“Come here,” I say, leading her away from the bed.
“Where are we going?”
I find a place at the far end of the room, free of machines and mourners. Free of the acrid veil of death and cruel taunt of time. Pulling her against me, I wrap her arms around my neck and start swaying to a silent melody. Soon, I’m singing out loud, and she follows the rhythm, gripping me tight. We are one body dancing in our own private universe.
“Mystic girl of mine, in time you’ll see your beauty
You’re the song in my head
The heavenly bells that even the dead hear ringing”
She joins me then, her gorgeous voice lifting to the heavens and filling the room in the most spectacular audition for what’s coming.
“Oh singing angel don’t let the doubts invade
The space between us, so void of night when your light shines in”
A nurse enters to offer support and check on the patient. Sniffs filter to us after another useless gasp for air. Pain tries to reach over to us, but we sing louder to drown it out.
“Mystic girl of mine, in time you’ll see your shine
Chosen, frozen in time by the love of one who’s eternal”
The pressure on my shoulders starts to ease, and I open my eyes, concerned. Rachel’s gaze meets mine: apologetic, frightened, and clearly fading. Tears burn deep, but I refuse to release them.
“Refine those angel wings for they’ll bring you flight”
“You’re going to fly, angel. You ready?” I whisper. She tries to smile through her tears. Tries to give me hope as I give her up.
I love you, Milo.
I see the outline of my hand through her fading form.
I love you, Rachel. Thank you for saving me.
“To celestial heights
To radiant light”
You saved me. Thank you for giving me the music.
‘To the arms of a sinner like me”
I finish the song alone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven:
Shadows and Light
The rest is a blur. The doctor returns for a death exam, offering condolences and quantifying her end with a number.
16:47.
The family takes some final moments alone with her. Also a number. Seventeen minutes. Another number surfaces when they leave. Two. Bed two, to be exact, that needs service from the morgue.
I stand beside her body, numb and paralyzed as I gaze into the face of a woman I didn’t know. This body is not my Rachel. Not my angel who could light up even the dirtiest, darkest basement. It’s agony watching the vacant, lifeless remains of the one I still feel on my skin, still smell and taste on my lips. Everything in me wants to run, escape back to my shitty basement and the freedom of losing myself in anything but this. But I can’t move. I can’t bring myself to leave her alone even for a second—even though she’s not here.
I kneel beside her, shivering from the icy air that suddenly wraps around me. Such a contrast from the warmth and peace a moment ago. I’ve never felt so alone as in this moment. The void, threatening for days, comes roaring in to swallow me back to the dark. I blink at the Nothing in the form of a girl I loved so desperately I had no choice but to let her go. And now she’s gone. I’ve done my duty. I’ve sacrificed everything. So what’s next?
It’s that question that has me rooted to a cold tile floor. Both time and space mock me, torture me with the impossible answer. I’d been so focused on the end, I never prepared for the beginning.
What’s. Next.
I can only watch as the quiet is interrupted by more staff who speak casually to each other while they prepare the body. Package it, they say. I should be mad at that, but it feels right. This isn’t Rachel. In some ways, it never was. One of them has a costume to make for a dance recital this weekend. The other has a bet going with his brother on the outcome of a baseball game. They’re wary of a maintenance issue on one of the elevators as they start wheeling the body from the room.
I watch, jaw clenched, fists tight at my side.
Funny how the only thing I feel when I’m alone in an empty hospital room is relief.
What’s next?
Haven’t figured that out as I lie on my blankets, staring at the ceiling. I was careful to avoid the spot still indented from her weight when settling beside it. If I close my eyes I can imagine her there, even smell her in the faintest breath, though I’m sure it’s more of a wistful memory. I’ll take wistful right now.
She’d be pissed to find me like this. Empty and defeated, I must be the picture of everything she hated about my hapless existence before she gave it meaning. But she’s not here to critique, is she? No, I’m free to sulk and torture myself with guilt because, for the briefest of vile seconds, I wish her destiny had included a stop in the shitty basement of 723 Maple Avenue. I hate myself for thinking it, even though I can’t shake the longing to feel her beside me again. A stronger man could, I think. He’d be up and crusading already, while I’m too broken to even imagine it.
At least sleep proves to be a loyal companion with its offer of dreamless comfort for a few blessed hours. Over the next few days, it becomes a lifeline, an escape, and eventually a goal. If only I could find lasting refuge in that soothing void, maybe I’d survive this. But every time I wake in a panic, terrified and disoriented, I realize how stingy that gift really is. No matter what I do, the hole still waits, larger and more savage the more I fight against it.
It’s been five days since she left. One hundred and twenty hours of time’s vicious assault on my sanity. Five days of running from the void only to learn it’s swallowed the entire track. My gaze drifts frequently to the guitar over that span, but I never touch it. I can’t imagine ever picking it up again at this point. I had promised Rachel I’d take her to the end, help her find the music. I never promised more than that, did I?
Liar. You promised her everything. She expected you to shine.
