Echoes Between Us - McGarry, Katie Page 0,54
we pass the halfway point of the bridge, and the scent is of the wood. The only sound is the tapping of our shoes against the planks and the rushing water below. I glance wildly around, but I don’t see anything—just blackness.
Sawyer’s not touching me, but I sense his solid presence beside me. As if the heat of his body has the ability to reach out and envelop me in a protective hug. It’s odd because while fear creeps along the back of my neck and I sense the impending hazards around us and spirits lurking in the shadows watching us with curiosity, I also feel protected. As if Sawyer is a natural shield against the dangers of the supernatural world.
A loud snap behind us, I jump and glance over my shoulder. Sawyer snakes his fingers around my wrist and holds on to me.
“Hello?” I call out as I edge toward the safety of the exit. There’s another tapping. Like footsteps and Sawyer pulls on my wrist, encouraging me to move faster.
“It’s probably an animal,” Sawyer says.
“Maybe.” But I don’t believe that. “But animals don’t make that type of sound when they walk. We need to get that recorder.”
* * *
Sawyer knows how to make a fire, and I’m impressed. He mentioned something about having remnants of stuff in the car left over from a camping trip with friends over the summer, but bonfire building without gasoline isn’t nearly as easy as one would think. While he gathered sticks and kindling, I kept it to myself that Jesse taught me how to build a fire before I was fifteen. I wanted to see if Sawyer would succeed, and keeping with the theme for the day, he has surprised me once again.
Near the fire, Sawyer is examining the camera he discarded when he jumped down the rocks after me. It doesn’t appear worse for wear, and I’m relieved when he points the camera at the fire and it flashes with the shot.
“Do you think it’s legal to build a bonfire near a covered bridge?” I ask.
We’re not right next to the bridge, but closer to his parked car in a clearing of the woods. “Probably not, but are you going to tell?”
“Nope.” I’m a bit disappointed. I’ve been asking questions into the recorder for the past half hour, and when I’ve played back the audio, not a single ghost has talked to me.
I walk back to the bridge and step inside. Sawyer’s watching me from the fire. His serious expression tells me he’s ready to leap to his feet and save me from the river again if the need should arise. He raises the camera to his face and takes another picture of me.
I turn on the recorder again and say, “What’s your name?” I stay silent, giving the ghost time to respond, and then say, “Are the two teens who went into the river in their car here?”
More silence and then I turn off the recorder. Still wet from our wild ride down the hill and into the water, I shiver with the cooling night air. I head back to the fire and sit next to Sawyer so I can watch the bridge. Hopefully, we’ll see ghost headlights.
“How did you do it?” I ask, as I can’t stop replaying what happened. “How did you remain so calm and how were you able to think so clearly?”
“I don’t know.” Sawyer tries to readjust his still damp shirt, and when it doesn’t do what he wants, he yanks it over his head. My cheeks grow warm at the sight of his chest—his very, very beautiful, muscled chest. I comb my fingers through my hair to try to dry my curls and to distract myself. Yet my gaze drifts over to him again.
Stop it. My friends are fit. Leo is fit. I see them without their shirts all the time. This isn’t anything new. This is just a guy. A guy who called me weird. A guy who has ignored me for years … a guy I text daily. Not only text daily, but eagerly await our flirty banter. A guy who makes me laugh even when my head is hurting. A guy who seems to want to make me laugh in those painful times. A guy who looks in my eyes as if I’m the only person in the room and not at my skull as if he’s trying to see what’s wrong with me. A guy who risked his life to