And after being tried and punished with death, she took one look at the golden veil of shimmering light that led to the bridge, saw the way it glowed and swayed and beckoned for her, offering nothing but comfort and love and compassion and forgiveness—all of which she’d long been denied. But instead of joining it, instead of seeking the solace only it could provide—she turned her back, and chose instead to wander away. So driven by her overwhelming grief, her insurmountable blame, convinced she’d played a big part in it by being so naïve, by not looking after them properly, by not doing nearly enough to keep them all safe, she returned to the very scene where she first heard the news.
To the place where she stood looking for them, waiting for them to return . . .
And suddenly, just like that, I knew exactly where we both were.
We weren’t so much in her head like I’d originally thought. Nor were we settled into a front-row center seat watching the memories she stored in her broken and damaged heart.
Nope.
Where we both were, Bodhi and I, was the darkest part of her soul.
The place she’d shut off from the world long ago. The place she’d condemned herself to. A self-imposed imprisonment for the last few centuries.
And now, like it or not, we’d joined her.
Were locked in with her.
And I had no choice but to watch as Bodhi braced himself against the rock, his arms spread wide, his head tilted back, his mouth open, as he started to take it all in.
Determined to swallow it—every last bit of the horrible grief that’d kept her chained to the earth plane for hundreds of years.
Determined to claim
it for himself.
To steal it from her and make it his own.
21
Bodhi’s body bucked and convulsed, as his eyes rolled back in his head. But when I started to swim toward him, he immediately stopped me in my tracks. Flashing his palm in warning, and telling me to stay back. Telepathically reminding me of the promise I’d made, that no matter how bad things got, I’d stay in my place.
This particular job was his, and I’d better not come any closer or interfere in any way.
So I shrank back, watching as his entire being continued to spasm, realizing he wasn’t exactly fighting against it like I’d first thought. He wasn’t battling against the tsunami of overwhelming grief he took in.
He was fighting against her.
Her refusal to rid herself of it.
To give it to him.
To unburden herself and move on.
It was like she’d stayed so long at that window, spent so many years crying, and moaning, and wailing her nonexistent heart out, she’d gotten to the point where she couldn’t remember anything else.
Her grief had come to define her.
Without it, she feared she might cease to exist—completely disappear.
Unaware of how that very disappearance would actually be the best thing for her.
Sure, the sad, old version of her would fade away without a trace, but only so a new, improved, happier version could find a new life on the other side of the bridge.
I watched the struggle continue, knowing I had no right to interfere, that it was forbidden, that Bodhi wouldn’t allow it. But still, that didn’t mean I couldn’t surround him with hope. Imagining the color in my mind as the most beautiful, radiant, rose-petal pink, I turned it into a giant, glistening bubble, and wrapped it around him as I held the wish near.
Eager for this to be over—for Bodhi to find enough strength to take it from her, release her from her grief, so that she could be free.
All the while trying not to think about what might become of him once he had swallowed her sorrow.