Page 64 of Light As A Feather
“It’s not so much nothing as it’s muted. Hawthorne thinks he found a way to keep him at bay…temporarily.”
“Oh good, you two put it to the test then.” Hale smirks knowingly at me, and my skin heats unbearably.
When we step into Hawthorne’s childhood bedroom, some of that familiar weight returns, just barely. “So far, it’s heaviest here. But that makes sense, this is where I first met him, where he’s visited me most.”
“I want to try something. Can you lie down?”
I hesitate; a dozen questions run through my mind.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to try to hypnotize you or anything,” she laughs like it’s an absurd notion. “I’m just going to see if we can get a bit more detail. You can just sit if you like, but lying down would be better if he came to you most often when you were sleeping.”
Reluctantly, I get to my knees, then lie on the floor and wait for instruction.
“Eyes closed, please.”
I swallow roughly, then do as she asks. I’ve already committed to this.
“Okay, try to relax. I know it’s easier said than done, but try to picture the first time he came to you, when you were truly aware of his presence.”
Inhaling and exhaling deeply, I combat the anxious energy that’s building in my spine and spreading through my limbs. I’ve slept in the same room as Ivan for many years; memories won’t hurt me if I was able to survive that. With that bit of reassurance, I force myself to block out the stimulus around me and push myself mentally back in time. It hardly takes any effort to recall that night when it was the first of many that propelled my life in an unfortunate direction.
It’s dark, but there’s light streaming between the windows, enough to make the form in the corner of the room stand out. Pitch black, looming, off.
“He was just standing there watching me sleep. At first, I tried to pretend he wasn’t there—the way I’d often try to pretend like I didn’t notice the shadowed figure looming in my peripherals. It was habit. But each time, the longer I kept my eyes closed, the more intense the feeling of being watched became. When I’d finally caved and opened them, he was standing closer. So I clenched them closed tightly, told myself it was just my imagination. When I finally got myself to buy into the lie, I opened my eyes again, and he was standing even closer. All I could see were the whites of his eyes and the faint shape of a smile; the rest was just a vague silhouette of a man. It was terrifying, it was intriguing. He just stood there. Watching, waiting.”
“Then what?” Hale speaks quietly, but I still flinch, partially forgetting she was there.
“I pulled the sheets over my face and forced myself to go back to sleep.”
“You didn’t tell Hawthorne?”
“No.” I lick my lips. “I was afraid, but I was more terrified that he wouldn’t believe me, that it would ruin my friendship. Besides, nothing had happened, not really. At the time, at least. It didn’t stay that way.”
Another night, another fight. Hawthorne rolls over, and I’m at his side while he drifts off to sleep, waiting for it to claim me too. But it doesn’t come; instead, my shadowed visitor does. He’s watching me like always, leaning over where I rest, but this time, he reaches out and strokes my hair. I barely feel it, but his hand lingers.
“When he started touching me, I should have told him to stay away. But he wasn’t what he is now—or he didn’t come off like that. His touch was almost tender, something of adoration. It was docile and reserved. It made me feel special. I thought maybe he was some kind of guardian watching over me, or maybe just a curious spirit.”
I should have trusted my initial instinct to be disturbed and frightened of a creature who only comes to you at night when you’re most vulnerable. But I was just a girl. A lonely one who seemed to repel most people.
“He went from watching to touching. For a while, it was just stroking my hair while I fell asleep. Then the touches became a bit more familiar, a rub against my arm, holding my hand. He became comfortable with getting closer and closer, and I let him.” The deep breath I attempt is a raspy shudder.
“Sol, we can stop.” The wood floorboards shift slightly next to me as Hale moves closer to me.
“No. I need to do this,” I force myself to say.
“I won’t hurt you,” he’d said as he knelt by Hawthorne’s bed and held out his hand, just waiting for me to take it, and I did. Followed him down the stairs, a single candle lit.
“He told me that I was special. That was why I could see him and talk to him while others couldn’t. He’d convinced me that wewere a natural evolution of what I was, that I was the one who could make him feel more human again. But knowing him now, I don’t think there was ever much humanity in him. And that certainly wasn’t what he was seeking from me.”
The sweep of cold hands along soft, youthful skin is still fresh in my memory. I wake with chills and shaking limbs every now and again. I could never forget the sensation.
“This is my fault. And not just because I made a deal to save Hawthorne’s life—I think that deal was bullshit. This is my fault because I trusted him, because I gave him parts of myself that I could never get back. I allowed this cursed union to come to fruition.”
“Solaneen,” Hale warns or pleads, I can’t tell. As much as she doesn’t want to hear it, I still have to say it. This secret is going to kill me. It has been for years. With everything up in the air, I can’t help but feel like it’s now or never. If I don’t breathe the truth into this very room where it all started, then I might never find the courage to do it. I need to. But more than that, it needs to be known. “You were just a girl.” I ignore her, mind made up.
“I gave myself to him. I let him have me. I created the anchor he needed to bind himself to me.”
There’s a clatter, and my eyes spring open, my body launching into flight mode, but when I sit up, there’s Hawthorne in the doorway, scrambling to pick up the expensive-looking camera he dropped.
