Aeonian Kiss (Revenants in Purgatory Book 2) Read online

  He wasn't the man whose very touch made me feel alive.

  Chapter 2

  I'd no more than walked in the door when my phone rang. My hands were full, so I let it go to voicemail. I emptied my gym bag, took the clothes directly to the washing machine, and started a load. The next item on my agenda was finding some grub. I rummaged around in the cupboards, snagging a granola bar to eat while I continued the search for better sustenance. While looking through cartons of rice cakes and no-sugar-added snacks, I checked my message.

  I was happy to hear my brother's voice. He'd called to confirm we were still on for our weekly lunch. Since we didn't live together any longer, we made an effort to stay in touch and hang out whenever possible. Lately, that hadn't been much. He had been swamped at work and putting in a lot of overtime.

  Since he would be busy until the noon hour, he requested that we meet at the office. I groaned at the change in plans. I hated going back to that place. Every time I walked in, everyone's eyes focused on me and whispers floated around behind my back. I had reluctantly become something of a celebrity in the Purgatory sect. I was "the girl who lived." Or didn't. Whatever.

  Obligatory Harry Potter reference aside, I was the only person in the history of ever to return from The Silence, so naturally there'd be some curiosity. Hell, if it had happened to someone else, I'd be one of those jerkoffs staring and whispering too. As it stood, the whole situation made me uneasy. The most unsettling part were the looks from some members of upper management, as if they knew what I was hiding. I fully admit it could very well have been paranoia on my part, but either way it gave me a serious case of the willies.

  I had a couple hours to kill before meeting Tore and decided to spend the time taking a well-earned nap. After changing into some comfy jammies, I snuggled up on my bed. It didn't take long until I was snoozing away, but that also meant the nightmares weren't far behind either. Almost immediately I jolted awake at the sound of someone yelling. After a few moments I realized the voice was my own. Taking a few deep breaths, I tried to calm down as my heart hammered in my chest.

  This wasn't the first time I'd dreamt of the ominous voice. It had occupied my nightmares since my return, but I could never remember much about it. Little snippets had been leaking into my memory, but nothing that brought the puzzle together. Regardless of what the voice wanted me to know, I always woke feeling unsettled with a heavy sense of foreboding. I didn't know if it was just some sort of PTSD manifesting itself in my dreams or a suppressed memory breaking through, but something about the voice felt familiar.

  Again unable to make heads or tails of the dream, I slid to the end of the bed and scrubbed my hands over my face. A quick glance at the clock on my night table showed that I'd been asleep for almost an hour and a half. It sure hadn't felt like it. Between Katarina yacking my ear off and the voice of doom booming in my dreams, a quality sleep seemed a far-off delusion. How was I supposed to take on the world to become the new, better me if I couldn't sneak in some decent shuteye?

  By now it was almost time to go meet my brother, so I tried to shake it off and carry on with my day. I couldn't allow it to get to me. If I spazzed out after every nightmare, I'd spend most days hiding under the covers, driving myself bonkers. Nope, today it was time to nut up and move along.

  After throwing on some fresh clothes and making the quick jaunt across town, I arrived at my former place of employment ten minutes early. I stood outside, staring up at the building. It never ceased to amaze me that the business of the afterlife operated within the world of the living, practically under their noses, yet no one seemed to notice. The living passed the building every day on their way to work or home, yet most never gave it a second glance. I guess the same hocus-pocus that kept the transition souls in place made the building less assuming to prying eyes.

  I was about to head in when a middle-aged man ran out the front doors. He only made it a few feet before coming to an abrupt halt. He looked like a dog that had reached the end of its chain, but continued to pull anyway. I flinched because I knew what was coming next. Just as fast as he had stopped, he was yanked violently back through the door with a loud pop.

  I shook my head at the poor bastard. He was just another soul in transition, hoping to make a great escape. Even though everyone's told not to try to leave the building, it doesn't stop some from doing it anyway. Afterward each one always says the same thing: "I thought I could make it." No one ever has, but of course everyone thinks they'll be the first. It’s good to still have goals even as a ghost, I suppose.

