Chains

    Johanna Sibert had never felt more alone in her life. She stood in an ocean of weeping black figures, each solemnly holding their umbrellas and patting their eyes with drenched kerchiefs. How cliché, she thought. This whole funeral was so cliché that she almost wanted to laugh. Why shouldn’t she laugh? It was all just a joke anyways. Toby was not actually dead. There was never a holdup at the store where Toby was working in-between careers. There was never a gun that took the lives of seven employees, and he certainly was never shot, the bullet barreling straight through the temple. Any moment now, her fiancé would pop out and yell to the audience “Gotcha!” and grin like a maniac. It was just like a stunt he would pull. Then everyone would laugh. They would just laugh; laugh at Johanna for her foolishness. Perhaps she was still in bed, curled next to Toby, her cheek on his chest and his heartbeat ticking rhythmically. This whole event was only a nightmare that she would wake up from any second now. She could almost hear his voice in the back of her mind, gently asking if she was alright. But she couldn’t wake up. Try as she may, nothing could stir her. She was already awake and the gravestone boasted harshly: Tobias Elliot Wright- October 25, 1963 – June 5, 1986.
         Just a couple days ago the two had been sitting on the bed, teasing, laughing, and stealing quick kisses at every chance. Johanna could almost still feel his fingers curling around hers, lacing and caressing. She could still hear him whispering to her in the dark. He had said that he would never let her go. He would never leave her. She would never, ever have to face the rest of her life alone and in fear. Yet, now he was gone. Why did he lie to her? He said he would never leave her, but he did. Now he would never come back to her.
                Johanna snapped back into reality. She had loosened the slack on her umbrella and the rain had drenched her hair until the short sprigs clung securely to her scalp. She shook her hair gently, trying not the splash the others around her. Not that they would notice in this weather. Heh. The choppy strands hung down like off-white icicles in front of her eyes. She looked around, brushing her hair away as a droplet of water escaped from a lock and ran down her thin face. Few people remained around the grave, most of them heading inside to escape the sticky air and warmish drizzle that came with the summer in San Francisco.
         The rest of the day passed relatively quickly. For hours, Johanna remained in her earlier trance-like state of denial. She had spent the remainder of the afternoon responding to the “I’m so sorry for your loss” and “If you ever need anything just…” condolences and occasionally tolerating a hug from a familiar face. In a way, she was almost reluctant to leave; not able to accept the finality of going home alone. Though, somehow, she suddenly found herself on the living room couch, her face in her tiny hands. The last thing she remembered was walking out of the gates and to her car. Perhaps habits had led her through the rest. What would she do without Toby? Abused severely as a child, Johanna had been terrified of contact with most people ever since. Really, she was more scared of people in general. She trusted no one, except for Toby. Now that he was gone, she felt more frightened and helpless than she had since she was young. What could she do now? Her only thought was that she could paint. She needed to paint. She needed to wake herself up with the cool sliding of the colors over her hands.
         With a sigh, Johanna stood up and shuffled slowly into the hallway. As she rounded the corner from the living room into the narrow corridor, the wall mirror caught her attention. As she stared into her blank, almost black eyes, she saw herself for the first time that day.
         Her short, bleach blonde hair was sticky, both in touch and in sight. The sprigs that normally stood up in a gravity-defying amount of gel and hairspray now fell over the tops of her ears in short, frizzy sprigs. The areas around her eyes were puffy and a faint blush peeked out from under her tanned skin. She always had a tan, a beautiful inheritance from her Cherokee ancestry. She had always been told that she had “such a pretty face”. She certainly did not feel pretty at the moment. A tear began to work its way down her cheek. She wiped it on the sleeve of her grey sweatshirt and walked away. A moment later, she entered her studio.
         An easel stood in the middle of a crowded room, holding a busy canvas covered in deep swirls and smears of rich acrylic colors. The dull, wooden floor was splattered with dried droplets of reds, blues, yellows, and all in between. A large table, dusty and worn from the years, leaned against the far wall. A collection of clean canvases was stacked semi-neatly underneath. The walls, once painted robin’s-egg-blue, were now covered in everything from a 1982 pin-up calendar to a large autographed wall-scroll photo of Jim Morrison. A horde of jellyfish kept vigil from their vivid canvases about the room.
