A Strange There After

After

by Missy Fleming

Ghosts exist. Quinn Roberts knows this because she is one - kind of. The spirit of a dysfunctional ancestor, Catherine, has evicted Quinn from her own body, forcing her to live in a world with the paranormal. No one can see, touch or hear her, except the ghosts she grew up with and the bane of her existence, a self-centered paranormal investigator named Boone.

Forced to watch the growing bond between her boyfriend, Jason, and the body snatcher, Catherine, Quinn delves deeper into the history of her family in search of a way to reverse what's been done. What she finds is a dangerous entity more terrifying than anything she's encountered before. He's willing to grant all her desires...for a price.

As Quinn faces painful decisions and makes unlikely alliances, she learns how far she will go to get her life back. Desperation is a wicked thing and she soon realizes that recovering her body may only be the beginning of her end.

To my family—real, writing, and publishing. I love you all.

Table of Contents

A Strange There After

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Epilogue

About the Author

Previews

Chapter One

Nightmares proved to be my new companion. They stalked at my heels, even in the light of day, dragging me into a never-ending abyss of uncertainty. They tried to teach me about what I lost, but I failed to put the puzzle together. Pieces lay within my reach, and each time I came close to seeing the whole picture, terror ran its icy fingers down my spine. Fear took hold, a grip so fierce I questioned whether I would ever find my way out. Every day, I struggled to shake off the cloud of confusion hanging over me.

Even as I gazed over at the attic window, a terrible dream danced along the edges of my consciousness, too far out of reach to recall. A bluebird flitted under the eave, on the other side of the glass, distracting me and pulling a smile from my lips. The beautiful morning stretched across the treetops, coloring the world golden, and the sight chased away any lingering memory of my haunting dreams.

Sunlight streamed in through the opposite window, illuminating my sparse accommodations. Stretching, and drawing in a deep breath, I sat up, eager to start the day, and cringed as the room spun. Once I steadied myself, I pushed to my feet and padded toward the door. Glancing down, I frowned. Must have fallen asleep in my clothes again. The jeans and tank top were incredibly wrinkled.

Nice, Quinn, I muttered.

At the bottom of the stairs leading up to my room, I stopped to listen. Nothing moved, and the lack of sound gave the second floor an empty feeling. Passing a vacant bedroom, which used to belong to my stepsister, Anna, I tried to remember when she and Suzie and Marietta moved out. They had, hadn’t they? Sleeping in the attic was obviously a hard habit to break. I needed to work on it.

As I descended the main staircase, I shook out my long hair and gathered it into a ponytail. Stifling a yawn, I veered straight for the kitchen, on a mission to get some much needed caffeine. When I reached my destination, the sight of Jason Parker, in faded jeans and a fitted T-shirt, cleared my fogginess. He had swept me off my reluctant feet three months ago, and it didn’t matter that he was twenty-one, three years older than me, or that he lived in California. Jason had helped me open up in a way I never allowed myself before. A flutter of affection beat its wings in my stomach. He set a box of donuts and to-go tray of coffee on the counter. The scent of mocha and sugar drifted over, and my mouth started watering.

Oh, Lord, it smells delicious, I said, loving how the sun shone through the wide window of the dining nook and highlighted his dark hair. He busied himself with pulling out plates and humming, the movements causing the muscles in his back to flex. I moved closer, intending to run my hand over his shoulders, to feel his strength, but he rounded the counter.

Jason?

He didn’t answer me, just sat down on the stool and grabbed some napkins from a nearby wire basket.

If Mr. Movie Star doesn’t want an elephant for a girlfriend, you need to stop bringing me treats.

My joke fell flat. It didn’t even garner a reaction from him, not so much as a raise of a brow or twitch on his lips. Positive he must not have heard me, I closed the distance between us and tried again.

Did you have a shoot last night?

He filmed mostly at night, the lead in a vampire movie based on some popular book series. The locations usually attracted a slew of giggling girls, creating chaos and hysteria as they all strained to catch sight of Jason.

My question went unanswered, but a smile teased his lips when he opened the box of donuts and pulled out a maple bar covered in sprinkles. He must have remembered they were my favorite.

How many did you get me? I asked, reaching out to tip the lid of the box up.

