an announcement have the Holliday household in turmoil.
"The Anderson brat bit me again." John Henry Holliday sighed loudly, flopped down into his favorite chair and held out his wounded finger to display to his wife.
Alex glanced away from her knitting to observe her husband from under her lashes. The smile that was desperate to emerge was proving very hard to conceal. A small, lady like smirk finally came into view, but only after John had lowered his hand and looked away. "Did you bite him back like I suggested?"
He snorted with frustration. "No, but I was inches from sticking him with an extra large needle until my better judgment prevailed." Doc tilted back his head and rested his eyes. It had been a grueling day, started out badly and gradually grew worse. By the noon hour he was ready to close up the office and head for the nearest saloon.
It was his own stupidity that started his spiral slide into dental purgatory. He should have known better than to schedule Mrs. Snyder as his first appointment of the day. He knew from previous experiences that he was always distracted and somewhat torn after her appointment concluded. Her peculiar habit of emitting a high pitch nervous giggle throughout the procedure could drive the sanest man to the bottle, but combine that with her provocative manner of dress and it was next to impossible to ignore her oddities and concentrate on his work.
The woman easily possessed the largest breasts he had ever seen, and for some unknown reason she willing walked around town with half of them exposed. Every time a giggle reached a furious peak, her voluptuous chest would quiver, the flesh seeming to move of its own accord to the point where they threatened to shimmy free from the top of her dress. As he went about his work he stood on pins and needles waiting, and honestly hoping, for the one laugh that would set her boobs free. So far, after one extraction and three fillings, he had yet to be so lucky. By the end of each appointment he couldn't decide if he was relieved she stayed covered or disappointed.
Doc felt no guilt about these thoughts, having shared and laughed about them with Alex. His good-humored wife listened to his confession with a half concealed smile and then proceeded to turn his dirty thoughts into a erotic encounter by asking him some very detailed and personal questions regarding his sexual desire while working on Mrs. Snyder's teeth.
The purpose of her game quickly became apparent when she moved from her chair to sit on his lap. Even now he could still feel the pressure of her fingers while she unfastened the buttons on his pants and the warmth of her hand sliding under the waistband until she could grasp his aching erection as she posed one provocative question after another. It wasn't long before Mrs. Snyder was the furthest thing from his mind.
His wandering attention was brought back to the present when Alex rose from her chair to pour him a large whiskey. She slipped the drink into his hand while sliding gracefully onto his knee. "What else happened today?" She asked casually while watching him toss half the whiskey down his throat. The sight of his angled head and the quick flick of his wrist only increased her amusement. His drinking habit had greatly declined since settling in Kentucky, but her dear retired outlaw could still toss back a drink like a well-seasoned professional.
He swallowed loudly and smirked back at her. "Mrs. Snyder came in for her crown."
Alex's eyes lit with amusement laced with an underlining sexual heat. "Oh?" She remarked lightly while loosening his tie and collar. "And were you blessed with a vision during her treatment?"
John chuckled at her well-chosen words. "Unfortunately, no. I'm beginning to believe she must glue them in place or something."
She laughed outright. "And what about you dearest, are you also glued into place?" Her hand took a dip south to cup him between the legs.
He raised one inquiring brow. "What do you think?" He waited as she delicately traced the outline of his erection, the caress of her fingers was light enough to make him ache for more, and yet firm enough to take his mind off of his troubles.
"I believe your spirit is as wild and free today as it was when we first met." Her smirk grew into an invitation when she pinched the head of his cock and watched him jump.
"Where's the baby?" He asked with serious intent.
"Napping." The comment was more than a casual reply, it was a dare, a challenge, and a conquest that only he was entitled to undertake.
Doc quickly emptied his glass and sat forward. "Thank God." He declared before setting his wife on her feet and ushering her to their bedroom.
An hour later and he felt like a new man. He turned onto his side, propped his elbow on a feathered pillow and rested his head in the palm of his hand so that he could stare down at his naked wife. She was quietly snoozing, not completely asleep but languidly drifting in and out of peaceful relaxation. With one finger he lightly traced the bridge of her nose, skirting around the fine arch of her brow, before caressing the rim of one ear. He was rewarded by a sexually satisfied smile before she sighed with contentment and drifted off again.
Leaning down close to her he whispered four little words that were uttered like a prayer everyday since she committed her whole heart and soul to him and the world he lived in. "I love you, Alexis."
Even though she slept she still smiled, the depth of her affection brought tears to his eyes. Gently, Doc brushed his lips against her cheek and was giving serious consideration to disturbing her rest to engage in another round of sex when he was suddenly startled by a strange sound.
Immediately he sat up and looked about the room, half expecting to hear scraps of conversation from Wyatt or Morgan chattering one story below as they passed under the open window, but that thought was misplaced. He knew well enough that the ex-lawmen were on their way to New York to look at two thoroughbred horses for sale. Only a light breeze and the sound of birds singing in the trees greeted his ears, but it wasn't the clatter of nature that caused the hair on his arms to stand on end. The sound had been distinctly human, almost like a hum of amusement and it seemed to come from across the room. Normalcy met his eyes as he surveyed his surroundings. Nothing but the familiar sight of a very comfortable bedroom was laid out before him. There was no visible cause for alarm, no reason for his heighten senses to be silently screaming of danger. All he saw was the result of Alex's hard work.
His wife had worked for more than two weeks perfecting the décor in the master suite. The burgundy carpet was plush; the coordinating drapes long and heavy with soft flowers floating across the fabric. The furniture had taken her weeks of shopping in Philadelphia while he attended his classes at the Dental College. Alexis had finally decided on a design that fell somewhere between a feminine and masculine gender with walnut wood in a dark stain. There was a small sofa and chair at one corner of the room near the fireplace. Next to that a tall bookcase filled with all manner of books. On the opposite wall was his dresser, and near the window at the end of the room stood her dresser and vanity table, so that she might have the morning light to fix her hair and makeup. The finishing touch was a large cedar chest positioned at the end of the bed. And finally there was the bed, which was the focal point of the room and truly unique. She had it constructed several inches bigger than most beds, which of course needed special size linen to fit it, but he didn't care. Made in the same style as the rest of the furniture, it was a four-poster bed with canopy, made from the same fabric as the curtains.
All in all, it was a beautiful room, and one he enjoyed spending the most time in not only because of the intimacy that was share here, but because Alex had extended so much effort to make sure the bedchamber was comfortable for both of them.
In his humble opinion, their new home was a triumph. The structural design was mostly his idea, with Alex's input and approval, of course. He had chosen a Georgian style home, to remind him of his Southern roots, but with one difference, rather than use plain boards and beams for the structure, Alexis and he had selected Kentucky stone, giving the house an original look but with an native air. Like most antebellum style homes, the house had three stories with the upper two floors reserved for the bedrooms. On the ground floor almost all the windows were tall and shaded by deep-wide porches, one in the front of the house and two in the back. One rear patio was on the second floor, just off their master bedroom, and accessible by French doors; the other was on the ground floor for the kitchen.
The inside of the home was just as Southern. A wide entrance way and formal staircase greeted their guests. His and her sitting rooms were situated on either side of the main hall. Beyond those rooms were the dining room, a formal sitting room for company, and a room that served as a library as well as his study.
