Whispered Darkness by Jessica Sorensen Page 0,13
a bit of their cruelty the other day when Kingsley was arrested.
It was like they were different people. Perhaps that’s where Foster gets his ability to cover up his true identity. Or maybe, like with Foster, I’d been blind to who the Portersons really are.
“Most people don’t,” he mutters. “And they’re only like that with me. And only because Foster has manipulated them into thinking I’m a bad person. Maybe they’re right, though …”
“They’re not right,” I stop him right there. “At this point in my life, you’re like the only person I trust, which is saying a lot.”
His gaze sweeps across my face, as if he’s searching for signs that I’m lying. “How are you so sure you can trust me? I mean, I know I saved you but, for years, you seemed like you hated me, and I …” He trails off, staring out at the darkness, the pale moonlight reflecting in his eyes.
Since he hasn’t freaked out too much about everything else I’ve told him, I figure I’ll tell him everything. I just hope he doesn’t finally decide to freak out.
“Beth—the dead girl that I see sometimes—she told me that when you …” God, I’m probably going to sound crazy. I pick at my fingernails unable to look at him as I continue, “She said that when you saved me that night, our souls became intertwined, and that if I don’t figure out who killed all the girls who died here, you and I … will fade away.”
The air is so silent that I can hear my heart beating loudly inside my chest.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” I mutter without looking at him.
When he makes no effort to say anything, panic courses through me.
Then he’s fixing his finger underneath my chin and angling my head up to look at him. “You don’t need to panic … I believe you. I’m just trying to process everything.”
I give a shaky nod, looking into his eyes. “How do you know I’m panicking?”
He carries my gaze. “How do you think?”
“You can feel what I’m feeling, too?”
He nods. “I’ve been able to for almost a week now. I just didn’t know why and, honestly, I kind of wondered if maybe I was going crazy.”
Relief washes over me. “Well, if you’re going crazy, then so am I.”
“I don’t think either of us are going crazy. I am worried about what you said, though—that we’re going to fade if you don’t solve all the deaths.” He removes his finger from my chin. “Did she, by chance, say how to do this?”
“No, not really. Beth … she’s always so vague. All the dead girls are that I see.” It’s the first time I’ve talked about this aloud, and I’ll admit that even I think I sound crazy. “You really believe me?”
He trails his fingers up my face again then rests his palm against my cheek. “I really believe you.”
The truth of his words pours through me, melting my worries away. At least, some of them.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to do what she’s asking me to do, and I’ve been looking around on the internet and ended up talking to a person who knows about the shadows that are currently in the trees right now … They called them death stealers. But, anyway, this person also is supposed to know a lot about what happens to people when they die and come back to life. And they’re supposed to be setting up a meeting with me, but I haven’t heard back from them yet … And I know this probably sounds sketchy—trust me, I think it is, too, especially since they signed the email as Death—but it’s the only thing I can think to do right now since all Beth will tell me is that I need to solve the deaths, that I can trust you, and that I may have some sort of abilities …” I trail off, realizing I’m rambling and probably adding to my already potential crazy appearance.
When Kingsley makes no effort to say anything, I add, “I’m starting to sound crazy, aren’t I?”
“No. I’m just trying to process everything you just said.” He skims his finger along my cheekbone. “It’s a lot to take in, but what I’m really concerned about is you even considering the idea of meeting up with someone that you met online. And someone who calls themselves Death.”
“Well, I think they may have just used that alias because of the topic of our conversation,”