Chapter Twenty-Two: Twin Flames

It's late by the time the car is fixed, and Jonah is quietly reconciling with himself that he is not going to be reunited with Matthew today. He expresses this to Wendy, who sighs, but gives him a proposition.

"Well, Jonah, I was thinking—we definitely aren't going to be able to get you there today, but, if I drive through the night, I can get you there by morning, potentially even before classes start for the day—"

"No, Wendy, I can't ask you to do that. You've had a long day already, and I can't ask you to pull an all-nighter—"

"Aw, kid, it'll be fine. I slept some while the car was being fixed, anyway, I'm well-rested."

It's ten hours, then, from nowhere-Nevada to their destination, entering Holly Hill, California, at about seven in the morning. During this last stretch of their journey, Wendy and Jonah had talked almost incessantly, as if aware that this would be the last stretch of time they would get together, just the two of them. As they cross the city limits, however, Jonah goes silent, literally pausing mid-word through a story about Wendy and Jonah's time in Hell House, that fateful, haunted summer, all those years ago.

Wendy does her best to engage the kid, as they stop at a diner for breakfast. But the medium is still silent, and pale, his hands shaking as he simply stares at his plateful of pancakes.

"C'mon, Jonah, you should eat something, you haven't eaten since—"

"I don't think I can, Wendy," he replies, sounding miserable, "I feel like I could be sick. I'm starting to wonder if I should even do this—what if Matthew is upset, what if he's even mad, when he sees me, for showing up uninvited into his life—"

"Uninvited? Jonah, he invited himself into your afterlife and resurrected you, without any consent at all, into the present. He has no right to be upset with you now for turning up in the life he made for both of you. Besides, I have a feeling he's going to be elated to see you. I'd bet money he's been absolutely miserable without you, damn near inconsolable, as he teaches classes. He's only a professor because he pursued you as his life's work."

Jonah hopes and prays to God that Wendy is right, as he sips his plain black coffee, willing his hands to stop shaking, willing his stress headache to go away. But he can't shake the possibility that Matthew won't be happy to see him, the confrontation they could be about to have, no doubt more potentially explosive than their last interaction together was.

As Wendy pulls up to the Holly Hill University for Atypical Vocational Studies, Jonah really does feel like he could be sick. He's so nervous and freaked out, lights seem brighter, and his stomach is churning horribly, even after the car comes to a stop.

"Oh, honey, come on…you've gotta wipe that terrified expression off your face. Matt'll be happy to see you, I promise. Come on, we'll smoke one last cigarette, and with each drag, you better calm down. We'll call it a bravery ritual, or something."

And so they do, quietly smoking together, leaning against Wendy's tan Ford Bronco. Jonah's almost calm, feeling a little more brave, when he spots Matthew's truck, the bright-red and rusted Dodge, already parked in the parking lot. He points to it with a shaking hand.

"Well, that's good, Jonah, it means he's already in there. He's probably in his office right now, stewing and fretting, unaware that the love of his life is about to come in there and make his day an extraordinary one."

"God, have you always been such a hopeless optimist?" Jonah asks her disdainfully, snubbing out his cigarette with his rubber-soled shoe.

"Have you always been such an awful pessimist, Jonah?" she laughs, clapping him on the back, "You get in there, tiger, and find your man—it'll go just fine, and I'll be right here by the car waiting for you, alright?"

Wendy watches Jonah walk away from her, looking scared and small, with her fingers crossed behind her back.

Please God, let this turn out alright—

If it doesn't, she doesn't think Matt or Jonah will ever recover.

The campus is confusing, to say the least. It's almost nine in the morning before Jonah finds the building the Paranormal Studies department is housed in, and he's almost starting to despair. He's in the lobby, scuffing his foot along the ugly tiled floor, watching students of various heights and ages, all with book bags, and mostly clad in black, mill about the building. The walls are papered in posters advertising classes and extracurriculars concerned with such topics of ghost-hunting, sigil work, dowsing, exorcism, and more. It seems like the perfect place for Matt, full of like-minded people—why then, did Jonah feel so God-damned lost and out of place, looking deceptively ordinary in a sea of people with extraordinary interests.

