Remember Me

By Chantilly White

“Chantilly White needs to be on your auto-buy list; I know she's on mine.” –Lucy Monroe, USA Today bestselling author

Two strangers, bound by a tragic history and a lifetime of night terrors, struggle to find the strength and love buried deep inside themselves in order to break an ancient curse. If they're successful, they might just find their happily-ever-after, and free two anguished spirits to do the same. But first, they’ll have to battle their personal demons and survive their trial by fire...

Remember Me is a ghost-and-reincarnation-ish themed paranormal novel with romantic elements. Heat level: 1 (kisses and suggestive situations only, but does include some language.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chantilly White
• Release date: Feb 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311816306

Chantilly White

Like her readers, romance author Chantilly White lives in the real world, but she also knows the value of escapism. As a shy girl in a new school, Chantilly discovered the priceless ability to escape her surroundings through reading the latest romance novels or by taking pen in hand to write her own stories. Reading and writing have been a joy ever since. Now, Chantilly loves providing the same joy to her readers. Pure Hearts ~ Sinful Pleasures is more than just her tagline. It’s her promise. Whether they’re looking for a sweetly fluffy romantic tale or a spicy-hot romp, a sweeping historical romance or a contemporary love story, Chantilly White’s readers know when they delve into one of her stories, they will be transported to a world where love reigns supreme and everyone gets their happily-ever-after. Guaranteed.

Book preview

REMEMBER ME

Chantilly White

A SnapDragon Press Novel

REMEMBER ME

Chantilly White

SnapDragon Press

Copyright © 2015 Chantilly White

Edited by M. Lemon

Cover Design Copyright © 2015 Chantilly White

Cover Image Copyright © Dmitriy Kapitonenko, via fotolia. Used with licensed permission.

Digital Edition 1.0

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be re-sold or re-licensed, nor reproduced, distributed or transmitted, in any form now known or hereafter invented, nor stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author. Please don't pirate. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, other than for review purposes,

please contact the author at [e-mail]

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales, is purely coincidental.

REMEMBER ME

Chantilly White

STORY SUMMARY

Chantilly White needs to be on your auto-buy list; I know she's on mine.

–Lucy Monroe, USA Today bestselling author

Two strangers, bound by a tragic history and a lifetime of night terrors, struggle to find the strength and love buried deep inside themselves in order to break an ancient curse. If they’re successful, they might just find their happily-ever-after and free two anguished spirits to do the same. But first, they’ll have to battle their personal demons and survive their trial by fire…

DEDICATION

To Megan, Marissa, and Michael,

May you find true love, timeless and pure,

and may you always see yourselves through

the eyes of those who love you most.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—

No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

~ John Keats

TABLE of CONTENTS

Title Page

Story Summary

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Thank You!

Excerpt ~ Snow Angel

Book List

Acknowledgments

About the Author

REMEMBER ME

Chantilly White

CHAPTER ONE

September 30th, Victoria, BC ~ 4:14 AM

Pounding on the other side of her apartment’s bedroom wall shot Olivia Haven out of sleep and straight up in bed with a gasp, her heart drumming painfully against her ribs.

She’d been dreaming again.

Screaming again.

Olivia scrubbed her hands over her face to clear the fear-sweat and tears, twisting just far enough to rap her reply on the wall behind her head.

Sorry, Bruce, she called, her voice thready and weak in the aftermath of the dream.

Need anything, sweetie? her neighbor yelled back.

Equal amounts of concern for her and frustration over being woken from a sound sleep—again—rang through the thin layers of wood, plaster, and insulation.

Guilt and shame flooded the back of Olivia’s throat in a hot rush.

No, thanks, she said, putting as much strength into the words as she could manage. I’m okay. Sorry.

A double knock from Bruce’s side of the wall indicated the end of the conversation. Her squinty-eyed glance at the clock glowing on her nightstand showed it was just after four in the morning.

Hopefully he’d be able to get a little more sleep before having to get up for work.

Slumping against her headboard, Olivia drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, rocking gently in the still-dark room.

Her sparse furnishings stood in silent judgment, nightly witnesses to her failures, her fears and weaknesses.

Her struggles against the pull of the dreams.

Only the digital clock and the far edge of her cheap oak-veneered dresser shone faintly in the stygian gloom, touched by the dim glow of the hall nightlight coming through her open bedroom door.

The rest hulked against the bare walls, darker shadows in the pre-dawn blackness.

She should move. Find a place with no neighbors on the other side of the wall to disturb. How many times had she picked up the phone to call about a free-standing rental house?

But…

What might happen to her on her own? No one to hear her, no one to jolt her out of the dreams.

No one to check if she was all right.

Selfish, that’s what she was. She selfishly used her neighbor’s presence like a safety-cord tethering her to reality. Another talisman against remaining trapped forever in the flames.

Poor Bruce.

A widower, and a giant bear of a man who worked long, hard hours, Olivia secretly pretended Bruce was her grandfather. Though they saw each other mainly in passing, he always had a kind word and a smile.

