She Lies Twisted

by C. M. Stunich

  She lies twist'd, twist'd, twist'd,

  On the edge of gray cliffs mist'd.

  A shiver traveled down my spine as I moved into a brighter patch of moonlight to read. Where have I heard this before? I wondered as I finished the poem. It was only eight lines long but the message was pretty clear. “This is about me.” It was more of a statement than a question. “That fucking harpy as a lot of explaining to do,” I snapped at nobody in particular.

  I tucked the harp under my arm and stomped up to my room. I didn't worry about waking James or Grandma Willa. In reality, I almost hoped that one of them would wake up, join me in the hallway, and push away the loneliness that had crept back in like a fog. I needed a light like I needed air. I laid the harp on the windowsill next to the crows and wondered if I'd ever have one again.

  I adjusted the hem of the skirt I was wearing. It was too short for a funeral but it was the only 'dress' that I had. I tried to ignore the stares of the old people in the aisles, their gray hair tucked under veiled hats or combed over to hide bald spots. Their glares made me feel like a fucking harlot for daring to show off my calves.

  “You'd think I'd worn a red mini,” I hissed at James as we sidled into the front bench next to the weeping widow. I sort of felt like Harold and Maude only James and I weren't here for fun, we were here for business. He gave me a tight lipped smile but didn't respond. He was nervous and so was I. Today was our first real 'assignment.' James would touch the body or, as he'd corrected me earlier, at least somewhere in the vicinity so that the soul would be released from its earthly bonds. I would then step in and touch the ghost, sending it to the Akashic Library to study its past lives and hopefully, learn from its mistakes. I took a deep breath. It didn't seem so complicated anymore. It was actually a fairly simple concept. I just had to ignore the demons, the harp, and the creepy poem and it all made perfect sense. I sucked in another breath between my teeth. The widow looked up and glared at me.

  I huddled down, burying myself in the gray wool coat that had belonged to my mother. Eight years later and it still smelt like ash. I shivered with unwanted memories. James wrapped his fingers around my hand. I stiffened. You wanted a friend and now you've got the chance to make one. Do not blow this. I pretended to yawn and pulled my hand away to cover my mouth. Boyd had been touchy-feely, James was touchy-feely. I guessed it was a good sign but still, we'd only met four days ago. I wasn't sure if I was ready to hold hands yet.

  James didn't look like he'd noticed. I sighed with relief. Nobody will ever love you again, my brain whispered sibilantly. You had your chance. Boyd was a perfect match for you and you ruined it. You don't deserve friends. I ignored my own thoughts. They'd gotten me nowhere. I tried to move my attention to something else. The sermon was just a bunch of crap I'd heard a thousand times before. At Jason's funeral, at Dad's, at Mom's, at Abe's, at Jessica's. Boyd hadn't gotten a real funeral but then, I'd died for him, sort of. I supposed that was worth more than some empty words.

  I surreptitiously flicked open the latch on my purse. The inscription on the harp whispered at me from inside the velvet folds. Touch me, play me, sing me. I snapped it closed. My new found interest with the instrument was starting to border on obsession. I pushed that back, too.

  James rose from his seat and I found myself the only person in the audience still sitting. I stumbled to my feet.

  The widow approached the dais first. We waited in uncomfortable silence while the family said their goodbyes, dripped tears across the still face in the coffin, and had to be dragged away by friends. I stared at my feet intently. I didn't want to look at that, at other people feeling like I felt. It was too personal, too emotional. I blinked back tears.

  James reached down and clasped my hand again. His skin was cold, at least physically, but somewhere deep down, something inside of me warmed. A bit of ice had been chipped away. I squeezed back and forgot to care that we barely knew each other. Loss is a powerful tool when it comes to getting to know someone.

  James pulled me forward and I glanced up as we approached a man I knew only as 'Ray.'

