The Seekers: Into the Light Read online

  In the van, Trip was smoking, Liz was frowning, and Mikey was rubbing his eyes like he could pop them out of his head. A motley crew, to be sure.

  "What's the deal?” I asked Trip. “Fill us in. What's the big rush?"

  "The innkeeper, Margaret Sails, just bought the place a few weeks ago. Old farmhouse built some time in the 1800s. Her plan was to have her grand opening on Halloween."

  "Which is tomorrow,” Mikey remarked.

  "Exactly. She wanted to have her first scheduled overnight guests then. She wants to have a dinner party for them and invite some of the locals. Margaret claims the closer she gets to the grand opening, the stranger the events in the house are becoming."

  "For instance?” I asked. Trip flicked his cigarette out the window, so I lit my own. By the time we got to Connecticut, Liz would be having palpitations.

  "She's been woken up the last few nights to the sound of a woman weeping. Right now, she's the only person on the premises."

  "Living person.” I laughed.

  "Right. Also, there's one particular bedroom she says is very cold, and the furniture seems to move on its own."

  "Has she seen it move?” I asked. “Because if she's seen it move, we're talking about a pretty bold spirit. Strong too."

  He shook his head and a lock of nearly black hair covered one eye. I fought the urge to request a carnal pit stop.

  "Nah. She goes in to decorate or clean, and the bed has been moved slightly or the curtains have been opened. She told me the rocking chair has moved position every night since she's been there. Also, there's a quilt on the seat of the rocker and she says she can see the impression of a person on it."

  "So the ghost is crying and rocking?” Missy's voice held just a hint of romantic wistfulness. She adored a lovelorn ghost.

  "Seems like it.” Trip took the exit onto the Baltimore beltway.

  "Any stories to go with the house? Local legend? Folklore?"

  He grinned and grabbed my hand in his. It was enough to make my heart jump, and my pulse pick up tempo. How had I ever broken up with this man? For a second, I was blissfully thankful for our reunion.

  "There's a tale of a local Indian girl falling in love with a white boy. The boy's name was Jeremiah Gentry. Needless to say, neither family was exactly thrilled with their relationship."

  "They were going to get married?” Missy asked, dropping her head to Mikey's shoulder. Mikey grimaced, then smiled. He was such a softy.

  "Apparently that was the plan. However..."

  "I don't sense a good ending to this.” I sighed. I'd have to prepare myself for an emotionally traumatized ghost. Deep breathing and meditation would come in handy for the six-hour trip. I'd need all the psychic juice I could get.

  "Her father forbade her to go ahead with it. He informed Jeremiah's family of his disapproval. Of course, they were overjoyed, thinking the problem was solved.” Trip paused and glanced my way.

  "But it wasn't,” I said. “Let me guess ... they secretly planned to go ahead with the wedding."

  "White people and Indians didn't get married back then,” Liz piped in.

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Duh.

  "No, they didn't,” Trip said gently. “On the night they were supposed to run off together, somehow Jeremiah's brothers got wind of the plan. They had no intention of letting their baby brother run off and marry a savage."

  My stomach seized into a knot of dread. People's capacity for cruelty always amazes me.

  "They killed her."

  Trip nodded, his eyes searching mine for a reaction. I shuddered and dropped his hand. I needed both of mine to chafe off the chill that had settled over me.

  "What happened to Jeremiah?” Missy asked, ever the queen of tragic romance.

  "He never married. Died a bachelor. Killed in a hunting accident when he was forty. The gun discharged. He was gutshot."

  Mikey cringed. “Nasty way to go. Especially back then."

  "Wasn't an accident,” I muttered. “He figured out a way to shoot himself."

  Trip nodded. “I figured. That intuition or common sense?"

  "A little of both."

  "Wow, Martee ... I wonder what you'll be in for with this one?” Liz said from the very back seat.

  "Could be vengeance, stuck on earth, refusing to cross over. Hell, there could even be two of ‘em.” Mikey shook his head.

  "Thanks, Mike. Hadn't thought of that."

  It looked like we had a long night ahead of us. Especially me. Lucky me—I get to talk to the ghosts. All the other team members simply just have to look for cold spots and hold their little meters up to check readings. I get to interact. It's exhausting.

