The world was filled with senseless murder and meaningless death. At night, Vincent’s dreams were filled with it. While he slept, he couldn’t keep the memories he absorbed from Mateo locked away like he did while awake.

  Visions of hushed conversations, things no one else was meant to hear, and hands around his neck flooded his dreams. Threats, accusations, suspicions, all thrown in his face. It all stopped with a pair of gunshots, only to start over again from the beginning.

  He gave up on sleep around six in the morning, feeling well enough after a couple hours rest. Nothing a few cups of coffee and hours of mindless scrolling through social media couldn’t fix.

  His doorbell rang when he was around five videos deep into a web of drama between a trio of travel influencers. On the surface, they each claimed one of the others stole their ideas, but at its core, the issue blossomed from a messy triangle of unrequited love. Expecting a package or solicitor, he didn’t even pause the video when answering the door.

  The scent of perfume made all his efforts to bury Mateo’s memories under pointless drama for naught.

  Ximena Garcia, her eyes red and puffy, croaked a greeting and an apology through her attempts to stop tears from flowing.

  Vincent brought her into the main house and offered her some coffee. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you yesterday. I wanted to find him first, to put his spirit to rest.”

  “Thank you…. My son is an angel now. I’ll pray to him every night. Tell him all the things I should have told him a hundred times already.” Ximena wept into a wad of tissues from her purse.

  “Mateo… he wanted me to tell you something, too.” Vincent pressed the bracelet into Ximena’s hand. “He said none of it was your fault. That he should have listened to you and peeled corn and mango with you. He just wants you to be happy.”

  She sobbed some garbled Spanish Vincent couldn’t understand into her hands, pressing her son’s bracelet to the cross over her heart. “How can I be happy with my son gone? He never listened. I should have grabbed him and held him closer.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. He doesn’t blame you.”

  “You don’t understand. You don’t have children. A mother will always carry her children’s mistakes with her.” Ximena stood and squeezed Vincent’s shoulder. “Thank you for helping Mateo rest.”

  “I only did what you asked me to do.”

  She left with another broken thank you. If Mateo could see them from wherever he was, would he be satisfied with this?

  Vincent sighed and checked the calendar in his office. The caffeine didn’t do much for his headache and he’d lost interest in internet drama.

  His only appointment the rest of the day was a séance, and those rarely worked. He had no connection with souls that passed on.

  ~*~

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Sarah Ray had not passed on when her husband and daughter came in with her urn. Vincent felt her presence before he even sat them down at the table. That she was cremated and still lingering meant her tether was strong enough to withstand the loss of her physical body. He could only hope she didn’t want anyone killed as her last wish.

  “Mr. Ray,” Vincent began, forcing a sympathetic smile onto his lips, “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. It’s painful to have your loved ones torn from you like this.”

  He dimmed the lights through his phone, leaving only the camping lantern hidden behind the long table cloth on full brightness.

  “You wouldn’t know. You could just talk to them whenever you want,” Jim Ray snapped. His outburst startled both himself and his daughter. After a breath, he lowered his voice. “I-I’m sorry. It’s…been rough.”

  Not whenever I want, Vincent thought bitterly. I’ve had to let go, too….

  Little Lucy Ray, barely old enough for elementary school, sniffled next to her dad and squeezed his hand. “Mommy’s still here. I know. I hear her sing to me.”

  On cue, Sarah manifested behind her daughter, her translucent figure futilely trying to hug her child. Through tears, she hummed a quiet tune.

  People rarely consider how the dead mourn just as strongly as the living. Through her, Vincent felt the painful twists in his chest and the thick lump forming in his throat.

  “I hear her too. Take my hands and let’s say goodbye together.” Vincent laid his hands palm up on the table and waited for the pair to hold them.

  “Goodbye? I’m not going anywhere,” Sarah scoffed.

  Vincent bit his tongue to keep his arguments at bay. There was a script he had to follow. He hit a switch under the table with his knee to light up a crystal ball between them, next to Sarah’s urn. Lucy gasped, Jim was skeptical.

