“Now, Echo, before we start, I just want to remind you that this requires a high level of focus and concentration.” She looks at me seriously, no doubt aware of how unfocused I feel right now with Agent Morton staring at me, ghosts lurking nearby, and all my friends waiting nervously for the results.
“Yeah, I know. I’m trying,” I offer weakly.
Smiling in a calm, not condescending way, she says, “Most people need help focusing before hypnotherapy. You have even more distractions than the average person. Why don’t we start by clearing everything out of your mind together?”
“Sure. Okay.” I’m pretty much willing to do whatever she wants at this point.
Dr. Rosemond nods. “The first thing I want you to do is hold both arms out in front of your body, palms facing each other.”
Okay…
When I have my arms out, Dr. Rosemond places her own hand between mine with one finger extended. “Now, focus on the tip of my finger and start practicing the breathing techniques you use when things seem out of control.”
Easy enough. Keeping my eyes glued to her fingertip, I draw in a long, slow breath, counting to five as I fill my lungs. She keeps her finger in the same spot as I exhale and breathe in again. After that, though, she drops her hand with the instruction to stay focused on that same spot.
Once my breathing is consistent and my mind is less chaotic, Dr. Rosemond says, “Keep breathing, but as you breathe, I want you to imagine there are magnets in the palms of your hands, slowly pulling your hands together. They can pull as fast or slow as you want them to, but when your hands meet, you’ll feel a wave of peacefulness wash over you.”
It sounds like a vaguely ridiculous thing to do, but Malachi’s life might be on the line. I don’t really expect her magnet tactic to work, but I pour all my focus into pretending it will. As I continue to inhale and exhale, I don’t know if my arms are just getting tired or if the visualization thing starts working, but my hands slowly begin to drift toward each other. By the time they touch, my mind is completely calm and the world around me seems quiet and…empty. It’s a good feeling.
“Echo, whenever you’re ready, I want you to open your eyes,” Dr. Rosemond’s faraway voice says.
Are my eyes closed? They must be, I guess. Slowly, I peel my eyelids open, expecting to see everything the same as it was when I closed them. It is…but it isn’t. Outside my focus, I can see the room and Dr. Rosemond, but they don’t seem to matter right now. The picture in front of me captures my full attention.
I recognize it immediately, but I don’t know why. There’s something about the trees that seem familiar. Pushing myself to think, I nearly jump when the rough sensation of bark on my palm sneaks up on me like I’m really there touching it. My eyes move sluggishly away from the picture to stare at my hand. It’s empty, but the feeling is still there, as if right in that very moment I’m pressing my palm against one of the trees in the picture.
Not sure I understand what’s happening, I look up to ask Dr. Rosemond a question, but another picture assaults me instead. My feet twist at the feel of dry pine needles beneath them. I swear I can feel their prickliness poking through my socks. Confused, I look down at my shoe clad feet and try to understand the sensation. It’s not just a trick. I know it happened somehow. Some time. I ran out of the rented camper without my shoes. Why? What was I hurrying for? Or maybe who?
Looking up again, the next picture is like a physical blow. Archer. The twisted blackness that cloaks him now is gone, and I see his smile, his ruddy cheeks and the freckles across the bridge of his nose. My hair doesn’t move, but I feel his fingers run through the strands hanging over my shoulder.
He’s the reason I ran out with no shoes. My mom shouted at me to come back inside, but it was halfhearted. Her voice was happy, for once.
A new sensation presses against my hand as I feel his slip into mine. My careful breathing stalls as a warm breath brushes against my ear. “Come with me,” he whispers in a voice that sounds like warm chocolate feels on your tongue. His voice runs through me like an electrical charge. It silences that rising fear in my heart, terror that I might actually remember what happened.
“Come with me,” he whispers again, and I nod because I trust him. I feel safe with him. I feel whole instead of picked apart by ghosts who only want to use me.
