Ghost of a Chance (Second Chance at Love Series, Book 2)

Ghost of a Chance

Second Chance at Love Series

Book Two

by

S.J. MacIver

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ISBN: 978-1-61417-471-4

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Copyright © 2013 by Sharon J. Ihle. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

Fiction. Romance. Inspirational. Christian.

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Chapter 1

It is therefore a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from sins. (2 Maccabees 12:46)

Josh Hankins and Tori Olson were two of the most envied and sought after people in Hollywood. He, an up and coming star of motion pictures; she, his personal and business manager. They inspired oohs and ahhs wherever they went. Strangers begged for a touch, a scrap of napkin, at the least a photograph. Anything to prove they'd been in the company of such greatness.

Okay, maybe Josh alone inspired such awe, but Tori wasn't above fantasizing that some of that adoration was meant for her.

Josh had the onscreen charisma, impossibly handsome good looks, and a dazzling smile that melted women at his feet. Men found him fascinating too, the more insecure of them wishing they'd been born in his place.

As his manager, Tori was either with Josh or doing his bidding sixteen hours a day, chores that ran the gamut from heating and buttering his breakfast croissant to accompanying him to grand A-list parties and openings. This inspired envy from the women who melted at his feet, but little did they know. Tori was Josh's shadow, a little nondescript figure that occasionally stood by his side, more often followed a few paces behind. She sometimes thought of herself as a guide dog. Oh sure, now and then people stopped long enough to pat her on top of the head or ruffle her fur. In truth they were only interested in fawning over her master, a man handicapped by his own fame and fortune.

Despite a few problems in their lopsided relationship, the two were great friends. In many ways they were the perfect couple, although not a couple in the traditional sense—but perfect, absolutely perfect.

Until the accident.

Chapter 2

As Tori slowly came around, she realized that she was lying on her back in the middle of the street. She thought she heard music, beautiful angelic tones, but when she opened her eyes, everything became eerily silent. Above her a couple of distant stars sparkled in the twilight. How beautiful, she thought. Then it all came back in a rush.

There had been an accident, a horrible screech of metal as a truck came out of nowhere and plowed into the side of their car. With Tori behind the wheel, she and Josh had been driving in his expensive toy, a vintage 1955 Thunderbird convertible. Everything was stock, right down to the fact that it did not feature seat belts.

Josh had insisted on having the car at a celebrity golf tournament he participated in at Torrey Pines Golf Course, just North of San Diego. He'd had enough sense to have the car towed to that location, but then decided to take a tour along the coastal cities afterwards so he could continue waving at his adoring fans.

In the moments before the crash he'd been playing his favorite CD on a portable player, some inane combination of rap, screaming, and words that made no sense. The music was loud, designed to attract even more attention to Josh who sang along with the CD as if he actually had a voice. Although he didn't seem to notice, Josh Hankins in song sounded like an owl who'd been crossed with a goose.

Josh! In a panic, Tori sat up. The T-bird, or what was left of it, obscured her vision at first. Then she spotted him. Josh was lying by the curb, crumpled up like yesterday's newspaper. He wasn't moving. Thinking only of him, of trying to save his life, Tori pushed up from the pavement. Or tried to. She fell to her left side, and then realized she had a problem. Her left arm was useless, dangling like an empty shirt sleeve. At the same time, she noticed that her left leg was bent at an impossible angle, as if independent of her hips. She recognized her injuries as serious, but the fact that she felt no pain didn't register. All she could think of was getting to Josh.

After a few false starts, Tori finally got to her feet and made an awkward and cumbersome trek to the curb. Just as she reached him, Josh raised his head and looked up at her.

What happened? he asked, his tone nasally.

Tori winced as his ruined face came into view. We were in an accident.

Is the T-Bird all right?

As far as Tori could tell it would never be all right again. It's fine, she lied. It's you I'm worried about.

He glanced down at his bloody shirt. I think I'm okay, but I must have banged my nose or something. I hope it's not broken.

To say that Josh's perfect nose was broken would have been a gross understatement. Not only was it squashed, making the tip look as if it were folded against his cheek, he resembled a boxer who'd caught a right hook from Godzilla.

Tori hedged. Uh... we'd better have a doctor take a look at it.

Gripped with the insane urge to burst out laughing, she turned away from him. About that same time she saw that a team of paramedics were carefully lifting her broken body on to a litter. Then someone thoughtfully pulled a sheet up over her face.

