After roughly fifteen minutes of dreamily staring at her phone, Mia hops up from her bed and bounds out of her room, down the stairs, and to the front door. I follow but wait at the top of the landing; I’m a ghost, not a shadow. Anticipation rips my stomach to shreds.
That is, until Mia opens the door and Gabe stands on the welcome mat.
My ex-boyfriend? No, no, no. This has to be a mistake.
But there’s no mistaking the hug exchanged between those two, or the way Gabe’s arms linger around Mia for seconds longer than what’s considered a normal embrace. Or the fact that he briefly kisses her on the cheek.
My gut contracts, and a swell of nausea threatens to send bile up my throat. Didn’t she ask a lot of questions about Gabe? Isn’t that the reason I ended up in the car accident?
Red-hot waves of rage flow through me. My hands shake uncontrollably. I just want to punch something, possibly Mia and Gabe’s faces.
How can she do this? Gabe doesn’t surprise me. But Mia? Not Mia. I’m lying at the bottom of a gorge, nearly dead, while they stand here and kiss each other.
Mia ushers Gabe toward the stairs. Oh, no. Not only do they walk through me, they enter Mia’s bedroom, closing the door behind them. Well, if there’s one thing I’ve trained for, it’s walking through walls. I’ll make Sara proud before this journey is over with.
But my face smacks into the wooden door.
"justify">2em" align="justify">Concentrate, Flora, I hear Sara say. Use your energy wisely.
Wisely… Something about that word speaks volumes. What additional ways can I use my ability, other than walking through a door or a wall? I scan the living room and the kitchen. Bingo. There are so many breakable items in this part of the house; Mia and Laney’s mom has a special place in her heart for crystal. I practically fly down the stairs and stop in front of an elegant vase full of wilting, nearly-dead roses, and the irony doesn’t elude me. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on every ounce of energy within, imagining all of it spiking from my fingertips and causing the vase to shatter into itty bitty fragments.
“C’mon.” I grind my teeth, frustrated by my lack of output. Why isn’t this working? Sara made it sound easy when she trained us in that short amount of time. Hell, it was easy even when I tried the exercise on her front lawn.
Then I remember thinking of that prehistoric book hitting Laney’s face, and failing the test, miserably. Maybe that’s what’s happening now: deep down, I’m too upset by the fact that Mia and Gabe are schmoozing in her bedroom, with the door closed. I’m troubled by the fact that my best friend is no longer the person I thought she was, the person I’ve been friends with for years, the one who I’ve shared so many memories with. It’s as if none of those moments matter anymore, like she’s overlooked what’s important in life.
And maybe that’s just it. Maybe Laney and I are already dead, or nearly there. Maybe Sara sent us back so we can see what we’ve been missing. Living takes on an entirely new meaning once a person witnesses their existence slipping away. We are so close to saving ourselves, headed for a breakthrough in our world, yet we can’t be further from the reality that we might not make an impact whatsoever on the lives of our family and friends.
Right now, as I stand here in front of this beautiful crystal vase, I visualize it being the very force propelling my rescue into motion. And with that mental image comes relief and happiness. For now, I’ll take both emotions, because it’s better than existing in this lifeless dimension, wishing and hoping a miracle will happen.
Plus, I don’t want things getting too hot and heavy in Mia’s room, so I focus all of my energy on my fingertips and shatter the glass vase. My plan works like a charm. Mia and Gabe come barreling out of Mia’s room—Gabe in his boxers, and Mia in her bra and panties. Mia’s eyebrows crumple together in confusion, and Gabe pads quickly down the stairs, probably ready to face an intruder. But, of course, there isn’t one. Just me.
I think I can get used to this, and it’s basically a way for me to use revenge against Mia for betraying our friendship. I mean, how can she do this to me? How can she throw away all of our years of camaraderie over my ex-boyfriend? Best friends just don’t do something like that. Well, maybe she wasn’t a best friend after all. And maybe if she did this to ke ds o me, there are other things that I don’t know about. Things I don’t want to know about.
