Bones

A Short Story

The car catches Jesse’s eye first: a pearl-white Shelby GT500, brand new and gleaming on the side of the winding highway. He notices the man bending over the open engine with a perplexed look on his face second. Pulling his Park Ranger jeep over to the scenic overlook, Jesse parks and walks up to the man. “Need any help?” he calls, putting his hat on, the afternoon sun shining golden over Yosemite Valley.

“Oh, yes.” The man turns around with a relieved smile, unexpectedly attractive with dark curls, high cheekbones, and laugh lines around his deep brown eyes, and Jesse’s interest sharpens. “Is it possible I could get a tow?”

“Well, let’s see what the problem is first, you might not need it.” Jesse stands beside the man, scanning under the hood for any obvious problems. He doesn’t see anything, but can faintly smell hot metal. “What went wrong?”

It takes about fifteen minutes of conversation, during which Jesse pays as close attention to the man’s long fingers and how the sleeves of his crisp white shirt are rolled up past his elbows as he does to the car. “Well, I can’t say without taking a look, but that sounds like a problem with the clutch,” sighs Jesse, rubbing the back of his neck and regarding the beautiful car ruefully. “I wouldn’t drive it right now, not in the Park, the roads here are tricky enough as it is.”

The man frowns thoughtfully. “What’s the clutch?”

Jesse pauses for a second to make sure he heard the question correctly. “It’s kind of like a gear, it connects the shaft from the engine and the shaft for the wheels. When you push the third pedal down, that’s what it connects to, it disengages the wheels from the engine so you can shift gears.”

“Ahhh, I see.” The hint of an accent colors the man’s voice, possibly Irish. “Machinery and I don’t get along very well, I’m afraid. I’ve ruined more cars than I care to admit.” His little smile is unrepentant.

“Cars like this one?” asks Jesse skeptically. Mustangs aren’t the priciest thing on the market, but they’re not the cheapest either. And this man can’t be more than five, seven years older than Jesse’s twenty-seven, so it’s not like he’s had decades to go through cars either.

“Mm.”

“Dude,” says Jesse, professionalism giving way to a pang of jealousy. “What kind of job you got that you can blow through sports cars like that?”

The man grins. “Witch.”

Jesse stares at him, unsure if he’s joking or not. “For real?”

“Yeah.”

“No, seriously.”

Smile now slightly fixed, the man blinks at him. “Yes. I understand it’s an unusual profession, but it’s not unheard of.”

A couple of Jesse’s acquaintances are witch-adjacent (or Wiccan, or pagan, he’s not entirely sure), and one does palm and tarot card readings as a side hustle and the other runs an online crystal store out of her parents’ basement. He suspects what this man does is different. “And what, people pay you do to do magic? It doesn’t actually work, right?”

Shrugging, the man slams shut the hood of his car, carelessly rather than angrily. “Doesn’t matter, as long as my clients think it does.”

“Huh.” Jesse contemplates the ways he could use a little magic in his life. “Well, I’ll radio for a tow, but it’ll be a while. Want a ride back to the ranger station?”

The man smiles, the lines around his eyes crinkling warmly. “Sure,” he says, and his gaze flicks down to Jesse’s nametag. “Ranger Grant.”

“Please, it’s Jesse.”

“Jesse,” repeats the man, and Jesse likes how his name sits on his tongue, easy and familiar. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Oshin.”

***

“Danny and Sierra were last seen here,” says Chief Ranger Adamson, pointing to the red marker on the vast map of the park tacked to the wall. “That was at about two-thirty yesterday afternoon. According to their mother, they were intending to hike Cloud’s Rest that afternoon. Neither of them have been seen or heard from since.”

His metal folding chair squeaks as Jesse leans forward, chewing the inside of his cheek, his fingers knotted so tight they ache. Other rangers in the room frown, or peer at the map, or exchange meaningful looks with each other. Cloud’s Rest is a long trail in a less-trafficked part of the Park that winds high above the valley, with sheer drops down granite cliffs. Not a good place to go missing. They’ve found human bones in the depths of the forest there before.

Stomach curled tight, Jesse takes his phone out of his pocket and fumbles a text to Oshin. Going to have to take you up on that drink later, he says. Sorry.

