down from the ceiling or crawl down the wall; she just appeared. “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, John Parker. We are of a kindred spirit, you and I.”
She must have been very beautiful in life because she is stunningly exquisite the way she is now. Although a bluish fog surrounds her, I can see that her hair is dark and flowing, and her eyes are dark but bright. And a sharply cut white robe exposes a delicate neck, porcelain shoulders, and the darkness of her cleavage contrasts with the ivory orbs of breast. A black and white portrait framed in a bluescape.
“How do you know my name?” I ask. “And more importantly, how do you know how I am?”
“Please don’t be mad at me, John. Spirits can sense these things, and after you moved in, reading your thoughts has been easy. I know a lot about you.”
“I can’t be mad at you…I hardly know you.”
“You know my history?”
I think back to what the realtor had told me.
I could lie to her to spare her feelings, but what’s the point? She can read my thoughts.
“I heard you died too young and died horribly.”
“It could have been worse, I suppose.” She watches a good-sized spider crawl toward my hand, snatches it from the table top, and pops it into her mouth. “Nasty creatures,” she says.
I could jump and run, but where to and what from? I don’t think she’s an evil phantom or a vengeful presence. She seems sad to me, one that desires company and deserves sympathy. And for some reason, I think she has developed a fondness for me.
I am entranced by her absolute beauty and can’t help but stare and explain the reason for it. She thanks me for the compliment and tells me I’m not so bad myself.
“I also heard your boyfriend was responsible for your death. Do you want me to get him for you? I know a good private eye.”
She looks intently at me. “I know what the small minds around here think, but Jody didn’t murder me. It was my first cousin.” She goes on to tell me that her Jody died a few months ago in a car crash, that her cousin will get what’s coming to him, and that I should let it go because she doesn’t want to lose me too.
I don’t really know how to take this last statement, so I let it go. I tell her that since he has passed on, that maybe they could be reunited. She imparts to me that there are many phases of the afterlife, that it can be hard to find someone you knew in real life, sometimes impossible.
“I thought it was the big three: heaven, purgatory, or hell,” I say to her. “Couldn’t you narrow it down some?”
“Those are the places. But there are many pathways to take and stopping-off points along the way before getting to your final resting place.”
I haven’t boned up on religion lately. “Oh, I didn’t know that.”
“Besides that,” she continues, “your feelings can change from the ones you had in real life. The ones I had for Jody are more neutral now. And who knows what he would feel for me now? There’s no way to say if we could rebuild a relationship by meeting here.”
I gaze into her deep, dark, lovely eyes. “Unless Jody got his brains scrambled in his accident, he would be hard-pressed to explain why he parted with such beauty.”
“You are so sweet, John,” she says and glides over beside me and kisses my cheek.
The kiss is like a charge to my internal motor. The initial contact is very cold but intensely hot at the same time. If that doesn’t make much sense to you, I’m sorry, but that’s the only way I can describe it. It spreads a warmth throughout my nerve fibers and does other things to me mentally and physically, like being stung by a jellyfish or snakebit in the brain, but in a way that feels so sensual. Still not making much sense.
For the second time tonight, I am excited. A straitlaced man addicted to a wondrous new drug, waiting for the next fix.
She moves around and gives me another one on the lips, more passionately this time. The coldness of her lips brings a numbing sensation followed by a pleasant warmness that settles in special places. It could be the feeling of slowly being poisoned.
When she pulls away from me, she says, “Oh, John, I’m so excited. Are you?”
I nod my head weakly.
“Let’s see how much so.”
The bluish glow that emanates around her dims somewhat, and her white robe disappears, displaying the most perfect female form I have ever seen.
“You like?”
Again, all I can do is manage a weak nod.
Suddenly, my clothes have vanished as well. I see them over on the reclining chair, folded neatly, even the tops of my socks rolled together the way I do them.
I feel shock, the coolness of the room on the back of my neck, but no embarrassment.
“Oh, yes. My John is definitely excited. Come,” she says. Amy takes my hand, pulls me up, and leads me over to the couch.
I still haven’t found any words to speak, not sure I could if I did. She gently pushes me all the way down and slides on top of me. The rest of what happens is a little hazy, but I do remember thinking how ridiculous it would look in a house with ceilinged mirrors. I’m pretty sure she would not give off a reflection, leaving me lying naked on the sofa, my love wand upright, hands holding onto nothing, and my arms making a large zero in the air with my face showing sexual gratification. Laughable…right?
* * * * *
I awaken the next morning, groggy as from lack of sleep, believing that such a realistic dream must have caused my fitful rest.
Then, I find the note inside my pants pocket:
My dearest John. For the first time since being in my transition, you showed me what I miss from having a real life. Last night, I experienced the emotions of feeling, of needing, of caring again. And most of all, the real thrill of what true lovemaking can bring.
I hope you are feeling the same way this morning. And I hope we can keep our appointment for tonight. Who knows? By your showing me how life can truly be, maybe I can come back again.
PS: I’ve found and eaten every spider in this house so no harm will come to you tonight.
I fold the letter in a state of shock and confusion and put it in my nightstand drawer. I begin getting dressed.
Appointment? What have I promised Amy, a young murdered woman who is now a needing, wanting spirit?
After slipping my shoes on, I travel back to the nightstand and open the drawer again. The paper is still there, and I unfold it to see that the words are still the same. This is confirmation for me that I am back in reality again.
Come back again. Have I crossed the line between the afterlife and this real one? By making love to a troubled presence, have I shown her a pathway for coming back to this world and living out her life? Surely this isn’t the first time such an incident has occurred…or is it?
