10. A Visitor

TEN

a visitor

"Elsie, dear. Breakfast is ready," Ms. Francis announces from the other side of the honeymoon suite door. "I hope you like waffles."

"My favorite," I lie. "I'll be right down." I listen as she knocks on the other guests' doors before heading back down the stairs.

After returning to the room, I've been curled into a corner, stuck deep in my self-pity, my fingers running mindlessly over the leather-bound journal. Through the years I've often wondered if the feelings and emotions I have toward Thorne are nothing more than "puppy love." Thorne was the only man to ever talk to me—the only man to show me attention. Maybe the naive, sickly, demon-possessed girl fell for the first man with a pulse who looked at her.

As I touch the leather that Thorne held in his hands, I know that's not the case. It was more than a schoolgirl crush. He felt it, too.

The sound of a door closing in the room next to me draws me back to the present. I carefully place the journal under my pillow and make sure there isn't any blood on my chin before exiting the room and heading downstairs.

"Good morning," I greet my only connection to Thorne. Ms. Francis is sitting at the table we shared yesterday with a plate in front of her and a full one on the opposite side.

"Good morning, Elsie. I took the liberty of making you a plate. I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, thank you." I quickly begin moving the food around on my plate, focusing on holding back the sadness that I carried with me this morning.

"Both guests are checking out this morning, so it may be just the two of us for a few days. I hope that doesn't bother you," Ms. Francis says, taking a bite of eggs. She smiles, showing a dimple on the side of her cheek, and for a brief moment, I see a hint of her ancestor.

"Of course not. But please don't feel like you have to make meals for me. I'll just grab something in town."

"Hosh posh," she scolds. "You're a paying guest, and all of my paying guests receive meals. It's part of the service."

"You're too kind."

She laughs deeply. "There are some who would disagree." I manage to move the food around enough that it appears I ate part of the breakfast.

While Francis performs the business aspect of checking the rest of the guests out, I clean the remaining food from the meal, taking the dishes into the kitchen.

Knowing the history of Charleston and the homes from the area, I know this room isn't original to the home. Still, my mind plays images of Thorne moving around the room…sitting at the small table next to the fireplace, picking up his son, and bouncing him on his knee.

Overwhelming sadness fills me at the thought of where our lives turned. At least he had a family and hopefully, a chance at happiness. Filling the sink with warm water, I mindlessly wash the dishes. It doesn't take long before the kitchen is clean, and the evidence of breakfast is put away.

"Did you do all of this?" Ms. Francis asks from behind me.

I turn, facing the elderly woman. "I did. I hope you don't mind."

"Mind? Never. Thank you."

"I thought maybe you could give me a history lesson on your family and the home."

She props her hands on her hips with a smile. "Well, since you took my job away, that sounds perfect. I need to clean the empty rooms first."

"I'll help you," I interrupt. "We can talk while we work."

"I couldn't ask you to do that," she retorts.

"You didn't. I'm volunteering. Consider it an exchange for your knowledge." I pull off the apron I'm wearing and prop my hands on my hips, copying her stance.

"You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?"

"You're figuring me out, Ms. Francis." I smile in return, motioning toward the door. "After you."

"This bedroom would have been the nursery originally," she says, leading me into a smaller bedroom in the back of the house. "All of the children would've been housed in this room until they were older." She moves toward a door in the back. "This would've been their nanny's room. Now it's a bathroom."

"All of the children in one room?" I think back to my siblings and how we shared one bed.

"Yes. Infant to teen. The other rooms would be kept as guest rooms. Back in those days, people didn't stop in for just a day. If you had a visitor, they might stay a week or even a month." We strip the bed of linens, piling them on the floor next to the door. "This was my room when I was young." She stops, looking around the room, clearly stuck in a memory.

"When the house was built, was this room meant to be the nursery?"

She huffs a short laugh. "Probably, but I wouldn't know that answer for sure. However, we do know that Captain Rex only had one son, which explains why this room is so small. Until his wife remarried, he would have had it to himself."

"She remarried?" I'm not sure why that surprises me.

"Aye. It was customary for women to be married during those times. After mourning the death of her husband, she married a merchant from town." She moves toward a small dresser in the corner. "This piece is original to the room. My grandmother once told me it was made from the wood of Captain Rex's ship."

"It's beautiful."

"Aye, it is."

"What do you think happened to him, to Captain Rex?"

Francis sighs. "I don't know that anyone will ever know. It's rather sad if you think about it. My grandmother passed down stories of him throughout the years. Stories told to her by her grandfather. It was said he was a cold, bitter man."

I think back to the Thorne I knew. He was kind, gentle, and anything but bitter. "I think we all have more going on inside than we want the world to know."

Francis's laugh fills the room. "That's the statement of the year, dear girl." She moves to the clean linens we carried upstairs. "Do you mind helping me put these on? A guest is checking in this afternoon, and I want him to have this room. "

"I thought you said we would be alone for a few days."

"Aye, I did. But through the magic of the internets, we have a guest coming today."