Taking the first step, the feeling begins to fade. I panic and look up, desperate for another image to keep me in this forgotten and buried moment. Dr. Rosemond doesn’t disappoint. Held right in front of me is a picture of the cliff. Shrinking back, I fight the memory trying to surface.
“Please, Repeat,” Archer’s voice begs. I don’t know anymore if this is a memory or something different. It feels off—not in a bad way—in a way that hints he never said that. He didn’t have to beg me to follow him that day. It’s only now, when I’m scared and terrified of learning the truth that I hesitate.
I inhale as deeply as I can and focus everything I have on the image of the cliff. I have to know. I can’t let anyone else die.
As if that simple, ephemeral decision flips some kind of mental switch, the memory slams into me like a Mack truck.
***
“Where are we going?” I say, laughing and not caring about the debris sticking to my socks and poking my feet.
“Just come on,” Archer says with a shake of his head. “I want to show you something…without your sisters.”
Grinning, I pick up my pace. Archer has been sweet to let the twins hang around all week, but I have to shove away a silly giggle at knowing he wants a few minutes with just the two of us. My belly feels hot and I struggle to breathe as we race through the trees by ourselves.
Archer stops suddenly, and I have to grab a tree branch to keep myself from flying on past him. He laughs at me and pulls my hand off the branch to show me the sticky mess of sap all over my palm. My nose screws up in distaste, but he presses his hand to mine, sealing them together. “Now we’re going to have to stick together all day. That stuff does not come off easily.”
I try to tug my hand away, but I don’t put much effort into it. The sap actually does a pretty good job of resisting. “I don’t want to be away from you,” I admit.
For a brief moment, Archer’s smile falters. “Why not?”
Even though I know my mom will be ticked about the sap, I lean back against the tree and look up at Archer. “Why? Because you don’t treat me like a freak.”
“Why would I treat you like a freak?” he asks, though he doesn’t seem all that confused by the question.
Given that I haven’t brought up my less than desirable special talent just yet, I’m not sure I understand his response. The ghosts hovering around us seem extra interested all the sudden. They almost look…scared. Ignoring our ghostly voyeurs, I say, “Back home, I’ve had a lot of problems. Most of the kids at school think there’s something wrong with me. I mean, there is, but not like they think. It’s…well, I mean, explaining is, uh, not that easy.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you, Repeat.” I try to argue with him, but he just shakes his head. “Why do you really want to be around me?”
“Because…because I like you.” I shrug. “And I think, I mean, I hope, you sort of like me too, right?”
“You think?” he teases. “You hope?” He presses in closer, our bodies touching as his mouth moves to my ear. “I would think you’d know by now.”
“Know what?” I whisper as I try to remember how to breathe properly. One, two, wait…what?
Archer’s hand slides up my neck and into my hair. “Know how much I like you, and not just because of the ghosts.”
Shoving him away from me, I stare at him in shock. “What?” My screechy voice echoes off the nearby ravine. What did he just say?
Archer doesn’t move. He’s frozen in a strange, half stumbling stance that saved him from tripping over a tree branch when I pushed him. “You really don’t know?” he asks.
What is he talking about? Surel
y not about him liking me still. I mean, I do know that. I think. The rest…I’m completely lost. “What are you talking about and how do you know about the ghosts?”
“You see them, right?” Archer asks. He nods, prodding me to answer him in the affirmative. How does he know?
Feeling utterly bare, I nod slowly. “Do you? See them?”
“No,” Archer says, confusing me even more, “but I’m drawn to people who do.” He shrugs. “At least, that’s what my granddad told me. It’s a family thing, I guess. He said I’d know when I found the person I was supposed to protect, because I’d sense their need for help, but I guess I just wasn’t expecting it to be a girl my age. Especially not one so…beautiful. And fun. I mean, I don’t know if I’m supposed to fall in love with you, but Echo, I can’t stand the thought of you leaving next week.”
Stunned way beyond words, I can only stare at him. Am I having some kind of seizure? Why can’t I move or feel anything anymore? “I…are you…what?”
