Darkly, Deeply, Beautifully

by Megan Tayte

  It twisted in my head then. It was that day it happened. Afterwards, it was like there were two of me: Noah and Michael. They fought constantly. Noah nudged you off the cliff. Michael punished Noah. But he couldn’t, it didn’t work. Noah doesn’t exist, so what he does isn’t real – he’s free to act. He’s unstoppable.

  And then he did it. And you were ready at last. I was with you, in the fire. But Jude found you and took you out. So I waited right there with you, on the cliffside, beside Luke and Jude. And when the pain was gone, I held out my hand to you. But you took his hand. Jude’s.

  I couldn’t understand it, and Noah – he was angry.

  But then I watched you, this new Cerulean, and I saw it in you still – you didn’t want it, you didn’t want the light. I watched you. I watched you. And I wasn’t so angry. You were like me still.

  I wondered about the others. Who they were. Whether they were like us too. I found ways to get close and watch them. Gabriel and Sienna, no. They love their power. They are their power. Elizabeth, though. I thought I saw it in her, what we have. I thought she understood.

  I saw you on the beach – you and Sienna and Gabriel, all cosy. The three of you together: I could see where that was going.

  Not Elizabeth, though. She was on the outside. Alone.

  I wanted her. Me and her. So I told her.

  But she didn’t understand.

  I took her to her room. I made her look at her pictures, look at them, see the ghost.

  She didn’t see me. She couldn’t see her own son.

  Then I – Noah – was angry.

  And then…

  I couldn’t bring her back. And all my paintings were ruined.

  I watched you all. I saw what you thought of me. None of you saw the ghost. None of you.

  And the baby, lost in the middle of it all. Cut off from his mother and father. Brought up by strangers. Another generation of a family that is not a family. Another child alone. He is me. Jack is me, all over again.

  It is a relief to have reached the end now – at last.

  I don’t want the light. I never did. I should have been dead anyway – what Evangeline did, bringing me back; she was right to feel guilty. You said it earlier: I’m a ghost. Can’t see a ghost. Can’t love a ghost. She made me a ghost. And all I ever longed for was to be real. To be real, to exist, I had to die. That’s real.

  The first time I died, I had no choice about it. I crossed over before I was even born. But Evangeline hauled me back.

  The second time, I didn’t wait for Death to creep up on me; I welcomed it. I did it like Sienna. Drowned off Shell Beach. I swam out and I sank. Those last moments… they were the best of my life. But Evangeline saw me and she sent men in and they grabbed me. And somewhere in all the confusion, in all the blue around, the light I chose – I thought it was the right one, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t dead: I was a Cerulean. One of them.

  As soon as I was alone, I tried again. With a blade; I needed to bleed. But the way the blood pooled on the floor… the muse stirred. She was reborn. It was spiritual. Beautiful.

  I had to paint.

  I bargained with myself: just one more work, then I’ll end it. But there was always another canvas, waiting.

  Then I found that letter.

  And I couldn’t stand to be in that school, on that island. I went home. To the cottage. The lodge. The manor. That little wooden house in the trees.

  I began watching. And the watching fed the art, and the art fed the watching.

  Until one morning the canvas was blank. The muse was silent. So that was it.

  I’d been planning it for months, the third death. I’d chosen the place. I Travelled here, to the tower. I stood at the edge. I looked down. And I saw…

  … you, on the path below. And then, that poem – what you said.

  I was Noah. I was Michael. I was lost.

  It hurts now. It’s always hurt. But I get it, why it had to be this way. To be dead, to be truly dead, first you have to stop being a ghost. You have to be seen.

  Michael broke off then and closed his eyes and his lips moved silently but I couldn’t read the words on them. I thought quickly, trying to sort through the jumble of information that had come at me. There was so much to understand, and it was confusing and conflicting. How much of it was true? How much was there reason in Michael’s madness? How far did ‘Noah’ control him? What had happened between him and my mother in the lodge? Why exactly had he taken Jack?

  I looked at the baby now, chuntering at the leafy branches above him. He’d rolled during the course of Michael’s monologue and he was closer now, halfway between me and Michael. Within reach.

