A tug at my hand draws my attention back to the girl who saved me. Is saving me. Will save me because like I said earlier, I know now that this is just the beginning.
“You’re smiling,” she whispers, running her fingers over my lips.
I nod. “I am. Huh.”
She brings my hand to her lips. “You are. So you’ve confessed deep scars and mangled hearts,” she says. “What else?”
Chapter Twenty-Five:
Two Days
Time is a strange companion now that it’s become the third wheel in our relationship. Fast and slow, it pushes with a force that seems to encourage and discourage us in equal measures.
We stay awake as long as possible, sharing and laughing while we explore each other from the inside out. I tell her everything I remember from my life. She tells me every painful and charming detail of hers. How is it that a person can suffer as she has and still value life, even find beauty in the deep scars it leaves us? Love. That’s the missing element, I think, as I listen to her narrative full of family, friends, and supportive strangers. Love is the difference between a wasted life and one that will transcend. Because Rachel will be eternal, living on in the hearts of those she leaves behind.
Eventually, though, sleep takes hold of us, and I wake the following morning to an angel in my arms, tucked perfectly against my body like we’re extensions of each other. I kiss her hair that no longer smells of roses. She says it’s because her body is in the ICU now and there are no flowers allowed. No blue rug anymore either. Just that stale bed and alien mask of tubes. I push the thought away, focusing instead on the way the sunlight reflects in her dark hair, almost making it look violet. It belongs against my skin.
With a soft breath, she releases the last of her sleep and looks up to find me staring. A shy smile spreads over her lips before she burrows back into my chest. Can I draw this moment too? I think I have to, me included this time. My arms around her, warm and protective and wholly hers for as long as she wants them. I’ve never wished for a mirror like in this moment, my artist brain longing for a glimpse of our connection. I scan the room, half-expecting one to appear. It doesn’t, and soon Rachel is wiggling out of my arms, ready to start the day.
I’m making my own list as she squirms her way into a sitting position. Sex, singing, dancing, more sex, some laughter, more sex and…
“Roy.”
I flinch when my teeth snap into my tongue. I must have misunderstood and raise a brow for clarification. “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me,” she says, grabbing her gown.
“Clearly not. All I heard was Roy.”
She nods, all confidence as she straightens her dress over her body. Disappointing start to the day, for sure.
“Okay, you’ve lost me. You want to spend one of our last days together with Roy? The guy who hates us and tries to beat the shit out of me every time we’re together?”
“Yep. Because it’s not about him.” Again so confident. What the hell am I missing here? “It’s about you and your relationship with yourself.”
“Huh?”
“I’m not leaving until you’ve helped Roy.”
“Helped him with what?”
She shrugs. “Whatever he needs. He’s broken. Like you were, right? Imagine if someone had come beside you sooner. Imagine if you didn’t have to do this alone. Know what I imagine?”
“No,” I grunt. Am I pouting? Maybe.
“I imagine the man you will be after you work to heal a relationship with an enemy.”
Well, shit. “He hates me.”
“Because he hates everything. That’s what he is right now: Hate. I know you understand this better than anyone. That’s what you used to be, right?” She softens and kneels close to me. “You let go of your past last night. Today we need to address your present. We have tomorrow for the future.”
I swallow hard. Again this is about me? She’s the one dying, and I’m the one being nurtured? It’s not right, and I’m about to continue my protest when I see her face. The determination, the joy she finds in helping me and loving me. I’ve given her purpose and what could be bigger than that to a person who’s been fettered by disease her entire life? My weaknesses have given her strength, and I suck back the rest of my objections. Besides, I suspect my time to fight for her is coming too soon and too heavy to waste energy now. I shake thoughts of tomorrow out of my head and focus on her smile.
“Fine. But I’m not sleeping with him,” I mutter, earning another playful shove.
Rachel doesn’t like my plan to scare Roy down to us because it will start the encounter on a negative note. The alternative requires him to come when I call, however, and I can pretty much guarantee that won’t happen.
It’s hard to remember the time when I feared Rachel as the dreaded Grave Lady, and it’s not until panicked footsteps come rumbling down the stairs that I concede she still has it in her. Roy flies toward my room, eyes wide with fear. I’m sketching alone in a staged scene we set before she left to terrorize him upstairs. When communicating my plan, I left out the small detail that I’d take great pleasure in this part.
“I saw her,” he gasps out, casting a look behind him as if he’s being followed.
“Who?”
“Grave Lady!”
I lower my notebook, careful to keep a steady expression. “You mean Rachel?”
“Who? No, the ghost.”
I nod. “Yeah, her name is Rachel. She’s actually very sweet.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I force away my instinctive reaction to his hostility. “It turns out she’s just another spirit on her way here.”
His expression contorts in thought. “Wait…”
I do. Very patiently, I might add.
“Are you saying… I mean, the voices and music I’ve been hearing down here?”
“Yep. Rachel.”
“But she’s so…”
“Scary? Yeah. It’s because you have to be open to seeing her.” I point toward the boiler. “She often appears over there.”
