45. Chapter 45 #2
Some ghosts simply are more powerful than others. And if, like Simon, you spend that long dwelling on unresolved grief and anger, the desire for vengeance burning through you, it seems to do something these graveyard wanderers probably will never manage.
Good for them. It would have been frightful to go through what Simon’s been through.
When he pulls back, he looks genuinely happy.
For a moment, he’s glowing, both physically and figuratively.
And I wonder, did Simon and Ferdinand have the fast connection Liam and I had?
Would Simon have found himself shoulder-height in the ground, standing over his lover’s brother’s coffin, risking his own life, after less than a week?
But then he did die for this man. Both for him and for what was right.
I let their shining eyes return to as close to normal as will probably ever happen for either of them again before I interrupt. “What are you doing here, Fabian?”
Fabian, now clad in a long black coat, tight jeans poking out the bottom, his blond hair wild with the night wind, looks me dead in the eye and says, “I’ve killed myself.”
A sea of ghost gasps goes up around us, and my heart slams to the rhythm of panic.
“What do you mean?” He looks perfectly fine.
Perfectly well. Mostly. Perhaps a little pale, but then he’s always pale.
Possibly a bit clammy? But mostly normal and very much alive.
And thank fuck for that, because I do not have the capacity for two resurrections tonight.
“I mean,” he replies with a bright smile, “I’ve just stabbed myself.
And I’ve done a pretty great job of it.” Leaning hard on Simon, he pulls his coat open, and there’s blood.
There’s so much blood all over him, soaked through his sweater, running down his leg, glistening in the night.
“Even if you call an ambulance right now, which I very much don’t think you want to, given what you’re up to, there’s no chance of saving me this time. ”
I stare at him, mouth open so wide I’d be amazed it wasn’t catching bugs if I had the wherewithal to think about it. “You did not.”
My hand jiggles the phone out of my pocket anyway, brain still ticking over, trying to process what’s right in front of me. I swipe up and dial 999, but before I can make the call, the phone goes flying out of my hand and directly into Simon’s.
“No.”
“Give it back.” I whisper it first, then shout it. “Give it back, Simon! Are you just going to let him die like this?”
“He’s not dying,” Simon counters. “Not really.”
“Archer.” Fabian kneels down at the graveside, right where I was about to attempt to climb out and fight a ghost for my phone, which I know deep down would be utterly fruitless.
“What you’re doing is so beautiful. When Simon told me, it just…
” He looks up at Simon, his eyes blazing with adoration.
“We would have done anything for each other back then. Anything to be together.”
“Anything but not taking part in that stupid fight,” Simon agrees bitterly.
“It was a matter of honour,” Fabian replies.
“And it didn’t do a thing to keep us apart.
” He drops down until he’s sitting cross-legged on the dewy grass, and I catch it there—his face illuminated in the scant light.
His eyes are fading, his lips turning blue.
The blood loss is definitely affecting him.
“Fabian, if we get out of here now, maybe we can—”
“No.” He holds out a hand to silence me.
“I need to explain to you… I’ve been plagued by dreams—memories—my entire life.
I have no parents. I have no family. I’m all alone in this world, and these dreams…
this dream of my life with Simon was so real.
It was the only place I ever felt safe. It was the place I would go whenever I was sad, whenever I got hurt, and every night he would come to me.
He would wrap me. He would tell me beautiful things and keep me safe.
” He blinks slowly, the pale smile fading a little.
“And then he would be knocked to the ground by that bullet. And I would grieve him. Every single night of my life.”
Simon kneels beside him, running an arm around his shoulder.
“So, you can imagine,” Fabian continues, leaning into him, “how I felt when I found him at your house, and he was real, and he was my Simon… Simon, who I knew in my heart. Who I shared all the same memories with through my dreams.”
“It’s true,” Simon says, taking his hands. “I didn’t believe it at first. I assumed he must have researched me, found an old journal somehow. But there were things he knew…”
Fabian squeezes his hand tight. “It was destiny. In this life—in every life, Simon, nothing will keep us apart.” His eyes, swimming now, find mine.
“Thank you, Archer. For what you tried to do for me. You worked so hard to do the right thing. But you must trust me now, this is the right thing. I want to be with Simon. And I don’t want to wait until I’m old, live all these years in the constraints of this body.
I want to be with him now. Which is why…
” His arm gives way. Simon shifts a hand around his waist to support him.