Maybe. But she’s not here to judge me. No, now it’s just me and the guilt. Me and the void and that fucking dagger in my gut that won’t go away. I brace against the burn, sometimes resisting, often absorbing it with a sick fascination for opening old wounds. I’m spiraling, no question, abandoning everything I’ve become, everything she loved, in favor of the easier slide down. She would hate this, but that’s what happens when you rescue a sinner and remove the saint.
I’ve just woken from my latest brush with unconsciousness when a rustle catches my attention. My eyes snap to the notebook fluttering in a phantom breeze, and I shoot to my knees.
“Rachel?” I glance around, shaking. “Are you here?” I jump up and run to the door. Peering into the darkness, I search every recess of the basement, praying for a sign it’s still haunted. Maybe there are new shadows hovering in the dark?
After a thorough search, I come up empty, the hope deflating from my lungs as I trudge back to my room. If she’s here, she’s not in a place I can access. I’d know. I’d feel life instead of this hollow vacuum.
I drop back to the blankets and pull the notebook into my lap, my pulse picking up at the image in front of me. Maybe it was her somehow, distant and scolding me. Sparks rush through me as my arteries pump heat instead of ice for the first time in days. Staring back from the page is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Hands clasped to her chest, eyes wide with wonder, she’s almost alive in this memory of when I first opened the guitar case. A smile tickles my lips as I trace her features, soaking in the details of that day. I look up, blinking into the empty room that suddenly feels less empty. I turn the page.
Next I find a forest nymph dancing around my basement. An intricate wreath of flowers is threaded into her long, dark hair, gorgeous but no match for the princess wearing them. She’s weightless and carefree as she innocently blasts her light over cold dirt floors. What I wouldn’t do to hear her laughter now. Maybe I do. I swear she’s giggling the longer I stare at the image, and something inside me starts to thaw. The void shrinks. That�
��s why I drew these, right? To remember… to relive. To keep her in my heart as the “love of one who’s eternal.” I turn the page again.
A laugh bursts through my pain at the picture of her contorted face, trying so hard and failing miserably to play a G chord. She mastered it by the end, though, didn’t she? Of course she did because my angel was as stubborn as they came. She owned that chord, along with every other one necessary to play our song. God, she was determined to fill this space with evidence of two souls joined as one. I find myself absently rubbing the callouses on my fingers, remembering how it felt to bask in the ocean chimes of her voice. That song, the stir of our harmonies floating into eternity. I glance at the lonely, tattered guitar. How can our song be eternal if I stop playing it? You promised, Milo. You know damn well you promised. I shudder and turn the page.
This one stops my heart. Damn, she’s beautiful. Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away. My finger travels over every line of her image as she stares down at me in naked perfection. The light shines just right to catch her exactly how I saw her at that moment. It’s almost like she’s too bright for the force of the shadows lapping at her skin. Her radiance deflects them, causing a strange, surreal silhouette outlining her form. An artist couldn’t create this lighting effect if he tried.
Promise me?
I gaze at this one the longest, and something ruptures inside me. A levee breaks, and soon nothing can stop a longing so deep no void can contain it. I need my girl, my angel, and I won’t find her in the darkness. She’s not waiting in black holes and hollow nothingness. She’s everywhere else. In the music, the light, etched into my heart, and right in front of me, staring out with a love so strong I feel it beyond time and space. I hear the music again, blasting a piercing symphony not even death can silence. My hands instinctively reach for the guitar.
Who’s laughing now, Universe?
I tuck my middle finger back on the fret, smirking at the thought of her laughing at me and my lame defiance. But I need her with me and this is where I’ll find her.
The first few chords strain out miserably. I cringe at the scratch of their imperfections, unworthy of our song, let alone the angel who inspired them. I stop, shake out my hands and try again. This time the progression lilts with sweet confidence that would make any celestial being proud. I even smile, imagining her narrowed eyes softening into relief. These are notes she would love.
Time’s curse lifts as I play. Each minute passes in rebellion, insignificant and fleeting as the music pours out, filling voids and healing cracks. I soak it in like air, water, fire, and all the elemental tools that define an existence that suddenly feels whole again. Is this what Rachel wanted for me? Not purpose found in her, but in myself, to be my own sun that outshines the shadow. Maybe warming a path for someone else? What if…
A wave of energy bursts through me at a strange thought. I place the guitar in the case and push up on the blankets, shivering with anticipation. After grabbing the case and my notebook, slowly, cautiously, I make my way to the stairs. My hand shakes as I grip the railing, gazing up at the thin spears of light projecting through the distant door. Why do I think I can do this? I don’t know except that it feels right. No. It feels necessary.
Several seconds pass as I drag in a deep breath and steady myself on the bottom step. Heart racing, muscles trembling, it’s impossible to squelch the familiar panic of Hell, that somewhere on these stairs the eternal void waits for me, keeping me trapped down here as a prisoner. I must be crazy to consider defying it now.
Chase the light.
Startled, I glance around me. The basement stands just as it did a moment ago, empty and dark, but I hear her voice as clearly as I did when she stood next to me. She’s not here, but she is because I am. Because she shone her light into this death-hole and forced me out.
