The House of Memories

The Calm

I drift in and out of disturbing dreams. Nothing so heavy as the reality I've found myself in, but still enough to keep me from being well rested.

I wake to the sound of the grandfather clock chiming. The electricity burning in my veins forces me upright. I clench my teeth as me chest heaves. The voices are nearly deafening, screaming and crying for help.

It's all I can do to keep myself from screaming. The clock continues its lonely chimes, reminding me that I can focus and I'll be okay.

I listen to the voices, trying to pick out a single sound. The voices wash over me in waves of sorrow and panic. I breath slowly and carefully, focusing on my inflating lungs instead of the clamor in my head.

I picture an image of James Rockland, remembering his pain, remember his hope, remember George.

His voice slowly begins to come into focus. He screams, letting guttural, animal like sounds escape his undead lips.

I feel the electricity start to grow in me, I let it surge through my bones, revitalizing me. The room around me grows cold, the scent of blood lets me know that my nose is about to start dripping blood.

When I open my eyes, James the Soldier is sitting on the floor across from me, balling his trembling fists and clenching his teeth.

I know he must be seeing the moments after George died. I don't even know if I will be able to talk to him, or even get his attention at all. But I'm determined to try, I have to.

"James Rockland," I say, using as much command as I can, "I need to talk to you."

I surprise myself with how much authority and command my voice carries, it's almost as if becoming all these other souls has given me more wisdom and authority than I had before.

James snaps to attention, staring at me like a child.

"Who are you?" he asks, his voice tiny and frightened, "Where am I?"

"My name is Roman," I say, trying to sound calm and comforting, like Mother does, "And I am a Seeker, I'm trying to help you rest."

"I'm a soldier," he says, frowning, "I'll rest when either the Germans fall or I'm dead, whichever comes first."

I bite my lip. I'm not sure if I should tell him or not, he seems unaware of the fact that he is no longer fighting the Germans, or fighting for his life.

"The war is over," I say slowly, trying to choose my words carefully, "the Germans are defeated."

James goes from panicked to ecstatic to wary. He eyes me with suspicion.

"I'm sure I would remember that," he says.

"What do you remember?" I ask, hoping that I can nudge him in the right direction.

James opens his mouth to speak, but he's suddenly struck with overwhelming emotion. Tears well up in his eyes, he clenches his fist in anger.

"George-" he doesn't finish his sentence, but I know the memory is flashing before his eyes.

"What else do you remember?" I ask quickly, forcing him back to focus, praying that he doesn't become consumed by the memory yet.

He stares at me, brows furrowed in concentration.

"There was...mud everywhere," he starts, slowly stammering out the words, "and everything was on fire. I was...trying to...escape. There was a bombing...I wanted to tell
George's family about...everything. Why didn't I..."

Horror crosses his face as the realization of what happened dawns on him. I can't help but feel bad for him. It must be a hard thing to realize you're dead.

"I...I'm dead?" he asks, his voice high pitched with fear.

I nod my head, keeping my face as neutral as possible. I don't want to scare him, but I need him to not panic if I'm going to help him.

"But...why am I here?" he asks, tears spilling down his still intact cheek, "Is this...hell?"

"I don't think so," I say, "I'm new to this. I want to help you rest."

James Rockland nods his head slowly, wiping the tears from his face. His hand catches the wound, he becomes panicked, but quickly catches himself and calms down.

"Please help me," he whispers, "I'm tired. I just want to forget."

"You made a promise that you would tell George's family about him," I say, speaking as quickly as I can, "but you never were able to. I need to know who his mother and girlfriend were so I can tell them about him."

"Is George here too?" asks James, ignoring my question. He's starting to get distracted, I know I don't have long.

"James, focus," my voice is stern and demanding, like Father's, "Tell me about George's family. What's their last name? Where did they live?"

James gets the same look that Lilly gets when she's trying to listen but falling asleep.

"George Franklin..." he whispers, "His Ma is Dahlia, he never knew his dad, they lived...in...the Germans killed him...he lived...don't leave me George...Tennessee...I'll tell his family about his bravery..."

James's eyes stare past me, looking with fear into the jaws of the German War Machine.

He lets out a blood curdling scream, clutching at his wounded face, before he fades away, leaving behind a sparking residue in the air.

I'm heartbroken for James, but a sense of pride eclipses it. I did it. I found him, I got his attention. And I now I can put his soul to rest.