As the key, I am now the bearer of this proud tradition. I don’t yet understand why each generation becomes the mirror of the previous. My son, Timbo, with his dark eyes that can see into a person’s soul, will follow in the path of the generations of locks that came before. I can’t wait until the day he meets his key.
I gave him an incredulous look. “Timbo?”
His cheeks pinked. “Shut up. It was my grandfather’s name.”
“Yet never once have I heard you mention it. Why is that, I wonder?”
“Because I hated it. At least when I was a kid. Mom said that I didn’t have to use it and that I could tell people my name was Tim, so that’s what I did. She never called me it but doesn’t seem to have had a problem writing it down.”
“Timbo.”
“Shut up.”
“But why, Timbo?”
He grinned. “I don’t mind it so much when you say it.”
That warmed my heart. “I’ll remember that, Timbo.”
The smile grew wider. “Shut up and keep reading.”
July 17, 1996
Tragedy struck today. Beth’s husband, Michael, fell off a building at work. He died en route to the hospital. I do not know what this will mean for Timbo. Beth and Michael never had a child, which means there will be no new key. A lock cannot live without his key.
April 3, 2002
The world never ceases to astound me. Timbo made a new friend today. His name is Scotty, and somehow he’s a key! To be specific, he’s Tim’s key! I’ve never heard of this happening before, but knowing that Timbo has a key and that he has someone he can protect means everything to me. I only wish I could tell him what’s to come.
June 12, 2002
Scotty died today. We knew it would happen one day, but I don’t know that it’s ever happened to someone so young. His life will be a nightmare now, and there’s nothing we can do to help him. Timbo is devastated and inconsolable. I’ve left him to grieve in his own way and hope that when he finds out Scotty is back, he’ll be relieved. Unfortunately, I fear that with this happening so soon, there will be more heartache in store for both of them.
January 16, 2005
It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Timbo is not yet ready to be Scotty’s lock, and now the ghosts know Scotty can see them. Today one of them attacked him and hurt him badly. I know he’s strong, but he’s a child, and this will bring pain to both of them in the long run. Oh, Beth, what happens when we can no longer protect them?
August 15, 2009
Scotty’s father left his family, adding yet more stress to an already volatile situation. Scotty has seen them—felt them—already. He’s young and doesn’t understand what he’s part of yet. Timbo has been standing up for him against the bullies at school, and I’ve never been prouder of my son. I know, with all my heart, that he will make a great lock for Scotty someday.
December 25, 2010
Though you’ll never read this journal, I will still continue to write in it. If nothing else, it soothes my mind. I miss you already, Beth. I know you told me to be ready, but can one ever really be prepared when the person who is closer to you than your own husband is torn away? You were the best lock anyone ever had, and it was my greatest honor to call you my friend. I hope that one day I’ll see you again.
January 2, 2012
He sees them all the time now, and it’s wearing on him. He’s turned to drugs, hoping to blot them out, but it won’t work. I’ve done everything I could, short of telling him the truth, and I fear none of it will help. Timbo is distraught, because there is nothing he can do to help Scotty now. I’ve tried to tell him he has to be there when he can, but it’s not in a lock’s nature for a key to suffer alone.
March 8, 2012
Timbo came home and told me that he can’t find Scotty anywhere. It’s as we feared—he’s trying to run from what he can’t hope to comprehend. We should have sat the boys down and told them when they were old enough to understand. The rules of our people were foolish to let this happen. Now it’s too late, and the damage may be irreparable.
April 16, 2014
Today my doctor told me the cancer is spreading and my time is short. I wonder what he’d say if I told him I knew a long time before he did. Timbo has been fussing over me since he found out, and I’m glad to be a surrogate for Scotty, but my son needs his key. On the plus side, he took my advice and threw himself into his programming. I’ve bought him every book, registered him for every course, and he’s come up with an incredible game. He tells me he’s going to market it one day, and he’s going to make a shit-ton of money. I’m not sure what a shit-ton is, but he seems happier than I’ve seen him in a very long time.
July, 2017
My time is nearly over. I can’t get out of bed now without help. Timbo has been attending me constantly. I wish I could tell him the truth, but it’s not for me to do. That has to be something he and Scotty figure out. Today, for the first time in five years, I felt Scotty. His energy is strong, and it calls to me. When I die, I’ll go to him and tell him he has to come back for Timbo’s sake. I hope the love they share will be enough to convince him. Otherwise Timbo will be alone forever.
The journal entries ended there, but I flipped through the pages and found another entry toward the back of the book. The ink was brighter, and I figured that maybe it was more recent. She probably wrote it not long before she died. Tim still sat beside me, his arm around me, as he rubbed my shoulder.
If you’re reading this, it means you’ve found your way back together. No mother has ever been prouder of her boys. Scotty, I’m sorry that you had to deal with so much heartache in your life. I tried my best to be a buffer against it for you, but I could only do so much. Things were supposed to be different. You weren’t meant to come into your gifts until you were much older and could understand your role as Timbo’s key. Now? I assume you’re old enough, so I will do my best to explain it to you both.
