The Edge of Forever

by Melissa E. Hurst

  But even the sight of him doesn’t help. I’m hollow. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asks, falling into step beside me.

  For a moment, the old instinct flares and I almost say yes. “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  The thought of talking about Naomi again nauseates me. “I just got back from the police station. The girl who’s been missing for the past few weeks was found dead this morning. A jogger found her body in some woods down in Walton County.”

  “That’s the girl Trevor broke up with before he started harassing you, right?” I nod, and Bridger runs his hands through his hair. “Why did the police want to see you?”

  My voice sounds flat as I explain what Trevor said to me.

  We stop in front of my bedroom, and Bridger places his hand on my shoulder. His touch sends a wave of warmth through my body. “Listen, I know you’re blaming yourself, but you can’t do that.”

  “But what if I’d said something sooner?” I ask, putting voice to another fear that crossed my mind on the way home. “Trevor told me he was going to take care of the problem with Naomi on Thursday, before she disappeared. She might still be alive if I’d told somebody.”

  Bridger shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Maybe it was her time to go.”

  I give him an incredulous look. “How can you say that? She was murdered. I could’ve prevented her death if I hadn’t been so stupid.”

  “Nobody can predict the future.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Please, try to stop worrying. There’s nothing you can do about it,” he whispers.

  His gaze is so intense, almost anguished. I can’t look him in the eye anymore. I don’t understand why he’s being so nice, especially since I’m partially to blame.

  “Alora, look at me,” he says.

  I have to pry my gaze from my feet to meet his steady stare. He seems to be searching for some kind of answer, one that I’m sure I don’t have.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  I want to protest, but he places a single finger over my lips. They tingle under his touch.

  “Just hear me out. Do you know for certain that Trevor killed Naomi?” he asks.

  “No, but the chief indicated whatever Trevor said to him isn’t adding up. And what about the things he said to me?”

  “That’s not proof. Until you hear for sure he’s been charged, don’t assume anything. You never know, someone else could’ve killed Naomi.”

  That thought never occurred to me. It just seemed so obvious Trevor was the one. What if the real murderer is still out there? That’s not exactly reassuring, but for some reason it makes me feel a bit better. Because if that’s true, it would let me off the guilty hook. But I doubt that’s the case.

  “Look, I’m going to go lie down for a while.” I start to enter my room, but the expression on Bridger’s face stops me. “Did you want something?”

  He rubs the back of his neck. “It can wait.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He gives me the smile that shows his dimples. “Yeah. You’ve had a rough day. I’ll talk to you when you get up.”

  “Okay, give me an hour and I’m all yours.”

  As he walks way, he casts a wistful glance back over his shoulder at me. I almost call out for him to come back.

  When I’m in my room, it dawns on me that Bridger might have found something important, but he kept it from me because he knew I was too upset. Yet another reason to feel guilty. I sit on the bed and try to clear my mind, but I can’t. An image has been stuck in my head since I left the police station—that of Naomi’s decomposing body lying out in the open. Of course, the chief couldn’t show us pictures of the crime scene, but my mind’s been doing its worst.

  After a half hour of trying to sleep, I give up. I’d thought being alone would help, but something about my room is too suffocating. I need air. I need to run. I change into some shorts and running shoes and go downstairs.

  Aunt Grace is in the kitchen, pressing a glob of ground beef into a thick patty. “Hey, sweetie. Do you feel better?”

  “Sort of. I wanted to let you know that I’m gonna run for a while.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I’m not crazy about you going off too far, at least until this mess with Trevor is sorted out.”

  She’s thinking the same thing I am—how going to the river alone isn’t safe for me anymore.

  “I’ll stay close to the house, or I might run by the highway.”

  She thinks for a moment then heaves a sigh. “Fine. But don’t stay gone long. Supper will be ready soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back in a half hour, tops.”

