The baby stopped breathing. Her small mouth gaped open like a fish floundering at the bottom of a boat. Leaning over her crib, I searched through my memories for an innocent enough memory that would heal instead of damage her injured soul.

A moment later, the memory of a summer day floated up to the surface of my mind. I could feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. It was so real I could almost believe I was still alive again.

I bent down and kissed Renee’s forehead, breathing out the memory as I did so. I concentrated on maintaining that memory as it washed over her skin. Then, I waited as the memory faded away, leaving her untouched.

Fudge. It should have worked, I thought. I can’t afford to lose any more memories. It better work this time.

Still standing over the crib, I dug deeper into my memories, pushing aside the darker ones that kept trying to surface. After a few seconds, I managed to uncover one I could give my granddaughter.

It was a memory of when I was a kid, floating on a raft with the sun on my skin. I could smell fresh-cut grass and heard a song playing on the radio. I held onto the memory and then exhaled once more. This time, my breath seeped into her like rainwater into parched, dry earth.

Come on, I thought, willing her to live. You can do it.

I knew that I couldn’t do anything more for now so I looked down at her still form while I prayed that some guardian angel would descend and heal Renee. I knew that wasn’t going to happen, but I couldn’t help myself and prayed anyway. After that, I watched to see if I would have to sacrifice another memory to keep her alive.

I sighed, shaking my head. I was so tired. Between my wife and my granddaughter, I wasn’t sure how long I could keep doing what I had been doing. It was difficult enough to survive in Acedia already without giving away memories. I could already tell I was getting weaker.

It’s ironic, I thought. Every spirit needs something that motivates them. Unlike others though, my motivation is making things worse.

Spirits were basically memories and desire. If a spirit didn't hold onto their memories, they would slowly fade away. And forgetting was oblivion. In Acedia, a relentless spiritual erosion continuously gnawed away at unguarded memories. As for passions, they soon turned into preferences, which were quickly forgotten.

Renee’s tiny hand twitched, abruptly snapping me out of my thoughts. Her lips parted as she took a shuddering breath. Relief crashed over me like a wave when a chubby little finger uncurled from a small fist. Her eyelids fluttered open.

Feeling drained, I knelt down. I watched as color gradually returned to her face. Her blue eyes seemed to meet my own through the slats of her crib before they slowly closed and she fell into an exhausted sleep.

I sighed, my gaze still lingering on Renee’s sleeping form. Her breathing was steady for the moment, but I knew it wouldn’t last for too long. My memories could only do so much to heal whatever had damaged her soul.

My intervention was a temporary measure. Each memory I shared with her was like trying to patch the biggest leak in a vessel riddled with holes. Eventually, her essence would seep away. I’d bought her time, but that was all.

After a few moments, I stood up and looked around the room, soaking in the memories. What I had done had taken a lot out of me. Because of this, I needed to strengthen the memories I still had, or at least make new ones. Afterall, spirits were nothing without memories.

Renee’s brother slept soundlessly in the opposite corner, unaware of how close his sister had come to death. Gazing at Nicholas, I resisted the impulse to slip into the boy’s mind to discover what dreams waited to claim the toddler tonight. I quickly brushed such dangerous thoughts aside.

I didn’t want to save one child, only to endanger the other. I wished that I could continue infusing her with memories to heal her soul, but I knew that wasn’t going to work. I had to be careful. Young souls were especially fragile.

Above both children, teddy bears holding heart-shaped balloons were painted at the top edge of each wall. Although they had faded with time, they were still my favorite feature of the house. My wife and I had painted them before Elizabeth was born. I looked at one wall in particular.

I guess you were right again, I thought. I had been so sure that we would paint over the teddy bears when Elizabeth got older that I hadn’t taken my time like Carey. She had slowly painted the teddy bears along one wall while I painted the other three. Of course, being seven months pregnant must have slowed her down.

Another thing that hadn’t changed was the presence of small stuffed animals. They smelled like baby powder and were scattered throughout the room. It reminded me of a memory I had almost forgotten about.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

We had a claw machine at the grocery store where I used to work. Whenever I noticed a stuffed animal I could definitely grab, I would give it a try. Needless to say, I ended up littering the floor of our nursery with a layer of stuffed animals. It looked like Sarah was doing the same thing for her children.

I took in everything, reinforcing my remaining memories. They were all that allowed emotions to survive. In turn, emotions were the anchor that kept their memories from fading into oblivion.

