NEVERMORE : A twist to the tale

Shopping with Spectre was efficient.

Everything was timed. He knew what he wanted, and he wasted no time in getting distracted. He was a man on duty. When I tried to hold him back by asking, “How about that?” he gave me an icy look, followed by, “Take what you want, but in two minutes, it will be too late.”

In the end, I made him buy useless things like fridge magnets with a seagull, three cookies because I was starving, and what I was most proud of: a pink teddy for his car.

“There, that’s perfect!” I finished hanging it on the rearview mirror, the pink bear swinging from side to side. “It immediately has more style.”

“It’s horrible,” he said without taking his eyes off the road. “You’re aware the moment you’re gone from my car, I’ll make it go away, right?”

He still wasn’t annoyed; I should have got the pink bubbly car seat cover as well. After all, I was the muse, and I planned on installing a dictatorship.

“You don’t have to be so grumpy about everything. We have your dress and all the things you need to the point I bet everyone thought we were prepping for a parade.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t stopped at every aisle and held out ridiculous things to annoy me, we would have avoided stares. But you, Aurore, are a show all to yourself.” He pressed on the accelerator, overtaking the lazy drivers.

“At least I’m a sunny spectacle, not a robocop on duty. Do you ever smile, Spectre?” I gave him a beaming smile full of sarcasm that would warm even his frigid heart.

“Occasionally.” He put on his blinker. “And you, Aurore, do you sometimes let your guard down, or is ‘attack’ the only word in your vocabulary?”

“You have the talent to attract all the most negative aspects of my personality. It’s as if all my flaws come together in a group meeting just for you while my qualities are taking a sabbatical.” I inched forward to retrieve my phone, which I had clumsily dropped. “Shit, where is—”

The car came to a halt, and I felt myself rock forward, but I was held back firmly by Spectre’s arm, which kept me glued to my seat. A car cut us off, running through a red light. My heart was stuck in my throat, hammering at full speed, grateful I didn’t crash into the window. Spectre’s arm was immobile and rigid like a shield, his eyes firmly set on the road.

“Be more careful.”

As if it was my fault people had murderous urges.

He retrieved his hand before I could thank him. Not that I would. I had a seat belt. He didn’t need to show off his strength nor make my stomach knot with the fact that perhaps Spectre could care.

We were exiting the small town of Honfleur, pedestrians flocking to the picturesque streets. On my right, a crowd was concentrated around a tree inside a park. Small multicolored papers were stuck on its trunk. People were depositing some others inside, and my interest was piqued. A wooden sign was suspended above the tree, where it was written, The Wishing Tree. As if it were that easy.

Old me would have wanted to get out of the Aston Martin and head for its colors, except Spectre sped away from the place, continuing on the road leading to the beach. He took a right, and we somehow reached the park entrance from the back. He pulled over, and I widened my eyes at him.

“You wanted to go, right?” He unbuckled his seat belt, and I was sure my mouth was hanging open like a carp. “You remained silent, and I know you’re always carrying papers and pens.”

He exited his car, and I couldn’t be more shocked. I didn’t waste the opportunity and followed after him in the midst of a group of children, and teenagers recording a TikTok, until we arrived in front of The Wishing Tree. It was majestic. On the plaque next to it, it explained the belief that once upon a time, lovers were reunited by the tree after the Second World War. She had written him love letters that she had secured inside the holes of the tree trunk, hoping he’d come back to her, and he did.

My novelist heart contracted, touched by the story. Another happy ending. My grip tightened on my bag, a simple wave of hope surging through my veins. I used to be a sucker for things like this, so I didn’t hesitate. I went against my defensive self and tore off a sheet of paper, which I handed to Spectre, who had his hands in his pockets and gave me a puzzled look.

“It’s for you. To make a wish,” I insisted.

“I don’t believe in those things,” he dared. “But I’m surprised you’re offering and want whatever dream I have to come true.”

“I’m not evil, Spectre. I’m not going to deprive you of that. Plus, I know you secretly want to do this, but you’re afraid this would hurt your cold-as-stone reputation—which you already protected with that NDA of yours, so now, accept before I regret my gesture.” When he was about to grab the paper, I retracted it. “And this better not be something shady or negative. I didn’t wave the white flag.”

He took the paper and the pen that I handed him and froze for a moment, carrying them as if they were unknown objects to him. He was an artist. Surely, he knew what to do with them.

“This is just paper. Don’t look at me like that.” My throat went dry, and my skin bristled. It was time to break our eye contact. “Well, I’ll step aside to do mine. I’ll leave you to it. I have a second pen.”

