Haven't I told you already about the first ghost I ever saw? When one is born with my abilities, it's not easy to identify its symptoms at infancy. A baby that can only mouth "da-da" can hardly explain the strange rotting corpse that he sees next to daddy. And unsuspecting parents may think the cries of their scared children are a normal response to the scary world.
I was a quiet baby, apparently. Up until I was four years old, I barely muttered a few syllables and doctors scratched their heads trying to understand what was going on inside my perfectly normal brain. Of course, I don't remember any of that, but abuela told me Mom used to complain to her. She was worried, she said, because I was abnormally still. She was afraid I had whichever gene seers have to make them see. She wasn't wrong, although she died before she could confirm her suspicions.
Until the day my parents died. I cried on the way to the car, resisting Mom's efforts to carry me inside. I fought with teeth and tears, screaming my lungs out. It was impossible to calm me, as if something had possessed me, as if all the screams I hadn't cried before were let out at once. I have few memories of that day, and yet, I still carry with me the terror I felt that day. It has always accompanied me since that day.
In the end, they left me with my grandma. They were late to the dinner party. Sabela took both their children, Silas and me, to her home—the place we'd get to know like the palm of our hands within the next few years—, and my childish mind got easily distracted by the old tube TV. Silas slept peacefully in the crib he'd inherited from me, the one I'd inherited from Mom. Like every family heirloom, Grandma's family squeezed the use out of every item for generations to come until it fell apart.
I was on the edge of falling asleep when a sudden movement stirred me awake. Discovering it was Mom, I ran to her. There was nothing to be afraid of because Mom was here, and I was safe. She looked perfectly alive, although if I'd seen her back, I would've discovered the hole on the back of her head where the tree branch had pushed into her flesh. I might have even seen her brain, although I doubt very much I'd known what that slimy piece of meat was. But I didn't, because no matter how young I was, I would've cried my life out if I'd seen the blood drenching every inch of her back.
Grandma told me I didn't scream. She didn't even know I was gone until she came down the stairs to check on us. She desperately searched for me in every corner of the house—after all those years, her eyes still shone with unshed tears each time she recounted the story of that night, and her voice still carried the horror—, and finally found me dangerously close to the empty pool in the backyard. You can choose what would've been a worse fate: either falling head first on hard concrete, or slowly drowning in the water; but the thing is, Sabela brought me home again, closing every lock after her.
She didn't wonder why the locks had been unbolted because stranger things happen in a seer's home, but she never left us alone ever again until she, herself, perished under her illness.
"Mama," I said, or so my grandma told me. "Mama." I pointed to the window, but there was nothing there.
That's when she knew I was a seer, and that's how she found out her daughter had just died. The phone rang a minute later, but she needn't have picked up, for she was already aware of the tragic news.
For years to come, Mom visited me at bed time. Until Sabela cast her out to the Other World because I'd scream myself to sleep every night. Imagine being a child and seeing your dead parent every day. It would turn you crazy.
Then, if Mom couldn't get out of the Other World unless I called upon her, who had summoned her? My lips parted, although no sound came out of my mouth because no words could describe my surprise.
It was dark inside the old gothic church. The filthy rose windows didn't let the grey sky to filter through, in such a way that stepping inside seemed to transport me into nighttime. A few lighted candles flickered on the altar table, whose tablecloth had been partially eaten by rats.
I had followed the thief inside, finally catching a glimpse of him just before he disappeared inside the church. I expected to discover his identity, not the ghost of my mother and about fifteen hooded people surrounding her. She wasn't in danger, that much was clear. No human weapon could hurt her, and it was a very real possibility that out of the lot, she was the dangerous one, but it rubbed me the wrong way. Why? Why?
"M—" I called, approaching the middle aisle, until a hand covered my mouth and nose and pulled me behind a column the size of an ancient tree. I bit into the hand, desperately trying to get away. My feet thrashing, my body contorting. I arched my back, snapping my head back until I heard a grunt. Then I realized the skin to skin contact was burning me.
