Page 4 of Mortal Desires

I had dirt smeared on my cheeks, my hair white with dust or—god forbid—spider webs. But I couldn’t leave, get cleaned up, and come back. I just needed to get it done.

The doorbell chimed, and I waited, him by my side, anxiety on his face. Hanging by a nail was a little sign with a witch. Black hood, long pointed nose, and green skin. I twisted my nose, flattening my lips into a line right when the door swung open.

“How can I help you?”

I heard the big sigh next to me.

I tried to ignore him and concentrated on the woman in front of me. She was young, maybe my age, and about six months pregnant.

“I’m Pilar Morales, and I have something that belongs to you.”

I passed her the box, letting her discover on her own what it meant.

“Tell her,” he whispered.

The girl gasped as she opened it, and I took it as an incentive to talk. “Your father hid them, afraid of what your mother would do. But they’re yours now.”

Her blue eyes full of unshed tears locked on mine. “I haven’t seen this since I was little. How?”

How? Was a question I learned to dodge. “He hid it so you could have something to start a new life.”

“My mom looked for these everywhere.” She gulped. “She wanted to sell them. I knew Dad hid them somewhere, but I never thought I’d see them again.”

My lips parted, searching for something else to say. She was so engrossed in the jewelry, she wouldn’t notice if I left, so I closed my mouth and stepped back.

He was looking adoringly at her, fat, pearly white tears streaming down his face. Do you know what a ghost’s tears smell like?

Night-blooming jasmine.

I moved down the porch, but at the last second, my heart twisted and I turned back again. “He said raising you was the biggest honor of his life.”

She sobbed at the doorstep and I ran to my car parked a couple of houses down the road. I fished the keys from my pocket, shaking. I just wanted to go home. Before I had the chance to swing the door open, he appeared right in front of me, making me yelp.

“Thank you, Pilar.”

“Jesus.” I placed my hand over my chest. “You’re welcome.”

“I don’t know how to repay you.”

I shook my head. He didn’t know anything, not his name or where he was from. He remembered only his daughter and the treasure he wanted to be hers. Some spirits could remember everything, their life playing like a movie in front of their eyes. Some only remembered their death, destined to relive it for eternity. And some, like him, had a mission, something that kept them from ascending.

If a soul stayed behind for too long, afraid to ascend, disconnected from the afterlife, one day the ground opened and swallowed them. Only blackness followed their descent, the jasmine scent nowhere to be found. I watched it happen enough times to still shiver when I thought about it.

The clock of the afterlife rang above us all, alive and dead equally.

“You need to go,” I told him softly. “She has the box. You did what you needed to do.”

His throat worked, looking at the street with sad eyes. “I keep trying to remember. Maybe the streets will jog my memory, or maybe if you ask her my name—”

“It’s time,” I interrupted. “You can go in peace.” Unable to stop myself, I added. “Please.”

He nodded, looking at the street one last time, but I knew by the devastated look on his face that he still couldn’t remember.

It was better this way. The ghosts who remembered suffered immensely. Too tempted by watching their loved ones, too scared by visiting their own graves in an eternal loop to cross over.

I wanted to warn him about his limited time here, but I tried that many times before. I tried honesty, telling tales about the hole in the ground waiting to swallow us all. In the end, human nature made people believe they’d be the exception. They always thought the ground wouldn’t open for them, but unfortunately, I only knew one exception.

“I hope you go in peace,” I said at last, finally able to swing the car door open and get myself out of there.

---