“They’re the Damaged. Neither Rosewood nor Caer want them,” she says, eventually. “They were once people who never believed in anything, their bodies so hollow not even their souls lived on. So, what little piece remains of their tainted spirit is forever trapped here.”
That sucks. I can’t imagine what’s left of me being stuck in a fog for the rest of my pathetic existence.
But she mentioned something about Rose and Carl? Are those people, or…? “I’m confused. Who are Rose and Carl?”
“Rosewood and Caer,” she corrects. “They are beyond this world, beyond Lichburn. When one’s heart is judged by the Elders, they are sent either to Rosewood, with its towering glass-and-pearl castles, or they are sent to the Floating Islands of Caer, where they remain caged in the Prison of Caerisle. I would not wish the latter on any being.”
“So, why can’t they just reside in Lichburn?” I move closer to the window, afraid that if I move too close, the Damaged might reach through the glass and carry me away. I’d be a part of them for eternity.
“Something’s wrong with their heart and soul, something deep. A defect. They aren’t nice, but they aren’t mean. They aren’t happy, but they aren’t sad. Our laws forbid them from residing here, so they’re ingested by the ever-present fog.”
“Like, eaten?” I swallow a hard knot in my throat. This is like a weird-ass 1930’s horror flick. My mind begins creating fake headlines: GIRL SWALLOWED BY FOG; FACES SEEN IN THE MIST; HAZE CONTROLS CITY. Though it’s totally compelling—like, I briefly want to be chewed up for experience purposes—I have to jerk my head away.
“They can’t harm you,” Sara says, watching the souls of the Damaged claw at the smothering expanse that contains them, “and they’re only visible during a certain time, mostly early morning.”
“But it’s so…sad,” I say, for lack of a better word.
“I’m afraid those are the rules.” Sara doesn’t go into detail about who makes the rules, but I have a feeling it might be the Elders she spoke about before—and I’m guessing they have nothing to do with guiding spirits.
I watch Sara, which is kind of creepy, I guess. She doesn’t move, but there’s something intensely philosophical about her silhouette. Like she’s trapped here and knows she can’t progress to a more beautiful, peaceful place. How long has Lichburn been her home? Did her family pass on long ago, leaving her behind? Will she ever see them again?
If that happens to me, if I end up on the same sinking ship, plummeting down, down, down to this realm, how would I feel? I can’t answer that. Even though I want to scream, Yes! I will miss my family and friends. Truth is: I don’t know that I would.
“Fifteen minutes,” Sara says, breaking the stillness in the air. She steps away from the window and sits on the armrest of the sofa, wrapping a throw around herself. Does the chill of death radiate all around her? Can she feel a person dying? That’d be the worst gift in the history of gifts.
“Will it hurt?” I realize this question might be a little vague, so I add, “Going to the Shadowlands, I mean. Will it hurt my spirit form, or my physical self?”
Sara shakes her head. “No, it won’t hurt. I can’t describe what it’ll be like for you, though. The experience is different for each person, because each person sees the world differently.”
That doesn’t help calm the sickness in the pit of Kn tto my stomach, or my heart pattering wildly inside my chest. Even my palms are damp. But I have to wonder what this event will be like for me. Is it beautiful? Frightening? Should I take Sara’s word that it won’t injure me?
“He’s fading,” Sara murmurs forlornly, her eyes drooping a little more. “It won’t be much longer.”
My throat feels like it’s having an allergic reaction, all swollen and itchy. Or maybe that’s my mind playing tricks on me.
“And what will happen before I get there?” I wheeze. “Another portal?”
“No. It just…happens. You’ll see.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
Sara eyes me for two very long seconds. “There’s nothing to worry about, Flora. You need to focus, use your energy wisely. Don’t expend it. Make your family believe.”
I nod a couple of times. “Yeah. Believe.” Why am I so nervous?
