by C. S. Wilde
When I come out of the bathroom, John cocks his head to one side and regards me intently for a few seconds. He finally opens his mouth and my heart accelerates.
“Is that a Cheetos stain?”
He noticed that?
“Hmm, yeah, it is.”
He smiles. “You look beautiful even with food stain on your gown.”
This is the John I know; the John that sweeps me off my feet in a heartbeat; the John…stop, Santana. Don’t go down that road.
“Thanks for watching out for me,” I say. “It’s very knightly of you.”
“Not the first time I’ve done it.”
“I knew it!” Prudishness stamps my hand over my chest.
He looks at me with puppy eyes. “Sorry.”
“How many times?”
“Four.” He chuckles. “You talk when you sleep, it’s cute.”
If I blush any more I might explode. “Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the show. Did I say anything inappropriate?”
“No, just the usual mumbling.” He let’s out a sad smirk. “I’m happy to watch over you one last time before we take the mirror down.”
“We’ll see about that.”
I want to feel his touch against mine again. I could go mad, longing like this for someone who stands so close to me. But John is dead and I shouldn’t feel anything for him in the first place.
Lying down, I’m about to close my eyes when John puts his hand against the mirror. The last thing in my mind is his somber blue eyes.
I fall asleep to a wonderful dream where John and I live happily together. He’s chasing our kids across the yard, a boy with golden hair and a girl with a dark brown ponytail falling over her back. It’s a gorgeous summer day, and I’m putting the dishes on the table as the smell of overcooked barbecue fills the air.
“Babe, I think the meat is burning,” I shout.
John stops chasing the kids and eyes me. He smiles wickedly and runs, grasping my hands and swirling me around. He pulls me into a passionate kiss that sets fire to the deepest parts of my body.
“Don’t worry Mrs. Braver, I’ve got everything under control.”
I’m pretty much fucked.
9
Mamma Na Se has her back to me while she runs shaky hands over the mirror. It’s not just her hands though; her whole body trembles as if there’s an electric current ambling under her skin.
Standing behind her, I observe my own reflection. My white short-sleeved shirt and black skirt don’t match with my leather Chucks. I’m all business except for my feet, but I hate pumps. I always wear sneakers to work and change shoes before I walk in the office, which is what I’ll be doing after Mamma Na Se solves this Red Seth problem.
“How’s it looking, Mamma Na Se?” I ask, hoping that her trembling will stop. Finally, and slowly, it does.
She takes a deep breath. “Dis energy eerie. Something ain’t right.”
The white forest rips through the reflection of my room in the blink of an eye, and John pops up in front of Mamma Na Se. She gasps, almost performing a full jump back.
John looks apologetic, standing ahead of the white-leafed vines that block the sunlight.
“Chil’, who’s dis?” she asks without turning to me.
“John Braver, Mamma, but you no worry ‘bout that,” John says. “We need to protect dis living one, dis mirror no safe for her.”
I whisper to John, “How are you doing this?” but he smiles mischievously. It must have something to do with linking.
Mamma Na Se approaches the mirror and observes John thoroughly. After a while, she broadens a smile. Of course. Who wouldn’t when it comes to John Braver?
“Him a good soul dis one,” she beams. “Oh the things we can learn from you, boy.”
“More important things at stake, Mamma. Santana no want to throw dis mirror away, but dis no safe. Bad mon round dis place.”
“Then we destroy dis!” She nods her head with strength, as if the final resolution has been made. And I wasn’t even asked!
“No way!”
Mamma looks back at me and I clear my throat. “I mean, this mirror cost me a fortune, and I haven’t seen Barbie yet.”
She cross-exams John and me, as if she understands things that I can’t grasp. “Perhaps dis best for both of you if we take it down.”
“And ruin all my fun?” says Red Seth’s growly voice, as the hideout John made crumbles.
