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  HAUNTED YEARS

  Rebecca Royce

  Chapter One

  Fifteen years ago

  Heather Rosen jolted up in the bed, pulling the covers tighter around her. Something was wrong. She rubbed at her eyes. Or maybe it had all been a dream? Her bedside clock displayed three in the morning.

  She shivered. Why is it so cold in the room? Something creaked and she froze. Her heart beat so hard she could hear it.

  That was when she saw it. Or him. It took a few moments for her mind to make sense of what she witnessed. There was a man hovering over her bed, staring down at her. In the darkness it was hard to see, but she did have a nightlight plugged in on the other side of the room so she could find the bathroom, and that helped her to see him. Even if she really, really wished she couldn’t see the terrifying image.

  He was floating above her, wearing a dark cloak that fluttered in the wind, although the room was still, no breeze she could notice. He had a dark beard and a balding head. His clothes looked like something out of a movie in which he would be playing the role of pirate or something.

  Or maybe she only had that impression because water was dripping off him onto her bed. She looked down, following its track. When the water hit her purple-and-white comforter, it vanished, all evidence that it had ever existed disappearing when it made contact with something solid.

  The man reached out his hand to her. “Help me.”

  She shrieked and moved back. When he’d extended his hand, she’d seen that his throat had been slit.

  “Help me,” he begged again.

  “Mommy.” She pushed back against the headboard. “Daddy. Someone help me.”

  She might have screamed that about a hundred times, she didn’t know. All she could focus on was getting assistance. Someone showing up in her bedroom to make that man floating over her bed disappear. Her hands shook and he just kept screaming for help.

  Her father burst through her bedroom door and flipped on the lights. She blinked, the world suddenly not dark. That should have been a good thing, except that the man didn’t vanish. The pirate-looking, bleeding, wet man was still hovering above her bed.

  “What it is, sweetheart?” He rubbed at his eyes and her mother ran through the door. “What’s going on?”

  Her mother touched her forehead. “Did you have a bad dream?”

  “No.” She shook her head. How could they not have noticed the man above her bed? Seeing no other choice, she pointed at him. “There.”

  Her parents’ gazes moved in sync to where she was pointing. After a second, her mother spoke. “What are you pointing at?”

  She swallowed, her mouth gone dry. “The man hovering over my bed. Flying. With the wet clothes and the…blood.”

  They both stared at her and her father’s mouth fell open. He actually looked above her bed for a second, but her mother’s eyes never left her. “Sweetheart, are you still dreaming?”

  Her father brushed her hair out of her eyes. “There’s no man floating above your bed.”

  “I think you must be dreaming.” Her mother’s voice had taken on a higher-pitched tone. She only did that when she was really, really worried.

  Heather looked again. He was still there. He even spoke again. “Help me.”

  “You can’t hear that?”

  “Heather.” Her father raised his voice. “Now you cut this out right now. There is no man floating above your bed. You are making this up or you are having a dream.”

  But even as she nodded, she knew that wasn’t true. The man begging her for help was real. At least to her.

  * * * * *

  Fifteen years later

  “Ladies and gentleman, the captain has turned off the fasten seat belt sign, indicating it is now safe to move about the cabin. However, when you are in your seats we strongly encourage you to keep your seat belt fastened so that if we hit some unexpected turbulence you will have your buckle on.”

  The stewardess spoke over the loudspeaker and Heather scrunched down in her seat. She really hated flying. Takeoffs made her hands sweat, landings had her stomach in knots and turbulence made her want to throw up. But other than that airplanes were actually okay—at least on a plane she never had to encounter any ghosts. For whatever reason, they left her alone when she was airborne.

  “Grandmother.” She tried to speak through her clenched teeth. Her jaw ached from the effort. “I don’t think this is necessary. I won’t make any more trouble.”

  The older woman looked over at her. She was basically an aged version of Heather’s mother—the West women had all looked like clones of one another with their blonde hair and blue eyes until Heather had been born with brown locks and hazel eyes.

  She stroked Heather’s arm with her wrinkled hand. “I know you meant that, my love. But we’ve discussed this. You can’t help it. All the doctors agree that this is best for you. You agreed. We have the financial means. Let us use them to make you comfortable.”

  Heather sat back in her chair and watched the flight attendant handling the cart. She’d heard her grandmother’s words. She’d heard them many, many times. Some days she even agreed with them. For a decade and a half she’d tried to be normal, to get along with society, not to let anyone know about her schizophrenic delusions.

  Inevitably she failed. The ghosts could get really pushy, and talking to herself in public or fighting them off always ended up with someone calling the police. She’d be placed in a mandatory hold until they had to release her, since she didn’t seem to be a risk to herself or others.

  But oh, the embarrassment to the family. Every. Single. Time. The Rosens and their poor sick daughter. People who had to be sympathized with because of their plight. Lord knew, Heather was tired of being that plight.

  For fifteen years she’d tried remarkably hard to insist she wasn’t crazy. Why couldn’t there be ghosts? Lots of people believed in them.

