The Soul Seekers

by Amy Saia

  Each evening before sundown—and before Jesse showed up with his cards—my angel William would climb into bed with me and wrap his arms around my shivering body. It seemed like I could never get warm enough, not until he was holding me, that is. And then, it was as if I was in the midst of the warmest lake, on the most heavenly beach in Hawaii. I began to wonder how it was possible that God could create a world of divorce and lost loves, yet here I was, happy with one of his best creations. But I couldn’t have William, and it didn’t seem quite fair.

  I became restless. Especially on the afternoon my family was due to come in to celebrate my birthday. Birthday. I couldn’t make myself care about or feel its importance. I was on edge. William had not shown up that morning, and I was worried. Was this it? Had our time run out now that I was finally heading home? Not yet! I screamed to the heavens. He’s my angel. Mine.

  Getting out of bed, I went to sit in his chair and in a second I heard familiar footsteps.

  He cleared his throat and came to kneel in front of me with a pile of objects in his hands. “Happy birthday, Emma.”

  “For me?” I breathed quick, hiding my relief. “Guess I should be celebrating, huh?” A whole life lay ahead, but William wasn’t going to be in it. “You shouldn’t have.” I only want you.

  “A radio.” He held it up for me to see before placing it in my lap. “Some books—sorry, they’re all men’s spy fiction.”

  I took them and tossed each one behind me with a comical look. William laughed. “Okay. Umm, here’s a magazine about teen fashion. You don’t need it, but it was all I could find. And this is, well what is it?” He held up a box of something, opening it carefully. “Pastels and graphite art pencils. Oh and here’s an art pad.” He pulled that out from his back waistline. “You like to draw and I thought this would help you to get some of the old Emma back.”

  That was really thoughtful of him. Angels were so gosh-darned perfect. “But where did you get all of this?”

  “There’s a gift shop down the hall.”

  “Isn’t that stealing?”

  “Nope.”

  “It is kind of. Thou shall not steal.”

  “Shalt. And anyway, it’s for a good cause.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s okay to break a cardinal rule, but when a mere human has a request it isn’t allowed?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Humph.” I grabbed the radio and turned it on, finding mostly static.

  “Here, let me. It’s an old transistor; I actually found it in the waiting room. You have to really maneuver the antenna around. Also, it’s only AM—wow, this thing is old.” He looked up at me. “Well, not old. I used to have one of these.”

  My ears pricked up. Finally I was getting some information about his time as a human. “William, tell me more about your life before you became an angel.”

  He continued to fiddle around with the radio, meeting tons of static. “Just an ordinary guy. Liked to read, liked to write. I was a dreamer. Nothing too special.”

  “When did you die?”

  That caused him to hesitate, and he met my eyes for a moment before concentrating again on finding a station. “I never really died. That’s, uh, that’s what makes angels. We are stuck in between two worlds. But I will be dying soon. It’s a pact we make when we agree to do this.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair.”

  “You’re so right. Hey, I think I got a station.” At last a bit of music began to trickle out of the little box, and William set it on the window sill. It was a slow fifties ballad. “I remember this song.” His eyes held a faraway look. “Care to dance, Emma?”

  He pulled me out of the chair with a slow and steady grip, and wrapping one of his arms behind my back, carefully lifted my right arm to hang around his neck. He held out our other arms with hands joined. I tried not to let my staggering breath seem too obvious as he held me, but it was difficult, especially when he happened to look down at me with those unbelievable, blue eyes. I laid my head against his shoulder, letting the exquisite feel of his body wash through me. Perhaps this was all I would ever get. I was lucky to be in his arms now, wasn’t I?

  The song changed to another slow tune, a haunting love song. A man sang of being alone in the night; it felt familiar to me somehow, as if I’d heard it before, but I couldn’t place it. William’s embrace grew stronger.

  The voice continued. The lyrics repeated how much the man loved someone, and that he would hold her forever.

  A little sarcastic laugh escaped my throat. “If only.”

  “Shh,” he hushed.

  If he could only see how much I wanted him. My heart was throbbing with the pain of loving him so much. That had to be a worse condition than any old head injury or surface bruises. I dared to look up and meet his very earnest and soul-searching gaze. Suddenly, we stopped, but the song hadn’t ended yet.

  “What is it, William?”

  “It’s just . . . promise me that you will you go to New York with Jesse. Don’t stay in Springvale, Emma, please.”

  Jesse. Springvale. Was that what he was thinking about? I wanted to scream. He was so ready to have me gone that it was a constant on his brain playlist, repeating over and over. I thought it was time to remind him of something he had told me that first day in the hospital when I discovered he was my angel.

  “You said you would leave when I told you to, not before, and since I’m never going to tell you to go, we can be together forever. Right?”

  “You have a life to live, Emma. College, fun, marriage, kids. Angels aren’t such a good mix in the real world. I was only here for now, while you got better.”

  “I’ll never be better if you are gone.”

