The Veil

I wanted to get this in before Halloween... but it just wasn't possible. One could say I was having a DEVIL of a time getting it done, ha ha ha.

Thank you to Bebop3 for the unbelievably wonderful ideas, editing, kindness and support. It's appreciated more than I can say.

________

It was freezing the day we buried my mother. January was naturally a cold month, but it was unbelievably frigid that day. It made sense to me that it would be too cold to feel anything, physical or otherwise. Us mourners were bundled up in thick coats and gloves, waddling through frozen snow on the ground after the pied piper in our journey-- a ruddy man named Todd who had the loudest voice I'd ever heard--toward my mother's grave. In the movies, they always showed the coffin being lowered into the turned over earth. Sometimes a distraught and weeping woman fell in with the coffin, or some great secret was revealed, or a distant and detested relative showed up to make things uncomfortable. Of course, this wasn't like the movies. 

Her coffin was perched beside a somewhat uneven hole in the ground. A tarp was on the ground around the hole. And no strangers arrived with a deep, dark secret. Todd organized us in a semi-circle. The priest prayed a little, and then men from the funeral home were thrusting roses in our hands and guiding us up to place them on top of the coffin. Everyone else followed and hugged us, and it was over. People got in their cars and drove off. The air seemed to be holding its breath, as frozen as the ground beneath us, and Mom was gone, and everything had changed. Dad nudged me gently toward our own car. I wiped icy tears from my cheeks and let myself be led.

________

My mother and I were extraordinarily close. We had a complicated relationship, as mothers and daughters often do, but we loved one another deeply. When she died, something died inside of me, too. It was a grief too strong and too large to fully explain. None of my friends had lost their mothers yet. I felt alone and adrift.

So when I started hearing her, seeing her, dreaming of her, I thought it was just because of that. My mind couldn't handle such a terrible loss. The brain does funny things with grief, a therapist told me.

Of course, it was something much worse than that. 

________

The months that followed were simultaneously fast and slow. I'd wander through my apartment, checking the time and wondering how I would make it through the dragging hours of the day. Then I'd check the calendar and marvel at the month written in large letters. 

People stopped asking how I was, which was a relief, but it also made me a bit sad. It was surreal how the world kept turning while it felt like mine had stopped. Mom was gone but people were still worrying about their taxes and buying their groceries and celebrating holidays. 

I was afraid people would forget her, that I would forget her. Her life and death had caused ripples in a calm pool, and now they were disappearing. I replayed videos of her over and over, forcing myself to memorize her laugh. The way her eyes sparkled when she was amused by something. How she looked at my dad. 

Six months later, my father was laughing again. Alex, my brother, talked about her more often. Everyone seemed to be healing but me. Things were getting harder. I couldn't bring myself to get out of the shower in the morning. Work was a blur of paperwork and red ink, and friends were starting to drift away. My therapist began calling it "complicated grief" and mentioned going to a psychiatrist for medication.

Then I had the dream. 

I was at Mom's grave alone. Snow was on its way and I wasn't wearing a coat. Someone was beside me; I could feel their warmth, the softness of their clothes against my bare arm. I didn't want to turn my head for some reason, but then the person spoke. 

"Why aren't you wearing a coat?" Mom asked.

I burst into tears and said everything I'd been dying to since she left me--why had she left me, that I wasn't sure I could go on without her, that I was so sad and lonely, that I wasn't sure I'd ever be the same again. That I wasn't sure I could carry on.

"You're gone, you're gone," I wept.

She shook her head. "I'm right here. I never left. Don't go looking for me."

When I woke, I could tell I'd been crying in my sleep. Rain battered the windows with punishing force. I'd fallen asleep with the hallway light on, and its light was creating frightening looking shadows in my bedroom. Everything felt off, like it was designed to frighten me. I got a glass of water and tried to shake off the feeling that she had been there. I could still feel the freezing air, the sensation of her clothes on my skin. And yet I didn't feel comforted. More than anything, I felt disturbed. In the dream, I was certain it was her. I wasn't surprised to see her, and I wasn't relieved. I was afraid. Her words were more like an ominous threat than words of reassurance.

I told my friend, Jackie, about it when I met her for drinks one night. She was the only one of my friends who stayed on top of me to get out of my apartment every now and then.

