The Medium's Possession

by Elle Beauregard

  Why was she so upset?

  “Callum,” she breathed to no one before her eyes returned to Cecily’s. “Is he okay?”

  Cecily nodded. “Yeah. Zander, he’s fine. He’ll be even better when he knows you’re alright.” How could she make her see that whatever she was worried about—Callum, or the Shadow, or whatever else—didn’t mean a thing? She was safe. They were all safe. She could come back now.

  She shook her head. “The things I said to him—he won’t forgive me.”

  “Forgiveness isn’t an issue,” Cecily replied truthfully. “He’s been fighting for you. He loves you. He knows it was the Shadow—”

  “It was!” Zander rushed forward, her eyes wild and desperately sad. “It was the Shadow! I was there. But I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know what was wrong—and by the time I did, it was too late. I couldn’t fight anymore. I never would have said those things to him! The Shadow twisted the things I was thinking and—”

  “I know,” Cecily assured her, cutting her off. “And so does Callum. He wouldn’t give up. I’m here because of him—because neither of us would give up until we got you back.” She stepped toward her, hopeful but careful. Scared, a little, of the wild sadness in Zander’s eyes. She could see now the subtle differences in the Zander she was speaking to and the way she was in the real world. She looked the same, on the surface, but this was like Zander at her most basic, stripped clean.

  She needed help. She needed to know she was safe.

  That’s why Cecily was here.

  “Nobody blames you. We just want you to come back. You can wake up now.”

  “No.” Zander took a step back. “No, I can’t. I don’t want to hurt anyone else.”

  It was like talking to Zander with no walls. It felt a little like speaking to a child. “The Shadow is gone,” Cecily said. “It’s gone. We destroyed it—for real this time. You won’t hurt anyone. We need you.”

  “It’s gone?” She looked scared to believe it.

  “It’s gone,” Cecily repeated with certainty, willing Zander to feel the truth of it. “Can’t you feel it?”

  Zander nodded. When she spoke, she seemed more like herself. “I just didn’t want to hope too much. I didn’t want to watch the Shadow use me to hurt Callum—or you, or Scott. I couldn’t watch anymore.”

  Cecily’s chest ached, her ribs tight around her shuddering heart. It physically hurt to glimpse just this fractional picture Zander had painted with those words: that she could see through her eyes while the Shadow had been in control—see it, but she couldn’t stop it.

  She had to swallow the burning lump in her throat before she could speak so her voice wouldn’t wobble or catch. She had to stay strong so Zander would know it was safe to return. “You won’t hurt anybody.” Cecily inched toward Zander by another step, reaching out to touch her arm. “You can wake up now. Callum is waiting for you.”

  Zander smiled, but even that looked like it hurt—like she had forgotten what it felt like. “I don’t know how to get out,” she said flatly.

  Cecily finally got her fingers to Zander’s arm, still crossed over her chest. Touching her felt good—grounding, like she’d been floating in space and hadn’t known it until her feet found purchase—or her fingers, in this case. But Zander seemed so fragile Cecily worried the weight of her hand might fracture her so she kept her touch light. “That’s why I’m here.” She stretched her senses, listening to the quiet nothing around them—until she could hear it.

  The disjointed hum of someone speaking. At first, it sounded very far away, but as she listened, as she tuned in, it got closer. She couldn’t understand the words, but she knew it was Callum by the inflection and the tone.

  “Listen,” she said to Zander. “Callum is talking to you. Can you hear it?”

  Zander stilled. Her eyes drifted down and away. Then, a moment later, they returned to meet Cecily’s, full of light. “I hear him.”

  Cecily smiled. “Go toward him. You don’t have to move, just stretch your senses, reach for him. Reach out.”

  Zander closed her eyes, swaying slightly on her feet in a peaceful kind of unconscious movement.

  Cecily felt it when it caught. She could feel Zander moving away. Feel herself being pulled in the other direction, in toward herself.

