piece of shit, but it was my piece of shit. There was something about working for something—earning it all of your own, that made me proud. A sense of accomplishment was like a burst of energy that crawled into your bones and lived there.
With one final wave to Tiffany, I sped off. I didn’t make it a mile down the road before something tiny shot out in front of me. A fucking black kitten. Our neighbor always said it was bad luck if you crossed paths with one, so I swerved to avoid it. Luckily, it had enough sense to jump and run back in the direction it came from. I, on the other hand, didn’t react so quickly.
Funny how I didn’t notice the noise until it was too late. If I had taken the time to listen to the loud blaring, I might have been able to avoid what happened next. My gaze shot forward, and I heard nothing else but a horn.
When did I collide with the truck?
The mangled jumble of metal and wire was scattered below me. Below? I was looking down on the wreckage.
Staring to my right, a black mass slithered toward me. I jerked and turned left. It was there too. I extended my hand but only saw a shadow.
“I swear there was someone on the bike,” someone said.
“There isn’t a body or any blood,” stated someone else. “Sir, are you sure the bike wasn’t in the road, and you didn’t notice?”
“He came right out in front of me. I know what I saw!”
“Calm down.”
As I searched for the people belonging to the voices, I lifted my other hand. Instead, I saw ripples forming, and I screamed.
“W-what’s wrong with me?” Did I die? I’d never heard of a person becoming a mass of black after dying. “Somebody, anybody, help me!” I called out.
When no one responded, my stomach twisted. Instead of walking, I slithered forward. The coal truck that hit me had a tiny dent in the front. What was left of my broken up bike lay in a million pieces several feet behind the vehicle. No way did I survive that. But where was the blood? My body?
Looking around frantically, I saw nothing indicating I was dead. I stopped near the old man, who stood on the side of the road. Running his hands through his hair, he said, “I don’t get it. I saw him. The bike is proof he was there!”
“I’m going to need you to come on down to the station, and we’ll get this figured out.” The old man nodded as the policeman spoke. “How about we get this truck off the road?”
“Can you see me?” I said to no one in particular.
When no one noticed me, I got my answer. The truck driver pulled off his hat, sighed, and walked toward me. He was heading for the driver’s side of the vehicle, but I was in his path. Before I could move, he slipped through me and then fell over.
A flavor ignited my senses. I lifted my hand to where my mouth should have been. Useless. There was nothing there, but I tasted a bitter fruit, possibly a rotten apple. It faded, and I suddenly felt more invigorated.
“Hey!” The officer rushed forward, and I stepped back as he checked the old man’s pulse. “Dead? How?” The officer muttered to himself before he stood and pushed the talk button on his walkie. “Adam Five code eight.” The man walked toward me. “I have a 10-54. Over.”
As soon as the officer walked through me, he fell over too. The same burst of rotten flavor washed over me before dissipating. I stared down at another corpse.
I couldn’t have done that. I didn’t touch anyone. But they were they both dead.
“No. No. I don’t understand,” I said out loud, and then frowned when my voice sounded feminine.
“I do believe you’ve gone too deeply inside my head, Princess.” A deep voice penetrated the turmoil I felt. “What are you doing in my memories?”
Princess? As Shepherd’s words penetrated my thoughts, I realized I was in his dreams—relieving his past as if I were him.
I bolted upright and held a hand to my chest. I subconsciously entered Shepherd’s mind again. Instead of invading his dream, I intruded on his memories. And once again, he found me there.
I rubbed my face as my heart raced and then smacked my cheeks repeatedly. So embarrassing! I kept coming to him. Forget sleeping! I was far too curious about Shepherd,