I was completely unaffected by the crash. I simply remained standing in the hood of the car, now crumpled and steaming. I walked into the interior of the car, looming over the hyperventilating passenger.
“Who are you?” I hissed in Italian, making my voice as ghoul-like as possible.
“W-what do you want?” The man pressed himself against his door. “We were just following orders.”
“Whose orders?” I barked.
“The S-storm.”La Tempesta.
Of course. As suspected.
“What do they want?”
The man flinched.
“Tell me!” I lurched forward, my nose mere inches from his.
The man shrank backward. “The woman. She has to die. She heard too much.”
I nodded.
“Tell your boss that if one hair on Chiara D’Angelo’s head is harmed, I will haunt him throughout eternity.” My eyes flared as I spoke, my face creeping even closer, my voice low and spectral. “Anyone who comes after her will be damned. Anyone who issues orders to hurt her will be damned. Your boss had better hope that Chiara lives for a very long time. Because I am an Enemy. To. Be. Feared.”
The man’s face paled.
“Do you understand?” I asked.
He nodded.
“Say it!”
“I-I unders-stand,” he panted.
“Your word is your bond,” I intoned. “I expect the entire Tempeste organization to abide by this agreement. Goodbye.”
I didn’t wait for the man’s reply. I simply walked right through him, into the rock wall beyond, his terrified yelp ringing in my ears.
Sirens sounded in the distance. Witnesses to the accident had parked their cars on the shoulder of the road and were calling to the men. One intrepid soul was even scrambling down to them.
For my part, I crept around the mayhem, sticking to the shadows until I came to the road again. From there, it was easy to throw myself into the back of another lorry, carrying me north toward Chiara.
Chiara
I drove for several miles after passing the semi, putting space between me and the men.
They didn’t reappear behind me. My mind knew that Jack would be okay, but my heart put up such a racket, it was hard to hear the logical side of the argument.
He’s a ghost. Nothing can hurt him.I repeated the phrase over and over.
I pulled onto a nicely hidden side street, debating how long I should wait before going back to find Jack. Obviously, I needed a much stronger sense of self-preservation. Fortunately, I was only five minutes into my internal struggle when Jack dropped off a passing semi and loped up the lane.
It took all my reserves not to throw open my car door and race toward him, throw my arms around his neck and cling to him like velcro. The scene looked amazing in my mind. Roll-the-credits theatrical.
But in reality, I would flow right through him and land in a heap on the muddy road.
So . . . yeah.
Having more-than-friend feelings for a ghost kinda sucked.