  ‘I see you, Michael,’ I said, though I could barely get out words through a throat cramped tight with emotion. ‘I see you.’

  He smiled then, really smiled. I just had time to notice how like my mother he looked with his face lit that way before the moment was shattered into a million jagged pieces.

  A shout: ‘There! There he is!’

  The sense of urgent movement on several different fronts.

  Michael tensing, starting to move.

  I didn’t think: I hurled myself off the bench and reached for an arm, a leg, anything. My hand closed over a tiny foot and I pictured the first place that came to mind.

  And the graveyard disappeared.

  *

  I should have been in Luke’s kitchen. I’d seen it so clearly, just a flash in my mind’s eye but enough to Travel me and Jack there – the bright white units, the big wooden table, the Miró print on the wall. But before I even opened my eyes I knew I wasn’t in that safe place. There was a breeze slapping my face and fingers digging painfully into my arm.

  I opened my eyes and the first thing I saw was a blanket, on which lay a colourful shape sorter and a pile of books and a box of gingerbread men. We were at the top of the church tower – me and Jack… and Michael. He’d reached Jack at the same time. He’d grabbed us both. Somehow Michael’s vision for Travel had won out against mine.

  I looked at the fingers on my arm. The nails were long and a little blood trickled down from where one dug in. I scanned up the arm, along the shoulder, to Michael’s face. The smile was gone and so was the hesitant trust in his eyes. He looked like a man betrayed.

  He swore in my face, showering my face with spittle. ‘You’re a liar.’

  He had no need to guard his tone – down below, all manner of shouting in the wake of our disappearance concealed any noise we made.

  ‘No!’ I said quickly. ‘I promise, Michael, I don’t know how they found us!’

  He grunted – acceptance? disbelief? – and he didn’t release me, but he let go of Jack so he could shift across and look down on the graveyard. I pulled Jack tightly to me and he nuzzled into me. I tried to Travel – I tried every location I could think of – but the hand on my arm kept me and Jack right there, trapped.

  ‘Gabriel,’ said Michael. ‘Sienna. Look, sis, family. And Jude. And another two, coming round, Cara and Si. And will you look at that: one, two, three – I give up – a whole army of Gabriel’s cronies. What an audience! I am honoured.’

  He turned back to me and grinned grotesquely.

  ‘Give me the baby.’

  Horrified, I shuffled back as far as I could, holding tight to Jack. But Michael just kept coming until his hands were on Jack and he was pulling, pulling at him, and Jack let out a surprised grunt.

  ‘Stop it, Michael! Stop it – you’ll hurt him!’

  ‘No, you’ll hurt him if you don’t let go.’

  He was still pulling and I couldn’t let him hurt Jack, so I quit opposing his force and moved with him, to the edge of the tower. The momentum made me stumble and I fell into Michael, and he quickly shifted his grip so that he had both me, and Jack in my arms, trapped against his chest. I struggled against him, but he was much stronger than he looked – much stronger than me.

  Jack was crying now, and I heard someone below shout his name and
then mine. I looked down and saw them among the gravestones: my father, my sister, my friends and others, strangers.

  I tried to Travel again. Nothing.

  ‘Welcome!’ shouted Michael jubilantly.

  It may as well have been a call to action: Jude and a gang of scarred men swarmed to the church.

  ‘Can’t catch a ghost!’ Michael taunted.

  Suddenly, the world fell away and then reformed. We were in the graveyard, beneath a weeping willow at the far boundary.

  ‘Boo!’ shouted Michael, and I just caught heads swivelling around before we were off again.

  This time when we came to rest the ground beneath my feet was slanted, uneven, and someone was screaming, and we were sliding, slipping, even as I realised we were on the steeply pitched roof.

  And then we were at the gate to the vicarage.

  And then we were in the field beyond the graveyard.

  And then we were back up the tower.

  ‘You see?’ Michael yelled. ‘Can’t catch a ghost.’

