by Eliza Lainn
I stowed the Frodo figure back on my bookshelf. Then I turned to look over at Samwise. "What do you think?"
"I think we've been here long enough. And our presence isn't always met with the same hospitality, open-mindedness, and acceptance that you and Bronte have shown."
"What does that mean?"
He sighed and Samwise fell to the bed. "Let me talk to him. Go ahead and have Noah arrive tomorrow. If we're not agreed on a course of action by then, maybe speaking with him, we might."
I shuddered as something cold passed through my arm. "Sleep well, Stella."
"Goodnight," I mumbled to the empty room.
Chapter Ten
"Bronte isn't here?" Noah asked as he stepped into the apartment.
I shut the door behind him. "No. She had Saturday plans with her mother. But I didn't tell her anyway. She doesn't know that you're here."
He'd been taking off his coat and scarf but now he stopped and gave me a curious look. Whatever thoughts wandered through his mind must not have been strong enough to voice because he finished taking off his winter items without a word. "I didn't tell Rose either."
"We should probably keep it that way."
"Yeah."
"Do you want something to drink? Tea? Coffee?"
"No, thank you. We should probably just get this over with." He stepped into the living room, looking around expectantly. "Where do they usually appear? Is there an object they seem to gravitate toward? A space?"
I wrapped my arms around myself and stared at Noah. "Before we start...I have questions."
He turned, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What questions?"
"Is it going to hurt them?"
He blinked, as if the thought had never crossed his mind before. And he took entirely too long to answer. "I wouldn't know. Considering none of the ghosts stick around, I haven't had the opportunity to ask them."
"And you don't use this on the monsters that come after ghosts? Does it not work or have you never tried it before?"
The wrinkles on his brow deepened. "What's with the questions?"
"Have you ever tried to purify the monsters that come after ghosts?" I insisted.
"No, I haven't."
"Shouldn't we try that before trying it on the ghosts? I mean, they aren't hurting anything." The look he gave me kept my lips rambling. "I mean, you wouldn't want someone to come in and exorcise or purify or whatever the little old widow you met, would you? I mean, they don't deserve to be forcibly pushed on to the next life, right?"
"Well they certainly don't belong in this world."
"But shouldn't that be their choice?"
"Sadly, no," he frowned. He took a step closer. "Where are they, Stella?"
"How could it not be their choice?" I asked, taking a step back. My heel bumped against the closed front door.
"As sad as it is, that choice was most likely taken from them. If these ghosts were murdered or committed suicide—as most are—or have some other strong emotion tying them to this place such as grief or fear, they tend to stay. But it goes against what should be. Humans live here, die, and their spirits move on. If their spirits stay here, it goes against what should be. I can fix that."
"But what if it isn't something that needs fixing? I mean, it's pretty arrogant to assume that, right? Who died and left you in charge of ghosts and when they get to move on?"
He took another step. "Stella, where are they?"
"That's close enough," Cyril said, his voice filling the room.
Noah whirled around and made eye contact with something near my bedroom door, on the far side of the living room. For a moment, no one spoke. And the silence resounded loudly in my ears. "Cyril?" I asked, more to break the silence than anything. "Is Oliver with you?"
"Yes," Oliver's voice sounded, again from the far side of the room.
Noah glanced at me over his shoulder, surprised. "You can't see them?"
"No. Just hear them. And sometimes touch."
His surprise deepened. "And Bronte?"
"She can see and sometimes touch."
"Interesting," he said, turning back to face them. "I can see and hear. But I've never touched one before. I wonder what it's like."
"Cold," I blurted out and then thought better of it. I amended quickly. "But not unpleasant or too cold. Like a chill. It's not a bad feeling."
He nodded absentmindedly, still staring at the ghosts in the living room.
"How does it work?" Cyril asked. "The purification."
"Yes," I added, thinking that Noah might not answer to the spirits themselves. "I'm curious about that too."
