Chapter 15: White Lies
He had lost control.
Lewis had lost control of himself, and now she'd never be coming back.
He was watching her fade away from him so fast and with such quickness, his eyes dull once more and lacking their light as they followed the van through the darkness on their way to their next motel, their next adventure, somewhere far away from where he was to never again look back upon their former team mate. He knew he'd always be looking back from this day until he truly faded from her realm, looking back and regretting his rash and childish actions and wondering if it could have ended differently for him and the girl dressed up like the sky, wondering if he could have been holding his ocean in his arms right now with her living breath warm against his empty chest and his fingers knotted so lively in her hair, never leaving her morning curls with the bone plates catching on the rivers running from her head. He wondered if, just maybe, they could have gone back to life the way it as or started a new one on their own, truly lived even if he would never be the same.
That wasn't possible now. She was gone forever, and there was nothing more he could do.
His eyes lowered and his plated hands lifted, holding between the bone digits the heart that only moments before had been animated with the beating and fullness of life and hope, fire and passion. Now, he was no more than a husk thrown aside by careless fingers, an empty glass with too many cracks to hold slowly running water let alone fickle flame. With his lifeline gone flat and his tether wavering and fraying, Lewis felt himself growing faint and somewhat dizzy. If he had a truly beating heart at that moment, it might have fluttered like a baby bird within his chest as he felt himself beginning to fade away.
His hand twitched lightly, gripping the locket harder for only a second before allowing it to swing satisfyingly open to pour the light from his inner core and true self outward in a wave, the brightness only truly tangible to him within his dark room and even darker, brooding heart. She was smiling so happily from within, her joy that of the entire world as it rested within her hands and upon her face as her fingers gripped his without shy restraint or further thought, only unbridled and free roaming cheer. The eyes of his former self, so purple and bright with the blessings of light, gazed only upon her pale face with gentle wrinkles shaping the sides and adoration evident in their shining proclamation. Even in death, some things never change.
She had been so close, no longer a dream or a memory but the screaming reality come to break his heart for a second time within the halls of his home. He had been so close to seeing that smile curling her cheeks and squinting her eyes, so close to cupping her face in his deathly hands and feeling her warm skin so lively as it blushed a shy crimson, so close to telling her in his hushed tones what he had never had the nerve to tell her when he truly had the breath. He had fallen once so painfully to the hands of a loved one, finding himself powerless as his arms reached in vain towards the one he named more than an ally or travel companion, but a friend and a teammate. The second time, he had been pushed into the infinity of despair with his arms still reaching in a futile attempt to catch himself and finding hers reaching too, finding their hearts and hands separated as he cried out for his best friend, his family, and his beloved.
A tear streaked down his bony face, startling him in its warmth and livelihood as he lifted a timid hand to brush it aside and away as he felt himself shiver with the release of tension, the release of emotion through his numb body. He was growing even more emotional, and as his hand neared his face, he noticed its pinkness, no longer black and bone-plated but nearly living if a little faded and shaking. This was it, then? Was he going to fade into the next life not as a phantom but as the ghost of who he truly had been in a life he had left behind and who had in turn abandoned him, the life that had left him forgotten? If anything were going to save him, if he was going to stay in the land of the living for any longer than a few more torturous hours, something had to happen fast to tether him back into this world.
Be it sorrow or an attempt to conserve what little energy he had left within his frail body, Lewis let the mansion he had made so thoughtfully for Vivi fade into the nothingness he had been born from. He couldn't stand to look at it anymore, couldn't stand the reminder that she wasn't with him right now and that she never would be, forever out of his reach if forever within his mind. If these were his last moments, he decided they were best spent in whatever remnants of false peace he could manage.
Her hands were pressed numbly against the large cold window in the back of the van, breath fogging the structure chill as ice and leaving clouds of mist in pulses as she inhaled and exhaled rhythmically, the translucent surface obscuring her glassy view. All the way back down the road they came, the black thorns of the crooked forest curled around the house fluidly and very much alive as the mansion decayed, and with a little sigh like death she watched the shadow of her mind fade into nothingness, becoming no more than a muddy imprint upon the swamp within her mind and a flicker of lost hope. As it disappeared, the little, beating heart inside her chest gave a flutter of worried and sorrowful goodbye, and she had to pull her hand gently to her breast to stop the tears from filling her stinging eyes.
