Haunted Melody: A Ghost Story

by Alyson Santos

  I love you, Rachel.

  She’s asleep in seconds, and I bury my face in her hair. Breathing her in, I finally release the emotion I’d been fighting so hard to tame.

  Chapter Twenty-Six:

  One Day

  I awake to her attention the following morning. A deep ache rests in my gut, though, infecting my senses. Life without my sun… the shadows have already started washing over me. I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive this day. All I know is that I have to because I need her to make the right choice this time. I can’t let her see the sick rot already claiming parts of my soul.

  “Are you cold?” she asks, running her fingers over my cheek.

  I trap them there, closing my eyes to absorb the feel of her skin. Angry tears start rebelling against my will, and I have to force them back. You cannot cry today. You have eternity to mourn. You can NOT cry today.

  I force another smile, but when she tucks her arms around me and burrows into my chest, I know I’m not going to be strong enough for this. I thought I could. It all made sense, didn’t it? A lifetime of heartache and abuse had steeled me into the one person capable of withstanding this moment, and now, faced with the final battle I could laugh at the hubris of it all. Scream, maybe. I eye what I can see of my room coldly. I’ll have plenty of time for screaming too after she’s gone.

  “Seven hours,” she says quietly.

  I can’t respond. God knows I try, but all I manage is a nod.

  “There’s an actual time. Can you believe that? They’re waiting for my brother to fly in around two. Then they’re supposed to meet at four.”

  Still can’t speak as silent tears invade my eyes. Fucking weak, those eyelids who can’t do their fucking jobs. I hate that I’ve given myself away so soon. So much for the warrior I swore she’d have at the end. It’s her fingers tracing tears down my cheeks. What a joke. I force my eyes open. A mistake, I realize, when I’m met with the same pain reflected back at me.

  “Milo, will you…” Her voice fades, emotion taking over her as well. She props herself up enough to work at the gown covering her, leading by example now that words have failed us. I understand. Completely. There’s nothing I want more than to spend a few moments absorbing every inch of her into my skin. I follow her lead, pulling my shirt over my head and slipping out of my jeans. We slide back under the blanket, and her relieved sigh is everything.

  We hold each other for a long time, barely moving, hardly even breathing without the consent of the other. Are our hearts beating in unison as well? I close my eyes and focus until I feel her pulse. I want to be inside her. Not sex, just to be a part of her, to have a piece of me go with her into forever.

  I want that too.

  I open my eyes and search hers, only an inch away. She brushes her fingers over my cheek, landing on my lips. I watch as she studies them, slowly tracing every line and curve. Suddenly, she shoves my shoulder, forcing me to my back. I release a breath, looking on in stunned silence as she straightens and shifts down my body until she’s straddling my hips. I know what she’s doing. I’m doing the same. Greedily sucking in every detail of her form and storing it away. Embedding it in my mind and searing it onto my heart. This is the image I will carry into sleep and allow to wake me up in the morning. I will draw it, sing it, and obsess over it until it’s as much a part of me as my own skin.

  Mystic girl of mine…

  Chosen, frozen in time by the love of one who’s eternal.

  Her eyes move slowly, grazing then landing on every part of me. My eyes, my lips, my neck, my chest, every tattoo, mark, and scar, she studies with patient detail. Sometimes she touches, occasionally even tasting, which sends my body into an instinctive reaction that doesn’t quite understand the significance of this encounter. She studies that too, soft fingers trailing over rigid muscle and coarse hair as I force myself to remain still. I know I’ll have the same access to her when she’s ready, and for now I enjoy the cluster of feelings flashing across her face. Wonder, lust, appreciation, longing, sadness. Love. Most of all love.

  I don’t know what’s next after this moment, but this is a goodbye in the only way we’ll be able to give one.

  Her gaze drifts back to mine and lands with a force that takes my breath away. I watch, mesmerized as she leans forward and plants a soft kiss on my lips. Before I can respond she starts singing quietly:

  “He’s far more than these words can express

  He’s the reason I fly and fall so hopeless-ly

  In love with a rocker boy…”

  When her voice fades out, choking on the lyrics, I fill the void with mine.