His phone vibrates with a response almost immediately, but Jesse doesn’t check it. All he can think of is the glimpse he caught of the missing hikers’ mother, sitting and waiting in another room in the ranger station, fingers wrapped tight around each other, lines around her mouth, waiting, waiting, praying, like his own mother when –

“Grant!” says Adamson. “You’re on Team B.”

Team B is the largest and will be doing the bulk of the on-the-ground combing. “Yes, ma’am,” says Jesse, and goes over to stand with the rest of the team. He doesn’t mind that it’s grueling work; if anything, he’s grateful.

The more tired he is, the less time he’ll spend lying awake at night, unable to sleep, thinking about the missing hikers’ mother.

***

Jesse pulls up to his apartment well after sunset, the sky the color of a fresh bruise, his legs weak with exhaustion and his boots covered in dust. Dragging himself out of his car, Jesse trudges up to the complex and climbs the stairs, his feet heavy as lead. Not until he gets to his floor does he realize there’s a man leaning against the wall by his door. Jesse stops short, alarm spiking through his tired mind, and then he recognizes Oshin. “Oh.”

Smiling, Oshin looks over at him and runs a hand through his dark curls. “Hey there.”

“How’d you find where I live?”

“I said I’m a witch, didn’t I?”

Slowly, Jesse climbs up the last step. “And what’re you doing here?”

Oshin produces a bottle of whiskey out from behind him. “Well, you said you’d have to do drinks later, so I thought maybe I’d bring the drinks to you.” He looks Jesse over searchingly. “Figured you could use it after today. I heard about the missing persons.”

Jesse aches, all over, and he wants to lie down and cover himself in blankets and maybe diffuse some lavender oil. “I’m not really up for socializing right now, sorry.”

“We don’t have to talk.”

Halfway through unlocking the door, Jesse pauses, sizing Oshin up. Pictures those long-fingered hands of his on his bare shoulders, kneading away the ache… “Okay,” he says. “But I got work early in the morning tomorrow.”

Oshin smiles, lips curling up at the corners like a cat’s. “Duly noted.”

***

“Last night,” says Jesse, buttoning his khaki uniform shirt up, and meets Oshin’s eyes in the bedroom mirror. “I asked how you found me and you said you were a witch.”

Oshin buckles his watch on and adjusts his shirt cuff over the gleaming silver band. “That’s right.”

“I thought you said magic didn’t work.”

“I said it didn’t matter if it worked,” replies Oshin evenly. “There’s a difference.”

Turning around, Jesse faces this man he barely knows sitting barefoot on his bed. In the clearer light of morning, he’s not sure what to make of Oshin, strange but natural, unknown but familiar. “I have to go to work.”

Oshin’s face twists sympathetically. “The missing hikers.”

“Yeah.” Jesse grabs the rest of his gear and strides to the door, Oshin following after him. Tries not to think about their mother with her hands twisted together in worry as she prays. Tries not to think about his mother gripping his hand tight as she prayed. “Every minute counts.”

“Jesse, I –” Oshin stops, licks his lips, starts again. “Will I see you again?”

Stopping in the door, Jesse slowly turns around. “You’re asking that now?”

Oshin huffs, but anxiousness in his eyes belies the dismissive sound. “When do I get another chance?”

“You have my number.” After a moment of consideration, Jesse touches his thumb to Oshin’s chin. “And I do want to see you again.”

Like the sun breaking through clouds, a smile spreads across Oshin’s face. “Excellent.”

***

So tired his vision blurs, Jesse drops down to the curb by the ranger station and leans his forehead into his trembling hand. Rays of rose-tinted light, hazy with dust, break between the branches of the trees as the sun dips low in the sky. He pushed himself past his limit today, he knows. But every time Jesse wanted to give up the search, the thought would strike him that some vital clue to the hikers’ location was just three yards past where he looked. Or just three yards beyond that, or beyond that, or beyond that…

His fellow ranger Grace had to practically drag him back to the station.

In Jesse’s unfocused gaze, the white sports car glows like a ghost as it pulls up in front of him. Jesse frowns and squints blearily at it. A Shelby GT500. With a dark-haired man at the wheel.

“Jesse!” Oshin slams the door and hurries around to him, worry crinkling his brow. “Are you all right?”

Jesse frowns at him. “What are you doing here?”

The gray fabric of Oshin’s fine pants strains over his thighs as he crouches in front of Jesse. He makes an odd fluttering gesture with his fingers, then huffs, “You’re not injured?” in relief.

