bones_GEN Page 13

  Tristan held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t do it. She stood that way for a full minute.

  “Tristan?”

  He barely heard her whisper his name. “Yes?”

  “I can’t reach the door.”

  *

  Melissa stared at her hand. It was only inches from the handle. Inches from pushing that door open, letting in the light and helping Tristan to break out of whatever dark mental place he was in. Her heart ached for him. She wanted to free him from these delusions. It was painful to watch him talk to thin air.

  She tried some deep breathing while telling herself that she could still like Tristan, still want to be with him despite his weird ghost obsession. She was sure that her inability to move was due to her emotional turmoil and her reluctance to force Tristan to face the truth, and therefore potentially jeopardize whatever they had.

  After a minute of reassuring herself, she tried again, rocking her whole body forward to bridge the gap. Her hand sunk into the darkness, which was thick and cold.

  She froze, not trusting what she was feeling.

  She heard his footsteps approaching, but she refused to turn around. She was going to get out of here.

  He stopped beside her and raised the candle. Her hand wasn’t visible—her arm ended at her wrist, her fingers and palm sunk deep into a thick black fog that blanketed the door.

  Melissa screamed, cradling her hand against her belly as she stumbled back. She didn’t stop until she reached the altar. Her hand was still there. She gasped in relief and stared at her trembling fingers.

  “This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible.” Melissa made a fist, then released it.

  Tristan was still at the door. Holding the candle aloft, he examined the darkness that covered the door.

  “You’re sure it won’t hurt her?” he said, looking to his left.

  Melissa sank down on the floor, back against the altar, and focused on her breathing. There had to be an explanation.

  This place was getting to her the way it had to everyone else, the power of suggestion making her see things that weren’t really there.

  “I just need to go outside, get some sunshine. It’s a creepy old church and I’m human. It’s a natural reaction. That’s all this is.”

  “Careful.” Tristan took a seat beside her. “People will think you’re crazy if you talk to yourself. Trust me. I know.”

  “For a minute I couldn’t see my hand. It was like there was something coating the door, and my hand was in it.”

  “That is what happened, Melissa.”

  “No, it’s not, because that isn’t possible.”

  He cupped her cheek, smiling softly, but she jerked her head away. She didn’t want or need his pity. He was the one who was crazy.

  “I’m leaving.” She grabbed a candle and marched to the door. She shoved her hand out…

  …and it sank wrist-deep into the darkness. Her skin tickled as if there were bugs on her.

  Melissa stumbled back, dropped to her knees and dry-heaved.

  “Melissa!” Tristan was at her side, one arm under her while the other hand smoothed her hair back from her face.

  “I can’t stand it,” she gasped. “I can’t stand slimy things on my skin. It reminds me of…reminds me of the maggots.”

  “Come on, come away from the door.”

  Tristan lifted her to her feet and half dragged her back to the front of the church.

  She curled against him, shaking and sobbing. Tristan’s hands were warm and strong on her back. After what felt like a long time, Melissa was able to take a breath without gagging.

  Tristan was watching her with a pitying expression.

  “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “I told you. I don’t know.”

  She looked from Tristan to the door. “I should be able to open that door.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I can’t.”

  “No.”

  “Because…because of a ghost.”

  Tristan focused on the darkness, then shook his head. “Jacques is sure it isn’t a ghost. This is something else.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “I don’t know.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, then cupped her cheek. “If you let yourself believe that ghosts are possible—not real, not even probable, just possible. If you do that, then the world is a very different place.”

  “I can’t. Tristan, I can’t believe that. If it’s true…” Melissa closed her eyes, the tears that had filled them spilling down her cheeks. “If death doesn’t end suffering, then the world is too cruel a place.”

  “The world is cruel.”

  “Yes, it is cruel, and so much of the time people’s pain and suffering ends only at death. I can’t…I can’t live in a world where that suffering continues without end.”

  Tristan leaned his forehead against hers. “Don’t think about it,” he whispered. “If you do, you’ll go mad, the way I did. You think I don’t hate the fact that my brother is stuck here? I would change places with him if I could. I would wander the earth for all of time if it meant he could rest.”

  Melissa couldn’t hold it together anymore. She clung to Tristan, sobbing. Tristan held her, stroking her hair, whispering things in French that she didn’t really understand, but it didn’t matter. They were words meant to comfort, but there was no comfort for this.

  Tristan stopped stroking her hair. “What?” He paused. “No. She’s happier this way.”

  After a pause, he eased her away from his body so he could see her face.

  “Melissa?”

  “Don’t tell me anything else.”

  “I’m sorry, but my brother says that I need to do a séance.”

  “A séance? Please tell me you’re joking.” She scrubbed her hands over her face. “If all this is true, the last thing I want is to see the ghosts.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I don’t trust anything right now.”

  “There’s something I should say. I wanted you to believe. I didn’t want you to look at me as if I were insane.” He turned his head away, the muscle in his jaw clenching. “When I learned the truth, it destroyed me. It destroyed the life I had, but still I wanted you to believe—because if you did you would not think I was insane. It was selfish, and now that you are starting to believe I only wish that you didn’t.”

