Melissa Walker - Ashes to Ashes

As we walk through the Dodsons’ field, gliding over the crop beds and moving slowly toward the little white house, I notice that the moonlight is so bright that it’s the type of phase that would cast our shadows on the ground if we were really here. Looking down, I see the soft glow playing off the tall grass, but not a trace of me, or Thatcher, is here. We aren’t trampling the vegetation or making tracks in the dirt or even rustling the corn husks. We’re floating through this world, in it but not of it.

When we get to the Dodsons’ farmhouse, Thatcher points to the wooden porch swing, which looks both abandoned and inviting with its chipped white paint.

“I used to love those,” he says.

“I always wanted one. I asked my dad for ages if he’d put one on our porch, but he never did.”

Thatcher smiles wistfully. “Come on,” he says, leading me up the rickety white steps. We sit down together on the swing, hovering over it but feeling like we’re really sitting. I focus on my feet, willing them to connect with the floorboards of the porch, and they do. We rock a little bit. The chair creaks, and I wonder if the Dodsons ever hear this swing moving. They must think it’s the wind.

Thatcher waits. Patiently. Always so patiently. I don’t even know where to begin.

“He was at a party, totally drunk before he even got there. Carson took him to a bedroom. To yell at him mostly, I think. But I managed to make them both feel my presence.”

I look out at the cornfields. I can still see the emergency lights flashing in the distance. Nick is sitting up on a stretcher now.

“It was so incredible, Thatcher. Like with my father. I felt this immense relief, peace welling up inside me. All because of you.” I give my attention to Thatcher, who is studying me intently.

A softness touches his eyes. “You’ve come a long way, Callie. But you did it on your own. I was just guiding you.”

I want him to understand that to me he’s more than a Guide. “After witnessing Ella’s merging, after my night with you . . . I no longer wanted to remain on Earth. I wanted to be where I was.”

“I’m glad,” he says.

He still doesn’t understand what I’m saying. Maybe I’m afraid to admit it aloud. After discovering what Nick was keeping from me, I don’t quite trust my own judgment. But still I say, “It meant a lot to me, Thatcher. Everything you told me, all that we shared. I know it probably wasn’t supposed to be special, but it was.”

“I wanted it to be,” he says quietly. “Selfish on my part.”

I release a small laugh. “I can live with that kind of selfishness.”

“But it’s all we can have. You need to merge.”

I nod jerkily. I have so many memories with Nick to take with me, so few with Thatcher. It’s not fair. I want more.

I lean forward, stopping our slow rock in the swing as I look out at the near-full moon shining in the distance. For a moment I feel alive again, like I’m sitting on a front porch with a guy I like, trading stories and telling secrets. It’s nice, familiar.

“Carson kissed Nick,” I tell him. It just comes out, before my brain even knows I am going to say it.

“What?” Thatcher turns to me, his eyes widening. “Really?”

I feel a fresh wave of hurt as I see the scene in my mind again. “Yes,” I say.

“But she’s your best friend. Is she the reason he was going to break up with you?”

“I don’t think so. Otherwise, wouldn’t she have known that he was going to break up with me?”

“How do you feel about her kissing him?” asks Thatcher. It’s such a non-guy question, and I appreciate that. He’s listening.

“Angry,” I say. “Sad. Hurt. Confused.”

Nodding, Thatcher puts his hand over mine resting on the wooden slats of the swing. I welcome the spark it creates, because it’s comforting, soft, safe. I touch my toes down to the porch again and rock us back and forth, back and forth, making the creak of the swing a little louder. It almost feels like it would feel if we were still alive.

I flash back to the peach room at Tim McCann’s party. “It was right after he confessed that he was going to break up with me.” I shake my head. “She seemed triumphant, like she was someone I didn’t know at all.”

“Grief can make people crazy,” says Thatcher, his brow furrowed like he’s trying to figure it out along with me.

“I know,” I say, still playing the scene in my head. “But there’s something else. Right before they kissed, I thought I saw . . .”

I shake my head, feeling silly.

“What?” asks Thatcher.

“Carson’s face was blurred, and I saw . . . I don’t know, I thought I saw Reena there for a second.”

Thatcher puts his feet down and stops our rocking abruptly, turning to me. “You saw Reena? In the room?”

“That’s what’s so weird,” I say. “I thought I saw her in Carson , like her face flashed over Carson’s for a second. Like she was doing that shadowing thing.”

“What shadowing thing?”

“I don’t understand it exactly. It’s a game they play where they try to line themselves up with people and follow their actions.”

“And this was before the kiss?”

“Yeah, just before she leaned over Nick,” I say, realizing that the moment is burned into my brain in excruciating detail.

Thatcher stands up abruptly and traces a portal.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

And then I notice that he’s shaking, he’s weak. He reaches out his hand to me, but quickly he sinks back down to the swing. “My energy is low,” he says.

I bite my lip, worried that the strain of rescuing Nick drained him beyond what he can handle. “Take some of my energy.”

“No, you need to hold on to it.” With a great deal of effort, he shoves himself to his feet. “You stay here, make sure Nick is okay. Can you get back to your prism?”

“Yes. Will you come find me there?”

He nods. “I have to talk to the Guides—tell them what you saw.”

“What I saw?”

“Listen, Callie—Carson didn’t kiss Nick. Reena did.”

IT’S HARD TO MAKE OUT WHERE I am at first, in the darkness. The air is thick with humidity, and the only lights are the stars above. Before my eyes adjust, all I can sense are shapes and sounds—echoing voices that sound like they’re muffled by shadow. But then I see the glimmer of the train tracks in the distance, and I know I’m back at Lyndon’s Crossing.

I’m going to find her. All this time I thought Leo was the dangerous one, but Reena was manipulating me so much more.

I felt confused for a moment, stunned, when Thatcher told me what he thinks Reena did. That she actually may have possessed Carson. But he was so weak that he had to go before he could tell me why, or what it meant. So after I made sure Nick was in good hands and on his way to the hospital, I created a portal.

Thanks for showing me how, Reena.

First I summoned all the pieces of her—the long black hair, rosebud lips, doll cheeks. Then I thought of the way her strong stance belies her height, the sideways hook of her smile, and the way her eyes flash gold sometimes.

The portal I traced pulsed with light, and I stepped through it. I’m sorry, Thatcher. I have to do this.

And now I’m here, by the tracks. As my eyes adjust, I see the glow of the poltergeists in the distance about twenty feet away—they haven’t spotted me. The trees around them seem to wilt in their presence, bowing down in the humidity. I watch them for a moment, these ghosts I thought were my friends, wondering what they’re capable of.

Just as I’m about to call out to Reena and face the poltergeists, I hear voices coming up over the hill toward the tracks.