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MIKAYLA AND I PAIR off for our fourth mission shortly after her breathtaking performance. She really is a fantastic singer—there's no denying that. I just wish she believed she was a fantastic singer as well.
How could someone with so much talent have such a lack of confidence? More than likely, she let a handful of critics get her down. Jealous humans often say terrible things when they're mired in their own misfortunes.
“So, where are we off to next?” Mikayla asks. “Florence? New York? The 1980's? Whatever it is, bring it on!”
Though I appreciate her enthusiasm, I suspect she might be a bit disappointed in my answer. “We're going to Wyoming, actually.”
As I guessed, her enthusiasm is immediately quashed. “O... kay. And what are we doing in Wyoming?”
While it might not sound as exciting as zipping around Florence or taking in a Broadway show, this mission is important. New students must learn that not every task is riveting, but they deserve equal attention.
I warp us to a rundown house in Gillette, Wyoming. Its windows are stained, tiles are missing from the roof, and the grass is patchy, yet overgrown. If I didn't know better, I would think it was vacant.
We find our charge in the house, sleeping in the middle of the day. I can sense her depression as soon as we enter her room. I should probably check the premises for shadowlings, just in case. Shadowlings are not only drawn to depression, they are often its source.
“Our charge,” I begin, “is Willa Newton, a thirty-one-year-old devoted daughter.” She's currently unemployed, so I identify her by her most admirable feature, rather than an occupation.
“Crap!” Mikey cries. “How are we supposed to read her mind if she's asleep?”
“There's no need.” I study Willa's eyes, moving rapidly behind heavy lids. It looks like she's dreaming. “Willa's former spirit guide had given up on this mission, but it's apparently still underway. It will now be our job to make it happen.”
“So we're getting another guide's cast-off? That's kind of weird.”
“It's not that uncommon,” I tell her. “If all missions were easy, every guide would have a ten out of ten rating. Many missions end in failure. Some guides simply cannot complete a task, or some end in surrender. Apparently, Willa's previous guide tried for two months before he finally gave up.”
“Wow,” Mikey says. “This mission must be a doozy.”
Chuckling, I reply, “I wouldn't say it's a doozy. The problem is, Willa was extraordinarily stubborn. She doesn't like to be around people. She doesn't even like to go outside, unless it's dark and the streets are empty. I guess you could say she's a recluse.”
“I can't judge. People bug me too.” Mikayla manifests a can of Coke, but she looks surprised when she does. She must have noticed my raising eyebrow, because she adds, “I thought I was thirsty, and a Coke just appeared in my hand. I'm not complaining.”
“You can't actually get thirsty as a spirit,” I inform her. “When you feel like you are, it's brought on by a craving and an illusion.”
“Cool.” Her reply sounds a bit dismissive, but I smile anyway. “So... what's our mission? What does Willa want?”
I decide to give her some background first, so we can understand our charge a bit better. “For the last three years, Willa was the caregiver of her elderly father. She took care of him as long as she could, but he was eventually moved to a rest home. Three months later, he passed away. Without him, she's been depressed and lonely, because she doesn't have anyone else. She doesn't have a car. She gets all of her groceries shipped directly to her door.”
“So, like... totally a recluse then?”
“Precisely,” I reply. “Shortly after her father's death, she tried to commit suicide, but it was prevented by one of her guides. Since then, we've had her on suicide watch.”
Between sips of her fizzy drink, Mikey says, “That sounds depressing.”
“Miss Newton has a very specific wish.” I pause for dramatic effect, which is a bit silly, because her wish is hardly dramatic. “Willa wants... a cat.”
“Aww!” Mikey cries. “I wish I had a cat or dog.”
Willa opens her eyes, but only for a bit. She rolls over, readjusts her blankets, and returns to sleep.
I say, “Don't get too excited. This mission won't be easy. Her previous guide's notes are... bleak, to say the least. He couldn't get her to adopt or shop. After all, how can you get a cat when you don't even leave your house?”
The eagerness in Mikey's eyes is immediately lost. “Yeah. I can see how that might be difficult.”
“We'll have to get clever. We'll have to think of a creative way to make this happen.”
“You'll have to think of something creative,” Mikey corrects me. “I'm still trying to get a grasp on this spirit guide stuff.”
I stare at our slumbering charge, who seems content to sleep the day away. The wheels in my head are already turning. With some effort, I don't think this mission should be as hard as it seems.
“Mikayla...” I reluctantly change the subject. “Are you sure you don't want to visit your grandfather? I know you loved him as much as our devoted daughter loved her dad, so...” I don't know how to finish my thought, so I let my voice trail off.
Mikey quickly blows me off with a, “Nah. I'm good.”
Where her grandfather is concerned, she's far from “good.” She's sad, and I know it. Mikey's always been the sort of girl who hides her pain. Even when she had cancer, she was always smiling and telling others to cheer up. For once, I wish she would be honest with her feelings.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Totally sure.” She tries to convince me with one of her classic fake smiles.
I wonder why she doesn't want to visit Grandfather James. It doesn't make sense, and I can't even read her mind to understand her decision. Her mind is totally blank, as if she's made a conscious effort to keep me out of it.
“I'll tell you someone I don't want to visit,” Mikey says. She pauses, perhaps to give me a chance to guess, but I don't have an answer for her. “I don't want to visit my mother. Ever.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Forgiveness is important, you know. You might find out that you—”
“No.” Mikey's answer is firm, leaving no room for debate. “You know she killed someone, right? I haven't visited her in three years, and I only went when Grandpa dragged me there. Deep down, I always thought... I must be broken to have a mother like that.”
“You're not broken. Your parents aren't you,” I defend her.
“So you say.” Mikey finishes her Coke, and with a flick of her hand, she makes the can disappear.
“Your Grandfather isn't broken any more than you are,” I say. “He's your mother's father. When I was your spirit guide, I—”
I stop myself from finishing, but I know she heard the truth. I was your spirit guide. That revealing sentence echoes in my head.
Judging from the scowl on Mikey's face, I believe I've said too much.