Chase the light.
I stare up at the rays above me. Streaks that used to mock me, now beckon.
What if…
Faith, something I never had, even laughed at as a weakness, now swells in my chest and pushes me up the first step. Hope. Wasn’t that the enemy? A weapon to be avoided at all costs, propels me to the next. Love. Rachel’s face forms in my view, eyes warm, voice sweet, and touch gentle with compassion for one so broken she couldn’t have seen a soul worth saving. But she did. Against all odds, she did. And here I am, against all odds—
Lifting my foot again.
I push through the door, squinting into the rush of sunlight. The burn would be painful if it weren’t so magnificent. I stand paralyzed at the top, absorbing every foreign sight around me. I was right, the wallpaper is as ugly up close as I suspected. The sconce is irreparably crooked. The floors are littered with debris, and god, is it beautiful. A laugh bursts from my lungs, then another, and another until I’m practically doubled over in a maniacal display of joy.
“Milo?”
I glance up, wiping my eyes as Roy comes around the corner, looking as confused as ever.
“How did you…?”
I shrug, still chuckling at the insanity of it all. He’s going to ask questions I can’t possibly begin to answer, but who cares? I’m free. Free! I start laughing again, almost dropping the guitar. I set it down for its own safety.
Roy watches in silence as I straighten and grip the door behind me. For several seconds I stare down the steps and into the void. How did she even find me down there?
“You okay, man?” Roy asks, pulling me out from the past.
I nod and grin. Then I slam the door so fucking hard, the stupid sconce crashes to the floor.
Roy studies the remains of the candle with a partly concerned, partly amused expression.
“Welcome to topside,” he mutters dryly.
I shrug and pick up my guitar, following as he instinctively leads me away. We move through the house, and I notice other residents I never even knew inhabited this place. Some are old, some young, some fresh, and some are haggard as if my journey isn’t the isolated slice of hell I thought. Something moves in my chest as we wander, tugging at me with each face and each murmured greeting we exchange. I’m free, but free for what? Rachel wanted me to help Roy, but what about these strangers? How many broken, damaged souls are trapped here, desperate for the light? If they just had a guide…
I swallow and grip the handle on my guitar, the binding of my notebook. In this rundown, ghostly halfway house, what will it take to make us whole? I sense that I’m holding the map in my hands, articulated and sketched by a painful, breathtaking journey that began in a void and ended in the sun. Somewhere, there’s an angel looking on, smiling through joyful tears as she watches her rocker boy transform from monster to king of the moonlight, newly alive with purpose.
You want me to help them, don’t you.
I don’t expect an answer. I don’t need one. The monster is dead.
Milo Marchesi has been reborn.
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
King of the Moonlight
Ethel, Pete, Jose, Rosie, Amit, Brianne, and Stefan: all residents of 723 Maple Avenue, in addition to Roy and myself. Most of them didn’t even know they had a rat trapped down in the basement. Now that I’m here, they’ve accepted me into the family, and it’s not long before I’m the mentor guiding them through the rigors of visions and healing. I become a brother, a son, and a friend who spreads light in the form of music. I offer hope about what awaits if we can get our shit together. When Jose and Brianne get their chests within days of each other, the others start to believe as well. Even Roy softens to the point of triggering his repentant visions. After the tenth apology for making light of my agony when he’d witnessed mine, I make him swear to stop or I’ll start throwing punches again.
I show them how to handle the pain. Why they should embrace it and have hope that it will bring something better.
Strangely, my own visions start again. The first trigger surprised me, the aura settling around me in a terrifying replay of sensory memory. My body trembled, my heart r
aced with fear of old traumas I thought I’d cleansed. It didn’t make sense until the scene sharpened into focus and my muscles relaxed in pleasure instead of pain. Waiting for me in that other place was a beautiful girl who loved to dance. I didn’t want to leave that first time, and woke with the sick nausea of disappointment instead of guilt. If that was my eternity, vividly reliving memories with Rachel, I’d be happy.
They started coming frequently after that. Every time I’d fall into that place, she’d be waiting, ready to tease me, excite me, and shine her light through memory after memory of our time together. I went from dreading visions to longing for them. Excusing myself from the others with an air of excitement every time I felt another coming along. That was two weeks ago. Two months? Two years? I don’t even know.
What I know is that since then I’ve seen countless souls move through this house. Some arrive almost ready to move on; others carry so much weight, I’m sure they’ll be here long after the rest of us. Still, I do my best to love with the patience and compassion that was shown to me, always imagining Rachel here, smiling when I succeed, scolding me when I slip up. And I do. Of course I do.
Mostly, it’s when I’m alone and staring at the empty pages of a notebook I wish were full. Sometimes I miss her so much I fear I won’t be able to get up and take another breath. But I do that too. Get up. Breathe. And chase the light so hard, there’s now a chorus of others joining our “Haunted Melody” and chasing the sun as well.
Haunted Melody: A Ghost Story Page 20