"Not now, I'm not."
"You just can't take over my life, as if it were yours. I trusted you!"
"Oh, go suck on a babe's bottle, Myri. Yer getting all worked up over nothing, when y' have all the time in the world. A whole lifetime left to be living. And y' say y' can't spare another night for me? I'll be giving yer bod back to ye, sure enough, at the end of the play."
"But you can't be there at the end of the play. You know that."
"After I kiss Duey, I'll be done then. Tonight. With the whole play. It won't matter. Ye'll be doing the whole thing on yer own tomorrow."
"It will matter. And you can't kiss him! You're dead." I say it again, hoping those words will sink in.
Instead, we both turn at the unexpected sound of Duey's voice, calling my name.
Running across the school yard with his backpack bouncing from his shoulders, his white-and-blue plaid shirt flaps at his sides over a white skater-tee. Cocking his arm back, he points at the body-formally-known-as-me and lobs the football clutched in his hand. "Myri, catch!"
Wren lets out half a laugh and takes two awkward strides forward. I can almost feel the stretch of my arms as she lifts them up, the pull of my fingers as she spreads them wide.
But of course, it's not me. If it had been, that ball wouldn't have brushed past my fingertips and smacked me in the chest. I wouldn't be spiraling to the ground, laughing, of all things, while the football, bounces around my body, careening this way and that, before coming to a rest at my side.
Oblivious to my wavering presence, Duey jogs past me to Wren, dishing short bursts of laughter between breaths, and I wonder when things got to be so good between us. Last I knew, we were exchanging awkward glances in the halls. How had I missed so much?
He bends to rest his hands on his knees, letting his wavy brown hair fall loose across his forehead. He flips his hair back out of his eyes. "Couldn't you have at least headed it?" he says, referring to my skills on the soccer field, which obviously don't transfer when a ghost is in possession of one's body. "Since when can you not catch a pancake throw like that?"
"Since the grass be growing at me feet. It's tripping me up being it's so thick and in need of a good trimming."
Duey shakes his head, holds out a hand, and for a moment, jealously twinges in my gut. I wonder what it would feel like to be taking it. How many times has she already felt his fingers threading through mine?
Wren grins, as she takes his hand in her own; and I drown in another wave of envy.
A tremor takes hold of me, making me feel colder, more disconnected than ever before. I look around--at the trees through my hands, at the grass through my feet, at the one ray of sun that's not obscured by the thickening sky--searching for an answer. What I can possibly do to make things right? To get myself back to the way I was before?
And then I realize, right now? At this moment?
Nothing.
Because if I did the one thing I want to do most--run through him. Through Duey. Fill him with my energy, allow him to see the truth. What would I show?
Nothing but a weak whisper of me.
Chapter 35
It's good to know that in life or death situations, best friends can be counted on.
Although I'm really not sure I want to consider myself hanging anywhere near the edge of death.
Especially when I haven't actually gone through the act of dying.
I had a tough time convincing Roz of that, though. She freaked when she saw me--not that she could at first. I had to hug her to make that happen. Much the way Wren did, I guess, when I was a baby.
Only I don't think I reacted as badly as Roz. But after kicking the wall and banging a few drawers, and sending her mother away who had come to see what was going on in the kitchen, she agreed that after school--or maybe even during, if she could figure out a way to skip out--a trip to see Mrs. Gertestky was in.
Chapter 36
"The body's grown cold to the spirit it harbored."
These are not the comforting words I'd wanted to hear.
Mrs. Gertestky stares at Roz with her large, green-gray eyes, before circling her arms in front of her. The silver bangles at her wrists jingle and chime until she rests on them on the red tablecloth, curling her wrinkled fingers under her palms.
Roz takes a seat across from her, while I stay near the doorway, wondering if the yellow glow from the candles scattered around the room looks fainter than it should, whether the shadows groping the walls look too dark.
"She's here now?" Mrs. Gertestky says, lifting her chin slightly.
"Yes," Roz replies.
