Page 3 of Light As A Feather
With each highway sign that I pass, I feel the world shift beneath me, righting itself degree by degree.
The sun and moon are getting close to changing places in the sky when I finally pull off to the edge of the road and park. I don’t know what to expect, but what I do know is that I’m bringing her back, no matter what.
TWENTY-FOUR HOURS EARLIER
“You’re not going to like what I have to say.” The medium across from me sighs. Her nails tap a frustrating rhythm that speeds up the pounding in my head. We’ve been sitting here for nearly an hour, and the whole time I’ve been absorbing the impatient vexation of the spirit at my back.
“I’m used to disappointment.” The truth of it sticks to me like the cloying heat from all these candles crowding the small space. “Go ahead, tell me.” Beneath the table, I tap my fingers in counts of two as a means of channeling my anxious energy somewhere she can’t see.
“You say you’ve seen upwards of a dozen mediums?”
“Mediums, witches, spiritual doctors…really anyone who claims to have any knowledge of spirit attachments,” I correct.
“Mmm.” She nods while her gaze dances from me to said spirit attachment. “This is a stubborn one. Powerful, too. Not just him, but your bond.”
“Right. Hence why I’m here,” I snap and immediately regret it. “Sorry, I’m?—”
“No need to apologize. I know these sessions can be challenging with all the residual resentment they tend to project onto you.”
I just nod, my energy fading as this conversation drags on.
“My point is that yes, this is a strong attachment. The majority of spirits aren’t so…adamant about remaining with the individual, more so, what they represent. But with you, it’s more than that. This spirit…well, it wants you.”
I nod again, trying not to show my frustration as she tells me more things I already know. She comes highly recommended; there has to be some value to gain here.
“But it also appears that it holds this attachment to you with conviction, entitlement even. I’ll be honest, this connection between the two of you is unlike anything I’ve seen.” She leans back in her chair, deep in thought as she studies me. “Can I ask you something?”
“Yes,” I answer immediately, even though a voice inside me revolts at the idea.
The woman’s brow furrows as if in a wince of pain, eyes shutting tightly as she channels whatever message my unwanted passenger is trying to communicate. “Did you enter into this…relationship…willingly?”
I want to angrily refute the implied accusation, but I can’t. “Yes.”
The answer is so much more complicated than that, but it’s not her problem—or her business, frankly. I’m not one to sharemy sob story. I’m not looking for sympathy. I made my choice, now I live with it.
When she opens her eyes, they’re heavy with apology. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
It doesn’t surprise me, but that damning confirmation of my greatest fear, the one I’ve been desperately trying to deny—away from the comforts of home and the arms of the man I love and into the discomfort of constant travel, skeevy motels, and the haze of alcohol-altered nights—hits me like a punch to the gut.
I have to press the back of my hand to my mouth to suppress the sob that attempts to climb out. My emotional instability isn’t her problem. I paid her for answers, and, against all odds, a solution that’s evaded me for the better part of two decades.
It’s an effort to summon a rational sentence. “Well, I guess that’s it then.” I stall, my words getting lost in the fog of overwhelm of conflicting thoughts and muddy feelings. “Thanks for your time.”
The medium sits up straighter, her eyes narrowing. “After all the searching, all the money you’ve poured into answers, you accept it just like that?”
“So many people have tried to help me. It was a waste of their time and mine.” I bristle at the assumption, no longer trying to curb the bite in my words. I promised myself this was the last time I put myself through the roller coaster of hope and disappointment, and I meant it.
“I didn’t say there was no chance, just that I can’t help you.”
“Seems like nobody can.” I stand, the wood of the chair suddenly becoming too hard, the room too small, the air too stagnant.
“Maybe so, maybe not. There are others who are more experienced than me, who have a wider breadth of knowledge, but you must know that yours is a rare situation.”
“All I know is I can’t put myself through this anymore.”
She reaches for me across the table too quickly for me to evade her touch. “If you give up, it’ll cost you your life.”
I’m counting on it.