Sunlight washes across my bedroom like water bursting through a river dam. My heart stops, and with it, time. White leaves freeze in the air like snowflakes, as a white forest bathed in sunrays fills the space between them. It would be beautiful if he wasn’t there, behind John. Red Seth’s skin is so pale it’s almost green, and with his slimy hair falling over his shoulders and pointy canines, he looks nothing short of a demon. His eyes are the color of blood, matching the ruby ring on his finger. He holds a heavy silver necklace with a giant ruby—a big red eye that doesn’t blink.
He didn’t have that necklace when I first saw him.
My heart resumes beating and the scene fast-forwards: Red Seth shoving John out of the canvas with one simple push, Mamma Na Se taking two steps back and rummaging through her purse, shouting something I can’t understand, and Red Seth’s bloodshot irises locked on me the whole time.
“Be gone, demon!” Mamma splashes salt around us creating a circle.
“You should say that without pissing fear, old hag!” Red Seth bumps the pendant against the mirror, and the surface wavers as if it were made of jelly. He roars with that deep humming tune as if thousands of voices are entwined in his own, “That birdie’s body is mine!”
This is what evil sounds like, and it freezes my feet to the ground.
The fearless lawyer inside me needs to come up right now, but I guess she’s hiding somewhere in a fetal position.
John lands back into the canvas, a glowing ball of blue light floating above his palm like a small sun. “Santana, run!” He shoots the ball toward Red Seth, knocking him out of the picture, filling the room with the booming sound of a blast.
“What the fuck!” I yell.
Grunts and shouts come from the left side of the mirror. I think some belong to Irving, but I can’t see the struggle, only John. He stretches his arm at the mirror and another plasma ball forms over his hand. He’s aiming at me, no, at the mirror, and I silently beg him not to do it. His eyes fill with water and I think he’s mumbling good-bye. Then an orange plasma ball knocks him away.
Red Seth steps back into the canvas, his shirt a rag. His skin is scratched and bloodied. John’s blast did a number on this guy.
Irving jumps over Red Seth. “Santana, bloody hell, RUN!”
A glowing pulse bursts out of Red Seth’s spine, throwing Irving out of view.
Mamma Na Se pushes me to the right and steps forward. She grabs a rosary and shows it to Red Seth. “Return to the depths of Hell!”
He chuckles. “Cute.” Then he charges forward as if challenging the rosary, a wicked smile on his face.
He bangs the necklace against the mirror again, and the surface wavers like water, tiny ripples echoing throughout.
“I’m not afraid of you!” I bark, mostly to assure myself.
He grins. “Of course you are, pup.”
The mirror melts and bends into a thick worm, reaching for me. Before I have any chance to run, the mirror gulps me like a snake would a mouse, covering me from head to toe. I’m floating and I can’t breathe, drifting inside glass. The bubbles that come out of my mouth sit there like crystal beads.
The molten glass is tasteless as it ventures into my throat and penetrates my lungs. I try to break free but I can barely move. A bitter cold embraces me, and as I glance at the salt on the floor I think, useless.
A faint “No!” from Mamma Na Se comes from somewhere, but I can’t find her. Everything darkens and my skin turns to ice.
And then silence.
Will I meet Mother now?
I’m pu
lled in, and moments later I’m pushed out. Air burns my lungs as it rushes in. I’m lying on my back and I’m coughing, gasping, and breathing, all at once. The light is too bright. Gasp, cough. Red Seth blocks my vision, looking down at me. His red medusa hair brushes my face as he bends down to pull me up, a wicked grin on his lips. Breathe. His hair is moving as if it has a will of its own. Where’s the mirror? I’m about to pass out; I won’t be able to put up a fight. Cough, gasp. I need to hurl. Where am I? My head is spinning like a tornado. A shadow slams Red Seth out of my sight and I hear the muffled sound of an explosion.
Breathe.
Growls and the clang of swords. Screams mingle with the clangs. Gasp, cough. Someone pulls me by the waist and the floor becomes a blur below me. My feet dangle in the air. I look up to see John, the wind madly tousling his hair, and then all goes black.
