See Me Forever

By Susann Oriel

As a spirit sensitive, Arianna Harte is used to encountering the dead. So when the mysterious spirit in her crumbling Victorian mansion finally reveals his presence, Arianna is confident she can control him. But Edmond Wilde is unlike other spirits. He possesses a deadly power and is prepared to use that terrifying ability to claim her. As Arianna gradually learns of the house’s dark past and the source of Edmond’s power, she finds herself increasingly under his depraved control. Only one man can fight for her—a fearless, mortal man, stronger than Edmond. But he is a man with his own ghosts from the past.

Placing early Gothic themes and styles in a contemporary setting, See Me Forever is a story of strange happenings, blended time periods, obsession, betrayal and death. With multiple characters and plot twists, mysteries both past and present are revealed, testing Arianna’s gift in ways she never thought possible. Can she and her courageous lover defeat the powerful spirit who threatens their very existence?

A note from Susann Oriel: This book is to have a sequel, to be published in 2019.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susann Oriel
• Release date: Oct 1, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387266722

Susann Oriel

It’s all about the story. Stories of sizzling romance, intrigue, mystery and sometimes murder. Stories with hot heroes and cool-headed heroines. Susann Oriel loves to write erotic mysteries with intricate plots that constantly surprise. Her stories can be dark, her characters not necessarily of this world, and her settings anywhere from New York to small town. Creating stormy, emotionally charged relationships between her leads, along with intense love scenes are Susann's signatures. Susann lives Down Under, close to a golden beach with interesting shells and occasionally, little penguins. When she’s not writing, she’ll usually be enjoying the sun, chilling with a wine or coffee or even trying to keep up with her super-speedy Italian Greyhound.

Book preview

Prologue

She would be home soon.

In anticipation, he began his descent of the grand staircase. The act of walking had long become redundant for he could move his lifeless body to any part of the house in the blink of an eye. His evening ritual was neither habit nor nostalgia for lost mortality. He did it for the pleasure of placing a foot where hers had been.

Arianna.

Before her, there had been emptiness. His home, built over a century ago with all the energy and ambition of a young man embarking on a bright future, had become an empty, desolate ruin. Emmaline had long ceased to satisfy him and by the time she had departed the house, he'd already confined himself to the upstairs room overlooking the street. Through the cracked, grimy windows, he spent his loneliness observing the comings and goings of Oak Lane’s residents. His daily surveillance gave him no pleasure for his neighbors were of modern times and modern was not to his liking. He did it for there was nothing else to do.

Then she arrived. Fate in the guise of a young woman. She appeared one morning with a man—a realtor she called him—her soft, musical voice enlivening his senses like a burst of spring in a perpetual winter. Arianna Harte. A graceful, slender woman with hair the color of golden amber and shining green eyes stippled with black. With unsuppressed eagerness, she had inspected every room of his house, informing the realtor of the many changes she would make. When she'd stood at the door to his room, she had not entered, knowing it was his. She had the gift. For providence to deliver her to the house—to him—had come as a miracle.

Within the space of a week she had moved in.

On her first day, she swept and tidied and dusted the house from top to bottom. On her second and third, she polished the old furniture until it shone, cleaned the stained glass window in the living room and brought books down from the attic to arrange on the bookcase. At the completion of each task, Arianna would laugh her delight. It put him in mind of raindrops dancing in a sun shower.

In the second week, Arianna brought new things to the house—all manner of modern gadgetry which he did not recognize but came to know and love because they were hers. The house became as bright and fresh and exciting as she was. Unlike Emmaline, whose skirts covered her ankles, Arianna dressed in pretty dresses that sat high on her thighs. To rest his gaze on her slim legs gave him indescribable pleasure.

It was at the end of the first month that workmen came to the house to renew the wiring and plumbing and restore the kitchen. When they had finished their work, he was pleased with Arianna’s charming, considered taste.

Thus, for many delightful weeks, he had watched this beautiful woman transform the house, his affection for her growing with each passing day. She was sweet tempered, well-conducted, gracious to those who came to the door and in the evenings when she sat alone at his table, he would sit next to her to watch her dine. He loved that she knew he was there. It was like they were engaged in an amusing game where he could nudge her plate with a finger or brush the air with a hand to catch her attention. Although he could barely contain his desire to make himself visible to her, he held back. His apparition, infinitely stronger than others of his kind, could frighten her—drive her away. So, with reluctant patience, he had set a date far enough into the future to excite her curiosity to know him.