Sara’s eyebrows scrunch together, and her eyes dart back and forth, studying something I can’t see. Every last one of her facial features relaxes. She takes a moment to inhale deeply, eyes trained on the wooden floorboards. When she looks up, she pins me with her gaze, exclaiming, “It’s time.”
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chapter ten • flora
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
I can’t do this. I mean, I have to—it’s not like I want to die just yet—but I don’t know what’s next, and that’s the part that scares the shit out of me.
Before another pessimistic thought weaves through my mind, I’m sucked into a tunnel between Lichburn and the Shadowlands. Only, this tunnel swirls and twists and pulls me in every direction, like a tornado. I can see a glow at the end, or the top—I’m not sure which way is up right now. My right arm looks like it’s evaporating, similar to heat rising off pavement in the summertime.
I open my mouth to scream and crash onto land. Surrounding me is high chain-link fence, a diamond of dirt, and bleachers. Great. I’m at the baseball field. Now I have to walk miles to get home. It would’ve been so much easier if I fell onto my front porch.
Can’t ghosts just float? That would make traveling a lot smoother, especially since the Shadowlands isn’t as confined as Lichburn. Well, that’s how I felt when I was down there, anyway. But if the Shadowlands mimics our world, then it’s ginormous.
I stand up, ready to brush myself off, but there’s no soil on my pants. Because, Nn tto
Absorbing my surroundings, I notice everything in this world is tinted gray, and just as depressing as Lichburn. The trees, the ground, the sky—everything is dull and lifeless. I had hoped I’d at least see the world—my world—like I did when I was here before: in color.
And what the hell is that noise? It sounds like static, low and crackly, like someone has a TV stuck on a channel that isn’t there.
Whatever. If I’m going to make it, I can’t bitch and moan. Laney’s stuck in Lichburn, while I have my second chance. How selfish will I be, standing here and complaining about the afterlife when I’m not dead yet?
Okay, which direction is my house from here? Wait… What day is it? Stupid, stupid, stupid. That’s something I should’ve asked Sara before I was transported back. Even though they don’t have a sun, moon, and stars, they still have day and night in Lichburn, but that doesn’t mean it’s the same as my world.
“Well,” I say to myself—because who else is gonna hear me?—“there’s only one way to find out.”
Home.
My destination.
It’d be nice to know that my family does care about me, that I can return and they’ll have a search party set up. But I have to be realistic. They may think I’ve run away, and that means all they can do is file a missing persons report after the first forty-eight hours. How ironic is it that I’m right under their noses, not fleeing at all?
I begin to walk. Everything’s so hazy in the afterlife, though—and unclear in more ways than one. Shapes and places aren’t firmly set, like they’re just wisps of my imagination. After I realize the ground isn’t really shifting, I try to remember which way is home and figure out why my memory of home is muddled.
Sara didn’t tell me about these side effects.
I’m completely alone, too. Sara’s not here. Laney’s not here. I have to make this happen. Me. But with only a few days to do it, I second guess whether convincing my family can be done. They might be camping with the Reynolds family, as they often do on weekends.
I sigh. Sara wasn’t kidding when she enforced the energy rule. I feel so drained. So exhausted. My ankles feel like weights are fastened to them
, and I’ve only made it to the main road. My mind doesn’t want to function, either. Like, I’m telling myself to continue walking, but all I can think is: where’s my home, and how Someey’ll do I get there from here?
The street I’m on is named Orzo Avenue. It doesn’t stir up any memories, so I don’t know if I’m headed in the right direction, but I’ll eventually end up someplace I’m familiar with.
“Why didn’t you tell me how hard this is, or that I have static accompanying me?” I call out, like Sara’s an illusionist and will suddenly appear in a cloud of smoke.
A car drives by, unaware I’m here. In another dimension. But still here.
If I live, how will I explain this?
There are other, bigger things that require explanation: I can’t tell what the weather is like. I can’t see the sun or the moon or the stars. I can’t hear birds serenading anyone who listens. I don’t feel snowflakes landing softly on my cheeks and dissolving into tiny droplets of water, as they always do around this time of year. No sound from the dead leaves crunching underneath my shoes, or the car that just passed by. How can I not hear anything? Except the maddening static, of course. How will I know what my parents are talking about, or if they’re searching in the right area? This is bad. Very bad.