  * * * *

  Margaret Sails was as round as she was tall. Her bright red hair stuck up in little messy clumps as if she'd been running her hands through it in frustration. She wore bright pink lipstick and a sweater that matched.

  "Yes?” She asked, wiping pudgy hands on her apron.

  "We're the Seekers.” Trip shook her hand. “I'm Trip Ericson. This is Martee. She's our psychic medium. She'll be getting to know your ghost. If you have one."

  Margaret's overplucked eyebrows went up in surprise. Now that we were actually there, maybe she was a little surprised we actually existed.

  "Oh, I have one,” she said bluntly.

  She was standing in the doorway blocking our exit. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Liz start to dance around a little. Trip spotted it too, and got back to introductions.

  "This is Mikey, our equipment specialist. Missy's an investigator. Liz, back there, is an investigator in training."

  Liz stopped bouncing for a moment, and her face lit up. Trip had just made her life.

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Sails? Can I please use your restroom? We just had a really long ride,” Liz nearly yelped.

  "Oh, of course!” Margaret's hands flew up, horrified at her manners. “I'm so sorry. Come in, come in. It's getting dark out, and that wind is kicking up."

  It was Connecticut, it was fall, and it was getting downright cold.

  "I'll show you to your rooms."

  Trip and I got the rocking chair room. Lucky us. Why wasn't I surprised?

  After a dinner of amazing stuffed chicken, real mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans, we set up. Mikey ran about seven thousand miles of cable through the house, hooking up numerous computers. Missy searched for cold spots with the hand-held meter. Liz just wandered around with a tape recorder hoping to catch EVPs—Electronic voice phenomena.

  Trip gave me a kiss and wrapped me in his arms. The house was dark, and I allowed myself to sink into him. “Call out if you need me,” he whispered into my hair. “This house is big, so I'll be doing my own rooms, but I mean it. If you need me, shout out."

  "Got it."

  I could hear the others talking to one another as I wandered the large rooms. The farmhouse was gorgeous. Old fashioned and cozy. A beautiful place to vacation. If only this were a vacation.

  I took the opportunity in the quiet and solitude to consult my guides. They confirmed my suspicions. After three hours of wandering and hanging out in empty rooms, I gave a whistle. Once the whistle is heard, we all meet in the designated area. We all came together in the dining room. Mrs. Sails had gone off to a local hotel for the night. It was two o'clock in the morning, and we were all pooped.

  "Anything?” I asked the group.

  Missy shrugged. “Couple cold spots. Nothing to write home about. Nothing significant."

  "Nothing that couldn't be chalked up to a drafty old farmhouse.” Trip laughed.

  "Nothing on the computers. Of course, I've got over twenty angles going, so I'll have to review the footage.” Mikey rubbed his eyes and gave a yawn worthy of a grizzly bear. “But that's for tomorrow. I'm done for tonight. Stick a fork in me."

  "I'll have to listen to the tapes in the morning, too,” Liz said. She gave a yawn to rival Mikey's and smiled. “I'm beat."

  "How ‘bout you?” Trip asked, running
his hand up my arm. The gentle gesture sent a shiver through me.

  "Nothing. She's here. I know that much. It was confirmed too. She's just not coming out to play. Avoiding me is more like it."

  "Hmmm. Don't remember that happening much,” he said.

  "Very rarely,” I said, stifling my own yawn. “Usually when a ghost realizes I can see them, it turns into an afterlife Ed Sullivan show. They all start popping up to get attention and show me their talents. This one doesn't like the fact that I can interact with her. She's running away from me."

  "Bedtime, then.” Trip said. “Everybody get some sleep. We'll meet in the kitchen at seven to start again."

  Groans sounded in the dark, and Mikey gave a laugh. “Gee, thanks for the whole five hours sleep, boss."

  Trip glanced at the luminescent face of his watch. “Four and a half, if you keep shooting your mouth off."

  Now that our hunting was over, we flipped a few lights on and made our way to bed.

  "Maybe she'll sneak up on us in the middle of the night,” Trip joked.

  "I'll tell her to come back later.” I put my favorite flannel pajamas on—hot pink and dotted with different desserts. Chocolates, pies, cheesecakes, cookies.