“Santana!” says a voice from far away.
Dad?
“Santana!”
I open my eyes to see two blurs against the light.
“Are you okay?” The voice reaches my eardrums now. It’s John.
My vision clears. John and Irving are staring down at me.
“What happened?” I sound utterly groggy.
“Red Seth took yer goddamn soul out of yer body!” Irving says, his nostrils flared and his hair a black spiky mess. A line of blood marks his forehead and his glasses lie diagonally over his nose.
“What?” Becoming incredibly aware of myself, I notice I’m surrounded by endless grass and a blue sky. I’m not in NY anymore. This can’t be. No, no, no!
“I—I’m dead?”
“No,” John says. “You’re probably in a coma. Red Seth didn’t have enough energy to take your soul out and fill the space in one shot. We need to find a way to get you back to your body.”
“I’m in Death?” My voice sounds shrill and fragile. I’m not used to hearing myself like this.
“Mate, let’s wait until Red Seth leaves, then return to the mirror, fight off his Shades, and take it from there,” Irving says. “Maybe the folks from the Home can help.”
“Shades are more powerful than spirits Irv, you’ve seen that. We barely made it out. We’d need a lot of spirits to fight them and that means leaving the Home unguarded.” John sighs. “Besides, Santana won’t be able to cross without that pendant and if I know Red Seth, he’s not letting it out of his sight.”
The pendant. It brought me here; that red eye, forever staring. Red, like the blood on Irving’s head. But Irving is dead. “How come you’re bleeding?”
“Huh?” He lifts his hand to his cut. “Oh, this wee thing? Another theory of mine—”
“Not now, Irv, let her rest,” John says.
“I’m fine.”
No, I’m anything but fine. I’ve been kidnapped into Purgatory by a psychopathic demon. I’m lying in a distant corner of some ghost universe, and there are two dead guys looking at me. Dead! All I want to do is curl up and cry. This can’t be real! But it’s a familiar feeling, this helplessness that echoes through every clenching muscle of my body and keeps me from moving, thinking, acting. I felt the same after Mother took her own life. Back then, I found a way to keep lifting my head above midnight-blue waters, because unlike her, I wouldn’t give up. That’s what I need to do now: pick myself up and learn everything about Death. My life is on the line and freaking out won’t help.
The fearless lawyer starts to show up. “I have to know, John.”
I try to stand but my whole body—soul?—aches. Irving looks at John and John nods.
“I think our bodies on earth are shaped according to our spirits, lass. I don’t know how, but that’s the only reason I see for us not looking like light or something else entirely after we die.”
Irving eyes me and I nod, silently assuring him I’m following.
“Our spiritual body is deeply connected to our material one. And once we die, it still thinks it can bleed, so it does. It still thinks our organs function, so they do.”
“Only extremely detached spirits don’t show any harm to their specter or any need for bodily functions,” John adds. “They don’t stay here for long, though.”
I observe his damp clothes. So if he were a detached spirit, he wouldn’t have wet clothes, and he wouldn’t have a heartbeat either?
“Right.”
“Stop reading my thoughts, John!”
He raises his hands. “Sorry.”
The image of that lidless bloodshot eye staring back at me lingers in my mind. I wish it would go away. “What was the medallion for?”
“I’m not sure,” Irving says. “Maybe we can find more information back at the Home.”
John helps me up. “To the Home it is.”
My body hurts less now. “You guys have a home?”
“You could say that.” Irving snickers as if I’m missing some huge detail.
Okay, I can handle the ‘ghosts having homes’ subject later. I just learned about ‘ghosts bleeding’ and ‘ghosts bringing my soul to Purgatory.’ That’s enough for now.
I take in the vast landscape ahead of me: rolling prairie dotted by small hills and a dirt road probably ending somewhere far away. The scene reminds me of the summer hiking trips Dad and I used to take, but I can’t match the three creepy mountains at the far end to anything I’ve ever seen. They seem broken, as if someone had punched them over and over for thousands of years.
