stillness.
There’s nothing so terrible as the utter silence of a soul like mine. Like those souls out there. Though if I’m honest, I don’t think they’ve lingered here. That Forgotten Garden is the absence of souls, which is even more pathetic. I’m alone, even among the dead. Can you begin to understand how that feels?
Except Carly is here with me… somewhere. That gives me comfort. Gives me hope. She’ll never know the strength she gives me, simply by my knowing she’s here.
The whole world feels like a vast, empty space, with me the only living thing in it.
Or am I dead too?
6:00 am
Dee, my hand is shaking as I write this, but I must get it all down before Carly comes. I can’t risk losing any of it in the crossover. The almanac says sunrise in fifty-two minutes, but I don’t trust it to be accurate. Yesternight I lost three minutes.
Onwards!
I was in the confessional, as usual. Talking to the night. Talking to silence. Talking to God knows what, to be honest. Safe in that little space. How long had I been talking?
I’m mortified by what I might have said—Oh, great. I’m having a panic attack right now.
Okay, slow and steady. Breathe.
What. Happened?
I walked into the confessional. Slid the door shut. Sighed, rested my head against the back of the booth.
“I don’t think there’s a God, but here’s hoping.” I remember I said that. “I miss Carly. I wish she were here. I wonder what she talked about with Naida today. I hate all that time they get together, especially when I’m so… Oh, God, I’m so lonely. Thank God I have you, Dee.”
I kept going on and on, and then I dropped my head onto the bar separating the two sides and just let myself fill up with this horrible self-pity that made me want to tear out my eyes.
“Who’s Carly?”
I gasped this breathless scream and fell out of the booth—like, literally toppled out of it and onto the floor—bashing my shoulder on the wood. The priest’s side slid open, and this figure stepped out towards me. I scrambled back on my hands, gasping like a fish out of water. Like a beached octopus or something.
He followed after me. “Hey, whoa, whoa—” And then he crouched, and the vomit-orange light fell onto his face and onto the bowler hat on his head. “You’re kind of skittish, aren’t you?”
“Who”—gasp—“the”—gasp—“hell—”
“Are you?” he finished.
“I’m—I’m—”
“Surprised, probably. I didn’t expect anyone else to be up here.” He helped me to my feet. “Not the most graceful fall on an arse I’ve ever seen, but I’ll give you points for breathlessness. Too many girls are all—” He broke off, gesturing vaguely. “Screamy.”
It took a minute for the deep-boned surprise of having another living-human-person-being-thing right there to wear off.
I brushed my hands on my jeans and noticed I’d cut my hand. Carly’s hand.
Damn.
“Do you always sit in confession booths and listen to private conversations?” I snapped.
“Sometimes. Do you?”
“And who the hell wears a bowler hat?”
“I do, and I have excellent taste. I’d be gay if I wasn’t so straight.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, that was less than subtle. What, are you going to divulge your favorite sex position next?”
“Wheelbarrow,” he challenged.
“Bank number?” I called.
“I’d tell you, but then you’d fall for me.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, I’m dirt poor. Very sexy. Besides, I hear that freaky people shouldn’t fall for each other. Weird things happen if you break the freaky-normal, normal-normal rule.”
“Okay, I have no idea what’s going on here, but this is private property. My property, so get out.”
“The sign outside says OUT OF BOUNDS. I’m pretty sure the school owns it.” He folded his arms and cocked his head, and the stupid bowler hat stayed on his stupid head. “I don’t think you really want me to leave.”
I glowered at him.
“‘Oh, God. I’m so lonely’?”
“Get out of here! This is my space, you—goddamn—” I was infuriated, lost for the word. “Watson!”
After glancing down at my book, he had the cheek to say, “You should invest in a quality hardcover of Poe’s collected works. Buying cheap may be simpler and easier in the short term, but your future self is only laughing at you—or slapping you. Mentally, of course.”
My future self. Ha. What a concept.
Anyway, I just stared. He talked like some kind of awkward, socially inept idiot—or genius. I honestly have no idea which.
“Or you can borrow mine,” he added.
I sniggered at that. “You read Poe?”
“I read other, less trendy things too.”
“Let me guess,” I drawled, leaning back