(Continues from Glass Animals Make Poor Weapons)

Between the lines, we fell, 
I to heaven, he to hell.
Listening for the bell,
I heard only death’s knell,
calling my crush to his cell.
Shadows shift and swell,
my nemesis’ rise parallels
our swan dive ending life’s carousel
when my crush’s shell
breaks turning Jason to gel
in front of the hotel
where we lunched at Marcel’s
before I traded color for pastel
and death ripped me from life’s lapel.

My hands phased through Jason when I tried to seize him, slow his fall—anything to halt the inevitable. The gray sky matched his suit and the sun peaking through glinted off the silver pinstripes. Around Jason’s neck, a cross glowed and I touched it knowing he was damned. Suicides went to hell. I waited for Jason to rise as a ghost. Questions crowded me the longer I stood there.

“Get up damn you. You don’t get to exit like this.” My hands curled into fists though I could punch nothing in my current state.

Shadows outlined his body, pouring in as if Jason were a container. Links popped as his silver chain broke dropping the cross he always wore. I caught the symbol dividing us on reflex, tried to fix it, but the links refused to reconnect. He fell into shadow, his body blackening and turning to ash while I raged, unable to stop the horrid transformation.

His eyes opened and bled the darkness filling them, spilling inky tears down his face. I screamed his name. The asphalt under his crushed body melted and he plummeted down to the hell I’d just left. I dove after him and bounced off an invisible wall. The impact threw me high enough to see the man-shaped hole Jason had made in the glass but the knife lying on his polished desk pulled my eyes and me to it. Through the window I sailed, phasing through the jagged edges dyed red by Jason’s blood.

I landed in a heap, pushed up and stalked to the desk. I stared at the blade which had caused me so much trouble. Should I pick it up?

Find the earlier parts of this series here.

For the November Notes Writing Challenge hosted by  Sarah Doughty of Heartstring Eulogies and Rosema of A Reading Writer. 30 more days of your favorite ghost and his poetic adventures. Enjoy!

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