AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
It was crazy. It was an absolutely insane concept. It seemed impossible, and Daryl even wondered what it said about him that he was willing to believe Lenora that the nexum de comes animae even existed as a supernatural phenomenon.
The Soulmate Connection.
According to what Lenora said of it, it was very rare, and it was caused when soulmates—people who, essentially, were truly made to be together on such a deep level that their connection to each other could not be denied by the universe—were born out of time with each other.
Being born out of time with each other would mean, of course, that they were being denied the ability to physically be together by the very same universe that couldn't fully deny their cosmic connection. Such a denial, then, did not make that same universe happy and calm—creating stormy cosmic seas, so to speak—and a great disruption in the fabric of the universe was caused.
By that point in the explanation, Daryl thought that his eye had started to twitch. He'd felt his own internal disruption. Part of him wanted to ignore everything Lenora told him—leaning against the table with her face close to his like they might kiss or share cartoon spaghetti—and the other part of him was glued to the story with absolutely rapt attention because something inside him seemed to almost recognize it as true and as a story that he had, somehow, heard somewhere before.
Nexum de comes animae.
The two halves had to be together. Neither was complete without the other. Neither could ever be entirely at ease without the other. Neither could truly settle and be at peace. Like two magnets, they constantly pulled toward one another. Like cosmic magnets, they could rip through time and space in that constant and direct movement toward one another.
They could conquer mortality itself—at least until they were able to be together and fulfill that destiny that declared that they should share their time together. It was something that had to be. It was a prophesy, of sorts, written on their souls, and in the stars, that simply had to be fulfilled.
How much time they would have together was never clear, of course, when their souls were united. That was true of the connection between any two souls.
And, of course, even with things that were meant to be, the universe needed a little help, sometimes, in making things happen.
Daryl followed Lenora into the trailer to wait for her. She wanted to change, gather her things and, she said, to feed her cat because she didn't know exactly how long she'd be gone, and Barnabas tended to get grumpy if his meals were delayed.
The trailer was clean, though it had the same heady smell of cigarette smoke and heavily-perfumed incense. Daryl sat on the couch and waited while Lenora wandered around and did what she needed to do, muttering to herself the whole time about how she'd never imagined that she might encounter a truly amazing cosmic connection like the nexum de comes animae. Barnabas—a fat black cat with canine teeth that hung prominently over his lower lips like fangs—invited himself onto the coffee table in front of Daryl and stared at him in between cleaning himself to show that he'd enjoyed his early and unexpected meal.
When Lenora emerged carrying a box and wearing exactly what Daryl imagined she might wear if she were trying to convince someone of her legitimacy by dressing to the stereotypical image of a fortune teller, Daryl scoffed at her and stood up, gently easing Barnabas—who had decided to invite himself onto Daryl's lap—to the floor.
"What the hell are you wearin'?"
"You can't expect me to go into the Peletier house dressed like I was," Lenora said. "What if someone were to see the great Madame Lenora entering the house with the greatest paranormal activity in five hundred miles, and she's…not looking herself?"
Daryl rolled his eyes.
"Fine. You want me to carry the box?"
The skinny woman, who had likely not eaten any real food in years to supplement her coffee and cigarette diet, smiled at Daryl and offered over the box.
"I would expect no less of a gentleman who wishes to connect with his spiritual beloved," Lenora said.
Daryl's stomach did an odd little dance at the thought, and his heart seemed to pick a rhythm for itself that was just a little different than the one to which he was normally accustomed. The box, when he took it, was remarkably heavy, and he was thankful for the distraction.
"The hell you got in here?" He asked.
Lenora smiled at him and raised her eyebrows.
"The time is out of joint," she said. "We must set it right."
"You the damn queen of non-answers, you know that?" Daryl said.
Lenora laughed and scooped up the fat black cat that was rubbing circles around Daryl's legs. She snuggled her face into his fur before depositing him gently on a very worn recliner and rubbing her hand down his back.
"Mommy will be back, Barnabas," she announced. "You be good, and keep an eye on things."
