From the corner of my eye, I see Wendy walking toward us. Thatcher is by her side.
“Is he still here?” asks Dylan.
“Yes,” I say.
“He has to merge with Solus,” he says, his voice rising. “Tell him he has to go now.”
I nod, knowing Dylan is right, but when Thatcher takes his place next to me and I see the outline of his face, which looks more radiant than ever, I hesitate a little, not wanting to send him away just yet.
How horrible does that make me?
“Wendy’s okay?” I ask him.
“Yes, finally,” Thatcher says. He turns to look at his sister lovingly and I can see all the hurt between them has disappeared. “Thank you, for helping bring us back together.”
“You’re welcome,” I say, even though they did most of the real work. It took a lot of courage, to be vulnerable and let each other back in, to forgive and move on.
The same courage that I’m going to need to lean on this moment.
“Thatcher, Dylan thinks there’s a way to get Eli’s and Carson’s spirits back,” I say, my breath catching a bit at the thought of everything that’s going to come next.
“What?” he says, completely confused. “How?”
“Oh, wow. I can hear him,” says Dylan, his face lighting up. Thatcher is now using his energy to speak to everyone here, not just me. But a part of me wonders why I’m the only one he’ll reveal himself to physically—is it because he was planning on saying good-bye to me tonight, regardless of what happened at the river?
“Thatcher, listen to this,” Dylan says, not missing a beat. He reads the passages again, the ones about the timing of soul attachment and the all-souls-present aspect of merging and banishment. Nick bounces with excitement, clearly willing to do whatever it takes to finish this mission, while Wendy’s serenity cracks a little, knowing that her reunion with her brother might soon be over.
I watch Thatcher’s face change as Dylan reads, as understanding dawns. When Dylan is done, he says, “How come I never knew any of this was possible? Why don’t any of the Guides know?”
“The books in my bookstore go back hundreds of years and have been written by obscure members of the living,” Dylan explains. “They’ve been kept safe from the spirit dimension as a means of protection, so I’m not surprised that no one in the Prism knew.”
Thatcher turns to me, his eyes brightening. “Well, if Dylan is right—if the earlier work you did primed Reena’s and Leo’s souls for banishment—their souls might be vanquished when I merge with Solus. But . . .”
“But what?”
“Before I go, there’s one more person I have to bring peace to,” he says.
“Wendy seems ready,” I say, glancing at her.
“I am,” she says, her voice strong and certain. But then I see something else in her eyes. A sadness that isn’t her own.
“Then you’re truly ready to merge,” I say, turning to Thatcher, a lump lodged in my throat. I raise my eyes to meet his—I can catch glimpses of their light when he moves closer.
So close I almost feel his energy inside of me.
“No, I’m not.” Thatcher shakes his head. “There’s someone else holding on to my soul.”
Without having to ask, I know it’s me.
I’m the one who won’t let him go.
Can’t let him go.
Must let him go.
Twenty-four
“I DON’T KNOW IF I can do this.”
Although that thought did just cross my mind, Thatcher is the one to say it, out loud and in front of everyone.
Dylan throws his hands up in the air, completely exasperated. “We don’t have much time, Thatcher,” he says. “Please, you have to—”
Nick holds a hand up to stop Dylan. “Callie, explain to me again how this works?” he asks me.
“Everyone who . . . loves Thatcher has to accept his death; that’s how haunting works,” I say, casting my eyes down to the sand. While Nick and I aren’t together anymore, it’s still a little strange to tell the boy I’ve been with for so long that I love someone else—someone who I have to give up if I want to save my best friend. “Once the soul has eased each loved one into a place of acceptance, once they’ve all let go, then the soul can merge.”
“So everyone has to get over his death,” repeats Nick, not fumbling over the fact that I just admitted to my feelings, which just goes to show what an incredible friend he is.
“Yes.” I pause and then say the truth that’s killing me: “I have to let him go.”
“But I have to let you go, too,” says Thatcher, his voice cracking. “It’s not just a one-way street, like you might think.”