I smile at her attempt to sound technological while grabbing the sheets. In the time she tucks one corner in, I have the other three done and the top sheet in place. It doesn't take long to clean the rest of the room. While dusting, she gives me the history of each item and its significance to both Charleston and family history.

We're just about finished with the second bedroom when a feeling I haven't felt in a while threatens to overtake me. There's a vampire near—an energy I don't recognize.

"What's wrong, Elsie?" Ms. Francis asks, sensing my sudden change.

I clear my throat. "Nothing." I plaster a fake smile across my face. "I'm not feeling well after breakfast. Would you mind if I go and lay down?"

"Of course not. Our guest should be arriving soon. Get some rest, and thank you for your help."

I excuse myself and move across the hallway to the room I'm occupying. The feeling continues to grow. Shit. It's not Kragen's energy, but it somehow feels familiar. Could it be one of the creatures from his crew?

Grabbing the journal from its hiding spot, I exit the house before Ms. Francis registers movement. Once outside, I'm at the edge of the water less than a second later. I hold the journal to my chest, the last remaining connection I have to Thorne.

The energy continues to grow. Whoever it belongs to is strong and nearly as old as me. I turn, not sure what to expect, finding no one.

"Not all vampires are bad," I remind myself. "Not everyone is Kragen." My calming mantra has helped throughout the years. I've met others like me in the two hundred years since I escaped. Most were nothing more than sadistic killers. A few were passive and less threatening.

I turn back toward the river and run head first into the energy. Standing in front of me is a vampire. He's tall with a head full of dark curls and grey eyes, wearing a face I would recognize in a sea of millions.

"Thorne?" I whisper, not trusting my voice.

"Aye," he answers with a smile. "It's me, my love."

The wind is swept from my chest, and the world around me falls into blackness. I never thought it was possible for a vampire to pass out, yet here we are.

My eyes open to the familiar surroundings of the honeymoon suite. How did I get here? I jump from bed, not sure what's going on. Did I imagine that? Did I dream that? That's ridiculous, vampires can't sleep, let alone dream. I run downstairs, nearly slamming into Ms. Francis as she exits the sitting room.

"Oh, my. Elsie, are you all right?"

"Did you see anyone?"

"Other than you and our departed guests, no." She wrinkles her forehead. "Are you sure you're all right, dear?"

I close my eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? Being here, in his home is making me insane. "I'm okay. I'm afraid I'm going to have to check out today. I'll pay you two weeks' rent for the room. I can't be here any longer."

Sadness forms in her eyes, and I immediately feel guilty. "If, you're sure. At least let me make you something to eat first. Our new guest should be arriving soon."

"No, that's not necessary." I wrap my arm through hers and pull her close. "Thank you for everything, Ms. Francis. I'm going to pack my things."

Back in the room, it doesn't take long to pack the few items I brought with me. Running my fingers over each piece of furniture and fabric, memorizing every fiber, smell, and texture, I realize it's time to let go of my obsession. Thorne died never knowing what happened to you. It's apparent from the journal he never got over that. Neither of us did.

Now, I'm imagining him in front of me. I focus on blocking any energy and masking my own as I exit the honeymoon suite and make my way downstairs. Ms. Francis is talking to someone, which means her new guest has arrived. Against my better judgment, I wait in the foyer to tell her goodbye. The old Elsie would have left without another word, but this is different. She is different .

"Right this way," she says, leading someone from the desk she uses for check-in. The man that follows behind is the same man from the banks of the river. The man I've been searching for…Thorne.

"Oh, Elsie, you're still here. This is our new guest, Thorne Smith." She motions to the man behind her. "Such a strong name, and one I've never heard before."

"Hello, Elsie," he greets me.

I stare at the man who's haunted my thoughts for centuries. "Hello, Thorne." My voice is no louder than a whisper. "Is it really you?"

"Aye, it is, acushla." Hearing his familiar name for me covers my skin with chill bumps.

Ms. Francis looks between the two of us. "You two know each other? How unusual is that?"

"Elsie is someone I've been searching for…for a very long time."

"Looks like you found her," she adds. "Oh, wait. I've seen some of those movies on cable. You're not a stalker or anything, are you?"

"Nothing like that," he answers. He turns his attention back toward me. "You're even more beautiful than I remember."

I've dreamed of this moment. I've imagined it thousands of times. It helped me to survive…gave me the strength to escape and brought me here. Suddenly, face-to-face with the only man I've ever loved, words fail me. The conversations that played through my head are gone, leaving me in shock and confusion .

"How?" I whisper. "How is this possible?"

"I can see you two have some catching up to do," Ms. Francis interrupts. "Why don't I carry your bag to your room, and you two do some catching up? The piazza is beautiful this time of day and shouldn't be too hot yet."

She takes the bags from both of our hands as we continue to stare at each other. Grey eyes search every inch of my face as the two of us refuse to release each other from our gazes.

"Okay, then," she continues. "The piazza is just through those windows." She nudges me toward two large windows that open onto the long porch.