James' eyes are still as pitiful as they were five minutes ago, so I decide to leave the living room. I need to walk, to move, to be able to push all this agony that is choking me. I need to leave it behind. I need to clear my mind but if I keep seeing how James looks at me, as if he is desperate to do something, then I won't be able to activate my defence mechanism. So what I do is walk up to Mum's room. I haven't seen the urn in the living room so if she keeps my ashes, they aren't here. The only other place I can think of is her room, even if that is a little creepy but then again, Mum is depressed so maybe it's not that weird in her state.
I know he's following me, I can hear his footstep although they are not exactly stepping on my tail. He is close, I feel that. Somehow, I can feel his presence behind me. I don't say a thing, I keep walking until I'm in front of the door, only then I open my mouth.
"This is Mum's room. I think that maybe she keeps the ashes here."
"If you were cremated. We're not sure about that just yet," he reminds me and I turn to look at him over my shoulder with a blank expression. "Don't look at me like that. It's not that crazy. Maybe you're not even dead, maybe you're just in coma or something."
"I don't think that's very likely," I say but I can see in his expression how much he hopes what he's saying is true. I see that in his eyes, the intensity of it throws me off and makes me feel bad for blowing up his bubble. "If I were in coma my mum would spend all her time at the hospital, next to me. But she finishes work and comes here and never leaves unless it's extremely necessary," I explain to him but it doesn't seem like he wants to give up.
"Maybe she's not at work and spends all day with you at the hospital. You don't know if she actually goes to work. Or maybe she just can't be twenty-four-seven at the hospital, right?"
"Don't you think I would feel drawn towards the hospital if that were the case?" I ask but I really feel a lump in my stomach because I can see how his expression falls.
Why does it seem that this affects him more than it affects me?
"I'm sorry, James, but I really don't think that theory makes sense. I'm super dead and I'll find my ashes."
"Don't say it like that," he pleads but I just shake my head and focus on opening the door, ignoring that little jab in my heart that tells me to comfort him. Right now I'm not in the mood to do something.
Mum's room used to be bright and always smelled like roses, but now it's a room where someone sleeps at night. It feels abandoned and kind of broken. She rarely opens the curtains and I always feel so miserable when I'm in here. It's not a big room so James barely takes a step inside when I spot it. I don't know why I never noticed it before, but it's there.
An urn.
My ashes. I'm sure of it.
Where there's used to be just pictures of me now there's an urn with a picture of me when I was like fifteen. I am smiling in the picture, happy. I'm not sure when that happened but I think it was a day out with my family, escaping from here and everyone that hurt me. That was probably why I was so happy in that picture. And that is probably why Mum has that picture next to my urn.
I walk up to it, slowly and feeling scared because I don't know what will happen when I touch it. What if I cross over the moment I touch the urn? What if it hurts like when I walk through someone? That is why I hesitate in front of the urn, not sure of what to do. James even catches up to me, standing by my side. Instantly, I move a bit to the left, away from him just in case we might accidentally touch.
"You think this is it?" he asks out loud and I take a deep breath.
"Positive," I breathe out.
"But maybe it can-"
"James," I cut him off and turn to look at him. "It's nice what you're trying to do and I appreciate it, but it's not necessary. I've accepted I'm dead so now I have to do these other things. Figure out how it happened, when and then how to cross over."
He looks at me in a way I can't describe and that is just so intense, I can't manage to hold his stare so I look away, and instead focus on the urn. I feel that knot in my stomach, so I take another deep breath even if it doesn't help at all, it's just a reflex. I take a step closer and then raise my hand, trembling. I hesitate, pulling back when I'm about to touch it and then trying again but I just can't. I am too nervous to even try and I don't even know what will happen but my mind is creating the worst case scenarios.
Then I feel it. Someone touching my hand, squeezing it and it takes me three seconds to realise what's really happening: James is holding my hand.
My head snaps in his direction, horrified for what he's doing so I try to pull away immediately but his hold is tight. I can see in his face the pained feeling, it's evident in the way his jaw tightens and how he presses his lips tightly together, but he is fighting to look calm and fine.
"James, stop it," I command, still trying to pull away but failing.
"Right now you need it. I won't let go," he says, trying to sound strong but his voice is shaky due to the effort of controlling the pain. "If you want me to let go then stop complaining and touch it."
Even if he says that I can only stare at him, moved by his words and actions, by the meaning of this. Such support from someone who's not related to me is the most foreign thing that has happened to me, and I'm a ghost so that's saying a lot. I feel so touched that even my chest hurts, my heart races and I can barely think of anything else.
James is enduring the pain to help me go through this.
But he's in pain so he's right, I need to hurry. With that in mind I turn to look at the urn again and reach out for it once again. My hand doesn't shake that much but I squeeze James' tighter and he does the same.
My index finger touches the urn first and I shiver but there's no pain. I don't feel anything just yet so I dare to press my whole palm against it and that's the moment the wave of desperation comes to me. Strong and unstoppable with the force of a hurricane, throwing me off with memories.
