by Anna Elias
He wiggled his numb fingers. Rose blushed and loosened her grip. He returned his cup to the tray.
“I rode alone the first time,” Valerie continued, Link sensing her former teenage excitement. “Holding onto the open Jeep and feeling the wind in my hair. The other two girls joined me for the second run. Zach drove like a turtle, worried about us falling off, but I begged him to floor it. Dirt and dust kicked up behind his tires, and we soared like birds on the wind.”
Valerie’s Spirit brightened at the memory, at the ability to break human bonds in some form. Link couldn’t blame her, having experienced the same crazy rush from jumping off two-story apartment roofs into pools when he was young. Thank God he hadn’t missed.
Rose stared straight ahead. Tears flowed as she waited for what came next.
“Zach didn’t see the hole. No one did. He swerved to miss a large rock and his tire sank in. The Jeep lurched and, at the speed we were going, it threw us off. Jill hit a tree headfirst and died instantly. Dawn and I landed a safe distance away, or so we thought until the Jeep flipped over and landed on top of us. Zach crawled out and tried to save us, but it was too late.”
Rose squeezed her cup hard enough to break it. Milky tea spilled across her lap and onto the couch, but she didn’t notice. Link removed the porcelain pieces and checked her hand. The skin was damp but free from cuts.
“They charged Zach with involuntary manslaughter,” Valerie continued. “But after the test results, and because of his perfect record, the judge reduced his sentence to a large fine and community service. They may as well have imprisoned him, though. He has suffered the guilt ever since.”
Rose closed her eyes, face twisted with pain and disbelief. “But you were my little girl, my perfect angel, so happy and carefree.” She hesitated. “You couldn’t have done this. You wouldn’t. You weren’t that—foolish.”
“Because of me and my selfishness, three kids died and one life was forever ruined,” Valerie told her mother. “I never wanted to hurt you or those girls or Zach or the families or anyone. Please forgive me, Momma.”
Rose lowered her head. A sob escaped.
Valerie wrapped her mother in Link’s arms and Rose wept against his chest, balling the fabric of his shirt inside her fist. Link’s tattoo shimmered and his senses heightened. Though not as intense as earlier, the two souls connected once more like voltage in a power line.
Moments later, Rose pulled away and sat up. She squared her narrow shoulders, took a breath, and looked Link in the eye for the first time. “I love you, Valerie,” she said, holding his cheeks. “I forgive you, and I would do anything to have you back.”
Valerie’s Spirit flashed bright green in Link’s eyes. Warmth blanketed him as mercy and forgiveness burned between this mother and daughter, dissolving years of heartache and suffering. It would take more time for Rose to get over the disappointment and despair of such a senseless death, but forgiveness was the point.
Valerie dried her mother’s tears on a linen napkin from the tray. “There’s only one thing left to do before I go.” She squeezed her mother’s hands. “You have to forgive Zach.”
Rose yanked free and lurched to her feet. “Out of the question,” she snapped, as if the previous life-changing moment had not happened. “Forgiving you I understand. But him?”
Link’s heart pounded, but Valerie remained undaunted. “You have to, Mom. So he can forgive himself. So you both can live again.”
“I can’t,” Rose said, pacing by the fireplace across the room. “I won’t. After the accident all I thought about, all I wished for ... all I wanted was for him to die, too. He wrote letters, trying to apologize, but I tore them up. It took almost two years before they stopped coming.”
Air sucked from the room as Link heard Tricia Martin in those words, witnessing firsthand how deep such pain, loss, and loathing could run, and how thoroughly they could blind the person holding them. Link leaned back against the couch. He and Zach were not completely innocent of their crimes, but both were victims of circumstances and sentenced to lives they did not deserve. Neither could move forward without asking forgiveness, yet both should be giving it, as well, for the high prices they’d paid in false and hateful accusations. The thought scorched.
The Spirit warmed. You must open the door so all can walk through.
Link forced breath into his lungs. Her words made sense but struck as unfair.
“Go to Zach, Mom.”