  This last time, however, had been too much. The hospital stay had been more than she ever wanted to deal with again. Strapped to a gurney. Someone puking in the bed next to her. The delusions hollering at her over and over again. Yes, hospitals were the worst. She couldn’t handle going to them anymore.

  If giving in to the idea that she had to be locked up in an exclusive home for the mentally ill who happened to be rich could do that, well then, that was what she would do. She’d be delusional.

  But now that she was on the plane it all felt quite different. Airborne on her way to San Francisco with three and a half hours left in the air, she didn’t want it anymore. Somehow she’d find a way to stay out of the hospital without being put away.

  Her grandmother yawned. As her maternal grandparents resided in San Francisco, it had apparently made sense for her to come collect Heather and take her to her new home. She also suspected that her parents couldn’t take another minute of her ghost sightings. They needed a break.

  Heather needed one too. Only she’d never get one, since she couldn’t have a vacation from herself.

  A man across the aisle cleared his throat as he bent over to take out his e-reader. She gasped and covered her mouth to hide it. He was so handsome. With dark hair and blue eyes that were bright enough that she could see them clearly even from across the first-class aisle, he would catch the eye of any number of women.

  He had a strong, long nose and a cleft in his chin. His brow furrowed downward as if it was his natural facial expression. He must be a worrier.

  As if he could feel her gaze on him, he looked over. She quickly looked away and her cheeks heated up. Caught in the act of checking him out. She should keep her eyes to herself now. That would be the smart thing to do. Good manners meant she shouldn’t care.

  Only she was going to be placed in a mental health facility disguis
ing itself as some sort of permanent holiday for the unwell. Maybe her good breeding no longer had to matter anymore.

  She turned to look at him head-on and saw that he looked straight back at her. Without flinching or blushing too much, she hoped, she returned his gaze. His blue eyes quickly heated and his gaze roamed her body.

  Heather shivered. In the seat to her left, her grandmother snored. It had taken the woman virtually no time to conk out and hopefully she’d stay that way until they landed.

  She swallowed. Just how daring could she allow herself to be?

  Heather stood, walked across the aisle and kneeled in front of the stranger. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. She’d like to think that she’d have stopped this whole plan if she’d seen one, but she couldn’t swear that to herself.

  This man radiated sex, and now she wanted him. In the bathroom.

  “Do you have a condom?” She kept her words low, but she was glad that the gentleman next to him was wearing headphones and didn’t look up. Heather could do naughty things, or at least she could this one time, but she preferred to do them without people watching.

  The stranger whom she’d propositioned opened his eyes wide. “Excuse me?”

  “I asked,” and she couldn’t believe she had to do it again, “if you had a condom, because I would really, really like you to consider joining me in the lavatory over there. For some mile-high entertainment.”

  Thirty years old and she was propositioning a stranger on a plane. As a last act of defiance before committing herself to a lifetime spent locked away, it was a good way to go out.

  Braxton couldn’t believe his ears. The hottie from the seat across the aisle wanted to have sex with him in the lavatory? The plane jolted slightly and he looked up to see if the captain was going to put on the seat belt sign. It didn’t appear, and he looked back at the brunette with so many different strands of color in her hair that he wasn’t certain he could count them if he ever had the time to try.

  The woman wanted to have sex with him on the plane? He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the condom Master Foy, his teacher, mentor and the leader of his blood-oathed brotherhood, had shoved at him before he’d left for the airport.

  It had seemed a really odd thing for the other man to do, but now he suspected that somehow Foy had had a vision of this very occurrence and had wanted to make sure Braxton was protected. The idea was too disgusting to contemplate, so he shoved it from his head.

  She waited for an answer to her question. His cock jumped at the thought of taking the unnamed woman anywhere she wanted to do it. The bathroom might be his last choice, but who was he to argue with fate? It wasn’t as if there was that much good stuff happening to him. Fucking in the lavatory? Sure, why the hell not?

  He held out the sheath. “I do have one.”

  She grinned, motioning toward the bathroom. “Care to join me?”

  “Sure.” He smiled. “But I think you should probably go in first and then I’ll follow you.” Was this actually happening?

  “Right.” For a second he saw uncertainty in the crease of her brow, but it fled quickly and she turned toward the front of the plane as if she intended to use the lavatory.

  The plane flew smoothly in the air and he took a deep breath. He’d never been afraid of flying, not when there were so many things down on the ground to be nervous around. It had been a very strange day—he’d watched one of his closest friends tie the knot and then been hustled onto a plane and told he had to return to San Francisco immediately.

  He grinned. Apparently he now got to have sex with a beautiful stranger on a plane. Braxton stood. His legs adjusted to the feeling of being airborne and he made his way toward the lavatory. Perhaps he should be concerned about people noticing that he was joining her in the bathroom. At that moment, he didn’t give a shit.

  Braxton opened the door and slid into the bathroom. He flicked the switch to mark it occupied and looked at the woman waiting for him.

  She was sitting on top of the toilet, with the lid closed. Her hazel eyes regarded him from across the very small space and he wondered if she was having second thoughts. The dead, demons, things that went bump in the night…those things he could handle. Human interactions were much more confusing. Like, for example, why this hot lady in front of him wanted to do him in the bathroom.

