Элисон Ноэль - Radiance

Though the constant flow of grief had wreaked far more havoc on her face than the fabric — corroding it into a series of deep, craggy crevices where her cheekbones once rose, while forging bottomless valleys and gorges where her nose, lips, and chin should’ve been. Reminding me in a strange, sick way of a trip my family once took to the Grand Canyon, where my father explained to Ever and me how the rise and fall of the water, its incessant sway and lull, had the power to hone and carve and completely obliterate parts of the rock like a finely honed chisel.

The only part of her face that was even remotely recognizable was the space where her eyes should’ve been.

Years of unceasing tears had washed them away until there was nothing left but two matching, deep, dark, and bottomless pools filled with murky black waters that sucked me right in, until I was swirling and spinning, pulled deeper and deeper — like water rushing down a drain, rainfall spilling into a gutter, I was falling, flailing, and there was no way to stop it.

No way to claw my way back.

No way to spare myself from her limitless grief.

I was drowning.

Fighting to keep my head above the dark, murky pool of tumultuous, oily, swirling black waters that violently churned all around me. Coughing and blinking and trying my best to tilt my head back and just float, reminding myself to relax, to stay calm, that panicking would just make it worse. Calling upon everything I’d ever learned in every swimming lesson and junior lifeguard class I’d ever taken. Desperate to keep the water from flooding my lungs, even though deep down inside, I knew they didn’t exactly exist anymore.

But it was too late.

Despite my attempts, despite my legs continuing to kick, despite my hands grasping and clawing, I couldn’t overcome her. I was being pulled under. And for someone who just a few moments earlier didn’t even breathe, I somehow knew that my very existence, not to mention my sanity, required me to hold on, to hang in there, to embrace the breath that now bubbled my cheeks, and to not let it go, no matter what became of me.

And just when I was sure I couldn’t hold on any longer, a hand came out of nowhere, plunging straight toward me from somewhere above, as a voice called out to me.

A voice I immediately recognized as Bodhi’s.

My fingers stretched toward his, as my legs furiously kicked, desperate to propel myself upward, vaguely aware of his fingers circling my wrist, and giving it a nice, firm tug that yanked me above the water, up to where there was oxygen, and air, and room still to breathe.

I gasped and sputtered, blinking that thick, oily water from my eyes, only to see Bodhi floating before me, his lips moving frantically as he said, “You have to stop looking.Now! Turn toward the wall and she’ll have no choice but to release you — it’s the only way! Do it, Riley, do it now!Please. ”

But I didn’t.

I didn’t turn toward the wall.

And if you asked me why, well, at the time, I wouldn’t have had an answer.

I guess some things are just automatic.

Instinctive.

Some things you just do, despite the fact that your entire being is shouting against it.

Some things just don’t make any sense, until later.

Much later.

And this, as I would soon learn, was one of those things.

Bodhi was furious. Truly furious. Eyes narrowed and glaring at me as he shouted: “Dang it, Riley, I’m your guide, which means you have to do what I say!”

Which was soon followed by: “This is exactly why I didn’t want to bring you here. This is my task, not yours. I’m the only one who can take care of this. So, for the last time,please, I’m begging you,turn away!”

But even after all that, I still didn’t stop looking. I just stayed right there in place, floating, struggling to keep my head above water as the seas finally calmed down all around me, glad my dog had the good sense to sit this one out too.

“What’s this about?” I asked, my voice sounding small, scared, and needy in a way that embarrassed me and aggravated him. “And where exactly are we right now? I don’t get it.”

Bodhi looked at me, his hair damp and clinging to his cheeks, having lost his jacket in the current, and I couldn’t help but hope that the nerd glasses had gone along with it.

“We’re in her world now,” he said, voice resigned like a sigh, clearly sick of arguing with me. “And it happens to be a dangerous one. One that is no place for children, and certainly no place for the faint of heart. So please, if you refuse to do what I ask, if you refuse to turn away and save yourself, then at the very least stay quiet. The water should stay calm now. Calm enough for me to leave you here on your own. But I’m warning you, Riley, no matter what happens next, no matter what you see or hear,do not head toward the rock. No matter how dire it may seem, you are much safer here. So please, just do what I say and stay put. Do not get involved no matter how bad things get. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

I nodded. Unsure if I could really follow through and keep a promise like that, especially if things really did get as bad as he seemed to think they would. Not to mention if the waters went all crazy and churning and scary again, then the rock would be the first place I’d head. But knowing he needed me to agree in order to get on with his task, I nodded my assurance, even though I wasn’t sure if I could actually live up to my promise.

I watched as he floated away, cutting through the current as easily as a fish, before climbing onto what appeared to be a small, lonely island somewhere out in the distance, and what further squinting revealed to be a large, jagged rock jutting out from the sea.

And that’s when I saw it.

And I’m pretty sure that’s the same moment he saw it too.

The second he climbed up and secured himself there, we both watched, from our own separate vantage points, the exact cause of the ghost lady’s anguish for the last several hundred years.

She was a murderer.

A child killer.

Or at least that’s what everyone said.

Falsely accused of what was pretty much the worst crime a person could ever commit — that of killing her very own children.

Her three beloved sons, whom I immediately recognized as the golden-haired Radiant Boys I’d just crossed over a few moments earlier.

Only thing was — she was innocent. She’d done nothing of the sort.

She was merely a poor widowed mother left to take care of her sons on her own, forced to find work right here at the castle, and just naive and innocent enough to trust the wrong person to look after her boys while she was gone.

A stable hand who promised to take them on a so-called fishing trip where instead of baiting a line, he drowned all three of them. Cleaning up nicely and planting just enough evidence to make it appear as though she’d done it — only to vanish nearly as soon as he’d come, never to be seen or heard from again.

And after being tried and punished with death, she took one look at the golden veil of shimmering light that led to the bridge, saw the way it glowed and swayed and beckoned for her, offering nothing but comfort and love and compassion and forgiveness — all of which she’d long been denied. But instead of joining it, instead of seeking the solace only it could provide — she turned her back, and chose instead to wander away. So driven by her overwhelming grief, her insurmountable blame, convinced she’d played a big part in it by being so naive, by not looking after them properly, by not doing nearly enough to keep them all safe, she returned to the very scene where she first heard the news.

To the place where she stood looking for them, waiting for them to return. . .