The Crescent

Chapter 30

Zacari rose early to find the room at an unusually usual temperature. She tried to enjoy this new luxury of not bundling herself in hoodies as she ate a limp bologna sandwich and scrolled through Instagram. She even caught up on her Handleton posts, apologizing to her fans for her absence, with the promise of new content soon.

She showered and toweled off. In the mirror she saw someone she liked today, the only trace of sunburn a taut, pretty pink across the bridge of her nose, nearly passable as blush. Lela crunched on her Big Dog food as Zacari pulled her hair into a bun, leaving a few loose curls to frame her face. As daunting as the task of finding Will was, she had a new determination in her, that, no matter how much she denied herself, had something to do with the fact that she and her father were to spend the day together, going shopping and out to eat. Something they hadn't done since she was in elementary.

She rearranged his blankets so that his feet weren't exposed. She told him she was having breakfast with Javier, and she'd be back by ten thirty, eleven at the latest. Which was a lie, but that was alright. Her father mumbled, thrust a crumpled twenty from his wallet, and turned over.

As she closed the door behind her, she noticed the door's black paint was nearly all peeled away, revealing an assaulting lavender. She grimaced. I'm tossing my purple one-piece as soon as possible, she thought, eager to put distance between her and the door.

Daylight nourished a bravery in Zacari she forgot she had. It led her to the dark corners of the halls, the dead ends, and the places where sunlight should have lingered but left only a dull, gray glow. But still, no Will.

Before The Crescent had pulsed with life, emerald carpets an everchanging path beneath her feet. Now the hotel was a flower folding itself inward at the prospect of cold, a hardened thing now, save for the faint heartbeat in The Operating Room.

"Will?" she called out uselessly. I snubbed him, she thought. When he was only trying to show me the truth. Without the camera, it was impossible to find Will – how did you find a ghost that didn't want to be found? She continued anyway with Lela in her arms, the most accurate ghost-detector yet.

She climbed a back staircase. Either because the elevator was convenient or the main staircase was extravagant, these stairs were traffic-free, and it showed. The carpets were filmed over with a fine layer of dust, and the lights were cobwebbed, some of them not even glowing, and there was a bleak sensation of seclusion.

And it was cold.

"Will, is that you?"

The cold sharpened to the point of knife. Zacari realized she was holding her breath and forced out a shaky exhale. She followed the cold step by step, her flip-flops leaving lined prints in the dust. Slowly, Lela's ears perked up, and she sniffed the air as if testing the waters.

"Who is it, Lela?" Zacari whispered.

Lela squirmed out of her arms and landed stiff-legged, then bolted up the stairs.

"Hey! Wait for me!"

Zacari scrambled up after her three steps at a time, but Lela was already out of sight. There was barking, and when Zacari turned the corner she saw him. Lela bowed her front legs and growled playfully. Will smiled sheepishly down at her. He lifted his chin to meet Zacari's gaze, and something about his expression told her he'd been searching for her too.

"Zacari?"

"Will," she answered, and he brightened as if he'd swallowed the moon. Perhaps there was more to it than the camera after all. "I'm so sorry I didn't believe you."

"You can see me?"

She nodded.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, pulled them out, straightened his bowtie. "And...you believe me now?"