Rose lifted one of Valerie’s pictures from the mantel. “What if I call, instead? He’ll hear my words.”
“You cannot forgive, or be forgiven, until you lock eyes and connect souls.”
“Be forgiven?” Rose whirled around. “Me?”
“You accused Zach all these years of a crime he did not commit. And he let you.” Valerie paused to let her words hit home. “You never learned the truth about that night, and you never saw my blood alcohol results. Zach protected me so you wouldn’t blame me or stop loving me.”
Rose dropped into a chair, face buried in her hands.
Link sat up, suddenly understanding the Spirit’s words. The mercy he and Zach sought was, in fact, the grace and compassion they had to give. Forgiveness was a doorway, but not an easy one to pass through. The first hand across often had to come from the wronged side. It might not seem fair, but fairness was often defined, and limited, by human ego, pride, indignity. Let go of that and soul could shine through. A smile turned his lips.
Valerie rippled with waves of support.
Rose lifted her head and whispered. “I don’t think I can.”
Valerie walked Link over to kneel at Rose’s feet. She held her mother’s face in his calloused hands. “Zach is someone’s child, too, Mom.”
The angry furrows lifted. Rose opened her eyes.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll try.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THE ROGUE
Don’t, the Rogue ordered, forcing Aaron to end the call.
Why not? Aaron’s hand moved on its own to return the cell phone to his pocket. This whole situation unnerved him. After promising they wouldn’t go far, this Spirit had beamed them to a suburb north of Atlanta. Why can’t I tell them where I am?
You took a Spirit without being ready, without the proper blessing from your chief and the captain. Without the ceremony.
Hearing familiar names and protocol relieved Aaron, to a degree, but he remained leery. You said they’d be proud of me.
They will. Once you’ve completed this mission and returned me to the ship.
An eerie gust of wind blew past as the Rogue turned them down a neighborhood street lined with one- and two-story brick homes. A streetlight popped on. Aaron shivered.
You will prove your commitment to the Program beyond any doubt.
The sweet smell of blossoming magnolias reminded Aaron of his honeymoon in New Orleans, the large open flower that scented their room. His stomach knotted.
This will be important for them to know, considering your attempted suicide.
Aaron crashed back to the moment. Did this Spirit know everything? He ignored the cell phone in his pocket and resigned to follow along. For now.
A jogger passed, along with several families out walking their dogs in the evening air. Aaron looked like any other clean-cut professional in the neighborhood, so no one paid much attention. But every dog they passed growled and barked.
Aaron’s hackles rose, too, wondering what danger they sensed. He didn’t have time to wonder long before the Rogue led him to a dead-end street and a modest, two-story colonial style home that anchored its cul-de-sac. Pine trees filled the yard and white shutters framed every window. A concrete drive led to the two-car garage, and a brick walkway splintered off toward the front door, wound between manicured azalea bushes bursting with bright pink flowers, and ended at a recessed brick entry. Two white rocking chairs sat empty on the narrow porch. Aaron stood at the front door, concealed from the neighboring homes on either side. Light
s from inside the house created patterns on the ground through the door’s beveled glass.
Aaron checked his watch. Seven thirty. What do I say?
I’ll handle that. The Spirit’s words sounded curt, sharp. Could he be nervous, too?
He made Aaron ring the doorbell. The lingering chimes were followed by the shuffle of footsteps across a wooden floor. Aaron’s stomach knotted as the bolt turned and an older lady opened the door. Her kind face was framed by short, stylish gray hair.
“May I help you?” she asked.
Aaron opened his mouth and the Spirit spoke. “Mrs. Fisher?” His voice made Aaron’s go surprisingly deep.
“Yes.”
“I’m Eric Bonner.”
The woman paled.
“But Eric Bonner is ...”
“Dead, yes,” the Spirit continued. “But thanks to grace and mercy on the other side, and to this willing Vessel who brought me, I am able to come back and beg your forgiveness.”
The woman stumbled against the door, gripping the handle.
Aaron, on the other hand, exhaled with relief at the Spirit’s request. The gentle breeze cooled him as his rollercoaster of anxiety once again found level ground.