Sometimes he even picked up some takeout and shared it with her while they sat on the apartment building’s front stoop.

These days, such simple friendliness elevated him practically to best-friend status.

But even a best friend, or a kindly grandfather, needed his sleep.

The dreams had gotten so much worse. She couldn’t deny it any longer.

After years of successfully holding them—mostly—at bay, of having them only sporadically, the frequency and intensity had increased over the past five months until this cycle was the worst she’d ever experienced.

Worse even than the days of her childhood when she’d had the dreams every night.

Her nightmares always worsened near the anniversary of her father’s Halloween-night death, but this… This was different.

And she knew what it meant. Hadn’t her mother and sister already succumbed?

Her father’s words whispered in her ear, a sibilant command.

It’s your turn. Come to me. You belong to me…

No! Olivia pressed her hands over her ears, as if they could block the phantom voice.

A small sob escaped.

Her throat hurt, scored from morning after morning of panicked screams. Her lungs, though she knew they were clear and healthy in reality, wheezed with the remembrance of heat and smoke.

Her skin still burned.

Knowing she’d never get back to sleep, Olivia shook off the last remnants of the dream and swung out of bed.

Her legs wanted to shake, so she tensed her muscles, holding herself rigid against the physical reaction to her nightmare. Deep, deliberate breaths helped calm the sick pitching of her belly.

She washed her face and brushed her teeth in the tiny bathroom adjoining her bedroom, avoiding her haggard expression and deeply shadowed green eyes in the mirror.

The nightly battle was taking its toll in more ways than one.

Twisting her long blond hair into a messy bun on top of her head, Olivia padded silently to the kitchen, automatically scanning the nightlights as she went, the many smoke and carbon-monoxide detectors, the heat sensors.

All in working order.

While the first cup of coffee drip-drip-dripped into her favorite extra-large mug, she collected ingredients and set them on the counter. She’d make Bruce a plate of cookies to take with him to work. He’d accept them with gruff thanks, insisting as always that she didn’t need to apologize and all her baking was making him fat, but she knew he had a particular weakness for her chocolate-chip cookies.

If she continued to feed his sweet tooth, maybe he’d continue to pretend not minding her nightmares.

Maybe she could stay.

There was one month to go before the anniversary.

Halloween.

One more month to try to end the terror, once and for all.

If she could discover the secret, if she could survive this round, maybe she could live.

CHAPTER TWO

October 31st, Seattle, Washington ~ 7:05 AM

Mrs. Winston’s voice calling out a cheerful greeting from the reception area fronting his office gave him a split-second’s notice, but Nathanial Beaumont, CEO of Beaumont & Beaumont, still flinched when his office door swung open with a bang to admit his younger brother.

What the hell are you doing here? Samuel Beaumont demanded. A heavy frown pulled his brows into sharp slashes over eyes the same deep brown as Nathan’s.

Damn.

He’d hoped to avoid everyone by coming in extra early.

It had been a surprise to find his secretary, Mrs. Winston, already at her desk, but she’d merely smiled and stuffed a donut in his mouth as she reminded him she was leaving for a weekend getaway with Mr. Winston. She had come in early to make sure everything was in order first.

She’d reminded him every day all week.

In his distraction, he’d forgotten—as he’d forgotten many things recently—and had paid for his self-absorption with yet another lecture from Mrs. Winston on his pallor, his hollow cheeks, his workaholic tendencies.

Now there was Sam to contend with, as well.

Nathan sighed.

All he needed to round out the morning was a phone call from his mother.

Slamming the heavy office door at his back, Sam faced him and braced his legs wide, hands on his hips, glaring his disapproval.

Good morning to you, too, Nathan said, tossing down his pen and ignoring the slow-moving heat of irritation burning its way up the back of his neck.

All he’d wanted was one freaking hour.

He loved his family, loved his brother, but he didn’t need them watching his every move. Dropping his gaze back to the papers on his desk, he straightened them with a hard rap against the gleaming mahogany.

Don’t make me call Mom, his brother began.

For Christ’s sake, we’re not kids anymore, Sam.

Yet here you are, ignoring orders like any self-respecting teenager.

Nathan snorted. I don’t take orders from you, mate. Or Mom, for that matter.

I’ll be sure to let her know your views on the topic.

You do that, Nathan answered, though he couldn’t help the quick, uneasy glance he shot toward his multi-line office phone.

He really didn’t want another mom-lecture.

Sam rolled to the balls of his feet, the beginnings of a devilish grin lurking about his mouth. He crossed his arms over his chest.

You’re supposed to be on the road already.

I had to take care of a few things first, Nathan said. Drew Carson—

—knows you’re on vacation. He has my office number, cell, and home phone, as well as Mom’s, Andrea’s, and Shelly’s. His every whim is being catered to, exactly the way he likes. He doesn’t need you tap-dancing for him for even one second of the next seventy-two hours.