As the significance of this sank in, black dots danced before Tori's eyes and a swarm of bees buzzed her brain. She might even have fainted if Josh hadn't jolted her back to the present—or whatever it was.

Oh, Tori! He'd gotten to his feet and was standing beside her. My T-bird is completely trashed.

Interesting. For the first time in a long time, Josh was worried about something other than himself. Of course that would change the minute he caught sight of himself in a mirror.

I hope whoever hit us has good insurance, he continued, because he's going to replace that Bird right down to the Torch Red paint job.

Tori shot him a heavy-lidded gaze. You've got bigger problems than fixing up that car.

What's more important than that?

Me? she said, pointing out the gurney carrying her body.

Not understanding, Josh said, Is that the guy who hit us? Is he dead?

Had Tori been her normal self, alive at least, her first instinct would have been to shield Josh against anything unpleasant. This generally ran along the lines of magazines, newspapers, or televised entertainment programs that found his acting abilities less than that of say, Benji. Circumstances, however, had changed dramatically.

No, it's not the other driver. That's what's left of me, she explained. Then she pointed to where Josh's battered body lay crumpled on the ground. And that's what's left of you.

When he got a look at his former self, Josh let out a strangled cry—and still managed to sound like an owl/goose.

Oh, geeze, he said in a strained whisper. What happened to my face? And my nose. Look at my nose.

The Brad Pitt special, wasn't it? For his sake, Tori made light of the situation. As I recall you took out a student loan to buy that nose. I'll bet you never even paid it back. He tore his gaze away from his body and gave her an incredulous look. The star again, he said, How can you make fun of me at a time like this? I'm ruined.

She laughed and shook her head. Being ruined isn't the problem, Josh. You're dead.

With another quick glance at his body, he sighed and said, There is that.

* * *

Opinion has it that most folks, squeamish or not, are morbidly drawn to the scene of an accident. Although she couldn't be heard, Tori was prepared to testify that this wasn't entirely true, not if you happened to be a victim in said accident. She wanted to leave the scene immediately. Was that allowed? Assuming she might catch a glance of Heaven, she looked up. Nothing there, not even a cloud. Was she to fall to her knees and ask God to admit her? A deeply religious person throughout her life, it had never occurred to Tori to prepare herself for this. She was too young to think of dying

Unsure of how to proceed, old habits kicked in and she wound up trying to shield Josh yet again.

We should get out of here, she suggested.

And go where? What if we're not really dead?

To test this theory, Josh yelled, I'm alive! over and over, and ran through the crowd of onlookers and paramedics trying to convince them that this was so. It wouldn't have surprised Tori if he'd whipped out a pen and offered his autograph to anyone who would listen.

When it finally became apparent to Josh that nobody could hear or see him, he went back to the curb where Tori stood. By then the body of the ruined Josh Hankins had been carted away.

He looked at her with sad brown eyes. I guess we really are dead. What do we do now?

I'm your manager, not a priest. How am I supposed to know what to do?

You always know what to do.

He was back to being the Josh she'd met in college. In those days he'd been her best friend, confidant, the very epitome of the boy next door. More than once Tori had wondered where their relationship might have gone if he hadn't pursued an acting career and she hadn't been content to follow along after him as a kind of caretaker.

Breaking into her thoughts, Josh said, Would you look at these people? They didn't even know me.

Tori glanced at the crowd and saw that adoring fans had multiplied tenfold with most of them huddled around the wrecked T-Bird. Several were actually lying prostrate with grief beside the car. Nobody seemed to notice or care that a young woman had also died in the accident.

Angry on her own behalf and unable to watch any longer, Tori blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I just had a flash, an omen I guess, and now I know exactly what we're supposed to do.

Josh pointed to the heavens. You always have been kind of churchy. Did you hear from, you know... Him?

Tori was not about to press her luck. Just a flash. Come with me quick.

She went to grab his hand but it was like taking hold of a cobweb. Nothing there. She would have to worry and wonder about that later. Follow me now, or you may not be able to.

As she'd hoped, Josh fell in behind her, and Tori made her way up the walkway at the curb. It was a gently sloping path made of bricks that led to a large Victorian house. Looking as if it came right out of a 19th century picture book, the home was painted lemon yellow. It featured a wraparound porch and lots of gingerbread eaves, all in a startling shade of white. The door, also painted white, was opened.

Invitation enough, Tori dashed inside the house urging Josh to do the same.

What does your omen say now? Josh asked, looking around. There's nobody here.

