Together Forever

I slammed on the brakes when she appeared in the road ahead of me. She glowed a pale blue that penetrated the night's darkness, and standing out clearly through the sleet and the foggy windshield. The car started to slide, losing traction on the pavement. The image of my wife did not waver as I steered into the skid; she raised a transparent arm and stabbed a finger at the side of the road. Then the specter was gone.

I pulled off the road and waited for my heart to stop pounding. There had been rage in that stabbing finger, even though her face had been indistinct. She was still angry. Even in death she had not found peace.

I put the car back in gear. The ghost had pointed to a narrow side road that I had missed in the sleet and darkness. I carefully turned down it. A small tree had grown in front of a faded sign, but I glimpsed it as the headlights washed across it. "Belvedere Bed and Breakfast. No Vacancy."

That was it, I thought, creeping forward, trying to penetrate the night with sheer force of will. I had gone through her credit card bills and account statements after the death certificate arrived, after she started appearing each night. Checks for the bed and breakfast had been regular, but I had not been able to google it, nor had it been in the phone book.

I had no idea that it was only a half-hour out of town. When she left, the charges had been for New Orleans, then for Vegas, and finally, for the last two months of her life, for this place. It was almost back home where she had begun her journey.

After half an hour, the late October sleet had intensified, and I had almost given up, but the road widened as it ended in a gravel parking lot. On a little hillside above the lot, a rambling house stood. There were lights on, and in the mix of that soft light and the car's headlights, the place looked old and run down. My heart jumped a little as I saw a formless blue glow on the veranda, disappearing through the front door.

I shut the car down and looked around. There was an old pickup on one side of the gravel, and a new sedan with rental plates on the other, so the place was not totally deserted. I sighed and made a dash for the porch, sloshing through puddle of icy water. This was where I was supposed to be, and Jeanne would give me no peace unless I went through with it.

Shivering, I knocked and waited, knocked and waited. It was only 10 or so, but everyone could be in bed, or the racket of the sleet on the tin roof could be drowning my knocking out.

Finally, the porch light came on, and a moment later, the door swung open.

The man who opened the door stood there, and then finally announced: "We're closed. No vacancy." He was young, no more than thirty, muscular in a bulky sweater and dirty jeans, and he started to close the door.

"No, wait!" I said, the words spilling out. "I'm not looking for a place. I'm Jeff, Jeff Parker. My wife stayed here, Jeanne. I'd like to talk to someone about her. Please?"

The door stopped closing. "Jeanne?" He said, thinking it over. He seemed a little slow, maybe mildly retarded. He frowned with the effort of thought, then nodded to himself.

"Yeah." He concluded, opened the door wider, turned, and walked away. He paused at the end of the entry hall and looked back at me, surprised I had not followed.

I was still on the threshold, reluctant to take that final step.

"Come in." He finally said. "You need to talk to Miz Monica."

I felt like I'd been released, and stepped into the house, closing the door behind me.

He led me to a large parlor which was furnished with several couches arranged to face a dusty, silent television. He gestured for me to sit. "I'll get her." He said, and walked off.

The house was not silent; the rain and sleet on the roof made sure of that. It was a comforting sound. There were no groans and screams, as much as the place looked like a haunted house, there was only the rain and the loud ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner. It was haunted, though. Jeanne was here, and had probably died here.

As I waited, I thought back four months to that fateful day. After being so happy together for so long, things had begun to change. Jeanne had begun to change, becoming restless, easy to anger. Finally she had passed out one evening and cracked her head on the kitchen counter. When I rushed into the room, she was lying in a little pool of blood.

At the hospital they did the requisite scans and tests. The fall had not hurt her, but the scans revealed a large, dark mass. They kept her overnight, and the doctors confirmed it in the morning. A malignant tumor spread its tendrils through her brain, inoperable. They said she had three months, with chemotherapy, maybe six.

The fury that consumed her with the diagnosis was aimed entirely at me. Somehow it was my fault, and it was not fair. Jeanne lived a healthy life, healthy food, no smoking or drinking, and she got plenty of exercise. I was the opposite. I smoked, I loved junk food, rarely seriously exercised, and I liked a nice cold beer or a glass of wine. Yet she was dying, and I was healthier than I had a right to be.

I tried to be understanding. The doctors said that the pressure of the tumor lead to radical personality changes. It was difficult, not because it was unpleasant for me, but because I could not help.

She packed and left two days later, taking a leave of absence from her job and cashing out her retirement fund. I did not see or hear from her again. The only reason I knew she was gone was the death certificate. That and her angry ghost.

"That's him?" A woman's voice broke my reverie, and I looked up.

Two women had entered the room, the man who had answered the door behind them. The woman who spoke was the younger of the two, a dark-haired short woman in her mid-twenties. She was just on the edge of plump. Her pretty face and pouting lips were spoiled by the coldness of her stare. I shivered.

"He's soaked and freezing. Caleb, can you make us some hot tea?" The older woman pointed towards a back hall when Caleb did not move. He shuffled off, and she turned to me.

