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“Quédate un poco más.” As the ball rolled away, the girl’s dark eyes filled with tears.
“What’s she saying?” In my dream, I looked about for an interpreter. I placed my hands on the girl’s thin shoulders. “Can you speak English? What are you saying?”
“Quédate.” The girl held tighter, her long dark hair framing her angular face. “Quédate.”
I woke repeating the word over and over. Switching on the bed lamp, I grabbed my phone, found an online Spanish-to-English translating app, and punched in my best guess at the word’s spelling. “Quédate. Stay.” Stay?
I turned off the lamp and stared at the ceiling. Who was that little girl? Why would she want me to stay? And stay where? And what’s with the red ball?
Again, I fell into a troubled sleep. This time, a woman’s face with a buttermilk complexion and upswept hair appeared—the same face as in the mirror. The woman wore the cameo brooch above a lacy, floor-length, wedding dress.
“Please stay,” said a male’s disembodied voice.
In the dream, I was the woman. Do I stay, or do I go? The words echoing as I woke, I glanced at the nightstand—SOS. The distress signal? What? Bolting upright with a yelp, I double-checked the digital alarm clock and laughed at my fears: 5:05, not SOS.
****
I watched through the hotel lobby window with my fourth cup of coffee in hand. The moment I saw Luke’s truck, I ran out and hammered on the passenger window.
“You’re up bright and early.”
Jumping in, I leaned against the headrest and breathed a sigh of relief. “I’ve been up since five. In fact, I barely slept at all.”
“Why?” His eyes bunched.
He’ll think I’m crazy. I paused, debating how to tell him. “I’m seeing ‘ghosts.’ ”
“What?” He smothered a laugh. “Did something go bump in the night?”
“More like thump in the night.” I handed him the rubber ball. “Here’s the ‘proof.’ Though the door was locked, this rolled into the bathroom while I showered.”
“That’s it?”
“No, I saw…for lack of a better word, apparitions.”
Frowning as he eyed the ball, he bunched his lips. “You mean the hotel’s haunted?”
“Not exactly. I saw an image in the mirror. Then after I went to bed, I saw the same image in my dream.” I stiffened, remembering. “Grandma always said dreams were thin veils between our world and the next—gateways where messages can slip through.” I shook off the chill. “I’m trying to stay objective, but last night’s encounters were spooky.”
“How do you know all the ‘encounters’ weren’t dreams?” Brow wrinkled, he dropped the ball in the cupholder.
“The first was so vivid, I’d swear I was awake.” I paused, absorbing the idea. “And the other dreams spoke to me—literally.”
“Some cultures believe dreams are a means to communicate with the dead.” He shrugged. “I suppose anything’s possible.”
“I’m just so glad the night’s over.” A deep sigh escaped.
“You sure you’re up for working in the vineyards?” He scrutinized me.
“Absolutely.” As we pulled onto the street, I eyed the hotel. “But I don’t want to stay in that room any longer than I have to.”
“So, you do think the hotel’s haunted.”
“Not really.” Wrinkling my nose, I tried to determine what made me uncomfortable. “Maybe it isn’t the room as much as something that’s in the room…”
“Did you sense it before last night?” He glanced my way.
“That first morning, I saw a smiley face in the steamed mirror, and…Why are you wearing that silly grin?”
