"So, why did we decide to come here for our vacation, again?" asks Jim as he stares around the old southern city. He’s always thought that Pam would want to go to Athens or Florence, not Charleston.
"Because we went to Paris on our honeymoon, and I’ve always wanted to visit the south," Pam replies as she sits down on a bench and fans her sweaty body.
It’s so damn hot.
"Yeah, but this time I thought you might want to visit the south of France, not South Carolina."
"I don’t know. I guess I just felt drawn here," she says.
Pam looks up at him and squints through the bright haze, and she looks so darn adorable that he can’t help himself from smiling down at her. However, she may have felt drawn to Charleston, but he feels as if he’d like to run away as fast as his legs can carry him. He’s not sure why. There’s just something about this city that makes him uncomfortable. He’d even go as far as to say that it spooks him.
"So, where are we?" he questions as he sits down on the bench next to her.
"I think this is called Rainbow Row," she answers, and the two of them stare at the street full of old, pastel, beautiful looking houses.
"Would you ever want to move here?" At his question, she shrugs.
"I sorta feel like I’ve already lived here," Pam says and rests her head on his shoulder. "But you don’t see houses like this in Scranton."
"It’s so hot," Jim complains as he tilts his head back. They’ve only been here a day, and already he wants to pass out. "I don’t know how people can do anything in this heat. I just want to fall asleep."
Pam looks up at him and smirks.
"Where’s the fun in that?"
***
He used to dream about Pam.
He used to dream about her before they were married.
He used to dream about her before they got together.
He used to dream about her before he met her.
Now, that’s not as poetic – or charming – as it sounds. Jim didn’t dream about Pam in the cheesy, cornball movie line "I-dreamed-about-you-before-I-ever-met-you" kind of way. When he was young, he never had those soft visions of a woman without a face, or the lovely fantasies about a girl a lot like Pam. . .
He actually had dreams about her. Pam. With the same hair, same eyes, same mouth and nose, toes and fingers.
Jim first started having the dreams when he was fourteen. Back then, it seemed like his imagination had simply conjured up some sort of random girl for his wet dreams. He had always figured that she was sort of a cross between Charlotte Kerns, a shy girl that lived down the street and sat with him on the bus, who tempted him in her knee-high socks and thigh-low denim skirt, and his ninth grade algebra teacher, Mrs. Locane. Mrs. Locane was fresh out of college, and had just finished up her student teaching when she became Jim’s teacher, and of course, all the boys crushed on her sweet smile and soft eyes.
So, naturally, Jim just always assumed that the woman who haunted him during his sleep was the product of his Charlotte-Locane fascination. It wasn’t like he meant to dream about her, or even that he wanted to dream about her. But after those first few nights of raw, unadulterated passion, he began to look forward to his bedtime.
The dreams were so vivid and real. He remembers the first, but it’s also the one that he remembers the least. Time’s funny like that, but he can recall that he was standing in a large pond, his pants rolled up to the knees, but it was no use since the water was almost up to his waist. The air was thick, and his sweat made his shirt stick to his skin as the low afternoon sun slowly finished it’s trail in the sky. He hadn’t recognized the place, but he had seen her, standing next to a tree – he forgets what kind – in a thin, cotton dress. Smiling at him in a way that made the cool water he was standing in boil, she had called out to him.
Now that he knows Pam, he looks back and notices that her voice in his dream had sounded different. He’s not really sure why, but something was off. She had carefully made her way down to the pond in her bare feet and he watched how her toes curled when she stood at the edge of the water. He doesn’t remember what was said, the dialog is so fuzzy, but he can recollect how it didn’t take her long to wade next to him, the end of her dress swirling in the water. How her warm hand had pushed against the fine layer of cotton covering his chest. How her tongue tasted like fresh sugar and lemons. How hot her skin was from the long summer’s heat. How he had quickly peeled her wet dress off of her when they had finally moved ashore. How her slick skin glistened in the twilight. How quiet everything was. No cars, no busy streets or obnoxious conversations. The only noise consisted of the soft orchestra of chirping crickets, of a soft breeze, lapping water. Her ragged breathing the soprano of their symphony.
Yeah, that was the dream Jim remembered the least.