“This is impossible,” she muttered. “Eric died in California almost—”
“Eighteen years ago.”
Pain clouded her features.
“Who is it, Gladys?” a man’s voice called out.
Mrs. Fisher couldn’t speak.
More footsteps sounded and her husband appeared—a tall man, imposing for his years, with silver hair and blue-gray eyes. Reading glasses hung on a leather strap around his neck. “Who are you?”
“He ... he is ... he’s Eric,” his wife whispered. “Eric Bonner.”
“That’s not Eric.”
Mrs. Fisher paused. “Inside.”
“What kind of sick joke is this?” the man snapped. “I don’t know who you are, Mister, but you better get the hell out of here before—”
“I dated your daughter, Jessica, all through high school,” Eric said through Aaron’s lips. “She was murdered at age eighteen. The police never found her body. Or who killed her.”
Mr. Fisher’s jaw dropped, but he struggled to regroup. “Anyone could know that,” he said. “That’s public rec—”
“I’m the one who killed her.”
The elderly couple staggered back.
Aaron’s knees weakened. Sweat ran down his cheek.
Eric swiped it off dismissively. “I got a second chance, an opportunity to come back and make things right. Ask forgiveness so my soul can move on, and you can finally know the truth.”
“I need to sit down,” Mrs. Fisher said, her face sheet white.
Mr. Fisher pushed past Aaron to help his wife into one of the rocking chairs. He stood over her, cheeks flushed with anger.
“I loved Jessica since ninth grade, as you know,” Eric continued. “It was no secret that we planned to get married after college.”
Mrs. Fisher clutched her husband’s hand.
“Then she met Steve. He worked some crazy magic on her and lured her away. I couldn’t say or do anything right anymore. You didn’t like him, either, and you tried to help me win her back.” Eric paused, controlling his anger. “When Jessica rejected me to be with that fool, she killed every hope and dream we’d made together. Just so she could go make new ones with him.”
Goosebumps rippled across Aaron’s skin and the sweet smell of azaleas and magnolia blossoms suddenly made him sick.
“When Jessica said she planned to go to Steve’s college in the fall, something in me just—snapped.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “She hugged me goodbye and I grabbed her. I wanted her to realize how much I loved her, how leaving me would kill us both. I wanted things back like they were. But my hands were tight around her throat and her eyes were so afraid. By the time I knew what was happening, she was dead.”
Mrs. Fisher sobbed while Mr. Fisher’s hands curled into fists.
Aaron felt sick head to toe. He wanted to throw up until he heaved this Spirit out.
Eric, on the other hand, nonchalantly brushed a piece of lint from Aaron’s shirt. “I couldn’t tell anyone, not with the scholarship in place. My parents counted on that for my education.” A cold bitterness underscored his words “I needed a degree and a good job, so they’d be proud of me, too, not just my brother. My whole future was at stake and I couldn’t let Jessica ruin that.”
“Ruin it?” Mr. Fisher snarled, lunging at Aaron with fists raised. “You took her life.”
Eric easily shoved the man back.
Mr. Fisher hit the wall and nearly fell. Mrs. Fisher steadied him.
Aaron looked at his hands, horrified at what they’d just done. He tried to apologize, but the Spirit shut him up.
“What I meant,” Eric continued, “was that I couldn’t let her death ruin it, so I drove around until well after midnight, and ended up on that new highway about thirty miles east of here. A stretch of large pipe was in the ground, ready to be paved over. I wrapped Jessica in a tarp, dug a grave under it, and buried her.”
The Fishers stared in horror.
“I said a prayer first.” Eric’s words were glib, meaningless.
Aaron shook to his core. This wretched Spirit didn’t notice the Fishers’ pain, or didn’t care. It was a toss-up at this point. Aaron hated himself for accepting this wretched Spirit and for watching Mr. and Mrs. Fisher have to relive this torment all over again. How much more could they take? And yet, as revolting and horrifying as Eric’s words were, as flippantly as he had stated them, Aaron also knew this truth gave the Fishers much needed closure—something they most likely would not have received any other way.