  “Think of your favorite memories with Sarah. Bring forth joy, not sadness,” Vincent instructed. Maybe she’ll feel something less terrible, too, he continued in his head. “I’ll call out to her when you’re ready.”

  “We’re ready,” Jim answered immediately. “Sarah hasn’t once left my mind since we lost her.”

  How sweet. Vincent cleared his throat and stared at the swirling LED lights in his thrifted crystal ball lamp. “Sarah, can you hear me? Put your hand over one of ours to complete the connection.”

  “Will they be able to hear me? Can I talk to them again?” Sarah’s hand hovered over Lucy’s small one clinging to Vincent’s fingers.

  Please don’t talk too much. Vincent cleared his mind before Sarah laid her hand over Lucy’s. “Yes. Using me as a medium, you’ll be able to talk to them.”

  “I-is she here? Sarah? You’re here?” Jim’s voice cracked as he fought tears.

  “Yes, honey, I’m right here. I’ve missed you…. Lucy, my baby, Mommy’s here.”

  “Vincent, where is she? Can we see her too?” Jim asked, his grip growing uncomfortably tight.

  “The connection might not be strong enough to see—”

  “You said they could hear me! Why can’t they hear me?” Sarah interrupted.

  If you’d all shut up and let me—

  “Shut up? Shut up?” Sarah shrieked. Vincent closed his eyes, clenching his jaw and fighting the twitch in his eyebrow. “I want to talk to them now!”

  “If you’ll let me concentrate, I’ll—”

  “Jim, darling, can you hear me?” Sarah shouted.

  “He won’t hear shit if I can’t concentrate!” Vincent looked between the pair of shocked parents, muttering his apology. “I-I mean… just give it a minute.”

  “Daddy, he said a bad word,” Lucy whispered, worsening the situation.

  Jim, once over the initial shock, burst out laughing. “Even a fighter as a ghost. That’s the woman I fell for.”

  Soon Sarah was laughing too, leaving both child and psychic confused.

  “You know, she made the president of the HOA cry last year. They tried to make her tear up her garden because it didn’t match the ‘color scheme’ of the neighborhood,” Jim elaborated.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Well, at least you believe she’s here,” Vincent muttered. He cleared his throat and donned his professional mask once more. “She can hear you and, if you wait a moment, you’ll be able to hear her. Just keep a hold of my hands.”

  Vincent closed his eyes and let the icy chill spread to his fingertips. This was a new trick, letting others hear their loved ones through his connection, and would only worsen his headache. The alternative, however, was acting as a middle man in a disjointed, emotional conversation between the spirit and the living which, he decided, was a worse kind of headache.

  He let out a breath and looked up at Sarah. “They should hear you now.”

  “Jim? Lucy?” Sarah’s voice echoed as it passed through the connection.

  “Mommy!” Lucy snapped her head back and forth looking for the source of the voice while her father failed to fight back his tears.

  “I’m here, baby, I’m never leaving,” Sarah replied.

  “Sarah, God, you’re incredible…” Jim whispered.

  “These are meant to be your final words…. You can’t ‘never leave,’ Mrs. Ray,” Vincent interrupted. A poor choice.

  Sarah blew up again. “And why not? Are you God? The grim reaper? Who are you to tell me whether I can stay or not?”

  “I don’t want Mommy to leave!”

  “I’m not going anywhere, sweetie.”

  Jim was the only one who didn’t join in yelling at Vincent. “What will happen if she stays?”

  “All that’s keeping her here is her love for you two and her body is gone. That’s not enough to tether her soul forever. If she stays, her spirit will either fade to nothing, never truly passing on, or the emotion will fester and corrupt her spirit. She might lash out, or worse, forget who she is. ‘Sarah’ will be gone, and only that negative energy will remain. ‘Cursed’ locations are just places spirits got stuck.”

  “I don’t care,” Sarah replied. “I need to stay for Lucy. I’ll always be here for her.”

  A surge of emotion sent flashes of memories into Vincent’s head. Screeching tires. Honking horns. Sarah’s frantic screams. Crushing pain. A wave of relief when Lucy stood, dazed and alive.

  “How… how long would that take? For the negative energy thing?” Jim asked, voice quiet and shaking.

