A Gift of Ghosts (Tassamara) (21 page)

“This place?” Henry looked around the room, too. “I don’t
think so. Why I don’t recall as I’d ever been inside the Harris place before I
passed on.”

Akira blinked. That made no sense at all. Ghosts who were
tied to a place were always tied to a location that was important to them.
Dillon was the only one she’d met who was linked to a car, but she’d
encountered plenty of ghosts who were stuck in the place where they’d died. “But
why are you here then?”

“I was looking for Rose,” Henry answered. He picked up the
newspaper from his lap, and unfolded it, opening it and flipping through the
pages.

Akira waited, as Henry found what he was looking for.
Smoothing down the paper, he folded it back up, this time with an article from
a back page prominently exposed, and turned it, holding it out to her so that
she could read it.

Akira glanced at the date at the top of the paper first.
October 17, 1957. Her eyes skimmed down the page until she reached the tiny
article that Henry’s finger was pointing at. Rose Amelia Harris, in bold type,
was followed by “age 19, died after a brief illness, on October 12. She is
survived by . . .” but Akira stopped reading. She looked up at Henry.

“Your newspaper is about Rose?”

“From the day of her obituary, yes.” Henry nodded, and took
the newspaper back. He glanced down at the article, tracing over it with one
finger. “I never knew what had happened to her. Her family didn’t talk about
it. Not to anyone. Her mama became almost a recluse after. And her little sister—well,
Daisy left Tassamara just as soon as she could get away and she never came
back. Not once.”

“But Henry, that was decades ago,” Akira protested.

“I never forgot her,” Henry said. “Oh, I moved on. Got
married. Had two fine boys. But Rose was my first love.”

“And so when you died . . .” Akira prompted him.

“Right after is a bit fuzzy,” Henry said reflectively. “There
was this light.”

Akira’s eyes went wide. “A white light?”

“No, no. I’m not sure I’d call it white. No.” Henry frowned, looking
thoughtful. “Well, maybe. It was more like being in a cloud. But not a real
cloud, not like fog, and not cold and wet. No, it was just . . . well, it’s
hard to describe. Can’t say as I know the words to do it justice.”

No ghost had ever told Akira anything like the story Henry
was telling her. She was mystified. Was this what happened to people who didn’t
become ghosts?

“It was a pleasant enough place, but I was looking for Rose.
I thought about her quite a bit at the end. I’d always wondered, always wanted
to know. I’d been looking forward to seeing her. But I couldn’t find her. And
then, here I was. And here Rose was.” Henry smiled. “It wasn’t quite how I’d
imagined meeting her again.” He patted his belly ruefully. “If I’d known, I
might have tried a little harder to lose a little weight before the end.”

Akira smiled but she knew the expression didn’t quite make it
to her eyes. Henry must have recognized it, too, because he cocked his head to
one side and asked, “Why did you want to know?”

Akira took a breath. “You’re fading.”

He shook his head, just slightly, as if to say he didn’t
understand.

“You’re becoming like the boys.” She gestured to the
backyard. “Getting paler, more translucent. You’re disappearing, Henry.”

“Ah.” He nodded, eyes turned to the window. “I see.” He
looked back at her. “There are worse fates, I suppose.”

“Henry,” Akira asked, a little desperately. “Is there a door?
Or a passageway? A place where you should be going? A way back to that cloud?
Because I think if you fade, it means . . . I think it means you’re gone
forever.” Putting words to the fear for the first time was almost a relief.

Back before Daniel, she’d accepted the idea that ghosts were
energy. Left-over energy. She thought of herself as a pragmatic scientist: she
didn’t believe in life after death, just that some people, perhaps with some
kind of a unique quality to their body’s electrical impulses, experienced a
temporary transformation.

But Daniel and his father had gone somewhere, she was sure of
it. And that meant that there was somewhere to go. Somewhere Henry ought to go,
before he faded any further.

“Oh, yes,” Henry said readily.

“Yes?” Although it was the response she hoped for, Akira was
startled.

