I, on the other hand, heard and saw everything.
“Are you sure?” asked the man, easing into the room with one foot first.
“It’s fine, Jack,” I replied to the spirit. Though I wasn’t exactly sure Jack was a spirit. “The bubbles cover everything, not that it matters. I’m not really modest.”
A man who looked to be in his thirties stepped directly through the still-closed door. His eyes were closed tight and once he’d passed through the door, he turned, putting his back to me, giving me privacy despite being told I didn’t require any. As a spirit—or whatever he was—he wasn’t bound by the same rules as everyone else. He could pass through objects with ease and do a whole slew of other neat tricks. It had to be handy being able to walk through walls and doors. Saying I had a bit of dead-guy envy sounded wrong, so I kept it to myself.
Jack was wearing the same clothes he’d been in for the past several months that he’d been appearing to me. A pair of dress slacks and a designer shirt that was cuffed just below the elbow. The shirt was a deep blue with the tiniest of white dots repeated throughout the pattern. His socks had a similar pattern, but bolder and in the same color scheme. His shoes no doubt retailed for more than everything I bothered to carry around with me in the three hippie bags.
My gaze zeroed in on his shoes. Normally, they were immaculate. Now they had a few splatters of something dark on them. “Jack, is that red paint on your shoes?”
He rubbed the back of his neck and then rolled his shoulders before glancing down at his feet. “Huh, I must have stepped in some while I was out. I hadn’t noticed.”
It was painfully clear he didn’t want to talk about it. “Are you done with whatever it is you had to do?”
Jack had left in the wee hours of the morning before the sun had come up, and had been vague about where he was going and what he’d be doing. Whatever it was, it had kept him away for hours.
He inclined his head. “I am. For now.”
“That sounded so mysterious,” I offered with a snort. “Are you going to tell me what you were doing?”
“Let’s just say I had to deliver a message to an old friend,” he returned before going quiet.
“Yep. Totally mysterious,” I teased.
He laughed, but it sounded forced.
“Was it a local delivery? Because you were gone a long time,” I said.
He expelled a loud, somewhat annoyed breath. “A wee bit was local. The rest had me far away for a while.”
“Are you okay?” I questioned.
“I am. Were you able to get any sleep after I left?” he asked, sounding hopeful.
I noticed the topic shift and let it be. “No.”
“Still rattled by the turn your dreams have taken?” he asked with a sigh, having heard all about them from me more than once. He was an exceptionally good listener, and I found myself divulging more to him than I did most.
“Yes,” I answered.
“The newest dreams you’re having, with the man in the limo—which you’ve told me more than once reminds you of a scene from Pretty Woman. Are they sexual in nature?” he questioned. There were no hints of jealousy in his deep voice, only curiosity in an analytical way.
I didn’t exactly want to dwell on the disturbing dreams but talking about them might help them stop going to such a dark place. I wouldn’t have minded in the least if the dreams only held the tall, dark-haired stranger in the limo. It didn’t matter that whenever I woke, I couldn’t recall what his face looked like or anything specific about him. Those dreams had felt right. But the introduction of a dark entity had changed everything. I didn’t look forward to the dreams anymore.
“Yes, they’re sexual in nature,” I confessed. “But it’s more than that between him and me. As Mr. Hotty Pants gets out of the limo and looks at me, I can feel it on him.”
“Mr. Hotty Pants?” echoed Jack.
“I don’t have a name for him,” I said as I relaxed more in the tub.
He nodded. “Okay, what can you feel on him?”
“That he really, really wants me in a carnal way.”
“And did you want him in the same way?” asked Jack, still sounding as if he was collecting data, not having a casual conversation.
My hand went to my upper chest as I thought about how I felt whenever Mr. Hotty Pants appeared. “I always feel hot, but not the kind of hot you get from overexertion or a dead-of-summer day. The kind of heat you get when excitement and desire rushes through you. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do,” he returned. “So, you were attracted to him too? How else did he make you feel?”
“Complete,” I said.
“By chance is he exceedingly tall, have shoulder-length dark hair, and green eyes?” asked Jack, sounding as if he already knew the answer.
I stared at his back. “Maybe. Why do you ask?”
“Maybe? You don’t know what Mr. Hotty Pants looks like?” he questioned.
“I know that I see him when I’m dreaming of him, but when I wake up, his face is gone from my memory,” I whispered. “I wish the dark entity would vanish from my memory like that. It sticks.”
“Can you tell me more about it? The dark entity?” he asked, something off in his voice, as he glanced to his right and tipped his head as if he’d heard something I didn’t.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I supplied. “Not much scares me. It does.”
“You see and hear the dead,” he said. “Yet this thing manages to unnerve you? Why do you think that is?”
I simply stared at him. “By chance, were you a head doctor when you were alive?”
He stood up straight and glanced at me before closing his eyes tight once more.
As much as I appreciated his company and the conversation he provided, I didn’t really want to discuss my dreams any more than we already had. “Are you going to keep staring at the wall instead of coming over here and sitting down to talk with me?”
Jack chuckled. “As tempting as that sounds, it’s best I not.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Love, I’ve explained to you already that you’re important to someone I know. You have a bigger part to play, Marcy. Now isn’t the time for me to get in the way of that. At least not yet.”
He’d said as much before, but never elaborated on who this supposed person was or how I was significant to them. As one who expected others to take what I said on faith, I owed him the same courtesy. That being said, it was hard not to push for answers.
“It’s really nice in here,” I said, making a wet slapping sound as I patted the bubbles. “You sure you don’t want to get in too?”
“You’re killing me, love,” he said with a snort, still facing the corner. “Oh wait, someone already did that. More than once.”
“Jack,” I said softly, knowing that while he joked about no longer being among the living, it upset him. Not that he’d shared as much with me. No, he’d kept up a façade, more for himself than anyone else. He’d said very little about what kind of supernatural he was, but it was obvious he was one. “How many times, exactly, have you died?”