A gust of wind swirling through the kitchen stopped me. It ruffled my hair and drove a dreadful chill right through to my bones. The back door was shut, the windows closed, but I felt the need to wrap my arms protectively around myself. Panic fluttered in my chest, and I fought against the lump forming in my throat. Not even Jason’s presence comforted me.

From the corner of my eyes a shadow startled me, and I whirled around. She strolled into the kitchen, stealing my breath, her long black and purple hair shimmering in the morning light. Her brown eyes widened in happiness when she caught sight of Jason, her lips parting in surprise.

I didn’t know you were coming over. Am I going to regret giving you a key? she teased. Breakfast smells yummy,

This time, Jason responded. He walked over and caught her in a fierce embrace, lifting her off the ground. She giggled in response. My stomach quivered as I watched him press his lips to hers. To mine. Except I was standing there unnoticed, completely unseen. My world came crashing down around me.

I remembered everything in broken, painful fragments. My stepmother and sister’s endless taunts. Meeting Jason and opening up to him. The graveyard and trying to rid my stepmother Marietta of the shadow attached to her. Catherine somehow pushing me out of my body. Looking in the window, watching Jason kiss her as I stood alone and cold.

For some reason, I occasionally woke up and forgot I was a ghost. Obviously, I needed to write it on a sticky note and tape it to my forehead. The only issue being I didn’t have a clue what I really was. Amidst the pain rolling through me a single detail rooted me to the moment. My heartbeat was gone, my chest motionless. I called myself a ghost, but I hadn’t died. My body wasn’t buried or burned. It lived. I was staring right at it as Jason pressed his mouth to hers. My own tingled in reaction, and, with trembling fingers, I caressed my lips. He gently tugged on her hair, and my scalp pricked.

I experienced a milder sensation of everything he did to her. My stomach rolled in disgust.

Catherine. Somehow the wench forced me out of my own body.

What’s going on? I demanded.

Neither of them reacted to the sound of my voice.

Finally, the kissing stopped, but the warmth lingered on my lips, in my chest. She didn’t only return the action. She enjoyed it. I knew because I felt the rush of her affection course through me, flushing my skin and making my blood hum. I remembered the feeling. It was identical to what I experienced when he used to embrace me, when he stared at me with those captivating eyes.

My rage replaced her lust-filled reaction. I advanced on them as Jason leaned against the counter, settling Catherine between his legs and brushing hair from her face. Jealousy blossomed in my chest. This wasn’t normal heartbreak. A lance pierced my heart, stealing my breath and hollowing me to the core.

That. Is. Not. Me, I shouted.

The smile on my face wasn’t mine. It was Catherine’s, full of easygoing confidence. As I studied them, I had to admit they looked good together, a picture of youthful perfection. His dark hair and gorgeous brown eyes matched her black, wavy tresses and happy smile.

She stole my life.

Moping like a lovesick fool wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I had to fight. My entire life I’d been aware of the presence of ghosts. I felt their pain. What I didn’t understand was why they clung to their wrongs and stayed behind. Even Catherine let the hatred twist her. It changed her into a woman hell bent on revenge for a hundred and fifty year old misdeed. I understood all too well now. The pain never left. Time didn’t exist. Wounds remained fresh.

Briefly meeting my tortured gaze, Catherine put on a show for me, giggling and kissing Jason more passionately than necessary this early in the morning. My eyes narrowed into angry slits as I fought the spirit world calling out to me. I refused to let the fog back in, to cloud the truth and numb my pain.

Oblivious to my torment, Jason brushed his thumb across her lips. I can’t stay long. Gonna get some sleep before I have to be back on set. I’ll make sure to reserve a few hours for you later though.

Can’t wait. This house ain’t the same without you.

She sounded nervous, awkward, how I usually did, and I gave her credit for how well she played me. Her grandest role yet.

It must be hard being here alone. He laced his fingers behind her, settling them in the small of her back. Have you heard anything about Marietta?

I perked up at the mention of my stepmother.

Not really, not since they settled in Atlanta. I imagine Anna is worried about helping her mama get better, not keeping in touch.

My goal in the graveyard had been to save Marietta from the devious spirit controlling her. We had no idea what the ghost of my ancestor, Catherine Roberts, really planned. For months, she threatened me, saying when I was gone she’d have everything she desired. I realized too late she didn’t want me dead. She merely wanted my body.