“So you have to choose, too?” I ask, my chest feeling heavy and sore.
Dylan grabs me by the shoulders. “There is no choice! You both have to do this, don’t you get that?”
“Yes!” I shout. “I love Carson just as much as you do! Actually, more than you do. So back off, okay?”
I’m shaking, but I know that underneath my anger is a sadness that I’m not sure anyone besides Thatcher and me can understand.
“Callie knows what has to be done. Let’s give her a minute,” Nick says to Dylan and Wendy.
Dylan huffs. “Nick, there isn’t time for—”
“Now,” Nick says forcefully. And I love him for letting me have this moment.
The three of them head into the woods, and I’m alone on the beach with Thatcher. He’s just a silhouette I can’t fully see or touch, but he’s here. For the very last time.
“I wish I could hold you,” I whisper.
“Me, too,” says Thatcher, and he puts his hand out to stroke my cheek, but when I can’t feel his touch I begin to cry. I can’t believe there are more tears left in my body, but there they are, streaking my face and blurring my vision. I can hardly see him at all now. Thatcher is fading and this is the last time we’ll be together for the rest of my existence. I fall to my knees, completely overcome with hurt.
And then I feel a hand under my arm, lifting me. I wipe at my tears, and I see Nick at my side.
“You’re going to be okay, Callie,” he says.
“No, I don’t think I am,” I say, sniffling.
“You will, trust me. Tell Thatcher,” says Nick. “Tell him he can use me again to say good-bye. Maybe it will, you know, allow you both to heal.”
My eyes widen. “Wait, how long have you—”
“Known that your ghost boyfriend possessed me?” Nick says, winking to lighten the mood. “I figured it out a little while ago, but I didn’t want to . . . I don’t know, embarrass you.”
“I’m so sorry.” Again that thought was just in my head, but Thatcher is the one speaking, and I think both Nick and I can feel his overflowing anguish about what he did at the river.
“I am, too,” I say, taking Nick’s hand. “We never meant to take advantage of you.”
“I know that,” Nick says to me. Then he looks up to the sky. “And I know it’s not easy to let her go, Thatcher. But for Carson’s and Eli’s sakes you have to, and if I can help, then I will.”
“I can’t leave you, Callie,” says Thatcher. “It’s almost impossible for me to go . . . and this . . . Nick is giving me the chance to hold you one more time.”
I feel faint with anticipation as I glance back at Nick, and I nod. “Are you sure?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he says, squeezing my hand.
And then the outline of Thatcher vanishes from thin air and Nick’s eyes become a beautiful, unforgettable blue.
There is no one else in the world, the universe, all of the dimensions that exist, known and unknown. I am holding onto Nick, yet breathing Thatcher in. All I feel is the boy I love, will always love. Elation rushes through me as we sink to our knees in the sand and his kisses rain down on my face. When our lips finally meet, everything falls away and the distance that’s always been between us is gone. I don’t want to stop tasting him or clinging to him, but I do, just
to say these words:
“Stay with me.”
“Callie, I can’t—”
I place a finger on his lips. “Let’s pretend that you can. Just for a minute, okay?”
“Okay,” says Thatcher, smiling at me as his hands glide down my back.
“Want to go to an amusement park on Saturday?” I ask him, gazing into his eyes. “The state fair is coming soon.”
“Sure. I’ve always loved the livestock competitions,” he jokes.
I laugh, a sound that surprises us both. “Great; I’ll buy you a chicken.”
“The next day we’ll fly to Europe,” says Thatcher.
“Paris!” I say excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to go. Is that a cliché?”
“Only because it’s a worthy one.” Thatcher rubs my waist. “We’ll buy you a beautiful new dress and walk hand in hand down the tree-lined streets eating croissants and saying ‘Bonjour!’ to everyone we see.”
“And then we’ll hop a flight to Venice,” I say, taking his hand and kissing his palm.
“Ah, yes, the canals,” he says. “I’ll wear a striped shirt and row you around!”
