Sarah Gilman: Ghosts of the Falls

“I should be too furious with you for deceiving me.”

“But you’re not?” He leaned forward.

“Oh, I am.” She folded her arms. “But considering you spent most of yesterday bound to your grave, I think we’re even.”

“Excellent.” He ran his fingertips over the back of her hand. “Because I meant it when I said I’d love to have dinner with you. Actually, I’m going to make you dinner.”

…

Jade registered with the park to stay another night, relieved no one else had claimed the cabin for the weekend. Intent on enjoying the stolen day, forgetting the stress of the last week and the hell to come when she had to deal with Aaron and Jeremy once again, she switched off her cell phone and met Dutch for a hike.

A steep trail led them up the mountain in the center of the park. At the top, a swinging bridge connected twin peaks, offering a view of forested foothills for miles in all directions. The bridge swayed and trembled underfoot, making Jade’s palms sweat. She clutched Dutch’s arm as they made their way to the halfway point.

“They say this is an extinct volcano.” Dutch pointed straight down. “The caldera. Well, what’s left of it after tens of thousands of years of erosion.” He paused, staring at her. “Do spirits erode on earth? Is that why so many become violent?”

Jade eyed the slopes with renewed respect, but a strong crosswind rocked the bridge, riveting her attention to the lack of ground beneath her feet. She tried to focus on the conversation instead. “I think that’s a good metaphor, yes. You’re different, though.”

“But why?”

“This place. It has to be this incredible place. It doesn’t just make you powerful, it keeps you alive.”

“Alive? No, Jade, I’m most definitely not alive.”

A chatty tourist couple with two daughters—one a scowling preteen, one a wide-eyed younger girl—crossed the bridge from the far side, making their way back toward the trail. The bridge shuddered and groaned under their progress as they passed.

“You’re hurting my arm.” Amusement filled Dutch’s tone. “Would you like to turn back?”

“Not yet.” She turned her face into his shoulder. The earthy scent of the woods clung to his shirt. Unlike the bridge, Dutch held her steady, an unyielding source of support.

He wrapped his free arm around her back and rested his chin on her head. The breeze—chilly at that altitude despite the warm day—put his warmth in stark relief. She took in the view in her peripheral vision. An eagle swooped down the lush valley, aimed at a distant lake. With Dutch at her side, she calmed enough to enjoy the beauty around them.

“I’m terrified of heights.”

“No kidding?”

She smacked his arm, no enthusiasm behind the strike. His chest shook with silent laughter and he tightened his hold. “Sorry. You face malevolent spirits for a living, yet here you are in my arms, afraid of a perfectly good bridge. Pardon me while I gloat.”

“Humph.” She hid her grin against his shoulder. “This view is incredible. Thank you. I wouldn’t be able to stand out here by myself.”

“Anytime,” he said quietly.

As they walked back toward the trail, leaning against each other, she studied his face. “Heights don’t bother you?”

“Naw. I was a logger. Not a job compatible with that sort of phobia. And I’m dead.”

“You fell.” Her curiosity forced the words from her mouth.

His lips thinned. “Yes. It was over in a few seconds and I didn’t feel a thing. There are far worse ways to go.”

“Why are you here, Dutch? What else happened?”

“Honestly?” Solid ground underfoot, he stopped walking and turned to face her. “You’re right, dying wasn’t the worst thing that happened to me that day. However, I don’t think I’m still here because of that. The gorge…there is something about it. Another logger died on the job and became a ghost with a heartbeat, like me. For one day, that is. When they removed his body for burial in his hometown, he lost that ability. He eventually vanished altogether.”

“Interesting. There must be much more to this place than natural energies. Much more. Perhaps moving your grave is a solution, as opposed to being exorcised.” Her own words dried out her mouth. Even if he had a way to move on without an exorcism, she wished he wouldn’t move on at all. And how selfish was that?

“It might have been possible, decades ago. But I didn’t even have a coffin. I’m inseparable from the soil and the trees these days.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Back then, I wanted this false life. It was a second chance. Incredible freedom. But, loneliness has a way of accumulating and compounding over the years.”

“Annabel!”

Jade turned toward the shout. The father from the tourist family who’d passed them on the bridge hurried along the path, shadowed by thick balsams.

The man stopped, panting, when he reached them. “Have you seen a little girl? She’s six.”

“No, sorry—”

The father took off again, headed for the visitor’s shelter near the bridge.

“Wait here. This’ll only take a moment.” Dutch stepped into the shadows of the trees and vanished, the strong energy of his incorporeal form washing over her skin like electric current. The scent of burnt sugar filled the air. His shirt landed in a heap on a rock.

His presence vanished like a gust of wind. Shivering, Jade leaned against a tree and rubbed her tense shoulders. The way a spirit could travel, he’d be able to locate the girl in moments. Hopefully, alive and unhurt.

The father came out of the shelter, shoulders slumped, face flushed. His voice hitched as he yelled, “Annabel!”

Dutch’s presence returned. Jade’s clairvoyant senses, guiding her like infallible intuition, drew her gaze to the panicked father and she knew Dutch stood at the man’s side.

Rubbing his eyes, he started back down the path, then stumbled as if he’d been pushed. He paused, staring into the woods to his left. He took a step and stumbled again. The spot didn’t stand out from what Jade could see, but the father ran into the trees. “Annabel?”

Dutch materialized at Jade’s side and she handed him his shirt. “The girl’s got a sprained ankle, but she’s fine,” he said.

Jade kissed his cheek.

They waited. After several minutes, the father emerged with the little girl in his arms.

“Sometimes, a parent just knows where to look.” Dutch winked.

They headed down the mountain. Dutch fell into silence, a distance in his eyes. When the path leveled off, he said, “I told myself I wouldn’t, because some things are best left in the past, but I want to tell you…”

“Hmm?”

He slid an arm around her waist. “After I died, the logging company sent a telegraph to my family. They traveled all night and arrived the next day. It was a relief to see them, but I didn’t show myself to anyone. I was expecting a beam of light or something to appear any second.” His tone hardened. “They collected the wages the company owed me, several months’ worth. Mother spared the body a glance and the sign of the cross, then they left me on the ground and took off.”

Jade rubbed the center of her chest. What sort of parents could do that to their son? “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. The loggers buried me. They even pitched in and bought me that stone. The uncouth sons of bitches took better care of me than my own family. I’m very grateful to them. And it’s nice to finally tell someone what they did for me.” He paused. “I’d rather focus on the present. I’m making dinner for a girl tonight, so we better hurry back.”

Jade hooked her arm through his and couldn’t help but wonder if enjoying Dutch’s company so much was wise. He wanted to be exorcised, something her conscience screamed against, but what would she tell her brothers if she refused? She’d lose the job she’d been immersed in since birth. Continuing being an exorcist on her own, developing an incantation to move spirits harmlessly to the next world, wouldn’t be possible, not without her family’s extensive library.