“No, just tired.” Jesse scrubs a hand through his hair that is gritty with dust and dried sweat. “Been a long day.”

Oshin tsks. “I hope you weren’t planning to drive home in this state.”

“I hadn’t thought that far,” Jesse admits. His aching feet throb gently.

“You gave me a ride back before, let me return the favor.” Oshin’s voice is warm, and his eyes are dark, and Jesse is so drained that he grunts assent without thinking. “Come on.”

The inside of Oshin’s car smells like new leather, the charcoal-gray seats immaculate. As the engine purrs, the road through the park unwinds in front of them, Oshin driving casually with his left hand on the wheel and his right hand on his thigh. Occasionally light winks off his expensive watch. “You came looking for me,” says Jesse.

Eyes fixed on the road ahead, Oshin smiles slightly.

“Why?”

He gives Jesse a sidelong glance. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

Startled, Jesse takes a moment to parse out his response. “Not really.”

“Hm.” The dusky trees rise high on either side of them, the sky dimming into purple-gray. “I don’t know if my reasons will make much sense to you, then.”

“Let me guess,” laughs Jesse. “You and I were lovers in our past lives, and that’s why we have an immediate connection.”

With unnerving gravitas, Oshin says, “Well, sort of. You were. I’m…” He pauses, sighs, glances at Jesse with a strange, tired sadness. “She was very beautiful, you know. Your previous life.”

Not knowing how to respond, Jesse laughs flatly. “What.”

“I’m a lot older than I look.”

“What.”

Oshin grimaces, taking the car around a tight curve fast enough that Jesse feels centrifugal force tug at him. “I don’t think we’re ready to have this conversation,” he mutters.

Staring at him, Jesse seriously considers the possibility that he’s trapped in a car with a crazy man. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re not ready to talk about this yet. Forget I said anything.” Oshin’s tone is light, but a muscle in his jaw tightens.

Jesse swallows hard, uncomfortable prickles chasing away his exhaustion. “Stop the car, let me out.”

“Jesse –”

“Stop the car.”

Annoyance flashes in Oshin’s eyes. “The road is too winding, there’s nowhere to pull over.”

“I don’t care.”

For a moment, Jesse thinks Oshin is going to slam on his brakes right then and there, but instead he slows gradually until he reaches a turnout. As soon as he parks, Jesse stumbles out of the car, and then realizes he has to walk at least a mile uphill to get back to the station. He stares back up at the road, paralyzed by indecision. The chirping of crickets gently offsets the car pinging to signal its open door.

Oshin leans over across the seat. “Is there a problem?”

Jesse scowls, his calves aching in protest already. “I need a ride back to the station,” he admits.

“All right,” says Oshin evenly. “And are you good to drive home?”

Jesse weighs the exhaustion lingering in his bones and tugging at his eyelids against the gathering gloom. “I’ll get some coffee,” he says.

Eyes shadowed, Oshin nods.

Though he feels like an idiot, Jesse gets back into the car. Oshin silently pulls back onto the road in the opposite direction, a silence which persists all the way back to the station and which Jesse does not break. Not until Jesse is stepping out of the car again does Oshin say, “Jesse.”

He sounds as tired as Jesse feels, and Jesse looks back at him and the weight in his dark eyes, the remnants of something sad and lived-with for so long it became part of him, twists at Jesse. “I really want to like you,” Jesse says hoarsely. “Stop making it weird.”

Oshin lets out a sad little laugh. “I’ll do my best,” he says. “No promises.”

“Good.” The words come out of Jesse’s mouth before he can stop them. “Promises can be broken.”

***

When Oshin answers the phone, he sounds oddly cautious, as if not understanding the call. “Jesse?”

“You said you’re a witch, right?” says Jesse, tripping over his words in his haste. “And you found where I live?”

“Well – yes, I did, but what’s this about?”

“What about the hikers? The missing brother and sister? Can you find them?”

Jesse’s heart pounds as he waits for an answer, his throat dry, his cell phone slick in his sweaty palm. “Jesse,” says Oshin, very gently. “Why are you asking?”

“They’re calling off the search,” snarls Jesse. He was there when they told the hikers’ mother and she cried, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, like when they told his parents that –

“Ah,” sighs Oshin. “I see.”

“Please. I’ll pay you.”

“All right. When do you want it? I assume as soon as possible?”

“Yes. I’m home right now.” Jesse’s heart beats faster, and he swallows.