He follows my finger, still wary. “Is she… there now?”
“No. She doesn’t want to scare you more. She wants to meet you.”
“Meet me? Why?”
“She has a message for you.”
“What is it?”
I shrug. “Don’t know, dude,” I lie. “It’s for you.” Points for the fact that he hasn’t tried to pummel my face yet. Beyond that, though, I’m still not sure about this. I’m skeptical how this best buds transformation is supposed to go down. Rachel swears it will work. My goal is to keep from getting another black eye. I feel her presence even if I can’t see her.
I let out a sigh and rise to meet him. “Look, I get that I was kind of an ass the other day when you came with questions. I had a ton of them too when I ended up here, and not having anyone to help me out was brutal. The truth is I don’t know much. I wasn’t lying about that. All I know is that we’re here because we’re supposed to change. I don’t know what that means for you—only you do—but if you want to leave this place, you have to start accepting the truth about yourself and the life you lived.”
Too much. His eyes narrow, and I kick myself for going so far. This was definitely a speech for much later in the process. Duly noted.
“So will you meet Rachel or not?” I ask quickly before he has more time to process my crazy. He glances back at the boiler, and for the briefest moment, I catch a glimpse of a man who’s more than the sum of his hatred. Maybe Rachel is right. Maybe there is hope.
His shoulders hunch, and he starts backing toward the stairs. I don’t know if his wary look is from his fear of the ghost or his distrust of me. I can’t really blame him for either.
Empathy, Milo. Way to go.
Shut up, I tease back.
I feel her laughter and just need this to be over so I can hold her again. How many hours do we have left?
“How about you meet her over there first
.” He points toward the boiler at the opposite end of the basement. “Then, we’ll see.”
Works for me. I shrug and start moving. “Rachel? You here?” I ask for Roy’s sake. Of course she is, and it only takes a second for my angel to light up the room. My grin forgets about Roy, my arms too when I pull her in for a hug. She’s more cautious and ducks away with a shy smile.
“Not now,” she whispers.
I hold up my hands, still smiling as I turn to face our audience.
“Roy, Rachel. Rachel, meet Roy.”
I don’t know what Roy is seeing at this point. A ghost? A girl? Fragments of both? Or maybe nothing. It’s impossible to tell because his gaze is locked on me.
“Wait… you love her,” he says suddenly, almost accusing. Shit. That wasn’t part of the plan. “You’re in love with a ghost?”
“She’s not a ghost.” Oh, um… “Well, kind of. But remember, we’re actually the ghosts in this scenario. She’s still human.”
“So how is she here?”
“That’s a long story. The point is do you want to meet her or not?”
His attention moves back to the space beside me. By his focus, he sees something. Still don’t know what.
“She has no face,” he says quietly, fear coloring his tone.
“It’s because you have to want to see her. Until then she’s not fully formed for you. She’ll only be a projection of yourself and what you’re expecting to see.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because I lived this. For a long, long time.”
He studies me again, skeptical, but at least he’s not running. Or kicking or punching.
“What’s your message?” He addresses Rachel directly this time. Does he see her real form? His expression hasn’t changed so I don’t think so.
“She can’t talk to you until you see her. You have to let go of the fear, Roy. Want the change.”
Want the change. Hmm… maybe I’m starting to understand her plan after all.
He considers my words with cold calculation, eyes fixed on the space beside me. So far, there’s nothing to indicate he sees anything different. Rachel and I exchange a glance, and I feel her disappointment. It hurts like hell, which only makes it harder to keep my cool. Help a guy out, dude. See her!
I wait another few seconds before I start walking back to my room. “Come on, Rachel. He’s obviously not interested,” I say.
She bristles, glaring at me when I look back, but Roy is not her kind of people. He’s a self-aggrandizing, egocentric asshole. In other words, he speaks my language, and guess what, no self-aggrandizing, egocentric asshole I know will let himself be brushed off by a pathetic artist and his ghost girl. She doesn’t even have time to chide me before he straightens and takes a few steps forward.
“Wait.”
We freeze and turn to him, careful not to move as his mind works out the next step. Finally, after what seems like an eternal pause, he ducks into the center of the room, just feet away from us. His eyes, so distrusting and icy a moment before, suddenly blink into something else. Rachel looks radiant when I peek over for her reaction. She stands like a goddess, the angel she is with that patient, compassionate expression that won me over before I even recognized my need for salvation. I actually see the moment when Roy’s perception changes, when Grave Lady becomes my angel of light. His jaw, hardened into a firm line a moment ago, now drops an inch, his eyes huge with wonder.
“Rachel?” he whispers.
She nods with a smile that could melt glaciers. “Hello, Roy. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
The man tears his gaze away for a brief second to catch mine. I smile back with a shrug. “Told you.”
His attention shifts back to Rachel, and I swear he looks ready to kneel. If God is taking applications for angelic messengers, He better drop this one at the top of the pile.
“You have a message for me?” Roy asks finally. Soft and hesitant, his voice is almost unrecognizable as the bully who’s tormented me since his arrival.
