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Her anecdote acted like a lens, refocusing my thoughts. The story put my struggle into a context that I could grasp. Love had tied me to a living, breathing human being. I wasn’t merely tethered to an old brick apartment building. And maybe, just maybe, that made all the difference.
"I'll do it," I finally whispered, "I have to take the chance."
The rest of the day was an agonizing crawl of minutes and seconds, each one tightening the knot in my stomach. To distract myself, I floated over to the bookshelf Logan had meticulously arranged, trailing my ghostly fingers over the book spines.
I moved to the window next and watched the leaves fall in slow spirals to the ground. Still, time crawled.
With a sigh, I then turned my attention to the photos decorating Logan's walls. They were snapshots of his life without me, including friends, family, and vacations he'd taken. Each frame was a testament to the life he'd built, a life I so desperately wanted to join.
When that started making me feel even more restless, I revisited some of the best moments I'd had with Logan. Like a mental highlight reel, I replayed our laughter, late-night conversations, and those times when our eyes locked, and it felt like the rest of the world went away.
Finally, I thought about diving into some ghostly gossip with other spectral residents of the building, but I decided against it. Being around for Logan’s return was too important. Instead, I circled back to the living room and practiced my best Mary Poppins up-and-down float.
Finally, the apartment door opened. Logan stepped in, his dark hair slightly disheveled, eyes a little tired but still warm—endlessly warm. God, how I yearned to touch those lips and feel the heat of his skin.
He wandered into the kitchen, probably to make coffee, his go-to comfort after a hard day's work. I followed and floated over and hovered next to the coffeemaker.
"Hey, you," he said softly, not startled at all by my sudden appearance. He was used to my spectral ways.
I was ready to share my decision. "Logan, we need to talk."
His hand paused midway to the coffee jar, and he turned toward me. "Okay," he said, the word heavy with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"It's about the ritual. The one that could bring me back."
His eyes widened. “And?”
"I've talked it over with someone wiser and much older than us. It's risky, but Logan, I can't spend another day just being a spectator in your life. Or in mine, for that matter."
He looked at me for a long, agonizing moment. "And if something goes wrong? We don’t know the specific risks.”
"If it does, at least we took the chance,” I said. “I believe our bond is strong enough to see us through anything, even this."
The air between us was charged with electricity, like the moment before a thunderstorm, charged and waiting for a release. Finally, he nodded. "Then let's take that chance."
It was as if someone had lifted a weight off my ghostly shoulders. “I know we won’t regret it.”
Logan
A row of candles sat lined up on my coffee table, each a pillar of hope or maybe desperation. Moonstone, feather, ashes, and a tiny lock of my dark hair lay alongside them. It was the night before Halloween and time for a dress rehearsal. The finale of the unexpected, impossible love story between Ben and me was almost upon us.
I grabbed my jacket. "I'll bring a few of these, set up on the roof, and give this a little test run."
Just as I reached for the door handle, it swung open and nearly hit me in the face. Lucy stood there, her eyes darting past me to the ritualistic array of the remaining candles on the coffee table.
Her gaze lingered on the setup, and for a split second, I watched a flicker of recognition cross her features. "Hey Logan, can I borrow some—um, what's all this?"
In that instant, I weighed the risks and benefits of telling Lucy the truth. "Come in," I sighed, inviting her into my bizarre world.
"Okay, Lucy, you might find this hard to believe, but I need you to keep an open mind." I hesitated, gauging her reaction. She nodded cautiously, urging me to continue.
I sighed. "You've been in this building for a while, right? Ever notice anything, well, unusual?"
"Unusual like how?" Lucy raised an eyebrow. "I mean, there's Ted, who collects antique dolls, and Lisa downstairs with herMidnight Opera Karaoke,but unusual is kind of relative."
"No," I chuckled, "I mean supernatural, beyond the realm of living humans."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're not talking about séances or something, are you?"
