Chapter 4 - Cyrus
CYRUS
The tree branches no longer scratch at my skin to carve out thin red lines of inflamed flesh.
Yet, the bramble still sends little pops of electricity through me as I push past it.
Running through these woods should be easier now that I’m a ghost without functioning lungs, but sprinting still winds me.
High school biology class did not prepare me for this, and I doubt I still have mitochondria powering my phantom cells.
Footsteps encroach behind me, steadily growing closer as they crash through the underbrush.
The tree line is within sight now, and the thing chasing me won’t follow if I can make it to the clearing.
I push my spectral body faster, no longer worried about the searing sensation filling my chest as air rushes through me.
Finally, I escape the woods into the open pasture.
A furious howl rings through the night, lamenting its loss.
I pause, leaning against my knees, fighting off the urge to look behind me.
The burning set of amber eyes is surely still staring at me from behind the trees.
It will wait for me to return; it always does, but for now, I’m safe.
In the distance, a solitary light in the Landry house is still on, a beacon calling to me like a lonely lighthouse calls to a wayward ship.
The place is normally dark at this hour.
Jace’s parents are usually in bed before the sun sets, leaving this field entirely dark.
Tonight, someone must still be awake. Thinking of Jace makes my heart ache, remembering the way she used to leave the light on for me.
The soft yellow glow guided me straight to her room each night I snuck in through her window.
I know she’s not there now, but I still long for her to be.
Curiosity gets the better of me. I move closer, winding through the herd of sleeping cattle.
Some of them shift in their sleep, mooing softly as they sense my presence.
Once I’m past the fence separating the pasture from the yard, I hide behind the tree closest to the lit window—her window.
Craning my neck around one side of the tree trunk and then the other, I search for the best view of the room.
My hands shake and my vision spins as I see the gorgeous creature lying across the bed.
If I still had a beating heart, it would stop in its tracks.
It’s her—my Jace has come home. The woman I’ve ached for every moment since my death is in her bed, only feet away.
Emotions explode inside me, everything at once like fireworks shooting off inside my chest. Emotions I thought were as dead as I am.
Her jeans and sweatshirt are slightly oversized for her small frame.
The fabric pools around her as if she’s melted from the heated air inside the house.
Faded teal hair fans out across her pillow, the shaggy ends fading to white.
Her wispy bangs frame her frowning face, bottom lip quivering as though she’s about to cry but is adamant not to.
She stares unwaveringly at the ceiling, barely moving.
Something in my body stirs, yearning for her.
I’m desperate to be near her again, the hollow parts of me filling with hope.
I’ve never seen her so sad. In life, I was the melancholic one, the storm cloud to her shining sun.
What pains her so much, grief seems to spill from her?
My arms twitch, wanting to wrap around her and hold her close as she cries against me.
I’m frantic to do something, anything, to take her sadness away.
Guilt rattles me, knowing I might be the source of her anguish, even after all this time.
I never got the chance to say goodbye, or tell her I never meant to leave her.
I hope she’d found a way to move on, even though it’s painful to admit.
She deserves to be full of joy, even in my absence.
I’ve heard nothing about her since the day I left our apartment to come check on my pop, leaving her in a moment of angry silence so I could collect my thoughts.
I expected to come back to Deadwood for the weekend, sort some shit out, and be back, apologizing profusely, by Monday—but man makes plans and God laughs, I suppose.
Needless to say, I never made it back to her.
Jace’s old man, Leroy, still comes around my father’s house occasionally, but he never mentions her.
I held out hope he’d bring her over one day, but he never did.
The few times my pop brought her up, the conversation was quickly shot down, as if Leroy’s ashamed of her.
He’s always been a man of few words, but anger still coils inside me at the memory.
Words I wish I could have said to him while I was still alive are at the back of my throat, full of repressed rage and ready to spring out in Jace’s defense.
If Leroy has blocked her out too, no wonder she’s so fucking sad.
Besides me, her family was all she had left.
Then again, if I had a daughter, my pop is the last person I’d discuss her with.
I convince myself I’m reading too far into it until my anger only simmers on the surface.
Jace and I had our differences, but we’ll always have at least one thing in common: shitty dads.
Her head rolls towards the window, her honey-brown eyes becoming saucers as they appear to look right at me.
Jace’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing under her teal bangs.
Her muscles visibly tense under her oversized clothes.
For a moment, a flicker of fear lingers beneath her sadness.
Can she see me out here in the dark? Her wide eyes and fragile but determined spirit have always reminded me of a newborn deer, struggling but eager to stand on its own.
She’s every bit as beautiful as the memory of her I’ve clung to.
I want nothing more than for her to see me, to jump from the bed and throw open the window, but I still shrink behind the tree.
A ghost peeking through her window in the middle of the night isn’t exactly the reunion I have in mind.
I’m not sure she even knows I’m dead. My memories right after death are fragmented, but I’m positive my pop didn’t give me a funeral.
I count to ten, pausing between each number.
When I dare to look out again, her eyes are closed, and her chest slowly rises and falls.
I wait a few more minutes to be sure she’s fully asleep before creeping to the window.
My hands press against the sill, ready to open and climb inside out of habit, but I resist the urge.
I’m on a different timeline now, one that doesn’t include her.
While I was alive, I should have given in to my hunger to be near her instead of pushing her away.
The intense duality of my feelings wars within me.
Uncomfortable possibilities slide through my mind as I decide what to do next.
The reality that if I leave now, I could never see her again is terrifying.
The notion of her slipping through my fingers again sinks its teeth into me, filling me with the venom of indecision.
What if she’s only visiting, helping her parents with a few tasks before winter really hits, like we used to?
She could leave tomorrow and disappear—like I did years before.
Will I be forced to wander these woods for the rest of my afterlife alone, only remembering she exists?
No. I shake my head. No. I can’t. I shouldn’t.
Jace doesn’t need me interfering in her life again, holding her back even in death.
I need to get back to my old man’s house, the same sorry tale I told myself when I left before, and return to haunting the rest of his miserable existence.
I’m better off forgetting I saw her, and she’s better off too.
The lie worms its way into my mind, plaguing me with ‘what-ifs’.
What if she wakes up? Worse, what if she wakes up, sees me, and then decides she wants nothing to do with me? What if she can’t see me at all?
I press my hand to the window, taking in the sight of her one more time.
Where the glass should feel cold, I only feel the gentle tingling pressure of solid matter against my ghastly hand.
The idea of leaving her again suffocates me, but I force myself to turn away.
Trudging back across the pasture, I turn my head over my shoulder and almost turn back.
Tomorrow. I can come back tomorrow, just to check on her. If she’s not still here, I’ll sit with my choice. Either way, I have to try. I have to see if those wide eyes are filled with the same sadness, or if a new day brings some relief.
“Goodnight, Little Doe,” I whisper into the darkness. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”