I never knew things could be so completely and utterly dull. Apparently, death is. I really don't see why it's so great for us souls to cross over. I, for one, would much rather be on the first side, the one where real people frolic in the sunlight. It's so boring over here. I mean, sure, it's jolly for the first few months, and I reckon some people would be content to live here for the rest of their undead lives. But, I have to ask myself: Do they have a love on the other side, as I do? Are their hearts really on that opposite shore, as mine is? Most likely not, I say, and that is why they can live here without any cares. And the worst thing is: there's no escape. Every so often, I will see my dear, sweet Gemma on that other bank, and I will hear her soft call, and see her lips form my name. I can't even call back. I am cursed to sit and listen and be, well, dead. But if I hadn't sacrificed myself, then it might be she who sat here, and she would cry, and I have to admit, that would be a worse fate for the both of us.
I remember the day when Gemma asked if I really believed in fate. At the time, it had seemed so foolish. Of course there's fate! Only now, I can understand. Fate is iffy. Nothing solid, no proof. The only problem is, feelings work much the same way, and they are often unplanned. I certainly never expected to fall in love after I became one of the Rakshana. It just…happened. That day, the day I died, I never thought I would die for anyone, not even Gemma, but once the threat was so imminent, it was as if I had no choice, and once again, I find myself wanting to believe in fate, but I can't commit myself wholly to that assumption.
"Boy?" A voice called out from under me from where I sat in a large tree. "Darling, do come down." My next breath nearly choked me, so fast did it catch in my throat. No! I looked down, and I found myself looking directly into her eyes. I cried out. All of my efforts were a waste. She had followed me here by choice. Gemma. Tears rolled down my cheeks, though I made no more noise.
"Dearest," she said. "whatever is the matter?" She sounded dismayed. My eyes traveled across her auburn strands of hair as they glittered in the bright sunlight, then moved to her face. Had she always looked so…old?"Please. Please don't cry, I was only trying to help. I'll go now."
"No." I managed to choke out.
"Sorry?"
"Please stay." She turned right where she was standing and we stared at each other, without speaking. Finally, I said, "I've missed you Miss Doyle."
"Pardon?" she looked very confused. "I'm sorry," she said. "I—I seem to have forgotten your name, young man."
I gasped, choking on the still falling tears. She didn't remember my name? "It's me. Come on, you know me."
"No. I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't…" Then realization slowly dawned on her face. "I do remember you," she said in a faraway voice, as if she were dreaming with her eyes wide open. "You were there the day I died."
"Yes," I smiled, leaning forward a bit, wiping my cheeks with my sleeve. "Yes, that's right."
"That day in the marketplace—oh dear—Amar and…oh…" She screwed her eyes shut in concentration. "Carlite? Kartain? Oh no, no, that's not it, is it? You're one of the Rakshana. Your brother tried to save me. I remember…I remember…"
Now I was confused. Amar? But Gemma hardly knew him. And she hadn't died in the marketplace, that had been her…mother. Suddenly, I understood.
"Mrs. Doyle?" I croaked.
"Yes?" And I knew then that this was not the one that I had hoped and feared it would be.
"I am Kartik. I was a rather good friend of Gemma's." I smiled a watery smile.
"Kartik!" she cried. "Of course! Dear me, I'm so sorry! I knew I remembered. I mean, after all Gemma told me—"
"She talked to you about me?" I asked, feeling quite pleased.
"Why, yes. She did. She was a tad head-over-heels for you, if I remember correctly." She smiled a little, mischievous smile, reminding me very much of Gemma, and my heart soared. I had known her love hadn't been an act, but somehow, hearing this bit of news from her mother made me feel as though a worry had been lifted from my brow.
"Well, she told me quite a bit about you as well," I said.
"She should have. I did raise her. It would be rather disgraceful if I were left out of the picture." Gracious, I loved it when she smiled; she looked so much like her daughter. "Here, how's about you get down out of that tree and we take a walk. There's so much I want you to tell me. It's hard for me, you know, not being able to watch her grow. I expect you to be my outlet to her, as you've watched her mature for the past year. Do you think you can remember?"
I laughed. "No worries there." I hopped down out of the tree, straightened from the crouch I landed in, and offered her my arm. "Gemma is not the type one could forget." Giggling, she slid her arm through mine.
"Well, then. Shall we?"
"We shall." I replied, acting every bit the perfect English gentleman.
Together we walked off to the stream where we sat and talked for hours.
From that day on, until the day Gemma joined us 80 years later, to beyond that still, I never once regretted death or the choice I made, and it didn't matter whether I chose my path or if it was fate. Mrs. Doyle was every bit the mother I had ever imagined, and now, even I am content to live in a land of the dead, because she will always be with me, and she will never leave.