Chapter Twelve

Jacob picked Ethan up at noon. He’d packed a black backpack full of a kid’s summer camp lunch for the occasion: several peanut butter and jam sandwiches on whole wheat, along with grape juice boxes and granola bars. Jacob drove with his shades at the end of his nose, the scarred side of his face visibly taut in the shadows of the passing trees. Even though the sun was out and the temperature was in the twenties and crawling higher, he wore his leather jacket and black jeans as if it were beachwear. Ethan sweltered under his collared shirt, his chest compression binder pooling sweat in places he didn’t know he had.

“I hate summer,” Ethan said. “Or spring. Whatever this is. I miss sleeping through the heat waves and only coming out at night.”

“I understand. All my good clothing is winter clothing. You mind if I dig into our food?”

Ethan shrugged and handed over one of the sandwiches. Jacob hadn’t told him how much this journey would pay, but when pressed, he said in the possible four to five figures. After over two hours on the road and with food in his stomach, he was still tight-lipped about the whole ordeal. He busied himself with switching radio stations as the signal faded before he gave up entirely and asked Ethan to retrieve a Queen CD from a collection booklet in the back.

“You ever notice how ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ is everyone’s and no one’s favourite song?”

Ethan continued to pick at his second sandwich, appetite all but gone. Jacob rambled incessantly over the music, to the point where Ethan wondered if this trip was even worthwhile. When they crossed the border, it was at a different entryway than they normally took. Everything looked the same, like the myriad of duplicate bus stations where their deals went down—except when Jacob pulled out onto a new highway, they were bombarded by strange and almost iridescent billboards. The font was large and bold-faced. Each sign, though with a different slogan, had the same symbol in the corner. Ethan didn’t recognize it—the symbol was more like a large circle with a dozen more intertwined—but it was surely religious in nature with how aggressive the messages became.

HAVE YOU BEEN SAVED?

CALL HOME.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR MOTHER?

“Wow,” Ethan said. “They should take it down a notch. Not everyone can stand religion being shoved down their throat.”

“It’s not wholly religious. At least not any of the Big Three.”

“Then what is it? Because it’s certainly speaking about souls.” Ethan gestured to a billboard with the words SOULS UNITE AND ENERGIZE in the centre of it. “Sounds religious to me.”

“I think they prefer a different affiliation, closer to the spiritualist movement of the Victorian era.”

“Come again?”

Jacob lifted his shades to the top of his head. He pulled the car into the left lane as they came up on a large red billboard, bigger than any previous. The symbol at the centre came into clear focus; now Ethan recognized it from the bumper stickers on the cars at the bus stops.

“What does that mean?”

“The insignia is the sign for Sahasrara, a thousand petal flower and known to be associated with the crown chakra in kundalini energy circles. The crown is the top of spiritual ascension, where all the positive energy flows and people can become whole again.”

“Okay. Um. That was a whole bunch of New Age goobledygook to me. What does it mean? In this case, right now. Why is it on a billboard?”

“The Sahasrara is also the official sign for the Crown, a continuation of the occult spiritualist movement from the 1900s. Like I said.”

“So is it a cult? Something like scientology?”

“There are no aliens here or auditing, so no, it’s not like scientology. And cult is a bit pejorative for them. They’re more like a society for the supernatural excavation of the land. They’re interested in enchanted objects, cursed houses, and cryptographic evidence—anything that allows them access to a higher plane. Primarily, they work with energy around people, believing it to be the first stop toward obtaining the highest form of energy—the Crown itself.”

“Energy around people like auras? Chakras?”

“Yes, that’s the most basic form. But there’s also energy around ghosts and the objects the living once held.”

“Ghosts?”

“Yes,” Jacob said. “Most ghosts, this society believes, are actually made of reinterpreted energy. That is what makes the soul—or the spirit—or the incarnated body. It’s the energy that remains eternal, along with the physical particles that once animated life. The energy workers from the Crown find and harness these blips of energy in hopes of piecing together a larger map of the in-between realm. The space between the living and the dead is a radio frequency away, and they’re sure that if they find the right object, they can conduct ghosts and use the energy for spiritual quests or conversations.”

Ethan blinked, trying to rearrange the new information about the occult in with his old information from late night TV movies and Aurora. His heart pounded, and he wished he hadn’t eaten. Everything felt unreal and then like he wanted to throw up. The air was heavy, and Ethan wondered if there were ghosts sparking against his skin—and if they had always been there. More billboards passed them by, announcing and proclaiming.

“Are you okay?” Jacob asked.

“I am. I’m just…trying to figure out how my old Ouija board from the seventh grade falls into this.”

