Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
Optics
Any minute now, the introductions to Mr. Carlson will be made. Every breath or word I utter will matter, because every business deal counts with the Whitmores.
Scanning the room, Aidan’s blonde hair sticks out in the crowd. I tap his shoulder to get his attention. As soon as he turns his head, I lean in to whisper, “Just letting you know I am going to be right back, I’m—”
He gently squeezes my hand three times. I pretend not to notice, the rest of my words fracture on my tongue.
I met my idol and fumbled the whole interaction, especially the part when I blocked her coming to you for a business opportunity. Oh, and also my client is here, stalking me under the guise of fake-dating me.
If I don’t escape this ballroom right now, I might strip down to my bra and underwear, since this ball-gown contraption feels like a sauna.
His eyes scan me, deepening his gaze and all I can think of is, “Just going to the bathroom.” A tight-lipped smile stretches over my face.
“Okay. Don’t be too long. I need you here.”
I don’t respond, only giving a quick nod before my hand breaks away from his and I’m fast-walking to the bathroom.
A string of ladies have just exited the bathroom. All I can do is just stare at myself in the mirror.
Analyzing every freckle, every enlarged pore and the uneven liner across my eyelid.
I try my hardest to fix the unevenness without ruining the look with my pinky finger.
A loud humming in my ears starts low and picks up as I hear the ominous, ancient voice again: “A luz sabe duas almas incompletas.” The phrase sticks around in a rhythmic chant, always in threes.
Skye’s olive skin and hazel eyes flash before me in my reflection, the blue luminous light bouncing off the mirror.
Hearing the chant more closely, it sounds like Parseltongue in my ears, never quite matching the five foot eight, slender body that towers over me.
“Why can’t you just admit what you want?” She asks.
I turn my back to the mirror, gripping the sink behind me.
“I am so sick of you.” I push off the sink and stumble into an open stall, locking myself inside.
Everything is becoming too much. This chain around my neck is suffocating.
Her quiet laugh follows as her body slips inside the stall with me.
“I’m dead. What makes you think you can hide from me?”
She isn’t letting this go.
It’s twisted. I’m a nobody—just another neighbor in the building across from hers. There’s no rhyme or reason why someone would pick me to follow in their afterlife. Surely, she had plenty of things to do. Mrs. Silva would love to see her. Her parents, even…
“Am I a pet project for you to say cryptic things to?”
I grab the roots of my hair and pull slightly. A few baby hairs are now between my fingertips.
All she can do is stare at me. I collapse onto the closed toilet seat and a tear rolls down my face.
In the crowded bathroom stall, Skye puts her hand on me and says, “I’m sorry.”
She is not snarky this time. Her eyes move back and forth between the necklace and my face as if she is waiting for something.
“You may have been the last person I saw before I died and—”
“So I am being punished for that, Skye? Easy target to play with to make your afterlife a little more enjoyable?” I snap.
Ripping the chain from my neck, I aim it for her head. As expected, it slips through her body and onto the floor. The surge of pain hits me all at once.
“Nice try. You are going to want to put that back on,” she says, her voice echoing.
All my spikes were out in this bathroom.
With zero food in my stomach, who knows what I might say next? Each second that goes by where she is just staring at me makes me more enraged. My jaw tightens.
“Finish your damn sentence! Go on…” A stabbing pain hits me again. I wipe the remaining saltwater tears on my cheek.
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
The last word rolls off her tongue with extra effort, like it physically costs her something to say it. Like admitting it out loud drains her.
“Your aunt said amazing things about you. You were vibrant, loud and talented.”
Skye starts to display a grin.
“I don’t see any of that…” I finish.
This was one big sick game and I’m tired of feeling like my life is on the verge of slipping out from under me. I’m not a toy to anyone anymore.
“Don’t push me away just because I am showing you everything in your life exactly as it is.” Her eyebrow is raised and she is only showing her side profile to me. Skye had a sweetheart face shape with large and defined brows.
She leans half her body against the stall door and stares off into space for a long pause, like every thought she’s ever had since she died is swirling in her mind.
“I am only twenty-four, Skye. I am doing just fine. My twenties are meant to be terrible,” I blurt out in a panic. It takes me a few moments to realize what I just said. Once it hits us, it doesn’t take long for both of us to turn silent.