  With her next breath, she came awake on the mattress to the sensation of Zander’s fingers entwined with her own and to the sight of Scott smiling down at her.

  “Hey,” he whispered gently.

  She opened her mouth to respond but her eyes started sliding shut again before she could get out any words.

  “Just sleep.” There was smile in his voice. “I’m gonna take you back to our room.”

  “Wait.” It took an incredible degree of effort to make her lips move. “Is she back?”

  “Yeah, Ceelee. You did it.”

  Unconsciousness.

  ⫷⫸⫷⫸⫷⫸

  Gradually, gently, Zander became aware of the feeling of the mattress beneath her back. The feeling of her head on a pillow. The smell of sunshine and New Orleans fresh air.

  The absence of anger buzzing under her skin.

  The feeling of someone’s fingers sliding out from between hers. They were Cecily’s fingers. She didn’t know how but she knew.

  And all the while, Callum was speaking. When she’d first heard him, it had been the tone and cadence of his voice she recognized; the words hadn’t registered. Now, the sounds were words, the words combining into sentences she could decipher and understand.

  “Come on, Zander,” he was saying, his voice quiet. “Come back to me.”

  With those words and a breath, she was fully back in her body, fully in control again. Appreciating, more than she ever had before, the way her body responded to her thoughts and commands: she told her toes to flex, and they did; she told her fingers to open and close, and they did just that, fists clenching then fingers spreading wide. She told her eyes to open—and her lids slowly dragged upward.

  Callum was just settling in to lie beside her, propped onto an elbow so she barely had to turn her head to see him.

  He was so beautiful with the light filtering through the window behind him.

  “Hey,” he breathed, his smile at once cautious and ecstatic.

  Even his unshaved stubble was wonderful to see.

  So many reactions, many disparate and unmatched, swirled in Zander’s head and in her chest. Happiness and glee, sorrow and fear all fought for center stage. She felt tears well in her eyes and she wasn’t sure if they were happy or sad. He was here with her—even if he wouldn’t stay, she got to have these moments with him, and she’d use them to make sure he knew how sorry she was for everything she’d done. It might not be enough—it wouldn’t be enough—but she couldn’t let him leave without telling him.

  “Hey,” she choked. “Callum, I’m so sorry.”

  His brow furrowed as he reached for her. Then she was in his arms, cradled against him with his hand on the back of her head.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “Baby, you don’t need to apologize to me. I’m the one who abandoned you. I’m the one who needs to apologize.”

  She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him: verbena shampoo and the innate smell of his skin.

  God, she’d missed that smell. Missed the warmth of his body, his hands. The blue of his eyes. “The things I said,” she choked. “I didn’t want to say them. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

  “Hey, baby. Stop.” He pulled back by a fraction, just far enough so she could see his face—see the determined set of his jaw and furrow in his brows. “I know you didn’t mean it. It wasn’t you. There is nothing to apologize for. Understand?”

  Zander tried to take a single, deep breath, but it shuddered, stopped and started again. She couldn’t make herself breathe through the sobs that were flexing her ribs—until Callum pulled her close. The warmth of his skin made it easier to breathe—she finally drew a s
ingle, slow breath. The sound of his heart made it easier to think—her racing, spinning thoughts slowed. The feeling of his hand on the back of her head made it easier to speak. “It was the Shadow.”

  She felt him nod, the tendons in his neck flexing. “I know. It was the Shadow. It wasn’t you.”

  “Cecily said it’s gone now.”

  “Long gone,” Callum said, voice low and edged in a certainty she clung to when she looked up at him. His eyes glued to hers, unwavering just like his voice. “You’re safe.”

  Her eyes burned. “You fought for me. I could hear you.” She was crying again, but now they were slow and quiet tears that she didn’t try to stop. “I could see you and I could hear the things coming out of my mouth, but I couldn’t stop them. It didn’t hurt, like it did for you. It didn’t hurt. I just felt so angry all the time. And I tried to stop but I couldn’t.”