  She cleared her throat. “What’s your name?”

  “Jim,” he responded before he could think better of it. Why the hell had he said that? No one had called him Jim since his aunt had died from a drug overdose three days before his ninth birthday. With his last relative expired, he’d been referred to by social services as “the Braxton boy”. He’d just gone by Braxton ever since.

  And yet he’d just told this stranger to call him Jim.

  He rubbed his head. “You sure you want this? Sex with a stranger in the bathroom? And what should I call you?”

  Just then the plane shook, a violent vibration from left to right. She sucked in her breath and stood. “Yes, I’m sure I want this, Jim.”

  She still hadn’t told him her name, but right at that moment he didn’t give a shit. Her mouth met his and she was warm, curvy and all woman. No-name-girl tasted like mint and he loved the flavor.

  The plane shook again. She pulled back, her thumb caressing his cheek. “We have to hurry. If they put the seat belt sign on, someone will notice we’re in here.”

  “Right.”

  She caressed his cock through his pants and he hardened to the point of pain.

  She licked her bottom lip. “Like that?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” he groaned. “You’re hot as hell.”

  “I’m not. I’m so far from that I can’t even see that description of myself on the horizon. But for now, with you here, I want to be the kind of girl who does this.”

  Her words made sense in the haze of his horny mind. A break, a moment on an airplane to be someone else. Sure. He could play. For the period of the next few minutes he’d be the kind of guy who could be easy, who could have meaningless sex and not worry about what was coming next. Yeah—they’d both take an interlude.

  She yanked down his zipper and leaned up against the sink. “Come here, sweetheart.” He didn’t know her name and he had to call her something. She was tiny, and hoisting her up was no problem.

  No-name wore a cotton skirt and he pushed it up until it was around her waist. He pulled down her panties and then inserted one finger inside her warmth. She was wet.

  He smiled. The woman wanted him, which shouldn’t be surprising considering she’d been the one to arrange this unexpected tryst. It made his balls ache to know he made her hot, nonetheless.

  Braxton quickly found her clit and ran his finger over it. She gasped, her muscles clenching against his hand. Seconds later, with her head thrown back, her pussy wept. Her eyes were closed and a pink color tinged her cheeks. He’d barely touched her and she’d come immediately.

  Most men could only dream of this ever happening to them. “You okay?”

  Her lids flitted open. “Yes. Um.” Her voice sounded huskier than it had earlier. “I’m sorry. I guess I was really ready for you.”

  “Don’t apologize. You just made my day.” His cock ached to be in her but he meant what he said. For the rest of his life, he would remember how this woman had exploded with just one stroke of his finger. It would be a gift to carry through dark nights. “Do you want to stop?”

  For the first time since he’d become sexually active he didn’t care one whit about getting off.

  “No. I want you in me, please.”

  He kissed her square on the lips, wanting to taste her mint flavor again. “I’m going to make you come again.”

  Braxton dropped his pants and sheathed himself. The condom felt snug but it would give him some modicum of control, whereas otherwise he might come before he brought her to her second round of pleasure.

  He pushed inside her. She was snug around him, tight, and he closed his eyes. “Damn.
”

  She bit down on his shoulder through his shirt. “So good.”

  He opened his lids. “It is.”

  With a jolt, he moved, pushing her hips off him and then back down again. She hissed in her breath. Over and over again, he thrust and she moved her hips in the manner he’d illustrated.

  She bit down on her lip while her muscles spasmed around him. His lover was close. He slammed inside her, rubbing against her clit when he did. She cried out and he kissed her to cover the noise. Seconds later he exploded inside her, coming over and over again, harder and longer than he ever had before.

  He closed his eyes. She was clearly not the only one who’d really needed to come.

  “Thanks for this.”

  She laughed. “No, thank you.”

  The beautiful brunette pulled off him and straightened herself up while he redressed himself as well, throwing the condom into the garbage.

  “You can’t imagine how much I needed this.”

  He was pretty sure he could, but he stayed quiet. In his experience, people said what they needed to say if he just gave them the chance.

  “I hope it doesn’t make you feel weird to know, but I’m crazy, or so they say, and it’s likely to be a very long time until I get to do this again—if ever.”

  Her words didn’t bother him even though they probably should. Crazy was a relative term.

  “How so?” He looked at himself in the mirror.

  “I see things. Ghosts. But none of that is real. I know that. I just can’t seem to stop seeing them. Even with meds. So I’m going away for a while. A nice long, lifetime removal from anything or anyone I might embarrass.”

  Braxton laughed, which must have startled her, because she jumped. “You think what I said was funny?”

  “Not even a little bit. I guess I find fate funny. You told me that you see ghosts. I’m one of the few people on the planet who wouldn’t think that was crazy. Lots of people do. Trust me on that.”

  “Well,” she nodded, “that’s nice to hear. It doesn’t change anything about my situation. I’ve signed away my life. I’m voluntarily going away now. It was nice to meet you, Jim. Thanks for this.”