Oshin sighs again. “I’m on my way. Please gather any possessions of the hikers you might have, or even –”

“I don’t have any.”

“– or even a photo of them will do. I’ll bring everything else I need with me.”

“Everything else” turns out to be not much more than whatever Oshin can fit into a slim leather satchel, which Jesse eyes suspiciously as he lets the dark-haired man into his apartment. “That’s it?”

“Would you like me to bring my crystal ball and séance table?” retorts Oshin dryly. “I think I have a ouija board in the trunk too.”

Jesse scowls, shoving his hands in his pockets to hide their trembling. “Where would you like me to set up?” asks Oshin. “Any table will do.”

Shrugging, Jesse says, “Take your pick.” He only has two tables in the apartment anyway.

Oshin chooses the coffee table, sinking gracefully to a cross-legged seat. From his satchel he pulls out a square of soft brown leather; a tiny stoppered bottle of dark glass; and a bleached owl’s skull. “What’s the skull for?” Jesse blurts.

“Presentation,” murmurs Oshin, laying the cloth out flat on the table and setting the skull on it. “May I have the pictures, please?”

Silently, Jesse hands him the pictures of Danny and Sierra that he printed out from their social media profiles. Oshin carefully places these on the cloth as well, staring at them as intently as if he were memorizing every detail of their faces. Licking his lips, Jesse sits down on the couch opposite Oshin and leans forward with his hands knotted between his knees.

“Now,” says Oshin, and his dark eyes flash up to Jesse’s. “What you see next may alarm you, but please don’t worry. I assure you everything is perfectly normal.” He unstoppers the little bottle and a sharp, herbal scent floods the apartment. Oshin sniffs the bottle with a grimace and then downs the contents in one shot, his throat exposed as his head tilts back sharply.

“Uhh,” says Jesse. “What do you mean –”

Oshin sets the bottle aside and his pupils are wide, wide, wide, blown out until his irises are gone and the inky black starts bleeding into his sclera. “Don’t be alarmed,” he repeats, a wild edge to his voice, and a visible shudder runs over him. “Jesse.”

“What?”

Oshin’s eyes roll back in his head, and he collapses.

“Oh, shit,” blurts Jesse and hurries over to Oshin, who is sprawled on the carpet with his legs still partially crossed, his eyes closed. He puts two fingers to Oshin’s throat to check for a pulse, but finds nothing. Frantically, Jesse tries a few different places, and after an unbearably long time feels a single throb under his fingers. Huffing in relief, Jesse puts an ear close to Oshin’s mouth, and hears a faint but distinct inhale, the herbal smell of whatever he took strong on his lips.

Jesse sits back on his heels, repeating Oshin’s everything is perfectly normal to himself. This isn’t what he expected from witchcraft, but that’s fine, Oshin seems to know what he’s doing. He’s probably going into a trance or walking in the spirit world or something. Any minute now, he’ll open his eyes and tell Jesse where the missing hikers are.

Drumming his fingers on his thighs, Jesse settles cross-legged and waits. A minute passes. The only movement Oshin makes is the barely-perceptible rise and fall of his chest. Jesse considers getting a pillow to put under his head, but that feels strangely intimate. Then Jesse feels very silly about his hesitation, considering he literally slept with the man, and gets a pillow off the couch. Oshin’s head is dead weight in Jesse’s hands, his hair thick and soft. Jesse swallows hard and gently sets Oshin’s head down on the pillow.

The little brown bottle sits on the coffee table, and Jesse sniffs it curiously. The scent of sage and licorice fills his nostrils. Recoiling, Jesse puts it back down and glances anxiously at Oshin again. None of the medical training he received as a park ranger seems useful now. Should he put Oshin in the recovery position? Keep him warm? He knows what to do for head trauma and asthma and epileptic shock, but not a self-induced trip. Is this what Oshin meant when he said everything was perfectly normal? What if he hadn’t been expecting this kind of reaction?

“Oshin,” says Jesse, shaking his arm. “Oshin.”

His face stays slack, unresponsive.

Be patient, Jesse tells himself. It’s only been five minutes.

Five minutes is a long time for someone to be unconscious.

Jesse and Oshin might have already exchanged their last words without Jesse knowing, he might wait forever for Oshin to wake up, and at the thought panic seizes Jesse with a fist around his chest. “Oshin,” he demands, shaking him again so aggressively that Oshin’s head rolls from side to side. “Hey! Wake up!” Jesse’s breath catches in his throat, on the edge of hyperventilation. “Fuck you, wake up!”