  He cleared his throat before speaking again. “I’ve been alone for a long time without any real connection; without any love. It’s not a big deal to me.” He tried to sound confident, but it came out strained. “I know it doesn’t make sense to you now, but I’ve decided that I want to be defined by one thing: your lifelong happiness. I couldn’t have my own, but I can have yours. I can go away and be fulfilled with the promise of your life and joy as a lasting gift to me. Do you think you can give that to me, Emma?”

  The hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life was nod right then, but I forced myself to do it anyway.

  “Find that coin. Give it to Jesse. Leave town.”

  “But—”

  “And this will finally be settled once and for all.”

  Once and for all. Why did I start to shake when he said those words? The song ended with the station fading out but still we clung to each other. His hand slid up to touch my face, and I buried my face in it, resting my cheek against his palm.

  18: Highway to Hell

  I was depressed, frustrated and mad. If Jesse hadn’t come around touting his New York plans, then perhaps William would have been different about the whole situation. It was my first lesson in this new, blank-slated life: the things you wanted most can never be yours.

  My family helped gather my things in silence. No one asked why I was upset, but if they had I wouldn’t have told them. We drove home in a rusty station wagon with the windows rolled down because of the heat. The radio was broken, so the whole ride was awkward with silence. I watched a town fly by the windows at amazing speed: quaint houses along the hilly roads, men in pressed slacks and vested sweaters watering their flowers, old cars with sharp fins and shining roof ornaments. A ridge of hills stood off in the distance, covered by a slight mist of rain. I turned to Mom and met her eyes. Her mouth forced itself into a smile and eyes flitted back to the road.

  “This is it, Emma. This is your home.”

  We pulled up to a gabled affair that echoed Victorian times. Mom led me up a flight of stairs to my room. It was messy in a modern way, like a careless teenager had been holed
up for way too many evenings.

  She really liked books. The old Emma had quite a stack going, which told me she must not be the wild girl I once imagined. Certainly not, with three volumes of Brontë sisters worn almost to shreds right next to the bed. An employee name-tag sat on the shelf—Springvale Public Library, Emma Shay.

  The closet was a complete mess with clothes strewn everywhere. Jeans, sun dresses, sandals, wrinkly corduroy with flared legs. I had to face that I was in someone else’s world, stepping into another girl’s life. Whatever I did would just be a foray in a place I didn’t really belong. I was a trespasser.

  “Remember anything?” Mom asked.

  “Not yet.” What could I say, ‘She seems like a very nice girl, and sorry I’m not her’? I peeked out the window and saw the one I knew as Grandmother Carrie move past with a wheelbarrow.

  “Look at her, out there in her garden already.” Mom’s voice turned sarcastic. “That’s how she copes.” She saw my interest and changed mood. “Feel free to check it out.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.” I hadn’t been outside in a long time. Maybe a little nature would help me think.

  We went downstairs and, after accepting the glass of iced tea she offered, I headed through the back door, moving my head to avoid a shell wind-chime that hung from the awning. Half shadows from a group of medium-sized trees scattered across the lawn, sweeping across perennials in a slow pattern. I chose to sit on a wooden bench by the terrace then leaned my head back, pondering what I was going to do. Go with Jesse? Could I trust him? Did I have a choice?

  I sat there for a long time, thinking, then trying not to think—going back and forth over my options. What if I stayed right there in Springvale and did nothing? Something would surely come, and life would move on in a natural way. I let the breeze brush along my face in soft torrents, then, lying down—using my arm as a pillow—I fell asleep for the rest of the afternoon.

  When I woke it was evening, with the breeze strong and cold through the whispering trees. I sat up, suddenly aware that I was not alone in the garden—the grandmother was a short distance away, plucking carrots from a long strip of soil. I sat there watching her deft fingers at work, and thought of speaking to her—the one person who hadn’t uttered a single word to me since I woke up in the hospital a week ago.

  “Grandmother Carrie?” She looked up at the sound of my voice and smiled tenderly.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “Was I happy here? Were things going well for me?”

  She thought about that for a moment. “Yes and no. You were upset about your father’s death, searching a lot, but also being stubborn and never accepting his passing. When you started to work at the library, I noticed an improvement.”

  “Do you think I will remember, eventually?”

  She stood up and came to sit beside me, taking both my hands in hers. “Your inner spirit will make it so. Don’t be afraid to let it have its way.”

  “But what if I never remember? Am I just going to be stuck like this forever—never knowing, never understanding?”

  “I don’t think so. I have already seen enough Emma shining through that it doesn’t worry me.”

  I blew a hair away from my face, sighed, and dropped my head back in resignation. “But what about this Jesse guy? Do you think I should go with him to New York?”

  She laughed at that question, torn between two answers. “I want to say no, but I am too wise to use that word around my stubborn Emma.” She winked at me. “You’ll figure it out on your own.”

  Some help. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  Entering the house, I heard Mom on the phone and tried to shut the back door so it wouldn’t make any noise.

