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“Painful?” she asked clinically, walking around him to see another small hole at the base of his skull.
“I can’t remember too much pain. What pain there was, it was bad but it didn’t last long. Didn’t even feel the second one.”
“Probably still running on adrenaline.” She returned to his front and shook her head. “I’m not sure what I can do for you, mister…?”
“Oh, call me Mel.”
“Mel.” She walked away from him again, sure he would follow. “Again, I’m not a ‘for hire’ medium. I’m scarcelyamedium. I can’t control my so-called gift and don’t want to toss out signals to other spirits that I’m able to see them. Not to mention, I’m not a detective either. I can’t help you.”
“You may be the only one who can. Others broadcasting they’re mediums can’t hear me. I walked down the French Quarter and tried to stop in on a few, just in case.” He passed her and planted himself right in front of her. “Please.”
“What do you want me to do? You just died. Give yourself a few days to accept your passing and you’ll move on. On your own.”
“Not without knowing why! I deserve to know.”
“What you deserve versus what you get isn’t always going to coincide. That’s a hard part of life and death. Believe me, I’ve seen enough of it to know.”
Before Mel could get another word out, a form shuffled up the path toward them. Anastacia moved to the side to let them pass, distracted by Mel. The person’s pace slowed, stopping next to her. The form made a weak noise and reached out for Anastacia.
“Oh, fuck me.” She ducked out of the way.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait your turn, buddy. The lady and I are having a conversation here.” Mel pushed the hand of the other soul away, its arm covered in a black, mucky substance that poured from long cuts down the inside of the soul’s forearms. Yanking his hand back as the goop slid onto him, Mel’s face contorted in disgust. He shook his hand back and forth, flinging the muck off him only for it to climb back up to the cuts on the dark soul’s arms. “Okay. Ew.”
“I was wrong,” the soul moaned, drawing closer to Anastacia. “I want my life back.”
“Taking mine isn't going to help," she bit out at the soul, her eyes fluttering to the numerous shadows around them. Her heart constricted from the pain showcased on the soul. If she could only make it understand. “You have to make peace with your choice before they find you. Let go of the hate or sorrow you felt. You released yourself from it all; now realize you could fly if you really wanted.”
“Help me,” the soul begged before yowling in a way that raked at Anastacia’s ears no matter how many times she had heard it before. Her face squinted against the onslaught of the unrelenting wails.
Anastacia lifted her palms toward the soul as if erecting an invisible shield between the two of them. The wailing slowly faded. Anastacia pressed her palms down to face the ground, a universal sign to quiet down. “I can only help you if you want to move on. I won’t give you my life.”
“Your life?” Mel asked from the side.
The soul’s empty eyes turned dark, the lost expression contorted to anguish, its mouth open in a soundless scream. Dripping arms led its rush toward Anastacia. Mel drove his shoulder into the side of the being, forcing it to tumble off course before it reached her. Righting himself, Mel spread his arms wide to serve as a new shield between the soul and Anastacia.
“Are you okay?” Mel tossed over his shoulder.
Ignoring Mel, her attention was drawn somewhere else. “They’re here.”
Anastacia stared past him as a shadow moved on its own, spread under where the soul had landed on the ground. Two impossibly long arms reached up from the shadows and wrapped around the form of the soul, sucking it into the ground as if the earth was quicksand. The dark soul howled louder than before, its limbs flailing against the darkness. The dark arms pulled it down until the soul’s screams faded into a silence that even the wind passing through the trees didn’t disturb.
An elongated black head peeked out and stared at her before focusing its attention on Mel. The unblinking eyes stared at the newly departed soul analyzing him. A small twitch of fear for Mel twisted in her stomach when the Gatekeeper’s gaze persisted for too long. The Gatekeeper finally turned away from them both, disappeared into the shadows, and the path was still once again.
Anastacia let out the breath she held and shook her head. The fingers of her right hand worried at the small stone of her necklace, the gem was already worn down flat. She never knew the stories of the lost souls, but all too often it was easy enough to guess. The slices on the soul’s arms were unmistakable. The ones who changed their minds too late were consumed by pure pain and regret. Unlike the murdered, who were just rage and power. As much as she felt a twinge of regret at not being able to help that soul, the bigger part of her still wanted to be in control of her life. A shiver rolled over her arms and down her back, quaking her entire body, and shaking her from her thoughts. That freedom could not come soon enough.
“What the fuck?!” Mel pointed his entire hand to where the shadow once was. “What. The. Fuck?!”
“You’ll see them more and more. Consider yourself lucky they didn’t want you too.”
She got back on the foot trail and trekked farther down the path. Mel ran after her, his hand leaving a brief cold sensation as it passed through her when he tried to grab her arm.
“I’m living. You can’t physically interact with me, or the rest of the world. At least not yet. Well, not beyond the usual walking on ground, sitting in chairs, having to use doors. Think of it as muscle memory from your life. Your soul remembers those foundations from being human and holds on to them. Or something like that. Anyway, I know some spirits can interact with the physical realm, but I hear it takes time and practice. Or a whole lot of malice.”
“Look, despite saying you can’t help me, you know more than I do. Help me navigate. Help me figure out who killed me. We can make a deal!”
Here, she couldn’t help the sarcastic laugh that escaped her throat. “Oh no, I don’t make deals with spirits. I’m not binding myself to the wrong soul.”
“Just help me find my killer. You said you don’t have a grip on your gift yet. I can make sure other spirits stay away so you can hone it. I may not throw books across the room yet but I, apparently, can interact with other spirits. I’ll keep them quiet in the meantime.”