Oshin makes no move, emits no sound. Stupid with desperation, Jesse does the only thing that makes sense, and kisses him.

The bitter taste of sage washes over Jesse’s palate, an alcohol burn stinging his lips and nose. Coughing, Jesse falls back on his butt, and as he raises a hand to wipe his lips he realizes his fingers have begun to tingle and go numb. The lights in the room are suddenly extremely bright, all the colors strangely vivid. “Oh, shit,” mumbles Jesse, and then his vision stretches and pulls like a cartoon tunnel, and he is somewhere else entirely.

This somewhere else is a road that winds through a dense forest of pine trees, gloom gathering under their branches beneath a shadowy sky. Although the air is bitingly cold, he feels no discomfort, and Jesse pinches himself on the arm to see if he has a body. It hurts, but not as much as he would expect. Jesse turns, looking up the road in both directions, but he is alone.

“Oshin?” he calls. “Are you here?”

The wind rushes softly through the branches of the pine trees.

“Oshin!” screams Jesse, his voice scraping over his throat, and he realizes,I don’t know how to get back.

A figure emerges in the distance, so white it seems to glow. Jesse gapes at what seems to be a pale horse walking towards him, but then his blurry vision resolves and he instead sees Oshin, wearing an immaculate white shirt, walking along the road. “Jesse?” he calls, and his pace quickens. He reaches Jesse faster than he should considering the space between them, concern etched on his face. “What are you – how? How are you here?”

Jesse feels extremely stupid. “I kissed you, and I guess there was enough left of whatever you drank to – to send me here.”

For a long moment, Oshin stares at him. “She was always a natural at walking between worlds,” he murmurs. “I’ve never met anyone as gifted as her.”

“Who is her?”

Deep wistfulness and sorrow shadow Oshin’s face. “Ailis,” he says. “My lover, my partner, my everything, for… for centuries.”

Jesse can’t help laughing at the impossibility of the statement; the sound echoes strange and hollow among the empty woods. “Okay.”

“She died on the twelfth of May, 1995, at dawn,” says Oshin sadly. “But she promised me she would find me again.”

It takes Jesse a moment to find his voice. “That’s my birthday,” he manages. “My mom went into labor in the morning and I was born before the end of the day.”

“Yes,” says Oshin. “I know.”

Jesse rakes his hands through his hair, remembering Oshin asking him, Do you believe in reincarnation? “Her hair was the same shade of red as yours too,” continues Oshin. “You can’t – you can’t imagine, the joy I felt when you came across me on the road, or the terror…”

“Terror?”

“That I would lose you again.”

“You planned it, didn’t you,” realizes Jesse. “You broke your car down on purpose so that I would help you.”

A guilty smile creeps across Oshin’s face. “Ailis was never able to resist helping a stranger. Your interest in cars is new, though.”

“This is insane.” Jesse searches the forest around them for something to make sense of, but all he sees are endless dark trees and the endless gray road. “This is – this isn’t even important! Did you find Danny and Sierra?”

“Who?”

“The missing hikers,” growls Jesse, grabbing Oshin by his perfectly-crisp collar. “The whole reason you came here!”

Oshin’s long brown fingers wrap around Jesse’s hand, gently disengaging his grip. “They’re dead, Jesse,” he says. “Their bones are being picked clean by the hawks and the foxes. They are becoming part of the forest.”

Through gritted teeth, Jesse says, “Where are their bodies?”

“Why does it matter?” croons Oshin, flattening his palm against Jesse’s cheek. “They’re gone.”

“Because – their mother needs to see – she needs to know –” Jesse struggles for breath, hanging onto Oshin. “I need to know –”

“Why?”

The trees around them warp, stretching towards the sky, the road tilting dizzily under Jesse’s feet. “Because they never found him,” he gasps. “They sent an officer to our door but they never found him, they never found his dog tags…”

“Whose dog tags?” Somehow they’re kneeling now, Oshin cradling Jesse’s face in both hands. “Who didn’t they find?”

