Page 41 of Whispers of Helena
The soapy waterpools around my wrists as I wash Kiran’s plate from lunch. I sent him out to Marcel afterward so I could tackle the housework. The warmth of the dishwater is soothing, though my mind is far from calm.
Movement in the yard catches my eye, drawing my focus to the window. My hands slow as I watch Silas riding Shadow, his silhouette cutting across the yard toward the tree line. My gaze lands on his saddlebags, the telltale bulge of supplies. This isn’t just a ride to check the herd or supervise the men. He’s leaving, and he doesn’t plan to come back tonight.
The back door creaks open, and I hear the familiar cadence of Eli’s boots on the kitchen floor. I lean against the edge of the sink, bracing myself as his presence anchors me back to the moment.
“How long is he going to be gone this time?” I ask, keepingmy eyes on the horizon, where Silas disappears into the shadows of the trees.
Eli sighs heavily. “He said a couple nights. Not sure what you’ve done to him, but I’ve never seen him like this.”
I rinse the last fork, drying my hands as I turn to face him. “I need to make him see who I am, Eli. This can’t go on much longer. I’m doing everything I can, going as slow as I can, but I only have so much time.”
Eli leans against the counter, arms crossed, his brows knitting together in thought. “He’s fragile right now. Maybe letting him get some distance will do him some good.”
“It will,” I murmur, more to convince myself than anything. I clutch the edge of the towel, feeling its coarse fibers dig into my palms. “I’ll give him that. Hell, I could use the quiet too.”
Eli smirks, a teasing glint in his eye. “Such language, Caroline.”
The faintest blush creeps up my neck, and I let out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Sorry.” A pause stretches between us before the truth spills from me, quiet and aching. “I want to go home, Eli. I’m just not going without my husband. He belongs with me when I leave this place.”
Reaching out, Eli gently touches the back of my hand, the contact steady and reassuring, his gaze softening. “You’re doing well, Caroline.” His voice drops, tender yet resolute. “It won’t be long now.”
Silas has been gonefor two nights, and the emptiness he leaves behind feels deeper than the silence. The house is still, unnervingly so, as if holding its breath in his absence. Even the familiar creaks in the floorboards seem to have ceased, like they too know he’s gone too.
Kiran has asked every morning when his father is coming back. His hopeful eyes lift to mine as he eats his breakfast, and each time, Eli or I offer the same answer: “Soon.” This morning is nodifferent, except now Kiran sits at the island with his workbook, his tongue peeking from the corner of his mouth as he puzzles through a tricky math problem. Bits of pink eraser shavings litter the paper, evidence of his determination, and I can’t help but smile at his focus.
Watching him stirs something deep within me, a tenderness that aches as much as it soothes. My love for my son grows with every small movement, every glance, every word. Yet there’s an oddity to it, it’s like holding onto smoke, sweet and insubstantial, no matter how real it feels in the moment.
Spending time with Kiran has become my lifeline in my time here. He is my comfort, my anchor in this unnatural in-between. Seeing him as he might have grown—older, more capable—was disorienting at first. My biggest fear during the first few days was not connecting with this older version of my child. But his smile remains the same, the soft curve of it lighting up his face. His gentleness is unchanged, his easy laugh just as it was.
The truth hovers at the edge of my thoughts, a whisper that won’t be silenced: Kiran isn’t real.
Not like I am. Not like Silas is. He’s a shadow—a delicate fragment born of Silas’s broken reality. The night the fire consumed the three of us, Silas had a choice. Rise with Kiran and me into the comfort of heaven or remain here, bound to the earth, consumed by grief and regret.
When I first opened my eyes to the soft radiance of the afterlife, Kiran cradled in my arms, and realized Silas had chosen to stay behind, it felt like something inside me shattered. His absence was a hollow ache, echoing even in that place of peace. For a long time, I begged to return, to find a way to be near him. My love for him rooted me, and that request was heard.
That’s when the assignments began. A journey to guide wandering souls toward their heavenly reward. Task by task, I learned how to nurture a flickering faith, how to strengthen it until it burned bright enough to lead even the most stubborn spirits home. Every soul I helped was preparing me for thischallenge, this singular moment when I would face the man I couldn’t let go of.
But Silas’s choice to tether himself to this land with the unbreakable chain of grief left its mark. His loss was too much to bear, causing his world to become distorted. Unable to bear the void left by the fire, his spirit created something to fill it.
Kiran.
A fragment of light in a world smothered by shadows. A figment conjured by a heart too broken to fully grieve. Silas’s mind created a reality where the worst of the pain was muted, where the memories of joy he’d lost weren’t completely extinguished. But no matter how vivid, how tangible Kiran may seem, it doesn’t change the truth: he’s an illusion, a ghost within a ghost.
The house remained unscathed in his new reality, as if the fire never happened. And Kiran, his boy, his reason to keep living, grew alongside him. A living dream spun from Silas’s desperate need, a bandage for his sanity. Silas couldn’t face a world where he had lost both of us, so he returned three months later to a reality born not of God, but of his own shattered soul.
I look back at the chopping board, my hands steady despite the turmoil inside. I glance at Kiran’s sweet, furrowed brow and know that leaving him, the spirit of him, will break me. Seeing him here feels like the cruelest mercy. He smiles, laughs, tugs on Silas’s sleeve as though our world never fell apart. But I know he’s not real. He’s a memory stitched together by Silas’s mind to keep himself sane.
And that makes me the woman who has to tear it all apart to save him.
The Return
Silas
Sunday’s dawn arrives,its light seeping through my closed eyes, disturbing my restless sleep. Shadow lies beside me, his ribs rising and falling in rhythm with the quiet of the morning. Groaning, I push myself upright, every bone and muscle in my body screaming in protest. Gone are the days when sleeping on the ground felt like a man’s retreat instead of an assault on his body. At forty-six, I need my bed more than my pride would admit.
Two days out here, and all I’ve gained is a clearer view of the prison I’m trapped in. No matter how far I ride, there’s no escaping her. Helena’s face, her voice, her damned presence grips me like a shadow I can’t run from.
I’ve spent years burying myself in the work, in grief, in the hollow sanctity of isolation. I thought I had control over what my heart clung to, thought I could dictate where my mind wandered. But these pastures betray me, dragging her image to the surface again and again, relentless as the sunrise.
