Page 46 of Light As A Feather
I just hope they can find it in themselves to accept Sol. I know they care about me, that they’re just protective, but they were there for the worst of it. The nights I drove until I had to pull over on the side of the road, the days when I didn’t even want to get out of bed, the endless insistence that I would find her, and my asks of them to make our reunion a reality.
She wouldn’t be here without their help. Maybe I wouldn’t either.
I owe it to all of us to make it last. To make it safe. I just hope that together, we can figure something out. It’s only a matter of time before my luck runs out and Ivan has enough. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’ll stop at nothing to make her his. But he’s not the only desperate man.
Turning to Sol, I find my reassurance in the slow rise and fall of her chest.
The desire to wrap myself around her, to hold her close and never let her go, grabs me with dizzying need. I stifle the urge in the hope that I can preserve this moment of solitude for just a minute longer.
For someone like Sol, being awake means an onslaught of discomfort that she has to navigate all day. I can’t imagine what a relief sleep must be. It’s not just the sensory overload that plagues her; it’s the demands of the dead too. And while I don’t believe her dreams are peaceful by any means—she’s seen too much, been held too long by violent hands—she’s always seemed more at ease there, like she has more control.
So, instead of greedily soaking up every moment I can have with her, I get ready as quietly as I can. I resist waking her with the threat of devotion. I write it on a note and leave it on the nightstand that matches my own.
If you run, there’s nowhere far enough to keep me from you.
You’re mine, and I’m yours, among the living or with the dead.
-Thorne
There’s purpose in the path I cut through the winding roads; I’m heading toward something shaped like a solution. My anxious thoughts find breathing room as I take in the fresh air. I let it clear out all the grief and anger I’ve been holding in. My chest feels lighter already.
As I pull up to the white house with the terra cotta trim, it strikes me again that it doesn’t seem like the kind of place that would be haunted enough for our team to be called in, but sure enough, it’s vibrating with that energy that I know so well.
Some people would say this house feels alive, sentient even. It’s not, but the spirits within it are active.
Using the lockbox code the owners have set up while they’re away on their extended vacation, I stroll right inside. I don’t even have to look for them; the couple of spirits who remain watch me from the second-floor railing. I don’t think either of them was the one who distracted Hale enough for her to space on finishing the job. She’s just lucky we realized the mistake before the owners called with a complaint.
“Great, you’re back,” the woman in a bellbottom jumpsuit groans.
Hands in my pockets, I try to appear as unimposing as possible. “I know. I hate to ruin the party, but like we told your friends, it’s time to move on.”
“What if we don’t want to?”
“Why would you want to stay here, with strangers, who don’t even want you around?” I challenge.
“Because it wasn’t my time to go. I wasn’t someone who was supposed to be forgotten.” There’s that familiar thread of pain in her voice.
“Nobody’s supposed to be forgotten.” I start up a couple of steps. “What’s your name?”
The other woman, older, hair in an elaborate updo, shakes her head, discouraging the other woman from answering. But her curiosity wins out.
“Ellie,” she says reluctantly. The other ghost turns away, retreating to the other side of the room.
Slowly, I pull out my phone and search for any local missing persons or news articles that might apply to her. I stop scrolling when I come across an article from the seventies.
“Can I come up? I just want to show you something.” She nods, and I approach, raising my phone so she can read the screen. “See, you weren’t forgotten.”
“They looked for me?” She sniffles. “Created a memorial and everything.” Tears flow freely now, but the sadness that clung to her when I first arrived has softened, no longer a thing with sharp edges.
“They’ve mourned you, and you’ve been mourning yourself for a long time. Don’t you think it’s time to feel some peace?”
“Peace?” The other woman marches over. “This whore? If she wanted peace, she should have stayed out of my marriage.”
“It’s been decades, Cynthia. Will you give it a rest?”
“Easy for you to say! You’re not the one who’s been stuck in a house with your lying, no-good husband and his mistress, reminded every day of that betrayal.”
“You chose to stay here. Besides, I don’t want anything to do with it. Scott hasn’t changed one bit. He was following around that girl like a lovesick fool just the other day.” Her voice darkens with bitterness. “Hell, he isn’t even here anymore, got his lastwish for a few more minutes with some hot young thing and then left us both in the dust.”
