Chapter Two

The early morning mist rolled across the smooth surface of the water towards the shore. The dawn had just risen and the sun was strong enough to cast the first of its rays through the shroud of white over the surrounding hills. Clarissa raised her camera to capture the moment and rolled off another reel of film. The main focus of her attention was a large island in the middle of Goldwater Lake. The place had fascinated her since she was a child. Upon it sat an old haunted Victorian mansion, the focus of many ghost stories after the murder of a young Victorian family. The house was mysteriously hidden amidst the trees lining the shore and it was hard to capture even a glimpse of it, especially in the summer when the trees were in full leaf, though it never stopped Clarissa trying.

Something caught her attention. Zooming into the boathouse on the island, she was surprised to see a tall man in a suit standing on the wooden jetty. He was looking straight at her. Clarissa zoomed in further until she could see his face more closely, believing he couldn't possibly see her properly from there and she would be undetected. But the handsome dark haired man grinned back at her, staring directly into the camera. Embarrassed she had been caught watching him, she lowered the camera. There was something oddly familiar about him. It wasn't the first odd occurrence she'd had that morning. Her dreams in the night of being made love to by a stranger were also leaving her with a strange feeling of familiarity. Summoning the confidence to look again, she found that the man had vanished.

Raising her eyebrows, Clarissa let the camera sit on her neck and took in the eerie scene before her. It wasn't hard to see why the place was thought to be haunted. She had taken enough photographs. A few of them had to be worth putting in the book she was writing about the historical murders and the history of the island. Whilst busying herself flicking back through a few of them, she heard a voice. "Clarissa. Clarissa."

Clarissa raised her head, wondering who could be calling her name out here at this time of the morning. The male voice sounded disembodied as it floated on the gentle, cooling breeze.

I must be imagining it.

Ignoring it, Clarissa bent her head and looked through a few more photographs. But there it was again and, this time, it was loud enough for her not to dismiss it as mere fantasy. Clarissa whirled around, looking for someone to be close by. Nothing. Her shoulders tensed. Clarissa looked around once more, feeling more anxious by the second. She'd come here to escape, to hide. Had he found her? Picking up her tripod from the pebbled shore, she started to walk back towards the cottage at a quick pace.

She glanced constantly behind her, expecting the man she'd run from to creep up behind her and start tormenting her with his violence all over again. Tears of anger and fear gathered and mingled in her eyes. She'd been happy here and didn't want to leave, especially when the book was going so well. But if he was here, then she'd have to leave. There would be no choice.

Safely back in the cottage, Clarissa wasted no time in bolting the door. She pressed her forehead against its wood surface and breathed hard, trying to calm the rising tide of panic filling her lungs and coursing through her blood. She spoke to herself out loud in an effort to rationalise the situation. "I am just imagining it. Calm down. He can't find me. He can't. Relax, he isn't here.

 Come on; get my arse in gear. Breathe. Focus on the book and nothing else. I am not going to let him run me out of another town."

Clarissa banged her fist against the door, anger and frustration overwhelming her. Flicking the switch on the kettle, she sank down on the chair in front of her laptop. She picked up the camera again and searched through her pictures.

There were some good shots of the island but that wasn't what she was looking for. It wasn't until she reached the third one, she found what she suspected. A ghostly faded black and white male figure in upper class English Victorian dress stood grinning at her from the side of the image—the owner of the voice. Clarissa gasped and put her hand to her mouth. He'd found her, after all.

Clarissa's mobile rang, making her jump so much the camera slipped out of her hands and clattered on to the table. She quickly took the mobile out of her cardigan pocket and, with trembling hands, answered it.

"How is my favourite author doing today? Finished the book yet? Can I start the publishing process?"

"Liz. It's well on its way. I just think it is lacking a more personal story about the Elliotts."

Clarissa was in two minds as to whether or not she should tell Liz about the reappearance of the violent spirit who had been dogging her every move for the last four months. The whole thing was crazy and Liz was about the only person who actually believed what was happening to her. Still, she didn't want to alarm the woman and decided to keep quiet for now.

"I just wish I could get onto the island and take a look at the house. There has to be a ton of documents that would help my investigation into the murders and give it that personal element. I haven't even got a photograph of Sarah Elliott. It's so frustrating," Clarissa tapped the end of her index finger on top of the table and continued to do so in an irritated fashion.

"That old recluse, Milton Taylor, still determined to keep you away?"

"Yes. I have tried everything. The man won't even take my calls. But I saw someone else on the island this morning, when I was taking photographs. Some tall dark and handsome stranger in a black suit looked back at me from the jetty, when I snapped a couple of shots of him."

"Really. Sounds interesting. Met anyone yet? Maybe this guy might—" Clarissa quickly interrupted Liz.

"No, Liz. No way. No men. Just work. I am happy on my own."

"Are you now a recluse?"

"Liz, please."

"Not all men are like your ex-husband, Clarissa."

Clarissa shook her head and tried to think of a credible excuse to end the call. She decided to change the subject instead.

"Got any ideas how I can get on that island?"

There was a pause, then Liz sighed.

"No, not really. And you say there isn't much online about Sarah Elliott and her family?" "Hardly anything. No photographs. Nothing. I know Milton Taylor must know so much more than he lets on."

"If there is anything I know about you, Clarissa, it's that you are determined and tenacious.

You won't let Milton Taylor's stubbornness stop you getting to the island, even if it means you have to swim across in the dead of night and break in. You are like a pit bull when following a story. Now, relax and tell me why you sound so tense. Any more visitations?"

Clarissa bit her bottom lip. She'd never lied to Liz before and wasn't going to start now. Her friendship meant too much.

"I didn't want you to worry. But, yes, there have been. He's found me again, Liz. His image was in the photographs I took just before you rang, and I heard him calling my name at the lake." "Oh, no. How the hell did he find you? I thought that psychic protection Emma gave you was fool proof? I deliberately found the best psychic in the whole damn country to help you and it was for nothing. I can't bear seeing you hounded by him again. He's vile."

"He is persistent. I will give him that. I don't know how he got through the psychic barriers

Emma put up around me, but he did. Don't worry; I can handle him."

"You shouldn't have to handle him. Why the hell is a nineteenth century ghost haunting you, and let's be honest, stalking you from the other side?"

"Emma said she believes he is someone from one of my past lives with an axe to grind.

Beats me, though—I never even believed in this stuff until he came along."

Clarissa stood up and walked towards the bench next to the sink and knocked the switch down on the kettle again to reboil it. She took out a clean china mug from the cupboard above her head on the wall, ignoring the six clay mugs hanging on a silver rack near the kettle. She continued her conversation as she inserted a breakfast teabag from the box on the side, added some canderel and a dash of milk from the fridge.

"Is there a psychic medium in Goldwater who might be able to help you fend him off and finally get rid of him?" Liz asked in a worried tone.