EMILY

I don’t think I’ve felt this way since high school. Giddy, excited, that wonderful butterflies in the stomach sensation; I’m even almost tempted to start singing at the top of my lungs!

I’m actually going to meet NYSE411! We’ve been chatting online for weeks and he’s been so much fun; really makes me forget all my daily annoyances, and it’s just this really nice feeling that someone out there besides my mother really cares about my well being. I know it’s also a little weird because it’s an internet friendship and I have very little practical knowledge about him other than that he has a job, is a few years older than me, and lives somewhere here in Stowe. But he makes me laugh harder than anyone else I’ve ever known.

We’re meeting tonight at eight over at the new Starbuck’s on Main Street. I told him that I’ll be sitting near the front window, wearing a purple wool scarf and beret and drinking a cappuccino. I only hope that he’s as sweet and decent in person as he is online. To be honest, it really doesn’t matter if he’s drop dead handsome or even just average looking and a little bit overweight. I know this man’s heart and he’s really special.

Kim started in on me from the moment I walked into the office. Seems Chef Chris has this idea for the menu on Easter weekend and we’re working with a new distributor. Kim’s been insisting on approving all the new requisitions before we place the orders and I have a suspicion that he doesn’t really trust my ability to submit them correctly. I really wish he’d make up his mind about things; he runs hot and cold; one minute telling me that he trusts my abilities and the next minute he’s looking over my shoulder and double-checking my work.

But I refused to let him get to me, even after he made me stay after work to double-check that damn Easter order for Chef Chris. When Kim noticed my irritation, he actually asked me if I had a hot date that evening. Bastard! 

GEMMA KANE

I have been investigating paranormal activity in renovated old houses for twenty years. There is something amazing that happens once the living take an interest in antique structures; bring their own taste via sledge hammer and paint and the collection of old things. These activities always seem to wake … and occasionally enrage … the spirits of those souls still inhabiting the house. And, there are always souls there. Always.

Three years ago I came across a talented young man who brought to me the proposal that I vehemently refused. It was never my interest to exploit either my blessing or the presence of the dead. But Cory was exhausting with his approaches, persistent like waves on the shore. The kid had done his homework and he was certainly skilled enough as a cameraman with remarkable promise as a producer.

Cory grew up in wild and wonderful Los Angeles. He was weaned on the magic behind the magic we all watch on the big screens. He’d honed his craft working on independent films and had spent a few strange seasons assistant producing reality television. At the time, none of that impressed me. As I said, it was never my goal to abuse the abilities I have … and especially never my interest to … ah-hem … royally piss off a ghost.

It wasn’t until I finally agreed to meet face to face with Cory that he got through to me; convinced me that we’d not only be doing something entertaining, but greatly informative, remarkably interesting and startling.

I am a sixty-year-old woman and I must confess, this young man’s enthusiasm and tenacity was more than flattering. He didn’t want to do the show with anyone else; he had no interest in a show that might not be consistently exciting. The name of the proposed show was a bit corny, “The Ghost is Inn”, but the concept made perfect sense. Inns are places where the living and the dead interact with a kind of slide rule effect. It is a transient community of ghost and poltergeist and living kids and adults and day to day workers. Spirits inhabit the very space where the living visit … the visitors bring their ‘spiritual baggage’ of ghosts with them … and the dynamic can be astonishing.

Cory truly believed that between the two of us, we could create a show that would never bore the viewer. How right he was! It was a leap of faith on my part, but dear Cory never doubted our success for a moment.

I walked through the lobby then sat in the pleasant parlor of the 1876 Manor at Mount Mansfield. I recall Cory mentioning this place in the very beginning of our discussions. He often brought it up, tucking it back into his intricate file system and sighing, “Not yet, not quite yet”. Finally here for my first stage of investigation, I can hardly believe we didn’t start our entire first season with this place! It is so thick with energy I’m occasionally finding it hard breathe! And I mean that in a good way.

