The Vial Wished For

“It’s exactly what you wished for.” He hands me the gift. Wrapped in red and white striped paper, finished with green satin bow.

My heart skips a beat at his words. Exactly what I wished for? How did he manage that?

I will my hands to steady as I pull the cool, smooth strands of green, untying the bow. The paper falls away to reveal a wooden box ordained with intricate geometric carvings. I pause, taking in the craftsmanship. Other worldly.

“Go on, open the box,” Trew says. He smiles, but his eyes glisten with sadness.

I unlatch the tiny bronze clasp and lift the lid. Inside on a maroon velvet pillow sits a glass vile filled with swirling gray blue dust.

I gasp, filled with awe and wonder as I gaze upon an untethered spirit.

“I wanted this holiday to be special.”

I know why. Because of the spirit we had dream of and lost. The spirit we had made that was gone and could never be forged again.

“My gods, Trew. How did you find this?” I say, voice trembling.

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. There is no place I wouldn’t go.” He pauses, voice also beginning to shake, “I want you to know how special you are. And I want you to be happy. To smile again.”

I look at him, his darkened skin and kind eyes glowing in the warm twinkling holiday lights. He is my gift.

“When do you want to start looking for a host?” he asks.

“There is no rush,” I say, lifting a hand to cradle his face.

He nods and leans into me. “It came with a description of the spirit. Strengths, weaknesses, ideal host body and whatnot. It’s written in a dead language and I didn’t have time to have it translated, but it would be worth reading before we start looking.”

“Of course,” I say, closing the box. I move to set the box and it’s contents on the coffee table in front of us.

Trew and I finish a bottle of wine and head to bed.

I wake the next morning to Trew drawing lazy circles on my arm. I open my eyes. Golden sun pours across Trew’s smiling face. It’s early.

“Hey,” I say, rolling on my side to face him.

“I’d like us to get up early today, to find a translator for the spirit’s documents,” he says and adds a gentle, “sorry,” to apologize for waking me.

“Really, Trew, I feel no need to rush things. How long has the spirit been without a host anyway? Thousands of years? Surely it can wait a few weeks as well.”

His face pales. “Weeks?” he asks.

“I really didn’t think you’d find one. And I really didn’t think we’d be able to afford one. Gods, I don’t even want to know how much it cost.”

“I told you, I just wanted you to be happy.” His smile returns. “It’s just that the mystic I purchased it from told me she had noted it was growing restless.”

“You bought the spirit from a mystic? No a spiritual procurement center? For fuck’s sake, Trew. Where did she get it? How do we even know it’s the real deal? Has it been tested? Has it been certified?”

“None of that matters, you got what you wanted, didn’t you? Who cares about the details?”

“I do, Trew. I do. This could be stolen. There could be a couple like us, now filled with grief that the spirit their love created is gone,” tears fill my eyes at the thought. I will never wish that pain on anyone.

“Don’t be ridiculous. The spirit we created failed. It had some kind of fatal flaw. What did the healer say? Incompatible with a host. If there is a couple out there who were lucky enough to create a spirit compatible with a host, and were foolish enough to loose it or have it stolen, they don’t deserve it to begin with.”

“Listen to yourself, Trew!” I shout. “You are the one being ridiculous.”

He lets out a breath. I echo him. We don’t want to fight. We don’t need to fight.

“Let’s have the document translated. That will probably answer some of your questions.”

“Fine,” I agree.

Hours later, after two trips to the public library and a trip to the community college, we sit across from a dark haired woman in a cluttered office that smells of old paper. She eyes the spirit’s document over small round glasses. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she doffs the glasses and looks up.

“This is really quite fascinating,” she says. “Where did you acquire this document?”

I open my mouth to speak, but Trew cuts me off.

“I found it at thrift store.”

“Alone, or was there a box and vile of a dust like substance nearby?”

“Just the paper,” Trew says with a shrug.

“Fascinating indeed. Give me just a moment to write the translation,” She says and picks up a pencil.

