Ghosts Of Lovers Past: Ghosts, Inc., #1

Prologue

Rose Morgan blinked her eyes as the world slowly came into focus around her.  Streamers of fading evening sunlight poured through a high window, illuminating small dust particles in their beams.  The air was thick and still. Her dressing table sat off to her right, her grandmother’s rocking chair just behind her to the left.  She could see her hairbrush on the chair’s seat, exactly where she had left it that morning.

She was back in the attic.  

Pushing herself to her elbows, she shook her head, her thick auburn waves bouncing around her heart shaped face.  As far as she could tell, she wasn’t hurt, but she wasn’t quite sure how she had gotten up here, either.

The last thing she remembered was watching TV in the living room.  The local news had been on, covering the opening of a new playground.  She had heard the front door open, heard a footstep on the wooden floor in the entryway, a bright flash and then…nothing.    The last sound she remembered was the footstep, the last sight that blindingly bright flash of bluish gold light.

What happened to me? she asked softly, her voice sounding rusty to her own ears.  

She focused her eyes on a particular spot in the rafters.  Is this the end?  There was a pain in her voice she was unable to hide.  "I thought I would have more time.  I thought I wouldn’t have to leave until I figured this out.  You promised me we would figure this out."  

She was pleading now, praying for a response, even though she knew she wouldn’t get one.  She never did and she knew today wouldn’t be any different.  Please answer me.  Please.  No response came through the heavy silence of the house.

Getting to her feet, she listened carefully, her ears trained over the years to pick up even the smallest of sounds.  The house was completely still, no sign of anybody shuffling around on the floors below.  Still, Rose wasn’t taking any chances.  Spotting a tennis racket in the corner, she grasped it carefully and began making her way back to the living room.

She didn’t encounter anyone as she moved through the house.  When she finally reached the living room, the nightly national news was just ending.  The person who had come through the front door was nowhere to be seen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Rose dropped the racket and sank into an armchair.  Whoever had been here was gone now and for the moment at least, she was safe.  However, they would come back; they always did.  She didn’t know what would happen when someone eventually succeeded in finding her.

Rose knew she needed a plan, needed to think.  At the moment, however, she was too tired to give it much more consideration.  More than anything, she wanted to rest, exhaustion rolling over her in waves.  Curling up on the armchair, she allowed her mind to drift as she relaxed into sleep.  Tomorrow was another day and maybe something, some kind of plan, would come to her.  Or perhaps something would change and she would be allowed to stay right where she was until she reached her goal.

A tear ran down her cheek as she imagined leaving the home she had grown up in, the home she had loved in.  She didn’t want to leave, but she didn’t know how to stop it from happening.  After all, she was dead.  That didn’t leave her too many options.

Chapter One

Justin Grant glanced up as a familiar shadow fell over his desk.  He wasn’t in the mood to deal with his boss at the moment; it was almost time for him to head out on a case for the night.  Not to mention that the very sight of Miss Mia Thorpe often gave him a headache.

 Can I help you, Mia? he asked through clenched teeth.  I’m due at the Finegolds in an hour and I don’t think Caroline would appreciate me being late, especially after last night.

It’s not my fault she caught you having sex with her daughter, Mia snapped, a sour look on her otherwise pretty face.  If you’d learn to keep it zipped, we wouldn’t be in this mess.

Justin sighed, even though deep down he knew Mia had a right to be at least a little upset.  His behavior hadn’t exactly been the most professional.  However, this level of anger was kind of uncalled for, Justin decided.  In all the time he’d known her, he had yet to decide if Mia’s anger and hatred of the world around her was an act or if it was how she really felt.  Either way, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to deal with.  He took a deep breath to center himself before he spoke.

First, he said,  "I only kissed Merri.  We were not having sex.  I’m not quite that stupid.  Second, she told me she was the babysitter and she grabbed my ass!  I didn’t make the first move.  It was all her."

However, to be fair, he had found Merri extremely sexy and had imagined bending her over the kitchen table to take her from behind.  If he were being honest, he also hadn’t really put up too much of a fight when she’d grabbed him either.  He could have pushed her away; he’d just chosen not to.

