Page 42 of Between

“Your parents.”

I slowly inhaled, my mind now directing my thoughts in a different direction. “Yes.”

“Do they…”

I didn’t hesitate to finish her question. “Walk around at night? Yes.”

“Is it weird?”

I shrugged. “It was at first. But now, it’s normal.”

She nodded slowly, and I could tell she was contemplating something. I waited, expecting her to say something as the rain fell between us.

Her voice was quiet, only slightly above a whisper as she spoke. “Can you take me to them?”

I froze. It was such a simple request, a harmless one at that. But no one had ever cared enough to see them, to know anything about them, or to take any sort of interest in them.

In fact, no one really takes an interest in Purgatory at all unless it’s for their own benefit.

I looked at her, our eyes matching a buried apprehension that couldn’t be explained. She was diving deep into this world, exploring every inch that was to be discovered, and I was her guide. I was the one giving her the answers that she wanted, that she needed, in order to open her eyes.

But once her eyes were opened, there was no going back.

“Yes.”

The small hint of her smile was just another confirmation that she was it. She was all I needed, all I wanted, all I could ever ask for.

I led her down one of the back paths to a solitary mausoleum. The door was open, as all the others were, and we both stopped at the steps. It was bigger than most of the other buildings, with a double-door entrance, five steps that led to the inside, and a larger frame. Pillars with spiraled ivy lined the front face of the structure, and a faded “A” was engraved at the top. Moss and other plants covered the sides, and grass grew at the bottom.

Celeste glanced to me, then back to the mausoleum. She tilted her head up, looking to the top, causing her hood to slip off her head. Raindrops instantly covered her hair and face, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s beautiful.”

I stood there with my hood still up, the rain dripping off the rim. “It is.”

After a moment, Celeste moved forward, away from me. She walked up the first few steps of the mausoleum, leaned down, and placed the carnation on the top landing. The flower, even though it was already wet, rested under the concrete awning and was shielded from the rain. The white and red petals contrasted against the dark cement building, adding a context of color that looked so different from its normal state.

Celeste walked back down and stood beside me, her eyes still glued to the building before her. With her hand stretched out, her palm up, she let the rain fall into her hand. The water ran over her skin, falling to the ground in gravity’s pull. I looked over at her, watching as the raindrops slid down her temples, her cheekbones, and down her neck. She looked so ethereal, so intangible, I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

But then she turned her head to face me, and I could see why she hid.

Why she hid from me, from the world, from herself.

“Celeste,” I pushed my hood down, letting the rain fall on me as well.

She gave me a half smile, as if she knew exactly what I was referring to. My eyes scanned the bright, white shape that lined the left side of her face. It formed a “3”, with the top arc running along her hairline, the middle line cutting right under her eyebrow, and the bottom curve resting under her eye, all connected in a single formation.

“It’s vitiligo,” she stated boldly, not a single quiver in her voice. “It started showing up when I was ten, and I learned to hide it soon after.”

“Hide it?” I questioned.

“With makeup.”

She lifted the hand that was covered in raindrops, only to show me more white spots on the back of her hand, cleansed from the rainwater.

“It’s on my hands and arms, too. It’s even on my hairline. I have to get one little section of hair dyed every few weeks. I learned how to hide it all.”

With the rainfall continuing to strip away any chance to hide, I continued to stare at her. This was an act of not only vulnerability, but also an invitation to the deepest, most hidden parts of herself.

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