[October 7, 2042]
There was a silence full of anticipation, like the second between the sound of dripping water. Mel’s mind was racing. She didn’t know what to believe or what to think.
“Love?” the ghost said at last, pronouncing the word as if it had gotten stuck in her throat midway.
The woman nodded. “Yes, love. What else is there to consider in this world — or after it, in your case.”
Mel didn’t say anything.
Taking this silence as permission to continue, the woman smirked and took another sip of her tea. “Love is the most important thing in every life, every world. It is an energy, a food source, a liquid vitality that animates and reinvigorates. It shrinks and expands between the beats of the heart, and it all belongs to me.” The woman said all this as if she were explaining a foreign, scientific concept. “Therefore, yes, I come to speak with you of love. You seemed suited for the task, based on the tenants that live here. Mature but not overly scrupulous. Intelligent but not especially bright.”
The smile again. “You feel more acutely, but cannot explain those feelings even to yourself. That makes you perfect.”
“Why would you want to speak to me?” shot back Mel, deciding to ignore the insults. “I don’t even know who you are.”
“Because you are a fresh canvas,” replied the woman. “This story began a long time ago, and you are a newcomer, interrupting the established plot. I thought a fresh perspective would be helpful.”
“On love?”
“On love.”
Mel took a deep breath. She had the impression that she was balancing on the edge of a knife, with an abyss gaping on either side. It was not physical harm that awaited her — such a thing wouldn’t be a threat since she was dead already — but there was something emotional at stake in this conversation. The woman sitting across from her seemed like she knew a million ways to make existence unbearable without ever drawing a drop of blood.
“I’ve seen you before, well, felt you before.” Mel realized, all at once. “In the aura, in his aura? The shadow that clings to the colorlessness…”
“Well observed. Yes, that was me.”
“You were here the whole time?”
“Yes.” The woman nodded. “In spirit, if not fully. I’m aware of most of what happens to Cal, but I have other obligations to attend to, so I can’t be asked to keep track of every little detail and development. That’s why you’re useful to me. A little lovebird. You cling to his side just as I do.”
“Why would you care what I think about love?” Mel said shortly, sarcasm dripping from her words. “You seem to be an expert in the matter.”
The woman laughed. It was a horrible sound. “You make a good point, little spirit! However, despite all appearances, I am not — in fact — omnipotent. There are gaps in my knowledge and types of love I do not know with specificity. And so, when it is relevant to my boyfriend, I like to do some scouting. Some investigation. Have some fun.”
Mel gritted her teeth. There were far, far more important things to address at the moment, but she couldn’t help her next words: “Sorry, I don’t think I believe that.”
“Hmm?” The woman tilted her head again.
“I don't believe that,” repeated Mel, sinking her fingers into the armrests of the chair. “I don’t believe that Cal is your boyfriend.”
Something changed within the woman’s beautiful face. For the first time she looked at Mel as if she was something worth considering, and a flicker of annoyance danced in her black eyes.
“Oh?” she said, her voice steady and polite. “And why would you think that?”
Mel met the dangerous, dark stare, though inside her heart was pounding hard. “You have to excuse me, ma’am, for saying this when we’ve only just met one another, but… I don’t think you're the sort of person he would fall in love with.”
The woman’s smile was wider than the Cheshire Cat. “You seem very certain for a person who knows practically nothing about him.”
“And he knows nothing about me, not really,” countered Mel, “it doesn’t matter. I can tell.”
The woman rested a gloved hand (was it gloved, the image seemed to be shimmering before Mel’s eyes) upon the side of her head and studied the ghost girl with interest. “Are you in love with little Pascal, little spirit? I’ve been wondering. You blush so much around him.”
The words passed through Mel like a gentle wind, producing an almost calming effect — which was odd — she recognized. Mel was certain if those words had been spoken by anyone else, Bridget, or Aina, or Ellie for instance, they would have produced a remarkable effect on her. Mel almost smiled thinking about it. She certainly would have turned bright scarlet, pressed her hands to her cheeks, and bounced all around the room like a tennis ball — up and down, through walls, back out of them. Typically, the word “love” would have been enough to make her chest ache and her feelings go into a frenzy… but now…
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There was something upsetting, almost blasphemous, about hearing the words — those precious feelings — coming out of the woman’s mouth. A perversion that changed the atmosphere, almost the very meaning behind the words. It made Mel feel apathetic and tense. She wished those words had not been spoken aloud, or at least not in this way. Because the woman did not say this as a mere observation, Mel was sure of it. There was a trap here, somewhere, somehow — a hidden and dangerous intention that the ghost girl could not gleam. She felt it was imperative not to give the woman what she wanted, whatever that may be.
My feelings are mine, thought Mel, the inside of her head ringing like a bell.
My feelings are mine, because right now, these feelings are all I am. I have no body, and no life, and have nowhere to return — only through them am I sustained and persist. So it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if these feelings are powerless, denied, in vain. It doesn’t matter if nobody ever knows.
“No,” said Mel, commanding her pale lips into a slight smile. “I am not in love with him.”
The woman’s eyes seemed to be growing in her head, as if the dark wells sought to devour the entire room. “Really? Are you sure?”
“It would be ridiculous for a ghost to fall in love with anybody,” continued Mel, holding her smile despite the anxiety swirling within her chest. “Because love is for the living: a catalyst for change. The only people who get to change are those that are still alive.”