Still, Justin remembered the slight burn of shame he’d felt when Caroline Finegold, a new client with Ghosts Inc., came into her kitchen only to find him kissing her just-home-from-college daughter against the counter, Merri’s legs wrapped firmly around his waist.  It hadn’t been his finest hour.  Nor had it been Merri’s, who was apparently so desperate for her fifteen minutes of fame that she was willing to seduce him in hopes of making it into the tabloids with reports of their steamy sex life.

Justin liked sex and made no secret about it.  In fact he liked it a lot, but sometimes he wondered if he liked it a bit too much.  He also liked women, lots and lots of women.  He had a bit of a reputation as a player, but he didn’t think he was quite as bad as the papers and TV news magazines made him out to be.  He preferred to think that he just had a healthy libido.

Now I suppose you’re going to tell me that it’s not your fault that photographers follow you around hoping to catch a glimpse of you and that no-name actress, making us look like media hounds and not a serious paranormal group.  Mia drew herself up as tall as she could in her six-inch heels, trying to look powerful and threatening.  She failed miserably.

Standing at just over five feet, Mia Thorpe was far from imposing in stature and not in the least threatening, at least not to Justin.  However, she was extremely beautiful with a mane of thick black curls that she tossed around at every opportunity and a deep, green-eyed gaze that, unfortunately, could often be more cold than kind.  She was also bossy, opinionated, and, bewilderingly at least to him, generally feared by a large percentage of her employees and the general public alike.

In contrast, Justin liked to think that he was far more friendly and approachable, which was why he often served as the face of Ghosts Inc., the paranormal investigative group that employed him.  As far as he was concerned, he looked pretty ordinary – thick, wavy brown hair and soft brown eyes that reflected just about everything he was thinking and feeling.  

According to his friends, however, his looks, combined with his admittedly toned body, made him irresistible to both the press and people looking to have their resident ghosts chased away.  With the rise in popularity of ghosts and ghost hunting in recent years, sometimes, that was more of a blessing than a curse.

Resisting the urge to sigh in exasperation, Justin rose and looked Mia in the eye, palms planted flat on his desk.  "That ‘no-name actress’, as you call her, was a client who bought a house here.  A house, you might remember, that was advertised as being haunted.  She used that house, used us, and me specifically as a publicity ploy to jump-start her career and you know it.  No matter how much the press likes to report on my sex life, I’m not a celebrity.  I never will be.  In fact, if not for you and your quest for fame and that stupid TV show, none of us would be media targets in the first place!"

At that, Mia shook her head and laughed, a sound that came out more cold than good humored.  It’s not just about sex and fame.  We need money, Justin.  The money I’m using to fund this operation is just about gone.  You know that.

We’ll get more.  Justin wanted to pretend that he was confident about his prediction, but he wasn’t.  Far from it, in fact.

Mia flung her arms in the air.  Where?  I don’t see a money tree growing anywhere, do you?  And heaven knows it takes a small fortune to keep this place going!

She had a point, Justin conceded, if only to himself.  Though the small mountain city of Altoona, Pennsylvania, wasn’t exactly expensive to live in, the massive amount of equipment the staff needed to do their jobs was.  Not to mention that the old Pennsylvania Canal Building they called home sucked up massive amounts of money not just in restoration but in general operating costs.  Like the other employees, Justin truly believed in Mia’s vision for the organization, including the complete restoration of the building itself, so that one day, it might serve as the centerpiece for their own television series.

However, until they actually landed the series, Ghosts, Inc. didn’t have enough money to restore the building, something that was apparently never far from Mia’s mind, given her next comment.

"More than that, we need that television contract with the Alternate Reality channel.  Now, not later.  Ghosts, Inc. only has a small number of paying clients, which you well know.  This building is crumbling around us and we can’t afford to let that happen."  

She snorted indelicately and pinched the bridge of her nose.  "You just let your hormones get in the way.  Again.  If you want to screw somebody in your private time, fine.  I don’t care.  Have a whole harem of women if you want!  What I do care about is your actions making us seem like a joke and giving AR another reason to pass on us again for their next reality show.  Keep it in your pants, at least in public, and learn to play the game."

