Ghosts of Christmas Past

Chapter Eight

She frowned. "Love doesn't last."

But did Jake ever really love her? Seems like, if you loved someone, you wouldn't hurt them. You wouldn't even be tempted to hurt them. You definitely wouldn't blame them because you hurt them. That wasn't love.

Then there was this post from her college friend, Heather, on the beach in Cancun while the rest of us freeze to death in the Midwest. "Merry Xmas and Happy Holidays! I wish you all love, wherever you are this season! Love is everything!" That was more phony holiday sentiment. Did Heather really wish us all love? Or was this just more Christmas fakery? The guy in the photo next to her? Emily had never seen him before. This was a new boyfriend.

"How can you love a person you've just met?" She scrolled past. Didn't love take time? Didn't you have to get to know someone really, really well before you could love them? Did she ever really love Jake? Turns out, she certainly didn't know him. And now, when she analyzed her feelings, it wasn't love she felt. It was...

And there was Mika's post. Why hadn't she deleted Mika from her social media? Why didn't she realize that, the second she tried to take her mind off the whole Jake/Mika betrayal thing, the Universe was going to slap her across the face with Mika's fake smile in front of—was that Emily's tree? In Emily's house? What the—?

Emily sat up and examined the photo. It most certainly was her condo, her tree, and the next page showed her ex, as well. And—Emily's mouth dropped open as she expanded the photo for a closer look—he was wearing the watch she bought him! He didn't even wait until Christmas to open it!

Why hadn't she taken that watch? She could have used that money. And now, seeing him wear her Christmas present with Mika, in her house, in front of her tree...

"Love isn't real," she sighed miserably and dropped the phone onto the floor beside the bed again.

Then she heard it, "Love."

Her whole body stiffened. That came from down the hall! She stilled her breathing, her movement, tried to still her heartbeat so she could listen. She didn't imagine that. And that was not geese. That was a man's voice.

"Sh," another voice responded.

That sound splashed over her body like ice water. She reached for the phone on the floor while keeping her eyes glued on the bedroom doorway. The open doorway. What kind of crazy person leaves the bedroom door open when they're trying to sleep? Why did she do that? And why couldn't she find her damn phone?

"Don't shush me," the man whispered harshly.

She did not imagine that! Every nerve in her body twanged like a bowstring and she fell out of the bed, untangled the blanket from her legs, grabbed her phone from the floor and ran to slam the bedroom door, all in one continuous movement. She twisted the lock button on the door and looked around for anything heavy to put in front of the door as a barricade.

Nothing. She had nothing.

She hit the emergency button on her phone and grabbed the foot of her bed by the fabric and pulled. It didn't budge.

The operator answered immediately, "911. What's your emergency?"

She whispered, although she realized there was no reason to whisper, since she'd just slammed the bedroom door, "Someone's in my house."

The operator was calm, but urgent. "Okay. Are they still there?"

"Yes," she hissed, still whispering for some stupid reason she hadn't quite worked out yet. "I can hear them."

"You can hear them?" the operator repeated. "What are they doing?"

"I don't know." Emily listened. She couldn't tell. "I don't know. They're whispering."