  Trip shucked his jeans and his T-shirt and crawled into bed in his boxers. “Mmmm, chocolate, my favorite.” He gently nipped at a bonbon strategically placed on my left breast.

  "Yum."

  Nibble on the neck. Pop a button. Nibble on the collarbone. Pop a button. Trip has a way of getting me naked so smoothly I don't realize it's happening. It's his greatest talent.

  "Are you kidding? It's after two,” I groaned. “Aren't you exhausted?"

  "Yes,” he answered to my naked right breast, and rewarded it with a lingering kiss.

  My brain was saying, “No,” but my nether regions were saying, “Yes, yes, yes!"

  He planted baby kisses between each rib and slowly made his way lower, taking his good old sweet time and driving me bonkers. There was no anger or frenzy like this morning. Now it was all slow and sweet and steamy.

  He traced the line of each hipbone with slightly parted lips. His lips are soft and full and not in the least girly. He lapped at my fine down of pubic hair and parted my folds with his nose. His tongue took its place and stroked me with wet warmth.

  I arched my back and shifted my weight. Unable to keep from squirming, I plunged my hands into his hair. I pushed his face forward and rose up to meet him. Greedy girl.

  Each stroke of his tongue left moisture and inspired more from within me. I felt slick and slippery. Ready for him to slide into me and make me scream.

  He explored each crevice and ridge of my sex as his tongue grew hotter and wetter. Or was that me?

  My arms and legs began to feel light and numb. My face grew cold and goose flesh marched up my skin and prickled along my scalp. Something was changing and shifting, but I couldn't speak up and tell Trip. I was reduced to the sensation of his skin on mine, his tongue probing my cunt, his breath warming the sensitive skin. My mouth refused to open.

  Back in my mind where my hormones weren't doing the thinking, I realized what was happening. Kimi—her name came to me in a flash—was taking me back. She was putting memories in my head and hijacking the physical feelings of my body. Her memories and sensations were mingling with my own. Not replacing them, but adding to them and intensifying each quiver tenfold.

  I tried forcing my sluggish eyes open. They'd been closed during Trip's sensual assault on my pussy. Now I opened them with great difficulty.

  The room slid off kilter and turned fuzzy, like a double exposure. I could see the old and new superimposed on each other. Trip's hair was no longer nearly black but light—the color of sand at the shore. His back broadened, his frame grew a bit sturdier. My legs pushed closer to his head, urging him to continue to suck me. My thighs darkened to a nut brown, my legs lengthened, tapering to fragile ankles. A beautiful beaded anklet was tied above my left foot.

  I was Kimi. I was looking at what Kimi had lost. What she still yearned for.

  Trip lifted his head and retraced his tracks. He kissed his way up to my throat and settled his head in the hollow below my chin. Below the golden blond man with kind, brown eyes, I could see my Trip. Still dark and sexy and smiling with sleepy glee.

  "I love you, Martee,” he sighed. My inner ear, my psychic ear, heard Kimi's name whispered as well.

  I was in two times at once. Feeling, smelling, and hearing everything from both. It wasn't chaotic—just eerie, like a movie jumping on its reel.

  Trip gently pushed my thighs open and I let them fall languidly. I was open to him and curious as to how this would play out. The sensuality of this time and that time were working together to make me feel lazy and sexy and ready. I wasn't scared. Just wary.

  He entered me slowly, each subtle shift forward spreading me open. Forced me wider. I felt each inch of his cock slide along my fragile, aroused skin. Each nerve sang out as his rigid flesh strummed it. I moaned and I heard a mimic from Kimi in my mind. She was reliving her time, witnessing mine.

  Solidly in me, Trip paused—not thrusting, just rotating his hips in small circles to set all my juices flowing. My pussy hummed in time with his rhythm. I felt myself open and flex, then contract and get slicker. I rolled slowly toward an orgasm that could not be kept a secret in this large, echoing house.

  I tried to say “Fuck me,” but my mouth was still paralyzed. Only the most primal sounds were escaping. Moans and sighs and grunts.

