All the while trying not to think about what might become of him once he had swallowed her sorrow.
Where would it go?
Would he be forced to take her place at the window and wail for the next hundred years?
Or could he find a way to process it?
Treat it like they do with sewage and waste and gross stuff like that. Reconditioning it in a way where it’s no longer toxic, no longer so completely destructive to live with.
And if he couldn’t process it—if he couldn’t treat it in some way—then what would become of me?
Would I ever find my way out of that bottomless sea?
Or would I be forced to tread in that black, oily water for the rest of eternity?
But still, even though all those thoughts were actively flooding my mind, I kept my promise, and I kept my place. Holding tight to that vibrant, pink bubble of hope, as my legs moved beneath me, and my arms spun in half circles by my sides. Watching as Bodhi continued to put up one heck of a fight, engaged in a battle of her dark, heavy soul versus his light.
Shaking and trembling, he struggled to consume all her pain, while I whispered to myself, over and over again, that it would all be all right. That the light always wins in the end. In all my favorite books, movies, and shows on TV—that’s just the way it always goes.
Only this was all too real.
And like it or not, Bodhi and I were locked in this together, our eternities depending on how this thing ended.
I closed my eyes, overcome with exhaustion, and not wanting to see any more. Though I still clung to hope—hoping it might aid him in some small, acceptable way.
Hoping she would let go, give up the grief, and move on.
Hoping Bodhi would stay sure and strong and continue to fight.
And the next thing I knew, it was over.
Or at least my part was over.
I suddenly found myself outside of it all. Back in that small, dank room, watching from the sidelines as the ghost lady’s dress whitened, her hair brightened, and the color returned to her cheeks in the way she must’ve looked before all the darkness moved in.
But the most remarkable change of all was her eyes.
The way they transformed from bottomless black oily pools—an endless sea of sorrow—to a calm brilliant blue.
And when she looked at me, looked right at me, her smile was so glorious, so luminous, so filled with hope, it just lifted her right up like a helium balloon as she sailed out that small window and up toward the sky.
I nudged Buttercup who was lying beside me, watching as he removed his paws from his eyes and immediately ran toward Bodhi who was curled up in the corner, arms circled tightly around his waist, filled to the brim with grief and pain and no idea where to put it.
And all it took was one quick look at him to know that even though he appeared to be with us, he still really wasn’t. Inside his head, inside his soul, he was back on that lonely rock island, fighting against the emotions he’d willingly taken on—trying to find a way to bear it, to process it, so that he too could release it and move on.
And while I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to, and while I wasn’t sure if it was permitted, and knowing there was a very good chance he might scold me later, I crept toward him. Kneeling down beside him as I placed my hand on his arm and streamed into his energy field. Having learned long ago, back when I was living in Summerland, that everything is made up of energy, our bodies, our thoughts, everything.
Which means that all of us are connected.
Which means that if we want to really know someone, or comfort someone in some way, then all we had to do was pay attention and tune in.
That’s truly all it takes.
He struggled, struggled for so long I worried that he wouldn’t hold out. But I kept my promise, and other than watching as the battle continued to wage, I didn’t intrude. I just kept to myself as he experienced her entire emotional journey—her fear when her boys didn’t return—her overwhelming grief when she learned they never would—her indignation when she found herself accused—her grim acceptance when she was so unfairly tried—including the moment she gave up on herself—which happened to be the same moment everyone else seemed to give up on her too. Even though she knew she was innocent of their deaths, she still found a place for the blame. She still chose to keep up her punishment long after she’d already been hanged. And even though her sons continued their existence in the very same house, enjoying century after century of naughty, mischievous pranks, it’s like they were all so immersed in their own separate worlds, they were completely unaware of each other.
“She’s back,” I whispered, knowing it to be true. “They’re all back together again. It’s over, at last. Thanks to you.”
I squeezed Bodhi’s arm, my shoulders lifting when he began to blink and stir. Bringing his hands to his face and rubbing his eyes before he squinted at me and said, “You okay?”
I nodded, far too choked up to trust my own voice. Instead thinking: You? Knowing he could hear it just as well as any words I might speak.
He stretched his legs out before him, craned his neck from side to side, arched his back for a moment, then stood. Offering his hand as he pulled me up too, his entire expression changing when he said, “I told you not to interfere.”
I balked, hardly believing what I’d just heard.
“I told you to stay out of it. But nooo, you wouldn’t listen. You never listen. You have serious issues with listening.” He shook his head, adding, “And the truth is, I’m not sure what to do with you, Riley. I’m not sure if I’m even the right guide for you. I mean, it’s pretty obvious how hard it is for you to even try to respect me.”
