Originally posted on Crazy Cat Lady Rantings:
This is the opening paragraphs of my first novella that will be under my own pen name. I would like to share my fun and open up a contest to name the book. Leave a reply to this post and I will compile of list of titles I like and then put them up for a vote in a later post within 2 weeks. The title with the most votes will be chosen the winner and be officially used plus the contributor will be given credit. The winner will be given an autographed copy when published later this year after editing ect…. Join in the fun and help me name this novella!
Her dainty fingers ran through his long salt and pepper hair as she stood behind him wishing he could see her. He made no response. She had been dead for three months and he still had no leads as to who her killer was. In the meantime she fancied herself his secret lover. The older, tall, handsome, Native American fascinated her ever since she saw him kneeling next to her dead body taking notes. She had learned his name was Jackson Winterborn and he was FBI. It was lust as first sight as she watched him treat her body with care, not succumbing to making jokes about her state of undress, or about what a shame it was given she had such a smokin’ body, as one lecherous police officer put it.
It didn’t matter to her that he was married, she was after all, dead. He couldn’t see her flowing silky blonde hair or the cute dimples that appeared every time she smiled. He couldn’t feel her perky breasts or shapely ample hips. It certainly couldn’t be considered cheating. She longed to trade places with his wife Naomi, to feel his strong but gentle hands holding her.
She sighed slightly as he stepped out of the shower preparing for his day. He wasn’t young, but then again he wasn’t old either and his body, though slightly pudgy in a typical way for a man of his years, was still desirable, and besides he was all man where it counted she noted. At times he seemed to look right at her and her heart would quicken with excitement hoping this time he really could see her, but to her disappointment he’d reach through her to grab an item off his dresser.
Not to say she didn’t like the sensation of his arm going through her. The tingling sensation she likened to almost as good as an orgasm. Something was better than nothing in this sucky afterlife she told herself. He didn’t dress like a typical agent in a drab suit, donning instead his well worn blue jeans and western style button down shirt. She wanted desperately to help as he pulled his long hair back into a pony tail. He kissed his wife goodbye for the day and ventured his old, but reliable, pickup truck into traffic. She hitched a ride in the passenger seat.
She observed it was unseasonably cool for New Mexico this time of year since he slipped on a jacket at a stop light, though she couldn’t tell temperature differences anymore. She was surprised to learn the afterlife seemed to be balmy and warm at all times.
His small office was sparsely decorated and out of the way. She felt it odd that he had a brown leather couch lining the back wall across from his desk. Plopping herself down on his desk, she watched him go through her case file. The gruesome pictures of her half naked dead body punctuated with bloody bullet holes didn’t distress her, but it did send a remorseful sadness to her soul. She had stolen drugs that was meant for another dealer, but did it deserve her dying and being shot four times? That was a bit of overkill she mused.
He closed her file in exasperation. She could have found a way to assist him in finding who killed her, but she was afraid once he solved her murder she would fade away into some other dimension or plane, or whatever bullshit was on the other side, and disappear taking him away from her forever. It was that whole unfinished business stuff she’d seen on television rearing its head.
He stood up and stretched arching his back feeling a faint cracking of relief. Walking over to the couch he laid down and closed his eyes placing his right arm up over his head. She couldn’t resist. It’s not like he could feel her anyway she reasoned, but the fact that she could feel him encouraged her to slide on top of him, snuggling close into his chest. The feel of his body comforted her in a way only a real man could.
He opened his eyes and tapped her on the shoulder. “Please get off of me.” he said.
He couldn’t possibly be talking to me, he can’t see me! She snuggled in tighter.
“Excuse me.” He said. “Carolina could you please get off me?”
She sat up with a jolt. “You said my name? You can see me?”
He pushed her off and sat up next to her. “Of course I can.” He wiped his face with his hand and stood up.
Jackson smiled. “It’s a trade secret, I thought I felt your presence for the first time after my shower when you ran your fingers through my hair. “
The hot sting of a blush crossed her face even though she was in ghostly form. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I figured you liked the show.”
“Well I can’t say I didn’t.” She winked.
Jackson returned to her case file taking a seat at his desk. “Now that you have my attention we need to talk about your murder. Can you tell me what you remember?”
She cheekily took it upon herself to sit her ethereal form in his lap. “I don’t remember anything at all. It’s a complete mystery to me who could have shot me.” She lied.
Jackson wasn’t buying her story. Nobody he figured, gets four holes in them and doesn’t have at least some idea of who did it. Her rap sheet showed larceny, embezzlement, and even aggravated assault with two short stints in jail with promises of turning over names of some high powered underworld figures. Carolina Matson was no stranger to danger.