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Loss and Remembrance

12

NOTE: I especially want to thank takemeawaymylove for all her hard work and due diligence in helping this short story come to fruition. Writing is hard work, editing doubly so. I know first hand what it feels like to work under pressure in that environment. "C" deserves every bit of credit for midwifing this tale through the past few weeks. Any writer worth their salt would do well to consult this wonderful human being.


Azure eyes glaze over the center aisle of the convenience store, whispered voices carrying along with the footsteps of their owners. They navigate around the waifish teen blocking their way, angsty words muttered under coffee-stained breaths. Phrases like 'bitch' and 'idiot' drop casually out of the patrons' mouths as they glance over their shoulders, taking stock of the latest exhibit of the Millennial generation.

A noise snaps Charlotte out of her reverie as she slings the tote over her shoulder. She blushes profusely, kicking herself for daydreaming yet again in the University Place mini mart. The young woman behind the counter laughs it off, as if that makes the embarrassment any less painful. Charlotte huffs as she walks towards her car, wondering if the August heat had turned her brain into mush.

The transition to college should have been exhilarating. But ever since she stepped foot on the quad, her above average IQ seems to have evaporated. It isn't just the cute boys walking along the promenade, or the stress of trying to fit in on a campus three thousand miles from home. Something else seems to be pulling Charlotte along. It lurks in the corners of her mind, a puppet master making her go through the motions day to day, as if she were performing a play that someone else wrote.

The door slams behind her as she steps into the apartment. As soon as Charlotte is able, she collapses onto her bed, the hemp tote thumping inelegantly on the ground. She closes her eyes, hoping there would be no further distractions, at least until the girls, come home. Wisps of chestnut hair caress her face as she clutches the vial around her neck, thinking of the beautiful flower she lost way too soon.

Cameron Lee Strong was a sun-kissed angel, a blond haired, blue eyed good ol' boy who loved Jesus, NASCAR and canoodling, though not in that particular order. They'd only gone out a few times when he drowned in a lake in Smithfield after a party with friends. Even though they only made it to second base, she still thought of him as The One. She fantasized about marrying him sometime after college, though Charlotte was unclear when that was.

He was 19 years old. She reacted to the news with the same legendary stoicism that carried her military family through the years. She hauled herself through the receiving line as guests from all over piled to pay their respects. With the same detached look her grandparents and great-grandparents bore, she greeted the greeters with a matter of fact glance that made her seem strong.

She kept the ashes as a reminder of his existence. Even as the necklace dangled around her neck, it made her feel close to Cameron, as if there were a physical connection between them that transcended time and space. At times, she thought she could feel his presence--a hand on her shoulder, a kiss on the neck--but she always chalked it up to her overactive imagination.

The moment she stepped on board the 757 bound for Seattle a few weeks later, she didn't even question throwing herself headlong into college so soon. She welcomed the challenge of juggling a part-time barista and college student. Her grades slipped as she struggled to make ends meet. It's only nerves, Charlotte thought, but a part of her wasn't so sure.

At least there were roommates. Living with three other women in an apartment near Gilman Park wasn't easy. Britt, Tegan, and Tali could be a handful, but every so often Charlotte would crack up whenever one of them said something funny and forget about her own baggage for a while, but the levity was always short lived. Charlotte wondered what it was that was holding her back, that made her so benumbed and aestheticized that she couldn't enjoy a sliver of gaiety without feeling guilty about it...

The front door slams as feminine voices echo throughout the residence. Charlotte,rolls on her side and pretends not to notice, fading into a world of her own imagination...

###

She could feel him on top of her. The fingers squeezing and squashing, elongated digits grasping at her supple skin as she lay prone on the bed.

But she was unafraid. A jolt of electricity shot through Charlotte as calloused fingers twisted her nipples. She gasped.

"Oh Cameron," Charlotte moaned, "I'm glad you're alive. It's been so long since you've been gone."

She couldn't see his face, of course. His body remained swaddled in darkness, but she she could just make out the taut outlines of his frame. A thin halo of white shimmered in the gloom as she pulled him towards her. There was something gauzy about the texture of his skin. It reminded her of satin or silk, a thin, almost velveteen sensation that contrasted with everything she knew about human anatomy.

