“Did you know humans are the only creatures alive that know about death?”
“Toby,” I groan. “I don’t think I’m awake enough for a philosophical treatise on death at the moment.” Not that I have much of a choice. Tobias is already well on his way.
“Other animals sense danger and the need for self-preservation, but we’re the only ones who know death is coming. We know it’s there, always there, just waiting for us.”
“Lucky us.”
“What if it’s a gift? Knowing?”
“I’d keep the receipt.”
“What the hell.” Amara walks into the living room. “You’re redecorating?”
“Just refocusing our energy. Helping set the mood.”
“How romantic.”
“I figured out what went wrong last night,” he says with total confidence. The resilience of the male ego is a stunning thing. “Let’s try again.”
“I’m gonna need a minute before I do anything,” Amara mutters.
But Tobias doesn’t waste any time. “I want you to sit here.” Taking our hands, he guides us to sit in a freshly painted circle in the center of the living room. “Amara, you sit next to her.”
“Is this where we’ll refocus our energy?”
“The person with the strongest connection has to be the one who reaches out. That’s why you’re leading us today.”
He’s looking at me. “Me? Why me?”
“Because you love him.” He says as if the answer is obvious. “You don’t have to hide it.”
“I’m not hiding anything.”
Tobias turns to Amara for a little backup. “Am I wrong?”
Amara doesn’t say a word.
“Your denial is what’s blocking us from contacting him. If you accept—”
“Don’t blame me.”
“It has to be you.” Tobias scoots even closer, until I can smell his breath. He really needs to brush his teeth. We all do. “If he hears you—senses you—you can draw him in.”
If Amara finds any of this even remotely amusing, she’s keeping it to herself. She’s too tired to resist Tobias anymore. That makes two of us. “So what am I supposed to say?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through.”
Amara has clearly checked out this morning. I can tell she’s counting down the hours—maybe the minutes—until this weekend is over. The most painless way to make this all go away is to do whatever Tobias says—then ghost.
He doles out another dose for each of us. “One for you…one for you…one for me.”
“Eye contact,” I say, trying to bring some levity to our drug-induced séance.
“Cheers,” Amara mumbles, not meeting my eyes. We all pop the pills in our mouths and swallow without another word, chasing them down with as much water as we can stomach.
The living room feels different in the daylight. Smaller. The night before, the room itself seemed to expand, the wooden beams stretching over our heads. It felt like we’d been devoured by some prehistoric plywood beast. Everything looks harsh and dusty in the sunlight.
“Close your eyes,” Tobias starts. I glance at Amara before I do, but she won’t look at me.
“We wish to speak with someone we’ve lost,” Tobias announces. His voice sounds far away, as if it’s coming from the corner of the living room, even though I can still feel his knee pressed against mine. “Silas—if you can hear us, we want you to know we are here.”
I strain my ears as much as I can. I want to hear something—hear him, his voice.
“Erin.” Tobias squeezes my hand. “It’s your turn. Reach out to Silas.”
I don’t know what do to. What am I supposed to say? If my eyes were open, I’d feel like a complete idiot, but behind my eyelids, any feelings of self-consciousness begin to ebb. The presence of both Amara and Tobias slowly recedes from my mind’s eye. There’s no one else now. It’s just me and— “Silas? Can you hear me?”
The longer my eyes are closed, the more I notice certain patterns. Diamond-shaped helixes emerge from the darkness and spiral across my eyelids.
“It’s me…Erin.”
The helixes twirl faster at the sound of Silas’s name. They fluctuate in color, red to purple to green, as they gain speed.
“Are you there?”
The temperature rises up my back before radiating through the rest of my body. The room is muggier now. The plastic tarps trap the warmth of the sun in the room. It feels like a sauna overheating.
“Silas,” Tobias says. “We’re here. Can you hear us?”
“Silas,” I jump in. I don’t want Tobias to reach him first. “I know you’re there.”
The presence of my body, the very sensation of my skin, fades. I’m dissolving. I can’t tell where my skin is anymore, where I stop and the house starts.
“Silas, if you can hear me, I want you—I want you to know that I never left you.”
I am the house. Every room is a chamber of my heart, every hallway an artery, every beam a bone. All I need now is a ghost. I’m ready to be haunted. For Silas’s spirit to possess this vessel.
“I never let you go, Silas. I never meant to hurt you.”
The fluctuating colors behind my eyelids compress themselves, taking shape.
A silhouette.
“I wish I could take back everything I said that night. I wish I could go back and—”
The floor creaks behind me—a footstep. It’s such an abrupt sound I can’t help but open my eyes. I’m immediately met by harsh sunlight. The sun has shifted, seemingly in a matter of minutes—or have we been sitting here for hours? Long enough for the sun to move along its path, the light sliding across the living room.
“I love you, Silas. I miss you…I…”
A pocket of shadow remains in the far corner. The sun can’t reach that far into the room. There’s something palpable within the darkness, something growing, gaining potency. Then the shadow starts to move. Something—someone—is standing in the corner.
“Do you see that?” I hear myself ask, but it doesn’t sound like the words are coming from me.
Tobias glances around the room. “See what?”
“In the corner. Right there.”
Amara won’t look behind her. She refuses to see. Her focus remains on the floor. The walls. The ceiling. Anything but that far corner of the living room, anywhere but there.
The silhouette steps forward. Out from the shadows. The darkness follows, as if it somehow drags the shadows with it, tugging on that black, a web spindling out from the wall.
I see him. I see him. “Silas?”
“Where? Where is he?” Tobias asks, unable to hide his anxiety. His head whips around the room, desperate to see—and when he finally does see him the stillness that takes over his face is so sudden it’s as if someone pressed pause on his body. Only his eyes move, frenzied. He whispers, “It’s him.”
“Silas, I…” My throat is too dry. I need water, but I can’t look away from him. I can’t bring myself to break contact—he might disappear again. “Silas, it’s me. It’s Erin!”
Saying his name out loud seems to give him life—I’m giving him life—as if it’s enough to endow him with existence once more. “Can you hear me, Silas? Can you see me?”
A name is a vessel. It holds certain syllables, certain cadences. If you say them in a certain order, in a certain rhythm, you’re able to invoke the very breath of God. And I want to say Silas’s name with life again. I want to say his name out loud and have it sound the way I used to say it when he was alive. I want to say his name with all my heart. To endow every letter with love, everlasting love.
“Silas—”
I cough. There’s something caught in my throat, but I can’t look away from him.
“Silas, it’s me. I’m here, Silas. I—”
Something thick moves up my esophagus. I can hear myself retch. It’s wet, labored.
“Erin?” Amara’s hand tightens its grip around mine, squeezing my fingers.
Whatever is rising up my throat now blocks the airway. I can’t breathe. Amara yanks on my arm. I pray that the pleading look in my eyes broadcasts my absolute inability to inhale.
I can’t breathe.
My chest heaves once, twice.
Can’t breathe.
The bulge in my throat works its way up.
Can’t…
Silas is gone, if he’d even been here. He was, though, wasn’t he? Hadn’t I seen him?
“What’s wrong?” Tobias asks, kneeling before me. “What is—”
I retch once more. My entire body starts to seize.