Ghost of a Chance

Chapter 20

Timothy Peach leaned on Jenny's Ford Focus, watching her trace her way across the gravel and stone-strewn quarry. After observing her quite a bit over the past few days, he found he greatly admired her, and he enjoyed being in her company even if she did not know he was present. She was a common-sense, hardworking girl. She reminded Timothy of Lillie, even the way she tucked her hair behind her ear without thinking. Lillie had done that, and watching Jenny brought back his memories so forcefully he needed to keep reminding himself that he was not watching her, that she was laying in a bed at the nursing home.

Timothy shifted around the car, staying out of Jenny's line of sight. He felt she was looking for him. Not him exactly, but near enough.

Perhaps leaving life so early, with so much left to do, caused his difficulty in taking interest in the antics of the dead. They bored him. They brought their common-place, little, unimportant issues past the end of life, carrying them after their death. They were little people when alive, and smaller still after their death. Timothy met no famous people after his death. There was no opportunity to talk to Abraham Lincoln, or anyone more interesting than Horace Whitcollar, fretting that now that he even though knew the Smith boy was the one stealing nails, there wasn't anything he could do about it! Whitcollar pestered Timothy for two miserable weeks before fading and disappearing, still muttering.

But now, watching Jenny Myers push her hair behind her ear, he felt a stirring. Loneliness. I've been alone for over ninety years. This young girl, with no idea of his previous, earthly existence, pulled on something deep within his hollow chest and quickened it, bringing it back to life. She was everything he admired in a woman; spunk, strength, intelligence. And, don't forget beautiful, he chided himself. He smiled.

Timothy saw her light fade. Darkness was no hindrance to his eyes. He watched her stand, waiting alone in the middle of the cold quarry. After setting things in motion on Friday night by deciding to allow himself to be photographed, he knew what she had come to find. There was no turning back from that choice, and although he didn't understand digital photography or the Internet, he knew the picture would create a stir of some sort. However, he had been surprised by the fellow in the suit, the dark-haired one. Dominic, he thought. Timothy's time in France made him mistrust men in suits. In his experience, they were seldom up to any good, and often created trouble. But he needed to be noticed, to be seen, to be remembered; and he supposed even Dominic could help achieve his purpose.

Timothy shrugged and turned his eyes back to Jenny. It was then he knew, instantly, that she was aware of him. He could see the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty, and worry, amidst a myriad of emotions dancing across her gentle face, all in a few instants. Timothy groaned. Frightening her was not what he wanted, not at all. He dematerialized and considered what to do as Jenny's frightened-looking eyes searched the area near her car.

"Who's there?"

Timothy liked that. She was gutsy. But he felt the fear in the bluff, she was afraid of who was near her car and for what purpose.

He made his way to stand beside her. He could look directly into her eyes, but that felt wrong to him; it would be intrusive, and sneaky. Instead, he stopped by her side. He reached out, and with a gentleness that transcended death itself, placed his right hand over her left.

Jenny jerked her head down. There are moments which can change a person's life forever, moments when every cherished paradigm shudders on its foundation, teeters, and topples. Jenny felt the structure of her world, of her studies, of everything she believed to be real and true and right, tremble, pushed over like a child's sandcastle by that soft, cool touch. Even in the cold night air, it was there; like the dying breath of a fan. She felt it, recognized it, and this time, and knew what it meant. She looked down at the ground, struggling to make out any features. She slid her foot sideways, and realized she stood directly over the Darrin's "X."