Because of this, I listened intently to the lullaby playing in an old CD player that I had given to Sarah years before I died. It was Brahms’ Cradle Song. I often played it for Sarah and Elizabeth when they were babies. Standing there, I listened as the song began to tug at the recesses of my thoughts, dredging up old memories that I would rather not relive.

Before the memory became too strong, I quickly left the room, I left their room and moved toward the front of the house. Along the way, I noticed that the furniture hadn’t changed much. That was surprising since most of them were hand-me-downs that I had given them in the first place. They had simply moved the furniture back in after they inherited my house.

Suddenly, I realized something. Although I hadn’t noticed it before, they must have sold my truck. I hadn’t seen it the last few times I came to help Renee. For some reason, that bothered me a little.

I suppose I can’t blame them though. It was old with a lot of miles on it long before I died, I thought.

Ignoring my disappointment, I looked at the sleeping father of the two children. I still wondered what Sarah saw in him. Then again, I often found it difficult to believe she was old enough to be a mother. I suppose I should have been happy that she found someone.

Finding the “right now” person was often difficult enough, I thought. Considering I traded my life for his, he better be the “right” person.

The ever-present dark rings around their eyes spoke more of their situation than any words that could be said. Those dark rings tied them together more closely than their wedding rings. Lines of grief had already left its mark upon them. I sighed and then shook my head, wanting to leave before Sarah returned.

Was I right to prolong Renee's life, knowing that one day her soul would inevitably reject my borrowed memories? Yet even as the question formed, I knew the answer. Every day was precious. It would also give me a chance to discover a way to heal the baby’s soul.

Trying to ignore those thoughts, I pushed through the locked front door, surprised by how much effort it took to do such a simple task. Interacting with the living was not only difficult, but it was also forbidden. I didn’t really care, though.

I had followed the rules when I was alive and gained nothing for my efforts. I’d seen so many examples of people doing something unethical and profiting from it while I did what was right and struggled. Now that I was dead, breaking a few rules meant very little to me.

Stepping into the night, I walked silently down the driveway toward the street. To distract myself, I looked around at the surrounding mists. I had gotten used to Acedia’s eternal haze long ago. It was perpetually cloaked in a veil of fog. It wasn’t like fog from the living world, though. There was no moisture in the air, only a biting cold that numbed my skin.

Acedia had many names. Perhaps that was because it was always changing. I could be standing in the crumbling ruins of an abandoned building one moment. Then everything could change. I might find myself in a new home. Or it could disappear altogether. Eventually though, it would return to whatever condition it was in real life.

Acedia was a place where everything was an illusion. Reality changed without warning. It was as if the environment was shaped by old memories. Time and space were torn to shreds. It was as if the pieces had been put back together but didn’t fit correctly any longer.

Still, at least I’m not in Hell, I consoled myself. Not yet, anyway. Unfortunately, I knew that I would have to go back there.

After passing through the gates of Hell, it was difficult for visitors to leave. Even if they managed to escape, they would eventually be drawn back. As for those spirits sentenced to Hell, they had very little hope of escaping, even temporarily. As for myself, I would inevitably be pulled back into Hell. It was like a black hole. That was the price I pay in order to help my wife.

As for the sounds, I actually would have preferred an oppressive silence instead of what I had to listen to. Most of the time, it was like a white noise. Other times, I could hear whispers and muttering, too faint to make sense out of. Every now and then, other sounds would occur. Often, these sounds had something to do with the spirit hearing them.

Sometimes, I wondered if Acedia was actually sentient. This belief was strengthened when I heard a distant siren echoing in the depths of the fog. I could feel it tugging at my memories. The sirens were stirring up thoughts that I had no desire to relive. Despite having a good life, a few things happened to me over the years that left scars which persisted even after death.

Thinking about this, I glanced down at my left hand. Spirits often assumed forms that reflected how they saw themselves. With me, it was no different. Although the wedding ring was completely cosmetic and didn’t actually exist, I could still feel the weight of it on my shattered ring finger. It never recovered after the surgery, at least not completely. Scars from the operation had left it weak and barely functional.

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, I thought. That night shattered me. In more ways than one.

Realizing what was happening, I quickly tried to think of something different, anything different. I tried to push the memories back. However, they clung on stubbornly. Soon, they began to overwhelm me. It was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.

I hate this feeling, I managed to think, still trying to resist.

While I still had some power, I concentrated on the sirens, imagining them as tornado sirens instead of police or ambulance sirens. I could already feel one particular memory surging up, pushing aside other memories. As the memory crashed over me, I smiled.

At least it wasn’t the night when the world I knew died. Instead, it was the night that I died.

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