Paper Lanterns

Chapter 9 Φ

Chapter 9 Φ

As the old lady went on and talked about the owner of this house, I was so startled that I had to hold on to the brick wall fence in order to prevent myself from collapsing. From her story, Mr. Harold Stevenson, my benefactor, had died five years ago. I didn't understand. How could this be possible?

"Is everything all right, sweetie?" she asked me.

"When... when did he die? What date?" I slowly asked, trying to get a grip and even my breath. There had to be an explanation for this.

There must be.

"It was the 11th of November about five years ago. It was the same date as my husband's death anniversary. That's why I find it hard to forget," she answered.

"Hey, I found a stick. Sorry it took so long. Here goes," said Eric, as he tried reaching for the eyeglasses again. After a while, I heard him say, "And here it is."

"Thank you," she responded.

They were talking about something else, but I couldn't hear it. I pressed my fingers against my forehead, feeling dizzy. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to think back and see what I could find in my memories. But I was too confused. Nothing made sense.

I didn't want to entertain the possibility of talking to a ghost, because it never felt that way. The person I had been talking to for the last five years was someone who had thoughtfully responded to each word that I'd written.

"Your friend seemed to have fallen ill. You should probably let her sit down for a while and take a breath," the old lady told Eric. "Thank you for your help. I need to be going now. I'm already late for my dentist appointment."

"Anna?" Eric quietly asked, holding my arm to help me regain balance. "Are you okay?"

It seemed like they were done talking. The old lady gave my hand a light squeeze when she passed by, saying, "I hope you'll feel better soon."

I absent-mindedly nodded. "Thank you."

She said goodbye, and Eric responded. They had a few more exchanges, but Eric never left my side and steadily held my arm.

I took a deep breath, letting it all sink in. Too many coincidences. Mr. Steve had died a few days before my mother passed away. And yet, he was there at her burial.

"Hey, what's the matter?" Eric asked, entirely worried. I quietly shook my head, still unable to say a word. "Did anything happen while I was gone? Say something, please."

I tried to find my voice. "I... I'm fine."

"You don't look like it."

"I'm sorry. It's just that... I'm shocked with that I've found out," I muttered under my breath. "Eric, she knew him."

"Who?"

"Mr. Steve." It came out almost as a whisper. Confusion and sadness crept inside me, for the passing of someone I shouldn't know about, and yet I somehow knew. Eric was trying to read my thoughts and silence, so I added, "She used to be the caretaker of this house."

"She knows Mr. Steve?" Eric clarified, a bit taken aback.

I wanted to say another word, but I couldn't tell him what else I'd found out. It was so hard to get the words out. Mr. Steve had died five years ago, days before I had met him. Or it was supposed to be him—this person with that name.

"Here," Eric said, handing me a white handkerchief. It was when I'd realized that tears were persistently streaming down my cheeks. I took his handkerchief and wiped the tears under my eyes. He asked me again, "What happened?"