Wraith

by Lawson, Angel

  Connor tested the consistency of the mortar. “Nope,” he said, pulling me back on his lap. “Not yet.” His lips found the sensitive flesh of my neck under my hair. His fingers, cold from the crisp air, held my hair out of the way.

  “You’re bad,” I said. “We should work.”

  I was such a liar, and from the smug expression on his face, he knew it. He grabbed my hands and held them together with one, long-fingered hand and tickled me with the other.

  “Stop! Stop!” I squirmed, trying to twist out of reach, falling forward. “Ouch—I’m injured you know.”

  “I’m glad I came out here instead of your mother,” said a woman’s voice.

  Connor’s hands stopped and he righted me and slid me off his lap.

  “Jeannie!” I shouted when I saw my aunt by the door. I ran over to give her a hug. She wrapped her arms gently around my hurt shoulder. Her signature bracelets clanged on my back. “What are you doing here?”

  She released me and grasped my face in her hands. “I’m here to see you.” Her eyes narrowed and studied me. Satisfied, she peered over my shoulder to where I knew Connor waited. “Where’d you find that one?” she asked in a low voice.

  My face burned under her hands but I couldn’t help smiling. I glanced over my shoulder at Connor, who stood by the couch. His hair was a mess, mostly from my hands being in it, and he looked like he was plotting an escape. “He found me.”

  Jeannie arched her eyebrow. “Even better.”

  CONNOR DID ESCAPE, BUT not before Jeannie examined his aura and read his palms. I think she may have brushed his hair out of his eyes as well. I couldn’t blame her, he was pretty irresistible.

  I tried to stay lighthearted, while I watched her hold his hand and run her fingers over the imprinted lines covering his palm, but I knew better. Jeannie’s visit was intentional and I wasn’t sure how much she knew about what had happened to me in that house or how much she knew about me at all, but my mother must have been more worried than I thought if she had called her to come see me.

  Connor left with a quick kiss on my lips and a promise to call later, and he fled into the dark night. Part of me wanted to run with him, but the other wanted to know why she had come. What did she have to say?

  Jeannie didn’t waste time following me up the stairs and to my room after dinner. I had barely even made it across the threshold when the questions started.

  “Tell me,” she said, easing onto my bed, and kicking her shoes off. “I want to know everything.”

  So I told her. Everything. From the first time Evan came to see me the day we moved into this house, to the second he passed me over to Connor, away from the fire. I described his hair and his voice. I told her the way he made me feel better when I cut all my hair off and looked like a freak. How he comforted me when the girls at school were mean and how he made me laugh. I told her about Connor and the fights Evan and I had. Every little detail came pouring out until the whole story was told.

  “He was my best friend.” I caught my hand hovering over the phantom pain in my chest.

  “Oh, honey.” Jeannie sighed, pulling me from my spot across from her and into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry. I wish you had told me earlier. I knew something was going on at Thanksgiving. Your mother acted suspicious, but we don’t talk about this type of thing. I think she hoped it would go away.”

  “She doesn’t like it,” I said into her shoulder.

  She shook her head. “No, she doesn’t, but she’s trying. When she reached out to me and asked me to come talk to you, she opened a door. Don’t be afraid to walk through it.”

  I wiped my eyes. “I knew he couldn’t stay forever. I just thought I would get a goodbye, you know?”

  “Evan may have had less control over his presence than you realized.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Spirits often roam or get locked in certain places. Evan must have been pretty strong to be with you so much and for so long. The simple fact he was able to touch you is amazing. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “He worked really hard on that. He practiced and practiced touching me, picking up things. At first it required so much of his concentration.”

  “It’s a good thing he did.” The implication was huge. It was a good thing he did, or I wouldn’t be alive. “Your bond was exceptionally strong. I doubt you will ever encounter something like that again. But even though it was intense doesn’t mean that he can choose when he comes and goes. If your job was to pass on a message to his mother, he may not be able to come back now that it’s been completed.”

  “I don’t know if I did complete it! She died, Jeannie, that shouldn’t have been the outcome.” I was angry. Why did Jeannie think she knew about this—about me?

  “We don’t know this. You don’t know this. You didn’t cause her death, Jane. Her abusive, hateful, evil boyfriend did. You were caught in the middle, trying to relay a message from a soul caught on this side.”

  I shook my head in denial. “But I didn’t tell her anything of importance!”

  Jeannie clasped my hands in hers. “You told her that he loved her and forgave her. And you facilitated this between them. It’s not up to you to decide what’s important or not. You’re a medium, the middle person in between this life and the other. You can’t judge.”

  I considered her words. They were similar to what Connor had been trying to tell me all along. I had a job to do and had been blessed with Evan as my first encounter. I should embrace the positive and not what I had lost.

  “Why did you send me the painting?” I asked.

  “You inspired it. After I saw you over the holidays, I knew you were struggling. I had my suspicions but I knew it was bigger than just you. I wanted you to see it the way I did. I wanted you to realize it, that your gift is part of who you are.”

  My aunt looked hopeful that maybe some of her words and wisdom took root. I studied her pretty hair and eccentric clothes and thought about who she was and how she came to be this way. “Can I ask you something else? Something personal?”