I stopped resisting, instead turning my head to catch a glimpse of Mark. A thin river of blood trickled down his nose, to his lips. His hands hovered to both sides of my head. Through the silence, both our breaths found the same rhythm.
He slowly put his index finger on his mouth, silently telling me to be quiet. Then, he continued watching the crowd. I was caged between his body and the cold pillar, and I considered telling him to get off. But I didn't. The echo would've carried my words all over the church, alerting them of our position.
I felt his chest raising and falling as he breathed. The air he exhaled caressed the back of my ear. Swallowing the anxiety building up in my throat, I focused on the scene, although it wasn't an easy task. I was particularly aware of every point of contact between our bodies.
I tried to wiggle away. But he pressed harder, pulling his lips dangerously close to my left ear. The proximity to his burning skin warmed my ear.
"Stop struggling," he whispered. My eyelids fluttered involuntarily.
My mom's gaze flickered, instantly finding me and looking away to one of the hooded figures. She shook her head, and mouthed a few words I didn't catch. Ghosts' voices didn't echo, but the responses of the crowd gave us an idea of their conversation.
"You are bound by our will."
My mom tilted her head, a gesture both me and my brother had inherited.
"Sabela knows about him?" The figure asked, showing her Mark's file.
My eyes shone with hunger at the sight of the folder. My muscles tensed until I felt a hand sliding down my chest, holding me in place. "Wait."
"Did Sabela foretell this? Is that why they kept them separate?" The figure asked, increasingly agitated. "Is there a way to revert it?"
"This wasn't the plan!" A woman exclaimed. She threw a piece of paper to my mom's feet, and I recognized one of my hand-drawn talismans. "This is dangerous for everyone. Either you make him withdraw, or we take him out when he crosses our path."
Were they—They were talking about me.
Mark's sudden slouch indicated he'd also connected the dots. Was that why my mother had told me to stay away from Mark? Was she colliding with them? Better yet… Who were these people, and why were they so interested in Mark?
My mom said something as her face contorted into an angry mask as she launched forward. Her lips curled and she showed the woman her teeth.
"Then tell us how we can stop it from happening."
I chuckled. These fucking amateurs and their ignorance of the Other Worldly rules. Didn't they know not to order a ghost around? Not even me would dare to order the ghost of my own relative. It was a big no-no.
They were following the exact "what not to do" recipe for disaster:
Step 1: Boss a ghost around
Step 2: Threaten her children
Step 3: Watch you body blow up
These people knew of Sabela. They knew enough about me to summon my mom. Did they know about Silas, too? I pulled my phone, but it was still out of signal.
"You know what'll happen if they join." The woman reminded my mom. "The lovers can't remain together."
Mark's hand twitched on my chest. I looked at his curled fingers. As many questions as I had about the scene before us, I wondered why he'd reacted that way. Because he'd tightened his hold at the mention of… us being lovers? He pulled out his phone, and texted Peter.
I saw the screen blinding me in the relative darkness. Mark sent him the address.
THE THIEF IS HERE. RETRIEVE THE FILE.
"How do we free your mom?" He whispered, his mouth still too close. Too close, too warm.
"I have to break the circle," I responded. "On the floor."
My mom was trapped inside a summoning circle, and although the law of politeness allowed her to deny the rude requests of her summoners, it didn't give her the power to go. For all I knew, they could've left her like that for eternity, and she would've had no other choice but to accept her cage.
"No worries." Although I couldn't see his face, his voice lit up with the grin I was sure he'd have if I looked at him. "You stay here, and only get out when I give you the signal."
As sudden as he'd jumped me, he released his hold and lifted his weight off my body.
"Wait," I whispered frantically. I gripped his wrist through his jacket. "What signal?"
"Chaos."
The abyss danced on the edges of Mark's existence. A demon claw slithered towards the place where I was holding him. The demons were happy.