For a moment, Noah continued to stare at the ghosts, his back to me. And I wondered if he planned on ignoring us when he answered. "The way I figure it, humans able to perceive ghosts are more in tuned with energies than most. There have been, after all, cases in which humans and ghosts have cohabitated without the veil being torn and perceptions deepening. Those that can perceive ghosts, in common language, would be called psychics."
I scoffed and he glanced at me with a wry grin over his shoulder. "No one's ever accused you of being a psychic before?"
"Of course not."
His stony gaze softened slightly. "Yeah, well, if I'm right about you, you're one hell of a psychic. Or Bronte is."
"What does that mean?" Cyril asked.
Noah whipped around again, his posture straightening. "It took me years for my perceptions to reach the point where I could sense a ghost with only one of the five senses. Sound. We're talking ten years or so. Stella and Bronte have cut that time by a tenth. So, from my thinking, one of them has been channeling spiritual energies on full blast. Like, if you imagine it as a faucet, I'd be a dripping faucet and either Stella and Bronte would be on all the way."
"And why do you figure that?" I asked. "Just because we could perceive our ghosts in a year?"
"Yes, and more than that, it's affected the other. It's just a guess, but I think whichever one of you is going on full blast, it sort of filled up the other's sink too. Like it overflowed into it."
"By why just each other?" Oliver questioned. "Why not the people they lived with previously? Their families?"
Noah shrugged. "Well, not everyone has a sink and faucet."
"Which is which?" I wondered. "Or who's overflowing?"
He shrugged again. "I have no idea."
Oliver let out a huff of exasperation. "As fascinating as this is, what does it have to do with the purification?"
"Because psychics perform it. I think, as psychics, we can tap into life energies—or whatever you want to call it—and that's why we're able to see ghosts." He looked over his shoulder at me again. "You've seen The Lion King, right?"
I smiled weakly and nodded.
He gave me a slight smile too. "The circle of life? Everybody in this world, the people on the dot from the paper towel last night, are a part of it. Ghosts, monsters, and whatever is beyond are removed from it. So we're all on the circle, working our way through it: being born, living, giving birth, dying. But psychics can feel it on a level unlike most people. They can tap into it. And that's the energy behind the purification process."
"So what? We tap into like a communal...life...energy...circle?" I struggled to find the words.
"I think so."
"And how do we do that?"
He stepped aside and waved for me to stand beside him.
I hesitated.
"It's fine," Oliver said, his silvery voice gruff.
Noah frowned but then, when I stepped up beside him, he relaxed. He turned to face the room. "Bear with me. It might look weird from the get-go."
When I gave him a nod, he squared his shoulders. Then he reached up and covered his left eye with the palm of his left hand. He gave me an apologetic look with the rest of his face. "It helps. I always thought of it like an old-fashioned camera. Taking a picture. But it's got to build up first and the best way to do that is by covering your eye. Or you could close your eyes completely, b
ut I at least like being able to see partially. Go ahead."
I copied his movements, placing my left palm over my left eye as well as I could, though my glasses stopped me from covering the eye directly. But it did the gist of it. I could only see out of my right eye. "And what happens next?"
"Concentrate on purifying. Cleansing. Removing what needs to be removed. Focus on that, concentrate on it. And channel your will into that thought. You want it. You want it with every fiber of your being."
I tried to do as he instructed. But the welfare of Cyril and Oliver kept creeping into my mind. I turned toward Noah, to see him with my uncovered eye. "This isn't going to purify them, is it?"
"If I did it, it would. But with you, since you're not as strong yet, I think it should just stun them a bit. Though, that being said, if you're the geyser and Bronte's the sponge, maybe it will."
My hand fell to my side. "I don't know, Noah. I just—I don't think they need to be purified."
"I've done this dozens of times before. If it helps, don't think of it as purification. Think of it as helping them move on."
His attention was fixated on the living room. I couldn't see Cyril and Oliver, but I knew he was watching them. Staring.
