I let out slow, deep breaths. “She wouldn’t answer me at first, but left to fetch my father. When they both returned, they were sobbing uncontrollably, my father to my left and my mother to my right.”
I shake my head back and forth as more tears cascade down my face. “‘Axel didn’t make it, Char. He’s gone,’ my father had whispered as his voice shook. I had never seen him so distraught. He has always been so strong. I just stared at him; perplexed. ‘He was here when I woke up,’ I’d replied adamantly to my parents. ‘I saw him.’ But my mother just wept and told me, ‘I’m sorry, sweetie, he’s gone.’”
I meet Ike’s eyes and try to smile through the tears. “As you know, with grief comes denial. I refused to believe it. I thought maybe I was dreaming, that I would wake up any moment and realize it had only been a horrific nightmare. But as time went on, I realized he really was gone.” I wipe my nose with my forearm.
“He didn’t crossover until he knew I was going to be okay. I was his unfinished business. I missed my chance to say good-bye to him because I didn’t know what was happening.”
“I’m sorry, Charlotte,” Ike says, grasping for something more to say.
“Shortly after, I started seeing people and talking to them, and my mother would always ask me who I was talking to. It took me a while, since I was on a lot of medication then, to understand what I was seeing. When I figured out the dead were talking to me, I tried to tell my parents, and they, of course, thought I was nuts and sent me to a psychiatrist and a neurologist. They put me on antipsychotic meds, which completely fucked me up, and I still saw dead people,” I grunt. “Eventually, I stopped talking about it, for the most part. I became severely depressed; my friends had all abandoned me when they thought I went nuts,” I say, sadly. “My parents were dealing with the grief of losing Axel on top of my issues. A year later, I was back to normal, mostly physically, and my father had some business associates over for dinner. Of course, his boss’s father had died recently, and he came to the party too. I tried to get him alone, to tell him what his father needed him to know, but my father caught me. His boss was sobbing and hugging me, but that didn’t matter,” I recall. “My father was done. The next day he gave me a check for thirty thousand dollars and told me I should travel. It was part of the money the insurance company had paid for the accident. I knew he just meant I should disappear. So I did.”
Ike’s expression is grim, his mouth in a hard, flat line. He shakes his head, I assume in disbelief, before lowering it. When he raises it again, he smiles sadly. “So you’ve been wandering around for the last five years helping the dead? All alone.” It’s not a question, more of a confirmation. I swallow hard and nod, resuming flicking the material from my pillowcase to occupy my gaze. I can’t look at him or I’ll cry again. Standing, he walks over to me and sits beside me and places his hand on the bed next to mine. “I think this is the worst part, ya know. I can see you, hear you, but I can’t touch you.”
“I know,” I answer quietly. I would give anything if he could. I’ve only known him a few days, but he’s the first person I’ve had a real connection with in years. As I stare up at him, I can’t help but wonder what Axel would think of him. It’s a silly thought, and I don’t know where it came from, but I believe Axel would have liked Ike very much. Maybe George, too, despite his issues.
Taking a deep breath, I stand and pull my hair from the knot I tied it in. “I have to get ready. I have dinner plans with the Mercers, ya know.”
“Yeah,” he replies and nods. “Do you want to go alone or do you want me there?”
I’m surprised he’s asked. Every other time I’ve wanted to be alone I’ve had to demand it from him. But last night, worrying about where he was and what was going through his mind, I hated it. I need him to stay with me. “Would you mind coming with me?”
“Not at all,” he answers and grins, his pleasure with my asking him evident.
“So, tell us about your family, Char. Do you see them often?” Mr. Mercer asks as he sets a glass of iced tea on the table where she’s seated. Mrs. Mercer went all out and prepared a meal that could feed twenty people. The food is spread out over a clean, white tablecloth and she’s using her best china. My mouth waters as I stare at the fried chicken and mashed potatoes.
“I’m sure not as often as they’d like,” Charlotte answers before taking a sip from her tea. She’s wearing a loose, blue top with her jeans, her black hair half pulled up. She looks . . . beautiful.
“Do you have any siblings?” Mrs. Mercer asks as she takes her seat and picks up the dish of mashed potatoes. Charlotte’s eyes dart to mine very briefly before returning to the Mercer’s.
Smiling somewhat stiffly, she says, “I had a brother. He passed away about six years ago.”
Mr. Mercer’s brows furrow as if pained by this news. “I’m sorry to hear that. As you know, we know what it is to lose someone you love dearly.”