Rafe grins. “Nice. Another mystery solved and a step away from getting twisted.”
Mr. Clingler frowns. “Are all of you concerned about the Xers?”
I exchange a look with Rafe and Yasmin, then pinch the air with a forefinger and thumb. “Just a tiny bit. It’s a little stressful to have people out there who can turn you into giant rage beings.”
“Yeah, what’s with that by the way?” Rafe asks. “What’s their damage that they want more destructive creatures in the world? Don’t we have enough drama as it is?”
Mr. Clingler smooths a hand over the stubble on his chin. “It is, as are most things in this world, complex. To understand Xers, you must realize they believe they are doing a good thing. They believe all ghosts are trapped here against their will and that when they burn bones or attachment objects with their spells, they are releasing spirits into the life beyond. More than that, they believe they are protecting the living from hauntings. What they don’t understand is that their actions are compounding the problem.”
“So, they’re...extremists?” Yasmin asks.
“In a word, yes.” Mr. Clingler nods. “Many of them are highly intelligent, particularly their leaders, and a great majority of those in this sect have family histories of ghost encounters gone wrong. The dead are, of course, much like the living and not all are benevolent. Some with ill intent have created a great many problems for the rest of us.”
I grimace. “One person ruins it for everybody else.”
Mr. Clingler nods. “It’s understandable that you would be concerned. The threat is imminent, but Locklear takes steps to ensure your safety. The best thing you can do while you’re here is to take care of your unfinished business so you can move on peacefully. If you can do that, you should have no reason to fear.”
I grimace. Unless of course your body is missing along with your memories.
Mr. Clingler sits on the edge of one of the desks. “In the same way, discovering your unfinished business can be complex. Often, you’ll be trapped in the location of the most pressing issue, as you were Rafe.”
Rafe stiffens up and his eyes drop. He slips something out of his pocket. A bike lock. He spins the dial back and forth with a thumb, muttering something, probably the combination. Maybe it’s his own way of dealing with thought spirals, or anxiety, or guilt.
“But if there are complications,” Mr. Clingler continues, “then Ghost Guides and Healers can assist in the process. That’s one of the goals of this class.”
“Complications like, having no memory of your life before death?” I lift my brows.
“Yes. And don’t worry, the Healers should be able to help you recover that as well. Or at the very least, help remove damage that is blocking your ability to reach it.”
“Why,” Rafe’s voice cracks and the lock clicks again, “why would one piece of unfinished business drag you to that specific location, but another one...not?”
Again, Mr. Clingler strokes his chin and sighs. “Unfinished business can be a tricky thing. The timing is often finicky. It-”
“Finicky?” Rafe swears under his breath. “But what if a person’s life is in danger? How could the timing be finicky,” he makes air quotes around that word, “on something like that?”
That pain from before floods his eyes. He clenches the lock until the tendons stand out on his knuckles. Part of me wants to run out of the room, to back away from the torment buckling the air around him. I even scoot to the edge of my chair without fully realizing it.
Instead of running, I cling to the desk, and dig my voice out of somewhere deep in my chest. “Maybe that means that whoever’s in danger is safe at the moment.”
Rafe pulls in a slow breath, lets it out, then drags a weak smile onto his face. “Yeah, yeah maybe you’re right. I really hope you’re right.” In spite of his best efforts to look okay, there’s not much energy in his voice.
“Your friend has a point,” Mr. Clingler says. “If you haven’t been pulled toward this person, then it’s doubtful they’re in imminent danger. Either that, or they’re not your unfinished business at all. Which brings me to divining what that business is if you’re not drawn toward it.”
Rafe shoves a hand through his hair, then rests his chin on a palm. He looks deflated. Defeated. Worry clearly buzzes just beneath the surface of the calm expression that’s now settled onto his face. It’s so intense I can almost feel it mingling with my own stress. I focus my attention back to Mr. Clingler. I’ve got my own business to figure out.
Hopefully with it will come the rest of my memories, and I won’t be stuck for an eternity with no identity. Untethered to anyone or anything, always at risk of losing what little I have left.
When I finally sit across from my Healer, I’m torn between excitement and terror. As I cross my legs, I notice for the first time the silence where my heartbeat should be. I press a palm to my chest. My head spins at the stillness and I have to fight to keep my breathing even.
“It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it?” Ms. Alvarez — a middle aged woman with short brown hair and a chin dimple — asks.
“Majorly. Almost as terrifying as being dead but not remembering why.”
Ms. Alvarez smiles. It’s the understanding kind, but she manages to pull it off without looking pitying. “That is also quite jarring. It’s possible I can help you, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. Often it just takes time for memories to come back.”
Great. More patience and waiting. No big deal, unless of course you’re not sure where you left your physical body and it could get destroyed at any moment by extremists. But sure, I’ll be patient.
I play with one of my shoelaces. “Thanks for being honest. I mean, it sucks, but that’s better than false
