This is an original piece of fiction, which contains several people who vaguely resemble other people. I will not make any claims on those other people as I barely know them.
As it is an original piece of fiction, it is copyrighted and afforded all the protections that allows. Do not copy, distribute or disseminate unless you ask permission, I'm nice I'll probably let you if you ask me.
Comments can be sent c/o firstname.lastname@example.org
Be aware that I wrote this several years ago, before I knew any better.
Morgan Alexander stepped out of her red sports car, her shoulder length, blonde hair whipped in the steady wind that was blowing across the water. The car was great for the short city driving she was used to. Even though it was cramped with all her luggage, she still loved sitting in it, tooling down the empty winding back roads. She enjoyed the smell of the sea as she drove along the shore road. She looked forward to being able to take long rides around the seashore when she got the chance
Morgan was moving. It had taken the writer several months to decide to leave her beloved city. Lately, her heart was calling for the open air. She had thought the suburbs outside the city would do, still even that felt too confining. While reading the New York Times real estate section one morning, she saw an ad for a house. The picture was a bit blurry and the description vague. Nevertheless she was drawn to it. She scheduled an appointment with the realtor and packed the car. She knew this would be the house for her and nothing would hold her back.
Morgan had enough belongings in the car to last her a week. The rest of her stuff was being shipped and would arrive by Friday. She was a determined she was staying. The idea of a home by the sea appealed to the writer, to the point she had sublet her apartment. She didn't understand why she was being so impulsive but decided to just go along with it. Life was an adventure, one she embraced on occasion.
This seemed to be one such occasion as she pulled into the drive of the house in front of her.
The house was huge for her needs, since there was just her, but it was everything she dreamt of including the widow's walk at the top. The house was in desperate need of repairs. The paint was gone but looked like it may have been white at one time. The shutters had been gray and many of them were hanging askew. The windows appeared to be intact, which made Morgan feel better. At least I won't get rained on or freeze to death.
She turned at the sound of a car driving up the gravel driveway and saw the woman pull up in a Toyota Camry. She guessed it was the realtor she was scheduled to meet. As she approached the car, a young woman got out. Morgan estimated her to be near Morgan's own age of 35. She had wavy, chestnut hair and deep brown eyes. Her suit was severe in nature, making her look plain rather than accentuating her good looks. I wonder if she does that on purpose. I could see where being good looking could be a problem in the professional world. In the past, Morgan had her own share of not being taken seriously. People too often see my blonde hair and assumed I have the IQ of a tree.
“Hi, you must be Morgan. I'm Nancy Lowell. We spoke on the phone the other day.” The woman said by way of introduction, holding her hand out for Morgan to shake.
Morgan grasped the offered hand, “Yes, we did. I hope it's not too inconvenient meeting on such short notice.”
“No, no problem. I have a key from the owner so I am able to show the house at anytime,” Nancy explained. “The house is currently unoccupied, so feel free to look about.”
“How long has it been empty?” Morgan asked the realtor as they walked into the house. The smell of old air filled Morgan's lungs covering the fragrance of the salty air outside.
“Well technically it has always been empty.” Nancy stated reluctantly. “No one has really lived in it for any significant period of time since the original owner.”
Morgan was intrigued, “Why not, it is such a lovely house. The architecture is perfect.”
“Well the owners have never taken an interest in living in the house. The house was built in 1845 and like you said, the architecture is a personification of the time period and regional taste.”
Morgan was not in the mood to hear the whole spiel the realtor had planned so she asked, “Do you mind if I just walk and poke around?”
Eager to return some phone calls on houses that were more promising, the realtor took the opportunity to let Morgan wander on her own, “No, of course not. Take your time and have a good look.” Nancy offered. “I'll be here if you need me.”
“Fine,” Morgan said as she turned to wander around outside of the house.
The grounds are going to need landscaping. It looks like there was a formal garden at one point, judging by the walls. I think the outside just needs some cosmetic work. I hope the roof has been kept in good repair. Morgan thought, running off a list of things she would need to do and look into.
She finally entered the house through the kitchen. The kitchen was done in varnished oak with white marble countertops. The light colored wood plus white marble reflected the sunlight coming through the window making the room feel airy and warm. Morgan found it easy to picture herself cooking in the spacious room.
Moving around the house from room to room, she found the house very much to her liking. She poked around upstairs and found some items that would need repair. For the most part the house and its contents were in good condition, given its age and emptiness. There were bits and pieces of furniture scattered throughout, most appearing in good shape. The house was surprisingly clean for being left empty for so long. They probably had a cleaning service come in and clean to show the house. Morgan reasoned.
As she wandered through the house she heard footsteps walking around some of the other rooms. I guess Nancy is checking out the place, making sure everything is in order. Putting it out of her mind she continued on. She made it down to the main floor and found it to be in similar shape to the upstairs.
Entering what she guessed was the library, based on the floor to ceiling bookcases lining three of the walls, Morgan noticed a painting over the large fireplace at the far end of the room. Moving closer she was stunned to see it was of a beautiful woman. The woman was dressed in an older period costume, but it was in men's clothes. She wore what looked like some kind of uniform with breeches and a jacket with gold epilates on the shoulders. The woman was standing outside with the sea at her back. Her jet-black hair was whipping loosely bout her face from the wind coming off the sea. She stood holding a hat casually in her hand. Morgan was drawn to her eyes, which were a piercing dark blue. Though the painting was somewhat high on the wall, she could see them clearly from where she stood. The woman's eyes seemed to follow Morgan's every move. She stood and admired the painting for several minutes before walking on to check out the rest of the downstairs.
When she had completed her inspection she returned outside, finding Nancy leaning against her Camry, on the phone. Watching Morgan approach, Nancy hung up the phone.
“So what do you think?” She asked Morgan, her cheerful nature coming through.
“I like it. But it needs a bit of work.”
“Well most of the work is on the outside. The roof is relatively new. But it could use a good painting and go over. The inside is in good shape, though. The family has always maintained it. They hire local people to come in and keep it clean.” Nancy explained eagerly. “If you decide to take it I can give you the name of the woman who is currently in charge of cleaning it. You may want to keep her and her staff on as the cleaning crew. The house is a bit big for one person to handle alone.”
“Okay, I'll keep that in mind.” Morgan said, looking back at the house one more time.
“So what do you think of the house?” The realtor asked finally.
Morgan looked up at the house again. She felt a pull in her heart, almost as if she were coming home after a long time away. Looking up at the very top windows of the house she thought she saw someone standing in one of the windows. She put it down to her vivid writer's imagination and turned to the realtor.
“I'll take it,” she stated with certainty. I have never been more certain of anything in my life, she thought. The money she had saved from her successful writing career was more than sufficient to let her restore the house and grounds, and if the next book was as successful as her last she would have more than what she needed.
“Fine, let's go back to the office and get the paperwork underway,” Nancy offered with a bright smile.
“Nancy, do you think the owners would have a problem with me taking immediate occupancy?” Morgan asked, hoping she could.
“No I don't think that will be a problem, I'll call from the office and we can find out.” She answered cheerfully.
“Good I would like to move in tonight if I can.” Morgan said, looking back at the house with a smile.
Morgan got ready for bed. She was excited about sleeping in the house for the first time. She made the master bed with clean sheets she had found in the linen closet. As she climbed into the bed, the exhaustion of the trip and excitement of buying the house soon overtook her and she was asleep in minutes.
Her dreams were filled with images of the woman in the painting and another woman Morgan didn't know. She couldn't make out the other woman's face but she could tell that she was much shorter than the dark haired one at her side. The two women were arguing as a storm raged outside the window of what appeared to be the master bedroom. Finally, the dark haired woman left, slamming the door behind her. The short blonde was in tears. The next thing Morgan dreamt was that the dark haired woman standing out in the rain by the cliffs overlooking the sea. Morgan had an ominous feeling about the whole scene and willed herself to wake up. Morgan heard a voice calling her name and turned to look back toward the house. Not seeing anyone she looked to the cliffs. The dark haired woman was gone. Running to the cliffs Morgan looked over the edge and saw the lifeless body of the woman laying broken on the shore.
Suddenly Morgan woke up and sat bolt upright in the bed. In the shadowed darkness of the room, she thought she could make out the form of a figure standing at the foot of the bed. As her eyes quickly adjusted to the light, Morgan realized it was the woman from the painting. For the first time in her life, Morgan fainted.
Morgan came out of a deep sleep to the sound of someone calling her name. In the darkness that enveloped her it seemed far away. She was stuck between that place where one is neither asleep nor awake.
“Morgan, wake up, by god!” Someone shouted at her.
Morgan came awake and sat up in the bed. There was no one in the room. She saw no source for the sound. It must have been the thunder and lightning. But it all looked and sounded so real. She thought to herself, as she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Either that, or I am beginning to hallucinate and that, is just not an option.
Unable to go back to sleep, Morgan pulled out the book she had been reading earlier. After an hour she began to feel drowsy. She put the book down and turned off the light. Soon, she drifted off to sleep. Her dreams were once again filled with the woman in the painting, only this time she was wearing khaki pants and a polo shirt. Morgan wondered at her strange attire until the woman turned toward her and smiled. Morgan was lost in the depths of the blue eyes. For the second time that day, she felt as if she had found home. “Who are you?” She asked the apparition.
“I'm not who you think I am,” she replied, giving a mischievous grin and then vanished.
Morgan opened her eyes to the early morning light shining through the window, lighting up the dust motes as it shone on her bed. She recalled the images and dreams of the night before. That's what you get for sleeping in a strange old house by yourself during a thunderstorm. She chided herself. Well, time to start getting used to it, since nothing is about to change anytime soon. She thought with a small laugh. Well except the thunder and lightning part.
As she stood up, she let out a shudder when her feet touched the cold wood floor. The fire had died during the night leaving a chill in the room. She fumbled around in her discarded pile of clothes until she found her socks and shoes. First thing I need to invest in is a good pair of slippers. With that thought, she went to the bathroom to clean up for the day.
The previous day had been a busy one for Morgan. She had signed papers with the realtor. After getting permission to take possession that day; they made arrangements for the power and water to be put in her name. She had gone food shopping and had unpacked the car. It was no wonder she had gone to bed exhausted just as the rain started. However, now the sun was out and she was looking forward to being alone the first day in her new house.