Is Laney aware of this? If she is, it probably slipped her below-average mind. She’d be the first to rub this in my face. Or maybe Mia’s really damn good at keeping secrets. Either way, it’s messed up.
Just for extra shits and giggles, and because I can’t help myself, I take my anger out on the rest of Mia’s mom’s crystal pieces, which are strategically placed around the living room. Her best collections sit atop the fireplace mantle, as accessories on built-in bookshelves, and even on her tables beside the couch. It’s like this room was made for me to destroy. One swipe. Two. The vases fly across the room, hitting the hardwood floor and smashing into pieces.
Although I can’t hear anything Mia and Gabe say, the look on their faces is satisfying enough. Mia’s mouth hangs open, and Gabe frantically runs around the room, as if he can search for the source of all the damage. What an idiot. I can’t believe I ever dated him. Mia’s lips move, only this time, she juts her finger into Gabe’s chest, like she’s accusing him of being the perpetrator. This is almost…gratifying.
I wish I could hear what’s being said; it’d be better than listening to this aggravating background noise comprised of crackles and pops. As much as I hate that Mia did this to me, it’s funny watching Gabe look at her like she’s crazy. He stomps up the stairs, taking two at a time, and disappears into Mia’s bedroom. When he emerges, his arms are full of his clothes. Mia’s own arms are flailing as she makes a desperate attempt to stop Gabe before he leaves. Too bad he’s having none of that. It looks like the guy can’t wait to get out of here, and quite frankly, I can’t say that I blame him. If I were in another person’s house and shit started breaking for no reason at all, I’d run out faster than a cheetah.
As the door slams in Mia’s face, she runs both sets of fingers through her hair, clearly confused as to what just happened. Assessing the broken crystal all over her living room floor, she strolls over to an area where most of the remnants lie. Mia bends down and picks up a shard, holding it up until it’s mere inches away from her eyes. I don’t really know what she’s doing, but she stares at the thing like it holds all the answers to what just transpired.
Use your energy wisely. But how? I’ve already made my presence known. What else can I possibly do to prove that there is an otherworldly specter visiting Mia’s house?
Mia’s art, advises a little voice in the back of my mind.
She painted an oil-based canvas last year. This one was supposed to be special, though. This one was of me and her, best friends forever. What better way is there to send a message than by punching a hole through the painting of us, letting her know I’m pissed?
Not wasting another moment, I bound up the stairs but hesitate at her door. Energy tingles down the length of my arms, across my torso, and through my legs, ending at my toe king king kins. I enter Mia’s room without a hitch. Most of her artwork is propped up in the corner of the room, but not the painting of us. No, she reserved a special spot for it on the wall, above her dresser. Votive candles adorn either side underneath. I swear it’s a shrine, which is kind of creepy now that I think about it.
Snatching the print, I concentrate on passing through the door with it in hand. It works. Mia is still cleaning up the mess downstairs, just like she cleaned up lamp shards when I was here before the accident. I place the painting on the stairway and bypass her in route to the kitchen. There are very few magnets on the fridge, but underneath one of those magnets is a notepad. Now if I can only find a pen… Unfortunately, that’s going to require more energy. I’m already drained from the two previous incidents. I have to remember that my energy isn’t unlimited; othe
rwise, I’ll be dead soon.
I wish my spirit form came with psychic powers, then I’d be able to figure out which drawer held a pen. I might spend all afternoon searching for the nearly-useless item, but by then I’ll drain all of my energy. And what good will a pen be if I’m already dead? Nada.
Good thing my luck hasn’t run out. There’s a spare felt tip lying on top of the counter, beside a bowl of fruit. The bad part? It’s in the opposite area the kitchen, which means I have to carry the pen all the way to the fridge, and then use it to write down a message on the notepad. That’s going to take in insane amount of energy.
Here goes nothing.
Energy creates an undercurrent flowing through my veins. Like a watery stream, it courses throughout my body, evaporating once it’s been used. If I use too much, there will be nothing left. If I use too little, it’s wasted. The balance between the two is important.
