A/N: Here's two bonus scenes on top of the adorable waffles scene :) Enjoy and happy new year! Here's to hoping this story is finally finished in 2020 lol xx Mariah
When Melinda was startled awake from her nightmare, she had to get up and walk around. It still felt like she had had all of her limbs chopped off. After pouring herself a glass of wine, she leaned against the kitchen counter and sighed.
She took a sip of wine and let her eyes fall closed. What could that dream possibly mean? What did that little girl from the well want her to know, and why did she have to make her feel as though she had lost all of her limbs?
She felt a chill rush through her as she thought about it again and set her glass down on the counter, running her hands up and down her arms to help her relax. Melinda wished more than anything to open her eyes and see Jim walk through that door, tired, but with a smile on his face whenever he saw her even after pulling the longest shift possible at the firehouse on top of studying for his MCATs.
But when she opened her eyes, the house was empty and too quiet for her liking. Like it had been for the last three weeks. Even with Sam in the garage, she was alone and she missed her husband.
As much as Sam felt like her Jim in fleeting moments, he really wasn't him. Not entirely.
There was a wall between them because of it.
She turned around to face the counter and pick up her glass of wine, but her hand was shaking so badly that she dropped it. The glass shattered over the ground and she felt like she was right back there.
The gunshot echoed and shot at Jim slowly. Melinda watched as the love of her life crashed against the window before he fell to the floor, gasping for air. There was no way out. There was no way of saving him. And that's when the voices started, hissing her name and reminding her that it was her fault.
If she didn't see ghosts, they would have been normal. They would have survived. He would be standing next to her right now, holding her, comforting her as yet another ghost was in their lives. They were supposed to be on a trip away to Maine right now.
She'd remembered when he'd shown her the pamphlet for the bed and breakfast.
Let's go away… it will just be you and me for a whole week. I have enough vacation and Delia will mind the store just fine. Let's make a baby, he'd said.
Jim's voice was different now, the loudest in the back of her head, blaming her for dying. For losing his body and his memories.
You'll never see me again. I'll never remember us or our memories because of you. You should have crossed me over. It's all your fault.
"No!" She shook her head and felt tears roll down her face. "No… no… NO! Jim!" Her cries choked silent as her vision plunged into total darkness.
And then someone was grabbing her. Shaking her and yelling her name in quick, panicked cries.
"Melinda!" A man shouted.
She grabbed at the air, desperate to latch on to something, anything that'd pull her from the darkness of her nightmare. She knew that's what it was as soon as her vision returned and she noticed she was on her kitchen floor, curled up into a ball, gasping for air.
Sam was there, too, his arms wrapped tightly around Melinda as he helped her sit up, keeping her close and protected. "Are you okay?" He asked and loosened his grip around her. "I heard some glass break and you scream… you had me worried."
She moved a hand up to her face, pushing her disheveled hair back as she looked up at Sam. It had been so long since she had seen a spark of Jim in him and found herself staring up at his blonde hair and into his green eyes. "I'm fine. I— I must have dropped the glass and… I don't know what really happened. I'm sorry that I woke you," she whispered, her eyes glancing over his bare shirt. "You didn't have to come over here."
"Of course, I did. You screamed and… it was like everything inside me told me to go and check on you. It wasn't like I was sleeping, and I was only watching the game," he explained and then shook his head, a worried look on his tired face. "When I came in through the side door there was glass all over and you were on the floor. It looks like you cut your foot up a bit too. It was like you were unreachable."
She let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry," she repeated on a loop. "I'm so sorry."
"You already said that," he replied. "You don't need to apologize to me, Melinda."
"Oh." She sighed, shaking her head. "Yeah. Sorry..."
"Don't be. Are you gonna be alright?" He asked, slowly moving to stand and grab the broom.
"Yeah. I'll be fine, you don't have to sweep that up for me," she said, slowly trying to stand but winced when she felt the glass in her foot move.
"Just relax, Melinda. I will clean this up and help you with your foot," he said, quickly sweeping up the glass and tossing it into the garbage.
"You will?" She asked, her voice small as she looked up at him.
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" He asked, slowly moving to crouch beside her. "Is it okay if I carry you to the couch?"