Taking a deep breath, I push all my fear and desperation to some deep place inside of me, like I always do in court.
Stealth mode, on.
I brush the dirt from my skirt and white shirt. Apparently my spirit remembers what clothes I was wearing. Looking down at my feet, I notice my black leather Chucks. I’m so glad I wasn’t wearing pumps.
“Well, let’s get going, boys. I’ve got a body to go back to.”
10
Cresting the first hill reveals unending fields of white, tall grass. The fur rises well above my head, and as we venture through it, I can’t see a thing besides the blue sky and the dirt road that cuts the fur in a rat path. Tracking through this feels like blazing a trail through a polar bear’s fur.
Nothing at all like the hikes back home.
I close my mouth onto a wayward stalk of white grass and immediately spit it out. It tastes like wet dog hair. “Why don’t we take a normal road?”
“Bad spirits have been coming to these parts,” Irving says as he walks ahead, practically swimming through the tall grass with the sweep of his arms. “The more concealed we are the better.”
I glance at John, who walks close to me. He’s been staring at me with a hint of admiration for a while now, and I can’t imagine why.
“Normal people would be freaking out by now,” he says, reading my mind. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” he adds.
“And I’m not normal?”
“That’s not what I meant. It’s just…this is a lot to take in all at once. I’d be freaking out if I were you.”
“What makes you think I’m not?”
“If you are, you’ve certainly got it under control. You’re one of the bravest people I’ve met, Santana Jones.” His attention shifts to Irving. “And I’ve met some brave people.”
Something deep within my belly urges me to squeal. “That’s not true, but thanks. I’ll feel better when I’m back in my body, though.”
John stops and holds my hands between his. His eyes pierce mine, reaching deep into everything that I am. Warmth takes me over, and shit I’m blushing! Out, out, out. I don’t do the blushing thing, never did! Why now? Out!
“I’ll do the impossible to take you back, Santana. Do you understand?” He touches my cheek and my heart races. He smiles and kisses my forehead, his lips warm and soft against my skin. Please God, don’t let this moment end. But God doesn’t listen to me, never has and never will, so John lets go and we’re walking again. The warm imprint of his lips linger on my skin, but it fades away too soon.
The whiteness is interrupted
by a green hill, an island in the midst of a white sea. It’s populated by trees abundant with all kinds of fruits.
Irving rubs his hands as he climbs the hill. “Time for some snacks!”
Watching my step—the ground is littered with berry plants and a watermelon every now and then—I pluck strawberries and blueberries. They’re sweet and juicy, which is infinitely weird, considering this is all immaterial. I make my way to the trees, littered with oranges, apples, and mangoes, and choose a perfectly red apple.
After we’ve picked a couple of fruits for lunch, we sit in the shade of a peach tree. A gentle breeze plays with my hair, sunlight kisses my skin. This could be a perfect sunny day back on earth, if it weren’t for the two faded moons on the horizon, and the two suns high above them. They look like shiny vampire bites.
“How can we eat?” I ask, apple in hand. “I mean, we’re ghosts.”
“Ghosts are spirits trapped on earth; trust me, a whole different animal, lass. They’ve never been to Death, so they wander on the realm of the living, never really belonging. They just…watch.” Irving shrugs. “But if yer a spirit in a spirit world, then yes, you can eat.”
That makes sense. If we’re in a spirit planet, then a spirit sun should warm spirits as much as spirit fruits should feed them. What was it that John said when I first came here? An immaterial world reacts to immaterial things, or something like that.
What would make a spirit stay on earth, though? Unfinished business? Can the spirit control whether or not he stays? A long time ago, Dad saw a blur he thought was Mother…could it have been her? Really her?
Forget about it. I won’t worry about a woman who never worried about me.
Getting up, I turn to look at the path we’ve already traveled, trying to find the point where we started. A little white dot shines like a tiny diamond in the horizon. “What’s that?”