  His face looked peaceful enough and I could only wonder if he had died that way or if that congenial smile was the work of a skilled mortician. I was guessing it was the latter since James had told me that we were only sent to souls that needed help. “Most people can find their way to the library on their own,” he'd told me on the walk over. He'd refused to drive and I understood that. Cars still weren't a comfortable subject for him. I didn't blame him. The idea of a trip to the beach sounded even worse than having to banish another demon. I bit my lip and tried to at least pretend that Ray's passing had been as peaceful as his face looked.

  James raised his hand and brushed his fingers across Ray's wrinkled forehead. He was subtle about it. Even the widow with the hawk eyes latched onto our backs didn't seem disturbed by it. I could only hope I would do as well. I glanced around the room furtively.

  “You might see an image, like a memory,” James had said. “Like the one of...” He'd paused. He hadn't said Boyd's name which I appreciated. “Like before or you might not, like at the beach. It's hard to say. The dead are unpredictable. Their ghosts are formed by their thoughts and its hard to say how people think. If you see nothing, touch the body, but make sure you only do it once.”

  I checked the room once more and saw nothing but unhappy faces and teary eyes. I pressed my fingers lightly in the same place that James had touched. Ray's skin was cool but not unpleasant to the touch. It was almost like he was one of the crows in my collection, frozen in time, unchanging as the world spun in a million directions. Nothing happened though I hadn't expected it to. A demon could only be summoned if I touched a memory from a person that was already at the library. I didn't know how I was supposed to tell the difference but then again, that wasn't my job. That was what the harpies were for.

  James smiled reassuringly and pulled me down the aisle and away from the family. We'd invaded their pain for long enough. It was time to go.

  “How do I know that it's done?” I asked James as we exited the church and paused on the edge of the stone steps.

  “I can assure you that your current task was completed successfully.” I turned around and found Ehferea standing in the shadows between the columns that lined the front of the building. “Your assignment is fifty percent complete. I will alert you to further action.” I raised an eyebrow at her. A joke would've been appropriate, considering her stilted speech but I wasn't in the mood for it yet. Time would tell if I ever would be again. “I have prepared your next assignment. Shall I brief you now?” I glanced over at James. He didn't look surprised but then again, he'd been embroiled in this crap for over a year. He was probably used to it by now.

  “That's it?” I asked him, ignoring the harpy. “We don't get a break? We banished a demon last night and passed through a soul today. That seems like a lot to me.” James bit his lip but didn't answer. I pulled my hand away and surprised myself with the sense of loneliness that swept over my heart and covered it like a cloak. “This is not going to be my full time job,” I snapped, overwhelmed with a sudden urge to go back to school. Normalcy called to me like a siren. You can't have that ever again, I told myself. This is your life now. Death and pain are your masters. I turned around and raced down the stairs without looking back.

  "What do you think I should do?” I moaned at Boyd. He didn't respond but that was okay. Just looking at him had helped cool my ire. It was hard to be angry when I was feeling so brokenhearted.

  I had stopped at home to grab my backpack and found him in my room. It had nearly choked the life out of me. I had collapsed to the floor in front of my bedroom door and still hadn't gotten back up. Salt water pooled under my face and soaked into the untreated wood. We were playing cards. It was Gin Rummy, I think, but I was too worn out to care.

  “You're telling me to ask my grandma about a woman that died over thirty years ago? She can barely remember me and I live with her.” Boyd tugged
at his beard and stared the ghost me down over the tops of the blue and red playing cards. “What?” I snapped at him as I threw the cards to the floor. From this perspective, I was aware that I had been throwing a temper tantrum. I had done that a lot with Boyd and he'd let me get away with it. I only hoped James would be as forgiving.

  The door creaked open behind me. I rolled onto my back and stared in horror at Grandma Willa. Not once had she ever come up the stairs since I'd lived here. I'd been eight when I'd moved in and twelve when I'd moved to the attic. I was sixteen. It had been awhile to be sure.

  “What's the matter, Tater Tot?” She asked, smiling warmly down at me. “There's no need to cry, Gram Gram's here.” I hadn't called her Gram Gram since I was five. I rolled back over and ignored her. She would leave eventually. “You can tell Gram Gram anything,” she said and I stiffened as her hands brushed my hair back from my face. She was kneeling behind me, her eyes focused on the ghost me sitting on the edge of my bed. “You're as pretty as your mother,” she whispered, her eyes glinting with the sharp wit and acerbic tongue that she'd always tempered with homemade brownies and tomato slices with lemon pepper. I blinked at her.

