Ether

by Dana Michelle Belle

  He touches my arm gently. With his warmth, the mist thins and I can see grassy plains, and faded out blue lakes, dimly in the distance. Beyond the washed out world, I can see small villages and beyond them, cities. The houses, the landscape, everything is pristinely perfect but strangely muted. My sight stretches on and on, until I see sparks of brightness that are hard to look at for too long. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse a portly lady, but when I look towards her I see a swirl of light instead and have an impression of humid August heat. An old man disappears into the sound of ocean waves and bird call. And there are others, hundreds of others who fade into impressions and feelings.

  My head begins to ache with the vastness, the endlessness of what I see. Tenderly, Ephraim turns me toward him until it is only his eyes I am looking into. “This is my world. It’s flawless and endless and unchanging. This is the between world, the ethereal plane.”

  I am looking up into his eyes, but I also feel the morning sun and hear leaves shifting in the breeze. “You’re a spirit? Isn’t that like a ghost?” I ask, awed.

  “I’m an Ethereal. I’m energy, part of the vital essence of the world, Becks. I’ve never been truly alive, so I can’t be dead. I’ve never tasted food, or felt the grass under my feet or touched a human hand. I’d never experienced anything; at least I never had until I met you.”

  “I’ve never even heard of Ethereals before. Immortals, angels, ghosts, the undead, faeries, maybe but-”

  He shrugs, “our nature is difficult for humans to perceive. But I wanted you to understand.”

  “There are more of you here though? And I’m guessing friendly, helpful and all heroic isn’t the norm,” I ask even though I already kind of know the answer.

  His smile fades and a shadow crosses over his eyes, “No, it’s not. Most Ethereals have little interest in humanity and those that do, the Numina, have a more predatory interest.”

  The mood between us has cooled and grown tense. I regret bringing up something so unpleasant; it feels like I have shattered the peace between us. I try to make amends, giving him my best flirty smile. “So how come you’re so different?”

  He rewards me with a warm, full smile as he leans close to me. “Well I’ve got something in this world that’s really precious to me. Something that draws me in,” As he speaks he moves closer to me. I hold my breath, unable to take my eyes off of his lips as he speaks. And just as he draws so near that I expect to feel his warm, perfect skin against mine, he cocks his head to the side, “time to wake up, Becks.”

  Before I have time to protest I’m blinking sunlight out of my eyes. Justin is leaning over me, shaking me, “Becka, come on, we’re going to be late. Wake up.”

  I sit up groggily and see a mixture of relief and annoyance in Justin’s face, “I was just about to call 911 Becka! I’ve been trying to wake you up for about ten minutes!” he says giving me one more little shake for good measure. “Scared the life out of me, again.”

  “How did you even-” I begin, until I see the hide-a-key dangling from his hand. “Break in much?” I growl. I wasn’t ready to be snatched away from Ephraim and his unearthly world. “What are you even doing here anyway?” I snap.

  “I told Matt to pick me up here from now on. I need a little more exercise in the morning to get me going,” he says, tossing me the jeans I’ve thrown over the back of my chair. “So how come you’re still in bed? Did you take something?”

  I glare at him, reminding myself that I appreciate his concern, even if it is a huge invasion of my privacy, not that I have any of that left. I snatch a fresh shirt and the jeans out of his hands and go to dress in the bathroom.

  Chapter 5: Psychosis

  It’s only as Matt’s car roars down the street that I realize why Justin came over this morning. He’s looking out for me, again; making sure Matt doesn’t abandon me. But he probably doesn't need to worry because Matt seems like himself again. He grins when I climb into the car and holds out a steaming coffee cup, as usual. He doesn’t even complain about me making them both late, he just ruffles my hair, calls me a sleepy head and cranks the volume up on the radio. It’s so loud today that any other thoughts I have are shaken loose.

  Whatever weirdness was in the air yesterday, it seems to have passed today. A pop quiz lays waiting on my desk in English class, and math class, and history. It’s like all the teachers have gotten together and agreed on the right day to torture us. Friday morning, three classes and three pop quizzes. I think I might have preferred yesterday. At least I know I can’t have a quiz in fourth period; study hall.

