"When you say infestation, do you mean rodents, termites, ants?" Emma asked the woman on the phone.
"Not exactly. Listen, I'm tired of selling this house only to have the buyers make me do it again. I'll be up front with you. The house is haunted."
Emma had emailed the realtor Saturday night and had been surprised to get a response the next day saying there was an infestation problem. Miranda Higgins had encouraged her to look at several other listings with attached links, but none were very interesting to Emma. It was the vintage appeal that caught her eye, so when she called Monday morning, her mind was already made.
"Haunted?" Emma repeated after a moment.
"I know what I sound like, but I've shown this house eighteen times and sold it to four brave couples only to have them in my office again within the first week of moving in. I've seen and heard things each and every time I go inside. To the point that I refuse to enter that place again."
Emma did not believe in ghosts or any other paranormal mumbo jumbo. But if a spirit did live there, then she would either coexist or hire Ghost Busters.
"How about this. If you can send me a current inspection report, I'll buy it sight unseen. You don't have to do anything but give me the keys when I get to town. If the infestation problem persists, I will find my own resolution. Perhaps an exorcist."
"We've had priests, shamans, smudging, prayers, baptisms, and even a professional spirit removal company. You sound like a nice young lady. Please, reconsider."
"Do you have anything else outside of town, no visible neighbors, with antique architectural style?"
"Well, not exactly, but I do have some nice trailers farther out or cute single bedrooms in town for the same price."
"No thank you, Ms. Higgins. Please send the inspection information. If there's nothing recent, I don't mind paying for a new one."
"Fine," she huffed. "But if you do buy it, will you please list it with a different agent when you sell?"
"Not a problem. I could probably find one right here in the city."
"Then we have a deal. I'll get a new inspection done today. It's in fairly good condition, so I don't see that being a problem. It holds up surprisingly well when empty. Things only break when it's inhabited," she said with a shudder.
"I'll take my chances. Thank you for your time."
Emma finished packing up her desk, and after discussing the details of her new work situation with Mr. Harper, she collected a huge stack of manuscripts to fill the next couple of weeks. He wished her luck on the campaign trail, and a twinge of guilt filtered through her chest. Mr. Harper had always been good to her, and she hated lying, but it was already done.
She waved to the few co-workers who spoke with her around the office. Overall, Emma was well-liked if not well-known. Her aversion to public places, events, and conversing with more than one person at a time had left her socializing options rather limited. It had suited her fine as she had Todd and Kimmy, but now she thought even that was too much.
The last couple of weeks had her making lists comparing being alone to putting herself in a position to be hurt like this again. Alone was winning, but it made her incredibly sad to think about. She now understood why her mother craved big changes and new faces. It had given her the best of both worlds, a plethora of relationships with no real commitments, social yet safe.
Emma was the glitch in that plan or maybe the catalyst when her father, the only man her mom ever loved, left before she was even born. That was why Emma never resented her mom for being aloof. Connecting with Emma was too painful. It opened a door in her mother's life that had been shut and locked the day Emma's dad walked away.
By Friday afternoon, Emma had received the new inspection report, wired the money, signed the paperwork, and now owned the old house off Mill Creek Rd. Roots. She had bought herself roots. With everything settled, Mr. Murdock scheduled the moving crew to meet at her former apartment at ten a.m. on Saturday morning. Emma arrived fifteen minutes beforehand and was relieved to find no one was there.
It felt surreal to walk through what had been her home and not feel any connection. Their betrayal still hurt, but losing the couch or the TV didn't mean a thing.
Emma headed straight for the kitchen. Todd couldn't boil water, so she took everything that applied to cooking. He could keep all the dinnerware. She wanted the chef knives, the Le Creuset pots and pans, the Breville Barista he never learned how to use, and her KitchenAid stand mixer.
She left Todd a bachelor's kitchen with expensive crystal and china place settings, but the only small appliance remaining was the built-in microwave. There wasn't a skillet, saucepan, or casserole dish in any of the cabinets, but she doubted he would even notice.
Skipping the rest of the house, she helped the movers box up her wardrobe, toiletries, the few items she had moved in with, and the one piece of furniture that meant anything to her.
Two years ago, she proofread a historical romance where the author had mentioned a spinet desk. After researching it, she fell in love with the simple shape, organized cubbies, and ability to close it all up when she was done. It seemed like a physical metaphor for the ideal life. And it was the only thing in the entire apartment that she actually liked.
Not wanting to show up to a cold, empty house without a place to sleep, she took all the blankets, pillows, and bedding from the guest room. Emma had no interest in going near her former bed. She raided the linen closet, pulling out the down comforter, some towels, and a couple sets of sheets. Some of it was still in the original packaging. They never had guests, so there wasn't a reason to open it.
"Would you like any of the furnishings? A bed, dresser, table? Any of it?" Mr. Murdock's assistant asked with a quizzical brow.
