Page 45 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
But I didn’t get to say goodbye.
Yelina wipes her tears and says, “She always struggled the most with not feeling that she belonged. I hope that she finds her place in the world and that it saves her.”
Jericho lets out a long breath and smiles through the silence that ensues.
“I came to get my stuff; actually, I’m—” I lose the words that I’d rehearsed so perfectly. They evade me as I think of the two of them being all that’s left of Harlow.
Ophelia threads her fingers through mine and meets my wavering eyes. “We’ve decided to pursue our bucket list. Would you two like to join us?”
They both take a sharp breath. Surprised, shocked. But the hope that fills Yelina’s eyes, and even Jericho’s, is answer enough.
“Well, we’d need to discuss it. How about we collect our thoughts and give our response over supper? Say, in an hour?” Jericho replies professionally, looking each of us in the eyes before nodding.
Yelina wraps her arm around his as they head back into the manor. They seem to have grown closer since their trip. Good. The two of them have been stealing glances at one another long enough. A pang of sorrow hits my chest as I think of Poppie and Yelina being apart. They were inseparable, even in death.
Ophelia lounges on my bed as I pack my art supplies and a few books I haven’t gotten to read yet. She watches me curiously. Something flashes through her gaze, questions she doesn’t seem open to asking.
I grab my headphones and charcoal pencils as well, thinking it’s better to bring things to keep the time between destinations filled.
The hour goes quickly and we don’t speak through much of it. Ophelia seems to have this way about her, an understanding of her surroundings. If one needs comfort or conversation, she is full of things to say and listens generously. However, I’m often silent, fading into my mind and thinking deeply. She returns the act in kind, breathing slowly and staring at the same spot on my ceiling where I’ve bored holes with my own eyes for so many years.
Our silence is welcome and it’s quite nice, in its warm, unforced state.
When I have my bag packed, we meet Jericho and Yelina in the dining hall. The room seems boisterous in the dark, with only four phantoms sitting around a meager candle for light. As if meeting in secret.
“We will join you,” he declares with mild temper. I expected him to be much happier or excited about this, but he seems melancholic. He seemed much more enthusiastic earlier when he looked through the bucket list and found Ireland and Paris on it.
“That’s wonderful—” Ophelia starts, smiling brightly.
“Butwe will be taking our own excursions.” Yelina interrupts with eagerness to speak. “We’ll meet you in Ireland and Paris, but apart from that, we have our own agenda.” She turns to look at Jericho—Ophelia’s and my eyes follow curiously.
His cheeks are red, but he only nods.
“Jericho, isn’t this what you’ve been pushing everyone to go do? Why do you seem so glum?” I ask honestly.
His mouth firms and his fist clenches over his fork. “Nevers, I’ve worked here for many, many years now. Since graduating college, in fact. I never got to advance my career or do anything I dreamed of doing.” He pauses, eyes searching the table for words before saying, “This place is my home. A home to all of us. Where we laughed, healed, cried… and where we died.”
Ophelia’s brows pull together with sorrow and Yelina places a steady hand atop Jericho’s.
He continues: “But we must leave. We must be strong and embark on this new journey. To find our peace and leave all the death and rot of the world behind us. I am not sad, Nevers. I’m only saying goodbye to the walls that have carried me,us, in death for so very long.”
I take him in, grieving and slumped. Jericho is the best counselor I’ve ever had, but even more than that, he is my friend—a guiding light, even in purgatory.
My chair squeaks as I push it out, walk around the table to him, and set my hand on his back. “We will always be a part of this place, even when we are gone. Our laughter and tears permeated the soil itself. It’s our turn to carry the meaning of Harlow Sanctum with us. Into the night, into the dawn, into the after.”
Ophelia smiles wider than I’ve ever seen her smile and says, “The world waits for us. You must tell it who you are, Jericho. Shout it if you must.”
Yelina laughs, jostling Jericho, and with a somber smile he asks, “It’s not too late?”
“We’re still here, aren’t we?” My rose speaks with fire in her heart. Her voice echoes in my ears and etches unspeakable things into my soul.
I will never forget her words.
We are still here. We always have been, and we always will be.
20
Lanston
