Evie took months to finally sit up and talk. Her voice croaked with disuse, almost infantile. It got stronger as her requests deepened in complexity: water, fresh air, knowledge. Every time, she had to ask the year. Her parents, worn but kind-faced older Black folks who would hold hands and pray out loud over her bed, began to gently remind her every time she woke up.
Soon, once she could articulate enough through her raspy throat, she started asking tougher questions.
“Hey there,” she said, looking right at me.
I froze. At least we had the rare opportunity of both of her parents being gone. Her dad had gone out to get them lunch, and her mother had stepped out, probably to the bathroom.
“Have we met?” she asked. “I’ve been forgetting a lot lately.”
She could see me. And she must’ve remembered at least some of the afterlife, if my face was familiar.
She’d find out sooner or later—but I couldn’t decide which would be kinder. She’d been through a lot lately.
Then again, if a geist came walking through the walls, she’d no doubt point it out to her folks. They wouldn’t see it, and they’d think she had even more brain damage than the doctors had charted. Better for me to be her first ghost. Well, maybe not ghost. Something more comforting.
“I’m your guardian angel.”
“… Huh?”
But she did need a slight scare, for starters. Just so she’d take me seriously. So I waved my hand through her IV. She gave a yelp. For good measure, I went through the chairs, and the end of her bed, so there’d be no doubt in her mind what she’d witnessed.
“Fear not,” I said.
Her eyes were huge. “Too late.”
“There’s no easy way to break it,” I said. “You came back from the afterlife, which causes some side effects.”
“More side effects?” she asked.
“Not physical, more… well, metaphysical.”
Right at the worst time, her mom came back from the bathroom.
“You’re awake,” said her mom, and then she told her the date for good measure, and asked if she needed any water.
“She can’t see me,” I said.
“Uh huh,” said Evie—to me, not her mom. She took the offered water anyway.
“I’ll tell you more later,” I promised. “For now, try your best to go back to your life.”
Later that night, while her parents slept, I came back. I felt bad waking her, but not too bad. She’d had plenty of sleep the last few years.
“It’s me.”
“You’re no angel,” she said. “The Haunt… it wasn’t a dream?”
“I wish,” I admitted.
Her face fell suddenly. “What about Ally?”
My throat closed up, trying to prevent me from breaking it to her, after all she’d been through already. I couldn’t lie anymore.
I shook my head. “You don’t remember?”
Her eyes spilled over. “I hoped it wasn’t real. But… you saved me?”
I tried to wave it off. “Don’t mention it.”
That made her laugh through the tears. “I’ve got to! How—how can I pay you back?”
“Just live.”
She did her best to hold her arms open, beckoning me closer. It didn’t feel the same anymore, now that she had her own body. The warmth of her gratitude didn’t flood me anymore, but it still bled through.
She couldn’t hide the quiver of a sob in my ear. “I’m still scared.”
“You’re not alone,” I said. “You know who else is going to be here in rehab?”
“Wait, who?”
This time, it wouldn’t be a missed connection.
* * *
Ren got transferred to the same brain injury rehabilitation center as Evie. As soon as he could leave his room unsupervised, he didn’t ask permission to go visit. While he rolled his wheelchair down the hallway, I reached up and dimmed the fluorescent lights for him until he reached her room.
Through the walls, Mrs. Green asked, “What’s wrong with the lights?”
Leah answered the door, sharing a double take with her mom. “Ren, right?”
Evie gave a tiny shriek. “Your hair!”
Her family raised their eyebrows. She shouldn’t have been up to date about anybody’s hair.
He covered for her. “I’ve had it pretty long since high school.”
Mrs. Green’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that’s right! I remember—you brought flowers.”
“We’ll let you two catch up,” said Leah, with a conspiratorial smile that her mom didn’t seem to catch. But I did.
Ren pulled up by the bedside once they left.
“What happened to you?” asked Evie.
“I might’ve taken a tumble over the side of a building.”
She couldn’t keep from glancing at me, understanding what he really meant. “I’m sorry.”
“I made it, at least,” he said. His eyes glinted as he grinned at her. “We made it.”
I shivered. The two of them now shared an experience that very few—if any—others could ever claim. And they were both alive.
Gingerly, he reached out, watching her face for any sign of protest. Her eyes were soft. He touched his fingers to hers. A slight gasp escaped her, and she smiled. So he went ahead and squeezed her hand.
It hurt more than I’d thought it would.