by Linda Bleser
I stopped, having run out of words. I waited. She could yell and scream and call me names. It didn’t matter. I deserved it all. But the only sound on the other end of the line was a deep inhale, then a long, trembling exhale. Finally she said the words I needed to hear. “I forgive you.”
It was only a start. I knew I couldn’t just apologize and waltz back into her life. I’d have to earn her trust again, and who knew how long that would take. But it was a start.
“Thank you,” I said. I hoped she heard the sincerity in my voice. I felt a weight lift from my heart. I knew I’d have to make this same phone call again when I returned to my own timeline, but I’d apologize a thousand times in a thousand timelines if I had to, over and over again.
When I hung up, the woman behind the desk, who couldn’t have helped overhearing my conversation, nodded with silent approval.
*
I was still feeling optimistic when my scheduled meeting with Parker rolled around.
“Have a seat,” he said. His voice was carefully controlled, but I could see something had changed.
I lowered myself onto the chair across from his desk and leaned forward. “What did you find out?”
He took a deep breath, then let it out with a soft sigh. “How did you know? I had to pull some pretty tight strings to get this information myself.”
I felt a weight slide from my shoulders. It was true. Up until this moment I hadn’t realized that a tiny seed of doubt had been planted in my mind. What if it had all been the product of a delusional mind? What if he’d been right about my mental illness, and every other timeline, including the one I was desperate to return to, was just the product of an unbalanced mind? The fact that he’d verified my story erased all doubt. Everything had happened exactly as I remembered.
“I told you,” I said. “I met you in an alternate reality where my mother hadn’t given you up for adoption and we were raised as brother and sister. I don’t think we were very close, but you gave me a piece of jewelry that I wanted for my birthday, so you must have cared about me. And you were trying to help me find a job. Maybe we had some unresolved issues. Maybe this is our second chance to get to know each other as equals.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know about that, but according to the paperwork we do share the same mother. That would make you my half-sister, I guess.”
I could see that the therapist in him didn’t want to feed into my delusions, if that’s what they were. But there was something in his eyes that said he didn’t disbelieve me as much today as he had yesterday, and as far as I could see we were making progress.
“So where do we go from here?” Parker asked. He watched me closely.
“Well, I guess it’s not really important that you believe me. I think my mission—or whatever it is—is complete now. I’m free to go back to my real life, and you can build a new relationship with your sisters, Jenna and Cassie.”
“As simple as that?”
I wasn’t sure, but it felt right. “Yeah, I think so.”
“How do you get back to your real life?” he asked with a quick, surreptitious glance at the bandages on my wrists.
I shook my head. No, not that way. “The house,” I explained. “The House of Cry. There’s a secret room, and that’s where it always happens. Some kind of portal or something. I don’t know how or why; it’s just there.”
I forced myself to slow down, trying not to sound hysterical. “See, it all started when my sister and I went to look at a house. I called it the House of Cry after a poem my mother wrote. While we were there, I went into a room I hadn’t seen before and … okay, I know this sounds crazy, but I hit my head and woke up in an alternate reality where my mother was still alive.”
I could see I was losing him. “Look, it doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me. I’m going to get back to the House of Cry one way or another and find my way back to my real world. What’s important is that you be there when I leave.”
“Why?”
“Because …” How could I explain? “Because I don’t know what happens to the person who belongs in this life when I move on. I don’t know if she’ll have any memory of what happened while I was using her body, or if it’ll all be a blank. Either way, she’s going to need you. You’re going to have to help her understand.”
“And what if you don’t move on? What if you’re trapped here in this life?” I could see he was humoring me, but it was something I’d considered as well.
“Then I’m going to need a big brother to help me deal with it.”
His face softened, and he gave a barely perceptible nod. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be there either way.”
*
I couldn’t believe that Parker—I still couldn’t think of him any other way—had agreed to accompany me. Maybe he could see that I was determined to go one way or the other and knew that I’d be safer if he was with me. Maybe this was part of our therapy, and he thought that confronting my fantasy would lead to a breakthrough. Or maybe some small part of him believed me. Either way, I was grateful.
He had only one request. He wanted to stop at the grave of the mother he’d never met.
I was unprepared for the emotional impact of leaving the recovery center with Parker. I trembled with a combination of excitement and fear of the unknown, like a child leaving for the first day of school. As much as I wanted to move on, I was leaving safety and security behind me. Had I done enough? Would Lorelei continue with her journals? Would Cassie forgive me?
I stopped and turned to Parker. “Would you do me another favor?”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Even if you don’t believe my story about alternate realities, you know I was right about the fact that we share a mother.”
He nodded.
“No matter what, you’re still my brother,” I said. “Cassie and I need you. And I think you also need us. Promise you’ll stay in our lives now that we’ve found each other?”
He took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I promise,” he said.
That was all I needed to hear. I felt like I’d accomplished everything I was meant to do in this timeline and looked forward to moving on to what I was sure would be the world where I belonged.