It was pretty amazing of you to pay for her care.

I gaped at that tidbit. It was the last thing I expected Catherine to do. Clever move on her part, convincing everyone she had a heart.

She shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. Regardless of what she’s done, she’s family.

I hope Marietta recovers. Her mental state was pretty dismal last I saw her. He frowned. Catherine really did a number on her.

I caught the way her face hardened, and her response came out brisk. She’ll be fine. Being away from Savannah has probably done wonders. I’ll call them later today. Jason didn’t seem to recognize the lie. And you’re right. It’s taking a while to get used to having the house to myself. All those times I wished for it, and now, two weeks have passed, and the size intimidates me.

She sighed sadly. I almost believed her. The kitchen tilted underneath me as I realized she was better at being me than I had ever been. The traitorous notion pulled a fresh well of frustration from me. I struggled to wrestle it under control as Jason left. Once the front door closed, Catherine spun, pinning me with a pitying look.

It’s no use. He can’t hear you.

Habit tempted me to recoil from her, but I stood my ground, surprising both of us. He’ll realize you’re not me. You’re different.

Apparently, he doesn’t think I’m different in a bad way. I’ve had years to watch, Quinn. It’s easy to play you. She leaned closer. He deserves someone who can fit into his world.

Why him?

She adapted a dreamy expression. He’s important, powerful. Jason knows all the right people. On his arm, I’m the belle of the ball again, which is all I’ve ever wanted.

How did you do it? The night in the cemetery? I felt my soul being ripped from my body! I clenched my fists. Give me back my life.

No. I enjoy your life. She pivoted on her bare feet and sauntered out of the kitchen, leaving me with a whirlwind of emotions. I yearned to hurt her, but so far, I hadn’t figured out how to touch anything without my hand passing through it.

Catherine paused in the doorway, intent on getting in one last pithy comment. "It’s kind of ironic, actually. You spent all your time obsessing over ghosts. Now, you are one, and all your silly little questions can be answered."

An idea rose up out of the smoldering embers of my hatred. Catherine was right about one thing, all my questions could be answered. I set out in search of the other ghosts haunting my house, determined to find out how to return to the land of the living.

Chapter Two

Icy pinpricks raced up and down my arms as I stormed out of the kitchen. Nothing warmed me these days, not the sun, not even the anger. The coldness was physically impossible, considering I didn’t truly have a body, yet my fingertips stayed numb. As I brushed them along the banister of the back staircase I only felt a slight sensation of the hard, time-worn wood.

I didn’t know why I was haunting my house and not the graveyard where the body switch happened. Not that I wanted to be there. No way. The only saving grace of this whole fiasco was being in my family’s home. I passed the entrance to the attic, ignoring how it called to me, tempting me to come up and wallow in my frustration and helplessness.

Built in the 1850s, the large colonial mansion was listed on the National Historic Register and fronted one of the oldest, most prestigious streets in Savannah. White columns stood proudly out front, supporting a wide, ivy covered porch. A beautiful house and an everlasting reminder of what I stood to lose if Catherine’s ruse continued.

I heard the shower on in Marietta’s old room, the one Catherine claimed as hers, and followed the sound. The bathroom was steamy, and she sang to herself, a ridiculous song about a girl saying, call me, maybe. Nibbling on my lower lip, feeling the burn of familiar hate toward her, inspiration struck. In the condensation obscuring the mirror, I used my finger to write her a message. I didn’t expect it to work, considering I had such a hard time touching things, but after a little concentration, I observed my hard work with a smirk. At least it was progress.

The words I’m coming for you were scrawled across the glass. Glancing down at my hands, I could already tell they were fading again. Huh.

Well, what do ya know? It worked, I whispered out loud while staring at my fingers in awe. It was entirely possible emotions were the key. I’d have to remember that. Then I snorted. Easier said than done these days though.

Lame and immature, but the prank filled me with satisfaction as I went about my previous mission to find my housemates.

My mama used to tell me stories of the ghosts who lived here, but I knew them long before she shared her tales. I saw them at an early age. Of course, turning into one gave me a new perspective.

