Four more thrusts forward, and I finally brace my palm against the wall. Looking up, I stare at the pane. I have almost nothing left for the climb, but I’m too close to give up now.
I push up from the floor with my other hand, absorbing a sliver of broken glass. I barely feel it, even when I slide my hand up the wall beside the other. Streaks of blood mark my progress, smearing a grotesque trail with each inch. I hardly notice that either. All that matters is the blurry beacon of light taunting me from an impossible distance.
“Please,” I beg the darkness.
Tears of frustration burn my eyes as I fight up the wall. Just one glimpse. That’s all I need. One last blast of light on my face before I fade away forever because I know now, without a doubt, that this is the end. But maybe it’s too late. Maybe I’ve fallen too far for even that small miracle. My body feels like little more than a breathing corpse, sucked dry by the last few weeks of brutal visions. Is this the tunnel at the end everyone talks about? Not so much a fissure of light as a cavernous yearning for it.
“Please, please, please.” I’m begging now. To whom? I don’t know. Just…
My fingers brush a sandy ledge, and my heart explodes into a violent rhythm. It’s right there! Literally at my fingertips, and I hold on with everything I have left. My breathing becomes erratic, mixing with my heartbeat in the cadence of death. My time is running out. Just. One. More. Push.
I pull up with a strength that can’t possibly be mine and…
The last thing I see before I fall is a brilliant flash.
Chapter Seven:
Angels and Demons
They say death is the end. I thought so too until I learned it’s just the beginning. And when a burst of consciousness explodes in your head, you realize the truth is even more complex than that.
I have no explanation for why, after claiming my light and crashing to the floor, I wake up back on my blankets, shivering but warm. I especially can’t explain the soft hands brushing my skin or the haunting melody floating through the air around me. Beautiful. Exquisite. And a deep sigh resonates from my chest after I breathe it in.
The song pauses at my movement, then continues in the same gentle tone. Everything in me wants to see her, my angel of death, but I still can’t get my eyelids to cooperate.
“Rachel?” I croak out instead. At least that’s what my brain says. My lips aren’t cooperating either.
Shh. I’m here.
Her promise fills my head with more than words. Peace. Maybe even hope. My eyes finally flutter open.
The most beautiful face I’ve ever seen smiles down at me when I look up.
“Milo.” The way her lips form around my name gives it new dimension. It’s like the song I woke to. The deep melody of a name that belongs to a person who might contain exquisite beauty as well: Milo.
Her fingers move along my cheek, awakening my skin with penetrating sparks. Infusing life into my cold, decrepit body.
“Rachel.” This time her name is more than a name on my lips as well. It’s a question. Acceptance. “Why are you here? Why am I?”
Her smile deepens the compassion in her eyes. “You chased the light.”
Confused, I stare for a long time, hoping she can read the chaos in my head. If she does, she gives no indication of it. No, she just sits silently, filling me with her touch. Down my cheek, along my jaw, my neck, my chest, and back up the same path. Over and over until I believe it, maybe. I close my eyes again. The pain still lingers, old and new, but there’s something else there now. Something stronger than the temporary, and maybe I start to understand.
“The window?” I ask, opening my eyes again.
She shakes her head. “This light.” Her fingertip presses against my chest.
“Are you an angel?”
She chuckles, gently at first then harder the longer she studies me. Finally, she collects her breath. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
I swallow my response and nod.
She only sighs and looks sad. Finally, she releases a heavy breath and lies down on the blankets beside me. Our faces are inches away, our eyes searching souls and lifetimes and all the foreign things that separate us. “I’ve been watching you for a long time, Milo Marchesi.”
I don’t respond. What do demons say to angels of light?
“You’re not a demon, and I’m not an angel.” Her eyes change and flicker with a shyness that turns her into a young woman. “As far as I can tell, I was sent to you for one purpose.”
“To guide me to the end?”
She shakes her head and runs a thumb over my cheek. “To love you back to the light.”
It comes on fast. Strong, as if it knows she’s here to fight back. My body jerks away from her touch in a violent spasm. The pain. Oh god. The pain. It’s—
She’s perfect. I’ve never seen her before but the way she’s been eye-fucking me the whole night I’ve been onstage means it’ll be a piece of cake. (Milo, listen to me) I’ve always been aware of the effect I have on women. Something about the bad-boy musician thing combined with a face that holds an innocence I’ve never had. (STOP) Still, at least I’ve learned to use it instead of be used for it. (MILO!) Dad with his criminal agenda loved throwing my babyface in front of unsuspecting victims. Sinclair… Better to focus on the future. He said he wants a girl next and finding a replacement won’t just guarantee another season of security for me... (MILO, STOP!)
The pretty blonde’s smile grows to a grin when I make eye contact from behind the mic. (LOOK AWAY)
What the hell? I shake the strange voice from my head. (STOP!) Loud, so loud I can’t even hear the music anymore.