I led Parker to the grave site tucked into a quiet corner of the cemetery and pointed out the slab of granite with my mother’s name carved into the stone—Marjorie Parker Hall. I took a long, quivering breath. It looked exactly as it had the day I’d stood in this very spot on the morning of my birthday.
Parker wasn’t surprised by the votives, cards, and letters littering her grave. I’d explained about the constant stream of admirers who visited our mother’s grave. He was curious, however, turning items over, reading bits of poetry and personal notes left behind. I only had eyes for one thing on my mother’s grave, however.
A purple iris.
While Parker got down on his knees and said a prayer for the mother he had never known, I ran my finger over the velvety petals. Cassie had been here. She always left a single purple iris on our mother’s grave. She said the iris was symbolic of both sorrow and hope. Cassie had read that according to tradition, an iris placed on a woman’s grave would summon the goddess Iris, who would guide her soul to eternity.
It was only now that I realized the iris was Cassie’s way of saying she forgave our mother. Why couldn’t I? I had held onto my anger and resentment for so long, and it only hurt myself.
It was too late to tell my mother that I understood. I understood why she’d kept secrets that haunted her, why she’d turned that regret into self-hatred, and why she finally couldn’t face another day of living with the wrong choices. I understood that she lived with guilt even though she’d made the choices she had for all the right reasons. I understood and I forgave her.
Letting go released an emotional weight from my shoulders. I could forgive her now, knowing this was only one of many paths she’d chosen. I mouthed a silent prayer, knowing that in some of
those lifetimes she’d found the peace and happiness she’d been unable to find in this one.
I took the flower and brought it to my face, inhaling the subtle scent. Sorrow and hope. I’d had my share of both emotions these last few weeks. Overshadowing them both, however, was a new sense of anticipation. It was time to go home. I was so close to my own reality that I could sense it waiting for me right around the corner. All I had to do was step inside the secret room and I’d be there.
“What was she like?” Parker asked.
For a moment I wasn’t sure how to answer him. There was the emotionally absent mother of my childhood memories and the carefree mother I’d recently discovered. Which one was real—the darkness or the light? I suspected the truth was somewhere in between.
“She was …” I searched his eyes, seeing remnants of the little boy who wondered who his mommy was. “She was a woman who felt things deeply. It was both a blessing and a curse. I do know she loved you. When she lost you, she lost a piece of herself, and she was never whole again.”
I wasn’t sure if that helped him or not. His eyes were bright and his voice thick with unshed tears. He pressed his fingers to his lips, then traced her name on the cold stone and whispered something to the mother he had never known.
I turned away, feeling like an intruder on his private grief. After a few moments, he stood and brushed the dirt from his pants. “Let’s go,” he said in a gruff voice that no longer betrayed emotion.
I nodded. As much as I wanted to tell him about the mother he never knew, it wouldn’t bring her back. In his world she’d been dead for most of his life. Hearing about the mother who’d raised him in another reality would only hurt him more.
He followed my directions, his gaze trained on the road. I wondered if he was afraid to let me see the yearning in his eyes. Maybe he was afraid that if he let himself believe other realities existed, he’d finally realize all he’d lost in this one.
“There,” I said, pointing out the road leading to the House of Cry. I watched as we turned off the main road, my heart in my throat. Almost there. Almost home. I leaned forward as we rounded the bend. “Right there,” I said, pointing excitedly.
But I was pointing at nothing. The spot where the house should have stood was empty. I looked to the left and right, frantically searching for the house I knew should have been standing right in front of us.
“Where?” Parker asked.
The air seeped from my lungs in a slow escape, leaving me limp and deflated. “It should be right there,” I said, refusing to believe my eyes. Parker slowed to a stop and turned to look at me. The doubt on his face barely registered. All I could think about was that the house, along with the secret room and the only doorway back to my own reality, was gone. Vanished.
Parker put the car in park and turned, angling his body toward me. My brother was gone, and the therapist had returned. “Now are you ready to face reality?”
“No,” I screamed. “This isn’t my reality.” I pointed out the open window: “My reality is out there.”
“There’s nothing there,” he said, pointing out the obvious.
“Maybe we took a wrong turn,” I said, grasping at straws. “Maybe we …” Then I saw it, the nearly hidden path riddled with weeds that was as familiar to me as my own name. “There,” I said, grasping the door handle. “There’s the path.”
I jumped out of the car and raced up the barely perceptible path to where the front door should have been. Only then did I see the charred foundation, the burned-out ashes and blackened remnants of what used to be.
I dropped to my knees. “No, no, no.”
18
Parker was there, lifting me back to my feet. I broke through the paralysis gripping me and stumbled forward, shaking my head in denial.
“It was right here,” I cried. I stood where the kitchen would have been, seeing it clearly in my memory. This was where my mother had baked me a cake and wished me happy birthday as if she’d been there for every birthday in the last twenty years. This was where I’d finally filled the empty void where my mother should have been.