It was on the very day of his intended revelation, a Sunday it was, that the young man arrived at the door. Arianna had immediately taken his hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom and for the first time since her arrival, she had closed the door.

Adam Armacost was his name and he was her lover from New York.

His loathing for the interloper knew no bounds. During the day when Arianna was away, Armacost would watch television—a monstrosity of a thing he’d brought to the house and fastened to the wall next to the fireplace. Sprawled on Arianna’s new sofa, Armacost would stare at the ghastly moving pictures, all the time consuming beer from cans which he purchased in packs of six. His hair reached past his chin, he wore untailored clothing and he had no conversation other than sports and his business in New York which seemed to involve some kind of technology. He was a philistine unworthy of the house or Arianna’s heart. Damn the man. The worst of it was their desire. Whereas Arianna had once spent her evenings downstairs reading, she now retired early to lie with her lover. He dared not enter her bedroom for her gift would sense him the moment he passed through the door. There was nothing to be done but wait his opportunity to rid the house of Armacost.

And tonight, to his utter joy, it had come.

She was angry. He knew it the moment she stepped inside the house and threw her keys in the pottery dish on the table by the door. Usually so poised and graceful in movement, Arianna made fast, inelegant strides to the kitchen, emerging seconds later with wine and glass. She sat on the edge of the sofa, drinking fast and staring straight ahead. Within a minute, Armacost burst into the house carrying his usual cans of beer. He flopped down beside her, ripped a tab and drank the entire contents without pausing. They were like this for some time, drinking, not speaking—the atmosphere as thick as a morning sea fog. 

All right I did it. I made a mistake. Is that what you wanted to hear?

How could you? she said, tears spilling over her soft cheeks.

 It was nothing.

"That makes it worse. Like cheating is meaningless!"

She drained her glass in two gulps and took another measure.

Moving slowly, so as not to alarm her, he placed himself in the armchair next to the sofa. She turned her head toward him, embarrassment expressed on her delicate features. Her humiliation cut deep to his heart yet he could not deny his elation that tonight she would not lie with Armacost. Indeed, he could predict with certainty that she would never couple with the libertine again. Arianna would never take a betrayer to her bed.

Don’t ruin everything we've got! 

The loud words took his attention to the distasteful sight of Armacost wiping beer foam from his mouth.

Ruin everything! she cried, slamming her glass on the low table in front of the sofa. You’re actually blaming me! What’s her name?

It doesn’t matter. It just happened.

"Nothing just happens, Adam! she shouted. Anyway, her name is Allison Patterson and she works at the Blue Sail Bar."

Armacost’s brow rose high. How did you…?

It wasn’t difficult. Erradale Bay is a small town and people see things. And it wasn’t just once according to the person who told me.

I bet it was that skank, Tessa Cullen.

Don’t you dare call her that!

I’ll kill the ho, Armacost said with such vehemence, Arianna drew back.

It’s not Tessa’s fault, she said quickly. You chose to cheat.

Armacost reached for her but she raised a hand in warning. Don’t touch me!

Let’s go back to New York, he whined unattractively. We were good there. I can go back to my old job and you can sell up here and work in that big bookstore you love.

She folded her arms. This is my home now.

Armacost looked around the room, his mouth twisting in disgust. It’s a dump.

It’s beautiful.

It’s cold and creepy. You said it was haunted.

Don’t call it haunted, she snapped, looking toward the armchair. The house has a spirit, that’s all. It’s here now.

Jesus, you and your ghosts.

Why her?

He shrugged.

Have there been others?

Course not.

You came here to start your own web design business but all you ever do is sit around watching television or waste time at the Blue Sail. Now I know why.

Armacost stared sulkily at the can in his hand. It only happened a few times and if Tessa hadn't told you, everything would've been okay.

I want you to go, Adam. Go and stay with Allison. 

I don't care about her, it's you I want. I'm not leaving.

Arianna launched to her feet, bumping the table with her knees, the action sending both bottle and glass to the floor. Suit yourself but I'll be at Tessa’s for the night.

If you'd just let me explain.

What's to explain? You had an affair, Arianna said quietly. Walking unsteadily to the door, she took her keys from the dish. We're finished, Adam.

You don't mean that, he said, shaking his head. Sit down and talk to me, babe. Anyway, you're not fit to drive.

