Ethereal Temptation

9. Startling Revelation

Tomorrow came and went. As did the next day. Each day that followed, I waited in the library for Amy. Each day, she remained absent. Each day I went home wondering what was wrong.

It wasn't long before shame set in. A parasitic guilt coiled along my spine and disallowed my nerves any form of rest. At all times I was plagued with the idea that I may have damaged her in my forced entry. Like how someone may insist on a 'personal bubble' and demand another to take a step back, forced entry was a denial of any sort of 'personal bubble,' a sort of autistic perspective, and ignored the wants of an individual. It was, because of this, that it was very likely I committed some form of harm to Amy. And, since the variables included our souls in potential conflict, I shuttered to think that I fatally damaged her. Speculation at hand, I still avoided the obituary, hoping that nothing had happened.

How foolish of me to think I could do anything other than harm. Perhaps, given the opportunity, or rather, the choice to avoid friendship, I should impede any other relationships forthwith. To save myself the trouble, or to save others from me, it seemed practical to see things this way. No, it seemed necessary for my own comfort to progress in a linear, single fashion without tethers or connections to anyone.

"You should have stopped at, 'how foolish of me,'" Eleon said within me. "Stop with this self-deprecating nonsense. You've no idea what's ahead of you."

I thought to comment on her irony, but reserved the right. "Is it unreasonable to prepare for the inevitable?" I leaned back in my seat at a desk in the school library, my arms folded. I spoke softly, as one would in a library, but kept my voice softer as I spoke with Eleon. It was the end of the school day and, as one would expect, there weren't many students around, but better safe than sorry. "According to Einstein, it's insane of me to keep acting as I am and expect different results."

"There are far more variables at play, James. Stop beating yourself up."

"You say that, but— "

"And here she comes," Eleon cut me off, redirecting my attention to the library entrance just beyond the front desk. Nearly two weeks after the exorcism, Amy Wiggs presented herself beneath the library archway. What I saw, however, was far more than Amy Wiggs. What I saw was a victory, what I saw was . . .

What I saw was . . .

What I saw was her left-hand motioning left and right below my sight. What I heard was a tap, tap, tapping noise jumping about. And, as she said hello to the librarian with a slight turn of the head, what I learned about Amy was far worse than I could have ever imagined.

Under my breath, a depressive expletive escaped my mouth. I watched her head twitch in my direction. Then, after a pause, and a nearly invisible frown, I watched as she trekked her way to the seat across from me, the same seat she had occupied before her absence. The walking stick catching at the chair, she then reached for it, retracted the stick, and packed it in her bag before sitting down. Since entering, her eyes, those light blue rays of hope, remained vacant, devoid of any purpose. However, somewhere among the wiring in her skull, something was amiss.

Broken. Blinded.

So, here she sat, her eyes slightly off focus. My heart beat vigorously, sweat coating my skin. Was this my penance? Was this what happened in a life where I tried to help others?

"Stop," Eleon demanded. "Your thoughts are selfish and unwarranted."

Then what do I say? I thought. What do I do?

"Talk," she demanded.

I kept my gaze locked on her floating eyes. Their crystalized pigment losing no sense of beauty, despite their uselessness. Her brown hair looked a little less complacent, as if she spent less time worrying about its bob than usual. I suppose that made sense. She seemed to be chewing on something, but I came to realize it was her tongue moving around out of awkward habit.