  “I don’t know. Could take years or it could be months. I do know it will only get harder and harder to send her to the other side, though.” Vincent sighed and looked to Sarah again. “I can’t force you to do anything. It has to be your choice.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Sarah, honey, I don’t want your soul to just fester….”

  “Jim, you aren’t agreeing with him, are you?”

  “Daddy, are you making Mommy go away? I don’t want Mommy to go away!”

  Lucy started wailing, crying over her parents attempts to hush her. She let Vincent’s hand go to wipe her face, only crying harder when she couldn’t hear her mother anymore.

  “Lucy, Lucy, don’t cry, baby,” Sarah whispered. “Here, hold his hand again so you can hear me better.”

  “Lucy, you won’t hear Mommy if you let go of Vincent’s hand.”

  Vincent glanced down at the child’s hand, glistening wet with tears and drool and snot. “Maybe the connection is strong enough either way….”

  Still whimpering and sniffling, Lucy grabbed Vincent’s fingers again.

  “Sarah, we’ll be fine. I’ll never let anything happen to Lucy. Your parents even offered to let us stay with them a while.”

  “You’ll be fine, maybe, but Lucy needs her mother! She doesn’t want me to leave.”

  Lucy nodded in agreement.

  Vincent hadn’t recovered from connecting with Mateo and this connection with Sarah had already gone on too long. “Lucy, you need to understand. Your mom will get sick if she stays here.”

  “She can’t! Ghosts can’t get sick!”

  “Have you ever met a ghost before?”

  After a moment of thought, the little girl shook her head.

  “Then how do you know what they can or can’t do? They get sick and turn into bad energy. Do you want your mom to turn sad and angry?”

  Lucy went quiet, the wheels turning in her head. Her lip quivered as she looked up at Vincent. The psychic had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from taking back everything that had upset her. Sarah’s affection had leaked into his heart.

  “Stop filling her head with nonsense!” Sarah interrupted. “Nothing will happen. I’ll be fine.”

  “The stronger the emotion, the quicker it can be corrupted. You’ll be flinging chairs around in no time,” Vincent replied. His business tone had been forgotten. He couldn’t even be sure his information was accurate. He’d only let one spirit linger long enough to change.

  “Sarah, please, honey. Just rest. You’ll still be watching over us.”

  “…I don’t want you to get sick, Mommy. I’ll be okay.”

  “I can’t…. I want to protect her,” Sarah sobbed. Her form faded slightly.

  “You won’t be protecting her if you start to forget yourself,” Vincent replied. Almost done.

  “You’ll really be okay? Will you sleep without me singing?”

  Lucy replied with a tiny nod and a sniffle. “…Daddy’ll sing. He can practice.”

  Her parents laughed through their tears as both embraced the girl. With the three-way connection broken, Vincent got a brief repose.

  “Goodbye, I love both of you more than anything,” Sarah whispered.

  “We love you too, Sarah. Rest, honey,” Jim replied, to Vincent’s surprise. They didn’t even need him anymore. “Vincent, can you help her cross over?”

  “You guys did that for her already.”

  Sarah was enveloped in a bright light, as Mateo was, and then, she was gone. Lucy and Jim felt it, too, as they slumped in their seats. Vincent hit the switch for the crystal ball again as he turned up the dim lighting—only slightly. His head hurt like hell.

  “It was worth the price just to talk to her one last time. I was late for work the day she died and ran out the door without even saying goodbye…” Jim said, half to himself. Then, with a deep breath, he wiped his face with his hand and cleaned his daughter’s with the hem of his shirt. “I hope I never need to, but I’d recommend your services to anyone.”

  “Appreciate it. I do regular readings for the living too, though.” Vincent stood, bracing himself on the table, and willed the pair to leave. “Not many people believe in séances.”

  Jim shook Vincent’s hand and held it for entirely too long. “I was skeptical, but I’m glad I took the leap. Thanks again.”

  When they were gone, Vincent once again closed up shop in favor of lying in the dark. He managed to change into room pants before collapsing onto his bed. Blackout curtains saved him from most of the late morning sun and a soothing eye mask blocked out the rest.

