Ghostly Love Ch. 03

He couldn't understand why the woman put up with him. What he knew of the new American culture, women often stood up for their rights and didn't let men walk all over them. Perhaps he was wrong.

Nay, that wasn't so. The last couple that lived on the premises fought like mad animals. Often it was the woman, Eva whom was doing the arguing. She said he treated her like less than a person. Kell didn't know about that. She was treated like royalty compared to the way women were treated in his day.

But this girl. . .what was her bloody name. . .he was half tempted to wake her and asked her when he remembered. Brenda. Brenda Kathryn Cottonwood. Unusual name to be sure, but nothing completely disrespectful. This Brenda, or Bren as she often called herself when she believed herself to be alone, let this rake walk all over her tender feelings.

He hadn't spent much time around women, in his life or after life, but it was plain as day on her face that the bloody bastard had hurt her feelings. Terribly too. Kell stood at the foot of her bed, cloaked in darkness and watched her sleep. If he hand't been afraid of scaring the daylights out of her as well, he would have taken care of her bloody boyfriend himself.

As it was, she hadn't even a clue of his existence.

Sighing Kell left the room and wandered through the downstairs. He was hungry for company, that was all, he told himself yet again. Walking through the front door, he let himself materialize. He stood in the night air, unable to feel the cool caress of the wind. Sighing again he walked to the south end of the porch where the swing sat, moving slightly in the wind. Sitting down on it, he ran a hand through is hair.

Slowly rocking himself on the swing, he was suddenly became aware of how he looked. He sat and rocked in the porch swing, half transparent and wearing eighteenth century garb. Pouring more energy into his appearance, he changed his clothing into the appropriate style for this century. Faded jeans and a grey t-shirt. Pouring a slight bit of more energy into his appearance, he knew he looked like a normal human man now. His transparent skin had become fuller, lush looking. His ghostly glow ceased.

Pushing himself on the swing, he tried to remember what it felt like to swing on it. The slight ruffle of air in his hair, the feeling of moving. He couldn't. When the swing stopped moving, except with the force of the wind, he didn't dare spend the energy to move it more. He had exerted himself enough. If he pushed it again, he wouldn't have the energy to keep up his appearance.

Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees. Why was this woman's plight bothering him? He hand't let anyone or anything get to him in almost three hundred years. So why now?

Hearing the annoying bark of the neighbor woman's dog, he glanced up to see the elderly woman, dog in tow, heading toward the house carrying what appeared to be a batch of warm brownies. Hell, what the devil was the woman doing popping over at this bloody time of night?

Sudden realization that she was staring at him made him jump up. Holy hell, she'd seen him, and expected that he lived there, and if he said he didn't she would most likely phone a constable. Striding over to the top of the stairs, he poured even more energy into looking human. He knew he passed when she gave him a suspicious smile.

"Hello," she said as she stepped up onto the porch. The bloody little yapper of a dog, if one could call that tiny bit of a thing a dog, run rampant in the front yard. Kell forced a smile on her face and prayed the dog wouldn't come any where near him. Dog's seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to him.

"Hello," Kell said, partially trying to hide his old English accent. He pushed a hand into his pocket, and waved with the other.

"I thought there was a young woman living here."

"Ah, yes. . .Brenda." Kell tried to seem non cool and composed, but didn't think he came off with it at all well. The woman was eyeing him as if he were a not wanted participant in a party. Giving him a rude once over, she arched her eye brow.

"Your not living in sin, are you?" Well quite to the point wasn't she?

"Nay, madam. I regret that we are not living in sin." For some unknown reason, Kell felt as if he needed to protect her integrity. "She is but a distant cousin to me."

That caused the eyebrow to raise up even farther. "And whom was that man dropping her off a little while ago?" Kell held his look of astonishment off of his face. Luckily. She was a nosy little thing, she was.

"And you are?" He asked raising his own eyebrow.

"Mrs. Holmes. I have lived next door for some time now."

"Ah, well yes," Kell wanted to smile. Well I've lived here for three hundred, Kell projected the thought into her head. "We we've lived here for three weeks." Besides looking slightly confused, she didn't let on that she had heard anything.

"Here," She thrust the brownies out at him.

"I can't take those." He said taking a quick step back and throwing his hands in front of him as if warding off an attack of some sort. Beware of those killer brownies!

"Why not?" Mrs. Holmes almost shouted, anger replacing her earlier distaste. "Helen MacDugal brought over a chocolate cake yesterday, and the young woman took it. Why can't you accept my brownies?"

Kell was at a loss. He couldn't take the brownies, that would take more energy than he had to give to anything, including his appearance. He was well aware that he shouldn't have put so much energy into making himself rock on the chair. He could feel the effects wearing thin on his appearance.

