I haven’t stopped trying to coax him out of the shadows. I’ve walked around my apartment practically naked, used his money to buy lingerie, put on a good show with my fingers, and moaned his name for added effect in the hopes that maybe he’ll take me by surprise again.
One might say I’ve gone to extreme lengths in my desperation.
Still, he hasn’t so much as left me a letter. I’m disappointed, to say the least. And sad. I miss him.
Me: And we can watch Ghost Rider after dinner, then you can tell me whether it’s fact or fiction.
My heart skips a beat when my phone vibrates in my hand.
Letum: Fiction.
The smile that spreads on my face stretches from ear to ear. After three months, he responds with a single word. Finally.
Childlike giddiness fills me from seeing his name on the screen. I have no control over the butterflies that spur alive in my stomach.
Me: It’s fact until you come over to convince me that it’s fiction.
Letum: Soon, my Lilith.
The weirdest part about the past month is that with each passing day, I feel closer to Letum. Not physically, of course. And not because I’ve realized the method to his madness. But because in the back of my mind, bits and pieces of information are sitting beneath the surface of rippling water, and occasionally, I can see what it says.
For some reason, I can say with utter confidence that Letum has raven black hair and eyes of plain white. Just as I can confidently say that he has a dimple on his chin, thick curling lashes, and a short horizontal scar on his cheek. I’m not sure how I might know this, but I would bet everything that I have ever known on these simple facts.
I make enough dinner for two. To no one’s surprise, he doesn’t show. Does death eat (something other than me)? Probably not.
He shouldn’t have responded to my text, because all it did was make me yearn for him even more. His touch, his voice, his taste.
The wooden floor is a welcome discomfort as I sit in front of the drawers in my bedroom. The last time I opened the drawer with all his notes and extra gifts was three months ago.
A pink lily looks down at me from my desk, perched on a glass. Stargazer, botanists call it. Out of all the kinds of lilies that he’s brought me, the Stargazer is my favorite. Its hot pink spots lighten my otherwise dull room. The vibrant color is the complete opposite of both Letum and me. It’s meant to symbolize prosperity and abundance.
All the lilies have found a home somewhere around my apartment. If they aren’t hanging onto life soaking up some water, then they’re hanging on a string upside down. Just because it’s dead, it doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful.
Too weak to hold it back, I grab my phone and send another text.
Me: I miss you, Letum. ‘Soon’ isn’t soon enough.
I stare at the green bubble, waiting to see more gray ones pop up, but nothing comes.
Sighing, I try to bite down my disappointment. Two texts don’t mean that he’s coming. Neither does two lilies.
I wrap my fingers around the metal handle of the drawer and try to pull it open. When it doesn’t budge I use far more force than necessary, and the whole drawer lands on my lap, spilling brown parchment all over the floor.
I blink.
I blink again.
The whole thing is filled to the brim with rolled-up brown parchment. It’s no longer kept together tidily in a box. Rolls of paper fall into the box of feathers, and make their way into every nook and cranny of the drawer.
I grab the first letter I can get my hands on and read it with bated breath.
You make me feel alive.
It’s new. It’s a new letter. He’s never said that to me before.
I reach for another one.
Get the dress in forest green. It compliments your skin tone. Though there is nothing you could wear that wouldn’t take my breath away.
The corners of my lips tip up and a deep blush taints my cheeks. This entire time I thought he was trying to keep his distance and ignore me.
Seeing as you have been telling me about your day, I shall tell you about mine.
Today I watched the most otherworldly soul smile as she gazed upon a flower. Though my heart is greedy because I only want her to smile for me.
Stupid tears well in my eyes. I wipe it away before it can fall onto the paper, and I grab another letter.
Heaven does not compare to your beauty.
Then another letter.
Every day I watch you grow, and I could not be prouder.
And another.
You are almost there, my love. A while longer, and we will have an eternity together.
Then another.
You’re right. If I drank coffee, I would have a short black.
One by one, I unroll the letters and try to wipe away the tears before they fall. I feel like I can’t breathe, not because it hurts but because this is what I’ve been missing. He is what I have been missing.
This whole time I thought the accident was the worst thing that could have happened to me and that nothing good could ever come from it. But deep down, I knew—I really always knew—I belonged to death. The world of the living isn’t meant for me. Despite the life I led before the accident, I didn’t truly feel alive. Something was always off.
A tuft of black catches my eye from within the drawer, hidden beneath the mounds of parchment. I fish through the letters until my fingers wrap around something soft and fluffy.
A sob escapes my lips when I pull it out and stare into the different colored eyes of the stuffed animal. Black fur and white socks, and an asymmetrical pool of white going from its neck, down to its stomach. Rafe. Letum made a toy dog that looks exactly like my old boy.
This time, when the tears fall, I don’t stop them. I shove my face into the animal and pour my eyes out.
What did I do to deserve Letum’s attention? How is it that the most thoughtful, caring, and attentive person that I have ever met is death itself?
Something soft hits my head. I suck in a breath and snap my gaze away from Rafe in time to watch a letter tumble down my shoulder.
My heart hammers in my chest with an intoxicating mix of excitement and nerves as I unwrap the letter.
If soon cannot come soon enough, then come find me, my night monster.
I will give you a hint: To end, you must go to the beginning.
I frown. What does he mean? Is he finally going to let me see him? What does he mean by ‘the beginning'? I was born in the hospital two towns over, but a hospital isn’t the most romantic of places to meet. Though I guess it would be easier for him if he’s collecting souls.
Also, what am I ending? He can’t possibly mean ending our relationship.
As I stare at the letter, the realization hits me. I know where to find him. I pull my phone out and send him words that he’s said to me.
Me: I’m coming for you.
My feet fly down the stairs as I run to my car. I’m barely breathing. Barely thinking rationally. I’m blinded by thoughts of him. He’s finally letting me see him. Finally.
The city lights disappear as I get on the road that leads out into the forest. The moon is nowhere to be seen, hidden beneath fields of vicious clouds.
This whole time he was getting me to face my past and move beyond the things that were holding me back. He got rid of Evan, not for laying a hand on me, but because he was holding me back. Death left me letters not just to keep me standing, but to get my legs to move me forward.
Beneath my ribs, my heart rattles and sings with anticipation and fear and excitement. I’ve avoided this road since the accident, refusing to drive to Evan’s parent’s house just because this whole street is haunted by memories of that night. Yet, here I am, speeding toward it.
Maybe I’m not ready to face this place. I don’t think I’ll ever be. But I am beyond ready to drive past it.
I slow down and anxious critters crawl up my neck as I near the site that burned my sister alive. I immediately grab hold of the necklace to remind myself that Letum will be there.