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The door creaked as I opened it, adding to the charged air. The interior was nearly pitch-dark, except for the streetlight that beamed through the stained-glass window and illuminated the broken altar.
“Mathis?” There seemed to be no sign of anyone, but it was too dark to be sure.
No one answered. Maybe I had the wrong location. I expected to see Mathis, along with the deity involved. I also expected a magical net to fall from the ceiling to capture me, but looking up, I saw no sign of a trap.
What I did see was an envelope on the altar, positioned between two unlit candles. I approached it for a better look. There was only one word written on the front.
Lorelei.
I opened the envelope and withdrew a postcard, along with a match. Light them, the card read.
I struck the match and lit the two candles. Their light gave rise to shadows on the wall. Shapes formed from the darkness, stretching into two well-defined silhouettes.
I stared at the wall, unable to breathe. Trap or not, I was fully invested in the outcome.
The church’s interior disappeared. I was no longer standing in a place I recognized. Inside my pocket, I felt Claude shudder. Terrific. Even the revenant was scared.
Had I been spirited away to an undisclosed location? So much for Kane’s close proximity.
Stained-glass windows were replaced by wallpaper, a design of small blue cornflowers. A nearby shelf displayed country-style knickknacks—a saltshaker in the form of a hen and a pepper shaker in the shape of a cockerel.
My heart skipped a beat. I knew this room, although I couldn’t tell you when and where I’d seen it.
The silhouettes gained flesh and features. Two faces stared back at me, at once familiar and yet entirely strange. His tousled brown hair. Her intelligent grey eyes. Distant memories merged with photographs. My throat grew thick.
“Mom?” I croaked. “Dad?”
Although they didn’t speak, I felt their jumble of emotions. Confusion, elation, sorrow, and something else. A feeling that seemed out of place during a reunion with the child you left behind.
Fear.
Did they know what I was? Did I frighten them?
I extended a hand, wondering whether they’d be solid, or apparitions like Ray and Nana Pratt. Warmth spread through me as my arms passed through my mother’s body. Despite the lack of contact, I felt like I was in her embrace, as though our two parallel planes were converging.
I tried my father next with the same result. Claude climbed out of my pocket and came to rest on my shoulder.
“This is my friend, Claude,” I told them. “He’s a revenant.”
Neither parent seemed shocked to see a dismembered, disfigured hand seated on my shoulder. There were many explanations, including the obvious one—that once you’re dead, you have access to all the secrets of the universe; therefore, a creepy-crawly hand was nothing to write home about.
“I’m so happy to see you both. I was really hoping we’d be able to have a conversation.”
They both smiled, albeit with sadness in their eyes. They seemed to know my efforts were in vain. I could communicate with ghosts. Why couldn’t these two communicate with me?
I cleared my throat. “I command you to speak to me.” I felt absurd, demanding that my parents speak to me. Their mouths opened and closed. No sound came out.
“Whichever deity they used for this ought to have their license revoked,” I grumbled.
My mother’s eyes rounded at the mention of a deity. I looked at her. “You know who I am?”
She nodded and reached for my hand. A second attempt at physical contact. I concentrated on the details of her skin, her five slender fingers, the lines across her knuckles. I poured every ounce of focus into making contact.
Our hands passed through each other again, two ghosts in transit. I looked up as my parents faded to nothing.
“No!”
The cornflower design was stripped away and replaced by rocky walls covered in sparkling crystals.