True enough. And the house wasn't a home as Tori first thought, but a business. A combination curio and book store, complete with a curved coffee bar at the back.

Taking a stab at it, Tori surmised, The owner is probably outside stealing the rearview mirror off of your car.

Josh swiveled toward the window. Anyone so much as touches that Bird and I'll sue them to the ends of the earth. He took a deep breath. Actually, I guess I won't be suing anyone for any reason. So what do we do now?

I don't know. Hoping to get some kind of sign, she closed her eyes and prayed for guidance.

Josh headed for the door. I'm going back outside to see what's going on.

Tori didn't know why, but instinct told her that she had to stop him. Everything depended on it. She pulled out her weapon of choice, his ego. You're going out there like that?

Like what?

Well, you know. Your nose and all.

His hand immediately went to his face. I can't feel my nose. How does it look?

Apparently he'd blotted out the memory of viewing his dead body. She got up close and scrutinized him. Just like it did on the guy lying in the gutter.

Josh rolled his eyes and groaned. I forgot how bad it was. I expect that Brad Pitt isn't going to want it back either.

Not a chance.

Eyelids still closed, Josh just stood there.

Hey, Tori said. Are you all right?

All right? He laughed and slapped his hands against his chest. I can't feel my own body, and come to think of it, I can't feel anything. Oh, and don't let's forget, I'm dead. Why wouldn't I be all right?

Part of Tori wanted to do what she always did—ease his mind, even at her own expense. Funny how a not-so-little thing like death had filled her with a sense of freedom.

Maybe you haven't noticed, she said flippantly. But I'm dead too. How do you think I feel?

Oh, Tori, he said softly. I can't even think about you being, you know. I can't even say the words.

Turning away from her, he stumbled over to a winding staircase at the back of the room and sank down on the bottom step. His ruined face buried in his hands, he let out a heavy sigh.

At first, Tori didn't know what to do with this vulnerable Josh. Then she thought back to five years ago when they'd met at UCLA. She'd been a business major and he'd been working on his Bachelor of Arts in film and television. Back then Josh had been a bright, eager student with the kind of healthy good looks that made a girl want to take him home to meet the family—and then sneak out with him later when they could be alone.

At just over six feet tall, he had shaggy light brown hair, now artfully tipped in shades of blond, and moppishly cut. His big dark eyes sparkled with mirth and maybe just a hint of impishness. The college Josh had been bursting with the promise of a bright future, sparkling with enthusiasm and intelligence, real hero material.

Tori fell in love with him the first time he'd graced her with his blinding smile.

Unfortunately she was not the only one to have been dazzled by his charms. Josh had his pick of girlfriends in college, but for some reason, never developed a lasting or serious relationship. He and Tori started out as friends and, to her consternation, remained that way. He'd never come on to her as a suitor, and that meant one of two things: (a) he respected and valued their friendship or (b) he didn't find her the least bit attractive. Tori always chose to believe option (a), especially after his rise to fame brought a higher class of lady friends.

Watching Josh now reminded her of how much she'd once loved him. Slipping back into her guide dog role, Tori approached him.

It's not so bad, Josh, she soothed. At least we still seem to have each other.

We do? He looked up at her, worry and something else glistening in his dark eyes. Then he reached out to her gripping nothing but air. I can't even touch you.

How ironic, Tori thought. Now, after all this time, he finally wanted to touch her and she was, what? Invisible, nothing more than a breath of air?

Josh pushed up from the step. Despite my smashed nose, I'm still going back outside to see what's going on. Then he headed for the door. When he hit the threshold, he also hit some kind of invisible barrier. He bounced back into the room and lurched over to Tori.

"What was that?" he asked in a daze.

Probably... She gulped, made up a fast answer, and crossed her fingers. That was probably God's way of saying, stay right here and listen to your manager.

Josh stared up at the ceiling as if hoping confirmation of this might be scrawled on the acoustic tiles. About then an attractive young woman walked into the shop followed by a teenaged couple.

After closing the door behind her apparent customers, the woman slowly shook her head. Her hair, a shiny veil of auburn waves, swept across her shoulders.

How terrible, she said with a sigh. That was absolutely awful. I've never seen anything like it.

I have, said the male teen with a smirk. Most of Josh Hankins's movies are nothing but one big car crash.

The girl with him gasped and slapped his shoulder. Jarrod! How can you say that?

What? Like the world is going to miss another cardboard action figure?

Josh puffed out his chest and took a theatrical stance. I am an actor, you ill-bred cretin.

Tori