Chapter 5

Give it back.

Goosebumps pebbled my still-wet skin as I stared incredulously at the message scrawled across my bathroom mirror. Tiny drops of water beaded around the edges of the letters, and as they coursed down toward the sink it created jagged lines, making the words look even scarier.

Lightning chose that exact moment to slash across the sky, followed almost immediately by a crash of thunder so loud and close that the house shook on its foundation. Letting out a scream that ranked right up there with the best of the horror movie scream-queens I tore out of the bathroom.

Oh my god, there was a ghost in my house! I had asked for confirmation and now I had it. I wasn't going crazy. I wasn't just tired. Wasn't seeing things. There was a ghost. An actual, real-life ghost. And what was worse, was apparently, I had something that belonged to it.

But what?

"Give what back?" I tentatively asked the open air once I had collected myself enough to breathe again. "Was Rochelle right? Are you a previous owner who's mad because I've made changes to the house? I-I've tried to keep the original style in mind," I stammered. "What I'm doing now is better than it was, isn't it? Why haven't you haunted the people that did the all the remodeling before me? They're the ones that installed all the ugly—"

I stopped myself. Not only was I starting to whine, but I was trying to justify my actions to a ghost. And I didn't even know if that was really the reason for its sudden appearance. I shook my head. Thank God no one else was here to witness me conversing with thin air like some kind of an idiot.

The insidious tendrils of a headache were starting to creep across my forehead. I could feel the muscles at the base of my neck start to tighten back up, and a small, dull throb pounded behind my left eye.

I finished getting dressed, pulling on my pajamas with a fervency I'd never experienced before, suddenly self-conscious that someone else might be in the room watching me. Then I crawled into bed, yanked the covers up to my chin, and willed myself to go to sleep. Things would be better in the morning. They had to be.

I don't know whether it was due to sheer exhaustion, or if the ghost had decided to take pity on my recent sleep patterns, but I slept through the night without further incident. Nothing was out of place when I woke up the following morning, and I was able to complete my normal morning routine in peace. Part of me wondered whether or not I had imagined the whole thing.

My drive to work was equally uneventful. The rainstorm outside had calmed somewhat. The wind had died down just after midnight, and the penetrating rain tapered off to a steady drizzle sometime before dawn. Heavy black clouds still covered the sky, effectively blocking out the early morning sunlight and making the surroundings appear drab and dreary for the second day in a row. Occasionally, a flash of lightning would flicker in the distance, followed by a low growl of thunder, the sights and sounds grower more muted as the storm continued to move east.

As I drove out of the neighborhood I took in the damage the squall had left in its wake. Small trees limbs were scattered throughout everyone's yards, and leaves and other debris littered the grass, sidewalks, and streets. My yard was no exception; I definitely had my work cut out for me when I got home. I only hoped the rain stopped before then.

Despite my best attempts at keeping myself distracted during the day, my thoughts inevitably turned back to my experiences within the house. For the life of me, I couldn't think of anything that I had recently acquired that might have once belonged to someone who was now dead, and I couldn't come with any other examples of when a strange phenomenon might have been attributed to a ghost in the past. As far as I could tell, the manifestations had only started happening recently and I was at a complete loss as to what I had done to anger the ghost who now haunted my house.

"Are you okay?" Alejandra asked.

I blinked several times before guiltily swinging my gaze to my coworker. "Yeah."

"Still feeling a bit under the weather?"

"Something like that." I laughed, but it came out sounding shrill and forced. "Who knew that you'd need a vacation after your vacation, right?"

"Ain't that the truth," she chuckled before reaching up to grab the clipboard from a patient who had approached the counter while we were talking.

I was saved from further conversation by a steady stream of patients and phone calls the rest of the day. The time seemed to fly by, much to my chagrin, and as the clock inched its way closer to quitting time, my anxiety continued to rise at the thought of going home. What would I find when I got there?

XXX

Not once, in the hundred-some-odd years that I'd been dead, had I been able to interact with the living the way I could with this woman. There had been times, of course, that I had allowed people small glimpses of myself; a shadow here, the flip of my cloak there. But it took an enormous amount of energy to even create those manifestations, let alone to knock an object off a table, or, as in this instance, write a message on a mirror. At least this time, I mused darkly, I couldn't see my visage reflected back to me in the glass. I suppose death had some benefits, after all.

The house stood quiet and empty, its sole occupant long since departed for the day. I should have found solace in the silence, but instead I was oddly restless. The storm had picked up again, and the havoc it was wreaking outside mirrored my thoughts: scattered, disorganized, tempestuous.

As incensed as I was about my current situation, my curiosity was slowly overcoming my agitation. I needed to know more about this woman, and most importantly, why her wearing my ring had me suddenly and inexplicably trapped here with her.