She continued to tell herself that it was Cameron. But he didn't feel like him at all--he was different, more airy, ephemeral perhaps. Even as the figure loomed over her, his presence was more disarming than anything else. She could tell he meant no harm, but who he was--and what he wanted from her-- remained elusive.

He wasn't even human, for crying out loud.

She cradled his torso, running her fingers over the indentation on his right side. It had to be him, she reassured herself. It had to be Cameron. The scar told her as much. She took him in as he suckled her breasts, cradling his head as she considered the stranger in her midst.

It was strange how he looked like Cameron, smelled like him, but otherwise resembled him not at all. There was something familiar in his touch, but none of it made sense. She entertained the idea of a being more powerful than herself at work, but that seemed ludicrous.

Her boyfriend was dead, and he was never coming back.

The figure lowered himself, kissing her stomach and belly button. Charlotte giggled as his tongue flicked over her midriff. She laughed nervously as he lingered, wondering where this was going. Secretly, she was aroused--more than she would ever let on.

He spread her legs.

"My roommates are sleeping next door," she protested, "What if they hear us?"

The figure didn't seem to mind. Charlotte gasped as he probed her, his lengthy digits tracing the folds of her sex. A ripple of pleasure shot through her. Her lover's ministrations only heightened her desire to have him inside her.

She jolted as he thumbed her clit, eliciting yet another wave of pleasure. She could get used to this. But what she really wanted was his seed--filling her, sating her, the come running down her thighs in a giant stream of sticky filth. The fingerfucking felt like a poor substitute. Beautiful, ecstatic, but a substitute all the same.

When he finally mounted her it was like a rocket engorged in her own body. He pounded her, each thrust going deeper, deeper, deeper as she cupped his ass. Yet her hymen remained unbroken. The blood should've trickled down her legs, but there was nothing. Just the warmth of his body against hers.

The thought was quickly banished from her mind as a new sensation grew inside her. It built up gradually. Her breathing became heavier, more pronounced. Her voice was a high pitched whine as she begged for him to let her come. Each second without release felt like a cruel form of torture.

When the dam finally broke, it was as though a tsunami rushed through her in a giant wave of repressed longing.

"Oh God!" she cried.

She reached out for him. But the figure was gone. Charlotte whimpered--a quivering, hot mess. The breeze comforted her as she fell asleep, yearning for her lover to come back to her.

###

Golden rays bathe Charlotte as she lay tangled underneath rumpled sheets. Her lidded eyes pry open as she groans, lying prone as amber rays illuminate the contours of her body. A contented smile creeps along her face as she stares at the ceiling, thinking of the night before.

A panorama of images march through her head. She sees her lover mounting her, his firm shadow pounding her and pounding her as she submitted to him. She half-remembers her own screams--sensual, joyous, unashamed. She smiles dreamily at the thought...

A blast of cold air caresses her body as her consciousness stirs. She becomes vaguely aware of the digits resting between her legs. They are long, slender, feminine--Charlotte's own. The scent of sex is heavy as she sniffs them.

Did she imagine it all? Has her subconscious been so warped by her boyfriend's death that she conjured up this...thing as a substitute? More importantly, did her roommates hear her?

She blushes in embarrassment. She climbs out of her soiled panties and strips the similarly soaked sheets from her bed, hoping to make a run to the local laundromat before

anyone finds out.

She steps into the shower and cleans herself off, examining herself with the thoroughness of a physician. The membrane guarding her vagina is still there. Charlotte frowns as her hands fall to her sides.

She remains a virgin.

Charlotte emerges into the kitchen in her jeans and tank top, droplets of water still dripping from her disheveled mane. She searches the faces of the women sitting around the table for some acknowledgment of what happened the night before. Three pairs of droopy eyes stare back, dark circles underneath them. The trio loll their heads lazily as they groan in unison, reminding Charlotte more of Homer's undead soldiers from The Odyssey, than a trio of butt busting college students.

"Good morning Tegan," Charlotte glances at the copper-haired member of the group.

"Charlotte?" the redhead groans, "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"My shift doesn't start for another hour. How are you holding up?"

"Don't get me started," Tegan clasps her head, "Britt wanted to go dancing so she dragged me and Tali to the club downtown. Britt damn near ground herself on every boy she met, and Tali was no better. They must've had twelve drinks between them, not counting the PBRs they had before we left. If it weren't for me we might never have gotten home."