The kitchen was entirely Alex's domain. It was in the very back of the building and took up the entire width of the house. Any design ideas he might have had were only structural. The layout, cabinets, stove, window placements, length and width of counter tops were entirely Alex's. She had been explicit about her ideas with the builder, even to the point that she traveled back to Kentucky with him during one of his breaks from school to oversee the interior construction. He had tried to talk her out of traveling only because she had been six-months pregnant at the time and he had been worried about her comfort, but she had been stubborn and insisted on going.
As it turned out his concerns were unfounded. Alexis withstood any discomfort from the train ride, and actually seemed to thrive during the trip. Allie and Louisa were thrilled to see her and the three women spent every waking second together making plans and discussing babies. Louisa, having just delivered a fine daughter, was adjusting well to motherhood. Alex took the opportunity to learn as much as she could from her about caring for a newborn in the nineteenth century.
They stayed in Kentucky for three weeks before returning to Philadelphia. During the trip back, Alex confessed to feeling worried and inadequate about being a mother in this antiquated century. When he pressed her for details she admitted she was unsure about feeding and caring for the baby in such an old fashion environment. Puzzled by her attitude he asked how modern women learned to care for babies. Birthing classes, books, and videos was the answer to his stupid question. He should have realized pregnancy was openly discussed during her time, but in this era it was still considered an inappropriate topic for public discussion, and with Louisa and Allie in Kentucky, Alex had no one to talk to.
Until that moment he hadn't realized how anxious his wife had been. School had taken up much of his time, leaving Alexis alone at the hotel for most of the day. Shame washed over him as they talked. He realized he had been neglecting his wife during a particularly important phase of her life, leaving her feeling isolated, afraid and insecure. Alex had assured him that her mind was calmer now. The visit with Louisa and Allie gave her the opportunity to see first hand how a newborn is cared for, and also to ask as many questions as she could.
He learned a valuable lesson on that train ride back to the city. During their remaining time in Philadelphia he amended his ways and paid more attention to her needs.
Again he looked anxiously around the room as he tired to discern the nature of the strange noise. Perhaps his ears were playing tricks. As tired as he was it was entirely possible he had imagined the sound. Extra long hours at his dental office were the chief cause for his fatigue. Recently, three of his patients required emergency procedures, which amounted to several late nights. Then the only other dentist in town fell ill, leaving his patients with no other option but to knock on his door.
He wasn't complaining. A teaming practice is what he always wanted. It felt good to finally use all the instruments and techniques he learned in school. Rather than pull a rotten tooth, pat the patient on the back and tell him to rinse his mouth out with saltwater like he would have out West, he was now performing constructive surgery, building gold crowns, fitting bridgework, dentures and even braces. The challenges were plentiful and his skill level was increasing by the month. After waiting more than ten years, he finally felt like a doctor of dentistry.
But the pace was getting to him. He needed more sleep, and more time to relax with his friends while he caught up on all the details and problems on the horse farm with Virgil, Wyatt and Morgan. But mostly he wanted more private time with Alex and his son. He didn't like leaving her alone so much. Even after three stable and blissful years of marriage there was still the underlining fear that one day he'd come home and find that she was gone. They were groundless thoughts and ridiculous feelings, but by six o'clock every evening all he could think about was going home.
Passing a soothing hand over the goose bumps on his arms, he glanced once more at his sleeping wife, making sure all was well with her before he tossed back the covers and rose from the bed.
He strolled into the adjoining bathroom, one of several lavatories within the home, to splash cold water on his face. Plumbing…what a wonderful invention, he thought as he shut off the tap and dried his hands. After living without it for most of his life, running to and from hauling buckets of water, he doubted very much he could do without such luxury again.
He took a quick glance at his face in the mirror and was pleased by his reflection. Cheekbones that had at one time stood out sharply from his face were now calmer and more softly concealed under the thirty pounds of flesh he had gained since his miraculous recovery. Even after all this time he was still amazed, in awe really, by his good fortune. He chuckled softly while running his fingers over his end-of-the-day-beard. Not a day went by that he didn't give thanks for the return of his health.
But his new founded health had one temporary drawback, and the dilemma snuck up on him, taking him completely off guard. After the wedding, but before leaving for their trip east, he had suddenly outgrown all his clothing. Not one damn suit fit him. The evidence was clearly displayed one morning while dressing to attend a meeting with several prominent businessmen in Tombstone. He had simply bent over to brush off his boots and was rudely addressed by the tearing of fabric. Before he could ask his wife what had happen she burst out in hysterical laughter and fell off her chair.
The object of her humor didn't take long for him to discover as a cool breeze passed through the torn fabric in the seat of his pants. He could only scowl at her as she jeered up at him from the floor. "Obviously it's time to see Mrs. Ott, dearest." She snickered.
His new face as well as his new clothes were second nature to him now. Occasionally, he would meet up with an old friend who wasn't familiar with his healthy look and the customary exclamation of surprise would follow, but most of his acquaintances were familiar with his appearance now. Although, whenever his father came to visit he would continuously remark about his development for at least the first hour. No one was as amazed by his recovery, it seemed, then his own family. Even more amazing then his good health was the realization that not one person outside his close personal circle asked how his recovery was achieved. Of course his close friends, the Earps, knew how and why he still lived and breathed, and the answer was, at the moment, sleeping soundly in his bed. Alex was truly exceptional, and it appeared that her biological makeup was hereditary. So far, their son, John Henry, Jr., hadn't known one day of illness. Doc wondered briefly if his future children would also be blessed with Alex's gift.
Folding the small towel across the hanger, he stepped silently out of the bath and stood by the bed. Alex was still sleeping soundly. She must be tired too, he thought. Tonight after dinner he would ask her if she needed extra help around the house. The last thing he wanted was a wife who was too weary to keep him company at the end of the day.
Grabbing his robe from the closet, he slipped his arms into the silk material. The smooth sensation of the fine fabric always sent electric shocks of pleasure across his flesh. This was European silk and just one of the three robes he had purchased in France. Three robes was a lot when he considered that he already owned several more, but the clothing overseas was of such good quality he had trouble controlling his urges. Alex had blatantly called him a clotheshorse. He didn't argue with her or become offended by her remark only because he knew she was one-hundred percent correct. He was a clotheshorse, and a damn proud one at that. The closet in their bedroom was all the evidence needed to support his status; his clothing claimed most of the space inside. Alex's wardrobe was comparably smaller despite the amount of room her dresses consumed. If his darling wife had her way, her clothing would consist of nothing but men's pants, but to please him she conformed to social standards and his wishes. He knew she missed her casual style of dress, and so he kept his mouth shut during the few times she broke tradition and rode her new mare cowboy style wearing an old pair of his pants.
Virgil, the traditionalist that he is, didn't display that amount of discretion and caused an uproar when he caught Allie and Alex out riding disguised as men. The incident had been innocent enough, both women had contained their ride to the open fields of the estate and away from public view, but their good fortune ran out when they tried to sneak the horses back into the barn. Virgil and he had wandered into the stable to inspect Wyatt's latest racer and caught the women red-handed.
Doc chuckled softly at the memory. Both women had tried to look contrite and remorseful as Virgil vented his anger, but minute-by-minute their humor proved too hard to contain. It was his wife that snickered first. Allie shortly followed. By the time Virgil stormed out of the barn both women were rolling on the floor emitting peals of laughter. Alex had added to their mischief by sitting in a large pile of horseshit, which of course only made her laugh harder.