And there were more. Many, many more. But not all of them were filled with bliss. There is one that Jim had back then, and still has now. In the dream, or nightmare, he’s in a dark, thick forest. The sky above is barely black, casting a blue hue over him as he stumbles and runs in blind panic. Jim is never sure where he is, but he knows that he’s looking for her. And there’s something else, too. It’s a feeling that he’s never really felt before. It’s an overwhelming sense of dread, a suffocating fear that usually wakes him up gasping for breath.
Over time as he’s gotten older, the dreams have become clearer, and he remembers a little more every time. So, by the time he had first seen Pam stiffly walking back to her desk from Michael’s office, Jim had almost wet his pants. He knew that face, knew those hands, and it was the first time in his life that Jim was positive that he had gone insane. Jim’s not sure what it was that made him talk to her, maybe it was the dreams, or the need to be close to her, but he was sure he had just met the love of his life.
It was about that time that his dreams of her began to be replaced with new ones. Of Pam the receptionist, of his best friend. They weren’t as graphic or as clear, but more like normal, odd dreams.
But everyone once in a while, Jim still has the ones he had in high school. Most of the time they’re good. But sometimes, they’re not.
***
They stay in one of those quant little Bed and Breakfast inns. The kind that ooze southern charm. It’s romantic, away from city traffic, and the owner is a rather sassy old broad named Helen Reynolds. She’s not the warmest person, but she’s much better than Dwight, and her inn doesn’t smell like old beets and oil.
"So, how long are you twos gonna stay?" asks Helen in a long, lazy southern accent as the two of them check in.
"Oh, um, we’re gonna be in town for about a week. My wife may want to travel to Georgia for a few days. We haven’t really planned that far. But I think we were only planning staying here for three days."
"Mmmm," she hums, and Pam is too busy looking at all of Helen’s old china to notice the aged woman’s unappreciative sounds. "Well, there’s a few things about my inn that you an’ ya wife should hear."
"What’s that?" asks Jim as Pam walks and stands next to him.
"We have three rooms, and ice tea at noon if ya interested. This ol’ place makes funny noises at night, but don’t be gettin’ yerself all worked up."
"We’ve slept through worse," Pam chimes and casts a sly smile at Jim.
"An’ if ya twos need anything, jus’ lemme know." Pam and Jim smile as their innkeeper begins to walk back to the living room when she stops and turns around. "Oh, by the way, I’ve all that china counted, jus’. . . so’s ya know," she eyes Pam suspiciously before she vanishes out of the room.
"We’ll. . .keep that in mind," Jim mutters, a little surprised. "Yikes, she’s old south."
"Wow," Pam whispers. "I guess that means we can’t take any bottles of shampoo home, huh?"
***
He can’t find her.
His feet slosh through the mud as he stumbles through the forest. Moss hangs from the large oaks looking like white ghosts in the late blue dusk. His long slacks drag in the dirt, but he doesn’t care. He needs to find her, he needs. . .The heavy humidity makes it hard to breath as he staggers and sprints as fast as he can, trying not to tumble over the rocks that are under his feet. The ground is uneven, which slows him down greatly and deepens his panic. In his vicious craze, he misses his footing and goes hurling down to the earth. His fingers claw at the soil as he scrambles and drags his body through the grime, trying to stand up again.
He’s sure his heart will explode, and his head is pounding from the heat as sweat runs in streams down his face. The back of his throat feels like sandpaper, the muscles in his legs scream for him to stop, and the air escapes him in raspy breathes as his lungs try to function.
Where is she? Where is she!?
Fear is clawing it’s way to his chest, making it ache as he smashes his side into a tree. Pain shoots through this stomach which causes the stitch that has already formed in his side to worsen. The woods are so thick, he dreads that he won’t make it in time. Those long trees arch ominously, their trunks zigzagging every which way.
He doesn’t notice how the blood runs down his fists as he had scraped them when he fell. Nor is he aware of the deep cut in his brow that flings droplets of blood when he blunders and reels through the darkness.
Then he sees it. . .
A light up ahead.
No.
It’s flickering glow is a small beacon in a sea of darkness.
No, no, no.
He runs faster, his mind completely breaking down in horrific terror. His chest is going to burst and his vision begins to spin.
No, no, no, no!!!
The light is getting nearer. He’s so close he can make out a torch. Another torch.
Tears are brimming his eyes. Then he sees her.
And screams.
***
"Jim, Jim!"
