stepfather help out?"
"My stepfather is husband number four, and
he's paying child support for three kids of his own.
There's never enough money." Jill sighed. "My
mother can't save anything either."
"What about your dad?"
"He's not around."
"Still, he should help with your expenses."
She tensed, looking down at her coffee as she
added, "You remember that guy I said I was
scared of?"
"The dead guy?"
"Yeah ... well..." She met my gaze. "He was
my dad."
I was completely speechless and had no idea
how to respond. Finally I managed a feeble, "I'm
sorry."
"Well, I am, too-but not because he's dead. I
caused his death. "
Now I was totally speechless. Mouth-open, jawdropping shock. And I had no clue how to respond
without coming off judgmental or insensitive.
"You must think I'm a horrible person," she
said quietly.
"No ... of course not."
"Don't be nice. I don't deserve it. I should love
my father no matter what ... but I can't ... not
after what he did ..." Then suddenly she started
telling me more than I think either of us expected.
"Once upon a happy family, or so I thought, I
was Daddy's special girl." Her eyes narrowed. "Dad
got laid off and was home a lot. He took me to the
zoo, on picnics, and to movies. I was so proud to be
Daddy's girl, until one night when Mom worked a
double shift and I woke up to feel hands touching
me..."
Her words were raw and powerful, rushing
out like a dry river suddenly washed with a storm. It was like once she started talking, she couldn't
stop. Tears flooded her eyes as she told how he said
it was because he loved her. He warned her not to
tell anyone, but she did. And the police took her
father away.
"He died in prison," she finished.
Jill's aura pulsed with purple and red like
bruises. Her pain jolted me. I thought of my dad
and how he'd taught me to roller blade and play a
wicked game of Scrabble. Even though he was busy
I received regular emails from him, sometimes a
funny lawyer joke or a short message just saying
"hi." I couldn't imagine being afraid him.
"So now you know my worst secret," Jill said
solemnly.
I pantomimed zipping my lips and throwing
away the key.
She pretended to catch the key and tuck it into
her pocket. Then she lifted her coffee cup to her
lips, made a bitter face, and said it was too cold.
Standing abruptly, she crossed to the sink and rinsed
the cup out.
I joined her by the sink and washed out my
own cup. Neither of us said anything, the noise of
running water loud and a lingering scent of coffee.
There was another scent, too, I realized. Smoke?
Like tobacco and mint. And when I turned around,
a transparent figure loomed over the couch where Jill
and I had just been sitting. But this wasn't like my
usual visions - the man's face was horrifying; jagged
and cloudy, like fragments of a puzzle that didn't fit
together.
I heard a gasp behind me and whirled to find
Jill staring, too.
"Ohmygod!" she exclaimed. "Dad!"
Okay, this was beyond spooky. I was used to seeing
ghosts, but not used to other people seeing them
with me.
"Daddy?" Jill moaned, shaking and turning
white as paper. "But you're ... this can't be happening! I don't even believe in ghosts!"
Her father regarded her with hollow skull-like
eyes. His mouth opened and I thought I heard him
say, "Jillian."
She didn't seem to hear him and turned to me
with a wild expression. "Sabine, tell me I'm hallucinating. I'm going crazy, right?"
"You're not crazy." I gripped her hand. "I see
him, too."
"But he's-he's DEAD!"
"I know," I said with understanding.
"So how can he be here?"
"Maybe he wants to tell you something."
"Or he's mad and wants revenge!" She gave a
frightened cry and backed against the wall.
"No, he doesn't." I studied the cloudy figure.
Not a ghost bound to earth, but a spirit. I sensed
sadness, but also peace and love. His mouth opened
and I heard him say, I'rn sorry.
When I turned to Jill, she was cowered
"My stepfather is husband number four, and
he's paying child support for three kids of his own.
There's never enough money." Jill sighed. "My
mother can't save anything either."
"What about your dad?"
"He's not around."
"Still, he should help with your expenses."
She tensed, looking down at her coffee as she
added, "You remember that guy I said I was
scared of?"
"The dead guy?"
"Yeah ... well..." She met my gaze. "He was
my dad."
I was completely speechless and had no idea
how to respond. Finally I managed a feeble, "I'm
sorry."
"Well, I am, too-but not because he's dead. I
caused his death. "
Now I was totally speechless. Mouth-open, jawdropping shock. And I had no clue how to respond
without coming off judgmental or insensitive.
"You must think I'm a horrible person," she
said quietly.
"No ... of course not."
"Don't be nice. I don't deserve it. I should love
my father no matter what ... but I can't ... not
after what he did ..." Then suddenly she started
telling me more than I think either of us expected.
"Once upon a happy family, or so I thought, I
was Daddy's special girl." Her eyes narrowed. "Dad
got laid off and was home a lot. He took me to the
zoo, on picnics, and to movies. I was so proud to be
Daddy's girl, until one night when Mom worked a
double shift and I woke up to feel hands touching
me..."
Her words were raw and powerful, rushing
out like a dry river suddenly washed with a storm. It was like once she started talking, she couldn't
stop. Tears flooded her eyes as she told how he said
it was because he loved her. He warned her not to
tell anyone, but she did. And the police took her
father away.
"He died in prison," she finished.
Jill's aura pulsed with purple and red like
bruises. Her pain jolted me. I thought of my dad
and how he'd taught me to roller blade and play a
wicked game of Scrabble. Even though he was busy
I received regular emails from him, sometimes a
funny lawyer joke or a short message just saying
"hi." I couldn't imagine being afraid him.
"So now you know my worst secret," Jill said
solemnly.
I pantomimed zipping my lips and throwing
away the key.
She pretended to catch the key and tuck it into
her pocket. Then she lifted her coffee cup to her
lips, made a bitter face, and said it was too cold.
Standing abruptly, she crossed to the sink and rinsed
the cup out.
I joined her by the sink and washed out my
own cup. Neither of us said anything, the noise of
running water loud and a lingering scent of coffee.
There was another scent, too, I realized. Smoke?
Like tobacco and mint. And when I turned around,
a transparent figure loomed over the couch where Jill
and I had just been sitting. But this wasn't like my
usual visions - the man's face was horrifying; jagged
and cloudy, like fragments of a puzzle that didn't fit
together.
I heard a gasp behind me and whirled to find
Jill staring, too.
"Ohmygod!" she exclaimed. "Dad!"
Okay, this was beyond spooky. I was used to seeing
ghosts, but not used to other people seeing them
with me.
"Daddy?" Jill moaned, shaking and turning
white as paper. "But you're ... this can't be happening! I don't even believe in ghosts!"
Her father regarded her with hollow skull-like
eyes. His mouth opened and I thought I heard him
say, "Jillian."
She didn't seem to hear him and turned to me
with a wild expression. "Sabine, tell me I'm hallucinating. I'm going crazy, right?"
"You're not crazy." I gripped her hand. "I see
him, too."
"But he's-he's DEAD!"
"I know," I said with understanding.
"So how can he be here?"
"Maybe he wants to tell you something."
"Or he's mad and wants revenge!" She gave a
frightened cry and backed against the wall.
"No, he doesn't." I studied the cloudy figure.
Not a ghost bound to earth, but a spirit. I sensed
sadness, but also peace and love. His mouth opened
and I heard him say, I'rn sorry.
When I turned to Jill, she was cowered
Similar Books
![Fire of the Wolf [The Gray Pack] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)](https://fs.collectorofbookboyfriends.com/498033/thumbs/152x264/fire-of-the-wolf-the-gray-pack-siren-publishing-menage-amour.png)