Okay, I need to think, remember something. Remember this street. Remember these houses. Remember a car.
What car did I drive? Was it brand new? Was it beat up, with a bumper hanging off? I don’t know. The more I try to recall what my life was like before, the more energy leaves my weak spirit, and the more I seem to forget.
Why can’t they have spirit guides in the Shadowlands? It’d make maneuvering around this space so much easier. Like taxi cab drivers for the dead—or almost dead, in my case. I’m trying not to think about it, but it’s hard when every second I’m semi-alive, I’m thismuchcloser to dying.
The road tees off with another road and more houses. Even though I can’t hear a damn thing, I can still see. There’s a main highway two streets over. Cars whoosh past brick fences, speeding toward their destinations. That has to be something! I mean, I haven’t seen much in the past two blocks (nothing that will lead me home, anyway), so maybe if I follow that road, I’ll get there.
I break into a sprint, plowing over fences, through shrubbery, and past angry dogs, stopping as soon as I reach the street. It looks…familiar. Did I used to drive on this? It’s not far from the high school. Maybe someone I can identify with is in one of those cars.
So, I propel myself to do the craziest thing ever (other than visiting the afterlife): I stand in oncoming traffic.
Every time a car travels through me, I duck my head a little to see their face. Not the best idea, but definitely not the worst. Since I don’t have much time and all… S/fotheir face
These faces don’t register any particular moment in my mind, though. Just normal people who have no clue a lost, almost-dead girl stands in the middle of the road as they pass right through her. Too bad I can’t make myself materialize so I can see their terrified expressions. Well, scratch that; it might be a bad idea. An accident got me here in the first place, and I don’t wish the same crappy turn of events on someone else.
Standing here and waiting for someone I know won’t get me anywhere. I have to continue moving, until I find my home. What if I don’t ever find it? What if that’s the catch—once a person’s spirit returns to this realm, they slowly begin to forget who they really are?
My heart drums in my chest, and a slow warmth spreads throughout my body, from head to toe, as Derek passes me. There’s a four-way stop up ahead, and I hope he’ll halt long enough that I can jump into the backseat. Kicking up my heels as fast as they can go, I break into a sprint. A memory surfaces.
“You ready?” Dad asks Derek, as they stand around the kitchen while Mom finishes getting ready.
Derek smiles and nods. “Oh, yeah. I can’t wait.”
Dad clears his throat. “Now, you know there are rules we need to discuss once everything is finalized. No texting while driving… No drinking then driving…”
“Dad, I got it.” Derek chuckles. “I know. I’ll be all right.”
But Dad doesn’t seem so certain when he exhales loudly.
Mom descends the stairs in a rush. “Sorry I’m keeping us. Is everyone ready?”
“No,” I mumble. Dad heard me.
“Flora, your brother happily tagged along when we purchased your car. You can at least do the same for him. It’s a family event.”
“He tagged along because you guys made him, not because he had a choice,” I retort.
Mom scoffs. “Oh, please. Come on.” She motions for everyone to follow her out the front door, always taking the lead.
They bought him a used, gray car, and I didn’t talk to them for two weeks after. The car they purchased for him was newer, fancier, than what they had purchased for me. Mine barely ran after they bought it. The way they treat me isn’t fair. Why is he constantly adored and I’m not?
Derek halts at the stop sign. Focusing my energy equally throughout my body, I slide through the car door and onto the rear seat. The floorboards are covered in empty fast-food boxes, wrappers, and plastic cups, and mounds of gym shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers conceal the backseat. I bet if I had the ability to smell this car, it S th’d be one festering, sweaty mess.
Ew.
Picking up his cell phone from one of the front cup holders, Derek answers a phone call. Unable to read lips, I have no idea what the conversation is about, or who he might be talking to. He returns his phone seconds later.
