Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [74]
And suddenly, he remembered why.
“Jesus. This sounds crazy, but I think—it might have been her perfume.”
“The woman from Charleston,” she said, sounding completely matter-of-fact, as if she’d expected the answer.
“Yes.”
“I thought as much.”
That surprised him more than anything Lottie had said yet.
The rational part of his mind knew none of this could be supernatural. There were no such things as ghosts—he wasn’t being haunted by the restless spirit of a woman he’d killed. But the utter strangeness of it had him confused. Even a bit in shock.
Maybe if he’d been his old self—completely recovered, the confident, laid-back guy he’d always been before June 20th, he would have laughed it off. Or at least not started questioning his own senses.
He wasn’t that man anymore, though. He’d seen the darkest that the human race had to offer. His trial by fire had introduced a new reality into his life because he’d seen close-up, vivid proof that evil really did exist. He’d personally come to grasp the concept that someone could attack and murder another human being with no provocation or reason.
It made him question everything—everything—he’d ever thought about life and humanity. And if that didn’t change a person, he didn’t know what would.
So this new Simon was a little too ready to accept ugly possibilities. Like the idea that he was losing his mind.
No. Lottie has seen some of this. I am not crazy.
Finally, after a few more minutes of silent contemplation, Lottie sighed deeply and lifted her head. Her face creased in a frown, she scooted closer on the couch, so their thighs touched, as did their arms.
Reaching up to cup his cheek, she rubbed the tip of her finger across his scar, as she always did—whether she realized it or not. “It’s going to be okay.”
He couldn’t contain a bitter laugh. “You think so? How? Is somebody going to come along and put me in a special coat and a room with rubber walls and give me pills to make me feel all better?”
She shook her head, leaning close to press a gentle kiss on his mouth. “No, love. You see, I think I know what’s going on. We just need to figure out what to do about it.”
Call the psych ward. He tensed in anticipation of the words. When they didn’t come, he gruffly asked, “What, exactly, do you think is going on?”
She took his hands in hers, staring him in the face, her expression entirely earnest. Finally, with a bit of fire flashing in those brown eyes, she said something he’d never expected to hear.
“Simon, honey? Someone is fucking with you.”
13
Lottie
I’VE SAID IT BEFORE, I’m not a violent person. Sure, I have my moments of Italian temper, particularly where my brothers are concerned. Or when somebody cuts me off in traffic or talks loud on a cell phone in a public place. Yes, those tee me off. But I’ve certainly never wanted to do serious physical harm to another person.
Anything’s possible, right? Because oh, man, when I figured out what had been happening to Simon, I was ready to crush someone. Rip them apart with my bare hands.
He, God love him, didn’t believe it at first. The man has been carrying so much guilt and regret around that it almost seemed easier for him to accept he was being meted out some psychological punishment for his perceived crime rather than thinking someone had been playing vicious, ruthless mind games with him.
I could certainly see his skepticism. It sounded pretty bizarre, I know. Still, it was the only thing that made sense when looking at the big picture. And gradually, by hitting every single point, going over every odd moment he and I had both experienced, I’d brought him round.
Did I say I was mad?
“I don’t think I have ever been more furious in my life,” he snarled as he paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, practically wearing a hole in the carpet. “I can’t believe