  With more manageable headaches, the cool gel would ease the pain enough for him to recover. When it got to be this bad, to the point even breathing added to the nausea and throbbing, nothing helped. He could only somehow distract himself from the pain or hope sleep would take him.

  Thanks to Mateo’s lingering memories the night before, the latter came easily.

  Vincent fell into a rare dreamless sleep, with no residual emotions or traumatic images to distress him. If it had lasted longer than an hour, he might have recovered from his migraine. But his doorbell, followed by his phone vibrating, ended that blissful rest.

  He groped around the bed for his phone and hung up without looking who was calling. It rang again, and he hung up again. The doorbell rang again and he ignored it. This solicitor switched to knocking.

  Wide awake and somehow feeling worse than he did before, Vincent tore the eye mask off and pulled on the first t-shirt he grabbed. As quickly as the dizziness and nausea would allow, he stomped to the front door.

  Sunlight blinded him and he only heard a voice talk at him from the walkway.

  “Oh, sorry…. Were you asleep? Your hours online said—”

  The voice sounded familiar. “What hours online? Appointment only.”

  “Your website says ‘walk-ins welcome’ though….”

  Vincent forgot he had a website, relying instead on social media. “Well, it’s wrong.”

  Through one eye, he saw the outline of a man with chubby cheeks and wide torso shuffling awkwardly in front of him.

  “Are you okay? You looked sick last night too. Do you need to go to urgent care?” The man’s arm caught Vincent’s shoulder. He hadn’t even realized he was falling.

  “No. Go away.”

  Vincent shrugged him off and closed the door—or he thought he did. He never heard it shut. He only shuffled a few feet before his legs buckled under the exhaustion and dizziness. The old stool he used to dump his keys and mail on came down with him as his arm shot out to catch himself.

  Next thing he knew, he was lying on the sofa and someone was holding his hand.

  But his grandmother was dead.

  There was no one to take care of him.

  He forced an eye open to see the chubby cheeked man sitting on his coffee table, rubbing his thumbs over his wrist.

  “The hell are you doing?” he asked with a weak attempt to free his hand.

  “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor?”

  “They can’t help me. It’ll pass.” The man came more into focus and Vincent imagined him in an overloaded fishing vest. “Why are you in my house?”

  “You collapsed!” he shouted. Upon seeing Vincent wince at the noise, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re lucky I didn’t call an ambulance.”

  Whatever the man was doing to Vincent’s wrist felt nice. “I don’t like needles….”

  “It can’t be helped if you need an IV or something….” The man stared out the patio door through an open sliver in the curtains.

  “Why are you holding my hand?”

  Vincent’s arm bent uncomfortably against the sofa as his hand was abruptly dropped. “Sorry! It’s something my grandparents always did when I was sick. There are pressure points in your hands and wrists that help relieve migraines and all that.”

  “Mn…. Acupuncture worked, but….” Vincent trailed off, a wave of nausea sending bile into his throat.

  “Yeah, you don’t like needles. The little web between your index finger and thumb works too. That’s easier to do on your own.” The man gave a demonstration on his own hand, a warm smile on his lips.

  “Why are you here? Do you go door to door with unsolicited medical advice in your spare time?” Vincent shifted, intending to sit up. A clamp squeezed his temples at the slightest movement.

  The corners of the intruder’s lips dropped, then parted to allow an uneasy laugh to escape. “I just wanted to see you again. It was kind of hard to find you, since you didn’t give me your name or anything….”

  Vincent narrowed his eyes, studying the man’s averted gaze and fidgeting. He was clearly expecting something. “I can’t levitate or summon demons or control minds, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “But you talk to ghosts?”

  The man’s tone wasn’t entirely accusatory. Most people were polite enough to only mock Vincent in private.

  You say you can talk to ghosts. What do the specifics of your delusions really matter? That’s what they always meant behind the politeness.

  Vincent turned his back on the man, hiding against the couch cushions. “Just get out of my house already.”

  “Okay….” The response was almost silent, barely above a whisper. “Maybe I’ll see you again when you’re feeling better….”

  Just leave me alone.

  Vincent couldn’t be sure if he spoke the words aloud or only in his mind.