It took Allie a week of wearing provocative aprons to calm Virgil down.
Stepping away from the open closet, he gave the door a push closed with the side of his foot while tying the sash around his waist. Perhaps it was only the whooshing sound of the silk belt, but he could have sworn he heard that odd droning again.
I'm tired, he thought as he walked over to coffee table that held a small silver tray and one large decanter of scotch. I should have napped with Alex. He kept his back to the room as he poured a large drink hoping to calm his nerves. Setting the canister back in place he turned to survey the room again. Every hair on both of his arms was erect and brushing against the long sleeves on his robe, but why? He shook his head to clear the sensation. Damn tired.
Immediately he tipped the glass back and consumed its contents, knowing that three fingers of scotch would calm the most frayed of temperaments, but while lowering the glass he caught a movement from the corner of his eye.
The incident, if he had indeed witnessed a strange object, had been so brief that he was unable to describe what he saw. It looked like a moving puff of smoke, a very small puff of smoke that might have come from a smoking cigar or one of his cigarettes. It moved horizontally, hovering five feet from the floor, starting at the foot of the bed and disappeared entirely when it reached the drapes that hung over the French doors to the porch.
Despite his restraint he jumped, and lost his grip on the glass. The stillness of the room was broken by a sharp clang when the crystal glass struck the silver tray and bounced to the floor.
Alex let out a startled cry and immediately sat up.
"Sorry, darlin." Doc offered while he stooped to retrieve the glass. "I'm clumsy today." He showed her the glass and shrugged. How he managed to act so calm was a mystery. Perhaps his instincts were still as sharp as they had been while living out west. Whatever the reason, he was able to hide his apprehension from her.
Alex smoothed her nerves by brushing her hair back from her face. "I must have fallen asleep. John, why didn't you wake me?" She quickly rose from the bed and stretched, giving him a perfect view of her long, lean and quite naked body.
Not even pregnancy altered her athletic form. Muscles that had been toned when they first met were still just as defined now, almost three years later. But she worked hard on maintaining her shape. She exercised several times a week with weights, and walked two miles every morning.
As a matter of fact, her routine had so intrigued him that he often joined her on her sunrise excursions. Not only did he find the exercise beneficial, but it also allowed both of them some quiet time together, something that only the two of them shared away from the rest of the world. During their walks she belonged entirely to him and to no one else.
Still naked, Alex began to remake the bed, fluffing pillows, pulling up and smoothing the sheets and quilt. He stood across the room and watched her, making no move to assist her or for that matter fetch her a robe. Like a proud husband, he admired her beauty while he let his lust secretly build. A small, masculine smile was just starting to emerge when the hum startled him again.
"Did you say something, John?" Alex inquired without looking up from her task.
Did she hear the noise too, or was it only his reaction that got her attention? He choked back a curse while making an attempt to appear calm. "No."
His effort fell short. Something in his tone must have alerted Alex for she suddenly haltered her movements and turned toward him. "Are you feeling all right? You're as pale as a ghost."
Ghost?
That eerie feeling was back and skating across his skin again. "I'm fine. Just a little tired." Doc quickly turned away from her concerned expression and set his glass down on the small table. "It must have been the baby. I'll go check." Without another word he quickly strolled from the room.
Maybe running away wasn't so smart, leaving his wife alone in a room where he had just been seeing and hearing strange things. Then again, maybe it was a brilliant maneuver on his part. After all, why crack up in front of your spouse when you didn't have to?
Little John's room was directly across the hall. Silently he turned the doorknob and entered. The room was softly lit by indirect sunlight filtered by floor length baby-blue drapes that hung across the windows. In the center of the room stood his son's crib. Carefully he approached and was greeted by two very alert blue eyes gazing up at him. "My little man is awake." He cooed to the boy while reaching to pick him up.
The thrill of fatherhood was a sensation he would never grow accustomed to. His heart still constricted to the point of tears when he would reach down to pick up his son and those two soft chubby arms would reach back up to receive his embrace.
John Junior was two-years old now, and the toddler's constant attention level always amused him. Eagerly he would play with almost anything, trying his best to understand whatever held his attention at the moment. It seemed that his energy was boundless, and then like a playful puppy, he would exhaust himself and collapse on the spot. The ways and positions that John would fall asleep never ceased to amaze his parents. At the dinner table, in the backyard, on the floor by his wife's chair, John would simply tip over and snooze. How many times had Alex wished for a camera to capture the newest pose his son created?
But the baby was refreshed and very awake after his nap. His warm arms wrapped firmly around his neck as he cooed a loud, "Da Da."
"That, little sir," Doc replied while sitting with his son in a nearby rocking chair, "is my favorite word. Say it again for me."
"DA!" The child called out loudly this time.
Doc smiled gently and kissed his son's cheek. "Thank you, John." He nuzzled against the sweet-smelling skin and breathed deeply before tickling the boy with his full mustache.
Little John let out a high-pitched giggle and tried frantically to capture his father's facial hair. While Doc played with and tickled his son, he felt the uneasiness that had enveloped him earlier dissipate. The noises, strange sensations and ghostly puffs of smoke were obviously all figments of a fatigued mind. He was just thinking about taking a few days off from work when he clearly heard, "He has Alex's eyes."
Doc Holliday let out a startled cry and jumped in his chair. "Who is that?" He called in an angry voice. For several seconds the air crackled with silence. Not even the birds answered his demand, but Doc still couldn't ignore the rising alarm coursing through his body. "Answer me!" He shouted while draping a protective arm around the baby.
"Da Da up." Little John called out and pointed excitedly toward the window.
Poking out from under the floor length curtain Doc could see the tips of two worn boots hiding underneath.
He was instantly on his feet and backing toward the bedroom door, shifting his son to rest against his one hip while reaching across his chest for a gun that was no longer there. Damn it, he thought through his rising panic. With his heart pounding and a fear-driven sweat breaking out on his brow, he lowered his hand and reached back for the doorknob instead.
The curtain waved as if blown by a pleasant breeze right before his view of the cheerful fabric was suddenly obscured. Doc felt his heart lurch to a stop as a ghostly face emerged out of thin air like a submerged figure slowly surfacing from a deep stream. "Mal. Mal." Little John called in a happy greeting.
"Malachi!" Doc hissed.
"Hello, Holliday." The dead Guardian called back in an unruffled tone, giving the frightened dentist a slight nod of his chin and a soft know-it-all smile.
The vaporous image was becoming stronger, more solid by the second and with each passing moment Doc was becoming more alarmed. He watched in horror, too taken off guard to gather his reason, and yet too fascinated to flee from the room. "You're dead!" He finally snapped once the spectral spirit had taken solid form.
The ghost's grin doubled in size. "Oh, quite true, I'm very dead, so have no fear Dr. Holliday. I mean no harm to you or your family." As if to show how innocent he really was, Malachi shifted his stance, leaned back against the window frame, and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his blue jeans. He continued to smile.
"Mally!" Little John cried while holding out his hand to the spirit.
Shocked that his son knew the ghost by name, Doc reached out and captured the child's arm. It seemed impossible, but he somehow managed to wrap his arms more protectively around the baby. "What… what do you want? Why are you here?" He spit with more venom than he was feeling at the moment.