  Outside, I cast a longing look toward the path to the river. Chances are Trevor won’t ever follow me out there again. But I don’t want to go there by myself, not anytime soon. And that makes me so angry. The jackass has taken away the one place I’ve always been able to go to feel better.

  I jog down the driveway. I almost turn back when I reach the road, thinking Trevor or someone else in his family could drive by at any time, but they’d be stupid to stop and confront me. And I’m really not ready to go back home yet. I turn right and run toward town. The inn is about a half mile past the city limit. It won’t take long to get there.

  By the time I reach the WELCOME TO WILLOW CREEK sign, sweat beads across my forehead and down my back. But I feel a lot better. My head is clearer and the sluggish feeling that’s been strangling me since I found out about Naomi is gone. I’m almost to my driveway again when I see a familiar truck racing toward me.

  Trevor’s truck.

  “Oh no,” I whisper. I look around wildly, but there’s nowhere I can go, nowhere to hide. Maybe he won’t recognize me.

  But apparently I don’t have any luck.

  His tires squeal as he hits the brakes. I’m frozen in place. I hope someone drives by soon.

  My pulse is racing by the time Trevor gets out of the truck. He stalks toward me, pointing his finger. “You bitch! What did you tell the police?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Liar,” he hisses. “Don’t even think about trying to get out of this. You’re gonna fix things. Now.” He’s less than a foot from me, his face contorted in rage.

  The roar of an approaching car draws our attention. A flicker of hope surges through me. I’ll do something to catch their attention so Trevor will have to leave me alone.

  A small, black car comes into view. Immediately the hopeful feeling evaporates—it’s Kate. She slows as she nears us, but when she realizes Trevor is talking to me, she shoots off again.

  When she’s gone, Trevor says, “Get in the truck.”

  “No!” Has he lost his mind? That’s the last thing I’d ever do.

  But he doesn’t give me a choice. He checks to make sure no other cars are coming and then grabs me by the arm, his fingers digging in my flesh, and drags me toward his truck.

  “Let me go!”

  He yanks the door open and shoves me inside. I try to get out, but he fixes me with a frigid glare. “If you move a muscle, you’ll regret it.”

  My body is shaking as Trevor climbs in. He floors the accelerator and the truck fishtails before lurching forward.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask, my voice sounding hoarse.

  “I don’t know what lies you told the chief, but I did not kill Naomi. Hell, she begged me to protect her. She claimed somebody was following her, but I didn’t believe it. I just figured it was a trick to get me back.” His voice cracks on the last word.

  I stare at him, shocked. Naomi thought somebody was following her? I think back to that day I saw her arguing with Trevor at school. I definitely heard the word “followed,” but I’d just assumed she was talking about following Trevor to Java Jive that day he met me there. What if I was wrong? Could there have really been someone else following her? Someone who murdered her?

  I turn away from Trevor and try to force down the pan
icky feeling rising in me. And that’s when I notice how fast he’s going. The scenery passes by in a blur of greens and browns. All I can think about is what will happen to us if he loses control. I want to scream at him to slow down. As if that’ll do a lot of good. There’s no reasoning with someone who’s as upset as he is.

  “You know, I really did like you for a while,” he finally says.

  I just hug my arms tightly against my chest.

  “And I can’t believe you, sitting there all stuck-up like you don’t give a shit about anybody. I thought you might’ve been shy or whatever, but I was wrong. You’re just happy throwing wild accusations out there when you don’t even know what you’re talking about.” He looks at me with eyes that are cold. Dead. “I should’ve listened to Kate. Hell, I should’ve listened to Naomi.”

  That hurts. I’ve had enough to put up with in my life and he’s twisting things around to make me sound like the worst person alive. But I’m not sure how he’d react if I stand up for myself. I need to get him to calm down.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “You’re sorry! You go and tell a bunch of lies to the cops and that’s all you have to say for yourself?” He jerks the wheel to turn at the intersection by the school, then yells, “I was doing you a favor by asking you out. You should’ve thanked me, and then you had to act all high-and-mighty. Or was it because of that new boyfriend of yours? He must be really good if you’d pick a scrawny nothing like him over me.”

