Chapter 5

Two days had passed since my phone call to my twin about my little favor. I had barely seen Dominique and when he did appear, he was usually moody and didn't stay for long. Even more convinced I needed to get him crossed over and regain my freedom, or, rather, my solitude, I waited on pins and needles for the return call. Currently I lounged on the comfy couch in the disorganized living room. Dressed down in a pair of comfy sweats with my auburn hair pulled back into a messy bun, I nursed a mug of steaming hot cocoa. Baby marshmallows bobbed appetizingly on the surface of the milky brown liquid.

Dodododododododo, brrrrrrring!

I pounced on my cell, almost spilling cocoa all over, and barely managed to answer without scalding myself. "Hello, you've reached the hottest babe in the city. Please leave a long lengthy message explaining how to exorcise my house. Beep!"

"Still a natural comedian, I see." Kayle Foster's deep voice countered on the other end of the line.

"Oh, it's definitely natural," I chuckled good-naturedly but was only met with silence. Then I remembered I was talking to a guy that had only smiled twice in the five hours he helped move my stuff in. If I was looking for somebody to throw witty banter around with, Kayle Foster wasn't that somebody. At least he wasn't for me. It made a sister wonder what he must be like around a certain Jessica to make her swoon like a silly school girl.

"Yeah, whatever, you're an all-business type of guy, and I assume this phone call is because you found some time out of your busy schedule to help a sister out. Whatchya got, my future brother-in-law?"

Unphased, Kayle answered, "My man discovered that someone has gone through painstaking efforts to erase the history of that house, specifically the blood trail associated with it."

"What do you mean, 'blood trail?'"

"I mean, it's dangerous. It appears like Dominique Salvatore and his younger sister Iriana were eye-deep in the faction of the Italian mob in this area. The only other useful information scrounged up was some bits and pieces about him snapping, murdering his younger sister, and then killing himself."

My heart lodged itself in my throat. A murderer? I swallowed heavily past the giant lump. "You don't sound overly concerned about this discovery."

"I'm more concerned about whoever went through these efforts to erase Dominique's history and association with the mob. Don't jump to any unnecessary conclusions, however. It's quite possible this information is falsified or exaggerated. If you plan on confronting him about this, I suggest you tread carefully. It may or may not be true. Would you care for some support in case anything happens?"

I hesitated before giving my polite refusal. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll be fine. Just… if no one hears from me before tomorrow morning, it means I'm dead or incapacitated. Besides... he's a ghost, right? How much can he really do?" I grimaced at my own words. I knew what he could do, at least to me. Not a pleasant line of thought.

"I'll take you at your word. If you haven't contacted your sister by that time, I'll personally travel out there to ascertain your safety."

Maybe Kayle Foster really wasn't such an emotionless guy after all. "Aw, you do care," I teased.

"I have no choice. If I don't, your sister will kill me."

It took me a moment to realize he was joking. Caught off-guard, I didn't know what to say besides, "Yeah, well, thanks again for your speedy delivery. I'll make sure to put in at least five good words for you to Jessica dearest."

"Because obviously I need all the help I can get," he said sarcastically.

"Keep dropping your guard around me and I'll make a man out of you yet," I promised with a laugh. "Anyway, I'll let you get back to your busy life. Say hi to Jess for me. Hugs and kisses. Ciao!"

I waited a few seconds for his goodbye, which was a simple one, and then I hung up and tossed the cell to the end of the couch. I relaxed back into the cushions and stared up at the ceiling. I had no clue how I was going to confront Ghost-man about everything I had just learned. I didn't want to believe he was a murderer, but I couldn't help but worry.

"Just my luck," I mumbled dejectedly in regards to the problem at hand and sipped at my cocoa.

"I was under the impression that luck was a good thing."

Dominique shimmered into existence sitting on the arm rest by my feet. Becoming more accustomed to these unannounced arrivals (I had learned he found it entertaining to startle me), I hardly batted an eyelid. I took another sip of the delicious substance in the mug before remarking tonelessly, "So nice of you to grace me with your presence."

Draping long, lean-muscled arms across his thighs, he arched an eyebrow at me. "So nice of you to grace me with your biting sarcasm."

Eyes flickering over his body... I sighed. It just wasn't fair that he was as attractive as he was and yet I couldn't capitalize on that due to his ghostly nature. A small worm of fear wiggled into the base of my spine as I looked at him. After what Kayle had told me, I couldn't help it. What if it was true? What if Dom was actually the ghost of some crazed, suicidal Italian mobster who'd murdered his sister and then killed himself? Again, no fair that he also happened to be extremely good looking. Wrong place, wrong time, I supposed. It made me want to curse, sing super bad songs in the shower, and gorge myself on Ben & Jerry's. Such as I did when I was experiencing guy issues. Or issues in general, really. Probably not the healthiest set of coping mechanisms, but Cade had always found it entertaining. But my younger brother had always found pleasure in seeing my emotional pain play out in front of the fridge or behind a shower curtain.

"If I'm to be perfectly frank with you-"

"Minus the sarcasm? Is that even possible, Miss Chelsea?"

I immediately riled at the tone he was using with me. My back straightened and I leaned toward him as I drew my legs closer to my body. Eyes narrowing, I bit back the first slew of retorts that popped into my head. Instead, I repeated my words, enunciating harshly, "To be perfectly frank, Dominique, you remind me of a song. It's called 'Hot N Cold.' You're giving me whiplash, Ghostman. I thought I was the dramatic one. Turns out, I have nothing on you."