I turned toward where I thought they were. "Do you guys—"
Noah removed his hand.
Light erupted from his eye. It was unlike anything I'd seen before. A wave of pure light that didn't give off any shadows. It wasn't blinding, it didn't shine like sunlight, but it was light nonetheless. It didn't stop when it reached an object, but wrapped around it, enveloping it under a layer. Under a film of whatever it was.
And when it touched Cyril and Oliver, they screamed as if seized by a sudden, sharp pain.
Chapter Eleven
"Cyril! Oliver!" I shouted, running into the room.
The light stopped at the walls. As far as Noah could see. And where it stopped, it created a shimmering wall. Like a film covering everything Noah saw, shimmering with a light that didn't act the way light should.
Noah grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in. "Let me finish, Stella."
I tried to wrench free from his grip but it was like iron. Stupid frat-boy strength. "They were screaming, Noah. You had to have heard them."
"It'll be over soon. They don't need to be here."
Pounding came from behind me. Noah still had hold of my arm but I could turn toward the sound, toward the far wall of the apartment. The wall that separated the living room from my bedroom.
Then I heard Cyril shouting. "Stella? Are you alright?"
Oliver's voice chimed in and the pounding doubled.
"It's a ward," Noah explained calmly. "I can only purify what I can see. I'll have to move room to room. But considering ghosts are unable to cross the boundary of whatever abode they're haunting, my ward will push them to it."
"And squish them between that wave and the boundary?" I asked, horrified.
He must have heard the revulsion in my tone because he looked down at me. "They need to move on, Stella. Before they bring the monsters that come next."
I tried prying his fingers from my arm. "I'm not letting you do this—they were screaming, Noah! It hurt them!"
He ignored me and started dragging me through the living room, toward my bedroom door. His free hand went to cover his eye again.
I switched tactics. Instead of trying to get free, I tried to stop him. Digging in my heels, I pushed against his chest.
"Dammit, Stella," he grumbled, trying to fight forward while keeping one hand over his eye. "Just let me finish it."
"No freaking way," I hissed, grabbing his hand, trying to pry it off his face. To expose his eye. Stop him from charging up or whatever he was doing.
The pounding continued behind me, even louder than before. Desperation and fury were seeping into their voices.
With a swear, Noah let his hand fall from his eye. A weaker wave of energy went out, meeting with the ward he'd already placed and merging. With his hands free, he wrestled me backward until my legs hit the back of the couch.
I toppled backward while he kept his balance. He towered over me as I landed on the couch, and from his vantage point, he grabbed my wrists and yanked my hands away from him. "Dammit, Stella, just stop it!"
I tried kicking at his legs. My first shot caught him in the shin, yanking a choice word from him. Then he leaned forward, his knees sinking into the couch cushions, straddling me to protect himself from more kicks. With his hands still wrapped around my wrists, he moved to pin them up to the back couch cushions.
Trapped, I couldn't kick or use my hands to fight back. Flailing wasn't working either. His weight, position, and strength all worked against me, keeping me under him no matter how hard I tried to throw him off.
So I used my last option. I screamed. Full blown, I'm-being-murdered scream.
One hand snapped from my wrists to cover my mouth, muffling the sound. And even with my hand free, I couldn't pull his hand from my mouth. It'd clamped on, and no matter how hard I pulled, it stayed firmly placed.
"Stella!" Cyril shouted, the pounding intensifying. I could hear the fear edging out the anger in his tone. His yells drowned out Oliver's, though I could hear him briefly when their voices didn't overlap.
Noah leaned in slightly. "I am doing you a favor, Stella. They need to be purified. Before one of the monsters that comes next finds you—and believe me, it won't be long. Not with four perceptions feeding into each other here. Let me finish this."
I bucked against him, trying to throw him off me.