That ghost had chased Arthur through a mansion of immense size, height, and mystery, the look in his eyes screaming nothing short of blood vengeance and merciless justice stained by hatred, maybe even betrayal. He had threatened without word or breath the only person she truly felt a connection with, the only person she could call her best friend and brother, someone she was willing to take a bullet-even die-for in every sense of the term...and yet, such fondness gripped her with vines of remembrance when he stopped before her, such wonder filled her beating heart like helium as his eyes locked onto hers with the searchings of the soul, and just thinking about the way her stomach filled with laughing air and effortless lightness as his heart offered itself to her, so trusting and full of love and locked secrets. She knew him, she had been so close to a tangible memory. She knew him and she had loved him, maybe even as much as she loved Arthur.
That little tug of swelling frustration began to burrow into her unruly brain, anger that she couldn't remember filling her limbs. The spirit of the mansion within the black, curling thorns...he had been someone close to her, someone who had kept her wholly safe in times of fear and terror beyond current recollection, this she knew with certainty. He was someone who could and had once filled the tiny void within her still beating heart, and yet without any hint of recognition she couldn't paint a picture, couldn't hear his voice, couldn't see the phantom of her angelic heart for what he truly had once been. Her sorrow, biting with raised hackles against the frustration of earlier, was chased out entirely by his big brother discontent, no longer snarling but screaming as it berated Vivi for her inactions and inabilities. In bitter reply, she felt her nails dig deeply into the palms of her hands, and she turned quickly to Arthur with a burst of daring and a desire beyond anything.
"Arthur, who was he?"
As she studied the events of the night over and over in her head with careful accuracy and attention to every little detail, she saw her best friend's face not just that of fear and terror as it almost always had been in these situations. No, much more had been evident in the curving of his eyebrows, the speed of his motion, the moments of silence and reflection as her best friend faced what could have and should have been his death; Vivi had seen recognition in the sinking of his eyes, she had seen guilt in the pleading of his deep cheeks, she could see regret in the screams that painted the purple hallways blood red. There was once a time where he never lied to her, never kept a secret and physically couldn't as excitement and the thrill of revelation possessed his body, but there was more to this mystery than just a coward and an angry ghost. Too many shadows had accumulated between her and her best friend, and how can you truly trust someone when they don't bestow trust upon you?
Arthur didn't acknowledge hearing her question let alone understand, not even turning back or flinching as she waited for some form of reply, be it vocal or physical. His metal hand, always a lot stronger than his right, gripped the steering wheel harder and harder with each passing second and left dents in the pliable and soft black crevices and dips in the fabric. He was guilty now, she could feel it as though it were a strong pulse rolling off of him, growing in intensity as he kept his eyes on the road and head from turning to even look at her. This only furthered her intuitive suspicion, and she could feel her usually calm head growing light with some form of angry betrayal, something akin to a stab in the back. This wasn't right, her not knowing so much about herself and their past. Why did he continue to lie to her, keep something so important from her, if he truly valued their friendship?
She heard a muffled noise from the front seat, a little murmur or crackle in his voice as though he was trying his very best to control himself and nearly losing to the temptation of honesty and truthfulness. Mystery looked up at him with eyes flashing a glinting red, his gaze stern and commanding as he let off the tiniest of growls as a warning to the ginger-headed boy-did her dog seriously know more about this mystery than she did? Even the thought of being left so in the dark gave her a flare of agitated air, and as cruel courage gave her voice a resonance she felt herself fall into an emotion she hated more than the death that came with silence.
"God damn it, Arthur, talk to me! Who was the ghost who wanted your head on a stick, why did he feel so...so safe to me, but most of all," she took a gulping breath, her eyes landing precisely on her friend as her voice cracked with a fury unknown to her mild temper, "what happened the night you lost your arm? What happened the night I lost my memory? What happened, and what does it have to do with him?"
Silence.