Morgan walked around the outside of the house trying to get an idea of the work that would have to be done. It seemed mostly cosmetic to her. Since the roof was new, she wasn't too worried about dry rot and such. The shutters would have to be re-hung and the whole outside painted. Some of the clapboards would need replacing in spots. She was amazed that none of the windows were damaged, knowing they were hard for local kids to pass up on an old empty house. Maybe the realtor had them all fixed. She thought. No matter the reason, it saved her one less hassle.
As she made her way to the front of the house, she saw Nancy pulling up in her car. She met the car as it stopped, leaning down to peer into the open passenger window. “Hi Nancy, what can I do for you?” Morgan asked, “I was just thinking about you.”
“Good thoughts I hope,” Nancy flirted back as she got out of the car.
“Always,” she replied, with a wolfish grin. After spending so much time with her the day before, Morgan had learned that not only was Nancy gay, but also she was a hopeless, yet harmless flirt.
“I was on my way home for lunch and thought I drop your copy of the signed contract.”
“Do you live close by or did you go out of your way?”
“Actually, I live very close by. I own the house next door with my partner Karol.”
“Wow! Really? We're neighbors!” Morgan exclaimed excitedly. “That's great.”
“Yeah, in fact we wanted to invite you over for lunch, which was my ulterior motive for stopping by.”
“Sure, I'd love to come by and meet Karol.” She agreed with an eager smile. “Can you just give me a few minutes to clean up?”
“Okay, you can come by when you're done. It's the house on the other side of the fence, the one with the gate joining the yards.”
“Alright, I'll be right over.” Morgan replied eagerly.
Morgan took an instant liking to Nancy's partner Karol. She was a cheerful person with a perpetual twinkle in her hazel eyes. Her salt and pepper hair belied her age of thirty-eight. She was tall at about five foot nine, which Morgan always found attractive in women. Nancy mentioned that Karol worked from home. She was a doctor with an office in the big house. Morgan liked the idea of having neighbors she could socialize and feel at home with.
Morgan and Nancy sat at the patio table drinking iced teas, while Karol grilled up some marinated chicken cutlets. She wore a tool belt with all her grilling utensils hanging from the pockets and flipped the cutlets with flair. Meanwhile, she talked to Morgan and Nancy about life in the neighborhood and the history of the town. She had lived in the area her whole life and knew everyone and everything of importance.
Karol filled them in on some of the characters around town, like Mrs. Fisher, who ran the post office. She knitted socks, scarves, tea cozies and such, giving them out with the mail when she got too many. There was also “Butch” Johnson, who ran the junkyard outside town. He had taken an old VW Bug and turned its welded pieces of junk into a giant cockroach.
Finally, the topic turned to the history of the town and its founding as a seaport and fishing village. Karol explained that the boats and their crews would leave town for months while they went in search of schools of fish. Compared to some places along the coast the town was relatively young, having been founded in 1783.
“That reminds me Nancy, I wanted to ask you about something with the house.” Morgan said.
“Sure, what is it?” Nancy asked, eager to answer any questions her new friend had.
“I noticed a portrait hanging in the library and I was wondering who it is. The subject is so unusual for the time period.” She stated, with a tone of curiosity. “It seems to be the only painting or photograph in the house, so I was wondering about the significance of it.”
“As far as I know it's the original owner of the house.” Nancy answered.
Karol lifted the last of the chicken off the grill and brought the platter over to the table. Sitting down astride the bench next to Nancy, she placed the platter down. “Here you go guys, dig in!” She exclaimed.
As they began eating, Nancy asked Karol, “Can you give Morgan some background on the house?” She asked, with a smile, knowing how much her partner loved a good story. “She's really interested in the painting of the owner.”
“The builder and owner of the house was Dorian Cray. She was the captain of The Lenore, a cargo ship that ran between here and Cape Cod.”
“A woman sea captain. That is unusual.”
“Yes, well she was a unique person.” Karol continued. “She came to town at 18 and fronted the money for a ship. No one knows where she got the money for it, though.” She took another bite and finished it before going on. “She had a hard time finding a crew. Men were superstitious about women on ships. But in the end she paid too handsomely for most good men to pass up. Dorian showed them though. She ended up with the most successful operation in town.”
After taking another bite, Karol continued the story. “Unfortunately her success was short lived. She died when she was forty from a fall off the cliffs on the property. There was some mystery surrounding her death. Some people questioned whether she was pushed instead of accidentally falling. Seems she had been having heated arguments with George Reynolds, one of the owners of a rival shipping operation.”
“Funny thing is when Dorian Cray died the house was deeded over to Richard Adams's sister. After Adams's sister died, it reverted back to Dorian's family through a distant relative. It has passed down through the women of that family ever since.” Karol finished as she picked up her drink and took a long swallow.
“I wonder why they decided to sell it?” Morgan said aloud. “It's such a beautiful house. It seems a shame that no one has lived there.”
“I don't know why no one has, but there has been rumors of it being haunted.” Karol said in all seriousness.
“Well, haunted or not, I love it and I intend to stay.” Morgan stated emphatically.
“Good because we're glad to have you here,” Nancy said, raising her glass in a toast to their new neighbor.
“Here, Here,” Karol agreed wholeheartedly, raising her own glass.
Morgan slept fitfully. She had been in the house a week and had been having troubled dreams. Every night she had the same dreams of Dorian on the cliff. Though she was feeling exhausted, she couldn't find comfort in sleep.
As the dream reached its pitch, Morgan seemed to feel a comforting hand against her forehead. Gentle fingers ran through her hair. Quickly the dream ended. Morgan became aware of a presence next to her bed. She opened her eyes and saw Dorian Cray standing over her. This time instead of fear, she was filled with curiosity. But before she could say anything Dorian softly said, “Sleep Morgan.” With that she disappeared.
Morgan tried to fight sleep but soon found herself falling back into a dreamless sleep.
Each night the scene was repeated. Morgan would wake up to find Dorian beside her. She would then fall back asleep unsure the next morning if the moment had really happened.
She began to think she was imagining strange events around the house. While outside on several occasions she would look up at the house, believing she saw someone standing in one of the windows. On one occasion she saw the figure very clearly, it was the woman from the painting, Dorian Cray.
While in the house, Morgan began to hear something moving about. It was just small noises like chairs being pulled out and pushed back in. Sometimes it was the sound of footsteps. There was nothing specific that alarmed her. She was more curious than anything. The other strange event she noticed was in the library. She had entered the library one day to find a set of books on the table. They were the old Captain's journals. For some reason Morgan felt it would be a violation of some privacy to read them, so left them where they were. When she came back the next day the books were back on the shelves. Though she really never considered the possibility of such things existing, Morgan was beginning to believe she did in fact have a ghost in her house.
One day as Morgan walked through the house; she saw a figure go into the library. Catching a glimpse of long dark hair she suspected she knew who it was. Suddenly all the little things that had been happening began to make some twisted sense to her.
As she stared at the figure she tried to decide what to do. How does one confront a ghost? She thought, trying to come up an idea. Finally, she started down the hallway.
Walking into the library she quietly closed the door behind her. Giving a quick look around she noticed the fire in the hearth. The second thing she noticed was the boot attached to a leg sticking out from the wingback chair. Next to the chair on the table were the journals.
Morgan felt her anger raise, as if she suddenly had an uninvited guest in her home, which in essence she did. “Make yourself at home, why don't you!” She said with a scowl of disapproval.
“I will, thank you, since it is my house,” said a deep rich voice, which sent shivers down Morgan's spine.
“Not according to the deed it isn't!” Morgan said, placing her hands on her hips in anger and frustration.
“Some matters take precedence over such things.” The woman said as she stood up. She faced the fireplace for a moment, still holding onto the journal she had been reading. When she turned, the fire backlit her figure, making her even more imposing than normal. She looked exactly as she did in the painting. Her hair was just over shoulder length and jet black, hanging loosely about her face. She had on a white shirt with a wool uniform jacket and trousers. The only thing missing was her cap. Her eyes were a piercing blue, reminding Morgan of tropical waters before a storm.
“Yeah, well, you don't frighten me. I don't want a ghost here, so you can just go wherever it is you people go.” Morgan said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
“If I had wanted to frighten you, you would be gone by now.” The woman said, raising an eyebrow. “However, neither can I leave. So that leaves us at an impasse.”
“Wha...what do you mean you can't leave?” Morgan asked, suddenly growing more agitated.
“Just that. I am bound to the land here.” The woman said, stepping forward. “Since it seems we will be sharing accommodations, let me introduce myself. I am Captain Dorian Cray,” she said holding out her hand for Morgan to take.
Morgan wasn't sure if she should take it or not. Weren't ghosts supposed to be ethereal, composed of mist and shadows? With a bit of hesitancy Morgan reached out, surprised when her hand met solid flesh and bone. “Uhm, nice to meet you. I'm Morgan Alexander.”
“I know who you are. I've been expecting you.” Dorian said almost as a side thought.
“Expecting me? What do you mean expecting me?” Morgan demanded.
“It's of no matter. We have other things you wish to discuss?”
“What can you read my mind too!” Morgan asked with alarm and indignation.
“No.” Dorian answered, “I just assumed that meeting a ghost for the first time you would have some questions. Am I wrong?” She asked, raising an eyebrow again.
Morgan looked at it with irritation, “Stop doing that. It's annoying.”
“What?” Dorian asked raising an eyebrow again.
“That! Stop it.” Morgan said, getting flustered.
Clutching her stomach Dorian bent over in laughter.
“You did that on purpose!” Morgan accused.
“You were taking this all so seriously I thought it a good way to relax the tension.” Dorian said, trying to hold back a final chuckle.
“Well, it didn't. I still want you out of here. Can't you go bother someone else…go some other place, like heaven or something?” She asked, hoping to get a positive answer.
“No, sorry. I am bound here. I am not able to go anywhere else.” Dorian answered, cryptically.
“That's the second time you said that. What does it mean?”
“It means I can't leave the grounds. I am buried here on the property and must remain here until something changes and I can leave.” Dorian explained.
Morgan took a seat in the chair opposite Dorian's as Dorian leaned back in hers.
