"So," David says, shoving his fists into his sides and turning his back to the darkening windows. "She was standing here and pointing..."

"Here," I answer, placing myself in the approximate position where David was standing when the dead woman pointed at him. "When I came up here alone and saw her, a chain stretched from her neck to the wall."

I indicate the path from David to the bracket in the wall, shivering as I picture the scuffed chain rattling past me. I swear, I could smell the rust and see each speck of lichen on it.

We've turned on every light up here in the Solarium, but it is not doing much to chase away the gloom now that the sun is setting. I don't like being up here; my skin is prickling as if I'm allergic to the very air. I almost didn't come with David, but the idea of staying behind scared me even more.

I'm still trying to digest the news that his great-grandfather died in this house after falling down the same stairs I got dragged down. I know the two incidents aren't related, but the idea still makes me feel ill.

What if his great-grandfather shows up downstairs and starts pointing at things?! I don't think I would be able to handle that.

"She was pointing at me," David sighs with a resigned grimace. "There's nothing else over there."

There are some stacked paintings near the corner, but we've already gone through them to see if perhaps one of them was a portrait of a possible culprit. They're mostly just discarded half-painted landscapes and dirty canvasses with some lines drawn on them and splashes of paint.

They are disappointingly clue-free, and so are the boxes of old, mouldy art supplies piled on top of each other in the corner of the room.

"Maybe I look like the person who killed her," he suggests, and it's clear that the idea makes him really sad.

"Maybe I'm just nuts, and she was never even here," I shrug, really hoping I am wrong about the nuts part but right about the rest. I hate the thought of a helpless, battered woman tied up in here, and I feel lousy about accusing David of murdering that woman.

I may not know his deepest, darkest secrets, but I know enough about who he is now to be sure that he would never do something that horrible. He said he understood where I was coming from. He told me he would be freaked out and suspicious too, if he were a vulnerable young woman trapped in a house where weird things kept on happening to him - some of them dangerous - and his only ally was a man he didn't know from Adam.

Except that we seem to know so many strange little things about each other's childhoods. The knowledge stops in our pre-teens, but it helps to know that he was once a cute, shy little boy who loved to play with his cat. Many evil masterminds in stories also like playing with their cats, but David doesn't have a manic laugh or a pinky ring... and his cat was a dog.

I'm starting to feel safe again, especially when he turns his warm green eyes on me and smiles that lightning smile of his. It awakens swarms of butterflies in my stomach, even now, here, in this horrible solarium where I may or may not have seen a murdered woman. I answer his smile with one of my own, basking in the warm feelings filling my heart while we gaze fondly at each other.

He is by far the most beautiful person I have ever met. Inside and out.

I long to know more and more of him. I want to know everything there is to know about him, and then I want to learn some more. No man has ever had this all-consuming effect on me before.

I watch David cross the floor, moving gracefully like a panther, to join me and grin up at him when he stops in front of me. He reaches out and gently strokes a strand of flyaway hair from my cheek. I'm mesmerized seeing his eyes darkening while they gaze into mine, reflecting the myriad of emotions stirring awake inside me.

"I'm sorry you're having such a hard time here," he says, running his thumb over my lower lip, causing me to shiver as goosebumps pop up all over my skin.

"I'm not," I tell him, feeling breathless. "I've never been happier in my entire life."

David chuckles, moving his thumb to my chin and along my jaw to my ear. "You sure set the bar really low."

"David, if you are the bar, it is far from low," I tell him, eagerly rising onto my toes when he curls his fingers into my hair and lowers his face to mine, capturing my lower lip between his. I gasp in surprise and wrap my arms around his neck when he drops his hand from my head to grab my thighs with both his hands and lifts me off my feet, prompting my legs to wrap around his waist.

My heart soars, and my brain swims in an ocean of endorphins and joy as our kiss progresses from tender and searching to become a blazing inferno of passion and longing. Our yearning for each other blends with that of others who have been here before us, spanning more than a century. Love and loss collide in near desperation to be closer to each other.

"David," I whisper against his lips, moaning softly when he slides his tongue into my mouth in answer. His hair is thick between my stroking fingers, his skin warm against my lips when I leave a trail of kisses along his rough cheek to his neck.

I relish the strength of his muscles under my fingertips while I run my hands over his broad shoulders and inhale sharply when his stubble scratches the sensitive skin of my throat as he moves his head to nuzzle the hollow where my neck and shoulder meet.

Movement near the window penetrates through my semi-closed eyelids, and I open my eyes, grunting in horror, my fingers digging into David's shoulders in panic when I snap out of my delirium, registering where we are and that we're not alone.

"David!"

