Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
A chill ran down Caspian’s spine. A strange tingling, a numbness overtook his tongue… Speak no evil. His lips began to tingle, as if someone was trying to silence him. A soft, feathery feeling trailed his hands… like an invisible feather dragging along his knuckles. Heat crept along the back of his neck, like hot breath… someone speaking close by. He felt a tug on his jacket, and he didn’t dare look to confirm. He swallowed, pushing back the eeriness of it all, trying to maintain his cool. His composure. Mrs. Florence was there. No doubt about it. Was she upset that he’d stopped to speak to Clifford? Perhaps. Before he could save face, Mr. Florence’s lips curled into a creepy grin, and his eyes rolled, then went vacant.
“My favorite color was green… like your girlfriend’s green vase. Your favorite color as a little boy, was purple… like purple crayons…LET.ME.DRAW.YOU.A.PICTURE.BOY! Fulfill your promise and leave me and mine alone!!!”
Caspian stared her down. It was Clifford’s voice. Clifford’s face. But no longer Clifford… He smiled right back at the man, and leaned forward.
“Mrs. Florence, how do you do? You’ll get your promise fulfilled, but I’m gonna get my questions answered, too. Or are you afraid of what I may find out? I need your help. I need to know WHO you were, and why you understood me and my brothers so well… I need you to step aside so I can find out. You know I’m going to contact your niece soon now, don’t you? Sure you do, or you wouldn’t be body hoppin’ right about now. I’ve danced with the devil. I’ve snatched souls and not even blinked. I am a rotten apple, to my core. Takes a lot more to run me off than some ghostly body snatchin.’ I’m the nonbeliever, remember? Tricks of the trade don’t move me. Now put Mr. Clifford back, please…AHHH!”
His eyes nearly bulged out of his head as he felt a tight grip around his throat. Two, hot hands. He began to claw at his neck, trying to unwrap the invisible grip.
“STOP… IT!”
The grip released in a flash, and he rolled into a violent cough. The old man began to laugh and rock in his chair, and then, just like that, he stopped moving. On a dime. Clifford blinked several times, as if just waking up. “What did I just say?” He questioned.
“Nothing.” Caspian stated with a smirk, and crossed his arms. “Nothin’ at all. Maybe you’re just tired.” The old man nodded in agreement, though he didn’t appear quite convinced. “I’m going to go on and get ready to go. I have one more question though, before I do. Did you ever think about remarrying, Mr. Florence?”
Mr. Florence looked down, then vigorously shook his head. Grabbing that napkin again, he dabbed at his eyes. Then, slowly, he looked back up, his expression serious.
“Why would I? Who could I go to when I’d already been blessed with the best?”
Chapter Eleven
Azure couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the man’s conversation. After all, he’d set the bar so high with an extravagant rendezvous such as this, and she needed to know all of his damn business, from A to Z, including the part she couldn’t find online or hear from the horse’s mouth.
He made her soul sing, twist and turn. Her dreams burned with images of him deep inside of her groove, and she found herself thinking about him when he should’ve been the farthest thing from her mind. Intellectually, he could dance with her. Spiritually, he wasn’t hittin’ on nothin’ but she was determined to dig deeper because something was drawing her to him, and whatever it was, it was dipped three times in magnetism. He was poison ivy in the flesh—pretty in a strange sort of way, promising to be harmless, but secretly hellbent on doing harm. A hurtin’ distorted thing, growin’ in the sun for all to never see until it was far too late.
He was that first touch of heat from a flicked flame. The first grain of sand to meet the moon’s gaze in the desert, and the last breath inhaled, then held, before diving headfirst into a waterfall. Their conversations were flirty, degenerate yet deep. He’d kept her on the phone for two hours the day prior, yet it had felt like only one second in time. He knew about Langston Hughes, DC Comics, the best pizza and ribs in town. He aced 1990s pop culture trivia, Judaism, and the flat Earth debate. He wore many hats, all of them shrouded in shadows and dark clouds. He had a dry sense of humor, keeping her laughing all the time. You’ve got my full attention, Mr. Emory…
She crossed her legs, admiring her outfit as she moved. Her green satin genie pants with matching green crop top went well with her gold and rhinestone heels, and her locs piled up high with gold adornments. She’d even managed to get a nail appointment, securing green ones with gold tips.