He looks at the map the nice lady a few buildings over gave him, and sighs, a troubled, stricken sort of sound. His hands shake like Hell, and he wishes, again, that he had thought to bring Matt's CD player—

"Hey there!" A chipper voice interrupts his inner turmoil, a gothic-looking Asian boy coming into his line of sight, waving exuberantly.

It's the kid I saw, that one time I projected into Matt's life—the man he was eating with. Jonah realizes, his heart skipping several beats.

"H-hello," Jonah replies, his voice shaking with nerves.

"Do you need help? You look lost, to be honest."

"Well, uh, yes. To be honest, I am lost, and could use some help—"

"Alright then! Lucky for you, I work here! Where do you need to go, what classroom?"

"Well, I actually need to get to a professor's office—I need to speak with Matthew Campbell? He's, uh—" Jonah looks frantically around, spotting a poster advertising academic counseling, "my advisor?"

"Oh, cool! Matt's the best advisor you could have, considering he's the Department Head. I'm actually his assistant, and I was going there already—we both work in the department's main office. Here, I'll take you to him, if you follow me."

And so Jonah does, careful not to lose sight of the man confidently striding through crowds of students. He follows him into an elevator, watching the pleasant-looking man press the button for the top-most floor. The button glows orange, after the man presses it. Jonah leans forward, fascinated, only to stumble, as the elevator jerks to life, rising up so quickly, Jonah's stomach feels like it drops out of him and descends several flights.

"Don't like elevators, huh? Me neither," the man states, as he watches Jonah cling, white-knuckled, to the railing that rings the elevator's walls. The teenager just nods, looking pale.

He seems like an odd duck, for sure, Eric muses, but whomst amongst us, here in Paranormal Studies, is not?

Eric leads the trembling teen to the main office, ordering him to sit in the waiting area, as he checks in on Matt's office. The doctor is gone, most likely finishing up his eight a.m. class. He tells the boy as much, explaining that Matt will be back in just a few minutes, and that he's welcome to wait in Matt's office to be seen.

And so Jonah does, shifting foot to foot, waiting on pins and needles, in the quiet of Matthew's office. It's a beautiful office, all polished-oak and tasteful artwork, with stuffed-full, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along each wall, except for one, which houses a massive arched window. Jonah flits nervously around Matthew's space, observing these things, some of them familiar. Here is Matthew's canvas bag, the one with all the patches, tossed on a chair by Matthew's desk. On that desk is Matthew's cigarettes and lighter, and the little leather-bound notebook Matt was always scribbling in.

Opening the notebook to a random page, Jonah is surprised to find a poem, scribbled in Matthew's scraggly, atrocious handwriting, dated only a few days following their ill-fated fight, after Matthew ran, as quick as he could, from Hell House, and his own Lazarus within:

Who is He?

This is the tale of a man

Haunted by an image from his past

The face of a boy

Transformed by obsession

Into that of a phantom

Oh, who is he?

A misty memory

A haunting face

Is he a lost embrace?

Am I in love with just a theme?

Or is the Messiah just a dream?

A mystery

Oh, who is he?

Oh, who is he?

A misty memory

A haunting face

Is he a lost embrace?

I call his name

Across an endless plane

He'll answer me

Where ever he may be

Somewhere across the sea of time

A love immortal such as mine

Will come to me

Eternally

Immortal he

Return to me

As he reads, one of the reincarnation's hands rises to hover weakly rest over his own mouth, unsuccessfully trying to stifle the soft smile blooming, slowly and unbidden, to his vintage face. Jonah thinks the poem is about himself, hopes it is, as he turns the lines over and over in his own mind. It's funny, how similarly they had felt at the time, though unable—or unwilling—to communicate those feelings at the time. Both of them lonely and in love, yearning for and morning a relationship they hadn't even had yet—hoping and praying that they would see the other again one day, yet already wondering if their whole summer together had been some kind of twisted dream, or some morbid joke.

