Ren and I spent days holed up together. I couldn’t really tell how many, since we didn’t change it up much, aside from a trip to a sex shop to try some stuff out. He didn’t go to work, and I didn’t have to be anywhere at all. So we mostly stayed in bed. It felt good, having a bed again. I liked pretending to wake up to his face.
On what I suspected might’ve been the third day, I had to ask.
“I hate to bring it up, but… don’t you need to make rent?”
He groaned, stretching lazily under the sheets, as if about to get up. But he just rolled over and threw an arm around me. “I’ll do a few rides later, and I’ll get groceries with the dead guy’s credit card.”
The doorbell rang. He sprang right up, jumping into some boxers and jeans before throwing the door open. I forgot myself, going to cover up with his sheets, before remembering. There wasn’t anyone outside, anyway—just packages. Huge ones.
“What are those?” I asked.
“Furniture,” he said, dragging one of them inside, then the other. “One for me, another for the Haunt.”
There’d be no better way to tell the wallflowers about us than to show up for a delivery together.
On the drive there, I put my feet up on his dashboard, imagining I could feel the wind from the rolled-down windows whipping my hair. We sang together to one of his ancient CDs. I’d memorized the lyrics from listening backstage.
“I can’t believe you opened for these guys,” he said.
I winked. For once, the recollection didn’t hurt.
At first, it looked like lots of traffic jamming the street in front of the Haunt. I figured the big yellow excavator must’ve been passing through. But there were lots of crewmen running around, and they weren’t going anywhere. The excavator left the street, making its way slowly and laboriously over our front lawn.
In my panic, I forgot to concentrate on staying in the car. It drove right through me, leaving me collapsed in the street, open-mouthed and staring. Only for a moment. I didn’t have to feel my knees to use them, forcing myself upright.
Ren wrenched into park, tires screeching, and got out. I spirited straight to him, grabbing his sleeve.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He’d gone pale, as rattled as if it were his own home about to be torn apart. “I could talk to them.”
“And say what? ‘My friends are in there—and by the way, they’re dead’?”
“I’ve got to do something.”
He hadn’t even known the wallflowers for long. But he’d probably never had so many friends.
I tightened my grip as he tried to shake me off. He just slipped out of his hoodie, not caring how it would look floating in my hands. I dropped it and spirited again, right in front of him.
Before he could barrel past me, or right through me, I reached for his face. That surprised him into staying put.
I didn’t put it gently. “You’ll look crazy.”
“I don’t care.”
He didn’t sound all that convincing, his voice low. I leaned up for a kiss, like I could pass some sense to him that way, borrow a bit of courage in return. We jolted apart as the excavator gave a roaring whine of life.
I let go of him. “Wait here.”
He tried one last time. “Let me help.”
“You’re not one of us,” I said. “We’ll be fine in the rubble. You won’t.”
With that, I risked leaving him alone out on the street as I spirited away.
* * *
Alastair lounged outside, pretending to sit at a café table, flipping through an abandoned newspaper like the pages were being turned by the wind. For a moment, I forgot the cause of my shaky limbs and leaden stomach, as if I were just nervous about bothering him in the daytime.
It must’ve shown on my face, because as soon as he looked up, he sprang to his feet. “What’s wrong?”
My voice echoed strangely in my ears. “They’re tearing us down.”
He didn’t bother hiding the alarm in his eyes. That bared emotion scared me more than anything, until his brow eased, mouth set in a line.
“It’s happening at last.”
His resignation scared me even more.
He disappeared. When I followed, I squinted up through the sunlight at the huge yellow excavator. It dipped its great claw down toward the west corner of the entrance, which already lay broken open. It went for the first floor, starting at the foundation. Once that went, the rest would soon fall.
I spirited inside. All the walls were shaking. Leaves dropped off the dried vines, and crumbling plaster fell like snow from the ceiling. I could feel all the other ghosts as if we were dancing together in the ballroom, but with no pulse. Instead, they gave off waves of surprise and despair.
