The speed at which Béatrice managed to drive made me suspect that she'd been a getaway driver in her French Resistance days, or, alternatively, that she had a secret street racing habit. Her tiny car zipped across the Other Paris' roads; I swore that, occasionally, it no longer made contact with the surface altogether.
It was a stark contrast to the slower pace at our ghost tour's start hours ago, when Luc and I had been able to study the city from within the vehicle at our leisure. Now, we held on for dear life while Béatrice combined next-level road hogging with telling us her story.
"After that poor night guard was possessed in the Eighties, Professor Abelard approached his students with a request his wife had made to the City Council," she explained as she slammed her car's horn to notify those unfortunate enough to be in our way that they had to get lost. "It proposed that, to avoid a repeat of the Gilbert Perrault incident, any future living persons entering our city should not roam about unaccompanied, but should instead have a guide to ensure their safety. Professor Abelard had been asked to select such a guide from any trustworthy students he knew might want to volunteer. I was given the position after a rigorous application process. I would only have to do it for one night each year, of course, and if anyone alive would wander in, I would have complete freedom in shaping my tour, with the caveat that I would bring the tourists to Madame Heloise first. Purely as a formality associated with her role as a city representative, I was told."
Though I cringed at the car's swerving, being able to sit and the knowledge we were on our way home had calmed me down. I was reinvigorated enough to scoff. "Well, that was a lie."
"It made sense to me at the time. I spent decades waiting for tourists to no avail. Then, a few years ago, I forget how many, I was lingering in the Sorbonne after a class and overheard an alarming conversation between Professor Abelard and Madame Heloise. I discovered the real reason behind their concocting the tour guide plan, then, but I knew I would not have been able to expose them. I decided I would pretend I was still oblivious to their endeavours and send any living tourists back to their own realm immediately, even though it would pain me to do so."
A sharp turn, a risky overtaking, a cacophony of honking horns. In all honesty, I was getting a little carsick. How Luc could munch on a leftover demi-baguette sandwich and keep it down was beyond me.
"You didn't send us back."
Béatrice sighed, accelerating harder for good measure. "I should have stuck to my plan. But I had taken the job because I thought I would love it, and when you arrived, I let my excitement get the better of me and failed to turn you away. I mistakenly thought I could give you the night of your life and keep you safe in the process. But I hadn't expected Abelard and Heloise would have enlisted other students to spy on me, and I underestimated the couple's ability to find you. My sincerest apologies again, darlings."
Or our ability to let ourselves get found. Béatrice's earlier failure to send us back home had endangered us, but I couldn't bring myself to be angry at her for it. She'd done her best for us in every way she could, was still doing so now, and Luc and I had made the choice to stay here after her warning all by ourselves.
And this probably had been the night of my life in a variety of ways.
Luc was in a similarly forgiving mood. "Water under the bridge," he spoke around a mouthful of sandwich. "You're still the best spirit guide, Béa, and your tour was a solid ten out of ten stars."
"Nine out of ten for me," I added. "Docking one star for the near-death experiences. Sorry."
"Nine stars and a half," Luc compromised. "The sandwiches make up for a lot."
"A sandwich store! Perhaps I should consider opening one someday–" Béatrice fell silent mid-sentence, eyes widening, and she yanked at her steering wheel so hard I really did fear I'd start throwing up. The side of her car collided with the rear end of a bicycle crossing the road, sending the woman who'd been riding it to the asphalt with a yelp.
"Béatrice!" I shrieked on instinct. "You killed her!"
"It's fine, Nick, she's already dead!" Béatrice let out a nervous chuckle. "It will have hurt her a little, though she will heal fast, but... Oh, dear, I do hope that lady won't want to press charges–"
"Maybe slow down, then, Béatrice? Just slightly?"
"It's a quarter past seven," Luc observed, looking at his watch. "Whatever you do, make sure it's not slowing down."
Béatrice obeyed. In the five minutes that followed, she caused no further accidents, but kept speeding through the streets and weaving her way around other cars like the Devil himself was chasing her. My stomach flipped a few dozen times, in part because of the driving and in part because of the ticking clock. When Béatrice came to a screeching halt in front of Père-Lachaise's main entrance, I was dizzy and utterly ready to stumble out of her car.
"I can't move beyond this point. We must part ways here," Béatrice said, a sad and tender look in her eyes. "Farewell, darlings. I hope you'll keep me in your memories, if that is not too much to ask."
"Oh, we couldn't forget you if we tried." Luc grinned as he unbuckled his seatbelt and threw his car door open, exiting in a flash; fortunately, he was getting the hang of using his own body again. "I'm going to remember this night for as long as I live, and probably after that, too. You'll be fine, Béatrice?"
"Don't worry about me. I will try to continue to live my afterlife as per usual." Béatrice smiled. "It may be awkward, but I think I will go back to class. Twenty-first century gender identity is simply too intriguing a subject to abandon, don't you think?"
"Definitely," I said as I jumped out of the car myself, somehow not surprised Heloise taught that class. "Thanks for everything, Béatrice. And... Do you have a favourite type of flower?"
