Ghosts of Christmas Past

Chapter Ten

He was a snorer, she'd bet. Not an obnoxious chainsaw-going-through-a-steel-storage-container snore, but a low, masculine rumble that vibrated his chest and filled the room with a comforting presence. She'd lay in her bed, listening to him—knowing he was there, that she wasn't alone.

She should have said yes. She should have curled up with him in the bed, with his arms wrapped around her and her head on his chest. They wouldn't have to do anything, it would be enough to just be with him. He would listen when she talked. He did listen when she talked. And he would care how she felt.

And he would feel... solid, dependable, trustworthy, good. Yeah, he would feel good. Their bare feet would tangle together, their breath would wash over each other, their body heat would feed each other's.

She sighed. "That would good."

That would be really good. He was good. He was probably really good—like, in bed. Maybe he wouldn't be fancy or anything, but he was probably really good at making a girl feel good. He would be considerate and caring, never rushed. And gentle. He would be gentle and sweet. And he would look at her so he could tell if she was enjoying it.

And he would talk to her, before, during, and after. Because it wouldn't just be the sex with Leo. It would be a real connection. It would be the two of them sharing something special—not just one of them working toward his own goal.

She smiled up at the ceiling, thinking about Leo's body pressed against hers, holding her all night. In the morning, she'd maybe make him some coffee before he left. The two of them would stand there in the kitchen, leaning against the counters, sipping from her new cups. He'd look at her with that brilliant little smile, that little shy-boy but not-really-shy-boy smile that started in his eyes.

He'd say, "Do you want me to stay home from school?" And she'd say, "Stay." And then, they'd...

"Oh Leo." She put a hand over her eyes, half embarrassed to be thinking such a thing and half aching at her wishful thinking. "Leo, Leo, Leo."

"Leo," the whisper came from the living room again. "Leo. Leo. Leo."

She froze. She could not have imagined that. She listened with her whole body, trying to hear it again but also trying not to hear it. And in the meantime, her brain worked frantically to rationalize it.

Maybe it wasn't Leo that she heard? Maybe it was something else and, because she was thinking of Leo, she heard Leo? Maybe it was water dripping from the roof outside? Or the kitchen faucet? Maybe one of the neighbors was up late watching TV and she was hearing part of a word? Maybe there was a cat outside, making some noise to attract other cats? She didn't know much about cats, but she was pretty sure they could make a sound that was similar to Leo.

"He's such a gentleman," the woman's voice struck down all of her rationalizations about cats and neighbors and water.

How did they get in? The police checked the entire place. Leo checked the entire place. She checked the entire place. There was no way anyone could have gotten in. Unless they never left and they were always in? But how could that be? How could they have hidden? And what was the point in hiding in her house and then whispering cryptic expressions about her cute landlord?

"Taught him right," the man's voice was clear as a bell. "He knows how to take care of a lady."

"Sh," the woman said softer. "Keep your voice down. Don't get her scared again."

Emily's heart pounded in her throat. She reached for her phone, trying not to make any sound herself. Did she dare call Dadcop out here one more time? Did she dare call Leo?

"Don't shush me," the man said. "She knows we're here."

"Hello?" Emily got out of the bed, moved cautiously toward the hall. Of course, cautious or not, that was stupid. She should have just quietly closed the door and called 911 again. She definitely should not try to confront an intruder. She definitely should not telegraph her movements to them by calling out. She knew all that. Still. "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Now you've done it," the woman said. The man made some huffing noise in response.

They spoke to each other the way her parents did, like an old married couple. But what kind of sick date night were they having, breaking in and psychologically torturing her before they hacked her up with axes?

Emily poked her head out into the hall. She could see a slice of the living room, but she couldn't see the two intruders. "Hello?"

She took a few steps out into the hallway, but there was no answer. A few more steps and she was standing in the empty living room. She turned around slowly, taking in all of the places where no one was standing. The house was empty, except for her.

Her brain presented several solutions in rapid order, from the banal she was asleep or half-asleep and having auditory hallucinations, to the fantastic there were tiny fairies flitting around her house or talking mice or animate cupboards, just like in the children's stories.

Or maybe she had just snapped. Maybe the stress of Jake and Mika, working Christmas season in retail, maybe it was just all too much and she had lost her freaking mind. Maybe she was laying in a hospital room in Chicago, and this was all some stress-fueled fever dream?

That seemed the most likely answer, until a worse thought hit her. Maybe it was ghosts?