  Melissa kissed his cheek, his clenched jaw. “I’m so sorry I made you feel bad.”

  He focused on her, a lopsided smile curving his lips. “Trust me. Let me do the séance.”

  Melissa closed her eyes, nodded once.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest as Tristan took the candles from the altar and set them in a large circle, then placed three in the center.

  “Come. Sit inside, face these candles.”

  She took a seat inside the outer ring of candles. Watching him prepare calmed her. Human rituals were something she found interesting—comforting, even. They were a universal truth, even if their expression was different in each culture.

  “How did you learn to do this?” she asked.

  “Trial and error. I told you I went a bit mad after I started seeing Jacques’ ghost.”

  “You are the strongest person I ever met.”

  “Me?” He raised a brow and shook his head as he too took a seat.

  “If I were here by myself, trying to figure out if it was real or if I’d lost my mind…that would have driven me mad.”

  “Then I’m glad I’m here.” He took her hand and kissed it.

  Melissa had assumed that the Ivory Coast was her darkest hour. She’d gone through it alone—suffering and surviving by herself. It was hard to think about it, worse when she was trapped in her nightmares that were really memories. Now she realized there were worse things. The pain she’d been in, the horror of her injury and the uncertainty of survival were life altering, but hadn’t been her darkest hour.

  This was.

  She’s wasn’t hurt, wasn’t d
ying, but she was facing the end of the world as she knew it. After this she would be different, in a more profound way than an injured arm and a lifelong fear of bugs.

  And in her darkest hour she was not alone. Tristan was here with her. He was the light in the dark. He was strong when she could not be. He’d suffered alone so she didn’t have to.

  “Tristan.”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  His gaze jerked up to hers. “Melissa?”

  “I love you. I don’t care that I’ve only known you a week. You’re smart and aggressive and strong and funny. Since I met you, I’ve felt more alive than I have in a very long time. Even when I thought you were crazy, I wanted you. I was going to help you.” She laughed and shrugged. “I was going to show you that ghosts weren’t real.” Her lip trembled, but she forced the words out. “I’m probably not making any sense, and I don’t expect you to feel anything for me, but I just wanted you to know that.”

  She licked her lip and took a deep breath. “I thought that I’d already been through the scariest, worst part of my life. This is worse, and scarier, but this time I’m not alone. And not only am I not alone, but I’m here with you.” She looked down into the candle flames. “That’s it.”

  Tristan was quiet. He took her hands in his, turning them palm up. She kept her gaze on the candle flames as he started to whisper.

  He was speaking low and fast. She didn’t catch everything he said, but it seemed to be a mixture of prayers, psalms and invocations. The flames were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen, and the more she focused on them the larger they got.

  “Bonjour, Melissa.”

  She looked to the left. A thin young man with short black hair stood there. He waved.

  “Uh, hi.”

  “I’m Jacques.”

  “You look like Tristan. I could be hallucinating. My mind could easily have created you, based on a general idea of what Tristan’s sibling would look like.”

  “That’s true,” Tristan said.

  Melissa realized he too was looking at Jacques. “You can see him?” she asked.

  “Yes, same as before.”

  “You’ve been here the whole time?” she asked Jacques.

  He shrugged. “I go where Tristan goes.”

  “Okay.” She took a deep breath, trying to reconcile the idea that the man she saw, who appeared completely normal and alive, was actually a ghost. “Hey, wait. Were you here when we were…”

  “Non. Once I knew my brother was going to stop acting like a stupid virgin around you, I left.”

  “Thank you, Jacques,” Tristan snarled.

  Melissa giggled. She couldn’t help it. They sounded just like siblings—death clearly hadn’t changed their relationship.

  “This is surreal,” she said.

  “I know the feeling.” Tristan rubbed her palm with his thumb.

  “Are you like your brother’s spirit guide to the ghost world?” she asked Jacques.

  “I don’t think so. It’s my fault he sees the ghosts. He saw me, and then he could see them all. I didn’t think that would happen.”

  “Why are you a ghost? Is everyone a ghost?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so. Our grandparents are not here. I looked, but couldn’t find them.”

  “What happened when you died?”

  “Don’t ask him that,” Tristan said, voice harsh.

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t really know,” Jacques answered, ignoring his brother. “I shouldn’t have done it. I knew I would go to hell, but I couldn’t…” He shook his head. “I just wanted to go home, and then I was. I was in Tristan’s kitchen. It was home.”

  Melissa bit the inside of her cheek to hold back tears. Tristan bowed his head. Now it was her turn to offer comfort. She switched the position of their hands and rubbed his palm.

  “But how do people become ghosts? Who is a ghost? Is there a way to stop it from happening? Should it be stopped?” Now that she’d accepted the idea, she wanted more information. She wanted a solution.

  “I don’t know these things.”

  “Jacques, tell her what you told me—about her.” Tristan squeezed Melissa’s hand.

  “You are protected.” Jacques dropped into a sitting position, and Melissa was again struck by how real and solid he looked.

  “What does that mean?”

