Shimmer (6 page)

He turned away. Turned until his back was facing me. And I have to say, that really annoyed me since I wasn’t quite done with my pitch. If anything, I was just getting started, was just about to inform him of my position as a Soul Catcher, and offer to escort him to the bridge as soon as this was all over.

But just as I was about to launch into all that, he glanced over his shoulder, pressed his finger to his lips, and pointed straight ahead as he whispered, “You make too much noise, Miss Riley Bloom. And because of it, you miss the whole point. Just watch. Don’t speak. Allow the story to come to you.”

Okay, in all honesty, that about quadrupled my annoyance. I mean, here he’d led me away from my friends who were in desperate need of my help, only to distract me with some freaky tea and a random collection of
not-so
-impressive pieces of real estate he was determined to show me.

And now he was telling me that I talk too much and to basically shut up?

Or at least that’s how it sounded to me.

And yet, despite all that, for some reason I found my lips clamping together as my gaze followed the tip of his pointing finger all the way to where a man who looked
exactly
like Prince Kanta, a man who, after a few moments of observation, I realized
was
Prince Kanta, spent what must’ve been some major backbreaking days working the fields.

“I—I don’t get it,” I blurted, remembering too late how he didn’t want me to speak. But still, I was confused and in need of some answers, and he was the only one around who was able to give them. “I thought you were a prince? I thought you lived in that castle in Africa?” He looked at me, nodding in confirmation. “So why would you leave a cushy life like that only to come here to get beaten and whipped no matter how hard you work?”

But then it hit me.

Before he could answer, the reason became clear.

Prince Kanta may have moved to this island, but it wasn’t by choice.

Prince Kanta may have been a ruler in Africa, but in this place, he didn’t even rule his own life.

He’d gone from a luxurious life of nobility—to the horrid life of a slave.

Forced to work the plantation from sunup to sunset, and suffer terrible beatings whenever he was unfortunate enough to displease his master.

“Impermanence.” He nodded, tearing his eyes away from the bleak scene in order to look into mine. “It’s like I said earlier, nothing lasts forever, Riley. Where we begin is not always the same as where we end.”

I gulped—an old habit left over from my time on the earth plane—as I turned away from the prince and watched the horrible scene that unfolded before me. Watched a series of beatings, inhumane acts of torture, including one that was so unspeakable, so barbaric, so unimaginably cruel, I was sure it couldn’t be real. I was sure he was seriously pushing the truth just to make an impression on me.

But despite my best effort to look away, despite my turning my back, shutting my eyes, and placing my hands over my ears to drown out those awful, tormented, agonized cries—despite all of those avoidance techniques I employed—there was just no escaping it.

No matter how hard I tried to shield myself from it, the scene continued to play out before me—behind me—around me—inside me.

And since there was no way to stop it, no way to silence it, I was left with no choice but to allow it to run till its end.

So I watched.

Watched as a group of slaves were rounded up, ones who’d been deemed disobedient, troublesome, in a way that angered the plantation owner.

Watched as they were hauled over to a long, pristine expanse of beach where they were buried up to their necks in white sand.

Watched as a cruel and sadistic master, along with his friends, enjoyed a game of “bowling”—using the slave’s exposed heads as pins.

Watched as one slave after another succumbed to a tragically horrendous, untimely death.

It was hideous.

The true definition of
gruesome.

And it was hard to imagine that anyone could enjoy something so cruel.

Yet, there it was, a revolting piece of history playing out before me. And thankfully, after a few moments of watching, Prince Kanta was kind enough to remove it from my view.

But even though I was no longer forced to watch, the images lingered, continuing to play in my head. Leaving me sickened, saddened, and so incredibly angry to think it went on for as long as it had, and that no one even once tried to stop it.

I was just about to express those very thoughts, just about to tell the prince how very sorry I was when a new scene appeared.

One in which the tables were turned.

One in which the oppressed rose up, gathered together, and systematically overcame their oppressors.

A revolt was in progress—the slaves versus the masters.

