Page 14 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
“I don’t know a phantom who hasn’t,” I mutter half-mindedly. His smile grows as I study him intently. He doesn’t look like he perished in a fire or even has a hint of smoke on his ghost. Every death leaves a tell, even if it’s small and hidden away. You can see it if you know how to look for it.
A separate incident followed Harlow’s fire, one that made my stomach curl when I overheard it at the bar in town. And the longer I stare at Lanston’s gentle eyes, I know it was him.
“You were the man who died by the gunman,” I say hollowly. He saved both of his friends that day and lost his life in theprocess. The entire city was riveted with the aftershocks the story brought, over fifty souls from Harlow and then the murder. It was all anyone spoke about for weeks.
Lanston nods and shrugs. “That was five years ago now. Butanyway, would you like to meet the Harlow residents? Jericho is my counselor and I know you’d love him.”
I shrink back, forgetting that we were discussing our demons a moment ago. He’s good at changing the subject—I make a mental note to remember his craft.
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. Words from the years of torment I faced come whispering back into my mind.They’re going to take you away because you’re so fucked up. Freak. You scare people. You’re hard to love. Go away. I hate you.
I don’t care about you. I don’t care.
That one makes my soul dull completely.
Lanston looks at me and the way his entire heart opens up to me with just one slow nod makes my chest sink. He understands. He knows the fear of letting another see the hurt and the bruises you’ve hidden so well.
“I promise you’ll feel so much better when you say it. And nobody but him has to ever hear it if that’s what you want.” He holds up his hand and extends his pinky to me. “What have you got to lose, Ophelia?”
“The small, insignificant amount of self-love I’ve managed to cling to.”
His eyes falter, but I raise my pinky and he wraps his around mine. Warmth radiates from between us. I feel safe.
“I promise you won’t lose it.”
“That’s a big promise to keep.”
“I never go back on them,” he murmurs as we stay connected, sitting in the dark like we’re whispering secrets to one another to avoid lingering ears.
His hazel eyes narrow with a smile as I nod and say quietly, “I’ve never known a man to not go back on a promise.”
“You’ve never met me then.” He cocks his head like he’s proud and I can’t help but laugh.
Our hands drop to our own laps and after a few silent moments pass, I say, “I’ll help you figure out why you’re still here.” Lanston gives me a look of confusion and I quickly add, “You know, since you’re helping me.”
He leans back against the armrest and smiles. “Are you just trying to say you want to spend more time with me?” He raises a suggestive brow and smirks. “Or is there something you know that I don’t about why we’re still here?”
I look past his head and out the only window of my opera house that isn’t boarded up. The moonlight shimmers across the glass in soft blue hues. It’s beautiful to stare at; I often find myself getting lost in it.
“I have a theory,” I say.
“Well, let’s hear it.”
My gaze flicks back to him as I murmur, “A bucket list.”
7
Lanston
A bucket list.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Ophelia fell asleep hours ago, or has it been longer? Time is strange in purgatory. Sometimes, the nights seem to drag on for days. But as I lie on her sofa and stare at the tall, dark ceilings above, I ponder on her theory. Brilliant, really.
A bucket list of things we never got to do. That is literally the definition ofunfinished business.
I look at her, sleeping soundly on the couch across from me. My hands are cold now that I’m not touching hers. A longing that I haven’t experienced in years pulls deep inside my chest. I want to touch her, to run my fingers through her hair and hold her while she dreams. Her lashes look darker against her cheeks.
