Forsake All Others

By Jennifer Crowfoot

Death took their lives but he didn't take away Reece and Lillian's love.

After losing their lives in a terrible accident, Lillian woke up in the family home, where she continued to live her life as she had always done. Although, a constant worry ate at her, niggled at her. Where were her husband and children?
Her memories wouldn't reveal any truths of their whereabouts. It gave up no secrets.

The very process that kept her sane and trauma free, also kept her as a captive in the dark. A ghost still living with the love of her life embedded in her heart.

She was alone in a new world she didn't understand, while pining for her lost love and her missing children.

Reece reincarnated and grew up to eventually remarry and have more children, all without remembering his previous life. Or his previous love.

Until...
The fateful day he brought his first home. It was a dump. Full of retro furniture and female bullshit that had never been cleaned out. It was old, had no electricity or hot water and was infested with bugs and ants.

Unbeknown to him, he'd purchased his previous life's family home and it came with a permanent resident - his first wife, Lillian.

Was it...
Fate?
An unfurling ribbon from his past that he'd followed without realising it?
A gift from the Heavens?
A chance at second chance love?

Lillian knew the love of her life instantly, but it took Reece a little more time to catch on to the universe's great plan.

After a shaky start, and after some frightening recollections of his last night on earth, Reece came to the realisation, that her knew her. That they were cosmically entangled in a great and passionate love.

With a wife who drank heavily and despised him, Reece spent more and more time at the house.
With Lillian.

As Fate had planned, he fell head over heels for her again and they started up a love affair that would burn the world down if it escaped the bubble they were enclosed in.

Moving into the new house brought with it many challenges, the most crucial one being jealousy.
The first wife jealous of the second wife.
And fear.
The fear you feel when you think you see something in a room you're supposedly alone in.

This is all taking place around an oblivious Reece who's struggling with serious health battles of his own and the sudden wake-up call that the woman he's fallen for, is the ghost of his first wife.

And she wants him back in her arms.
She wants to claim back the husband that Death stole from her so many years ago

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jennifer Crowfoot
• Release date: Aug 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215569870

Jennifer Crowfoot

Married, Jennifer lives with her husband and her spoilt, feline fur-baby, Hades, in beautiful rural N.S.W, Australia.When not writing, Jennifer can be found with her nose buried in a book.She also has a collection of self-published books on Amazon.? ? ?

Book preview

Forsake All Others

By

Jennifer Crowfoot

Text copyright © Jennifer Crowfoot 2023

Cover Photo by Anastasiia Chaikovska

Copyright Anastasiia Chaikovska

Cover design by author using Canva

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This eBook may not be re-sold, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

* * *

Disclaimer.

Characters, names, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental. Any towns or places mentioned are used in a fictional manner.

The author wishes to acknowledge the trademarked status and trademarked owners of various products that may be referenced in this work of fiction which have been used without permission.

The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

* * *

Rating.

This book is rated 18+

It is recommended for mature audiences only.

Contains strong language

Adult themes and scenes which may be distressing to sensitive readers

Paranormal themes.

* * *

Written using Australian english, grammar and spelling.

Standalone.

Dedication

Love is eternal

To love.

The idea of love.

Being in love.

May we all dance the slow dance with Cupid.

* * *

Chapter One

WITH ONE LAST SLICK of scarlet and a quick pat of her hair, Lillian pursed and rolled her lips, before stepping back from the mirror in her ensuite, pleased with her appearance.

Heart beating wildly, pulse racing to keep up, she smoothed her hands down the front of her immaculate Dior dress, her favourite, and walked out into her bedroom, her kitten heels rapping out a pleasant clickety-clack sound.

She smiled, her heels a ticking clock counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until their arrival.

She had to make sure the house was perfect. Everything in its place and not a speck of dust to be found.

Outwardly she was a picture of calm, but inside she was so excited, her stomach, a storm of butterflies taking flight. Nothing much happened around here lately, the house seemed so empty. So quiet.

