Running With the Shadows of the Night (chapter 7)

Oh, good, you’re here.

I’m here. How was your day? Did you play Battleship with Joe?

Yep. I won one and he won one.

Well done! And did you have chocolate pudding?

Yep. What did you do today?

Oh! …The usual.

What does that mean?

I hung out with friends. I read a little bit.

Oh.

Are you ready to hear the next part of the story?

Definitely!

Okay. Do you remember where we were?

Senka was really upset because she’d just seen that jerk Kenny.

Okay, then. Here we go.

Silas transported the three of them directly back to the lighthouse. Senka sat in the rocking chair, her head in her hands as Silas paced the compact living room. Luna perched uneasily on the loveseat looking between the two of them, his pupils dilated with tension.

Silas spoke first. “You’re sure that was him?”

Without looking up, Senka answered, “Yes, I’m sure.”

“He’s older than I thought he’d be.”

“That’s because you’re used to me. He’s aged, I haven’t, obviously.”

Silas paced in silence for several minutes. With a start, he paused in mid-stride, then took a seat across from Senka. “I’ve been thoughtless, caught up in my own anger and fantasies of revenge. Senka, talk to me. What are you thinking? I won’t ask if you’re alright; how could you be?”

For the first time since she had seen Kenny, Senka met Silas’ eyes. She reached a hand out to him and Silas took it. His steadiness made her realize that she was shaking. “I don’t know, Silas. My thoughts are jumbled. I thought I’d let it all go, that it didn’t matter anymore. Seeing him, I wanted to slug him in his self-satisfied mug. I also want to be the kind of person—being—who forgives. But how do you forgive someone who murders you in cold blood? I mean, we’re not talking an accident here. How much forgiveness is too much, you know what I mean? Or would it be easier for me if I did just forgive him? Right? They say forgiveness isn’t for the other person. But then I start thinking…well…I guess I imagined—and I didn’t even know this was how I was thinking, you know?—I thought that maybe he’d been found out and arrested and he was in prison. But I don’t know how that would have happened, you know? I just…I don’t…”

In one fluid movement, Silas rose, pulled Senka from her chair, and sat her down next to him on the loveseat. “If you were alive,” he said, holding her hands, “I’d tell you to take a breath. Remember what that felt like? Taking a deep breath could be so calming. Hold my hands. Focus on that.” Instead, Senka wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face to the crook of his neck. “That’s even better,” he said, tightening his arms around her. “I am so glad that you can be solid.” They sat this way for several minutes. After watching them for a bit, Luna jumped from the table and quietly left the room.

Eventually, Senka sat back and looked at Silas. “I’m better,” she said. “Calmer. I want to know a few things. First of all, what has he been doing for the last decade and a half? Did he face any questioning at all after I disappeared? What did people do? What did he say? What is he doing now? Who’s the girl we saw him with? Does she know anything about him? That’s more than enough for starters.”

“How do we find the answers?”

“We go to the library and google him. Obviously, you’ll have to do the actual typing so as not to freak out the other patrons.”

“Perhaps It is time we get a laptop. We can’t be dependent on library hours to know what’s going on around us.”

“Have you had one before?”

“Several. I always have to abandon them when my Ma…when Harou finds me.”

Senka looked at him, impressed that he was able to say the Maker’s name, then added, “I guess I never thought of you using a laptop, but you are a very hip vampire.” She arm-bumped him.

Silas smiled. “Your capacity to be upbeat in difficult situations is one of your most delightful qualities.”

“I always feel better when I have an action plan.”