He’s being shaken awake, and the room around him whirls as he opens his eyes. His torso is slicked with sweat, and his neck is so damp he immediately wants to run into the bathroom, and take a cold shower. Panting harshly, Jim sits up in bed, his hair sticking together in clumps as the strands fall into his eyes. His heart is slamming violently against his ribcage at such speed, he thinks he’s actually going to have a heart attack.
"Jim, what’s wrong?"
Pam is sitting up, the lamp beside her bed is turned on and is leaning against the wall as if she turned it on in haste and knocked it over. Her eyes are wide and frightened, and it takes him a moment to notice that one of her hands is supporting his back, while the other is stroking his chest.
"Your heart is racing," Pam hushes, obviously scared.
He gulps down large breathes of fresh air and the thin cotton sheets stick to his legs. And, oh shit, he might vomit.
"It’s so fucking hot!" he gasps as he stands from his bed and lurches toward the open window, not even caring that he’s completely naked.
He hopes that it will cool him down, but unfortunately, a warm gust of wind whips over him, and he sort of wants to scream. Soon, he finds himself in the bathroom, splattering cold water on his face. The waters splashes down his chest, and he shakes his head trying to rid himself of those horrible images.
When he walks back to the bedroom, Pam’s staring at him as if she’s afraid that he’s lost his mind, as she tugs the sheets up around her breasts. He stands there and gazes at her, not really sure what to say, and defiantly not sure about what the hell just happened. The pink walls, and warm colors of their room makes the bed look so inviting, and Pam pats on the bed with her hand as if she can read his mind.
He’s planning on getting under the sheets again when Pam opens her arms to him and he finds himself completely wrapped in her embrace. All of the muscles in his entire body relax at her touch, and he pulls the sheets that cover her away from her body so that he can feel her skin against his.
"Hey," she whispers into his cheek as her nose nestles in his hair, "what happened?"
Everything’s happened so fast, and he’s not certain exactly how he’s transferred from the nightmare to reality.
"I’m not sure," he admits into her neck. "I think. . .I was having a nightmare."
Jim hears her sigh, and she hugs him tighter against her. He knows he was having a nightmare. He’s had that particular nightmare before, and he knew he’d probably have it again. But the dream had never been so detailed before. Yes, the dream had always scared him, but his body had never reacted that way, as if he were really there, experiencing it.
"I was dozing off," Pam says softly, "And then you started breathing really hard, like you do when you play basket ball. Then you started making this really weird noise. It was like – a choking noise, and that’s when I started to get scared."
He pulls back from her a little bit so he can look at her. Slowly, he can feel her fingers slide gently up and down his spine, the dampness of his skin combined with her touch makes him shudder against her.
"And then, you made this sound. It was kinda like a moan, but you were gasping. It sounded like you were trying to scream." Her eyes look worried again, so he brushes his lips over hers.
"It was just a bad dream," he whispers. He really doesn’t want to ruin their vacation because of his overactive imagination.
"You wanna talk about it?" she asks.
He pauses because he’s never really talked about his dream with her before. Jim has always kinda worried that if she ever found out, she’d think that he was crazy. How would he even begin to make her understand? So, instead, he shakes his head and starts to place soft airy kisses down her arm.
Then he feels her hand on his stomach as she gently pushes him on his back. He can hear the rustle of the sheets and then she’s hovering over him. She kisses his cheek, his jaw, his wide shoulders, across his chest, and then her lips tentatively nudge his mouth open, as if to ask him if this is what he needs right now. His answer comes when he slides the tips of his fingers down her body as they stroke her waist.
"I don’t really want to go back to sleep," he sighs into her mouth as she give him slow little kisses, the wet sound of their lips calming his senses, yet exciting his body.
His bottom lip is still between her teeth as she grunts: "Me neither."
***
She’s a bit more affectionate towards him the next morning. Sure, she’s always pretty affectionate, but. . .not like this. He’s not positive if it’s because she’s still a little worried over his frantic episode last night, or because of what came after. They had been louder than they probably should’ve been, and he was sure that Mrs. Reynolds had heard every little bit. Even their next-door neighbor had shot him a dirty look as he left his room the following day.
