Ghosts and Agatha

IX: Elizabeth and Agatha

I blinked.

Under Elizabeth's presence, the glowing white snow that swathed the graveyard suddenly eased away from being bitterly cold to being like warm sand, though that didn't prevent the stench of ice from lingering in the air.

Every other person in my situation would have done something along the lines of screaming till their lungs ached or falling unconscious at the sight of someone who was meant to be dead but was very much alive looking down at you. But--unfortunately--I wasn't Every Other Person and instead was someone who'd seen ghosts for weeks and wasn't shocked in the slightest.

I cast my gaze onto Elizabeth's features, inhaling a shaking breath. "Please, Elizabeth," I said. "Leave me alone."

Elizabeth's dainty lips pursed as her eyes lingered on my face.

"Elizabeth ..." I choked out her name again. "I've had enough of you. Just stay away from me."

Past Agatha would have been screeching at me for saying such a thing, not to mention in such a stereotypical way. I had been so desperate to see Elizabeth again and ask for explanations only a few hours ago, but now, all I wanted for her to do was leave so I'd never have to face her again.

Elizabeth looked almost iridescent as she took each step towards me, the luminous glow that radiated from her altering from yellow to orange to almost red, like a fire was glowing underneath her skin. Her eyes shifted across my face.

"But that's the thing, isn't it, Agatha? You don't want me to go," she said. Just like that. She didn't say her anything hugely dramatic like explaining all the questions that had been accumulating in my mind; she didn't talk in a screeching monotone like a siren. Just Elizabeth's voice exactly how I remembered it: sweet as honey that stuck to your mind like the spread stuck to your fingers.

Just like that.

I tried to recover from the shock of hearing Elizabeth talk again, quickly composing my trembling insides. "Yes, I do," I insisted, clearing any hint of a shiver from reaching my voice. "As dramatic as it sounds, you're ruining my life. I'm already dealing with enough--for example, your death. Your death! You're meant to be dead, Elizabeth, and being here right now for some miracle reason isn't making me recover any quicker. Get away from me. Please, Elizabeth. Please."

"If you wanted me to leave so badly," she said slowly, as if I was much younger and had trouble identifying the English language, "I would have been gone ages ago."

"Okay, Elizabeth," I exasperated, my shock promptly running out. A sloshing sound erupted from underneath me when my feet hit the ground as I stood and a twinge of pain shot through my head at the sudden movement; I massaged my temples, glaring at Elizabeth. "I don't care if you're dead or not, you're still my sister. And that means you should be talking to me like we live in the 21st century. Can you just tell me what the heck is going on without every word being a completely mystery? I get it, you're a ghost and that's a big deal. But ... seriously."

Elizabeth looked somewhat disappointed, reluctantly plopping onto the snow and splaying her legs out in front of her. I sidled up to her, repeating her movements. Her eyes combed over the graveyard, surveying the frost-covered concrete blocks carefully before returning her withering gaze to me.

"Well?" I said gingerly. "Are you going to say anything or are we just going to sit here like a pair of idiots in a graveyard?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "Well, actually, you're going to look like an idiot in a graveyard who's talking to no one."

"Okay, good. You can talk."

Surprisingly, I wasn't as terrified as I would have expected myself to be after seeing my sister come out of her grave and talk for the first time in months. I shocked myself with the lack of trembling hands or dry throat or any sign of nervousness. I guess I'd just heard Elizabeth talk before and had seen her do things even worse than walking out of her own grave that I was used to it. That didn't seem to be something I should ease up to, though.