As if we both hit each other’s sweet spot on what we could say to the other person to completely falter. We’re two girls fighting in a tiny bathroom stall. Everything feels paralyzing.
“And I was nineteen,” she says sharply. A fact I already knew, but it hits even more when she says it.
“Do you really not see what is happening here? What happens when you wear that?” Her jaw tightens.
At this moment, I can’t tell who or what she is talking about. The lull of the chant is starting up again— “duas almas incompletas”—and a rash forms over my neck as the pain persists.
“No, I don’t. I am just a girl visiting her boyfriend’s family, and I am a little overwhelmed. That is completely normal…” I cross my arms tighter.
“Have you stopped to ask the real questions? Why are you in pain right now, Charlotte? Why does the necklace never light up around Aidan? Why are you so blind to your life?”
The pain picks up again in my chest. It feels like at any moment I might burst. It physically hurts to move.
“Put the necklace back on!” She yells.
Leaning one hand against the stall, I wince, taking deep slow breaths before I can crawl to the necklace lying on the floor.
“Put it on. Take the toilet paper and wipe off your smeared mascara.” Within seconds, Skye disappears. I remain, defeated, sitting on the toilet seat, clasping the necklace back around my neck.
My cleavage buzzes.
Aidan: Hurry up. Everyone needs to be here.
My eyes read each word, feeling the impending doom.
Great.
Just fucking great.
Each minute slows down like an agonizing high as I carefully wet the toilet paper in the sink outside the stall to fix my face.
With my face mostly intact, I rush to get back to him.
With shoulders back and eyeliner slightly back to its original state, nobody would know what just happened a few minutes ago.
If they did, they would’ve thought I took a Prozac with how easily I am springing back into action and gliding into the crook of Aidan’s arm.
The Whitmores and Mr. Carlson are mid-conversation and it’s about five minutes of listening to the men drone on and on about environmental impact when Mr. Carlson cuts to the chase.
“We’re thinking of the big picture here.
If Vanguard Petroleum aligns with Whitmore Reserves, it signals to the industry that we share your values.
I need to know you’re serious about the long-term narrative.
This isn’t about capital. We’re not here because we need your money.
This partnership would be about synergy and sustained traction in future markets.
So, before we move forward, I need to be confident this isn’t just a short-term boost. We’re talking about shared vision. ”
He is going for the jugular, straight to the point and I arrived at the perfect moment of tension. Both Aidan and Mr. Whitmore’s faces look pained.
The answer to his concerns is at the tip of my tongue. Nobody else is saying a word in this awkward gap of silence.
“Mr. Carlson, I noticed recently your stock has gone down. Are we sure this isn’t about money?” I say without thinking. An impulsive statement.
“That’s true, the stock has gone down, but only because we’re investing in other things at the moment. We’re shifting priorities, trying to optimize where our oil sources are coming from.”
“Why would that affect stock?”
Mr. Carlson shrugs slightly, still smiling. “Because the market doesn’t always reward long-term thinking. Investors want immediate returns, not five-year plans.”
“I think Whitmore Reserves only thinks about the future. We are highly sought after and the top company when it comes to investments and oil rigs. You would be lucky to be partnering with us,” I say and look over at Mr. Whitmore, who is smiling.
“Like my lovely daughter in-law said, Whitmore Reserves values a partnership with you because we want to be more sustainable. We are trying to grow into that. We need your insights and you need our alliance, so we can be the number one resource for oil rigs in the world.”
Daughter-in-law? You barely ever look my way. I bite back my knee-jerk reaction to give his dad the side-eye.
My attention is exclusively on Mr. Carlson. His body language says it all: arms open, engaged and a slight smirk. This is going well for them.
Aidan chimes in. “Yes, Charlotte and I have discussed this thoroughly and a partnership like Whitmore Reserves and Vanguard would make us a monopoly in the industry. Unstoppable. Don’t you think?”
He is smiling wide as he swings his arm around me.
“I’ve been telling everyone how we should write up a proposal for you for years.”
Aidan’s parents say nothing as they let him talk and spin this lie.
“We will discuss more on Monday, but I am very open to that type of partnership,” Mr. Carlson says.
He extends his hand to me first, then to Mr. Whitmore, before exiting our inner circle. As soon as his back is turned from us, Aidan’s father pats me on the back. His version of an “attagirl.”