I don’t play games!  Justin, his voice now a low growl, was careful to keep his hands on his desk so he wouldn’t be tempted to wrap them around Mia’s shoulders and shake some sense into her.  Though he tried to keep his temper in check, Mia often pushed the limits of his self-control.  Merrilynn Finegold was a mistake, one that I’ve apologized for.  If you were so interested in money and the damn contract, you’d get out in the field and investigate cases yourself!  Instead, you leave it to guys like me!

That comment seemed to strike home because for the first time in recent memory, Mia didn’t have a quick comeback ready for him.  Instead, she merely blinked, as if his words had somehow hurt her, though he knew that wasn’t possible.  Nothing and no one ever got under Mia’s hardened exterior long enough to hurt her.

Pushing that thought aside, Justin turned back to the issue at hand.  Now can we let this rest?  All I want is to do my job and go back to the quiet life I used to have.  Got it?

Mia looked as if she wanted to say something else but obviously thought better of it.  Instead, she chose a different approach.  Whatever, but you’re not going back to the Finegolds.  I received a call from my friend at the TV station that there’s a pack of paparazzi swarming that house waiting for you.  They’re looking for proof that you’re using the ruse of ghost hunting in order to seduce women into bed.

That’s just great, Justin snarled.  Where the hell did they get that idea?  What a freakin’ headache.  In his mind, his personal life was separate from his ghost hunting career and saw no reason why anyone would mix up the two.  He was far more professional than that.

Surprisingly, several emotions flickered across Mia’s face, including something that might be considered guilt or at least concern.  Once again, Justin wondered just what his boss was hiding beneath that cold, uncaring mask she wore.  Finally, she seemed to come to a decision, however.  Actually, it works out perfectly.  I have a case in Blue Spring that just came in a few minutes ago.  Nice and quiet, away from the public eye.  I want you and Tim to handle it.  

Of all the paranormal investigators on staff, one of the few people that seemed to be able to deal with Mia was Justin’s best friend Tim Hawthorne.  Tim and Mia had grown up together, giving them some kind of strange bond she didn’t share with anyone else.  Tim tolerated Mia’s fits of anger and her odd behavior without question.  In fact, he sometimes seemed to relish it.

Tim was also extremely protective of their boss, often telling people that they simply didn’t know her.  If they did, Tim insisted, they would find she was a far different person than the image she projected.  However, Mia never let anyone get close enough to find out if that were true or not.  The one time Justin had pointed that out to Tim, his friend had nearly taken his head off.  So for the most part, Mia Thorpe was a subject the two of them avoided at all costs.

Turning back to the woman in question, Justin focused all his attention on her.  I take it that the case doesn’t involve a woman?  Otherwise, how could you trust me?  

Justin knew the sarcasm in his voice would probably goad her into more anger, but at the moment, he didn’t care.  He couldn’t resist needling Mia a little bit more.  After all, she’d just given their resident dark spirit hunter, Josh Winston, a juicy case, even though Josh had recently allowed a demon to escape during an exorcism.  In Justin’s eyes, that was a bigger screw up than anything he could have possibly done with the Finegold girl.

Mia had the grace to look away briefly but quickly regained her composure.  Actually, it does.  The case came in by phone this afternoon.  The woman lives in northern Virginia but recently inherited a house in the area.  She went to visit the house yesterday and somehow ended up in a coma on the front porch.  The realtor found her late last night.

Here’s the case file, she sighed, tossing a thin file folder onto his desk.  Read it, get Tim and get going.  There’s no client to meet, obviously, but I want this done by tomorrow morning, if possible.  The sooner the better; I have a bad feeling about this one.  

She ran a hand through her hair, as if the weight of the world were on her shoulders and just for a moment, Justin wondered if there was more to her than he allowed himself to see.  Shaking his head and dredging up the last vestiges of his earlier anger, he took a quick peek at the file before snapping it closed again.