"I'm sorry," Kell began to clutch at straws, trying desperately to find a reason he couldn't take the brownies. "My. . .my hands are sweaty. I don't wish to . . .drop your very decorative plate." He stuck his hands out and gave them a wet sheen to them. "You can, uh, just set them on the rail there, mum."

Raising that damned eyebrow again, Kell felt as if he were at Eton again. This old woman was not doing anything that could help his plight. Although, those brownies did look incredible. He had seen many tenets make and consume brownies over the years. Never having sampled one, himself, he'd always been very anxious to do so.

She set the brownies on the rail and backed away. "Thank you, Mrs. Holmes." He said, in his most polite voice.

"Where exactly are you from, Mr. . .?"

"James. Kelloch James." Kell almost hit his forehead with his hand. Why the devil did he give her his real name. Saints preserve him, he was going daft. "And, Mrs. Holmes, I am from London." She nodded as if she had expected as much for him.

Turning away, she called out to her dog and left with out a backward glance. When he was sure she was gone, he let his appearance fade. Glancing down at the brownies, he had no idea how he was supposed to bring them into the house. He hadn't the energy to pick up the plate, let alone pick up the plate, carry the plate and open and close the front door. It wasn't possible. Not tonight anyway. He'd already wasted to much energy as it was.

Moving into the house, he made his way to Brenda's side. How the bloody hell was he supposed to get this woman to go down stairs and get the brownies from outside. It wasn't going to happen.

Brenda dreamt. She was alone in the house she had just bought, but it wasn't her house. It was full of early eighteenth century furniture. She stood in what was now the living room, but it looked like an old sitting room. A beautiful gold fabric settee faced the fire place, where a large fire burned. It wasn't carpeted, but instead had a beautiful rug. Brenda looked around her in fascination when she herd someone coming.

Fear blossomed in her heart and she ran around the side of the settee. To her shock, a young man lay there dead asleep to the world. His black hair was curled over one eye, making him look a scoundrel. Fear melted away as she watched him sleep. He was tall, she was sure of that, one leg hanging haphazardly on the floor while the other rested on the furniture. A brandy decanter rested on the floor next to his hand. Brenda knew without picking it up it would be empty.

Now she wanted to laugh. He'd drunk himself into a stupor.

Suddenly, the man's eyes opened, and he stared right at her. She thought for sure he would banish her out of such a richly adorned home. His eyes were the most intense blue she had ever seen. His gaze, she noticed was slightly glazed over. Yep, she thought, hungover something good.

It was then Brenda herd his voice. He was speaking to her, softly. His voice was melodious and she almost fell to his feet just to listen to him speak. "Brownies." When she finally understood what he was saying, she took a step back.

"Brownies?"

"Aye, brownies. On the porch." Without looking away from her he pointed to the front door. "Go get the brownies, birdie. Delicious brownies, no doubt."

Brenda shook her head and took another step back. "Take another step and you'll to land flat in the fire." Panic seized Brenda, waking her up. She lay in her bed, taking deep gulps of air, trying to calm her racing heart down. "Good Heavens," she thought as she sat up on the side of the bed.

A sudden urge to look on the porch grabbed her mind. "There won't be any brownies there." She said firmly. And for a moment, she swore she herd a voice say, "Aye there is." Shaking her head, she stood and went to see the porch.

When Brenda reached the front door and found herself unlatching the lock, she almost shook her head, told herself she was crazy and walked back up to her bedroom. But something was nagging at her. She had to look. What was the worst that could happen. She would just open the door a crack and look out onto the porch and if there weren't any brownies, then she knew she wasn't crazy. If there were brownies... well, she'd think About that later.

Squaring her shoulders, she reached up and unlocked the old lock. Taking a deep breath she pulled the door open slightly and looked quickly outside. Low and behold, a plate of delicious looking brownies sat on the railing of the porch. "What in Heaven's name..." She murmured as she stepped out into the cool night. Pushing the screen door open, she stepped onto the cool porch and looked around.

The porch light illuminated the entire porch and front lawn. There wasn't anyone around. "Hello?" She called into the night, just making sure there weren't any robbers or anything around. Folding her arms over her chest, she hugged them to her, cold. Looking down she sighed. She hoped none of her neighbors were still up and happened to be looking out their windows. They would see her dressed in her long night shirt shivering with cold. "Great," she mumbled to herself as she walked to the plate of brownies.

They looked fresh, maybe not warm, but certainly fresh. Bending at the waist slowly, she leaned down and smelled the fresh aroma of chocolate heaven. She closed her eyes and wanted to moan. Chocolate was her one weakness. Her one allergy, but still a weakness.