I hang onto the stand with both hands for the final few tags. Gripping for dear life because suddenly I feel lost. (YES! LOOK AWAY!) I blink out at the crowd; the lyrics slip from my mind. Maybe this is just an illusion like everything else, but at least I can pretend I’m free. That I’m just a nineteen-year-old musician and I’m not about to (NO, NO, NO!)… I flinch at the screams in my mind, nearly stumbling on the stage. Fuck! What is going on? A few more blind steps back, and I slam into the bass amp.
The music screeches to a halt. My bandmates are looking on in stunned silence when I finally look up from the stage floor. The audience? They’re chuckling. No, wait, leaving. They’re leaving! They can’t leave! What about… I search for the blonde girl with the eyes, and she’s gone too… She’s gone. She’s… thank god, she’s gone.
I gasp and shoot up from the blankets. Breathing hard, my gaze fires around the room. Where is she? I know it was Rachel. Haunting my visions now too? Is no place safe from her influence? I’m alone in the present though, and reach for the bucket while I can. I hold it up to my chin and wait. And wait. And…
I lower it slowly, staring at the empty bottom. Nothing. My stomach feels… fine. My chest, my throat. I pat each section of my body as if verifying the strange phenomenon. But it’s true. I’m fine. More than fine. I’m—relieved. The girl was gone. I didn’t hurt her!
The tears forming in my eyes are something new. The burn feels different, less caustic, more cleansing. I wipe my hand over them to clear my vision and decide to try my luck at standing. It’s been two days since I last managed to balance on my feet. Not since the visions started the permanent loop that left me scratching along the floor toward the window have I been able to support my weight. Was that just yesterday? It feels like an eternity ago.
I brace my hands against the blanket and push. Too soon, I guess, because I end up flat on my face. The disappointment is painful, and also incredible. Disappointment requires hope. Did I just hope?
“Rachel?” I’m not looking anymore; I’m asking. It must make a difference since soon the white dress and dark hair materialize by the boiler. I shift as much as possible on the blanket to watch her float toward me. More disappointment sinks in. If I were stronger, if I were standing, what would this moment be? But no, she’s not floating. She’s walking. Two pale bare feet peek out from u
nder the hem of her dress and press against the dirt floor in a steady gait.
I have no words as I wait for her, our gazes meeting across the void. Hers fills with that bright light I’ve come to crave. Is mine sucking it in? Probably, because my soul feels ravenous.
“It’s okay,” she says, kneeling down. She grasps my hands and helps me up. Together we manage to get me seated, and she turns my palms up to examine the deep gashes.
“What’s okay?” I ask, wincing, but refusing to give up any element of this connection.
“Your need for light.”
I close my eyes for a brief moment before focusing on her again. “Do you know what people like me do with light like yours?”
“Yes.”
I blink, speechless at her self-assured response.
“Then you know—”
“That you’ve paid.”
She folds my shredded palms into fists and covers them in her own.
“You’ve paid, Milo. You know that. Deep down you know.”
Know what?
That these visions are yours.
“I know they are,” I say out loud. “They’re my memories. They’re my penance.”
Is she angry? Righteous anger. I’ve seen it before but never like this. “No, they’re torture. An affliction you’ve put on yourself.”
I clench my eyes shut, shaking my head. “No. That can’t be true. I’ve been paying since… forever.”
I flinch when her warm hands tug my cold ones. Opening my eyes, I meet her patient gaze.
“Yes, that’s true, and in time you will understand. But for now, there’s only one thing you have to accept.”
I force air into my lungs as I wait, searching her beautiful face for clues. Instead, before I can react, I’m in her arms. She rests her head on my shoulder, pulling me tight, and I return the strength of her grip. God, it feels good to be held. So, so good. The tears return as I hold on, allowing her purity to infuse into me and chip at the crusted obsidian inside.
“You didn’t do it, Milo,” she whispers against my ear.
I freeze. “What?”
“You never brought that woman to Sinclair.”
I pull away and lock my eyes on hers. “What are you talking about?”
She doesn’t flinch as she meets my gaze. “You know. Deep down you know. You didn’t do it.”
I shake my head. “Of course I did! I was willing to do anything to make it stop—” My tears come, angry and violent as they push through my lids when I shut her out. “I had to. And there were others too. Not just her. The guy with the skull tattoo and the woman with the pink hair. I did that. I did it to them because I wasn’t strong enough.” I force my eyes open again so she can see the truth. See what I am.
But she hardly reacts, just continues her patient stare as I break down. She pulls me into her arms again, stroking my hair like the child I never was.
“No, you didn’t. You didn’t take them to Sinclair.”
“I did!” The sobs are loud and angry. “I remember.” Their cries. How they pleaded and begged.
“No, Milo.” No.
Yes! I remember it so vividly. Every sick, twisted detail. The smell of cigarettes and unwashed linens. Sweat, alcohol, and the distinctive stench of perversion. The sound of the screams… (Your screams, Milo. Not theirs. They were your screams as you held them in).
