Heidi Sees - Series 1 - Chapter 5
My name is Heidi Crolley, and I can see ghosts. I can explain. Mostly.
5
It was him. Dad. Right there in front of me.
Part of me wanted to insist that it wasn't really Dad. Just his ghost. An echo. But that can be a hard distinction to make when you see the person you've been wanting to see for so long.
Tears welled up in my eyes. My mouth opened and closed on its own, several times. All that came out was, "Dad... ?"
He looked the same as he had the last time I saw him. Blue button-down Oxford shirt, Levi's, disheveled hair. The same as the day he died.
He stood in the spot where I had been standing. Where Mom said she had seen him. From the surprise I felt, the near disbelief that he was really there, I had to wonder: Had I still been unconsciously thinking she was lying? But there he was.
There was no sign, though, no matter how it had felt to me for that long moment, that he had been hugging me. His arms hung at his sides, hands open, fingers spread but tense. His expression was tight. His lips pressed together. His gray eyes looked at my hands, then searched my face—but refused to meet my eyes. When I looked at his eyes, he would look away before even the slightest hint of cold connection.
I heard Mom ask, "Can you see him?"
I nodded. I could see him, but I could also see through him, see the ebony dresser against the wall.
Here is an example of what that's like. Hold one hand in front of your face, in front of one eye. No, not that close. Pull it back six to eight inches. There. Notice how it looks like you can see behind (or through) your hand, but still see the outline of your hand? It's a lot like that. Now, without moving your hand, focus on your hand with both eyes. It's even more like that. And, yes, it can give you a headache.
Still looking straight at me, but not meeting my eyes, Dad asked, "Where is she? Where is Heidi? I thought I heard her. Where is my baby girl?"
I blinked away the tears. "I'm right here, Daddy."
He turned his head and looked left, then right, as if he were scanning the room. He made no sign that he saw either Mom, who had backed into a corner —I couldn't tell if she could see him—or Nicole—who clearly could not. She was coming toward me in a way that would walk partially through him. Dad's expression darkened as his eyebrows came together.
I held up a hand, gesturing to Nicole to stop. "Wait."
She looked dubious, but stopped a pace behind and to Dad's left, my right.
"Dad," I said, reaching my hand toward him, as if I were going to touch his chest. "It's me. It's Heidi."
Behind him, Nicole looked at me, then extended one hand as if trying to locate him by feel. Her fingertips brushed through his back. He flickered, facing her for an instant, but then was looking at me again.
Louder now, he said, "Where is she? Where is my baby girl? I can't leave until I see her."
I pulled my hand back. Startled by my sudden movement, Nicole did the same.
His form flickered and he was facing left. Flickered again. Right. Flickered as he faced every point on the compass in no particular order, images of him overlapping to make it appear he was looking in every direction at once. Even when looking right at them, he still gave no indication he saw either Nicole or Mom.
He stopped, and he was looking me in the face again, his eyes squinting slightly, locked on my forehead. I could almost feel the chill trying to push into my brain.
"You said you would tell her," he said, his voice still loud, and now accusing. His right hand flickered between hanging at his side and pointing at my face. "You said you would give her the bear. You said you would bring her. You were always jealous. Why won't you bring her? Like you promised."
I reached out again, determined to touch him this time. "Dad—"
He flickered, his face showing a range of angry, frustrated expressions, his hands at his side or pointing at me or held up in a way that said he expected better. He shouted, "Like you promised!" Then he vanished.
"—I'm right... here..." My voice trailed off. My fingers hadn't reached his chest. "Daddy?" I couldn't understand why he didn't see me. Why he was angry at me. "Dad?"
He didn't reappear.
I remained sitting on the foot of the bed. After a few more seconds, I looked at Mom. She still stood in the corner. She had her hands up in front of her chest, balled into tight fists, almost like a boxer. Her eyes were fixed on the spot where Dad had been.
I asked, "Did you see him?"
She shook her head. "No... I've never seen him— I mean, not during the day."
"Could you hear him?" I asked. "Just now?"
She shook her head again. "But I know he was here. I could... see you. And I could... smell... him... ?"
Nicole hadn't moved since pulling her hand back. She kept her hands close to her body as she looked from me to Mom. She sniffed at the air, then shook her head. She looked at me. "All I smell is lasagna."
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