It lacked the heartbeat and pulse only a family could bring.

She wasn’t sure why; it wasn’t that long ago she remembered the love and happiness filling this house with the colours of the rainbow. She remembered with clarity the day he’d carried her over the threshold and placed her down as if she was a precious piece of porcelain. With his strong arms wrapping her up, he’d drawn her close and kissed her to near swooning.

One night, to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary they’d gone to see the new movie playing in the cinema, leaving the children with the lovely lady who lived across the street.

Secure in the knowledge that they’d be safe and well looked after; they’d had no idea as they drove away, that it wasn’t the children they should’ve been worried about.

Lillian touched a fingernail to her bottom lip, tapping it to encourage her memory to supply her with the information she desired. Her memory was murky in places and it took a few seconds to recall the memories of that night. When called to mind they were shrouded in wispy black shadows and tinged with a pain so bright, it made her breath catch and her eyes burn with the need to shed a tear.

That’s right, she thought blinking rapidly to discourage the tears from falling, it was The King and I. And what a lovely movie it was too. Without warning, the recollections of that night shift from the movie, to frightful images of twisted metal, glittering confetti-like shards of glass everywhere, the hot smell of spilt blood and burning rubber, bolts of searing agony, low groans of pain and fear, and the smell of smoke. Wrapping her arms about herself in comfort, pale hands fisting, her memory replayed for her the vision of her beloved slumped against the window, his face awash in light and then cloaked in shadows with the passing headlights. Even now, displaced from the actual event by the passage of time, a sob threatened to choke her as she saw in her memory, the raw gash on his forehead weeping blood down his beautiful face in a trickle of black tears, his head tilted in a fashion which didn’t look comfortable or natural, and his lush lips parted to release the sounds of his pain.

Her hand rose to her forehead where a deep ache was making itself known and she rubbed at it with her fingertips. Her arm and leg also pained at certain times and she always made a conscious effort not to give in and limp.

After that, her memories went blank, so she’d given up trying to recall the subsequent events of that evening.

When next her memory supplied her with images, she recalled waking up in her room.

Alone.

She didn’t know what had become of her husband. Her children.

Her mind was blank.

She just knew it’d been too long since children ran through the halls and played in the bedrooms. Too long since they’d explored and played in the garden. Too long since they’d giggled and laughed with abandon as they’d pushed each other on the swing hanging in the cool shade of the Jacaranda tree.

Sorrow brought her to a halt and she swallowed back the sob that threatened to break free.

It had been too long since the sound of a man’s deep baritone had swirled through the air, embracing everything in sensual notes of bronze. Since his cologne had unfurled like ribbons to enchant and bedazzle her in its luscious scent.

It was no effort at all to make the bed, a speedy tug of the sheet and coverlet to smooth them were all that was required, as she found these days sleep was one of those elusive things – like hunger, thirst and the remnants of wispy dreams.

With a nod and sad smile, Lillian drew back the drapes, tied them around their middles with tasselled ropes and walked over to the doorway, the sun’s rays flooding the room behind her as she stepped out and turned right.

Through the large oval window at the end of the hall, golden beams cheerfully flowed through, bringing to life the rich colours of her antique runner, the sunrays unmuting the colours, making them dance with pops of glorious colours, before spilling over to flood the wooden floors in bright golden splashes.

And now her love, her handsome husband, and their children had returned and she was walking on air as she went about concocting plans to make their home perfect for them once again. Not much was needed really, just a quick pass with the duster. She clapped her hands as a thought struck her while excitement bubbled in her chest.

She would bake them a cake.

She hadn’t baked for a long time and after assuring herself she hadn’t forgotten how; she made her way to the kitchen.

But first, a cup of tea to start the day.

With her flowy skirt swishing about her legs, she carefully walked down the short staircase on the upper floor to reach the ground floor where the kitchen, living room and laundry were located.