  “Hold on,” slight pause, “I think she just came in. I can’t talk.”

  I heard a voice in the receiver—a man. He was making demands and sounded angry.

  “Yes, I know. Tonight. You do what you have to do to fix this whole thing. Listen, I really can’t talk right now.” She hung up the phone and in a few moments came rushing into the kitchen. “Emma! Are you hungry? Would you like me to make you something to eat?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “It’s no problem. Why don’t you go upstairs and get settled and I’ll get dinner started, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Our eyes met, and a chill went through my body. Something was wrong, but it didn’t make sense. I watched her leave and pivoted for the stairs, ready now to find out just who exactly this Emma girl was. Once upstairs, I began to sort through things that might offer some sort of clue: yearbooks, photo albums, trinkets—anything.

  My eyes fell upon a drawing. A familiar face stared back at me and every line was perfect. Those translucent irises looked out from under dark brows and lips sensitive but with a hint of mystery. Emma Shay was signed at the bottom, in quick strokes. So she, I had seen him before? That seemed rather strange as I was under the impression William had only shown up to help me after the accident. Well, so what if the former Emma knew him? She was me, and anyway, he was gone for good. Both of us were left without him now.

  Closing the notebook, I headed for her closet and threw the door open. Something glinted from within the back corner, and I bent down to get a better look.

  It was a finely carved box of dark mahogany with bits of jade studded into the wood and an intricate curved lock with no keyhole. When I shook it, something hard rattled inside, like a ring or small trinket of some kind. Maybe even a coin. A coin.

  I put the box up on the dresser. It was a connection to William, yet I had no idea what that really meant. Day after day he had pressured me to find the coin, and now I had it. What now?

  Someone knocked at the bedroom door. “Just a minute.” I looked at the box again before going to open the door, figuring it was Mom coming to tell me dinner was ready. “Yes?”

  “Emma!” It was Jesse, looking winded. “I snuck in. This is going to sound rash, but I think we have to leave town earlier than I thought.”

  “What do you mean, what’s going on?”

  He brushed past me and scanned the room in a panic. “You’re going to have to pack. Got a suitcase? Never mind, I have a bag out in the car. Get your clothes together, I’ll be right back.”

  “Wait, Jesse. Tell me what the big deal is.”

  “There’s no time, Emma. Trust me on this. Just get your things together, and we’ll be out of here before anyone has a chance to ruin it.”

  “No,” I said, stopping him. “I’ve decided to stay in Springvale. I don’t know why, but it feels like there’s something I have to do here.”

  He grabbed me by my forearms and held me in front of him like a misbehaving child. “You don’t have a choice. Get your crap together, now.”

  I stammered there in his arms. “N-n-no.”

  “Emma. They are coming after you. You have to leave tonight.” He said each word between clenched teeth, eyes closed.

  My knees bowed out beneath me. “Who is coming after me?”

  “Bad people, very bad people. So pile your clothes up now and—”

  We both froze when the doorbell rang downstairs. Jesse let go of me and rushed to the window, looking to the street below. “Son of a—” He grabbed one of the pillows from the bed, tore off its cream-colored case, and shoved clothes down into the empty fabric. “Got anything valuable?”

  I paused then pointed to the box on top of the dresser. He hesitated before grabbing it, looking back at me to check my response. “Agree with whatever they say, but do not leave this house, understand?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Good. I’m going to crawl out your window now. Hope I don’t die.” He threw open the sash, giving me one last look of warning before scrambling out.

  A few mom
ents later there came another knock at my door. “Yes?” I asked with shaking voice, not sure if I wanted to see who was on the other side. This time it really was Mom. She stood in the hall, wringing her hands.

  “Emma, I need to talk to you for a second. Think you can come downstairs?”

  “Sure,” I answered, joining her in the hall. I saw five men grouped together at the landing below. Their eyes were strange and hollow; looking at them made everything inside coil and shrink. It was impossible to stand there and not want to run.

  “You see, Emma, these men have a group in town with some excellent programs for teens, and when I told them about your plans to run away with Jesse, they suggested counseling. They’re also worried about your brain injury. Several times I heard you talking to yourself in the hospital, and I’ve become worried. I don’t think any of us here at home are equipped to handle these types of problems. We feel it would be in your best interest if you had some therapeutic intervention.” She looked at them for support, but they were harsh with silence.

  “I’ve decided not to go to New York,” I artfully lied. “As for all the other stuff—I’m fine now. So, none of this is necessary. I don’t need counseling, I just need time.”

  All five men shook their heads in scattered rhythm, and the tallest one spoke. “Miss Shay, this is an intervention. You have no choice but to come with us.”

  “Mother,” I turned to her. “I’m assuming you taught me never to go with strangers, and this would be breaking that rule. So, good evening, and no, I’m not going to your organization.”

  When they reached out to grab me, I bucked, only to end up ramming myself against the wall with a loud thud. A few hands clamped down hard, yanking me back to my feet.