Somewhere, the hand of a clock jumped.
“That’s a quite interesting answer,” the woman said, as if considering something, “I wonder if that’s true. A ghost has never fallen in love with a mortal, at least not to my knowledge. Such a thing would be a blight against all creation.”
The woman leaned back in her chair. “Which are you? A blight or a liar? I must say, I didn’t expect to find you so interesting. Most ghosts are so dreadfully dull, whichever plane they happen to inhabit. They talk about their death, their shivering bones, the afterlife. “Hereabouts I was stabbed ma’am!” and “I remember the last words I spoke with my father…”, oh, it’s so tedious. But you…”
She trailed off, and Mel found the opportunity to cut in with a voice that had now begun to quiver, just a little. “You should leave now. Please.”
Mel had discovered she couldn’t move, yet she tried to keep the desperation out of her voice, positive that showing weakness would encourage the woman to make this ordeal even more horrible.
The woman ignored Mel, as if the ghost hadn’t spoken, instead taking another sip of tea. “I see you’re obstinate on this matter. You share that characteristic with your undead brethren. And yet you claim to live without love. Well, not live… you get my meaning. Which makes me wonder…” The woman flicked a speck of lint from her long, silverish finger. “What exactly is the point of you, Mel?”
There was a roar inside Mel’s head. “What?”
“All I mean to suggest is, if you are as you claim to be, drifting throughout your afterlife without purpose, I only wondered what was the point.” The woman’s eyes widened in false concern, changing strategies. “You cannot participate in the daily minutia of life. You cannot eat the delicious food that my boyfriend cooks. You cannot be seen, unless some easily-removable charm is involved. You cannot age, and will still remain the same long after all those currently living in this place have transitioned into working adults and left this place behind.”
The tension had become too much, and Mel’s body had begun to quake in earnest. She desperately wanted to get away from the woman, but still couldn’t move. Mel pressed her knees together and wrapped her arms around herself, responding softly: “I… I don’t know. I don’t think there has to be a point… I’m allowed to just be, aren’t I?”
“That’s a generous interpretation, isn’t it?” the woman replied. “You do know the properties of a ghost, don’t you? You will continue to exist unless exorcised. You claim to live just as you are in this moment, but what about the next hundred years? The next thousand? Various circumstances have aligned to allow you to talk with and interact with the inhabitants of this place, but that’s a mere lucky fluke. It will not happen again. You will return to being an unseen, unheard existence, sooner rather than later.”
The woman shrugged. “Of course, I’m only speaking for myself but… such a prospect would seem to be unbearably lonely.” Her eyes seemed to be swallowing Mel whole. “If it were me… I would end my own existence rather than face that kind of hell…”
“What do you want from me?” Mel was trying not to cry at this point, and her voice quivered and shook. There was something unbearable about the woman’s presence that only grew as time persisted. “Why are you here?”
The woman clicked her tongue, brushing back her long dark hair. “I’ve told you that, haven’t I? Well, I admit I’m getting a little side-tracked. Little Pascal is my first priority, but I think I’ve gotten most of what I wanted to know.” She raised an eyebrow. “Tell you what, little spirit. You’re rather amusing to me. I thought you were simply a side character in this story, a short distraction that would never really amount to anything substantial. That’s why I singled you out, because of your aptitude — yes — but also because I thought it would be quieter than some of the others. Aina would make an unbearable fuss, and honestly, that Bridget girl frightens me… Don’t move.”
The woman reached forward and took Mel’s hand. Mel gasped, not just out of bewilderment (it should be impossible for anyone to touch her without Mel’s focus and comfort) but because it was freezing cold. The skin of the woman felt like burning ice.
“But now I wonder if I was wrong,” pondered the woman softly, “perhaps you were the heroine of this story all along. Well, let’s find out.”
Mel’s mouth was slightly open. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She could only feel the terrible cold of the woman’s hand.
“Here’s the deal, little spirit,” said the woman, “I give you an out. You exit the stage, right here, right now. If there’s nothing else tethering you to this side, then I will release you personally, if you wish it. You’ll get to see what lies at the other end of that shimmering stream of light.” The woman’s grip tightened on Mel’s hand. “Even I don’t know what lies on the other side. Who knows? Perhaps your father is waiting for you there. You wrote about heaven once, in your diary, didn’t you? Personally, I find such a notion romantic and ridiculous… but it’s also not impossible.”
The woman’s frighteningly cold hand traveled up Mel’s arm and gripped her shoulder. “You can stay here, without purpose or love. Or you can take a risk, and see what’s really waiting for you on the other end of eternity. Oh, and you can speak now.”
Mel’s mouth opened, she seemed to be making a sound, but she couldn’t describe it. It was like a long extended groan, similar to air leaving a balloon.
My soul is leaving my body, thought Mel, in a daze of panic and confusion, oh God, it’s coming out my mouth. What is happening? What is this?
“Time to decide, little spirit.” The woman’s eyes glowed — literally glowed. “I must admit, it’s rather interesting to not know what will happen next.”
And then suddenly, a loud sound broke the spell.
Mel reeled backward, floating up into the air, suddenly able to move her body. She was shivering, almost feverish. The woman looked annoyed, and cast a glaring stare at the source of the noise, as if she had been interrupted from a truly sumptuous meal.
There had been another knock at the door.