She slowly nodded and felt his arms slide underneath her. As she looked at his face, this time she saw him. His blue eyes and dark hair, it made her eyes prickle with tears as he swung her up into a princess carry. Just like he always did.
"Thank you," she said as he set her down.
He nodded, a small smile on his lips. "Where's your first aid kit?" He asked.
"Under the sink," she said quietly and he quickly left to grab it.
She released a breath and let her head fall back against the soft throw pillow. When he came back, he sat on the other end and cradled her foot in his lap as he carefully removed the glass and cleaned the cut, placing a band-aid on it.
"There. All better." He said, leaving her foot to rest on his knee and his hand rested on her bare calf. "Are you sure you are okay? Is there something you aren't telling me?"
"Yeah. I'm fine, Sam." She said, nodding. "Thank you."
"You were saying his name… over and over. Are you sure?" He asked, his hand slowly moving off her leg.
"Who's name?" She asked, her eyes meeting his.
So blue. So real.
"Your husband's," he said with a worried look on his face.
It faded away then and she was back to staring at Sam. Green eyes. Blond hair. Not Jim. "Yeah. That happens sometimes. It's been a rough night…" She whispered, sighing. "But I'll be okay. I'm sorry, again. You don't have to stay."
"You don't have to keep apologizing. I am just glad you are okay," he reminded her, slowly moving to stand up. "Goodnight, Melinda."
"Goodnight," she said, watching him walk out of the room, but before he could she stood up to grab Sam's hand and keep him from walking away. "Wait, Sam…?"
It'd been a long time since someone was there to chase away a nightmare — far too long. Sam had been there to chase the beasts away as Jim would've. He brought her back to reality.
"Yeah?" He asked, eyes glancing down at where their hands were joined and then back up at her.
"I changed my mind. Will you stay with me for another minute or two?" She murmured, watching as Sam's eyes turned foggy and reflective in response to her question.
"You sure?" he asked and walked over to stand in front of her before sitting down with her.
"Yes," she whispered. "I am sure." They sat in silence and his eyes moved everywhere from her face, down to the floor, and finally back to her. "What? Is something wrong?"
"I just feel like I've done this before," he replied.
"Done, what?" She asked slowly, confused.
What did he mean?
"I feel like... I have been here for you after a nightmare or something where you were scared." He explained, sighing and shaking his head. "One second it was like I was just looking at you, and the next, I was pulling you into my arms and pressing a kiss on your forehead… it was almost like a memory. I don't know what it was. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry. I made you uncomfortable."
It hit her like a bolt of lightning.
The sudden and overwhelming memory of that cold winter night no longer than a few days before Jim had died, when Melinda had put herself into a dangerous position and he had saved her, catching her before she fell, yet again.
She took a deep breath and when she exhaled, it was shaky and mixed with a little hum. His words pierced through her chest and gave her hope.
Was he remembering? Truly?
"Do you still want me to stay?" He asked, glancing over at her and scooting down the couch a bit. Her silence was not helping the matter. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Melinda."
There was another moment of silence between the two of them before she looked up at him, her hand slowly covering his.
"Yes," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "I do, and you don't make me feel uncomfortable, Sam." She felt her cheeks blush as she moved a little closer. "Thank you for coming to check on me. Really. You didn't have to, but you did. I appreciate that. Really. I do."
"It was no problem, Melinda." He said, bringing her hand to his lips and gently pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "It's the least I could do after everything you have done to help me out. Letting me live in your garage and all." He slowly placed her hand back onto her leg and then he glanced at his watch. "Wow. It's almost two in the morning. You probably have to get up in the morning, right?"
"Yeah, I should get to bed." She said, slowly standing up. She didn't want to let him go, but she did. "Thank you, again, for coming to check on me, Sam. Really."
He nodded, his hands sliding into his sweatpants pockets as he shrugged. "Goodnight, and don't worry about the lights in the kitchen. I'll shut them off."
"Thank you, Sam. Have a good night," she replied and slowly made her way back upstairs, feeling even more alone now that Sam had left.
