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)
“Poe finally came back to New Orleans. Oh yeah, you wouldn’t know. Poe left when he was sixteen and never came back. Until now. Because of Allie’s baby.”
He couldn’t be sure, but it seemed like Antoine was listening to him. His eyes glowed, and his skin had lost a hint of its grayish-green tinge.
“You gotta help me out, man,” Edgar continued. “What are ghosts? What are you? Have you been here all along? Ever since you…” Then a horrible thought occurred to him. “You know you’re dead, right?”
There was no gasp or heart-clutching from Antoine, so Edgar took that as a yes.
“Okay, back to the ‘What are ghosts?’ question, then.”
No response. Antoine drifted a bit in the air, moving like a kite with the breeze.
“I don’t know how you communicate,” Edgar said, desperate now. Antoine couldn’t disappear until he could figure things out. “Wait, please. Don’t go. Talk to me. What do I do? How can I help you? What do ghosts want from me?”
Antoine looked directly at Edgar. Once, when they were eight, Antoine had broken his arm. He’d tried to be brave and pretend it didn’t hurt, but Edgar had known it did. He’d distracted Antoine from the pain as Antoine’s father drove them to the hospital, telling him stories of ghosts that his mother had told him. Antoine had stared into his eyes the whole time, like it was only Edgar’s presence in the back seat keeping him from fear.
“I met someone,” Edgar continued. “Their name’s Jamie, and they’re… Well, you’d really like them. They’re pretty great. I think I might…” He shook his head and bit his lip. “We were too young, before. But I—I really loved you. Did you know that? Like, I loved you as a friend and a brother. But you were the first person I fell for. And there hasn’t been anyone since you. Not ’til Jamie. If I don’t fuck it up.”
Antoine’s eyes were still fixed on Edgar’s, but he’d begun to list more dramatically with the breeze. Now he floated close to the fence separating Pirate’s Alley from Place de Henriette Delille.
Edgar was afraid he was going to blow away, like a child’s let-go balloon. He reached out a hand, the same as he’d done all those years ago, when the water had closed over Antoine’s head. He reached out, and this time—this time—he caught Antoine’s hand.
A shock shot through him like cold electricity, leaving him shuddering in the twilight. For a moment, Antoine shimmered into solidity, and Edgar felt the brush of his fingers, his hand in Edgar’s so small now.
Then, definitively, he was gone.
The sounds of the evening rushed back in, and the heat settled once again on his skin. Edgar’s cheeks were wet with tears. He swallowed a thick sob and tasted apples. They had been Antoine’s favorite food. His parents kept a bowl full, and Antoine would always grab one on his way out of the house. At some point during their adventures, he’d pull the apple out of his pocket and look at it with delight. And always, he would hand the apple to Edgar first, encouraging his best friend to share his favorite treat.
Edgar sank to the ground, back pressed to the unforgiving chain-link fence, and wept.
24
Edgar
Edgar wasn’t sure how long he sat on the ground in Pirate’s Alley. He had his head in his hands, trying to block out the din of Jackson Square to his left, Southern Decadence to his right, and Poe prowling up and down in front of him.
At one point, he heard Poe say, “Dude, just come. He needs you, and I can’t… Okay. Yeah, I will.”
Then Poe was crouching in front of him.
“Edgar. I need you to stand up right now and come with me. Jamie’s going to pick us up, but they can’t drive down here with the parade.”
At Jamie’s name, Edgar looked up.
“Yeah. Can you get up?” Poe’s hands were fists shoved in the pockets of his jacket.
Edgar pushed himself up. Now that the cold of Antoine’s ghost was gone, he felt hot and shaky. His head was light, and his sinuses were clogged.
Poe led the way, looking back every minute or two to make sure Edgar followed.
Jamie met them at Canal Street, face drawn with worry. They tossed their keys to Poe and came to Edgar.
“C’mere, baby,” they said and helped him into the back seat, climbing in after him.
Jamie stroked his hair and held his hand as Poe navigated traffic, swearing constantly and cursing a number of families into the tenth generation. He threw the truck into park outside Allie’s place and unlocked the door.
“What the hell happened to you?” Allie asked when she saw Edgar. “Oh, hi, Jamie. Sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”
Edgar was shuttled to the couch, hands trembling and head swimmy from crying.