GHOST OF A CHANCE, a paranormal short story Read Free Page B

the gruff NYPD Detective.
    Peter leaned close and said, “She seems to have them tamed.  It will make her little show that much easier.”
    Tracy was slightly taken aback and peered at him.  “So you don’t believe in her abilities?”
    He shoved the tips of his fingers in the pockets of his jeans, rocked back on his heels a moment, and then shrugged.  “Let’s just say that in my world I’m used to dealing in facts.  And you?”
    “My stock and trade is facts.  Not this.”  She waved her hand in the direction of the circus occurring before her eyes. Tommy and his crew had gathered, with an assortment of equipment, at the far side of the room before what looked like a control panel.  Nancy had assumed a spot at the head of a small table which had been placed in the center of the room.  The three men jockeyed for seats around her and finally settled down, leaving empty spots for Tracy, Peter, and Tommy.
    Nancy glanced her way, lifted an artfully waxed brow, and fluttered her hand, beckoning to them with perfectly manicured fingers.  “Come.  It’s time to get started.”
    Tommy raced to a seat at the table, but Tracy and Peter proceeded more slowly.  As they took seats beside one another, Nancy glanced toward Peter’s assistant, who stood by the door.  At her nod, he lowered the lights, bathing them in the warm glow of the candles Nancy had insisted be placed at strategic locations around the room.
    Tracy had to give it to the psychic.  The lighting created an immediate sense of intimacy given their close proximity around the small table.
    “Please reach out to your neighbors and grasp their hand.”
    Hold Peter’s hand.  She should have seen it coming, but suddenly found herself scrubbing her wet palm against her jeans before grasping Tommy’s hand and then Peter’s.
    Warmth.  Strength.  An unexpected tingle that snared her attention and had her shooting him a half-glance.
    His attention was likewise diverted, his gaze on her instead of Nancy. The psychic pressed forward, calling on the spirits in the room to show themselves.  Asking for some sign that they were there.
    Nothing happened with the ghosts, but Tracy was definitely getting signs from Peter.  His blue eyes were bright with interest as he examined her face, and that tingle where she was holding his hand grew steadily until…
    A chill snaked around her ankles, but in a mansion as old as this one, that wasn’t unexpected.  Then a low, almost masculine moan erupted from Nancy as her eyes rolled back in her head.
    “Oh man, the EMF meter is going wild,” one of Tommy’s technicians murmured and clapped his hands gleefully.
    Nancy’s head lolled against the back of the dining chair and the two men on either side of her released her hands to come to her assistance, but she shook her head.  “No, hold on,” Nancy warned.  “Someone is here.  They are trying to reach us.”
    The chill, which at first had seemed like nothing more than a draft, grew bolder, traveling upward and wrapping around Tracy’s legs.  Insistent.  Her heartbeat raced in her chest and pressure built inside her skull.  She shook her head, trying to drive away the sensation overtaking her.
    “Tracy. Tracy, are you okay?” she heard from beside her.  But it came as if from a distance and echoed within her brain.
    The cold had now embraced her entire body.  She tried to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth.  A hand brushed the side of her face.  Lovingly.  Somehow grounding her as she struggled to free herself of the consciousness taking control of her body.
    #
    Peter ran his hand along Tracy’s cheek and met her gaze, but the vibrant and intelligent gleam in her eyes had changed somehow.  Her eyes were blank, dark, lifeless orbs staring back at him.  The edges of her lips moved.  Barely.  And as he examined her face more carefully, it was almost as if the blurry image of someone else had been superimposed on her features.
    A beautiful woman,