Ghost Of A Chance Read online

  This was not the first strange thing that had happened to him. Little things were happening. He didn’t just notice them all at once. They crept upon him bit by bit. They began small, but now they seemed to come faster and with more force. He could smell things. Not just the scents around him. He could pick up the scent of roast beef and potatoes being served on one of the steamships which was halfway out on the lake. And he could hear the people aboard. A couple on the upper deck was fighting about a shirt the woman had insisted he wear.

  And it wasn’t just smells and sounds. When he touched something, an object, it was as if he could read its history. He knew now from touching the walls of Fort William that the entire fortress had been rebuilt. The walls were not original. Somehow he knew the original fort had been burned to the ground by French forces, and now it was rebuilt upon the grave sites of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of men, women, and children. However, other things, like these cannons and the artifacts displayed here were. He had no idea how he knew it. He just knew.

  And this wasn’t the only thing he knew. Last night, as he lay up here watching the stars, he knew—he just knew!—there was other life out there. The stars weren’t just balls of light. They were gas and matter, and there were other planets out there with life, highly advanced, but abounding with life, with lives, full of hopes and ambitions just as the people down here.

  If he knew all this, why didn’t he know where he had been for 247 years? And why didn’t he know what had happened to his family? That was the most frustrating, most discouraging part. No amount of soul searching could bring him any knowledge about his loved ones. He wondered what had happened to his mother. Had she remarried? Lived a happy life? And his brother John and his wife, Anne. How many children had they had? How had each of them died? Had they suffered?

  And Jane—

  It hurt too much to think on Jane.

  Sarah Price must have something to do with his family. He had stayed away for days so that she had enough time to get over her fears of him.

  He’d given her enough time. It was time to confront her again.

  * * *

  The next morning, Sarah bolted awake with the blast of the cursed phone. When Art demanded his ring back, she slammed the phone back on the receiver.

  Suddenly everything seemed too much to bear. She didn’t know when Art had become the enemy. She supposed deep down she must have known their relationship would end. It wasn’t something that appeared to her all at once. It crept in gradually like when she’d been telling him about her idea of opening a bookstore and he hadn’t responded. No words of encouragement or questions. It was as if he hadn’t even heard her. And when he finally realized she was seriously considering a store, he’d been against it.

  There were other things. Art used to call her during his lunch hours or make plans to meet her somewhere for a quick sandwich or coffee. It wasn’t as if she expected his calls everyday. She knew he was busy. She knew he needed time to himself. Eventually the calls and lunches stopped. So did Sunday mornings spent reading the newspaper in bed or just fooling around. She couldn’t remember when they’d last fooled around. In fact, she couldn’t recall once during their last year of marriage that he’d even touched her. She wondered when she’d become that undesirable.

  She looked in the mirror. Her hair used to be long. She’d recently had it cut just above her shoulders. When she set it in hot rollers, it created a flippy bob sort of style. Of course she couldn’t remember when she’d last taken time to fix it that way. Not that it mattered anyway.

  She wondered how things would have been if Michaela had only lived.

  Mister Cuddles jumped on her bed. She hugged him to her and tried to gain control over her emotions. Feeling bad was a senseless waste of time and today she had no time to waste. Today she had to find an assistant.

  That assistant came like a godsend through her door around noon. The little man, Therman Biddleman, had returned and was in fact her only customer of the day. He was sipping a double mocha latte and discussing the injustices of the world to no one in particular when she arrived.

  Sarah wondered what part of the girl’s face wasn’t pierced. Her cropped, jet black hair was held back with a clip that resembled a safety pin. Between her blouse, which was a layered, netting-like material, and her black miniskirt, her stomach was bare except or a dangling diamond-studded flower. She paired the look with thigh-high red stiletto boots.

  “Hi.” Her lipstick was black too.

  It was difficult to stop staring at her midriff. How many crunches did she have to do per day to get that toned? She cleared her throat. “May I help you.?”

  “Yeah. There’s, like, a sign outside.”

  “The position’s been filled.” Therman piped up.

  “No, it hasn’t,” Sarah interrupted. The girl was certainly different, but appearances didn’t prove a person’s ability to do the job. Besides, if she brought friends into her store. Preferably ones who didn’t shoplift.

  She held out her hand. “I’m Sarah Price.”

  “Hi. I’m Claudia Green.” Her handshake was surprisingly firm.

  “Have you ever worked in a bookstore?”

  “I’d wager she hasn’t even read a book.” Therman glared.

  Claudia toyed with the buckle on her skirt. “I worked last semester…I go to Adirondack Community?” She ended all her statements with a question. “I worked in the library, like, about three afternoons a week.”

  “Can you work weekends?”

  “Oh yeah, totally.”

  “Ask her what’s in a latte,” Therman piped.

  “Well, that probably depends, like, on if you want a caffe latte, which has one shot of espresso, steamed milk with milk foam, or, like, a house latte, which is richer and more frothy with, like, honey and vanilla and whipped cream. Or there’s a caramel latte made like the house, except drizzled with caramel, of course. I do…at Christmas…like, a holiday latte where I replace the caramel with peppermint and add a candy cane. Oh, and cinnamon, of course.”

