CHAPTER 7 HER
HER THROAT IS TIGHT, ALMOST AS IF INVISIble hands strangle down the words inside her. But it isn’t some strange, supernatural force urging her to keep her death a secret. It’s fear, plain and simple. Her murder—the blood and death and unanswered screams—is the sharpest memory of her life. She has no idea how much time has passed since she died, or whether anyone in this town was alive when it happened. A boy she kissed? A favorite teacher? Her parents? But after the week of wandering the grounds, of not knowing her name or who bought her the shoes on her feet, of feeling a rising panic stirred up by the sheer emptiness inside, knowing something about her life—even that it’s over—was a bittersweet relief.
But whereas the human rules are always so straightforward—priority number one: stay alive—rules after death are a complete mystery. Was she somehow responsible for what happened to Joe? It feels that way. Worry fills her hollow chest with an icy chill at the thought that she could hurt someone without meaning to.
Now one thing is for sure: The only thing keeping her from being completely alone in this world is the nervous boy sitting next to her. And she does have a story to tell. It might be short and unreal and full of holes, but she can’t keep it from him much longer. The question is whether he’ll want to have anything to do with her once he hears.
“Lucy?” Colin asks, ducking to reclaim eye contact. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you have to talk. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“No, I’m putting the words together.” She smiles weakly at him. Swallowing down her apprehension, she begins. “I woke up by the lake a few weeks ago.” She points behind them, over her shoulder. “The day I saw you? I had only just stumbled off the trail.”
His first reaction is silence, and it reverberates dully between them. She chances a look at his profile; he’s squinting as if translating the words in his head. “Sorry. I don’t know what you mean,” he says finally. “You fell asleep out there? In the woods?”
“I appeared there,” she says. “I don’t know if I fell from the sky, or materialized out of thin air, or if I’d been sleeping there for a hundred years or a day. I woke up with no memories, no belongings, nothing.”
“Really?” he asks, his voice high-pitched and shaky. He meets her eyes then, studying. She sees his expression cloud with something. Anxiety, maybe fear.
“Please don’t be scared,” she whispers. “I’m not going to hurt you.” At least, I don’t think I am. She slips her hands into her lap, as if they might be capable of something she hasn’t yet discovered.
He shifts back, his angular jaw clenched tight, and it’s clear in his expression the thought hadn’t occurred to him until she’d said it.
She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m not doing a good job explaining. See, I think I know why I don’t remember anything and why it’s hard to pick things up and why I don’t need food or sleep or—your sweatshirt.” She looks up at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Licking her lips, her eyes pulsing with anxiety, she says, “I’m pretty sure I’m dead.”