Luna strutted back into the room. Held stiffly in his mouth was a pigeon as big as he was. Disconcertingly, the pigeon’s head was jerking rapidly from side to side as it tried to discern where it was being taken. Luna stood proudly in front of Senka and placed the pigeon at her feet like a ceremonial offering. The pigeon struggled upright, dazed. Luna watched Senka, then, clearly deciding she hadn’t gotten the picture, pounced on the pigeon, pinioned it, and leaped onto Senka’s lap, once again laying the pigeon down, but this time pinning it in place with a firm paw. He looked at Senka expectantly as the pigeon squirmed. Doing her best to sound warmly appreciative, Senka said, “Thank you, Luna. I really can’t accept this. I don’t eat, you see.” Unrelenting, Luna said “Mer-ow?” He picked up the pigeon again and, before she could stop him, pressed it to her mouth. As politely as she could, Senka turned her face away. Luna took a step back, staring at her. She told him, “It was very sweet of you to try to cheer me up with a pigeon. I don’t need you to do that for me, though, okay? I’m good. I promise to let you know when I could use your help.” Mollified, Luna jumped down and waddled off, straddling the bird with each step. Before long, he was back having released the bird or stowed it somewhere for later. “You, little one,” Senka said, “are one mighty hunter.”

“Moew-ah!” He curled up on the loveseat next to Senka and went to sleep, purring.

They spent the daylight hours practicing and planning. With the sunrise, there had been few shadows in the little keeper’s cottage, and anyway, Senka wasn’t ready to draw out the searing loneliness that allowed her to be insubstantial in darkness. She thought it best to focus on other tasks. As a warmup, she practiced passing through first interior, then exterior walls. The skill was coming easily in daylight. Feeling good about her progress, she turned her attention to becoming solid.

Her first thought was of the martial arts practitioners who could make themselves so heavy that the strongest person couldn’t lift them. She pictured herself as dense and immovable, an anvil, a sequoia, Denali. When she felt that she had gained substance, she said to Silas, “Okay, give me a try.” He broke away from his reading of the history of the lighthouse and stood in front of her. Slowly, he reached out. His hand passed right through her torso.

“Damn,” she said, dropping her rigid pose. “Back to the drawing board.” She saw a little wrinkle form between Silas’ eyebrows. “What?” she asked.

“I was wondering. Do you think you could hover?”

“Hover?”

“Yes, as the spirits do in Dickens. They float through the air. Not Marley, of course, but the host outside Scrooge’s window.”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“I’m trying to consider all of the possibilities that might be useful.”

“Add it to the list of what I need to work on.”

She went back to her practice, trying several other approaches. If it wasn’t heaviness that led to density, perhaps it was imagining the elimination of space between her atoms. Next, she thought if loneliness made her intangible, perhaps companionship made her tangible. But then, she should have been tangible from the moment she joined Silas and Luna. Maybe another emotion. She fell back on her actor’s exercises and conjured joy, anger, laughter, and, in desperation, jealousy. None worked. Finally, Silas suggested a break. Although she wanted to press on, she knew that he was right. “I think I’ll take a walk. Maybe something will come to me outside.”

“You’ll be safe? You won’t, I don’t know, blow away in the wind?”

“I don’t think so. I won’t go far, just where I can see the ocean.” Luna looked up as she left, but didn’t follow her.

It felt strange and exhilarating to be outside in the daytime. The marine layer had kept the lighthouse muffled in fog all day, but she could still sense the sun’s rays warming her. The lighthouse was set surprisingly far in on a level spit of the peninsula. It was surrounded by the green grass of the neighboring golf course. Senka passed through a quaint split rail fence and stood feeling the breeze flow into and out of her, enjoying having the ocean wrapped around her on three sides. The ever-present seagulls sang out their wild cries.

She gazed as far out into the bay as she could, as far as the fog would allow her, and let her mind wander where it chose. She found herself thinking about shadows. How she had loved shadows when she was alone in her cabin. They were friends. They were safety and comfort. Now, here she was standing in the daylight. She looked around and saw that, even here, there were shadows. They were muted, due to the fog, but they were present. The shadow of a tree, off to her right. The shadow cast by the fence behind her. Even subtle arcs of shadows within the sand traps. She remembered the feeling of drawing the shadows around her, almost like a security blanket when she was lonely or frightened. She reached out with her imagination to the fence shadow and drew it toward her. Then she reached out to the silhouette of the tree. Extending herself, she reached for the shadow in the closest sand trap. She drew them all around her, wrapping herself in them from head to toe as if she were enfolding herself in a cozy comforter. She felt so calm, so centered. Carefully, without disturbing the shadows wrapped around her, she walked back to the fence she had just passed through and reached out to touch the top rail. Her hand met the splintery wood and rested there. She turned her back and cautiously leaned against it.