Daryl nodded his head in the direction of the cat that was watching him, almost unnervingly, as though he expected some kind of farewell.
"Nice to meet you," Daryl offered, when his nod didn't satisfy Barnabas. As soon as he said that, the cat left off staring and turned around three times before settling down in the chair to nap.
"Barnabas likes you," Lenora informed Daryl. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her outfit—a colorful, oversized housedress that appeared to be something like a semi-fitted muumuu of sorts. She lit a cigarette, and let herself into the passenger side of Daryl's truck while he put the heavy box in the back.
"I'm just wild about him," Daryl offered as soon as he'd slid in behind the wheel. "Now—you wanna tell me what the hell, exactly, we're going to do?"
"The nexum de comes animae is fascinating," Lenora said. "As I told you before, ghosts or spirits are not what Hollywood makes them out to be."
"So, no chains and bedsheets," Daryl said.
"Or—solid forms," Lenora said. "In fact, from everything I've ever read or been told, they don't even appear to us at all like a human form. That's wish-fulfillment. The difference, of course, is when you're dealing with a spirit who is part of this nexum de comes animae. I told you that the energy from what you consider ghosts often gets stuck."
"Can't cross over," Daryl said, rolling down his windows so that they could smoke without suffocating from the complete lack of oxygen.
"If you like that terminology," Lenora said. "Fact of the matter is that these spirits can't cross over yet because they weren't supposed to have been where they were. Or, I guess you could say that they weren't supposed to have been when the hell they were. What I read says that these spirits never quite…break down…I guess…into the more dispersed energy that we'd expect."
"So—they're where the hell the idea of solid ass ghosts come from," Daryl said.
"Probably," Lenora agreed. "But I can't be sure. As I said, they're very rare, and there hasn't even been a recorded situation since 1692. According to what's recorded, though, these spirits become increasingly more solid as they near their soulmate. It's like the universe's attempt to right what's been wrong."
"By creating a solid ghost so you can live out your time with your soulmate's ghost," Daryl said.
"By returning the spirit to the flesh," Lenora said.
If Daryl's heart had beat irregularly before, now it came almost to a crashing halt. His hands tightened on the wheel, and he reminded himself to focus on the road when he felt himself get a little dizzy—something that probably wasn't the most conducive to driving his truck down the narrow streets.
"What the hell do you mean—return the spirit to the flesh?" Daryl asked.
"The souls of those connected at this level must be together," Lenora said. "Even if they were to try to fight it, it would happen someday. Somehow. I guess you could assume that, eventually, they both die and there's some kind of afterlife union—about which I don't know a damned thing, so there's no use in asking me—but sometimes the pull is strong enough to bring them together while they're still alive."
"I get that," Daryl said. "So—you're both alive, and you're like serious-ass next-fuckin'-level soulmates so you get married, have a dozen kids, and live a happy fucking life together."
"If that's your definition of a happy life," Lenora said with a shrug.
"I get that shit," Daryl said. "But—we're not talkin' about two people met each other and fell in love. We're talkin' about her husband fuckin' killed her ass with an axe, as far as I can tell from the stories I've heard, over a hundred damn years ago."
"And she's stayed, trapped in that house, since then," Lenora said. "Isn't it exciting?" She asked. She was perched on the edge of Daryl's truck seat almost like a child. It was clear that she did find this very exciting. She lit another cigarette. "Anyone who didn't know that you were her soulmate—that she was waiting for you—would have thought she was just some Hollywood ghost haunting an old house. Probably trapped there because her spirit couldn't rest after her murder and wanted revenge or some bullshit like that. They would have painted her as angry. One of those documentary type hauntings brought on by violence bullshit. In fact—that's what they've been saying. For years the Peletier house has been the subject of interest for paranormal researchers and just about any kind of ghost junkie you can imagine. And nobody ever knew that it wasn't a case of some kind of angry, trapped spirit. It was a case of the nexum de comes animae. She's trapped, but not because of anger and violence. She's trapped because of—love."
