Ghosts of Harvard

by Francesca Serritella

  Cady awoke to a knock on her bedroom door. Cady’s eyes opened to a darkened room; the light outside nearly extinguished. Groggy and disoriented, she reached for her phone—fully charged and just after seven—she had slept through the entire afternoon.

  Another knock. “Hey, Cady, can you come out? We want to talk,” Ranjoo’s voice said from the other side of the door.

  Why didn’t she just come in, Cady wondered as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, it was her bedroom, too? And who was we? Her puzzlement only grew when she opened the door to the common room and saw both her roommates seated on the futon, heads together as Andrea whispered something to Ranjoo. They stopped talking when she stepped into the space.

  “Hi … ,” Cady said, instantly registering tension in the room. The two women who had been oil and water since day one now looked at Cady with matching furrowed brows. “I was napping. What’s up?”

  “How are you feeling?” Andrea asked.

  Ranjoo’s voice was more clipped. “Are you sick?”

  “No, I’m fine, just tired I guess.” Cady took a seat on the nylon fold out chair they used as an armchair. She gave a nervous snort. “Why are you guys being weird?”

  “Did you miss the Psych exam today?” Ranjoo asked.

  Cady swore. Was today Friday? She’d thought she had only skipped Medieval Studies, but that was on Thursdays, so …

  “I waited for you at the door so we could sit together, from before the lecture hall opened till Bernstein literally started passing out the blue books. I was like, unless she came late—”

  “No, I missed it, okay? I forgot.”

  “How? You were all over that class in the beginning, your notes were better than the textbook. Then you just blow off a midterm?”

  “I don’t know.” The ceiling light in the common was so bright, she felt like she was in an interrogation room. “Yesterday was really busy, I—”

  “Yesterday, when you went out in the storm with no umbrella, no raincoat.” Andrea widened her eyes behind her glasses. “You came home completely drenched.”

  “I went for a run. I got caught in the rain. It happens.”

  “Then there’s this.” Ranjoo pulled out Eric’s blue notebook and set it on her lap.

  Cady felt her entire body flush with heat. “So what, you’re just going through my stuff now?”

  Ranjoo ignored her and began flipping through the pages.

  “Hey, that’s not cool. Please give it to me.”

  Andrea leaned forward. “We wouldn’t be doing this if we weren’t worried about you.”

  “Since when are you two even friends?” Cady snapped. “Ranjoo, I’m serious, that’s private and personal to me, it belonged to my brother who died, okay?”

  “From when he was crazy?” Ranjoo’s tone was casual.

  Cady was taken aback. She turned to glare at Andrea. “Nice. Thanks for keeping my confidence.”

  Andrea looked down at her lap, her face reddening.

  Ranjoo pointed a finger at Cady. “She cares about you, which is nice of her, considering you did flake on her birthday, same as you’ve flaked on plans with me. You’ve been acting shitty to both of us. But I’m trying not to get pissed at you, because you weren’t always like this. Something is going on with you, the least you can do is tell us what.”

  “Because we want to help,” Andrea added, in her Good Cop voice.

  “Right. So talk to us. Why are you carrying this notebook of crazy writings around?”

  “It’s not ‘crazy writing.’ ” Defending Eric steadied Cady better than defending herself.

  “Uhh.” Ranjoo shook her head incredulously. “I’m looking at it. I mean, Jesus, is this blood?”

  Cady blanched, her blood, from the taxicab day with Whit. “No, I fell and scraped my palm, it was nothing. And my brother wasn’t ‘crazy,’ he was schizophrenic, and still he was smarter than any of us. He actually encrypted his notes, that’s why they look like that. He used to leave me missions with messages in code, so I recognized what he was doing and cracked the code, and discovered it’s a list of coordinate locations. So, I’m following them to find out why—”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Ranjoo interrupted.

  She scoffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “You know what? You don’t get it, you didn’t know him. I don’t have to explain my brother to you.”

