A Little Light in the Darkness

The air was still heavy with the ghost of her dream when Emily's eyes fluttered open, the dim morning light casting a pale wash over her room. The boat, the faces, the blood-red moon—all lingered, shadows imprinted on her mind. She could still feel the phantom weight of memories released into the dark water as if her spirit was surfacing from an endless depth.

Her head felt lighter, though, like maybe something deep had loosened, leaving her both raw and strangely relieved. She'd let go, she realized—truly let go of fragments of herself she'd clung to for too long.

"Still with us in the land of the living?" a familiar voice broke her thoughts, and Emily turned to see George standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, an amused glint in his eyes.

"Barely," she mumbled, though a slight smile tugged at her lips. The sight of George—real, unruffled, a steady presence in her ever-shifting world—grounded her in reality, pulling her fully from the surreal remnants of her dream.

"Nice to see that self-inflicted horror and lack of sleep haven't dulled your sense of humour," he remarked dryly, stepping into the room and scanning her face. "You look… different. Lighter."

Emily shrugged, hugging her knees to her chest. "Yeah, maybe I finally dropped a few ghosts overboard."

"Ah, classic Emily," he replied, plopping down on the bed beside her with a dramatic sigh. "If you needed a sea of spooky memories to figure that out, next time just ask me. I'll gladly remind you about all the ways to let go without the blood-red moon and nightmare faces. Seems like a lot of unnecessary work."

She snorted, leaning back, feeling the last traces of the ocean dream melt away. "Believe me, I'd skip it if I could."

George reached over, nudging her shoulder. "Well, since you're back and slightly less haunted, what's the plan? You ready to fight back, or are we doing a 'sit around and recover' day?"

The question hung between them, and for once, she didn't hesitate. "I think… I think I'm ready to fight," she replied, the words feeling new and strange but right.

"Good," he said, grinning as he stretched back against the pillows. "Because frankly, moping doesn't suit you."

She rolled her eyes. "And here I thought my whole brand was 'haunted and mysterious.'"

"Oh, sure. But maybe save the brooding Emily for, like, a Halloween costume or something. Day-to-day? You're much better with the stubborn, half-smile, 'watch me survive' vibe."

She shot him a mock glare. "Glad I've got an expert on the subject."

They sat quietly for a moment, the comfortable silence filling the room. Finally, she broke it. "Actually… I was thinking about doing something a little different."

George raised a brow, waiting.

"I want to visit my parents' graves," she said, her voice soft but firm. The words surprised her a little as they left her mouth. She hadn't thought about visiting them in ages. Maybe it was easier to bury things deeper, avoiding reminders of everything she'd lost.

But the memories from her dream had lingered, refusing to be pushed away. Now, she felt more ready to face them.

George's expression softened, his usual smirk replaced by something gentler. "You sure? It's been a while."

"I know," she said, her voice quieter. "But I think it's time. Maybe I need to say goodbye to some things. And maybe…" She trailed off, suddenly unsure.

"Maybe it'll feel good to remember them on your terms," George finished for her.

She nodded, grateful he understood. They didn't need to fill the silence after that. He simply patted her knee and stood, heading to the kitchen. "Well, if we're doing a road trip to the cemetery, we're definitely not skipping breakfast."

They moved through the familiar morning routine in easy silence, George cracking jokes between bites of toast and flipping through Emily's sparse pantry with exaggerated horror. "Okay, serious question. Do you eat anything besides cereal and instant noodles?"

Emily shrugged, nibbling on her toast. "Sometimes I throw in canned soup for variety."

George put a hand to his chest. "Unbelievable. Good thing I came over; I'd hate for you to haunt me over a poor diet."

She threw a crumb at him. "For your information, I do fine."

"Fine," he said with a smirk, reaching over to pour more coffee into her mug. "Next time I'll just take you grocery shopping. Until then, though, I'm declaring myself the official breakfast chef." He pushed a perfectly golden, albeit slightly burnt, pancake in her direction.

She stared at the pancake, a strange warmth creeping into her chest. It was small, and insignificant, but in the wake of last night's dream and her resolve to move forward, even these gestures felt grounding.

After breakfast, George grabbed his jacket and tossed Emily's to her. "Shall we?"

The drive was mostly quiet, with George humming along to old rock songs on the radio as Emily gazed out the window. Her mind was a swirl of fragmented memories—flashes of her parents, family dinners, the way her father used to grin when he told the same bad jokes over and over. It was bittersweet, but she found that the ache wasn't as sharp as she expected. She could face these memories now without feeling like they'd drown her.

They reached the cemetery under a sky half-covered in gray clouds, as if the day itself was undecided. The air was cool, and a light breeze stirred the fallen leaves. Emily led the way down a winding path to a pair of simple headstones side by side, weathered by time but still standing strong.

She stopped a few feet away, her gaze fixed on their names. Her mother's favorite flowers, lilies, were starting to wilt beside the headstones, left by someone who still cared. Emily let herself breathe, feeling the weight of everything she hadn't said or thought about in years.

George hung back, giving her space but not quite disappearing. She appreciated his presence. Just knowing he was there, watching from a respectful distance, kept her grounded.

"Hey, Mom. Dad." Her voice came out soft, shaky. "It's… it's been a while, I know." She paused, swallowing. "I've been… dealing with a lot. But I guess you'd understand that." She hesitated, then forced herself to go on. "I didn't think I'd miss you this much. Or maybe… I didn't know how to miss you right. I buried a lot. Too much."

She let out a shaky breath, memories flickering through her mind—her mother's laughter, the warm smell of her father's jacket, the late-night talks they used to have.

"I… I had this dream last night," she continued, smiling faintly. "And I realized… I've been carrying around a lot of memories. Ones that weigh me down. And I think… it's okay to let some go. Not you two," she added quickly, her voice catching. "But the guilt, maybe. The things I couldn't fix."

As she stood there, the words seemed to ease something in her. For the first time, the memories didn't feel like chains. They were part of her, but they didn't have to be all of her.

After a few moments, she felt George's hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture of support. She didn't look up, just nodded, letting the feeling settle in.

They stayed like that a while, the silence stretching comfortably. Finally, George spoke, his voice low and soft.

"You did good, Em."

She managed a small smile, glancing up at him. "Thanks, George. For… for being here."

"Hey, you know me. I'm not about to leave you with all the serious stuff. Plus," he added, his familiar smirk returning, "I was kind of curious about what you'd say. Figured I could get a few laughs at your expense."

She rolled her eyes, bumping him with her shoulder. "Right. Laughing at my vulnerability. Very mature."

"Eh, I'm here to make you uncomfortable, remember?"

She shook her head, laughing softly. But deep down, she knew he was there for more than that. And, somehow, the knowledge made her feel a little lighter.

As they left the cemetery, Emily took one last look at the headstones. The memories no longer felt like shadows; they were pieces of her, yes, but they didn't have to hold her down. She'd remember them, but she was ready to move forward.

And with George by her side, maybe—just maybe—she could finally find a way to fight back.