More Dark and Dark Our Woes

I’ve been trapped here for so long. In this dark and shadowy place. I can’t see the shadows, but I can feel them: shadows of time, shadows of places. Sometimes the seconds seem to stretch out for all eternity, other times it’s as though I’ve just arrived here – wherever here is. It seems like here is both everywhere and nowhere. An in-between place.

              When my soul was violently ripped from my body, it felt as though I was on fire; burning from the inside out. One moment I was on the stone floor of Saint Matthew’s Church, the next I was here, plunged into the icy darkness; a thousand needles piercing my skin. I don’t know how I could feel all that, when I no longer have a body.

              It took a long time to work out what had happened. I’d forgotten everything. I couldn’t even remember who I was. Slowly the memories came back: my parents, the fighting – her. I remembered flashes; bits and pieces that didn’t quite fit together. Bits and pieces that didn’t quite feel like memories; didn’t feel like they were mine. I remembered her pale face, and my dark hand. Slowly, slowly, faded images grew sharper and clearer until a trickle became a flood: running red lights, fighting back tears, the candles in the church. There were so many candles. Their flickering light threw shadows on the walls – a hundred ghostly crucifixes stared down at me. I got there too late.

              That’s all there is now: the memories. Even the pain faded with time. There’s that word again: time. I don’t even know what that means anymore. There’s no way to mark it. Just the constant emptiness – the emptiness of an infinite expanse filled with hollow souls. Sometimes the shadows feel like imprints of the land of the living; like you could reach out and touch it. Sometimes the veil feels so thin. Like now. It’s like the air has started to vibrate – if there even is air here.

              Fragments of light shine through, like beams of sunlight viewed from the bottom of a pool; rippled and sparkling. I could cross through now; a can feel that I could. I wonder what it will cost me. Will the return journey be as bad as the first? The living feel so close now; so solid. The light is growing stronger. I’m surprised to find that it’s painless: crossing over.

              It’s night. Early though. Traces of dusk hang in the sky. A slight breeze blows fallen leaves across the pavement. By the light of a street lamp I can see that they’re burnt-orange, and reddish in places. It’s autumn, then. Despite the time of year, I feel warm. It was so unimaginably cold in the other place that even the crisp autumn air is pleasant.

              I’m in a fairly nice neighbourhood. Manicured lawns lead up to enormous houses. I think this might even be my neighbourhood. The houses look familiar. Yes. The more I look around, the more I recognize. I approach the house to my left. The window is open slightly, and someone inside is burning a candle. I can smell the pumpkin spice. Smell: that’s a sensation I haven’t had in a while. Plastic bunting adorns the wall – black cats and orange pumpkins ­– and a rubber bat hangs from the ceiling. It must be October, perhaps even Halloween itself. I guess that’s why I was able to come. Does that mean I only get one night? What will happen when the sun rises?

              I turn my attention up the street, to the top of the hill. The road comes to a dead end at a grand old house hidden behind imposing walls. I move towards it. Up ahead, a woman is walking her Jack Russel terrier. It doesn’t even occur to me to move aside. She passes straight through me and when I turn my gaze to follow her, I see her shiver. The feeling wasn’t exactly pleasant for me either; I get the vague sensation of wanting to throw up. I stop when I get to the steel gates. They’re all one panel, with no way to see through. The walls always used to feel as though they were keeping me in, as much as keeping anyone else out. I hold my hand up. There’s something not quite solid about it. Transparent, and a little blurred. I move my fingers up to my cheek experimentally. They connect with my skin. The way it feels, I can almost believe I’m alive. I reach out again tentatively to touch the steel. My fingers pass right through. No nausea this time, but it tingles. I plunge forward.

              The yard is exactly as I remember: grand, but lacking any real personality. Tall cypress trees line the driveway, which circles around a large fountain. It’s still chipped where I bumped into it on my first driving lesson. You won’t find any flower beds or quaint birdfeeders in this garden.

              A security guard stands on the front steps. I don’t remember this one; he must be new. He’s tall and stocky like all the rest. I cross the lawn to the back of the house. The wisteria has become out of control; my balcony is almost overgrown.