  “I’m not worried about his part of this, I’m worried about yours.”

  Cady squinted in confusion.

  “Your writing at the back of the notebook,” Andrea explained. “It looks like you used my purple pen, which is totally okay, you can borrow it.”

  She shrugged it off, but her heart raced. “I don’t even remember. It’s probably just some notes to myself.”

  With a nod, Ranjoo passed the notebook to Andrea, who in turn showed the page to Cady.

  Cady snatched it from her hands and looked down. Written over and over again, first in print small and neat, then large and over-lined again and again, so the lettering was heavy and dark, all her practice attempts to get it right:

  “This …” Cady’s mouth went dry. When she had been writing it for Bilhah, she was only thinking of making her letters somehow visible to a person across a dimension—she had hardly looked at it herself. But now, it looked worse than she remembered, and seeing it through her roommates’ eyes, it looked maniacal. “This wasn’t mine, I mean, it wasn’t for me. I was helping someone, I was writing it, to show her how to write it. She had to trace it, that’s why it’s so dark. She’s illiterate.”

  Ranjoo raised her eyebrows. “An illiterate Harvard student?”

  “She’s not a student.”

  “Then what is she?”

  Cady knew her answers weren’t getting any better from here. “You’ve already jumped to your own conclusions, so what’s the point of explaining it? You won’t believe me.”

  “Try us,” Andrea said. “We want to listen.”

  Cady took a deep breath. “She’s a ghost.”

  Both the women were rendered speechless. Ranjoo’s kohl-lined eyes went wide, Andrea’s jaw dropped and the blue vein at her temple seemed to twitch.

  “Her name is Bilhah. She comes to me from 1765, she’s a slave in President Holyoke’s house, she has a kid she needed to get out of there, and she needed me to write that note to do it. So I did.”

  It again grew quiet enough that Cady noticed the whirring of their mini-fridge.

  Andrea broke the silence. “From the plaque on Wadsworth House.”

  “Yes!” Cady clapped her hands. “Right, you remember! See? You know I’m not making this up.”

  “Did I miss something?” Ranjoo looked back and forth between them.

  “We saw this plaque to the slaves at Harvard …” Andrea said, slowly. “And then you saw a ghost of one of them?”

  “No, well, first, I can’t see her, I only hear her voice, and second, Bilhah had already talked to me—and believe me, I get how that sounds, I thought I was crazy—but then we saw the plaque. Remember how I freaked out when we saw it? That was why. Because it was proof that the voices were real.”

  “Voices plural.” Andrea caught her slip. “So there’s more than one?”

  “Are they all magical black people? Because this is some white savior complex bullshit.”

  Andrea held up a hand to admonish Ranjoo without taking her eyes off Cady. “Do they ever tell you to hurt yourself?”

  “No! Never. They’re helping me. We’re helping each other.” Cady raked her fingers through her hair. “Look, I’m not stupid, I know how this sounds. But there’s actually real science, quantum physics, that can explain it. There are dimensions we can’t perceive, where time is warped or folded over itself. These people were alive in this same place where we are now, just from different times. I wouldn’t believe it
either, but they tell me things I couldn’t possibly know otherwise.”

  “Cady, you’re taking a Harvard history course, our room is covered in those library books, it’s obviously giving you ideas. Can’t you see, you’re telling yourself stories?” Ranjoo pleaded.

  “There is no class, I lied. I got those books to fill in the context what I was already hearing.” Cady slumped in her chair, defeated. “This is pointless to talk about anymore, you don’t believe me, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

  Andrea looked to Ranjoo instead of Cady when she said, “I think we should go to the emergency room.”

  “What? No! Why?” A bolt of fear and anger staked Cady in the heart; she had never been on the other side of this. “Because I’m talking about things you don’t understand?”

  “Because you’re under a lot of stress.” Andrea stood up.

  “Because you’re talking about ghosts!” Ranjoo cried.

