Page 45 of Grim

“Where are we?” I pull myself back to the present and become aware that I have no idea where we have emerged. “Is this … someone’s bedroom?”

“Do me a favor, Mayday. Make like a piece of leather and hide. We cannot have the living see you in here.”

I take a deep breath, level my nausea from the trip and his terrible pun, flip him off in slow, deliberate retaliation, and begin to take in my surroundings. I see floor-length window curtains and move behind them. Then I peer around them and continue to survey the room.

We are in a bedroom inside someone’s home. Dated floral wallpaper peels from the corners and is covered by pictures, showing a couple in a nearly identical pose in each shot. The only difference is the background, a reminder of a place explored and memories made. The desk and end tables are cluttered with knickknacks and even more photos. A life reflected in things, a story told by stuff.

The air smells stale and feels heavy somehow.

My eyes travel to the bed in the center of the room, where tubes and wires connect the body to various machines. Her eyes are closed. She looks peaceful. Theelderly man holding her hand does not. He looks devastated, broken. The Greeks would have made a statue of such a scene—painful and powerful in its simplicity and inevitability.

My ears catch up to my eyes as my body settles into this strange yet familiar place, and I hear his quiet, hopeless sobs. The symphony of his heartbreak pricks a staccato rhythm against my skin. I can feel—physically feel—his loss. The flatline hums through the room like the final note of a song that was never long enough. And then she separates.

A small cloud pools just above her chest, swirling and grey. The woman’s soul drifts weightlessly like the lingering warmth of a fading candle. The cloud takes a translucent shape above her physical form, mirroring her body.

Kane sighs. I gasp. The man continues to cry.

The dead woman blinks, confused at first, then looks down at herself—at the frail, lifeless version of the body she just left behind.

And then to him, her husband. Still holding her hand, his thumb brushing gently over her knuckles, his body curled toward her like she was still here, like he could keep her close by sheer will alone. His eyes are wet and unfocused, his breath uneven, like he’s lost in a forest and all the trees look the same.

She exhales deeply, a sound full of both sorrow and love, before turning to Kane.

“I have a little more time, don’t I?” she asks meekly.

Kane nods, expression unreadable.

She moves closer, pressing ghostly fingers to the side of her husband’s face, though he doesn’t react—unable to feel her anymore. But she touches him anyway, smoothing back the stray silver strands of his hair, like she’s done a thousand times before, as if muscle memory alone could make the world feel normal.

“My love,” she murmurs, kneeling beside him, “you were the greatest gift I was ever given.”

His breath hitches, like some part of him knows she’s still there.

“You were my home,” she continues, her voice tender, steady, even as the weight of finality settles aroundher. “And I know you think you’ll never be whole without me, but you will be. Not today, not tomorrow … but someday. And I will be so proud of you when you do.”

A single tear slips down his face, and she smiles, attempting to brush it away, but her fingers turn to wisps against his unaltered cheek. He does not move, nor does he stop his soft sobbing.

“Thank you for loving me,” she whispers. “For all the days we were given. For making me laugh when I didn’t think I could. For keeping your promises, even the little ones.”

She exhales weakly, then presses a featherlight kiss to his forehead. Her lips dissipate against his flesh and retake their shape again when she pulls away from him.

His shoulders shake.

She closes her eyes for a moment, committing this last look to memory, then pulls back, looking at Kane.

“I’m ready,” she says, her voice quiet but sure.

Kane nods once, then raises a hand. And just like that, she is gone.

The man at the bedside lets out a shaky breath, one that sounds like loss and love, wrapped into one. His hand remains on hers, though she isn’t there anymore.

I swallow hard, willing myself to feel nothing.

NotNothing

Upon returning to Rue’s home through the family plot portal, I set the woman down, only to watch her knees buckle and her already-pale face go grey. She falls to the ground as her breathing becomes labored. Naturally,I sigh loudly for no one’s benefit but my own. Bending down, I pick her up and carry her through the yard and return her to her spot on the living room couch.

“Precisely why you should’ve stayed,” I mutter as she lolls her head against my shoulder, falling into unconsciousness. “Transport is not meant to be a luxurious ride. You have one foot through to the other side and decide you’re wanting to try out the supernatural transit system? Foolish.”