              I wonder if I can float up there. I imagine myself rising like a helium balloon. My feet lift off the ground. This is a lot to get used to. The balcony is thick with dust; I guess no one has been out here in a while. I’m scared to go inside; to see my room. The last time I was here – it was a few days before Christmas – I wasn’t thinking straight, I just grabbed anything I could and shoved it into a bag. I left it in such a mess. I had to get out of here as fast as I could. Had to leave the city. Couldn’t stay here after I–

              I should get this over and done with. My chest heaves, trying to suck in a calming breath I can’t get; some habits die hard, I guess. I step through the glass panes. I realise with frustration that I can’t turn on the light, but just as I think it, the light flicks on. That’s– cool. I didn’t know I could do that. Someone, probably a maid, has tidied up. I’m not surprised; it has been almost a year. I’m relieved it hasn’t been cleared out completely. It’s strange in here though, like it’s become a memorial no one visits.  Silly photos with my friends are still stuck to the wall, and my prom dress hangs on the back of the door. I’d been meaning to donate it. It’s a beautiful emerald green, and it showed more skin than is usually allowed at school events, but no one ever told me I couldn’t do something – they were all too scared of my dad. Not all of his business ventures are legal, and more than one of his enemies has turned up dead. Not that we were untouchable. My cousin, Marcus, was killed in a drive-by not long before I–

              I look in the mirror. I wish I could see myself reflected in it. I want to remember the way my frizzy curls stuck up like a glorious crown, and the crease of my brown eyes when I smiled. They say the eyes are the window to the soul. I hope people saw something good when they looked in mine. I want to see myself; to feel real again; to remember what it was like to exist.

              I examine the photos on the wall instead. They tell the story of a girl who’s carefree, who has everything she could ever want. I wonder if people realised how hard it was being part of this family. I don’t think my parents did. I can hear them shouting downstairs; they argued a lot even before I was dead. It sounds worse now. I suddenly realise I don’t want to see them. I can’t, even though I love them. Even though it might be my only chance. Because this is their fault.

              There’s not trace in this house of the person I most want to be with. I close my eyes and I see her face: red lips, dewy cheeks, and blue eyes that were mine every time I looked in them. That beautiful memory is violently interrupted by something darker: my blood-soaked clothes – not my blood, yet. The knife in my hand. Tony lying on the ground as I ran. Packing. Fleeing the city. The text that arrived too late. The desperate drive across town in a stolen SUV.

              When I open my eyes again, I’m outside her house. I don’t know how I got here. I should leave. There’s no point in being here when she’s not. Unless she is – it is All Hallows Eve. Further down the street, I hear the delighted squeals of children as they shout ‘trick-or-treat.’ I remember the year I threw a sheet over my head and cut out eye-holes, even though I could have had any costume I wanted. 

              Her house is as fortified as mine. I’ve never been inside before, so I don’t know where her room is, but something pulls me towards it. I stop at the door. There’s music playing – Clair De Lune, I think. I hold my palm up to the door, and I almost draw away because it feels warm. I haven’t felt real warmth in so long, and I think that means I’m exactly where I need to be. The sight that awaits me on the other side of the door feels like being ripped apart again, then getting put back together. She’s not dead.

              “Delilah!” I almost think she hears me. She pauses for a moment. She’s sitting at her desk, legs crossed, and her hair in a bun. An oversized t-shirt is the only clothing she has on, and her bare legs are smeared with acrylic paint. I move closer. I long to touch her. I want to run my hands though her hair, and kiss her neck, and her cheek. Oh, for one last taste of her lips.

              I’m right behind her now. How can she be here? She was dead. I got to the church too late. There was a bottle of pills. I thought she had killed herself. I never would have done what I did if I thought she would survive. It was all such a mess. Tony was her cousin, and I killed him for what he did to Marcus. It happened in the heat of the moment. Delilah didn’t blame me for it – we’re so used to violence and revenge. She loved me more than she loved Tony. But I was in hiding, our families were at war, she must have thought I was never coming back. I thought she’d killed herself. She swallowed a whole damn bottle of sleeping pills. I would have swallowed them too if there’d been any left. I remember my hands shaking as I held the knife. I remember the searing pain and the blood soaking through my shirt as I kissed her one last time.