  I strolled into the lobby to find the attempted escapee flat on his back, lying in the middle of the floor. He was unconscious, or as unconscious as a ghost can get. People weren't paying any attention to him, simply walking around so they could get where they needed to be. If Lady Luck chose to smile down upon the fellow, he'd only be knocked cold for a few minutes. Worst case scenario, he'd be out for a few hours. Whatever the case, I could bet dollars to donuts that when he woke, he wouldn't try that stunt again.

  Tore's office was on the fifth floor, and of course the elevator was packed. The stares were already coming my way as people poked coworkers inconspicuously in their arms to draw attention to the "celebrity" in their midst. I continued to my destination pretending to be oblivious to the whispering behind my back, but made a mental note to meet Tore at the restaurant next time to forego the spectacle. I had enough excitement in my life without adding to it.

  Along the way I stopped to pop my head into Portia's office. I hadn't seen her in a while, but I found her office unoccupied. Figuring I could catch her after lunch, I continued on to find my brother.

  Portia had been distant lately and I couldn't figure out why. At first I'd worried that it was some weirdness over the role Katarina had forced her to play in my little "vacation" but the more I thought about that, it just didn't make sense. She knew I didn't hold her responsible. I thought briefly that she was pissed because Zane and I had become friends. He was her ex-boyfriend, but seeing as they were on friendly terms, that explanation didn't fit either. Something had definitely been bothering her, but whenever I asked, I was met with a reply of "I'm fine." Even though it ate at me, I tried not to force the issue. If she didn't want to talk, I didn't want to pry…much.

  I found Tore tucked behind his desk, hunkered over his keyboard. Holding the phone with his shoulder, he waved me in. I took the seat across from him, waiting for his conversation to end. He was arguing with someone about prayer quotas coming up inaccurate, causing a few of his charges to be held back on account. Sounded like "same old shit, different day" to me. Nothing more than business as usual at good old Purgatory and Associates, but Tore was really worked up.

  His voice continued to escalate as the argument progressed. Finally he yelled, "Well figure it the fuck out then!" and slammed down the receiver. I was shocked. He never raised his voice to anyone, let alone acted that openly hostile.

  "Bad day, brother?"

  "Let me tell ya, you had the right idea getting out of this shit hole when you did." He slid some papers inside a manila folder and slapped it shut. He got up to go and I followed suit. I turned just in time to see Portia hustle past the door.

  I ran out into the hall and called to her, but she kept going. I called after her a second time, which got her attention. "Hey, woman." I trotted up to her. "How are you?"

  "Fine, good. I’m good." She shifted her petite frame uncomfortably and smoothed down her long tartan tube skirt.

  "We're heading to lunch; why don't you join us?"

  She shook the folder in her hand. "Thanks for the offer, but I have a charge moving on and I need to get his transfer papers finished."

  "Can't it wait? We haven't hung out, just the three of us, in a long time. Please? It'll be fun." Tore walked up behind me and slung an arm over my shoulder. "Tell her she has to come with us."

  I'd thought ganging up might convince her, but instead he took her side. "She said she has work to do. L
et's just go." He looked down at his shoes and tugged on my shoulder.

  She pursed her lips into a thin frown and glared at him, though he had already looked away. "Maybe next time." She gave me a small hug, and I thought I detected a hint of sadness to her voice.

  When she was gone, I glanced up at my brother, who was looking everywhere except her direction. "All right, what did you do?" I rested my hands on my hips. He raised a brow questioningly. "She gave you a nasty look. What was that about?"

  "Who knows?" He shrugged, acting uninterested in the topic. "She's probably just in one of her moods. You know how she gets."

  She had already slipped into her office when I glanced back that direction. Tore wasn't wrong; she did have a tendency to be moody at times, but something about this situation felt off. The look she'd given him made me think that the issue lay between them rather than with me.