The feeling of the pressure of this fence against her back transported her to a time when she was alive. She was twenty or so, standing in the ring, leaning against the fence, and watching her trainer canter a beautiful bay mare composedly around in circles, shouting instructions as he modeled what he wanted her to do. “See my seat?” he called. “It never leaves the saddle. I’m digging into her gait to propel her along.” She definitely had seen his seat and appreciated every curve of it.

Nope.

Sorry. Right. I got a little carried away. The point was, when she was Sarah, she had enjoyed what having a body was like. And to be honest, she started to wonder if being solid might lead to other interesting things.

You can skip that part.

Too awkward, huh?

Yep.

Right, so…

Senka pushed herself away from the fence and imagined releasing the shadows and leaving them behind her. She turned back to the fence and slowly, carefully walked through it once again.

Cool!

It was very cool.

I knew she’d figure it out.

You and Silas have more faith in her than she did in herself.

That’s how it works sometimes. My mom has more faith in me than I have. What did she do then?

She went back to the keeper’s cottage. When she entered, Silas was talking quietly to Luna, but as soon as she came in, he looked up, smiled, and said, “Hello!” Senka wasn’t entirely sure she could repeat her success of the shadows. She stood in front of the curtained window in the brightest part of the room and asked Silas, “Can you see me?”

“Not well. Your form is hazy. If I didn’t know you were there, I’m not positive I’d spy you.”

“Okay. Tell me if there’s a change.” She looked around the room for the closest shadows. One under the hurricane lamp table, one under each of the chairs, a good-sized one in the corner where the weak sun couldn’t penetrate. She repeated the process she had used outside, drawing in the shadows and wrapping them around her.

Silas gasped. “Senka, I see you. That’s brilliant!” Senka grinned and said, “I think I’m tangible, too.” Silas went to her and took her in his arms. “Yes,” he said, “I’d say you are.” She looked up at him. “I love this fog,” she said. “No sun rays to burn you.”

“The curtains help,” he responded distractedly, still gazing at her.

“Yeah.” For some reason, she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Words were nowhere to be found. All she could perceive were the depth of his eyes, the feeling of his body against hers, his smell like fresh-cut grass. She closed her eyes and leaned in to him.

I’m going to skip over the specifics here. The short version is that they kissed for the first time and Senka liked it a lot. Silas said he did, too.

Thanks for sparing me the details.

Sure thing.

For the rest of the afternoon, Senka worked on tangibility in light and intangibility in shadow. She felt braver about conjuring the abject loneliness she needed for the latter skill because after each session, Silas cheerfully provided her with the antidote.

The fog persisted into the late afternoon, so when the sun was low in the sky, Silas popped over to the computer store. While he was gone, Senka took the short stroll to the cemetery and sat on the low wall by Ms. Wang’s grave. Before long, she wasn’t alone.

“Hello, dear. I’m so glad you’ve come back. How’s your young man?”

Senka debated whether to explain that he wasn’t all that young and he wasn’t really a man, but decided to let it go and take Ms. Wang’s question in the way it was intended. “He’s well, thank you.”

“I’m so glad. And Luna?”

“Also well, though he did try to feed me a pigeon earlier.”

“Ah, yes. I could tell he was very protective of your well-being.” Ms. Wang patted her hand, then looked out over the expanse of the cemetery toward the bay.

“Ms. Wang, may I ask you a question?” Senka shifted her position on the wall so that she could see the other ghost. Ms. Wang smiled and tilted her head toward Senka, who said, “Can ghosts hover in the air?”

“Oh, my, yes. I choose not to, myself. I prefer to have my feet on the ground.” She tapped her feet against the grassy lawn for emphasis. “But, yes. I have done it, and I know several residents who enjoy flitting around in the treetops of an evening.” She laughed in delight.

“How? I mean, how does it work? I’m learning to make myself solid in light and insubstantial in shadow. I haven’t figured out how to hover, though.”

