Page 161 of Grim

“Easier said than done.”

“Might be easier than all this energy you’re putting into hanging on,” I put in, floored by the power of Kane’swords. “Release yourself from what you cannot control. Give yourself the grace to be imperfect and to be comfortable with your flaws.”

“They are as much a part of you as your victories,” Kane finishes.

Katherine releases a sigh that ends with a soft whimper. “I tried,” she cries softly.

“And that is enough,” I encourage. “You are enough.”

Katherine’s wispy form begins to lighten. The smoky edges of her grey form stretch and thin and dissipate.

Kane asks her, “Are you ready now, Ms. Sinclair? Let go of what’s tying you here and move on to the next part of your story. Wherever that may lead.”

“But last time,” Katherine begins meekly, “you told me that was my only chance.”

Kane looks to me, a flash of warmth behind his penetrating gaze. “Turns out, I was wrong. No mistake should cost a soul forever. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

She looks between the both of us, then turns to Kane and says with conviction, “Then, yes, I am ready.”

“Then you shall,” I assert.

On her next soft sigh, Katherine’s ghostly form pinches into its center and then winks out.Poof.

Kane pierces the silence that follows with a question. “Is that it? Has she crossed?”

Four measures of Philip Glass’s String Quartet Number Three chime from my Tombstone Phone, and I glance at the screen.

“‘Lost Soul Found,’” I read out loud.

A profound sense of satisfaction washes over me. I feel the tear wet my cheek before I’m aware I’ve even started crying. I do not wipe it away. I am not ashamed of this response. I think about the freedom Katherine now has. I wonder at all the lost souls we have yet to meet.

Then I look up and gaze on that beautiful, broken soul by my side. I celebrate that sublime, overwhelming feeling of connection to others, that transcendent stillness that accompanies the power of purpose, and the euphoric weightlessness of being in love.

“Are you okay?” Kane asks softly, perhaps misunderstanding the source of my tears.

“Never better.” The smile that spreads softly across my face speaks louder than words. “Grim?”

“Yes, Mayday?”

I turn to him fully, taking in the man who fought Death for me, the man who fought himself for us, and I smile softly. “You ready to go home?”

“Avec toi? With you? Always.”

The End