“Let’s go.” Amara’s voice rebounds throughout the house like she’s shouting from every room at once. Usually she’s the one dragging her heels when it comes to heading out, but she’s packed before the rest of us, ready to get the hell out of Hopewell.
Tobias won’t budge. “I wouldn’t go out there if I were you.”
“Why?”
“There’s no telling what you’re going to see.”
“I’m so fucking done. Have a blast, Toby. Erin, come on. Let’s go home.”
But I am home, I want to say. I just brought Silas back and now we’re leaving him? Here? All alone in Hopewell? I still feel his spirit buzzing through my body, like a sparkler in my heart. Can’t I take him with me? If all it takes is a dose of Ghost, can’t I contact him wherever I want?
I’ll be Silas’s haunted house.
Tobias doesn’t seem all that sad to stay behind. We’re abandoning him.
“I can come back for you,” I offer.
“Don’t worry about me. Just get back to your life.”
Your life. What a funny way of putting it.
I want to say Amara and I have some heart-to-heart during the ride back to Richmond, but things remain pretty quiet in the car. She rolls down her window and lights an American Spirit with Silas’s REHAB IS FOR QUITTERS lighter, then tosses it onto the dash.
The shrill hiss of wind cuts through the cabin as we drive down the interstate.
“Mind if I bum one?”
Amara takes a long drag before passing it to me without a word.
“I know you don’t believe—”
“Don’t,” Amara cuts me off. She silently occupies herself with the stereo for the rest of the ride, shifting from station to station, never settling on one song long enough to listen. Static crackles through the speakers every time she changes the station and I can’t help but drift a bit behind the wheel, my thoughts lost in a gray ocean.
When we pull up to her apartment, I try one last time. “You saw him, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t see anything.” Amara flicks her cigarette through the window before climbing out. She doesn’t look back.
I wait for her to safely enter her building before driving off. What I failed to mention, what I hoped to tell Amara on the ride back but couldn’t was that…
I stole Tobias’s stash.
I honestly hadn’t planned on taking it. I saw his satchel on the living room floor, flap still open, the Ziploc baggie tucked within. Only a handful of Ghost left: three gelcaps.
Tobias will be pissed when he finds out, but he’ll forgive me. I don’t want him dosing out there alone. I expect he’ll call and chew me out and I’ll have to explain why—I’m trying to protect you, Toby—and eventually he’ll come around and get over it. Tobias always gets over it.
I didn’t plan on dosing on Ghost.
At least I don’t think I did. It isn’t until after I drop Amara off that I even begin to consider the week ahead. My new job beckons like a beam of light. Go toward the light, Erin! Go toward the light! I can see the New Me reaching out, calling, Take my hand, Old Erin!
So why do I feel so listless?
I have nowhere to go. Nowhere to be. Whenever this happened before, this itch taking root within me, Silas would always show up and whisk me away on one of his adventures.
But that’s not happening anymore, is it, Erin?
What if it can? Who says it has to be over?
The notion firmly takes hold by the time I reach my apartment. I can have Silas all to myself now, can’t I? Really make an evening out of it, too. No interference, no nagging from Amara, no mansplaining from Tobias. Just Silas and me, alone at last.
I start thinking about the possibilities between us—all the things we can talk about with a little privacy. I think back to those nights where Silas guided me through the city, showing me every bygone spot Richmond itself had forgotten. We were making our own history in those moments, exploring the ruins of Richmond, reading its graffiti together, and I can’t help but wonder if we can have that experience anytime I want now. I can take Silas with me wherever I go. What’s stopping me from conjuring up his ghost whenever I dose? He’ll have a home in me.
I lock the door, switch my cell to vibrate, and fetch a half-finished bottle of merlot. Light some candles. Fire up some Belle and Sebastian before slipping into bed.
Everything is perfect. All I need is Silas. So I drop some Ghost and wait for him to arrive.
And wait.
And…
I’m bored with Belle and Sebastian. I decide to shift to the Smiths, which feels more appropriate for the mood I’m trying to evoke here. Then I turn the music off altogether.
At one point, I think I hear something down the hall. I bolt up in bed. “Silas?”
No response.
“Silas—it’s me.” I second-guess myself, so I add, “Erin.”
Still nothing. Some other tenant must’ve wandered through the main hall. I lie back in bed, feeling extremely present—Erin is here—trying to pinpoint every stray sound in and out of the building. There’s too much noise outside my window. I can’t push out the sounds of cars and frat bros emerging from Twisters on Grace Street. I can’t concentrate on my own connection.
I find myself yearning to be back—
home
—in Hopewell, where everything is quieter. Where I can focus on my own ghosts.
“Silas, can you hear me?”
Thirty minutes later, still nothing. What am I doing wrong? Why can’t I connect?
“Silas. I’m here. Where are you?”
Nothing.
“Why aren’t you listening to me?”
Nothing.
It’s possible he just can’t hear me. That we have a weak connection. What if my body is developing a tolerance against my phantoms? Do I need to take more? Double my dose?
I pinch a second pill from the baggie and roll it between my fingers, watching the gray powder tumble like grains of sand in an hourglass.
A half dose, I say to myself. Just a little bump to get over the hump. I try prying the gelcap apart. The shell casing is just another vessel, I think.
I tug too hard. The gelcap tears open abruptly, sending ash scattering all over my nightstand. Shit. I can’t waste it. I only have one cap left. Fuck fuck fuck what should I do—
Guess I’m hoovering it. I lower my head to the nightstand, press one finger against my left nostril and snort through the right. The burn reaches deep down into my nasal cavity. I feel the drip at the back of my throat, a septic echo that resonates through my skull. He’ll hear me this time, I know it. I just have to focus my energy.
“Silas?”
I have to call upon him. Summon him.
“Silas, please…I need you.”
Our connection is strong. Tobias told me so. I found him. I brought him back.
So where the hell is he?
“It’s Erin. Please, Silas, come to me.” Am I supposed to repeat whatever incantation Tobias said? I thought my voice was strong enough. “Silas. Please. Where are you?”
Nothing. I can’t feel him. He’s not here.
“Screw you, Silas.” He’s a total no-show. “Asshole,” I mutter just before falling asleep.
* * *
—
When I peel open my eyes, I’m met by the morning’s gray haze. Everything seems suspended in a fog, but that’s just my head. I can’t think straight. My entire body has dried out. My mouth feels like a tundra. I yawn and the skin around my lips cracks like a brittle shell. My alarm clock says it’s already ten. Jesus. I’ve blacked out before, but this feels like a total solar eclipse in my skull. All I want is to lie in bed, bury my head under my pillow, and pronounce myself dead for the foreseeable future.
I’m revived by the vibration of a new text. I reach for it, only for my hand to touch—
soft plastic
—and recoil. I sit up far too fast, feeling my mind lag behind the rest of my body. I need to take a moment for the bedroom to stop spinning. Let the walls settle down once more.
It’s only the Ziploc baggie on my nightstand.