  Andrea took a step toward her. “Let’s just go and get checked out. I’ll go with you, Ranjoo will stay. It’ll be quick.”

  “No, I’m not going anywhere! I don’t need an intervention. Who cares if you believe me that they’re ghosts or if they are just a coping mechanism? I’m fine, in fact, I feel better than I’ve felt in months.”

  Ranjoo thew up her hands. “You’re self destructing and you don’t even see it! You’re skipping classes, you missed a midterm exam, you’re pushing away your friends, I heard you hooked up with Teddy at the Phoenix like a half-hour after meeting him—”

  “Oh my God!” Cady let out a mirthless laugh. “That proves you really have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m leaving.” She shoved the notebook in her bag and grabbed her phone and coat.

  “Where are you going? Don’t go.” Andrea anxiously bounced on her toes. “Cady, you need help—”

  She slammed the door in their concerned faces.

  She didn’t need help.

  She needed them to stay the hell out of her way.

  45

  Cady rushed down Weld’s front steps and headed toward the Square. It was dark outside, cold and windy, but Cady was hot—she was furious. How long had her roommates been gossiping about her, conspiring against her? They should have been up front with her sooner, before they jumped to conclusions. Her anger gained momentum as she barreled downhill on Holyoke Street. They had no right to go through her personal belongings, the one thing she had left of her dead brother—could there be a greater violation? And that Teddy comment? And now, in their ignorance, they were trying to interfere in her life, trying to stop her when she was so close to a breakthrough, to figuring out what it all meant, to understanding what she was going through—what Eric had been going through.

  But her writing for Bilhah flashed in Cady’s memory and filled her with shame. She hadn’t remembered it looking like that, so messy, so frantic, so insane. She was embarrassed her roommates had seen it; it had felt like standing naked in front of them. The proof that the voices were more than just madness made so much sense in her head, and yet she’d struggled to communicate it. They were clearly unconvinced. And could she blame them?

  Was their doubt enough to undermine her lived experience? No, as implausible as it seemed, she knew she was telling the truth. She was almost absolutely certain. Just because you can’t explain something doesn’t make it untrue.

  There was only one person who could comfort her right now.

  Cady knocked on the door of Lowell House G-41.

  Nikos opened the door wearing a crisp poplin shirt untucked and cuffed at the sleeves with gray Harvard sweatpants. He smiled when he saw her. “Well, hello! I wasn’t expecting you, did you text?”

  You came.

  She threw her arms around him and held him tight.

  Nikos tentatively returned her hug. “Is everything all right?”

  “I needed to see you. I hated how we left things the last time.”

  At the boathouse, you had every right, I sprang all that on you.

  “At the observatory? Any awkwardness was entirely my fault, I misread the moment.”

  “No, you didn’t. I want to tell you, you were right, there was something between us. I felt it, too. I feel it now, I feel it every time we’re together. I just couldn’t admit it. I was too afraid.”

  “Afraid of what?” —Afraid of what?

  “Afraid of doing the wrong thing, causing the wrong outcome. But I’m tired of worrying about everyone’s judgment and second-guessing myself all the time. I can’t do everything right, I can’t think of everything. I want to lose control, just let go, for once. Would that be so bad?”

  Nikos shook his head in bewilderment. “I … think that’s healthy?”

  Not if it means I can kiss you this minute.

  So Cady kissed him. Nikos was surprised at first, but he quickly reciprocated and pulled her inside. They stumbled around in a full-on passionate embrace. When they had to break to catch their breath, Cady reached back to the wall and turned off the light switch. The room became pitch black save for his glowing computer screen in the corner.

  “That won’t do. I can hardly see you now.”

  Stay right there. She heard the sound of Whit striking a match.

  “Do you have a candle?” Cady asked Nikos.

  He muttered something and crossed the room. She heard the ratcheting click of a lighter and suddenly the room was lit in flickering amber candlelight.