Even so, Jim decided that he really didn’t care since only an hour earlier, Pam had playfully pulled him into the shower with her. The taste of her wet skin as he kissed his way down her stomach was still on his tongue. So, he was pretty sure that nothing could derail his good day. Not even the lack of sleep from the pervious night could slow him down.
Now as they stand in a bakery, she keeps kissing his cheek as they wait for their order.
"Wow, what is up with you?" he asks in mock disgust, even though he’s certain that his idiotic grin is giving him away. "You can’t even keep your hands off of me when we’re waiting for food."
She giggles.
"I can’t help it. I just feel. . .closer to you." She presses her face into his chest, and he’s pretty sure he sees the young woman behind the counter roll her eyes.
"Yeah, you were pretty close to me this morning, and thrice last night, if I remember correctly," he mutters softly in her ear so only she can hear. She giggles again.
And later, as they walked outside, Pam picks at her cinnamon roll and looks up at him a little sheepishly.
"I’m not kidding," she blurts out as they begin to walk down the street.
"About what?"
"I really do feel closer to you," she admits softly, as if she’s embarrassed. "I mean, I always feel close to you. You’re my husband and best friend, but I don’t know. . .I feel like since we came here, to this place, I’ve felt like maybe. . ."
She trails off, and Jim has stopped walking so he can listen to his wife without distraction.
"What?" he smiles at her, urging her to continue.
"I don’t know," Pam shrugs. "It’s hard to explain. I’m not even really sure what I’m talking about."
Just then Jim bends down and kisses her cinnamon-sticky lips. When he’s finished, she opens her mouth a few times, sighs, and then smiles.
"I’ve always, just known you, ya know?" she finally says. "Like we’ve been friends my whole life. But here, in Charleston, it feels like longer."
Jim stares at her, slightly shocked. It’s the first time she’s ever said anything even remotely close to what he’s experienced with his dreams. Could it be even possible that perhaps Pam might have known about him before she actually met him?
"I know what you mean," he croaks, and it’s only then that he finds that his mouth has suddenly gone dry.
Stepping closer to him, she takes his hand. "And lately I’ve been feeling. . ."
She doesn’t complete her sentence and kisses him in a way that Pam Beesly has never kissed him before, but in a way that seems so familiar. It’s almost like Deja Vu, but Deja Vu doesn’t normally make him drop his pastry so he can cup her face with both of his hands. And they stand there, in the warm sun, as he sweetly kisses her lips. It’s like he’s a teenager again, kissing his first love. Jim feels like he’s young and pure and everything in life is so, so simple.
When it’s over, she’s blushing in the sun, gazing up at him, her eyes sparkling like a young girl’s.
". . .like that," she finishes.
***
Jim’s not really sure why, but he follows Pam around for the rest of the afternoon in a lovesick daze. Pam finally tells him that she wants to see a movie, and at first he whines ("We can see a movie in Scranton!") but then he decides it’s not really the movie she wants to see, it’s the old theater itself. It’s small, the architecture is classy, and there’s old fashioned carpeting, a balcony, and long velvet drapes that frame the movie screen.
As he sits in his seat, his lack of sleep begins to catch up with him, and he suddenly feels incredibly tired. The theater is cool and dark, and as he rests his head on Pam’s comfy shoulder, her soft breathing starts to lull him and his eyelids become heavy. . .
***
He’s standing a room full of people wearing an old fashioned tuxedo. His hair is oiled, slicked back and there are many men and women, both young and old, dancing together to some soft jazz. He’s looking around the room, his eyes scanning the crowd,. He’d invited her to come, so where is she?
Just then, an older woman wearing a gaudy cream dress walks up to him. Between her fingers dangles a long cigarette in her gloved hand, and she grabs him by the shoulder as if to keep herself from falling over. He wonders briefly if she’s had one too many.
"Tom! Darlin’" she says to Jim in a long slow, rich voice. "C’mer, there’s a fine young woman I’d like to introduce you to."
"Who?" he says distractedly, and Jim is struck by how odd his voice sounds. Looking around, he wonders if she’s arrived yet, but it’s hard to see through the thick fog of cigarette smoke.
"Well Miss Adeline is right over – oh for goodness sakes, boy! Where’s your head?" she snaps when she notices that he’s not paying attention.
"‘Scuse me?" Jim says as he jerks his head and stares at the old woman.
"Tom, please don’t tell me you’re lookin’ for that Buckley girl again!" she spits. "What did I tell you about her?"