I’ll walk to Tessa's. She looked at the armchair. Please go, she said in a quavering voice, I…we don’t want you in this house.

Then she was gone.

It was all the permission he needed.

He allowed himself time to savor the moment. The expulsion of Armacost would be much more than avenging the wrong done to his sweet Arianna. It would be his gift to her. By morning, when she returned, her degenerate lover would be gone. Her gratitude—her awe of him—would bring her to his arms. It would not be long before she loved him, took him to her bed. They would be together forever.

He walked the living room, his thoughts focused gleefully on the task ahead. Destroying Armacost posed risk. Such an act would bring the constabulary to the house and Arianna could be held responsible. Regardless, she would know it was him and out of fear, might quit the house.

Nevertheless, he reasoned, there was much he could do. Armacost deserved no mercy as the man was obviously a fool to be so easily tempted by another—lesser—woman.

Placing himself behind the sofa, he spread his chilling aura over the man below. Armacost shivered. The action formed the deadly idea in his mind. For too long, he had been patient...waited in the shadows. It was time to take what was his.

One

This better be good.

Logan Gauge thought of the woman he’d left in his bed. In fact, someone better have died.

The heavyset, uniformed police officer coming down the path toward him heaved a chuckle. Does half scared to death count? The neighbors called us when they heard some guy screaming his fucking head off.

Logan glanced at the street’s residents huddled together on the sidewalk. They were all elderly. They looked scared.

Okay, so where is he? Logan asked.

Gone before I got here. Bolted out the front door like his ass was on fire and took off in his car at a hundred miles an hour.

Sounds like a job for highway patrol, not a detective.

Don’t be so sure. The neighbors said he was petrified.

In Erradale Bay? The scariest thing around here is your home brew, Sergeant Tully. Jesus Christ, have you any idea what I’ve given up to come down here in the middle of the frigging night.

The sergeant’s grin occupied most of his face. I’m guessing blonde, five eight, legs ‘til next week.

Close. So what’ve we got?

Something you won’t have seen in L.A.

I doubt it, Logan sighed.

He lingered on the sidewalk to familiarize himself with his surroundings. Four Oak Lane stood as one of six remaining houses in a narrow, no-exit street in the oldest part of town. The houses were all two storied, gabled and of classic colonial architecture. Number Four was the largest by far. Even from the street, Logan could see it had at least seven gables, each decorated with an ornately carved gargoyle. At one time, the house would have been the grandest in town. Now it stood as a brooding hulk of dilapidation although there were signs of recent work. The picket fence had new palings and colorful flowerbeds flanked the recently cleared cobblestone path. The owner obviously had big plans for the place. 

Right, lead on, Sergeant, Logan said wearily, following the officer to the open front door. He’d give it ten minutes then head back to his bed although by now, she’d probably given up waiting and left. Dammit, Tully had a lot to answer for.

Then he saw it.

Ice. It stood from ceiling to floor in a single column, smack in the center of the living room. Around eight feet wide at the top, it stretched across the ornate plaster ceiling in a thick transparent sheet and encased a massive brass chandelier. The base of the ice spread wide and flat to the floor like a giant elephant’s foot. The column itself was around five feet in diameter and in the center, beer cans were suspended as though hurled upwards and frozen in mid-flight. Even standing in the doorway, he could feel the chill of the thing.

Logan took a step inside. This was a warm summer’s evening, the temperature in the mid-seventies. Even with an ice making machine, there’d be no way anyone could create a floor to ceiling structure like that, let alone trap cans midway. He checked for footprints. Nothing except a few water streaks leading to the front door, presumably made by the guy when he left. No open windows, no furniture moved around. Nothing at all to indicate how this might have been made or by whom.

Well, what do you think? Tully asked, standing beside him and stamping his feet against the cold. Fucking incredible isn’t it?

Any theories?

You’re the detective, but no way could anyone make that.

Who owns the place?

According to the neighbors, a woman by the name of Arianna Harte moved in several months ago. From New York, apparently. Then a guy arrived, Adam somebody or other. No one has his last name. From what the neighbors said, the woman owns a used bookstore in town. The Subtitle. Not my sort of thing.

You mean reading? Hell, Sergeant, I took you for the intellectual type.

Fuck you, Gauge.