Mrs. Gertestky extends her arm. "Then let's have her come forward, so we can have a proper conversation."
Roz shrugs and looks back at me. Mrs. Gertestky opens her palms, raises her hands higher. She wants me to touch them.
Easier said than done, for someone who can't feel a thing--not the table slicing through my legs when I step through it. Not the bands of rings on her fingers when I press into them.
Mrs. Gertestky's silent stare brings singes of fear to my gut, as I realize for the second time, that I might be losing everything. What if I'm even losing my ability to get others to see me? What if I'm not entirely like Wren?
I press harder. How has Wren done it all these years? Stayed in our lives, gone on living? Wandering? Being? With what has amounted to absolutely nothing? Nothing at all? To be in the world, but set completely apart from it?
I couldn't live like this. This isn't living--this not being able to feel the warmth from Mrs. Gertestky's skin. Not being able to hear sounds without a hollow sensation ringing in my head. Not being able to fully smell the sandalwood incense seeping from the burners on the shelves.
Mrs. Gertestky closes her eyes. "You have to want it."
I push my hand deeper into her palm, spread my fingers, then squeeze them together as if I could grab on.
She draws in a breath. "That's it. Now I can feel your energy. Not only see you, but feel you are there." She opens her eyes, smiles at me through a veil of sadness and pity. "It was hard enough to believe that what your friend said was true. When I first heard the story--I didn't want to believe, but now, to see you...." She shakes her head, waves an arm up. "Somehow between here and there, you are no longer with us, Myri."
"But you can get her back, right?" Roz says, leaning forward with urgency. "I mean, she never died."
Mrs. Gertestky tsks. "This is hard to say. I meant what I said. The body has grown cold. It no longer recognizes Myri's spirit as its own. Very strange. I've never dealt with this. How long has this gone on?"
"A week or so," I say, not wanting to go too much into the details of my body-sharing experiences. "But it's only been a day that I've really been stuck."
She takes in a breath, rubs her hands over the circled pattern of the tablecloth. "I'm afraid our options are few, if any."
Roz gives a small cry of alarm. "Couldn't you, like, do an exorcism, or something?"
Mrs. Gertestky shakes her head. "In that, there is great risk." She takes another breath. "In exorcism, two spirits inhabit one body. In this case, there is only one spirit in one body. And one without. For Myri, exorcism could mean death."
"But Myri's right there," Roz protests. "She's still alive. Her body is alive. Her spirit is alive."
I nod vigorously in agreement. "Can't you just help me jump back in? I mean, if you forced Wren out, my body would be there for me to take back, wouldn't it?"
Mrs. Gertestky tips her head. "Maybe yes. Maybe no. Your body has adjusted to Wren in your absence. If I were to purge Wren now, there may not be a way back, not without her stepping out willingly." She looks at me, her eyes boring into mine, her fingers drum-drum-drumming the table.
"I suppose, there is one thing that may help, so we know what it is we face. We can read your future. See what destiny holds. But the question is, do you have the courage to go forward, whether one lies waiting for you, or not?"
I honestly d
on't know.
Am I as brave as I'll need to be?
"Yes!" Roz says, answering for me.
Mrs. Gertestky continues to wait for my answer.
Finally, I nod.
Mrs. Gertestky opens a small metal box on the bookshelf behind her, takes out three tea candles, and sets them between us. Each flame glows weakly after she lights them, swamped by their own halos of light. Giving me a nod, she covers each with an inverted tea cup. The light in the room dims.
"Choose wisely."
Chapter 37
It's late afternoon when we leave Mrs. Gertestky's shop the same way we went in--with Roz holding the door open for me before realizing she doesn't need to.
"Well, that was helpful," I say, ignoring the door as it slams shut through the back of my heels. "After all that, all Mrs. Gertestky had to say was that I'm stronger than I know."
"That's what I always tell you, too," Roz says. "Maybe now would be a good time to start believing it." She pauses, flips at a bare branch hanging low behind my shoulder. "At least the paths diverged," she adds, her voice going lower. "The smoke trails that Mrs. Gertestky said were referring to you and Wren, as tangled as they were, did eventually separate."