“You’ve made some marvelous progress, haven’t you? Well done, dear! Now, let me see. How does it work? Hm. Think happy thoughts.”

“Think happy thoughts? Really?”

Ms. Wang laughed again. “No, not really. My granddaughter was in a production of Peter Pan eons ago. I’ve always liked the idea that with fairy dust and happy thoughts, we can fly. Being a ghost is a bit like fairy dust, isn’t it?”

Senka looked at the crinkles of laugh lines and the bright, shining, intelligent eyes and answered, “No! Not at all.” The two of them hooted with laughter.

“Che succede?" asked a voice in the growing darkness. “Qual é lo scherzo?”

Stifling her laughter, Ms. Wang whispered to Senka, “That will be Signore Peluso. His grave is in the next row, several over. He seems very sweet, but I honestly don’t know. I don’t speak Italian!” She and Senka dissolved into laughter again, though Senka was pretty sure that she was laughing more at Ms. Wang’s laughter than at anything about the situation. Controlling herself, Ms. Wang called out, “Good evening, Signore Peluso. Won’t you join us?” Turning back to Senka, she whispered, “I don’t think he understands English, but he gets the gist. And as I say, I am woefully inept at Italian, I’m afraid.”

A small bear of a man wearing a chef’s toque and jacket limped into view. With a groan, he lowered himself onto the wall next to Ms. Wang. Senka caught herself staring agape and snapped her mouth closed. Still, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the massive salt-and-pepper beard and the forest of hair forcing its way above the partially unsnapped jacket. “Signore,” her companion was saying, “may I introduce you to my new friend, Senka? Senka, this is Signore Riccardo Peluso. He was a chef, you know.” Senka wondered how anyone could tell; all that was visible of the man was his nose. The rest was covered by hair. She managed a, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Buona sera, signorina.” He stood and bowed slightly, then sat on the wall again, turning, like Ms.Wang, to look out towards the bay.

Ms. Wang inclined her head toward the newcomer and with accompanying gestures said, “We were talking about flying. Can you fly, signore?”

“Sì, Sì, certo!”

Senka leaned forward eagerly. “How? Come?” It was one of the few Italian words she knew.

“Facile. Salta e non cadere.” He mimed leaping, one foot off the ground, one on, then held that position.

“Jump and don’t…” Senka looked helplessly at Ms. Wang, who only shrugged.

“Cadere. Cadere!” said the former chef.

“Hot?” Senka asked.

“Non il calore. Cadere.” He tumbled off the wall and sprawled on the ground, then sat up with a flourish of his hands. “Vedi? Cadere.”

“Fall down!” cried Ms. Wang in triumph. Signore Peluso nodded vigorously.

“Jump and don’t fall down?” Senka asked. She looked at the prostrate man blankly. Then all three burst into a laugh.

“Guarda. Ti mostrerò.” He scrambled to his feet, crouched exaggeratedly and sprang into the air. He hovered. His two observers applauded wildly. He beckoned to Senka, “Vieni,” he said, then added in heavily accented English, “You come. You try.”

Senka cast a dubious glance at Ms. Wang, then stood. Recalling what Signore Peluso had just done, she crouched and sprang into the air. It was a respectable jump, but it was just a jump. She landed back where she had started.

“No, no. Non cadere!”

“Right. Don’t fall. Got it.” She tried again. Same result. “Shoot! What am I doing wrong?”

Signore Peluso lit on the ground next to her. “Dubiti troppo di te,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. “Non dubitare di te.” He shrugged as if that explained everything.

“I’m so sorry, signore. I don’t understand.”

“He’s saying,” Ms. Wang chimed in with great tenderness, “that you doubt yourself too much.” She smiled up at Senka. “Don’t get discouraged. Keep trying, and any moment it will click.”

She tried again, crouching, leaping, landing back on the ground. Refusing to be discouraged, she kept at it. All at once, she noticed a teenager in a backwards baseball cap standing a few feet away, watching her.