XXX

Five o'clock arrived much sooner than I would have liked. Desperate for anything to keep me there a little bit longer, I stalled by straightening up the file folders on the desk, watering the plants, and alphabetizing all the magazines on the end tables.

A door opened and shut behind me. I had been so focused on what I was doing that the sound startled me, and I jumped, dropping a handful of magazines in the process. I wheeled around, my heart firmly lodged in my throat, and came face to face with Dr. Stevenson. My relief at the fact the noise had come from a normal human being was so palpable that I nearly burst into tears.

"Christine!" he exclaimed. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you. I thought I was the only one here and—wait. What are you still doing here?"

"I…." My mind went horribly and utterly blank. I needed to come up with some sort of excuse as to why I was here late, and quick. I couldn't let him know that I was terrified to go home. Think, Christine, think! "I…um…I feel really bad about calling in sick yesterday, and…I thought I'd stay late tonight and try to catch up on some busy work."

His face softened. "That's very thoughtful of you," he said as he shifted his umbrella from one hand to the other, "but completely unnecessary. What you need right now is rest, and you aren't going to get it by staying late. C'mon. I'll walk you to your car."

"Thanks," I muttered.

I waited as he locked up the office, and then followed him out to the parking lot. At some point it had stopped raining, but the pavement was still wet, suggesting that the change in the weather had been recent. Unfortunately, the heat had come back now that the wind had stopped, and the air now felt humid and sticky as a result.

"Which one is yours?" Dr. Stevenson asked.

I pointed to my green Jeep Cherokee at the far end of the lot. "That one."

He nodded and started off in that direction. I gnawed my bottom lip as we continued walking, acutely aware of the awkward silence that had fallen between us.

"Well…," I said once I'd unlocked my door and climbed into the driver's seat. "Thanks for walking me to my car. See you tomorrow?"

A small smile played across his soft lips. "You're welcome. I hope you feel better, Christine."

He crossed the parking lot and got into his BMW, and after he got himself situated, he pulled up alongside me with an expectant look on his face. My hands tightened around the steering wheel in irritation. I guess he planned to escort me out of the parking lot as well. So much for sitting here and trying to come up with somewhere else to go that wasn't home.

Stifling a sigh, I waved at him and started my engine. Then I shifted into gear and headed toward the exit. Thankfully, once we got out to the main intersection I had to turn left and he turned right. While I waited for a gap in the oncoming traffic, I tapped my fingers against the wheel and wracked my brain for ideas on anything I could do that would keep me away from the house just a little longer.

Grocery shopping? No. I still had plenty of frozen TV dinners and really wasn't in need of anything else. I could call Maddie and see if I could join her for whatever exercise class she no doubt had planned for tonight. Ugh. I wasn't that desperate. Yet.

"Oh!"

Suddenly it hit me. I needed to replace some of the tile that the ghost had so kindly knocked off the kitchen counter. I could go to the home improvement store on my way home and pick up some more, and then wander around and look at things while I was there.

I made the turn and then sped up in order to switch lanes, excited to have something productive to do. I took the next right, and then immediately had to slam on my breaks so hard and fast that I forgot to push in the clutch, forcing my car to stall. The red and blue lights of emergency vehicles flashed a few blocks in front of me, and traffic in both lanes was at a complete standstill.

"Fantastic," I groaned, using the steering wheel to pull myself up taller so I could try to see what had happened. Unfortunately, the line of cars was too long, and I slumped back into my seat and tried to reason with myself that being stuck in traffic was ultimately a good thing, because it prolonged the time I would be out. Still, the thought of having to constantly work the clutch, creeping forward and stopping over and over again wasn't on the list of my favorite things to do.

After ten minutes of stop and go and only moving about a half a block, I was thoroughly agitated. Placing my left elbow against the ridge of the door, I glanced out the window and silently willed the traffic to go faster. Outside, the weather couldn't decide what it wanted to do, and soon tiny sprinkles of water began to splash against the windshield, picking up momentum as the heavens opened up and unleashed an encore of last night's performance.

I glared at the windshield, watching as the raindrops collected on the glass, creating distorted images of the cars and buildings in front of me before the monotonous swipe of the windshield wipers whisked them away from my field of vision. All of a sudden, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and turned my head just in time to see a woman dart out from a building, grab the portable A-frame style sign on the sidewalk, and then rush back inside the shop. Before she disappeared completely, I managed to catch a glimpse of the sign and my heart quickened at what I saw.

Psychic Medium: Palm, Tarot, and Spiritual Readings.

Ordinarily, I wasn't the type of person who believed that everyone had a destiny and that fate worked in mysterious ways, and blah, blah, blah. But after all that had happened, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence.