“It is one of the most basic tools, but yes, the Ouija board operates on similar principles. The Crown looks at the energy that pushes the censor forward—but the Ouija is not scientific enough. There are so many things it can collect and use as energy, not all of them spiritual in nature. There are thousands and thousands of particles in the air. When you get the right ones together, though, you can make a former person. A ghost is an arrangement of particles much stronger than air, than clouds, but weaker than humans. The Crown and its workers try to create people out of what’s left behind.”

“So there are ghosts, but they’re particles?” Ethan asked. When Jacob nodded, Ethan wanted to believe. He caught his hope at the tip of his tongue—but swallowed it back. “That still sounds like a cult, Jacob. And a crock of shit. How much are you in for?”

Jacob only laughed. “You know, that’s a fit analogy—shit. The society does study shit, in a way. Take a decomposing body—it will release gas. It fertilizes soil. The flowers grow. And you have a new life force. But there’s excess to that energy, run off, methane. All humans are an assortment of cells that got out of hand. So when we break down, our cells break apart—and are used again. Repurposed. We become dirt; we become shit; we become flowers. But it’s all the same energy, all the same life force. That’s all they’re studying here.”

“How poetic of you. Of them.” The red sign in front of the car contained the message: WE ARE CONNECTED. SERVE THE PURPOSE. Ethan rolled his eyes. “You’re borrowing from slogans.”

“Maybe.” More signs appeared, each one another clone of the former. “But you do have to admit, Ethan, this is all kind of like poetry in motion. The cells, when broken apart, lack the connective tissue. It’s the Crown’s job to pull those parts together and reconstitute a life. That’s what ghosts are made of—energy and poetry.”

“Gag,” Ethan said. “Wait. Does that mean we’re ghost hunters? Is that what’s happening right now?”

“Not exactly. Most ghosts don’t need to be hunted. They usually just want to go home.”

“What does that even mean?”

Jacob didn’t respond. The billboards came every exit now, their slogans more and more like reading queer fortune cookies. The dense downtown core they had been driving alongside soon became farmland, lush trees, and rolling flatlands. Ethan didn’t know what state he was in. Like the underground rock surface in Hamilton, this wasn’t even a place on a map anymore.

Yet the billboards made Ethan believe he was in the mundane world. Why else would you have to advertise for your cult unless you were in the real world and needed followers? Ethan glanced at exit signs for answers but still had no idea where he was.

“Where are you taking me?” Ethan asked after some time had passed. “Please answer this time. I’m getting sick of the cryptic shit. And I’m not gonna tell my fortune through billboard signs.”

“We’re going to a Crown-operated homestead. A lot of this will make more sense when we get there. Don’t worry though. You’re safe. You have your phone too.”

“But I can’t afford the roaming charges.” Ethan had set his cell on airplane mode as soon as they reached the border. He slumped down in his seat, turning up the Queen CD as they rolled off the highway and into the wilderness. When he started to sing “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Jacob sang along.

“See? Everyone knows the lyrics. It’s the perfect song.”

Ethan didn’t argue.

A mauve-coloured sign announced the Crown homestead an hour later. One of the Sahasrara flowers was painted below the title and littered on seemingly every signpost, fence, and car over the large property. Two main houses sat along a fence while a large barn sat in the distance. Though the land had clearly been a farm in the past, there was no evidence of any crops within the past ten years or so. A dirt road led onto the property, where Jacob parked next to another Mazda 3, this one in silver. Another red car, bumper stickers intact, was also parked, followed by several now-familiar tour buses. HOME was written as the final destination point in their windows.

“We’re going to head to the first house,” Jacob said. “Unless they have a ceremony going on.”

“Ceremony?”

“Yeah, in the barn. If they’re in the middle of that, we’ll go in and watch.”

After stepping out of the car, Jacob took Ethan’s hand. Ethan’s first impulse was to pull away; he swallowed it down along with the lingering fear that tickled the back of his neck. It was easier to hold onto someone as they made their way over the bumpy terrain and toward a house growing more decrepit the closer they were. If what Jacob said was true—which was still a big if in Ethan’s mind, despite of all he’d been through the past month—then he wondered if this house was haunted. It certainly looked that way with the slate-gray colour of the outer walls, the broken-down steps, and the lone tire swing on a rickety leaf-barren tree at the front. The place was something from The Amityville Horror, or from National Enquirer pamphlets. A purple thousand-petal flower hung on the doorknocker, giving the house the only splash of colour—and forlorn hope.

When Jacob knocked on the door, no one answered. He led Ethan to the back of the porch, where the interior of the barn was visible. Light spilled from outside, breaking up the shadows already forming from the lowering sun.

“Definitely a ceremony going on,” Jacob confirmed. “Come on, we won’t disturb anything. You may even get to see more Ouija boards you know so much about.”