“No, I’ll row you around.”
“Only until we catch our train to Spain,” says Thatcher.
“Barcelona and then Madrid!” I say.
“Maybe the beach, too? Southern Spain is amazing this time of year.”
“And then Africa,” I say. “It’s just a ferry ride away, right?”
“How worldly you are,” says Thatcher. “Yes! We’ll spring for rugs and teapots in Morocco before we head to Egypt to see the Pyramids.”
“Heaven!” I say, wrapping my arms around his neck.
And then we both realize what I said. Heaven.
My heart sinks and then bursts into flames—I try to stop it, but I can’t. This fantasy isn’t real. What’s real is Thatcher leaving. That he has to leave in order to help Carson and Eli, and save countless others from the ringleaders of the poltergeists.
“You won’t forget me?” I ask.
He leans his forehead against mine. “Never.”
We kiss again, and I know that this moment will play over and over again for the rest of my life, into the Prism, into Solus, where maybe I might finally see him again.
If that’s what Solus is really for. Thatcher is about to find out for sure.
I pull back from him, and Thatcher gives me a knowing look. It’s full of pain and regret, but also peace and love. Maybe one extreme can’t exist without the other.
“Callie, I have things to tell you,” says Thatcher.
“Please don’t stop touching me,” I say to him, as he runs his fingers through my hair and pulls me in for another kiss.
I’m pressed against him as we shiver in the warm night. Then he slowly kisses his way across my cheek, and I treasure the soft breath on my skin. Thatcher’s breath. Through Nick.
“You brought me back to life in so many ways,” he whispers.
“Not in the one that matters,” I murmur, choking back tears.
Then he leans away and I can gaze into his gorgeous, soulful eyes.
“You, Calpurnia May McPhee, have saved me. Never forget it,” he says. “You’ll save Carson. And Eli. And the other poltergeists—they won’t have anyone to follow once Leo and Reena are gone. They’ll come with me when I merge. This will work.”
“It has to.”
“It will.” Thatcher’s voice is confident, his face resolute. When I stare into his eyes, I see the storms that have haunted his gaze calming and quieting. He looks more like the boy in the old photo I got from Wendy than the ghost I’ve come to know.
“What’s happening?” I ask him.
“Peace,” he whispers. “Can you feel it?”
I look at his face and it’s no longer Nick’s. I see Thatcher’s bristled jawline, his full pink lips, his blond hair. Seeing him like this should tear me up inside, but, like Thatcher, all I can feel is a peace I haven’t known since Mama would whisper a lullaby into my ear when I was a baby.
Good night, you moonlight ladies. Rockabye, sweet Callie May. . . .
“Solus is waiting. Leo and Reena will make it there, too.” Thatcher’s voice rises above the song, and I kiss his lips once more. I close my eyes, letting my vision of him go, and I feel his smile under my kiss, and the happiness spreads into my body as well, touching every part of me as I am filled with overwhelming contentment and warmth.
And then, suddenly I hear him say it. . . .
“I love you.”
But when I open my eyes, Nick is holding me tightly, his face hovering close to mine, Thatcher’s soul already just a memory.
I cast my eyes downward, but Nick gently lifts my chin.
“He’ll always be with you, Callie,” he says, grinning. “Even though you said good-bye.”
I reach down into my pocket and put Thatcher’s ring on my finger, knowing that what Nick just said couldn’t be more true.
Then I look back up at him and his trusting brown eyes.
“Let’s go find Carson and Eli, okay?”
Twenty-five
THE MBIRAS ARE PLAYING their rain-like music and the glow of white-gold light is everywhere. I’m walking behind someone tall and strong, with broad shoulders pulled back straight. Without hesitation, he strides toward the source of the incandescent brightness, sure of himself and about what he must do.
He doesn’t turn around to look at me. He’s too focused on the face of the person standing in front of him, welcoming him into the light.
“Welcome to Solus, Thatcher Larson. We’ve been waiting for you for a long time.”