Apparently taking my inability to speak as a sign that I’m not about to attack him, Archer laughs and stalks back over to me. His arms are around me a second later as he grins down at me. “I know about the ghosts,” he says slowly, “and I’m cool with it. Okay?”
“Really?” I squeak.
“Really.” He grins once more before darting in and planting a kiss on my lips. “Now,” he says as he pulls back, “about what I wanted to show you…”
He starts to turn away from me, and I have every intention of following him to the ends of the earth until I see them and start screaming. Archer barely has even a second to react. All he can do is look over his shoulder in shock before one of the black oily beings reaches out and grabs him.
“Echo!”
I can hear him screaming my name, but the black things overwhelm us, swarm me until I break under the weight of their suffocating depravity. Running, crying, begging for help, my mind is so filled with terror I don’t even realize when the ground disappears from beneath my feet. The only thought I have as my body becomes weightless is that maybe it’s finally over.
***
Hot, heavy tears spill down my chin with abandon. Wretched pain beats against me, accusing me. “I didn’t even try to save him,” I wail.
Someone touches my shoulder, but I shake them off violently. I don’t deserve to be comforted. Archer accepted me, knowing full well that I was a basket of crazy wrapped up in danger. He loved me. He wanted to be with me despite everything I am and all the trouble I caused. He made me feel like a real person and I didn’t even try to save him from whatever those black nasty killers were. I just let them take him and ran away because I was too scared to stop them.
Agent Morton puts an arm around my shoulders, but I knock over the chair I was sitting on in desperation to get away from him. “Stop it!” I yell. “Don’t try to make me feel better! I don’t deserve it. I don’t.”
My shoulders heave as guilt and grief spill out of me. Neither one tries to approach me again, but my panic shoots sky high when Dr. Rosemond shivers and Agent Morton starts looking around the room warily. There’s only one ghost in my entourage that causes the temperature to drop that fast. Backing against the wall, I scour the room for him. I can’t…I just can’t. Please, please just go away, I beg.
A terrified shriek tears out of me when he appears right in front of my face. This close, his features seem clearer, which should be comforting, but the compassion in his expression breaks me. “No,” I whisper, “don’t. Please don’t feel sorry for me. Not when I let them take you away.”
Archer slowly shakes his head. His black eyes are the only thing I can really see semi-clearly, and they hold unfathomable pain. I used to think I knew the source of that pain, of his anger, but I was wrong. I was so wrong.
His icy black hand slides onto my cheek, leaving a trail of crystalized ice on my face as it draws moisture from my skin and moves up into my hair. His other hand presses gently against the small of my back, and suddenly we’re back in that moment.
“I let them take you,” I say, shaking my head as tears freeze on my cheeks as they try to escape me. “I let them take you, and then I kept you here and turned you into this…I don’t know what you’ve become, but it’s my fault.”
Black trailing mist flutters as he shakes his head back and forth adamantly. I try to argue again, but fire and ice race through me as his lips meet mine. Words are pointless then. It doesn’t hurt this time when his memories start flowing into me. They aren’t thrown at me like a train out of control. With every subtle move of his mouth, emotions and flashes of our time together—not just that week camping, but every moment since then—rush over me like champagne.
His pain is overwhelming, but it’s an undercurrent to the moments he spent by my side when I was ready to give up, when my parents were on the verge of committing me, or when the tears simply wouldn’t stop falling. A deep well of compassion and love seeps into my soul as I understand he was there through all of it, the good and the horrible. Suffering himself, he withstood it for me. He stayed in the early days after his death when he could have distanced himself from me to dull his own pain. He stayed until protecting me became what was murdering his soul.
He stayed until Madeline Crew found me.
Suddenly, he’s not the one kissing me anymore. It’s me who is desperate to connect, to pour my love and gratitude into him. I never would have made the connection without him pointing it out. The day Madeline showed up—hovering in the corner of my bedroom—that was when Archer started to communicate with me, beg me to release him. He knew what she was. It’s not clear whether he knew about Malachi, but he knew Madeline would provide a way for me to be protected and he was so desperate to be free of his agony that it overtook him.