"What a nice dream," she said.

I felt so ridiculous getting so worked up over a dream, but I needed her to understand. "You're not hearing me. It freaked me out."

"Well, yeah, it sounded really vivid. And then you woke up to reality and she was gone. I'm sure that was upsetting." She glanced down at her Apple watch and I realized she just wasn't interested. To be fair to her, listening to dreams other people had wasn't the most thrilling thing ever. I told myself to let it go, even when the dream returned several more times.

But then I started hearing and feeling things. Footsteps. Creaking of floorboards that had never creaked before. Open doors I was sure I'd shut. I was freezing all the time and absolutely nothing could warm me up. One night, I could have sworn someone sat on the bed beside me as I was falling asleep. Of course, it woke me right up and I bolted from the room, beyond terrified. Another night, I swore I heard someone whisper "Kitty", Mom's nickname for me. I searched the apartment but I was alone, and very few people knew about that. The fear I was hallucinating grew.

Then I was certain I had lost my mind the day I came home from work to find my journal on my bed, open to where I'd written about the dream. My hands shook as I lifted it, rereading the line: "I'm right here. I never left. Don't go looking for me," over and over again.

I didn't know what to do, who to tell. If I told my therapist, would she commit me? I was hearing and seeing strange things, after all. And I didn't feel like I could tell any of my family or friends.

That was around the time I met Gabe. Alex invited me to his apartment for his birthday party in early September. I told him I'd think about it but he begged and pleaded until I finally relented. 

"You need this, Cat," he had said to me. "Mom would want you to have some fun. You look exhausted lately."

"Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?"

He frowned and resembled Mom so much that it took my breath away for a moment. "I'm worried about you and so is Dad. You haven't been coming by and you ignore our calls and texts."

"I'm sorry, I've just been busy at work."

He hadn't looked like he believed me, but he let it go. He squeezed my arm and said, "Just promise me you'll come."

I was going to protest, or make up some excuse, but he really did look worried. I hated that I was adding onto his grief. I also just wanted to be normal. So much of my life was spiraling out of control; going to my brother's party would be a normal activity.

"I'll be there."

The apartment was packed by the time I arrived. I spotted Alex over by the makeshift bar he'd built, and his eyes lit up when he saw me. He wordlessly poured me vodka and sprite.

"Happy birthday," I said, handing him his favorite bottle of bourbon.

He grinned at me and put it on the bar. "I'm so happy to see you."

"Are you drunk? You just saw me last week."

"Yeah but it wasn't at a party." He gently knocked his beer into my cup. "Cheers. It means a lot that you're here."

I rolled my eyes. "You must be drunk. You're getting sentimental."

Alex laughed. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. There is someone I want you to meet."

That was a sentence any single person dreaded to hear. I groaned and finished my drink. "I have no desire to be set up right now, Alex."

"It's not a set up! I just think you might be interested in him, in a totally platonic way. He's not even your type, I don't think."

My eyebrows went up. "My type? What's my type?"

"Athletic and mean." He smirked at whatever expression I was making. "Come on, come on. I don't know him that well but he's an interesting guy. He runs the New Age shop on Mott Street."

"Ugh."

But I followed. Alex greeted a few people on our way, and then we were in front of his couch by the windows. Alex had these large windows in his apartment and I was so jealous of them. They let tremendous light in during the day, and at night they allowed you to gaze out onto the twinkling lights of the city.

Gabe was on the couch, the glow from the city on his face. He seemed almost magical to me, like his figure was carved more sharply and clearly than everyone else's, and a shock of something went up my spine. At the time, I thought it was something good. He was staring at me already, and even before Alex pointed him out to me, I knew it was Gabe.

Alex was saying something but I couldn't hear him. I was in a daze, but I wouldn't be able to tell you why. He wasn't the most handsome man I ever saw or anything. He had sand-colored hair and dark blue eyes. He was lean, and I could tell he was tall even though he was sitting. He had average features, really, but there was something hypnotizing about him. He just gazed back at me, unbothered by my staring. I was reminded of a quote, something about an abyss, but then Alex bumped his shoulder into mine and the words were gone.

