glass
of brandy."
"Not at all. Happy to share," he said. The initial
shock of seeing a ghost glide through the wall had scared him, had
been frightening indeed. But having a drink with himself as if they
were old chums from University? Donovan smiled at the situation's
inherent humor.
The apparition walked over to the ornate walnut
cabinet and retrieved a wineglass. He strode back, hefted the
decanter, and poured a generous amount into his glass. Then the
specter sat in the black leather high-back chair opposite
Donovan's.
"Forgive me, where are my manners. Please, have a
seat."
The phantom met Donovan's stare over the rim of the
glass. He lowered the drink and smiled. "Think nothing of it. I
hardly need an invitation to sit in my own home."
What an arrogant, obnoxious — His home?
Donovan opened his mouth to give the ghostly figure the set-down he
deserved then shut it almost as fast. I think I need another as
well.
He filled his own glass again then watched, a bit
surprised, as the spirit swallowed down the liquor. But then
again, if this is a dream, he didn't really pour the drink, did
he?
"A very nice brandy, your grace."
Donovan chuckled.
"Is something amusing?"
"I was just wondering what I should call you."
"You may call me your grace."
Donovan snorted. "Your grace indeed."
"I see your point. Very well, you may call me Past
Duke," the specter said.
"Why should I call you Past Duke?"
"I'm the past you, or rather the you you should have
been," he explained.
Donovan furrowed his brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Isn't the past the reason you're sitting alone in
this dungeon of a study on Christmas Eve? Aren't the events that
took place, what happened between you and Delia, what didn't happen
between you and Tess, the reason—"
Rage coursed through Donovan's veins, the memories
once again clawing at his heart. He slammed his fist down on the
arm of the chair. "Silence! Don't speak of them." With a trembling
hand, he set the glass on the tray and stood. "I believe my
imagination has been entertained enough for one evening. It's long
past time for me to retire."
Past Duke rose slowly. "You don't think I'm
real."
Donovan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
His anger drained away, leaving him with a heavy heart. He had
enough demons to fight without adding arguing with himself to
it.
Past Duke drew his foot back and planted a hard kick
to Donovan's shin, making him curse.
"Whyever did you do that?" he demanded, rubbing his
throbbing leg.
"This isn't a dream. Although I'd be more than happy
to punch you in the nose if you need more convincing."
Donovan glared at him. "I don't advise that."
"Avoiding me won't make me disappear. I'm here to
grant you one wish."
"Then I wish for you to go away."
The room fell silent; the other him seemed to blur,
become faint. The embers in the fire dimmed to no more than tiny
sparks. Both candles went out. A draft swept through the fireplace,
sending a chill through Donovan's body. He shivered.
"What the devil?"
The room fell black and the air stopped moving,
forcing Donovan to draw in deeply to fill his lungs, making him
dizzy. He tried to move but was frozen in place. Almost as if he'd
been glued to the spot, as if the darkness was a prison.
Panic spiked through him. His sanity had clearly
deserted him, leaving him trapped in this nightmare. Wake up.
Wake up now.
Donovan seemed to be spinning, then suddenly the fire
crackled to life and the candles again illuminated the study. He
whirled around, searching the shadowy corners. Relieved no demons
were lurking about, he let out the breath he'd been holding. Just as I suspected. A dream. A drunken hallucination, had to
be. One that sobered me quite fast.
Conversing with myself. What a ridiculous
notion. He retrieved the candle from the table. When he turned
toward the door, Past Duke was there. Donovan's body trembled and
his heart thumped erratically, seeming to skip more than beat. The
lightheaded sensation from a
of brandy."
"Not at all. Happy to share," he said. The initial
shock of seeing a ghost glide through the wall had scared him, had
been frightening indeed. But having a drink with himself as if they
were old chums from University? Donovan smiled at the situation's
inherent humor.
The apparition walked over to the ornate walnut
cabinet and retrieved a wineglass. He strode back, hefted the
decanter, and poured a generous amount into his glass. Then the
specter sat in the black leather high-back chair opposite
Donovan's.
"Forgive me, where are my manners. Please, have a
seat."
The phantom met Donovan's stare over the rim of the
glass. He lowered the drink and smiled. "Think nothing of it. I
hardly need an invitation to sit in my own home."
What an arrogant, obnoxious — His home?
Donovan opened his mouth to give the ghostly figure the set-down he
deserved then shut it almost as fast. I think I need another as
well.
He filled his own glass again then watched, a bit
surprised, as the spirit swallowed down the liquor. But then
again, if this is a dream, he didn't really pour the drink, did
he?
"A very nice brandy, your grace."
Donovan chuckled.
"Is something amusing?"
"I was just wondering what I should call you."
"You may call me your grace."
Donovan snorted. "Your grace indeed."
"I see your point. Very well, you may call me Past
Duke," the specter said.
"Why should I call you Past Duke?"
"I'm the past you, or rather the you you should have
been," he explained.
Donovan furrowed his brow. "I beg your pardon?"
"Isn't the past the reason you're sitting alone in
this dungeon of a study on Christmas Eve? Aren't the events that
took place, what happened between you and Delia, what didn't happen
between you and Tess, the reason—"
Rage coursed through Donovan's veins, the memories
once again clawing at his heart. He slammed his fist down on the
arm of the chair. "Silence! Don't speak of them." With a trembling
hand, he set the glass on the tray and stood. "I believe my
imagination has been entertained enough for one evening. It's long
past time for me to retire."
Past Duke rose slowly. "You don't think I'm
real."
Donovan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
His anger drained away, leaving him with a heavy heart. He had
enough demons to fight without adding arguing with himself to
it.
Past Duke drew his foot back and planted a hard kick
to Donovan's shin, making him curse.
"Whyever did you do that?" he demanded, rubbing his
throbbing leg.
"This isn't a dream. Although I'd be more than happy
to punch you in the nose if you need more convincing."
Donovan glared at him. "I don't advise that."
"Avoiding me won't make me disappear. I'm here to
grant you one wish."
"Then I wish for you to go away."
The room fell silent; the other him seemed to blur,
become faint. The embers in the fire dimmed to no more than tiny
sparks. Both candles went out. A draft swept through the fireplace,
sending a chill through Donovan's body. He shivered.
"What the devil?"
The room fell black and the air stopped moving,
forcing Donovan to draw in deeply to fill his lungs, making him
dizzy. He tried to move but was frozen in place. Almost as if he'd
been glued to the spot, as if the darkness was a prison.
Panic spiked through him. His sanity had clearly
deserted him, leaving him trapped in this nightmare. Wake up.
Wake up now.
Donovan seemed to be spinning, then suddenly the fire
crackled to life and the candles again illuminated the study. He
whirled around, searching the shadowy corners. Relieved no demons
were lurking about, he let out the breath he'd been holding. Just as I suspected. A dream. A drunken hallucination, had to
be. One that sobered me quite fast.
Conversing with myself. What a ridiculous
notion. He retrieved the candle from the table. When he turned
toward the door, Past Duke was there. Donovan's body trembled and
his heart thumped erratically, seeming to skip more than beat. The
lightheaded sensation from a
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