  “You revealed your secrets, I’m happy to share mine.”

  “Mom told me about your mother.” I checked her expression. She looked as though she had been expecting this topic. “Is she okay? Do you think she and I have the same…ability?”

  Jeannie thought for a moment. “I do. I think it passes down through our family like a genetic trait. Sometimes you get it, sometimes you don’t. Some more powerful than others. Mother was too powerful for her time and place in life. She couldn’t control her gift and the only reasonable explanation was that she was mentally ill.”

  “Do you see her?”

  She nodded. “Often. But she’s elderly and confused. She has dementia from her age and I think there are some side effects from the treatments they gave her. Back then it was experimental and not always safe.”

  “Does she still see them? The ghosts?”

  “I think so, but the medications make it less so.”

  “That’s what Connor said. It keeps them away sometimes.”

  “But he saw Evan also?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re lucky to have him. It’s nice to have someone to confide in.”

  My face flushed thinking of the position she caught us in earlier. “I know.”

  “Plus, he’s very handsome.” She winked and patted my hand.

  I shrugged. I was more uncomfortable talking about boys than paranormal activity. “He’s been very supportive; I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

  “It will make it easier next time.”

  My forehead creased. “Next time?”

  “Yes, next time,” she said. “More will come. I can see them around you. Hovering. Waiting.”

  “What does it look like?” I asked, but I knew the answer. The shiver that ran up my spine confirmed it before she even opened her mouth.

  Jeannie knew it, too. “Death. It always looks like death.”

  �
��SURE YOU DON’T WANT a turn?”

  I looked up at Connor with my hand shading my eyes from the bright afternoon sun. He stood over me, shaking a can.

  “No, I’d rather watch you.” And I would. Watching Connor break the law so beautifully was one of the best things I had ever experienced.

  “Any requests?” he asked, walking backward to the wall he currently vandalized.

  “Whatever you’re feeling. Whatever you want.”

  I was perched on a large, rusted pipe near the remains of a fire. My knees were up to my chin and my arms wrapped around my legs. Trash and the remains of late night partying littered the ground. Connor shook the can and made large swoops across the brick.

  “Do you ever come out here at night?” I realized how little I knew about him sometimes. Our relationship was so new. “With your friends?”

  Connor shrugged, causing his wide shoulders to bob up to his chin. “Sometimes.” He never stopped painting and I never stopped watching.

  “Do you feel sad covering up your old pictures?” I saw a hint of an eye, peeking from beneath layers of fresher paint from when I caught him here all those months ago.

  He shook the can, the metal ball inside clinking against the sides. “Not really. I get inspired and want to do something new.”

  A blast of cool air passed us and I pulled my hoodie tight around my shoulders. “Brr…ugh, I’m ready for spring.”

  He laughed, but the light in his eyes went dull. He stared over my shoulder.

  “What?” I asked, following his gaze.

  “Oh!” I stood, tripping over a can in the process. I wasn’t afraid, just shocked. Connor stepped behind me, his body touching mine. “It’s okay,” I said, reaching behind me and squeezing his hand.

  “Ellen?” I called, letting her know I could see her. I took a tentative step forward.

  She looked much the same as the last time I saw her. Cleaner, though, and her face was healed. But her clothes and hair were the same. She seemed stronger. I don’t know exactly how, but the fear and weakness from before was gone.

  “Are you okay?” I asked. She was dead, of course, but she was here, looking for me, which meant she hadn’t passed over. A flicker of hope flared in my chest.

  “I’m fine,” she eventually said. “Are you?”

  “I’m…all right.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I made it out okay.”

  “I’m glad, and I’m so sorry.”

  I shook my head. “No apologies. Not from you to me.”

  She took a step forward, closer to me. “My choices hurt a lot of people. My children and myself—both of you.” Hey eyes shifted over my shoulder to Connor.

  “John hurt people, Ellen, you didn’t,” he said.

  We stared at one another. She wanted to take all the blame, but it wasn’t all hers. We all shared a little guilt in the way this ended up. Ellen looked as though she wanted to argue but instead she surprised me. “I’m here because I need you to do something for me.”

  I answered without hesitation. “Anything.”

  “The girls.” She paused, seeming to get her emotions in check. “They need help. They’re in foster care and because of my situation, they don’t know my family. When I got together with John, they cut me out of their lives.”

  “Why?” I didn’t understand how a family would do this to one of their own.

  “They tried to help me when I was with him and I refused. It was their way of drawing a line. I stepped over the wrong side. I made the wrong choices. But, I do have family in Arizona, and they would want the girls. I know they would.

  The reason she was here became clear. “You want me to find them?”

  She nodded. “Please. Phoenix. Rebecca Carson. She’s my sister.”

  “I can do that, of course.”

  She pulled her hands to her mouth. “Thank you so much.”

  “Was this your unfinished business?” My stomach hurt at the thought. “Are you leaving now?”

  “I think so.”

  “Is he gone?” Other than Connor’s feet shifting behind me, the woods were still.

  “Yes, he passed over the night of the fire. You released him.”