She could feel her outburst fading and her control coming back gradually like shy mice to an outstretched bread crumb, but with this awareness and control came the crying of guilt in the back of her mind, the regret of actions so dire and quick she couldn't quite think them through with tact. Arthur was hunched over the steering wheel as though he had collapsed from the impact of her words and accusations, his shoulders shaking and exhaustion driving the boy to bitter tears and memories only fueling his fear of the dark of the future. He began to mumble something, his voice no louder than a broken wisp of wind in the silence of the car upon the back road streets. She leaned in to lend her ear to the musings of the boy with the voice as loud as a leaf falling upon the autumn ground, hoping to catch an inkling of his words before he once again fell silent, but with a loud inhale of breath he lifted himself back up and cleared his crackling voice of any wavering emotion that might leak through with the most monotone and broken of replies falling from his heavy lips. If she weren't so blind with desire, Vivi would have no doubt felt her little heart sink to the floor.
"Vivi, he didn't want you to know back then. I didn't want you to know. This is how it is, this is how it should be."
Again, the screaming of silence. Not even the tires against the road below made enough noise to cover the awkwardness, and stewing of unwanted thoughts and feelings in the van, falling near silent as though they too were mourning for the man of her faded memories. She leaned back against the bouncing of the couch behind her, feeling her eyes grow tired and weary with the promise of tears and the threat of sobs. Vivi was sick of not knowing her fate, and in this way she only grew even more rebellious and bitter.
Her eyes, nearly closed as the road gave a little bump of life on the neglected and dead street, locked onto something hidden only inches from her feet with only her own curiosity and an inkling of remembered usefulness to mark it as anything less than lies and marketed ghost crap. Salvation for Vivi was kept sealed and safe within a cardboard box, frayed and old at the edges and labelled with blurred and unrecognizable sharpie. She reached forward with hands growing greedy and desperate, careless and quick, allowing her chubby fingers to curl around the thin and brittle binding that left the pages frayed and old. She had pushed it away forever ago to gather and collect dust, but as she brushed it off it was a treasure trove she couldn't believe she left behind almost two years ago. There was something about this book she remembered, something within its yellowing pages smelling only of mildew and age, that she had taken note of for future reference. This was her divine intervention, her salvation, and within it she knew she would find the means to her memories.
"We're going to a motel. Separate rooms."
Vivi, so lost in her memories, felt herself jump as Arthur's voice cracked and sputtered with the usage of words he never thought he'd speak, something he never wanted to speak. He sounded lost and broken as he interrupted her thoughts with unpleasantness, the news unwanted and cold to the girl who seeked warmth and comfort. After such a scare on his life, despite her anger at his silence, there was nothing that Vivi needed more than the reassurance that came with the two of them sleeping in the same room if even in different beds, the knowledge that he was safe beside her and that his every movement was hers to gauge and analyze, the memories of sleepovers and camping trips and good times past between the two of them. Her mouth opened to argue selfishly, but she closed it slowly as she felt her heart sink a little further.
If he was going to push her away like this, she guessed that's what he had to do.
They pulled into the broken parking lot of some motel she had never seen before tonight, completely average in every aspect-grey in color, square in shape, somewhat kept gardening-and tiny enough to fit into the small town without shouting too loud from its little corner in the back. Vivi and Arthur both took no time to gawk at the overall blah scenery around them or to even look around, both opening and slamming their doors to leave their homey van behind without any hesitation or second thought. Gripped close to her breast, Vivi held the mysterious book she placed so much faith in with the tenderness of a butterfly's kiss while Arthur, eyes turned down and body slouched against the subtle wind, held nothing but regret and hatred towards the position he had maintained in order to protect Vivi from his mistakes. There was nothing he wanted more than to turn tail and run, but with nowhere to sprint to, he merely followed his best friend as her heart grew bitter.
She hurried ahead with the tiny heels of her shoes resounding loudly off of the street beneath, the wind screaming at the two as she left the boy and dog behind in the middle of a parking lot somewhere close to nowhere. Her voice shook when she walked into the lobby with the order of two rooms, each separate from each other as far as she could manage as if distance would make a difference. When Arthur finally did catch up to retrieve his key from the horribly dyed blond woman at the counter, his companion had disappeared somewhere into the maze of wooden doors and chipped paint. He really didn't have the heart to find her without anything to truly say except a cold and broken 'sorry,' and so he took the dog and the heavy key that only grew in weight with every leaden step with his head hanging low, walking away from her and towards a very lonely night.