              Delilah puts down her paintbrush and stretches her arms above her head. She fingers the necklace around her neck; the necklace I gave her – a small, gold rose. She rolls the stem between her thumb and forefinger. I lean down slowly and gently kiss my lips to her neck. Her skin is so warm. She stiffens. I pull back. “It’s me,” I whisper. The light globe flickers as my emotions soar, drawing Delilah’s attention momentarily. I need to be careful; I don’t want to scare her.

              She rises from the chair and stands in front of the mirror to brush her hair. I follow. There’s a shimmer in the reflection. When I move, it moves with me. I examine my hand; it seems more opaque now. Delilah notices the shimmer too. She turns around and her eyes narrow. Please see me. She shakes her head.

              “You’re not imagining it. I’m here.”

              She sighs and walks right through me. It’s excruciating and wonderful all at once. Delilah falls to the ground and clutches her chest. I put my hand on her cheek. She looks up. Her eyes go wide. “Harriet?”

              “Hi,” I say softly.

              She’s so pale. “But you’re dead.”

              “I thought you were too.”

              “No, this can’t be real. I’m imagining things.”

              I brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not. I’m here.”

              She scrambles past me and pulls a leaflet from her drawer. She flicks through it frantically. “My anti-depressants, they must be causing hallucinations. It must be a side-effect.”

              I grab her hand and hold it to my chest. “You can feel me. I’m real. You’re not hallucinating.”

              “How?”

              “I don’t know exactly. I was in a dark place, and I felt a pull – maybe it was you. It’s like there was a fabric keeping me from this world and it fell away.”

              “Will you stay?”

              “For as long as I can.” My chest is glowing.

              Delilah runs her thumb across my lips. “You’re really here?”

              I nod. Her arms wrap around me and our lips meet, as soft and tender as the first time, as real as if I were alive. We break away and I look in her eyes; as blue as always, and only for me. I can’t believe I got to do that again. “What happened?”

              “Someone found us. They called the ambulance. I think they tried to operate on you, but it was too late. You’d bled too much. I don’t know if you remember–”

              “Yeah, I remember the end. But how did you–”

              “They pumped my stomach. Got to me just in time I think.”

              It huts to hear her say it. I’m so glad they saved her, but I wish they’d saved me too. Why did she get more time? I want more time.

              “What’s it like?” she asks me.

              “I don’t want to talk about dying.” I stroke her face. “I just want to be here with you.” I kiss her again. We go to her bed and lie wrapped in each other’s arms. I bathe myself in her smell – jasmine and vanilla. I kiss her hungrily. Her skin tastes like coconut; sweet and summery. My thumb traces a scar on her wrist.

              “I feel so guilty. All the time. If you hadn’t found me like that–”

              “Don’t. I made my choice. I’d undo it if I could.”

              “It’s so hard to face the world without you.”

              I hold her wrist to my lips. “You simply have to. You have to live for the both of us.”

              “The fighting is as bad as ever.”

              “You can get out. Leave it all behind. I know it feels impossible, but you don’t need them, and they don’t deserve you.” I can’t tell her how important it is that she doesn’t give up. She needs to keep on living for as long as she can, because there’s no peace after you die, just endless nothingness. I kiss her forehead. “Do it for me.”

              Words fall away after that. We hold each other, and that’s all we need. Delilah looks tired but she doesn’t sleep. Softly shining stars are visible through the window; I’m glad I got to see them again. The music is playing still and I find the violin strings calming. God, I’ve missed music. I press my ear to Delilah’s chest, just to hear her heartbeat, like I need evidence that blood is still pumping through her veins. She strokes my cheek. I should never have left her.

              Heartbeats. Violins. Stars. I want them all.

              Delilah’s hand is still in mine when the first shards of morning light come through the window. I can feel it, I’m starting to fade. “No! No, no, no.” The glowing in my chest has dimmed. I’m being pulled away.

              Delilah grabs me tighter. “What is it?”

              Phantom tears stream down my face. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.” I kiss her lips with every ounce of passion I possess. “I’m scared. I don’t want to go back to that place. It’s so dark and so cold.” I don’t know how long I have; seconds perhaps. I clutch her hands. I’m burning. I can’t go through this again. My scream is so sharp I’m sure it must cut her heart in two.

              “I love you,” she whispers.

              I’m sure she cannot see me now. I say it back, but the words are lost. I’ve been torn from her world once more. I am gone.