  “He’s gone.” That time it came out like a whisper. I leaned into Connor for support.

  “It was his time. You helped him do what he needed, when he was unable to do it himself.”

  Her words should have made me feel better, but they didn’t. “I miss him.”

  “I do, too.”

  My eyes snapped up to hers. “You can see him?”

  “No, not here. Not in this place.”

  “Why not? You’re both…gone?”

  “We’re both dead, but he moved on. I had unfinished business…”

  My heart sunk. I’d never see him again. Never laugh at his jokes or tell him about Connor or say goodbye.

  “I know this is hard. I lost him once, too. But like you said, he wasn’t happy here and he needed to move on. You helped him do that.” Her voice was soft and her words kind, but I was still conflicted.

  “Do you think he’s happy now?” For some reason, I had to know.

  “The happiest one can be. I can’t wait to be with him.”

  “He loves you so much,” I said.

  “He needed me. He was still a boy and I let him down in the worst way possible. Now I can be with him and the girls can be safe.”

  That made it a little better. I truly wanted him happy. I did. I just missed him. “And once I do this for the girls, you can go be with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can do that. For all of you, I know you want them safe.”

  We stood awkwardly across from one another before she smiled and said, “Thank you, Jane.”

  She closed her eyes and I knew she would leave, and I wasn’t ready. She was my only connection. “Wait!” Ellen’s eyes opened.” Tell him, thank you. For everything. Please tell him that.”

  She smiled again and nodded and closed her eyes tight, concentrating because this was new to her. In an instant she was gone.

  Connor was behind me before I had a chance to move, his hands on my waist, turning me into him. I buried my face in his chest.

  “Are you all right?”

  I thought about it before I answered. There were no tears, no crying. Just the feeling of a small hole in my chest. It hurt, but I would survive. “Yes, I think so.” We stood this way for a while until I broke free of his grasp and pushed him back to his paints.

  “Paint me something,” I said.

  “Paint with me.” His eyes were blue and clear in the sunlight. “Please.”

  I relented, because I couldn’t say no to that face, and chose a can off the pile on the ground. I pressed the pin down and spray of blue flew through the air. “Oops!” I giggled, surprised at its force.

  “What should I do?”

  Connor leaned over and pressed his lips to my forehead. He was so cheesy sometimes. “Anything you want.”

  “Anything?”

  I directed the nozzle this time against the wall and watched the paint hit the brick, shiny and wet. I used color after color. Overlaying and bumping into Connor, who stopped me and gave me pointers time to time, and with his help we created a portrait of color, representing life and death and fire and hope.

  “Try this,” he said, guiding my hand with his, showing me how to control the stream of paint. The nozzle sputtered and clogged, causing red paint to drip down our joined hands.

  “What a mess,” I said, and moved to wipe my arm on my jeans. Connor stopped me and used his finger to wipe the trail of paint up my arm and then smeared it on the wall in front of us, using it to form a dark outline around the design.

  “That was a good idea. You’re pretty awesome at this.”

  Connor smiled, one of those wide ones that spread across his cheeks and up to his eyes. He dropped his head to mine and gave me a kiss, sweet and deep. He pulled away and said, “I’m pretty awesome at a lot of things.”


  I rolled my eyes. “Ego, much?”

  He picked me up, hoisting me so I could paint the part of the wall too high to reach from the ground. We continued this way, laughing and painting and kissing until the sun disappeared behind the trees and the air cooled.

  “You know they won’t be the last,” Connor said when loading up our supplies in the army green back pack he carried.

  “I know. I’m prepared.” I wasn’t sure that was true, but I had little choice.

  “And Evan? He kind of changed the game. I’m not so sure of the rules anymore.” He meant Evan touching me, and the fact we could both see him, among other concerns.

  I grabbed his hand and wove my fingers through his. “We’ll figure it out—together.”

  I had no doubt that we would, because we were stronger as a unit than alone. And I not only had Connor, but my aunt and mom tried their hardest. I lost Evan, but I had gained so much more in the time I knew him. We climbed the hill to where we could see the ruins from above, our fresh artwork drying against the crumbling brick. The faint waft of chemicals lingered in the air and I thought I heard the sound of a shaking can echoing off the walls. Connor pushed ahead, through the vines and leaves that surrounded the trail, while I stopped for one last look.

  My eyes caught on something new, freshly painted on a tall tower, too high to reach and one of the only spots untouched by other taggers. There was one word, bright red and yellow:

  Haven’t gotten your fill of ghost stories?

  Check out Aida Brassington’s debut novel Between Seasons.

  Go to: aidabrassington.wordpress.com to learn more.

  There are things Patrick Boyle will never forget: the sound of his own neck breaking at the moment of his death in the fall of 1970, the sweet taste of his mother’s chocolate cake, and the awful day his parents abandoned him in his childhood house-turned prison.

  Nineteen-year-old Patrick wonders for decades if God has forgotten all about him or if he’s being punished for some terrible crime or sin over a lovely forty years trapped in an empty home. But when Sara Oswald, a strange woman with a mysterious past, buys his house, old feelings reawaken, and a new optimism convinces him that she’s the answer to his prayers.