“It’s not really a door,” Henry said. “It’s more like an opening.
Like a hole almost.”

“Like a tunnel?” Akira asked.

“Oh, could be.” Henry appeared to be looking at something
over her shoulder and Akira couldn’t help turning to look. She saw nothing. She
turned back to Henry as he shrugged. “I don’t think I’d call it a tunnel,
exactly. More just . . . a place. An entry.”

“An air lock?” Akira asked, her curiosity getting the better
of her.

Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t think it’s an alien
spaceship,” he said. “It’s not something from one of those movies Rose likes.”

“Mystery Science Theater?”

“That’s the show,” Henry sighed. “I didn’t think those movies
were all that good the first time around. I don’t really see why Rose needs to
watch them again.

Akira had to smile, as Henry shook out his newspaper as if he
was going to start reading again. “But Henry,” she said hastily. “If there’s a
door, why don’t you go through? It’s got to be better than wasting away.”

“Not without Rose.” Henry turned a page of the paper.

“But Henry—” Akira began to protest. Didn’t he understand?

“Not without Rose.” Henry’s answer was firm. “I’m not leaving
her. Not again.”

Akira frowned, then got up and went to the base of the
stairs. “Rose!” she called up the stairs. Rose would be watching television, of
course, but she never minded being interrupted. “Can you come down here,
please?”

She returned to the table and took her seat again. Henry’s
newspaper was up, hiding his face, and Akira brushed her hand through it
impatiently, shivering when the energy tingled her skin. She couldn’t move the
paper, the way she’d be able to if it was physical, but he’d be able to see her
hand. “You can’t hide,” she said. “We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yes, Akira? What is it?” Rose popped into the room. “Are you
going to say yes? Please? Pretty please?”

Akira sighed even as she smiled. “I’ve told you, Rose, I don’t
know enough people here to have a party.”

“Just a little one,” Rose suggested. “A little dinner party.
You could make fried chicken. My mama’s recipe is really good. I’ll teach you.”

Akira shook her head. “I’ll think about it,” she promised, as
she did every time Rose brought up the subject. “But we have a bigger issue
right now, and I need your help.”

“Ooh, I get to help you?” Rose sounded surprised, but
pleased. “What can I do?”

“You need to tell Henry that it’s time to move on.” Akira
waved her hand through his newspaper again. “Put the paper down, Henry.”

Rose’s smile had faded. She stood in the center of the
kitchen, looking uncertainly at the table where they were seated. “What do you
mean?”

“Henry’s fading,” Akira told her, still looking at Henry. He
was ignoring her. “But he says that he can see a way to go somewhere else. You
need to tell him to go.”

“But I don’t want him to go!” Rose protested, planting her
hands on her hips and glaring at Akira.

The room turned abruptly cooler, as if a breeze had just
blown through. Oh, hell. Akira had been so focused on Henry that she hadn’t
thought about how Rose was going to react. She took a careful breath.

“Henry,” she said cautiously. “Will you explain to Rose,
please?”

Perhaps Henry could hear the note of fear in her voice,
because he heaved a ghostly breath and put his paper down. Standing, he crossed
to Rose and said mildly, “Now, Rose. Don’t get all upset. I’m not going to
leave you.” He moved to put a comforting arm around her, but it passed right
through her. She looked startled as he shook his head, and said, “Ah, right.
Forgot.”

“Henry?” Rose reached out to touch his face, but her hand
just kept moving as if he wasn’t there. She whirled to face Akira, snapping, “What
have you done to him?”

Damn. Akira shivered. Rose was drawing in so much energy that
the room was getting cold. The breeze had become a crisp winter wind. Akira
measured the distance to the door with her eyes. She’d have to go straight
through Rose to get there. Instead she pushed her chair back, a little closer
to the wall.

“Hush, Rose,” Henry interjected. “She hasn’t done a thing. I’ve
been like this for a while. You just haven’t noticed.”

“I—I didn’t notice?” Rose’s voice was tragic, her blue eyes
wide. “Not notice you? Oh, Henry.” Her lip wobbled, as if she was a child on
the verge of tears.