"Don't look at me," Tali's tawny black hair falls over her eyes, "It was Britt's idea."

"You're the one who's been itching to get laid!" her flaxen-haired compatriot shoots back.

"Enough you two," Tegan glares at the pair, "It's Sunday. Can we at least go a whole afternoon without arguing?"

Tegan cradles her head.

"Could you reach into the cabinet and get an aspirin?" she glances at Charlotte, "My head is killing me."

Charlotte plops the pill into Tegan's palm, who swills it with aplomb.

"I have to get ready soon," Charlotte eyes the clock mounted overhead, "My phone is posted on the fridge if you need me."

Tegan grabs her arm as Charlotte spins around. The pentagram around her neck glistens as the two women stare awkwardly at each other. The glint of metal causes Charlotte to squint as the glare penetrates her eye.

"Are you okay?" Tegan gazes at her, "You've been a little...off lately."

"I'm fine, Tegan. Honest."

"I can give you the number of my shrink if you need to talk to someone. The business card is on my dresser..."

"Maybe some other time," Charlotte pulls away.

As her sedan powers through the s-shaped curve leading past her future alma mater, she catches sight of the gothic spires reaching into the heavens. She wonders how Cameron would feel about her going to a public university three thousand miles from home. They never discussed it, yet the location feels oddly comforting. It is reminiscent of Wilmington--the flatness, the salty air, the teeming crush of humanity that bobs along the surface like the Puget Sound itself.

Every so often she catches sight of a customer waltzing through the door as she stands behind the counter, locks of sandy hair falling over his eyes. Her face brightens as he (it's almost always a he) hesitates in front of her, the thump-thump-thump of her heart beating like a steel drum inside her chest. Only when the young man lifts his face does her grin fade, forming into a thin smile.

A month after her boyfriend's passing Cameron's visage still looms over her. The smallest detail could send her reeling into the recent past, but it isn't really. Sometimes she finds herself talking to him, laughing, or otherwise staring longingly at the door as though he'd walk through as though nothing happened. It's a strange feeling to have.

Sometimes Charlotte wonders whether she left North Carolina at all.

The door slams behind her as she staggers into the apartment, still aching from being on her feet for more than seven hours. An exhausted sigh escapes her lips as her shoulders slouch. Flickers of candlelight catch her eyes as she struggles to adjust to the dim ambience. Charlotte spies her roommates sitting around the kitchen table, hands clasped together as they meditate intently over the rectangular object in front of them.

"What's going on?"

"Shh," Britt admonishes her, "We're trying to concentrate."

"Is that a Ouija board in front of you?

"Uh-huh," Tali replies.

"They wanted to hold a séance," Tegan says wearily, "I tried to convince them they didn't know what they were getting into. I still think it's a bad idea, but try telling these two numbskulls."

Britt elbows Tegan, eliciting a glare from the Celtic lass.

"You've done this sort of thing before?" Charlotte glances at Tegan.

H"You could say that."

"What are you standing around for?" Britt gestures towards her dark-haired roommate, "Join us."

"I've been on my feet all day," Charlotte pleads, "Maybe another time?"

"Don't be such a wuss," Tali eggs her on, "It's not like some poltergeist will get you in your sleep."

Charlotte shoots a look.

"What are you so afraid of?" Britt presses her, "Aren't you curious what's on the other side?"

Charlotte reluctantly caves, squeezing herself between Tali and Britt as the threesome hold hands. Her shoulders are tense as she waits anxiously for something to happen. Yet all she notices is the ticking of the clock.

"I need a memento," Tegan glances at them, "Did anyone here lose a loved one in the past six months? A granddad, a grandma?"

Charlotte glances at the vial dangling around her chest.

"My boyfriend's ashes," she hands them over, "He drowned a month ago."

"My condolences. Did he have a name?"

"Cameron."

"Thank you."

Tegan closes her eyes as she mutters a few words in an ancient tongue. They wash over Charlotte, a halting series of burrs and inflections that are as beautiful as they are confounding. The girls' grips increase as Tegan continues, her highland brogue causing their spines to tingle as they wait impatiently for her spell, or curse, or whatever it is to work it's magic.