For many generations, our families—Beth’s and mine—have been the keepers of the knowledge of life and death. We can sense the departed, and we are honor-sworn to help them in any way we can. When our children are born, their gift makes itself known to us. From Timbo’s eyes we knew immediately that he would be the lock, and that meant when Beth’s child was born, they would be the key.
But Beth’s husband died before the two of them had a child, and we thought our legacy would end, but then Scotty came. Never before have I known a key who wasn’t from the Romani. Even among our own people, we are unique. When I met you, I was floored. But you were to be Timbo’s key, and that made me proud.
I know you’re wondering what a lock and key are, so I’ll try to explain it as best as I can.
As the key, or cheie in our language, Scotty stands between the realms of life and death. They choose whether the door opens or remains closed. The day you died, you were reborn as a key. It’s why spirits come to you for help. As with the living, most spirits are kindly and gentle, but you must always remain vigilant, because there are those who were evil in life and are more so in death. This is why your lock is so important.
Your lock, or klissin—in this case, Timbo—is like a guardian for a key. Spirits are attracted to the lock because they know he’s the gatekeeper for the key. The lock can tell a spirit when the key will see them, or send them away until they decide to grant an audience. At least that’s how it always was. When Scotty died, he started a chain of events that couldn’t be stopped. Timbo was far too young to embrace his role, and as such, he had no way to stop you from seeing the ghosts or, worse, letting them interact with you. Now, because of this, Timbo will have less control over the ghosts, until such time as the two of you learn your respective roles.
This might explain why a ghost was able to slip into Tim’s body. He had no idea what was happening, and the ghost found him receptive. I kept reading, certain we’d learn something that could help us.
Always know this…. Timbo will protect you with his life if ne
cessary. He will care for you, even when you’d rather he didn’t. It’s his duty, and he will fulfill it with honor. In other words, on those days when he’s a pain in the ass, let him be. That’s his way, and you can’t stop it any more than you could jump up to touch the moon. If you knew how many times Beth forced me to sit still so she could ease my aches and pains…. In all truthfulness, she and I were closer with each other than we were with our husbands. No, that’s not fair. We shared a different bond that they would never understand. You and Timbo will share that bond, but if I’m not mistaken, it will be strengthened by your love.
There are others in the world who might help you learn who you are, but not all our people are good. Some encourage the darkness of death, and you must not succumb to their sway. Yes, their powers are great, but tainted as they are, they will corrupt you.
Beth and I fought, sometimes bitterly, about how to proceed. In the end, though, she was right. We couldn’t stop what had already started. But we should have stepped up and trained you ourselves. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, of course, and all the wishes in the world won’t help. I’m sorry for that. I’ll understand if it’s something you can’t forgive, but I hope when you think of me, it will be with kind thoughts.
I am so very proud of the both of you. No mother ever had better sons.
Scotty… I know you may not believe me, but you were incredibly brave. Yes, you tried to stop seeing the spirits, but not one person could blame you for that. They’re scary, and when you’re a child, you have no frame of reference for what they are. Regardless, you’ve come home, drawn back to Timbo, as you should be. I entrust to you my son, whose heart has always been yours. Hold it tight, keep it safe, and love him with all your might.
Timbo? You’ve always filled my heart with pride. Your caring and compassion might be ingrained in you, but the heart that you’ve shown makes you stand out among the Romani. I entrust my other son to you. Guard his heart, be his light in the darkness, and never forget that you are the one true constant in his life.
I wish I had gone against the rules and told you, but it is not the way of my—our—people. Each person’s journey is unique, and though we arm them with basic knowledge, it is something the two of you will have to figure out on your own. Even telling you this is a violation, but you know what they say? Fuck ’em. I’m dead, and they can’t do a damn thing to me.
This won’t be easy for either of you. There will be trials and tribulations to come, but you must hold fast to each other if you are to survive and still be there for those who will come to you for help. And the assistance they require will vary. Sometimes it will be as simple as listening to their story. Others might need you to finish a task before they can move ahead. And still others might have died and not understand why. These you must be careful of, because there is a possibility that the dead could ask you to intercede in something dangerous.
Okay, I think I’ve written enough. The rest is up to you to learn. But before I close this book and hide it away, I need you to know that no matter what happens, the two of you have always been the best parts of my soul.
Love, Mom
Neither of us spoke for several hours. We read through her words over and over, hoping to glean something that would guide us, but beyond expressing her love, she hadn’t offered much in the way of how we were supposed to deal with things. The one thing I noticed was that Tim kept touching me, and I didn’t mind it at all.
He put his head on my shoulder. “Mom always was cryptic.”
I laughed, not because it was funny, but because it helped release the tension in my body. She knew for years and couldn’t tell either of us?
Tim reached out and squeezed my hand. “She didn’t betray us.”
“No, I understand that. I don’t know anything about the Romani people, but I do understand societal influences.”