Vivi didn't have much to look forward to, either, and as she closed the door loudly to her room and let out a broken, frustrated, and pitiful sigh she could feel the book weighing heavily on her hands and conscious with the promise of an adventure. This was the first time since she had woken up in the hospital nearly two years ago that she had been forced to sleep alone and without Arthur, and as she lifted her hands to run her stout fingers through her sweaty hair, she forced herself to keep the lump in her throat down as best she could. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, the Mystery Skulls: ghost hunting was fun, it was an adventure and a journey, and it was suppose to bring her and Arthur closer together, not further apart.
She collapsed onto the bed with a dull 'thud,' hitting her bruised and battered back against the cushy mattress with a little bit of discomfort and pain. She lifted the book over her head, arms stretched and locked as she prepared for quite the read that night. In trying to take her mind off of her best friend, she began to flip through the pages idly and without hurry, hoping dearly that she had grabbed the right tome from the cardboard box she had once worshipped. Just as she had remembered in a flash of color, the pages were filled much past their original print with the input of two mysterious voices, and the pages were folded and ripped with memories of reference and use throughout the years of the book's life. Even if her heart had dropped to the soles of her shoes through the course of the night, she had to take a moment to appreciate the beauty of a book read over and over again, a book full of stories well beyond the printed page.
The skimming fingers that tossed the pages like a whirlwind nearly skipped past her desired entry in their flurry of nail, freezing mid-turn in order to absorb what she had found in front of her eyes. Was this really it? Had she truly found the correct book? Her eyes read the title over and over as though it would morph before her eyes, not quite understanding what she had found. A summoning spell, a real life spell for summoning a ghost, and it was within her hands like the Sunday paper and no more! Her eyes burned into the print with laser precision and desire, pulling as much information as she could from the scratches and ink bled deeply into the yellowing and faded paper.
It was simple enough, requiring no ingredients that weren't easily found in a motel room. Vivi had been expecting using colored chalk to draw intricate patterns upon the floor as she spewed ancient words of a secret language with a goat heart grasped, bloody and writhing, in her open palms, assuming something drastic was to be done in order to pull to her the soul that haunted her from such a far distance, but instead, all that was required of her was a name written on each palm. She shook her head-that couldn't be right, there must be something more to this mysterious ritual-but she couldn't find anything within the black print that might point elsewhere. In one last attempt to find something missing, the crucial ingredient of virgin's blood or a first born child, she turned to the beautifully scrawled cursive with curiosity lighting her sunken eyes once more.
The cursive was intricately written, but it was in Spanish, a language she only knew the bare minimum of. Vivi could only assume that the purple handwriting below, a little messierbut very self conscious of its curling letters, was a translation of the small paragraph above.
Works well for spirits of high and concentrated energy still held within this realm of existence. A fond heart and thick lines quicken summoning, but the tether is easily broken. Be cautious, as breaking the tether prematurely may permanently vanquish a soul into nothingness beyond the earthly and heavenly realms.
BEWARE: allows spirits free reign of mind and home. Potentially dangerous. Use only with much caution and proper wards.
She read the flowing notes a few times over, attempting to fully understanding the words by scanning the lines with careful accuracy and focus. A fond heart and thick lines? Was this some sort of riddle, or was she just not getting it? Her mind pushed the thoughts to the back of her head, taking the passage at face value and storing it for later evaluation. The blue eyes inside her head skimmed lower, finding below the text more of the purple print that had been her translator earlier, but it was lacking the Spanish cursive it was translating in the first place.
Simple spell, easy, but may potentially lead to possession. Use only if higher spells are unavailable or irrational.
With that input, she now looked at her choices with a torn and chattering heart. On one hand, she could summon a potentially dangerous and definitely deadly, vengeful spirit with a hankering for revenge and a love for the bursting of flames into a small, confined motel room in a tiny town that would probably burn to the ground before the fire department was even notified, not to mention that he'd have wide open access to to possess her brain with which he could go after Arthur sleeping in the same motel, if across the lot. But then again, he had seemed so fond of her when he had paused to gaze into her eyes, his own softening gently at the corners, his voice rasping lightly with the chance of sobs sticking to the throat he no longer had physically, extending his heart so slowly and tenderly towards her with the hopes that her soft hands would catch and cradle it within their loving embrace.