"So, I thought you two would have a lot in common," Alex was saying when I came back to attention.

"I'm sure we do," Gabe said. He patted the couch next to him. "Come sit with me."

Alex patted me on the shoulder and turned back to the other guests. Even if I'd wanted him to buffer me, he wouldn't have noticed. I couldn't begrudge him that. He was having a good time, maybe the first good, careless time since Mom died, and I wouldn't interfere.

The truth was I wouldn't have wanted him to step in, anyway. I sat next to Gabe and smiled though my heart was going crazy. I hadn't felt this nervous around a guy since I was in high school. 

"I have no idea what Alex said," I admitted. "I zoned out a bit there. What does he think we have in common?"

Gabe laughed. His smile was something to behold, I thought. "I always zone out when Alex talks."

"How do the two of you know each other?"

He took a deep drink of his beer. "We met at a grief group," he said. He looked toward the window, hiding his face. "I'm sorry about your mother. I just lost mine, too. Also to breast cancer."

Alex had mentioned going to a grief group and asked me to come along a few times. I was having a hard enough time in therapy that the thought of a grief group was daunting. "Thanks. I'm sorry about yours."

He looked back at me and nodded. "It's a sad club to be a part of."

I sank into the couch and closed my eyes. "Yes." 

"Did Alex tell you about my shop?"

"Just that it's New Age," I said. My eyes opened when he laughed. "What?"

"The way you said it. Like it's the most absurd thing you've ever heard."

I sipped at my drink and cringed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to--"

"Don't worry, I'm not offended. That's how most people react. I don't blame them, either. My store isn't a typical New Age place. I don't believe in or sell crystals, for example." He rubbed the arm of the couch as he spoke. It was hypnotizing. He must've noticed me staring because he smiled and stopped. Thankfully, the low light hid my red cheeks. 

"Why did you draw the line at crystals?"

Gabe shrugged. "I believe in energy but I don't believe it exists in a bunch of shiny rocks." He drank from his cup, keeping his eyes on me. A frisson of excitement went through my body, a mixture of fear and pleasure. 

He has the eyes of a predator, I thought. He looked at me like he wanted me, badly, and it had been so long that I'd been looked at like that. It made me ache.

I was pretty certain I'd be going home with him, and the anticipation had my fingertips tingling.

"What else does your shop have?"

"Incense. Jewelry. Books about healing, feng shui. All bullshit. Some witchcraft books. I don't really believe in that, either."

I laughed and he smiled, his eyes on my lips. "What do you believe in, then?"

"Hmm. Energy, like I said. Spirits. Connection."

"Spirits?" I asked, sitting up straight.

"I do tarot cards," he said. "I can sometimes connect with the dead. It's not so easy for me but I have had some communication. And I have a medium who comes in on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sally's great."

"Tarot cards? You really believe in them? And spirits?"

"You can't always get a perfect reading, but yes. I also believe in Sally. She's amazing at what she does. You should meet her. She's made contact with my mother and maybe she could--"

"You know what, I'm sorry but," I cut in, shaking as I stood, "I have to run. I, I didn't... didn't realize how late it got."

Gabe put his drink on the coffee table and lifted himself off the couch. "I've upset you. I'm sorry."

"I'm not upset," I protested. My drink shook in my hands so I put it down beside his. "I just really do have to run."

He took his wallet out and pulled a white card out of it. "This is my card. The address of my shop is on there, and the phone number. If you're ever interested in coming in. If you think you'd like to reach out to your mom, or if you think she's reaching out to--"

"Thanks, but I don't think so," I managed to say. It felt like my throat was closing, like I was about to die right there by my brother's beautiful windows. Tears filled my eyes, and all I wanted was out, out, out.

"Why don't you sit down? You're shaking."

I wiped at my tears and tried to get a handle on myself. "No. I just want to go home."

"Poor Cat," he whispered, stroking my hair. His eyes were like deep blue marbles. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just want to help you." He slipped his card into my purse. "Just keep this. In case you change your mind."

"I won't," I whispered. 

He stroked my cheek. "You might. Come in anytime."

I took my purse and fled. 

________

"Don't go looking for me," Mom was saying on the opposite side of the platform, just before someone pushed her in front of the screaming subway train.