"I know what you said, mamma," Jim mutters in his strange new voice.
"Well, good!"his mother huffs. "So, Miss Adel – "
"I know who Adeline is," Jim interrupts. "And I must say I wish I didn’t."
He takes a glass of whisky off of the table and downs it in one gulp. It burns, and he’s glad he can focus on that rather than this stupid party. At his words, his mother’s face turns grim, making her look even older.
"You’re still a young bachelor, Tom. I want to see my boy get married. And Adeline’s family’s still got some money left." Then his mother’s voice drops. "We may not be so lucky."
"What are you two drabbin’ on abou’?" asks another man who’s dancing with a very drunk young woman. He’s tall, a little thick around the waist, and his face is red from all the liquor he’s downed.
"I was just tellin’ our son that he better start lookin’ for a more suitable wife than that damned Buckley – "
"Miriam Buckley!" the girl who’s in his father’s arms howls drunkenly as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. "Tom? You fancyin’ Miriam Buckley?"
Jim (or is he Tom?) suddenly has the urge to grab that puffy girl’s face and smash it into the dinnerware. His mother makes an odd noise with the back of her throat, and Jim really hopes that he can find an excuse to leave quickly."You know, she’s a witch, Ellen," his father says to the girl he’s dancing with and her mother snickers horribly.
"That’s not true – "
"She’s also a nigger-lover," barks Ellen, her hair dangling messily in her face. "I heard she let Joe Dawson give her a nice, slow, long poke between the legs."
Jim’s positive that the reason why his hand his rising is because he’s going to give Ellen a beating that would even make her daddy cry when he sees Pam across the room by the terrace doors. She looks absolutely stunning, and Jim suddenly can’t breathe. She’s smiling sweetly, excitedly in her periwinkle blue dress and there are soft ribbons in her hair. Her face is pink with nervousness, and she stands shyly by the door, as if waiting to be invited in.
She’s never been to a party like this before. That’s why he told her to come. He wanted to make her feel special, to show his parents that none of those rumors were true. That she was sweet and wonderful and beautiful. When she sees him, her smile grows wider, and she waves, a little awed at company she’s in.
His mother, father, and Ellen all notice Jim’s gaze, and follow it to the doors.
"Well," his daddy snickers when his eyes land on Pam, "speak of the devil."
"Miriam!" Ellen yells excitedly as she crosses the room toward Pam. Jim follows her with his parents trailing not far behind. "We were just talkin’ about you!"
Pam smiles at Ellen and takes a step back as if she’s now afraid to come inside.
"Hello, Ellen," Pam says in a soft southern accent. She then sees Jim’s parents "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell. I’m Miriam Buckley."
"Oh yes, my, we know who you are," Jim’s mother says not so kindly. "What are you doin’ here? Shouldn’t a young girl like you be out in the barns?"
"Mamma, I invited her," Jim cuts in, hoping that Pam won’t notice his mother’s cutting insults.
"Well, Tom, why would you invite a hussy into our home?" At that, Pam’s sweet smile fades and she looks confused at Jim. "I mean, we all know about your little. . .escapades with the coloreds."
"So how’s ol’ Joe Dawson?" Ellen asks, swaying closely towards Pam.
"I don’t really know ‘em. He works with my daddy," Pam’s now trying very hard to keep her grin, but she’s failing.
"Don’t listen to them, Miriam," Jim says to Pam and steps closer.
"Come one, Miriam, we all know Tom just wants a little taste of what he’s been hearin’ about all over town," at Ellen’s loud words, the room becomes extremely quiet and everyone finds their gaze at Pam.
Jim can hear muttering among the party: "She’s that Buckley girl." "The witch-slut." And soon, Pam can see the disdain in everyone’s eyes as she stands all alone. Jim’s not sure who does it first, but someone giggles, and then another, and then another. The room is full of laughter as they all gawk and point at Pam. Pam backs away, her eyes filling with tears and her shoulder’s hunch self-consciously. The spark that was in her eyes is now gone, and Jim’s heart breaks as he watches her face crumble.
He goes to her.
"Miriam – "
"Melt witch!" And then Ellen grabs a glass of bourbon and splashes it all over Pam’s face and dress.