Emma looked around at the ebony leather sofas, considered how much she loathed the shiny black laminate bedroom furniture, and remembered constantly having to wipe down the excessive amounts of chrome and glass on everything else.
"Nope. I'd take less if I didn't think it was necessary to get through the next few days."
"You're a better woman than me. This place practically looks untouched. If you're done, the guys don't mind driving out now. They'll unload and bring the truck back to the city."
"I'm ready to go," Emma said softly, taking one final look at her old life.
The moving truck followed her out on I-5 down through Olympia, and Emma tried to catch any sites she could from the highway.
"Note to self, I will come back on my own," she said over Hector Berlioz's Symphony Fantastique that had been on repeat in her car for a week now.
Merging onto highway 101, Emma worked to empty her mind in hopes of keeping herself together just a little bit longer. Hiding her emotions, stuffing them down to unwrap at an appropriate time, was a skill she had honed at a very young age. She could make it an hour more.
Pulling into Shelter Cove, she called Ms. Higgins to meet them at the house with the keys. The town already had her breathing easier. No traffic, lots of trees, and the main thoroughfare that cut from one end to the other had a total of three stoplights. It was a bit rundown, which Emma saw as a perk. Nice places attracted more people.
Three miles from the opposite end of town, she took a left on Mill Creek Rd. and followed it down to the end before taking another left along a gravel drive, shrouded in trees. Her heart stuttered seeing the sweet, small house in the clearing. The movers pulled in right behind her, but no one else was there. Not one to waste time, she told them to start unloading while she walked around the outside of the home.
Emma was right. No other person was there, but that didn't mean she was alone.
"What the hell?" the spirit muttered, watching the tiny woman from the windows. He had seen an inspector at the beginning of the week, but the damn realtor hadn't been by, and no one had come to view the house.
But there was no denying what was about to happen. The movers made it pretty obvious. He had no interest in watching some other couple fuck in his house or a happy family living the life he should have had. Why couldn't people just leave him alone? Haunting was a pain in the ass. Wyatt just wanted to forget.
A black Lincoln Town Car pulled up next to the more practical SUV the woman drove, and Wyatt watched with a sneer as Jim Evans stepped out. This was his least favorite realtor, a smarmy prick when he was alive and even worse now.
"Miss Porter," he called. Wyatt smirked, seeing the petite brunette cringe before turning with a plastic smile. This was something he wanted to see up close, so he joined them in the front drive. "Are you Miss Porter?" Jim asked, eyeing her like a prized brood mare.
She stood silent for a moment, a hint of pink on her cheeks, and Wyatt wanted to vomit, if only he could. The little woman with caramel hair and baggy clothes was about to flirt with scum. This was why he spooked buyers. People got under his skin so to speak.
"That's a safe assumption," she said with a small quaver to her voice. "Who are you?"
"Jim Evans. Miranda sends her apologies, but she got held up. Lucky for me, I have your keys."
"It's fine," she said quietly, holding out her hand for the dangling ring between his thumb and forefinger.
Instead of dropping them like a normal person, he placed them with his full palm covering hers, but Miss Porter quickly pulled her hand away, taking the keys and handing them to one of the three men unloading the huge truck. Wyatt wondered if smarmy Jim noticed the way her shoulders tensed at his touch. Doubtful.
"Where do you want this stuff?" the burly guy asked her.
"First place you can set it down will be fine."
That was an odd answer, but the man simply nodded and headed back to the truck to grab another box.
"How was the drive?" Jim asked with a leering smile.
"Good. Is there anything else I need to sign or do?" Her voice was timid, like she was being drilled by the Feds instead of a casual conversation on the front lawn. It made Wyatt reassess his former assumption of flirting.
"Nope, the house is all yours. You're new to the area, correct?"
"Thank you for bringing the keys," she said with a nod, walking to the back of the truck as if she intended on helping the moving team she had hired.
"Listen, a lovely girl like you deserves a warning. This house has some paranormal quirks. Why don't I go inside and show you around? Point out the areas with the most frequent sightings, and you can tell me all about yourself."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Evans," Miss Porter said softly, taking a box from one of the guys at the back, "but you're either a threat or a gossip, neither of which endear me to share personal details. Thank you for your assistance. I'll call if I need anything."
"I could take you to dinner. Prove myself a friend instead or possibly more?"
"No, no you couldn't."
"No to dinner? Or no to proving myself?" he chuckled arrogantly.
"Both. Let me be honest. I don't, I don't like people. Now, please leave as I feel uncomfortable."
Wyatt's jaw was hanging, and he was fairly sure this was the biggest smile he'd had since getting clocked in the back of the head and drowning. Her soft voice and tentative nature made her blatant honesty sound more like she was asking permission than stating facts. It was charming and a touch sad. Something about the way she spoke made all of Wyatt's protective instincts flare. Rejection had the opposite effect on smarmy Jim.