“None of that, now.” Henry waved a firm finger at her. “I don’t
mind so much. I’m sorry I can’t touch you, but it’s not so bad.”

“He’s fading,” Akira said in a quiet voice. She didn’t want
to call Rose’s attention to her, but Rose needed to know. “Like the boys in the
backyard.”

“The boys?” Rose looked to the door. “But they never come
inside anymore. They used to be so much fun, but now—they never talk, they
never even answer.” She looked back to Henry. “Will you be like that?”

He shrugged. “Might could be. Can’t say as I know, dear.”
Moving slowly, he returned to the table, his paper back in his hands.

Rose watched him, and then, subdued, said to Akira, “What can
I do?”

“He has a way to go somewhere. A door. You need to convince
him to take it.”

“That thing?” Rose made a face.

“You see it, too?” Akira asked, surprised. “Why don’t you use
it?”

“Pfft.” Rose waved off the suggestion. “It’s been here ever
since Henry got here, but I’m not going through that. I know what’s over there.
No, thank you.” But then she paused and bit her lip. “But you should go, Henry,”
she said, sliding into a seat at the table, as Akira hastily shifted farther
away. “It’s different for you.”

“Not without you, dear,” he said, opening up his paper.

“That’s just silly,” Rose told him. “Why, Henry, on the other
side of the door for you is heaven. St. Peter, pearly gates, streets of gold.”

“Pearls,” Henry said thoughtfully. He looked at Akira. “That’s
what that light was like. That color inside seashells, sort of white but real
colorful at the same time.”

Akira tried to imagine it, but picturing herself inside a
seashell wasn’t easy. She wanted to ask more questions—was it hard and shiny?
He’d said it was like a cloud before. How could a seashell be misty? But it
wasn’t as important as what was happening to Henry. “You’re changing the
subject, Henry. You need to move on. Otherwise, you’re going to fade away.
Either way, you’ll be gone.”

“I’m not leaving without Rose,” he repeated stubbornly, not
looking at either of them.

“Heaven, Henry,” Rose told him again. “Eternal bliss. That’s
a lot better than fading away to nothing.”

“We talked about this before, Rose. Back when I first passed.
I’ll go if you come with me. If not, I’m waiting right here until you’re ready.”

For the next few minutes, Rose and Henry argued. Or rather
Rose tried to argue, and Henry repeated himself patiently. Finally, Rose seemed
to give up. The pretty ghost was frowning, her face worried, but she didn’t
seem to have anything further to say. The three of them sat in silence.

Akira turned her glass a few times, studying it thoughtfully,
before finally saying, in as gentle a voice as she could manage, “Rose? If you
think it’s heaven on the other side of the door, why don’t you want to go
there?”

“It won’t be heaven for me,” Rose said flatly. “Sinners burn
in a pit of fire.”

Akira didn’t know what she believed anymore. Pits of fire
sounded implausible to her, but then so did ghosts. Still, eternal damnation
seemed awfully extreme for anything Rose could or would have done.

Henry must have felt the same way, because he didn’t even
pause before rejecting Rose’s words. “God wouldn’t damn you, Rose. Never. There’s
nothing you could do that his love isn’t strong enough to forgive.”

She looked at him, and her mouth twisted, and for a moment,
it seemed as if she would stay silent. And then she said, “Pennyroyal tea.”

The words meant nothing to Akira, but Henry looked taken
aback. “Oh.” He paused, then, with a reluctant curiosity, asked, “Who?”

“Tommy Shaw.”

“Tommy!” Henry protested, almost recoiling. “He put a snake
in your lunchbox!”

“I know that,” Rose said, crossing her arms over her chest
and looking defensive. “It wasn’t even—I didn’t—it wasn’t—it had nothing to do
with him, really.”

“Well, why, then?” Henry sounded perplexed, his wrinkled face
creasing into worried lines.

Rose sighed, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “I was just mad
at my parents. They’d said such mean things to me about seeing you, I guess I
figured I’d show them.”