  I linger in class, dawdling until the room is almost empty. I haven’t been alone all morning and the one thing I want more than anything else is to see Ephraim. Losing patience I decide to try the girls’ bathroom, by now everybody should be in class.

  I nudge the bathroom door open with my shoulder, and hear the unmistakable sounds of a girl crying. My stomach sinks, I was counting on alone time. On the other hand it’s part of the unspoken girl code to comfort a crying girl. I sigh and push the door all the way open.

  It’s a large bathroom but long and narrow rather than spacious. There are rows of sinks and mirrors against one wall, a row of stalls against the other. A girl from the girls’ basketball team, I think her name’s Dakota, is standing in front of the mirror staring into her own eyes and crying. Huge shuddering sobs rock her body back and forth in a crazy, lurching rhythm. Snot and tears and little bubbles of spit are running down her face and chin. She gags, coughing up mucus. Her hands are bent into claws. Dragging her fingernails against the milky white of her inner arm she cuts deeply, sending welts of blood surging to the surface. Her other arm is already a chewed up mess of blood and torn tissue. I stare, transfixed as she scratches again.

  “Stop, Dakota, stop!” I scream. She doesn’t turn to me; she just cries harder and keeps scratching. I grab her hands tightly. It takes all my strength to hold onto her. She jerks violently in my grasp, a huge spasm going through her body. Her knees start to buckle and we both slide down to the floor. A hair-raising keen rises up in her throat. She lays twitching in my arms, crying and gagging and then goes very still. My hands scramble over her neck, feeling for a heartbeat, listening for breath and wishing I paid a hell of a lot more attention in first aid. She’s alive, she’s breathing, what now? I slide a blood covered hand into my pocket and dial.

  The paramedics take Dakota away wrapped in a blanket on the stretcher. Her face has the same slack-skinned, ashen look to it I saw on Matt’s the morning before. One of the paramedics threw a rough wool blanket around my shoulders as I crouched on the bathroom floor next to them. I still have it on my shoulders as I sit in the office, shivering despite the blanket. I’m in one of the burgundy visitor chairs again. I keep my eyes riveted on the carpet before me. I can hear concerned murmurings. A parade of polished black shoes and snub nosed flats move through my field of vision. In that ever thinning cone of vision I see my own arms, the knees of my jeans, even my hands are all smeared with blood. The blood stands out against the stark whiteness of my skin, cut here and there with vivid red scars. A whooshing sound starts in my ears and rises into a sickening roar, as the edges of my vision grey out. The only thing I can think is how much I want Ephraim to be here.

  A hand covers mine lightly, ever so faintly touching mine, like a snowflake falling on my palm, and just as swiftly the touch melts away. But I can feel him now, near me, with me. His warmth fills me and the terrible roaring tremble leaves my body. I straighten up, letting the blanket fall from my shoulders. “Ms. Reins?” I say, with a quaver in my voice, “I think I’d better get cleaned up.”

  Ms. Reins almost poor dears me back under the blanket, but thankfully Mandy breezes into the office, an arm load of what looks suspiciously like gym sweats in her hands. “Oh my god Becca! You look gh-ashtly,” she says, drawing out the word ghastly until it sounds more like an accusation than an observation. “Fortunately, I had the foresight to raid the locker room, not f
ashionable, I know, but much better than blood smears and scars. Don’t you agree Ms. Reins? I’ll just take Becca to the staff bathroom and fix her up. Yes? Good.” As she speaks she lifts me from the chair, and propels me into the staff bathroom off of the office foyer.

