The Soul Seekers

by Amy Saia

  “Ever heard of women’s lib?” I asked, after a long moment.

  He broke away, a deep growl escaping his throat. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  I stood in a confident stance, arms crossed over my chest. “I’m not trying to change the subject, I’m being serious. You haven’t been in society for a long time, and I think maybe you’ve missed a few important events. For one, the word no is a very negative term. Another, the female species can do anything a man can do.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yeah. It is so. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one who found the coin and I happen to be a girl, er, woman.”

  “Yes, I can see what you are.”

  “I think you should open up your mind and stop being old-fashioned.”

  William smirked at that. “Old-fashioned. I’m an old-fashioned ghost. Great.”

  “I don’t mean old old. You don’t look old.”

  He rubbed his neck. “I feel old.”

  With a sigh William leaned back against the desk and brushed the hair out of his eyes in exasperation. “I’m wondering about you. What is it about you that fate would deem special as to place me at your mercy?”

  I shrugged.

  “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “An adult, almost. It’s the same age I was when it happened. Tell me something, have you had any tragic events happen to you recently, anything that would weaken you emotionally?”

  “You could say that.”

  “A death in the family, perhaps? It makes you more vulnerable. I don’t like the thought of the eclipse coming up—it’s too well timed with you finding the coin. No wonder they were smug the other day. The most important thing is keeping you safe. I want you to learn how to protect yourself. As for me, well, I guess there are ways to keep me safe as well.” He said this almost as an afterthought and looked to regret it the second it passed his lips.

  “Does that mean I get to help?”

  “It means nothing. Don’t assume anything.”

  I came around the desk to stand next to him, distractedly reaching out to toy with a dark curl. It was so black that a blue sheen shimmered along its surface, like the silken feathers of a raven. I let it curl around my finger, giving it a gentle tug before release.

  He grasped my hand. “I’m still not used to that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “No, it’s heavenly.”

  A sizzling shock went through our skin, and my eyes caught his in wonder.

  Kiss me again, I thought, eyes closing.

  “No,” he answered quietly, moving away. “We need to concentrate. Let me grab some books that I think are perfect in this type of mind training. It’s amazing—I slip the request into Ethel’s order box and she never questions the source. She just sends it out. Thank God for that woman.”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, still smarting with rejection. “She’s pretty cool.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I looked up to see him flash through three shelves.

  Rejected by a ghost. I smoothed down my hair and tugged at the wrinkles in my dress, feeling a bit glum. I could only imagine what I looked like after walking for two miles.

  When he came back, fading out of the same shelves, his eyes looked me over with a tentative glance. “Ready?”

  “Sure.”

  William laid the books across one of the long tables by the front window, and motioned for me to sit down. He sat next to me, sliding a navy clothbound book between us.

  “This one delves into the idea of realized thought, or thought in action. Have you read this type of material before, Emma?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “You should. With the intuition you possess, I think you’d learn well with just a little training. I’ve been doing it for years.”

  His voice went on and on and I tried to listen, I really did, but all I could hear was his ‘no’ from a few minutes prior.

  Then I heard the deep rumbling of pistons flaring and choking in unison. I looked out the window to see a sluggish, black Camaro driving down Main.

  “Please, no,” I muttered.

  “I’m sorry, is this too much? We can study later.”

  “No, no, not you.”

  I watched as Jesse parked the car and made his way to the library entrance. I was crouched under the table’s ledge when he peered in through the front window.

  “A friend of yours?” William asked, still sitting in his chair.

  “I don’t know what he is, or why he’s looking for me.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, you couldn’t have picked a worse friend, or whatever you call him. Jesse Limon only cares about himself. I could tell you some stories.”

  “No, thanks.”

  I listened to the sound of Jesse’s boots shuffling outside the door; they retreated back down the sidewalk a few long minutes later. After I heard the car pull away, I crept over and unlocked the bolt. A note was stuck to the door with Scotch tape.

  Emma,

  Your grandmother (or whoever that old lady was) said you might be here. She’s worried about you. I’m worried too. I’m sorry about last night. Really, really sorry. Call me at 555-2794. Please, please, please, please, please.

  please

  please

  please

  please

  call me,

  Jesse

  I crushed the note and let it fall into the front trash can.

  “Are you going to call him?”

  “No, I’m not. But I do need to get home. My family must be pretty upset at me for being gone all night.” I walked over to the front desk to grab my purse. “We can still study sometime. Maybe I can come back later this afternoon?”

  “Sure, but before you go, I’d like to try something else, if you don’t mind.”

  I dropped the purse down too fast, eager to do anything he asked. “Okay.”

  “Take a seat again, across from me.”

  I did.

  William leaned back and placed his hands across the table to steady his chair movement. “Put your hand over here, and I promise I won’t be as rude as before.”