"For Lord's sake woman, come inside!"

Brenda whirled around, startled by the mans deep voice that resonated from behind her. She saw the doors, the front door open as she had left it, the screen door closed. Inside the house was lit only in the hall way were she had turned on a light. Fear crept over her as she thought that someone may have snuck inside the house to kill her as she sniffed the brownies.

That's impossible, she thought. I have only been turned away from the door a mere few seconds. That's all a killer needs, Bren, her subconscious told her. Shivering now from fear instead of cold, Brenda slowly walked backwards down the steps of her house. A sudden blast of wind made the screen door swing as if there were someone there. Brenda took off like a shot. Running to the next house, Brenda noticed there was still a light on, and prayed whoever lived here was still awake. She'd wake them up even if they were asleep. There was a killer in her house!

She rang the door bell twice, and in the few seconds that passed when no one answered the door, she began to pound on it. There was a yipping from inside, and Brenda hoped she had woken someone up. She stopped pounding on the door when she herd locks being turned. Finally the door opened up and an elderly woman who seemed quite annoyed stood there in her bathrobe and slippers.

"Well what is it? Where is the fire?" She demanded.

"Ma'am, I am so sorry to wake you, but I just moved in next door-"

"I know, I know." She mumbled.

"Well I think someone is in my house."

The old woman's face paled and her lips formed an 'o'. She unlocked the screen door and opened it, motioning for Brenda to come inside. Brenda was so grateful, she stepped inside and realized she was shaking violently. Brenda looked to her right and saw a lavishly decorated living room with a roaring fire. A couch of what appeared to be a green couch. It looked terribly comfortable. The woman must have seen her looking so longingly at it because she smiled and touched Brenda's shoulder gently.

"Go sit on the couch by the fire, dear. I'll phone the sheriff." Brenda nodded and walked into the living room. Crossing over to the couch, she sat on it, and almost moaned in pleasure. It was warmed already from the fire, and warmed her as she sat.

A few minutes later, the elderly woman came back into the room and sat across from Brenda on a chair. She stared off into the fire and mumbled, "I thought he was a strange one."

"Who was strange?"

"The man on your front porch earlier. He gave me a queer feeling, but he said he was a distant cousin, from London." Brenda felt herself go pale.

"But I have no cousins. Both my parents were only children. I have one sister and one brother, but they both live across the country." The elderly woman nodded as if she expected to hear such an answer.

"I expected as much." A silence fell on the room as the two women stared into the fire before them and thought about what was happening. Suddenly uncomfortable, Brenda shifted on the couch, suddenly hot.

"I'm sorry I haven't introduced my self." Brenda smiled as brightly as she could. "I'm Brenda Cottonwood." She scooted over on the couch and extended her hand toward the woman.

"Lovely to meet you dear. Not under these particular circumstances, of course." She smiled at Brenda and took her hand in a friendly shake. "I'm Mrs. Holmes. I brought by some brownies earlier today. From scratch I made them. It hurt my hands, what with my rheumatoid arthritis being what it is. That James boy must have stolen them after I spoke to him."

"James boy?"

"Um. The boy who claimed to be your cousin."

Brenda made an 'o' with her mouth and looked into the fire.

"No, he left the brownies."

"He did?"

"Yes." Brenda shivered. "I had the weirdest dream. This young man lying on a couch told me to go out to the porch and get the brownies. I woke up and just knew I had to look." She looked at Mrs. Holmes before shaking her head. " I know I sound crazy, but I went downstairs, opened the door and there they were, sitting on the railing. I couldn't believe it. I leaned down to smell them, and that was when I heard a man's voice."

"What did he say?" Mrs. Holmes inquired gently.

"Something about 'Good lord come in side already.' I think, but to be honest, it startled me so much, that I was terrified. I just ran."

"And a good idea that was, deary."

"I hope so."

Suddenly there was a sharp knock at the door, making her jump in her seat. Glancing quickly at Mrs. Holmes, the older woman gave her a secure smile. "I bet its the sheriff here to look at your house deary." She shuffled to the door and began to talk in low tones to whom ever was there.

A few seconds later, she brought an older man, who looked about fifty five or so into the room and smiled again at Brenda. "This is Sheriff Wilkes. He needs permission to search your house for the intruder." Brenda nodded quickly to stunned to speak.

"Okay. I will be back in a few minutes Mrs. Holmes, Ms. Cottonwood. It shouldn't take very long at all." Brenda nodded mutely again and watched as he was ushered out the door. When she heard it click closed, she sighed. Maybe he wouldn't find anyone in her house and she can sum up the entire account to an over active imagination. But then who had Mrs. Holmes encountered on her porch earlier?

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~