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We neared the stone exterior of the house which structurally formed the shape of an L. On the longer side, three pointed windows jutted into points on the top of the roof. On the base of the L, straight ahead where the path took us to the front entrance, two larger windows were positioned on each side of the awning which lead to a burgundy door.
My eyes widened. I recognized this place. I shut my eyes for a moment, recalling a home that Jamie and I used to pass while we rode our bikes through Goose Hollow, the summer we were together. Of course, most of the homes in that area of Portland were especially extravagant, but this one in particular made us both stop in our tracks the first time we ever saw it. Almost as if the stony exterior glowed against the grey sky.
“Holy shit,” I’d said.
“Definitely a dream home, if I ever saw one.” Jamie had stopped, straddling the bike as he glanced at the house in amazement. Construction workers had taped off some of the roof, the sounds of jack-sawing all around us.
“Yeah, a dream home,” I said. “Except… if this house existed on a bigger plot of land and not smack in the middle of all these other places. More suburban, less congested city area.”
“With a moat,” Jamie had said.
“Totally with a moat.”
I opened my eyes, seeing the floating lanterns in the sky behind the house. So, he hadn’t quite created the moat aspect around the house. But Jamie had done even better: the house was surrounded by abodyof water.
“Stone facing and everything,” I said. “You built the dream home.”
“I sure did,” he said. “Come on.”
We stepped through the front door—through it because we literally popped through. A whoosh of energy passed into my body as we entered the doorway, landing inside an interior den.
Of course, this space was everything you’d expect when stepping into an immaculate stone-faced house. A fireplace crackled in the corner. Inviting, dim lighting fell across espresso furniture—two long sofas, a bookshelf which stretched along the entire back wall, and a shaggy rug in front of the fire.
“No wonder you don’t stay in the physical world for very long,” I said. “Who’d want to come back when this is your home?”
Jamie shook his head. “It’s almost my home.”
“You keep saying that.”
He didn’t respond to me. Instead, he snapped his fingers again. Instantly, a record player I hadn’t noticed before set the needle on an album and began to play. Sure enough, Tchaikovsky rang through the room.Nocturne No. 1. Opera 10.
“Okay, so, it’s time for some truth,” Jamie said. “Spirits can eat if they want. Out of pure enjoyment. Because, duh, people love to eat. Why wouldn’t they do it in the afterlife? The thing is though, your body needs actual physical food. So. This is what I propose.”
“You’re thinking, we’ll go back, and I’ll cook my own damn dinner.” I smirked.
“Kinda. I say we go back. Keep you from going hungry. But… not before we share a dance.”
He inched closer to me and touched his fingers gently against my arms. Without another question, I leaned in, locking my hands together behind his back. His arms circled around my body, and we fell into a deep embrace. The heat from his body played across my face and through to the very depths of my soul. I squeezed him to me.
“Jemma?” Jamie’s lips brushed against my forehead as we swayed to the music. “Thank you for agreeing to come here with me.”
“Yeah, I mean… what was I going to do, say no?”
“No, I mean… you’ve had a hard life. You have no reason to trust me. You have no reason to easily trust anyone. But you’re here with me, dancing. Letting your guard down. Even though I’ve made you more uncomfortable than I ever could’ve imagined. Even though I’ve pushed myself back into your life again.”
“The thing is,” he added. “I understand you better than I ever understood myself.”
I rested my head against his chest, shutting my eyes as I listened.
“When I died,” he continued softly, “I ended up in an even darker place. No, not hell. But… after I crossed into the light… I kept hearing this new voice in my head that hadn’t been there before. The voice was… beyond depressed. Hopeless. At first, I thought it was me. As I listened more closely, I realized the voice was entirely different sounding than my own.”
His hand ran along my arm, sending a flutter up my spine.
“Do you know,” he said, “that this person I kept on hearing… she sounded so much like me… I could feel her pain like it was my own. I understood the dark morbidity consuming her. Making her wish she could just close her eyes and die.”
Discomfort washed over me, knowing where he was going with this. Discomfort because we both knew he meant me. Which meant he’d had access to my thoughts long before I ever realized it.
But… why?