  His words make it clear he thinks something not so innocent is going on between Bridger and me. That pisses me off. But still, I remain silent.

  I blink back tears as I stare ahead. The light at the approaching intersection turns yellow.

  My eyes are drawn to the accelerator. Trevor still has it floored. He’s not letting up. My mouth opens to ask him to slow down. And then I see it.

  A car speeding toward the intersection from the right.

  I snap my gaze back up at the now red light. I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I was home. Anywhere but here. I just want to be safe.

  I don’t want to die.

  31

  BRIDGER

  MAY 6, 2013

  “Have you seen Alora?” I ask Grace when I get downstairs. I checked her room first, but it was empty.

  Grace looks up from her phone. “She went for a run. I was just texting her because she’s late. She was supposed to be back ten minutes ago.” Grace tries to keep her voice light, but worry is etched across her face.

  A nervous flutter fills my stomach. “Did she take the river trail?”

  “No, she said she was going to run along the highway.”

  “I’ll look for her,” I say. It’s all I can do to keep from tearing out of the house.

  As I run down the driveway, I wish I could just shift to the highway already. Horrible thoughts race through my mind. All pertaining to that dickhead and his obsession with Alora. I tried to make Alora feel better by reminding her that someone else could’ve murdered that ghost. But my gut was telling me the whole time that it had to be Trevor. Yet one more mistake I made back in my time. I should have studied every homicide around here in the months prior to Alora’s death date to see if there was a pattern.

  I’m a failure. Dad wouldn’t have made that kind of mistake.

  I don’t see Alora when I get to the end of the driveway. I activate my DataLink tracker. Red dots blink on the holographic image, but they’re all concentrated in housing units. A dot is speeding toward me from town. I look up to find an auto heading my way.

  I study the dots again. Alora wouldn’t visit one of her neighbors. She’s never done that in the time I’ve been here. She doesn’t have any other friends. But it doesn’t make sense for her to not be around here.

  Unless someone took her.

  I walk a short way along the side of the road toward Willow Creek. Then I freeze. Skid marks streak the side of the road, along with torn grass where someone sped away.

  I run back the inn to let Grace know what I’ve found. And I swear, if Trevor has Alora, I don’t know if I can stop myself from hurting him.

  “I’m gonna kill him,” Grace says again as we hit the city limits.

  We’re heading to the police station. Even though we don’t have proof, we’re both positive Trevor took Alora. He must have seen Alora on the side of the road and forced her to get in his auto. But where did he take her?

  We pass Alora’s school, but soon reach a stalled line of autos snaking up the road ahead of us.

  Grace frowns. “Good grief, I should’ve taken one of the side streets.” She stretches her neck forward and then peers over her shoulder. “There’s no way I can turn around.”

  I roll my window down and lean out. The air smells of smoke and gasoline. I can barely make it out, but it looks like a pile of twisted metal is sitting under the traffic light. Flames lick at the sides. Several firefighters hose it with jets of water. People in the other autos are gawking out their window. A few are standing at a barricade that’s been set up.

  Grace rolls down her window and gestures to an older woman coming back from the barricade. I recognize her from the bakery Alora took me to a few times. “Hey, Mrs. Randolph,” she says.

  “Oh, hello, Grace.”

  “What’s going on up there?”

  Mrs. Randolph shakes her head. “It’s terrible. A truck ran the red light and was broadsided by a car. So sad.”

  “Do you know who they were?”

  “Well,” Mrs. Randolph says, looking back at the wreckage. “The man who was in the car died on impact. He was just passing through town. But the other was the Monroe boy.”

  I’ve experienced moments twice before when it feels like time has stopped. Both times I couldn’t breathe. The first was when I found out Dad was dead. The second was when I found out Vika had died.