“Dude, you’re terrible at this,” he said so frankly that Senka couldn’t help laughing. “Here,” he said. “Lemme help. I’ll take one hand and, Signore, you take her other one.” He held Senka’s free hand out, indicating his instruction. “On the count of three, we all jump. Signore, me and you will pull her up, then hold on till she’s got the hang of it. Got it?” Senka and Signore Peluso nodded. The kid counted, and on three, they leaped.

Senka’s arms immediately felt like they were being yanked out of their sockets. She dangled like a toddler between them. She looked down and saw Ms. Wang gazing up at her, a smile splitting her wrinkled face. Signore Peluso said, half in Italian, half in English, “Buona, ora no fall. Facile, no?”

Senka looked up at her wingmen. “Do I need to think about anything, imagine anything?”

“Dude, you’re trying too hard. You don’t gotta do anything. Senka, right? Yeah. I’m Bink, by the way. Senka, you’re still thinking like a living person, all gravity-bound and like that. The laws of physics don’t apply to you anymore.”

Senka, who had been looking at the ground with concern, looked up into the trees. She saw the fog tendrils weaving through the branches. It was beautiful to see. She thought, maybe I have been thinking of myself as living still. Or at least as corporeal enough to be bound by gravity. Just don’t fall. Simple.

“Dude! You’re doing it!”

“Don’t let go!” Senka cried. “I’m not sure I’ve got it.”

“You do,” Bink said confidently. “Signore, just hold one finger, like this.” He demonstrated by grasping only Senka’s index finger. She stayed aloft.

“Well done, dear!” called Ms. Wang from her seat on the bench.

“We’re gonna hold just your hair now. That cool?” asked Bink.

“It’s cool,” Senka replied.

They transferred their grip to one small lock of hair each. Senka hung in the foggy air. She looked down at Ms. Wang smiling below her and felt elated. “Okay, you can let go now.”

Bink laughed, “We already did.”

Senka turned in place and saw her two teachers several feet away. Signore Peluso’s great beard waggled and he spread his arms, crying, “Brava! L'hai fatta. Sei così brava!”

Senka whooped and, following the hints and guidance of her coaches, did a victory lap around the cemetery. She landed in front of Ms. Wang. “That is so much fun!” She high-fived Bink, then turned to Signore Peluso and hugged his bear-like figure tightly. “Grazie, Signore,” she said. He beamed at her. Stooping to give Ms. Wang a kiss on the cheek, she said, “I’d better get back home. I hadn’t planned to be out so long, and I don’t want Silas to worry.”

Ms. Wang took her hand and patted it. “It’s been such fun tonight, dear. Do come back, won’t you?”

“Of course I will.” With a final wave to the other two, Senka leaped into the air and soared back in the direction of the lighthouse, feeling freedom in the sea breeze. She landed in front of the cottage and, just because she could, walked through the outer wall.

Silas was sitting at the kitchen table, peering into the illuminated screen of a laptop. Standing behind him, she wrapped her arms around his chest and kissed his cheek. He turned, smiling. “How is Ms. Wang?” he asked.

“She’s good. I met a couple of other residents, too. I learned some things. I’ll show you later. How’d it go for you?”

“Well, I think. We’re set up here, and I’ve begun to look for some answers to your questions. To begin with, look here.” He pointed to a headline on the screen. “FANS HOUND DISBARRED LAWYER OVER STAR’S DEATH.” Silas went on, “I’ve read a few articles already. It seems that Kenny returned from the cabin and faced a great deal of suspicion, which he somehow weathered.”

“He wasn’t charged?”

“Without a body, no one could prove that you were dead. He insisted that you left. He said he woke up on Saturday morning, and you and your bags were gone.”

“Why didn’t anyone come to search the cabin?”

“They did. Well, that is to say, they searched a cabin. He took them to a cabin in Fort Hunter Liggett.”

“That’s the opposite direction from where we were.” Senka sat heavily in the kitchen chair next to Silas.

“He, or someone working with him, set up a separate cabin there, complete with all of the expected tire tracks and footprints. Two sets, including one matching yours. You knew this, Senka, but yours was not a spur-of-the-moment murder.”

