Whispered Darkness by Jessica Sorensen Page 0,12
I take another preparing breath. “When I died, I don’t think I came back right. I not only feel different, but I’ve started seeing … things.”
Silence ticks by. I can hear my heart screaming inside my chest.
“What sorts of things?” he asks, glancing at me.
“Shadows in the trees. Sometimes I hear voices. But mostly, I see the … dead … Particular, Beth.” God, I sound crazy. I know I do.
Please don’t think I’m crazy. Please feel that I’m being truthful.
He stares at me, his expression unreadable as so many emotions swirl around him at once that I can’t decipher what he’s feeling. “Beth? As in the girl who just went missing?”
I nod, hoping my instincts are right, that I can trust him.
“She’s dead, even though no one has found her body yet. And she talks to me sometimes, and she told me what happened to you. About how you were in so much pain that you tried to …” I swallow hard. “That you tried to kill yourself. And I’m so sorry that you felt that way. I’m so sorry that I didn’t save you.” My control is splintering, and words are trickling from my tongue like blood is suddenly trickling from the featherlike wound on my wrist. I can feel it, the warmth dripping out of it as the seams pop open. Beth had said the answers were inside it. Is this what it is? Are the answers weeping out in blood?
“I was a terrible person, just bailing out on our friendship like that. And I’m so, so sorry. I really am. I feel awful that you were in so much pain. I should’ve helped you. I should’ve been a better friend. I should’ve …” I trail off as tears burn my eyes.
It’s like I’ve been carrying these words around with me for the last couple of weeks, and now it’s all rushing out of me.
My guilt.
My worry.
My sins.
“Har, calm down.” He lifts his hand from the shifter and places it on my cheek. “What happened to me wasn’t your fault. And it was a while ago. I’m not … I’m not hurting as much anymore.”
“But you’re still hurting,” I whisper. Again, it’s not a question, because I can feel his pain tearing through his veins. And mine.
He shakes his head, as if to deny, but I speak before he can even try.
“I know you are.” I put a hand on my chest. “Because I can feel it.”
Again, silence skips by. And again, I question if he’s going to think I’m insane.
“Feel it how?” he asks, not seeming as surprised as I thought he’d be.
“It’s inside me.” I trace my fingertip down my arm. “Underneath my skin, in my veins”—I touch my chest—“in my heart. I can feel what you’re feeling.”
Pressing his lips together, he looks away from me and slows down the car.
“What’re you doing?” I ask as he flips on the blinker and pulls over onto a turn out that gives a view of that stupid lake that looks so black right now that it nearly matches the night sky.
He doesn’t answer, shoving the shifter into park, then silencing the engine. He remains quiet, gazing out at the lake, and I start to worry that perhaps he’s debating what to do with the crazy person sitting in the seat beside him. But then he whispers, “I can see them, too.”
My eyes widen. “Beth and the dead girls?”
He shakes his head, his gaze gliding to me. “No, the shadows in the trees.”
My heart rate quickens, deafeningly inside my chest. “You see them, too?”
He gives a shaky nod. “Ever since I … since I died …” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Fuck, that’s the first time I’ve ever talked about this aloud.”
“Ever?” I ask, and he nods, opening his eyes. “How? I mean … don’t your parents know about it?”
His jaw tightens. “Of course they do. They’re the ones who … found me and took me to the hospital where I was revived. And once they made sure I was good and alive, they made sure to tell me how disappointed they were in me, and that if I wanted to make things right, I would keep my mouth shut about it.”
I shake my head, in complete shock. How can this be true? How can my parents’ best friends, who are—were—almost like a second set of parents to me, be that cold and cruel?
“I didn’t know they were like that.” Although, I did get to witness