  I grumbled inwardly. He always said the wrong thing at the wrong time around her. He had a knack for it. More than likely he'd said something inappropriately as a joke and had upset her without even realizing it. Since he'd acted oblivious to her anger, it seemed a fair assessment. Next time I saw her I'd try to smooth things over between them by apologizing on my dopey brother's behalf. For now, I'd try not to obsess about them being at odds and enjoy lunch with the doofus.

  Back in the day, the three of us had always eaten at a little hole-in-the-wall hamburger joint. The place had amazing food, with every type of burger you could imagine and some you couldn't, like burgers with fried eggs, cranberry relish, or corn chips. They'd even had one topped with peanut butter — my personal favorite. We'd considered the place one of the best-kept secrets in the city. Unfortunately it must have been too well-kept because the place had gone under, leaving us wandering around not knowing where to eat. Eventually, our hunger took over and we settled on the next restaurant we stumbled upon. It was one of those trendy, chic, fusion food places. Not our usual fair, but my tummy didn't care so long as there was something edible on the menu.

  Once we were seated at a table by the window, the waitress took our drink order. I went for a Long Island iced tea since I had nowhere to be for the rest of the afternoon. Tore settled on a soda and the waitress's phone number.

  I leaned heavily on my arm and people-watched out the window while he flirted. After a few minutes, I became so distracted I didn't notice when the server walked away. Tore knocked my elbow out from under me to catch my attention.

  "Where are you at?"

  I flopped my hand down on the table. "Nowhere." That wasn't entirely true. I had been thinking about the weird dream from before, but still couldn't seem to pin down any specifics.

  "Hey." He grabbed my hand. "Where's your ring?"

  I pulled away and rubbed my bare finger. "I haven't been able to find it. I think it was lost in the move."

  I tried not to look too bummed because I didn't want him to feel guilty, but truth be told, I was heartbroken. I'd picked up the simple silver infinity band at an art festival the summer after I'd died. It wasn't anything expensive or a family heirloom, but I'd loved it just the same. It had seemed fitting of the situation I had found myself in, so I'd worn it every day. It had kind of become part of me, my identity. With it missing, my finger felt naked.

  I quickly changed the subject so as not to dwell on yet another thing that couldn't be changed. Tore wasn't overly interested in discussing work, and though I tried to subtly steer the conversation toward what he'd done to piss Portia off, he skirted around the topic. Instead we discussed little stupid things, such as how I liked the new gym and his big plans for the weekend. A wag of his eyebrows in the waitress's direction said enough on that matter.

  After our meal, I walked with him back to the office. Not because I was eager to get back there, but it was something to do, more or less. When we arrived, I gave him a quick hug and watched him go back into the building. The same guy who'd tried to escape earlier stood by the window, watching me. He forced a smile and waved, his eyes sorrowful. He reminded me of a small child watching a parent pull away. It made me sad, so I gently waved back. I wanted to run in and tell him to hold on, not lose hope or become consumed by negative emotions.

  Take it from first-hand experience, sir, those paths don't lead to anything good.

  . . .

  After lunch I meandered around the city. I didn't want to go home and be alone, even if it was only for a few hours. The day had been taxing already and it was only mid-afternoon. Between my dreams of Drake, Katarina bitching at me, Treadmill Buddy holding my hand too long, the voice of doom invading my nap, and now this thing with Tore and Portia, my brain was buzzing. I wanted to walk off some of my problems, but instead I walked into another one.

  When I needed to clear my mind, I usually allowed my feet to take me wherever they wanted. I never paid much attention until it was time to go home. Imagine my surprise when I looked up to find myself standing outside Despresso, the same little coffeehouse Drake had found me in the night after we'd met.

  He had been out doing much the same as I was doing now: wandering the streets, trying to clear his head, and avoiding going home. At the time he'd felt a draw to go in to that particular establishment, a place he'd never been in before. The very same place where I'd sat with my nose shoved in a book.