Malachi shrugged lightly. "Nothing really. Just paying a friendly visit, making sure my wife is happy in her new life."
Ignoring his 'my wife' reference Doc repeated, "You're dead."
When Malachi chuckled again Doc's skin crawled at the soft human tone of the ghost's laughter. "Yes, we've established that."
"I must be losing my mind." Doc replied more to himself then to Malachi. He stared hard at the apparition, looking for any sign of the vampire that had terrorized Tombstone more than three years earlier, taking in every aspect of his appearance, starting first with his feet before moving upward to finish with his hair. Everything about him was non-threatening and seemed blissfully normal… for a ghost.
Malachi wore faded blue jeans, and scuffed brown boots that had seen better days but were obviously so worn and broken in that they would no longer feel like shoes, but would have grown into a comfort that would closely resemble cozy slippers. The tee shirt he wore was a faded blue left un-tucked and draped over a brown belt. Over that was an unbuttoned long sleeve white-collar shirt with the cuffs rolled above the wrists, leaving exposed just a hint of the tattoos on his forearms. Around his right wrist was a silver bracelet of Irish eternity knots. Hung around his neck – the very same neck that Alex had sent her sword sailing through severing his head from his body – was a silver crucifix. His complexion was nothing like Doc remembered. Gone was the pale-pasty pallor he sported as a vampire. His skin looked healthier, flushed with color, and radiated a warm glow as if Malachi had just returned from a day at the beach. Only his hair remained unchanged sporting the same thick texture, rich chestnut color that fell just below his ears and across his brow.
Malachi's smile took on more confidence, clearly becoming more amused by the second. "I know what you're thinking Holliday. I can almost hear the words struggling to escape your mouth." The ghost changed postures. Hunching his shoulders, he crunched his face into a scowl while extending one shaky finger in Doc's direction and in a quivering crackling voice quoted, 'You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There's more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!' "
The ghost's carriage and voice returned to normal as he laughed at his own humor. "That's Dickens, of course. I'll admit, spooking you holds tremendous appeal and possibly hours and hours of amusement." He shrugged and let loose an over-dramatized sigh. "But I've decided to restrain myself."
Pushing away from the window, the apparition took several silent steps forward, stopping just a mere three feet from Doc. Raising one amused eyebrow at the rising panic clearly displayed on the gambler's face, Malachi continued. "Not for your sake, mind you, but for Alex's and your little boy."
Doc felt his heart lurch as the ghost approached. This can't be happening, he thought. But it was, it had to be. The only alternative explanation for his delusion would be his loss of reason, and that concept was even more frightening. Malachi made not a sound when he walked across the room, but that wasn't what started the slight tremble coursing through Doc's body. The stealthy approach could be explained by the carpeted floor, but how to explain the fact that that man displaced no air around him when he walked.
"Jesus." Doc hissed and took an involuntary step backward, bumping up against the bedroom door.
Unlike his father, Little John was not the least bit upset by Malachi's visit. Once again the baby held out his hand high in the air, fingers spread, palm facing outward. "Fi. Fi." He cooed to the apparition.
Malachi raised his hand to smack it against the child's. "High five, Little John." He teased. Only instead of striking palm to palm, Malachi's hand passed through the baby's hand before he lowered it.
Doc quickly jerked his body around and away from Malachi, moving the child beyond the spirit's reach. "Good God. You're really a ghost… and, you've been playing with my son!"
"Oh, we're good friends, John Jr. and I." He remarked casually. "We've chattered like two monkeys many a night after you've put him to bed."
"Get out, damn you, and leave my family alone!"
Malachi pursed his lips and gave him a slow shake of his head. "Tsk, tsk. Temper, temper, Holliday. My wife is about to walk through that door. I don't want to upset her."
"My WIFE!" Doc spit as his rising temper gave him false courage. The bedroom door suddenly opened, smacking Doc sharply in the back.
"John?" Alex called from the other side. "I heard you call. What's wrong?"
Doc only looked away for a second, but it was long enough for Malachi to vanish. When he looked back the room now stood empty of all supernatural deceased Guardians. "Bloody hell!" He cursed softly. The door struck him again, not once but two more times. He stepped to one side to allow Alex entry, but continued to keep his eyes on the room around him.
She walked in cautiously, glancing briefly at his face and then behind the door. "Were you standing in front of the door?"
"Uh… Just on my way out. We almost collided." He lied smoothly.
"Oh." She gave him an odd look while taking the baby from him. "What is it, John? You're still as white as a sheet. Are you feeling unwell?" Before he could answer she was already reaching for him, looking to make tactile contact so that she could see for herself if sickness plagued him.
Doc quickly intercepted her hand and pushed her arm gently away, making sure he stayed in contact with the long sleeve of her gown so that her ability to read him would be muffled by the cloth. "I'm fine, darlin, just a little tired… and hungry, I think." He kept his eyes averted, refusing to look her in the face until he had a chance to recover from his experience. "Will dinner be ready soon?" Keeping his gaze on the baby, he leaned in and kissed the child's cheek.
Alex frowned and continued to stare at her husband sensing that he was disturbed by something. She reached for his arm, resting her hand across his bicep with the intend of holding him still, yet at the same time noting how firm the muscle was and how much it had grown lately. Normally she would have remarked about his improved physique but the underlining tremble she felt in his arm made her pause. Well, damn it, something was wrong. She glanced quickly at the baby and saw only his normal happy temperament, which told her that only Doc was affected. "Dinner's ready now if you're that hungry. I made pot roast. Why don't you dress while I change Little John?"
Doc nodded slightly without making eye contact and turned toward the door. Is he mad at me? Alex wondered briefly. What did I do now? He was just breaching the doorway when she added, "Have a drink, John, you look like you could use one, and while you're at it pour me one too."
Once out in the hallway Doc let his controlled expression crumble. He propped his back against the hallway, ran a trembling hand across his brow and glanced back at the now open door that lead to his son's room. Thankfully, Alex hadn't followed. From inside the room he could overhear her playful conversation with the baby while she went about changing his diaper. Now that the incident was over he was unsure of exactly what took place. Had he really been conversing with his wife's late husband, or did he just have a complete collapse of his mental facilities? But the baby saw him too, he realized, or was that also just a part of my delusion?
He shook off his disturbing thoughts and crossed the hall and stepped into the bedroom. Alexis was right, he should have a drink; perhaps he'd have several tonight. Maybe he'd get good and drunk and spend the rest of the evening making love to his wife. Nice way to relieve stress, he thought, hope Alex feels inclined to oblige me.
The room was blissfully empty when he entered – no ghosts, no puffs of mysterious smoke, and no delusions to confront him. He walked directly to the decanter of scotch and poured a large drink, tossing the entire contents down his throat. A chemical warmth instantly spread throughout his body soothing his frayed nerves. One or two deep breaths and he was beginning to feel almost normal. Once again he filled the glass before turning his attention toward his closet and what he would wear for dinner. Should he dress casually? Or perhaps something more stylish was called for if he wanted to intrigue his wife. But even before he reached his closet he became aware he wasn't alone.
