Pitch.
She floated to a stop, suddenly terrified out of her mind.
Where was she?
She wasn’t real here, she was floating.
She looked down at herself.
See-through.
Oh no.
Was this hell?
Did she do something wrong?
In a panic, she floated forward, banged into an invisible barrier and was thrown back.
No! she shouted.
She didn’t want to be alone for eternity with a silk tent, a guitar and some books, no matter how pretty the place was.
And she didn’t want to be with her family for eternity, haunting them, watching them live their lives but never being a part of it.
But she really didn’t want to be here (wherever here was). It was dark. It was frightening. And if she stayed there, she’d never know if Prentice breathed life back into Bella, just like the prince in a fairytale.
She flew forward again, faster, more determined.
She floated into the bedroom.
It was dark, Bella and Prentice in bed.
She looked behind her.
Nothing but windows, balcony and sea.
She was safe.
Fiona let out a ghostly sigh of relief.
She looked to the ceiling and said thanks. Then she asked never to be sent there again.
There was no answer.
Fiona shook off the residual fear and cautiously drifted to the bed.
Bella was asleep, dead to the world (as it were).
Prentice was wide awake.
Even though she was frightened that trying to communicate with the living was getting her into trouble (and sent to the pitch black), this was important, she had to risk it so Fiona still reached out and touched her husband’s hair.
Read her journals, she whispered.
She pulled her hand back instantly when his head turned at her ghostly touch. Then she braced, afraid she’d be sent to the pitch black.
She wasn’t.