"Belle?" he mutters, lifting his head to look at me with love-drugged eyes. He'd been as lost to reality as I had been. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," I groan, pushing away from his chest so that I can see his face more clearly. "She... there..." I breathe, and David releases my thighs so that I can stand, wrapping his arms around me while he turns to look at the spot near the window he'd occupied only minutes ago.

"Is she there now?" he asks, making my stomach drop with disappointment and fear.

"You don't see her?"

He swallows, looking down at me, and by the distress on his face, I know my horror is painted all over my face. The woman is in her spot near the windows, her hand raised, pointing at us, and this time, I don't run; I cling to David and pull him with me to shuffle a few steps to the side.

"She's not pointing at you," I tell him, dizzy with relief when her hand remains in place and she doesn't move to follow us with her finger. Guilt falls like a lead ball into my stomach. Until this moment, I didn't realise that I still doubted him a little bit.

"Where is she pointing?"

I turn to look in the general direction, and there's nothing there except shadows and boxes of junk, which David said he was going to clear away tomorrow.

"Somewhere there. I think she's a memory replaying like a hologram," I say, trying to convince myself. That hologram looked a little different earlier, and she screamed. Right now, she's again wearing the veil and the tattered black dress from a different era.

"Help me get the angle right," David says decisively, removing his arms from around me and when I grab his sleeve, startled by the loss of his comforting warmth, he holds onto my upper arms. "It's okay, Belle. It's okay," he smiles, looking into my eyes, making sure I'm with him and understand what he wants to do. He drops a kiss on my forehead, and before I can register what he's doing, he walks to the windows.

I suck in suffocating breaths, unable to get any oxygen into my stiff lungs, trying to stay calm as David stops near the woman and turns to face me.

"Is this it?" he asks, and I shake my head, covering my mouth with both my hands not to whimper. When I'm sure that I'm not about to have a meltdown, I move one hand away and point to his right. David shifts his position until he stands directly next to the ghostly woman. My eyes are starting to tear up as I stare unblinking in terrified fascination at the man standing beside the woman who shouldn't be there. She doesn't acknowledge his presence; she just stands there pointing like a ghastly 3D signpost.

How can he not see her?

She is not transparent; she is as visible as he is, except... there is something a little more fluid about her outline, and her veil is constantly stirring as if there is a slight breeze over there. There's not. The windows are all firmly shut.

Clenching my teeth, swallowing against the bile rising in my throat, I point to David's right again and when he steps to the side. I hold up my hand for him to stop.

He does, and it's hard to look at him now. It's like seeing an old photograph where two negatives were printed over each other. I can see David, and I can see the woman. She is about a head shorter than him and much slighter in build. She is still not giving any indication that she is aware that she is now part of another human being's body. A female shadow within a man.

"This it?" David asks, and I nod my head, watching him raise his arm. I direct him with finger movements, nods and shakes of my head until his arm is aligned with the woman's outstretched arm.

This is honestly the weirdest thing I've ever had to do. I enjoyed our activity from a couple of minutes ago so much more.

No, there's no comparison.

I nod my head, giving David a thumbs up when he is pointing at exactly the same angle as the woman. My breath catches in my throat when he steps forward, and the woman dissipates like soot-filled smoke, disappearing into the air around him. I lower my hand from my mouth, gasping deep, relieved breaths of air. My lungs no longer feel constricted, and my throat is relaxing its stranglehold.

I watch David cross the floor, lead by his outstretched arm, careful to stay in line, and my heart warms with gratitude that he took my word for the woman being there, though he couldn't see her. He trusts me so much more than I've been trusting him.

I wish I didn't see her either.

I don't remember being clairvoyant before I came here. Golly, I can barely see what's around me in the physical world and not because my eyes are bad; I'm just extremely imperceptive.

David stops when he reaches the corner of the room and when he starts to move boxes out of his way, I join him to give him a hand.

"We've looked in these already," I remind him.

"I know. I'm trying to get behind them."

There's nothing but the wall behind them. Where the windows in the back wall end, the wall shifts at a right angle into the room and from there, it continues to the side wall, creating a rectangular closed-off nook. We saw it earlier. It's the chimney from the study beneath us, rising through the solarium to the roof.

David gives me a pained look and shrugs.

"You might be right. It's just a memory. Who or what she'd been pointing at is long gone," he sighs, looking up the featureless wall to the ceiling far above us. Shrugging again, he raises a fist and raps it against the white-painted wall.

I know something is wrong the moment I see his expression change to confusion. He raps again, walking along the wall, shaking his head with more and more decisiveness as he moves around the corner of the chimney.

"Belle," he finally says, turning to look at me, his expression filled with surprise. "This is not stone or brick. If this were the chimney, it would be stone or brick, like the other chimney walls in this house."