Malachi was back and this time lounging comfortably across the bed, head propped up against the multiple pillows, feet casually crossed at the ankles and one shit-eating grin plastered to his face. "What's up, Doc?" The ghost quipped. A gush of laughter followed that only increased Doc's confusion and rising anger. "I can tell from the look on your face that Alex has never told you about Bugs Bunny. You should ask her about it later. So, did you miss me, Doc?"
"Hell, no." Doc replied without hesitation while ignoring the odd train of thought from the ghost. It must have been the liquor coursing through his system because this time the shock of seeing an apparition was minimized. Actually, this entire scenario was proving to be intriguing. Doc kept his eyes on the spirit and took another deep drink from his glass. "What the fuck do you want, Malachi?"
The ghost chuckled again. "Now is that anyway to treat a guest and such language too? I can see your western-pioneer-outlaw-mannerisms didn't completely depart after you settled east. Why don't you take some of my silver and buy yourself a new attitude, Holliday? My wife might appreciate it. I know I will."
Doc smiled boldly, as if he was enjoying the humor, but the façade fell short of replacing the cold gleam in his eyes. "Your remarks, Malachi, are like the impression you are making on my bed – nonexistent. One could even go as far to say it bears a resemblance to the impression you made in life. That too was just as inconsequential."
The barb hit home. Any joy the spirit displayed fell sharply away and was replaced by a sudden expression of sadness. Doc lingered over the wound he inflicted, took another casual sip of his drink before walking over to the closet. Without really considering what he was going to wear, he pulled out his light-gray suit, white shirt and red cravat and draped the clothes over his dresser. He started to get dress, purposely keeping his back turned toward the bed, hoping if he ignored the ghost long enough Malachi would get weary of being overlooked and go away.
The ploy didn't work. "You wouldn't be alive today if it wasn't for me." Malachi replied from his position on the bed. "Two, or maybe three more years, Holliday, that's all the time you'd have left if I hadn't started a chain of events that altered your life." The remark was said without malice, it was a fact, a part of reality that was meant to haunt rather than insult. "Do you want me to tell you how long the other Doc Holliday lingered in his death bed? How he gasped out his last breath, spitting blood, delirious with fever, loveless and alone in a hotel room. Would you care to know the details of the last miserable years of his life?"
Doc sighed loudly and turned back toward the bed. "What do you want, Malachi?" He asked again but without any hint of meanness this time.
The ghost shrugged. "Truthfully, I'm not sure. I don't know why or how I came to be here. But what I do know is you're the object of my visit. Alex isn't supposed to see or hear me."
Doc frowned. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I. Maybe, we're not meant to understand. Believe it or not, there are powerful forces at work that bend us and our lives, Holliday, and there's not a damn thing we can do about it but go with the flow."
"How about if you flow back to where you came from and leave me and my family alone. Alex is happy now. I've given her a home and a child. Something you refused to do, or did you forget how you hurt her? Perhaps you need to be reminded. I know your history too and can relate it just as easily. So, fuck off before I call a priest and have you exorcized."
Malachi threw back his head and laughed, a rich warm laugh that told Doc his insults had no affect whatsoever. "God, what a bastard you are." He continued to chuckle. "I have to tell you, Holliday, I'm really enjoying our little talk. You know, for a while I thought engaging you when you weren't wearing your guns would let all the wind out of your sails, but it hasn't. I'm impressed, really."
"Trust me, Malachi, if I could shoot you now I would." He turned sharply away and began to button his shirt.
"You would what?" Alex asked as she glided into the room. Once again she paused with a concerned expression on her face and looked around the room.
Doc quickly glanced toward the bed and saw it was devoid of all spirits leaving no impression behind to mark the bedspread.
"Mumbling to yourself, John." Alexis offered as she slipped into his embrace. Quickly, before he could stop her, she rested her fingers against his neck, and evaluated his physical condition but found no illness. Please with her discovery, she also noted his trembling had ceased.
"Apparently, I was thinking out loud." He replied; amazed by his quick recovery and easy lies that were flying from his mouth. "I've no excuse, darlin, I'm only on my second drink."
"Third," Alex corrected, "but who's counting."
He tossed her a suspicious glance, and Alex added, "An educated guess, derived from my personal knowledge of your drinking habits and from the level of scotch left in the bottle." She nodded toward the decanter on the coffee table.
He pressed her hard against his body and nuzzled against the sweet smelling skin on her neck. "Care to join me." He crooned. "Want to get drunk and fool around, Mrs. Holliday?" The sudden need to claim her as his own was overwhelming. The need to fuck her loudly on the bed and in the presence of her ghostly past was irrational, but he would do it just the same if she didn't stop him.
Alex placed a halting hand on his chest and pulled back. "I thought you were hungry? The maid is feeding the baby in the kitchen and I just set the dining room table for our dinner."
"I'll take that as a no." He countered but kissed her anyway.
"I've opened a nice Bordeaux for our dinner. Let's start with that and see where the evening takes us. Afterwards, we can try the brandy Wyatt bought us for Christmas last year. I will be very much impressed if you can get me drunk and into bed before the liquor wears off."
"Getting you into bed, Alexis, has never been a problem." He flinched when she playfully slapped him on the shoulder. "It's how to get you drunk first that has always alluded me. Your advance immune system puts a halt to all my fun, but as always, I shall give the matter my full attention and try once again to get you snookered. Let's take the brandy to bed with us this time." He pulled her in close against his groin, bracing his hands across her backside as he held her. "I'll pour the liquor in you, and then I'll pour it on you and spend a great deal of time licking it off. We'll both benefit from the experience."
She laughed at his wantonness and reached up to tie his cravat. "You're a lush, John Holliday and I love you all the more for it."
He echoed her laughter. "Good. I hope to keep you satisfied that way. Let's go downstairs. The sooner we eat, the sooner I can get you naked." He promptly turned her around and began to push her out of the room, but over his shoulder he cast one parting look at the empty bedroom and wondered if and when Malachi would show up again.
Dinner was uneventful… but only for the first ten minutes. By the time the main course was served Malachi had reappeared to linger in the corner behind Alex's chair. Oddly, Doc found he was thankful for one thing – he could keep the ghost within sight without diverting his eyes from Alex, which was probably the reason the spirit chose that corner to hover in.
From under her lashes, Alex watched her husband drain his wine glass in one swallow and place the crystal glass on the table with a thud. She kept her head lowered while cutting a tender potato in two. "How's the wine?" She asked before delicately placing the morsel in her mouth.
Doc reached for the bottle, refilled his glass before topping off Alex's. "It's fine." He replied curtly. Again he tipped back his head and consumed half the glass.
Alex looked at him directly this time and tried to find the reason for his drastic change in temperament. From one minute to the next, he had gone from a flirtatious mood to a bad one and for no reason that she could see. "Really?" She countered with one raised brow. "You passed the liquid so quickly down your throat I'm surprised you could form an opinion. Such a waste of time pouring it in the glass first, John. Why not save yourself the effort and drink directly from the bottle."
"Leave me alone, Alex." He snapped while glancing at the ghost. Malachi stood as one unconcerned with the occupants in the room; causally braced against the corner, he was quietly studying the decorations that adorned the walls. With a great deal of effort Doc pulled his eyes away from the spirit and back down at his half eaten meal. Picking up his fork he proceeded to stab a tender chuck of beef, swab it with gravy and place it in his mouth.
