Under the Light - By Laura Whitcomb Page 0,19

shiny plastic square in front of Jenny, a photo. “This is us,” he said.

Jenny brought the picture closer to her face, tilting it so that the glare on the glossy finish shifted. I knew that picture, of course. To Jenny the photo would look like a picture of her and Billy, but it was actually James and me while we occupied their bodies—it was the only way for us to be together.

A drop of water from Jenny’s hand ran down the white border.

“I’m having some trouble remembering things,” Billy told her.

“Me too,” she said.

“You look happy with me,” he said, as if astonished that someone could ever love him.

Jenny looked pleased, but she was still dazed. “Yeah, I do,” she told him. He started to rub the towel on her head, drying her cold hair. “Is your name Billy?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Here was all I remembered seeing before I left earth.

Cathy, the phone to her ear, stopped in the bathroom doorway. “Jennifer!”

It was strange to think that I had left this bathroom and climbed to heaven, into James’s arms. That was happening at the same time that I was standing here and looking down at Jenny. I could not regret now that I had become a ghost, because how else would I have met James? Yet looking back, my inability to cross into heaven for so many years seemed foolish.

Cathy snapped her fingers at Jenny. “Cover yourself!” Then she motioned for Billy to get out. “Do you mind?”

Billy backed into the hall as Cathy closed the door in his face. “Why don’t they answer?” Cathy scowled at the phone, pressed two buttons, listened again. “How many did you take?” she asked.

Jenny searched the room as if she felt watched.

“How many?” Cathy demanded.

“I’m not overdosing,” said Jenny. “I threw them up.”

“Were you trying to kill yourself?”

“No.” Jenny paused. I could tell she didn’t remember one way or the other. “I spilled them and the ones I swallowed I threw up. Don’t call an ambulance.”

Cathy tried to dress her daughter as if the girl were five years old—buttoned her buttons, flicked her collar down straight, pulled her hair out of her sweater for her.

Cathy agreed to drive Jenny to the emergency room instead of calling the paramedics. When they emerged from the bathroom at last, Cathy shooed Billy out of the house, rushing to gather her purse and keys.

She bustled Jenny through the kitchen toward the door that led into the garage, but Jenny was staring at the house—the broken picture frames in the living room and dining room, the mess in the kitchen as if someone had pulled half the contents of the cupboards out and dumped them onto the floor and into the sink.

I floated after them the way I used to follow my hosts everywhere. Before I met James I’d had a chain of five humans I’d haunted since my death. I found safety from my hell by clinging to them and did what I could to be a friend to each. But Jenny was the only one of the Quick I had ever possessed.

I sat in the back seat behind her as the engine roared. Cathy couldn’t wait for the garage door to rise—the car’s antenna snapped off and clattered onto the driveway.

Billy was waiting on the sidewalk. Cathy slammed on the brakes and rolled down her window. “Go home,” she ordered him.

Jenny leaned forward, about to speak, when she saw Mitch. Wearing a grease-stained T-shirt, Billy’s brother stood leaning against his wreck of a car parked at the curb. Cathy’s angry tone drew his attention. He threw his lit cigarette onto the lawn.

“Is she okay?” Billy asked Cathy.

“If you don’t leave I’ll have to call the police,” Cathy told him.

“Mom!”

Mitch strode toward them.

Cathy rammed the car into park and got out, taking a step toward Mitch before he could get any closer.

“Will you please take your son home?” asked Cathy. She took in his appearance: unshaven face, muscled arms, tattoos. She held her sweater closed as if he could see through her garments.

“He’s not my kid, he’s my brother.” Mitch gave her a sweeping glance, head to foot.

Cathy bristled. “Where are your parents while all this is happening?”

Mitch smiled. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

Billy stood with his hands in his pockets now, watching Jenny through the car window, seemingly oblivious to the argument. And Jenny stared back at him, but she jumped at the sound of angry voices. I didn’t want her to worry.

“All will