Stepping off that last tread onto the gleaming wooden floor with happy clicks of her heels, she continued her way down the entrance hall leading to the large kitchen at the rear of the house, passing highly polished demi-lune tables placed against the wall, their tops decorated with delicate statues and pretty ornaments that her and her husband had collected during their marriage. Her heart gave a lurch at the smiling porcelain faces of the statues and the happy memories of collecting them with her husband.

In the morning sunlight illuminating the hallway through the glass insets of the front door, they shone with a lustre that only well-loved porcelain could achieve. The paintings that lined the walls were as fresh as the day they’d been hung and would need the barest touch of the feather duster.

She allowed herself a quick smile of pride, well satisfied that she’d kept the house immaculate in their absence.

Entering the cosy kitchen she cast her eyes about, as pleased with it as the day she’d first laid her gaze upon it. Walking over to the kettle, she checked it had water and set it to boil atop the stove. Gathering a cup and saucer, and her favourite teapot, she opened the cupboard, grabbing down her tea caddy before opening and adding several spoonfuls to the pot.

With the cheery whistle of the kettle, she filled the pot and left the tea to brew while she walked over and drew the blinds, inviting the sunshine into the room with her.

The morning sun filled the kitchen with a gentle golden light, touching everything with buttery fingers. Elegantly arching over the porcelain sink, taps gleamed as the rays danced off the metal and the table and chairs practically hummed with pleasure as the light warmed the wood to the colour of warmed honey.

A vase of mauve agapanthus she’d picked yesterday from the flourishing front garden stood tall and proud in water, their cheeriness brightening the room like a smile. Taking the pot and cup and saucer to her place at the table, she gathered a tea strainer, spoon, sugar and a small jug of milk and taking them with her, she sat and placed them down next to the pot. She had to scoop a few inquisitive ants from out of the sugar but she didn’t mind, they were harmless.

After pouring her tea, she sat back, crossed her legs, and sipped. It was just as she liked it, hot, strong, and sweet. Her thoughts turned to the activity in the street recently. There had been more people about lately, mowing lawns and tidying up the houses. Putting her cup down, she scratched at an itch on her arm and then reclaimed and tipped up her cup, draining the contents.

Placing her empty teacup in the sink along with the saucer and spoon, she replaced the remains of the milk in the old fridge along with the sugar – to prevent more ants taking up residence amongst the white crystals – and after a quick inspection which made her realise that she’d need to make a trip to the grocers to stock up on food, she closed the door and turned around. With her heels clicking out a brisk tattoo, she made her way to the back door. Unhooking her apron from a hook on the back, she placed it over her head, and with the ease of having done the same thing a thousand times, she tied the strings behind her.

Swiftly gathering the ingredients needed, she whipped up a cake and placed it in the oven. Leaving the dishes soaking, she collected the feather duster from a cupboard beneath the sink and walked out, the delicious scent of baking sweet in her nose.

Back in the front parlour she heard a car pull to a stop. Rushing to the window, she carefully drew back the gauzy curtain and watched with her heart in her mouth as the car doors swung wide and her family stepped out.

Her heart lurched, the children had grown so and her husband was still the most divine man she’d ever seen.

One walking behind the other, they made their way through the front gate and up the tiled path, before disappearing from her view as they stepped onto the front porch.

She heard a creak and then the sound of the front door opening.

Still standing near the window, she wrung her hands, unsure of what to do. Should she stay here and wait for them to find her? To come to her? Or should she rush to the kitchen, take out the cake which surely wouldn’t be cooked, and have a seat at the table, readying herself to serve them half-baked morning tea. Her breathing quickend, her indecision has given them the opportunity to enter and she looked around quickly, casting a critical eye over the furnishings. Everything gleams in the sunlight, shining with her love and attention to keeping it clean.

The air smells delicious. The ribbons of warm cake scent unfurling through the whole house.