"How's the roast then?" Alex asked casually. "Being a solid substance, and much harder to swallow whole, you would need to chew it, of course, which would allow you the ability to taste it and then form an opinion." She paused from her meal to wait for his answer, her expression one of seriousness, which only increased the sarcastic nature of her question.
From behind her, Malachi suddenly snorted with laughter.
Doc stopped chewing and flashed fiery eyes at him.
Thinking his angry expression was aimed at her Alex startled at the abrupt appearance of his temper. "Oh, for Christ's sake, John, I was only teasing you. There's no need to get upset with me."
Amazed that Alex couldn't hear or see the ghost, Doc blinked and swallowed his food along with his temper. "I'm not upset, darlin, only…." He paused, letting his eyes rest on Malachi for a moment noting the smug expression the ghost wore before he continued, "feeling the affects of the day. Forgive me if my mood is foul this evening. It is not the company, nor the meal."
Alex shook her head with confusion. "You're very contrary tonight, love. I've never seen you like this, and I confess I'm not sure how to deal with it."
Behind her chair Malachi mimicked Alex by also shaking his head only he addressed it at Doc, telling the dentist he was wrongfully upsetting his wife.
"Well, I shall blame it on the wine." Alex offered. "Perhaps we should switch to the Brandy sooner than we planned." She gave him a teasing wink before rising from her chair to fetch the precious bottle.
Touched by her forgiving nature Doc stopped her by reaching for her arm. He threaded his fingers through hers, raised her hand to his lips and gave her a sultry glance. "You are a woman wise beyond your years, Alexis, and I'm thankful for it."
Her hand lingered by his cheek caressing the care and stress she found there. "But… if there were something wrong you would tell me, wouldn't you John? You and I shouldn't hide things from each other. I learned from past experience that secrets are never healthy for a marriage."
Doc kept his eyes on Alex but his answer was directed toward Malachi. "There is nothing wrong, Alex, but if there were I would tell you. I've no intention of putting you through the same hell Malachi did. There will be no secrets between us, I promise."
Her kiss upon his lips was light, but the slight tremble Doc felt revealed the depth of her emotion. Without another word she turned away to fetch the brandy. I'm upsetting her, he thought. He flashed angry eyes at Malachi. And he's upsetting me. "Go away" he mouthed to the ghost.
Malachi only shrugged helplessly as if he had no choice in the matter, reached into his front pocket to pull out a small penknife and began to clean his nails.
Judging from the carefree, unconcerned attitude the ghost displayed, it was obvious to Doc that any solution to the present circumstance would be up to him. Either Malachi had no intention of leaving, or for some unknown reason, he couldn't depart this realm and move on to the next one. The problem was not whether the ghost should leave; the problem was forcing the ghost to leave. Whatever the means, he needed to do something quickly before he completely alienated his wife.
"It has been a strange day." Alex remarked from the opposite side of the room. She was crouching down and peering in the liquor cabinet looking for the bottle of brandy. "There's been a certain atmosphere in the house today. I can't explain it." She pulled the bottle from the back of the cabinet and stood. Grabbing two brandy glasses from the china hutch she returned to the table. "Perhaps it is only my active imagination, but sometimes I could swear I was being watched."
Doc had pushed away his half-eaten meal and was calmly rolling a cigarette. He was just barely able to maintain his casual façade as raging anger rolled through him. The last thing he wanted was for Alex to see and hear Malachi. For three years now she had been happy. The nightmares that had been a nightly occurrence for her were now extremely rare. Her days were spent taking care of the house and playing with her son. Vampires, zombies, night patrols, throwing darts, sharp wooden stakes and Scottish swords were all in the past and he intended to keep them there. But one look at Malachi's spirit and the peaceful existence he had created for her would be shattered.
Alex paused over the ruin remains of her pot-roast, shook her head with distaste, and set the bottle and glasses on the table. "I guess the meal is cold now." She remarked while waving her hand at Doc telling him not to bother explaining. "It's all right, you can have leftovers for lunch tomorrow." With that said she whisked away their plates and marched off to the kitchen. "Why don't you open the bottle and I'll bring in dessert." She called over her shoulder. "Do you want coffee, John?"
"No. The brandy will do." He replied while fixing his gaze on Malachi. Once Alex had cleared the room Doc snapped a match, puffed on his cigarette for a moment before stating, "You're upsetting my marriage Malachi, I'm asking you again to leave."
"And I'm telling you again, that it's not up to me. I can't leave. I'm here without any say so."
"Nonsense. Take your spectral form and get out!" He hissed.
Malachi shrugged, "Can't."
"Why can't she see or hear you?" Doc abruptly asked.
"I don't want her to know I'm here. I told you before, I'm not here for her. I'm here for you, Holliday. And let me tell you buddy – love has got nothing to do with it. Do you think I like seeing another man fuck my wife?"
Doc sneered. "Not to mention doing it better than you did, from what Alexis tells me."
Malachi scowled in reply. "Careful, Holliday, talk like that will make you impotent. How would you like me sharing the sheets with you and Alex tonight? Have you ever had a three way?"
Doc ignored the question. "Get out! If you can't leave then at least stay outside." He hissed in a whisper.
Malachi looked beyond Doc's shoulder to see if Alex was returning. He stepped toward the table, paused for a moment before continuing, letting his spectral form pass through the solid wood table as he advanced toward Doc. "There's no fun in that." He remarked, stopping his approach directly in front of Doc. "I may not be able to enjoy the temptations of the flesh anymore, but I can have just as much fun fucking with your head, Holliday."
Doc tried not to show how unnerved he was by Malachi's intimidation, although with every passing encounter he was becoming more unraveled by the experience. "If you don't leave me alone, I'm going to tell Alex you're here. She's already sensing something is wrong and she knows I'm upset. I refuse to let your presence here start a fight with my wife."
Malachi smirked and called Doc's bluff. "Go ahead, tell her. We'll see then who gets upset over my little visit. Tell me Holliday, do you really think she's forgotten about me? Do you believe your presence, your love, has filled every little grief-driven hole my death caused her?" He leaned in close, stopping just inches from Doc's face. "If you do, you're wrong. She'll never forget me, and let me tell you something else; a part of her heart will always belong to me. You'll never own her completely. Never!"
Doc was seconds from exploding when Alex walked back into the room carrying plates and blueberry pie. Behind her trailed one of the servants carrying their son.
Malachi didn't disappear this time. Instead he stepped to one side and let the women approach. The ghost seemed to compose himself, shoving his hands back into his pockets as he rested his back against the dinning room wall. A small-satisfied smirk emerged on his lips.
Doc glanced briefly at Alex and quickly averted his eyes before she could fully read his expression. Reaching out, he took the baby from the servant and held the child on his lap. "Mally!" Little John called out and pointed at the ghost.
Fortunately, the maid was standing to one side of the spirit making it seem as if the baby was pointing at her. "I believe he's trying to say my name." The girl exclaimed.
Alex froze at the sound, the color quickly draining from her face. "Do you?" Alex remarked to the maid. "Do you really think he's trying to say your name, Sally? I thought I heard something else…" She brushed an unsettled hand over her hair. "Perhaps it's only the day, but…" She left her statement unfinished and turned away quickly, setting the desert on the table.
"Children have trouble annunciating the letter 'S', Alex." Doc quickly offered. He didn't like seeing the painful expression on Alex's face when she heard the dead Guardian's name, but her reaction only seemed to validate Malachi's earlier statement.