When Melinda woke up the next morning, it took her a moment to remember why she felt so dirty. There's a sheen of sweat covering her entire body from having fought off another night of ghostly nightmares, and she smacked her lips together, wetting the dryness in her mouth. She turned to look at the clock. It's already past 8 am—she'd slept late, not that it mattered.
Delia was opening the store for her today and she didn't have to be in until after one, and she was thankful she had the morning off. She hadn't slept very well the past few nights. She'd only slipped into real sleep maybe two hours ago, tossing and turning before that, worrying about what Gretchen might do next, dreading what could happen with Sam today.
Any day really.
Melinda sighed, stretched her arms into the air while her back arched in a quick stretch, and then sat up. She doesn't know what she expected to happen when Jim had jumped into this man's body. She doesn't know why she had hoped everything would just go right back to normal, but it hadn't.
God, why hadn't things worked out properly for her?
Just this once?
No. She had been made painfully aware that life was moving against her the more she tried to reason and work with Sam, but she couldn't just give up. She just couldn't. Not on her husband. She loved him too goddamn much to give up on him that quickly.
Melinda rolled out of her bed and made her way to her en suite, ready to rinse herself off and start fresh. Only she had another idea as well, so after a moment's hesitation, she walked back to her bedside table, thankful she'd spent a little bit of extra money to get the waterproof vibrator. She had another thing plaguing her mind besides Sam now, which was good.
That's not to say that any of the images of him were becoming ineffective, but instead, she regularly cycled through imagining Jim making love to her after making him french toast and teasing him with whipped cream, remembering him pressing her against this very bathroom wall as he slid inside her or envisioning him giving someone chest compressions in the middle of the square and saving their life.
The water was nearly scalding against her skin as she imagined what it might have been like if she'd made a move on Sam when she'd caught him naked. When she had peeked past the milk carton to see just a little more than his shapely behind. Would Sam have pushed her away or pulled her in closer?
She would have never hesitated with Jim. Instead, she would have walked up to him with no prompt and wrapped her arms around him, running her hands up and down his rock hard chest and stomach all while her mouth kissed up his neck. She would have him purring before she even touched him where she wanted him to.
The memory of him inside her was so visceral, it's easy to conjure it up—but she felt empty and needy and desperate for him now, alone in the shower, the buzz of the vibrator dulling as she pressed it harder against her.
She'd have dug her nails into his back, maybe even insisted on him doing household chores naked—but she'd deny him when he went to unbutton her dress. She'd bat his hand away, tell him no, just because she could and because she knew he would listen to her.
Since nobody's home, Melinda doesn't bother to muffle her moans. And she spoiled herself a bit, firmly pressing the vibrator in little circles against her through not one, not two, but three orgasms, thinking she deserved it after last night.
Her fingers flex against the shower tile as she leaned against it for support, breathing heavily and trying to come down after the last one. When she rang out her hair and stepped out of the shower, she finally felt somewhat sated—Sam's not a worrying thought in her mind, and now she can focus on business.
A couple of days had passed with a whirlwind of things to do and people to talk to. Gretchen was only getting more powerful the more she was provoked, especially by her brother. She had no idea what to expect there.
Her ghost was only a child and remembered Clay as the boy he had been, not the man he has become. He had tortured her, destroying her dolls and spirit. One could only hope she wouldn't do anything to harm him, but ghosts were unpredictable. Melinda had to find a way to contact Gretchen or Clay before something bad happened.
When she came walking into her kitchen, the house phone rang and she picked it up off the dock on the counter as she walked toward the fridge. She grabbed a bottle of water as Eli's voice came through and gave her a tension headache. "Can we talk later? I'm in a bit of a rush," she said, closing the fridge.
"I called the brother Clay at work and at home, and he never called me back," Eli said.
"So basically you're calling me to tell me that you have nothing to tell me," she sighed, rolling her eyes. Why did he even call her then?
"Sort of," Eli mumbled on the other end. "You said the ghost was pissed! I'm just saying that we need—"
When she heard the soft knock of Sam's knuckle against the doorframe, she immediately swung her head to the left to see him standing there. An orange towel draped over his shoulder and a tray of food in his hands, making her stomach jump in circles.
She had to get Eli off the phone, now.
