Present
Oliver felt a flicker of pride—Ann was the first spirit he had guided to the light alone. Every other time, Mary had been by his side, anchoring him, guiding him. And after what had happened at his university four and a half years ago, he had believed his gift was lost.
But now, standing in the aftermath of Ann's passing, he felt partial relief. Still, a quiet disappointment lingered—Ann had left without a word. Most spirits shared something before crossing over, a glimpse of what or who waited for them in the light. But Ann had simply gone.
As Oliver walked down the damp pavement, heading toward Pine Hill Cemetery, his thoughts turned over this mystery. The tall trees lining the street swayed in the wind, their branches stretching toward the dull gray above.
His mind drifted to Leah. The light had always been a concept he understood or at least accepted. But what if it was different when it came immediately after death? What if she had gone without saying goodbye?
A chill crawled up his spine, and he shook his head, curls bouncing slightly as he forced himself to chase away the thought. He wouldn't let himself spiral.
Not here.
Not now.
Instead, he focused back on Ann. She had only ever cared for her son—so who had been waiting for her in the light? Was Trevor there? And if he was, how had that reunion gone?
Oliver exhaled sharply, forcing himself to accept that he would never know. Some things weren't meant for the living to understand.
When Pine Hill's iron gates finally came into view, Oliver quickened his pace, taking the familiar shortcuts between graves. His boots sank slightly into the soft earth as he approached a well-known plot. The large gray headstone stood exactly as he remembered it, its engraved names worn yet unshakable.
A faint shiver ghosted down his spine as he took it in. Someone had left white lilies in the vase beside the stone. They were withered now, the blossoms browned at the edges, their once-vibrant leaves shrunken and curling inward.
Oliver let out a quiet breath. "I didn't bring you anything," he murmured, slipping a hand from his pocket.
The cool metal of the gold medallion pressed against his palm as he turned it between his fingers, the chain dangling and swaying with each movement. His thumb absentmindedly traced the back of the locket, the motions grounding him in the moment.
A soft, familiar tickling sensation settled deep in his stomach—a feeling he had come to recognize over the years.
Lifting his head, he caught sight of a woman standing a few rows ahead. She was slightly hunched, shoulders drawn inward as though the weight of grief still pressed against her. He narrowed his gaze, Ms. Jackson.
A former neighbor, someone who had once lived across from Mary's old house. Her husband had passed a year before Mary, and Oliver still remembered the funeral. He also remembered that Mr. Jackson hadn't attended his own burial.
Oliver exhaled slowly, the thought stirring something deep within him, but before he could dwell on it.
"I suspected you'd be here." The sudden voice jolted him, his heart giving a sharp, startled beat.
"Well, I told you I was coming," Oliver muttered, glancing to his right. His pulse steadied when he found himself looking at Mark.
"I can see you're still bringing flowers," Oliver noted, watching as his friend stepped forward.
"Every few days, brother."
Mark moved with quiet reverence, removing the old, withered bouquet from the vase and replacing it with fresh lilies. He pulled a bottle of water from his coat, filling the vase carefully.
YOU ARE READING
Talk To Me
FantastiqueOliver Brown holds the gift of seeing spirits. After losing his grandmother, he neglected the purpose of his ability, and soon after, lived a ghostless life. But when Oliver's younger sister is discovered murdered in the woods, he desperately wanted...