When They Fade (10 page)

“That sounds fantastic,” I said. I tried to imagine being a nomad. Going from town to town, selling beads and shirts, moving on the second I grew bored. For a young girl who grew up in the most boring town on earth, it sounded like a dream come true.

“You should both come with us,” Julian said. “We always have room for more. The bigger, the better.”

“My parents would hunt me down and kill me,” Andrea said. “I can't wait till I'm eighteen. Then I'm gonna give them the finger and take the first bus out of town. But Molly, her dad's way cooler.”

“No, he isn't,” I said. “You just think so because he's never home. Your parents were fine with you coming here. They even tried to tag along. I had to lie to my brother and sneak out in the middle of the night.”

“You lied to come here?” Julian raised an eyebrow.

“She's crafty,” Andrea said. “Made up this whole camping trip idea. You can't trust a single word that comes out of her mouth.”

“That's not true!” I said in mock anger.

“See! All lies!”

I gave her a playful push, sending her into a long-haired guy with glazed eyes. Andrea apologized to him, but he didn't notice. He stumbled away, looking up at the sky. I couldn't help but wonder if he thought it was falling down on him. Andrea and I caught each other's gaze and started laughing.

“You can travel all over the world if you want,” Andrea said to me. “But make sure you take time to shower, okay?”

“Not a problem,” I said.

“Speaking of water, I'm still dying of thirst.” Andrea tossed her hair over her shoulders. “That stinky pond is starting to look good. Where are your people? I'm going to dry up before we find them.”

“Just over there,” Julian said, pointing to a VW bus. I recognized it. The back doors were open, displaying a few pieces of clothing. Most of the beads were gone from the table. Business must have been good. The older man still sat in his spot. He nodded at us as we approached, an unlit cigarette dangling between his lips.

“Who's that?” Andrea asked.

“Walter,” Julian said. “He kinda runs the group. Him and his wife, Olivia. She's amazing. She makes the clothing we sell. All by hand. I've never seen anyone who can work a needle and thread like her.”

A tiny older woman came around the corner of the van. Her blond hair was braided with beads and streaked with gray. The length almost reached her knees. She squealed happily when she saw Julian.

“Now, where exactly did you run off to?” she said in a booming voice. Her eyes trailed down to where Julian's and my hands were still entwined. “Never mind. I see. I gets it.” She looked me over with a gigantic grin. Reaching out, she took my arm and pulled me forward. “Oh lordy, child. What do we have here? You're gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. Now I know why our little mousie snuck out of the barn.”

“You got any water, Olivia?” Julian asked.

“Do I have water? What kind of mother hen you think I am?” She slapped at Walter's legs. “Go get the jug. We've got some thirsty chicks.”

“Get it yourself, woman,” Walter said. But he'd already climbed to his feet. He winked at me before he climbed into the van.

Olivia tugged on my arm and gently pushed me into the spot Walter had deserted. “Tell me all about yourself, dear. Details! Or I'll have to get them from him.” She pointed at Julian. “And he's a guy. They never notice the right things.”

That was how I met Julian's family: sitting in the back of the van, listening to amazing music as it drifted across the fields. Walter put some coffee on, and Olivia asked me all sorts of friendly questions. She was the kind of woman who didn't believe in personal boundaries. As long as I kept answering, she kept asking. I didn't mind at all. I wanted them to know everything about me. I wanted to belong.

A week later they became my new family.

No regrets. I'll keep saying that until the end of time. Eventually it'll mean something.

We climb. The forest swallows us up the moment we step off the beach. Ancient trees circle around us, enclosing Parker and me as we move forward through a multitude of green and brown. Moss covers tree bark and large leaves stretch above, closing us off from the blue sky. After the open beach, it's not long before I'm feeling slightly claustrophobic. I turn around, and already the lake has disappeared.

Up, up we go.

Straight into the mountains.