“No. But I didn’t think it was as thoroughly planned as it sounds like it was. So why was he disbarred if they couldn’t prove anything?”

Silas looked at her in surprise. “He was disbarred long before you died.”

“What? No! He couldn’t have been. He was still going to work.”

“It sounds like it happened eight or nine months, at least, before you died.”

“How did I not know that?”

“He kept so much from you, Senka.” Silas took her hand in his.

“Did any of the articles say why he was disbarred?”

“Not directly. Reading between the lines, I would guess he committed some kind of fraud.”

Senka rubbed her forehead with her free hand. “That sounds like him. How could I have been so stupid?”

“I don’t think you were. I think he was very good at conning people. A couple of the articles note that in a situation like yours, the husband is almost always the first suspect. Yet, the investigators in your case moved on from him surprisingly quickly, much, as you can see from that headline, to the fury of your fans. And to someone named Stanley Hoffman. He and a Peter Guterman seem to have pressured the police for years. They were convinced Kenny did something nefarious. Do you know them?”

“Oh. Yes.” Senka’s chest ached. “Stan was my best friend. And my director. He tried to warn me. He and his partner, Peter, didn’t trust Kenny. I didn’t listen. Oh, Silas,” she said and began to cry. “They tried. They must have been beside themselves. They would have known I’d never disappear like that. I’d never do that to Stan or the cast. They counted on me. Stan and Peter tried to find me.”

“The article says they maintained pressure for years. When it became apparent the police were dropping the case, they hired a private investigator. When she was unable to find anything, they created an arts award dedicated to you, Senka. They held a gala every year, they rallied your fans, they kept your name alive.”

“You’re talking about them in the past tense. Are they dead?”

“I haven’t researched that yet.” He let go of her hand and turned back to the computer.

“Google Stanley first, please.”

Silas typed into the search bar and several links came up immediately. Most had to do with his career, several with the award he’d created. At the bottom of the second page, they found a link that referred to Stanley but was an obituary for Peter Guterman. “Oh, no, poor Stan,” Senka whispered as they scanned the article. “This is three years ago,” she added. They could find no reference to Stanley’s death. Four pages in, they saw what they were looking for. A tiny footnote on a film trade site that mentioned Stanley’s assistant was holding an estate sale for him. He was moving from his Hollywood mansion to a posh assisted living facility. The blurb was dated one month ago.

“Oh, Silas!” Senka gripped his sleeve. “I need to go see him. Even if he can’t see me, I need to see him. Can you…Will you take me?”

Silas pulled down his shirt cuff and dried the tears around her eyes. “Of course,” he said. “You wait here for Luna to return from hunting. I haven’t eaten yet, but I’ll go now and come back quickly.” Senka nodded her agreement. She kissed Silas, and he left.

As she waited, she scrolled through several articles about Stan and the investigation into her death. She learned little more than Silas had already told her. When Luna trotted in, Senka explained the situation to him. He listened, unblinking, and when she had finished, he settled down to a postprandial bath. The looming question was, where was Stan?

Senka opened the laptop and typed in “Posh LA assisted living facilities.” It felt strange to be using a computer again. It was not something her living self would have pictured a ghost doing, and she smiled at the sight she would be for anyone stumbling into the keeper’s cottage right now. She came up with a list of seven possible residences. Too many. She thought of what Stan would want and added to the search bar “for movie people.” An article popped up at the top of the list: “Hollywood Takes Care of Its Retirees.” She skimmed the article and knew this was the right place. She mapped the location, ready to show Silas as soon as he returned. She didn’t have long to wait. As soon as she showed him the map, he held his arm out to Luna who quickly settled into his usual traveling spot in the crook of Silas’ arm. Senka twined her fingers in Silas’ and almost instantly felt the icy coldness of vampire travel.

They stood in front of a graceful building with a roof like a bird in flight. The sound of a waterfall reached them, and the scent of roses hung in the night air. The warmth of the Los Angeles evening was a shock after the cool fog of Monterey.