Logan chuckled and rubbed at his arms below his T-shirt sleeves. There was no sign of the temperature rising despite the outside warmth seeping into the room.

Who lived here before the couple?

Old Emmaline Calloway but she left…heck, must be ten years ago now. Place has been empty since. The old folk still talk about Miss Emmaline. Rich parents but after they died, Miss Emmaline never left the house. No contact with anyone apart from a weekly grocery delivery. Electricity turned off years ago. An old well out back. Rubbish piled high in the back yard. The neighbors would knock on her door from time to time but she’d yell at them to go away. Welfare finally took her. She’s still alive in some rest home downstate. Must be close to a hundred by now.

Logan didn’t need a full biography but with Tully being the town’s longest serving cop, there was never a shortage of local knowledge.

Okay, I’ll need to talk to this Harte woman. Have you any idea where she might’ve gone. Presumably, she wasn’t here when this happened.

No idea but the neighbors might have her cell number. I’ll ask.

While Tully went to talk to the neighbors, Logan checked the living room. An empty wine bottle and a single glass lay on the rug under the coffee table. Two people were here tonight, probably Arianna Harte and Adam. She would have been the wine drinker and she’d left in a hurry. On the outside of that much wine, she’d be either celebrating something or seriously pissed off. He guessed the latter.

He went to the kitchen. The back door was locked, the key hanging on a brass hook next to a new electric switchboard. In fact, the whole kitchen was new. The porcelain sink and stainless steel fixtures glowed under new halogen lights and the countertop, which looked original, shone with fresh varnish. The only things on display were a kettle, a knife block and a bowl of oranges and the only furniture was a pine table and four chairs, arranged in the center of the room. The place was spotless.

A gasp from the living room swung him around, his hand automatically reaching for his weapon. Hell, this wasn’t L.A. he reminded himself, dropping his arm. He walked through to the living room to find a woman staring at the column.

It’s okay, he said, taking long strides to reach her before she fled in fright. You must be Ms. Harte.

Her gaze shifted from the ice to him. Yes. Who called the police?

Before he could answer, Tully appeared. No fucking…

This is Ms. Harte, Logan said loudly over the curse. You might as well tell the neighbors to go home, Sergeant. I’ll be along shortly.

Right. Tully took another look at the column and raked fat fingers through his thatch of silver hair. Fucking amazing all right.

Sorry about the language, Logan said as Tully disappeared through the doorway. I’m Detective Gauge…Logan Gauge.

Her eyes swept him and Logan was reminded how he was dressed. Old jeans way past the ripped, faded and ‘cool’ stage and a beer-logoed T-shirt didn’t exactly scream police department professional. His scruff was three days too long and he needed a haircut.

She, on the other hand, was as neat as a pin in a short green sundress that set off her slender body to perfection. Around twenty-four years of age. Medium height. She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way with her heart shaped face, honey-blonde ponytail and sprinkle of golden freckles on her nose. Her lightly tanned arms and legs suggested she was the gardener in the household, although her face was paler. She’d be the conscientious type that always wore a sunhat. She came across as a sensible young woman who could handle most things thrown at her. Even now, she didn’t seem fazed. 

Where is he?

Her question pulled him from his appraisal. You mean Adam? He left before we got here, apparently scared out of his wits.

I hope he’s all right.

Did someone threaten him?

I’m not sure, she said, looking around the room. Logan had the impression she was looking for something.

Do you know where he might have gone, Ms. Harte?

Perhaps to New York where he…we came from. Or...

Or where? he pressed.

No, she replied with a small shake of her head. He won’t stay in Erradale Bay now.

I presume he knows who did this?

No, he won’t know. He’ll be confused.

Logan watched her move to the column to stare up at the suspended beer cans, giving him opportunity to study her expression. There was no fear but she was thinking hard. Whatever had gone on here tonight, she had a theory.

Was this here when you left? he asked unnecessarily.

No.

Did you have a visitor tonight?

No.

Is there anything missing as far as you can tell?

She took a perfunctory glance around the room. No.

She wasn’t volunteering much. He expanded. Why did you leave the house?

Her head dropped. So he was right. Not a celebration. More like an argument with Adam during which she’d downed the bottle and walked out. Right now, she appeared sober enough but coming home to this would clear anyone’s head.

Why did you leave, Ms. Harte? he repeated quietly.

She looked up but didn’t quite meet his eyes. "We had a fight. I told him to go. When