“Wha—” I shook my head, so many arguments rushing forth at once, I didn’t know where to begin. “Are you kidding me?” I looked at him, one quick look and I knew he was most certainly not joking, not in the least. “Because for your information, I did what you asked, and let me just tell you it wasn’t at all easy. In case you don’t realize it. I’m the one who watched you go all weird and spasmy and freaky. All the while having no idea whatsoever whether or not you’d make it, not to mention what might possibly become of me if you didn’t. And yet, I still just ignored my doubts, gulped down my fears, and kept treading water, not assisting you in any way, shape, or form. And then, even after I was spit out of there, even after you swallowed her grief and she twirled her way into the sky, all I did was touch your arm and make sure you were okay. That’s it. I swear. So you have no right to say what you did. No right at all, in fact—”
He looked right at me, cutting in when he said, “See? That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about. Look at the way you speak to me! Tell me, Riley, were you like that when you were alive too? Did you talk that way to your parents, and your teachers in school?”
I screwed my lips to the side, placed my hands on my hips, and thought about it. Thought about it long and hard before saying, “Sometimes, yeah. What of it?”
He turned away, straightening his clothes and tucking the tail of his shirt back into his pants as he gazed out that small, square window and said, “The fact is, you did interfere. And now, because of it, I’ve no idea if I’ll get the credit I so desperately need for moving her across the bridge.” He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, pausing for a few moments, collecting his thoughts, before he plunged ahead. “You have no idea what you’ve done. You don’t have the first clue as to how this all works. You just jump right in, assuming you know way more than you do, refusing to pay any attention to what I’ve asked of you.” He turned toward me, pushing a lock of wet hair off his face and back behind his ear when he said, “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, because you’ll just disrespect me that much more, but the Wailing Woman? She was my last chance. My last shot at redeeming myself and moving on. But now that you’ve butted in, despite my warning you to stay put, I’ll probably get demoted, and that’s if I’m lucky—”
“But t
hat’s the thing, I didn’t interfere,” I said, arms flailing through the air, desperate for him to believe it. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole entire time. That’s what you don’t seem to get. I was there, yeah, we both know that. I saw the whole, entire thing. But that’s it. All I did was hope and try to surround you with hope. I hoped that you’d realize your own inner strength. I hoped that you’d stay on course, on your mission to help her move on to a better place. That’s it! I swear. So tell me, oh mighty guide, since when is hope considered a bad thing? Since when does hope get a person demoted? I mean, seriously, sheesh!” I shook my head and circled my arms high on my chest, dismayed once again at how easily they fit there. “If that’s the way things work in the Here & Now, if they’ve truly got some kind of anti-hope campaign going on, then no thanks. I will not be returning anytime soon, no matter how many clever Soul Catchers they send after me. And I won’t let Buttercup go back either. I’d rather we just stay right here and take over as the new ghosts of Warmington Castle. All I’d have to do is come up with some kind of cool, new, ghostly type gimmick that hasn’t been done before and—” I sighed, running out of steam and shaking my head as my eyes met Bodhi’s.
“You swear you didn’t interfere?” he said, obviously wanting to believe.
“Yes!” I practically shouted, desperate for him to hear me. “I absolutely, positively, swear upon my very own grave!”
“Yes, but do you swear on your favorite Kelly Clarkson song?” He tilted his head and eyeballed me.
I gaped, wondering how he could’ve possibly known about my penchant for filling my iPod with all of her songs. Then just like that, I got it. He’d seen my footage. It was part of his prep work, before taking on the responsibility of me. He’d been forced to watch the whole lame saga of my life, the one that was unfortunately titled: The (Short, Pathetic, Completely Wasted) Life of Riley—Everything You Ever Wanted to Know, from A to Z.
“Don’t worry, it wasn’t the A to Z version,” he said. “Just the highlights, the movie trailer version, that’s all. But more importantly, are you saying I seriously did that—swallowed her grief and moved her toward the bridge all on my own?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, seeing his face light up in a smile for the first time since I’d met him, and amazed by the way it completely transformed him. “Like I said, the only thing I offered was hope, nothing more. And they can’t fault a person for hope, can they?”
He looked at me, still smiling when he said, “Nope, they most certainly can’t.” Leading Buttercup and me out of that room and glancing over his shoulder as he added, “So, what do you think? You still up for that flying lesson?”
22
Here’s the thing—even after I’d mastered the art of being successfully airborne, neither of us had any idea what to do about a little problem named Buttercup.
Since we couldn’t speak canine, and didn’t know the first thing about how to go about reading his mind, well, let’s just say we were totally and completely flummoxed as to how to get him off the ground.
Like everything else in my world, learning to fly all came down to one thing:
Desire.
Everything ran on desire.
Nothing was exempt.
Which meant no wings were necessary.
(Though some people happened to like the way they looked so much they wore them anyway. Which is how, according to Bodhi, that whole angel-with-wings thing got started.)
But still, in the end, it all came down to just how badly you wanted something.
Just how well you could imagine yourself having it and/or doing it.
And just how much you believed you truly could have it and/or do it.
It was simple.
Easy peasy.
All you had to do was know how to manifest it.
But the question was: Could a dog actually manifest something?
Something as foreign to them as flying would be?