“What has to happen?” Morgan asked curiously.
“I don't know. But I feel something is missing. When I find out what that is and can get it back, then I will be free.”
“What happens then?”
“To be honest, I don't know.”
Suddenly, Morgan felt sympathy for the woman. Dorian had been stuck here for over a hundred years all alone. Then, something occurred to her, “Why has no one ever lived in the house?”
“For the most part, that was of my choosing. The female owners have lived here from time to time but once they would marry, their husbands would move them out to another house.”
“Why not sell it?”
“Because I didn't want it sold,” Dorian explained. “I made a point of making my presence known to anyone interested in buying it.”
“Then why let me? You did nothing to stop me from buying it.” Morgan asked, more than a little curious about the answer.
“I don't know why. Something about you reminded me of someone I once knew or maybe I just got lonely.” She said with a sad look in her eyes.
Dorian's countenance made Morgan understand the subject was not open for discussion. She wondered at whom she reminded Dorian of, but she also felt empathy for the loneliness she must have suffered over the years.
“Those are your journals?” She asked, pointing to the book in Dorian's hands.
“Yes, I kept them for years while I was at sea and when I was here at home.” She explained
The way she said home made Morgan's heart break a little. Dorian sounded as if she had lost something that was a part of her very soul. Suddenly, she wanted to help Dorian find a home again, even if it meant she had to share her house and friendship with her. “Have you written anymore since you have been here?” Morgan asked quietly.
“No, there hasn't been much to say. I just read what I have. It's enough for me.” Dorian said with a desolate tone.
Morgan thought back to what Karol had told her the day they had lunch outside, and decided to ask the one question still on her mind. “Dorian, can I ask you something personal?”
“You can, but I may choose to not answer it. I'm afraid you'll just have to accept that.”
“How did you come by the money to buy your ship?”
“I was first mate on a ship out of New York. We traded goods using the barter system. Do you know what that is?”
“Yeah, it's when you trade goods and services of equal value.”
“No, that isn't how it worked when I was around. The way the barter system worked was you took on cargo and shipped it where it was supposed to go. Then when you got there, you sold the goods. Only, before anyone had a chance to unload it, you sailed away with the cargo.”
“Then what did you do with it?”
“Went somewhere else and sold it again.”
“Doesn't sound very legal, or honest.”
“It wasn't, but that was how shipping worked in those days.” Dorian explained, looking into the fire with an unreadable expression on her face. “Once I got my own ship, I ran it honest. We made good money because I guaranteed my cargo. Back in those days, I found people would pay top dollar to insure their merchandise got where they wanted it.” She said with pride.
“Can I ask another question?”
“Sure, but the same rule applies.”
“I've been having these dreams about you on the cliff.” Morgan explained, knowing that Dorian already knew about them. “What happened that night?”
“I've thought about that over the years. But, to be honest I don't really know what happened. I was out on the cliff and it was storming, I had my back to the house when I felt someone push me. The next thing I knew, I was looking down at myself below on the rocks.” Dorian's face hardened as she recalled the events leading up to her death. “I wish I knew who the cowardly bastard was.”
“Did you know anyone who hated you enough to do something like that?”
“Hell, half the men in this town hated me. How many could actually get up the balls to kill me, I don't know.”
“I'm sorry. That shouldn't happen to anyone.”
“Well, it is in the past and in the past it will stay.”
Again, Morgan got the sense the subject would go no further.
The two women spent some time talking about the house and its history. Morgan was surprised to learn that Dorian had the house built shortly after she came to town. Morgan couldn't picture the ghost building such a house just for herself. Deciding she had pried enough for one day, she left the question alone.
Finally, the day's events got to Morgan. She was too tired to continue. She said goodnight to Dorian and left her sitting beside the fireplace with her journals.
As the days passed the woman and the ghost entered a routine of sorts. They would meet for breakfast and both read the paper. Dorian was astounded at the news a person could get from around the world in a matter of a day or hours. After breakfast, Morgan would go outside to work in the garden, while Dorian often watched from one of the windows with a melancholy look on her face or a wistful smile. At night, the two would sit by the fire and read or watch MSNBC so Dorian could get more news. They sometimes began debating over some of the issues, arguing well into the evening.
At night, Morgan was still plagued with invading dreams. However, it no longer seemed strange to feel gentle fingers in her hair soothing her back into a dreamless sleep.
Morgan never saw Dorian leave the house until one afternoon. She saw her standing in the distance by the cliffs. Dorian was not wearing her uniform, as was her usual custom. During the day she would wear her uniform and at night relax in a pair of wool trousers and a cotton shirt with billowing sleeves. If it was chilly she wore a smoking jacket. Today she was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Morgan thought it strange; however, she didn't want to intrude on the ghost's personal thoughts.
For the next several days, Morgan watched as Dorian stood by the cliffs for an hour or so. At other times Dorian would sit and spend the morning just looking out at the sea. Morgan thought she appeared very forlorn standing there, as if she was looking for something she was missing.
It was during this time that the dreams became more vivid and frightening. It was not unusual for Morgan to wake up in a cold sweat after seeing the figure on the cliff fall over the edge. She would awake with Dorian standing over her but she no longer seemed able to make the dreams disappear.
Morgan carried supplies in from the car. The weather service was calling for a Nor'easter to come through at some point in the night. The rain had already started. She had gone to the store to stock up on supplies, like everyone else in town. She had lucked out and gotten two loaves of bread and a gallon of milk. She stocked up on flashlights, batteries, hurricane lamps and kerosene. Dorian had explained how to prepare the house for the storm so she was not really worried about it. The worst that could happen she decided was she would lose power for a day or two, which wasn't so scary now that Dorian was in the house with her.
Morgan unloaded the last of the supplies just as the light of day was giving way to the dark. Dorian stepped into the kitchen. Looking at all the stuff Morgan had bought she commented, “You have enough food and supplies to take on a crew.”
“No making fun of the city kid. It's my first storm without the protection of skyscrapers and a corner grocer,” Morgan argued back.
“Did you get everything I told you to?” Dorian asked, peering into one of the bags.
“Yes, I got the hurricane lamps, the oil, which is kerosene by the way not whale, but I thought flashlights were a little more practical than candles. Other than that I got all the food and whatnots.” Morgan replied.
“Good, with all the firewood we have everything should be just fine,” Dorian reassured her. “Why don't you get started on dinner, while I get the fire started?”
Morgan agreed and began pulling out a pot to heat up soup. She prepared the bread to make a grilled cheese sandwich. While she set everything up she could hear Dorian carry wood inside for the fire. She looked forward to sitting by the fire with Dorian as she ate her dinner. Of course, she would be eating alone, but the conversation would be welcome.
Morgan slept in bed as the storm raged outside. During dinner, the wind had picked up tremendously and now battered the old house. The cold, damp air seemed to creep into the house, making it necessary to start a fire in the bedroom. It had begun dying out during the night and now was only a soft glow.
The woman sleeping in the bed was as unsettled as the weather outside. Morgan was in the throes of her nightmare. In her dreams she watched as Dorian stood by the cliffside and turned toward her. The weather was stormy and cold rain pelted them both. Dorian was wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants. The rain had thoroughly soaked them and they stuck to her body. Morgan called out to her, “Who are you?” She asked the apparition.
“I not who you think I am,” The apparition replied, giving a mischievous grin before vanishing. Quickly Morgan ran to the edge of the cliff and looked over, seeing the lifeless body of her friend lying below.
Waking to her own scream, Morgan sat bolt upright in bed. Hurriedly, she looked around for Dorian, expecting to find her by her side. The ghost was nowhere in sight.
“Dorian!” She called several times.
The ghost never appeared. Morgan grew more concerned, the vision of her dream still fresh in her mind. Speedily she threw on her jeans and sweatshirt. She left her room as she began searching the house for Dorian. The lights in the house had gone out during the night. Morgan had only her flashlight to show her the way.
“Dorian!” She called out repeatedly as she went from room to room. The more she searched the more her feeling of foreboding grew. Something had to be wrong for the ghost to not appear to her.
Finally, she made her way to the kitchen. Still there was no sign of Dorian. Just as she was about to return to her bedroom, something drew her to the large bay window. As she looked outside a flash of lighting struck the tree by the woodshed, illuminating the backyard. Morgan was shocked. There by the cliffside stood Dorian, just as she appeared in Morgan's dream.
Morgan threw open the back door, mindless of her shoeless feet, and ran out into the stormy night.
She came to a stop behind the ghost and called out to her. The wind carried her words away. She felt the ground shudder as each wave below hit the sandy cliff. She had seen cracks and signs of erosion the day before as the rain had started and now worried it would give out on Dorian.
Morgan yelled one more time, only to realize Dorian would never hear her as her voice was drowned out by the torrential rain and wind. Thinking of nothing else she ran up, grabbed the woman by the arm, and pulled with all her might. Morgan heard Dorian scream as they fell to the ground together at the moment the cliff where Dorian had been standing collapsed into the sea.
Morgan stood up she looked down at her friend. She lay motionless on the ground, her face more ashen than usual. “Dorian, we have to get inside! We can't stay out here!” She yelled over the storm. Unsure if the woman heard her, Morgan stood and began tugging on Dorian's shirt. Finally, the ghost stirred. “Dorian! Come on, get up!”
Slowly Dorian rose and stumbled forward, cradling her left arm to her chest. Morgan could see her breathing in big gasps, but couldn't see what was wrong in the dark with only the intermittent lightning brightening the area. She moved to Dorian's side and began helping her into the house.
They made it to the house just as the rain and wind began to pick up again. Morgan propped open the door so the seemingly injured woman could make her way inside.
Once they were both inside, Morgan began screaming.
“What the fuck did you think you were doing Dorian!”
“Dorian, who the hell is Dorian?” The woman yelled back.
“Don't play stupid with me Dorian. I am so not in the mood for games right now!”
“Look lady I'm in a lot of pain right now and I have no idea who you think I am but I'm not Dorian!”
“You could have been killed out there, Dorian!”
“No I couldn't I'm already dead, remember.” Dorian said from over the shoulder of the woman standing in front of Morgan.