"Oh. Well, that's great." She stuttered, nerves pinching through at the sight of Sam before she cut Eli off quickly. "Well, thank you. Okay, bye." She hung up and put the phone down as she smiled at Sam.
"Morning," he greeted her as he stood there, waiting for her to invite him in even with food in his hands like a gentleman.
"Hey, good morning." She said, going to open the back door which was only half closed, the top half open to let an unexpectedly warm fall breeze in. "How are you?"
"I'm good," he said, walking inside, careful not to let the plate on the tray move too much. "Everything is good, and this is for you. I know you were in a bit of a rush, you usually are and I wanted to get it to you before you are. Or didn't. It's not too late, I hope." He stuttered, just as nervous as she was apparently and she smiled up at him. "You're not gonna be late for work, are you?"
"No. No, this is— it's really nice of you." She replied, smiling genuinely for the first time in days. "Thank you, Sam."
"It's the least I could for you, after everything you've done for me," he said, motioning for her to eat. "Go ahead. Try it. Eat up."
The plate of waffles in front of her looked delicious and she quickly cut herself a bite and brought it to her lips. The taste was familiar, one she knew and loved. She slowly ate it and her eyes met his. The same blue she remembered. Tears pricked her eyes and she found herself staring at the plate rather than eating it.
When had been the last time Jim had made her waffles?
"How is it?" he asked, after giving her a moment to savor the taste in her mouth. "Good? Bad?"
"Did you use orange rinds in the waffles?" She asked, a bit of sadness creeping into her morning as she relived the last time her husband had made her the same thing. She glanced up to find Jim peaking through again to make the waffles for her, just in a different way, but leaving the same feeling behind.
"Good. Yeah, I did. Orange rings, organic maple syrup, a little fruit, and roasted pecans." He explained, happy with his work. "Wait… you're not allergic, are you?"
He must've read something on her face, the grief or sadness there as her gaze settled on the food. It was exactly how Jim would make waffles. The same taste, display, and effort put into them as he would have. Even the concern for her wellbeing when she didn't seem okay. It was all too much.
"No," she whispered sadly, sighing. The awful hollowness, the waves of wretchedness threatened to engulf her mind, body, and soul with even a shred of hope. Was he remembering? Or was it just another coincidence? "No, it's just something my husband used to do."
"Sorry," he replied quietly, not wanting to step on any nerves or upset her.
She was grateful for that. For Sam's respect and kindness. He always tried to not upset her in any way, even if it didn't always work out that way. "Don't be," she said, shaking her head. "Really. It's perfect. I'm sorry I keep bringing him up— it's just… a lot, you know?"
"How could you not? I mean, uh— " he stuttered and stepped closer to her. "Look, you can talk to me about him anytime. Anytime. Which is something I have loads of now? Time."
"Oh," she tried to act surprised, nodding as though she did not know everything that was happening. "Yes. The work has been halted. I heard around town. Lots of gossip about."
"Yeah. I suppose. They found the boy of a child in the well… you know, the well that you were just so curious about." He said, leaning against the counter.
She knew where he was leading this conversation too and picked around at the food on the plate to distract her from what Sam could say.
"I got to ask you," he started to speak after a moment. "Um, what's the deal with that?"
"Um, I don't know." She lied on the flit and stuffed another bite into her mouth. "I hope maybe the police can find out something."
"I was really talking about you. You know, all the questions you were asking about the well. And then when we were there. It was like you could sense… something." He said, face stone serious with her. "I mean, it freaked you out. I could tell."
She bit her lip, moving her fork around the plate and gathering up another bite. The telephone rang again and she sighed, knowing exactly who was calling and nodding her head. She glanced over to confirm it was Eli on the caller ID and picked up but didn't answer yet.
"You aren't psychic, are you?" He asked.
She laughed. "Uh, no. No, Sam. I am not psychic." She sighed, at least that wasn't a lie.
Delia, I miss him so much. So much.
And today... today, Sam remembered something from his life or well, I mean Jim's life. He remembered being shot… you know… and it just scares me… what he might have to go through to come back to me.
What if he doesn't want to?
Oh, Melinda… he remembers. Just only in pieces and not when you want him to.
