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I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I had to study her, take in every detail, every perfection and every flaw. I had to memorize her features; features that, moments ago, were fading away. I ran my fingers through her hair, and held her face in my hands. She was quiet, so quiet that I wondered if taking her past the door had done something to that lovely voice. Her eyes seemed larger than usual, and she stared at me with concern written on her pretty features. I sniffed, and realized that I was crying. Here she was, being concerned for me when I had almost destroyed her. To think that I had almost lost her, to think that I had almost let her fade away, they were hard thoughts to bear. She lifted her hands and wiped my tears away, framing my face. She sighed, and disappeared. I cried some more, and I waited on her. I waited all afternoon, but she didn't reappear. # That night I went home and did some more research. They say ghosts are attached to places that were important to them in life, whether it was the place they died, or just somewhere they spent much of their time. Maybe Rysia was a ghost. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t leave. I gave up on looking for missing girls; I looked at deaths instead. Still, there was nothing that sounded related to Rysia. I did find a short article about the clock tower, and how the clock had suddenly gone silent. But what use was that to me? Then something else caught my eye. The article was about a three-car collision, two horrifying deaths, and one survivor. The survivor had been a young girl, suffering spinal damage and severe head trauma, and thrown into a comatose state. There were pictures of the three, and yes, a familiar face. When
my mother wanted to know why I’d been throwing up, I told
her it was something I ate. Rysia, not a ghost. Not even dead,
but not really alive either. Two of her, body and . . . soul?
Spirit? Mind? It was all too much for my brain to handle. Two days later, I still hadn’t told her a thing. Instead, I was in a state of denial; how could this be true? And if it were, how would it help Rysia to know? On the third day, I went to the hospital. The ward was quiet, eerie. It smelled of disinfectant, and I realized that was the strong odor Rysia was talking about, the one from her dreams. Everything seemed white; white and maybe that apron-blue color they put patients in. It was scary. The twilight zone or something. I found her room and took a deep breath before walking in. The smell irritated my nose. Her hair was very long, but combed and neat-looking. There was no gray in it, and no wrinkles on her face either, but the woman on the bed was definitely older. She had to be in her early thirties, but she looked just past her mid-twenties. I imagined that Rysia would look younger than her age when she got older. And I realized, this is Rysia. Yes, the woman looked older, but the shape of her face, the color of her hair, the curves of her cheekbones, even the bow of her lips and the button-nose. The name on her clipboard was a stab to the heart: Rysia A. Grayson. When I left the bathroom feeling nauseous and weak, a passing nurse asked if I was okay. I told her I was. I lied. On the fourth day Rysia looked pale and sickly. She told me she felt weak. I tried to tell her what I found out, what I had seen. I could never find the words, and she never asked me what I wasn’t willing to say. It went that way for a few days. # I can’t remember how long it’d been. Seven days? Maybe eight, or nine. She’d been getting weaker and weaker, and I was so afraid of what might happen. She’d been disappearing more often, too. I was scared. I went up to the tower and opened the door; Rysia was pacing in front of the stairs, looking healthier than I’d seen her in a long time. “William! Oh William, I’ve been waiting for you!” She grabbed my hand. “Something’s happening, William. Something strange. I faint so often now, I’ve been feeling so sick, but today I woke up and I haven’t felt sick at all. But I think I’m leaving. Something’s pulling me now, something is trying to take me out of here, and I don’t think I can stop it!”
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