Replacing the notebook, Jonah notices a picture, a polaroid, propped up against a screened piece of technology that occupies most of Matt's desk. It's a snapshot of Jonah, laughing, with a cigarette in hand, sitting on the back porch steps of Hell House. Jonah remembers Matt taking this picture, the day the camera came in the mail. The fact that he'd kept up with the picture, that Matt had had it on him when he fled Hell House, makes Jonah's stomach flip. Matt had not only kept it, but he's been carrying it with him, has put it in a spot he'll see everyday, to remind himself of the reincarnated life he left behind, stranded, in a rebuilt and restored house he had bought for the two of them, to live out a new life in, together.

Jonah picks the picture up, looking at the back, finding Matthew's chicken scratch again, penned in black ink— Jonah—two months reborn—2005.

"Who'd you say is in there?"

Jonah startles hard as he hears a voice right outside the office door, the polaroid fluttering to the floor from the medium's numb fingers.

Dear God, Matthew's voice—

"Uh, I'm not actually sure, I forgot to ask his name—he's awful young, though—"

Jonah steps out from behind the desk, his hands shaking, his stomach in knots, as he listens to Matthew's footsteps grow closer and closer. He sees his silhouette, through the window of the office door, and closes his eyes, feeling terrified, unwilling to see the expression on Matthew's face as he finds Jonah Aickman, of all people, standing here in his office, so many hundred of miles away from where he's supposed to be.

The door opens, and closes, and Jonah finally opens his eyes, as no other sound but silence initially reigns.

Oh, dear Lord, I've forgotten just how handsome Matthew is, Jonah's mind supplies, as the two men openly stare at each other. Matt's dressed nicely, considering he's teaching today—slacks, a dress shirt, and a waistcoat, looking more like Jonah usually does, than himself.

Matt, on the other hand, can't seem to form a coherent thought, absolutely shook to his core at Jonah standing, whole and hale, in his office, at Matt's desk.

How the fuck is he even here?

Matt takes a shaky step forward, his heart pounding in his ears, the edges of his vision blurry, like he might pass out any second. Jonah's looking back at him, with those eyes, that searing, everescent gaze, a field of wild cornflowers. That stare looks right into Matt's soul, and Matt reels—he'd forgotten just how much that gaze hurt, how he could feel it thrumming along underneath his skin, carelessly burning and bruising its way along Matt's bones, muscles, tendons. So much blood, heated to boiling-pitch.

He'd look almost alien, if that gaze wasn't the same as before, his face, still so beautifully crafted and striking as it was before. Otherwise, the medium doesn't look like himself—he's cut his hair, for one, Matt's mind distantly notes—Matt's going to seriously fucking thank whoever thought to give the kid such a perfect haircut—and he's wearing clothes, modern clothes, looking entirely natural and in-fashion. Matt helplessly takes it in—the pants, so well-fitted to the kid's narrow hips, all bones and cream-colored skin, the hollow of his stomach peeking out from under his tank top, his bare arms.

Jesus fucking Christ, he's even more beautiful than before.

This look somehow seems more like Jonah—it belies confidence, and fashion sense, both things Jonah possesses to some degree. How he got the clothes, though, how the fuck he even got here, is a fucking mystery.

Jonah, looking just as shocked and helpless as Matt, takes a step forward, and another, and Matt does too, drawn together—only a foot apart, now—like magnets. Matt works up his courage, taking a deep breath, about to begin speaking—about to apologize, with his whole fucking heart and soul, for leaving the kid, abandoning Jonah within the cursed walls of Hell House, for pushing his sick, romantic feelings onto the teen—hell, for even bringing the medium back to life in the first place—when Jonah speaks first, completely derailing any potentially coherent thought Matt could've had.

"I was so blind, Matthew, and so ungrateful…I'm so horribly, terribly sorry." Jonah begins, and his voice, God, that fucking voice, is awash in grief, wavering and breaking like waves on the shore.