If possible, his already quirked eyebrow arched even higher. "What, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?"

If I was anyone else, I probably would have zipped my lips. I probably would have remembered just having recently disconnected from a phone call where I'd been informed that a certain ghost was allegedly evil. I probably would have, at the very least, kept my irritation in check. But, of course, that's exactly what I didn't do. What I did do was careen away on one of my holier-than-thou-lectures. Perhaps I should have paused a moment to consider how comfortable I had so quickly become with the idea that not only could I see and touch a ghost for the first time ever, but I was technically living with one as well. I should have paused to note how strange it should feel to me to be giving said ghosty a stern talking to. Obviously, none of the previous things mentioned computed, or, at least, they didn't for very long.

"You're her and you're there. You flirt with me, and then you act like I killed your first born. You're warm and friendly, and then you could freeze the sun with how cold you are to me. That's the meaning of hot-n-cold, Dom. It's giving me whiplash. I've had PMSing women for roommates that had easier to follow moodswings than you. At least they were flesh and blood so that I could beat them if they needed a good beating. I can't even do that with you." I could feel the angry heat flushing my cheeks. They had probably turned an ugly splotchy red. When I got really mad, the red would travel to my neck as well. I was not cute when I was angry. "I can't wait till I finish with this house so that I can sell it and get back to a life that makes sense."

I screwed up my bottom lip and glared at him. I liked to think I was patient-not like Jessica, of course-but even I had my limits, and Dominique had pushed me over the edge. The unjustly gorgeous ghost simply stared at me for a long time while I continued to glare at him. There was a guarded sadness in his eyes that I finally noticed. It made the angry twist of my mouth falter. He wasn't saying or doing anything. He just sat there and looked at me as if he was committing my face to memory. It didn't take long for all the fight to drain out of me.

I was the first one to break eye contact as I dropped my eyes to study the inside of my mug. I deliberated apologizing, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. Dominique had deserved that speech. He was acting like that, and it was giving me whiplash. I refused to suffer in silence. We both had to share the same living space. Put it down to being an idiot that I didn't take into account the fact he could be some murderous ghost, but I just couldn't entertain his terrible social habits anymore. No matter how much sadness I had suddenly discovered in the depths of those golden orbs of his. But the potent silence that had settled between us was killing me. I had never done well with silence-especially in situations like these. I was just about to crack under the pressure when he finally said something.

"You're right, Chelsea." I could hear the shuddering breath he inhaled although I rationally knew that he couldn't actually be breathing. I slowly looked up at him. His expression seemed as contrite as his voice. "I hope you can accept my apology for my inexcusable behavior." He reached out and touched my knee. I knew it wasn't a real sensation. He was a ghost. It wasn't real. But my heart still began to race despite my best efforts to convince myself.

I wanted to touch him. Looking at him now, I couldn't believe that Dominique was capable of the things that Kayle had told me. A fleeting thought about how Ted Bundy, who was a terrible serial killer, had seemed like the perfect, charming gentleman right up until he'd shown his true color flashed through my mind. I needed to find out the truth, but, at the same time, I found that I was afraid to learn it. What if it all had really happened? What if Dom really had killed his sister and then himself? I couldn't sell the house in good conscience if I knew it was haunted by a psychopathic murderer (at least, that's what I told myself that that was the real reason why it would suck). But neither could I continue to live under the same roof and pretend like everything was hunky-dory.

Against my better judgment, I rested my hand atop his. It still surprised me-and maybe even freaked me out a little-to feel the solidness of his hand underneath mine. Ghosts really shouldn't be able to do that... yet, I was secretly glad that he could. There really had to be something horribly wrong with me. I had to be messed up to be having such thoughts about a ghost! Dominique's gold eyes held mine as more silence passed between us. The way he was looking at me... I could feel the heat beginning to seep back into my cheeks again, but for a completely different reason this time.

I cleared my throat somewhat awkwardly and retracted my hand. I slid off the couch saying, "I just remembered that I have to run into town for some things." More like scurry on over the library and see if she could find any newspaper articles or anything that would tell I more about the house and its history. Kayle had done some of the work for her, but he was a distracted and very busy man. He'd said that his information came from the internet and anything could be falsified online. He'd told me as much. Now that I had a better idea of what I was looking for, I might get lucky at the library.

I paused and looked back at him, both my hands now occupied with the mug I was holding. I bit my bottom lip and then said, "Look, we'll talk more later, okay?"

Dominique nodded slowly and smiled. It looked forced, though. "As you wish, bellesima. Please travel safely. That is all I ask."

I had to swallow past the strange and very sudden lump that had formed in the back of my throat. It was probably caused by my heart trying to pound its way up into my trachea. Stupid organ. Apparently it didn't know it was supposed to stay put in my chest. I nodded dumbly but then forced out, "Yup. You got it." I quickly hurried upstairs to lock myself in my room and change my clothes. The heat in my cheeks refused to leave, and it was a couple of minutes before I could force my heart to return to a semi-normal beat.

Twenty minutes later I was pulling out of the driveway and on my way to the library. It wouldn't be till four hours later that I returned home with a serious headache and the overwhelming desire to sleep off the feeling of failure. I hadn't found anything useful except for one tiny news article from 15 years ago about someone else dying in that house. Needless to say, none of it had been very reassuring.