Riley Biebe had joined me earlier this morning, let me guide the tour while she talked and explained everything she knew about the original structure. But there was something about the woman that made me think she wasn’t telling me everything. It wasn’t until we walked through the newly added greenhouse dining room that I realized that not only this old house was haunted, but the land itself is extremely active with spirit. I turned casually to Mrs. Biebe and asked, “Who is the large black bear in the corner?”

She did not laugh, she did not look, she did not even blink. She simply led me toward the back stairs and left it for me to discover. Oh, a crafty one there. She probably knows far more than I’ll learn. When our tour ended, unfortunately without a peek into the room at the top of the left tower as she was urged by her husband to hurry for their weekend trip, I was straight forward and blunt.

“Mrs. Biebe. I’d like to do a show on this Inn.”

She blinked, grinned, then frowned and glanced behind as her husband left … then she shrugged. “Yes, of course you can. Let me know the details. I gotta go. It’s going to be a … ah … romantic weekend and I shouldn’t keep him waiting. Oh!” she called from the hall at a mid trot. “Just talk to me until I get a chance to warn John. Enjoy your stay at the Inn. Later!”

I took one more glance around the parlor, actually gave a nod to the apparition, a fine looking specimen of a young man who more than once mentioned that his name was Brian, and left for my room. I immediately dialed the phone. “Cory, we’re on. How soon can you get here to check this place out?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow, Gemma!”

BEN

I’m tired of coffee in every damn variety this place serves it. Those creamy lattes turn my stomach, but the espresso is good ‘cause it’s strong enough. Those frosty coffee drinks the young’uns buy make me laugh. And who in their right mind would put flavors in their coffee? Chocolate? Cinnamon? Vanilla? This century got no clue what coffee really should be like.

I been sitting in the coffee shop and watching the bank for a long time now. Timing that armored truck too. Next week, I’m doing the job. Aside from Tracy’s weekly visits to the Inn, every Friday (except for that silly Valentine’s Day Thursday that was pretty damn … satisfying), I gotta admit I’m bored with Vermont. I’ll take the bank next Wednesday, take it right after that delivery of cash then I’ll just leave Stowe. I can do this. And if I can’t, I’ll have the fun of escaping that Sheriff Mike who seems soft as a baby and easy as hell. More than half stupid. The asshole likes me, imagine that.

I got on the shuttle back to the Inn and grinned. Been learning to drive on the sly. Colin O’Brian’s been coming by and giving me lessons. Ain’t all that hard to figure out, if he’d just give up on explaining how the damn engine works. I don’t give a good goddamn how it works. It gets me around. Last week he helped me get what he called a learner’s permit and Monday he’s bringing me a car. Says I can get my license to drive all legal-like in two weeks. Me and that car will be long gone by then.

I walked into the Inn just as the chef was serving his fancy dancy tidbit party. Every day at four, little things to eat and hot cider for the returning skiers. They called it the après ski. Don’t much like anything French, but I always like taking a look into the parlor to see the people there. Always someone interesting and this afternoon, it was no different.

She was tall, had long dark hair and eyes like black diamonds. The kinda eyes that could read what I was thinking. Didn’t need to say one word. She followed me to my room and we got out of our clothes and hee haw, this woman had legs as long as a river. She tasted damn good too.

I was havin’ my own après ski, taking this one bit by bit and savoring her. First time I got deep inside, didn’t take long to explode. She had a heat that made everything feel stronger, wilder. We never stopped after that, touching and taking. She liked using her mouth ‘bout as much as I do and I was lying back, watching the ceiling while lights flashed in my brain. The girl sucked harder and harder then I heard a clanking at my door.

There was no time to move. No time to push her off me, no time for nothin’ and as Tracy’s shocked face went white and she threw the room key at my head, I kind knew there’d be no time for explaining or even apologizing. The door slammed and finally the girl stopped sucking at me.

“What’s your name,” I asked, looking at the closed door.

“Lindsey,” she sighed.

“Well Lindsey, I think maybe you need to get the fuck outta here.”

She huffed, dressed and walked out and I dropped an arm over my eyes.

“Goddammit!” I groaned.