The woman let out a squeak of surprise and tried to turn around quickly, but her wet shoes found no purchase on the floor. Right before Morgan's eyes the woman twisted and fell to the floor hitting her head with a loud thump.
The ghost and the writer stood over the unconscious woman.
“What do you want to do with her?” Dorian asked, kicking the woman's shoe with the tip of her own.
“Stop doing that!” Morgan yelled at her. “How the hell should I know what to do with her?”
“Well, you killed her so I figured you would know what to do with the body.” Dorian said smugly.
“I did not kill her! Did I?” Morgan asked suddenly unsure about everything.
“No, you didn't. She's just had her head knocked about.” Dorian finally admitted. “But, we should get off the floor and into a bed. She seems a little too cold for my taste.”
“Oh my god! She could have hypothermia.” Morgan suddenly realized.
Together the two women carried her into the master bedroom. While Dorian got the fire going, she suggested that Morgan remove the woman's wet clothing.
“You want me to undress her? Like in naked?” Morgan asked incredulously.
“It's the only way to get her warm. Once you have her undressed, put her in the bed and climb in with her. If you share your body heat, it will warm her up faster.” Dorian explained, ignoring the look of shock on her friend's face. “Come on. If you want her to live until morning you'll get in the bed with her.”
Morgan had no argument against that statement. She undressed her charge and climbed into bed with her.
Dorian looked at Morgan lying stiff as a ship plank on the other side of the bed and smiled a mischievous smile. “No, get up right against her. Otherwise it won't work. Snuggle up.”
With great care Morgan moved across the bed and did as she was told, snuggling up against the woman next to her. She placed her head on the woman's shoulder and wrapped an arm across her stomach. Within minutes, Morgan was fast asleep.
Morgan felt like she was on fire. Her skin was burning up where it laid on the pillow. Slowly, she opened her eyes to find the source of the heat. She was surprised when her vision came into view of a perfect breast. She realized her hand held what must be its mate. She enjoyed the sight and feel of it. Taking a deep breath she inhaled the smell of naked skin. Letting out an unconscious groan, her hand squeezed the breast it held. Her mind quickly realized that the skin she held was the source of the heat.
Sitting up Morgan looked down at the woman lying under her. Her face was flushed with fever. Placing her hand on the woman's forehead, she quickly pulled it away. Looking out the window she saw the sun had come up and the storm was over.
“Dorian!” She called.
The ghost appeared by the side of the bed.
“I have to go get Karol. Can you stay here and watch over her?”
“Sure. Go, you better hurry. She doesn't look too good.” The ghost told her.
The woman looked into a long tunnel of light. She tried to close her eyes against the pain it caused, but was unable to. Slowly she became aware of pain wracking her body. Her shoulder and ankle throbbed, and she could feel her pulse as it coursed through her head. Just as quickly as it came, the light disappeared and she was able to close her eyes. She heard a voice call to her, but she was unable to open them as she drifted into the darkness again.
Karol turned off the penlight and turned to Morgan. “You say she fell?” She asked again for the fifth time since she got there.
“Yes, damn it. She just fell. She twisted around suddenly, fell and hit her head.” Morgan explained yet again.
“That would explain the twisted ankle and concussion. Now how exactly did she dislocate her shoulder and get what acts like pneumonia?” She asked the writer.
She looked around for help from Dorian but knew she would get none.
The ghost stood by the window safe in the knowledge that no one but Morgan could see her. Dorian childishly stuck her tongue out at Morgan.
“Uhm, I found her outside like that,” Morgan lied through her teeth. “She was lying outside the backdoor. I got her in the house and that was when she fell.” It was lame as lies went, but she had never been very good at lying.
“Okay. I would like to get x-rays and sputum cultures but the road to the hospital is closed due to flooding.” Karol explained, as she packed up her medical bag. “I gave her a shot of antibiotics and left you some pills for the pain should she need them. Keep her arm in the immobilizer.” She instructed Morgan, “Try and keep her temperature down with cool cloths if it spikes again. I bandaged her ankle. Please keep an eye out for too much swelling. Put ice on it if it does. Remember to come and get me when she wakes up or if anything changes.” Karol finished packing her supplies and closed her bag. “I'll come back tonight to check on her.”
“Alright,” Morgan agreed, trying to secretly shoo Dorian away from the side of the bed where she was fluffing up the pillows under the patients head.
Karol looked at Morgan with a curious look on her face and a raised eyebrow. “Is there something wrong?” She asked.
“No, no, of course not,” Morgan mumbled. “I just thought I saw a fly,” she said, inwardly cringing at her lame attempt of an excuse.
“Oh, okay,” Karol said in a disbelieving tone. “Well let me get going. I don't want to leave Nancy alone too long in the house. She has a tendency to cause trouble when she gets bored.”
“Thanks for coming over and I'll call you if I need you.” Morgan said as she rushed her out of the room.
By late afternoon the fever had broken. Morgan called Karol on her cell phone to give her the good news.
“Just keep and eye on her. She should wake up soon.” Karol replied.
As Dorian and Morgan sat by the bed, Morgan's hunger began to make itself known as her stomach began grumbling.
“I think you should get something to eat,” Dorian said a little concerned that Morgan had gone almost all day without leaving the woman's bedside.
“I could go for some soup, but with the electricity out I guess I'll have to settle for a sandwich,” Morgan replied, her shoulders slumped form exhaustion.
“No, I think you need something hot in you. Go get the soup and meet me back here. I'll fix everything.” Dorian said cryptically, right before she stood up and disappeared.
“I hate when she does that!” Morgan exclaimed to no one in particular, leaving the room to go downstairs to the kitchen.
The darkness began to lift. She felt the cool sheets under her fingers and the weight of a blanket on top of her. The pain throbbed within her head. She was aware of pain in other parts of her body but couldn't clear her head enough to determine which ones. She tried to open her eyes but the light hurt requiring her to blink a few times before she could see clearly. She expected to see a hospital room, but instead she found herself in four-poster bed. The walls were done in a light pale cream color. Carved crown molding around the top of the room gave the room a colonial look. The small fireplace in the room gave off warmth and light, casting shadows on the walls and making her close her eyes in comfort. She had no idea where she was but could tell by her surroundings that the place was old and well cared for.
The woman felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She opened her eyes in time to see a figure appear out of nowhere. The figure was holding an iron pot and dressed in strange clothes. As she watched in fear, the person walked across the room toward the fireplace. Instead of walking around the chair the person walked through it.
The woman in the bed suddenly screamed and fainted.
Morgan rushed into the room when she heard the scream. Seeing Dorian by the fireplace she asked in a loud tone, “What happened?”
“I don't know. She woke up and screamed,” Dorian answered defensively.
“Well, you must have done something!”
“I didn't do anything! I was just standing here when she suddenly screamed.”
“Oh never mind,” Morgan said, giving the ghost a look of disbelief. “Let's just wake her and find out what's wrong. Maybe she needs a pain pill or something.”
Morgan walked over to the side of the bed and gently shook the woman's good shoulder. Nothing happened. She shook it again saying to her patient, “Can you hear me? Can you please wake up? I need to talk to you.”
This time the woman slowly opened her eyes and looked up into the most heavenly green eyes she had ever seen. She stared into them for several moments, until she noticed someone behind the beautiful vision in front of her. Over the woman's shoulder, she saw the apparition from before. Suddenly, she recalled what had happened and realized the vision in front of her was what she had seen earlier. She shouted, “Get away from me!” Quickly she tried to scramble to the head of the bed away from the two figures, but her arm was stuck to her chest by something. Pain seared through her shoulder and ankle. The sudden movement made her dizzy. “Oh my god, I'm going to be sick!”
Morgan grabbed the pot from Dorian and held it out for the woman.
Grabbing onto the pot the woman vomited. Finally, when she was done she lay back on the bed exhausted. She lay still taking big gulps of air into her lungs. “Who are you people? What do you want from me?” She was finally able to ask.
“I'm Morgan Alexander and this is my friend, Dorian Cray. We found you outside last night in the storm,” Morgan explained in a soothing tone. “We don't want anything. You are injured and sick. We've been looking after you.”
“But what are you people!” The woman asked frightened.
“What do you mean, what are we?” Morgan asked as she looked at Dorian accusingly.
Dorian looked around the room trying to give an air of innocence.
“Are you people human? She just appears out of thin air and walks through furniture!”
Morgan cast a glare in Dorian's direction.
“I can explain, honest I can.” Dorian said in an attempt to placate both women. She thought about it a few moments while the two women stared at her expectantly. “Okay, I can't. I say the live person answer. You explain it to Dylann, Morgan.” With that, she disappeared.
‘”What did she mean, ‘the live person' and how the hell did she know my name!” Dylann asked, after she got her senses back.
“Well…” Morgan said reluctantly. “Uhm, it's like this. Do you happen to believe in ghosts?”
“No!” Dylann said emphatically.
“Well you may want to reconsider that.” Morgan told her.
“And why would I?” Dylann asked.
“Because, you just met one.” Morgan admitted to her.
“What the hell are you saying? That she is a ghost for crying out loud!”
“Uhm, yes. Her name is Dorian. She lives here. Well, not exactly lives, but she is here.”
“And what about you? Are you a ghost too?”
“No, I'm a writer,” Morgan told her reassuringly. “I own the house.”
“I don't understand any of this. What the hell am I doing here anyway? The last thing I remember is standing out by a cliff watching the lighthouse in the storm.”
“You don't remember anything after that?” Morgan asked surprised at her good luck.
“No that is the last thing I remember. I'm not even sure I know why I was out there.” She admitted. “How did I get hurt?”
“Uhm, we found you outside.” Morgan said, pretending she didn't hear the question.
“Oh, so what is wrong with me? Shouldn't I be in a hospital or something?” She asked the blonde.
“We couldn't get you to the hospital. The roads are closed due to flooding. I had my friend, who is a doctor, come check you out. She lives next door.” Morgan explained. “She said you dislocated your shoulder, which is why it's immobilized. She re-set it. You sprained your ankle and you have a slight concussion.” Morgan told her, “Oh, and you possibly have pneumonia. You've had a fever since early this morning.”
“Well, that certainly explains why I feel like I've been run over by a truck,” Dylann said as she lay back in the bed and closed her eyes with a deep sign. “So explain to me abut this “Dorian” woman,” Dylann said, sounding a little calmer about it.