  We'd talked about it only a few weeks before Katarina had set the wheels in motion for my departure. We'd believed fate had brought us together. Wrapped securely in each other's arms, Drake and I decided the little coffeehouse would be "our" place. We'd planned to spend our first anniversary there. Instead I stood on the sidewalk alone one year later. My realization of the day's date hit me like a runaway truck.

  It was hard to believe a year had gone by since I'd sat sipping a chai tea latte while the most incredible man I had ever met told me I was beautiful. Three hundred and sixty-five days had passed since I'd found the person I wanted to spend forever with. Now I was alone, staring at my pathetic reflection in the window, dreaming of how things could've been different and wishing for an anniversary spent together.

  I felt a draw to go in, but ignored it and walked away. It amounted to nothing more than the need to torture myself. I longed to dance with the lingering memories still trapped within the establishment's walls, but I needed to sit this one out.

  My heart ached so badly with each step that I was sure it was turning to dust in my chest. I swiped at a tear as it rolled down my cheek, thankful for the sunglasses shielding my pain from the world. I tried to actively avoid any place that had any sentimental feelings attached. Even though Despresso was my favorite coffeehouse in the entire city, I stayed away. So many of my favorite things I'd shared with Drake and now they'd become nothing but painful reminders of a love lost. Shadows and ghosts of beautiful moments that from time to time seemed so perfect I questioned whether any of it happened at all. The reminders that once upon a time ago, I'd been happy.

  My feet weren't carrying me away quickly enough, so I hailed a cab and made for home. Of course I climbed into a car driven by the world's chattiest driver. He was nice enough, and had I not been trying to hold in all my pain, I would have engaged him. As it stood, I nodded when appropriate and smiled when he looked in the rearview mirror to catch my reaction. Mostly I stared out my window, watching the city roll on by.

  I walked in the front door of the brownstone and called out for Devon to be sure he hadn't come home early, as he tended to do from time to time. When I was met with silence, I slid down the door, falling to a weepy mess on the floor. Stumbling into my painful past had left me gutted. I leaned my head back against the door, allowing the tears to roll down my cheeks. I needed to strike a balance somehow so that I could love a man I no longer had, yet function daily without turning into a puddle of tears whenever a memory surfaced.

  The longer I sat there, the angrier I became with myself. When I'd returned from Hell, I'd made a promise to myself to stop carrying around so much guilt and sorrow in my heart. Some things in life
and the afterlife just couldn't be changed. Worrying and obsessing wouldn't make that any less true. What I had been doing lately wasn't healthy. Leaving Drake had been my own choice. He’d wanted me to stay, but I'd left anyway. It was time to accept that truth and responsibility. I swiped the last of my tears away, picked myself up off the floor, and carried on.

  The rest of my day consisted of changing into slob wear and being a slack piece of flesh, piled on the sofa, watching a MythBusters marathon. Could've been worse — I could have been watching daytime courtroom reality shows. I'm willing to bet Judge Judy would've had a thing or two to say about my pathetic behavior. With a hoodie pulled up over my head, I slouched down on the couch when there was a distinct knock at the front door. Knock…knock knock…knock.

  "It's open!" I yelled and Zane came waltzing in.

  We had become pretty good friends over the past few months. Once I'd gotten past all of his wackiness, I'd learned he was a really good guy. I felt rather ashamed for thinking of him as just an arrogant hipster when we'd first met. He is, and freely admits to it, but he's an arrogant hipster with a big heart.

  As with most friendships, he and I have our own little routine. When he has a bad day, he comes over to hang out with me. I'm not even sure how it came to be, it just sort of did. Zane has a lot of friends, but I get the impression that not many of them were considered close. I'm the opposite. I have close friends, but not many. On that level our friendship worked out well for the both of us.

  I pushed my hood back. "How's it going, hepcat?"

  He took off his jacket as he came into the living room and tossed it over a chair. "Worst day ever."

  I motioned for him to come over and he fell backward over the arm of the sofa, landing with his head on my leg. I pulled off his fedora and tossed it on the chair. He rolled over, placing a hand on my knee and the other under his cheek.