 JEFF

Another Friday evening and once again, Kelly had to call and cancel out our plans for the night. Babe, it’s the shop, she explained when I had the nerve to tell her that I was getting tired of never being able to see her any more. It seems like it’s been nothing but the shop for the past several weeks. I hate to admit it, but I’m almost sorry that she ever got the crazy idea to become an entrepreneur in the first place.

By the end of the day, my mood was only getting darker, but the sight of Christy dropping by the classroom right before I was about to head out for the day was a welcomed diversion.

“Hey, Doc! I’m going to offer you that rain check one more time.” She leaned against the door jam and smiled as she watched me load up my briefcase. “They’re having happy hour at the Rusty Nail and it’s all you can eat appetizers until eight PM.”

I almost begged off, but then I thought, what was possibly holding me back? Kelly was busy and I really had nothing else planned, so why not? I liked Christy and she was always so bright and cheerful. Maybe it would improve my mood.

My eyes met hers and I smiled. “Okay, Miss Grayson, you’re on.”

She actually looked surprised. “Really?”

“Really. Just let me lock up and I’ll meet you over there.”

Thirty minutes later, we were sitting in a booth, eating fried zucchini. I ordered my usual bourbon and Christy was drinking a martini.

“I’m really glad that you finally decided to take me up on my offer.” Christy dipped a slice of zucchini into the bowl of ranch dressing, her eyes fixed intently on mine. “I was almost beginning to think that I was spinning my wheels for nothing. You sure know how to play hard to get, you know that, Doc?”

Her choice of phrasing puzzled me. “Hard to get?”

“Yeah. Here I’ve been after you for the past several weeks and I was beginning to think that you just weren’t interested. I’m glad that I decided to give it one more try this evening.”

“Christy, are you trying to tell me what I think you’re trying to tell me?”

“Doc, I’ll be honest. I’ve been trying to get your attention from day one. You’re a very sexy guy and I’ve been going crazy trying to get you to realize that I was interested in you.”

Jesus. What the hell had I gotten myself into? “Uh, Christy, I think there’s been some sort of unfortunate miscommunication.”

“Uh, what do you mean?” Her smile faded and I could tell she wasn’t going to like what I was about to tell her.

“Christy, you’re a lovely girl but I’m seeing someone. I never intended for you to think that there was any possibility that I was interested in anything other than being friends.”

“That’s not the vibes you’ve been putting off, Jeff.” I could tell she was getting upset.

“Honey, I think your perceptions are a little bit off. I enjoy your company because you’re intelligent and sparkly and always so upbeat … but I’ve never put forth any suggestion that I was interested in being anything but friends.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“I’m afraid I do. I’m very much involved with someone and she’s …”

I didn’t get the chance to finish; Christy tossed her drink in my face.

“Save the excuses for your girlfriend.” She grabbed her purse and coat and stormed off in a huff, leaving me in the uncomfortable position of being stared at by everyone within earshot.

Damn. I’ve had enough of this bullshit, and as I wiped off my face with the cocktail napkin I made an important decision before grabbing my coat getting the hell out of there.

ANTONY

My brother is in pain. I’m not one among those soft men who coddle each other for the slightest unhappiness, but spending time with Claudia has given me a different insight into pain. My beautiful love had endured much, the loss of her husband as well as the loss of her foot in a terrible calamity. She is a strong one, my Claudia. In fact, as I learn more about the people around me, I discover that most of those closest to me are in fact, very strong.

Titus Pullo was a trusted soldier and a good friend to Vorenus. Vorenus was my brother in arms and my friend. He was with me through most of my wasteful debauchery and spoke no words of disappointment or rebuke. He stood at my side until the end, assisted me in that very act of ending my life … and I hold him in my heart for the services and friendship he had rendered.

Vorenus was not friend to me in the way he was to Pullo. It was much the same between those two men … one the superior … one the subordinate … but both with a heart and willingness to carry the other on their back or bleed and die in protection. I feel it is most strange that I am here with Pullo and not with Vorenus. But … I have come to clearly understand why Vorenus loved Pullo so dearly. I too am finding love and respect for him that could never have come to pass in our own time and place.