Morgan sat on the edge of the bed and began telling her about Dorian. She told Dylann how they met and why she was there. “She really is a good person, just a little mischievous if given the chance.”
“Well, I've never met a ghost before, so I hope you don't mind if I reserve judgment.” Dylann said warily, raising an eyebrow.
As she did that, how much Dylann looked like Dorian struck Morgan. They could be sisters, she thought. “I better call my friend Karol and have her come over to take a look at you now that you're awake.
Karol arrived and announced that Dylann was in fact better but needed to remain in bed. After she left, Morgan and her patient were enjoying the soup and sandwiches. The soup was courtesy of Dorian's pot, which Dorian hung in the fireplace.
During the whole meal, Dylann kept a wary eye on Dorian. She wasn't sure what it was about the ghost that bothered her so much, but every time she showed up, Dylann got a tingling sensation on the back of her neck.
Finally Morgan couldn't stand the silence and staring. “So Dylann, why don't you tell us about yourself,” she asked. “What were you doing out on the cliffs in the middle of a storm, anyway?”
Dylann ignored the second question. “I'm from Cape Cod,” she said. “I came up here to do some research. Uhm…I build boats. I was studying some of the old boat building techniques. I'm thinking of making some old replicas of some of the smaller schooners.” She said hoping Morgan wouldn't question her story too much.
“That's really interesting” Morgan said. Looking over at Dorian, Morgan noticed a wary look on her face. “So what were you doing out on the cliff's in such a bad storm?” She asked curiously.
Dylann cringed inside, knowing there was no way around the question. “To be honest, I don't know. I've been up here about two weeks and found this spot on the cliffs. I've been coming back every day since then. Something about it seemed to resonate with me. I felt calm and at peace when I stood watching the sea with the lighthouse in the distance. Sort of like being home.” Dylann explained a look of confusion on her face. “I don't really understand why I was there last night. It was as if something drove me to stand there. That's the only way I can think to explain it.” She said her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Oh, so it was you I kept seeing out there. I thought it was Dorian.” Morgan said, the realization suddenly coming to her.
“No, it wasn't me. I never go out there anymore.” Dorian said with a trace of melancholy in her voice.
Both women looked at her curiously, expecting her to explain, but she simply stood up and disappeared.
Dorian was scarce for the rest of the day and the following morning. Even when the lights came back on she was nowhere to be found. Morgan decided to do some cleaning while Dylann was sleeping. She straightened the kitchen and washed the floor to eliminate the remains of the accident. She still felt guilty about not being honest with Dylann about her injuries. She would have to sit and talk with Dylann about it at some point.
Morgan made her way to the attic with the iron pot. She assumed that was where Dorian found it. As she opened the door at the top of the staircase she was surprised. It was full of stuff.
Turning on the light she was amazed at all that she saw. Apparently, all of Dorian's personal possessions were stored in the attic. The room looked like a museum. There was a marvelous old desk with a sexton on it. In the corner by the window was a brass periscope mounted on a beautiful stand. All around were old cases, which Morgan assumed held Dorian's personal belongings. Looking around Morgan noticed some dresses hanging on a rod. They were in immaculate condition, but she could tell from the size that they were not Dorian's. Going over she felt the silk material. Below the dresses were several chests.
Opening one of the chests, Morgan was amazed to find a portrait lying on top of a pile of books. The portrait was an old photograph, faded with age. It still displayed the person in the photo as a gorgeous woman. She had long blonde hair. Since the picture was black and white it was impossible to tell the color of her eyes, but Morgan would not be surprised to find them green. There was a striking resemblance between herself and the woman in the photo.
She turned the portrait over. Written on the back was “Lenore A. 1863.”
Suddenly Dorian appeared. “I was wondering how long it would take you to make your way up here.” She said with a look of sadness on her face. She reached out and took the portrait. Looking at it she said, “I died soon after this was taken.”
“You've never told me what happened that night. She's the woman in my dreams that you have the fight with. What happened?” Morgan asked in a gentle voice.
“Looking back, it was an argument of no consequence.” Dorian explained. “I had come home from a voyage and found her in the house with her brother. He was an angry, vindictive man, if ever I met one.” She said turning and looking out the window. “He hated that she lived with me, that for once in her life she was free of him and his family. He despised that she was happy.”
Dorian turned back to her. “He came here that day to say he had arranged a marriage for her. It was for his benefit. The man was a powerful merchant in the area. This would have given Richard power and prestige in the community, something he couldn't get on his own. His shipping business was floundering. As a businessman he was lacking.” Anger and disgust for Richard poured out with her words. “Lenore told him she would consider it.” Dorian's voice quivered. “I didn't understand what made her do it. I still don't but when I found out I was angry beyond angry. I confronted Richard that day and told him there was no way in god's world that Lenore would go through with it while I was alive. When Lenore found out, she argued with me, saying it was her place to decide. I stormed out of the house that night, into the storm and found myself on the cliffs.” She said, suddenly feeling weak for letting her anger control her that day. “You know the rest.”
Morgan sat taking it all in. “Were you lover's?” She finally asked, seeing Dorian's demeanor in a completely new light.
Dorian looked Morgan in the eyes, “She was my soul,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion.
“What happened to her?” Morgan asked.
“I don't know. When I came back to the house, she was gone,” Dorian said, her voice sounding a little desperate. “I have no idea how much time passed before I came here again.”
“Well maybe we can find out.” Morgan suggested, hoping to bring her friend some solace. “Someone in town must know what happened. Maybe there are records somewhere. We could check the library and church,” she suggested. “Maybe Dylann would like to help.”
“Maybe,” Dorian answered, a mischievous glint in her eyes before disappearing again.
Dorian was scarce for the rest of the day, leaving Morgan and Dylann alone together. Returning to the bedroom, Morgan stoked the fire in the fireplace. She sat on the bed with Dylann playing Rummy.
Morgan didn't understand why, but she felt connected to Dylann on some strange level. There was a physical attraction, of course. The physical beauty of the woman was obvious to her. Dylann had angular features with high cheekbones. Deep blue eyes contrasted with her tanned skin and her short dark brown hair. She was down to earth and confident in her person. Morgan liked that in a woman. She felt it made them stronger and more self-assured.
Dylann sat and stared at Morgan while they played. She quickly looked away whenever the other woman looked up. Dylann found Morgan graceful as she watched her move about the room. She kept finding herself looking deep into Morgan's emerald green eyes, forcing herself to look away before Morgan caught on.
The two sat and talked about many subjects. Morgan told Dylann about her career as a successful writer of murder mysteries. Dylann talked about how she used to spend time with her grandfather building boats, eventually taking over the family business.
They played and talked for hours, each getting a sense of the other. They enjoyed the time spent together and what they were learning about each other. The more they learned, the more their attraction grew.
“Rummy!” Morgan called out for the tenth time. “I'm really killing you here. You better catch up.” She said innocently.
“Killing me? You're not killing me, you're just getting lucky,” Dylann replied in humor.
“I wish,” Morgan muttered to herself.
“What?” Dylann asked not hearing her.
“I said you wish, it's pure skill.” Morgan said mockingly.
“Yeah well if you kill me, you'll have to get rid of the body.” She said laughingly.
Suddenly, Morgan looked up with a guilty look as her face paled.
Dylann looked at her strangely for a second and then like a flash she remembered. She remembered it all. She recalled the moment on the cliff when Morgan appeared like an angelic figure, the pain as her shoulder gave way. She remembered the cliff collapsing and then everything else until she collapsed on the floor.
“It was you!” She screamed.
Morgan jumped off the bed holding up her hands to ward off any verbal attack. “Wait, I can explain. It was all just an accident, honest.” Morgan pleaded.
“An accident! An accident! You practically killed me, or at least tried to!” Dylann yelled at Morgan. “You and Casper there could have crushed my skull with your little stunt. And we won't even mention what you did on the cliff.”
“Hey, I saved your life out there!” Morgan argued back. “If it wasn't for me, you'd be lying at the bottom of those cliffs dead!”
“Saved my life, you fucking dislocated my arm, for crying out loud!” Dylann screamed at her. She threw off her covers and made to stand up and leave. Her ankle suddenly gave out. She crashed to the floor in a heap, crying out in pain.
Morgan ran over and put her arms around Dylann.
Dylann took a deep breath to ease the pain, inhaling the sweet smell of Morgan's perfume. She felt Morgan's silky hair where it brushed against her cheek. She nuzzled her nose in it.
Morgan lifted Dylann off the floor, feeling the muscle and sinew of Dylann's hard body in her hands.
As Morgan stood, they were mere millimeters apart. They locked eyes in a smoldering stare, each feeling an unimaginable pull towards the other. Slowly, Morgan closed her eyes and leaned toward Dylann, needing to close the gap even more. When their lips were a hairsbreadth away, Morgan suddenly felt Dylann pull away. Opening her eyes Morgan looked at Dylann in confusion.
Dylann's eyes were dilated, turning their color to a deep blue. Her breathing was erratic. “What's the matter? Why did you pull away?” Morgan asked confused. It was obvious that Dylann had wanted to continue.
“I can't. I need some answers.” Dylann said reluctantly as she tried to get her body under control. Dylann sat down on the bed ignoring the pain in her ankle. “Why did you come after me on the cliff? How did you even know I was there?” She asked.
“I had a dream. Actually, I've been having the same one since I moved here.” Morgan explained, telling her about the recurring dream. “Now that I think about it, it was you in the dream the whole time. The stranger.” she admitted. “After I searched the house I saw you from the window. I thought you were Dorian, and I had such a sense of dread that I went running out.” She tried to explain. “The rest of it was a horrible accident. I saw you on the cliff and, I don't know, I somehow sensed that it was going to give way.”
“What about the rest of it?” She asked.
“The rest was all just a horrible comedy of errors,” Morgan said apologetically, bowing her head. “It was just bad timing on Dorian's part.”
“But why didn't you tell me?” Dylann said in a pleading tone.
“I was afraid you'd want to leave. There was no place for you to go. I just couldn't let you go out of my life.” She said, hoping it would make sense to the woman sitting on the bed.
