The Darkest Part(12)

He turns his back to me and drops his head.

“Tyler . . .”

“I don’t know where it is.”

A chill creeps over me. “How can you not know?”

He drives a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense. “I’m starting to . . . forget things.”

Panic grabs my chest, squeezing. My gaze flicks around the room, as if I can find an answer in the dark.

“Is this why you’ve been coming to me more often?” I ask. I’m afraid to voice my real fear. That he’s starting to fade, becoming like the other ghosts I’ve read up on. I don’t think I can bear to watch him wander aimlessly, a lost soul.

My heart constricts as he turns toward me, his face pinched in worry. “When I’m with you, things are more vivid. I remember almost everything. My life. Who I am. Who I was . . .” He trails off.

I swallow. “Where do you go when you’re not with me?”

He shrugs. “Someplace dark. Full of shadows. Somehow, time doesn’t exist. I’m there for only a short while, and when I find you again, so much time has passed.” He looks at the floor. His shoe scuffs the carpet, making no mark. “And I remember less.”

Suddenly my head is light, my breaths coming too quickly. The room closing in. How can I be so selfish? With a shake of my head, I summon the nerve to go and grab one of my books.

Where the Internet was filled with accounts and speculations and ridiculous theories, it was in a small bookstore that I found the information I needed. I drop to my knees and pull out the collection of books from under my bed.

Pushing the pile over, I fan them out, and grab the one with a worn black cover and faded white lettering. The binding creaks as I open it, and the musty smell of old books hits my nose. Scrolling my finger down the table of contents, I find the chapter I’m looking for.

With a deep breath, I flip to the section labeled Intelligent Spirits.

I only skimmed the chapter before, not wanting to think about or know Tyler’s possible future. He’s nothing like other ghosts. He surpasses all other accounts of hauntings (I hate that word; makes what is happening sound creepy and not at all like what we are together). He’s Tyler. Just Tyler. Not an impression, or something left behind after a traumatic event. And so I never wanted to know any more than that. It was enough to know that he was really here, and that I wasn’t crazy.

“Sam?” Tyler’s voice pulls me out of my reading. I look up as he kneels beside me. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Nothing can take me away from you.”

An aching lump forms in my throat, and I swallow, trying to push all the grief and fear into the pit of my stomach. My eyes fall back to the book. The moon peeks through the curtains, washing the page in pale light. And when I read the very thing I fear, my hands tremble.

A specter can only continue to manifest itself as long as it has strong ties to the place, object, or person it’s haunting. Most are spotted one to four days after their death, but soon cross over into the “light.” Those who choose to stay on the earth plane, for whatever reason, be it refusal to accept their death, fear of leaving behind a loved one, or their unfinished business, are considered lost or wandering souls.

Manifesting requires an enormous amount of energy, and after a time, can become too difficult to achieve for the specter. If they never cross over, they become earthbound spirits. Their memories will fade, their essence will become more mist-like, as they diminish into a truly lost soul.

Some believe a darkness, such as another dimension, traps the souls, making it more difficult for the specter to manifest. It takes more energy to appear to the living, especially in the daytime. This is why most can only view spirits during the night. Flash photography can capture their essence struggling to appear, known as dark entities. Once they can no longer summon the will to manifest, they fade into the dark place, sometimes leaving behind energy that acts out in a residual haunt.

This is by far the saddest existence for a specter.



I slam the book and throw it.

Oh, God. This can’t be happening to him. I can’t let this happen to him. Tyler’s life was cut short. He lost everything and everyone. Now he’s going to fade into a nothingness. How can God let any of this happen? What the fuck is life for, then?

Before I realize it, I’m on my feet and pacing, my hands on my head, fisting my hair. Tyler’s saying something, but my ears are pounding in sync with the adrenaline claiming my body. I’m probably freaking him out. I have to calm down. I have to breathe.

“Sam—”

My head snaps up. “Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?” My tone is accusatory, but I don’t care. I feel like he’s hiding something from me, just like he’s hiding something about him and his brother. I can’t stand the secrets. We could have been researching this for the past five months—could have been prepared.