  “Of course.” Sarah glanced at Therman. Without word, he turned back toward his latte.

  Claudia grinned ear to ear.

  “You’re hired.”

  * * *

  Sarah didn’t know where she’d picked up the habit of drinking tea before bed. She’d never even like tea before her divorce. Now she had six different flavors, even something called “chai”, which she had yet to try, but Claudia insisted was “totally in”. She wondered if this was just another door to old age. Or spinsterhood. Maybe both.

  She poured a cup of hot water into her special tea mug—she even had a special mug, she noted with a hint of cynicism—and placed it on a tray and started upstairs. . She didn’t have a kitchen in the apartment upstairs, but the little kitchenette behind the cappuccino counter suited fine for the time being.

  She entered her bedroom and closed the door with her foot.

  Mister Cuddles had already made himself comfortable on her bed. She climbed in beside him and absentmindedly scratched his ears.

  Hair suddenly stood up along the cat’s back. He hissed.

  “What’s wrong, boy?”

  The cat let out a low growl.

  Sarah already knew what—or who—it was. She knew he would return. Had prepared herself for it, in fact.

  She wouldn’t show her fear around him. Not this time.

  “Show yourself and stop scaring my cat.”

  “May I enter?” Came a voice from the other side of her door.

  Sarah’s heart jumped, despite the lecture she’d given herself of not showing her fear around him. “What do you want?”

  “Some answers.”

  “Then you’ve come to the wrong bedroom.”

  She thought she heard him sigh. “I’m coming in.”

  Without waiting for her invitation, he passed through the door without opening it.

  Sarah shrieked. She brought her quilt up around her neck, despite the fact that she w
as fully dressed in a sweatshirt and her worn frog-printed shorts.

  “Don’t do that ever again!”

  He stood at the foot of her bed. Nothing about him appeared transparent, even though he just materialized in her room. He looked every bit the normal human being.

  “There was no reason you couldn’t have used the door like any normal person would.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and made no effort to apologize.

  Mister Cuddles pawed at the air and hissed.

  The ghost passed his hand just in front of the cat. Mister Cuddles didn’t even flinch.

  “He can’t see you.”

  “But you can.”

  “Only me?”

  “It appears that way.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  Sarah leaned forward. She studied him intensely. He had a boyish quality to him that she supposed women in his lifetime must have found handsome. That was, if his natural arrogance didn’t get in the way.

  “Would you—do you want to sit down?” She thought of the scene in Dicken’s The Christmas Carol with Scrooge’s encounters with Marley’s ghost.

  She motioned to the chair in the corner. He slid it closer and sat down.

  Part of her couldn’t believe a ghost was sitting in her bedroom talking to her. Another part of her knew he meant her no harm. She couldn’t explain why but it did. A third part wanted to throw him out for no other reason than the fact that he stared at her like she owed him something.

  “Was this building once yours or something? Is that why you’re haunting me?”

  “I’ve never haunted anyone. You are the only soul who can see me. That is all I know.”

  It was quiet for a long, long while.

  “Who is Maggie Webb?” he finally asked.

  The name wasn’t familiar to her. She mentally went over all the contacts she’d met with her store. Maggie Webb was no one she’d ever heard of.

  “The name means nothing to you?” He seemed surprised.

  She shook her head.

  He swore under his breath.

  “Why should it mean something to me?”

  “It came to me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It came to my mind. As if someone whispered it in my ear.”

  Sarah thought a moment, mentally tried to recall if Maggie Webb was anyone she may have worked with or if she had been a customer at The Book Connection, where she used to work. The name didn’t click. “That’s no one I’ve ever heard of.”

  They were quiet for a long while, just staring at each other. Sarah wondered what he was thinking. She wondered if he was just as freaked out by her as she was him. His eyes were hollow and distant. It was the kind of look that told her he’d just spent his last hope. That she was his late resort, and she’d let him down.

  She’d let a lot of people down in her lifetime. It was something she seemed to be good at lately.

  “Women dress scanty nowadays, don’t they?”

  Sarah covered her bare foot with her comforter. “I suppose they wear less now than to what you’re used to.”

  He looked around the room. His eyes lingered on the boxes scattered about.

  “I haven’t had time enough to unpack.”

  “The room is comely.” He looked at her. “You haven’t lived here long?”

  “No.” She readjusted herself in bed. “I bought the place last fall, moved here for good three weeks ago. Where are you from? I mean, when you were, uh…”

  “Living? I’m from White Creek. It’s a small settlement, about a fortnight southeast.” His gaze seemed to brighten. “Do you know it?”

  She’d never heard of White Creek and had no idea what a fortnight was. She wondered if he might be homesick. . He must have had some sort of family in his lifetime. He probably had a wife, maybe children.

  Memories of Michaela appeared strong and cruel

  “I’ve never heard of White Creek,” she told him.

  She could see his disappointment.

  “You could look it up on the internet.” Then she realized he had no idea what the internet was, much less a computer. She thought of her friend Jane, who would think she was crazy if she told her. No more than she herself did.

