A Certain Slant of Light (11 page)

 
 
I was taken aback. I watched him slide the treasure box back
under his bed.

  
"Caves were the first libraries," I reminded him. "And the
first art galleries."

  
Now he blushed and that achingly healthy peach in his
cheeks brought all the color back into the world for me.

  
"Still, Miss Helen," he said, "I've done a very wicked thing. I've lured you away from a wholesome place into a dark one be
cause I didn't want to be without you. I will understand com
pletely if you do not choose me."

  
I was so unaccustomed to attention, it made me bold. "The
most compelling thing in my world, sir, is to be heard and seen
by you."

  
He looked at me a long moment. "Then I am most beholden
to you."

  
The door banged open again and his brother Mitch leaned in. "Phone."

  
James just looked at him.

  
"One of those little assholes is on the phone," he said with irritation. "You want it?"

  
James jumped up and followed him out of the room. I was
alone, surrounded by the walls of pictures. I studied Billy's art
work over his desk, torn-out notebook pages with creatures
rolling bloodshot eyes and gnashing dripping fangs—muscled
legs and smoking nostrils. The edges of the pages rippled in the
draft of my curiosity. Then I noticed a picture from a magazine,
taped to the wall beside the bed. A young woman in a white cot
ton dress, and nothing more, stood under a waterfall. I was star
tled at the way the cloth clung to her and became transparent.
Her head was tilted back, her eyes closed, her mouth open. I had
seen enough of these types of images on boys' shirts and book
covers, but in such close proximity to where James slept, I was
shocked. A hot sensation almost like jealousy boiled up my legs
until I remembered that the decorations were chosen by Billy
and not James.

  
When James came back in, he looked concerned. He was about to close the door when Mitch slammed it open with one
hand.

  
"You're not going anywhere tonight," he said.

  
"I know," said James, standing between me and his brother.

  
"And I better not see that little shit over here."

  
"He's not coming over," said James.

  
" 'Cause you're grounded until I say so," said Mitch.

  
"I know," said James.

  
Mitch just scowled at him for a moment. "You don't have to
stay locked in here," he told him.

  
"I have a headache," said James.

  
His brother's face darkened. "What'd you take?"

  
"Nothing," said James, obviously frustrated.

  
"You lie to me and I'll kick your ass."

  
"I'm not lying," said James. "I just don't want to hang out
with your friends."

  
Strangely, this seemed to calm the man. He shook his head and closed the door. James slipped the chain across again and
came back to the bed to sit.

  
"My apologies," he said. "I have so many things to ask you, I
don't know where to start." He sat cross-legged now.

  
"How brave of you to become one of them," I said. "I think I
would never have the courage to even try."

  
He regarded me for a long moment, the way Mr. Brown used
to study a paragraph of prose that he loved, refusing to turn the
page when I wanted him to, dwelling on his favorite turn of
phrase.

  
Remembering Mr. Brown, and my struggle through the storm,
sobered me at once. A wave of anxiety came over me as I imag
ined being on my own tonight as James slept.

  
"Do you want to sleep?" he asked, as if he could read my
thoughts.

  
"Did
you
sleep?" I asked. "When you were a spirit?"

  
"Not really," he said. "But you can rest safe with me. I'm not
like the others you've been with. I'm akin to you."

  
He motioned me to the bed and I obeyed, trembling all
through.

  
"Be still," he said, so I lay down. James sat in the chair and slid the box out from under his bed again, choosing a book. On
the ceiling over the bed was the one picture in the room that
seemed halfway like James. It was a photograph of a wolf stand
ing in the shelter of dark pines, his coat thick for winter, his gold
eyes focused on the photographer.

Whose woods are these I think I know.
His house is in the village though.
He will not mind me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

  
I could hear the wind outside and James's voice inside, calming me. The noise down the hall was gone.

  
When I became aware again, I found that the overhead light
was out, but the tiny lamp beside the bed was lit, giving off a faint glow like a candle. I found James asleep on the floor with a jacket
rolled up as a pillow under his head. The music and voices were
filtering in from the rest of the house. I knelt at James's side.

  
"Go to the bed," I whispered.

  
He didn't open his eyes, but his forehead wrinkled as if he
were concentrating on deciphering a dead language. I moved
closer to his ear and whispered again, "Get in bed, James." He
slowly rolled over and sat up facing the bed. Still he didn't open
his eyes. He pulled himself up on the mattress and was asleep
again instantly. I watched his face, beautiful and pale gold in the
lamplight, and his hands, relaxed, half-open, his long fingers so
still. I watched his chest rise and fall almost imperceptibly. Finally
I reached over to put out the lamp, but, of course, I couldn't.

Five

I WAS ALL AT ONCE AWARE of a falling feeling so deep that I gasped.
I had, apparently, been sleeping on the covers beside James, and
he had rolled out of bed, right through me, and was now on his
feet, still half asleep. He squinted at the small room, lit with the sunrise and the bedside lamp. He turned toward the bed, and we
stared at each other, James with his hair wild and the crease of the blanket on his cheek; me, lying on his bed, startled but un-
creasable.

  
He gave a small wave of apology and crept quietly out of the
room. I was stunned. I'd been asleep. It was almost as strange as having been seen. When he came back a minute later, I was still
sitting on his brown blanket, also disturbed by the idea that we
had been sleeping in the same bed.

  
He closed his door and ran a hand through his hair. "Did you
rest?" he asked me.

  
"Why could I sleep last night when I hadn't slept since my
death?"

  
He seemed still very tired as he sat on the mattress beside me. "Perhaps because you aren't alone now." Then he shrugged. "The
only problem with being Light is you have no mentor to explain
it all. You discover the rules by breaking them."

  
He rubbed his eyes as if Billy's body still needed rest. Without
planning to, I put a hand on his shoulder. As he had the time I
kissed him, he took a sharp breath and his back straightened. I
pressed him toward the blanket and he lay down again, between the wall and me. When I took my hand away from him, I asked,
"Does that hurt you?"

  
He shook his head.

  
"Does it feel cold?"

  
He gave a half laugh. "It feels like
..."
He thought better of
it. "No, it doesn't feel like anything I've ever felt before. It's won
derful."

  
I lay down beside him, then. It seemed almost scandalous in
one way, and yet in another it seemed as natural as two blades of
grass brushing each other in the wind. We lay, looking at each
other, and he reached over and touched my closed hand. I opened
it, a flower blooming in a sudden heat, and he lay his palm
against mine. At that moment it began to rain outside, the hiss of
it like a curtain of sound around us. As his flesh touched my
spirit, the feeling of falling turned into a feeling of flying. I was soaring through time toward him.

  
"Why can we touch?" I wanted to know. "When I touched Mr.
Brown, he didn't feel me."

  
"Because you're not just touching Billy's fingers," said James.
"You're touching me inside him."

  
He lifted his hand off mine and looked at it. He placed his
hand on his cheek. He looked at it again, then sniffed his palm.

  
"You smell like jasmine," he marveled.

  
"And how is it that you can smell me?" I asked.

  
"Ghosts have scents," he said. "I suppose it's some residue
from the past. Like a memory."

  
"What other ghosts have you smelled?" I felt a ridiculous
surge of jealousy.

  
"You don't understand. There are two kinds of ghosts." Again
he delighted in sharing with me the peculiar knowledge that ap
parently came with body theft. "There are ghosts who know
they're dead and ones who don't. Before I took over a body, I
couldn't see either kind." He smiled. "But I still have seen only
one like you, who knew she was Light."