“Mom had me read books about the Romani and the persecution they suffered in years past and continue to deal with today. I didn’t know I was one of them, though. Guess it makes sense, seeing as she was so insistent about me learning it.”
“I’ve heard the Romani have an affinity for magic.”
He scowled. “No, that’s superstition, meant to turn people against them. They spoke of the evil eye of the gypsies and how it could lure young men and women away from their families. Though Cher overemphasized things, she wasn’t wrong. They were called thieves and wrongly punished for things they didn’t do. In World War II, hundreds of thousands died, but you rarely hear about that.”
“So if there’s no magic, what do you call what I can do?”
He grinned and leaned over to kiss me on the forehead. “The Romani are more in tune with the world around them. Their travels have exposed them to truths from every corner of the globe. And from the way Mom spoke, I don’t think all Romani have this ability.”
I loved hearing him tell me these things. “What else do you know?”
“The Romani are a nomadic culture. They’re believed to have originated in India during the Middle Ages. There are legends—especially among non-Romani—that say certain Romani have passive psychic powers, such as empathy, precognition, retrocognition, or psychometry. Other writings include claims that they have the ability to levitate, travel through astral projection by way of meditation, invoke curses or blessings, conjure or channel spirits, and are skilled with illusion-casting.”
“Wow.”
“I always thought they were myths, but maybe some of them can do those things. I don’t know. I mean, what you can do could be a form of retrocognition. There’s no way you could know about these people, but they’re still drawn to you.”
“Us. They’re coming to us because you’re my lock, my guardian.”
He sat back and looked at me. “How can you accept this so easily?”
That made me laugh. “Easily? My whole life I thought I was some kind of freak. I mean, I saw ghosts, was attacked by one. Most kids we grew up with ignored me, at best. Do you know how lonely I was?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Really?”
Too late, I realized what I’d said. “No! You were, and still are, the only friend I’ve ever had. Without you, I… I’m not sure I would have made it.”
“You would have, I’m sure. And you know why? Because you are such a strong person. I know you’re going to try to argue with me, but think about it. For years you saw things that scared you, made you question whether or not there was something wrong with you. But still, you persisted. If that’s not strength, what is?”
Before I could answer, he leaned in and kissed me. I think I moaned, but maybe it was him. I’d been with three people before Tim, and not one of them had ever made me whimper with just a kiss. Hell, Tim could do it with nothing more than a heated glance. My body craved his touch, when the bastard gave it, and rejoiced to the heavens when he let me have what I wanted. Him.
Always him.
He was the reason I could never think about another person, even though I’d tried. And now I understood why. His mother had told us both. We were destined to be together, joined heart and soul.
God, listen to me. I was being a total sap. I didn’t care, though, because coming home had answered so many questions I’d had and shown me a future that was mine for the taking.
And for the first time in my life, it was a future I wanted more than anything, because it had Tim in it.
Chapter Fourteen
WE TRIED for two weeks to get me into the state where I’d be able to see… something we both thought was missing. Each of us believed our shared dream had meaning of some sort, and if we were going to move forward, we needed to know everything we could. Tim—butch, loving bastard that he was—insisted that before he’d sign off on more dealing with ghosts, he had to be certain I was safe. I protested, but secretly the fact he cared so much warmed my heart.
We tried massage, sitting quietly in a dark room, and several other things, but none of them worked. Finally Tim came to me one day and said he wante
d to try meditation. He said he would walk me through it, if I allowed him. I, of course, agreed.
When we stepped into the spare bedroom, I noticed Tim had drawn the curtains, leaving the room in darkness except for two small candles that flickered on the table. Somewhere he’d gotten some incense that gave the air a light, pleasing patchouli scent. We sat, and he started with the age-old wisdom of “close your eyes.”
“Breathe deeply through your nose, and blow out the breath through your mouth.”
I tried for the better part of an hour. “Where the hell did you get this?”
“Online. I found it on a site for meditation, and this was one of the most popular posts.”
I gave him the side-eye stare. “Really?”
He huffed an obviously frustrated breath, then blew out the candles. “Where do you think I should look?”
Fine, I concede he had a point. “Isn’t there a Romani website you could search?”
That earned me a full-on scowl. “Really? A Romani website?”
“Uh, welcome to the twenty-first century.” I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen, then brought up the search engine. A couple moments later, after entering a few keywords, I had a list of sites. I turned the screen toward him and gave a smug grin. “The best way to get the word out is the ’net, you know.”
He rolled his eyes and muttered something. “So what does it say?”
Many of the sites I checked were from parts of the world where the Romani were classified as less than human. Most were filled with racist crap about the Romani people. There were several that referred to them as gypsies, and while some of the Romani had embraced the word, many others considered it a racial slur. Previously, I never realized that word was meant as an insult. But as we lay in bed a few nights ago, Tim had told me more tales that he’d read, and some of the things they’d been subjected to were horrifying. That was enough to educate me and let me know I didn’t like the word one bit.
The Spirit Key Page 14