Moments later, she hands the paper to Trew. He doesn’t read it. He folds it in thirds and tucks it in his pocket.

“You may want to return to the thrift store where you found that document and notify the owner of what you have found. If the spirit the document speaks of is there,” she shakes her head, “well, I don’t know what could happen, but that spirit is ancient and should only be in the hands of an expert.”

It isn’t until we are out of the building that Trew hands me the paper. I unfold it and read. The strengths and weaknesses are unremarkable. The spirit seeks a human host. All the details look totally normal. Year of conception, 700. Location of conception, the Cedrum Valley. I sigh with relief at both of those facts. Whomever caused the conception of the spirit in our possession was long dead. And ruling party of the Cedrum Valley fell in 1650. There will be no chance for litigation from the spirit’s creators, nor it’s country of origin.

“Okay,” I say approvingly, “let’s find a host.”

Trew checks his watch. “If we leave now, I think we can make it to the Host Center before they close.”

We arrive with fifteen minutes to spare. The building is a huge warehouse, with beautiful landscaping leading to the front door.

We enter and are greeted by a cheerful woman in a cream business suit and high heels.

“Welcome to the Host Center. What can I help you with today?” she says.

“We came to select a host,” I say. My heartbeat quickens. The weight of what we are doing settles on me. We are selecting a host.

“Right this way,” she says.

We follow the woman through the isles. Row after row of unformed and unclaimed hosts waiting to be chosen for a spirit.

“I think you’ll find a suitable host between sections 346 and 350. These are all human and begin in infant form. You may choose the sex, but many couples prefer to choose that at random,” she points to the sign that reads Random above section 348.

I nod and glance at Trew from the corner of my eye. He is beaming.

“Random is fine,” he says, and squeezes my hand.

“Excellent. There is a description on each case with the anticipated skin, eye, and hair color,” she appears to want to say more, but Trew interupts.

“That doesn’t matter. I don’t care at all what our family looks like, I just want a family. I just want an us.”

I note the longing on his face. It almost hurts.

“You can choose,” I say.

Trew reaches out a hand and selects one of the hard round cases from the shelf at his eye level. He turns it over several times in his hands, then pauses to read the description.

“This one is perfect,” he says, face illuminated by love.

The woman clasps her hands over her heart. “When you know, you know,” she says.

We walk to the front check-out desk.

“Do you have the paperwork from the spiritual procurement center?” she asks once she is behind the counter.

Trew sets the hard case containing the host down with tender care and clears his throat before I can speak. “We don’t have a spirit yet,” he says.

Another lie. What we are doing is not illegal. I do not understand why he is not being upfront with anyone about what is going on. Surely we are not the only people who have sought out and found a spirit through a mystic.

“Oh, that is quite alright. A bit unconventional, but alright. Typically, when a spirit is acquired it comes with a rebate or a discount code for the host. You will just have to pay out of pocket today. But, I’m sure you expected that.”

“Yes, of course.” Trew reaches for his billfold.

She scans the code on the host’s case. I try not to balk when the price appears on the tiny screen above the card reader.

Trew doesn’t seem to even notice the price as he holds his payment card to the reader. His eyes are glued to the host, shapeless and twinkling in the bright store lights.

At home, Trew places the host on the coffee table next to the box containing the untethered spirit.

“Do you know how to make the spirit enter the host?” I ask. I certainly have no clue how this process works.

“Yes. It’s easy.”

Trew gently opens the hard case containing the host, and lifts out a translucent globule. He lays the globule on the table then takes the vial of gray blue dust from its box. He pulls the cork from the top of the vile and swiftly pours the dust onto the host.

We watch as a reaction occurs. Cells double and triple before our eyes. The shape of an infant takes form, flesh developing and turning pink. The hosts eyes shoot open, then its mouth. It sucks in a huge breath.

We did it. I look at Trew. Tears stream down his face. He plants a wet kiss on my cheek, then leans down and plants one on the tiny pink host cooing and smiling up at us. No, not a host. A baby. We have a baby.