And if I’d still had a heart beating inside me, that would’ve been the moment when it lifted and skipped. Released from the weighty scene I’d watched only a moment earlier, I felt lighter, brighter, sure that I was about to see some much-needed justice.

The first one to go was that sadistic plantation owner. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t raise my fist in the air and pump it with joy.

But it wasn’t long before my joy turned to something else entirely, when Prince Kanta placed his hand over mine and slowly lowered it back to my side, silently nodding toward the scene that played next.

The one of the master’s daughter—who went just after her dad.

A girl I figured to be around the same age as me.

A girl with curly brown hair, deep hazel eyes, a long, elegant nose, an overly embellished dress with a big yellow bow that slashed across the middle, and a small black dog by her side.

A girl I immediately recognized as Rebecca.

11

When I opened my eyes, I found myself positioned in a way that left me staring directly at Prince Kanta’s calloused bare feet. My cheek pressed hard against the woven-grass mat, my body still toppled on its side.

And that’s when I realized that despite all the things I’d just seen, I hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

Hadn’t stepped foot off the beach, or even out of his hut for that matter.

The tea was the journey.

I scrambled to get myself together, rearranging my limbs until I was upright again. Gazing at Prince Kanta who sat right before me, as a mess of conflicting emotions ran amok in my head.

I was speechless.

Completely gobsmacked and speechless.

Which, if you’ve followed me to this point, then you know is not exactly a feeling I’m used to.

But to Prince Kanta’s credit, it’s not like he tried to rush me. In fact, he seemed pretty content to just remain right there on his pillow, legs crossed, feet propped up on his knees, as he calmly observed the ceaseless lull and sway of the sea. Allowing me all the time I could possibly need to make some kind of sense out of all the horrible things I’d just seen.

“So Rebecca haunts the earth plane because she was murdered?” I ventured, figuring I had to start somewhere and that was as good a place as any. “And if so, is that why you haunt it too?”

He faced me, observing me with that infinite gaze of his. Holding the look for so long that I started to grow a little antsy, a little uneasy, until he finally said, “Not exactly.”

I scrunched my brow up under my bangs and waited for him to elaborate in some way. But when he didn’t, when he just continued to sit there, I decided to press full speed ahead and say, “So, I guess I really don’t get it then. I mean, why is she here? What’s the point of the bubble and … and all the rest?” I winced at the way my voice cracked in the middle, knowing it revealed the full extent of my desperation to make some kind of sense of it.

Back on my very first assignment as a Soul Catcher, it didn’t take long to learn that knowing a ghost’s motivations, their reasons for lingering behind on the earth plane, could only help when it came time to dealing with them. And seeing how Rebecca had trapped my friends, well, I was more than a little eager to learn just what it was that motivated her.

So I waited. Waited for what felt like a ridiculously long stretch of the most agonizing silence. Waited until Prince Kanta finally looked at me and said, “Rebecca haunts the earth plane because she is angry. Very,
very
angry. And while it’s true that her anger is a result of her murder, the murder itself is not what keeps her bound here. The anger alone is responsible for that.”

Okay, on one level I got it, but on the other, I really didn’t. And knowing he wasn’t the type to just give away the answers, that he pretty much insisted I work for them, I said, “So, is that why you stay behind too? Because you’re also angry about what happened to you?”

I clutched my hands in my lap, nervously entwining my fingers. Seeing the way his face transitioned through a variety of expressions, sure I’d somehow insulted him, overstepped some sort of unseen boundary, when he did pretty much the last thing I expected.

He smiled.

Okay, maybe it was more of a half smile.

But still, his cheeks widened, his lips lifted and curled at the sides, just enough to encourage those twin dimples to spring into view. It was all right there before me—the full-on beginnings of what could’ve resulted in a truly lovely grin—but then he dropped that smile so quickly I was left wondering if it really had occurred.

“In the beginning, I was kept here by my anger, yes.” He nodded, face solemn and serious once again. “But no longer.”

I sat with his words, tossing them around in my head, going over them carefully, repeating them silently again and again. But despite all my efforts, despite my analyzing as best I could, I was still no closer to understanding just about anything he’d said.