Dylann reached out and gently took Morgan's hand in hers, grasping the tips of her fingers with her own. “I do understand. Can you tell me two more things?”
Morgan looked down at their hands, “Su…Sure,” she stuttered.
“Why does Dorian seem to keep her distance from me and why do I get this tingling sensation right before she shows up?” She asked.
“I don't know. She has seemed a little scarce around here lately but I thought that was because she made you uncomfortable. I'll ask her. As for the other I have no idea. It doesn't happen to me.”
“I would like to find that out.” Dylann said standing up on her good foot. “But first there is something else I want to find out.” Dylann told Morgan as she stared into her eyes.
“What's that?” Morgan choked out around the sudden dryness in her mouth.
“This.” Dylann said quietly as she leaned down and pressed her lips against the blonde's.
Morgan felt the soft smoothness of the taller woman's lips and moaned. Unconsciously she opened her lips, inviting her in.
Dylann ran her tongue along Morgan's mouth before entering the warm moist depths. Slowly their tongues caressed each other. She heard Morgan moan again and a fire ignited inside of Dylann. Passion took over and the kiss deepened. Finally, they came up for much needed air. Dylann rested her forehead against Morgan's. “I just needed to know how that felt.” She said laughingly.
Dylann and Morgan sat together on the loveseat in front of the roaring fire. Dylann had removed her arm brace and they were now cuddled under a blanket, getting to know even more about one another. Though they had already talked for hours, the new turn in their relationship meant there was uncharted ground to cover. Things that hadn't been important before took on new meaning and significance.
“I know it may sound strange and cliché,” Morgan said in a quiet voice, “But I feel like I'm at home in your arms.”
“That's not cliché because I feel like I have found a part of my soul today.” Dylann admitted in response to Morgan's honesty.
The two looked into the other's eyes. They sat locked in the moment until finally Dylann leaned forward. Their lips were about to touch when suddenly the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Dylann pulled back.
“Why did you stop?” Morgan asked, confused.
“She's coming,” was all Dylann said.
As Dylann said the name, Dorian appeared in front of the fireplace facing them, holding a tray with two mugs on it. “Don't you look all warm and toasty,” she said in a sarcastic voice.
Dylann glared at her, but said nothing, knowing how much the ghost meant to Morgan. Still, she didn't trust her entirely.
“I brought you some hot chocolate. Figured you could use it to get warm but I see you don't really need it now.”
“Wait!” Morgan said before Dorian had a chance to disappear. She wasn't sure what was going on with the ghost but she wasn't one to turn down chocolate. “You can just leave that right on the table, Buster.”
“Fine,” Dorian said with a saccharine smile. She placed the mugs on the end table next to Dylann. As quickly as she appeared, she disappeared.
Dylann breathed a sigh of relief that the ghost had left them alone. Somehow she kept getting the feeling Dorian didn't appreciate her presence or maybe it was her relationship with Morgan that was getting under the ghost's nerves. She had no idea and didn't care right now while she was mesmerized by her feelings for Morgan.
Morgan had cuddled up to Dylann and placed her hand on Dylann's stomach, making gentle circles. The sensation made Dylann's stomach flutter and the muscles of her abdomen quiver.
“Where were we?” Morgan asked a predatory look on her face and a sultry tone in her voice.
“I don't remember,” Dylann responded with a knowing look. “Maybe you could refresh my memory.”
With that encouragement, Morgan slid her hand up along Dylann's neck coming to rest behind her head, pulling her down. The kiss started as one of tenderness and of unspoken promises but it soon turned into something more. The gentle caress of their tongues developed into a duel of passion. Dylann sucked in Morgan's bottom lip causing her to moan. Somehow Dylann's hands found their way under Morgan's shirt. The smooth, silky skin sent tingles through her fingertips. Dylann reached around to the front and cupped Morgan's lace covered breast, rubbing her thumb over the hardening nipple. Morgan pulled back and let out a gasp, thrusting her chest forward into Dylann's hand.
Suddenly, one of the mugs on the end table suddenly toppled over, covering Dylann's chest and lap in hot steamy liquid. She jumped up quickly, spilling Morgan onto the floor in the process.
“Ouch!” they both yelled.
Dylann stood up quickly as she pulled her shirt away from her skin, trying to get the burning material off her chest. She dumped Morgan onto the floor.
Morgan stood up rubbing her butt and the back of her head. “What the hell happened?” She asked, going over to try to help Dylann.
“I don't know. I must have knocked it over with my elbow or something,” Dylann replied as she tried to recall having hit the cup.
“Take off your shirt and pants. I'll get you a robe. You can take a shower and clean up while I take care of the mess in here.” Morgan stated as she walked over to get the robe.
“Okay,” Dylann agreed. She sat back down on the couch and began unbuttoning her pajama shirt. She felt a tingle on the back of her neck right before she saw the end table begin to jiggle. Before she could react, the second cup of hot chocolate spilled all over her chest again.
“God damn it!” Dylann exclaimed as she once more jumped up pulling her shirt away from her body. Hot chocolate dripped onto the floor.
Morgan came running up holding a towel and robe. “What happened?” She asked as she furiously wiped the mess off the poor woman. Morgan didn't even take time to admire the bare chest in front of her eyes.
“I'll tell you what happened, that damn ghost happened!” Dylann yelled with a look of fury on her face.
“Dorian, what the hell does she have to do with any of this?” Morgan asked confusedly as she finished wiped the puddle from the floor.
“She had everything to do with it.” Dylann fumed her eyes bright with anger. “I felt her here. I saw the table move on its own. If that wasn't her, then we must have had a small earthquake.”
“But I don't understand. Why would she? I can't imagine she would do such a thing.” Morgan said coming to the ghost's defense as she stood up.
“I don't know! She's your friend; you ask her why she does anything. All I know is she has been nothing but trouble since I got here.” Dylann said in a combative tone as she continued to stare at Morgan.
“She has not! I explained it was all an accident. How many times do we have to go through this?” Morgan argued, lifting her arms in a sign of exasperation.
“Fine, then ask your little buddy what happened!” Dylann demanded as she put on the robe. She then sat down on the couch crossing her arms over her chest.
“Fine, I will!” Morgan shouted, crossing her own arms, firm in the belief of her old friend's honesty.
“Fine,” Dylann agreed a smug look on her face.
Nervously Morgan called out to Dorian.
There was no answer and no ghost. “Dorian!” She called again.
Still nothing happened. Morgan was beginning to doubt Dorian.. Soon Morgan lost patience. “Dorian! Get your ass in here right now before I throw out your model boats!
“You wouldn't dare!” Dorian said as she popped into the room.
Dylann rubbed the back of her neck as the ends of her hair tingled once again.
“Try me.” Morgan threatened, placing her hands on her hips. “I bought you those models and I can take them away.”
Dorian looked at her trying to gauge the truth behind her words. “Well I'm here. What did you want? Do you two need and extra hand in here?” She asked sarcastically.
Morgan looked at Dorian suspiciously, squinting her eyes slightly as she said, “Dylann says you spilled the drinks. What do you have to say about it?”
Dorian refused to look Morgan in the eye, “I think Dylann is delusional from her fever.”
“So you're claiming you had nothing to do with it?”
“No, I didn't.” Dorian swore, crossing her fingers behind her back, still not meeting Morgan's eyes.
“What if I told you I knew you did it?” Dylann asked calmly.
“I can. I felt you; I got a tingling just before you did it.”
“No you didn't, Dylann is the only one who can. . . .” Dorian said, quickly stopping when she realized what she was saying.
“It was you!” Morgan shouted at the ghost. “How could you! Of all the stupid, childish pranks to pull, that is one of the stupidest!”
“But. . .” Dorian tried to cut in and defend herself.
“But nothing! You owe Dylann an apology.”
“No, I don't.” Dorian argued.
“You do. Tell me why you did it.”
“Fine, I'll apologize.” Dorian said sternly. She looked at Dylann and apologized, “I'm sorry I got you all wet.”
Dorian turned toward Morgan and without meeting her eyes said, “There! Are you happy?”
Morgan looked sadly at her friend. Something was not right with the ghost and she needed to know what it was. “No, not until you tell me why you did it.”
Dorian stood silently, shifting her from one foot to another as Morgan continued to stare at her.
“Look at me Dorian,” Morgan pleaded.
Dorian looked into green eyes. Suddenly, tears trickled from her eyes.
Dorian darted her head, hoping that Morgan did not see her weakness.
Morgan did see as she asked, “What's the matter Dorian?” She reached out and gently touched Dorian's arm
“Nothing,” Dorian tried to say as her voice cracked.
“Come on, Dorian, I know something is wrong and I want to know what it is.” Morgan asked firmly as she moved her hand to take Dorian's hand in hers.
Dorian's whispered softly, “I miss her so much.”
Morgan's heart broke, “I know you do sweetie, but why pick on Dylann.”
The tears began to fall heavier. “The whole plan is ruined now.”
“What whole plan?” Morgan asked softly.
“The plan, the whole reason I brought you two here. Now you're going to leave with her, and I'll never find Lenore.” Dorian rambled breathlessly.
Dylann turned toward them and asked briskly. “What do you mean you brought us here? What the hell did you do?”
Morgan turned toward her, “Dylann, honey, let me talk to her. I'm sure we can get to the bottom of this.”
Dylann compressed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest but didn't say anything else as she nodded tersely at Morgan.
“Ok, Dorian. Tell us about your plan and what you meant when you said you ‘brought us together'.”
Wiping her tears away, Dorian continued talking. “I thought you two could help me find out what happened to Lenore. She just vanished. I haven't been able to find her. She must be dead but I can find no sign of her anywhere.” She said in a desperate tone. “I've spent the last hundred and fifty years wondering and worrying about what has happened to her.”
Dorian turned toward Morgan as she continued talking. “When you came to the house, I felt a connection to you. You reminded me of Lenore. I thought maybe it would be enough to have you around.”
Lowering her head Dorian admitted, “I made you desire the house and to want to move into it.”
“How, for crying out loud, did you manage that?” Morgan asked in confusion.
“I don't know how it works. I just know I can sometimes influence people. Not a lot, but enough to get them to do things. It's how I kept the house empty all these years.”