Keeping her heels off the floor, she tiptoed on the balls of her feet over to the open doorway and clinging to the frame, chanced a peek around it to see her family.

Her heart swelled with love at the sight of them. Her husband, although dressed in a fashion she wasn’t too sure about on him, was as handsome as ever. His hair was longer than she remembered, the dark ends curling on his shoulders. It was in desperate need of a cut and he was dressed in clothing that she didn’t remember him owning, although she’d seen similar clothes on the men who frequented the small town in which she lived.

He ran a hand through his thick black hair, pulling it away from his forehead and she caught sight of those glorious blue eyes and the small faint scar on his cheek that he’d had since childhood, claiming he’d fallen from a tree and opened it up on a branch. It was barely visible beneath the shadow of his incoming beard.

This place stinks, her son abruptly stated, reaching up to grab his nose and squeezing.

Her husband ran his hand over the brown curls of his son’s hair, his own face not showing any emotion at being home. It’s alright, it’s just the smell of an old house that’s been locked up and unloved for so long. We’ll soon have it clean and fresh again.

Lillian’s heart fell and she clutched at her chest as an ache began to throb behind the stiff material of her dress. She sniffed at the air, but only smelt baking and the scent of cleanliness. She’s not sure what her son’s smelling, maybe one of the new neighbours is burning off some rubbish?

As they pass down the hallway and walk to the kitchen, Lillian dashes for the doorway and creeps toward the staircase. She reaches it at the same time her family enter the kitchen and freezes with one hand on the handrail’s wooden newel cap.

From her position at the base of the stairway, her face softens as she gazes at the man she hasn’t seen in such a long time. Viewed in profile, her husband is tall and so majestic. Is he perhaps more muscled than the last time she’d seen him? She’s not sure, the sight of him dazzles her. As they spread out in the kitchen, she quietly creeps along behind them, her husband in her sights. Beneath the shirt he’s wearing, she sees the ripple and pull of strong muscles. His legs are long and well-defined beneath the faded denim jeans and she puts a hand to her throat as she silently admires him.

The weighty thud of his boots hitting the floor are quickly matched by the heavy beat of her heart as she follows along, her love spreading to every point of her body.

After so long.

After so many lonely years, they’re here.

They’re home.

Chapter Two

IT’S MY DAUGHTER who says what we’re all thinking.

Hearing a squeak, I turn to watch her, frowning when her nose crinkles in disgust. Her eyes flicker my way and then slide away, her hand wildly waving by the side of her head. Yuk, it smells awful. Like something nasty died. Glancing down, she makes a noise of disgust and jumps backwards when a cockroach scuttles over the toe of one of her sneakers. Her vision raising and shooting to the cupboards, her eyes narrow to slits as she queries suspiciously, Maybe there’s rats in the cupboards?

Turning to the cupboards, I stare at the dirty, warped doors, the weight of the years bearing down on them, my mind abuzz with visions of skulking rats lurking in the shadows behind them, before shaking my head and returning my attention to her. I wouldn’t think so sweetheart.

I’m starting to think she may be right though. I hadn’t checked the cupboards — or anything really — during the initial viewing with the real estate. I’d been so eager to buy the place, I’d overlooked checking behind shit to see if there was a problem with pests.

It’s an older place, so a possum, stray rodent or curious insect is expected, although pest control is easily accessible and any problem easy to fix.

Glancing down, she violently flicks the toe of her shoe. Ewww, there’s heaps of bugs here too, Dad. Urgh, it’s so dirty and… she glances at me again, her mouth dropping at the corners, before she looks away to the grimy window over the sink. Her gaze slides upwards and away to the uppermost corners of the room where drooping dusty webs have all but eliminated them, softening the harsh angles in brown lace. …there’s spiders. Making a noise of horror and disgust, she stomps her feet, wraps her arms about herself, and takes another step back.