  “Refine those angel wings for they’ll bring you flight

  To celestial heights

  To radiant light

  To the arms of a sinner like me.”

  I hadn’t realized until that moment that our songs were in the same key.

  “Six hours. It’s time,” Rachel whispers from my arms. I close my eyes, still sweaty and weak from our intense encounter. Emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausting, the last hour was the best and most painful of my life. How am I supposed to let her go now? As if they understand, my arms tighten around her in protest. I hold on, guilty about the soft moan that leaks from her lips as she settles back into me. She turns to face me, and I cup my hand around her face. My thumb moves over her skin as I study her. I love the beads of sweat gathered at her temples, staining her dark hair with evidence of our bond. I love that her cheeks are hot with passion, her eyes soft with love, her lips bright from the effect of mine. I love that I see myself in her right now, that she will be taking me with her even if I’m not allowed to follow. I love her. Everything she is, everything she will be, and everything she brings to those around her. I love Rachel, desperately, and suddenly I realize that I don’t even know her last time.

  “Anderson,” she says, her eyes lighting up with amusement.

  “Shit,” I mutter. “Did you hear all of that?”

  She bites her lip and nods. “It’s pretty amazing to be loved like that.”

  I smile and offer a sheepish shrug. “It’s all true.”

  “You should know what it’s like,” she says with a grin.

  My heart lurches. I kiss her again, drawing her in as if this breath of air will be our last. When we finally pull away, her expression has sagged into reality.

  “It’s time, Milo. We have to go.”

  I blink and force in a deep breath. The arguments rise in me, the jealousy that she’d have anything else to do in her last moments besides lie here with me. Anger, frustration, sadness, it’s all there twisting and colliding in a stormy mass of misplaced emotion because none of it is for her. Zero, and that’s why I shove it away and muster every ounce of strength I have to be the man she believes I am. The man I’ve become. A man who chases the light.

  I kiss her gently, holding her gaze for a few seconds when I pull away. Reassuring her that she will have an ally in these coming hours, a rock to lean on, and a shoulder for tears. She will have all of me, and I’m finally starting to see through her eyes how much that really is. The king of moonlight standing by his sun. Together we will push her on in a blaze of glory.

  “What’s next?” I ask, my voice firm this time.

  She smiles, grateful for the change in me. “Next we need to go home. My home.”

  The hospital room is just as I remember it. Sterile, cold, and brutal to anyone who knows the lifeless body on the bed. I still have trouble accepting that web of tubes is Rachel as we look on from the end of the steel frame. Rachel’s attention is locked on the couple to the left, however.

  Tears gather in her eyes as she watches them stare numbly at her body, and I tuck my arm around her. “I wish I could do something,” she says.

  “I know you do,” I respond, tightening my hold.

  “I’ve tried, you know. Many times, but…” She breaks away and approaches the couple. Her hand brushes straight through her mother’s shoulder, and the
woman doesn’t even flinch. Rachel steps back, clasping her hands together. “I just want to tell her it’s okay. That I’m happy and I found you and…” A sob cuts her off. She swats at her eyes and lifts her gaze to mine, pleading with me. “I just want her to hear me sing.”

  I nod, hating my helplessness. I’d do anything to give her that. Instead, I have to settle for approaching slowly and slipping my arms around her from behind. She leans against my chest, the two of us looking on in silence along with her parents. Watching, waiting… for what, exactly? Time. There it is again, confusing the hell out of everyone with its game of providing too much and too little at once. The silence is unbearable, the weight of thoughts and feelings pressing down around us to the cacophonous drone of artificial life. And yet, those machines have given me an immeasurable gift in the form of more time with my angel.

  I pull her tighter to me, resting my head on her shoulder as I start to sing softly in her ear. It’s a natural response for me now, and I’ve only sung a few lines when she stiffens.

  “Did you see that?” she asks, eyes wild with excitement.

  “What?”

  She pulls back and faces her parents. “Sing again.”