Obviously, I got the part about anger being the glue that bound Rebecca here and that used to bind him here as well, and bippidy blah blah. I mean,
duh,
it’s not like I’m stupid. But what I didn’t get was that if he was no longer angry, if he was no longer bound to the earth plane in that particular way, then why stay? Why hang on to such a horrifying past, when it was just as easy to move on to something else—something better than what he currently had?

Figuring I’d take one last stab at offering my services, I looked at him and said, “So, if you’ve moved past your anger, then why not cross the bridge already? I mean, I’m not trying to brag or anything, but getting people to the other side is pretty much my specialty.”

I couldn’t help but smile when I said it; I felt so empowered by the words. Reminded that I had a purpose, one that I was actually good at, and for a moment anyway, it lessened some of the guilt I had for getting my friends trapped.

But Prince Kanta would have none of it, and if he was impressed by my area of expertise, well, let’s just say he did a pretty good job of hiding it from me.

Apparently, he had no interest in the bridge, the Here & Now, or anything of the sort. He seemed perfectly content just making do with the funky grass hut, the shabby clothes, and the freaky tea.

“I cannot be free until my brothers and sisters are also free.” The words, simple, crisp, spoken in an accent that was really starting to grow on me. And yet I couldn’t help but feel as though they weren’t quite what they first seemed.

It was as though he was speaking in riddles.

As though he was hiding something from me.

And that’s pretty much all it took to ignite my suspicions again.

“Too many remain stuck here. I cannot enjoy my release until they are also released,” he added, though the words didn’t do much to appease me.

It’s like, if he was so reluctant to move on, then fine, whatever, his choice. I mean, maybe Bodhi was right—maybe I should just stick with the jobs the Council assigned, and ignore all the other lingering souls I happened to come across.

All I knew for sure was that for every minute I spent in that hut talking nonsense with the prince and viewing scenes that had nothing to do with me, I lost another sixty seconds during which I could’ve been helping my friends.

I rose to my feet, my voice agitated, a little bit
angry
even, when I stared right at Prince Kanta and said, “Listen, excuse me for saying so, but I don’t really get why you couldn’t have just told me all that from the start. I mean, why all this?” I waved my arm before me. “Why drag me out here to drink your freaky tea, when you could’ve just summarized the whole thing back in the graveyard?” I glared, knowing my emotions were starting to get the best of me, but at that moment, I didn’t really care. “I mean, it’s not like you don’t know that my friends are trapped and in desperate need of my help, and yet, instead of offering the help that you promised, you chose to drag me out here just so you could totally waste my time.” I shook my head and made for the doorway, not even bothering to look over my shoulder when I said, “Listen, if you ever feel like leaving this place, let me know. I’ll see if there’s room in my schedule.”

I had every intention of bolting, had placed one foot firmly outside of that hut, but I was soon stopped by his voice when he said, “The tea is called
memory tea
.”

I paused, glancing over my shoulder to find him shooting me a pointed look.

“And you are right, I could have just told you the story. That would have been easy enough. But I chose the tea for a reason. I wanted you to observe the story on your own, rather than to hear my possibly biased version. I also could have immersed you in the scene and let you experience it directly, but I thought it too horrific, too frightening for a child your age. Besides, that sort of thing is more Rebecca’s domain.”

I narrowed my eyes into slits. Narrowed my eyes till I could just barely make out the tall, dark outline of him. And even though I’m sure his words made all the sense in the world to his ears—to mine, not so much.

It was just another riddle.

More craftily worded nonsense that made me doubt him even more.

I folded my arms across my chest, screwed my lips to the side, and took another step forward. Stopped again by the sound of his voice when he said, “Words have the power to harm or heal, Riley. They can be used to paint many emotional landscapes. And they are often influenced, if not biased, by the speaker. It was necessary for you to experience the story with your own eyes, to view it through your own filter, your own set of biases and prejudices, and to not be influenced by mine. There is nothing like being a true witness to something to gain your own unique understanding of it. So tell me, Riley, were you not moved by what you saw? I’m curious to hear your perception of it.”