"Yeah, but for all we know, Wren and I could stay separated just like we are now." I swing my arms out, surprised at their weightlessness. "At least she promised to give us one night to figure this out for ourselves before she tells Mom and Gram. We've got that much."
"It's not much," Roz says, her voice flat, full of worry. She lets out a breath. "Okay, so let's start at the beginning. You've lived with Wren for fourteen years. Fourteen years without a hitch. So what's different now?"
"Going to school. Being a kid again. Learning about internal energy."
"Energy?"
"Yeah, the energy balls that Diggs has us do in drama to boost ourselves up. Wren's been into those." I stop, look at Roz, as I realize, "That is what's made her stronger. She can move things now, pick things up with her hands."
Roz's eyes go wide. "Then you've got to start doing that, too. Get your energy higher than hers."
I nod, my thoughts racing. "And Gram always says that ghosts stick around because of unfinished business."
"Well, after three hundred years, do you think Wren has figured out what that is?"
I tip my head. "She's set on kissing Duey."
Roz frowns. "We're all set on kissing Duey, but I'm beginning to think that may the downfall for all of us."
I can't help but laugh. "No boy is worth this much trouble." I pause, look at the steeple of the old town church in the distance. "If we told her that it wasn't worth it, do you think she'd believe us and give my body back?"
Roz chuckles, her face going dark. "I don't know about that, but I do know this--you've got to get yourself back. Before tonight.
"I know what it's like to be on stage. If tapping into her energy is what has made her stronger--fueled her spirit--then, if she feels the energy of finishing the play, you may never get another chance."
Chapter 38
"Roz? What are you doing here?"
If there's one person I didn't want to run into at the theater, it's my mother.
And Diggs.
But we do. Quite literally, when we round the corner at Dressing Room Two. Roz bumps into my mom, who falls back into Diggs.
Normally, this all would have been fine (even the Diggs-catching-Mom-in-his-arms-part), except that I didn't bump. I went right through them. Both of them.
"Oh, hi! We're looking for Wren!" Roz blurts.
My mom jerks her head in confusion. "We?"
Diggs straightens in controlled surprise, brushes the front of his blue pin-striped shirt. "Wren? Who's Wren?"
"M-Myri, I mean," Roz stammers, trying to push past them.
Mom takes a protective step toward Roz, as she looks over her shoulder. She may have been the one who said going to school would be a good experience for Wren, but apparently that idea loses its value in the presence of potentially significant others. Obviously, she's not ready for these two worlds to collide.
Unfortunately, they have.
Because as she looks back at Diggs, steeling a glance past his shoulder toward the end of the hall, I come into focus.
"Myr--?" My mom gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth.
"It's not what you think!" I blurt.
Roz jumps to the space between us. "That's right! She's not dead!"
Diggs, realizing there are actually three people having a conversation, one of whom is not actually a full person, inches back for the wall behind him. His nostrils flare out from under his glasses in alarm.
Mom's hand flutters in front of her, as she points. "But-- She's a ghost!"
"Only temporarily! She and Wren switched.... Temporarily!"
Diggs takes in a breath, and for a moment, looks as if he might throw up. "Who's Wren?"
"Wren's the ghost," Roz says quickly. "Myri's not."
I wonder who she is trying to convince more of this: them, herself, or me.
"Wren's been acting in the play. As Myri."
Mom shakes her head. Diggs rubs his forehead feverishly, looks over at me with total and complete disbelief. "I cast a ghost in the play? In the leading role?"
"Not intentionally. And maybe not at all, if we can get it fixed. But maybe you should prep the understudy, just in case?"
"No! Don't do that!" I blurt. "Then Wren will know that something's up. I have to surprise her."
Roz spins back to Diggs. "Okay, so Myri says hold that thought. No understudies, okay?"
"Y-yes. Yes, I heard her, as well as I can see her...."