  Still feeling a little wooden, I watch as Mandy wads up some paper towels and soaks them under the sink. She swabs the towels over my arms, trying to clean the blood off. The blood turns into a thin, runny, red liquid, like water colour paint running down my arms and hands. Mandy is talking steadily and, for once, I hear everything she says, “Try not to freak out Becca, I know this must bring back bad memories and all but it isn’t your blood, okay? I’ll have it all off of you in a second. There.” She pauses; satisfied that she’s washed away all traces of blood. “You know,” she adds thoughtfully, “in all the time I’ve known you, you haven’t had so much as a hint of drama in your life, and now you can’t seem to get through a day without it.” She hands me the sweat clothes. “Do you need help changing or are you alright to do it?”

  I smile gratefully at her, taking the clothes. “I’ll be okay, thanks Mandy, really.” I turn the lock behind her as soon as the door closes. Longing for the kind of comfort only one person could possibly give me I call softly, “Ephraim?”

  He’s standing in front of me even as I speak the words. My heart shivers inside me when I see him. “This wasn’t something human Ephraim. I could feel it.” I burst out, wishing I could throw myself into his arms for comfort.

  Ephraim looks grim, he reaches out, and then checks himself, just short of touching me. “I’m sorry,” he says gently.

  Mandy knocks softly on the bathroom door, “you still okay in there?”

  “Turn around so I can change,” I order Ephraim. He shrugs and turns around, while I hastily shuck off my blood smeared clothes.

  Pulling on the sweat suit Ephraim says casually, “Just so you know, I can still see you even with my back turned. My vision doesn’t work like yours. It’s more of an awareness than a sense.”

  I grab my jeans and swat the air where he stands; they fly through his image easily. “You could have told me that before I started to change!” He winks and fades out, but I can still feel his nearness.

  The rest of the day streams by in a blur. The school counsellor pulls a few girls aside, beginning with me, for what sounds suspiciously like the script for an after school special. She says some fancy things about self mutilation being a cry for help, tells me I’ve done just the right thing, and asks if I’m feeling any distress. I give her the right answers, the ones all adults are looking for when they ask those kinds of leading questions and I am sent on my way.

  But I know something else is happening here. Who knows, maybe Dakota does have a totally suck life, and maybe she does need help, but I don’t for one second believe she’s a cutter.

  When Justin finds me, he scrupulously skirts around today’s hot topic, which probably means that he has quite a lot to say about it. He keeps shooting me measuring looks and shaking his head, but he keeps the conversation light all the way back to my house.

  He gets out of the car with me, and waits for Matt to drive off before he speaks, “I can come in you know, hang out, if you don’t want to be alone.”

  “It’s okay, I actually just want to lie down and relax.”

  Justin grins, saying sweetly, “I’d be happy to do that too.” If I didn’t know better I would have sworn he was flirting.

  I swat at him half heartedly, “Justin seriously, I’m fine. I’ll call you later okay?”

  Ephraim is waiting for me in my bedroom, lounging on the bed and looking very comfortable in my room. “I really think he spends more time attached to you than I do, and he isn’t bound to your on a spiritual level,” he muses. His eyes are large and soft with humour. As he looks at me another look seeps into his eyes, and he smiles his long, slow smile. “With all the excitement, I missed you today.”

  Chapter 6: Unlucky

  In the midst of all the post accident drama I haven’t spent much time with my dad, not that that’s unusual, I guess he just notices it more. Both my parents are noticing me more than usual. A year ago I would have been thrilled by the increased attention, now, not so much. I’m too used to having my freedom and time to myself. Still, I can’t avoid him forever. And maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to talk some of this out, if I can. I wait until mom leaves for an early appointment on Saturdays and then dial his number. A little less than fifteen minutes later his motorcycle roars into the driveway. Dad hands me a helmet and I scoot onto the back of the motorcycle without a word. He’s good like that, not asking a lot of sticky questions. I bury my head against his back as we soar along the highway, winding along the coast to his apartment. I’ve been over to his apartment before, of course, but not often.

