I’m not sure how long I hold Elliot in the darkness, but after awhile I feel him stir. A small cough escapes his lips. Elliot’s eyes drift open. He looks beyond me, unable to focus. I laugh, just happy that he’s still here. We breathe each other in, and for a moment I’m lost in his embrace.

That is until I hear a muffled voice. “Ange. Ange!”

Jackson. He’s alive. He’s still fighting.

I pull away from Elliot, noticing Claire and the other girls are still in the room. I hope Claire won’t notice me, but then our eyes meet. Elliot studies me wearily. He knows something’s up, but can’t see Claire shuffling towards me. I lean back on my haunches, realizing I’ve never taken the time to look one of these ghosts calmly in the eyes before. Claire corners me. There’s nowhere else to go.

The little girl cocks her head to one side, imitating Mrs. Green’s sideways stare. Slowly, she holds out her hand, pointing. I flinch. What the hell is she doing? What does she want with me? But then I see Claire’s not pointing at me, but beside me.

I glance to the left and spot the rusty gate keys clumped on the floor. She’s trying to help me, I think. Claire looks at me with the wide eyes of a little girl. Nothing more.

Cautiously, I take the keys. There’s a long, heavy silence between us. “Thank you,” I say.

Claire lets out a little giggle. She turns, scampering off into the darkness. The other girls follow in tow, vanishing from the room. I look at the keys in my hand and then back down to Elliot.

“Hang on, El,” I say. “I’m going to get us all out of here.”

*        *         *

I run, retracing my steps, trying to find the way out of the dark. Corridor after corridor, I hear my heavy, urgent breaths. From somewhere in the shadows, a water pipe leaks, the dripping mocking me in the silence. The only thought in my head is to find Jackson. He’s still alive. He could still be alive.

“Jackson!” I call out.

Come on. Say something. Let me hear your voice. Reaching the arched doorway, I step tentatively forward and my shoe slides into a slushy liquid that wasn’t there before. I fumble forward, knowing I’m tired and not thinking straight. My body strains under the weight of all that’s happened.

“Jackson! Where are you?” I yell. A plea this time, hoping he’ll answer me. What good are the powers to communicate with the dead if I can’t help the people I love?

My feet step on crunching bones, and there’s a new smell. Rot and urine, mixed with the metallic whiff of blood. Please, Jackson. Don’t leave me. Please say something. Please. But it’s so dark.

So quiet.