Free Shadows by Jen Black

the most pleasant thing.  Maybe she ought to cut him some slack, be a little more patient and see how he handled it.
    “It looked like the same man I saw when we first arrived.”
    Rory kept his gaze on the road.  “Yes, I remember you mentioned someone dressed in black.  But then we thought he was real.  Now we’re talking about someone who isn’t really there.”
    “I’m sorry.”  Heavens, why was she apologizing?  The situation wasn’t her fault.
    “Has it upset you?”  His hand left the steering wheel and fleetingly touched her wrist.
    Immediately, she warmed to him.  He was willing to discuss it.  “The figure wasn’t threatening.  In fact…”  How could she explain to Rory that she had the maddest idea that the ghost was waiting for her?  “The only feeling I had was…do you know how it feels when you arrive at someone’s home unexpectedly and they’re really pleased to see you?  It felt like that.”
    The yellow car skittered toward the trees lining the opposite side of the road.  “Sorry.”  Rory returned the car to its own side.  “I have a hard time with welcoming ghosts.  I always thought they produced feelings of dread and horror.”
    Well, he’d used the g-word, so he wasn’t afraid of the topic.  She drew in breath to speak and let it go in squeal when a huge Land Cruiser blared around the corner and squashed them against the grass verge.  Instinctively, she hunched toward the center of the car, closer to Rory.
    “Shit.”  Rory swung the car back to the crown of the road and glanced at her.  “Sorry.”
    “It wasn’t your fault.”  She turned and glared after the huge vehicle and decided she’d better let Rory concentrate on the narrow, twisty road.  She would tell him tonight that she was no stranger to ghostly visitations.
    He was right about the caves.  The air was cool.  The cavern was also dark, eerie and not for anyone who suffered from claustrophobia, but Melissa was entranced.  She’d heard how two small boys followed their dog underground sixty years ago and found amazing paintings on the wall of a cave.  She didn’t mind that tourists were not allowed into the real cave because their damp exhalations caused mold to grow on the paintings, for her, the facsimile was real enough.
    She wandered through in a daze and was happy that Rory seemed impressed.  The lighting was dim, but the paintings themselves were beautifully lit.  The guide spoke in such rapid French Melissa soon gave up trying to follow and simply gazed around in wonder.  The cave varied in size as she moved further into it, sometimes so tight a fit that she had to squeeze past rocky outcrops, sometimes large and airy so that several paintings could be viewed at the same time.
    The colors were of the earth—black, red, ochre, yellow and all the mixtures in between.  The walls of the cave bulged where the painted, powerful shoulders of some beast swelled with muscle, and in the waving light of the torches, many animals appeared to be running through the cave above their heads.
    Back in clear daylight above the earth, the sun hit her with the power of a stun gun as she walked back up the leafy lane to the car.  She navigated from an old Michelin map and found the way into the small bustling town of Montignac where Rory chose the Relais du Soleil d’Or, an old coaching inn off the main street, as the place for lunch.
    The dining room was pretty, with wooden beams and lots of windows that looked out over the extensive gardens hidden away at the back of the hotel.  Melissa stared at the swimming pool, ate the excellent food and raved about what she’d seen that morning.
    “Shall we drive south down the Vezere valley after lunch?  We could stop off at the Roque Saint Christophe.”
    “What is it?  More than just a rock?”
    “It’s supposedly one of the most important prehistoric sites in the valley.  You’ve got the sparkle back in your eyes.  I’m glad.  I missed that