"To think," Jonah laughs, a rueful, ugly sort of laugh, his gaze finally breaking from Matthew's flitting away guiltily, seemingly unable to look at the occultist who brought him back, "my soulmate, the only love I've ever had, offered me Heaven in his hands, and I denied him."

"Jonah—"

"No, Matthew, my dearest…I'm not finished. You offered me Heaven on Earth and I refused you. It was the biggest mistake of either of my lives, Matthew, it was so fucking stupid—because I do love you, Matthew—I love you so wholly, so intensely, with ever fibre of my wretched sinner's soul. Could you forgive me, Matt?"

"No, Jonah, stop, you—you don't understand—you don't need to apologize, it's me who needs to beg for forgiveness. I brought you back, made you an unwilling poppet, soul-bound to an existence you didn't even ask for, and then I just assumed, I just assumed that you'd want me, that you'd feel the same way I do—"

"But I do, Matthew, I do—I love you, I love you right back—please, can you—can you have me again?"

Jonah's crying, now, glistening little tears that hover from his jaw before breaking, spilling to the hardwood floor. He's staring at Matthew, pleading with his ocean-eyes, begging his creator in a wrecked, broken whisper to come home, come back to me, please—

The force of Matthew's embrace is crushing, as it encircles the medium, causes him to stagger slightly. Matt's face buried in Jonah's hair, dampening in the deluge of the occultist's answering tears.

"No, please, kid—I'm all yours—oh, God—I just love you, love you so much—I'm so sorry—"

Well, as much as Matthew does owe him an apology, this downward spiral of guilt and sadness won't do. And so, Jonah pulls away from Matthew, giving the confused, guilt-ridden professor a reassuring smile before taking his scarred face in both hands, bringing him down to his level.

He kisses him. It's a soft, sweet thing at first, mouths chastly pressing together, basking in the warmth of the other, both of them almost unbelieving, marveling at having the other here, together, attached—and then the kiss deepens, just as Jonah had been so desperately craving, imagining, these past few weeks. Matthew thinks he's going to leave his body, depart this Earth and die, gone to Heaven, right here in Jonah's arms, as the medium swipes his tongue along Matt's bottom lip. He uses Matt's gasp as leverage to squirm his way into the man's mouth, groaning as tongues meet, slick and warm and so very fucking damned.

Well, Wendy had predicted Matthew might lose his God-damned mind, Jonah wildly rejoices, as Matt kisses him back desperately, hard, the veracity of it causing the two boys to stumble backward, eventually pressing Jonah back roughly against the edge of Matt's desk.

It feels like Matthew is everywhere—one of his hands, rough and shaking, grasp Jonah by the hip, the other hand reverently raking through Jonah's hair, fingertips finding and resting upon electroshock scars. Tender spots for sure, and Jonah moans, a weak, tremulous sound muffled by Matthew's mouth on his, the heady, debauched kiss they're exchanging. Jonah isn't sure where he ends, and Matthew begins now, all teeth and gums, and spit, Jesus fucking Christ.

Jonah startles, surprised, as Matt's rough, wanting hands grab him up, boosting the teen to sit on his desk, knocking over his things, wrinkling yet-to-be graded papers underneath Jonah's body. Jonah's surprise, and the force of the motion, breaks their kiss, both men gasping roughly, lewdly, into the silence of Matthew's office. They stare at each other then, and Matthew's gaze looks wrecked, the beautiful brown eyes Jonah loves so damn much alight with an answering love, heady with lust, and swimming with tears, a combination suited to devilry—

"What, Matt, are you gonna have me right here on your desk?" Jonah asks coyly, his laugh breathless, and Matthew blushes an absolutely fetching shade of cherry red, his eyes going wide, as if he hadn't considered that thought, until just now.

"Jesus, Jonah—"

"No," Jonah interrupts, grinning up at the professor that currently has him pinned like prey, "not him. Just me, and all yours."