I don’t recognize the direction we’re traveling, so the street signs, the houses—nothing revives any strong memories. That is, until we pull into the parking lot of the local grocery store. Derek pulls up beside a truck my parents sit in, out in the dead area, where nobody parks. Dad’s window descends at a slow rate, and Mom leans over so she can see Derek and join in on the conversation. Are they searching for me?
After a brief discussion, all three of their heads nod in unison. Mom and Dad wave at Derek, who pulls out of the parking space. Um, where are we going? If we continue driving around Briarhaven, I won’t get anywhere. What am I going to do, throw his cell phone at him? Actually, that’s not the worst idea I’ve ever come up with…
But Derek doesn’t continue to endlessly drive around. Minutes later, he pulls into our driveway. The corners of my lips pull upward into a wide grin. I can’t believe I’m home. For awhile, this place felt distant, like I’d never reach it. Yet, here I am.
I stare at the large willow tree in our yard, and fragments of memories emerge—wearing a bright red coat as a kid, blowing bubbles at dusk, eating chocolate-and-vanilla ice cream in the tree’s shade, playing hide-and-go-seek with Derek. I blink a few times, postponing the tears. Maybe I’m not my parents’ favorite child, but at least I have parents. At least I have a family. A home.
I hop out of the car and wipe my dampened cheeks. Inside, Derek plops down on the couch, turning on the TV. He flips through a few channels, shakes his head, and sets the remote on the coffee table. His eyes wander to the backyard, where he holds a steady gaze. Is he worried about me?
Stop standing here, wasting time, and do something!
Picture frames, an end table, a lamp, knickknacks—I search the room frantically for something to smack, or toss, or break. Controlling my energy, I reach over and press the power button on the remote. Derek jerks his head around, frowning at the flat screen. He picks up the remote and switches on the television for a second time. Once more, I touch the power button. Derek jumps to his feet, tossing the device like it’s contaminated with a terrible disease. His attention shifts from the remote to the TV, which he glares at like it might be the culprit. He ambles to the entertainment center and pushes it away from the wall. Disappearing behind the clunky thing, he checks the wiring, emerging seconds later, scratching his head.
I snort and press the power button again.
Dere
k mouths, “What the…” His hands rest on top of his head, and he slowly backs away from the living room furniture.
< Sn="an>Ha! He’s officially freaked out. What else can I do? This is kind of fun.
I begin examining the kitchen for something useful. Movement catches my eye, and I peek around the wall. Derek’s gone.
Um, where did he go? I dart upstairs, to his bedroom. He’s not in there. Running past my room, he’s not in there, either. Where else can he be? Oh, shit. What if I freaked him out so badly he left? I bolt for the front door.
“Oh, please be here. Please don’t leave,” I mumble.
Sprinting through the front door, I scan the driveway. Derek has backed out and tears off, leaving residual smoke from his tires. There’s no way I’ll be able to catch up. Oh, my God. What have I done? I’m an idiot.
Way to be subtle. You should’ve just written him a note.
Damn it. Now what do I do? Head back to the grocery store and hope to see my parents again? Go to the intersection where I first saw Derek? Make an attempt to find Mia’s house? What if I lose my sense of direction on the way to these places?
Wow. I’ve screwed myself.
My best option is to revisit the way I came and try to make it to the four-way stop. It’s a busy intersection, so maybe I’ll see a familiar face from school, or one of Mom and Dad’s friends. Or Mia.
The main stretch of roadway is nearby, only two blocks from my house. I’ve already wasted time on Derek. I can’t waste anymore. What’s the easiest solution? Hitchhiking.
I jog the whole way. The street opens up to the key area I need to be in for this to work. A white Honda advances toward me, and I bend my legs, ready to jump. I leap toward the car…and smack into the frame. Falling backward onto the pavement, I lie frozen in disbelief. Ugh. This isn’t going how I planned. In my head, I make it look easy.
Almost Dead (Dead, #1) Page 7