Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,22

to the side, to something I know does not belong. There, sitting where Angela should be, and wearing a prim white gown, is Lannie. She smiles through her tears. “Remember me, Tootsie?”

At first I’m surprised I know her name, know anything at all about her, but then it all comes flooding back to me. She was one of my friends, one of my constant visions when I lived on the Delaware. She was always there with me, telling me stories about the summers she and her sister spent on the water. They’d go tubing and have picnics by the river, and it all seemed like so much fun. Lannie was the daring one, jumping into the river without a second thought, laughing endlessly at me whenever I tried to take things slow. I always wished she was my sister, because there were no other children where I lived and I desperately wanted other kids to play with. She was my one and only friend. My imaginary friend.

“You’re not—Why are you—” I sputter, and then all at once she disappears and is replaced by that girl in the pink party dress, her eyes dark and hopeless.

I’m snapped back to reality before she can open her mouth and spew mud. The waves churn around the raft, matching the tumult going on inside me. “What are you doing here?” I ask her, but by that time, she’s gone.

Crack. I hear it again and again, that sickening sound of Robert’s skull smashing against a rock or a log or whatever. Always What the devil is that? followed a minute later by that horrifying sound that can only mean the end of Robert Skiffington’s life. He’s dead. Gone.

And somehow, I’m the only one in the world who knows it.

The whispers start. At first I think it’s nothing, the new spring leaves rustling gently around us. But eventually I can make out actual words. So many different voices, speaking at once. Asked … devil … you … A whirl of words, nonsensical ramblings, growing louder and louder, until they drown out all other sounds. Pain blooms in my forehead and doesn’t subside when I press my hand against my temple. Instead, the voices only grow stronger. Now I can almost make them out. I know that if they get any louder, my head is bound to explode.

I turn around, still clutching the paddle. “Justin,” I whisper, trying to catch my breath. Somehow, though we’re in the outdoors, it feels like there are walls closing in on me. Walls of water, bearing down on me, waiting to sweep me downriver. Justin is only an arm’s length behind me, and yet it seems like he’s a mile away. “I need to get out.”

I can tell from the look in his eyes that he’s hoping I’m kidding, because I know there’s no way I can simply get out. Instinctively he moves forward and puts a hand on my shoulder. “What? What’s wrong?”

By now the voices are screaming in my head.

I did everything you asked of me.

“I can’t—” I swallow. “I can’t breathe.”

He’s the one. Get him.

Justin scuttles to my side, grabbing the paddle from me. “Calm down,” he says. “You’re okay.” But I’m not. My heartbeat is thudding in my head. My mind, my ears, my entire body is pulsating, filled with echoes. Echoes of the dead.

The girl in the pink party dress, filth spurting from the open crevasse of her mouth, reaches for me first. I squeeze my eyes shut, but I see them all perfectly in the darkness. When I force my eyes open, everything is swirling. Masses of pine needles look like matted human hair, and branches like brittle brown bones, churning in white foam. And then suddenly, from the foam, I see the hands. Ghostly fingers reaching up, sliding along the edge of the raft. Reaching for me.

“Oh my God,” I manage. Is this what my mother saw before she … Suddenly I’m screaming. Angela’s now looking at me, launching into Florence Nightingale mode. I hear her voice among the others, distorted like a record being played at too slow a speed, What’s wrong? Ki, what’s wrong? But the only thing I can get out is “Justin” as I claw at him, grasping for him desperately.

He’s like an image in a dream I keep running to, though every step closer brings me one step away. Though his arms are around me, they’re not keeping me safe. It’s almost like they’re pushing me toward the waves,