  “Rachel, what are you—”

  “Sing!”

  I follow her gaze, still confused as I start the song again. The second I start singing her mother’s head lifts. She looks around, and I sing louder. She taps her husband’s arm.

  “Do you feel that, Charlie?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know. Like a breeze or something.”

  “Are you cold? Should I get your sweater from the car?”

  She shakes her head. “No, not that. Something… else.” Her eyes fill as she leans closer to her daughter. “Is that you, sweetheart?”

  Tears stream down Rachel’s face as she grips my arm. “Keep singing, Milo! She hears you!”

  I blink back some of my own but manage to keep my voice steady. I motion for her to join me.

  Her mother looks up again at the new sound she can’t quite make out. Her eyes are wet, but there’s no doubt now that the heavy cover of grief from a moment ago has lifted into something lighter.

  “I think she’s saying goodbye, Charlie.”

  Her husband’s lips break into a smile as well, his gaze turning in our direction. “I feel it too. I think you’re right, Violet.”

  The woman breaks into a sob, and he pulls her close. Together they huddle as one, eventually closing their eyes to absorb our duet.

  Rachel’s voice is little more than a rasp now, and I lock my arms around her. She buries her face in my shirt, while I continue singing for the two of us, rocking us gently to the rhythm. I don’t know how long I go on while they cry, never allowing my song to break no matter how much emotion threatens to lock up my throat. Minutes, hours, there’s time again playing its sick games. But by the time another young man rushes into the room, the air has lifted from anguish to peace. By their expressions, Rachel’s parents sense it too.

  “Will,” Rachel gasps out, focusing on the new visitor.

  Dark hair, same straight nose and piercing eyes, this has to be the brother. He’s older than Rachel and approaches the bed with the solemn reserve of someone who’s not sure what to expect.

  “It doesn’t even look like her,” he mutters, staring down at the body. I couldn’t agree more.

  “Shh… she can hear you,” Violet says. Will looks back, but must see something in his mother’s expression that stops him. Charles stands to offer his chair, and Will lowers himself beside the bed.

  “Hey, little sis. So this is it, huh? You’ve decided you’re done with our shit and ready for the big time.”

  Rachel coughs out a laugh against me and turns to watch her brother’s goodbye.

  “He’s such a smartass,” she whispers through her tears.

  I nod and pull her back against me again.

  “So guess what. Mindy’s due soon. Can you believe it? I’m going to be a daddy. I meant to call you when she got pregnant and…” His voice breaks, and his mother places a hand on his shoulder. He turns toward her, face shattered. “I should have called, Mom. I meant to, but I had that warehouse project and then the trip to New York, and…”

  “I know, honey.”

  “God, she must hate me. I’m so sorry, Rach,” he sobs, turning back to her. He takes her hand and brings it to his forehead.

  “No!” Rachel cries, breaking from my hold. “Will, I don’t. Tell him, Milo! Tell him I don’t. Tell him it’s okay.”

  I blink back emotion at the pain in her eyes. I want to help—desperately—and the expectation on her face nearly crushes me. Does she think they can hear me?

  Will is a mess now, sunken in his chair, his head jerking in sobs as he holds on to what’s left of his sister. Guilt. There’s something I know well. I approach slowly, still not sure what I’m supposed to do but willing to try anything. Reaching out, I steady my hand and aim for his shoulder. This can’t possibly work, can it? We just watched Rachel attempt the same with no effect. But then: impact. Yes! I feel the soft fibers of cotton, and Will flinches. His head comes up, twisting to the side in shock.

  “You felt her, didn’t you?” Their mother says, voice soft with wonder. “She’s here. She understands.”

  Tears stream down her cheeks, matching Will’s, her father’s, and Rachel’s when I dare another look at my girl. The gratitude in her eyes is more than I can bare, and I tear my gaze away to focus on her family. I touch each of them gently, struck by the way they seem to settle into the contact. The room, so bare and cold a moment ago, now feels full of the love one girl has brought to the world in her short time there.

