FanStory.com - Unfinished Brushstrokes

The Channel 23 News Media team parked their van strategically across the street from Eleanor Bennett's one-hundred-year-old Victorian home, its weathered facade a testament to bygone eras. The scent of blooming lilacs wafted through the air, mingling with the distant city smells and the hum of traffic, as the crew spilled out of the vehicle with the precision of a well-rehearsed act. Their cameras gleamed in the sunlight as they quickly set them up, all pointed at Eleanor Bennett's house.

The television station's top reporter, Amy Lockwood, a journalist with a reputation for uncovering hidden truths, approached Trevor Ashley as he stepped out of his sleek sports car. Thrusting her microphone into his face, she asked, "Would you care to comment about CJ Grey donating $100,000 to the Bayside Art Gallery?"

Trevor scowled, his jaw tightening as he forcefully pushed the microphone away. "You've got the wrong house. There's no CJ Grey here. Show some respect, will you? This is Eleanor Bennett's home. My aunt passed away recently."

Refusing to back down, Amy persisted, "Your aunt — she was an artist, right?"

"Yeah, she slapped a paintbrush around a canvas now and then, I guess, but she wasn't anyone famous."

The reporter turned and shouted at a girl standing near the van. "Haley, bring that newspaper."

The young woman grabbed the newspaper, her ponytail bobbing up and down as she hurried toward the news reporter. "Here you go, Amy."

Amy took the folded newspaper from her and opened it, exposing the front-page headlines and the picture of a woman with a neatly coiled bun of gray hair, twinkling eyes, and a warm smile. "Do you recognize this woman?"

Trevor's eyes bulged in disbelief as he stared at the picture of his aunt. His voice quivered with shock. "Oh, my word!" Without uttering another sound, he grabbed the paper from Amy's hand and sprinted up the sidewalk into the house, slamming the door behind him. Gasping for air, he rushed into the study, where Eleanor's family had gathered.

Unaccustomed to sudden outbursts, Margaret gasped, "Trevor, what's wrong with you?"

He spread the newspaper on the large mahogany side table with his usual dramatic flair. "Have you seen this?" On the front page, the headline, accompanied by Eleanor Bennett's face, read "Renowned Artist Donates $100,000 to Local Gallery."

A heavy silence descended over the room as everyone leaned in to read the article, followed by loud, confused chatter.

"That's Aunt Eleanor's face, but the story says they tracked the donation to a C.J. Grey. They just made a mistake with the photo." Megan, Margaret's only daughter, gave her hair a casual flip and returned to her chair to continue filing her nails.

Trevor sneered, "Then explain that to the news crew outside."

"This is an outrage!" Jonathan's voice boomed, his face turning a furious shade of crimson. "I told you, Margaret — Eleanor was losing her mind. Holed up in this house alone except for that neighbor of hers." His words dripped with accusations.

Margaret collapsed into an overstuffed chair, muttering, "Sister or not, I never trusted her. She was always keeping secrets. Maybe we should have filed an incompetence suit."

Megan rolled her eyes and pushed a box of tissues across the side table toward her mother. "It's not like you ever tried to be close to her, Mother."

"You watch your mouth, Megan. I always talked to Eleanor as often as I could."

"Which was when?" Megan chuckled. "Last Christmas?"

"I'll have you know that Eleanor and I had a chat just last week. If you don't believe me, you can ask Jenna."

Jonathon spun around, his eyes scouring the room. "Where's our dear aunt's pet?" He pointed at the newspaper. "She had to know about this." Venom dripped from every word.

Megan laughed. "If you're referring to Jenna, I believe she's in the kitchen. But I assure you, if she were in on Aunt Eleanor's secret, she wouldn't share the fact with you."

Jonathon checked his watch for the third time as he answered Megan, "I suppose you're right. She's probably already taken anything of value from the house." He paced the room, snatching up the newspaper, rereading it, and tossing it on the table. "Why are we here? By the looks of this house, Eleanor didn't have anything I wanted except money, which appears to be gone. Even her jewelry box was empty."

Margaret sniffled as her fingers toyed with the diamond necklace adorning her neck. "We're her family. Why give what little she had to a nosy neighbor or an art gallery? I've never heard Eleanor once mention a CJ Grey."

Half listening, Jonathon stood at the window, his gaze fixed on the sleek black SUV as it cruised past the house for the second time. His every nerve screamed it belonged to Danny Veraci, the notorious crime boss who held Bayside in his iron grip through his thriving casino empire. Despite Channel 23's news crew still occupying space across the street, he knew this was no ordinary drive-by but a chilling display of intimidation.

