Ghost House Revenge Read Online Free PDF Page A

crutches is a frustrating and sometimes
     painful process. You’ll probably fall down a lot, and you’ll need your muscle strength
     to get back up again. But don’t worry. One of these days, you’ll be playing racquet
     ball with me.”
    “I don’t know how to play,” Gary said.
    “If you promise to cooperate with me,” Derek said, “I promise to teach you the game.”
    The two men shook on it and continued with the routine. They could hear Melanie down
     the hall, singing as she worked in her studio.
    “Melanie’s a beautiful woman,” Derek said. “You’re lucky to have her.”
    “I know,” Gary said. He studied the sadness in his therapist’s eyes for a moment,
     then asked, “What was your wife’s name?”
    “Elaine,” Derek said. “She was beautiful, too. Her hair was clear down to her hips,
     and the lightest blond color. She was only thirty-two when she died. Her car was—uh,
     was struck by a drunk driver doing ninety. The engine exploded.”
    “I’m sorry,” Gary said, feeling uncomfortable. Grasping at straws, he said, “Do you
     play a lot of racquet ball?”
    “Three nights a week and every Saturday, when I lived in Jersey,” Derek said, smiling
     again. “There was a little gymnasium there that didn’t charge too much for court time.
     I miss it.”
    “I sometimes see ads for a local health club in our town paper,” Gary said. “It has
     a court. Why don’t you join?”
    On Saturday Derek did drive into town to look up the club. Halfway there, he spotted
     a young woman hitchhiking. Derek, who never picked up strangers, ignored her. Silverlampposts and patches of sand and sparse, scrubby foliage shot passed him. Something
     about this barren section of Belle Bay made Derek uneasy. Why was that? He was never
     unsure of anything!
    It was the woman, of course. She had looked like a pitiful refugee, her eyes huge
     and staring. Derek looked in his rear-view mirror, his breath catching in his throat
     when he saw her eyes. They seemed to be pulling him, making him turn the car around
     and drive back to her. Without understanding why, he stopped and opened the door for
     her.
    “Where do you want to go?”
    The woman said nothing. She stared straight ahead through vacant blue eyes. There
     was a strange smell about her, a faint mixture of sea wind and rotted meat. Rotted
     meat? Derek was disgusted at the thought. Close-up, the young woman’s appearance disgusted
     him even more. She was so pale it was painful to look at her, especially since he
     could see the veins beneath her skin. Her eyes had a filmy quality, and the blond
     hair that hung around her shoulders looked as if it hadn’t been combed in weeks. Even
     stranger were the clothes she wore—corduroy pants, a flannel shirt, and fur boots.
     On a warm spring day.
    God, have I ever picked up a loser
, Derek thought, starting the car again.
    “Just tell me where you want to get off,” he said as he drove down the road. He was
     annoyed at himself for giving in to a ridiculous impulse and letting this stranger
     into his car.
    All of a sudden, the woman pressed her hand on top of his. It was as cold as ice.
     Derek looked down at it, keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel, although he wanted
     to pull away from the freezing touch of her fingers. Her hand was chapped red. It
     was as if she had just stepped out of a snowstorm.
    “Hey, let go!” Derek cried. “What’s wrong with you? Do you need a doctor?”
    She made no reply, but took her hand away. Derek turned his eyes from the road for
     a split second. The woman was making gestures as if she were crying. Derek couldn’t
     see any tears, though her small mouth hung open and her shoulders heaved. She stared
     down the road.
    “Mel . . . Mel . . . Mel . . .” she moaned.
    Derek, his eyes on the road once more, patted her arm and told her he would get help.
     She stiffened. Her sobbing stopped with a huge gasp, and she doubled over as if she
     weregoing to be