Flash Fiction by Edie Arks

Dear William,

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Prompt #1: You visit a beautiful old hotel near the sea that has been rumored to be a home for ghosts searching for their unrequited love.

***

When I saw you arrive at the front doors of the hospital, your hair was still the same shade of auburn. The confidence in your stride remained unchanged, your gaze unwavering. I couldn't have mistaken this familiar presence for anyone else, I was sure.

Yet your eyes betrayed my confidence.

I couldn't recognize your eyes anymore. Has the war changed you so, mon cher ?

Discouraged, I kept my distance and avoided running into you in the hallways. That was until one day, the glint of a familiar brooch pin on your chest caught my attention.

A simple brass lily adorned with a glass bead as blue as the ocean. La fleur de lis.

An overwhelming emotion surged within me as I stepped out of my hiding, extending a cautious hand forward to tap your shoulder. I did not, however, expect that you would react with such shock that you almost shouted in my face.

" Vingt dieux ! " I exclaimed, withdrawing my hand to my breast concernedly. "I-I did not mean to startle you!"

For a second, your eyes darted wildly in every direction, as if searching for the source of my voice. I held my breath until I heard you heave a long sigh. "Pardon my behavior, m-miss. It seems my imagination is getting to my nerves."

There was a long pause as I wait for you to embrace me or call out my name, anything to express your familiarity with me. But your silence and still-bewildered expression made me realize;

Those eyes I didn't recognize, didn't recognize me either.

Then you— or perhaps, not you— let out a nervous laugh. "I heard this place is haunted, and in that moment I really thought that to be true."

It took some quick inhales to find my voice again. "I-I see! Well if it's any consolation to you, I've not seen any ghosts around a-and I've been here for quite some time."

"Ah, wonderful!" The stranger grinned, now visibly relaxed. "So how can I indulge you, miss?"

"I... just wanted to ask about that brooch."

His gaze trailed to the lapel of his waistcoat where the ornament sat, and there was a hint of sadness behind his eyes. He caressed the little trinket on his chest as he replied:

"Of course. It belonged to my father," he said.

This time, it was I who was perplexed. If his claim was true, it would make him your child. Yet he appeared no older than you since the day I gave you the brooch and bade our last farewell.

Many days after, I would often come across the man in the lobby as he returned every sunset. He did not speak the local tongue, but I could speak in his. Hence we would always engage in long conversations accompanied by soupe à l'oignon. The more I spend time with him, the more I came to believe that this man— whose name was Christopher— was indeed your son.

When he spoke of you, there was an almost childlike wonder in his voice. Each evening he would tell me about your expeditions in minute detail. Until one day, of course, his narration came to the last military campaign that almost costed you your life.

I didn't have to refute what he said. After all, I was a witness to its aftermath.

They had pulled you out of the ditch and brought you straight to me; beaten, bruised, bloodied. I spent three grueling hours extracting shrapnel from your body, one wedged so close to your heart, and prayed that God spare you one last mercy. Eventually, your condition steadied and I monitored you for fifteen days. We bonded much like how Christopher and I were doing.

"My sister Lily never liked this story. She said it was the saddest of them all, but I think it's an important one to remember."

"Lily," I repeated, a smile playing on my lips. "What a beautiful name."

Christopher straightened himself up in his armchair. "Say, miss, do you know of a hospital around here? A nurse like you would know better, I assume."

I chuckled. "Why, you are in one right now—"

As soon as the words left my mouth, my surroundings began to shift into a myriad of shapes and colors. The walls shed their white covers, revealing wooden panels and gold-patterned wallpaper. Tables and chairs sped across the hall while a grand chandelier sprouted from the ceiling right above a group of people carrying suitcases.

"You see, my father was looking for his old friend from the war. The one who saved his life forty years ago," he continued in complete obliviousness. "I'm here in his stead to fulfil his last wishes."

"Last wishes?" I turned to him, alarm in my voice. "Christopher, is your father..."

His face fell. "Yes. He passed... last month."

Tears came streaming down my cheeks without delay. Your passing devastated me, and I couldn't help but feel more powerless when I realized I was just a girl suspended in time, unable to let go of a memory from decades ago.

"A-Are you all right?!" Christopher placed a worried hand on my arm. I could only stare at his face as clarity took me over.

Mon ami William, I cannot express how glad I was to hear that you had lived a long, prosperous life after what you went through. You raised such an honorable son who took so much after you. I sought solace in the fact that you hadn't abandoned our companionship, and that was enough for me.

With the gradual acceptance came the slow waning of my strength. It was finally time to let go.

"Meeting you was an absolute pleasure, Christopher." I held his hand in a reassuring manner, not wanting him to be stricken at the sight he was about to behold. Instead, he responded with a mournful smile, as if he had known who I was all along.

Before the last of my consciousness ceased, I heard a voice— his, or perhaps, yours— say in a wispy tone;

"Thank you, Liliane. For everything."