THE BOY STRAIGHTENED AS I approached. He had gained more courage in his time here, but I knew it wouldn’t last. His biggest challenge was yet to come.
I stepped toward him cautiously. His eyes crinkled. His heart sank. His mind filled with the new information he thought to be true: I’m dead. I’m a ghost. He won’t see me, just like the strangers.
“Hello, Ethan,” I said.
His eyebrows rose as he sat up. “You’re talking to me?” His voice was small and broken.
“Yes, Ethan.” I nodded.
“You . . .” He paused, pointed his finger at me with an arm too apprehensive to be extended all the way. His mind was trying to decide who I was, how I came to be here, how I knew him. “You can see me? You know my name?”
I nodded again. “I know a lot about you. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me? I’ve been here for ages. You’re the one who just showed up.”
I paused. This was the difficult part. Adults accepted it quicker than children. I had to handle it carefully.
“I’ve been here too. I’ve been watching you.”
I felt his anger rise; he didn’t try to suppress it. He let it overflow into his chest, then out of his mouth, a tide that had been held back since the moment he had woken up on that beach. I understood. I expected it.
“What do you mean, watching me? I haven’t seen you.” He scrambled to his feet. He wasn’t finished, so I let him continue. He needed the release. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t know what had happened to you, Ethan. I had to wait until you knew, until you remembered.”
Tears welled in his eyes, but he blinked them back hard. It wasn’t just me he was angry with. I learned that early in this job. His outburst carried with it all the abandonment he felt, all the confusion, hurt, and disappointment that had built up in his short life. Once the dam is cracked, the feelings tumble out.
“I remember everything.” His voice was sour. “I know who I am, and I know what happened. That horrible water took it all from me.” He glared at the ocean beside us, then back at me. “You should’ve said something. You should’ve told me.”
I didn’t reply. He didn’t need to know how my job worked. I had to know about him.
Waves crashed against the cliffs around the lighthouse, higher, higher, as the snake of fear twisted in the boy’s stomach. He balled his hands into fists.
“The water ruined everything,” the boy said. “I had to do something very important. I had to help someone very important!”
He fell silent, just the waves disturbing the sound of his thoughts. It is easier for the elderly. They let go quickly after they remember, when they have the full knowledge of what’s happened to them. Whether they felt it was their time or not, most are happy to turn away from the uncertainties of life, and then my service seems noble. For the young, it is much harder, on me and for them. They have so much more to lose—a life not yet lived—and yet they still let fear take it from them so often. I do not understand why.
The boy was still holding on to his past, gripping it tightly as though it might get away. But I knew he’d let go eventually, like so many before him.
“What did you have to do?” I prodded. He had to fully let go before I could collect.
“Don’t trust him,” the bully said. The boy glanced at me to see if I’d heard. “He doesn’t care about you. He’s just like your dad. If he cared, he’d have helped you earlier. He’d have told you the truth.”
The boy narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”
“I am a Spirit Collector. I’m here to—”
“For spirits.” The boy spat out the words as though they didn’t taste good in his mouth. “So you know what I am.”
I nodded.
“And you know what brought me here, about the sea.” He glared at it again.
I nodded once more. His anger was building, so many emotions in so small a soul.
“You should’ve warned me!” he said. “If I’d known I’d end up here, like this, I’d never have gone on the stupid water. I wish I’d never . . .”
The rest of the sentence stung his mind. He wished he’d never sailed the boat. He wished he’d never gotten in the accident. But there was a bigger wish, the more terrifying wish: that he hadn’t needed to go . . . to be a man for his father . . . to help his brother.
His brother’s small face filled the boy’s thoughts, and sorrow ripped through him.
“Now my brother’s alone without me,” he said. “He won’t be able to be perfect. He’ll get scared because I’m not there to help him. . . .”
There was more he wanted to say; fear, hurt, and worry built inside him. But the bully took over.
“You’re too weak.”
“I’m too weak.”
“You’re too cowardly.”
“I’m too cowardly.”
“You’re a wuss.”
“I’m—”
The boy collapsed on the ground, despair growing with every sob. I put my hand on his shoulder. He flinched, but he didn’t pull away. He needed me—or at least, some other being. They all do, whether they want to believe it or not. Once the anger subsides, they all want to be comforted.
“I’m dead,” he said. “I failed. I’m dead and there’s nothing I can do.”
“Actually,” I said, “there is something you have to—”
“Hmmmmm mmm mmm mmmm.” The tune blossomed around us, waltzing in the air. It was his mother’s voice, and the boy knew her immediately.
“Mom!” The pain rocketed back into his head and he clamped his hands around it.
“Hmmmm mmm mmm mmmm,” she hummed.
The boy released his head, pushing through the hurt, and gazed into the sky. Searching. Wishing. Hoping.
“Come on, Ethan,” she said. “Come home.”
Her words were bright and warm, like the light that had brought him here, to the place where he had found the map and his answers.
“Mom.” His brain throbbed, but he reached his arms up and brought her words down to him, hugging them against his chest.
“It’s time to come home,” she said. “It’s time to wake up.”
The boy’s eyes lit up, his tears forgotten, as his face twisted into a confused frown. “She’s telling me to wake up and come home.”
“Spirits, or souls, can hear the voices of their loved ones,” I said, “but—”
“Wake up, Ethan. Wake up.”
The boy’s eyes sparkled for this voice too. “Ollie!” he shouted to the air, then turned back to me, realization growing. “They want me to wake up. I thought this was a memory, but it’s not, is it? They’re talking to me.”
I confirmed with a nod.
“If they want me to wake up, I must not be dead. Right? But . . . How . . . ?”
“I’ve been trying to tell you—”
“I didn’t die in the accident. I’m alive!” He screamed the words to the sky, to the clouds, to the bully.
His attention returned to the pain in his head, and he brought his hand to it like he had when he first woke up on the beach.
“I was only hurt in the accident,” he said.
“You were hurt very badly. You suffered a lot of injuries. And—”
“But I’m still alive.”
I paused. He was being persistent. That wasn’t unusual. Many before him had held on to their hope a long while, until it was eclipsed by fear. He needed to accept, then he could move on.
“Your heart is still beating,” I said.
He put his hand over where his heart would be, if he were in his body. He could feel it, even though it wasn’t there. It always amazes me how they keep their heartbeat going even as spirits. It’s an old friend. They do not want to be without it.
The boy nodded slowly. He was trying to understand.
“So my spirit is here and my body is . . . Where am I? At home?”
“Your body is in a coma in a hospital on the other island. It’s sleeping, but it can’t go on much longer without you.” I tried for a reassuring smile. “I’m here to collect you. I’ll help you to move on.”
“Good.” He stepped closer, the pain in his head dissipating once more. “Take me home now.”
I frowned. It’s awkward to have to explain this too much.
The boy misunderstood my pause. “Please?” he added.
My lips pressed together, a gesture I’d learned from the thousands of spirits I’ve faced over the years. I shook my head.
“I can’t take you home.”
“Why?” His anger was back, growing within him like a volcano.
“I am here to help you move on,” I said, emphasizing the last word. “You make the choice, then we go.”
“Yes, I’m making the choice. I want to go back.” He thought of Ollie again, and his anger simmered into anxiety. “I have to go back.”
I shook my head. “If you want to go back, you have to make that choice. And you have to take the action.”
He crossed his arms. He sensed what I meant but didn’t want it to be true. “What do you mean?”
“If you want to go back to your body, you have to go there.” I pointed to the island. “Yourself.”
His arms dropped to his side. His stiff jaw slackened. He turned toward the hump on the horizon, the long stretch of ocean, and shook his head.
Fear. It falters everyone.