“It’s lovely here,” Silas said. Senka gave his hand a squeeze. They went inside. As soon as the doors opened, a stunning young woman of model proportions looked up. “Good evening, sir,” she said. “I’m so sorry that visiting hours are over. In fact, I’m surprised the guard let you through the gates.”

“I understand perfectly,” Silas replied. He, Senka, and Luna continued undeterred to the reception desk. He smiled at the young woman. “How do you manage to get enough sleep when you’re here all night and auditioning all day?”

“How did you know?”

“I have a very good sense for these things. Are you sure you won’t let us in?”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to keep this job. Anyway, we’d have to get preapproval from the director for your cat.”

“I understand,” Silas said again. Then he added, “Would you be allowed to tell us where we might find our friend when we come back?”

“I guess I could do that. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Stanley Hoffman.” He glanced down at Senka and smiled reassuringly. The receptionist turned to her terminal and typed quickly. “Oh!” she said, peering at the screen. She looked up, “I’m so sorry.” Senka’s grip on Silas’ hand tightened. She thought, we’re too late. The receptionist went on, “He’s in our end-of-life unit.” Seeing the look on Silas’ face, she added, “Didn’t you know?”

“We haven’t seen him in a long time,” he replied, then added, “Can you tell us where that is, for when we return?”

She did, then added, “I think it’s really sweet that you include your cat like that. You know, saying ‘we’ and all.”

They went back outside and followed the young woman’s directions. They walked along a path teeming with colorful, fragrant vines and flowering hedges and ended in front of a sweeping 1930s-era three-story house. Inside, they were stopped again, this time by a nurse. “I’m sorry,” he began, “you can’t—”

“You will let us pass.” Senka found it curious to be on the sending side of the power Silas projected as he said those words. It was like standing in the sand as a wave rushed out all around her feet. The effect on the night nurse was immediate. “I will let you pass,” he said and went back to his work.

They climbed the steps to the top floor and scanned the room numbers till they found the right one. At the door, they shared a look, and Silas squeezed Senka’s hand once more. He set Luna down. Senka depressed the levered handle and quietly opened the door. The three of them went in. Silas and Luna hung back as Senka hurried to the bed.

By the dim light of the room, she saw a scarecrow of a man. She could have circled his wrist in her thumb and forefinger as it lay on the blanket. His sunken cheeks were peppered with stubble. An oxygen tube ran under his nose. Several other tubes and cables extended to a pole bedecked with plastic bags of varying sizes. A monitor showed his heart rate, oxygen saturation, pulse, and assorted other numbers and graphs that Senka didn’t understand. She sat on the edge of the bed and tenderly brushed his graying curls back from his face.

Stanley opened his eyes and looked around the room as if trying to find the source of the touch. Then he seemed to focus.

“Sarah?” he said and began to weep. “Sarah? Is that you?”

So he sees her? Stanley sees her.

Yes.

How?

That’s part of tomorrow’s story.

Maybe because he loves her so much.

That might be part of it.

You know how those guys taught Senka to float?

Yes.

That’s how my mom taught me to ride a bike. She even held my hair and surprised me by letting go and I was riding on my own.

Yes. That’s how my dad taught me, too.

You had a dad?

Yes, little one, I did.

Huh. I guess I better get some sleep now.

I think you’re tired. It was a full day today.

Yeah. I’m not really looking forward to tomorrow.

Is tomorrow a treatment day?

My nurse today told me they’re gonna do something different starting tomorrow. They’re gonna hook me up to a constant drip. There’s, like, all these different drugs they’re gonna give me, but they’re gonna alternate them. I don’t remember them all.

That sounds a little scary.

Yeah.

Do you want me to come early tomorrow?

Can you do that?

Yes.

Oh. I thought maybe you could only come, you know, in the evening.

No. I can come during the day, too.

Oh. No, that’s okay. I like it when you come in the evening. There are too many nurses and stuff in and out all day. I’ll be okay getting started alone.

But you’ll tell me about it when I come?

Yeah.

Shall I stay again tonight? For a while?

Yes, please.

Everyone’s eyes closed?

Yep. ‘Night.

Goodnight.

__________

Go to chapter 8