Chapter 3
Equipped with my standard spirit suppression gear, I start down the trail that leads to Sol’s favorite viewpoint of the falls.
With dirt beneath my feet, the saltwater scent of the ocean breeze around me, I should feel grounded, but instead, I’m impatient and eager.
Unease swims within me, so close to what I covet, but she still feels so out of reach, like a figment of my imagination; it’s been so long since I’ve laid eyes on her.
The gloomy dusk of early morning cloaks the path, only allowing for visibility about twenty feet ahead.
I start to worry that I might be the only one here, but then I catch a flash of green through the haze.
Staggering to a halt, I’m in awe of her.
She’s an October morning wrapped in fog and all her mysteries as she stands there looking out at the water like a specter with her black clothes whipping around her. Her mere presence bewitches me.
“Sol,” I call out, unable to stop myself from deviating from the plan.
Her head snaps toward me, her eyes piercing through me like an arrow in a bullseye. To call it recognition would be too certain for such a brief moment. Her neutrality melts into pure, unmistakable panic.
I’m seized by the cold hand of fear as Sol lets out an ear-splitting scream, then crumples to the ground with her hands on her head like she’s in pain.
The closer I get, the more her body contorts, and her screams become louder.
“What’s wrong?” I shout as I approach.
At the interruption, she rolls from her back onto her hands and knees. “Stay back.” The voice is a warped mockery of hers. Chills erupt over my skin, but it’s not because of the whipping wind. She stands to full height and takes a step closer to the guard railing.
“Don’t,” I gasp as she straddles it and dangles one leg over the side. “Please.” My body aches with the effort I’m using to remain still. We make eye contact, but it’s not Sol’s familiar gaze I meet; there’s something—someone—in there with her.
“Take another step, and I jump,” they warn.
I know who’s to blame for this, but I don’t want to provoke him, so I don’t address him directly. “Please, Sol, don’t do this. Let’s talk. Whatever’s going on, you can talk to me. I just want to be here for you.”
A twisted smile curls her lips unnaturally. “She doesn’t belong to you anymore. Coming here was a mistake.” Her eyes flick to the beach that waits far below. “This is your fault. You’ve left me no choice.”
The second her other leg lifts over the barrier, I sprint the final few feet between us and throw my arms around her waist. With my boot planted against the wooden base, I use it to counteract our weight and give us backward momentum.
Despite my being behind her, Sol’s head slams against the ground as we fall back.
I narrowly avoid my own head injury, while a rock digs into and slices my back just under my shoulder blade.
“Shit, Sol…” Quickly pulling myself out from under her, I assess the damage, careful not to jostle her too much as I gently lift her head. There’s no blood on my hand when I pull it from her scalp, but she’s unconscious. “Sol, wake up.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize how problematic that can be if she’s still possessed.
Reaching into my pocket, I withdraw the bespelled herb-and-salt soaked fabric and quickly tie it around her wrists—tight enough to ensure she can’t slip out but not so much that it will overstimulate her quickly.
I double-check, running my finger under the fabric.
She groans, but before she regains full consciousness, I take a similar blindfold and wrap it around her eyes. Better safe than sorry.
Enraging him further with my presence will only make it harder to transport her. An angry spirit is one thing, but this is a whole other level of fucked up.
Scooping her into my arms, I head back to my car. It doesn’t last long though. Her frightened resistance makes it much more of a challenge than I expected. I’m grateful no one else is around on this cold, early morning.
“Get your fucking hands off of me.”
I don’t respond. Until I have a better assessment of what the situation is, I’m not ready for her to know it’s me. Mostly, I fear that knowing it’s me might cause her to fight harder. After all, she’s done her damnedest to avoid me for this long. I can’t risk it.
Stumbling, I set her on her feet next to the car just as her gathered fists shove against my chest. It’s almost enough to knock the wind out of me, but I manage to wrap an arm around her waist and trap her between myself and the car before she gains ground.
“Let. Me. Go.” Her breaths shorten. “Please. Let me go. You don’t have to do this. I don’t have any money. I’m fucked up. I promise you don’t want me.”
That brings me to a halt, viciously tests my self-discipline. Oh, but I do. That’s all I want.
She takes my brief pause as an opportunity and attempts to headbutt me.
Our struggle resumes, but finally, I buckle her in the seat.
Fortunately, I’m more determined than her—I said I wasn’t leaving without her, and I meant it.
With the click of her seat belt, her demeanor shifts, stiff and poised, statuesque with resignation.
A predictable response that I once struggled to accept, I linger for several seconds with an apology that dies on my tongue.
I open her car door and pop the trunk, grabbing the small suitcase she has stowed in there. I’ll have to send someone back for the car, but right now her safety is most important.
My lips twitch with withheld words of comfort, my fingers trembling with the need to run through her hair in that soothing way she loves.
Instead, I shut the door between us and climb into the driver’s seat, grasping for the fraying ends of my self-control. This is the way it has to be. I chant the mantra internally as I force myself to keep my eyes on the road and not glued to the review mirror.