Pam recoils and Jim doesn’t see anything else because there is a loud SMACK in his ears and his fist stings as he slaps Ellen across the face, causing her to shriek loudly and fall to the ground. When he looks up, Pam is gone and Ellen is sobbing hysterically, cradling her face in her hands."TOM!" his mother bellows, but he’s already out the door.
The garden is dark, and the lanterns give very little light. As he walks quickly in the hot night, he calls out for Pam.
"Miriam!!" he shouts, his hand now throbbing from hitting Ellen.
Nothing. He calls out for her again, and when he finally listens he thinks he can hear quiet weeping near the woods. Following it, he steps over the mounds of dirt and ducks under the Weeping Willow when he sees a blue dress and a girl hunched over, sitting a log. The fireflies are out this season, and they surround her, casting soft shades of light across her porcelain skin.
There sits Pam, sobbing gently into her hands.
"Miriam," he sighs stepping closer to her. At her name, Pam’s head shoots up and she stares at him. Jim is taken aback at the hatred in her eyes.
"Why did you ask me to come, Tom?" she cries angrily. "Was it to embarrass me? Humiliate me in front of all of yer friends? Give thems people somethin’ to laugh about?"
"No, no, no!" he begs walking to her. She stands up, and backs away from him.
"You’d tell all them lies about me? I only spoke to Joe once, and I never. . ." she breaks off into sobs again, and his heart crumbles.
"I wanted to prove my family wrong," pleads Jim. "I wanted them to meet the real you, not what other’s been sayin’ on the streets." She only cries more, so he continues, "I never met a girl like you. They want me to marry someone like them. But I don’t wanna be with one-a-them. And I don’t want you to be like one-a-them. You know me, Miriam."
She peeks at him from behind her hands and hiccups. He goes to stand right in front of her, and moves her hands away from her face. He touches her cheek with his palm and she leans into him as his thumb brushes away a tear that slides from her lashes.
"People says Imma witch," Pam whispers into his palm. "All cuz I’m poor and my daddy’s a drunk."
He leans down and kisses her forehead. She smells like bourbon and cinnamon apples.
"You’re notta witch," he hushes, "You’re special."
And then she kisses him. She’s kissed him before, but never like this, it’s hungry and desperate, and all Jim wants to do is make her pain go away. The fireflies surround them as he slowly nips his way down her throat, and her breathing changes as she tugs on his jacket.
When they’re naked, he lays her down and his tongue kisses hers. The soil beneath them is fresh and the scent of a nearby storm floats on the breeze. She stares up at him shyly when the skin of his stomach touches hers.
"I never done this before," she says in a shaky breath.
"Me neither," he laughs nervously
And then her lips meet his, and he forgets to breathe.
***
"Hey."
Someone’s tapping him gently on his head and he groggily opens his eyes and lifts his head up. His neck screams in protests, and it takes him a moment to register that the credits of the movie are rolling, and they’re the last people in the audience.
"You feel asleep," Pam says and he rubs his eyes. He can still feel Pam or Miriam’s tongue tracing his ear.
"I didn’t mean to," he grunts very exhausted and Pam's fingers messuage the back of his neck. "What time is it?"
"It’s almost seven. You want to grab dinner? I hear there’s a great little place – What? Why are you looking at me like that?"
Before he’s even aware he’s doing it, he’s pulling her into a tight hug.
"I really, really love you." The words are a little out of the blue, and she looks surprised but happy to hear it.
"I love you, too." She crinkles her brow and stares at him with her head tilted to the side. "You okay? You’ve been acting strange since we came here."
"To the movie?"
"No, to Charleston. It’s like. . ." She shakes her head when she can’t find the word she’s looking for, but she grabs his hand and pulls him up. "Maybe it’s the heat," she mutters.
"Yeah, maybe."
***
On their third night in Charleston, Pam pleads and begs Jim to take her on one of the Ghost Tours that make Charleston so famous. He’s not to supportive of it at first, but after she bats her eyes and bites her lips, bouncing on her heels just trying to contain her excitement, Jim has no choice but to agree. They pick Charleston’s Ghost and Legends Tour, and at seven-thirty, they met up with a group of about eight or nine people who are all whispering and talking about their own ghost stories.
