HER THROAT IS TIGHT, ALMOST as if invisible hands strangle down the words inside her. But it isnât some strange, supernatural force urging her to keep her death a secret. Itâs fear, plain and simple.
Her murderâthe blood and death and unanswered screamsâis 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 lifeâeven that itâs overâwas a bittersweet relief.
But whereas the human rules are always so straightforwardâpriority number one: stay aliveârules 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 canât keep it from him much longer. The question is whether heâll want to have anything to do with her once he hears.
âLucy?â Colin asks, ducking to reclaim eye contact. âI didnât mean to make you feel like you have to talk. You donât have to tell me anything you donât want to.â
âNo, Iâm putting the words together.â She smiles weakly at him. Swallowing down her apprehension, she begins. âI woke up by the lake a few weeks ago.â She points behind them, over her shoulder. âThe day I saw you? I had only just stumbled off the trail.â
His first reaction is silence, and it reverberates dully between them. She chances a look at his profile; heâs squinting as if translating the words in his head. âSorry. I donât know what you mean,â he says finally. âYou fell asleep out there? In the woods?â
âI appeared there,â she says. âI donât know if I fell from the sky, or materialized out of thin air, or if Iâd been sleeping there for a hundred years or a day. I woke up with no memories, no belongings, nothing.â
âReally?â he asks, his voice high-pitched and shaky. He meets her eyes then, studying. She sees his expression cloud with something. Anxiety, maybe fear.
âPlease donât be scared,â she whispers. âIâm not going to hurt you.â At least, I donât think I am. She slips her hands into her lap, as if they might be capable of something she hasnât yet discovered.
He shifts back, his angular jaw clenched tight, and itâs clear in his expression the thought hadnât occurred to him until sheâd said it.
She shakes her head. âSorry, Iâm not doing a good job explaining. See, I think I know why I donât remember anything and why itâs hard to pick things up and why I donât need food or sleep orâyour sweatshirt.â She looks up at him, waiting for him to say something, but he doesnât. Licking her lips, her eyes pulsing with anxiety, she says, âIâm pretty sure Iâm dead.â