  There. And I didn’t think you could look any more beautiful than by moonlight.

  “I told you, I’m a romantic.” He drew her to him.

  Now for music, my cousin just sent me this record, brand-new, prerelease.

  When his face was only inches from hers, Cady placed a hand on his chest. “Let’s put on some music.”

  “Not a bad idea. What are you in the mood for?”

  Stormy Weather, by Ethel Waters.

  Cady repeated it verbatim.

  Nikos chuckled. “Are you winding me up? I think my nan lost her virginity to that song.”

  I haven’t been able to think of anything but you when I hear it.

  “Play it for me.”

  “As you wish.” He leaned over his desk and typed onto his laptop. “Ha! Spotify actually has it.”

  She heard soft strings and a clarinet opened the song, then one dreamy stroke of a harp before the plaintive vocal began: “Don’t know whyyy, there’s no sun up in the sky, stormy weather.”

  Dance with me, Whit whispered close to her right ear.

  Cady closed her eyes, smiled, and lifted her arms.

  “Oh, right, dancing.” Nikos took her hand in his and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close once more. “Mm, I take back what I said, this is an excellent idea.”

  They swayed to the music, and Cady leaned her cheek on Nikos’s chest, feeling his warmth through the cool cotton of his shirt. He rubbed her back as they moved, and she felt the tension melt from her shoulders with each sloping note of the melody.

  “You’re not such a bad dancer,” Cady said.

  Slow dancing is different.

  “Whatever made you think I’d be a bad dancer?”

  To turn down a slow dance with you, I’d have to be dead.

  “Did something happen today that upset you? Roommate drama?”

  His accent was distracting her. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  They held each other dancing, and Cady listened to the song’s lyrics: “Can’t go on, all I have in life is gone, stormy weather … since my man and I ain’t together, keeps raining alllll the ti-ime, the ti-ime.”

  “This song is sad,” Cady said softly.

  I know.

  “Don’t blame me, you picked it.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel sad,” she whispered, her voice caught with emotion.

  It’s n
ot your fault. I took the position on the Akron because you were right, I do want to do it. I want you, too, but, we make choices, we hope they’re the right ones. It’s the best we can do in this life.

  Nikos caressed her cheek, tilting her chin up to face him. “Cadence, you couldn’t make me unhappy if you tried.”

  Just because it’s my choice to go doesn’t mean I’m not heartbroken to leave you. Promise to remember that, all right?

  She closed her eyes and kissed him softly. She ran her fingers through his thick black hair, pulling it gently at the nape of his neck. He shivered in response. He kissed her more deeply then, and she felt his biceps tighten around her shoulders, his fingers twisting the back of her shirt, his chest pressing her own. She felt her body yield to him, and he held her steady with his mouth.

  His hands crept up the back of her shirt, unfastened her bra, and took them both off in one swoop. Nikos’s warm brown eyes took her in. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

  Cady pulled his shirt up over his face. He yanked it the rest of the way and threw it aside. She closed her eyes and embraced him again, pressing her chest against his. The feel of his bare chest against hers, beating heart to beating heart, thrilled her.

  Still tangled in a kiss, Nikos moved her to the bed and lowered her onto it. He trailed his mouth down her body, unbuttoning and slipping off her jeans when he reached them. She heard the clink of a belt buckle even as her fingers slipped in the elastic waistband of his sweats. Nikos withdrew his hands and mouth from her to get what they needed from the nightside table. In a moment, he was back, his hands sliding up her thighs, his mouth higher.

  She closed her eyes, and when she looked down again, the man kissing a path up her tummy had blond hair and blue eyes that tilted down even as they looked up. She arched her back into his touch, and it felt good, so good. She raked her fingers through hair the color of wheat, her fingernails skimming his scalp, then pulled him up to her mouth. The warmth from his lips spread downward, off her tongue, down her throat, into the very center of her. She felt drugged, lost in a haze of pleasure.