-CHAPTER 6-SO BE IT-

Johnny walked away from the bookstore's window silently, reminiscing of that one night. Why did I have to fuck it up? I came so close to something beautiful…

"It appears you love this girl, no?" Freja appeared next to him, gliding effortlessly.

"Don't talk to me about love."

"You speak as though I know naught of the word. As though you don't want to."

"You sound like Reverend Meat."

"That's because I am as much a part of him as you are."

"You left him for me?" Johnny stops and turns to her presence.

The ghost nods and Johnny continues walking. "To remind you that, like it or not, you are human. You have emotions, weaknesses. That girl from the bookstore is just one of them."

"I don't believe in emotions. Everyone hides their weaknesses – I confront mine. They give themselves a false sense of security, telling themselves they are better than those around them. Constantly trying to prove it, to themselves, to their friends…"

"Ignorance isn't an emotion. Deny it all you want, it won't make the fact go away. Did you not weep when your mother died? Did your blood not boil whenever your father beat you? Did you not comfort me when I was raped? Did you not kiss me that same night?"

Johnny lashed out at her before realizing she was a mere apparition, his fist pushing through her as though she were mist.

Freja laughed softly, almost mockingly, as she re-established her form, "Was that not anger? Your weakness that made you try to strike me? The latest in your memories of emotions. The rest are so fresh in your mind you cannot deny them. You. Are. Human. Johnny."

"NO! I'M NOT LIKE THEM!"

"I never said that," she answered quietly. "You're an observer. You see the filth that taints mankind, destroy it, find more… the cycle continues. Or, at least you did, but… old habits die hard, don't they, Nny? You cannot stop it: you are beyond salvation. But redemption is still within reach."
Johnny calms down quickly with the thought of this new prospect. "Redemption? How?"

"That knowledge is not mine to tell, I cannot help you in that respect. You must seek it out yourself. I'll stay with you, make true my promise so long ago, if only to help you make sense of it all."

He turned to reply, only to realize that the spirit had stopped some way back: they were outside Johnny's old house once more. Freja gestured to the door, "Are you ready for another?"

"How bad is it?"

"The worst is over, but this is still necessary. This is where our lives together ended. No one has lived here since us… Do you have the locket?"

Johnny pulled on the chain around is neck and the trinket left it's hiding place from under is shirt.

"Turn it over," she ordered and he obeyed.

Stay with me was engraved in the back of it.

"It almost four years ago," Freja stated. "Anything?"

… They had been lovers for just over three years now; Johnny had been plagued by dreams and visions for around four months. Freja had begun a paper in psychology via correspondence, in a futile attempt to make sense of what was happening to him. The pair were walking towards their house, after a trip to the local library. Freja knew her way around the place pretty well as she worked part-time as a librarian and had begun researching a possible explanation for Johnny's waning sanity whenever she could.

"Any luck today, babe?" the nineteen-year-old Johnny enquired.

"A little," Freja shrugged. "I don't know about it's relevance though. I don't know if you'll want to hear it…"

"I'm listening," Johnny replied, unlocking the door.

They stepped inside and began walking towards the kitchen. Freja began: "Well, apparently, back in medieval France, an instance was recorded where a man began murdering people for no apparent reason. Everyone thought he was insane or… possessed… or something. He would rant about a demon in his wall, needing blood to keep it contempt. The king heard about this and sent his army after him – he was never found. But his journal was: it contained, not the babblings of a madman, rather the words of a man who saw too much. As though the rest of us mortals were shrouded in our own ignorance and only he could see the truth. I think there was a later instance in Victorian England. But… those are merely folktales, passed through word of mouth alone. But… from what I've seen with you? Maybe there is more truth in them than we think."

Freja switched on the kettle while Johnny walked over to the cupboard and took out two mugs. "You think that's what's happening to me?"

"It appears so," she replies, spooning coffee and sugar into the cups. "Bear in mind: we can only guess."

They continue the conversation throughout their drinks and dinner, concluding that whatever is happening to Johnny has nothing to do with sanity – or lack thereof – and beyond their control.

Later that night as they lay in bed, Freja sleeps peacefully while Johnny is wakeful. He looks over to her, sighs and rises, careful not to disturb her. An earlier conversation plays over and over in his mind as he walks into the lounge. A few nights before, Johnny had fallen into madness. As Freja tried to calm him, he had drawn a knife and held it to her throat, he remembered that much. But it was not the act, so much as her reaction that haunted him on this night. "Kill me if you must," she had said sternly. "There are much worse fates for me out there. I'm not letting them take you. Not without a fight. If my life must end, then so be it." So be it. It was those words that made him withdraw the blade. But he had come so close… he had felt her flesh giving way under the steel. He knew that he couldn't fight it for much longer, that next time he might very well kill her. That one moment had been lingering since it occurred. Johnny had come to the supposition that the only way to protect her was to leave. He had been planning this moment since then. Opening a drawer in the old china cabinet, he pulled out a small gold locket. Intricate Celtic knots wove themselves around the oval trinket. Johnny had had the words Stay with me impressed into the back of it, if only to remind Freja of what they had. With his right hand, he closes the necklace in a protective fist, and walks reluctantly back to the bedroom.

A few unwilling steps brought him to the bedside. Freja still slept serenely. Good… it won't be so difficult… With his right and on the pillow next to her, Johnny brushes her air from her face with is left and kisses her tenderly on the corner of her lips. "Try not to miss me too much, okay?" he whispers, before rising and letting the locket fall from his hand. With the last of his sanity, he fights the urge to smother her and instead turns, exits the room and closes the door for the last time…

"I dreamed those words…" Freja reminisced. "Your touch… That kiss… When I awoke, as soon as my mind was clear of sleep, I knew you were gone… I knew that I would never see you alive again. I knew that I had lost the battle when the war hadn't even begun. I was prepared to die protecting you from the unknown. But… I had no idea that when I did, it would be too late."

It was impossible for Johnny to deny that he had indeed been affected by freja's distress. Since the first memory of her, he had been fighting the return of emotions that were now impossible to grasp. In this last recollection, he realized that he was loosing. He stepped in close to her – an action that previously would've disgusted him – and placed a hand upon her cold cheek. He slowly moved his face closer to hers. It wasn't long before Freja realized what he was doing and, as much as she longed for it herself, she darted away.

"I can't do that to you, Nny. A kiss from the dead is damning: You will long for me in the flesh though it cannot be. I can't do that to you," she repeated, shaking her head. "It would destroy your spirit."

Johnny thought for a moment, remembering… He wanted that feeling back, security, comfort, the only true euphoria he had ever felt. Without comprehending the consequences, he spoke the words that Freja was dreading: "So be it." Not giving her a chance to dodge, he swooped in, locking his lips onto hers. Johnny felt her give in, resigning herself to the sweet caress that she had missed so much.

But it was short-lived. He felt her lips form into a cringe under his own and he released her. She looked down to his chest, avoiding his eyes. "Oh, Nny…" she whispered, resting her head on his chest. "What have I done?"