Matthew groans in response, and staggers away, breathing raggedly, and covers his face with his hands, as if willing to calm down.

"Come back here, my love."

And Matt does, as if summoned, helpless at the tone in Jonah's voice, so clearly wanting. He presses his forehead to Jonah's, his heart pounding in his throat, and Jonah's hands come up to touch his face, his fingers reverently tracing along each little Latin letter he finds.

"Mm, and you're all mine, I'm sure."

Matt nods roughly, knocking their heads together, as if screaming yes, yes, all yours, his eyes wild.

"I've always been, Jonah, all yours—please—"

"I know, and yes," Jonah replies, low and rough, gripping Matt's face and shoulder, as if trying to comfort him, "you're mine. You're not allowed to run off, again, you hear? You belong to me, you're soul-bound to me. You're my everything, too, do you understand?"

"Yes, Jonah, yes, I understand, I won't—God, I'm so fucking sorry, kid—"

"I know you are. But, you can apologize to me properly, later. For now, you're just going to have to kiss me again. I've been dreaming about you forever."

And so Matt does, kissing Jonah again, patiently and reverently, his hands cupping Jonah's face, shaking with the force of his love and devotion. His very own Messiah, risen from the dead, preaching forgiveness and reciprocating decades worth of love and desperation. It's like a dance, the two of them kissing and moving together, until the class bell rings, and Eric's voice interrupts them from beyond the office door.

"Hey, uh, Dr. Campbell, your ten o'clock class is going to start in five minutes—"

"Go tell them class' canceled," Matthew hollers back, his voice rough. But Jonah's shaking his head, laughing, pushing Matt away with both hands on the man's broad chest.

"No, dearest, go teach your class. I won't be going anywhere. Go about your day as normal, my love…we have our whole lives ahead of us, to make up for lost time."

Matt just groans, looking torn, glancing between Jonah, flushed and grinning, and the door, Eric's hesitant shadow lingering beyond.

"Dr. Campbell—"

"Ugh, fine, fine, fuck, I'll be there in a few minutes, I'll just be a little late," Matt yells, releasing a volley of curses that could give a nun a heartattack.

He gathers his things for the class hurriedly, seemingly unable to take his eyes off of Jonah, who hops off of the desk, staggering slightly on his weak knees.

"Don't worry," Jonah reassures, as Matt lurches towards him, "as I said, I'll be right here. I'm not going to vanish."

"Come with me."

"What?"

"Come with me, to class, Jonah. You're just as much an expert, honestly probably more so, you can sit at the front—or the back, whatever, I don't care—and help with the lecture—"

"Ah, Matthew….I don't think that's the best idea. You go to class…I need to go back outside and let Wendy know everything is fine—"

"Wendy? Shit, Wendy's here?"

"Yes, she's waiting outside. She drove me here. It's a long story, dearest…you go to class. I'll be waiting right here in this office—probably with Wendy, I'm not sure—when you get back, and then maybe I'll attend a class of yours, though I don't want to be acknowledged at all."

The bell rings again, and Eric pounds on the door.

"Shit, fuck, alright—I'll be back in an hour. I only have two classes after that, they'll be over around one—it's a Tuesday, right?"

"Yes, Matt, it is, and if that's the case, we can just reconvene after, alright?"

"Ugh, fine, fine," Matthew replies, finally agreeing with Jonah, sounding like it's cost him the world not to just drop everything. He kisses Jonah on the forehead, then his mouth, smiling and parted, and then his forehead again, fuck, and then his cheek—

"Go, Matthew—"

And finally, the professor is gone, leaving behind a whirl of curses and fluttering papers.

Jonah just stands there, once again enveloped in the silence of Matthew's office, his heart still pounding. Flushed and shaking, he touches his own mouth with numb fingers, tracing his tender, swollen lips, and marveling. He ends up laughing—a manic, joyous laugh that rings off the walls, and thanks God above and every other deity listening.