"Shall I take him upstairs, Dr. Holliday?" The maid asked.
Doc kissed his son's cheek and nodded toward the maid. "Read him a story, Sally. Mrs. Holliday and I will be up shortly." He passed the boy to the servant, breathing a sigh of relief that the baby was out of the room before he could speak to the ghost again.
Keeping one watchful eye on Alex as she served two slices of pie, Doc reached for the brandy and opened the bottle. He poured two generous glasses and dutifully pushed one glass across the table toward Alex. "Still feel like getting drunk and fooling around?" From across the room Malachi snorted with irritation and Doc felt his dark mood dissipate.
Her return smile was a weak one. Mentioning Malachi was more upsetting for her than he would have liked to see. "Want to bring the pie to bed too?" He teased. "You'd be luscious dripping in blueberry jam and brandy." He was rewarded with another faint smile so he continued by reaching for her hand to place a sensuous kiss on the inside of her wrist. "I promise to lick every morsel from your body."
When she finally turned to give him her full attention, Doc could have sworn he was about to hear a firm reprimand for his licentious behavior, but once again his wife surprised him.
"I'd love to." She replied with slight blush emerging on her cheeks. She paused for a moment to study the shocked look on his face before giving him a full-sensual smile. "Grab the pie, I'll take the brandy." She instructed in a husky voice.
Alex stopped in the bedroom long enough to place the brandy on the night table before walking across the hall to their son's room to put Little John to bed. While she was preoccupied, Doc proceeded to lower the lamps and pull back the covers on the bed. He had hoped Malachi would at least leave him alone during this intimate time with his wife. The image of his spectral form slipping between the sheets was enough to boil his blood all over again, when all he really wanted to do right now was make love to his wife until the sadness on her face disappeared. He was not pleased when he found Malachi sitting on the small sofa watching him with interest.
"She loves you very much, I can tell." The ghost's tone was one of resolve laced with defeat.
Doc stopped undressing to give the ghost his full attention. "Of course she does!" He snapped letting all the irritation he felt come to the surface. "Tell me Malachi, did you really think she'd leave her world to live in mine if she didn't love me? Would I have risked everything, my life and my friend's lives fighting your hellish army if I didn't love her?"
Again the ghost shrugged, keeping his eyes lowered he casually picked at a piece of lint on his clothing. "I was her first. Did you know that?" He slowly raised his eyes to look at the dentist. "I loved her first, before you. That makes Alex and me special, our relationship singularly unique. I… uh, I wanted to be remembered for that. To always be remembered for that."
Suddenly Doc understood what Malachi's visit was all about. Three years had passed since the war in Tombstone. Three years that Alex had been happy and complete, and in those three-long years not once had she mentioned his name, not even tonight when the reference hung unspoken in the air. This haunting, this spectral visitation was simply a nudge to the subconscious. Malachi was afraid of being forgotten.
Doc sighed loudly and studied the apparition. Was it his imagination or was Malachi's form not as solid as it once was. Couldn't he see the pattern of the sofa through the chest of the ghost? "I know you did, and I know that Alexis will always treasure the years of your marriage. She loved you too Malachi, and that's not an easy thing for me to admit."
The ghost nodded without making eye contact. "I never meant to hurt her, you know that don't you. I loved her with every breath I had in my body. Even after those vampires captured me, until the moment I died, she was all I thought about." He finally raised his eyes to meet Doc's unwavering gaze. "Do you understand that, Holliday?"
Doc nodded. "I do."
Malachi sighed and looked at the clock on the mantel. "The evening's gotten late." Slowly, as if he were suddenly tired, Malachi struggled to his feet. His ghostly form was indeed fading; the structure of his body was becoming more transparent by the moment. "Do me a favor, Holliday, don't make it hard for her to talk about me. She wants to talk…she needs to talk to you, but she's afraid you won't understand."
"I'll try," Doc promised, "but not tonight." Could it be true, was he really leaving? Doc couldn't tell for sure.
Malachi laughed softly. "No, not tonight." He looked about the room for a moment as if trying to remember every little detail of the room. "It's a nice room." He remarked. "A nice life too, if you don't mind me saying so." Malachi didn't wait for Doc to respond. He turned and walked toward the French doors, but before he passed through them he stopped and turned back around. "It's been a pleasure haunting you, Holliday. Take care of my girl for me."
"I swear it." Doc answered and then added, "Don't come back, Malachi."
Malachi laughed once, turned and passed through the French doors and into the night.
When Alex finally returned from putting the baby down for the night she found her husband lying across the bed naked but for the open silk robe he wore. In one hand he held a large glass of brand, in the other a lit cigarette. On the mattress was a tray that held the pie and two forks. "You're late." He remarked and snubbed out his smoke.
Alex stifled a giggle with her hand. "Looks like you started without me. Should I come back later?"
He laughed in return before reaching under his robe to stoke his erection letting her see how full and hard he was. "Is that what you really want to do, Alex?"
All the muscles between her legs clenched. Was it her or did the room suddenly get warm, Alex couldn't tell, but that wasn't unusual. She always had trouble thinking whenever he got her hot like this. Transfixed like a deer frozen between the headlights of a car, she stood there and watched his hand glide up, and then glide down, as he stoked himself. The stimulation was not for his benefit, it was for her, all for her.
Finally Doc smiled, rose from the bed and made his way toward her. "Is the baby asleep?" He asked softly, quietly and with his mouth just a half-inch from her ear. His fingers were quickly and easily undoing the buttons on the back of her dress. Within moments he had the material cascading to the floor. Another quick flick of his fingers and her corset followed.
"Yes." She answered her mouth so dry she could hardly speak. "I read him a story." She added.
"You did?" He replied sweetly while pushing her underwear down her legs. "What did you read for him?"
"Nursery rhymes." She gasped when his finger slipped between her legs.
"Nursery rhymes are good. Come to bed, Alex and I'll tell you some dirty rhymes that I learned when I lived in Texas." He leaned in and kissed her deeply and with the full impact of his love. "I'm hungry for blueberry pie. I want to eat mine off of your naked stomach. Can I do that, Alexis?"
She gave him a husky laugh and began to lead him toward the bed. "Yes you can, John. Actually, I would be very disappointed if you didn't."
A couple of hours later and only the remnants of the pie remained. "I doubt very much the stains will ever come out of the sheets." Alex sighed with a satisfied smile lingering on her face.
"I'll buy you new sheets." Doc was busy spooning a dollop of blueberries on her nipple.
She giggled lightly. "Yes, you will at that." Any other reply she might have had was silenced when Doc began to lick off the jam. She threaded her fingers through his hair and held him tightly against her breast. "God, I love when you do that." She moaned.
He laughed at her wanton behavior before remembering that he was just as bad. "Blueberry pie most certainly beats apron night for entertainment." He smirked and reached for her hand. "Join me for a bath, Mrs. Holliday?"
"Yes, a bath would be good."
The next morning Doc woke to find Alex on the bedroom balcony sitting quietly on a wooden rocker mediating in the early morning sunlight. When he stepped out onto the porch to join her he got the impression he had disturbed her inner thoughts and whatever secret she harbored there. She gave him only the briefest of glances before turning her head to dab lightly at her eyes.