But what should I write? Mia, you’re a dirty hooker. Nah. Mia, you suck. Maybe, but still not good enough. Mia, how could you do this to me? I’m your best friend, the one person you share everything with, and you ruined our friendship over a guy. That might work. The problem is that I’d rather tell her my feelings face to face than from a sister dimension, as a ghost. My life is on the line, and I can’t let Mia and Gabe’s relationship interfere. I’ll deal with them later.
First things first, though: the painting.
Sprinting toward the stairs, I stop long enough to grab Mia’s art piece, stroll over to a spot in front of where she’s cleaning, and drop the canvas. She flinches, then frowns, squinting at her artwork. As she reaches for it, I snatch it up. God, how weird is it to see something floating in midair?
Steadily rising to her feet, Mia parts her lips. I hold the painting in one hand and punch a hole through it with the other. I half expect her to pass out, or run away like my brother, but she just stands there, unmoving. Is she in shock?
For a short moment, it’s like she can see my spirit standing in front of her. Every part of me tenses. How is this even possible? She mouths, “Flora,” before her eyes roll back in her head, and she collapses onto the living room floor.
I sigh. This is going to be the longest afternoon of my life.
e car,r">
e car,r">
e car,r">
chapter fourteen • laney
My idea of returning home did not involve landing in a dumpster. I mean, it’s not like I can smell anything in the Shadowlands, but it’s the idea that maybe I could’ve dropped onto a cleaner area of Briarhaven—like, I don’t know, maybe the mall?
And what the hell is that sound? It reminds me of when I was a young girl and horrible thunderstorms would knock out the cable. All of our channels would be stuck on white noise—a.k.a. Poltergeist heaven. We were lucky we didn’t have creatures popping out of our television screen.
Ugh. Whatever.
After sliding out of the oversized, metal garbage bin, I automatically brush myself off, but realize there’s nothing to brush off. Of course there isn’t. It’s not like the Shadowlands are the real world. Nothing is truly real here. Okay, maybe I can see and touch the same things I can in my world, but everything is still tinted gray, and there’s this constant static-y racket.
There’s also the part where I’m actually a ghost and nobody can see me, and now it’s my job to make them.
First things first, though, I have to figure out where I’m at. The alleyway I’m in seems familiar, but not familiar enough for me to recognize the backdrop. As I exit, I quickly look left and right, at the buildings I’m sandwiched between. On my right is Sulley’s, the neighborhood bar and grill. Every Friday night they have a live band and all-you-can-eat wings. On my left is Club Escape, where plenty of my friends have joined the party using fake IDs. They said sneaking in was more fun than the actual club experience, though.
At least I know where these buildings are; that makes finding my house, or Chase’s, a lot easier. But which one will I go to first? My parents aren’t home, and I’ll be lucky if I catch Mia. I guess Chase is my only option. Oddly, though, the details of where I live, and where Chase lives, are pretty fuzzy. Is this a side effect of being a ghost? If that’s true, why didn’t Sara tell us about this? To be honest, I’m not surprised. It’s not like we spent a lot of time together, and during that short period, all we basically did was learn how to walk through walls.
Which I owned, by the way, not Flora.
Speaking of Flora’s crazy ass, did she land in the same dumpster as me? Maybe she’s not far ahead. Pfft. Who am I kidding? I only spent, like, two years in Lichburn, waiting for my ticket to the Shadowlands. Flora’s probably haunted every house in Briarhaven before I ever made my grand entrance.
Okay, it wasn’t that grand, but whatever.
Focus, Laney. How will I ever get out of this place if I’m just standing in the entrance to the alley, reminiscing about the good times I had not so long ago? The answer: I won’t. So, I bolt into action.
One of the first things I notice about the street I’m on is how…dead it is. I’m guessing it’s not nighttime just yet; otherwise, the partygoers would be out and about, wasted. Alcoholic beverages would be sloshing over the edges of glass rims. The pavement outside would quake from the musical pulse next door. There’d be a line of people waiting to get inside the club, while others drive by to check out the scene.
But there’s not a single person on this street, except me, and I’m pretty sure I don’t count.