“It was a terrible mistake,” Eric continued, his voice thinly coated with sincerity. “I was never strong enough to tell you or to come forward in my human life, but our Creator offered me another chance at redemption. I don’t expect you to do the same, but this Vessel brought me here to ask.”
Mrs. Fisher struggled to catch her breath.
“Where?” her husband growled, sagging against the porch wall.
Eric met the man’s glare with ease. “Near the intersection with County Road 22. There’s a gas station on the northeast corner. The pipe runs in front.”
Aaron gagged uttering the words.
Mrs. Fisher squeezed her eyes closed. She gripped her husband’s hand a long moment before looking up. “We’ve suffered twenty-eight agonizing years since Jessica died.” She spoke softly, like every word was a knife on her tongue. “Our little girl, our only child, our angel on earth would have turned forty-six last week. She would have been married. A mother, I’m sure.” She paused. “Jessica loved children.”
Mrs. Fisher looked at Aaron, her eyes softening with kindness he could not fathom. “I don’t know who you are, Mister, or how you got involved in this, but thanks to you bringing him we can bury our daughter. Say a proper goodbye.”
Aaron nodded, astounded at her mercy.
Then Mrs. Fisher let go of her husband and rose to her full petite height. She clutched Aaron’s cheeks between her hands and shifted her gaze from soft and kind to dark, deep, and powerful. Her soul seemed to surge up through them, pour into Aaron, and blast Eric’s Spirit.
“I forgive you, Eric Bonner. Not because you deserve it, but because doing so is the only way we can heal and move on. You stole our daughter. You took her life. You should have paid for it with your own. You are my most hated and despised enemy, and because of that—I forgive you.”
Eric yanked free, stumbling back at the power of her words. Though forgiveness was what this Spirit claimed to seek, Aaron was shocked at how much fear it instilled. Eric trembled so hard that Aaron’s limbs shook.
Let’s go. Eric spun on his heel and hurried off. Even his thoughts quivered.
Aaron took a few steps, then planted his feet and forced them to stop. He turned back to the Fishers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know wh
o ... we don’t know about the spirits we get until ... I’m sorry.”
They looked at him, numb and heartbroken shells of the people who had greeted him minutes ago. Stooped and sobbing, they disappeared into the house and locked the door.
Anger blasted through Aaron and he grabbed for his phone, ready to call Sam and beg Liam to come remove this killer Spirit. Before Aaron could reach into his pocket, green light flashed, air whipped up, and Eric vanished them into the night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
AVANI
The emerald light disappeared, the air stilled, and remains of the nuclear plant darkened the coastline once more. The Spirit had returned Avani and Minako to the outskirts of Fukushima, this time within a secluded section of the fenced in no-man’s-land closest to the plant. Grass and weeds struggled to grow back, handicapped by soil poisoned from years of radiation fallout.
Hosting the Spirit sharpened Avani’s senses well beyond normal, and the touch of this hurting earth sucked at her like a void. The barren ground gasped beneath her feet, and famished roots dug in search of nourishment and life. At least they’re fighting back, she thought, like a light flickering in blackness. Where they lead, others can follow. What they start, others can finish. Life could come back. Like Nagasaki.
The Spirit warmed in affirmation and guided Avani’s hand to find a child’s ragged, stuffed bear lying buried in some weeds. One eye was missing, both arms held on by threads, and the soft fuzzy coat had long since faded and gnarled from the elements. “Your history has placed you here, Minako. You have gifts to lead energy in new directions, beyond this kind of devastation. Show the world new places to go, not more of where it has been.”
Seagulls cried overhead, wings spread across the windy currents.
“Nuclear energy can be good,” Minako countered. “Clean and efficient.”
“True.” The Spirit flashed as bits of green inside Avani’s black eyes. “But the energies I speak of—the wind, the sun, and tides—they, too, are clean and efficient. But without devastation if they fail, and without the ability to also become weapons of mass destruction.”