Chapter 12
Ophelia
Lanston sitswith that statement for a few seconds. I can see the gears clicking in his head and the light flickering through him. His lovely grin kicks up on one side and makes me long to press a kiss to the edge of his lips.
A rarity. The desire to kiss a man you’ve only just met. Yet, it is the most extraordinary sentiment a person can experience. A rush. A feeling you can sense from the deepest parts of your marrow.
His eyes fall to my bare arms, the first time he’s seen past the long-sleeved dresses I’ve worn, and he finds the butterfly and moth tattoos that stretch over my forearms. A butterfly is chasing a moth on my right arm, a wisp of tattered smoke trailing between them, while a moth chases the butterfly on my left arm, the same threads of smoke tethering them to one another.
His smile brightens a fraction before he sees the scars that hide beneath them. Then I watch as his heart practically stops and a forlorn frown pulls at his lips. Pain, and perhaps many other things, exist within him at this moment. But Lanston, being himself and ever the curious man I’ve become enthralled with, lifts his hand and brushes his thumb over the tattoos.
“Moths and butterflies, huh?” His eyes soften and he whispers, “Which of them caught who?”
“If the moth catches the butterfly, it will consume it. If the butterfly catches the moth, it will tear off its wings. Which do you think should catch the other?” I say with a maniacal grin. Lanston grimaces at my dark humor.
“Come on, what do they really symbolize?” he urges me, smoothing his thumb once more over the ink and sending chills up my arm.
He’s so perceptive, unlike so many people who’d known me for so long.
I guess I can tell him.
“They are my take on yearning. You see, the moth is darkness, chasing the butterfly, craving the brightness of it. But when the moth is the one running, the butterfly, being light, chases it in return, unable to exist without the moth, because without darkness there is no light.”
Lanston smiles. “That’s lovely. And what of the things they hide?” he says more delicately, his lashes hood those beautiful eyes.
I waver. It’s not something I’ve spoken about before.
My eyes lift to his. Only kindness and understanding live there and I know I’m safe to tell him.
“They can never hide those things for long.”
Lanston leaves it at that. He can see the tears starting to brim in the corners of my eyes and doesn’t push any further. I find that I’m drawn to his patience. His understanding and care. But it makes me consider all those who weren’t kind and patient with me when I still breathed and walked with blood in my veins. Lanston makes me see things differently.
We curl up on his bed and enjoy the movie. Silent and letting the fears from the music room fade. Whatever is in there, it isn’t bad. That much was clear. If it was, it would’ve been more frightening, like Those Who Whisper. But it felt more playful than cruel.
I grab a handful of popcorn and Lanston reaches in at the same moment. Our hands brush. My gaze finds his, lying this close on the bed, our noses nearly touch. My traitorous eyes dip to his lips and lift back to his eyes.
For a delusional moment, I think he’ll kiss me.
But when he doesn’t, I force my attention back to the screen. A girl cries in the movie and runs home in the rain. I relate to her in so many ways right now.
I feel foolish for even thinking he’d be sharing the same lewd thoughts.
The movie ends with a happy ending and our popcorn bowl is empty. Lanston eyes his door like he’s thinking about getting up and moving the chair.
“Don’t even think about moving it.” I stand and lift a spare pillow off my bed and toss it at him. He catches it and laughs.
“I wouldn’t dare. I was contemplating on adding a second chair.”
He sets the pillow down next to his and my cheeks warm. He meant it when he said I could stay in his bed.
He notices me in thought and says, “You still scared? Or do you feel better now?”
I want to stay in his bed. I really do. But I can’t get attached, so I shake my head. “I feel much better after the movie. Thanks, Lanston.” My smile falters.
He deflates a bit but doesn’t let it show. “For what?”
“For being so kind.”
There really aren’t many people like him out in the world anymore. When did we, as humans, become so cold and withdrawn? How many Lanstons did I need when I was alive? More than I can count.
I crawl into the spare bed and pull the sheets up high to my chin, facing Lanston. He does the same, shutting off his lamp and staring back at me—only the moonlight between us again, like back in my opera house.
“Hey dreary girl.”
I chuckle. “What?”
