Page 78 of A Ballad of Phantoms and Hope
“What if we don’t get to meet again?”
Jericho chuckles and turns to hug me, pulling me in close one final time. I shut my eyes and embrace the care that rolls off him so easily. He’s been like a father to me for so much longer than before I died. He’s always shown me kindness and warmth, wisdom and advice. I know he was my counselor, but he’s always been more.
He whispers, “I know in my heart that we’ll meet again.”
We separate and I stare at him, biting my lower lip to quell the heartache. “See you soon then?” My smile is broken.
Jericho takes my baseball hat and puts it on his own head; I feel entirely vulnerable without it.
“After a while, crocodile. I’m going to borrow this hat—I’ll give it back to you when we meet again, kay?” Those are the last words he says to me before turning and taking Yelina’s hand. Together, they walk slowly out across the docks. A trail of embers follows in their wake; I’d not noticed them before. I think of my rose’s wet hair from the river in which she perished.
I watch in silence until the two of them disperse into the mist; their soft voices and laughter fade until I’m alone again, but this time I’m smiling and hope reignites inside my soul.
34
Lanston
The world seems darkerwithout my friends from Harlow. But I keep their words knitted in my heart. Hope surrounds me. The letters Ophelia wrote for me are tucked in my bag and the bucket list we didn’t finish remains folded in my pocket.
I look up at the cathedral, where I hope to find Gregory. It’s in a small village outside Dublin. There isn’t even a sign for it, but the town is busy with people herding sheep and gathering vegetables for their suppers.
The stones pillaring the stairs up to the arched doors are like ice on my fingertips. I step carefully, keeping an eye out for the phantom. Even though finding this guy didn’t top my list of things I wanted to do, I knew it was important to Ophelia. And that makes it important to me.
I didn’t just stumble upon his grave by chance. This is a sign. Well, I guess if you believe in those sorts of things. I’m starting to.
As I enter the cathedral the air becomes sweet and warm. The scent of burning candles and old pews fills my senses. Elderly people sit and pray, while others walk through the building, observing the historic structure with awe on their faces.
My eyes lift to the balcony above, and I spot a phantom. He wears a long cloak that reaches down to his feet. It’s a drab and muddled burgundy color. His skin is as pale as a dead man’s. Dark eyes stare down at me. For a moment, I think I’ll turn and run, but I dig my heels into the ground and swallow my fears. If Ophelia were here, she’d say not to judge him by his frightening appearance, just like the faceless phantom.
I find the spiral staircase that leads up and I trail my fingers along the stone as I ascend to the balcony.
“Who are you?” he asks, his voice deep and sharp.
He’s young, from a different time. It’s almost like I’m in one of those old Victorian movies.
I clear my throat. “Lanston Nevers.”
He inspects me from head to toe with a disapproving look. “A tourist, I presume?” I nod with a hesitant smile, trying my best to remain cordial. “I am Gregory Briggs,” he says with a heavy accent.
My grin grows wide. I found him, and if I can find someone this old, there isn’t a universe in which I cannot find my Ophelia.
“Gregory, I’ve been searching for you. Your Elanor, she waits.”
His eyes widen and he seems to come to life at the mention of her. Those dark eyes are no longer so black; they lift into a light brown. His skin regains some pink and his clothes a bright maroon.
“Elanor? My darling Elanor?” The desperation and pain in his voice sting me. His love for her is palpable. And here he waited for her—as she did him.
Refusing to leave this world without the other.
“Yeah, I’ll take you to her.”
Gregory smiles as tears brim in his eyes and he nods.
We walk slowly through the countryside, in hours of silence. By the time we make it back to the city, night has fallen and the lights of pubs and shops illuminate the way.
I take him to St. Patrick’s cathedral, where the hush of the evening feels ominous and lovely at the same time. Gregory looks at me, yearning in his eyes.
“She’s inside,” I say quietly.