  Over the next hour, more friends and relatives arrive, each dark with grief when they enter. But after a warm hug from Violet, and a firm touch from me, they seem to settle into that same sphere of peace. Rachel accompanies me, greeting each one and explaining the significance of their presence, even if I’m the only recipient of the information. Maybe it helps as I welcome them into the moment.

  There are nine others in the room when it’s decided to page the doctor. I study each of them, the love for the family and the girl on the bed evident on their faces. It’s a far cry from the stone-cold vacuum of my execution. Did anyone even grieve my loss?

  As painful as it is, I love that Rachel gets to see her significance. Somehow I know that the nine in this room represent only a fraction of those waiting outside.

  “Look at the impact you’ve made,” I whisper to her, pulling her close again as we wait.

  She nods, the emotion on her face speaking for her as she scans the room. Me, I can’t stop staring at her, captivated by the radiance and the way it mixes with compassion and love for a world that some would argue showed her cruelty. But Rachel Anderson found beauty in the pain, connections where others would have withdrawn into exile. She reflected light so strong it struck a broken rocker boy beyond reach. Of course Heaven wants her back, if that’s what’s next, and I resolve then and there to do everything in my power to set things right this time.

  A chaplain enters and speaks softly to Violet, Charlie, and Will, while the rest of the visitors gather around. The light whisper of conversation stills completely when a nurse returns, followed by a doctor who introduces himself as Dr. Ryan. He finds the family, which rises to greet him. Rachel’s grip tightens around me as he starts speaking, and I hold her close, running my hand up and down her arm in slow, absent strokes. I’m numb, shaking inside, but solid as a pillar for the girl in my arms.

  No one seems to breathe as the man reviews the situation, explaining that despite maximal life support, clinically there’s been no improvement in her condition. I watch Violet’s face contort in a brief wave of pain when he asks if they’re ready to focus on making Rachel more comfortable. I see her father flinch at the mention of allowing for a natural death. Will won’t even look at the doctor, his fists clenching and releasing in a steady cadence.


  Through a curtain of tears, Violet and Charlie finally nod. Rachel lets out a sob and buries herself in my shirt. I stroke her hair, humming quietly against the angry hiss of machines and the calm orders of the doctor to the rest of the staff.

  I watch for the both of us as life-supporting medications are stopped, tubes are removed, and explanations are given in clinical but sympathetic tones. No one moves except to clear a path for the staff when necessary. Funny that this part is quick. Time, again. Years to bring her to death, minutes to execute it.

  And through it all, we wait in silence. Rachel rests in my arms, sheltered from the painful images of her impending end. No, not end. Beginning. This is her beginning, and I need her and everyone in this room to understand that.

  “White’s a good color on you, you know,” I whisper to drown out words like terminal extubation and agonal respiration. “You’re going to look magnificent as a real angel.”

  She croaks a laugh through her tears and looks up at me. I rub a few from her cheek, imagining the transformation now. It’s not hard. I’ve seen her as nothing less since the beginning.

  We glance back at the action in the room when the doctor leaves and tells the family he’ll give them time alone.

  I lead Rachel to the open space on the opposite side of the bed, the one left for the nurses. Rachel’s face is stone when she first sets eyes on the gray, pallid remains of her body.

  “Even without the tubes, it still doesn’t look like me,” she says.

  I drape my arm over her shoulders, and she tucks hers around my waist.

  “Not even a little.”

  We flinch when the body releases a startling rasp. Tears flood Rachel’s eyes again as she turns and nestles against me.

  “I’m scared,” she whispers. “I’m so scared, Milo.”

  My eyes burn as I nod against her hair. “I know, angel. Please trust me.”

  “I do.”

  I pull her into me, but it’s not enough to stop the horror of another ghastly breath a few seconds later. Rachel is sobbing now, along with the rest of the room, and my heart is a mangled chaos. The void I’ve been fighting so hard to hold at bay comes clawing back as each new second marches toward our separation. My insides are broken, but outside, I stand firm, tightening my grip, refusing to let her experience my pain. We have seconds left. What’s next?