They sent an officer to their door and he was so calm and polite in his green uniform but it didn’t matter because Dad went white as a sheet when the officer said Ryan was MIA and Mom forced a smile and said she was sure the Lord would bring their son back home to them and every night at dinner she prayed for that to happen for years and years until it didn’t sound like she believed the words anymore but she kept saying them and Jesse just wanted her to stop –

“Brother,” Jesse pants, his forehead touching Oshin’s. He can feel the cold, taste sage and licorice again. “Older brother, he – he – he was in the Army –”

“I know, I know.” Oshin kisses Jesse on the forehead. “And his bones are in the desert now, bleached by the sun, covered by sand.”

Jesse gulps, shaking. He feels his mother’s hand on his, gripping to the point of pain as she bows her head over her dinner plate and prays for the Lord to bring Ryan home. “Let go,” Jesse sobs to the memory of his mother. “Please.”

“I won’t,” says Oshin. His voice is far away and fuzzy. “Not now that I’ve found you again, Jesse, Ailis, my dearest…”

The taste of sage is stronger than ever, bitter as grief on Jesse’s tongue. The shadows under the trees sweep forward, wrapping long fingers around Jesse. Oshin’s shirt, so white in the gloom, slowly fades. “Do you hear me?” says Oshin faintly. “I’m never letting you go.”

The darkness fills Jesse’s eyes, his ears, his mouth, and for a moment, there is nothing.

And then he groans, his head throbbing, his body all too real and weighty, and that herbal taste still lingers on his tongue and his throat is so dry all he can do is croak, “Water.”

A cool touch lingers on his temple, the cushions underneath him shifting as someone rises. Jesse cracks open his eyes, finds himself lying on his own sofa as Oshin crosses to the kitchen. “What the hell happened?” croaks Jesse.

“Take it easy,” says Oshin. “It’s no small thing, visiting the Other Side, especially for the first time.” He hands the glass of water to Jesse, who gulps it down, narrowly resisting the urge to swish and spit. “But you did very well.” His gaze rests on Jesse with intolerable fondness.

Jesse sits up slowly, his temples pounding, his thoughts a tangled haze. Disparate images flit across the surface of his mind, his mother gripping his hand at the dinner table, the hikers’ mother with her hands laced between her knees, Oshin’s gentle clasp around his wrist. They overlap, blur, then come into crystal focus. “I’m not Ailis,” he says slowly.

Oshin stiffens. “Jesse…”

“I know you want to think I am,” he continues, with a pang of regret as Oshin’s face falls a little more at each word. “Because I was born on the day she died and we both have red hair and I stopped to help you on the side of the road. But I’m not her. I’m me.”

“Reincarnation is… complicated,” says Oshin delicately, hitching up his slacks so he can sit on the coffee table. “You can be both Ailis Kyteler, and Jesse Grant…”

“And what if I’m not?” says Jesse. “How long will it take you to realize that?” His throat tightens. “How long am I supposed to watch you wait for someone who’s never coming back?”

The heartbreak on Oshin’s face nearly breaks Jesse’s resolve, but he steels himself, taking a deep breath. “Jesse…” breathes Oshin.

“Please leave. I won’t ask you again.”

For a moment, a dark and terrible anger contorts Oshin’s lips and brow, his eyes glowering, and the hairs on the back of Jesse’s neck stand on end. Then his shoulders slump, and he sighs, hands hanging limply in his lap. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” he whispers.

“Yes, I do.” Jesse musters the strength to be cruel. “And until you figure that out, I don’t want to see or hear from you.”

Oshin’s tormented expression becomes as flat and cold as stone. He retrieves his leather satchel, his leather cloth and his owl skull and his little brown bottle, and gets to his feet. The pictures of Danny and Sierra remain. “I thank you for the pleasure of your acquaintance, Jesse Grant,” he says stiffly. “Goodbye and blessings.”

Jesse rises as well, crossing to open the apartment door. Satchel slung over his shoulder, Oshin steps across the threshold. For a moment, Jesse nearly breaks, because he does like Oshin, and surely this is cruel, isn’t it, to turn him out so suddenly after he tried to help Jesse…

Oshin pauses and turns, dark gaze meeting Jesse’s in one last long, pleading glance, and touches Jesse lightly on the cheek. “I can see her soul in your eyes,” he whispers.

Jesse’s resolve hardens and he pulls Oshin’s hand down. “You were right,” says Jesse, releasing him. “Their bones are in the forest. Ryan’s are in the sand. And hers are in the ground too.”

“Jesse –”

Jesse closes the door.