  “Grandma?” It was just one word but in reality, it was a cry for help. I sat up and threw my arms around her, trying to be gentle at first but giving into the need for comfort. Family.

  “Poor Tate,” she whispered, her voice suddenly solid and without waver. “If the Ruby's have ever had a fault, it's that we love too deep and too much. Your grandpa died of a broken heart when your mother passed away. They can call it a heart attack all they want but we know better, don't we?” I sobbed into her shoulder. I didn't ask how she could see ghosts or demons or why there was always money in her purse when all I did was steal it, I just cried until there were no more tears left to cry.

  “I'm sorry,” I said to James as soon as I opened the door and found him standing there with his hands in his pockets and his face twisted with uncertainty and pain. This wasn't easy for him either, I knew that. I let him in and escorted him into the kitchen. Grandma Willa was knitting, lost in her own head again, but somehow, it was suddenly okay.

  “Oh,” she said, surprise wrinkling the edges of her mouth. “Marilyn, is this your new beau?” I ignored her and pulled out another chair to sit in. James smiled.

  “It's nice to officially meet you,” James said, holding out a hand. “I'm James and you must be Willa.” Grandma Willa stared at his hand for a moment and shook it firmly.

  “You can call me Willamina or Mrs. Ruby. My friends call me Willa and since you intend on dating my daughter, friend is the last thing I'm going to call you.” She pulled her hand away and stood up, retreating to the parlor and her one hundredth read through of Pride and Prejudice.

  “It looks like you two are getting along a little better,” James said, avoiding the subject of demons and ghostly passings for the time being. “What happened while I was gone?” I ignored his question and drummed my fingers against the tabletop.

  “Why did you run away?” I asked. He blinked at me, startled by the abrupt change in conversation.

  “What do you mean?” He asked. I picked at a chip in the wooden tabletop.

  “I know we're dead but it's not like anyone would really notice if you covered these stupid things up.” I rolled up the sleeve of the lace top I had worn to the funeral and flashed the stitches in my wrist. James sucked in a breath of air, puffed out his cheeks, and flopped into the chair Grandma Willa had been sitting in. I got that he had them on his face and neck and that I didn't but why hadn't he tried to cut them off or cover them with makeup, Band-aids, something? I wanted friend more than ever. My brief moment with Grandma Willa had reminded me how important it was to have someone you could count on. Nobody else could understand me like James. He had that hurt and nagging guilt behind his eyes that I had behind mine and I wanted to know why.

  “I know, right?” Was all he said with a weak laugh that only belied how nervous he actually was. “Sometimes I think about what a coward I am. I see you doing things you don't want to do and sucking it up.” I bit my lip and wished that were true. I had abandoned him earlier because I didn't want to be a summoner. Nothing could've been less true but I decided to let him talk. He was this close to opening up to me. I could see it. He needed a friend as much I did. “You tried to go to school even though he wasn't there. You walk the same streets you must've walked together. You sit under the same roof. You look at the same stars.” James paused as if collecting his thoughts. I stuffed my hands under my thighs to keep them from shaking.

  “I couldn't do it, Neil. I couldn't stand to do the things Sydney and I had done together by myself. I couldn't even breathe the same air. It just hurt so fucking much.” He bent over the table until his head was resting on his forearms. His muffled voice continued to pierce me inside where it hurt the most. “Some family is given to you, others you choose. I chose her. She was my family and it's my fault that she's dead.” I opened my mouth to spill, to tell him everything, to reach down my throat and pull my heart out of my chest and spatter the walls with my fucking blood when the doorbell rang. I stood up, knocking my chair to the floor.

  I could hear Grandma Willa sliding back the pocket doors that led to the front hall. I sat back down. She loved Jehovah's witnesses. I'd let her deal with whoever it was.