“I think if I do it this way, hopefully it means I will wander. Wander with Simon. Always. So when he told me what you’re doing… ”
I lock eyes with Simon, whose gaze meets mine, earnest and melancholy.
“Please don’t waste this,” Fabian rasps, his voice hoarse now.
“I know what it is to lose someone you love. Don’t waste this.
I’m giving you my life. My energy. Because I see the way you look at Liam.
And I know that look. It’s the way he used to look at me.
” Fabian reaches up to stroke Simon’s cheek, Simon landing a soft kiss on his fingertips.
“I couldn’t stand for Liam to lose you, and we both knew you wouldn’t take me, so I’ve taken the choice away from you.
Please don’t deny my final wish, and what you know is right in resurrecting Jem. ”
I’m stunned, utterly. I had put some pieces of this mystery together. I knew there must be something in Fabian that pulled him to Simon like this—some intense, if twisted, romance. But I could never have guessed at the depths of it. Such a pure and beautiful thing.
Even now, as his skin turns sweaty, while I know he must be suffering, there’s a surety in every inch of Fabian. There, in his partner’s arms, knowing Simon’s not going anywhere, ever again.
“Kraa!” Edgar cuts in, eyes sharp on the furry little creatures crawling around the grave below me.
I don’t want to destroy them. And this is the fourth time Fabian has tried to move on with Simon, which makes this… the best chance I’ll ever have of saving Jem.
As if he sees the change in my expression, Fabian’s feet drop over the edge of the grave, and he slides down next to me. He’s unsteady, cries out in pain, but he makes his way over to Jem’s body, then eases himself down. “You can leave my corpse here if you like.”
“Fabian, no,” is all the soft protest I can summon.
“It’s just a skin, isn’t it?” he says. “You’ve seen the other side. You’re a necromancer. Why should this bother you?”
Why indeed? It’s what he wants. It’s what I need. What Jem needs for another chance at life. But I still argue, “It’s not my place to play dice with the universe.”
He laughs a tired, shaky laugh. “The things we do for love.” His eyes shut, and he leans his head back against the dirt. “Listen, I’m feeling pretty awful right now, so I’d really appreciate if we could get this over with. Simon?”
Simon nods once. “Yes, my love.” He flicks his hand to the left, and just like that, Fabian’s neck cracks, and he drops down dead.
“What the fuck did you do?” I scream, falling to Fabian’s side, taking a hand to the warm and dead cheek.
“Kraa!” yells Edgar.
“Be fast!” Simon shouts. “He’s done this for you. Don’t let this opportunity go!”
He’s right. Like a flash, it finally sinks in. Outweighing all the morals of the choice, a lightning bolt of thankfulness hits me. “Okay. But if you two break up, I’m digging him up and resurrecting him.”
“Whatever,” Simon drawls. “Just get on with it, would you?”
Before it’s too late, I slam a hand down on Fabian’s chest, then another on Jem’s ribcage. The power is instantaneous and almost overwhelming. I have never done this with a human before. The surge of energy almost throws me into the dirt, but I hold on as tight as I can.
It burns. From the flesh of my fingers, through my veins, it burns pure fire. I shut my eyes against it, trying to visualise the flow, trying to imagine Jem reforming beneath me—trying to think of anything but the pain.
A full human body for a full human body. He’s right. This is the best chance we could possibly have. If I can just hold it. Control it.
It tingles like a thousand needles, pushing my veins apart from the inside, pulses of agony flaring up my arm, ravaging my chest.
But when it reaches Jem… I can feel the life ripping into him.
He’s bone beneath my fingers, yet I sense it. There is life here in this old and damp grave, in this mouldering skeleton.
He’s coming back.
I keep my eyes shut and visualise it with everything I have in me.
Those flakes of decrepit skin growing thick and plump, crawling back to the bones.
Dust that was once organs, wet and throbbing with vitality.
Every crack and dent in this ribcage, these arms and legs, mending, paling, turning white and fresh.
Above all, that bullet hole, that five years on sits prominent in the front of the skull, healing, the brain growing anew behind it.
Strings of sinew and veins, muscles—I feel the drag beneath my palm, real skin growing there.
My left arm begins to shake—the pain that was there ebbing away, leaking into my chest as my hand goes numb.
It’s gone.
All of Fabian’s life energy is gone.
Already.
Now it’s just me and Jem.