Ember X (Death Collectors) - By Jessica Sorensen Page 0,7
it got there?”
“I thought you dropped it or something.” He shrugs. “I didn’t see anyone come in this morning, except for you.”
I swallow hard and flip through the pages. Everything looks normal, just how I left it, except for the last page.
Blinded by the opaque veil of mortality, her eyes are always sealed, like a tomb
She wants to know—wants to feel that fire, the brightness of the moon
So she searches for light, only to realize it’s in her, like an ember equipped to ignite.
The handwriting is flawless, as if each curve of the pen meant something. I touch the page delicately like it’s something precious.
Raven peeks over my shoulder. “I thought you lost that?”
“I guess I was wrong.” I shut the journal. “Wait for me in the car?”
She nods, but shimmies toward Ian and pokes him in the chest with her finger “So, I have a beef to pick with you.”
I leave them to their flirting, go upstairs to my room, and stare at the poem. It’s beautiful and strikes a nerve, but who wrote it? The guy from the cemetery? I tear the page out and tack it up beside my bed. I read over the words again before heading out the door.
Will I ever see the mysterious stranger again? And what will happen if I do?
Chapter 3
Raven and I have been best friends since we were in diapers. Our parents were friends in high school and they moved next door to each other after they married. Our moms were pregnant together—twice—and our dads worked at the local auto shop. It was the picture perfect scene, until two years after Raven and I were born. Then the perfection withered like a famished rose.
Then my parents started fighting a lot. At first it wasn’t bad, but then it started happening every night. My mom said my dad didn’t want to spend time with us—that he was too caught up in his job and hanging out at the bar. And she was right—my dad was drunk all the time. Finally, he moved out and Ian and I barely saw him.
Raven’s dad bailed on her family a few years later. Just up and left. Poof. Not too long after, our moms developed drug habits and our brothers started living in their own world. Actually, Raven’s brother, Todd, isn’t too bad, just a little unconventional. But I don’t know what I’d do if I lost Raven. She’s my stability.
Remy’s party is more lively than usual. A mob of college students are packed in the miniscule living room, swaying to “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” by Blue Oyster Cult, practically dry humping each other, the ecstasy evident all over their faces. Deep down, in the darkest spots of my aching heart, I wonder what it would be like to touch someone like that, rub up against them, feel the inviting heat of their body, instead of the foul sensation of their impending death.
Beer bottles and cigarette butts litter the hardwood floor and the air reeks of sweat, beer, sex and death. It’s potent, venomous, intoxicating. I hang out in the emptiest corner of the house, near the stairway and the door, trying to keep my distance. By accident, I ran into three people and their death omens still taint my skin like small bruises and nicks and cuts.
I sip on my cranberry juice, wishing I could spike it with a little vodka, but I’m the designated driver. I watch people dance, my thoughts drifting to the guy from the graveyard. What is he doing right now? Right this instant, while I stand here by myself. In my head, he’s sitting in his Victorian home, scribbling beautiful words in his notebook, shirtless, his hair hanging into his eyes. His house is secluded from the world by a dark forest, constantly concealed by fog. I’m sure this isn’t accurate, but that’s the beauty of an imagination.
“Ember!” Raven shouts over the music as she dances through the crowd, her bubblegum pink wig standing out in the sea of bodies and her hands are in the air. Sweat trickles down her skin and she fans her face as she gets close to me. “What are you doing? You promised to have fun.” She points an accusing finger at me and blinks her glossy eyes and then leans forward, getting in my face. “In fact, you swore on it.”
I take the plastic cup from her hand and swish the drink around, noting there’s only vodka in it and no punch.