"You're a piece of work," he muttered. "I'll be sure to spread the word. Don't talk to the new girl."
"Oh, that would be wonderful. Thank you," she called over her shoulder, stepping inside. The genuine response made Wyatt laugh out loud, another rarity for him.
He continued to observe her interactions, intrigued as she silently helped the men unload a few more boxes before dusting off her hands and thanking each one. The whole process took less than twenty minutes, and there was hardly enough to fill a quarter of the living room. That truck had to have been mostly empty.
Completely confused, he followed her inside where she locked the door and walked straight to a set of boxes marked linens. The young woman pulled out blankets, a couple of pillows, and shook out a new set of sheets from their plastic packaging. She bunched it all in the center of the living room, kicked off her mustard yellow canvas Toms, removed her ripped-up jeans, and curled up in a ball right there on the floor.
Wyatt watched as her entire face crumpled, and for the next three hours, the girl wept until she passed out. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but one thing he knew, that was true pain. Haunting would have to wait. Whatever this woman was going through, she didn't need to be chased off from what appeared to be her only choice.
"Don't worry, little bird. I won't kick you out of your nest," he said softly.
The sun cut through the windows, a slice of blinding light that pierced through Emma's puffy eyes. She slowly sat up and looked around at the smattering of boxes, her desk, and the cocoon of blankets she had somehow created in the middle of the living room floor. There wasn't much she remembered after the movers left. The second she was alone, in a space of her own, all the emotions she had held back for the last several weeks had finally broken free.
The betrayal, the loss, the fear, the memories, it all crashed over her until all she could feel was pain. Sleep hadn't dulled the raw cavity in her chest. The light of day didn't make anything look better.
"You have twenty-four hours, Emma," she said to herself. "Wallow today and then pull yourself together or you might as well have stayed with him. Numb is numb."
She curled back up and pulled the blanket over her head. Wyatt hadn't missed her little pep talk and had a better understanding of what she might be going through. He remembered the numb feeling after his divorce, and showing up in a new town with only a handful of belongings made a lot more sense.
Maybe this one needed a few days. He could run her out of his house another time. Besides, misery loved company. She may not be that bad of a roommate. He would have to know more about her.
Sometime around midday, Emma stirred, groggily pushing to her feet, and stumbled around the first floor in search of the bathroom. She returned to the kitchen and plugged in the refrigerator, then scooped some water with her hand from the faucet, drinking greedily. A blank expression sat on her face as she stared out the window over the sink, but Wyatt knew that look. He had mastered it.
Emma's thoughts raced and tumbled, stacking up and toppling over in chaotic heaps of 'what if,' 'what now,' and 'why.' She questioned if this life was worth living, whether she could ever be loved, and wondered if it had all been her fault from conception to present. This was first rate pity, and she knew it. Which was exactly why she returned to her nest and cried herself to sleep once again.
At this point, Wyatt almost wished he could do something, hold her, reassure her, make her some damn food. The girl had been curled up on the floor for the last twenty-four hours. Her cell phone pinged over in the corner where she had plugged it in the last time she went to the bathroom, and he couldn't resist taking a look.
'Thank you for going quietly. Remember, it's best if you're completely forgotten, but you'll always be in my thoughts, sweet girl.'
"Completely forgotten? What the fuck?" Wyatt muttered, debating whether he should erase this message. It didn't seem like anything she should hear in her given state.
A soft moan distracted him, and he looked over to see her kick off the blankets in a fit. She was dreaming. He walked closer and saw her delicate features pinched, those small hands balled up in tight fists. The sounds that slipped out didn't sound happy, and a soft sheen of sweat was forming over her brow.
"Time to know more about you, Emma," he said, laying his body over hers.
It had taken months to teach himself how to touch inanimate objects, but no matter how hard he tried, Wyatt couldn't touch people. However, he could slip inside their minds when they were sleeping. This was only interesting if they dreamed. Otherwise, it was dark silence.
He slowly lowered himself down, a fleeting desire to touch her, gone as soon as he disappeared inside her psyche. This was the furthest thing from dark silence. Emma was running as fast as possible, slipping and dodging between throngs of people on a subway platform. Someone was chasing her, but as Wyatt felt into her dreamscape, the debilitating fear wasn't from whatever was behind her.
Emma's mouth kept opening with silent screams, her lungs aching from the effort, but no sound came out. People pushed and crowded around her, yet no matter how hard she tried, they didn't see her. Shoving into them, she ran unseen and screamed unheard through an endless sea of people. Danger was right behind her, but she was alone. No one would help. No one cared what happened to her.
She bolted upright, drenched in sweat. "I'm sorry, Todd," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to wake you."