“I wasn't even here yet you must have influenced me too.” Dylann argued. “I was in freaking Cape Cod when I suddenly get the urge to visit here. “How do you explain that?”
Dorian hung her head and said in a quiet voice, “We're related.”
“No way! Absolutely not!” Dylann responded disbelievingly.
Dorian looked over at the irate woman, “It's true. You're my descendant through your mother's family. That's why you get that tingling sensation every time I show up.” She explained. “It's why I have more influence over you than over others.”
Realization struck Dylann, “You brought me out in the storm and out onto the cliffs. You could have gotten me killed!”
Dorian looked up quickly, “No never! I made sure Morgan was there. That's why she's been having the dreams so that she would be there to protect you.” She said defending herself.
“I can't believe this. It's ridiculous! Just stay out of my life from now on.” Dylann told the ghost.
Dorian looked at Morgan, pleadingly. “See, I knew she wouldn't help. She just wants to leave and now she's going to take you with her. I can't stop you this time.”
“Why? Why not now?” Morgan asked curiously.
“Because you've fallen in love with her. She is your soul mate. I can't fight against that.” Dorian admitted.
Morgan and Dylann looked at one another, realizing that there was truth in what Dorian was saying.
“Dorian's right.” Dylann finally said.
Morgan smiled broadly as she realized what Dylann was saying. She moved closer to Dylann and sat down beside her.
Dylann wanted to wrap her arms around Morgan and whisper in her ear but not with Dorian as an audience.
Morgan turned toward Dorian and asked. “What can we do to help you?”
As Morgan and Dylann sat on the loveseat, Dorian talked about her plans.
Dorian's plan didn't consist of much. She needed someone with contact in the human world to investigate what had happened to Lenore.
Morgan agreed but felt that they still needed to wait a couple more days until Dylann was feeling better.
Two days later, Morgan and Dylann made their way to the local library. There they used the archives to see if they could find any articles about Lenore Adams.
The article was dated one month after the date that Dorian said she had died. It was an engagement announcement about the upcoming wedding between Lenore Adams and Bruce Stevenson. The marriage was planned two months into the future at the home of Lenore's brother, Richard Adams.
“Let's check to see if there are any other articles.” Dylann suggested. “Maybe they didn't go through with it.” Dylann hated to take the news back to Dorian. Since their last meeting, the atmosphere had cooled between them and they were actually beginning to like one another.
Dylann and Morgan bent over the computer searching the archives. The next article they found took their breaths away. How in the world would they ever be able to explain to Dorian what they had found?
The article was dated one week after the wedding announcement. It was an obituary describing how Richard Adams had come home from town to find his sister dead in her room. She had consumed a bottle of Laudanum that had belonged to Richard. The coroner ruled her death a suicide.
Slowly, Morgan turned off the machine as they both sat for long minutes lost in shock. They left the library and stopped at the local diner to discuss how they would handle the news.
“We have to tell her.” Dylan told Morgan.
“I know. I just wish it were happier.” Morgan said sadly.
“I don't understand why Dorian can't sense Lenore's spirit since she died so soon after her own death.” Dylann said, trying to understand the problem.
“Well, maybe it has something to do with Dorian being stuck on the property. Perhaps she can't sense anything beyond the house.” Morgan explained.
“No, I don't think so. If that were the case, she wouldn't have been able to reach out to me.” Dylann answered.
“That is true. I am so glad she did too.” Morgan said as she reached over and took Dylann's hand in hers. “I think it may have something to do with the way she died. Maybe she's trapped in the family mausoleum or something.”
“Let's start with the local churches? If she was buried around here chances are she's in one of the local grave yards and was given a church funeral,” Dylann suggested. “People back then were very religious, so if she died one of the churches should have a record.”
A short time later, Morgan and Dylann found themselves in the office of Reverend Thomas Foster. He was the pastor of the First Presbyterian Church.
“Let me see.” He said as he peered over his glasses. “You want to know whether or not we may have buried a woman back in the 1800's?” Rev. Foster asked to make sure he understood.
“Yes, the late 1800's.” Morgan told him. “Do you have records going back that far?”
“Yes, we do.” He answered proudly. “We kept records of all births and deaths in the congregation. We still do today.”
“Oh good,” Dylan said, relieved that they might be able to learn more information.
“Can you give me a name and date?” He asked as he stood up.
Morgan gave him Lenore's name and the date of her death.
The Reverend left the two in the office while he entered the back room to search through the old bibles stored for years in the church.
Twenty minutes later, Rev. Foster returned to the office and sat down with a solemn look on his face. “I'm sorry, but I can't help you.”
“You mean she's not buried here?” Dylann asked, concerned by Rev. Foster's attitude.
“No, she's not. Unfortunately I do know where you can find her.” he said.
“I don't understand.” Morgan said as her brows furrowed in confusion.
“Lenore Adams was a member of our congregation. Our records indicate she died from suicide.” He explained.
“Yes, we knew that.” Dylann responded.
“Since it was a suicide, she was not allowed to be buried in the church graveyard.” The reverend said sadly, his hands clasped in front of him on the desk.
“Why not?” They both asked together.
“Because suicide is a sin…a mortal sin,” he explained, leaning back in his chair. “The church took that very seriously. Ms. Adams would not have been allowed a Christian burial or to be buried in consecrated, or hallowed ground.”
“Where would they have buried her?” Morgan asked. She was saddened by the realization that Lenore would have been denied a Christian burial.
“She would have been buried in the potter's field outside of town, in an unmarked grave.” Rev. Foster told them gently. He knew how much it hurt to learn the details.
“Is there anyway to find her grave? Dylann asked expectantly.
“That information may be in the county records. The Clerk's office might have records going back that far.” He said, giving them some hope.
The two women stood up and shook the Reverend's hand. “Thank you for your time Rev. Foster.” Dylann said sincerely.
“It was my pleasure,” He told them. “I just wish I could have been more help.”
The pair walked out of the county clerk's office with good news. They could find Lenore.
It turned out that the graves were marked on a map showing where each plot and who was in it. Many of them were marked unknown, but Lenore's wasn't.
The clerk explained everything they needed to know. With map hand, they left the office.
As they sat in the car, Dylann pulled out her cell phone and placed a call to her sister who happened to be an attorney back in Cape Cod.
“Hi Jeanie, its Dylann.” Dylann said in a cheerful tone. “No I'm not in town, I'm up north.”
“No for pleasure,” she said, giving Morgan a huge smile.
“How are Trevor and the kids?” Dylann drummed her fingers on her knees as she listened to her sister talking.
“Good glad to hear it.”
“We'll get together for the holidays, when I'm back in town,” Dylann promised her sister. “I have someone I want you to meet.”
“No, I'll explain it later. Right now I need a favor.”
“I need to have a body exhumed and moved to a private burial plot.”
“No, I didn't kill anyone.”
“No. No one I know personally. The person's been dead for over a hundred years.”
“No, no relation to us. I know that makes it hard but I have faith in your abilities.”
“Okay here is who you have to call,” Dylann said giving her sister the information she would need.
“No, nothing else. That should cover it.”
“Thanks Sis I really appreciate this.”
“Okay, talk to you again soon.”
Dylann hung up the phone and looked at Morgan. She leaned over and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. “There, all taken care of. Now we can go home.”
Morgan heart and stomach fluttered as she heard Dylann calling her house, home.
Morgan and Dylann returned to the house to find Dorian vigorously pacing in the front entryway.
“Did you find anything?” Dorian asked as she rocked to and fro.
“Yes, we did.” Morgan replied while trying to figure out what exactly to tell Dorian.
“Tell me everything!” Dorian exclaimed, no longer able to contain her emotions.
“Okay, we will. Let's go sit down and we'll go over everything we found out.” Dylann suggested, leading them into the parlor. “We can tell you the idea we came up with and see if you like it.” She said, knowing Dorian would be more than eager to go along with it.
Once in the parlor the three sat down. Morgan explained all they had learned about Lenore, including her suicide and subsequent burial in potter's field.
Dorian sat with a stunned look. With a deep breath she let out a heart-wrenching sob. She began crying uncontrollably.
Morgan was in tears herself at seeing her strong friend so overcome with emotion. She reached over and pulled her into her arms.
Even Dylann was affected. She stood and walked over to place a gentle hand on Dorian's back, making reassuring circles as she stood next to her.
After tem minutes Dorian pulled herself together. She stood angrily wiping at her tears. “The bastard. I can't believe he made her suffer like that,” she said, cursing Richard's name. “I hope he is in the depths of hell.”
Dylann gave her shoulder a tight squeeze saying, “I'm sure he is.”
Dorian turned toward Dylann and the two stared into each other's eyes. They came to an understanding at that moment, acknowledging to each other that they'd somehow become friends, and maybe even family.
Morgan wrapped her arm around Dylann's waist and gave her a slight hug, pulling her close, proud of Dylann's willingness to forgive the ghost for her earlier actions. “Dylann, why don't you tell Dorian what we came up with to help?” She prodded her sweetheart.
Once more they sat on the couch as Dylann explained their plan to move Lenore to a burial plot on the property placing her next to Dorian's grave.
Dorian's eyes filled again at the wonderful thoughtfulness of her friends. “Thank you. This means more to me than you could possibly know.”
“We're just happy we could help you Dorian,” Dylann told her truthfully.
Dylann's sister, Janice, was able to work her magic and the day of the exhumation was at hand.
Morgan had made arrangements for Lenore to be taken to the local funeral home once she was exhumed. Her body was to be transferred from her grave into a new casket. The simple pine box had long ago rotted away making the task more difficult.
The three women stood by the newly dug gravesite waiting for the hearse to arrive. Dylann and Morgan had helped Dorian prepare the site. A mason had carved Lenore's name under Dorian's. With it was the inscription, “Together in life and love.” Rose bushes of bight white were planted on either side. Once the burial was complete more bushes and flowers would be planted.
Finally, the hearse arrived. Men from the funeral home acted as pallbearers as they carried the casket to the fresh grave. The casket was a beautiful dark cherry red with gold rails.
Reverend Foster was present to say a few words over the casket and to officiate the funeral.
No one but Dylann and Morgan could see Dorian, but she stood tall and proud. When the Reverend spoke, tears of happiness and sorrow mixed together on her face.