  “You died at the fort?” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “No. Until now I didn’t know where I died.” His voice drifted.

  “Where did you die?”

  “I don’t—” He stood up. “I have to go.”

  “Did you die here?” She stood up. “Don’t go. Wait.”

  He faded away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nathan didn’t know why he left so suddenly. Except that he didn’t want to talk about his own death. Not with someone like Sarah Price. She acted as though his appearance was such an imposition to her. She’d accused him of haunting her. How dare she demean his existence? He had more important things to do than willingly stalk her. The only reason he’d come to her in the first place was because he thought she knew some answers. Tonight had proved otherwise.

  He didn’t go back to the fort. Instead, he headed south on foot.

  Night settled fast. The horseless carriages speeding past now had lights shining in front of them. He wondered what powered the lights. It couldn’t be candles. Traveling at such a speed would extinguish them.

  He thought again of the woman, Sarah Price. He wondered if she was in some sort of trouble. Women usually didn’t move alone. He couldn’t understand why else she had moved so far away from her family. Or maybe she had no family.

  He had never been in a woman’s bedchamber before. She hadn’t seemed nervous around him tonight. Maybe that was an improvement, slight as it may be. Or maybe she was used to having strange men in her bedchamber.

  It didn’t matter, though. Sarah Price obviously couldn’t help him. She didn’t even know who Maggie Webb was. So there was no need to see her again.

  When the way was clear, he crossed the path of the horseless carriage and walked down a path leading into the woods. The night was black as pitch, yet he could see perfectly clear as if it were light of day. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. He’d been able to see in the dark since that first night back on Earth. He now possessed two powers he did not care for: night vision and the inability to sleep.

  He pulled his coat tighter around himself and shivered despite the muggy night air. His chest tightened against the damp smell of the forest floor. Fiddlehead ferns brushed against his calves, and trilliums, which had closed for the night, were crushed under his heels as he quickened his pace. He didn’t know were he was going. He wanted to go home to White Creek. It seemed so very far away. Exactly 247 years.

  He wondered if he even knew the way back home. Even if he did, it would not be the same. Nothing here was the same. And he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go back. Taking the shock of all these changes was bad enough. To go home and find—God only knew what he would find—might be too much to bear.

  It would take him more than a fortnight to get home. He shivered again. He couldn’t imagine being out in this weather for so long. He wondered if it was possible he could get sick. He didn’t know how a dead man could become sick, but considering everything else that had happened, nothing was beyond possibility.

  He stopped walking. All around him, night frogs sung in the surrounding ponds and ravines. He didn’t want to spend a fortnight walking. He’d gone through solid walls and doors. He still didn’t quite know how he had done it, but he had just the same. Why couldn’t he go through empty space?

  He concentrated on White Creek. Of the land he was going to buy once the war had been over and he’d been compensated like the English had promised every volunteer of the Crown’s army. He thought of the tiny settlement of White Creek, of old Mister Thompson who had given him his Bible the day he’d enlisted in the army, how he said fighting for a cause would have made his father proud. Nathan had no idea if he would have or had ever
made his father proud, but Mister Thompson helped ease the pain of leaving home for the first time.

  Home would be the same, he knew, but maybe…just maybe…if he concentrated on how it used to be…

  Night sounds were replaced by a whirring which was foreign to anything he’d ever heard. It started low and quickly picked up pace until it was deafening. He felt something grip him…nothing with physical form. Nothing beyond explanation. It caught him with the force of a wild beast, cut into his shoulders so fiercely he would have sworn his limbs were bleeding. He tried to move his arms, but they were leaded weight. He couldn’t even move his head. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t speak anything beyond the tortured screams which he didn’t even know were coming from him or not.

  Then it stopped.

  Nathan opened his eyes.

  Home.

  It didn’t look like White Creek. Horseless carriages lined the streets, though there were nowhere near as many of them as there had been back near Fort William. Two, mostly three, storied brick buildings stood on each side of him. A few lights shown in the upper story windows. A light blinked over his head. Yellow. Red. Then green. Back to yellow.

  This was home. It didn’t look anything like home, but he knew it was because…he just knew.

  He turned west, then back east. He walked a ways and abruptly stopped. Something was familiar. He didn’t know what—

  He was standing on the very property he’d planned to purchase after he’d come home. He felt it in the earth, from his heels, all the way to the tips of his fingers.

  He knew.

  That empty, cruel sense of loss filled him again. So many things left unfinished. So many, in fact, he wondered if his life had been worth living at all. Heaviness settled upon him. He had accomplished nothing in his life. He’d gained nothing, had finished nothing. He hadn’t even gone to heaven after he’d died. He’d lain in a virtual nothingness for 247 years then been sent to Earth. Why?

  A horseless carriage sped toward him so fast Nathan had to jump out of the way before it hit him. He watched it until it turned the corner and disappeared. Ma’s cabin was just over the hill. He shouldn’t go there. He should go back to Fort William because he knew Ma’s home wouldn’t be there. He knew deep in his heart of hearts that there would be no home left.