Remain: A Supernatural Love Story

“She blew into my mouth, her breath as light as a feather. Oddly, it didn’t smell sickly at all. If anything, I thought I detected a licorice-like scent, gone as quickly as it registered.”

This pivotal scene depicts Sylvia’s final act through surreal, sensory imagery, marking the transfer of her supernatural abilities to Tate. The description of her breath as “light as a feather” and the unexpected “licorice-like scent” contrasts with the clinical reality of her dying body, suggesting a spiritual or magical transaction rather than a physical one. This moment catalyzes the novel’s central conflict, initiating Tate’s unsettling journey into the paranormal.

“Grandma Joyce would have snorted in disgust at the idea of running away, observing that only a fool would believe life was supposed to be easy or fun.”

Presented from Wren’s third-person perspective, this internal reflection establishes her pragmatic yet weary nature. The narrative shift to her point of view provides insight into her backstory and consciousness before Tate fully understands who (or what) she is. The memory of her grandmother is a character foil, highlighting Wren’s own longing for escape against a backdrop of inherited toughness and realism.

“Not I, not anyone else can travel that road for you, / You must travel it for yourself. […] In the margin, in a young girl’s loopy handwriting, was the sentence Our life’s journey IS our own, but wouldn’t it be better with someone by your side?”

This use of intertextuality juxtaposes Walt Whitman’s theme of individualism with an anonymous annotation that champions companionship. The formal poem reflects Tate’s current state of isolation in his grief, while the handwritten reply provides a thematic counterpoint that foreshadows the novel’s central relationship. This found text externalizes Tate’s internal conflict between his solitary suffering and his need for connection.

“From my vantage point, the darkness of the bathroom radiated a forbidding intensity, and I sensed the presence of someone—or something—inside. Whatever it was, I knew it resided in that dark place. It lived there. It was trapped there.”

In Tate’s thoughts about his nightmare, ominous imagery and personification establish the upstairs bathroom as a locus of malevolent supernatural energy. By describing the darkness as radiating a “forbidding intensity” and the presence within it as something that “lived there” and “was trapped there,” the passage signals that this entity is a suffering presence in the house. This scene foreshadows the later revelation of Wren’s violent murder in that specific location.

“Every human interaction, after all, is seeded with infinite potential.”

Delivered via a posthumous video message, Sylvia’s words articulate one of the novel’s primary themes regarding fate and human connection. The aphoristic quality of the statement gives it a sense of universal truth and issues an authorial instruction to both Tate and readers about the significance of his imminent encounter. The message provides a narrative catalyst, priming Tate to be open to the stranger he’s about to meet and framing their interaction as fated rather than coincidental.

“Those luminous eyes projected an ageless wisdom, as if the nature of my grief were already intimately familiar to her. As if she already knew how I felt, even before I found the words to describe it.”

From Tate’s perspective, Wren’s “luminous eyes” and “ageless wisdom” suggest an innate understanding of his grief, a feeling of being seen that contrasts with the isolation he has felt since Sylvia’s death. This perception of an immediate, deep connection is a pivotal plot point, marking the beginning of his bond with Wren and establishing his motivation to help her.

“‘She was just here,’ I protested as I took a step forward, the word ‘impossible’ echoing in my mind again. I searched for stray puzzle pieces on the carpet and splashes of water on the floor. ‘She was putting together a puzzle!’”

This quote externalizes Tate’s internal conflict as he confronts the paranormal. His desperate search for physical evidence (“stray puzzle pieces” and “splashes of water”) highlights his struggle between sensory experience and rational denial. The repeated echo of “impossible” in his mind underscores his resistance to accepting a supernatural reality, framing his psychological journey as a battle to trust his own perceptions against the logic he has always known.

“The second option—that Wren was a ghost—was so preposterous that I couldn’t entertain it; it went against everything I knew to be true and reliable about the world.”

This moment of internal monologue marks a critical shift in Tate’s worldview. After receiving external confirmation of Wren’s death, he must confront a possibility that his rational mind deems “preposterous.” The quote articulates the core of his conflict: the clash between empirical evidence (her death) and his lifelong understanding of a “true and reliable” world. His reluctant consideration of the supernatural is a turning point that allows the plot to move from mystery to engagement with the paranormal.

