Ghosts of Halloweens Past (Short Story), Page 3

  * * *

  “No, thank you.” Vincent waves his hand at the drink I am offering.

  “Then I won’t drink either,” I yell over the loud music, setting the glasses down.

  It is hard to believe, but he hasn’t had a drink all day, which is a lot to say for a Friday night. When he drove to pick Lauren up -- whose body I had already occupied without her consent or knowledge -- he was one hundred percent sober. It hadn’t been easy; I saw him wrestle with the idea as he poured a drink down the drain, but not a drop of alcohol crossed his lips. And for the first time since my death, I dare say he even had a spring in his step and a spark in his eyes. Hope is such a foolish thing.

  “Interesting choice of costume,” I say.

  Self-consciously, he takes a hand to his neck and smoothes down the clerical collar. “A priest was just an easy and inexpensive choice,” Vincent says.

  “I hope you’re not into the celibacy thing.” I laugh.

  In spite of the dim light, I can see he blushes. So I guessed right; there has been no one after me, even in that department. Yet, the extent of his guilt gives me no comfort. None of it can change a thing. It is pointless.

  “Well, it suits you,” I say. And indeed it does. A tall and slim figure dressed all in black, a white, little square under his chin increasing his already austere manner and making him seem forbidden. Many girls have noticed, their glances suggesting they wouldn’t mind bending the rules.

  “Not as much as dominatrix suits you,” he says, sliding his eyes down the length of my body.

  “You think?” Lauren had turned out to have a skanky taste as a leather corset, pants and whip attested.

  “I have no doubt.” His mouth tilts in a smile that I elicited many times in the past and that I recognize much too well.

  It seems he has finally decided to turn the page on our sad story. Well, he certainly picked a great time because I’m here, ready to take care of things.

  “Ready to break your vows, Father?” I ask suggestively.

  Vincent hesitates for a short instant; then his green eyes sparkle and acquiesce.

  “Let’s get outta here.” I take his hand and pull him through the crowd. Once outside, I push him against the car and press my body to his.

  “I think the costume’s having an effect on me,” I say, my mouth only an inch away from his.

  “It must be,” he says, surprised. Lauren didn’t seem like the aggressive type to me and apparently not to Vincent either.

  I press my lips to his and give into the kiss. His mouth feels just as I remembered, soft and insistent. His tongue traces my lower lip, making me shudder. This was no innocent kiss; that move he had always reserved for the most intimate and passionate moments.

  Breathing hard, I break away, trying not to lose sight of why I’m here.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  Quickly, I regain my composure and overlook his betrayal. “Nothing to be sorry about, but maybe we should take this somewhere else,” I purr.

  A smile proclaims his agreement, and he pulls the car keys from his pocket.

  “Let me have those.” I snatch the keys away. “I’ll drive.”

  Vincent doesn’t argue; he actually seems relieved.

  I start the engine and drive away, the blaring music from the party retreating as I speed away.

  “I know a shorter route,” I say when Vincent realizes I made a wrong turn.

  Soon, his expression changes as familiar streets start flying past us. “Where are we going?”

  “To a special place.”

  “What are you playing at?”

  “What do you mean?” I push the gas pedal, and our backs press deeper into our seats. Street lights appear and then are left behind in a blur of light.

  “You’re speeding.”

  “Speed is a lot of fun, honey,” I say, echoing the same words he told me the night I died. “That’s what you said, but you were probably too wasted to remember.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grips the armrest and looks straight ahead, eyes wide in horror. “Listen, you need to slow down!”

  “Oh, It’ll be okay. I know what I’m doing.” More of the inebriated words that punctuated the last seconds of my existence.

  The speedometer’s needle lurches forward once more and the car revs up. Adrenaline rushes into my veins, and Lauren responds to it, becoming more aware of my presence, awakening and immediately struggling to push me out.

  The pedal hits the floor, and Shades Street comes into view. We are almost there.

  “No!” Vincent screams. “What are you doing? Slow down.” He tries to interfere, and I fight back, clawing at his eyes.

  A giant set of boulders lurks ahead, and I aim for it.

  “Stop,” Vincent cries.

  “Stop.” This time is Lauren.

  But it’s too late to stop. The car smashes against the rocks. A screeching nightmare of twisting metal and breaking glass disquiets the night. Their anguished cries are cut short as well as their lives. A sudden inferno illuminates the sky, and I watch from above with satisfaction.

  I wish Vincent knew and understood why he died, so he could take that knowledge with him for all eternity. The dead don’t see each other, at least I don’t see any others, so there’s no way I can let him know I finally got my revenge.

  As for the girl, well, I consider her collateral damage. And who cares? I’m already in Hell anyway.

  END

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  Other books by Ingrid Seymour

  New Adult Romance

  The Guys Are Props Club

  Girls Are Players (Available 12/4/2013)

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