  Now Callum’s eyes were glassy, wetness brimming at the edges. “You tried to tell me,” he said, bringing his hand firm to the side of her neck and his forehead down against hers. “You tried to tell me and I was so caught up in my own shit, I didn’t listen.”

  “You looked.” Zander grasped his wrist and pressed it against skin. She needed more of him. She needed him to hold her like a tether in this moment, in her body. Because every second they laid like this, she became more certain he wasn’t leaving her, and now she was past the point of no return, to the place where she was desperately clinging to the idea that he would stay. “You did listen. You looked and there was nothing there.”

  “Did I?” he countered, his voice dark and broken. “Or was I so pissed at you that I didn’t look hard enough? I didn’t try to see the truth in what you were saying, or find an answer to explain it. I just—”

  A knock at the door cleaved the moment in two before Zander could respond. She didn’t turn, unsure she was ready to interact with anybody beyond Callum right then. His gaze shifted over her shoulder as she heard the door open.

  “I gotta do the nurse thing, or I’ll never be able to live with myself,” came a familiar voice.

  Zander rolled onto her back; Wren smiled when their eyes met. Her hair was a little longer than it had been the last time Zander saw her, but everything else was the same. Her light brown skin glowed in the sunlight streaming through the blinds, her coppery curls like a halo around her face.

  “What are you doing here?” Zander realized, too late, how that sounded. “I mean, hi. But...”

  “Wren helped us obliterate the Shadow,” Callum said, true reverence in his voice. “Then she helped Cecily pull you out. She’s a grade A badass.”

  Wren gave a shrug like the praise embarrassed her. “Not like I could leave you hanging in a bad spot like that again.”

  “How...?” But there were too many questions swirling in Zander’s jumbled head and not enough energy to sort them out, let alone ask any of them, so she just shook her head. Then she pushed herself upright like maybe that would keep her head above the current of confusion.

  “How about you drink some water?” Wren offered. “We’ll start there. Then maybe a shower? And I’ll change the dressings on your wrists.”

  Dressings? Zander looked down at her wrists and stopped. She’d almost forgotten about cutting herself, about the stitches and the hospital. She remembered now, and the memory stole her breath. She tucked her hands back under the blankets, strangely loath for them to see the bandages. They felt like a neon sign pointing out everything wrong with her—everything that had been wrong, and all the ways she wasn’t strong enough to withstand it, all the ways she’d hurt everyone she cared about most. She gave a nod without looking up.

  Callum’s lips on her temple unwound her thoughts by a fraction. “We’re okay.”

  The hot water felt incredible, like it was washing away more than the dirt of having been in bed for—how many days had Callum said it had been since she’d come home from the hospital? Two?

  Wait, what day of the week was it?

  She thought back, standing under the spray as it landed on her shoulders.

  Tuesday? No, Wednesday. Was it?

  “Callum?” she called.

  She heard the door open a moment later. “Yeah, baby? You okay?”

  “I’m fine, yeah. What day is it?”

  “Wednesday.”

  “Wasn’t the landlord supposed to have done the walk-through yesterday?”

  There was a smile in his voice when her answered. “We rescheduled it. Well, Scott did.” He chuckled.

  Zander stuck her head out from behind the shower curtain. “What? Why are you laughing?”

  His smile was warm and lovely, his hair falling into his eyes as he shook his head. “Nothing. It’s just nice to have you back.”

  The relief in hearing him say that was intense. He’d left the room when Wren had helped her cut the gauze off her wrists, and she thought maybe he didn’t want to see the stitches. He’d seemed uncertain, for a moment, when he’d helped her into the shower. Her legs had been wobbly at first and he’d provided support as she stepped over the side of the tub. But his smile now was true and real.

  “I’m glad to be back,” she said. And she meant it. She really, truly meant it.