"After spending half the night making erotic love to my wife the last thing I expected to find the next morning are tears. What's wrong, Alex?"
She sniffed loudly and shook her head. "Oh it's nothing really, just feminine silliness." She offered with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'll go make some coffee for us." She started to rise but Doc placed a firm hand on her shoulder holding her in place.
"Don't…. don't avoid me and indirectly whatever is bothering you. Talk to me, Alexis. Tell me what's on your mind." He reached for the nearest chair and pulled it around so that he could sit directly in front of her as they talked.
She averted her eyes as she struggled to control her emotions. "It's not important, John and most certainly not a topic you would want to discuss."
He studied her posture and expression for a moment, noting the sag in her shoulders, the nervous fidget in her hands, her furrowed brow and the slight tremble in her lip. "Why don't you let me be the judge of that? Tell me what's troubling you."
She scoffed lightly. "You're going to be mad." Glancing quickly at him she immediately looked away again.
"Will I? How bad could it be? Did you try to iron my clothes again and burn one of my shirts? Invite my father and his wife to move in with us? Sneak into the local saloon dressed in pants and spent the evening posing as a man? Sell my son to the gypsies? Have an affair with Wyatt? Christ, Alexis, what could you have done that would get me that upset?"
With each outrageous accusation she quickly shook her head until he finally managed to coax a smile from her. "You use to get made at me quite a bit before we got married." She reminded him.
"That was pure frustration, Alex. You were extremely frustrating back then: sneaking off whenever I fell asleep, doing your very best to keep me uninformed, getting into fights with demons from hell, running all over town in those tight leather pants that nearly drove me mad with lust. Thank God I finally to managed to secure you. I wouldn't have lasted much longer."
She laughed softly and dipped her head again but still offered no explanation for her sad mood.
Doc was running out of ideas, out of jokes, and nearly out of patience. A dark thought suddenly grabbed hold of his heart and he blurted his next question more forcefully than he intended. "You're not having an affair with Wyatt, are you?"
Alex slipped a giggle and finally made eye contact with him. "God no. Whatever gave you that idea?"
He shrugged and sat back in his chair. "I don't know. Irrational fear I suppose."
She sighed loudly and blurted, "It's an anniversary that has me melancholy. Four years ago, on August eleventh, Malachi was killed. I didn't want to bring it up with your birthday just three days away. I know how hard it is for you to talk about my history with him, but… it's especially difficult for me to be cheerful at this time of the year. And to make matters worse, I found this on the porch floor this morning." She held out her hand and showed him a silver Celtic bracelet that was identical to the one ghostly Malachi had been wearing.
With trepidation, Doc took the bracelet from her and turned it around to examine it in the early morning light.
"That was Malachi's. It was a gift from me for his thirtieth birthday. He loved that bracelet. It was one of his favorite pieces of jewelry. The only time he took it off was to patrol or fight. I was thrilled when I found it safely packed inside his weapon bag." She leaned in closer and in a low voice added, "Doc, I had that packed away in a box, hidden in the back of the closet with the rest of my things from the twenty-first century. No one but you and I know that box is there. How the hell did that bracelet get out here on the porch floor?"
Doc's lips tightened but he kept his first impulsive response to himself. Apparently their visitor was more than a coincidence. He had thought his encounter with the dead Guardian was over, that his ghostly visitation was a one-time affair, but it now seemed that once a year Malachi would resurface and take a dominate position in his wife's heart, at least for a little while. Did Malachi know what day of the year it was? Did the dead have a concept of time? He hoped he would never find out. "Honestly, Alex, I don't know. Trust me, I didn't tamper with your things."
She sat back, her posture suddenly stiff with frustration. "Well I certainly didn't remove it." She snapped. Before he could defend himself she held up her hand and stopped him. "I'm not questioning your honesty, truly I'm not, but there's got to be a logical explanation. If you didn't get this out and I didn't, then… Well, am I to think my dead husband returned for a friendly visit and left this sitting on the porch so that I would find it? That's just too weird."
If only you knew, darlin, he thought, but that's exactly what the son-of-a-bitch did. From deep in his chest he felt the urge to burst into hysterical laughter rising up, threatening to break free. If he didn't hold it at bay, any minute now his dark humor was going to reveal itself and then she really would be mad. He swallowed; bit the inside of his mouth hard enough to taste blood, but still the impulse wouldn't subside. What finally surfaced was a half controlled smile and a low chuckle. Weird? Alex's idea of weird occurrences left a lot to be desired.
She gave him a dark look and like a shot was off the chair and almost back into the bedroom before he could grab her. "Wait… Alex, I'm not laughing at you."
"Looked that way to me." She snapped.
He wrapped his arms around her, surrounding her smaller form. "I can't help but laugh at the situation… You think nothing of vampires and zombies, but for some unknown reason haunted jewelry is considered weird to you. I'm sorry; it just struck me as funny."
"Oh…" She replied and stopped struggling to break free from his embrace. "I guess it is odd when you look at it that way." His humor was infectious and she found herself laughing with him. She glanced at the bracelet again and shook her head confused. "Maybe I only thought I placed it in the box. I suppose I could have dropped it inside the closet and it got hung up on one of my dresses or perhaps on one of your coats and then fell off while we were outside."
"That's a possibility." He agreed all too quickly, secretly thankful for such a reasonable explanation.
She said nothing only lowered her head and continued to study the piece of jewelry, but he could see her eyes well up with tears and the haunted shadows that always accompany painful memories emerge. "I'll put it back and then make us some coffee."
Before she could turn away he leaned down and kissed her once. "Why don't you wear it?" He replied tenderly. "I see no reason why you shouldn't remember Malachi fondly. Wearing that bracelet would be a good way of honoring him." He took the silver bangle from her and slid it over her wrist.
Her brows creased with uncertainty as she looked down at her arm before she gazed back up at him looking for confirmation. Another kiss was all the affirmation she needed. "Now, let's go see if my son is awake." Doc suggested. "I bet he's hungry."
She rolled her eyes at him. "When is he not hungry? When are you not hungry?" She moaned while walking to the bedroom door. "Sometimes I feel like I'm back cooking at the Oriental again."
When they reached the baby's door she stopped him from opening it. "Wait… listen."
They paused and heard nothing. "What are we listening for?" Doc asked in a hushed voice.
"Lately, whenever I go to get him, he's been babbling out loud, like he's talking to someone. I hear some words and syllables but mostly just baby talk. I think he has an imaginary friend, John."
His body jerked as he thought again of Malachi conversing with his son.
Alex turned toward him. "Do you think he is pretending?"
Doc quickly shook his head and said a silent prayer that he would never again see his son playing with a ghost. "I think he's lonely and needs a sibling." He whispered back in jest.
A sly smirk emerged on Alex's face accompanied by an expression that Doc thought was vaguely familiar. "I'm glad to hear it, because I'm very certain I'm pregnant again."
Her confession took him by complete surprise. He smiled brightly while slipping his hand around her neck, bending down to kiss her softly. "Is this an early birthday present for me, darlin?"
She shrugged lightly. "That depends… would you rather have another child, or a puppy?"
He gave her a devilish smirk while struggling to keep his laughter in check. "What breed of puppy?" Any reply she had was smothered by his rich laughter as he opened the bedroom door and followed her inside the baby's bedroom.
The End For Now...