“When he sang and played, I could see he was no longer nervous or shy. His beautiful spirit and confidence shone through, and that’s when I knew there was more to him than I’d ever dreamed, something that transcended mere extroversion or introversion.”

In a posthumous video, Sylvia describes falling in love not with her husband’s personality, but with his spirit, which “shone through” when he played music. Her realization that a person’s essence can “transcend mere extroversion or introversion” provides a thematic lesson for Tate. This message, which thematically alludes to The Redemptive Power of Love and Vulnerability, prompts him to reevaluate his connection to Wren, shifting his focus from her confusing physical presence to the quality of her spirit and thereby deepening their unconventional relationship.

“‘It costs a lot more than the regular game,’ he said. ‘It’s a collector’s edition; not too many of them were made. My former partner special-ordered it because she was passionate about Boggle. We don’t carry too many expensive specialty items. I was surprised she didn’t take it home for herself.’”

The game store owner’s anecdote about a “collector’s edition” Boggle set unintentionally corroborates Tate’s supernatural experiences. By revealing that his former partner (Wren) was “passionate about Boggle” and special-ordered the specific game Tate saw her with, the dialogue provides the first piece of external, verifiable evidence that his encounters are real. This moment validates Tate’s perceptions and solidifies his resolve to investigate the circumstances of her death.

“‘He keeps coming back to this spot because he senses Henry’s presence in this parking lot,’ he said. ‘Because Henry can’t let go.’”

An old man on the beach tells Tate and Oscar about a dog (Bingo) and the ghost of his former owner, Henry (who died violently in the parking lot). This anecdote provides a framework for understanding Wren’s situation. Asserting the novel’s supernatural logic, the story suggests that spirits can remain tethered to the living world by lingering trauma, implying that Wren, like Henry, “can’t let go” because of the violent nature of her death and thematically alluding to The Haunting Nature of Unresolved Trauma.

“Murdered.”

Uttered by Nighttime Wren, this single word marks the novel’s primary turning point, transforming it from a story of grief and supernatural romance into a murder mystery. The quote’s brevity gives it a shocking, percussive impact, immediately recontextualizing all of Nighttime Wren’s previous terrifying behaviors as reenactments of a violent struggle. This revelation provides Tate with a clear objective: to solve the crime and thus help Wren find peace.

“How well do you really know her?”

Oscar poses this question to Tate after they encounter Griffin, whose version of his relationship with Wren directly contradicts hers. The conflicting narratives cast doubt on the reliability of Wren’s account. This moment forces both Tate and readers to move from passively accepting Wren’s story to actively evaluating competing accounts, deepening the novel’s psychological complexity.

“‘Everyone loved Wren,’ she finally said. ‘But she wasn’t perfect.’”

Louise’s statement is the first significant challenge to the idealized image of Wren that Tate has constructed. The juxtaposition of a positive generalization with a negative qualifier creates ambiguity around Wren’s character. This statement initiates a pattern of conflicting testimonies from other characters, complicating the central mystery by suggesting that Wren may not be purely innocent.

“[D]espite all the pain we’re facing, and the terror I feel at the loss of our life together, it is infinitely scarier to go through life never having loved at all. Because without him, what would my life have meant?”

In her final posthumous video message, Sylvia delivers the novel’s core thematic statement on the relationship between love, pain, and meaning. Her words are a plea for Tate to embrace his feelings for Wren, regardless of the impossibility and inherent sorrow of their situation. The use of a rhetorical question positions love not as a source of happiness, but as the essential element for a life of value, motivating Tate’s actions through the end of the novel.

“‘That I’m ordinary.’ Her voice was so tentative, I had to strain to hear it.”

In a moment of vulnerability, Wren expresses her fear that Tate will see her as “ordinary.” This admission reveals a deep-seated insecurity that adds complexity to her character, contrasting with the confident persona that she often projects and the malevolent one that others describe. The description of her voice as “tentative” physically manifests this vulnerability while also subtly alluding to her spectral, fading existence.

