A Life Redeemed

From the exterior of the aging home on the corner of Porter Lane and Old Joshua Road, Eugene Abbot locates no evidence of leftover items from his childhood that died a decade prior. His grandfather’s dated estate bears in his name and only the final scraps to the former elder’s life remain indoors. As he conducts his final rounds of the building, he finds natural content in the idea of no longer being required to deal with the property. The payday for his effort keeps him honest and on time.

What is this in the attic? That floorboard wasn’t loose before. Why is it uneven and unsafe now? Oh shoot. Please don’t be water damage, please don’t be water damage, please don’t be water damage.

Upon further inspection, Eugene’s fears are avoided! He wipes his brow from the slight nervous sweat, before identifying another oddity taking the form of a manilla folder. He reaches for the cardboard folder and removes it from beneath the wood planks. The package is neatly labeled in sharpie. Gloria Leake? Really gramps? This is where you hid your porn stash? I feel like I should have found this sooner.

He chuckles as the name written unlocks the passive memory bank. Grandpa Abbot shares several non-family friendly words, with the blonde beauty as the focus of the illicit verbiage. Along with those memories comes a cool energy rush, filling the older boy with unfamiliar excitement. What is this new anticipation for?

The awaited arrival of the occasion where he possesses the qualifications to gander at her without a scolding from his parents? The fears and adrenaline of the potential backlash made seeking out his grandfather’s dirty secrets well worth the risk in the past, but presently the changes to the dynamic still point to the benefits outweighing any cost.

He slips out the contents of the envelope with no surprise in the condition or age of the photos within, yet is still brought to bewilderment at further tingling of exposed skin. The air around him isn’t blown around by any fan or cooling unit, so what’s providing it with energy? An additional question rises to prominence after Eugene detects a faint voice. “Don’t leave me… Relieve me… Save me…”

The whispers are almost too light for him to understand, but force the short, thin hairs to stand up all over his body, especially behind his neck. He ignores these unusual experiences and continues to gaze upon the black and white glory.

For an older shoot, the amount of skin shown by Ms. Leake easily surpasses past standards and is considerate even for today. Her entire ensemble is pure white. Her booty shorts and featureless bra only hide her hips, upper thigh, and a majority of her chest. The only other item of choice for the babe with light skin is a long fur boa she wraps around her forearms and behind her neck. The fuzzy accessory runs up her arms and hides both shoulders. Nothing, not even shoes or stockings, guards her from the shorts down to her feet.

“Help me… Don’t leave me… Relieve me… Save me…” The voice is feminine with hints of sexual allure. Overlooking this call becomes arduous for Eugene, so he renews the quest to diagnose his interesting new symptoms.

“Are you talking to me? Or am I just experiencing some sort of grand illusion?” He performs the few basic actions anyone would as a self check for awakeness. The pinch on his neck hurts slightly, and he needs to breathe after a few seconds of holding it. So what else can this be?

The rehearsing voice persists for Eugene, who grows as puzzled as a baby looking at their parent’s keys. The all encompassing sensations of wonder, nostalgia and lust crushes the recipient’s unprepared mind.

His eyes stick to the picture as her words soothe him and provide purpose. She is asking for help, for shelter, for release. All of this is something Eugene is ready and willing to provide at the drop of a hat. The follow up attachments to her requests appear much less out of line when all he thinks about is how gorgeous this woman is. Proper, exotic and enchanting all in one. His imagination spawns a gentle sway in her hip, and the dominos topple from there, especially with that expertly selected white fur boa.

Soon enough, Eugene finds himself matching his voice to the one heard. The last examination of his Grandfather’s old quarters is complete, and a new future endeavor presents itself in flawless white cotton and fur.

“Go save me… The evidence is still there… Redeem me…”

With a firm grip on the prized polaroids, he sets on a new journey to assist Gloria. How does Eugene know what to do for the deceased model of his family’s dreams? Her chanting words may only provide basic information for him, but the chilly air and distributed affection alludes to directions.

Eugene returns to his car where Gloria’s influence increases. The compact and controlled area is several magnitudes easier to manipulate than the outside air, even allowing her to include a soft pheromone. This male already is set to enjoy serving the mystical woman, and this is the bonus she wishes to reward him with for complying swiftly. If he is lucky, she may even have another gift.

A half hour drive brings the man and spirit to a run down hotel. The one story building contains chipped paint, cracking cement, overgrown weeds and much more wear and tear.

“Go save me… The evidence is still there… Redeem me…”

The ghost girl’s strength intensifies enough to rattle the automobile housing Eugene. He knew the woman’s story all too well. She passed away far too young due to an overdose at this very hotel a half century ago. Or at least that’s what was written. The legacy this powerful woman left behind. The evidence is still here? What evidence is her spirit referring to? What would last this long, remain unfound and prove her innocence all in one full swing.

This venture extends longer than the first search, as there are many more places to peruse. One by one, he checks into and out of the very expired hotel rooms. The stench of mold plagues most of them, except for one which shows no signs of grit and grime, and Gloria’s stimulating scent replaces the common denominator. That couldn’t be a coincidence, so Eugene spends an inspired two hours rummaging through the entirety of this room.

The second he discovers where the evidence lies, yet again an envelope beneath the floor of the bed, he feels a plethora of emotions. First comes annoyance, as he could have thought to look there sooner. Following after is relief, as much as he enjoys her hunting, he’s burning out of energy for the day and can’t wait to kick his feet up at home. The next is joy, as Eugene is another step closer to fulfillment of Gloria’s requests. Lastly arrives the desire and urge to finish the tasks assigned to him by Ms. Leake.

Once more he opens the envelope. This one is far less lewd and potent erotically, substituted by an intricate account of the events leading up to Gloria’s death. The documents enclosed detail the fictional record of ridiculous quantities of opium, covering up her murder at the hands of her agent.

Yes! This is it! She was right, the evidence still exists. Her reputation can be restored!

Gloria’s slim opportunity to lead Eugene beyond the hotel changes very little about his new plans, as his mind is already set on informing as many as possible. News outlets, the local authorities, but most importantly, Gloria couldn’t bear for it to get on the internet and spread to every corner of the Earth before her living family members got the message. Eugene is restored mentally and emotionally after sharing hugs with a few of her relatives.

In the prints the next day, all of the credit of the discovery falls to Eugene, but that’s not what the young worshipper believes. How could he when the undying energy source of Gloria Leake herself is the undeniable force that brought him to the hotel? She provides him with masterful pleasure when he is alone, and especially in the closing hours of that initial night.

The ghost’s excitement manifests into a makeshift form, allowing her to make her advances on Eugene. He looks to Gloria without any doubt of her sentience, without resistance to her bedtime ploys, without worry for needing to explain to anyone what heavenly sex deeds he with a ghost he willingly submits to in his free time.

She crawls toward him, letting her hands sink into an inner layer of skin, otherwise he wouldn’t feel warm and happy for her. He nods the only necessary approval for the entire night and she discloses part two of her diabolical systemic takeover of his body. Two fingers drift up towards his forehead and enter his frontal lobe. She extracts all of the sensitive rules of engagement, the operation manual of his sex drive.

From that intrusion onward, Gloria alone owns the key to Eugene’s orgasm switch. She abuses it each time it’s warranted following more dutiful obedience from her new thrall who couldn’t get enough.