Following the lead of this time and the men I trust most, I convinced Pullo to accompany me for an evening in town. We chose a place called the Rusty Nail and settled at the bar. And we talked as men, simply saying words we knew to be common between us.

“It will take some time before I will see things as they are, Antony.”

I imagined losing Claudia to a terrible disease and nodded. “Perhaps forever, my brother. But … there is Valerie.”

“Yes, Valerie.” He turned glowing eyes to me. “Is she not the most beautiful child?”

I smiled, nodded, even though I feel the child is average, not striking or physically interesting. But there is something of her that leads me to believe she will indeed be most beautiful, and a handful for even a soldier of the Thirteenth. “Pullo,” I cleared my throat, sipped from the mug of fine, smooth beer and sighed. This was not something Claudia and I had discussed, not something I had spoken of with anyone, but my heart pulled in my chest and I needed to say it. “I want you to understand that I stand with you, brother. I stand beside you in the battles of life and behind you to hold you up. This is a most difficult time and I wish you to know I am here to assist in any way I may. Should you need to leave the child behind, Claudia and I stand ready to watch over her. Should you need financial assistance, it will be yours. Should you even require help with your vineyard, I am your man.”

His brow rose. “You’d do menial, manual work with me at the vineyard? Bollocks, I would’ve never dreamed such a thing,” Pullo chuckled. “But I will say, your offer will be in my mind … and I may take you up on it soon. Very soon.”

There was a shout, and the sound of a splash and we turned from the bar to see none other that Jeffrey Wigand, drenched in the libation an obviously angry woman storming from the bar had tossed.

“Is that Kelly?” Pullo asked.

“It is not,” I chuckled and turned back to the bar. “I certainly is not, and I, my friend, have a whole new respect for that old man.”

KELLY

Jeff surprised me when he showed up at the house that evening. I had called him earlier in the day to cancel our dinner plans tonight because I had a backlog of orders to sort through for the shop, and they just wouldn’t wait. Business has really been phenomenal and while I hate how it’s been cutting into our time together, I’m just not sure what else to do.

I was upstairs on the phone with my accountant while waiting for an important fax from a company in Los Angeles when Jeff came in. He looked a bit irritated, but I waved for him to go fix himself a drink and the next thing I knew, he unplugged the phone!

“Babe, whatever are you doing? That was an important call and I have to …”

The fax machine kicked on just then and as the first page began to print out; Jeff went over and turned it off.

“Hey, wait a minute, what are you doing …?”

He had a look in his eyes that was a little bit frightening, but the next thing I knew he grabbed me and pulled me out of my chair, took me into his arms and kissed me. Hard.

“Jeff…”

Another deep kiss as he held me close the next thing I knew we were naked and in bed and I swear to God, I was singing his praises to the heavens.

Sweet mystery of life, at last I’ve found you …

Sometime later, we were lying amongst a tangle of sheets and discarded clothing, our bodies covered with a fine sheen of perspiration. I was snuggled into Jeff’s arms and just on the verge of slipping off to sleep.

“Honey, I’ve been thinking.” His voice was low and sexy and I felt my whole body responding once again.

“Hmmmmm … thinking about what?” I slid my hand down between his legs and gave him a firm, gentle tug.

“What do you think about us getting married?”

I stopped mid-tug. “Married? Do you mean that?”

He rolled onto his side and kissed the tip of my nose. “I’m dead serious. I hate our having to live apart like this and I don’t want it to continue. I love you, Kelly O’Grady. Think you might be willing to give it a go?”

I paused for only a minute before answering. “Yes, Jeffrey Wigand, a thousand times yes!”

KIM

I hated to admit it, but I was nervous. Here it was, seven forty-five, I was parked half a block away from our agreed-upon meeting place, and I was having last minute jitters.

I only know her from her online name of PrimaVera, but this woman had been haunting my dreams and all my waking moments for weeks. Of course, no one knows that I’m doing this, meeting this mysteriously enchanting woman that I met in an internet chat room. They’d probably think that I was some kind of loser or worse, and if it were anyone else besides myself, I’ve have to agree with them!

I couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like. She told me that she’d be wearing a purple scarf and hat, and I can only hope that she’s as charming in person as she is online. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t been imagining her in my mind; long sensuous legs, a smile to die for, a face that could launch a thousand ships …

Finally eight o’clock and I took a deep breath as I got out of the truck and started to make my way across the street. The Starbuck’s looked busy and as I got closer I noticed the figure of someone wearing the scarf and hat I was supposed to be looking for … I had to do a double-take, because the sheila I was looking at bore a striking resemblance to …Emily?

Bloody hell! PrimaVera is Emily? That settles it. God is a woman, and she’s out to get me.

Her hat and scarf were bright neon purple and she was reading a magazine that I knew would be the latest issue of People. Fuck. I stood in the middle of the street and started to back away towards the curb, unable to think about anything but getting the hell out of there before she could notice me. There was no way I could go in there and face her. She thinks I’m an annoying pratt and because of this I go out of my way to drive her crazy. I made her stay thirty minutes after work tonight to double-check a very important order with a new vendor and now I understand why she was so upset with me; I had put it down to PMS! There was no way she was going to be happy to discover that I’m actually NYSE411.

I took one final look at her sitting there, glancing at her watch and looking expectantly out the window into the darkness, then I turned and went back to the truck. I know that this makes me a lowdown, slimy cad, but this just completely changes everything. 

TRACY PINKERTON

“Tracy Pinkerton, you are an idiot!” I shouted at the dashboard as I drove, watching the darkening interstate through tears. I was crying so hard I finally decided to pull into the rest area. Sitting there I dropped my face to the steering wheel and sobbed like a stupid baby.

Jesus Christ, what did I think he was doing all week when I was home? He picked me up (or was it me who picked him up?) and I followed him like a damn puppy dog. He was so fucking smooth I should’ve guessed he got his expertise somewhere. How dumb can a girl be? And here I was … falling in love alone … again.

There was nothing about Ben Wade that indicated he was falling in love with me. He never gave me the slightest indication his feelings were strong. But there I was, hoping and wishing and dreaming and … oh God … how fucking pitiful! How damn embarrassing. I should have figured it out. Hell, he never once called me during the week. Never once acted like he really even expected me there or was waiting for me or anything. Maybe catching him like this was a good thing? Maybe it was the kick in the ass I needed? But oh God, it hurt so much!

The sky was darkening with more than the deepening night. Those were storm clouds and I still had a three hour drive ahead of me. I sniffled, figured I’d probably cry the rest of the way to Connecticut, probably cry the rest of the week … hell, I know me … I’ll be crying over this one for months.

I pulled back onto the highway and headed home. Home to nothing and no one. Maybe it was time to change my life. I got a job offer at a really nice salon in Hartford. Maybe I need to consider taking it. I can leave my little apartment and live with my grandmother there; she’s lonely … just like me. Maybe a new town and a new job will help me get over Ben.

Not.

I was crying again, really hard. It was going to be a very long ride home.

EMILY

He stood me up.

I sat in Starbuck’s for forty minutes; nursing a cold cappuccino and feeling my heart sink further with every minute that passed. Did he maybe see me in the window and decide that he didn’t like what he saw? I hated to think that the guy I had come to know as sweet and caring could actually be someone who was shallow and hurtful, but what did I expect from an internet friendship? It wasn’t like I really knew anything about him. I didn’t want to believe that he was perhaps really an uncaring schmuck, but maybe I just had to face hard facts and chalk this evening up to experience. 

As soon as I got home I went straight to my laptop and sent him instant message asking if something had prevented him from showing up tonight. While waiting for a response, I flipped on the television and tuned it to the local news. I wasn’t really paying attention to what the announcers were saying until one of them mentioned that an unidentified man, approximately thirty years of age had been struck by a hit and run driver on Main Street, just around the corner from where I was waiting to meet NYSE tonight!  It had happened just about the time I was getting ready to give up and head on home; I had heard the sirens, but didn’t really pay too much attention. Then I realized something awful: what if this hit and run victim was actually NYSE? Could that be the reason why he didn’t show?