My head twists in violent arcs, fighting against her lies. Again, how could she possibly know any of this? She wasn’t there. She’s only here, and in my head, and… in my head?
My gaze snaps up to hers.
“But the visions. How do you know—”
Her fingers frame my face and force my gaze to hers. “I see it inside you, clear as day: the truth corrupted by pain. You couldn’t have done it because that blonde woman doesn’t exist. None of them do.”
Blood drains through me, and her eyes flood with compassion.
“Don’t you see, Milo? You’ve fallen too far. You already paid for your sins, and now you’re punishing yourself for things you didn’t do.”
Chapter Eight:
Liars
I don’t tell Lena about Rachel. What’s there to tell that normal words can express? Instead, I do my best to get her to believe that I’m improving. It’s not even a lie, and when I demonstrate it by standing with only the support of the doorframe, she finally accepts it.
“I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I know. But I’m okay now.” Well, that might be an exaggeration.
She seems appropriately skeptical.
“How’s Addie Rose?” I ask before she can object.
Her sigh stings the hairs on my arm. “I don’t know. She’s been… off.”
Shit. “Sick?”
She shakes her head. “Not sick. I don’t know how to describe it. Just… off. She needs you. Please let her back down.”
I want to, with all my heart. But how can I with everything going on?
“Soon.”
“At least come visit her.”
“You know I can’t.”
“Because of Grave Lady?”
“Her name is Rachel.” It slips out before I can stop it, and Lena’s expression darkens.
“Rachel? Like an actual person?”
I swallow and force a nod. “Yeah. She’s…” I don’t continue when I catch her cold stare. Is she jealous? Of a ghost?
“So you’ve seen her again, I guess. Often from the sound of it.”
“A few times.” Her reaction is exactly what I feared from the moment I sensed her interest in me. She’s so close to the prize. I can’t let her fall now. “I just meant, she told me her name is Rachel,” I say as casually as possible.
“Did she tell you why she’s here?”
To love me back to the light.
I cover my discomfort with a shrug. “Not sure,” I say. It’s an easy lie to justify since I’m really not. I have no idea what that means. The lie is how much I want to find out.
“So that’s it then? You hang out down here with your new ghost friend while the rest of us stay out of your way?”
“Lena, come on.”
She crosses her arms. “What am I supposed to tell Addie Rose? She asks about you all day, every day.”
“The same. I’m sick. Nothing’s changed.”
“Except for Rachel.”
Yes, maybe everything’s changed.
“I’m sorry, Lena. You’re amazing, and Addie Rose needs you. I don’t want either of you wrapped up in this.”
Her arms release with another sigh, a softer one this time, and my own tension lifts. She reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will.”
She scans me before finally trudging back up the stairs. I watch her go with a heavy feeling in my gut. It was one thing to push her away for her own protection. Now? It feels more selfish.
“She’s in love with you.”
I spin back to find Rachel standing on the blankets in my room. “You saw that?”
“I see everything in here.”
“She didn’t see you.”
“No. And she won’t unless I want her to.”
“How do you know? They saw you before. The last time when you were still Grave Lady.”
She smiles at that. “Addie Rose wasn’t so far off, I guess.”
“Sorry. To be fair you’re pretty terrifying as a hovering swirling mass of darkness.”
Her laugh is music. It reminds me of a song I used to play when I was trying to fall asleep and drown out the demons.
“Why do you draw?” she asks, staring at my notebook.
“I like to draw.”
“No, I mean, why do you draw instead of play?”
The air grows thin, and I pretend to care about straightening the blankets.
“Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to? Apparently you know everything.”
Sometimes her smile is too much for a damaged soul like mine. I look away
again.
“I don’t know everything,” she says.
“It sure seems like it.”
“Only everything about you.”
“Well, then I’m sorry for that,” I mutter.
She doesn’t respond, just picks up the notebook and leafs through it. “You never answered my question. Where’s the music?”
I shrug and return to my sudden need for lump-free blankets. “You tell me.”
“Do you really want to know?”
I look up to find her waiting. That wasn’t a rhetorical question, and maybe I understand why. Blood pounds through me as we stare, both of us wondering what response will come from my lips.
“No,” I say finally. “No.”
Her expression falls, that light melting into sadness. “You need to find it again, Milo.”
I shake my head and jerk the blanket straight. “No. You said I’m not a demon, which means I’m not that monster anymore. That’s because I let all of it go. It’s the only thing I can be proud of.”
“That’s a lie.”
“What do you know about it?” I snap.
She leans against the wall and waits for my brain to catch up. I curse and reach for another blanket.
“Well then, you must also know the evil that’s in the music,” I clarify.
“Not in the music.”
“Because of the music, then.”
“No. The music was your island. Your peace in the chaos.”
“I suppose you’re going to say I shed it as another punishment for myself,” I clip out.
She raises her brows, and I curse again.
“This is getting old, Rachel. What do you want from me?”
Haunted Melody: A Ghost Story Page 5