Spirit & Angel Orb Snowstorm & Part II of Forget Me Nots

Hello,

I had to share my latest Spirit & Angel Orb video.  This is now a nightly occurrence!  And this one took my breath away.  The Orbs on the back wall are huge.  They follow me wherever I go and help me write my stories!

Also, here is Part II of Forget Me Nots, my Ghost Romance story dealing with past lives and based on my own personal spiritual and past life experiences.

Happy Reading!

Sara


Forget Me Nots  Excerpt Part II

Chapter Two

Clarissa ran the shower making sure it was on a high temperature and undressed.  Nothing like a hot shower to revive her spirits and get her creative juices flowing.  She’d made several calls around the town trying to get to Brandon Clifford or someone who worked for him but her search had not produced any results.  She couldn’t help wondering if he was also a recluse and trying to keep his presence in the town hidden.

She stepped her small slender curved figure in to the shower and rising steam vowing not to let Brandon Clifford escape her.  Holding her face up to the shower head she let the hot water dance over her fine smooth porcelain aristocratic features.  She didn’t see the tall dark shadow sweep across the room at speed, not until it seeped like a dense black fog through the glass encasement.  Clarissa opened her eyes sensing a presence and screamed.  She pushed herself back against the grey tiled wall unable to escape through the door as the black mass began to shape and take form.  Finally the ghost stood before her blocking the door.  Clarissa’s heart began to pound.  A strong sense of claustrophobia engulfed her.  Her eyes darted back and forth between him and the door looking for a way out past him. He wagged his finger at her and tutted at her.

“There is no escape,” he told her menacingly.

She looked down at the long knife in his hand with wide eyes.  Her hands pressed back on the wall at the side.  She shook her head at him.

“Please.  Please don’t hurt me,” she begged.

He moved closer making her let out a frightened sob despite her resolve to compose herself as much as was possible in the situation.  Maybe she could negotiate with him.

“Why do you want to hurt me?  What do you want?  What is it you need from me?” she pleaded.

“He can’t have you.  You belong to me.”

The ghost raised the knife.  Clarissa put her hands up to defend herself but the knife had already been thrust deep in to the centre of her stomach.  She heard herself scream.  There was no pain just numbness and disbelief.  Crying loudly she glanced down at her stomach to confirm the reality she feared.  Blood poured thick and deep red from the wound down over her thighs to spiral down her calves.  It merged with the clear water, muddying it as it flowed along the white shower tray and down the plug.

The ghost twisted the knife inside her and this time the pain was keenly felt.  Clarissa let out another scream and felt her legs buckle underneath her.  She clutched at her stomach after he pulled the knife out of her and found her knees suddenly hitting the surface of the shower tray.  The hot water beat against her back but it barely registered in her mind.  All she could think of was dying.  A far distant memory sprung in to life. 

She was wearing a long black dress and struggling to breathe.  Around her neck was a thick rope that burned the tender skin on her throat.  Her legs kicked violently in to thin air.  The memory was so vivid, so real Clarissa forgot her predicament in the shower and sank in to the memory as though she were really there.

Looking upwards Clarissa could see the rope was wound around the branch of an oak tree.  The ghost stood in front of her watching her hang.  He walked towards her and thrust the knife he was holding in to her stomach and then twisted it inside her body just as he had done in the shower.  A loud scream echoed helplessly from her lips.  But this time it was in unison with a hurt male cry.  The ghost turned his head in the direction of the voice and the memory dimmed.  Clarissa found herself back in the shower.

The ghost towered over her small crumpled bleeding form as she desperately tried to plug the wound with shaking hands.  His brown eyes narrowed and the cruel smile of satisfaction made her want to vomit.  He was watching her die just as he had done in the memory.

Her mind was cloudy.  She couldn’t think straight.  Panic had overcome all of her senses.  It was so hard to breathe.  Every breath entailed a mammoth effort and involved the heaving of her injured body.  But all of a sudden a persistent ringing noise broke through the fog to reach her.  It was the doorbell.  As in the memory the ghost turned his head in the direction of the noise and cursed.  She cried with relief when his image suddenly vanished.

Clarissa knelt whimpering on the floor of the shower knowing somehow she had to summon the courage to move her injured body.  She was dying and if she didn’t do something she wasn’t going to make it.  Maybe it was already too late but she had to try.