“‘If you really were a friend of Wren’s, you would know she was a sociopath.’”

Tessa, Dax’s wife, presents the most extreme and damaging counter-narrative about Wren’s character. The clinical and condemnatory term “sociopath” reframes all of Wren’s actions as calculated manipulations rather than the desperate struggles of a victim. This accusation forces Tate to again confront the possibility that the spirit he’s trying to help may have been deceptive and malicious. In retrospect, however, Tessa’s words reveal that Dax successfully fooled her into seeing Wren as the villain, thematically illustrating how The Deception Beneath Small-Town Charm can operate even within a marriage.

“Tell all the Truth, but tell it slant—

[…] The Truth must dazzle gradually

Or every man be blind—”

This intertextual reference to an Emily Dickinson poem, discovered in one of Wren’s books, is a commentary on the novel’s plot and the nature of truth. The poem suggests that truth is too overwhelming to be revealed at once, mirroring Tate’s experience of uncovering the facts of Wren’s murder through conflicting stories and supernatural visions. The literary allusion foreshadows that the full, “dazzling” truth will be revealed incrementally, a process necessary to prevent being metaphorically blinded by its horror.

“‘I love the locket, too. Is it an antique?’ She absently reached for it. ‘It was my grandma’s. When I wear it, I always think of her, and I feel like I’m going to need a bit of her strength today.’”

During an intimate afternoon with Tate, Wren explains the sentimental value of her locket, establishing it as a reflection of heritage and strength. This moment is rich with irony, as readers are yet unaware that this seemingly minor detail will become the crucial piece of physical evidence that solves her murder. By highlighting the locket here, the novel transforms it from a simple heirloom into a significant plot device, foreshadowing its role in the story’s climax.

“All at once, the flickering vanished, then reappeared where I’d first seen it and tracked toward the road again, like a scene on repeat. […] The one leading up the road seemed to demand that I follow, but the other one…”

In this passage, the recurring motif of the flickering lights illuminates an evolution in Tate’s supernatural ability. The lights are no longer just a symptom of his trauma but have become a complex, guiding force, presenting him with what he interprets as a choice. The description of the flickering as “a scene on repeat” uses a simile to emphasize its insistent, almost instructional nature, which compels Tate to return to the house and setting the stage for the final, violent confrontation.

“Then the smaller figure reached into the tub with both hands a second time. This person seemed to be fiddling with something […] I knew then that one of the killers had taken the locket from Wren. And with chilling clarity, I also recalled where I had seen it before.”

This moment marks the narrative’s climax, as Tate’s vision reveals a second killer and the theft of Wren’s locket. The identity of the figures is deliberately obscured, building suspense and emphasizing the anagnorisis, or critical discovery, that resolves the central mystery. The phrase “chilling clarity” captures the sudden, horrifying synthesis of information in Tate’s mind, as he connects the locket to Louise and to Wren’s murder.

“When she looked in the mirror, there was no surprise now at her lack of a reflection. Gone, too, were the waves of confusion and panic; in their place was a shadow of wistfulness, if not yet grief. There was still so much I wanted to do, she thought.”

This passage from Wren’s point of view depicts the moment when she realizes that she has died, using the classic trope of a mirror to signify this awareness. The absence of a reflection confirms her ghostly status, triggering not terror but quiet acceptance. Free indirect discourse provides insight into her internal state, effectively resolving her character arc from a fragmented, confused spirit into a whole and understanding entity, which thematically speaks to The Haunting Nature of Unresolved Trauma in the sense of facing grief and accepting one’s reality as a path to healing.

“In that instant, the house exploded from within. A deafening boom shook the ground beneath me, and every window along the front of the house blew out. The force of the blast washed over me like a wave, and I stared at the conflagration.”

The violent destruction of the house is the physical and symbolic climax of the conflict. The house represents both Wren’s lingering spirit and Tate’s state of being trapped by grief, and its fiery demise signals a forceful, definitive purging. The auditory imagery (“deafening boom”) and the simile (“washed over me like a wave”) convey the overwhelming finality of the event, which eliminates the primary antagonist and clears the way for both Tate and Wren’s spirits to find peace.