  I offered my hand. He leaned in and turned my palm upwards, proceeding to cover it with his own—such a weird sensation of fuzzy voltage. I looked up in curiosity, still fascinated by the sensation.

  “Yes, it is strange, isn’t it?” William murmured. “We have weird reactions, you and I.” He motioned for me to close my eyes. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” I answered, fighting off the urge to slide my hand up his strong forearm and then further up to touch his face.

  “Emma?”

  I blushed but said nothing.

  William continued, “It was a day much like this one. Warm morning shadows stretched down the street, summer leaves shimmering on the trees. People are walking down the sidewalk doing their daily errands. Can you picture it?”

  “Sure,” I answered.

  “The only thing different is the street that you are on—the same one that exists now—is twenty years younger. The cars parked along the road are the same as well, but with unblemished paint and shining silver chrome. A man gets out smelling of aftershave, his hair is combed back into an oily slick, with white shirt perfectly pressed and dress coat hanging over his left arm. Another car goes by, and you hear an old song being played on the radio—Perry Como.

  “Children throw a ball back and forth. Life is good. Innocent. A woman passes by wearing a waist-fitted dress with a full, knee-length skirt. Her black heels click down the sidewalk. Can you see her?”

  “Yes,” I breathe. I can see all of it, and before William asks, I am hearing it, smelling it. I am there.
“Go on.”

  “Look in the glass storefront beside you. What do you see reflected there?”

  “I see you,” I breathe in amazement.

  His hair is as dark and shining as ebony silk. It hangs down over his handsome forehead in the same thick curls. He is dressed in the familiar, blue-checked flannel shirt which, as usual, fits tightly against his muscled chest in an oh so wonderful way. His jeans are cuffed at the bottom, swaying down to a pair of worn out leather boots.

  I am him. With his eyes I see past the reflection into a shop—a beauty parlor—where a pretty girl stands, paying a receptionist with money from a small pocket book pulled out of a handbag. She is petite with dark hair just like William’s, and when she walks out, she smiles, showing eyes as blue as his. She wears a delicate cream-colored dress, decorated with a strawberry print and little strawberry buttons all the way down the front. She must be about sixteen years old.

  “Where to?” she asks, taking my—William’s—arm.

  I feel his voice coming out of me in a deep vibration, a delightful, warm sound. “Hmm, I thought we could go over to your favorite place for once.”

  “What? You mean the hardware store again? I’d love to!” She’s dripping with sarcasm, a playful smile on her face.

  I nudge her playfully. “We could still do that. You wanna do that?” I begin to pull her arm in that direction.

  “No!” she laughs. “I can’t tease you, can I? You always win. No, I want to go to the dress shop. Although, I have to warn you, my window shopping skills are in full swing today. We might be there a long time.”

  “Remember, we can look but we can’t buy,” I say, sounding like a father.

  We begin to cross the street but I hold her back, waiting for a light blue Chevy to pass. It stops for us, even backing up a bit, and I wait as she steps off the curb; I give a small signal of thanks to the driver.

  She begins, “Since it’s my birthday. . . .”

  I can’t hear the rest of her sentence, only the sound of a revving motor and then screams, I hear her screams. Metal pushes her violently from my arms and the next thing I see is her landing with a silent thud across on the other side of the street, unconscious. The car speeds on, screeching around the curve and then into nowhere.

  I run as if hell is wrapping its teeth around my ankles. I throw myself to the ground by her lifeless body.

  “No! Cathy!” Sobs rip inside my chest, as painful as anything I’ve ever felt before.

  Moments later, an ambulance roars around the corner and stops with men flying out to gather her bloody body. They don’t need to tell me, I know she is dead. I know because I can feel it’s all gone.

  “Emma?”

  I found it hard to open my eyes; tears started flowing out of control. “Who was she?”

  “My sister, Cathy.”

  Pulling my hand from his to wipe at my cheeks, I searched his eyes. “I am sorry.” I couldn’t stop the pain that sat in my chest. My hand trembled and hummed from the break in our electric current. “How did you do that? I was there. It was real.”

  “I’ve had a lot of practice, believe me. When I learned I could visit my past using stored memories it became a source of escape.”

  I touched him again. “Show me more. I want to see your whole life.”

  “You have to go home, remember?”

  I did? Why would I ever again want to leave him for any reason? Reluctantly I drew my hand back. “Next time then.”

  “I’ll be here,” he said.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  Grandmother Carrie was waiting for me when I got home. “Young lady, what are you doing coming in like this after staying out all night? Have you never heard of a telephone?”

  I dropped my bag with a plop on the floor. “It was stupid of me and if it helps at all, I didn’t have any fun.”

  “Where were you?”

  Telling her the whole truth didn’t sound like such a good plan. “I was at the library. I went in for a second after the fair because it was hot and I fell asleep. That’s all.”

  She started to smile but cut it short with a raised eyebrow. “I have an attic I need you to clean.”

