Dead River - By Cyn Balog Page 0,76

he says something that sounds very much like “I love you.”

But before I have a chance to respond, to look into his eyes and see if he really meant it, the world dims. And everything disappears.

Chapter Twenty-Five

I blink awake, only to find myself lying in the soft pine needles. It’s dark and bitingly cold, and the only sound is the rushing of water. My body is numb from the cold. Cold! I feel cold. I pull up my shirt and run my hand along the smooth skin of my belly. I sit up quickly and realize the fingers of my other hand are wrapped around something. I open them, and in the moonlight I can just make it out. A wilted flower petal.

Flowers? From where?

And suddenly it hits me. The Outfitters, and me swaying with Justin under the swirling disco lights. The corsage he gave me, crumpled and wilted.

I gasp. I ran away, and I slipped on the rocky embankment, and … then what?

Was it all just …

Could it have been …

And when I think of everything that has happened to me in the past twenty-four hours—somehow being stabbed, dying, meeting my mother, searching for my body, kissing Trey—I know it. I bring my hand to my lips, and they’re frozen, stone. Of course. Of course none of that happened.

I stand up and start to run, and stop when a jagged pain rips through the back of my head. I hit my head, passed out cold. Who knows how long I’ve been out here, wherever here is? I’m surrounded by nothing but trees and inky darkness. I need to get to the Outfitters. I need to see my dad. Justin. Angela.

Because I can barely feel my legs, I’m nowhere near as graceful as I’d been in my dream—was it a dream? I stumble over the rocks, then fall to my knees and feel a rock dig into my flesh. Now I feel my legs. The pain makes me see fireworks. Fireworks. The bright colors of my dreamworld are gone. The beauty of the way everything struck me as if I were seeing it for the first time. Now everything is dull again, heartbreakingly so. I try not to concentrate on it as I find my way up the embankment, and yet that’s all I can see.

That is, until Trey appears before me.

He’s a ghost, I know, and for the first time, he looks that way. He’s tinged with blue, faded, yet so perfect. His face may not be clean-shaven, but his wounds are gone. He smiles at me.

I hear his voice, clear inside my head. Everything is all right now. I’m moving on. Wanted to tell you something, though. I shouldn’t have denied it.

“Kiandra!” a voice calls. It’s one I haven’t heard in centuries. I whirl around. Justin. He’s standing at the top of the embankment, the hood of a rain slicker hiding his face. But even though I can’t see most of him, I can tell he’s stricken with relief and amazement. He starts to navigate his way down the rocky ledge, but by now I’m reaching for something that is just out of my grasp. Trey is walking away, in that same lazy, carefree way I’ve come to know.

“Trey!” I shout. “No! Just—”

Justin moves closer, ignoring my plea. “What?” he’s asking. He has his arms out, ready to envelop me, to pull me close to his big, strong body the way he has a thousand times.

“What’s wrong?”

Justin clutches me to him, and in the music of his heartbeat, I watch Trey walk to the river. I wish he’d just look back, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even falter. Everything is still, so still, except him. I need to run for him, to grab him, to tell him to come back. When I push myself away from Justin, there is no sound but the whistle of the wind, no movement but the dance of the leaves in the trees. Justin whispers, “You’re in shock. Let’s get you inside, okay?”

I push against his body with such violence that he steps back. “No!” I scream, but the second I do, Trey disappears, leaving nothing but an outline in my memory. I blink again and again, but he is gone. I turn to Justin. It’s him. He’s lured me back to reality, to his world, when I need to be in the other one. I need to be with the dead. But as I look around helplessly, I realize I have no