The truck ahead of me started to inch forward and soon the line of cars were moving again. I deliberated for a few seconds, unsure whether or not I was brave enough to give it a shot, before I impulsively switched on my blinker and made a last second turn into the parking lot.

The sound of tinkling chimes echoed around the small parlor as I breathlessly pushed through the door. The air inside was warm and smelled heavily of incense that immediately made me think of marigolds. Plush red carpet and red and gold damask wallpaper on the walls instantly created a welcoming atmosphere, and the Victorian-style settee and tables added an air of sophistication that I had not been expecting. I wasn't sure what I was expecting, actually. Maybe something more along the lines of a beautiful dark-haired woman in brightly colored Gypsy garb hovering over a crystal ball. I let out a nervous laugh and rubbed the back of my neck. I'd been watching too many movies and TV shows.

"I'll be right there," a female voice called out from somewhere in another room.

A few minutes later a middle-aged woman appeared. She had a round, pretty face with crow's feet surrounding blue eyes so light they appeared almost gray. She wore a white, fluttery shirt and brown skirt, and although she wore a scarf around her neck, it was more of the earth tone variety rather than the colorful apparel I had imagined her wearing. As she walked around the corner she gathered her damp blonde hair into a high ponytail, her eyes fixated on a point on the floor between us.

"I apologize," she said, her words muffled by the elastic she had pinched between her teeth. She grabbed the hair tie and wound it around her hair as she continued, "I was just about to close up. Didn't think anyone was going to come in with the weather being like it is—"

She chose that exact moment to look up at me, and when she did she recoiled as if I had just reached out and shook her by the shoulders. The rest of her sentence was left unfinished as she shifted her focus from me to a spot in the room behind me and then back to me again.

"But by the looks of things, it's a good thing I didn't," she whispered. Motioning with her hand, she beckoned to the hallway behind her. "Please, come in."

"What?"

Confusion crinkled my features into a scowl. What could she have possibly seen that made her react that way and say something like that? A sliver of dread slid down my throat and hit the bottom of my stomach. Maybe I'd made a mistake coming in here after all. For the briefest of moments, I stood in the lobby, paralyzed with indecision, until my curiosity ultimately won out and I forced my legs and feet to follow her down the hall.

The muted sounds of a babbling brook and relaxing music that featured the pan flute greeted me as I hesitantly walked into the small adjoining room. A tan leather couch ran along the wall on one side, and a bookshelf with all sorts of spiritual tomes filled the other. A round table with a beige table cloth and two chairs with red velvet cushions was positioned at the far end of the room, and it was there that the woman was now positioning a dish filled with herbs that I didn't recognize. When she was done, she struck a long match and carefully lit the incense, and soon the room was filled with the same summery marigold scent I had smelled when I first walked into the building. Then she turned to me and spread her hands out over the table in a welcoming gesture.

"Don't be shy," she said. "Please. Sit down."

Eying the burning incense suspiciously, I cautiously approached the table and slowly sat down in the chair. She nodded and took her seat on the other side.

"My name is Danica. May I have your name?"

"Chris. Well, it's Christine, but everyone calls me Chris."

Danica smiled. "Christine. That's a very pretty name."

"What happened back in the lobby?" I asked.

She studied me, her eyes boring into mine as if she were trying to reach the very center of my being. "I will get to that in a moment. But first, I would like you to tell me why you sought me out today."

I folded my arms, a little bit of my trepidation giving way to skepticism and I retorted rudely, "Shouldn't you know that already if you're a psychic?"

"To a certain degree," she replied. "I am a psychic medium, which means that I use my psychic abilities to communicate with the spirits of those who have passed on and to deliver messages between them and the living."

"Oh. Like, if I wanted to talk to my parents, you could help me with that?"

"Exactly." She leaned forward, and her gray-blue eyes pierced me with a knowing look. "But that's not why you're here, is it, Christine?"

"No." Taking a deep breath for courage, I revealed, "I want to find out what I took that's causing a ghost to suddenly haunt my house."

There. I said it. Was she going to think I was crazy now, too?

"What makes you think the haunting is related to something you took?"

The way she stated the question implied that she already knew the answer, and I was so intrigued by the possibility that I threw caution to the wind and blurted, "The ghost wrote 'give it back' on my bathroom mirror."

Danica's eyes widened, and once again, she glanced at a spot over my shoulder. "He's made contact with you?"

"He?" I spun around in my chair, trying to see what she saw, but the space behind me was empty. "How do you know it's a he?"

Turning her hands over so that they were palm up over the table, she said, "Give me your hands."