I moved forward, tracing my footsteps through the ruined dirt to where the living room would be, where Parker had given me a pin that looked like the tree of life. That gift represented everything I’d come to learn about the many divergent paths we live, teaching me that the present is only an illusion leading to many possibilities where the branches diverged. It was up to us to make each path the best choice possible, despite the obstacles thrown in our way.
And here were the remnants of the bedroom where Bob had made love to me and shown me what was possible if I only opened up and allowed myself to take the risk of being hurt again. Every choice involved risk. If we loved others, they had the power to hurt us by leaving or dying. But without love, what was the sense of any of it? The alternative was a lonely heart that withered and died.
It was all here—my past, my present, and my future, all here in the charred rubble of the House of Cry. I walked deeper, aware of Parker standing on the sidelines watching cautiously. There was something here. I felt it. Something I had yet to understand.
I searched frantically for where the secret room might be. If I could only pinpoint its location, maybe there was hope after all. If not, I was doomed to remain here in this life with only the scars on my wrist to remind me of the mistakes I’d made.
I scoured the dry and ruined landscape, trying to remember where I was when I’d entered the secret room. Here? Or here? I was only vaguely aware of Parker calling my name as I circled round and round and round. Tears blurred my vision. I moved without conscious thought, letting instinct guide me.
Then it happened. I felt the familiar vertigo and welcomed the sense of déjà vu that overtook my senses. A tight white vortex sucked me inward, and the world seemed to spin and dissolve around me. I could see Parker’s face, his eyes concerned. His arms reached out, out, out, too late to catch me as I began to fall.
*
There was no slip into unconsciousness this time. One moment I was outside with Parker and the next I was back in the secret room. I shook off the dizziness and reached for the door, convinced my real life was waiting for me on the other side. I turned the handle and opened the door to find … another hallway lined with a series of unopened doors.
What the hell?
I spun around, reached for the door behind me, and opened it again, only to find another hallway lined with even more doors. I threw open one, then another, trapped in a never-ending labyrinth of doors. Which one to choose?
My breath came in short, quick bursts, and a throbbing pulse pounded in my temples. I knew I was running out of time. I had to find my way out. If I didn’t, I’d be lost forever.
I stood frozen with indecision, looking around me. The hallways stretched endlessly in every direction, lined with almost identical doors. Almost. They all looked the same at first glance, but there were miniscule variations. In some cases it was barely enough to tell them apart … a curlicue engraved here, a shade lighter wood there, a glass knob on one, and a metal handle on another.
Pick one, pick one. More hallways. More doors. How would I ever find my way out? Shifting shadows raced ahead of me, shadows that twisted and turned and disappeared just out of reach. Here. Then there. Maya? Was she trying to lead me to the right portal? I ran, trying to keep up with the fleeting shadow that slipped in and out of my sight.
Finally I reached a dead end. Only one choice was left. I threw open the final door and found myself in a dimly-lit room. There was Cassie at the far end, her back to me. I recognized her hair, the butter yellow array of curls that had a mind of their own. “Cassie,” I cried, but my voice was small and muffled. I ran across the room, calling her name, but she didn’t move.
Only then did I notice that she was kneeling at the side of a casket.
I slowed. Something told me I didn’t want to see inside the casket. I looked around and noticed a few other people here and there. No one
seemed to notice me. At the back of the room I saw Maya sitting alone, a dark veil pulled over her face.
I turned from Maya to Cassie and back again, shaking my head. It couldn’t be. I had to see for myself.
“Cassie?” I stepped closer, trying desperately to get her attention, but to no avail. The walk across the room seemed to take forever. It was as if I were pushing against a wall of cold, stale air. Cassie knelt beside the casket, sobbing like her heart was broken. I looked over her shoulder, somehow not surprised to see the body nestled on white satin inside the rosewood casket.
It didn’t even look like me. It looked like a wax figure carved by someone who barely knew me. The hair was wrong, the absence of life horrifyingly real. I saw the purple iris nestled in my cold, clasped hands.
I was wrong. So wrong. I’d thought there were only two paths leading from each choice, but sometimes there were multiple outcomes diverging from a single choice. Only now did I realize that if there was a reality where I’d attempted suicide and failed, then logically there’d be an alternate reality where I’d attempted suicide and succeeded. That’s where I was now, a ghost walking in a world where I no longer existed.
“I’m sorry, Cassie,” I said. My voice was a hollow whisper that floated beyond her reach. She couldn’t hear me, but a shiver rocked her shoulders. She’d never know how much I regretted hurting her this way.
“How could you do this?” Cassie sobbed. “You broke your promise. You said you’d never leave.”
There was more pain than anger in her voice. I wanted to reach out and comfort her, but it was too late. I no longer had the right to comfort or explain. I’d thrown it all away when I’d taken my own life. I felt a deep disappointment in myself for wasting something so precious. I glanced at Maya sitting at the back of the room. She held my gaze.
I blinked, but there were no tears on my cheeks. Ghosts don’t cry.