Suddenly, the smile on the baby’s face turns to a grimace. Bile spills from its mouth and the baby lets out a stridorous screech.

“No, no, no! You must stay in the host! Please!” Trew pleads. I turn my eyes from the baby to Trew, I’ve never seen his face laced with such worry.

I turn my attention back to the baby. A puff of gray blue dust comes out of the baby’s nostrils. Color drains from the host. It’s face and form morph back into the globule it had been only moments ago. The baby is gone.

A tear rolls down my face.

Trew falls to his knees next to me and lets out a sorrowful wail. And another. And another. His breaths quicken and grow shallow.

“We can try again. Maybe the mystic will exchange this spirit. Maybe it’s just too old.”

“No. We will not try again,” he says through his hyperventilating, eyes now full of anger.

He takes a deep breath, I assume to calm himself, but as he does, he inhales the gray blue dust floating above the host.

“Trew, you…” I gasp. It’s too late.

Trew turns to me, his eyes now calm. A wicked smile grows on his face. “A full grown man?” he clicks his tongue, “this is what I call a host.”

He stands, admiring his height and build, “Gods, how tall am I? Six foot, two?”

“Trew…” the whisper escapes my trembling lips. I search the eyes of the being in front of me. Searching for any sign Trew is still in that body.

“He’s gone. His spirit is floating over there. Collect him in the empty vial if you wish.”

I turn and see a cloud of that same gray blue dust floating behind me. My hands shake uncontrollably as I reach for the glass vial.

“Are you sure you wish to collect the spirit of a liar? You want him to have another chance at life? Let him go. Let the wind scatter him across the globe.”

I don’t just want Trew to have another chance at life, I want him to have this life. I want him with me. I reach for the vial and move to collect Trew’s spirit. I hold the vial to the cloud of dust and it funnels in, like it’s seeking safety.

“Give him his body back,” I say through clenched teeth. Fury builds within me.

“No. I like it. He’s in good shape. I have nice body, you have a spirit with a host. We both got our wish,” the spirit in Trew’s body says matter-of-factly.

“This isn’t my wish. I would never trade Trew for anything. He is my greatest gift.”

“You see, Kim, that is your name isn’t is?” He asks and I nod. “I now own this body and all the memories with it. Trew does nothing but lie. He lied all fucking day. To everyone. I will give you the greatest gift anyone can offer. The truth.”

My face twists in discomfort. The eyes I knew as Trew’s narrow, then look at me with pity.

“Trew was more than devastated by the loss of the spirit the two of you created. When the spirit was lost, Trew gave up on your relationship. He didn’t want just you. He wanted a family with you. He’s never wanted just you. You alone could never have been enough for him. He was going to leave you if this didn’t work out.”

“How do I know you aren’t the one that’s lying?”

“Here, see for yourself.” He extends a folded sheet of paper to me. I read over it and note the signature of the professor from the community college at the bottom. A detail the paper he had given me earlier in the day did not include. Or rather, could not include because he had not known her name when he forged the translated document.

But that isn’t the only thing that makes me nauseous. I am filled with dread as I read the description of the spirit.

The spirit contained in this vial is that of Verum. Once released upon the earth, he will bring things in the darkness to light by any means necessary.

I look up into the eyes that now belonged to another. They are filled with clarity. There is a longing in those eyes not just for truth, but also for justice. But this, this is wrong. Trew should not have his body stolen.

I wrestle with my thoughts, only for a moment, when Verum lunges at me, reaching a hand to the vial. I stumble backwards and down to the floor. I catch myself with open palms, and send the vial containing Trew’s spirit crashing down with me. It shatters.

“Think of what it means to have me here. To have me on earth. My truth seeking does not only apply to you. It applies to all people and all institutions.”

I chew my lower lip. Time seems to stop as I digest what I have just heard.

I loose a heavy breath at the gray blue ball of dust hovering above the shattered glass vial. The dust falls to the floor in a diffuse pattern.

“I’lI get the broom,” Verum says, and disappears around the corner.

*Sensitive content: Miscarriage, infant loss.