  “Is that my punishment?”

  “You’ve obviously never been in the attic. You’ll see.”

  I hugged her. “You were right about everything.”

  Her hand patted at my hair, and her arms held me tight. “I know, baby. And I’m here if you need me.”

  We locked eyes: my dark brown to her soft brown with the lovely wrinkles around the edges. I hoped that someday I could be the person she wanted me to be. I wanted it more than ever.

  First things first—I had to hide the coin. In my room, I thought of slipping it under the mattress but knew that was the first place anyone would search. There was the old Kodak, but that wouldn’t work because it still had an undeveloped roll with shots of Dad on our trip to Aspen.

  I sat on the bed, my eyes scanning the room. I saw the tiny chest Dad had given me. It was an old oriental box with an intricate lock. I grabbed the box and began to untwist its spiral latch. A few turns to the right, a pull underneath, a jar to the left, then the slightest of taps upon the metal and it popped open.

  The smell of cedar met my nostrils, reminding me of a day a few years ago when I had sat in his arms. Big, strong hands had twisted at the lock in front of my young eyes, and he had laughed at my gasp when the box lid sprung open. It was our secret; his only tangible gift of great value. One day, he said, I was to place my expensive treasures in it—all the things he intended to buy me when someday our ship came in.

  The thought made me sad, but I realized there wasn’t anything to be sad about. Dad and I were sharing a moment, just like the old days. He was still in my life, helping me just as he always had before.

  I placed the coin inside, and after re-screwing the combination, shoved the box into the back of the closet.

  The attic was a mess. Pulling some boxes aside, I made my way to where a light bulb hung recklessly from the rafters. I reached up to turn it on and stood in its soft glow for just a moment. Dust filtered down through bare light, like tiny snowflakes—everything was covered with the stuff. Cobwebs were everywhere, looking like strings of fuzzy yarn hanging from object to object.

  Against the far southern wall stood a collection of antique furniture, some of which I remembered from holidays spent there as a child. Other pieces—thicker, darker pieces that spoke of a time I could never understand, stood in shadows; forgotten relics from my grandmother’s youth.

  The ubiquitous yellowed wedding gown hung inside a protective muslin bag by a full length mirror, now cracked. The dress was tiny, made for someone much shorter than I, and it was of an age that no longer existed but for someone’s lasting memory.

  Three empty trash bags were clutched in my hand, waiting for me to make the first move and decide on where to start. If only it wasn’t so hot. I was having trouble breathing in such thick, dusty air. I ran a sweaty hand across my forehead, a bad idea since I already felt a layer of dust clogging up my pores. I was going to be a complete mess before this punishment had been served, and a long, hot shower was in store.

  I grabbed a stack of papers off the floor, ready to toss them into an open trash bag, stopping when a headline caught my eye.

  Springvale Seekers Hold Picnic at New Meeting Hall.

  I looked at the picture of men dressed in suits wearing thick black glasses. A chill went through my body. There they were, June 14, 1956. I couldn’t understand anyone ever being so gullible as to join. I imagined the camera operator asking them to smile, giving up after the first few tries. Their eyes were hollow, looking at them made me shiver even in the heat. Sitting down on a box I began to read the article underneath the large black and white photo.

 
“Springvale’s newest church, the Soul Seekers, are holding a picnic this weekend at their elegant and newly finished two-story building. The event has been placed in hopes of recruiting fresh faces. Children, adults—all are welcome. Pie raffle to precede lecture and new member sign-up.

  “The Soul Seekers are a fresh kind of ministry aimed to reach out to the lowest sinner or the wandering soul. Their aim is to build a large community of grand fellowship strong enough to deal with the problems facing our world today: loss of hope, lack of faith, and weakness of conviction. Join this wonderful group and be a part of Springvale’s most promising future.”

  My stomach turned. I wondered how many people had gone to this picnic, not realizing the dangers behind the promises. And through the years, how many events had been held, enticing even more members? I held the dried, aged paper over the open trash bag and dropped it in with disgust.

  Suddenly, all the heat in the attic changed and my breath flew out in a long cloud of frost. I heard the sound of footsteps coming closer, echoing through the drafty room and ricocheting against each wall in stereo to my overexcited, buzzing ears. They stopped just short of where I sat. I trembled, waiting for him to speak.

  “I’m tuned to you now, Emma.”

  12: The Sketch

  “Oh!” I let out a little gasp and pivoted toward the intruder, a young man with dark, curling hair and gorgeous eyes. My lips broke into a smile.

  It sure was lovely to see him again.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he murmured.

  I was melting again, like a hot Popsicle left inside an unopened wrapper.

  “I heard you.”

  I stood, dropping all the newspapers at my feet, and ran into his arms.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I was going to be alone forever, and there would be no one to worry about who would be bothered to care about me in return. Don’t you see?”