He let out an angry sigh. "I can't leave without purifying those ghosts, Stella. Because if a monster comes next, and kills them, what do you think'll happen? It'll turn on you and Bronte. Then it'll find another person close by with a heightened perception: me."
That was it then. As much as he claimed this was to keep me and Bronte safe, he was scared. Scared of the monsters the came after ghosts.
Scared.
But that was no reason to murder innocent ghosts.
When I mumbled against his hand, he gave me a sharp shake of his head. "Hold on. I'll take my hand off if you promise not to scream. Think about it, Stella. Do you really want the police to show up and you try to explain that we'd been fighting because I wanted to purify your apartment and you got cold feet?"
He waited until I nodded before slowly removing his hand. No doubt ready to slap it back down the moment I let loose another scream.
But I didn't. Not yet, at least. Instead, I glared at him. "You're a freaking coward."
His eyes hardened. "I'm doing what needs to be done."
"If that were the case, you would have tried purifying the monster. Not innocent ghosts."
"Ghosts aren't innocent," he snapped. "Sure, some of them were murdered, and they didn't deserve that. But it's their own emotions that keep them tethered here. Fear, anger, resentment, grief. If they'd just let that shit go, they could move on and I wouldn't have to force them to leave."
"Have you ever given them a chance to? Have you ever tried to help them work through whatever problems they have?"
"We don't have the freaking time!" He shook his head disgustedly. "Not before a monster shows up. And what's the point, anyway? They all go to the same place, whether they go on their own time table or mine, it doesn't matter."
"You're hurting them!"
"Please, at this point, some of them are just happy to feel anything at all."
My eyes widened, both at his words and the disgust in his tone. He held my gaze for a minute and then sighed, his gaze and words softening. "Stella, I feel bad for these ghosts. Really, I do. But I'm not going to condemn myself and any other psychics that happen to be nearby just because it hurts a little bit. It hurts and then it's over. They move on. Sometimes you have to have a little pain before you can get stuff done."
I shook my head, repulsed. "Yeah, very noble coming from the one inflicting the pain."
"Does a doctor have to apologize for brea
king bones to realign them? Or a surgeon for cutting into a person to remove a tumor? We're all just trying to save lives here."
"Get off me."
He sighed. "Not until you agree to let me finish the purification, Stella. They don't belong here anymore and—"
My eyes flashed. "Noah Walker, get off me right now!"
Only my voice didn't sound like my voice anymore. Well, not just like my voice. It was like someone had added layers of sound to it, sounds that personified pure emotions. The base of it I recognized as my voice but the layers on top of it were biting and harsh, yet eloquent. And above all, authoritative. It was the voice kings used to rally troops or ancient orators used when swaying politics. It commanded respect. Demanded obedience.
Noah's eyes widened.
And then he got off me.
For a split second, we sat blinking at each other. Me sitting on the couch, him towering before me.
Then he lunged for me, both hands aiming for my mouth.
"Lower the ward!" I shouted, just as his hands clamped over my mouth.
He kept his hands pressed down, but in my periphery, I could see the light fading. The shimmering film that had spread out to cover everything that Noah could see began disappearing.
I struggled under him, trying to force his hands from my mouth, to issue another command, but there really wasn’t a need to.
I felt a chill move through me a second before he flew backward.
Chapter Twelve
My arms tightened around myself. I sat, shivering, on the couch. Part of it due to the ghostly aura surrounding me. Most of it was remembering the feel of Noah's hands on my wrists, his weight pushing me down. Trapping me.
I shuddered again and Cyril let out another heavy sigh. "You should have let us..."
"What?" I asked in the silence that followed. "Hurt him? Kill him? No."
"He deserved it," Oliver grumbled, his voice coming from near the apartment door. Disgust radiated from his voice. "Attacking a woman like that."
Another shiver went through my arm. "I'm fine, Cyril. Really."
The chill left and I heard Cyril's voice a few moments later coming from across the room. "If he comes back, I'm finishing what I started."