         Johanna sluggishly made her way to the small but long nightstand near the easel. That was where her paints were kept in large cans. She picked up a rusty flathead screwdriver and wedged it through the caked, dried paint around the lid. With slight effort, she pushed and pried, though the lid simply would not budge. Finally, she was able to pop the lid off of the can. The lid, propelled by the force of Johanna’s tool, completely missed the nightstand and fell onto the floor. It rolled past her shoes and came to a stop about three square feet away. With a displeased groan, she turned and bent to pick it up. If her hair had not already been bleached, it would have turned white with what she saw when she raised her eyes again.
         Standing before her was Toby. He looked the same as before. His skin was the same shade, lighter than hers, but not pallid. He wore that same concerned look he always wore when Johanna was perturbed or upset. His shaggy, rust-colored hair hung down over his eyes. His eyes; what was wrong with his eyes? They were still green, a hint of Irish grey here and there flecked in, but there was something wrong. There was no gleam, no shine. They looked empty.
         Dead, Johanna thought.
         The Toby-thing looked concerned. “Johanna, are you okay, honey?”
         Her heart pounded as if it would shred itself to ribbons. “Toby? Is this…it can’t…no…” This was not real. The dead were dead. There was no returning. “This isn’t you.”
         Toby kept his patient smile. “It’s me. I swear. Not quite in the flesh, but it’s me. I promised I would never leave you, and here I am.”
         Johanna just stared in shock, her thin lips slightly ajar in horror. She began muttering and babbling, more to herself than to him. “You are dead. I saw your body in the wake. I watched them bury you! You’re dead!” What did he mean by not in the flesh? If you aren’t flesh, then you are a- . A ghost. She swallowed on the last word. “Are…are you a ghost? What is going on here, Toby? Answer me now!”
         Toby heaved a sigh and began to speak. “No, not exactly a ghost, I think. You know all of those stories about a ‘bright light and the passage to Heaven?’ Well, they are a load of junk! When you die, there is nothing but darkness at first. Darkness and fog. I made my way in the fog until I found a man in a dark suit. I suppose that’s how the reaper dresses nowadays?” He chuckled a moment. “I asked him, ‘where am I?’. He informed me that I was dead. He took me to a place where, I dunno, it was weird. I was watching you. You looked horrible, so lost. He told me that I could someday enter the afterworld, but I could not come yet. He said that once my bonds were released, then I could come. For now I had to walk until my ‘chains were removed’. Way to be dramatic!” He laughed again. That was just like Toby, always a joker, even when he was only a disembodied soul.
         Johanna stood, more in shock then before. How could she really be expected to believe all of this? “What did he mean by chains and bonds?” This was senseless. Somehow though, she did believe it. She believed every word of it.
         Toby furrowed his brow in thought. “He said that something was holding me back on this world and would not let me go.”
         As she stared at the apparition, she slowly began to realize something. She had Toby back! He hadn’t lied to her! The corners of her mouth began to turn up into a smile. Her eyes grew wide. “Toby!” She moved her foot to step toward him but stumbled over her other shoe. As she fell forward, he caught her. This confused her. I thought ghosts were just air…But, he feels normal, just a bit cold now. On second thought, she decided not to question this. She was back in his arms, and she would never let him go again. “I missed you.”
         He held tighter. “I missed you too.” He pulled away, observing her face. “You, Missy, need to get to bed. I’ll still be here in the morning.”
         Johanna was reluctant to let him go again. She did need some sleep though. It had been a rough day. “Fine. Will you come with me?”
         “Of course I will.” Toby walked toward the door and then turned around. “Well? You coming?”
         Johanna grinned. “You betcha.” She followed him out the door and into the bedroom. She fell asleep within moments after scooting under her comforter.
The next morning, Johanna woke to the bright lights of the sun streaming through the bedroom’s picture window. The clock read eleven-twenty. She rubbed her eyes with her wrist then suddenly remembered the previous night. She scanned the room. Toby was sitting in the armchair near the window, staring back at her. He wasn’t smiling. “Toby?” she mused, stretching, “What’s wrong?”
         “Look. “ He stood up and walked toward her.
Johanna could still see him, but the room behind him was very visible. She reached out to touch him, but, her hand simply slid through his. “No…” Why was this?
         Toby frowned. “I’m not meant to be here, Johanna. This world is for the living.”