Mom reaches for his hand, takes it in hers, searches his flustered face. Roz looks back and forth between them, gives me a wide-eyed look, and mouths, "What now?"
But there's no time to give their feelings, or mine, much thought. I give Roz a nod. "If I time it right, maybe everything will work out. But you've got to trust me."
She looks at me quizzically. "You know what you're going to do?"
"Not quite, but I will. You go find me. Keep an eye on Wren. Don't let her leave. Make sure she gets on stage."
"You're going to let her go through with the play? But Myri... her energy. It'll be affected by that. It'll grow stronger the longer she's out there!"
"I know, but it's like what you and Mrs. Gertestky have said. I have to believe I'm stronger than I know."
Roz holds my gaze, lets out a tense puff, before turning to jog away from Diggs and my mom. "Don't worry, you two. We have it under control. We'll find Wren, and then Myri will be ready to break a leg! Just like she's supposed to."
I zip along after her, ignoring my mother's calls of my name, then her quick rush of words to Diggs that she can explain....
For a moment, I'm surprised to find that I'm hoping she can.
Chapter 39
"So, what do you think? Does Wren know I'm here?"
"Of course, she knows." Roz tips her head, considering. "But she hasn't acted nervous, if that's what you mean."
I've been hiding in the shadows of the curtains, making energy balls for the last hour, hoping to gain some sort of sense that I'm coming more into me--the sharpening of senses, a quickening of pulse, as if I had one. But not having experienced anything like this before, I'm not sure what I should be feeling, what might be a good sign that things inside me are starting to change.
"Have you talked to her?"
Roz is about to answer, but waits for the applause to die down at the end of the scene. "No, I've just been watching her."
She pauses as a few players brush past to get to get into position for their spots, then continues, her breath in a rush. "Look, are you sure you should be waiting this long? I mean, it's almost the end of the play. And she's practically glowing from the experience out there."
Heaviness fills my chest, as I try to nod. "I think I need to wait until I'm stronger. I pump my cupped hands in front of me. "Until I'm sure she'll be ready to let me
in."
"But we're near the end of the play!"
I shrug, tell her I know, look out across the stage at Brittley, as she orders the soldiers to go to the bakery to kill Nelle, the woman with whom the prince has been spending all his time.
I'm impressed by her performance, actually. Brittley's doing exactly what Diggs said he needed her to do. Be likable as an actor, yet believable as a witch.
The lights go out briefly, as the players take up positions for the next scene. The final scene. The one where I need to get me back from Wren.
Before long, the soldiers are chasing her to the second story platform, calling her names. Arrows fly, and Wren falls to the floor. Duey rushes to her side.
"Here goes," I whisper, looking back at Roz. "Wish me luck."
"Wait!" She cups her hands around mine, holds them a minute. "You've got my energy with you now," she says, trying to hide her worry. "Break a leg. Or a head, or a soul, or a heart. Whatever it takes. Just make sure you come back in one piece."
I give her a quiet smile. "I will."
Then, turning to the stage, I open the door to my mind, letting all the thoughts I've been holding back of Wren rush in.
Chapter 40
If two's company, three is definitely a crowd.
"Ewww! I should have known y' would be butting in to steal me kiss!"
Wren's voice rings in my head, as she pulls us back from Duey's lips. The kiss is over before I can even register it happened, although a few cat-calls from the audience tell me it did.
"Ye couldn't let me do it on me own, could ye, now?"
I was hoping to not let you do it at all, I hiss back her, my words hot my mind. Now if it's okay with you, I'd like my body back.
"Fine. Ye'll get it quicker than a cow's kick to the head," Wren replies. "Seeing that ye have ruined everything."
She's gone quicker than I expect, leaving me drowning in a thick, black void.
I try to wiggle my fingers, press weight into my elbows, get ready to sit up as Duey--I mean, Prince Bastian--declares his love a second time. But I can't get my fingers to move, or my head to lift, or my mouth to open to say my lines, and I realize that even though my eyes are closed, I can still see everything that's going on. I'm still like a ghost.
The Ghost in Me Page 11