The Haunting of Brynn Wilder

by Wendy Webb

Everyone is haunted by something.

Even after all these years, I can taste him on my lips. Hear his voice, low and deep, in my ear. I love him with every cell in my body, even now.

One minute, she was a young bride, the next a powerful career woman in corporate America—she used to tell me she was Wonder Woman in disguise, and I believed her, and still do—and the next, she was dying. Fragile as a baby bird.

I knew her passing was coming, during the last year of her life. Even so, I was wholly unprepared for the vast emptiness she left behind.

I did some soul-searching and realized I hadn’t been happy in my relationship for a long time. Years. I loved the man, but I just didn’t like him very much.

Ultimately, I didn’t find the happiness I sought. I was still unhappy, but now I was lonely, too.

I always find that the truth, reality, has a way of calming crazy thoughts.”

“You love him. I can see that hovering around you, too. He’s not who you think he is. He’s more dangerous than you think he is. But he is your true love. For better or for worse.”

Many people gravitate toward the negative, wrap themselves around it and define themselves by it, even when circumstances don’t warrant it. They’ve always got something to complain about, even when the sun is shining.

A young woman walks into the room. She is watching me, afraid. I am amused by this. What does she think I am, a ghost? And what is she to me, if not that? I look closer, and recognition flows through me. She is no ghost. She is me. Time has doubled back on itself, and back again. I am the woman in room five.