Their tour guide is a young college student named Jack, and he takes them around Charleston, telling them stories about all of the terrible murders, hauntings, and warped legends that have happened in their city. He even takes them to a graveyard and shows them a headstone and tells the story about a woman who lost her baby and died. He then furthers the story by recounting how someone on the tour took a photograph of the grave where the little baby was buried only to find a shadow of a woman kneeling over the headstone. As proof, Jack whips out the exact photo, and Jim and Pam stare at it before passing it around.
It's about an hour into the tour when Jack takes them to a spot on the outskirts of the woods.
"Here’s a little tale that's very sad, but also extremely creepy," and he tells them how haunted these woods are, and how a thief had once abducted a little boy, slit is throat, and left him for dead.
These woods seem familiar to Jim, and he wanders a bit away from the tour. That’s when he sees the tree. . .
It’s a large oak, and it towers over the others and without warning, he can see her hanging from the tree, her once fresh, innocent face now black and puffy as her eye bulge out and stare lifelessly back at him. And that’s when Jim throws up.
"Whoa! Whoa!" yells Jack as he sees Jim hunched over. "Looks like someone got dehydrated." And Jack is pulling out a water bottle and handing it to Jim. "You okay, buddy?"
"Jim, are you okay?" Pam asks as she places a hand on his back.
"You didn’t see a ghost there did you?" Jacks jokes and the tour laughs.
"Yeah, I just. . . I’ve seen this tree," Jim sputters and he downs the water, washing the acidic residue out of his mouth.
"Probably," says Jack. "There’s pictures of this forest all over the internet. These woods are famous for lynchings, murders, and all other terrible stuff. I think a young girl was lynched from this tree, but that story’s not apart of the tour."
Jack moves his hand as if to urge to group on, but Jim stops him.
"What? What did you say?"
"I’d like to tell the story, but I don’t think we have time," Jack begins.
"I wanna hear it," says a woman with short blond hair and large blue eyes.
"Me, too."
"Me, too!"
Jack looks around helplessly, but when he sees that he’s overpowered, he grunts and folds his arms across his chest.
"Fine," he sighs. "This story is sad, sadder than I normally like, anyway. But the story goes that there was this family that lived in Charleston during the 1930's. They had been rich all throughout the 20's but because of the Great Depression, they were losing their money.
"So, this family was named the Campbell’s, and Eddy Campbell was going broke, so he hoped that his son might marry into some money. Hopefully into a family that hadn’t squandered their fortune like Eddy had.
"The thing is, their son, Thomas, had his eyes set on this woman named Miriam Buckley. Miriam was poor, dirt poor, but even though her entire family was raciest, she was kind to all the blacks in town. Well, rumors began to spout off that she was having an affair with all the African American boys, and the rumors got twisted, snowballed, and soon, people thought she was a witch and was using her evil ways to seduce all the men in town.
"So one night, they have this big dinner party, and Thomas and Miriam sneak off and well. . .you know. After that, the two had a long love affair. But then Miriam got pregnant and Thomas was going to marry her. When Thomas’s father found out, he told the people in the town that she had bewitched his son and also tacked on terribles lies that she was responsible for a few other evil things that had happened in town. Blamed it on the Devil and how she’d made a packed with Satan. A ton of nonsense, but back then these people were hardcore, superstitious Christians, and he riled a posse to go out and get her.
"So, they find her, kill her father, drag her from her bed, and take her into the woods. Thomas heard about the posse, and went out looking for her, but by the time he found her, they had already raped and lynched her. Right from this very tree," Jack points up at the branches, and Jim can’t see because tears are clouding his vision.
Holy Hell
"That’s a terrible story," Pam says frowning, not seeing how Jim is covering his eyes with his hands, shaking all over.
"Yeah," Jack continues, "The worst part is, no one ever did anything about it. The police never got involved, and Eddy Campbell and his posse got off scott-free."
"What about Thomas?" another person asks.
"About two days after Miriam’s death, Thomas tried to kill his father. He failed, but he still got him pretty good. Castrated him with a butcher knife. Before Eddy could have him shipped off to the insane asylum, Thomas shot himself in the head. Pretty messy stuff."
It’s about that time that Jim vomits again and falls to the ground, the world around him going black.
***
"Should we take him to a hospital?" he hears someone ask.
"I don’t know what to do, I’ve never had someone faint on my tour!" says another.
"I’m calling an ambulance." It’s Pam, and she sounds terrified.