Wyatt watched as she sat in a daze, not yet aware of where she was. The dream had shaken him as well, not because it was particularly scary, but because he understood. It was how he felt every single day—unseen, unheard, and completely alone. But he was dead. Emma Porter was very much alive.
Was Todd the dick who sent her that message? Had he slept next to her when that nightmare attacked? Scolded her for disturbing his sleep?
Emma fought to catch her breath before slowly taking in her surroundings.
"Maybe that dream was better," she mumbled, flopping back down. Wyatt chuckled. She might be right.
The next time Emma woke, she reluctantly pushed to her feet, grabbing the black duffel that had come from her stay at the law firm's apartment. She wandered back to the bathroom, and Wyatt watched in amusement as she tilted the shower head to face the wall before turning on the water. Even so, it splattered the floor, but she was too busy looking around to pay it any heed.
"Whoever remodeled this bathroom, thank you," Emma said to the empty space.
"You're welcome," he told her with a grin before reappearing in the living room to wait until she was done.
That was the first time anyone had ever addressed his work in the house, thanked him, hell, spoken to him in the last five years. Sure, she had no idea she had done it, but that didn't matter. It felt like she had, and the gratitude was sincere. Maybe he wouldn't have to run this new owner off after all.
Emma felt reborn after having a shower, moisturizing, and brushing her teeth. Slipping on a thong and a pullover lace bralette, she returned to the living room and pulled open a box marked food. Finding a protein bar, she sat back down on the pile of linens and finally checked her phone.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Wyatt grunted.
Wyatt tried to be a decent dead man and not spy on naked people, but when someone this beautiful walked around in her underwear, what was a guy to do?
Emma Porter had the body of a twenty-year-old—flawless, rosy skin, a petite figure, and a waistline that could actually do with a few more pounds. He tried not to look at her breasts, but the nude lace triangles highlighted her pert little nipples, and for the first time since his divorce he wished he could touch another woman.
Water dripped from her shoulder length hair, and he watched as goosebumps spread across her skin when the bead rolled down her arm. Emma grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around herself as she opened the note app on her phone and began to type.
Wyatt looked over her bent head and grinned when 'shower curtain' was first on her list, followed by plates, silverware, coffee mugs, cups, office supplies, and dozens of other household items. When Emma finally finished her shopping list, she noticed the small checkmark by her message app. Tears burned her eyes, spilling over before she could stop them.
"Best if I'm completely forgotten," she repeated. "Won't be too hard."
It was late Sunday night, and Emma had thought she was ready to finally get up, but that message had her throwing the blanket over her head and searching for the emptiness of sleep once again. The next time she woke, her phone said it was a quarter after four, and the sky outside was still dark. Ignoring the grumble of her stomach, she pulled a legal pad from her satchel and grabbed a pen. Getting out of this funk was going to take some good ole fashioned logic.
Wyatt watched as the strange woman wrote out lists that would have made his skin crawl if he had any. She weighed out the pros and cons of being alive or choosing to end things now. He was horrified by her thoughtful expression as she casually wrote how her life wouldn't be a loss to the world. But she equally added things she would miss, and he found himself drawn to her even more.
Pros of being alive: the feel of soft cotton on my skin, rainstorms in the afternoon, kneading dough, turning the page of a book, moonlight coming in the window, the smell of cookies in the oven, black forest calla lilies, writing lists :)
She drew columns for life as a hermit, rescuing a herd of cats, and changing her identity, including a rather comical list of plastic surgery options she researched on her phone. Luckily, only being a hermit had pros that outnumbered the cons.
From what he gathered, she knew no one, had no family, and considered herself useless to society, but that could all be the depression talking. It was also her talking, literally. The girl narrated her thoughts quite often, and he found it made him smile when she gave her opposing views different voices.
Emma researched life choices for introverts, people who hate people, and how to live with anthropophobia. She took notes on silent communes, female monks, and the educational requirements for librarians.
Wyatt chuckled as she wrote the pros and cons of cooking on an offshore rig, which was quickly negated for her fear of hurricanes, tsunamis, and sharks. And he laughed when she drew a Venn diagram between herself and Miss Havisham. Seeing the word 'jilted' in their shared attributes confirmed his theory.
She considered culinary school but hated the idea of working in a loud and busy kitchen. Wrote out plans for her own pastry shop, but scratched that, not wanting to ruin her love of baking. Then she decided exploring the world while working remotely to pay for her travels would be the best way to spend her remaining years.
Wyatt agreed if that kind of work was an option for her, but he thought the culinary ideas were interesting too. It was the small smile that played at her lips when she wrote out the idea that made him wonder.
"What do you know, Momma, I have more of you in me than we thought," Emma mused.
She then wrote one final con to that plan that had her shutting down and closing her eyes once again.
Con: Coming back when I'm too old to travel anymore and dying alone in this empty house. How long will it take for someone to find me?