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“Do you feel any pull?” Kharon asks.
I shake my head. Then again, I don’t really have any clue what he’s talking about, so it’s easy to say no.
“We’ll go a little further.”
I hope it gets a little less creepy the longer we’re here. But the more we walk, the shadowy people parting to make way for us, the more all my hair stands on end.
“This is where you like to come to get away from things?” I whisper incredulously.
“I find it calming.”
I look at him like he’s nuts. But it’s true. While I feel tensed tight as a coiled spring, I can feel that Kharon’s muscles have gone loose beside me. Relaxed. And I realize he was way more tense in the sunny place. I shake my head and think, Huh. Maybe he’s way more screwed up than me if he finds this place a relaxing vacation from life’s stresses.
Just as I think that, I feel this odd tugging sensation in my chest from somewhere to the left.
My head swivels in that direction, and my fingers dig into Kharon’s bicep even harder.
“What?” he asks, so attuned to me.
“Nothing,” I say immediately.
But he’s not fooled. “It was something,” he says. “What did you feel?”
Tears come to my eyes as I feel it again. A tug in my chest from the left. Like an invisible string attached beneath my ribcage.
“Nothing,” I whisper desperately.
His voice is kind as he asks, “Where is this nothing coming from?”
A tear slides down my cheek as I point.
One of his hands slides down so that his fingers interlace with mine.
“Show me.”
I don’t say anything or even nod. I just start to walk, my throat choked up as I cling to his hand. The darkness seems to get thicker the deeper we walk into the open field. As if. . . as if we’re walking into a shadow. The lack of light here is tangible. It’s not frightening, and it’s not sad, not exactly.
It’s just. . . empty.
And so, so quiet.
There’s not even wind here. Sometimes the shadowy people clump together, and I wonder if it’s because they knew each other back—back in the physical world, if that’s even the right word. This whole place is so trippy. My head swings all around.
Then I finally see him—
“Dad,” I cry out, letting go of Kharon’s hand to run toward a lone shadow standing by himself.
His back is to me, but I’d know my Dad anywhere. He stands so tall, his shoulders so broad, I was always sure he could carry all the weight of the world.
He doesn’t turn around at my voice, and I have to scurry around him to see his face.
And it’s him.
“Dad!” I throw my arms around him. Or try to. My arms move right through him like he’s mist, and a devastated noise comes from my throat.
His body reforms a moment later, and he barely even looks at me. His mouth moves a little, like he’s muttering without sound, and he sort of rocks back and forth.
“What is this?” I turn accusingly at Kharon. “What’s wrong with him?”
Kharon stands tall behind my father, and I hate that Dad looks so diminished compared to him. “I’m sorry, I should have explained better. Only the spirit within him remained when he traveled to this world in death.”
I cry out and grab my chest, looking back at my father. “Dad,” I say, moving so I’m right in front of his face. “Dad, can you hear me?” I reach out again but remember what happened last time and pull back before touching him.
His sightless eyes stare right past me.
“Why can’t he see me? Why doesn’t he know me? I felt the pull to him. Can’t he feel me, too?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Kharon says, moving to my side. “But he’s only just gotten here. He’s confused, and whatever restlessness he felt in life is still deeply imprinted.”
“Does he still have his memories?” I ask desperately. “Can he even remember me?”
Kharon’s face is compassionate in a way that makes me furious as he looks down at me. “That’s not what this place is really for.”
“But you just said it was about his restlessness in life! Doesn’t that mean memories?”
“It means that everything that happens to us in our lives and how we respond affects us, whether we want it to or not. Grooves are imprinted on our souls, like on the records Romulus likes to listen to. And here in this realm, those records play on repeat.”
I hate how logical he’s being, how calm he is as he says it, and everything about this place. My chest is tight, and I keep swallowing back tears. I can’t stop looking at my father; he’s here and real, in front of me, and yet not at the same time.
“He’s just a ghost,” I whisper brokenly.