She had let him down, and in that way Vivi felt she needed to apologize at least. His heart had shattered upon the floor because she wasn't fast enough, he deserved a sincere 'sorry' at least, and this was the only way she knew how.
It was clear in her mind that she needed, to the best of her ability, to call him to her. There were too many questions, too many things left unsaid in those seconds of utter silence, and if he had truly meant to kill her he had quite the chance to watch her burst into bright flame when she was spread out across Arthur with his fire barrelling at her with the ferocious speed of a brakeless freight train.
Her eyes lowered back to the text, now rested in the folds of her bright sweater with a new determination and curiosity welling up within her. She was committing to the spell, promising the ghost with all the certainty she could give that she would try at least to bring him to her; and yet, promising was a lot easier than actually going through with something. As she reread the instructions one more time and racked her brain relentlessly for the one important ingredient, the only knowledge asked, she realized she was missing such a simple and vital piece of the puzzle.
His name had escaped her years ago.
She cursed Arthur's silence under her breath, wishing he had at least let slip a remnant of the name of the mystery man who had taken hold of her thoughts so completely and entirely. It was on the tip of her tongue, two gentle syllables like a children's song rising in the back of her throat and tapping gently against her lips as if asking politely to be allowed its leave, but the prisonous confines of her teeth took those words for convicts and clenched them as her suffocating memory coraled them back to lay at peace in her vocal chords. It killed her inside, knowing she had him so close to her memory but no more than a whimper to leave her lips, nothing but an 'L' that died out so suddenly. Levi? Lucas? Leon?
None of them sounded right, nothing clicked within her mind like a key to a lock or metal to a mold, every single one of them sounding unfamiliar and strange to the tongue that searched so furiously for the song to complete the soft letter. Those names died out slowly with a gasping release of air, fizzling into nothing but a meaningless sound escaping her teeth. She looked at her hands, still trying out the names in her mind and under her breath as she observed her plump palms with tense brows leaving the imprint of a headache upon her mind.
It her her then in a flash of light, the symbol reaching for her eyes with the brightness of a blinding pink. If she couldn't find a name to give to her little mystery, she'd just have to use the next best things in the hopes that the point would be made, the connection soldered together, the reach completed with grasping hands whirling fingers into tight knots. The skeleton had been more than a name in this afterlife, he had been her memories and her safety...and he had been an exposed, beating heart, burning and flaming and flaring with every pulse that filled his mansion of mazes.
A symbol is just a name for the nameless, isn't it?
Her hands plunged into the infinity of her overnight bag, pulling from it a pencil pouch covered in tiny white ghosts filled with sharpies and highlighters of her own, just in case that boring little notepad of hers needed a splash of color among the long records of ghost hunts and clients. From its confines, she pulled the blue and orange and yellow markers with her hands trembling slightly and fingers curling around their smooth surfaces, fumbling with the cap and gripping the orange with her right hand to draw on her left weakly. This was it, if she had time to turn around, now was it.
The orange pen traced slowly a heart across her palm, large and thick enough to give the ink just a little bit of a glow underneath the dim light of the cheap motel lamps. She took care to round and soften the edges, giving it the gentle fire she had so loved within the eyes of her mystery, her phantom of the night. And then, on the right hand with her tongue bit in concentration and focus, she began to trace the blue lines of a cracked and hollow glass shell, what he had become when she had left him alone and without tender hands to catch his entire being, his whole world and soul within the glass upon the floor. These two things, the heart he so embodied, was the only chance she had at seeing him and redeeming her inactions.