  And now.

  Grace’s voice is shrill as she asks, “You mean Trevor Monroe?”

  “Yes. He ran the red light.”

  A red hovercraft-type vehicle appears overhead. Its blades roar and pulse the air. It lands in the parking lot just ahead of us.

  Grace tears out of the truck and runs toward the barricade. I follow close behind, my heart feeling like it could explode from my chest. Grace tries to push through, but an officer blocks her.

  “You don’t understand,” Grace says, tears running down her cheeks. “I think my niece is in there.”

  “Ma’am, if you’ll calm down, I’ll see what I can find out. But I can’t let you go up there. Do you understand?”

  She nods and turns to me when the officer walks away, talking into an antiquated handheld communication device. “I should’ve made her stay at the house. This is all my fault.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions. We don’t know for sure she was in there,” I say, hoping that’s true. But I can’t suppress the feeling of dread that’s gripped me.

  This can’t be happening. If Alora is dead, that means I’ve changed history. I’ve screwed up the timeline. I want to die. I run my hands through my hair and try to force myself to calm down. To breathe slowly. Grace and I, along with the other nosy ghosts, watch as the medics push a stretcher covered with a white sheet and load it onto the ambulance. Another stretcher is loaded on the red aircraft.

  But if Alora wasn’t in there, where is she?

  The officer strides back to us, his face hardened in irritation. “Ma’am, I don’t know where your niece could be, but she was not in the truck.”

  Grace blinks a few times. “What? I’m positive she was with Trevor.”

  Tires squeal somewhere behind us. Everyone turns around, trying to locate the source of the noise. A white auto has just parked behind us and three people spill out.

  The rest of the Monroes.

  They run up to the barricade, looking frantic.

  The man yells, “Where’s my son?”

  I recognize the woman and girl with him as Trevor’s mom and sister. Both are sobbing uncontrollably a
nd don’t even glance our way. Officers usher them to a group of medics huddled near the ambulance.

  After the red aircraft lifts off, a few people head back to their own autos. Most stay. Grace is still as a statue. She’s fixated on what’s left of the autos lying in the intersection. It’s a miracle Trevor survived.

  The Monroe family staggers from the ambulance shortly after the red aircraft departs. The man has one arm wrapped tightly around Celeste and the other around Kate. It’s so strange seeing Celeste like that. I think back to a few weeks ago. When she wilded out and accused Alora of trying to ruin her son. And yet I feel sorry for her. For all of them. I know what they’re going through.

  Grace must think the same thing. She steps forward and says, “Celeste, Rob, I’m sorry about what happened. If there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know.”

  They stop and look at Grace as if she’s something that should be scraped off the bottom of their shoes. Rob says, “I’ll tell you what you can do. If I find out your niece is responsible for this, you better get yourself a lawyer.”

  “Wait, what? How could she be responsible? I was on the way to the police station because she never came back from her run and we found skid marks by the side of the road. I figured your son must’ve forced her in his truck.”

  “That’s funny,” Rob says, his eyes slitting together. “Because the paramedic told us the first thing Trevor said when they pulled him out was it was Alora’s fault.”

  I swear, I’d punch this jerk if I could. Now I see where Trevor gets his arrogance. But before I can say anything, he leads Celeste and Kate back to their auto.

  Grace stares after them. “I don’t understand. If they claim this is Alora’s fault, then where is she?”

  “I don’t know.” At least I’m not lying, because I’m positive Alora shifted if she was in the truck.

  But where did she go?

  32

  ALORA

  MAY 6, 2013

  I crack open my eyes, scared of what I’ll see. I’m stunned to find it’s night. The moon is a thin sliver, a smile mocking me.

  I’ve had another blackout.

  My skin crawls. I try to sit up, but my body doesn’t cooperate. Then the events from this afternoon invade my thoughts. Learning of Naomi’s death. Trevor forcing me into his truck. The car hurtling toward us at the intersection.