I jumped up in bed and clutched my chest. Tears were streaming down my face already, and I wiped them away hastily, trying to think about the dream. Something about Mom. Something terrifying and awful, but I couldn't remember all the specifics. 

The nightmares came every night now, and I started thinking someone was following me. It was getting ridiculous.

I stood up, turned all the lights on and paced. What harm could come from meeting with Gabe? I didn't believe in any of it, not really, but maybe I would feel better after going. Maybe it would be helpful to talk about her, to get a little closure.

Really, what harm could come of it?

________

Gabe led me to the back of his shop behind beaded curtains. 

"I figured you'd have one of these," I said, flicking one of the beads. "Do you have a crystal ball and a ouija board in here, too? A skull candle holder?"

"You know I do."

The small back room had cracked tiled floors, and the walls and ceiling were worn and stained in a few places. There was a tiny table in the middle of the room, and a pair of worn chairs on either side. The rest of the room was bare.

"She'll be here in a couple minutes. You want anything? Coffee or water?"

"No, I'm good."

He smiled and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. "I'm glad you called."

"So you said."

"This'll be good for you, but I'm glad for another reason."

I leaned on the wall opposite him and inhaled whatever incense he was burning. "What's that?"

"Well, first I wanted to apologize for upsetting you at your brother's party. I can get overly excited and intense. I'm sorry."

I looked down at my nails to take a break from those eyes. Intense wasn't even the right word for him. "It's okay."

"It's not. I want to make it up to you by taking you to dinner."

My eyes flew back up. "You do?"

He grinned and I was positive I had never wanted someone so much. It was ridiculous, this craving. We hardly knew one another, and yet all I wanted was the heat of his body against my own. There was something dangerous about him and I thought I should maybe be more afraid of him than I was, but this excitement around him was distracting. Invigorating. "Yes. When I close up, let's go somewhere. You in?"

I found myself grinning back. I couldn't remember the last time anything got me so excited. "Yes, I'm in."

A tiny old woman walked through the beads and looked directly at Gabe. The lightheartedness of the past few minutes vanished, and something dark and heavy crawled into its place. She hesitated for a minute, then walked further into the room.

He smiled but I could tell it was forced. "Hi, Elaine. This is Cat. Where is--"

"You shouldn't be here," she said. I thought she was talking to him, but she moved her shockingly blue eyes toward me. Her face was expressionless, but I thought I could make out a hint of fear in those eyes. "You should go."

Gabe sighed. "Don't be rude."

She ignored him. "Some doors should stay shut. You know this."

"Elaine, enough," Gabe said. "Where's Sally?"

Elaine sniffed. "Couldn't make it, so I came instead."

Letting out another sigh, Gabe turned to me. "You know what? You don't have to do this today. We can wait until Sally comes."

"No, it's okay. I've psyched myself up for this today."

He was still hesitant to leave, and he looked like he was going to say something else.

She slid her eyes in his direction. "Go." Then she looked back at me and pointed at one of the chairs. "Sit."

He sighed again and walked over to me. "Let me know if you need anything, and remember you don't have to stay with her," he said, resting his hand on my shoulder for a moment before disappearing back into the shop.

Elaine busied herself with the tote bag she brought, and so I sat at the table, feeling awkward.

Elaine was had to be in her early 80s. Her wrinkled face was caked in makeup, and she wore a dress that reminded me of the housecoats women wore back in the 50s. She was even wearing slippers to complete the look. Her nails were painted blood red, just like her lips, and her blonde hair was tinted with blue, wrapped up in a french twist. I could see almost all of the veins in her arms though her nearly translucent skin.

"You look terrified," she said to me when she joined me. She pulled out some tarot cards and cackled at whatever expression my face was making. I was startled by the change in her demeanor. "I don't bite, babe. The ghosts might, but I don't. You could do with a little terror, though, I think. You're a bit naive, aren't you." 

She shuffled the cards and then fanned them out on the table. Her shockingly blue eyes met mine. "Shall we do a reading? Or are we connecting with a loved one today?"

"I think just the last one. I'm afraid of bad news."

She shook her head. "Babe, you have bad news written all over you." She shuffled the cards again. "What brought you here today?"

"Shouldn't you know?"