He couldn't understand why the woman put up with him. What he knew of the new American culture, women often stood up for their rights and didn't let men walk all over them. Perhaps he was wrong.
Nay, that wasn't so. The last couple that lived on the premises fought like mad animals. Often it was the woman, Eva whom was doing the arguing. She said he treated her like less than a person. Kell didn't know about that. She was treated like royalty compared to the way women were treated in his day.
But this girl. . .what was her bloody name. . .he was half tempted to wake her and asked her when he remembered. Brenda. Brenda Kathryn Cottonwood. Unusual name to be sure, but nothing completely disrespectful. This Brenda, or Bren as she often called herself when she believed herself to be alone, let this rake walk all over her tender feelings.
He hadn't spent much time around women, in his life or after life, but it was plain as day on her face that the bloody bastard had hurt her feelings. Terribly too. Kell stood at the foot of her bed, cloaked in darkness and watched her sleep. If he hand't been afraid of scaring the daylights out of her as well, he would have taken care of her bloody boyfriend himself.
As it was, she hadn't even a clue of his existence.
Sighing Kell left the room and wandered through the downstairs. He was hungry for company, that was all, he told himself yet again. Walking through the front door, he let himself materialize. He stood in the night air, unable to feel the cool caress of the wind. Sighing again he walked to the south end of the porch where the swing sat, moving slightly in the wind. Sitting down on it, he ran a hand through is hair.
Slowly rocking himself on the swing, he was suddenly became aware of how he looked. He sat and rocked in the porch swing, half transparent and wearing eighteenth century garb. Pouring more energy into his appearance, he changed his clothing into the appropriate style for this century. Faded jeans and a grey t-shirt. Pouring a slight bit of more energy into his appearance, he knew he looked like a normal human man now. His transparent skin had become fuller, lush looking. His ghostly glow ceased.
Pushing himself on the swing, he tried to remember what it felt like to swing on it. The slight ruffle of air in his hair, the feeling of moving. He couldn't. When the swing stopped moving, except with the force of the wind, he didn't dare spend the energy to move it more. He had exerted himself enough. If he pushed it again, he wouldn't have the energy to keep up his appearance.
Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees. Why was this woman's plight bothering him? He hand't let anyone or anything get to him in almost three hundred years. So why now?
Hearing the annoying bark of the neighbor woman's dog, he glanced up to see the elderly woman, dog in tow, heading toward the house carrying what appeared to be a batch of warm brownies. Hell, what the devil was the woman doing popping over at this bloody time of night?
Sudden realization that she was staring at him made him jump up. Holy hell, she'd seen him, and expected that he lived there, and if he said he didn't she would most likely phone a constable. Striding over to the top of the stairs, he poured even more energy into looking human. He knew he passed when she gave him a suspicious smile.
"Hello," she said as she stepped up onto the porch. The bloody little yapper of a dog, if one could call that tiny bit of a thing a dog, run rampant in the front yard. Kell forced a smile on her face and prayed the dog wouldn't come any where near him. Dog's seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to him.
"Hello," Kell said, partially trying to hide his old English accent. He pushed a hand into his pocket, and waved with the other.
"I thought there was a young woman living here."
"Ah, yes. . .Brenda." Kell tried to seem non cool and composed, but didn't think he came off with it at all well. The woman was eyeing him as if he were a not wanted participant in a party. Giving him a rude once over, she arched her eye brow.
"Your not living in sin, are you?" Well quite to the point wasn't she?
"Nay, madam. I regret that we are not living in sin." For some unknown reason, Kell felt as if he needed to protect her integrity. "She is but a distant cousin to me."
That caused the eyebrow to raise up even farther. "And whom was that man dropping her off a little while ago?" Kell held his look of astonishment off of his face. Luckily. She was a nosy little thing, she was.
"And you are?" He asked raising his own eyebrow.
"Mrs. Holmes. I have lived next door for some time now."
"Ah, well yes," Kell wanted to smile. Well I've lived here for three hundred, Kell projected the thought into her head. "We we've lived here for three weeks." Besides looking slightly confused, she didn't let on that she had heard anything.
"Here," She thrust the brownies out at him.
"I can't take those." He said taking a quick step back and throwing his hands in front of him as if warding off an attack of some sort. Beware of those killer brownies!
"Why not?" Mrs. Holmes almost shouted, anger replacing her earlier distaste. "Helen MacDugal brought over a chocolate cake yesterday, and the young woman took it. Why can't you accept my brownies?"
Kell was at a loss. He couldn't take the brownies, that would take more energy than he had to give to anything, including his appearance. He was well aware that he shouldn't have put so much energy into making himself rock on the chair. He could feel the effects wearing thin on his appearance.