  Even the less-than-ideal water pressure in the shower was a relief. Drinking water had felt like a revelation. Everything was perfect, and she was so grateful she didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

  The Shadow was gone. And she was still here.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Scott tucked himself more fully into the corner of his room by the door as he listened to the phone ringing against his ear. He’d started to leave the room for this call—Cecily was sleeping peacefully—but something made him really not want to leave her side. That said, sitting there staring at her was making him want to crawl out of his skin, and he was too worked up to lie down, so he decided to check an item off his to-do list instead.

  “Hey, Scott. I’ve been meaning to call you. Everything okay?” His ex-boss’s gruff, friendly voice came through with a crackle on the line that quickly resolved and disappeared.

  Scott nodded though Jonathan couldn’t see him. “Yeah. Everything’s good, I think. Thanks for asking.” That was the abridged version, for sure, but true enough. “Uh... Hey, I realized I hadn’t circled back with you on what we talked about at the bar a couple of days back.”

  “It’s cool,” Jonathan replied. “Family takes precedence over tattooing, no doubt.”

  “Exactly,” Scott agreed. “Which is why I think I gotta pass. I’m grateful, and, frankly, stupid flattered that you’d want me to take over your shop one day. I just—yeah, I think getting out of New Orleans is gonna be good for me.”

  If he was being honest with himself, he’d never really intended to accept Jonathan’s offer, he just hadn’t been willing to say no. But now, after everything, and after watching Cecily sleep off the drugs that saved her sister for the last hour, it didn’t seem like such a hard thing to do.

  There was a short pause, then, “That’s a respectable answer. Can’t say I’m not bummed to see you go, but it’s a damn fine reason to leave. You gotta do you.”

  Scott laughed under his breath, feeling a lightness he’d hoped to feel at the end of this conversation. Confirmation he’d done the right thing. “Glad to hear you say that, for sure.”

  “Obviously, you’re welcome if you find yourself in NOLA again. I know you’d talked about keeping up with a couple of clients down here.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I’ll be back once or twice a year—at least for a while.”

  “Okay then,” Jonathan replied. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

  Scott found himself smiling. “See you around.”

  He ended the call and stood for a second, facing the corner and weighing the phone in his hand. That hadn’t been as hard or as awkward as he’d feared it would be. All in all, that seemed like a good sign he’d made the right decision.

  “Who were you talking to?”


  Scott turned around to find Cecily sitting up in the bed. Locks of her brunette hair were falling from the knot on top of her head, framing her face in long, loose waves that shone red-gold in the sunlight coming through his window.

  “Uh, Jonathan—my old boss from the shop.” He dropped his phone into his back pocket and crossed to the bed where he took the glass of water from the bedside table and handed it to her.

  “Ah, tattoo business,” she surmised with a smirk as she took the glass from him.

  He tried to laugh but failed at genuine mirth. “You’ll want that water in a second.”

  Her eyes said she registered his low-humor mood, though she didn’t outwardly acknowledge it. “I am pretty thirsty,” she remarked as she brought the glass to her lips.

  Scott stood and watched as she took a sip. Then a gulp. Then another. And another. Until the glass was empty.

  “Better?” he asked as she handed the glass back to him.

  “Yeah, thanks.” She nodded, then looked up at him. “You?”

  He felt his brows furrow in question.

  “You left,” she said. “Are you okay?” Her voice got quiet. “Are we okay?”

  He caught for a breath, surprised to hear her ask if they were okay—equally surprised to hear her refer to the two of them as a “we.” He liked it. A whole hell of a lot.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” he said. He sat the glass she’d handed him back onto the bedside table. “I didn’t leave because of you.”

  “Okay.”

  But she deserved more of an explanation than that. As much as he wished he didn’t have it to give.

  This might suck. He knew that. He was going to tell her, and he was going to have to live with her reaction—not just live with it, respect it. That reaction might include leaving him. And as much as that would hurt, it was better than letting her go into this blind. Because if he wanted to move forward with her—and he really did—then she was going to find out eventually, and sooner was less harmful than later. She deserved his honesty—this hardest truth about him—the same way she’d shared her hardest truths with him.