My mother. Her voice is like honey, her smile like the sun, her long hair cascading down to almost her waist.
Then she steps to the side so she can get a glimpse of me. Our eyes meet and my heart is racing. She doesn’t say anything, but I can hear her thoughts as if they are my own.
We’ll be here for you, Callie May. We’ll be right here.
I reach out, wanting to touch her. . . .
And I wake up with a start. My arm is outstretched, angled toward the window seat in my bedroom. I pull it back, my head sinking into my pillow, and I wonder about the dream.
The details are still in my mind, sharp and clear, warm and comforting. Most dreams fade in the morning light, the emotions they brought on growing quickly cold. This one, I think, will stay with me, though.
“Caaaallie!” Carson’s voice echoes in the hallway outside my bedroom as she bounds up the stairs. “Come on,” she says, rushing in and pulling off my covers. “We have to get going if we don’t want to be late for our spot on Good Morning America.”
“What?” I sit straight up in bed.
“Kidding!” says Carson, a gleam in her eye. “Though they would love our story. Can you imagine?” She grins. “I’m just here to drive you to school. Like always.”
“How long have I been asleep?”
“A few hours, just like the rest of us,” she says. “Are you having trouble remembering everything? Dylan said that might happen because of your emotional trauma and all that.”
I sit up and take a deep breath, convincing myself that my mind isn’t back where it was months ago, when I came out of the coma. I do remember the last twenty-four hours, but when I search my thoughts, everything isn’t 100 percent crystal clear.
It’s the important things that come trickling back—like rescuing Carson and Eli.
“I’m good, really,” I say. “The bigger question is: How are you feeling?”
“Just peachy,” she says, smiling. “I’m going to need a major debriefing on the drive, though. The guys tried to recount what happened on the way over here, but you know how they always leave out good details, and I don’t quite remember how I ended up at the wheel of my car with Eli in the passenger seat parked on Folly Beach, so . . .”
Knock-knock. Nick, Eli, and Dylan emerge in the doorway behind Carson, all of their faces bright and chipper despite the time on
the clock—it’s only 6:30 a.m.
“Come in, y’all,” says Carson. “She’s awake.”
“Hey there.” Nick moves to sit on the side of my bed and wrap me in a hug. I think I remember him driving me home last night, but I’m not entirely sure.
“How did I . . . ?” I whisper into his shoulder, not quite able to finish my thought, because other pieces of our search for Carson and Eli are beginning to fit together in my head.
Like finding them asleep in the VW at Folly Beach . . .
Nick pulls back and looks into my eyes. “I brought you. You were so exhausted that you were asleep before your head hit the pillow.”
Dylan takes a step forward, his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been through a lot, Callie. More than all of us combined.”
His sweetness makes me smile and I look at Carson.
“Did Dylan tell you how we were able to locate you and Eli?” I ask her.
When she shakes her head, I go on, hoping to score him extra points with her. “He remembered what I’d said to Eli—that some ghosts had messed with him at Folly Beach. He figured maybe it was a favorite spot of Reena and Leo’s . . . from before.”
Carson grins at Dylan. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”
“‘Intellectuals solve problems; geniuses prevent them.’ Albert Einstein,” he says, leaning back on his heels.
“Well, solving or preventing, you’re a genius to me,” says Carson, wrapping an arm around Dylan’s shoulder and giving him a kiss on the cheek. “You saved us.”
Dylan looks so love-struck, I’m surprised I don’t see comic-book cartoon hearts in his eyes.
Eli lurks at the end of the bed with a close-mouthed sarcastic grin that’s all his own, and I break into a smile. I stand up in my pajamas to hug each one of my friends close.
“Whoa, what’s this? A coed pajama party?”
My father is standing in the doorway to my room, still holding his overnight bag. His cheeks are flushed and his lips are pursed, signs that he’s not really happy with what he’s come home to after an early-morning drive home.
“We just got here, Captain McPhee,” says Nick, trying to smooth things over. “We’re all . . . um . . . driving Callie to school?”
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