  He stood, panting, his arms tight around me, holding me to him – holding me up as my head swam dizzily. Judging by the scene on the ground, I wasn’t the only disorientated one. People were frozen in place, necks extended, heads back, as if someone had punched a giant ‘pause’ button. So many people, and yet none of them could help, none of them could get to us.

  Shock had reduced Jack’s shouts to little whimpers. ‘Shush,’ I whispered, ‘shush, it’s okay, I’m here.’

  I’m here.

  I tried to take comfort from the words. I was here. Jack wasn’t alone. But what could I do? I couldn’t Travel with Michael holding me, and I couldn’t fight him off.

  ‘Michael,’ I tried, ‘please listen to me.’

  ‘No,’ he growled in my ear. ‘You’ve said enough, little sister.’

  ‘Michael!’ Gabriel called from below. ‘Michael, come down here and talk to me. Son.’

  ‘Son? Son!’

  ‘I didn’t know… I had no idea! Michael, just give Jack to Scarlett and come down. Don’t be scared. I’m not angry. Not with you. I just want to talk. I promise.’

  Michael retorted with a blazing tirade that made it quite clear how credible he thought a promise from his father was.

  As my captor ranted, far below my sister waved her arms to get my attention. My eyes locked on hers and she pressed her hands together and I saw her lips form a single word: Please.

  Please keep my son safe.

  Please, Scarlett, please.

  Movement beside her: Daniel, putting an arm around her shoulders, supporting her. Why not Jude?

  I scanned the graveyard. Gabriel. Cara. Si. Enforcers all over.

  No Luke.

  No Jude.

  ‘It’ll be the end,’ Luke had warned me. He was done chasing after me, done saving me.

  But Jude: Michael had said he was down there, in the graveyard.

  He was coming. He must be. For his son. But Michael had shown so clearly there was no point chasing us. The moment he heard a footfall on the steps below, the creak of the old wooden door in the corner, the glimpse of a hand reaching, we’d be gone.

  Unless…

  I couldn’t Travel. Michael was anchoring me somehow. Could I do the same? Even just for a second or two – buy enough time for Jude to reach us, get Jack, make Jack safe? How did Michael do it? How did he overpower my will to Travel? Perhaps it was simple: staying trumped leaving; here counted for more than there; being human, grounded, won out over being godly, in flight.

  It was nothing, just a wild hope. But with Michael’s arms like steel bands around me and Jack, it was all I had.

  Gabe was talking again now, loudly, emotively, and his every word enraged Michael further. I wondered why Gabe didn’t pull back, try a different tack. Perhaps he couldn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t prepared to be anything but loving now to his son.

  I stared down at him, this man I barely knew, and it struck me that he’d never been more like a father than in this moment. A father loved unconditionally. A father forgave. A father would do anything to protect his children.

  Gabe’s eyes caught mine and darted fleetingly to the left.

  Instinctively, I looked that way. I saw the door to the tower. Then I understood. Gabe was the distraction. He was the noise. His job was to say whatever it took to make Michael fixate on him, on the ground, and not his own surroundings. Perhaps Gabe was protecting his children. Or perhaps he was protecting only one of them right now: me.

  ‘Buried me a Cerulean!’ Michael was yelling at Gabe. ‘One of them. Didn’t even claim me as your own in death!’

  In my peripheral vision I saw the door ease open a crack. I kept my head still but flicked my eyes that way. And saw Jude.

  One. I let go of Jack with one hand.

  Two. I reached up to where Michael’s arm encircled me.

  Three. I grabbed his arm, tight.

  The door crashed open.

  Michael tensed.

  Feet pounded on stone.

  Every edge blurred.

  I held on.

  I held on.

  I willed us to stay.

  And then, somehow, there was nothing in my grip, no Michael, no Jack, and there was blue above but it was blurring to black, and I was falling into the abyss, chased down by the desperate pleas of not one mother but two:

  Please, please, keep my son safe.

  Deep in the dark, I heard a name called, over and over. Loudly. Desperately.

  I wished it away, the name. It was quiet in the dark. A nice sort of quiet.

  I drifted.

  *

  Scarlett. Scarlett, please.