Consider it done.  Justin pinned Mia with a dark glare and settled himself into his chair before propping his feet up on his desk to read.

Sensing she had been dismissed, Mia offered one last parting shot.  Be careful, Justin.  If you keep up this bad attitude, you could find yourself out of a job.  There are hundreds of people who are, no pun intended, dying to enter this field.  Remember that.

At that, she turned on her heel and left.

When he was sure she was gone, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.  In that respect, Mia was right.  There were people lining up ten deep to get a shot at working for a ghost hunting group, many of whom were far more qualified than he was.  

Justin wasn’t a psychic like his friend Tim, or an empath and dark spirit expert like Josh. He didn’t even have any special skills like Reed Talbott, Ghosts Inc.’s resident chemist and head of the Potions and Spells Department.  Hell, he wasn’t even a Mimic, like the organization’s newest hire, Callie Hughes.

In short, other than his finely honed investigate skills, Justin didn’t have anything special to offer Ghosts Inc.  He could very easily be replaced.

If Mia kicked him out of Ghosts Inc., he would have to find a real job.  He might not be afraid of ghosts, but he was damn afraid of the claustrophobic cubicle walls of the corporate world he had left a few years ago.  He couldn’t go back.

Instead, he picked up the phone to call Tim.  Seems they had a change of plans for the evening.

Chapter Two

Dude, this place doesn’t look so scary.  Tim Hawthorne, Justin’s fellow investigator and best friend since college, looked around the living room of the home that had once been known as Rosewood House.  Actually, it looks pretty modern, at least in here.

Even though there was power in the house, Justin flipped on his flashlight as the still-blazing summer sun sank low behind the mountains in the distance, casting the entire scene in an odd glow.  Given a choice, he always preferred to investigate in the dark, with only a flashlight, mostly so that he could see the house the way a ghost or other entity would.

Despite Tim’s claim that nothing seemed off, Justin had felt strange ever since they entered the house via the key the realtor had given them, but he tried to shake it off.  There was something here that just wasn’t right, but he was damned if he knew what it was.  Yeah, well a lot of the places we investigate don’t look haunted, but they are.  You know looks can be deceiving.

Tim shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders straining against his dark blue golf shirt.  All I’m saying is that I don’t feel a ghost here.  Then he paused, frowning so that his brow scrunched up in concentration.  "But there is something here, he corrected himself.  I’m not sure what.  It feels almost like a ghost, but it isn’t, if that makes any sense, which I know it doesn’t."

Justin glanced at his best friend.  Tim was one of the most gifted psychics Justin had ever encountered and could almost instantly pick out ghosts from the other kinds of entities, both good and evil, that they encountered on a daily basis.  It wasn’t exactly comforting that his friend couldn’t identify what was in the house, and it lent credence to Justin’s own feelings of unease.  Time had taught them both to be wary of those kinds of situations.  His back still bore the scars from a previous encounter to prove it.

Yeah, well according to the report, Miss Hamlin came here around six o’clock last night.  No one is sure what happened, but whoever called Mia said they suspected paranormal activity.  Not quite sure why, but her relatives claim the Hamlin woman is sensitive to it or something.  Justin had read the admittedly thin case report three more times on the thirty minute drive to Blue Spring, searching for some kind of clue as to what was going on.  

Tim frowned, his lips twisting the way they did when he was deep in thought.  Could she have stumbled onto something human-based, like kids using this place to hang out?

Justin shook his head.  Doubtful.  There’s not a scratch on her and no sign of a stroke, heart attack or anything else.  She’s just in a coma.  The realtor found her on the front steps, out cold, and nothing the doctors have tried seems to help.

Then the relatives got involved.  Tim shook his head.  I don’t know, man.  It’s just that whatever is here is, I don’t know, different, like maybe a part of something living but not?  I don’t know how to describe it.  I’ve never encountered anything like it.

Looking up from a series of photographs he had been studying, Justin knew he had to ask the question that had the potential to seriously tick off his friend.  "Are you sure it’s not a ghost and that maybe your run in with Mia this morning has your senses all messed up?"

