A Certain Slant of Light (14 page)

  
"I lay down in his place, in his body, and fought to stay there until I felt his flesh," he said. "From the inside."

  
"Can you go out again whenever you want?"

  
He looked apologetic. "No. There's the rub. I have to stay un
til the body dies or someone else wants in."

  
"Someone else?" I was shocked. "Someone like us?"

  
"Or Billy, if his spirit is still alive somewhere."

  
"Or something evil," I said.

  
He didn't comment on that.

  
"How do you know you can't get out?" I asked.

  
"I changed my mind after the fourth day and tried to leave." He looked as if he didn't want to describe the outcome. "It was
like the pain that would come if I tried to leave my haunting
place," he said. "Only worse."

  
We were alone now. A bird in a tree across the field screamed,
piercing my thoughts like a blade.

  
"I need to think," I told him and let myself sink under our
bench. Hiding beneath the bleachers, I watched him walk across
the green and imagined James watching Billy, in the same way,
before he took possession of his body.

Six

Like a banner, flying but captive, I floated behind him and then
sat on the Amelia house roof, next to a rotting softball, for hours
until I saw Mitch's car, a patchwork of rusty mixed parts, turn
the corner. I dropped through the ceiling to find James lying on his bed, awake. He smiled without surprise to see me appear in
the corner.

  
"You do that so well," he said.

 
 
"Do what?"

  
"Materialize." He laughed.

  
"Were you not able to pass through objects?"

  
"In my clumsy way." He looked me up and down, and I won
dered whether I was clear or colorful at that moment. "Not with
your grace."

  
I hadn't thought on it for years, but when I was newly at
tached to my Saint, I practiced moving through her walls and ta
bles and rose bushes, sometimes slowly, like a smoke ring, and
other times instantly, like a flash of lightning. It became less and less distracting, and soon I could wander through her rooms with
no more thought than bird song moving through a lace curtain.

  
"Perhaps it's easier for those of us who haunt people rather
than places. We're always having to traverse through doors to
keep up with them."

  
Before James could answer, the bedroom door banged open,
and Mitch stood fuming in the hall.

  
"Where the hell did you go?"

  
James sat up. "Nowhere."

  
"Bullshit," said Mitch. "I called when I got to work."

  
"I didn't see a message—"

  
"I didn't say I left a fucking message, I said I called. So, where
were you?"

  
"I took a walk," said James.

  
"Do not lie to me." Mitch shook his head.

  
"I'm not. I walked to the rec center and watched some little
league."

  
"Did I say you could leave?"

  
"I didn't think you'd care if I took a damn walk. I locked the
house."

  
"Who were you with?"

  
"No one," he lied, and Mitch could tell.

  
"I swear if I find out—"

  
"I'm not getting in trouble," said James.

  
"I work all day and you sit on your ass watching baseball."

  
"You're right," said James. "That's not fair. I should get a job."

  
"You're not quitting school, asshole."

  
"I meant on the weekends."

  
"I know what kind of work you used to do."

  
"You choose the job then," said James. "No shit."

  
This quieted Mitch. He frowned at his brother, then walked
away.

  
"Did you have enough time alone?" James asked me now.

  
Mitch came back into the doorway. "Are you talking to your
self?"

  
"Why do you care?" said James.

  
"Chris is home for the weekend, wiseass. We're going out
tonight."

  
James looked blank. "Okay."

  
"Did you really get brain damage?" said Mitch. "You don't
know what the hell I'm talking about, do you?"

  
"Your friend Chris?"

  
"Rayna's brother. Ring a bell? He's on furlough."

  
"Well, have fun. I'll be fine."

  
"Yes, you will," sighed Mitch. "I want you where I can see
you tonight. You're coming with us."

During my meditations on the roof, I had nearly decided to let
James help me board an empty body, but I was still afraid that it
wasn't something my Light spirit could manage. Perhaps James was different. He'd haunted a place instead of a series of hosts.
What if that quality had made him stronger than I? I was afraid
that if I leapt into a body, I would fail and plummet into my hell,
never to see him again. There was no way of knowing.

  
"Take me to your haunting place," I asked him. I craved to re
trace his steps.

  
"I did," said James. "Where the baseball field is, that was my
haunting place."

  
"Why didn't you tell me?" I felt almost annoyed.

  
"I thought it would make you sad," he admitted.

  
And it might have, looking down at the grass and imagining a
garden there with a two-year-old James running barefoot or look
ing out at the playing field and imagining a Light James walking the bases in the dark.

  
A sudden desire rocked me. I longed to know everything he remembered. Every scent and sound. Every color he could con
jure from this life past. I dreaded my own, but I had a deep
hunger for his memories.

  
"Tell me everything you can recall about your life as James."

  
"I've told you everything I remember."

  
"You said you remember new things every day," I said. "What
did you remember today?"

  
He thought for a moment. "I remember the sound of our
rocking chair," he told me. "It creaked on the left side."

  
While I watched him prepare for an evening with Mitch, he
performed an act as if he were a silent comedian. Although it
consisted of nothing more than showing me the fronts of Billy's
T-shirts, one after another, it made me laugh so hard, the pictures
on the wall beside me fluttered like moths. The images on the shirts—everything from a skull with a snake crawling through the eye socket, to what had to be a puddle of vomit—were in
such opposition to James's personality, I was charmed to the core.
When he finally pulled off the navy sweater he'd worn all day
and tugged a plain brown T-shirt over his head, he was laughing,
too. The weave of this shirt was so thin, I could see the shape of
his collarbone, the curve of his muscle.

  
"I apologize in advance for any offense my companions this
evening may cause," he said, putting on his jacket.

  
"Thank you," I said. "But I did live in a men's dormitory with
Mr. Brown for two years."

  
"Did you?" He looked impressed. "Stout-hearted Helen."

  
After many warnings from Mitch to hurry up, James had to
wait for
him
at the front door. When Mitch finally appeared,
pulling on his denim jacket, he eyed James suspiciously.

  
"What did you do, comb your hair?"

  
"Isn't that what you told me to do fifty friggin' times?" said
James.

  
Mitch shrugged. "Never worked before."

  
I followed the two of them into the patchy car, sitting behind
them in the back seat.

  
"What're we doing tonight?" James asked.

  
"Rusty Nail." Mitch pulled out of the driveway and roared
down Amelia. "Maybe a movie. Why?"

  
"I don't care," said James. "Is it too windy back there?" James asked as he rolled down his window. He turned and glanced at me
in the back seat. I was too startled to answer. It felt flattering to
have him forget that wind couldn't muss my hair. Then James
looked at his brother.

  
"What?" said Mitch.

  
"I mean..." James put his elbow out the window. "I don't
want to make stuff . . . blow around." Mitch still looked per
plexed. "In the back seat," James added.

  
"If it wasn't so expensive," said Mitch, "I'd have your brain
scanned."

  
"Shut up," said James.