CORY WENDELL WHITE

I hung up the phone with Gemma and immediately called my travel agent. Didn’t give a fuck what the ticket to Vermont cost and figured that if the Inn was booked, I’d just crash in Gemma’s room on the floor. Done it before; we’ll do anything for a good show. Nice old lady, Gemma Kane. Amazing psychic too, but she’s never caught on to my motive; might be hard not to let her in on it now that we’re finally doing this particular Inn. She kinda plays grandma to me sometimes. I’m twenty four years old and she probably never figured I’d be coming into her life.

I was born and bred in Hollywood, California. Always had a flair for envisioning things, imagination is my strong suit. Pretty young to be a producer and I still love being behind the camera, especially when Gemma is pulling those freaky anomalies out of thin air. Since we won those Emmies, things are really hopping for me. Keep getting offers to work on other television shows and even a few major motion pictures … but right now, all I care about is “The Ghost is Inn”. Well, that’s not exactly true, right now, all I care about is the 1876 Manor at Mount Mansfield. I got my reasons, trust me.

They have a lot to do with my grandfather. See, I was really young when he died. But actually, I remember this man like he was here just yesterday. Grandpa was a gruff man. Grandma used to call him grumpy, but even when he was grumpy, he always softened around her. A robust man, even as old as he was. I remember everything about him. Odd, since I was just a kid. Fuck, I remember how he smelled, like cigarettes and Old Spice. His voice was a deep rumble and he wasn’t all that quick to smile, but when he did, he made me feel like I was the best thing since sliced bread. Then one day when I was, like, twelve … he was gone.

I only have two pictures of my grandfather. In one, he’s grey and wrinkled and he’s holding me on his knee. I was this tiny little rat and wearing a dress, you believe that? Some kinda white dress they baptized me in I guess. The other picture is really cool. Grandpa was young, probably in his forties and straddling a massive Harley. Beside him, Grandma was just glowing, her yellow hair blowing in a breeze and her startling cornflower blue eyes sparkling. Those two were happy and loving ‘til the bitter end. Oh I hear the stories, they fought a lot, but it never amounted to anything. They had the kind of love that spans the ages … and fuck, it sure as hell did.

I never forgot my grandfather, even though I never really had that much time with him. I liked to think he was watching over me like some fancy guardian angel but that was stupid. I just knew what I had was a remarkable grandpa who truly made an influence on my life. Imagine my surprise when I discovered more.

Just don’t tell my parents about this, okay? See, I was one of those late babies. Mom was looking for menopause and she got me. Go figure. So, when I was fifteen, my parents had pretty much seen it all with my older siblings and weren’t surprised by anything anymore. They kinda trusted me too, so I was home alone that December twentieth when they went out to a party. It was my time for a little snooping. I was looking for hidden Christmas gifts, but what I found was one hell of a massive secret.

Digging through a box in the attic, I found a stack of letters all bundled together in a big envelope with the name Dino O’Leary neatly written across it. Inside were letters written by my grandmother about her life. Damn, what a life!

In those letters I learned about the Crowe brothers, about where they came from and where they live, learn a little about how they lived too … but that’s another story all together. I learned that they lived in the 2000’s. Amazing! That was in the future! Fuckin’ A, it was amazing! Then I learned that my grandfather and grandmother slipped through his portal, whatever the fuck that is, and returned to the 1950’s where they lived out their lives, had my dad who married my mom and had me … Cory Wendell White.

I carefully put all the letters back and over the next few years, would occasionally sneak up there to read them again. Then one day … they were gone. Guess Dino O’Leary finally got them.

All that information sent me into a tailspin to learn everything else I could about these Crowe men. And … I’ve tracked a good bunch of them down, right there in Vermont … some even living right in that Inn. Interesting enough, but I’ve got this little niggle in my gut … it’s telling me that if I’m ever gonna track down my grandfather … the quite possibly grumpy ghost of Wendell ‘Bud’ White … it’s gonna be in that Inn. I just feel it.