Page 33 of Giving Up The Ghost
OSCAR
“Oscar, wake up.”
I don’t wanna.
“Oscar. Oscar, listen to me. Oscar!”
My head throbbed with my heartbeat even in my sleep. For the longest time, after Julian and Ezra got me settled in bed, I’d lingered between sleeping and wakefulness, odd and fractured dreams too soft to hold slipping between conscious thoughts, the low voices of my lover and my best friend weaving around nonsensical inner monologue and memories from years ago and just hours before. Flickers of images from the cellar, the ghosts pulsing and heaving towards me, my own sense of powerlessness as I became overwhelmed, made my breath catch all over again, my eyes burning with anxious, fearful tears.
“Oscar,” someone whispered close to my ear. “Oscar, please wake up! I need help! I can’t?—”
The room was dark when I managed to open one eye and tried to see who was talking to me.
A faint movement near the door, someone raising a hand as if to wave at me, but it was too dark, too thin of an apparition to see.
And my head ached royally, making me wonder if it was really a vision or just a dream.
Julian snored softly beside me, phone face-down on his chest.
It was more of my dream, I supposed, slipping back under into a true rest this time, the gossamer-light sensation of someone stroking my face, pushing my hair back, nearly rousing me fully until Julian’s snuffles and shifting filtered through my drowse, reminding me I was not alone in bed.
The crying woman woke me again around eight, her soft sobs working into my dream, ruining what had been a beautiful fantasy about a picnic on the beach with Julian where the sand was dark green and the waves were low and steady, a soft in and out rhythm that might have been Julian’s chest rising and falling against my back as we slept. The crying had filtered into the dream, distracting me from Dream-Julian’s lecture about hornblende sand and the burial rituals of decorator crabs. The shape I’d seen earlier was back, between me and the door like it wanted to intercept me if I should try to flee. I had the impression of arms akimbo, of a very set posture, but I felt no malice. Instead, it was something familiar. Something almost tangible. Just the very edge of something warm and safe, something that pulled me awake and to my feet.
“Do you need help?” I murmured, dragging myself out of bed to stand, swaying, in the middle of the room. “I heard you the other evening. And Julian saw you two days ago. Did you see him?”
The crying grew closer. I could feel her, a cool shift in the room’s temperature, and the faint smell of roses and something green like new grass but sweeter slowly drifted to tease my senses. That warm familiarity hit me square in the chest, pressing into my ribcage with the force of a train. Her crying was sniffles now, broken and jagged breaths. “I can’t see you,” I said slowly, “but I know you’re near. What can I do? You sound very upset.”
The temperature of the room plunged. The overhead light burst. Then she was gone.
“Damn it all,” I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. “You don’t need to be so dramatic, you know!”
* * *
It tookme longer than usual to get myself together for the day, between the broken glass to deal with and the disgusting hungover feeling that chased my migraines, I was considering going back to bed by the time I had my cravat arranged in the Regency style. “Steady on,” I muttered to myself, carefully making my way down the stairs with a death grip on the railing.
“Oscar!” Charlotte fussed as soon as I stepped into the kitchen. “Julian refused to let me see you last night! Are you alright?”
I winced away from her overbright voice, not missing the flash of hurt on her face when I moved to sit beside Julian rather than let her fret over me in the doorway. “I suffer from migraines,” I said. “Yesterday was a bad one.”
Julian and Ezra exchanged a very speaking glance. A flare of jealousy shot through me—I’m the one who makes those glances with you! Both of you!—before I swallowed it back and grabbed for the cup of tea Julian poured for me. “Thank you, love.”
He smiled, giving me a quick kiss on my temple before offering the teapot to Ezra.
“What did you find?” Charlotte demanded, her breakfast forgotten between us as she leaned forward. “Before your headache, you found something?”
“Why would you ask that?” I inquired mildly. “Was I supposed to find something specific?”
“Bah! You didn’t just sit and stare at a wall, did you?”
“Let him at least get some toast down,” Ezra complained. “For god’s sake!”
She bared her teeth, not even trying to make it look like a smile. “Your friends were discussing a trip to London,” she announced, glaring at Ezra and Julian. “I think that is a fantastic idea. It will give us time?—”
“Um, we meant for Oscar to come with us,” Julian interrupted. “He hasn’t had any time to relax since we landed. Whatever’s in those boxes will be there tomorrow.”
I knew, on some level, it must have pained Julian to say research could wait, but he put on a brave face about it. Charlotte sneered, her fork clattering to her plate as she rounded on me. “See? I have said it—they do not understand! They do not respect you or your abilities!”
“Whoa,” Julian barked, making us all jump. “You havezeroright to attack any of us like that. Howdareyou accuse us of not respecting Oscar?”