  … I had him; I had him, his hands in mine…

  She’ll be okay; it’s just a little knock.

  … I didn’t mean… he hurt us all… I never thought I would, he would…

  Then why isn’t she waking?

  … I had him…

  She will. Give her time.

  … his hands in mine…

  Jude, take Jack.

  … Scarlett, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…

  Come away now, both of you.

  Not me. Not down there. I’ll wait for her here.

  *

  Deep in the dark, I heard a different name. A nice sort of name. It was better than the quiet in the dark.

  I surfaced.

  ‘It’s Luke,’ a voice was saying near me. ‘Scarlett, it’s Luke.’

  ‘Luke?’ It came out as a croak.

  ‘I’m here.’

  My head was foggy. Something was wrong. What was wrong?

  ‘You’re safe now.’

  Safe. It was the trigger word, a splash of ice-cold water to wake me up. I shot upright and grabbed Luke.

  ‘Jack!’

  ‘He’s okay.’

  ‘Where?’ I said, taking in the deserted rooftop.

  ‘Downstairs, in the church. With his parents – with Jude and Sienna.’

  ‘He’s safe?’

  ‘He’s fine. I put him in Jude’s arms with my own two hands.’

  ‘Michael?’

  ‘Gone.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  I slumped then, and he shifted and propped me up on his bent knee.

  ‘What happened? I don’t… The door opened, I tried to keep us all here, and then Jack was gone… gone! And now you’re here – why – why are you here?’

  ‘Why?’ Luke let out a long breath. ‘Why am I here? Because you’re here! Because you needed me. Because you were this close’ – he held his fingers a nail’s width apart – ‘to getting hurt… or … God, Scarlett. When you disappeared like that from the island, I have never been so mad at you.’

  I couldn’t look at him, couldn’t face his anger. Not now. I reached a hand up to touch a throbbing temple. It was sticky. I brought the hand down and surveyed the blood on my fingertips.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ said Luke. ‘Gabe healed you. But he had to leave. Do yo
u need more healing? I can call him to –’

  ‘It doesn’t hurt,’ I said.

  He reached over and plucked a wipe from the abandoned baby supplies nearby and cleaned the blood off my fingers.

  ‘What happened, Luke? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Jude brought me here when they all came,’ he said, taking a fresh wipe and gently dabbing at my temple. ‘I saw you up here and came inside. Found Reverend Helmsley napping in the vestry. I made him open the door for the tower. Jude was inside by then. We made a plan: I get you and Jack – Jude holds off Michael.’

  ‘We crept up the stairs and opened the door, and then… it all happened so fast. I don’t know what happened exactly, except that I got Jack. I took him from you. By the time I’d got a firm hold of him, you were on the floor – Michael and Jude were struggling; you got shoved, I guess.

  ‘I went to you. I pulled you away, to the corner. I tried to wake you up. I couldn’t carry you away. I had Jack too, and he was thrashing about so I could barely keep hold of him. But I did. I kept hold of you both until… I kept hold of you both, and then I gave Jack to Jude.

  ‘Your father had come up by then. He healed you. He wanted to bring you down, inside the church, where the others are now. But I made him leave us here. I wanted you to wake up to me. I thought… I thought it may help.’

  By now five used baby wipes lay discarded at my feet, the most recent with no vestige of blood on it, but still he was wiping and wiping and wiping. I reached up and laid my hand over his, stilling it against my cheek.

  ‘I’m safe now,’ I said. ‘You kept us safe.’

  ‘I tried to. But it was Jude… or it was Michael… I don’t know. It wasn’t just me, in the end.’

  ‘The end. I thought, when I left you on the island, it was the end. Us. Over. But you came for me.’

  ‘You thought…? Idiot!’ He dropped the wipe clutched in his hand and hugged me to him fiercely. ‘I will always come for you, Scarlett. Don’t you know that by now? I may not be a Cerulean or a Vindico; I may just be an average bloke. But I will never let anyone hurt you. I just wish…’

  He fell silent and I pushed him back so I could see him. He looked so sad.