  James and I sat in awkward silence. I reached up and touched the single purple earring in my right ear, trying to think of something to say. I'd lost the other at the beach. James sat still as death, his hands folded neatly in his lap and his gaze locked onto the tabletop.

  Grandma Willa came into the kitchen with a big grin on her face. I could hear footsteps behind her but she paused in the doorway, blocking whoever it was from view.

  “Guess who's home, Tater Tot?” She'd traveled back in time again. I stood up from the table and ignored her, opening the fridge and grabbing the milk. Cereal was comforting and familiar. I would pour some for James, too, and then maybe he'd open back up and tell me what I so desperately wanted to hear. That I wasn't alone in the world. The Tupperware salesman or vacuum lady or whatever could leave. I wasn't in the mood to deal with that today.

  “Neil.” The strain in James' voice is what drew me back around.

  I turned on my heel, prepared for the harpies, prepared for Jarrod or Margaret, prepared for the cops.

  I dropped the carton of milk, watched the top pop off and drain liquid across the floor like white blood. A single word escaped the tightness in my throat.

  “Jessica.”

  My dead twin was standing in my kitchen, a mirror image of me with bright blue eyes and blonde hair that shone like yellow copper. My first thought was demon, ghost, illusion. She isn't anymore real than the Boyd that was in your bedroom this morning.

  “Tate.” Her voice was pitched low, so soft she was hard to hear. She'd always been like that. I'd always been accused of being too loud and yet we had the same voice. It was just a reflection of how different we had become before she'd died. I looked to James for help. He replied to my unspoken question.

  “I don't know,” he said, hands held out like he was surrendering. I marched past Jessica and my grandmother, careful not to touch my sister. The Boyd-demon had been hard enough. I didn't need to have my sister breaking my collarbone or gnawing off the tips of my fingers. I shoved open the busted front door and looked around for Ehferea or Nethel. Neither was there.

  “Tate.” I spun around, backing up so that I was far enough away from her that there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that we would touch. Memories bombarded my brain like a wave of bullets from a machine gun, each one finding their target. Boyd had been dead a week, Jessica had been dead two years. Neither was a very long time but I had been able to block the pain of losing her with my friendship with him. Then, I'd kept that up by using the anguish of losing him to keep her memories at bay. Now, all of my walls were shattered and I was feeling anything and everything all at once. Suddenly, Abe's
death was a fresh wound across my face. I could smell my mother's burning flesh. I saw images of my little brother Jason, face down in our swimming pool. There was Dad on the news with the flashing words, Bungee Jumping Accident Takes Father of Four.

  I threw up.

  “Oh, God, Tate.” Jessica tried to put her arms around me. I threw myself backwards. James stepped in front of me.

  “Let's take it easy, okay?” He said, using the type of voice you might reserve for a frightened horse. Just stay away from the hooves and you'll be okay. I reached for my hood and realized I didn't have one on. I began to gasp for air. James knelt down and took my hands in his. He leaned his forehead against mine and started to whisper.

  “Listen, listen here, Neil.” I struggled against his grip. He started to babble, either for my comfort or his, I wasn't sure. “My mother was always kind of neurotic, you know? OCD. She cleaned the bathroom like three times a day and refused to let me do my own laundry. She always checked my shirts for blood. She'd heard somewhere that nosebleeds were an early sign of cancer.” I swallowed a deep breath and nearly choked on it. James released my hands and pressed his against the sides of my face.

  “Just breathe, breathe.” I couldn't. It was like the breathe I'd taken when I'd met Boyd, the one that had allowed me live again, was being sucked right back out of me. “That's another reason why I didn't go home. It wasn't just about Sydney. My mother would've known. She was born in Athens so I've always been kind of dark. The pale skin would've just freaked her out. It was better this way. Her son died in a car accident. Neat and clean. Like she always liked it.”

  I reached up and pulled his hands away from my face. I was starting to calm down again. Walls were being rebuilt, walls with James' pale face and stitched up lips. I swallowed a lungful of autumn air and nearly choked on it. It hurt going down but once it started to pump through my veins, crisp as apples, I started to feel more like myself.