  At first I resisted going because I didn’t want to condone his moving out and having this whole alternative life, and then I didn’t go because it felt kind of creepy to be there. His place doesn’t feel homey. It’s all marble and leather and done up to be swanky in every possible way. There’s a bedroom set aside for me too, professionally designed. It’s about a thousand times nicer than my bedroom back home. The bed is soft and there’s a desk, all fitted out with the latest gadgets, ready for me to leap in and use. He even had a mural of the woods painted on one wall, about nine years late, but still a thoughtful touch. I stand in the doorway of the room, really seeing it for the first time.

  He put so much effort in, it must have been such a disappointment that I’ve never slept here. I actually refused to even go into the room. I turn to see that dad has come up behind me and is watching. Unlike mom, he’s an open book. I step inside the room, very deliberately turning around in it, trying for an appreciative expression. “It’s nice, really nice,” I tell him.

  He doesn’t smile, doesn’t give me that polite reaction. “You and your mom get in a fight?”

  “Mom’s fine.”

  “Then what isn’t?” he asks, his eyes telling me he doesn’t believe I’m here just to socialize.

  I sigh. “Things just aren’t as easy as I thought they’d be once I got out of the hospital and back to school. I feel different. I am different. And I can’t stand being cooped up all the time at home. I can’t go for walks, can’t visit the shore or go for a bike ride or any of the things that used to calm me down and I’m afraid, most of the time. I just don’t feel okay anymore.” My voice trails off. Dad and I used to be close but it’s been awhile since that’s been true. Plus, there isn’t really a right way to explain about being forever bonded to an invisible, incorporeal being.

  But when I look up I see him nodding. “It’s hard to adjust to life again, after you’ve come close to death, especially recovering from an injury as severe as yours. But it gets better Becks, eventually. It just takes time. I can’t make it go faster for you, but maybe there is something I can do to help.” He throws me a set of keys, which he’s been holding the entire time. I hold them limply in my hand, not really understanding. “There are some strings attached, though.”

  Maybe he isn’t as tuned out and irresponsible as mom always says, because of the two of them, he’s the only one even trying to help me. He tells me he set up an appointment with some post trauma counsellor, and that he expects me to start spending every other weekend here, so we can do some father daughter bonding. Not that I’m thrilled about being sent to a shrink, but I can’t get over the idea that Dad noticed I’ve been struggling. It will be a good thing to spend some time with him.

  So here I am, sitting in my own car. If he’d let me have the car a month ago my whole life would be different now. There’d be no scars, no weird rift between me and my friends, no Ephraim. As if thinking of him conjured him, I feel his presence near me. I hope, devoutly hope, that he can’t actually read my mind, because I’ve had fairly detailed thoughts about him.

  The transition between empty space and Ephraim sitting casually in the passenger’s seat is so smooth that
I miss the exact moment it happens. The watery flickering is a thing of the past, now he slips into sight as smoothly and quickly as a breath of air.

  I smile at him. “I was hoping to see you. Want to spend the day with me?” I’m in the mood to celebrate. I’m alive, I’m recovering, I have wheels and I’m spending all my free time with Ephraim.

  “I want to spend every day with you,” Ephraim says, flashing me his slow burn smile.

  I turn the car and head towards the coast. In the summer season this area is packed with tourists and beach comers but I always like it best in the fall and winter. The outsiders go home and the beaches became quiet and solitary. I prefer the rugged wildness of the waves to the bright garden of summer umbrellas any day.

  I park the car along the bluff, near a sandy path that leads down to the beach. While I scramble down, Ephraim descends soundlessly. He never makes any sound when he moves. I steal a glance at him as we walk. He’s tall, around six feet, muscular and lean. But it’s how he moves that fascinates me. He’s graceful and fluid in a very inhuman way. He’s the first person I’ve ever met that I could actually call lithe.

  He notices my scrutiny and grins, “Like what you see?”

  I blush, turning away and looking out over the waves. They are cresting in huge white capped rolls. There is no way it would be safe to swim in that, which explains how deserted the beach is. It also suggests a storm will blow in before long; something has to be driving those waves.

  Ephraim’s fingers brush against my hand, ever so lightly, but with real pressure and warmth. I jump from the sensation of being touched. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”