REST IN PEACE

by

AUTHOR A

Chapter 2

The Chapters

INTRO

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

…Joe…

Her voice called him back from the darkness and his heart ached at the very sound – so compellingly familiar and so hauntingly missed.

Blinking vibrant blue eyes open, Joe realized he was lying flat on his back, his head cushioned in the lap of an angel; she smiled down at him, her dark eyes shining devoutly, her black hair hanging in long loose curls around her pixie face.

“Iola?” The word was broken and anguished, torn from the depths of his soul and cruelly thrown across his lips.

She nodded and he closed his eyes and swallowed hard. This couldn’t be. It was impossible. The raven-haired beauty in the glittering red ball gown could not be Iola. She couldn’t be.

He opened his eyes again and stared up into her luminescent face. Like him, she was wearing a mask. Maybe it was someone else. Someone who just looked like her…

His hand trembling, Joe reached up and then paused, a bit unsure of her reception. When the girl slowly blinked, acquiescing, he slipped his fingers beneath the silky black material and lifted it, sliding it high onto her forehead. He gasped.

It was her…

It was Iola Morton.

“But,” his mind protested what his eyes were seeing. “But…you’re dead.” And then he paused and frowned, suddenly not sure of anything anymore. “Aren’t you?”

Her dark eyes saddened, as did her voice. “Yes, I am.” She placed a gloved finger gently against Joe’s lips, caressing as she silenced a barrage of questions. “I can’t explain – there are too many things beyond us and our understanding. But I am here…” she paused and this time looked apologetic, “to say goodbye…”

“No…” The protest was desperate – a child’s plea in the voice of a young man. “Please – don’t leave me…again…” He didn’t dare move for fear she would simply fade away. If he was dreaming, then he prayed he never woke up.

“Joe,” his name whispered with such sadness sank a sob through his chest. Hastily he moved to wipe his eyes and protocol dictated he sit up; lying like this seemed rather indecent in their decadent attire.

Iola shifted behind him, kneeling next to him, one white gloved hand resting lightly on his arm as if she could not bear to lose contact with him. “I’m sorry—”

“No,” he bowed his head and then cast her a sideways glance. “You have nothing to be sorry about. But me – oh God, Iola…”

“Stop. Please.” There was firmness in her voice that Joe did not recognize and it stirred him from his self-damning discourse. “This has to stop.”

The girl sighed and then stood up, holding out her hands for him to take. Joe hesitated briefly and then deftly rose to his feet, accepting her offer and only noticing now that his scarlet sash was the color of her dress…he didn’t even remember picking it out…

She squeezed his strong hands gently and then led him to the railing he had been musing over, mere minutes ago. The balcony was still exclusive to them; oblivious to the gaiety and goings on, double French doors away….

For precious time, they just stood together, ghost and griever, her attention somewhere out over the moonlit landscape and his only on her. And then she spoke.

“It was never your fault. Not my death, anyway…”

Joe closed his eyes and tilted his head up at the Halloween night sky, his jaw clenched in denial. Iola sighed, a distressed dove, and continued, her words whispered and kissed on the wind. “It was just my time…”

“Time?” the young man snorted bitterly, shaking his head and forcing his eyes back open. The sky was flawless – twinkling and blinking millions of little lights, October witnesses on a cold night. “How can I blame ‘time,’ Iola? Please, you have to give me something else, something I can fix or break – anything. ‘Time’… time didn’t put that bomb in my car.”

“And neither did you,” she gently reminded him, slipping her petite body into the space between Joe and the railing. He inhaled sharply as she pressed her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around him, holding on – almost for dear life, in death.

He could smell her perfume. Vanilla. He smiled. How could he have ever forgotten that Iola smelled like cookies?

“You’re smiling?” she looked up at him and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he seemed as amazed. It was something he didn’t think he’d ever do again. “I am.”

The girl rolled her eyes and then reached up with one hand towards the mask he was wearing. He moved to stop her. “Don’t,” he asked, unsure he could handle the exposure – his emotions felt so raw already…

He was on the balcony, outside a masquerade ball, talking with his dead girlfriend… No – the mask had to stay on…to protect them both. Iola smiled sadly and her hand moved past the mask to stroke his blond hair. “It’s okay to smile,” she reminded him. “And even laugh….I love it when you laugh.” She paused, the brief twinkle that had lit her eyes as she spoke, faded and she added, “and it’s okay to cry, too…”

Joe shivered when her hand moved to cup his cheek. He blinked back the stinging in his eyes. He had not cried since she died, though his body felt weighted down with grief. “I wanted to save you,” he admitted, his voice shaking. “I wanted to be your hero…one last time.”

“Oh Joey,” she dropped her hand to his shoulder and pressed her face against his muscular chest again. Her body trembled against his and he wondered briefly about that – she felt so alive…

“I needed to save you,” he finished, as if he hadn’t heard her. “I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

“But you do know,” she insisted, lifting her face from his chest, her dark eyes burning intently, sending shivers through his soul.

“I don’t understand….” and he didn’t.

The beautiful young ghost gave him a compassionate look as she moved her hand to the back of his neck and pulled his head down until his face was close to hers. Her words were whispered, husky and low, “I know…and for that, I love you.” Her lips parted slightly and kissed his; gently and warm at first, but as his arms slipped around her narrow waist and he pulled her in even closer, a pressing urgency betrayed them and they locked out the night; two souls divided by death, forever linked by life…

Finally, breathlessly, the girl pulled away. She tugged off her gloves and let them drop to the balcony floor before reaching up, again, and this time Joe let her, not protesting when she lifted his mask and then lightly ran her warm fingers across his cheekbones.

A single tear ran down her face. “Good-bye, Joe.”

And then she was gone.

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