Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Jamie winced.
“He was so excited though, and I didn’t know what to do. So I held on to him for dear life the whole ride. I hooked my leg around his, and I held on to his arm. He was trying to push me off, but he couldn’t. When the ride was over, I was so relieved that he hadn’t died that I almost collapsed. Poe was furious and told me to stay away from him and ran off.”
“Harsh,” Jamie said, frowning.
Edgar frowned too. He hadn’t thought of that in years. Had he spent the whole day chasing after his brother? Looking for him? Worrying about him? It was a blur, except for the van ride home when he’d been so relieved to see Poe unharmed that he’d pulled him into a hug. Poe had gone stiff and pushed him away, choosing to sit next to two kids he’d befriended after leaving Edgar behind. Edgar had sat by himself, frowning out the window as a sign instructed visitors leaving the park to Have a Great Day.
He pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the abandoned park. It was nearing midnight, and the moonlight fell eerily, erasing some shadows and emphasizing others. The Ferris wheel stood, just visible in the chiaroscuro. He sent the picture to Poe.
Edgar: Remember when we came here with that weird group?
Since Poe was back in New Orleans, he responded to texts occasionally.
Poe: Have you been kidnapped and do you need assistance?
No, Edgar replied. I’m here of my own volition and in full possession of my faculties.
That’s what a kidnapper would say, Poe replied.
Edgar was pretty sure he was kidding, but honestly he couldn’t always tell with Poe even when they’d been close. Now? He hardly knew his brother at all.
Leave a million dollars in unmarked bills in the place you puked after we came here and find out, he replied.
A screen full of puking emojis filled his screen. He knew that if he texted again, Poe would not reply.
“Okay,” Jamie said, stepping back to admire their work. “I think you’re good to go.”
The other night, when Jamie explained what Edgar would be doing in the movie, they had asked him to describe the scariest ghost he’d ever seen. Exposure therapy, Jamie had called it, and Edgar had agreed to try.
Jamie handed Edgar a mirrored compact. Edgar raised the mirror slowly, trying to prepare himself.
The eyes that looked back at Edgar were his own, but everything else had been transformed. His skin was the grayish brown of death, clotted and pinched into a contour map of scars and ridges. His chin appeared to be half gone, and his lip on that side gaped open, so part of his jaw and a tooth were visible. His nose now appeared to be crooked to one side, the tip bulbous and greasy. And his hair was replaced with a bald cap made up in the same way as his face, only brownish tufts clinging to rotting skin.
“Baby? You okay?”
Jamie slid a hand up his back.
Edgar made himself nod to reassure them, but he couldn’t look away from his reflection. When ghosts appeared to Edgar, he was so startled and afraid that he only got an initial impression. He certainly never stuck around to peer at the ghosts’ various injuries. Now though, Jamie had conjured the effect atop his own face, and Edgar was able to examine every detail.
He raised a clotted gray-brown hand to touch hair the texture of cobwebs. His fingertips hovered over the makeup on his face. He didn’t touch it, not wanting to ruin Jamie’s art, but he peered close and traced the pattern of scars and puckers with his eyes. He thought about what might have happened to his body to create the result he’d seen in that ghost. The crunch of cartilage and bone, the tearing of skin, the deprivation of light and air.
It would hurt. A lot. It would be traumatic, both physically and emotionally. But the ghost, when he’d seen it, had been single-minded. Counter to Aunt Alaitheia’s theories about postdeath temporality, the ghost had pushed through Edgar. To get somewhere or to someone? Edgar hadn’t thought about that part because he’d been so terrified at the time. Now though, he found himself imagining the urgency the ghost displayed. Had it been trying to save someone? Had it taken the shortest route to whomever it was trying to save, and that route had simply happened to be through Edgar?
What would he do if he woke up, confused and hurt and lost in time or space, knowing only that Jamie was in danger and needed him? He would take off at a dead run, needing to get to Jamie before it was too late. He wouldn’t stop for anything or anyone, not until Jamie was safe. And if his need to get to them scared a random pedestrian, he wouldn’t give it a second thought.