Once more she forced herself to look at the wound to rouse her in to movement but when she glanced down it had gone.  The water was running clear and there was no blood coating her stomach or body.  Clarissa rubbed her stomach to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.  It had all been an illusion.  The doorbell continued to ring.  Whoever it was wasn’t going away.  She wiped her tear stained face with her hands and forced her quivering body to stand.  Reaching for her robe she covered her wet body and ran to the door, eager to make contact with someone, anyone, after her experience.  Opening the door she stared at her visitor in surprise.  It was Brandon Clifford.

“Good morning, Ms Harding.  I hope you don’t mind me calling on you.  Although it looks like I have caught you at the wrong time,” he smiled sweeping his eyes over her wet figure in the robe dripping water on to the kitchen floor.  “My name is Brandon Clifford.”

“Yes.  I know who you are.”

Brandon raised one dark eyebrow and viewed her intently.  Clarissa felt heat rise in her cheeks and found herself unable to meet his eyes for the odd sensation of bashfulness engulfing her.

“Ok.  I have a business proposal for you.  Can I come in or would you prefer me to come back later so you can get dry.”

“No.  I was just in the shower.  I will be fine.  Come in.”

She gestured to a seat at the kitchen table.

“Can I get you some coffee?  Tea?”

“No thanks.  I haven’t got time.”

He’d sat in the chair in front of her lap top.  She reached over and closed it, sliding it away from him along the table.  The action produced another infuriating amused smile from Mr Clifford.  Clarissa sat down on the opposite chair, across the table resisting the urge to blurt out her request to obtain a visit to Goldwater Island, curious to find out what he wanted from her first. 

“So how can I help you, Mr Clifford?”

Clarissa watched Brandon Clifford’s striking blue eyes drift towards her chest and linger there.  Disturbed she glanced downwards and noticed the robe was gaping in the middle revealing the gentle curve of one breast.  Her cheeks warmed as she hurriedly pulled it closed and once more she was unable to meet his eyes when he spoke.

“I hear you are trying to get on my Island.”

Clarissa nodded.

“Then you will know why.”

“Yes you are investigating the murder of the American Sarah Elliott and her family in 1893.  I saw you taking photographs of the Island this morning.”

Clarissa twisted in her chair.

“I hope you haven’t come here to use some strong arm tactic to persuade me not to write the book.    It won’t work.  I don’t scare easily and I never give up.”

Brandon chuckled and shook his head at her.  Clarissa’s back straightened.  She narrowed her eyes and viewed him with tense features.

“Cute.  I’m sorry.  No I wouldn’t dare dream of asking you to stop.  That is not what I am here for.  I assure you.  I told you, I have a business proposal for you.”

Clarissa folded her arms and met his eyes directly.

“So what is it?”

“I want you to continue writing the book and investigating the murders.  Come to the Island and stay at the house.  Be my guest for as long as you need.  Milton Taylor left a lot of historical documents relating to the Elliotts I believe you will find useful.

Clarissa smiled.  Inside she was jumping with excitement and her horrific experience in the shower dulled in her thoughts for a moment.

“I would like that very much.  Thank you.”

“Good.  I will pick you up tomorrow around 8.30.  I will take you for breakfast to a lovely quaint little restaurant I know by the lake before we go over to the Island on the launch.”

Brandon stood up.

“That sounds idyllic,” she couldn’t help coo.  “I have wanted to visit Goldwater Island for a very long time.  I used to come here on holiday as a child and it has always fascinated me, well before I even thought of writing the book.”

Brandon gave her a knowing smile that made her feel a little uncomfortable.

Why do I get the feeling you already know that?  It’s eerie.  It’s as though you know what I am thinking and feeling before it even comes out of my mouth.

The Billionaire headed for the door but suddenly stopped and turned around to face her once more.

“By the way, be warned, the old house is supposed to be haunted.  I say supposed to be because I haven’t heard or seen anything yet even though I am assured by everyone I eventually will do.  It won’t be the past you are just investigating but some old ghosts as well.”

“I’m not scared of ghosts,” she said it firmly hoping she would be heard by the spirit.  “Ghosts can’t harm you.  It is only the living who can do that.”

Her gaze met Brandon’s.  He was studying her closely yet there was a faraway wistful look in his eyes.  She felt her cheeks warm.

“I hope you are right,” he told her softly before leaving.

Clarissa closed the door and frowned, considering his words.  He hadn’t appeared sure but she was living proof. 

If only I could tell you.

She turned back to the table and gasped.  In the middle a small delicate glass vase filled with a posy of pretty blue forget me nots had appeared.