Thank fucking God that he'll have me, that he still loves me—

Eric catches Jonah as he leaves Matt's office, looking shocked and befuddled.

"Hey, whoa there, who are you? I didn't catch your name?"

"I told you once before, over the phone. I'm Jonah Aickman. I had to come all the way here to speak with Matthew, since you wouldn't let me speak to him—"

"No, no, there just isn't any fucking way—"

"You work with Dr. Matthew Campbell, of all people, and you're going to question how I got here? Alive and functioning in the year of our Lord two-thousand and five, after I died a full eighty years ago, burned alive in a crematory, after an ill-fated sceance? Take a wild guess, Eric—are you aware, truly, of just how powerful Matthew is?"

Jonah sounds haughty, and proud, watching the flicker of emotions that cross Eric's face, everything from shock, to incredulousness, to disbelief, finally to belief, shock again, and horror, before settling on an expression of awe.

"No, no, there's simply no way—"

Jonah sighs and brushes past Eric as he walks past him, regarding the stammering man with a look akin to fondness, and pity.

"Just ask Matthew, he'll explain. He won't have any answers, though, for how I got here. I haven't even told him that, yet…I am just as powerful, though, as he is, you see."

And he leaves Eric there, dumbfounded and speechless.

Jonah finds Wendy sitting on the hood of her car, leaned back and sunning herself, half-asleep with her eyes closed.

"Hey, Wendy," he calls to her, his voice alight with mirth.

She startles, sitting up. She looks at Jonah and grins, a devilish smirk overtaking her pretty face.

"Well, look who it is. Judging by how messed up your hair and clothes are, I'll say the reunion went well."

"Your prediction was right, Wendy—Matt pretty much lost his God-damned mind."

She laughs, sliding off the car to run to Jonah, gathering the blushing teen up into a hug.

"I'm just so fucking glad it turned out alright," she mumbles, her face buried in Jonah's shoulder.

"Me too, Wendy. Thank you. It was only possible because of you."

Jonah leads Wendy to Matt's office, where they find a still-flabbergasted Eric staring at the polaroid of Jonah on Matthew's desk.

"Shit, it really is you," he exclaims as Jonah comes into the room, and Jonah just sighs.

"Yes, Eric, it is—"

"Wow! Wow wow wow, oh goodness—what is being alive again like? Do you like it here? Was it painful? How'd he do it?"

"It's wonderful, I love it here, and yes, it was. It still can be, sometimes. As far as how Matthew did it, I can just tell you it was spellwork. I'm a poppet to him, if you know what that is. The specifics of the spell would have to be explained to you by Matthew."

Eric is positively enthralled, practically vibrating with excitement, as he continues to pepper Jonah with questions. His interrogation lasts until the bell rings again, Matt coming back to the office only a few minutes after. He lights up when he sees Jonah back, sitting at his desk, and positively beams when he spies Wendy at the accompanying chair. He drops his bag and rushes forward, and the two cousins hug, all murmured words.

"Jesus, Wendy, I can't thank you enough for bringing him here—"

"You should thank Jonah, for even thinking to call me, and your parents, Matt, for agreeing to watch Otto and Milo while we embarked on this dumbass goose chase—you being the dumbass goose—"

"Wait," Matt asks, going several shades paler, "my parents?"

"Yes," Jonah chimes in, " you should call your mom, Matthew. She's worried about you. Her and Mr. Peter are so nice, they really do love you—"

"You met my fucking parents?"

"Yup, he did, and it went well, no thanks to you," Wendy points out with a sniff, and Jonah laughs.

"I thought your dad was going to throttle me at first." Jonah states.

"Yeah, but by the time we left, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Peter were just absolutely in love with our little reincarnated dead boy," Wendy pesters, poking at a laughing Jonah roughly.

Matthew sits down on the edge of his desk, looking pale and tired, almost dizzy—looking guilty, as he imagines what that visit must have been like for everyone involved. Jonah, desperate and abandoned, seeking help from his family. And then, his family, confronted with the awful truth—their son, Matt, the occultist, has managed to reincarnate someone.