For several seconds there is only silence. There is a rattling as the table begins to shake. The women struggle to stay in their seats as their chairs vibrate. Charlotte's teeth chatter as the violent sensation reverberates throughout the room. But Tegan is unmoved.

"He's here," she announces.

"How do we know it's him?" Charlotte glances at her, "It could be a demon for all we know."

"Ask him about something, something only you and he knows."

"What was my nickname in the fourth grade?" Charlotte murmurs haltingly.

Tegan's hand glides as the cursor guides her to a handful of letters on the board. They reveal themselves slowly.

"C...H...I...P...M...O...N...K. Chipmonk."

Charlotte's roommates raise their eyebrows at her.

"It was an inside joke," She shoots back, "You had to be there."

Weeks of unanswered questions bubble to the surface. The whys and hows and whens are far too numerous to mention. But one seems to loom over them all. Her lips tremble as she fights to form the words. But the answer is one she is dying to know.

"Are you... Are you happy?"

Tegan's fingers glide over the Ouija board once more.

"Y...E...S. A...R...E...Y...O...U?"

Charlotte pauses. The question of her own happiness is not one she has given great thought to. She bites her lip as she gazes into space, not quite sure of the answer.

"I...guess," she shrugs. "I don't really know."

"I...H...O...P...E...Y...O...U...F...I...N...D...W...H...A...T...Y...O...U...R...E...L...O...O...K...I...N...G...F...O...R..."

The room slowly returns to room temperature as the warmth fades. A wail of sirens echo in the distance as the women muster the courage to get out of their seats. Their hands tremble and shake as they catch their breaths, in awe of their encounter with the supernatural.

"That. Was. Awesome," Britt mumbles.

Charlotte stumbles toward her room and locks the door behind her.

###

She doesn't notice him at first. She lies in silence, the pulse of life teeming around her as the streets resound with the throng of students pouring out of the bars, footsteps marching wearily back to their dorms. They'll curse themselves in the morning, Charlotte thinks as she gazes at the moon. It is the middle of the night, but there is little else to do. Sleep eludes her like a lover, so close, yet not close enough to feel.

Silver rays bathe her as she rolled on her side. They dance and shift, moonlit shades of white that illuminate her nude body. The warmth isn't unpleasant. Much better than the chilliness outside. She pulls the covers over herself, but only halfway.

Something suddenly grabs her ankle. The hands are firm and supple, and definitely male. They are large and yet, there's something else about them that Charlotte can't place. The skin is velvety instead of elastic-- like being caressed by invisible satin.

Charlotte freezes. How could this stranger sneak into her room while her roommates sleep? She should've been more vigilant. The stranger's fingers continue to wander as she lies prone, caressing her legs and lower back. Yet there was no cause for alarm. The caress is rather affectionate--tender, actually. A white hot warmth swaddles her as his fingers roam.

It feels like love.

She turns to face him, her eyes sizing up this stranger in her midst. She'd been here before. Many times she has imagined an encounter just like this one. He lived in her dreams, a shadowy specter with a thin band of light. Mysterious, yet comforting. It felt strange to trust in such an idea.

But here he is, standing at the foot of her bed.

She dares not believe. Could it really be true?

"Cameron? Is that you?"

The ghost nodded.

Her mouth is agape. He is like her boyfriend in every way--tall, muscular--yet also different. His shimmering form illuminates the room, a soft whitish halo that obscures everything she sees. His face is vague and in distinct, but it has to be Cameron. It has to.

Charlotte pulls him into a kiss, but only to be greeted with air. Her hands drop dejectedly to her sides. Of course.

"Should've seen that coming," she murmurs, "If only you were still alive..."

A thrill shoots up her leg as her boyfriend's velvety fingers roam across her thigh. The slightest touch sends tingles radiating through her body. She gasps audibly. Crests of pleasure wash upon her as he cradles her. She never enjoyed such delight when they were together, but he never really left.

She wishes it could be like this forever, a long unbroken strand of conjugal bliss that lasts an eternity.

Charlotte isn't an idler, though. Her nipples harden as she kneads them, nearly driven to orgasm by the various

sensations working in concert. The warmth of her boyfriend's presence is heavenly. A sly grin creeps along her face. She looked forward to having the ghost's prick inside her.

12
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