As the instructions specified, she closed her eyes and pictured vividly in front of her the skull and bright pompadour, the glowing eyes and the deep black suit pulled from nothingness itself, ironed out and ready for a funeral with the protection of ribs wrapping around to grip his chest from the outside so tightly. He moved in her mind, his well built body turning towards her as his voice reached out to her, trying to grab for her as though he were calling from far away, as though he were fading from her. She could feel her hands lifting in reply, her shaky voice singing to herself in a muttered whisper, filled with the intense and burning pain of remembrance and reaching and grabbing and screaming. Her palms clapped together, she could feel the energy running through her veins with the electricity of childish excitement and a little bit of supernatural intervention. He was coming closer to her, walking her way with large steps upon the dark floor, approaching her with one hand outstretched calmly and lovingly with forgiveness shining in his bright eyes…
And just like that, it was over.
Her eyes flicked open with fluttering wings, glancing quickly from the bed and around the room in the hopes that he would be there waiting for her so patiently. The lump in her throat as she double checked confirmed her biting fears: she was totally and utterly alone in the motel room, just as she had been before and how she figured she would be for the rest of the night.
For some reason, she could feel herself growing immensely upset, stinging tears biting at the edge of her eyelids with salty regret. He meant so much to her this man of no return, yet he was worlds away and she couldn't find the faintest trail within herself to remember his fucking name, to pull him to her by any form of force. So clear in her head, nearly tangible to her stretching fingers and reaching voice was the bony plates that she could nearly feel against her skin, press against her face, but despite her efforts he was so far away now and it was all due to her lack of power and control. She looked down at her hands, digits tense and rigid as they curled into angry claws to mimic the ghost's ribs and protect the two hearts stained into her white skin, burn marks etched into her pigment with gentle care and longing that meant nothing to the powers that be. The tears in her eyes were piercing now, rolling down her cheeks in tiny cascades and leaving glowing pink trails in her skin that she had no way of seeing, no way of knowing.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" She screamed, lifting her hands and gripping handfuls of the ocean between her fingers, pulling the roots in her head to the point past pain. If she had loved him so much, why couldn't she remember that one little detail of vocal recognition, his true face covered in blood and flesh, the way her tongue curled to call him towards her with laughter and fondness leaving every letter sticky as it left her candy lips? Was he truly more than a friend to her soul if she couldn't bring herself to certainty about his every characteristic, of had all of this passion been born of an illusion brought about by an overactive mind?
Vivi brought her hands hard to her face as her head began to throb, rubbing the plump palms into her sockets hard and without much thought beside the impulsiveness of angry actions. She began to see stars speckle the darkness of her closed eyelids, and the salt of her tears rubbed deeper felt like open cuts against her fragile lids. Over and over she repeated, whispering to herself in accusatory tones with a voice that was overflowing and flooding the room with desperation and anger, "why, why, why?" A sob escaped her lips as her heart sunk even further, a crack in the dam, and as she pressed the hearts as deep as she could to leave bright imprints upon her retinas she could feel the water flow and break the stone and cascade upon her in a river of broken and crackling downpours. She couldn't control herself anymore, and with the choking and ugly sniffling of someone who has lost near everything-even without the memories of ever losing it-she let herself fall into sorrow.
Yet again there was a sudden jolt of electricity triggered by the tears upon the thick hearts carried on her palms, something rushing through her thick veins with the intensity of a ravenous forest fire and the softness of the caressing wind that carries it from one tree to the next, leaving her not sore with exhaustion and heat but relaxed, comforted. It was as though, in this tiny and cold motel room filled with nothing but her resonating and confused sobs and an impending sense of loneliness, she was not alone but comforted by the love of something long lost to her, his arms wrapping around her within the cheap motel bed and pulling her to his chest as he slept and snored softly in an act of protection and reassurance, a show of brotherhood and innocent affection.
She felt something like eyes burning into her back with the evident worry and pureness of a mother, maybe a father or...a lover.
Her head whipped up, eyes red with the remnants of her outburst as she hiccuped and sputtered, but also glowing from the residue of the pink tear trails as they fell down her pale cheeks and into the hands that had been pulled away from her face in surprise. She was no longer in her motel room, no longer surrounded by the large comforter and the shade of a lonely night but surrounded by the radiating light of daytime, but most importantly, she was no longer desperately and utterly alone. In the middle of the room, she saw a dark shadow with eyes soft enough to sleep upon. Her phantom's voice, as he spoke quietly for fear of disrupting the calming silence, cracked with the anxiety of confused fear.
"...Vivi, what's wrong?"