"Oh, God," he groans, and Jonah pats his arm comfortingly.

"It'll be okay, Matthew. They aren't mad at you…maybe a little disappointed, but they aren't mad. They still love you, and they love me, I think. I love them too, I'll have you know—you have such a swell family, Matt—"

"The kids love him too," Wendy chimes in, "Milo was downright devastated when we had to leave, and Otto has been texting me questions he wants me to ask Jonah the whole time we were driving here."

"Excuse me, mister, uh—Aickman, sir, now that Dr. Campbell's here, will you explain how you were able to leave the house in the first place?" Eric interrupts, Matt's head whipping around to look at Jonah.

"Yeah kid, are you gonna explain—"

"I'll explain later, after your classes are done for the day," Jonah states firmly, as the next class bell rings, "you and Eric live together, right? We're all going to be together after class, I can explain then, alright?"

Matt and Eric agree, and Matthew leaves for class again, after pressing yet another kiss to Jonah's forehead, the medium blushing shyly and hiding as Wendy whoops, vocalizing her excitement.

"So, uh, Mr. Aickman—"

"Please, Eric, please just call me Jonah. Aickman was my father's name, and he's long dead and in Hell."

"Shit, sorry, um, Jonah—what are you, to Dr. Campbell? I mean, like, what are the two of you, to each other, if he went through all the trouble of reincarnating you, bring you back from the dead and all that?"

"They're soulmates!" Wendy supplies, laughing as Jonah's blush grows brighter, "Jonah and Matt were meant to be together, and always have been, we think."

"Ah, soulmates? Like twin flames?"

"Yes, exactly like twin flames." Jonah replies, smiling softly at the floor, still too embarrassed by recent developments, and Matthew's public display of affection, to look anyone in the eye.

"Our souls are irrevocably intertwined, and they have been since we crossed paths all those years ago, when Matt and his family first moved into Hell House. I needed him, you see, to help me set free all the damned and cursed souls trapped in that house. To do that, I possessed him. Literally. I asked, and he said yes, and I pushed his soul to make room for mine, and got inside. Ever since then, we've been connected, every moment apart, a painful and lonely one."

Eric stares, awed.

"Dr. Campbell has spoken in class before, about possession. He said he'd been possessed once, that it was the most intense and, er…intimate experience of his life. He was talking about you?"

"Well yes, I'd imagine so, unless someone else has possessed him since I have."

"You know, he told me he chose his line of work because of being haunted by you, Jonah Aickman. He said he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to find you again…and he did, though I never would have imagined that he was spending his life trying to reincarnate you, and not just talk with you—"

"You and me both, Eric," Wendy interrupts, and Jonah agrees, nodding along with her.

"It seems the three of us, along with the rest of Matt's family, are all in the same boat. But it happened, and I'm here. Matthew was successful, and I, personally, am so glad he was…though, I do regret the damage Matthew's no doubt done to his soul. Neither of us will ever be able to go to Heaven, now, but at least we've got the rest of his lifespan to create our own little Heaven, here in this realm."

Eric, in all his exuberance and relative naivety, cheers. But Wendy can see the look on Jonah's face, hopefulness and sadness for the future warring. They lock eyes, and Wendy nods at him, acknowledging his misgivings.

Yes, they have Matt's lifetime together, but after that, what? And Jonah will have to weather the pain of watching his love get old, watch his soulmate wither and perish, all the while frozen in time, unable to do anything but watch. They may have figured out how to cheat a death that's already happened, but preventing a death in the future…Wendy and Jonah doubt the occultist is capable of achieving immortality, too. It'll be a life, sure, but it will be a difficult one. To add insult to injury, their age gap is already so severe—what will it be like when Matthew hits fifty? Sixty, seventy, eighty, for fuck's sake, and all Jonah can do is hope and pray that Matt lives as long as possible.

"I'm going to have to get Matthew to quit smoking." He states, and Wendy laughs. Death is something they can consider much further down their road.