In the dim light, I can barely make out his sharp cheekbones, but if I shut my eyes, I can see him perfectly in my mind: his soft brown hair and rosy lips. The dark circles beneath his eyes that allude to his restlessness. Yet he’s still so profoundly handsome.
“Come with me to the music room tomorrow to catch a ghost and take back my hat?” There’s a hint of a laugh in his voice.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“A phantomly date.”
We both quietly laugh as if anyone can really hear us. Two phantoms sharing jokes in the dark. Oh, how far we’ve fallen from the typical portrayal of ghosts.
“A ghostly rendezvous,” I say through giggles.
Pfft. Lanston’s shoulders shake with laughter.
I could get used to the sound of such happiness. Such weightlessness from the both of us.
“Put the broom down. What do you honestly expect to do with that?” I nudge Lanston playfully and he gives me an “I’m not putting down the broom” look.
“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” He can’t even stop himself from smiling.
We’re both peeking into the music room, looking for any signs of a hiding phantom. The bay windows let in a massive amount of light; it’s almost silly that we are unwilling to enter the room.
“What are you two doing?”
“Yelina!” Lanston shouts; then, after clearing his throat and picking up his faithful broom he’d just thrown, mutters, “Fuck, why would you sneak up on us like that?”
Yelina puts her hand on her hip and gives him and me a once over, looking mildly annoyed but more interested in what we’re up to. My eyes lift to her shoulders. A wisp of smoke curls faintly before it vanishes, and I know then that she’s one of the victims of the fire.
She’s a stunning woman. Long blonde hair with an icy tone, not brassy-yellow. Her makeup is the definition of perfection; the dark liner of her eye-wings is flawless and the blush of her cheek bones is lovely.
Yelina is intimidating as hell.
“Why are you two sneaking around and acting like weirdos?” she snaps back, looking into the music room warily.
Me and Lanston share a look.
Are we really going to tell her and risk sounding crazy as fuck?
Lanston shrugs. “None of your business.”
Yelina snatches the broom from his hands and is about to fire off another round of insults before another gal strolls into the hallway. She has a lovely pear-shaped face, a button nose, and bright, kind eyes. Her brown hair is pulled back into a loose braid.
She walks right up to Yelina and smiles awkwardly. “What are you two arguing about now?” The way she says it makes it seem like this is very much not a one-time occurrence between them.
Lanston rolls his eyes, and it’s the first I’ve seen it so I crack a wide smile.
Yelina looks at me and I instantly wipe the grin from my lips. She assesses me before speaking to the other girl. “Nothing, Poppie. The two of them are just acting… odd.”
Poppie giggles, and I find her much more approachable than Yelina.
In an attempt to thwart any more arguing between Yelina and Lanston, I say sheepishly, “Have you two heard of a ghost haunting this room?” They look at each other before glancing back at me.
Poppie asks, “Are you talking about Charlie?”
I blink a few times. Dumbfounded.
Lanston does too.
“Wait, Charlie, as in one of the missing patients who died, Charlie?” Lanston blurts out and both Yelina and Poppie start laughing.
Yelina covers her mouth as she says sardonically, “You two were scared of him? He plays pranks in here all the time. Lanston, I swear Jericho introduced you to him like two years ago.”
Lanston’s face is blank as he searches his memories, but he shakes his head. “No way, I would’ve remembered.”
“Ugh, stand up, both of you. I’ll introduce you so you can be done with this.” Yelina grins cruelly as she steps over us and into the music room. Poppie giggles and offers me her hand.
“I swear she’s actually really nice,” she whispers so Yelina won’t overhear her.
Somehow I find that hard to believe, but I guess I’ll find out in time.
Lanston groans as he stands and waits for Poppie to head in before he looks at me and murmurs, “Sorry about them. I really don’t remember meeting this guy. But I guess it will be pretty cool to talk to him.”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s been fifteen years that he’s been here. I’m curious to hear what he knows about purgatory and why he hasn’t passed. It’s sort of sad.” I look at the dusty music room and wonder how long it’s been his prison. But a more dreadful thought beckons in the back of my mind.
How long can we truly stay in the in-between?