The Amber Residue

The damp wool of her coat scratched faintly at her neck, a familiar irritation. Evaline shifted, her old bones protesting the cafe's too-hard chair. Outside, the wind whipped dry leaves into frenzied spirals, plastering them against the condensation-streaked windows. It smelled of wet pavement and distant woodsmoke, a bitter, beautiful scent that clung to her clothes even inside the warmth of The Portage. She nursed her cooling mug of Earl Grey, the ceramic smooth against her gnarled fingers, each joint a small, insistent throb.

She’d watched Cathy for years, since the coffee house first opened, a quiet fixture in the bustling North End. Always there. Never ill. Never absent. And always, always alone behind the counter. Evaline had seen the subtle shifts, dismissed them as trick of light or failing eyesight. The way Cathy could be wiping down the pastry case one moment, then, without sound or discernible movement, already at the espresso machine, pulling a shot. Too fast. Too… fluid. Humans weren't built like that, not truly.

A small frown, more a habit than an expression of displeasure, creased Evaline’s brow. Her own body, a loyal but weary servant, was failing her now. The doctor had given her weeks, maybe a couple of months, if she was lucky. The words had hummed in the sterile office air, dry and matter-of-fact. But sitting here, watching Cathy, the reality of 'what came next' felt… different. Less like an ending, more like a doorway she hadn't known existed.

Cathy, a wisp of a thing today, with hair the colour of burnt sugar and eyes too wide, too still, moved to clear a table near the door. A fresh gust of wind, laden with the scent of decaying leaves, rattled the panes. The door creaked, then slammed shut. But no one had entered. Cathy just… was there, with a damp cloth, wiping down the sticky surface where a student had left a ring of coffee. Evaline’s breath hitched, a small, involuntary sound.

Cathy's head tilted, her gaze, unsettlingly direct, found Evaline's across the room. A slight, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. Evaline felt a chill deeper than the autumn air, a frisson of recognition. Not fear, not truly. More like the quiet acceptance of a truth that had been waiting patiently, just out of focus, her entire life.

Evaline raised her mug, a silent signal for a refill. Her hand trembled, not from cold, but from something else, an unexpected tremor in her resolve. Cathy nodded once, a gesture almost too quick for the eye to follow, and drifted back behind the counter. No footsteps. No rustle of clothing. Just a smooth, impossible transition.

A Shift in the Air

“Another Earl Grey, Evaline?” Cathy’s voice, when she spoke, was soft, like wind chimes on a still day. But today, there was a new quality to it, an undercurrent of something ancient, something that resonated deep in Evaline's chest. She felt a lightness, a transparency to Cathy's form, as if the barista were made of spun moonlight and vapour. Her hair, moments ago burnt sugar, now held glints of pewter, and her eyes, still too wide, seemed to shimmer with an inner light.

“Yes, dear,” Evaline replied, her own voice rougher than she intended. She cleared her throat. “And… tell me, Cathy. Do you ever feel… stretched thin? Like you exist in more than one place at once?” The question hung in the air, audacious and fragile. The cafe was quiet now, the lunchtime rush long gone. Just the two of them, the rhythmic hiss of the boiler, and the faint, persistent tick of the grandfather clock in the corner.

Cathy paused, her hands hovering over the tea caddy. The pewter glint in her hair intensified, throwing off a faint, silvery sheen. A flicker. A ripple. Her form seemed to waver for a fraction of a second, like an image projected onto disturbed water. Then, she solidified, though the light in her eyes remained, impossibly deep. “Sometimes, Evaline,” she murmured, her gaze meeting the older woman’s. “More often than not, these days.”

She poured the hot water, the steam rising, momentarily obscuring her face. When it cleared, Cathy was different again. Her hair was raven black, her eyes the colour of moss after a rain. Yet, it was undeniably her. The same quiet presence, the same knowing gaze. “You see it,” Cathy said, less a question than an observation. “Truly see it, for the first time.”

Evaline gripped her mug. “I’m old, dear. And I’m dying. My eyes aren’t what they used to be, but my instincts… they’re sharper than ever. I’ve always felt something here, something beyond the usual… but now… now it’s clearer. Like a window finally wiped clean.” A small, dry chuckle escaped her lips. “A ghost, then? You are a ghost.”

Cathy’s shoulders relaxed, a sigh like rustling paper leaving her lips. “Yes, Evaline. I am. And have been. This place… it’s a tether. Keeps me from drifting. Keeps me… occupied. No one has ever truly seen me before. Not like this. Not for a very, very long time.” She pushed the freshly steeped tea across the counter, the clink of porcelain against granite surprisingly solid.

Evaline reached for it, her fingers brushing Cathy’s. The contact was cool, like polished stone, not cold or ethereal. Just… different. “And why now?” Evaline asked, her voice hushed. “Why let me see?”

Cathy leaned closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper, though there was no one else to hear. The faint smell of ozone and damp earth, a scent that shouldn’t belong in a coffee house, emanated from her. “Because you are ready, Evaline. You are already halfway there. And because… someone needs to prepare you. It’s not what you think. Not truly a void. Not a paradise. It’s… a transition. A becoming. And it can be very confusing, if you don’t have a guide.”

The Edge of Becoming

Evaline’s heart, usually a tired drum, began to beat a quick, erratic rhythm. “Prepare me? For… for death?” The word felt alien, distant, now that Cathy had uttered it. The simple act of saying it had stripped it of its medical sterility, imbued it with an ancient weight.

Cathy nodded, her expression earnest, almost serene. “For the journey beyond the known. The spirit, it doesn’t simply… fade. It changes. It moves. And without understanding, it can linger, disoriented, stuck in the folds between what was and what will be. Like me, once. Before I learned to choose my form. Before I learned to anchor myself.” She gestured around the quiet cafe, a subtle sweep of her hand that encompassed every table, every chair, every lingering scent of coffee and pastry.

Evaline swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. The grey light outside had deepened to bruised purple. Her reflection in the window showed a woman older than her years, fragile, a shadow on the glass. But next to her, a shimmer. Cathy, now with long, flowing silver hair, stood, no longer solid but translucent, almost part of the glass itself, watching the world outside. The transformation was unsettling, yet profoundly beautiful.

“What… what do I do?” Evaline asked, her voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the fragile reality she now inhabited. The Portage Coffee House, once a comforting haven, had become a threshold.

“You listen,” Cathy said, her voice now a chorus of soft echoes, multiple timbres blending into one ethereal sound. Her hand, translucent and shimmering, reached out, hovering just above Evaline’s. “And you learn. Because your time is short, Evaline. And there is so much more to it than simply closing your eyes.”

The coffee house shifted around them, the scent of espresso replaced by something colder, sharper, like winter wind off the prairies. Evaline felt a strange pull, a current beneath her seat, urging her forward. The quiet tick of the clock grew impossibly loud, counting down, not minutes, but something far more profound. Cathy’s eyes, now pools of starlight, gazed at her with an intensity that promised both revelation and an unbearable truth.

“Tell me,” Evaline whispered, her own spirit already leaning into the unknown, a profound, terrifying curiosity eclipsing all fear. “Tell me everything.”

The silence that followed was not empty, but vast, filled with the unspoken knowledge of ages, and the cold, unyielding promise of what lay just beyond the veil.

Cathy’s lips parted, and a light, like a nascent star, bloomed deep within her translucent form, illuminating her from within. Evaline knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that the lesson had begun, and that the world she knew was already dissolving around her.