Desperate for answers, especially since she had managed to dodge every question I'd asked, I placed my hands in hers. Her head reared back the moment skin met skin, and a shockwave rippled through her entire body. She let out a small gasp as she reflexively curled her fingers around mind. Suddenly, she twisted the position of her right hand and gripped the ring on my left hand, her eyes snapping open in surprise.

"Where did you get this?"

"I uh…." Out of habit I started to tell her the same made-up story I had told everyone else, and then stopped as realization hit me like a bucket of ice water in the face. "I…I found it." Suddenly, I felt like I was going to throw up. I swallowed, willing the nausea to go away. "This…this is what I took from the ghost, isn't it?"

Danica had yet to let go of my finger. Slowly, she nodded.

"Oh, God." I yanked my hands out of her grasp and brought my right palm to my chest. Tears pricked at my eyes as I guilty rambled off the explanation of how it had ended up on my finger. "I was going to return it. Honest! But I forgot. And then one night I put it on and now…now I can't get it off! I've tried! What am I going to do?" I wailed.

"Christine, listen to me very carefully," she demanded. "Because this is extremely important. Did you notice any of these strange occurrences before you took the ring, or did they start happening after you put it on and couldn't get it to come off?"

"Um…." I thought back to the first known incident—the day I found my jewelry box on the floor. That had happened the day after Ben came over, and the night Ben came over was the night I had put the ring on in a moment of self-pity. "After."

"That's what I thought."

I wiped the tears from my eyes and sniffed. "What?"

"It's not your house that's haunted, Christine."

"But, I know what I saw—"

"It's you," she finished.

"What?" Did I hear her correctly? "How can a person be haunted?"

"It's rare, but it happens. The spirit is bound to you. Because of this." Danica took hold of my hand again and held it up so that I could see the ring on my finger.

"What do you mean 'bound to me?'"

"This ring, for one reason or another, is connecting you with the spirit," she explained.

I sank my teeth into my bottom lip. "Do you know what that reason is?"

The medium shook her head. "No. Usually I can read the spirits rather well, but this one is…guarded. Closed off. I'm not sure why."

"Is the spirit here, right now?" I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer.

"Yes."

I swiveled around in my seat again and scanned the room, as if I would be able to see it now that I knew of its presence.

"When a spirit haunts something—let's say a house, for instance," she went on, "they are usually confined to that area. Think of it as a kind of residual memory; a man wandering down the same hallway again and again, or a woman who constantly walks along the shore of a riverbank looking for her drowned child. Your haunting is different. Because the spirit is tied to you, he has the ability to go everywhere you go."

"So you're saying that he—the spirit is a man?" Danica silently nodded. "He follows me around?"

"At times. More like he has the ability to follow you if he chooses to."

"Like right now?"

"Like right now."

"Can you see him?" I asked. "What does he look like? How old is he? How long's he been dead? Can you tell him I didn't mean it?"

She held out her hand to stop my onslaught on questions. "As I said before, he's very closed off. I can't actually see him, but I can sense his aura. It radiates off him like a heat coming off a fire, and it's full of so many conflicting emotions that I must take great care not to let him completely overwhelm me."

I shifted uneasily in my seat. "Should I be worried?"

She considered my question, and then, choosing her next words very carefully, she replied, "I would advise you to approach him with caution. I sense a lot of hostility in him, a lot of pain. He is also extremely possessive, but over what I'm not sure."

"Great." I slumped forward, placing my elbows on the tabletop so I could bury my face in the palms of my hands. "I have the worst luck."

"On the contrary, Christine, you have been given a great gift."

Picking my head up slightly, I moaned, "Oh yeah. I've stolen something from an evil spirit and now he's following me around to get it back, which is impossible because it's stuck on my finger! That's a great gift."

She ignored my sarcasm and reached out, clasping my hand in both of hers. "I know this seems very daunting. And scary. But Christine, you have something that so many others do not; the ability to communicate with him. And that is an exceptional gift."

My breath caught in my throat.

"Yes, child." Her smile was warm as she brushed an errant tear from my cheek. "I sensed it the moment you both walked through my door. Something has trapped him here, and whatever it is, it's preventing him from finding peace. He needs your help. I believe you were meant to find that ring, Christine. I think that's why it's stuck on your finger. He's bound to you for a reason, and I feel that once you find out what that is, he will finally be able to pass on and that ring will come off your finger."

I scrubbed my face with my hands. "This is a lot to take in."

"I know."

She stood and swept her arm in the direction of the door, gently ushering me toward the exit. I slowly got to my feet, and, with the feeling of lead in my stomach, allowed her to walk me out to the lobby.

"Wait!" I exclaimed as she held the door open for me. Digging in my purse for my wallet, I asked, "How much do I owe you for the session?"

Danica's expression sobered a bit. "Talk to him. Find a way to help him. That will be payment enough."