and she didn’t need to see his headstone to think about him. But being here without flowers, particularly the week before Memorial Day, felt disrespectful.
Deacon knelt and studied the ground in front of the headstone.
“Can you step back from the grave?” he asked. “If his soul hasn’t been reaped, I don’t want your energy to interfere with the process.” Ruth stepped back.
He spread his palms out over the earth and pressed down against the packed ground. It was nearly pitch-dark now, and the heat of the late spring day radiated off the ground and stones. Ruth felt clammy thanks to the high humidity. It wouldn’t be too many more days until the summer heat conspired with that devil humidity to cook up a nice greenhouse effect that would make Al Gore weep.
The mid-South in summer. Was there anything worse?
A soft orange glow radiated from Deacon’s hands. It shimmered and rose from him in waves like the heat off an amusement park’s asphalt in August. But instead of heat, a cold, edgy blast built around them, increasing until the ground trembled and shifted. The next thing she knew, she was looking at a husk of graylight glistening and forming into something that looked remarkably like her father. The apparition hovered over the grave before them. Deacon had somehow wrenched her father from his grave—or at least a part of him.
His soul?
Her stomach rolled, and she swallowed down the lump that formed in her throat.
This is
my
fault.
Deacon leaned back on his heels and rolled up to his feet. Both of them looked at Ruth’s ghost father, who stared back. He looked confused and unsure. She didn’t know that she could blame him. A long, silent moment passed. Ruth heard a truck rumbling in the distance, its exhaust pipes announcing its arrival long before its headlights appeared on the horizon. She looked at Deacon, wondering what was going to happen next.
“Do we need to hide him?”
“No one else can see him,” Deacon said. “Be cool. I think that truck’s about to pass us.”
The truck rounded the corner, its high beams sweeping only the farthest edge of the property as it continued down the road, its aftermarket exhaust pipes thundering into the distance.
Rednecks.
She breathed out a sigh of relief, her heart rabbiting in her chest.
“Ruth, I’m going to reap him because I don’t want your first time to be with a family member. That’s messed up. Keep a hand on me and maintaincontact. After I reap him, I’m going to bring him straight to Purgatory, and you can tag along for the ride if you’re touching me. At least I’m pretty sure you can. If you truly are a reaper, it won’t be a problem. If you aren’t…well, I guess you’ll have to wait for me to get back, or go on home without me. It’s going to be a hell of an initiation, but if not now, when?”
Ruth’s father stared at her as Deacon spoke. She thought that perhaps she could detect the smallest spark of recognition in his eyes.
“Can he hear me?”
“He can, but I don’t know how much he can understand after all this time, or if he remembers anything from being alive,” he said, waiting patiently. “He can’t speak or communicate with you… He’s an untethered soul. His sentience began to fade as soon as his soul detached. He needs to be processed.”
Tears filled her eyes as she took a tentative step toward her father. She wanted to embrace him, but that would have been useless under the circumstances. Not to mention impossible—she could see straight through him.
“Daddy, it’s me, Ruth. I’m so sorry you’ve been here all this time. I didn’t know. I still don’t understand any of this, but this man is here to help you pass over. Don’t be afraid. You’ll be with Mother soon. She just passed. I hope you can find peace and be together again.”
Her father still looked confused, but he was staring at her so intently, she figured that maybe he had at least enough awareness to know they were here to
Deacon knelt and studied the ground in front of the headstone.
“Can you step back from the grave?” he asked. “If his soul hasn’t been reaped, I don’t want your energy to interfere with the process.” Ruth stepped back.
He spread his palms out over the earth and pressed down against the packed ground. It was nearly pitch-dark now, and the heat of the late spring day radiated off the ground and stones. Ruth felt clammy thanks to the high humidity. It wouldn’t be too many more days until the summer heat conspired with that devil humidity to cook up a nice greenhouse effect that would make Al Gore weep.
The mid-South in summer. Was there anything worse?
A soft orange glow radiated from Deacon’s hands. It shimmered and rose from him in waves like the heat off an amusement park’s asphalt in August. But instead of heat, a cold, edgy blast built around them, increasing until the ground trembled and shifted. The next thing she knew, she was looking at a husk of graylight glistening and forming into something that looked remarkably like her father. The apparition hovered over the grave before them. Deacon had somehow wrenched her father from his grave—or at least a part of him.
His soul?
Her stomach rolled, and she swallowed down the lump that formed in her throat.
This is
my
fault.
Deacon leaned back on his heels and rolled up to his feet. Both of them looked at Ruth’s ghost father, who stared back. He looked confused and unsure. She didn’t know that she could blame him. A long, silent moment passed. Ruth heard a truck rumbling in the distance, its exhaust pipes announcing its arrival long before its headlights appeared on the horizon. She looked at Deacon, wondering what was going to happen next.
“Do we need to hide him?”
“No one else can see him,” Deacon said. “Be cool. I think that truck’s about to pass us.”
The truck rounded the corner, its high beams sweeping only the farthest edge of the property as it continued down the road, its aftermarket exhaust pipes thundering into the distance.
Rednecks.
She breathed out a sigh of relief, her heart rabbiting in her chest.
“Ruth, I’m going to reap him because I don’t want your first time to be with a family member. That’s messed up. Keep a hand on me and maintaincontact. After I reap him, I’m going to bring him straight to Purgatory, and you can tag along for the ride if you’re touching me. At least I’m pretty sure you can. If you truly are a reaper, it won’t be a problem. If you aren’t…well, I guess you’ll have to wait for me to get back, or go on home without me. It’s going to be a hell of an initiation, but if not now, when?”
Ruth’s father stared at her as Deacon spoke. She thought that perhaps she could detect the smallest spark of recognition in his eyes.
“Can he hear me?”
“He can, but I don’t know how much he can understand after all this time, or if he remembers anything from being alive,” he said, waiting patiently. “He can’t speak or communicate with you… He’s an untethered soul. His sentience began to fade as soon as his soul detached. He needs to be processed.”
Tears filled her eyes as she took a tentative step toward her father. She wanted to embrace him, but that would have been useless under the circumstances. Not to mention impossible—she could see straight through him.
“Daddy, it’s me, Ruth. I’m so sorry you’ve been here all this time. I didn’t know. I still don’t understand any of this, but this man is here to help you pass over. Don’t be afraid. You’ll be with Mother soon. She just passed. I hope you can find peace and be together again.”
Her father still looked confused, but he was staring at her so intently, she figured that maybe he had at least enough awareness to know they were here to
Similar Books
Almost Lost
Beatrice Sparks
World War II Behind Closed Doors
Laurence Rees
Deep Inside
Polly Frost
Object of Desire
William J. Mann
The Danger Trail
James Oliver Curwood
Before the Storm
Sean McMullen
Words Get In the Way
Nan Rossiter
Tiger, Tiger
Margaux Fragoso