She nods again, clearly embracing her role as spiritual guide. “You must chase the light, Roy.”
His eyes grow ten sizes as he absorbs her words.
Rachel smiles again and stretches a hand toward me. “It will be a difficult, painful journey, but you must find it. Milo has taken that journey and will help guide you.”
Roy casts me another quick glance. Is that respect in his gaze? Can’t be. “What about you?” he asks her.
Rachel’s smile turns sad. She even takes a few steps forward to rest her hand on his shoulder. Yep, the dude is totally ready to fall to his knees. “My time here is coming to an end, but I’ve asked Milo to take my place and help you. Can you let him do that? Can you want the change?”
Roy looks again, swallowing something before his mouth falls open to speak. “Um… okay, sure.”
She squeezes his arm before stepping back. “Good. Then go back to your room and think about what I’ve said. You’ve seen what happens when you believe, when you open yourself up to change. Use this as a stepping stone to pursue greater rewards. To become better. Then you will find the light you need.” She turns to me, so confident I forget we’re roleplaying. “You will guide him with patience and compassion. Promise me?”
I swallow hard, staring into her beautiful, fathomless eyes. “I promise,” I manage. She seems relieved. For me or for Roy, I’m not sure, but I’m freaking ecstatic to have made her proud.
Her face fills again when she turns back to Roy. “Now you must go. Think about what we’ve discussed and come back to find Milo when you’re ready to move forward.”
His head bobs numbly, his lips still slightly ajar. She lifts her hands again, and yes, Roy Jacobs actually bows before turning and fleeing up the stairs.
Rachel and I wait until we’re sure Roy is gone before letting out long sighs. I pull her into my arms, awed and transformed by what I just saw.
“How do you do that?” I say quietly. “For someone who has no experience with life and the world, how do you read and communicate with people so well?”
She chuckles against my shirt. “Because that is my world. Reading and communicating with people. I have nothing else.”
“You’re an angel.”
She’s quiet this time, and I’m surprised by the lack of protest. After a long silence, she finally pulls back enough to search my face. “We have about thirty hours left.”
My chest tightens. I nod slowly, my throat closing. Finally, I manage to release some words. “What else do we need to do?”
Her gaze drifts toward my room and lands on the guitar. “I still can’t play our song. Help me learn it before…?”
I swallow the emotion burning deep, and guide her toward the blankets. Clenching my fists, I try to breathe in a recovery as she gathers the instrument into her lap. Of course I want her last hours to be filled with her dreams. I’m just not sure how well I can play with trembling fingers.
“That was perfect,” I say, after she finishes the last chord and tosses me a giant grin.
“That was amazing. Thank you, Milo. I never thought…” Her voice breaks, and I struggle against the tears in her eyes. If she starts… I don’t know if I’m strong enough for this.
“You’re a musician. I knew it from the first time we met.”
She blinks a sparkling drop down her cheek. “You believed in me when I didn’t.”
“You saved me when I couldn’t.”
We exchange a long look, weeks—lifetimes—passing between us in the silence.
“Twenty-two hours,” she whispers.
I pull in a wilted breath. “What’s next?” I hate that my voice comes out shattered. I’m trying so hard to be strong, desperate to shelter her. But here she is, her eyes filling with pain for me when everything in me wants to be the one shouldering the burden. My chest aches as I force a deep breath and shove down the rest of the emotion. “What’s next?” I ask again, stronger this time. I even manage a smile tha
t she studies with curiosity. Just for a second though, because soon she’s pushing the guitar toward me.
“Next, I want your music. Just you. My rocker boy.”
She settles on the blankets, facing me.
“So far away?” I ask.
Her lips lift as she nods. “Yes. I want everything—the full image. To hear the guitar melt with your voice into one instrument the way it’s meant to be played. I want to see your fingers on the strings and the way your eyes close when the music takes over your soul. The way the muscles in your arms move as if they were designed to do only this. You transform when you play, Milo, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Perfect sevens: that’s what I want next.”
How to argue with that? I can’t, so I fix my fingers on the frets, balance the guitar on my thighs and start to play.
It’s dark when her eyelids start to droop and her content smile finally seems lazy from sleep instead of music. My fingers ache anyway, my back stiff from hours of playing. She’d curled up on her side long ago during my private concert, watching me with a serene, possessive look that made me feel invincible. I could have gone on for days with fuel like that, but the strain of today must have finally worn her down.
I place the guitar back in its case, trying to be as quiet as possible.
“Why are you stopping?” she murmurs. I can barely make out the words and turn with an amused smile.
“Because you need to rest.”
She yawns, weakly pushing herself up on her arm. “No sleep. We can’t waste time with that,” she slurs. I laugh softly. So stubborn, my girl.
“It’s not a waste if we’re together,” I say, tucking myself behind her. I wrap my arm around her, and she nestles into a perfect curve to fit my body.
She binds my arm to her chest, clutching tight so I can’t move. Not that I’d want to.
“I take that back. This is what I want,” she whispers.
Me too.
I love you, Milo.
Haunted Melody: A Ghost Story Page 18