So much tears. So much fear and sorrow. So much loneliness and confusion. So much hatred and agony and it's choking me. I fall to my knees and I can't breathe but I fight for air I don't need. I struggle but it's to no avail.
I get memories. Memories of myself crying on a bed, my bed, begging for this pain and torture to stop. Begging someone could give me a hand. Wanting to just sleep and never open my eyes.
I also see myself locked in a room and banging at the door desperately. It's a small space, like a janitor closet and dark. I can't see. I feel like there isn't enough air and the tears are drowning me. I bang and bang but no one answers. I hear giggles at the other side but no one opens the door no matter how many times I beg for it. I fall to my knees, still crying but I stop calling for help. This will not come. I put my back to the door and hug my knees, muffling my sobs between them and shaking. It's cold and everything hurts. I remember hoping that this would be the end, once and for all.
"Paige!" Someone screams and it's hard to pay attention to that faint voice. It's hard to focus on anything but the pain and desolation I felt locked in that small space, the paralysing fear and the pain in my every muscle. "Paige, come back!"
I'm shaking... or someone is shaking me. I don't know. I blink once and then again and again until the voice calling my name grows louder and louder and I can finally see James crouching down in front of me, shaking me, worry written all over his face.
"James," I breathe out and he finally seems to take a breath as well. His shoulders relax and he ends up kneeling in front of me.
"God, you scared me. What happened? What did you feel?"
"Didn't you feel it?" I ask but he frowns.
"You pushed me and fell to the floor so I didn't. Then you were just screaming there, hugging your knees and trembling," he explains and I take a deep breath.
"I think... I think I saw my last memories," I explain and James' frown depends. "I was dressed like this and someone locked me in a closet. I cried and cried but no one helped me. And I remember I wanted it to stop right there. I think I might... I might've died there."
James' eyes widen in shock and I keep trembling slightly.
"It was probably at college, James. I could hear people laughing at the other side. They did it on purpose," I continue. "I think I died there."
"Are you sure?" He asks, his voice barely a whisper.
"No, but it looks like the last time I was still alive."
He opens his mouth as if wanting to say something but nothing comes out. We just stare at each other with probably the same thought: they murdered me. Yes, it's likely they didn't intend to and it was just an accident but an accident they caused. If I really died there, then it's because of those people... and I don't even know whom they could be.
James stands up and I see him pacing in the room. I just stay on the floor watching him, feeling so confused and cold. So cold, especially now that James is not by my side.
He walks up to the urn and opens it, in just one movement that makes me gasp. He stops and seems to freeze when he sees what's inside: most likely my ashes. Then he closes it and takes the frame picture. He looks at it carefully and then turns it around to remove the picture inside. I furrow my brows, wondering what he's doing but I don't ask I just let him, feeling weird but for a different reason now, one I can't describe.
"This picture," he speaks out, still holding it in his hands and not turning to look at me just yet. He seems to be too focused inspecting it. "How old were you here, Paige?" He asks next, turning around to make me see the picture again.
"I'm not sure," I reply, shrugging. "Probably fifteen or something."
He gulps and his blue eyes are so intense on me.
"Do you realise what this means, Paige?" He questions next but I just keep furrowing my brows, confused.
"I was happy once with my parents and could smile despite everything?" I suggest but he shakes his head.
"No, it doesn't mean that although it is true." He finally approaches me and my whole body seems to react to him, trying to get closer faster. He then kneels in front of me and hands me the picture. "Read what's written at the back."
I do as told, turning the picture and finding mum's writing there with a few words.
"Finally seeing our baby smile honestly," I read out loud. "Cardiff, summer nineteen ninety-eight..." I continue but my voice fades and I hold my breath. I can only look at the date written there.
I remember the trip now. Dad offered to travel around the UK during summer, trying to put the best distance between us and Street. I think Dad was also trying to look for a better place to live, hoping I'd like another city more than where we already lived. I don't remember what happened after that whether we even really considered moving but I remember having fun and being happy just with them.
And that was seventeen years ago.
If I died at seventeen and I was around fifteen in that picture, that means I died fifteen years ago.
I look up at James, my eyes wide in horror at the realisation. His own eyes are pitiful and worried but also ever so sad. He looks as devastated as I feel and for a second I want to reach him. Hug him to comfort both him and I, but I can't move.
"Fifteen..." I whisper, my voice cracking. "I died fifteen years ago, James. I've been dead for fifteen years. My mum's been alone for fifteen years. I've been a ghost and stuck here for fifteen years... oh my God."
~â¢~
Hello there! I'm back in Chile *sobs* and I wrote this in my stay in Toronto (it was so great I just wanna come back!) but didn't have a chance to update until now. Regarding the chapter I hope you liked it. Let me know on the comments!
Dedication to aurorallycrowned
Bel, xx
PS: I'll give the dedication later when I can have access to a computer.