         Tears began to well in Johanna’s eyes. “Does this mean you’re leaving again? But wait! You said you couldn’t…” She didn’t understand. Her breathing became choppy and heavy as she began to cry. “What’s going to happen to you?”
         Toby shook his head. “I don’t know Joh, I just don’t know. Whatever the bond and chain means.”
         Johanna sat on the bed, quietly crying. She wouldn’t let him go again! He had left once, but now he was back to her. But, what would happen if he stayed here? He’s not meant for this place. And what the heck does the ‘bonds and chains’ thing mean anyways? So it means that something was holding him from going to-… She stopped in mid-thought. What if it were a someone rather than a something holding him. Nothing else could be possibly be the weight holding him down. He had no debts, and besides, debts didn’t bring a spirit back to Earth. His family had simply accepted the death, even as they grieved. It had to be her. She was the reason he was Earth-bound. “It’s me, isn’t it?”
         “What do you mean?” He seemed confused.
         “I mean, it’s me that’s holding you back from the afterlife. You can’t leave because I won’t let you go.” As difficult as it would be, she knew what she had to do. “It’s okay though, Toby. You can go now. I will let you.”
         Toby sighed. “If you say. That does seem logical…I guess.” He was reluctant to leave. “I suppose this is it then.”
         The tears still lingered in Johanna’s eyes. “This is it… We will be together soon enough, I guess. It’s hard, but, I want you to be happy.” She hung her head and shut her eyes tightly. “I love you, Toby.”
         He looked back at her with a hurt, but knowing expression. “I love you too Johanna. Be good.” He leaned in to kiss her cheek, his lips never really touching her skin, merely phasing through. “Good bye.” He dissolved into the air. What was once Toby was now a cold beam of sunlight.
         Johanna stared at the area where Toby once stood. “Good bye…” she whispered.
What had just happened? Johanna attempted to recap the events of the past twenty-four hours in her mind. So, she had just talked to her dead fiancé. Looking a little bit pale there, dear. Her mouth twitched at the corner a bit. He had described Purgatory to her. He hadn’t the foggiest of what to do when he got there! She began to laugh to herself. Then he came down to see her and tell her that she had been keeping him from Heaven. The old ball and chain! She laughed harder. This all sounded so ridiculous! Then he had left again! After again saying he would never leave her. This was not real! She reeled in bouts of hysterical laughter. “Great joke, darling! I do believe this was your best one yet!” Her laughter turned to tears and great sobs. “You liar! You filthy liar! You said you would never leave me! Her sobs became screams; hurt and anguished screams. I hate you! I hope you are having fun wherever you are, sweetie!” Hands securely grabbed her by the arms. She felt a sharp prick into her arm and then suddenly, everything became a bit blurry. Faces came in and out of focus, one barking orders at the other. White walls blurred and then straightened. A door was opening. Another face came through. He had a clipboard. Darkness began to close in on either side, creeping slowly to the center of the fuzzy horizon. He was taking notes. Her screaming had diminished to faint moans. She swayed and fell, then she was silent. One of the white-clad medics caught Johanna before she hit the floor. He pulled the sedative needle out of Johanna’s arm and, with the help of his assistant, he lay her on a bare, metal bed against the wall. The man, a doctor, with the clipboard scribbled something down and stepped out the door to meet the face of another man.
         The other man was a shaggy red-head. He spoke to the doctor with a concerned tone. “How is she doing?”
         The doctor replied, “Not too good, Mr. Wright. She seems to be having severe fits of delirium since you brought her in last night. She still believes that she is seeing you and yelling that you have left her forever. Same since her arrival. We’ve put her through intensive care and extensive psychoanalysis and every test reads the same. She’s hallucinating pretty badly. It’s as if all of her imaginings are surrounding her. Our best diagnosis would have to fall somewhere within the bounds of schizophrenia. Now, you say she had been painting, correct?”
         “Right. It’s her form of stress relief. We had just gotten home from my cousin’s funeral. There had been a shooting at his work and the unfortunate fellow caught one of the bullets in his temple. She went off to paint as soon as we got home. She looked pretty rough, so I went to go check on her. She had just dropped the lid to a can when she saw me and started screaming. Come to think of it, she did seem a bit out of whack for a few days. She was just recently taken off of her medications this month. I knew she had been taking them, but she never gave a straight answer about what they were for.”