"She don't know me," Daryl said. "I don't even think she knows she's dead, or trapped, or whatever. And I don't even know her. How the hell we gonna be in love? How the hell'd she die over a hundred years ago in love with my ass?"
"There are different kinds of love," Lenora said. "This was a love that…that was written in the actual stars. It exists even beyond your consciousness…and hers."
"She don't got a consciousness if she's dead," Daryl said.
"Not even death can break the connection," Lenora said.
"So—you're tellin' me that this nexum thing can just bring her back to life?" Daryl asked. "Back to the flesh or whatever?"
Daryl pulled into the driveway. He'd already geared up, expecting another long speech from Lenora to answer that question. She surprised him, though. As he brought the truck to a stop, she simply shrugged her shoulders and smiled at him. Looking at her now, he wondered if she was even as old as he had originally thought. The excitement of the task ahead of them had breathed a new life, of sorts, into her—though Daryl found the irony in even thinking that, given what they were discussing.
Still, Lenora didn't give him another speech or a drawn-out explanation.
"Yes," she said simply and in a high pitched, excited tone.
"She'll just become a real ass woman? Flesh and blood?"
"Yes."
"And we'll—what? Live happily ever after?"
"Well, that's up to you, really," Lenora said. "I mean—you have to decide what you do with your destiny. Be advised, however, that nothing can separate your spirits. Not even death. So—physical distance will do nothing."
"Meaning?"
"You don't have to choose to be happy together," Lenora said, "but you'll never be happy apart."
"Let me just get this shit straight," Daryl said. "Let me process this. She'll be like—all the way alive?"
"I've never done this before," Lenora said, angling her body toward Daryl so that they could more comfortably finish out their conversation in the cab of the truck, outside of the old house. "But, from what I know, she'll be just as alive as you or me."
"For how long?" Daryl asked.
"I told you before, nobody knows the answer to that," Lenora said. "That's the same as asking me how long you or I will live. It's the kind of thing I tell my clients to help them sleep better at night, but it's impossible for me to really know that. I don't even know that I'll live to get home to Barnabas, and you don't know, either, how long is promised to you."
"But she could live a full life," Daryl said. "Theoretically."
"Undoubtedly."
"And she'll just—come back to life from being in my presence or some shit?" Daryl asked.
Lenora's smile was sincere and bright.
"Of course not," Lenora said. "Not entirely. For it to work entirely, you need a little magic."
"Magic?"
"Were you even listening to me before?" Lenora asked.
"Things are feelin' a little different now," Daryl snapped back.
"Even destiny needs a little help sometimes," Lenora said. "Should we go in? See what we're working with and—start the spell?"
"You're a—fuckin' witch?" Daryl asked.
Lenora sucked her teeth at him and opened the truck door.
"Nobody likes labels," she said, a heavy amount of teasing in her tone. "Especially not in small southern towns in the Bible Belt. Can you get my box? Unless—you'd prefer to take me home. Forget the whole thing?"
Daryl's stomach twisted. He glanced toward the house. Somewhere, inside there, Carol was waiting. At least, her spirit was waiting. She might not know she was waiting—no more than he had that morning—but she was. He was waiting, too, even if he'd never known it before. He was meant to be here, today, at this house. That was, undoubtedly, why he'd never been able to feel settled anywhere. That was, maybe, why he'd never felt comfortable or at home before. Maybe that was even why not a single relationship had ever worked out for him and, even, why it was that he'd just happened to stumble across an advertisement for this very house at a price that was too good to pass up.
Maybe that was why he'd been drawn to Abnerton—the kind of place that, honestly, very few people who weren't born there were likely to even look at more than once.
He'd been waiting to find Carol, and she'd been waiting for him to find her.
Daryl got out of the truck and closed the door before grabbing Lenora's box from the back.
"Just don't—hex my ass or nothin'," he grumbled, starting toward the front door.
Lenora laughed behind him.
"You just keep your mouth shut in general," Lenora responded. "I'd rather not be barbecued, if you know what the hell I mean."