Finally they were all alone at the graveside. One by one they walked up to say a silent prayer and drop a single red rose on the casket.
After the grave was closed, Dorian, Morgan and Dylann walked back into the yard. The women watched the ghost as she walked up to the Cliffside, looking out to sea. They stood sentinel over her as she stood alone in her thoughts.
Dorian watched the sky until the sun began to set. With the sun behind her, it made the clouds blaze in pastel colors, bringing out the beauty of nature. She had seen it many times while at sea and over the years on the property but never had it seemed more beautiful to her. “I hope you're at peace now,” Dorian said into the wind.
“Not until I hold you I my arms again,” said a familiar voice behind her.
Dorian's heart stood still for a moment. She feared turning around, thinking she would find it all part of her imagination. All of the sudden she felt a hand on the back of her shoulder and smelled a perfume that had haunted her senses for over a hundred years.
“Why do you not turn to me, my beloved?” The voice asked with a touch of worry.
“I'm afraid.” Dorian responded, her voice cracking with fear and longing.
“Afraid of what, my love.”
“Afraid that you will disappear. I am tied here, you're not.” Dorian explained with tightness in her throat. “You may not be allowed to stay here.”
“No, I am tied to you. I will go nowhere without you. I will stay wherever you are,” the sweet melodic voice added.
Dorian closed her eyes and said a heartfelt prayer. She took a deep breath before turning slowly around. She opened her eyes. Before her stood a vision of beauty which rivaled the sunset. Lenore looked just as Dorian remembered her. Lenore wore a deep green gown which matched her eyes to perfection. Her silky blonde hair flowed freely down her back. Picked up by the wind off the sea it fluttered about her face. Her alabaster skin glowed in the fading light.
Still doubting what she was seeing Dorian hesitantly reached out. She let out a sigh of relief as she felt silky smooth skin under her fingertips as she caressed Lenore's face.
“Lenore.” Dorian said quietly. She stepped closer to her love, bending her head down. Dorian let out a deep moan as their lips met for the first time in years. There was fire as passion rekindled after all the years apart.
Morgan and Dylann stood watching as Dorian stood by the cliffs alone in her thoughts.
“Do you think Lenore and Dorian will find peace now?” Dylann asked her.
“I don't know, sweetheart. I hope Lenore has. But it may take some time for Dorian. Dorian may have answers now; but she's still alone.” She told Dylann.
Morgan shuddered suddenly.
“What's the matter?” Dylann asked. “Are you too cold?”
“No, just got a weird feeling. All the hairs on the back of my neck just stood on end.” She answered, rubbing the back of her neck.
As the two continued to watch, they were shocked to see the figure of a blonde woman appear next to Dorian.
“Oh my god, is that who I think it is?” Morgan asked excitedly, grabbing onto Dylann's forearm.
“If you think it is Lenore then I hope you're right.” Dylann said with a touch of disbelief.
The two women stood and watched as the two figures talked and finally joined together.
Tears of happiness for Dorian rolled down Morgan's face as the two ghosts walked over to them.
“Morgan, Dylann, I would like to introduce you to Lenore Adams, the keeper of my soul.” Dorian said to them proudly.
“It is wonderful to meet you two.” Lenore said, as she shook each woman's hand. As she took Morgan's she said, “Especially you, my dear.”
“Me, why?” Morgan asked curiously.
“Because it is nice to know I have finally come home, home to my beloved. I know it was you're doing. You and I have a special bond between us.” Lenore told her as she smiled broadly.
“A bond? What kind of bond?” Morgan asked confused.
“The same type of bond that joins Dylann and Dorian.” Lenore explained.
“You mean we're related?” Morgan asked excitedly.
“Yes, my dear, through your father's family,” Lenore told Morgan.
“Cool!” Was all Morgan could think to say.
Together the four women strode back to the house.
Morgan walked into the room. The lights were off and the only illumination was coming from the fire in the fireplace. She looked around for Dylann. She was lying under the down comforter on the bed. From where Morgan stood she could see it was very likely Dylann was undressed.
Morgan walked over to the bed and slid onto the bed. Moving with catlike grace she shed her blue silken robe as she slid under the covers next to her soon to be lover.
Dylann groaned as she felt the silk of the matching camisole and panties slid against her skin. Reaching around Morgan's back, she took her in her arms and pulled her closer. With nimble fingers she removed Morgan's night clothes. Threading her fingers in the fine, soft sensual strands of Morgan's hair Dylann pulled her in for a kiss.
The kiss was one of tenderness, but passion lay beneath its surface. As they broke apart for air, they looked deeply into one other's eyes.
“When I came here I thought that I had found the perfect home for myself. I was going to live out my life here alone and write my books.” Morgan said, as she held her hand against Dylann's cheek, running thumb along her jaw. “Then I met Dorian and I realized I wouldn't be alone. I could make a family here with just the two of us. Then you came into the picture and shattered my dreams.”
Dylann started to say something, but Morgan simply laid her thumb across Dylann's lips and said, “Sshhh.”
“You made me realize my dreams were empty. I was willing to settle for what I had, never imagining there could be more for me.” Morgan reached out and removed a stray lock of hair from Dylann's face before returning her hand to Dylann's cheek. “When you came, I realized how empty my life was. In a matter of a few days, you've filled my life completely. Now I truly have a home and a family. I love you Dylann Crayson Roberts, with all my heart.”
Morgan waited a moment to see how Dylann would react to her declaration.
Dylann reached up and placed her hand over Morgan's, pulling it down and intertwining their fingers. She looked at their hands together as she thought for a moment. Finally, she said, “I love you too, Morgan.” With that, she placed a gentle kiss on Morgan's hand. “In you I've found my soul. You're heart is my home now. You've made me whole again.”
Morgan looked into Dylann's eyes and saw the love she felt reflected back. Unable to stand the mere distance between them she leaned in and kissed Dylann. Their lips met in a fulfillment of promise, each swearing to the other. Soon, however, the kiss became much more.
Dylann suckled Morgan's lower lip. Hearing Morgan moan caused Dylann to feel it down to her very core, which twitched in anticipation. Their tongues dueled for control of the kiss, neither wanting to give up the passion over the other. Finally, they pulled apart.
Dylann began to remove the camisole from Morgan's body, eager to see the beauty that lay beneath. Once it was off she leaned back to take in the vision before her. “God, you're amazing,” Dylann said, proud of the fact that this woman would soon be hers in every way.
“So, are you, my love,” Morgan told her.
The two came together again in another passion filled kiss.
Dylann gently pushed Morgan onto her back, covering her with her own body. She reached up and began caressing and kneading Morgan's breast, rubbing her thumb over the nipple.
Morgan moaned into the kiss, unconsciously sliding her thigh between Dylann's legs. As Dylann felt the contact with her womanhood she groaned, fueling Morgan's desire. Morgan felt a familiar wetness between her legs, as she ran her hands over Dylann's bare buttocks.
Soon the two were lost in the primal dance, each grinding against the other.
“Come with me.” Dylann requested of her lover.
“Yes!” Morgan called out. “Yes!”
As one, they reached the pinnacle of desire and fulfillment.
Dylann collapsed on top of Morgan before rolling to one side to keep from crushing her.
“Hi, guys!” They suddenly heard.
Morgan let out a yelp and quickly pulled the sheet up over her, leaving Dylann with nothing.
Dylann jumped out of the bed mindless on her nudity, “What the hell do you think your doing in here!”
“What?” Dorian asked with a smirk. “We just dropped by to say hello.”
Morgan sat on the bed looking at the Dylann and the two ghosts. Suddenly, she realized something was different. “Why are you guys dressed like that?”
The two of them were dressed in jeans. Dorian had on a sweatshirt with Winnie the Pooh on it and Lenore had on one that said HARVARD.
“Well it's been so long since I've been anywhere Dorian is going to show me around town.” Lenore told them.
“Oh, that will be nice. I hope you have a good time.” She said with a broad smile, happy for the couple.
Dylann looked at the two. Then a thought came to her, “What do you mean you are going into town, Dorian? I thought you couldn't leave the property?” She asked suspiciously.
“I couldn't. But for some reason with Lenore here I can come and go.” Dorian tried to explain.
“That's wonderful,” Morgan congratulated her.
“Yes, it is,” Lenore responded with a smile as she took Dorian's hand in her own.
“Then I guess you guys will be leaving soon.” Dylann said, feeling a touch of loss as if she was loosing a part of her new family. She was still happy that the couple was together again.
“Yeah were leaving right now.” Dorian told them calmly.
Morgan suddenly swung her legs over the side of the bed, letting the sheet pool around her waist. “So soon? But we hardly got a chance to get to visit with Lenore. I was hoping you would stay around for a while.” She said disappointment coming out in her voice.
“What are you guys looking so sad for? We're just going to town for crying out loud.” Dorian asked the two women.
“You mean you're not moving on?” Morgan asked. “You know, to wherever it is your kind go?”
“No, we decided to stay.” Lenore said.
“Yeah we want to hang out with you guys.” Dorian said in explanation.
“That's great!” Dylann said, excited to have Dorian stick around. Suddenly, a realization hit her. “Hey, how come we didn't know you guys were coming in? I didn't feel anything.” She asked, curiously.
“I don't know,” Dorian said honestly. “Maybe Lenore and I cancel each other out somehow.”
“Oh. Well from now on knock before you come into our room.” Morgan scolded them. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“Okay, okay. I get the message.” Dorian said a little too easily as she grinned.
“Is that the only reason you stopped by?” Dylann asked, suspiciously.
“No, we both came by to say something.” Dorian told them.
“Yes, we wanted to thank you for everything you have done for us. No amount of thanks can tell you how much we appreciate your efforts to bring us back together.” Lenore said with gratitude.
“No thanks are necessary Lenore. We were happy to do it. You two deserved a happy ending.” Morgan told her with sincerity.
“She's right,” Dylann agreed. “It was our pleasure.”
“Anyway we just wanted to come by and say thanks and to say HAPPY ALL SOULS DAY!”
With that statement the two ghosts disappeared.
Dylann and Morgan looked at each other and laughed.
Suddenly aware of their state of undress Dylann got a predatory look on her face. “Ummm…. now where were we?”
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