A Certain Slant of Light by Laura Whitcomb Page B

said.
        "Do what?"
       "Materialize." He laughed.
       "Were you not able to pass through objects?"
       "In my clumsy way." He looked me up and down, and I won dered whether I was clear or colorful at that moment. "Not with your grace."
       I hadn't thought on it for years, but when I was newly at tached to my Saint, I practiced moving through her walls and ta bles and rose bushes, sometimes slowly, like a smoke ring, and other times instantly, like a flash of lightning. It became less and less distracting, and soon I could wander through her rooms with no more thought than bird song moving through a lace curtain.
       "Perhaps it's easier for those of us who haunt people rather than places. We're always having to traverse through doors to keep up with them."
       Before James could answer, the bedroom door banged open, and Mitch stood fuming in the hall.
       "Where the hell did you go?"
       James sat up. "Nowhere."
       "Bullshit," said Mitch. "I called when I got to work."
       "I didn't see a message—"
       "I didn't say I left a fucking message, I said I called. So, where were you?"
       "I took a walk," said James.
       "Do not lie to me." Mitch shook his head.

   "I'm not. I walked to the rec center and watched some little league."
       "Did I say you could leave?"
       "I didn't think you'd care if I took a damn walk. I locked the house."
       "Who were you with?"
       "No one," he lied, and Mitch could tell.
       "I swear if I find out—"
       "I'm not getting in trouble," said James.
       "I work all day and you sit on your ass watching baseball."
       "You're right," said James. "That's not fair. I should get a job."
       "You're not quitting school, asshole."
       "I meant on the weekends."
       "I know what kind of work you used to do."
       "You choose the job then," said James. "No shit."
       This quieted Mitch. He frowned at his brother, then walked away.
       "Did you have enough time alone?" James asked me now.
       Mitch came back into the doorway. "Are you talking to your self?"
       "Why do you care?" said James.
       "Chris is home for the weekend, wiseass. We're going out tonight."
       James looked blank. "Okay."
       "Did you really get brain damage?" said Mitch. "You don't know what the hell I'm talking about, do you?"
       "Your friend Chris?"
       "Rayna's brother. Ring a bell? He's on furlough."
       "Well, have fun. I'll be fine."
       "Yes, you will," sighed Mitch. "I want you where I can see you tonight. You're coming with us."
     
     
    During my meditations on the roof, I had nearly decided to let James help me board an empty body, but I was still afraid that it wasn't something my Light spirit could manage. Perhaps James was different. He'd haunted a place instead of a series of hosts. What if that quality had made him stronger than I? I was afraid that if I leapt into a body, I would fail and plummet into my hell, never to see him again. There was no way of knowing.
       "Take me to your haunting place," I asked him. I craved to re trace his steps.
       "I did," said James. "Where the baseball field is, that was my haunting place."
       "Why didn't you tell me?" I felt almost annoyed.
       "I thought it would make you sad," he admitted.
       And it might have, looking down at the grass and imagining a garden there with a two-year-old James running barefoot or look ing out at the playing field and imagining a Light James walking the bases in the dark.
       A sudden desire rocked me. I longed to know everything he remembered. Every scent and sound. Every color he could con jure from this life past. I dreaded my own, but I had a deep hunger for his memories.
       "Tell me everything you can recall about your life as James."
       "I've told you everything I remember."
       "You said you remember new things every day," I said. "What did you remember today?"
       He thought for a moment. "I remember the sound of our rocking chair," he