"I am Monica," she said, sitting down across from me. "Was Caleb right? You are Jeff Parker?" She was in her late thirties to early forties, a thin woman whose body was entirely obscured by the bulky sweater and sweat pants she wore. She would have been attractive had she not been haggard. I wondered if Jeanne had been keeping her awake as well.

"Yes. Ms...er, Monica. We need to talk about Jeanne."

"That's an understatement," the younger woman said.

Monica turned to her. "Could you give Caleb a hand, Charity? He's a little farther gone than usual, and I'm afraid tea might be beyond him."

Charity snorted, turned, and left.

Monica and I sat in silence for a while. Finally she sighed.

"You've seen her, then?"

"Jeanne? Yes. She guided me here tonight."

"She is not resting easily. She had so much anger. She haunts us too."

"I did not want to pry. When she left, after the diagnosis, I understood. I thought that maybe that would be what I would do, take one last fling, a final farewell packed with as much as I could. But she seemed to insist I come here, now. What does she want me to do?"

Monica thought for a while. "We never made it as a bed and breakfast. I have some skill at natural healing, and every once in a while, we take a guest for that reason. It keeps the property taxes paid, but not much else."

Caleb and Charity appeared with a tea tray, and Charity poured me a steaming cup. "Herbs," she said. "It will take the chill away and keep you from getting sick. Monica taught me."

Monica shot her a sorrowful look. "Thank you, dear."

I took a sip of the tea. It was earthy, with sharp bitter herbs, but it was hot, and I drank it gratefully. "Thank you."

Charity nodded and left, Caleb in tow.

"Anyway, Jeanne had heard of us somewhere. She was not ready to give up, and she came here with Tekka. I did what I could, but it was not enough. I delayed the inevitable maybe a month."

"Who is Tekka?" I sat the cup down carefully. I was feeling a little groggy from the warmth of the tea.

"Your wife's companion. She came with her from Las Vegas. She may be asleep now; you'll meet her tomorrow."

I saw the blue glow at the hallway and stood, my heart pounding again. "I can't stay..." The ghost left as quickly as it had come, and with it, the world started to become very far away. Something was wrong, the tea maybe? I couldn't concentrate enough to figure it out. Everything faded to white, then there was nothing.

I woke on crisp sheets, my whole body aching. I lay for a moment, collecting my thoughts, trying to figure out where I was. My mind was foggy, but it finally clicked. The bed and breakfast, that was it. And the drugged tea. I opened my eyes, wincing at the light from the overhead fixture. It seemed dazzling.

All three of them were there, sitting in chairs around the bed. Monica leaned forward and peeled my eyelid back. "Well, at least he's alive. Out 24 hours. Charity, you cannot do this."

She snorted. "And just how will you stop me? Do you want me to have Caleb hold you down and pour a pot of tea down your throat?" She sneered. "No, you need to watch this. I used to be a student. Now you can learn. Caleb, Monica needs to be restrained. Hurry up."

Monica stood, but Caleb easily shoved her back into the chair. I tried to get up, to help her, but my arms and legs would not respond. I just watched as Caleb securely tied her down with what looked like a wad of neckties. He had come prepared for this.

"Look, Charity, Tekka took off this morning, as soon as she heard Jeff was here. There's nowhere for Jeanne to go. Think about this."

Charity pulled her curly black hair back, snapping a rubber band around her pony tail. "There's him." She pointed at me. "She'll have to take what she can get. She promised me a lot of money for this. Besides, there's no better time to do this than Halloween."

She pulled her sweater off. Even drugged and about to be the centerpiece of some diabolic ritual, I appreciated the way her breasts bounced with the motion. They were very nice, perky and firm, with hard pink nipples.

She bent to shuck her jeans, and when she straightened, I noticed row upon row of delicate brown script, winding around her belly. The letters were graceful, but unfamiliar. My attention was drawn to her thumbs hooked in plain white panties before I could see any more; she shoved them down and kicked them across the room, where they landed on Monica's arm.

She stood a moment, displaying herself. Her mound was high and the curls there were as black as midnight. I felt my cock stir despite myself.

"Caleb," she said sweetly, "Drag her into the next room and watch her. I'd let her watch, but she might say or do something to interrupt." She patted the man's crotch; he definitely had a hard on himself. "I'll take care of you later."

He grunted, turned, and dragged the woman and the chair out into the hallway and away.

Charity turned and closed the door quietly.

"Nice ass." I croaked. It was, too, a lovely dimpled ass.

She smiled and walked over to the bed. "Why, thank you. Shall we get started? It's not quite midnight, but the paralysis will wear off before long." She pulled the sheet back, and I felt cool air. I was naked, which neither surprised nor concerned me.

"You were married so long, you and Jeanne. You are her connection with the living, Jeff, the road she will come back on." She whispered in my ear, her hand stroking my chest. She glanced down at my cock. "And look at you. All ready to help open the way." She tweaked a nipple, then the other, and I shivered.

"A little too ready, maybe. We are going to need to unite, and it will take a little longer that you're going to be able to give it." I felt her cool hand brush down the length of my cock, felt myself twitch as she grasped me.