I squatted on the ground away from the crowd and fluttered my eyelids closed as if I was about to do a sacred ritual to get closer to my deepest wish. I smiled, projecting what my life could have been: writing in my long-sleeved feather black robe with a beach view from my mansion before going on a book tour. Visiting castles with Luna. Dancing with my one true love. And for just a second, I eclipsed reality, and I believed I was worthy of being the hero of the tale.

I wish to be who I used to be, to make my life a fairy tale, and for Luna to have everything her heart wants.

I couldn’t be short, so the tree would hopefully understand the vibe of my dream. I lifted my eyes to Spectre, who was standing erect and, to my grand surprise, focused on whatever he was writing with dedication.

Look at him, being invested in a childish activity.

The scene almost stretched out my smile, but when his eyes captured me and his pen strokes quickened, I dropped it. Was he drawing me? I tucked my paper inside my hand and rose up to face the tree.

I didn’t have to turn around to feel Spectre stalking toward me—maybe I recognized him by his scent as if he was just out of the shower on a crisp spring day, or I had developed a warning radar at his approach, my whole body rebelling for an inexplicable reason.

“Did you make a wish?” I turned to face him, still undecided about where I would put my paper.

“You could say that in a way.” He folded his paper carefully before tucking it inside his pants pocket.

“You didn’t.” I narrowed my eyes. “And you’re supposed to hand the paper over to the tree.”

He crossed his arms, and I swore a light smug, satisfied expression crossed his features, unless it was a product of my imagination. Either way, I wanted to erase it.

“You were drawing.” I faced back to the tree trunk, wondering what would be the best way to climb it. “The tree inspired you, huh?”

“I drew you.”

“Me?” My eyes widened. “But it’s been a second!”

“For once, you didn’t have this barrier. You seemed free for a moment.”

“But you didn’t make a wish!” I stood on my tiptoes, trying to reach a hole. “Damn it, I’m too short.”

“Do you need my help?” he drawled, his voice smooth with a rough edge. “I could carry you on my shoulders.”

I considered it for a moment. But no way in hell. Climbing on the back of an ogre was much more preferable and far less dangerous. I didn’t give him the pleasure of replying and climbed the trunk, leaning on the first branch to reach the same height as him.

“I want to be like them! Me too, I want to go there,” a little girl screamed with excitement, and I wondered what made her think it was a good idea.

The mom next to her, who was way shorter than I, kneeled in front of her daughter. “It’s not possible, darling. I’m not tall enough.”

Just when I was thinking about offering to climb my way up with her wish paper in my hand and calculating the possibility of it, the cold and ruthless Spectre appeared in my vision, carrying the child to the top. She locked her paper in my tree hole with the brightest smile, trusting him way more than she should.

As for me, I remained glued to the tree like a koala—and not the most agile.

“See, Mommy, the strong man helped me fly.” The girl ran to her mother’s arms when he made her reach the floor safely.

Spectre and I locked eyes, and I bet behind his aloof attitude, he was grinning inside.

“You’re welcome,” he said with nonchalance, mother and daughter already heading to the next activity.

As for me, I resigned myself to putting my paper where I could reach it: at the bottom with everyone else.

“I’m guessing if I were to ask you again if you need help, you’d tell me to fuck off?” This was addressed to me.

“You’d think right.” I succeeded and descended from the tree. I could hardly believe that I got there without falling in the dust and making a mess of myself. “See, I didn’t need you. By the way, do you work out, or is it natural?”

I had said that. I did. I should think, then speak, not the opposite, and no holes were big enough for me to plummet under right now.

“I do,” he confirmed what I already knew. “I used to play soccer before.”

I hoped my poker face didn’t transmit the fact that I had looked him up online much more than an emotionally well-balanced human would. “Why did you stop? Was it an injury?”

“A lack of passion.”

“Oh, that must have been a hard decision.” Spectre was an enigma: he had literally everything everyone would have dreamed of, yet he was hiding behind an identity. “When buying a book, I used to scroll to the ending to know if it had a happy ending, and if it didn’t, I used to change it and—” Change the subject now. “Luna always told me I have a pretty wild imagination. When I was young, we didn’t have money to go anywhere, so I dreamed instead.”

“And sometimes people with money stay in their comfort and stop living. They’re enslaving themselves.”

My interest was piqued. “Is this what happened to you? Why you became… you know?”

“I’ll wait for you by the car. We’re done for today.” And just like that, he was gone.

I ripped out another paper with the desire to immortalize the feeling burning in my heart and the mystery that was Spectre. So it was with my soul that I wrote:

It’s only deep in the catacombs of your heart that a wish resides, and that’s where we can read one’s soul.