"Wait, wait, he’s coming out of it," a woman shouts and he opens his eyes to see Pam hovering over him, her eyes wide with fright, her cell clutched to her ear.
"Jim, Jim! Are you okay? Can you hear me?" her voice is frantic, and she’s wiping the vomit away from his mouth with a handkerchief.
The crowd is silent, and then he hears: "I guess this means the tour is over, huh?"
***
They’re back at the Bed and Breakfast later that night, and he lying on the bed, staring up and the ceiling as she dabs a cool washcloth over his forehead and cheeks. His putrid shirt is hanging over the shower rod in the bathroom, and as his thermometer beeps, Pam pulls it away from his lips.
"Well, you’re not running a fever," she says as she runs the damp washcloth over his skin. She’s quiet for a moment, and then she says: "I should’ve realized you were sick."
"I’m not sick," he mumbles, still in shock from hearing that terrible story.
"Come on, Jim, you haven’t been yourself since we came here. You’re having nightmares, falling asleep in the middle of the day, throwing up, passing out. You’re sick."
The room is quiet, and then he feels her free hand move over his chest and she begins to stroke his hard flesh as she pulls back her washcloth and places it in water, only to bring it back to his face. She’s taking care of him, she’s touching him, comforting him even though he’s practically ruined their entire vacation. But she’s here, with him, and she’s okay.
All of his past dreams, nightmares come flashing before his eyes, and all he can see his her face, smiling, laughing, moaning. And then he sees her hanging from that tree again, dead, gone. All the torches from the lynchers surrounding her bruised, broken body. He can see why Thomas killed himself, why he tried to kill the man responsible for his loves death. He’d do it, too. Or maybe he already did.
Just then Pam sighs, and her warm breath surges over his face as she moved her hand and cradles his neck as she continues to cool him down. And then he’s crying. He’s crying and she’s never seen him cry like this before, so she drops her washcloth and envelopes him in her arms. Jim holds her closer to him, pressing his face into her T-shirt.
"Jim? Jim, baby, what’s the matter?"
She’s never called him baby before. He’s always made fun of people who call their spouses baby, but he secretly loves it. But right now, it only makes him cry harder.
"I can’t lose you," he soughs. He knows what it’s like to lose her, in so many different ways. He doesn’t ever want to feel that again.
"Lose me? You aren’t gonna lose me," he hears her laugh nervously at the ridiculousness of his statement.
Then he’s pulling her down on top of him, rolls her over, and pins her to the bed. She looks at him with questions in her eyes, questions he really doesn’t want to answer right now. So he makes love to her instead. He makes love to her harder than he ever has before, so hard that they knock over the bowl Pam was using for her washcloth, causing water to go everywhere. He says he loves her against her skin, and Pam can’t react because she’s too lost in the pleasure he’s giving her.
And around 2:00 AM their neighbor bangs on the wall and tells them to shut the hell up.
An hour later, they listen to him.
***
"I used to dream about you," he tells her as they’re drifting off, their sweaty bodies sticking together, their limbs entwined.
"That’s romantic," she mumbles sleepily and moves closer to him.
"Really, I did. I used to have dreams about you before we met."
"Mmmm. Hmm, huh, what?" she doesn’t sound as tired anymore once she realizes what he’s just confessed.
"Do you believe in past lives?" he asks, a little worried she’ll think he’s crazy.
"I never really thought about it. But you use to dream about me?"
"Yeah, does that sound weird?" he smiles, because he really doesn’t know why he brought it up if he doesn’t want to tell her.
"No, I think it’s sweet," Pam replies as she rests her head on his chest. Good, she thinks he’s speaking metaphorically. "I guess I believe that I knew you before I ever met you. Like we loved for a longer time."
Soon, she dirts off, and Jim lays there and watches her. He’s not really sure why he’s gotten a second chance, why in this life, he’s been so damn lucky. Knowing what he knows now, he can’t believe there was ever a time when the two of them almost missed their chance. He shudders and doesn’t want to think about that.
But, as she sleeps, he thinks that no matter what kind of pain they each have experienced, in their past life, or this one, she’s here now, with him. And maybe that’s what life is all about, living in the moment, because if you waste your life away dwelling on the past, or worrying about the future, you forget to live.
Jim spoons her in his arms and knows this is the only way to live.
This is his life.