Danny and Carlos stood right in the thick of it. Ever the scientists, they had to come and investigate. My instincts told me to grab them and yank them back, their bodies so soft and vulnerable against the size and noise of the great metal beast devouring our home. But they’d be fine. As part of the ceiling began to collapse, the spray of plaster and brick went right through them.
“We can’t let them do this,” said Danny. Her hands jutted and stuttered. “My research, it’s all on paper and hard drive.”
“Could we hide it somewhere safe?” asked Carlos. “Or upload it somewhere?”
I hated to bring it up, but they needed to hear it. “What if someone finds it?”
That might earn some smiting. I wondered if the powers that be had sent the excavator like an old-fashioned plague.
The crane went still. And it stayed still, long enough that it might’ve stopped. The building ceased to shake and crack and powder down.
Somehow, we all knew to meet in the ballroom. I’d never seen it so full in the daytime. Now, rather than moving in unison, everyone stood apart. Wanderers from so many times and places, stark in their differences without music to wind them together.
Evie found me in the crowd. I didn’t even flinch when she reached for me, each of us clutching the other by the arm in a tense embrace.
I held out my palms helplessly, because as much as I wanted to tell her he’d take care of everything, I didn’t know for sure. He might’ve slipped straight into the machine, but I didn’t know if he had enough working knowledge of modern mechanics to do anything. Or whether we could get away with interfering with the living so openly without consequences.
It made me cringe with guilt not to be there with him. But—for all the fuss I’d made about not wanting to be here anymore—at that moment, it didn’t seem so tempting to try and cross over. I’d just warmed up to the idea of sticking around a while longer. And I’d thought a good deal of that time would be spent here in this ballroom, dancing the years away. If anything, I’d figured I’d be the one to go first, long before this roof came down.
I let go of Evie. As much as I wanted to hold her through this, I couldn’t keep my walls up. She didn’t need to feel my existential dread.
“Come on, we’re ghosts,” said Carlos. He paced restlessly, eager to spring to action. “We could just scare them off.”
Danny’s voice was worryingly deadpan, despite her constant motion. “It’s not like we can file a complaint.”
Some of the other ghosts took up the rallying cry. They weren’t as practical.
“Could we put blood on the walls?” a foundling suggested.
“You know how to do that?” asked Flo.
“They’re not going to be spooked by a bunch of stacked-up chairs,” said the mall rat. “We’ve got to bring on the chills.”
“Don’t even think about it,” said Alastair.
There were murmurs and shouts and even clapping as he appeared. He looked wrecked, trying to heave in unneeded breath, as if he’d somehow found a way to overexert himself on this side.
“You stopped them?” asked Flo.
His look was dark. “For now.”
Wilhelmina crossed her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They’re not going to let an odd equipment failure ruin this job and send them back to their contractor offering a refund. Somebody wants this place razed. They’ll reschedule and return.”
I nearly laughed. Like anybody here would grasp modern business jargon, let alone care about the mundane motivations behind the destruction.
“So stop them again,” Danny said.
Alastair’s mask held, but his voice ran ragged. “I can’t.”
“Why not?” asked Carlos.
“I’ve interfered enough,” he said, raising his voice, then dropping it just as quickly. “If I do any more, I might cross. So would all of you, if you tried anything cute.”
That garnered him a moment of silence to catch his breath. I looked around at all the expectant faces.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
“We’ll have to move on.”
His words dropped heavy on the crowd, sending ripples of shouts and whispers. He silenced the waves with an upheld palm.
“Don’t forget: We’re dead. We don’t need shelter over our heads, or ground under our feet. As long as we stay together, we’ll always find someplace to dance.”
After a respectful silence of acknowledgment, all the ghosts got to talking again, steadier and lighter now, in agreement.
“Not all of us dance,” I said.
If he heard me, he pretended otherwise.