Page 34 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
My stomach sinks with that image. I don’t know them, or what the punishment entailed, but the swirls of red on the cement floor make it easy to imagine heinous things.
We hurry back to Harlow, eager to leave the storage room.
The corridor leading to the music room is vacant. All the other phantoms must be asleep at this hour. Though we’re much later than we said we’d return, Yelina and Poppie are waiting inside, lying on the floor, with Charlie across from them and playing a game of chess. The fireplace in the corner flickers a warm ambient light over them. Their calm and lovely nature, with half-drunken smiles and glasses of wine, make them paint-worthy. A scene that you’d find in a museum somewhere where only a few people stop to look.
The three of them lift their heads, and I watch as disbelief spreads across their expressions. Charlie pushes himself up onto his elbows.
Lanston crosses the room and lowers to his knee, handing the satchel over to its rightful owner. Charlie is hesitant at first, almost in denial that we actually found it. Or perhaps it’s fear of what awaits him should this photo let him pass on.
I sit next to Lanston and Poppie, excitement and uncertainty making my breath uneven and staggered as Charlie slowly opens his satchel.
His brown eyes soften as he seems to recognize the contents inside.
“This is it,” he whispers. The silence that follows is thick; none of us dare breathe as he pulls out a pair of glasses, an old book, and then a faded photograph. He holds it to the fireplace light, and tears fall from his cheeks.
“My darling.” His voice is weak, pressing the picture close to his chest as if he cannot stand to be apart from her a minute longer.
I admire his devotion and love for her. His love is tireless, even after so many years. My eyes drift to Lanston. His neck is exposed to me and I can only see the back side of his jaw from where I sit. Every bit of him is lovely. I picture what it might be like for him to love me as much as Charlie does his lost lover. Coveting and always yearning for my presence, would he draw circles on my skin with his fingertips? Press kisses along the delicate flesh of my neck?
Lanston must sense my eyes on him because he turns and meets my gaze. He stares right back into my soul, thousands of embers flickering through his hazel eyes. I could kiss him and never know anything else because right now, I’m not sure anything else would matter.
Only him.
Yelina gasps. “Charlie, what’s happening?”
The sound of her panic draws both our attention back to Charlie. My eyes widen.
He’s disappearing, but he seems entirely at peace with it and wears a comforting smile.
“I’m finally ready,” he says. I’ve never heard a voice so calm. He looks at each of us and shuts his eyes. “Thank you for helping me pass on. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”
Poppie bursts into tears and takes Charlie’s hands. “Oh, Charlie, we will! I’ll find you and we can play chess and tell stories like we always did.” She drags her sleeve over her eyes. Yelina wraps her arms around her friend and sniffles back her own tears.
Charlie leans forward and grins sadly at them both. “Perhaps, one day. Farewell.”
His ghost fades until nothing remains of him, and the four of us are left staring at the empty place where he was a moment ago. It was beautiful and peaceful, so why do I have a pit growingin my throat? Fear slips between my ribs and tangles in my veins like a snake.
How do we know we all get to go like that? What if we are bad? Where do the bad people go? I swallow and try not to let my nerves get the best of me.
The only sound is Poppie’s soft cries.
“That’s the first time I’ve actually witnessed someone pass to the other side.” I break the silence. The three of them look at me, but no one says a word.
Surely, we must all be thinking the same thing.
What lies after?
Drifting.
That’s what I call the strange dissociation we seem to experience here—drawn into our thoughts like the depths of a deep lake. Sometimes, it feels as though weights are pulling down on our legs, making it harder to hear the surface. It is as if we are drowning—slowly and without awareness of it.
It’s terrifying to feel as though you’re losing yourself bit by bit.
Lanston has been standing by his window for hours now; the sun soon to rise. I watch him with curiosity. His baseball cap is set on the edge of his bed. He’s more handsome without it, like a lovely statue that stares into the unknown. The planes of his skin are smooth and hard, and the features of his face are sharp and angular.
He’s been somber since we returned to his room. Charlie’s passing was heavy for Poppie and Yelina to process too. I wonderhow Jericho will take it. Maybe he’ll implement new ideas to help phantoms pass on. He’s got quite the job here. Unpaid, I might add. But you can tell his heart is in it fully. The way he nostalgically walks the halls in, what I assume are, the same patterns and routines he did when he was alive.
We grow tired of this world here where no one can find us.
