The Ghost in the Room

The Ghost in the Room
The banshee focuses her attention on the bed where a mound of sheets starts to move. Quinn’s head peaks out from the thin blanket. The terrifying form the banshee held earlier melts into the beautiful women in the emerald dress with long black hair. Quinn’s eyes open and she blinks them repeatedly trying to remove the sleep from her eyes. The figure before her is out of focus. She shakes her head and continues to blink. The figure never fully materializes. Quinn tries to sit up to get a better view. Pain sears through her body and she collapses back down on the mattress.

After collecting her breath, Quinn slowly attempts to lift herself from the bed. Ciaran rushes over and grabs a remote from a nearby table. He presses the up arrow and the bed moves Quinn into an upright position. She tries to get out the words “thank you” but her mouth and throat are dry. The words stick in the back of her throat and she begins to cough. Ciaran pours water from the pitcher on the table and approaches Quinn. He raises the glass to her lips and tilts it toward her mouth. She opens her lips slightly and a small amount of water dampens her tongue and throat.

Quinn gulps a large amount of water unexpectedly. The liquid spills from the side of her mouth and she struggles to catch her breath. Ciaran wipes her face with the sheet and begins to pat her back. She shakes trying to get him to stop. He continues until her breathing returns to normal. Then, he kisses her gently on the forehead.

“Welcome back, my love!” The tears in his eyes reflect in his voice. “I am so glad you are okay.” He pulls her into a hug. Quinn winces at the movement. Ciaran notices and gently places her back on the mattress.

“I’m so sorry,” Ciaran apologizes as he smoothes Quinn’s hair. She shudders at his touch. He pulls his hand back quickly. Tears drop onto the sheets. “I am so sorry, Quinn!” He apologizes for more than his rough touch. He wants to apologize for everything she has been through since he met her. Apologize for her brother’s gambling debts. Apologize for Alroy’s obsession with her. Apologize for his own obsession with her. Apologize for her miscarriage. Apologize that their baby is not currently in her arms. He has so much to apologize for but the only words that keep trickling from his lips in mangled sobs are, “I’m so sorry.”

Ciaran ceases his stream of sorrys when Quinn’s hand softly rests on his hand. Her eyes glisten with tears she is unable to shed. She gives him a slight smile. He wonders if that maybe all her mouth can give right now. 

In the loudest voice Quinn can muster, she squeaks out, “Ciaran, stop!” He can barely hear her. She tries to say it again, but he draws a finger to her lips. He gently presses his finger to her mouth and meets her eyes. There is a pleading and sorrow in them that hurts Ciaran’s heart more. He wishes he could take everything back. He could make it all go away. Then something changes in her eyes. A small flicker of happiness appears before it is drowned again by the pain of her circumstances.

Quinn realizes there are others in the room besides Ciaran. She sees Ainmire and Branna in the corner. Dian Cecht stands by the door. Her attention is drawn again to the person she thought was just a figment of her imagination. She stares at the woman trying to see her through the haze that seems to be surrounding the lady. What she can make out looks familiar. In her head she remembers Brigid’s face and silhouette. The word mother escapes Quinn’s lips.

The banshee steps closer to the bed. Her hair shifts from raven to fiery red. The haze follows her. She lets out a shrieking laugh and stares through Quinn. “Mother? Oh love, I believe you must have confused me with someone else.” Her voice is shrill and sharp, the opposite of Brigid’s melodic one.

Quinn glances again at the others in the room. She scans the machines next to her bed. She takes in the pictures hanging on the wall meant to look like windows. Then, she turns back to the lady in the green dress. Nothing else but her is out of focus. Nothing else is surrounded by a haze making the women appear unearthly, like a vapor. 

She clears her throat and whispers to Ciaran, “Is that lady really there?” If Ciaran says “What lady?”, Quinn will know she is just imagining her.

Ciaran nods his head. He tucks a strand of Quinn’s unruly hair behind her ear. “Yes, she is here,” he says. Fire flares in his eyes as he turns his attention to the banshee. “She is not supposed to be here, but she is.” Ciaran venomously spits out, scowling at the lady.

The banshee glides forward. Her body passes through Ciaran’s body. She rests herself on the edge of Quinn’s bed. Quinn gasps as the lady runs her finger from Quinn’s chin to her temple. The woman’s touch feels like ice. Quinn shivers. Her eyes widen with disbelief.

“She passed right through you.” Quinn stutters. She struggles to make her words heard. Ciaran backs away from the bed. He walks to the other side and lowers his head closer to Quinn. He hears what she is saying, but her voice is faint. Ciaran notices her attempting to speak louder. If he is nearer to her, maybe she will not strain so hard to talk.

He tries to explain the banshee, but all he can get out is “The ban…” 

A piercing wail penetrates the wall between the two rooms, The cry persists. Branna heads toward the door. She smiles at Quinn. “Sounds like my little grandson is back, as well.” Her hand wraps around the door knob. “I will go check on him.” 

Before she can exit the room, the crying desists. Everyone looks around the room. Branna shrugs her shoulders and removes her hand from the knob. “Maybe Hayes got him.” She steps back towards Ainmire, “I will check on him in a bit. I want to make sure she leaves.” Branna points at the banshee.

The banshee gives Branna a cold look and cackles, “I am not leaving until she departs.” Her hands cup Quinn’s chin. Quinn shakes her head. The action is weak and the lady tightens her hold on Quinn.

A small coo sound comes from the vicinity of the door. The room’s attention is now focused on the beautiful crimson-haired woman holding a baby. “Oh, Aislin.” Her smile warms the room. “What is my ghost doing here?”