Echoes Between Us - McGarry, Katie Page 0,72

will get you killed. I was like that once, right before I bottomed out. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think you need a friend. Am I right, brother?”

Yeah, he might be.

VERONICA

I wake with a jolt. As if someone had said my name, the way one does when it’s important to be awake, but as I glance around, I’m alone. Not even my mom is in my bedroom. The room is dark except for the moonlight rolling in through the slats of my still-open blinds.

Rolling from my side to my back, I hesitantly elongate my muscles as my body is stiff. The type of stiff where I could easily stretch my calf into a charley horse. I can sleep for days when I take the migraine prescription, staying so still that Dad says he puts his ear to my nose to confirm I’m breathing.

Last time I was awake, I was leaning against my dad. I cried, he held me. I cried some more and he hugged me. I eventually calmed down and we talked. The good type of talk. Where I told him everything going on in my life from start to finish. Almost everything—I left out seeing Mom, but other than that he knows it all—down to me jumping into a river and me hugging Sawyer then almost kissing him in the car to Leo falling for someone else.

I talked until I had nothing else to say, so Dad picked up where I left off because Dad gets me. He understands I don’t want to analyze my feelings or have a frank discussion about where I should go from here, but instead I want to forget so he mumbled in a low tone about his week.

The boring stuff, the mundane. The trivial that makes the world feel normal and safe. I listened to every word as my eyelids grew heavy. Sometime, at some point, I fell asleep, and Dad must have carried me to my room.

The jackhammering of my skull is gone, and in its place is a rare moment of silence. The digital clock on my bedside table reads midnight. Twelve with two zeros exactly. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and a smile creeps along my lips as I realize someone had said my name to wake me. Just not someone I can see.

I exchange my old jeans and T-shirt for a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top and frown in the mirror at the rat’s nest of blond, unruly curls bouncing along my shoulder. There are so many tangles and picking them out after a shower will definitely suck.

In the hallway, I peek into Dad’s room and my heart lifts when I spot Mom lying next to him. He’s in a deep sleep, and Mom’s eyes are closed as she’s snuggled close. His arm is outstretched over her and his hand touches hers. They look peaceful, in love, and I pinch myself on the arm. Pain at the prick and I breathe out in relief. This isn’t a hallucination. It isn’t a dream.

Dad’s body is curved protectively around the love of his life so he must know, at least subconsciously, that Mom is with him and that brings on a sense of warmth. Dad doesn’t see her because he doesn’t believe ghosts are real. Like how Sawyer couldn’t clearly understand the EVP. But the more I prove to them that ghosts are real, the more they’ll be able to see beyond what only exists in this realm. That way, when I die, I can join Mom in this house and then Dad will be okay because he’ll never be alone.

Light taps come from our second-floor living room, and I silently curse that I don’t have the recorder. That would be amazing—to catch an EVP in my own house. I’ve thought about asking Mom to play along, but I can never bring myself to do it. That feels too private for others to listen to and pick apart.

Loving that the house is coming alive, I’m quick yet light on my feet as I go down the stairs in search of the little girl who loves to play.

SAWYER

I walk along the long corridor, looking into the rooms as I pass. The rooms aren’t what they were before. They don’t seem so dark, so gray. There’s laughter echoing around me, nurses chatting with patients, patients talking with one another—helping with the staff. The rooms are bright, filled with personal belongings. The windows are wide