  “When I looked at you, I knew you couldn’t see me. That you wouldn’t feel me. Some people cannot see, but they feel. They look over their shoulders or turn up the heat because I make them cold.”

  “Maybe I’m just naturally impervious.”

  “There’s a light around you. Not always there, but when I tried to touch you, it was there.”

  “Why were you trying to touch her?” Tristan demanded.

  “I was going to scare her so you could comfort her.” Jacques grinned.

  “That is so disturbing. Tristan, you use your dead brother to get women?” Melissa shook her head.

  “What? No! I do not need his help.” Tristan rubbed his forehead.

  “Sometimes you do.”

  “If you weren’t already dead I would strangle you.”

  “You’re so cruel,” Jacques covered his face with his hands.

  “Tristan,” Melissa hissed. “That’s a horrible thing to say, considering…how he died.”

  Tristan groaned. “Jacques, you are a brat.”

  A gasp drew Melissa’s attention back to the ghost. He raised his face from his hands—he was laughing. “Pardon, pardon. I’m sorry, but it is too much fun to tease him.”

  “Okay, you are kind of a pain in the ass,” Melissa said, but she was smiling. She liked Jacques. As long as she didn’t think too hard about the fact that she would never be able to actually meet him, she could just live in the moment. “Before we get derailed again, I need to understand what this light thing is that you can see around me.”

  “I’ve never seen it before. We—Tristan and I—have seen many ghosts, spirits, memories, but nothing like what protects you.”

  “Okay, so when a ghost tries to interact with me, this white thing stops them.”

  “Yes, it is the same as that.” Jacques pointed at the door.

  “That?” Melissa looked at Tristan in confusion. “That’s black. It’s creepy black fog.”

  “Non, c’est blanc,” Jacques said.

  “Non pour moi.” Tristan was frowning.

  “Can I leave this circle, Tristan?” Melissa asked.

  “I don’t know. You might not be able to see Jacques anymore. Why do you ask?”

  “I want to touch it again.”

  “Don’t.”

  “I feel like I have to.”

  Melissa’s heartbeat was in her throat as she stepped out of the circle of candles. Tristan touched her leg as she passed.

  It took more courage than she knew she had to walk toward that door. From far away, it just looked normal. It wasn’t until she got close that the black mist appeared. She tried to reach out, but the memory of how it felt to have her hand in that had her pulling back.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Tristan said.

  “I do.” Melissa steeled her nerves and pushed both hands into the blackness. Light flared, blinding her. She stumbled back, eyes squeezed shut. Turning her back on the door, she blinked, focusing on Tristan. He was still sitting on the floor, twisted to watch her. Jacques had risen to his feet. The slim young man smiled at her, but then he melted away. Instead, a swollen black and purple body hung from one of the rafters, an extension cord wrapped around its neck, an engorged tongue hanging from thick, bloated lips.

  Melissa pressed her hands over her mouth, looking from the image of Jacques’ dead body to Tristan. She could only imagine the horror he’d felt seeing that in the flesh. Liquid dripped from Jacques’ feet, hitting the floor with a little plop.

  She turned away from the horrifying sight.

  “Melissa?” Tristan asked.

&nbs
p; A white light obscured the door. It pulsed with color, and she thought that there was music coming from it, but she couldn’t hear it clearly.

  “What are you?” she asked, with more courage than she knew she had. “Why are you protecting me?”

  You would see their death.

  The words were faint, seeming to come from nowhere and yet echoing from each of the walls.

  “Whose death?”

  All of them.

  “I would see the ghosts?” Melissa said, trying to make sense of the reverberating words.

  Not just the ghosts. The deaths. The bones would show you. The ghosts would show you.

  She understood. She wasn’t sure if she inferred the explanation from what was said or if the light somehow made her understand, but in that moment she knew.

  “I don’t think I can go on. I can’t deal with the fact that the suffering doesn’t end.”

  Death is the end of suffering.

  “How can that be true? Jacques is right there. Maybe he’s not exactly suffering as a ghost, but what will happen to him when Tristan’s gone? Will he just wander, hoping to find someone who can hear him or see him?”

  The body returns to the earth, and the spirit returns to that which gave it. Everything that remains is neither body nor soul.

  “I need to know. I need proof that everyone is okay when they die.”

  The light dimmed, then faded away entirely.

  Melissa looked over her shoulder. “Where’s Jacques?” she asked.

  Tristan frowned. “He’s right there. In the same place he was before.”

  “I can’t see him.”

  “Never mind that.” Tristan got to his feet and hugged her. “What was it? You were able to talk to it?”

  “You couldn’t hear that strange voice?”

  “No. I only heard what you said.”

  “It said I’m protected because if I could see the ghosts, I wouldn’t just see them, I’d see how they died.”

  “Sometimes that’s how ghosts are.”

  Melissa rested her hands on Tristan’s chest. “Jacques is wearing a white T-shirt and jeans.”

  “Yes.”

  “But when he died he was wearing a blue shirt and track pants.”

  Tristan went pale. “How did you know that?”

  “When I looked back, I saw him looking normal and alive, but then he disappeared, and I could see a body, hanging from the beam.”