Parker walks ahead of me, his footing sturdy, his back relaxed. There are no trails here, but that doesn't deter him in the slightest. We go back and forth in switchback formation, alternating between heading toward what I imagine might be north and south. Every direction leads straight up. Parker never pauses to check out his surroundings. He's the only one who ever ventures out here, and the woods have probably become a better companion to him than the rest of us. I'm sure he knows them more than he knows me.

Parker doesn't once look back to see if I'm following.

If I still had muscles to worry about, they'd be aching. If my lungs took in air, I'm positive I'd be breathing heavily. If I still perspired, my shirt and face would be soaked with sweat. I've been sitting on that beach for over forty years; you'd think I'd be horribly out of shape. But I don't need to worry about these things.

When I was alive, I used to hike in the woods behind our house when I wanted some time to myself. It wasn't much, just a few acres of land that hadn't been developed yet. The trees were sparse and skinny, especially in the spring before the leaves began to grow. The wild grass yellowed as the summer took over, and the brambles would snag my clothing and leave red welts on my skin. But it was all I had within walking distance, so I didn't complain. All the neighborhood kids must have felt the same way because I often came across them. They loved the woods as much as I did; it was their escape from the adults constantly telling them what to do. They built small huts out of pilfered wood and rug samples from the local hardware store. The boys would hammer nails into anything they could use, and the girls would bring their dolls to have afternoon tea parties. Sometimes I'd take a garbage bag to collect the bottles and candy wrappers they left behind. Other times I'd let them convince me to play games. Hide-and-seek. Freeze tag.

The woods behind my house were full of life. Birds used to fly over my head, building their nests, warning me when I got too close to their young. Squirrels darted across my path, climbing the trees in a way that seemed unnatural. With their tiny hands and bulging eyes, they'd run effortlessly across the branches, chattering away as I walked beneath. Flies buzzed across my face, and spiders spun their webs in the evening, leaving dew-heavy designs to avoid the next day. Once, I picked up a Coke bottle to discover that a tiny frog had crawled inside.

My point being: A forest is a living thing. It's filled with life. This place, on the other hand, is just a shadow, a memory. Nothing but trees. No bugs, animals, or birds. No left-behind candy wrappers to show that someone once passed through. These woods are too silent. Too still. Not even the leaves move. And that's the weird thing. As we continue along, I begin to notice that there's no death in this forest. No fallen trees. No dried-up bushes. Everything is simply green and lush. Even the rocks look healthy.

“Why do you think this exists?” I ask as we walk along. “Do you think the trees are stuck here too? Maybe they were cut down to make houses and their spirits came here. They never seem to die. Look around. Not a dead branch anywhere.”

“You think too much,” Parker says.

“It's weird,” I say. “Unnatural.”

“And you're surprised?”

“No, I guess not,” I say.

Parker stops and sits down on an oversized rock. He looks up at the sky, and I follow his gaze. Nothing but blue peeking down at us. For the first time, I realize I've never seen a sun here. How strange. You'd think I might have looked. Where does the light come from?

“No sun,” Parker says, reading my mind. “I've been as high as one can climb here. I've even swum out into the middle of the lake. No sun. I suppose that's why we don't get nighttime, either. I miss the stars. Sometimes when I Fade, I go over to a window and try to look up at them. But you can't see the stars in London anymore, even on a clear night. Too many buildings. They block out the night. What do they call it? Light pollution. Even the moon almost disappears. All that mystery and emptiness. Galaxies and universes that never end. Endless space. And this is where we end up. It's like being in a box. No matter how much I bang or claw, freedom stays just beyond my grasp.”

Shocked
is a good word to describe me. Parker sounds angry. In fact, he looks super pissed. His eyes narrow and his fingers tighten around a plant, tearing a leaf from its stem. He holds it up, turns it around so I can see its green veins, rips it in half, and then drops it to the ground. It disappears before touching the dirt. When I look back at the plant, I see it's returned to its full glory.

“This place is deceiving,” Parker says. “When I first started exploring, the trees used to move around on me. I'd walk in a straight line for the entire day and never find myself on the other side of the beach. I'd climb over a mountain and come out on the exact same side. It only made me more determined to figure out its secrets. It had to be hiding something.”