  I forced my hips upward, displaying my intentions. Trip took the cue and began to thrust into me, deliciously slow and maliciously deliberate. He took his time and sampled little tastes of my nipples, my shoulders, my earlobe, his tongue leaving burning invisible trails.

  Breath crushed my lungs. Too much air, too much pleasure. My orgasm unfolded like a delicate origami. Each stroke touched off a sensation, each sensation triggered a shudder. My cunt sucked at him greedily, taking in each pulse and quiver of his cock until I felt a rolling release that started at the crown of my head and flowed to each finger, each toe. I went limp, and inhaled deeply. My climax was still working him with each echoing pulse of my flesh. He grew momentarily harder, went rigid against me, and let out a whoosh as my orgasm triggered his.

  Trip held me against him. “Wow. Talk about supernatural."

  "Well ... Um..."

  "What?” He smoothed my hair and kissed my forehead.

  "It was kind of ... supernatural, like you said.” Now that my mouth was working, I was having trouble finding the words.

  "What do you mean?"

  So I explained the best I could. It's kind of hard to explain how things work for me. Even to Trip.

  "So we just had a foursome, sort of?"

  "Kind of. Not really. It's hard to..."

  "Never mind. Forget it. Let's get some sleep. We'll worry about our slutty ways in the morning."

  I had to laugh. Trip can make light of just about anything. When you deal in the unknown, a sick sense of humor is key.

  I felt myself drifting off just as he began to snore. I thought of Kimi and Jeremiah. Of love stolen from young lovers. Of marriage vows that never were, and ghosts that cry and rock over a lover long dead.

  * * * *

  I opened my eyes to see the final slow rock of what I now thought of as Kimi's chair. She had been here. Watching me sleep.

  I was alone for now. I looked at the clock and sat up. It was past seven thirty. Trip had let me sleep. I pulled on a pair of his boxers and made my way down to the living room. Coffee. The smell led me to the others.

  "There she is,” Mikey said. “The queen of the psychics. Even gets special sleeping privileges."

  "My, aren't you in a good mood?” I said, sipping from the mug Liz handed me. “Could you retract your claws long enough for me to soak up some caffeine?"

  "He's just grumpy because I had him up late,” Missy said. Her words were bold but a flush crept up her cheeks. Her pale blu
e eyes dipped with embarrassment.

  "You go, girl.” I met Trip's eyes and smiled. We hadn't been the only ones burning the midnight oil. “Not to intrude, but did anything strange happen when you were ... um..."

  "What kind of strange?” Missy asked, looking mortified.

  Trip covered a laugh by coughing. What were Missy and Mikey up to behind closed doors?

  "Martee means supernatural strange, that's all."

  A look of relief passed over Missy's face and she giggled. “No supernatural strange."

  "Beyond that, we don't need to know,” Liz interjected. She was looking just a tad pissed. Maybe we needed to take on a sixth member. Someone tall, dark, and available. Just to level the playing field.

  "So what's the plan today?” I watched Trip think it over as he paced. He looked exhausted, unkempt, and frazzled. Beyond sexy.

  "I think we need to come clean about last night with the rest.” He nodded toward our group. “Then we need to come up with a game plan to put her to rest."

  "Come clean?” Liz stared at me warily. She's on the shy side and our admission would, at the very least, make her uncomfortable.

  "We were having sex last night,” I said quickly, “and I got a little visit mid-encounter. Anyway, it was Kimi. That's her name. She was showing me an experience with Jeremiah and it was very intense. They loved each other very much."

  Trip's eyes found mine, and he looked at me hard enough to see through me. I still have problems with The L-Word. He doesn't. If Kimi brought the message through me at that particular time, then she identified with what Trip and I felt for each other. I knew this logically, but saying it was different.

  "Wow, that's so romantic!” Missy flopped into a huge dining chair, her face lit with a romantic euphoria.

  "Yes. It is very romantic, Missy,” I grumped, “but that's hardly the point. She's staying here and reliving her love affair with Jeremiah over and over again. On the flip side, though, she must be aware he's dead. She definitely knows she's dead. Why else would she rock in that chair and cry? She's missing him."

  "Why not just cross over and find his ass?” Mikey asked. He lit a cigarette, breaking Margaret Sail's no-smoking rule.