She moved down my body, pausing to suck at my nipples, then lower. I could feel her hot breath on my cock, and feel it strain towards her mouth.

"Yes, my dear," she said, "A little too eager, but we can fix that first. It looks like it's been a while. You must have been loyal to your wife. She wasn't loyal to you, you know."

I was tempted to tell her to stop talking and start sucking, but considering she was a homicidal witch planning to strip me of my soul or something, it didn't seem wise. Besides, a blow job is a blow job.

I gasped as she sucked me into her mouth, one hand at the base of my cock, the other grasping my balls. As soon as I was coated with saliva, she started to bob up and down quickly and smoothly, stroking with her hand, her lips, and her tongue.

There was no intent to tease, no intention of prolonging pleasure. Her rhythm was steady and insistent. She noisily slurped as she sucked away, and I soon began to feel the tingling, the gathering of the coming orgasm. She may have felt my balls drawing up, my muscles tightening, for she picked up the pace.

I felt something else in the background of my mind, too, a gentle push, faint but steady and growing, a low voice whispering something wordless but comforting.

Then she doubled her speed, sucking and jacking me furiously. I groaned helplessly as the orgasm hit, wave after wave until it had passed, and she released me from her mouth, wiping herself with the back of her hand.

"That actually turned me on a little, Jeffy." She said as she straightened. "One thing about my tea -- it may sap strength and will, but there are some side benefits, as you'll find out in a few minutes."

She started to climb up on the bed. "While we're waiting, though..." She swung her leg over me and moved up to straddle my face. Her odor was musky, but not strong. Her legs were far enough apart that her inner lips were parted just slightly. I probed gingerly with my tongue, following that cleft up to her little clit.

She giggled, pressed downwards, and I began my lingual exploration in earnest. Soon her juices were flowing freely, and she was thrusting rhythmically, fucking my face. I could feel my hands again, move them, and I grasped her cheeks pulling her close to suck at her stiff little clit.

She reached behind herself, grasping my cock. True to her word, I was hard again, and she pulled away from my face, sliding her pussy down my body until my cock was pressed hard against her sopping hot lips.

"The grand finale." She whispered, raising herself, reaching underneath, and guiding my cock into her.

I gripped her hips as she steadily pushed back, raised up, and pushed back a little deeper. She was tight, and furnace hot. I felt the psychic push begin again, stronger than before.

Soon I was entirely in her, and she fucked me in a kind of trance, grinding down, back and forth, her eyes closed. My hands left her hips and grasped the breasts that bobbled before me, pinching her nipples, pulling and twisting them.

She leaned forward to change her rhythm, raising her hips until I almost fell out of her, then slapping back down. She had begun to sweat, and she grunted. Her eyes were still closed, and now she bit her lip with a look of concentration. The push from beyond was very strong now, and I began to feel orgasm approach once more as she pounded her hips down fasted and faster. I grabbed her ass, clenching her cheeks hard. She grabbed my shoulders, digging her nails in, her eyes tight shut now, sweat beaded on her upper lip.

I reached further, pressing one index finger insistently against her anus, rubbing in a circle. Her hands clenched tighter, she gave a wordless cry, and I felt her vagina begin to spasm around me. It was all I needed to bring me over the edge. The orgasm hit me, hit both of us, grew stronger. My heart pounded with the force of it, and with the force of the push in my mind. As she thrashed on my cock, I relaxed, rode yet another wave of the orgasm, and let go.

The push became a hurricane as something flooded in. I drifted, blasted into nothingness by the blast of the wind. I would do anything for my wife, even this. Somewhere, faint and fading, I heard someone or something screaming in fear. Finally, there was nothing.

"Are you okay?"

No, I replied to myself. I was cold, I ached, and my head was splitting. Somehow, I had hoped the afterlife was more restful, more comfortable, and less annoying.

"Get her up off the floor, into that chair." Hands grasped me, lifted me. The fabric of the chair was rough against my ass. It began to dawn on me that I was not dead. Someone draped a blanket over me, and I tentatively opened one eye.

Caleb and Monica were bent over me, worried looks on their faces. I closed my eye and listened to the sensations of my body. My nipples hurt a little, but the blanket rasped across them, eliciting a little thrill. There was a warm sensation between my legs, very different than before, but quite nice. I became aware I was leaking on the chair, and there was a weight on my chest that had not been there before.

I laughed at the perversity of fate, opened my eyes, and sat up. "I'm okay. This pony tail is making my headache worse, though. I don't know how you guys put up with it." Monica grinned with relief. Caleb just looked confused.

"Jeanne?" I asked. They moved aside. He was sitting on the bed, a blanket draped over him too. Looking at yourself and realizing it was not a mirror is even weirder than waking up in someone else's skin. He was shaking his head, but grinning.

"Not what I had planned, babe, but at least I'm not dead. And there's always next time."

I laughed, noticing that he was playing with himself beneath the blanket, exploring. "Come on, admit it. This is going to be fun."