As usual, Jackson Merriwether stood guard midway up the main stairs. A soldier and Catherine’s first love, I kept badgering him for the reason he continued to haunt my house. The parts of his story I’d heard left me heartbroken, the intimate details tied to my ancestors.

Stomping toward him, I marveled over how vivid he appeared. He looked solid, as physical as I used to be. When I touched him, he was real. No longer a flickering, transparent form. It never failed to remind me of how strange my life was now.

For a moment, Jackson’s looks distracted me, momentarily dousing my motivation for coming to talk to him. His dirty blonde hair brushed the collar of his Confederate uniform, and his blue irises, a cross between the sky on a hot day and a deep pool of water, fixed on me. Grief froze his face into a grim expression, making him more like a glacier than a person. He had tried to save Catherine but had been too late. I assumed he never forgave himself for that.

Returning to the frustration I felt in the kitchen, I struck out at the person closest to me. I’ve got to stop her. We need to come up with a plan of attack.

His steely glare didn’t change as he regarded me. His strong, tan hand flexed into a fist, the only indication he heard me. Finally, he said, I cannot assist you. It’s impossible and pointless.

The statement fell flat between us, void of emotion, and only stoked the fire of anger living under the surface of my skin lately.

How can you say that? I don’t deserve to be here!

His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit. Many of us don’t belong here. The sooner you let go, the sooner you can move on.

Right, I snorted. Great advice coming from someone who’s been stuck in this house for over a century.

I have my reasons for staying.

And you keep those locked up pretty tightly, I muttered, crossing my arms.

They are mine. As you said, I’ve been in this form for a long time, close to a hundred and fifty years. You’ve been here for sixteen days. My perspective is a little more accurate than yours.

It was the most I’d heard him say in a while, since the night he told me about Catherine and how they were plotting to run away together before her husband killed her.

Something snapped as a flash of Jason kissing me—no, her—danced through my mind with the grace of a wrecking ball. I latched onto the heat and shoved Jackson with so much force he actually stumbled backwards. The truth was, I wanted to hurt him, to show him the pain I felt.

I don’t want to be like this anymore, I yelled as I continued to pound against his strong chest.

Either my attack surprised him too much to fight back or he didn’t really care, but it took him a while to trap my wrists in his hands.

You’re so pathetic! She’s the devil! I hate her! I hate Jason! He can suffer right along with her. They deserve each other as they rot in hell!

There was no reining my rage in.

Until, a small voice called out. Quinn, stop.

And I did.

Glancing up, I saw George standing at the top of the stairs, looking down on Jackson and me with sadness in his little face. The urge to snarl at him burned bright. It didn’t matter the boy was a companion growing up, dressed in slave’s rags and always so friendly, a confidante who listened to my hopes and secrets. In my grief-stricken moment, he became the enemy. Like everyone else.

Anger ain’t helpin’, he added.

His simple statement stole some of the bite from my attack. It’s the closest I’ve come to being alive. I stared at my hands as if they didn’t belong to me. I used to never get mad. Not even after all the terrible things Marietta and the twins put me through. I don’t feel like myself anymore.

George shook his head, and Jackson released my wrists before lecturing. What you want might not be possible. You won’t get it by giving in to darker emotions. They’ll trap you in a vicious cycle of reliving everything you’ve lost. If you want to beat Catherine, you must be smart and patient.

He had a point, and I ducked my head in embarrassment. Of course I’d never tell him how much his words humbled me. He and George helped me some, but it was hard to trust anyone. Especially when they lectured me to accept my new status and move on. Not happening.

How do I control my emotions? They take over, and I can’t stop, I asked, shifting the conversation to a more neutral subject.

Jackson reached out to raise my chin until I stared at him. You let go.

Sure, forget about the life I had. I’ll find a way to get it all back. I’d take a hundred years of the crap Marietta and her evil spawns dished out over this.

I didn’t mean to stomp my foot, but I did. Of course, Jackson noticed.

Acting like a child won’t accomplish anything.

A-a child? I sputtered. How dare you!

All I’m suggesting is to keep a level head.

Don’t tell me what I can’t do!

It would’ve been nice to have someone in my corner, coaching me. There was nobody to tell me where to start or what I needed to do. Figuring this out on my own intimidated the heck out of me. I didn’t have anyone on the other