“It’s called a Dutch tilt,” Ronan continued. “Some directors film the entire movie like this, but really you should only apply it in scenes to give the viewers an uneasy feeling, like something isn’t right, or something ominous is looming just ahead.”

  Marigold scoffed, “Maybe you should start filming this whole experience with a Dutch tilt.”

  Ronan muffled his chuckle awkwardly, “Yeah, honestly, I don’t wanna film a single second more.”

  “Mmm”, Marigold grunted softly.

  Ronan looked at her, her face expressing deep thought, and yet still apathetic.

  “We shouldn’t be here…” he sighed. “We should be back in Colorado, skiing the slopes, drinking hot chocolate and reading books by the fire.”

  “Wow, you’re such a dork.” Marigold nodded in sarcastic realization.

  Ronan glanced at her, mildly offended and pleasantly surprised at her wit. “Oh, okay, little Miss Sunshine,” he laughed. “What would you rather be doing?”

  Ronan just realized she was laughing too; her scrunched nose and bouncing shoulders shed a light of sincerity on the situation. “No, no, yours sounded nice,” she uttered. “I do miss the snow, and the fireplace, the fuzzy socks, the hot chocolate. I miss how clean it felt.”

  Ronan furrowed his brow. “It felt clean?”

  Marigold swished her head back and forth slightly before fixing her big eyes on Ronan. “I mean spiritually. Spiritually, it felt clean, like the souls were happy to be there. Maybe it just feels that way now after this place.”

  Ronan stared at her, admiring her. “It must be hard.”

  Marigold gave her interest to Ronan, “What must be?”

  He sat silent for a few moments, “Being a medium in a place like this.”

  Marigold widened her eyes in understanding. “Oh, yeah. It totally sucks. I feel like I can barely breathe most of the time.”

  Ronan rubbed his thumb on her shoulder. “Were you…” He thought about what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. “Were you always a medium?”

  Marigold gave him a smile that hid some deep pain. “Uh, no, actually. I can remember the first time I ever saw a dead person.”

  Ronan blinked, trying not to be awkward. “Would you be willing to talk about it?”

  Marigold reeled, “Oh.” she said sharply.

  “I mean, if it’s okay with you, I don’t wanna force you to do anything or…” Ronan wished he hadn’t asked.

  “Oh, no, it’s totally okay, I could… I mean, I like you.” Ronan seemed shocked at the remark, shooting her a curious look.

  “I mean like, I trust you… you know?” she said, trying to keep it casual.

  “Oh yeah, well I hope so, I’m glad,” he uttered awkwardly.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Marigold hesitated, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her dress. “I… I guess it started when my mom died.”

  She realized the topic was heavy and the situation was awkward now. She closed her eyes lightly in realization.

  “Oh God, Mari, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Ronan felt guilty for bringing it up.

  “No, oh my God, Ronan, no, it’s completely fine. Seriously, don’t worry about it.” She didn’t want him feeling bad, and she was rather happy to be sharing her story.

  “I haven’t really told anyone this story, so I guess it would be kinda nice,” she reassured him.

  “Uh, yeah, okay, sure. Go ahead,” he said, gesturing his hand for her to carry on.

  “Okay, so.” she paused for a moment; her thoughts became deep, her emotions felt like coming out.

  “My mom… I didn’t like my mom that much honestly,” she said with a shy chuckle. “She wasn’t like, abusive or anything like that, but she had this thing, where, in my early twenties, she wouldn’t give me the freedom I wanted. The kind of freedom that every twenty-something wants and honestly needs. I lived with her because we didn’t have a lot of money, and I couldn’t get a job that paid enough for me to get by. It was simple things. Things like not letting me watch what I wanted to watch on the TV or not getting to decide what to have for dinner, not getting to decide what kind of a lifestyle I wanted to live. I mean, she gave me a curfew; she never let me stay overnight with my friends. She was just a nightmare, honestly. And she was a witch. Like an actual pagan witch. And she did all kinds of witchy things, but it never really directly affected my life. But, sometimes it felt like it influenced her perspective on reality. Everything she did was for my protection. From what? I have no idea. I mean, we lived in a small town in Wyoming; there wasn’t really a lot to be afraid of. I guess she thought my soul was in danger or something like that, but it was stopping me from living my life. It was my life and she felt she could just control it because of her fucked up beliefs or whatever.”

  Marigold stared into the distance, reliving the past in her head.

  “It was my dream to be an actor, and I was saving up all the money I earned from my job at the thrift store, until eventually I had enough for a ticket to L.A. and some set aside to support me for a few months. It took me four years to raise that kind of money, fresh out of high school, and I finally had the opportunity to do something about it. So, I packed my things and left. My mom disowned me, told me I was a bad omen.”

  She shook her head disapprovingly.

  “But,” she continued enthusiastically, “L.A. was awesome. Filled with a bunch of open-minded people, which was a bit of a shock to me. A lot of them dressed weird, which is rich coming from me, I know. But it was so amazing how free I felt, how alive I felt. Except, reality kicked in quickly. I was burning through my savings faster than I anticipated. Thankfully, I got a job in marketing with some finance company; they sold courses online or something like that, I don’t really even remember, and I’m sure they weren’t completely legitimate either. But it paid the bills, and I was happy. Although, my dream of becoming an actress was slipping through my fingers fast.”

  Ronan listened intently. “It sounds like it worked out pretty well then.”

  “For a while,” Marigold remarked. Her face dropped into something more somber. “One day, I got a call from my old high school’s guidance counsellor. She said my mom had been shot in the head in a mall shooting.”

  A single tear ran down Marigold’s cheek. She shook her head slightly.

  “I hung up the phone. I felt sad, but not because my mom was dead. I felt sad… because I was relieved that she had died.” She choked out through a brief sob, sniffing it away.

  “I felt horrible, but it wasn’t my fault I felt that way; it was hers.”

  Ronan wiped her tear away with his sleeve.

  “That night, I stepped out of the shower, steam everywhere. The mirror was fogged, but when I wiped it clean, I saw her. My mother. Standing behind me. Her hair was soaked with blood, and there was a hole in her head. I could see the wall through it.

  Her lips curled in a snarl. ‘You’ll never be free of me.’

  And then she was gone.

  I tell myself I’ve never seen her since. I tell myself that every night.”

  Marigold realized how serious the situation was, so she quipped, “And that is my origin story.” With an awkward laugh, she wiped her tears away.

  Ronan smiled with understanding. He said nothing but held her hand and embraced her. She was hesitant at first but soon buried her face in his shoulder.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he said softly, sincerely. Marigold lingered in Ronan’s arms a little longer than necessary. Ronan could feel his heart pounding just before she pulled away.

  The two released one another slowly, blushing. They both gave a final giggle, and something unspoken yet warm passed between them.