"Where's the lawyer? Didn't he say we should all be here for the reading of the will at two o'clock?" With a noticeable trembling in his hands, Trevor searched his pockets, retrieving a pill bottle. He popped off the top, claimed two pills from inside, and quickly swallowed them. His head twitched from side to side as he leaned back against the chair, closing his eyes and waiting for the pills to take effect.

"Trevor, must you do that here?" Margaret sighed with disgust.

"Do what, Mother? Take a prescription drug?" Trevor's eyes opened, and he glared across the room at Margaret. He snarled, "You watch too many television shows."

"Watch your tone, young man. I am your mother, and you'll show me the respect I deserve."

Trevor laughed. "Respect! Tell that to the last three guys I saw sneaking out of your bedroom in the middle of the night. Are you charging them, or is it just something to keep you warm at night?"

"Shut up, Trevor!" Jonathan snapped. Now's not the time to air the family's dirty laundry. The lawyer's coming up the walk."

Megan peered around her uncle's shoulder. "If that dude with him is a lawyer, he can represent me any day." She licked her lips and gave her uncle a wink. "If you get my drift."

Jonathan chuckled. "Sorry, sweetie, if I'm not mistaken, the only place you'd be meeting that guy is across the table in an interrogation room. He's one of Bayside's finest, Detective Matthew Donatelli."

Jonathan's words piqued Trevor's attention, and he sat up straight in his chair. "A detective? Why is the lawyer bringing him to the reading of the will? It's not like Aunt Eleanor was someone rich and famous."

Hearing the uproar in the study, Jenna had stopped outside the door to listen. Her heart raced as she watched Eleanor's family discuss her with total disrespect.

"Oh, Eleanor, I'm glad you aren't here to listen to their bickering. Now I understand —"

She jumped and spun around as the doorbell echoed throughout the house. She was positive someone had touched her arm. At the sounds of Megan's stilettos tapping against the hardwood floor, Jenna hurried toward the kitchen, not wanting the family to know what she'd overheard.

Once in the kitchen, she slumped onto a chair, laying her head on the table. Her sadness at the loss of her friend was overwhelming. She wiped away the threatening tears, remembering her promise not to cry. She buried her face in her hands, mumbling, "Eleanor, I can't help it." She shivered involuntarily, her breath misting in the unusually cold air. "I wish you were here."

"But I am here," the voice startled Jenna.

She jumped out of the chair. Her heart raced as she spun around, her eyes checking every corner. The kitchen was empty, yet a faint aroma of lavender drifted in the air. She heard a soft, familiar chuckle, which caused her to freeze in place, her hand gripping the back of the chair.

"Eleanor?" Jenna whispered. Her eyes widened as she scanned the room. There was no one there. Shaking her head, she lowered herself into the chair. "Jenna, get a hold of yourself. Dead people don't talk."

"But they do. Remember what I told you — it's not over until it's over." The voice was unmistakably Eleanor's, pleasant but airy.

An orchestra of icy fingers strummed Jenna's spine, and her voice cracked as she stammered, "Eleanor?"

A soft, shimmering light materialized in the corner of the kitchen, growing gradually brighter. Jenna watched in awe as the light took on the faint outline of a familiar figure — Eleanor, her hair in a tightly coiled bun, her eyes twinkling with mischief, and her warm smile.

Jenna gulped, unable to move from the chair. "Is it — really you?"

The ghostly figure nodded, her expression warm but tinged with a playful hint of mystery. "I didn't mean to frighten you, child. I planned on doing this later, but I couldn't resist once I saw the show unfolding in the study."

"But —" Jenna stammered, her eyes wide.

Eleanor's spectral form shimmered with amusement. "Death isn't as final as we think. I have a few loose ends to tie up and secrets to reveal."

"How?" Jenna gasped. "Oh, God, I must be losing my mind, thinking I am talking to a ghost."

"Just think of me as your friend." Eleanor smiled, generating a warm glow as her ghostly hand reached out, almost touching Jenna's cheek.

Jenna's hand touched her face as she felt a faint tingle. She took a deep breath, letting her fear slowly ease. "What's happening?"

"I need you to be my eyes and ears. Stay close to them. Watch and listen. And Jenna, remember — you're not alone."

Megan's voice echoed down the hallway. "Jenna, the lawyer is here."

Eleanor's form faded as quickly as she appeared, leaving Jenna alone in the kitchen, her mind racing with questions. Still unsure what had happened, she took a deep breath, picked up the tray of coffee cups and the pot of coffee, and yelled, "I'm coming."

As Jenna reached the kitchen door, Eleanor whispered, "The adventure is just beginning, Jenna."