Ethan scoffed, but he was growing more intrigued by the second. Nothing had reached out and snatched at his legs. No one had screamed. The only noise he heard was the soft hum of music coming from the open barn door. This may not have been a church, but Ethan was still worried he’d be greeted by worshippers in long skirts and bonnets, living a life off-grid. Or by a bunch of men in short-sleeved shirts and black pencil ties, ready to ask him about his saviour. Even when they walked into the barn and took a seat on a bench, the ceremony remained secular. The chairs were white and the fold-up types, more suited for a wedding than a ritual. A woman in a long purple robe stood at the front. Three people sat cross-legged in front of her, pushing something around on a pile of sand. Rocks? Rakes? Ethan wasn’t sure. As the woman spoke, she moved her hands. Noise spilled out from the podium in front of her, as if the entire barn itself was a theremin and they were all trapped inside as the music, rather than listening to it.

The three people in front of the woman moved their fingers into the sand. They hummed along with her. A hymn, Ethan was sure, but nothing like he’d ever heard before. When she raised her hands in the air, it reminded him of an old movie poster where Moses had parted the Red Sea. Here, though, she merely stopped the music with a sudden jolt.

“Thank you for coming, everyone. Even the latecomers. Three in the afternoon, like three in the morning, is a powerful time for spirit work. And for communication.” She paused to take a deep breath. Her voice sounded soft and liquid like honey. Her eyes crinkled, kind and energetic. “In the modern world, we let our earthly communication fall by the wayside. Phones and computers do it all for us. But there is something to be said for staring people in the eye. Holding their hands. Talking to them one on one. We need our new technologies—and let me tell you, I love my phone—but putting it down and unplugging is nice. We are putting things down today, here at the Crown, in hopes of receiving new messages.”

The people in the piles of sand slammed their hands down in front of them. Grains went everywhere. The people in the front row on chairs collected the sand, dropping each handful they held into a bucket in front of them. When they rubbed the sand inside the buckets, a stark white paper emerged. The woman at the front stepped forward and held up a letter, as if drawn from the dirt itself.

“We have the newest communication,” she said. “A letter from one of our world-weary travellers.”

“She means ghosts,” Jacob stage-whispered to Ethan. “Not us. We’re the workers.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. And that woman…?”

“Her name is Tessa Williams. She’s the first energy worker.”

“And who is she talking to now?”

“Don’t know yet.” Jacob’s attention fixated on the people at the front. Tessa combed some of her brown hair over her ears. She had no microphone. Despite being at the back of the barn, Ethan could hear her perfectly, as if she were standing right next to him.

Tessa read the letter aloud. The prose was meandering, like a child’s Christmas list. It concluded with “And that is why I have come here because I can’t be this full of regret. I see what I see and I know what I know. I’m dead. I know this. But I still can’t move on. There is nothing there. Nothing. I am full of regret.”

“Nothing,” Tessa repeated. She waited on the word. “There is nothing after death. What a scary thought, right? But there is something. You all prove there is something here. This letter proves there is something more. Maybe not heaven. Maybe not an underworld where we can travel to and make bargains. But there is the in-between place. If you can talk to someone from that place, you are not alone.”

“We are not alone,” the crowd cried out in unison. “We are coming home.”

Jacob didn’t repeat the chant back, but his head bounced along, following every word Tessa proclaimed.

“I’m going to pass around a plate. If you are so kind, please deliver some solace to one of our friends in the in-between place, so they can come home again. We don’t know who this letter is from. Not yet. But let them know they’re not alone, and that they too can come home. One day, it could be you.”

A small, purple dish—in the same shade as the woman’s robe—made its way through the front row. People deposited all they could inside it, seeming to turn their pockets inside out. Ethan watched in awe while fighting the bitter taste in his mouth. Tessa’s words were so moving, and yet, she was asking for money—so this had to be a cult. What else would evoke the names of the dead for a cash reward?

Tessa shifted to sit with the people on the floor dragging their hands through sand. Now visible was a picture on the back wall. Ethan gasped. The picture was of a body, lined and traced like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man. On the foot was a triangle marked out in iridescent black paint, followed by another triangle on the neck, and of course, on the chest. All three of the points were connected together by a thin red thread. The warbling sound from before returned, as if it were moving between the three points on the man’s body, as if he had been turned into electric rhythm.

“What the fuck is this?” Ethan asked Jacob. “What the fuck is that?”

“I told you before. You have the mark of the vessel. It makes you good at transporting things. Like dragon eggs and juju…but also ghosts.”

“What?”

Jacob clasped Ethan’s hand, pulling their bodies tight together in order to keep their voices low and not disturb the sudden rushing of coins and bills into the collection plate. “Ghosts can’t cross water. Did you know that?”

Ethan shook his head.

