Ihad known the woman for all of two days, and I couldn't get her out of my head,and why? What the hell was so special about her? What had she done to earn sucha place of prestige in my picky mind? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that wasunacceptable.
Rickstumbled into the kitchen at half past two in the morning, when he noticed meslumped over the counter, with my head in my hands and an array of photographsand paperwork laid before me. He stopped for a moment, staring in my direction,before asking if I was all right.
“Fuckin'wonderful,” I muttered, sitting up and pushing my hair back with both hands.
“That'sconvincin'.”
Ilooked at him, eyes narrowed and angry, and asked, “Why'd ye have to mentionAileen?”
Inthe dim light of the kitchen, I watched his movements stutter on the way to therefrigerator, as he replied, “Iwasnaeaware she wasa secret.”
“Sheisn’t, but she's notyerbusiness to mention,either.”
Hestudied me a moment, staring from behind his thick glasses, then said, “If yefancy her so damn much, ye should dosomethin’ aboutit.”
Shakingmy head, I asked, “What are yegoin’ on about?”
“Oh,ye ken exactly what I’mtalkin’ about,” he hissed inreply. “In the past few days, I’ve seen yemopin’around more than whenyerwife leftye. So, just saysomethin’ toher. Makeyermove.”
“I’mworkin’ for her,” I muttered, turning back to thescrapbook of pictures. “There’snothin’ more to itthan that. Once she leaves, that’s it.”
“Isthat what it is, then? Ye’re afraid of what’ll happen once she’s gone?”
“I’mnotafraid,” I insisted confidently, despite it being bullshit. “I justacknowledge what is real. Once this is over, and itwillbe over soon,she’sgoin’ back to her home, and I’mgonnabe here. So, why sayanythin’when it’s nevergonnaend well?”
Slowly,he grinned, and I demanded to know what the hell he was smiling about. “I’msmilin’ because ye admit it,” he replied smugly. “Ye fancyher.”
“Ah,go back to bed, ye shite,” I grumbled.
“I’mgoin’. Buty’know, Alec,”he said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “just because she’sleavin’doesnaemean yecannaeenjoy it while she’s here. It’s better to misssomeone than to spendyerlifewonderin’what might’ve happened if ye’d just given it a chance.”
Withthat, my nosy friend hurried back to his room, and I spent the rest of themorning, wondering if he was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ROSIE
“Rosie,”she called, her voice echoing through the blackened night. “Rosie, I’m socold.”
“Whereare you?!” I called out, running through the woods, and dodging the branchesthat stretched out toward me. Clawing, scratching, grabbing with theirfinger-like branches. Pulling against my thin t-shirt and pants.
“I’mso cold, Rosie. Please, please, find me.”
“Gracie,I don’t see you!”
“I’mso cold—wait, no! No, stop! Please, stop, you’re hurting me! You’re—Rosie!Please hurry! Find me! Hurry!”
“Gracie!”I screamed, running now. Frantic. Crying. Tripping over roots and rocks and myown damn, stupid feet. “Gracie! Where are you?!”
Thenight wasstilland a chilling silence shrouded theforest. The call of thepitch blackcrows overheadcould barely be heard over the quiet. It was as if I had now been submerged inwater, while I continued to run, making my way through the thick of the woods,effortlessly dodging the branches that beckoned me into their foreboding arms.It was as if I knew this forest and its inhabitants, like I knew their everytwist and turn and twig. I kept running, looking for her, and calling her name,with the fear that I would never find her again. But then, I came upon anabrupt clearing, and there she was. Grey and draped elegantly over the smooth,flat stone. The back of her head was visible to me, crushed and bloody; herhair, matted down against what was left of her scalp. Shards of bone splinteredin jagged pieces, peeking out from between strands of hair and crusty,blackened blood. Then, in a state of paralyzing fear, I watched as her headslowly began to turn until her unblinking eyes stared out at me. She looked acrossthe clearing, as if to figure out who had entered her open, natural tomb, andthen, one hand lifted to point directly at me.
“Youdid this.”
Ibolted upright in bed and felt my hair glued to my forehead with sticky sweat.I gasped for air, clutched at my chest, and frantically reminded myself how tobreathe.
“Itwas a nightmare,” I said breathlessly. “It was just a nightmare. You’re okay,you’re okay …”
Butwas I, really? Lying was never going to convince me that was the truth, and Iflopped back against the pillows as tears formed and fell into the pillow.Closing my eyes, I saw her again, my sister and her cold, lifeless stare. Theblood congealed against her once beautiful hair and the pale, blue color of hercracked lips. Snapping my eyes back open, I returned to a seated position,knowing damn well I wasn’t sleeping anytime soon. I jumped out of bed to throwon a sweatshirt and hurried out the door, as if the ghost of my sisterwasinhabiting the room and not the woods several milesaway.