Although Mia had berated Justin that afternoon, he had heard from the office gossip vine that she and Tim had had a rare fight that morning.  In Justin’s mind, the fight had more to do with Tim and Mia’s complex relationship than anything paranormal, but he kept those observations to himself.  Still, it could have affected Tim’s abilities, at least temporarily.

Tim shook his head.  Mia and I are screwed up, yeah, but it’s not affecting me that way.  Whatever is here isn’t like anything we’ve ever encountered.  His eyes scanned the room with quiet efficiency and Justin knew his friend was looking for some tell-tale sign of spirit activity.

Finally, his eyes came to rest on the staircase.  Upstairs.  Whatever it is, it’s up there, he said firmly and Justin needed no further encouragement.  He took the stairs two at a time with Tim hot on his heels.

Still, when he reached the second floor, he paused in confusion as waves of dizziness washed over him.  The summer heat was thick in the house, making it hot and stifling.  That didn’t explain what Justin was seeing however.  

It was almost as if the house existed in two different time periods.   The rooms were a strange blend of modern and vintage – brightly colored walls mixed with antique furniture and sleek modern rugs matched with heavy brocade early twentieth century draperies.  A kitschy black cat clock with a swinging tail and roaming eyes kept time on the wall to his left while an ornate gilded mirror set with what looked to be small pieces of cut colored glass in the shape of roses was to his right.  

Who lived here? Tim asked in bewilderment.  Did the previous owner have multiple personalities or some kind of mental disorder?

Justin shrugged, struggling to keep his mind focused.  The feeling of unease was growing stronger and he had to fight his instincts to flee the house.   Sweat poured down his back and he had to almost force his feet to move down the darkened hallway.  Something bad had happened here; he knew it in his bones in a way he couldn’t explain.  Supposedly a young family of four that died in a car accident were the last occupants.  I thought it was them in the photos downstairs, but maybe Mia’s info is wrong.

Tim arched an eyebrow.  "Mia is never wrong about stuff like this.  She’s nothing, if not thorough."

Justin let the comment pass as he moved towards a door that stood out from the rest.  Unlike the other doors on the floor, which were all painted in light and airy, almost pastel colors, this one was merely stained wood.  Old wood, if he had to guess.  It was also closed and featured an antique doorknob and brass knocker.  There were two other closed doors in the hallway, but Justin instinctively knew this one was different.  Whatever he and Tim were looking for was behind this door.

He grasped the knob to open the door but was immediately struck by what felt like a thousand steel bands tightening around his head.  Gasping in pain, he turned and reached for Tim, but his friend seemed farther away than Justin remembered.

For a moment, it was as if Justin was looking through a gauzy veil and time seemed to shift and swirl around him.  At first he wondered if it might be heat stroke, but then the room itself seemed to change.  Dusky late afternoon light filled the room, rather than the pitch black of night.  He could still see Tim but his friend no longer wore his favorite blue polo shirt.  Instead, Tim was dressed in almost all black clothing with a skinny black tie, off-white shirt, long duster-style black coat, cowboy boots and carried what looked like a beat up medical bag.

Tim was talking with two other men Justin didn’t know, all the while looking at the floor.  That’s when Justin looked down as well and saw his body, clad in period clothing similar to Tim’s, lying on an Oriental rug, blood pooling beneath him.  Instantly, Justin knew he was dead.  He had died in this hallway, in front of this door, trying to reach her, to protect her and keep her safe.  He prayed that she had somehow escaped.

Without warning, time shifted again and the haze Justin had been looking through disappeared.  The clock and mirror reappeared and Tim once again wore his beloved shirt.  The pain in Justin’s head eased and he could only blink in shock.

What just happened?" Tim was beside him now and nearly shouting.  Justin turned to look at him with bleary, blurry eyes.  

Could you lower the volume a notch, dude? Justin whispered, barely able to find his voice.  My head is killing me.

Tim put his hands up.  Sorry, man, but that was freaky.  One minute I’m talking to you and the next, it’s like you can’t hear a word I said.  Almost like you weren’t here.

Justin leaned against the door, exhaustion settling into his muscles.  "I was here, in this