“Each ghost, in order for it to manifest, needs to find an anchor object. Something small, usually, like a necklace or a tie or a music box. But they need the anchor to keep their energy aligned in some way. No matter how strong the anchored object is, though, the water will disrupt the flow. So ghosts become trapped in certain locations, unable to move beyond certain points. And if their objects are pulled over water without them, they can become utterly lost inside the in-between place, pure unincorporated energy. But some earthly people, like those in the Crown, seek out ghosts—especially the lost ones—in order to reunite them, and oftentimes, bring them home again.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s evidence. You are not alone. There is something after death, even if it’s not what we thought.” Jacob gestured to the crowd. Every kind of person was there. Young, old, feeble, sane, and even some who, Ethan was sure, were trans. The jawlines and small feet gave them away. He turned to Jacob again.

“And I fall into this how?”

“You can carry ghosts. Inside you.”

“Because of these marks?”

“Because you’ve died before. Ghosts can anchor to you, and you can hold their anchor objects, and everyone can cross the water safely. They can get to where they want to go that way—and it’s the only way. The water is hallowed ground, or something like that, so it diffuses the energy. Tessa can explain it better than I can.”

“But why would ghosts need to go across water?”

“Because that’s where home is. Families move. Some want to visit other places. Some don’t like where they’ve ended up. For someone, say a soldier who dies in Iraq, he ends up being lost in a foreign country with no way out. He needs someone to take him over the ocean, or he’s stuck in the misery of where he died. Same for anyone else who has died away from where they want to be.”

“All these people,” Ethan gestured to the crowd. “Are they trying to ship their loved ones back?”

“Some are trying to find their loved ones, but not all of them. Some help because they want to. Need to.”

The collection plate bumped against Ethan’s arm. He took it from the person, a tall Black man standing over him, and offered it to Jacob. “I don’t have to give anything, do I? I don’t know anything…”

Jacob shook his head. “No, there’s no need for you to give. This is actually for us.”

The purple collection plate was heavy in his hands. Coins stacked against the bottom and numerous green bills lined the top. There had to be at least a grand in the plate. Tessa appeared by Ethan’s side before he could count or question. She placed a hand on his shoulder and touched the hair over his neck, sliding it over to see the mark. Like Jacob had done in the gazebo. Ethan shirked away.

“Hello. Thank you for coming,” Tessa said. “Sorry I wasn’t out there to meet you. I didn’t expect you this early.”

“We made good time.” Jacob rose to shake her hand. “You’re ready for us?”

“I am. But is he?”

Jacob’s gaze fell on Ethan. He could feel the rest of the barn full of people turning to him. If the mark on his neck was exposed, like it was in the Vitruvian Man painting, then everyone could fill in the blanks. He was not exactly a chosen one, but certainly a prized object. The perfect vessel. A natural. His stomach flipped. He wanted to throw up for the second time.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“It won’t be for long. You get one ghost and you take them across the border to a location in Canada. You keep their anchor object on yourself until they release from your body and deposit back into their object. The ghost leaves, finds their family. Everyone is happy.”

“So I’d basically be possessed? For however long it took?”

“Possession is a strong word, a pejorative word,” Tessa said. “You will have total control of your mental faculties. But there will be someone else there. They’ll see inside you, through your own eyes, and you will hear their voice alongside your own.”

“So they see out my eyes as well as inside me?” Ethan asked. When Tessa nodded, he shuddered. “Can they see my organs? Can they tell me if I have cancer?”

Jacob laughed. “You know what? Probably. Better than an MRI.”

“But they won’t harm you,” Tessa added. “You are doing a great service for them. They will be grateful, not spiteful. Hence why we don’t call this possession.”

“What exactly do you call it?”

“Travel. That’s it.”

Ethan swallowed. His throat was dry. The sun was setting outside the barn, making the slats of shining light inside dwindle. The people at the front, the sand writers, were now lighting candles.

“I don’t think I can do this. Seems like a lot of pressure.”

“It pays five grand each time,” Jacob said. “In cash. For a night’s work.”

Ethan blinked. That kind of money was intense. For a night? He’d be at his surgery goal in a matter of days. Three days, three trips—tops—and he was done. Surgery and a brand-new life. An F to an M. And all for renting out a body? It seemed too good to be true, and too terrifying at the same time.

Ethan glanced around the barn. Everything shone with the patina of candlelight, casting the room in gold. Even Tessa glowed, her brown hair now cascaded with a sheen of blonde, her purple robe shimmering like something from space. The drawing of the body, with the marks of the vessel, tuned into something more. Music sounded. Ethan swore it came from inside him.

Then he swore it sounded like the ocean. He tasted salt. His future and his past played out in one blink, before fate faded out and into sharper focus.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll do it.”