I just—

"Nathan, Jesus, it’s three days. Three weekend days. The world’s not going to stop spinning, and the company’s not going to tumble into Puget Sound if you’re incommunicado for three days."

Yes, but—

Enough’s enough, come on. Let’s go.

Sam came around the desk, snatched the papers out of Nathan’s hands, and threw them to the floor next to one of many towering stacks of folders.

Samuel—

Out. Taking Nathan by the arm, Sam marched him forcefully toward the door. Where are your bags?

In the car, Nathan muttered, wondering exactly when he’d lost the upper hand with his younger brother. Look, I’m not going to battle you—

Good, I’m glad you’re finally starting to see sense. Crossing into the outer office and sending a winning smile to Nathan’s secretary, Sam added, Have a lovely weekend, Mrs. W. Give Mr. W my best.

Obviously struggling not to laugh, Mrs. Winston gave back a cheery wave, her bright gray eyes sparkling as Nathan finally jerked his arm free of Sam’s hold and straightened his suit jacket with an irritable twitch of his shoulders.

Need any help there, Sammy? she asked.

I’ve got him, thanks.

Mrs. Winston, Nathan began, but she cut him off.

See you Monday, boss, she sang. Still chuckling, she picked up the office phone on its first ring. Beaumont and Beaumont, Nathan Beaumont’s office. How may I assist you?

Sam hustled him down the hallway toward the elevator, Mrs. Winston’s merry voice following after them as she informed the unknown caller that he’d be out of the office until Monday.

Resigned, Nathan stuffed his hands in his pockets and scowled as he and his brother passed frame after frame of photos, certificates, and colorful, childish drawings, each one secured on bright mats behind heavy, expensive glass. Wide-rimmed in glossy mahogany, the wood frames hung at evenly spaced intervals on walls the color of warm toast.

Normally, the pictorial evidence of Beaumont & Beaumont’s success, of the good they were doing in the world, raised Nathan’s spirits.

Today, even those markers failed to lift his mood.

It was October thirty-first. Halloween. The twentieth anniversary of his father’s hideous, heroic death.

The beginning of his own life-long nightmare.

On that horrible, long-ago night, their family of four had gone out for trick-or-treating as usual. As they’d approached their new neighbor’s house, his and Sam’s pumpkin-shaped candy buckets clasped firmly in their hands, the front windows of the home suddenly blew out. Intense heat seemed to bake them in their Batman and Robin costumes, and flames shot greedily toward the roof.

His father, Wayne Beaumont, had hurried his wife and sons back to the sidewalk in the care of other neighbors. Then he’d smashed through the front door and disappeared in a cloud of roiling black smoke.

Long, agonizing moments passed before figures emerged through the haze.

His father managed to rescue the woman of the house and her two young daughters before pushing back through the scorching heat on his second, ill-fated trip into the burning house just as the fire department arrived. Firemen swarmed the scene, barking orders, taking charge.

But it was too late.

Wayne Beaumont perished, along with the husband of the woman he’d saved.

Later, they learned the man had set the blaze deliberately, intending to kill himself and his family. The wife and daughters had disappeared from town not long after, and Nathan and his family had been left alone to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives.

Even the thought of a much-needed break and Sam’s bossy, determined cheerfulness couldn’t stand against those awful memories.

You’re taking the Mercedes? Sam asked.

Nathan grunted in answer.

It’s pretty rural out there, Sam said. Sure you don’t want the truck?

Shrugging bad-temperedly, Nathan punched the down arrow for the elevator.

You look like crap, Sam noted as he ushered Nathan into the plush, spacious lift and pressed the button for the parking garage beneath the building.

Thanks.

Ignoring Nathan’s sarcasm, Sam turned sideways to lean against the side of the elevator and studied Nathan more closely.

When was the last time you slept? Or ate? Has Mom seen you?

Last night, this morning, and no, not recently. Satisfied?

His brother scoffed, scanning him up and down. Hardly.

Sam had been out of town on company business for nearly a month, and had therefore not been around for the worst of the last weeks and their effects on Nathan.

Thankfully.

Nathan had missed his brother, but it had been a relief not to have Sam underfoot while he’d fought his annual downward spiral as the anniversary of their father’s death approached.

He’d been able to keep himself together, faking his way through the days for most of the previous months.

Until September.

Since then, he’d avoided close contact with his family—and their scrutiny—as much as possible, but the physical evidence of the strain he’d been under had been all the more apparent to his brother after Sam’s extended absence. Even more so than was usual by the end of each October, as this bout of dreams had degenerated into the worst go-round Nathan could ever remember suffering.

His younger brother had taken one look at him and immediately arranged a weekend retreat for Nathan, brooking no excuses or refusals. Sam had enlisted their mother and step-father, along with Nathan’s own secretary and various other family members, who’d all ganged up on him until he’d given in and agreed to the retreat just to get them off his back.

Though he carped and complained about leaving town with so much work on his plate, secretly Nathan admitted to a feeling of overwhelming relief.

Traditionally, Halloween