He strides past me to the front of the room, opens the last window and leans out, trying to see past the solarium to the section of the lower floor's roof bordering it.

"Yeah," he grunts, pulling me closer when I join him at the window. "It's a bit dark now, but do you see there? That's the chimney."

I lean out of the window with him, and he is right; in the dusk of early evening, I can make out the shape of the chimney. It doesn't pass through the solarium; it borders the outside wall.

"Yes."

Suddenly feeling vulnerable, precariously hanging out of the window, far above the ground, I hurry to leave the window, pulling David's arm to bring him inside with me. The last thing I want is for him or both of us to fall out this window. I won't be too shocked if someone or something shows up to push us out.

David closes the window and turns to look at the rectangular section that suddenly seems completely out of place up here now that we know it isn't part of the chimney. It's not a storage room because there's no door. It's just a closed section in the corner of the room, barely visible when surrounded by boxes and canvasses.

"I'm going to fetch my toolbox and break it open," David announces after a few minutes of silently staring at the confusing wall he'd never given a second thought before. I hurry after him when he crosses to the door with determined steps.

Dread claws its way down my throat, curling like a spiky eel in the pit of my stomach. I am not entirely sure I want to know what is in that closed-off section of the room. I am 100% sure we're not going to like it.

Rain splatters down with renewed enthusiasm when we reach the kitchen, where I wait in the open back door while David runs outside to fetch his toolbox from his truck.

He brings it inside and puts it on the serving counter while I hurry to lock the door behind him. I'm surprised by the amount of effort I have to put in to wrestle the wind to get it shut. The weather turned bad so suddenly. I thought we were over the worst of it, but apparently, I was wrong.

I grab the roll of paper towels from the counter and use a generous amount to soak the moisture from David's hair while he rummages through his toolbox, looking for what he needs.

He'd only been outside for less than a minute, and his hair is already plastered to his head, and his clothes covered in a sheen of rainwater. He doesn't seem to care and has a hammer in his hand when he straightens, ready to take on the task. I think it might be the same one he'd used to murder the Nautical clock 324 years ago when this weird adventure started.

"Perhaps," he starts and grimaces, licking his lower lip, looking uncertain. "Perhaps you should wait here."

"I'm not letting you deal with this alone," I tell him with courage I do not feel. "I promise I won't use my weapon against you," I add, taking the rolling pin from the cupboard under the sink and holding it up for him to see.

David grins, giving me a teasing look. "Are you sure you can promise that?"

"No," I admit with a wince, and instead of being afraid, the man laughs and turns to head out of the kitchen. I'm glad he's not asking me what exactly the weapon is for since we're opening a sealed section of a room. Nothing could be alive in there... except perhaps rats, beetles and maggots... maybe...

My legs are jelly, and all the butterflies that were fluttering happily in my stomach earlier have been eaten by the spiky eel, which turned putrid and slimy. I'm queazy with dread as I follow David upstairs, listening for the sounds of footsteps and shuffling around us in the cloying dusk.

Strange how finding a wall that has no reason to exist can rob a person of their last shred of comfort.

I'm scared, really scared.

David doesn't hesitate when we enter the solarium, and I barely pause long enough to check if the woman is hanging around, helpfully guiding our steps with her outstretched hand. She's not, and I'm a little disappointed that she won't be witnessing the minor vandalism David is planning for our evening entertainment.

It was inspired by her, after all.

I know it's coming, but I still jump and drop the rolling pin when the first strike of the hammer cracks what appears to be some kind of limestone plaster. It's hard, but no match for David and his determination. I watch in fascination, my fingers in my ears, as the plaster falls away one broken piece at a time, crumbling under the powerful blows.

I again realise just how strong David is; he hides it well behind his handsomeness. I would not want to be his enemy and be on the receiving end of his power.

A huge section of the wall suddenly caves in as if the structure decided to give up against a force it couldn't fight any longer. It drags other parts with it and when the dust exploding up in powdery puffs clears, David steps closer, looking into the space he'd opened.

I hurry to cross the few steps between us, stopping in my tracks when the scream I'd heard earlier today once again shreds the air and slams into me as if I'd crashed into a wall. It forces me into a crouch, my hands pressed tightly over my ears in a feeble attempt to block it out.

I'm not hearing it with my ears.

I see David turn away from his excavation; his tanned skin has a sickly yellow hue, and I don't think it is just because of the chalky dust he'd churned up in his labour coating his face.

He is grimacing in horror, dropping his hammer to cover his ears, and from the look on his face, I know that now, he, too, is seeing the woman standing near the windows. Her veil is slipping from her battered face while she shrieks loud enough to wake the dead three continents away from ours.

Apparently, I'm not nuts after all.

☼☼☼