Shit, don’t be such a fuc…freakin’ girl. It’s just a spider, her fifteen-year-old brother snarks, his low voice showing the man he’ll eventually become. Folding his arms, he rocks backwards and forwards, his cocky posture showing he doesn’t give a shit about anything.

His sister glares at the back of his shaggy head as if setting him on fire with willpower alone. The pad of her sneakers on the floor, although quiet, reverberate and clang in my head which is already throbbing and showing me strange images of a car wreck and a bloodied face staring up at me.

My eyes slip shut. Don’t swear son, I bark, before reaching up to massage the corner of my eyes with thumb and forefinger. My heart lurches sadly when soft hands reach up to lovingly cradle my face. Pulling my fingers away, I sigh and drag them down my face, tentatively touching fingertips to my jaw, the echo of the stranger’s touch, soft on my skin like a loving memory.

What’s that all about?

Shaking my head to rid myself of the strange images, I open my eyes and walk over to the dusty sink. Curling my hands over the edge I bow my head, my weight balancing on the cool edge.

A cockroach runs a dusty path around the base of the sink before diving down the rusted sinkhole and disappearing.

I sigh, this’s my life now, I think, listening as a scratching noise drifts up from the cupboards beneath the sink. A wife who won’t let me touch her, a plague of bugs, the high possibility of rodents and a fuckin’ mortgage I’ll probably never pay off in this lifetime.

The bloodied woman I’d seen in my mind, has a strange air of familiarity even though I’m fairly certain I don’t know her. I’m fairly certain I’ve never seen her around.

A tightening in my stomach has me pushing back from the sink and rubbing a hand over my shirt. Twisting my wrist, I push up my sleeve and check my watch, noting it’s drawing close to morning tea, an outdated concept I’ve always been drawn to keeping, and another reason to drive the stake of apathy further into the heart of my dying marriage.

Pushing back, I stand to my full height and turn, resting my arse on the rolled porcelain edging. My son steps towards the dusty table. It’s leaning to the side with age and probably, insect infestation in the wood, and as he draws closer, he looks down on it with utter contempt.

His sour expression, his screwed-up nose, downturned mouth and narrow eyes, telling me he’s hating every moment of this new home inspection that he’s being forced to participate in.

Throwing out an arm, I point my fingers at the table even though he’s not watching me, his eyes are flickering over the top, skipping over the filthy teapot that’s missing a lid and laying on its side, the spout choked with web and fat black spider, the tarnished spoons, cracked cups and saucers and the thick layer of dust and age that’s coating the tabletop.

Don’t put too much weight on that, it’ll probably collapse. My eyes slide down the moulding legs to the filthy floor, expecting the table to implode in a great cloud of dust like an unwanted building.

The air smells stale and sour, which is to be expected, especially if there’s mice. Turning away from the disappointment on my kids’ faces, I step over to the ancient stove tucked away in the corner.

My index finger idly traces a path through the thick dusty crust on top. I glance down at it and wipe it off on the side of my jeans. What’s one more dirty patch?

Squatting, I grab the oven handle and resting my weight on my heels I look through the smeary glass insert spying an old cake tin on the bottom rack. I’m fairly certain the old stove is ratshit, besides the power’s turned off to protect against fires in the wiring, so even if God himself touched the house, nothing’s gonna work.

No lights, no hot water, no stove.

Jesus H Christ. I’m paying eight-hundred-grand for a run-down pile of fucking, dead, shit, I mumble through clenched teeth. What was I thinking? Was I even thinking?

It’s just one more thing to add to the expanding mental to-do list for this house – buy a new oven. And I haven’t even thoroughly checked out the rooms upstairs. There could be water damage, termites or a roosting flock of fuckin’ pigeons for all I know.

What’s that, Dad?

Nothing son, talking to myself. I rake a hand through my thick hair, hair which is in desperate need of a cut. Dropping my head, I scrape blunt nails over my scalp and mumble louder, "Who can afford