And almost more importantly, why would Buttercup even want to pretend he was a bird gliding from tree branch to tree branch, when he so clearly loved being a dog?
But then, when I thought about it, really thought long and hard about it, I remembered the growing number of times I’d found him in his own little self-made nirvana—surrounded by piles of his favorite brand of doggie biscuits as he napped in a solitary warm patch of sun that hadn’t been there a few moments earlier.
And at that moment I knew just what it would take to get him to take flight.
All we had to do was find a way to make Buttercup want to fly.
Otherwise, one of us was going to have to carry him all the way to London.
We were in one of the many gardens of Warmington Castle, having decided to use the one with the maze and the tangle of roses as a sort of runway. Even though I’d warned Bodhi that if I failed to launch, and ended up all snarled up in those sharp, thorny rosebushes instead, he’d never hear the end of it.
But he just laughed, that good-natured, wonderful tinkling sound of a laugh he’d definitely held firmly in check just a little while before, but after releasing the Wailing Woman, he seemed to use freely.
I guess his fear of failure, of possibly being demoted and all, is what made him so grumpy and serious. And, after he explained it to me, well, it seemed he had good reason.
That wasn’t his first go-round with the Wailing Woman.
He’d been there before.
Went with his own guide, who, by the way, he still firmly refuses to either name or describe but who he swears I’ll get to meet someday—maybe (he put major emphasis on the maybe)—if and when (again, emphasis) he feels that I’ve earned it. Though he totally failed to elaborate on just how I might go about doing that.
But anyway, the way he told it, the first time he approached her, he took one look into those horrible, bottomless eyes of hers and hotfooted right down the stairs, through the corridor, down the other stairs, and bippidy blah blah, until he found his way outside in the garden, white as a sheet, and gasping for dear life (yep, even though he was already dead).
The second time, he knew he could not possibly behave like that again, not if he ever wanted to get his “glow on” (a term he also put great emphasis on, yet even though I pressed him, he completely refused to explain it to me), and so, when she turned and met his gaze, he didn’t hold back even though he really, really wanted to.
He also didn’t scream and go running out of that room.
Instead, he just dove right in, determined to swallow her grief and prove he could do it.
But, as soon as he started, he was so overwhelmed by her unending despair, he just spit it right back out at her, watching it drip and cling until she was able to absorb it back in.
And just after that, he was marched (so to speak) right back to the Here & Now where he was urged to enroll in some advanced classes on tolerance and compassion, where he finally grew and learned enough to graduate from his level, and move on to a higher level, where he was then urged to take on the not-so-easy task of guiding a spunky, snappy, snarky, slightly rebellious (his words, not mine) twelve-year-old girl who’d recently had her life ripped right out from under her.
Then when (not to mention if!) he gets a good handle on me, well, they told him that maybe, they just might consider letting him go for round three in the match of Bodhi versus the Wailing Woman.
All of which means we weren’t even supposed to be at Warmington Castle in the first place.
Apparently there was an entirely different ghost all picked out and ready for me to, er, coax and convince its way to the bridge.
But, as Bodhi pointed out, as soon as he laid eyes on me, as soon as I took one look at him and deemed him dorky guy, well that’s when he knew I could handle the Radiant Boy—or Boys, as it turned out.
And if, in the end, I couldn’t, he figured I’d have the perfect opportunity to help myself to a nice big slice of the humble pie he claimed I so sorely deserved.
So yeah, maybe w
e were both feeling a little happy with ourselves.
A little “chuffed” as they say in jolly old England.
But why wouldn’t we?
We’d just accomplished what those in charge, namely the members of the Council, were pretty much sure that we couldn’t.
We’d both greatly succeeded, where a whole host of others had failed.
And all we were left with was the deceptively simple task of getting my sweet yellow Lab off the ground so we could go celebrate our mutual success in London.
But the thing about Buttercup is, no matter how cute and sweet and well behaved he might be, he’s also kind of a wuss (as evidenced by the way he ran from the Radiant Boy, leaving me alone to defend myself).
Not to mention how he’s kind of lazy too.
Because when Bodhi had the (what I thought at the time to be brilliant) idea of tossing his favorite brand of dog biscuits into the air in an attempt to convince him to soar after them, Buttercup just licked his chops, closed his eyes, and manifested his own pile of dog biscuits without so much as moving an inch.
So after several test runs of me soaring around the garden, buzzing my way through the maze with my hair streaming behind me and the wind howling at my cheeks, as Buttercup chased underneath me, barking and tail wagging like crazy—I realized something else about Buttercup.
He’s domesticated.
A bona fide companion animal.
And what he hates more than anything in the world is to be left on his own for too long.
So when I called for Bodhi to join me, urging him to soar alongside me as we headed straight toward London without once looking back, to commit so fully to the mission that Buttercup would think we were never planning to return—he agreed.
Our reasoning being that there was only one way for him to join us on our trip, and that was for him to fly right alongside us.
There would be no carrying allowed.
So, we took off.
Both of us getting a good running start (not because it was necessary, but because it was fun).