All the fear and pain he inflicted on me are forgiven in an instant of pure love. Collapsing against his semi-solid form, my whole body is wracked as I sob. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.” His inky arms wrap around me, sinking partway into me, but supporting me enough that I don’t fall. “Can you ever forgive me?” I beg.
I don’t exactly hear him, but I sense his words, like I must while I’m asleep. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he tells me. “I made the choice to stay near you and I would make it a thousand times over.” His trembling hand presses against my cheek. “I love you, Echo, and I always will.”
“I love you, too, Archer, but I….” My heart squeezes painfully and I bite my lip so hard blood runs. “I don’t know how to free you. I don’t know how to let you go.”
“You do,” he says in that same speaking-but-not-speaking way, “but don’t do it yet. Not until Malachi has what he needs.”
Malachi. My heart breaks all over again as I think of Malachi, of everything I just felt and experienced with Archer, and how I have no idea how to reconcile all of this with him.
“He’ll take care of you and love you,” Archer says, though I can feel how much it hurts him to admit that.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” I cry. I don’t even know if I mean letting him go, relying on Malachi, going to the old estate, or just living each day at a time. None of it seems possible right now. Everything I thought I knew about him and about myself has been obliterated. So many lies, so much confusion, it’s too much and I can barely even process everything, let alone consider moving forward.
Archer’s features solidify even more, still hazy and vague, but clear enough that I can see him smile. “You’ve survived everything up till now. You are strong enough, Echo. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“What if I’m only strong enough with you here?”
He kisses me one more time, gently, slowly. “I’ll be there for this last fight, but it’s the strength you’re only beginning to recognize that will save you and the people you love.”
“I’m scared, Archer.” I’m shaking, trembling with fear that his confidence is misplaced. “What if I can’t save Malachi?”
Archer’s hazy expressio
n becomes more serious as his grip on me tightens. “You’re not supposed to save Malachi, Echo. He’s supposed to save you.”
“But, you said…”
He nods, cutting me off with what he says next. “You’re not meant to save your Keeper. You’re supposed to save the rest of the ghosts and the people who help them.”
“Save them from who?” I ask, so completely floored my entire body feels numb.
A memory flashes through my mind of the oily black being that stole Archer from me five years ago. I flinch away from the memory but Archer’s physical and spiritual hold refuses to let me run. He forces me to watch them devour him seconds before they turned their attention on me. It’s only then that I realize I wasn’t trying to fight them to get Archer back. I was trying to stop them from killing me, too.
33: Cryptic
(Echo)
Being the in the car with a ghost who’s in love with me, my on-hold boyfriend, the guy who wanted to be my boyfriend, and an FBI agent is all kinds of awkward. Nobody’s talking, at least not out loud. Whatever connection Archer and I forged yesterday after the hypnosis session hasn’t diminished. While I’m sleeping is no longer the only time he can talk to me. I’m not totally sure whether or not that’s a good thing. It certainly makes me look crazier than usual.
“I don’t understand how you can’t tell me any more about these oily ghost killers. You don’t even have a name for them?”
Archer shrugs. His voice forms in my mind as he says, “They killed me, but I wasn’t a ghost at the time, so it’s different. Ghosts whose souls are devoured by them obviously don’t come back to tell anyone about it. I can’t give you a name, only what I experienced.”
“What happened when they killed you then?” I know the question is a little harsh, but given that we’re on our way to the old estate to most likely face these things, I really need some answers.
“I can’t really tell you any more than what you saw, Echo. One second I was standing there with you, the next there was this horrible pain and blackness. I felt them ripping my soul from my body, but I don’t really know what happened to my body. It just disappeared, or ceased to exist or something. I don’t know why they didn’t do the same thing to my spirit, but I think it has something to do with me being a Keeper. I don’t think they can devour my soul like they can with normal ghosts.”
The Ghost Host: Episode 1 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 27