The Departed

sun was a thin, watery light high in the sky and although she couldn’t see a soul, Dez knew she wasn’t alone as she made her way through the graveyard.
    She didn’t know why she was here.
    Tristan was gone. She sighed and wondered if she could talk to his parents, if she should . She needed to find a way to give them the closure she’d promised their son, but right now, all she had was the knowledge that he hadn’t killed himself. It was empty knowledge without proof.
    But Tristan hadn’t called her here.
    Something…no, some body else had.
    She couldn’t see the soul. Couldn’t even really feel whoever it was. The soul wasn’t strong enough. Either too long dead or just too weak in general. But somebody was tugging her.
    And there were others, too. Mostly echoes—not truly ghosts, just the remnants of their memories, the lingering of their emotions, echoes of their passings. She believed most of them had truly passed on to what waited beyond…this was just like…well, the afterdeath, perhaps.
    Only a few of the souls felt complete enough to truly be called ghosts and none of them were strong enough to manifest. The rest, they were just the lonely echoes of their mortal lives. She wondered if they’d ever find a way to let go, wondered what happened to their true souls if some remnant continued to cling. And those were only some of the questions she had.
    It was a terribly depressing thought, she decided.
    Those whispery echoes, so forlorn and sad. Dez lowered her shields as much as she could and reached out. “Hello?”
    No answer.
    “If you want to talk, I’m here.”
    There was almost a shivering sigh on the air—almost the echo of a sound. So hesitant and faint.
    “I’ll hear you, you know. All you have to do is focus a little. Reach out to me and just think about making me hear you. And I will.” She skirted around the base of a large marble angel, absently stroking the petals of the flowers that had been placed there.
    The silence lingered.
    Sighs gathered and she felt the press of their presence, but nobody answered.
    Dez reached up, rubbing the back of her neck, frustration mounting hard. She wanted so desperately to be able to help, but she didn’t know how. She couldn’t reach out and focus until the soul actually reached for her first. And there was nothing. Simply nothing.
    The air was thick with sadness, heavy with it. It almost broke Dez’s heart. After another circle around the marble angel, she ambled back over to Tristan’s grave and crouched down, absently picking up a few dead leaves and tossing them aside.
    In the back of her mind, she heard more vague whispers. No words, nothing she could lock on. But there was somebody there …watching her. Somebody who needed her, or was at least aware of her.
    It seemed the only time the departed were really aware of her was when they wanted her help. But this one wasn’t reaching out. As the ghostly brushes against her subconscious grew stronger, colder, she shivered. Staring at Tristan’s marker, she murmured, “At least I was able to help you, right?”
    She jumped when there was a harsh, almost broken sound that echoed all around—it was so loud she felt it. It sounded like a sob. She could almost taste the tears.
    Swallowing, Dez rose and looked around.
    “Who are you?” she asked again.
    But once more, there was nothing but the sound of the wind, and those ghostly, lingering sighs.
    “I can’t help you until you talk to me,” Dez said quietly.
    There wouldn’t be a response, though. She could accept that. Okay. So she’d just come back. Give it time. Sooner or later, she’d get whatever connection she needed, because she couldn’t rush this.
    The ghost simply wasn’t ready to speak to her yet.
    Still, despite her unease, she was oddly hesitant to leave and she found herself doing another slow circuit around the cemetery. She might have done it endlessly.
    But her phone rang, the jingling tune sounding strident and harsh in that place of silence and unrest. Jolting, she reached into her pocket and pulled it out in a rush, silencing the sound before it could shatter the quiet any more than it already had. Her heart was racing before she even lifted it to her ear. It was Taylor.
    “Yes?” she asked, her voice creaking.
    “I need you at the hospital. Immediately.”
    Swallowing, she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to—was it Ivy? What had happened to her? “Why?”
    “That boy. The