"Blue cornflowers. I have always been partial to those." Béatrice's smile grew. "Goodbye, Nick. Thank you, too."
We went our separate ways. With the clock counting down, Luc and I got started on the best sprints we could still muster. Though getting from the main entrance to the Monument aux morts would mostly consist of moving straight ahead, the Avenue Principale was long, and we wouldn't make it in time if we strolled at a leisurely pace. We'd have to give it our all for a few more minutes, and then we'd be home.
The world around me fell away: Luc's quick footfalls, the lonely tombs and mausolea on all sides, the trees with their rustling autumn leaves. For a moment, I forgot about everything, about the passing minutes and my feet aching in my shoes, Oscar Wilde's autograph and Béatrice's cornflowers, Abelard and Heloise's tragic tale. All I could still see was the road ahead of me, the Monument aux morts looming in the distance; I zeroed in on that goal, our beacon, the only thing besides adrenaline that still kept me going. Almost there, I told myself. It's almost over now.
But once we were running up the marble stairs to the gateway home, fright seized me. My tired eyes had fallen on Luc's Smartwatch.
07:31, it displayed.
"Fuck," I cursed, almost tripping while I stumbled up the stairs. "Are we late? Tell me we're not too late."
Luc looked at his watch himself. The uncharacteristic doubt I saw in his gaze didn't reassure me in the slightest, but he steeled himself in seconds, grabbing hold of my hand again. "I won't accept late."
With his free hand, he pushed the door open as he'd done before. Inside, that pitch-black darkness still reigned supreme. We'd have to throw ourselves in there again on a wing and a prayer. The darkness could spit us back out, like the Sorbonne librarian had said happened to the dead, or we could end up in the pile of bones the ossuary contained. That, or the darkness would take us home.
We didn't wait any longer. We took the leap.
~~
And ended up on the other side.
I blinked, releasing Luc's hand in shock. Part of me struggled to believe it, couldn't seem to understand that we'd made it, that we were back in our own world where we belonged. I glanced up at the sky, painted orange by the morning dawn. Then, I tore my gaze away, pulling out the weather app on my phone, which was functional once more. I had to see at what exact time the sun would rise.
07:38.
I laughed. I laughed until my ribs hurt. My estimate had been just slightly too conservative. Sheer dumb luck, but we'd made it.
We'd made it.
"Holy shit, bro. We're back!" Laughter proved infectious, for Luc lost himself to it as well. He sat down on the steps to the Monument aux morts, making himself comfortable, gazing up at the sky with the sweetest expression of pure joy. "And we get to watch the sun rise on top of it all. Isn't that just perfect, Nick?"
"Yeah." I put my phone away and took a seat next to him on the cold marble, letting everything sink in, my rapid heartbeat finally slowing down as I allowed my exhausted body a moment of rest. "I really think it is."
We sat there in contemplative silence, bathing in orange light, while the minutes passed by, the clock not a source of stress for the first time in hours. The November chill couldn't bother me. The only things I could hear were birdsong and, beyond the cemetery's walls, the roaring of Parisian morning traffic, cars driven by people with pulses and beating hearts. Though it had looked so eerie to me in the middle of the night, the Père-Lachaise cemetery seemed peaceful now. I hoped that, with our departure, peace would return to the necropolis we'd left behind, too.
I used that moment to relish the calm, to reflect on the things I'd seen and done and think about everything still to do. Luc seemed as lost in his thoughts as I was. We still had much to discuss, stories we shared that nobody in our lives would believe if we told them, and I imagined we'd do a whole lot of talking in the future ahead of us. But we weren't in a hurry while sitting there. We could be quiet a little longer.
And we were. Until an irritated and unfamiliar voice broke our spell.
"Qu'est-ce que vous foutez là-bas?"
A little off in the distance, I saw a man with an infuriated look in his eyes. He wore a security guard's uniform. And, just like that, I remembered that the Père-Lachaise on the living side opened its gates to visitors at eight.
We were still here illegally.
"Oh, damn." Luc sprang to his feet, though he seemed amused as well as alarmed. "One more run before we kick the habit? First to get caught pays for our coffee date!"
He dashed off while I blinked stupidly for a few seconds longer, dumbfounded by those words. "Wait a minute!" I exclaimed, scrambling to my own feet and taking off after him. "Did you just say coffee date?"
I was tired, about to lose money and quite possibly heading for a Parisian police station, but none of that bothered me as I laughed through this last sprint. I'd gone on a ghost tour and I'd made it through the night, with a precious souvenir to show for it. I'd have to request a new passport at the Irish embassy soon, and I'd buy the biggest bouquet of blue cornflowers I could find and place them on Béatrice's grave, and maybe, just maybe, it would be possible to track down Omar's daughter in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. I'd go on a coffee date with Luc, and after that, we'd have a whole world left to explore.
I'd never been more excited to start living the rest of my life.
~~
"Sur ceux qui habitaient le pays de l'ombre de la mort, une lumière resplendit."
– Inscription Monument aux morts, Père-Lachaise Cemetery, Paris.