Page 22 of Shadowing My Dreams
“Not the time for jokes.”
“I’d say communicating with the dead was a perfect time. Do we keep our clothes on?”
“Are you going to be serious?” He looked at me, and I felt like he just slapped me.
“Yes, sorry. When I get nervous, I… make jokes. I’m done.” I sat down slowly on the bed and placed my hands on my knees.
“It’s ok. I know you’re scared. You’re not an idiot. Now, I’m going to sit beside you and keep my hands on my lap. When you’re ready, Jack, I want you to reach over and take my hand. That way, you’re in complete control. Ok?” He sounded so calm, as if he did this every day.
“Sounds… horrible, but yes. Thank you.”
He sat down beside me so close our legs were just a breadth away from each other. “I need you to be ok with this. All of the control is yours. Just give me a second to… I’ll nod when I’m ready. Ok?”
“Got it.”
He shut his eyes, and for the first time, I wished that I could do what he did. If I could read his energy, maybe I would know more or understand him better. I’m sure his energy was as beautiful as he was. I waited and glanced around the room that I knew like the back of my hand – which was a very odd saying if you asked me.
He sighed heavily, and his head nodded. I raised my hand and held it above his. It was now or… well, he was right. It was always going to come to this somehow, wasn’t it? I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves as best I could. My heart was fucking racing.
I placed my hand on his and let our fingers intertwine while my palm rested on the top of his hand.
Nothing happened.
“I don’t…” Holy fuck.
The room melted like we were being pulled through a wormhole, and I almost let go of Archie, but I didn’t. Instead, I gripped his hand harder. I could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat as the room came back into a sepia filter. I always hated those Insta filters.
The man appeared in a small chair by the window, and he didn’t look happy. “You have to be fucking kidding me. Why have the Marys come back? I told them to leave.”
“Hello,” Archie managed through gritted teeth. “We’re here to try to help you.”
“Did I call nine-one-one? I don’t think so.” He turned away from us and looked out of the window.
“Who are you?”
He turned back to us quickly. “Who thefuckare you? You’re the one who barged into my fuckingdeath.”
“I live here,” I whispered. “This is my home.”
“Hmm… Is it? Why does that matter? Why do I care who pays the rent.” He laughed, and it sounded so sad and pathetic.
“I own it.”
“Oooh… touch her. She’s a homeowner.” He was so mean. He was so gay that flamboyant wasn’t enough of a description. Figures I had a gay ghost in WeHo.
“Why haven’t you moved on? Why are you staying here?” Archie sounded breathless, as if even forming words was hard for him.
“It keeps me out of the sun. I’d hate to have to haunt a graveyard. I’m afraid it’d make me look fat. Get the FUCK OUT!” he roared and stood up slowly from his chair. “I just want to be left alone!”
“You’re not staying out of the way, are you? You pulled a chest of drawers out and threw things around this room. Being left alone goes both ways.” Archie raised his voice.
“God, the drama. She’s so serious. I had a bad day. Sue me. Where’s Drew? GET OUT! I JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE! WHY CAN'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME ALONE!” He rose from the ground and floated towards us. “GET OUT!”
My hand flew from Archie’s, and the room shifted slowly back into view as the spirit faded into ether. Archie immediately ran from the room, leaving me alone. A cold chill crept up my spine, and I booked it into the hallway. I could hear him retching from the bathroom over and over again. I felt like such a coward. This was my fucking house, wasn’t it?
I stepped back into the room and passed through a cold spot that almost made my teeth chatter. “We’re leaving, ok? I'm just waiting for…”
“Sorry, I…” Archie opened the bathroom door. “I feel pretty fucking horrible. My stomach is in my throat.”