If I remember correctly, Chase’s house is a pretty good distance from here, but my house is closer. There’s a chance that Flora is there right now (it’s not like she has anywhere else to go). Maybe I can just start at my house and then move on to Chase’s. Since time is our worst enemy at the moment, I’m going to need all the minutes and seconds I can get, and that’ll be the quickest and easiest approach.
As I begin a quick stride down the unoccupied street, I can’t help but notice what a creepy place the Shadowlands is. Everything here is just as gray as Lichburn. The only noise I hear sounds like static, and there isn’t a sun, moon, or stars. Darker things, like trees, are nearly black, and lighter objects, like the sky, are gray.
Great. Now I exist in a big, drab box.
I shudder at the thought of living in this realm forever. Are there others like me, stuck here? Or am I all alone on this mission? The Shadowlands is so…empty. So depressing. Life can’t possibly exist in a confining place such as this. It’s, like, the exact opposite of what life’s about.
A single car passes me, but there’s something completely off. For a second, I can’t figure out what bothers me so much about it. Is it the fact that it zipped by and I almost didn’t notice? Or is that exactly why it bothers me—because I didn’t hear it?
I didn’t freaking hear it.
Oh, my God.
Is this a cruel joke, not being able to hear what occurs in the real world from this end? Am I being Punk’d? This is like the time one of my girlfriends decided it was perfectly normal to buy from a man selling Louis Vuitton purses out of the back of his trunk. She got gypped, which is exactly what’s happening to me right now. Sara never told me I wouldn’t hear what my family and friends say. I want to listen to their responses when I knock their favorite picture frame across the room.
I am five thousand percent done being a ghost.
On the flip side, though, I seriously need to find my way home. Pronto. I swear, if Mia isn’t on the premises, I’m going to have a conniption fit. Flora better be there, too. My parents aren’t supposed to return from their romantic getaway for another few days, so I’ve already mentally erased them off the people-who-might-be-in-my-house list.
The walk home seems like the longest in my life—even longer than when I have to park way out in left field, in the mall parking lot, during summertime. I end up being a sweaty, stinky mess when I reach the entrance. It’s not like I can help it; people like shopping in an oversized, air-conditioned building. But
this? This is just boring.
Before I realize it, there are plenty of cars whizzing by. Too bad I can’t hear a single one of them. It would help if, you know, I could flag one of them down for assistance instead of being invisible. It would also be helpful if I could ask someone for directions, because for whatever reason, my memory of home is starting to fade.
Oh, this can’t be good.
Hurry up, Laney, I tell myself, although it probably won’t help. By the time I arrive at my house, I may not even know who I am. That would suck: walking around my front lawn like a zombie, all straight-arms and drool. Thinking of myself in that way makes me pick up my pace. I tear up the road in a sprint, not bothering to look back. My house is just a few streets ahead. I know it is. At least I remember that much.
Turning the corner, brief flashes of memories catch me off-guard. The street sign temporarily shows its colors—a green background with white lettering—as I recall riding in a car and glancing up at it from the backseat. Mom and Dad are chatting in the front, while Mia stares out her window. God, that was so long ago.
And just as quickly as the memory happens, the street sign returns to gray. My skin chills, every hair standing on end. That was just too weird.
Shaking my head, I continue down the street. The houses, the cars…everything is déjà vu to me. It’s like sensing that I’m familiar with someone, or have been to a place before. Nothing’s really set in stone, but the hazy memories still lurk around the edges of my mind, resembling the fog in Lichburn—constantly there but easily forgotten.
Actually, that sounds like the motto for Flora’s life.
Now that I see my house, I notice Mia’s car parked in the driveway. This would’ve never been a good sign before the accident; she used to drink away whatever fake sorrow she created in her mind. Like, really? Save that for a school play or something. But right now, I kinda need my sister to realize I’m haunting her. How often can someone come back from a near-death experience and say they spooked their family or friends? Not often. Whether they actually believe me or not once I return is a different story.
Almost Dead (Dead, #1) Page 10