“And you found it?” I ask.

“Not exactly,” Parker says. “But I did learn things. It changes because it's limited. There's only so far to go. Think of it like a snow globe, but without the glass walls. When I've reached the end, I simply start over again at the beginning.”

“Endless time,” I say. “Like a loop.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Whoever or whatever brought us here, they didn't plan on us leaving anytime soon.”

“But you found a way out,” I say.

“Have you ever talked to that Korean gent?” Parker asks. “The new one. Showed up not too long ago? Haunts a fraternity house at some university?”

I nod. Louis Chen. Our most recent crossover. Electrocuted by his roommate in the bathtub. Apparently they'd been designing a video game, and his friend got greedy over the royalties. Poor Louis. After one or two haunts, he discovered that his death had been ruled accidental. The game worth killing over became a bestseller, and the murdering roomie now lives in luxury.

“He spent a day explaining computers to me,” Parker says. “You know what I'm talking about, right?”

I nod. Computers are foreign to people like us. Some existed in my day, but they weren't the kind that anyone would consider personal. A few Fades ago, I managed to get a look at my first. Some guy had left it out on his dashboard. Funny enough, my message to him was that his online girlfriend was actually a man. Stupid, I know, but he'd been planning on sending him/her thousands of dollars to come visit.

I think of the computers that helped launch the first astronauts into space. They were big and boxy, full of bright lights and fancy buttons. Back in the sixties, we were blown away by that technology. These days a computer like that would be obsolete and primordial. If Julian is still alive, I bet he uses one. Or maybe he has a fancy cell phone.

“Chen told me that computers often have back doors. Ways to get inside locked programs. Sometimes they're built by the inventor of the product; sometimes criminals—they call them hackers—get in there and change things.”

“You think we're in a locked program?”

“No,” Parker says. “But I think…maybe something else got inside and installed a back door. A way out. A chance to cause chaos.”

“Why chaos?”

“Why not? If the afterlife is about being good and evil, then it makes sense that evil would want chaos.”

“How do you know it's not evil that put us here?”

“I don't,” Parker says. “But for argument's sake, let's assume it's not. None of us are truly bad. We're not models of perfect goodness, either, but I don't think it's that black-and-white.”

I nod.

“You remember being alive. Did you believe in God?”

“Yes.”

“Even though you never saw him. Or were given proof?”

“We know the afterlife exists,” I say with a smirk. “Bit too late for that one.”

“We don't know God is responsible, though.”

“I guess,” I say. “But arguing over a name is pointless. We still don't know, so unless you've got some firsthand experience…”

“It's irrelevant. What's important is that we didn't know back on earth. The afterlife is a constant guessing game for everyone. And with this back door, we'd have a chance to tell everyone willing to listen. Do you see my point? Whoever put us here didn't want us getting out.”

“But we Fade.”

Parker nods. “Trust me, I've spent decades thinking about that. I can't help but wonder if haunting was an accident. Maybe it wasn't something that was supposed to happen. A rift in the afterlife for those of us who don't cross over peacefully. We're the error in the computer program. We're not even a good mistake. No one really believes in ghosts, do they? The people who do see us, they make excuses. They talk themselves out of it. Think something's wrong with their eyes or that we're solar flares.”

“Solar flares?”

“I don't know. Scientific excuses. Answers for questions they don't want to fully think about.”

“So why not just shut this whole thing down?” I say. “Send us wherever we're supposed to go.”

“I don't know,” Parker says. “I'm just as ignorant as you. These are my thoughts and observations.” He stands up and stretches. “Maybe that's the whole point. It's up to us to figure out the puzzle.”

“That'll never happen,” I say, thinking about all those people sitting on the beach, waiting patiently for all eternity. The thought makes me sad. Maybe there is some truth to that whole “finding closure” thing. Perhaps the answers to our questions aren't waiting back on earth. Maybe they're right here under our noses, but we've become too passive to find out.