Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
MONROE
I’m going crazy. That’s the only explanation.
I’ve been such a recluse for so long, only focusing on my family and my career, playing it safe, being careful, that now my mind has started to play games with me.
At least, that’s what I’ve tried to convince myself.
That all of this was just my imagination misfiring, but it’s not. Someone is watching me.
If it weren’t for the daisies that show up every morning when I get to work, I would see a doctor. But I know what I’m feeling is real; the flowers are tangible proof that all of this isn’t in my head.
This morning, a daisy was lying on my front step, white and starting to wilt. I knew I was playing with fire last night. But I couldn’t stop the feeling that came over me. My skin was hot, my body achy, and I just needed something I couldn’t find by myself.
I finally gave in to sleep, but I dreamt all night.
I was running through darkness, fire erupting around me, licking at my feet but never burning me.
I was terrified, my heart pounding so loud in my chest, I could hear it between my ears.
I pumped my arms so hard, trying to get away from it, but it was all around me, consuming and threatening.
Darkness shrouded everything, the flames not even strong enough against it to bring much light.
Until I slammed against a hard, bare chest, arms closing around me, a warm cheek pressing to the top of my head as they held me reverently.
The fire dimmed to ash, taking my fear with it.
I woke up as the sun was starting to rise and spent too long trying to understand the meaning behind it by writing it out in my journal.
Ever since my accident, I’ve played it safe.
The one time I was reckless, the one time I went along with being a typical teenager, I regretted it. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
Life is precious.
So, I live it safely. Even if sometimes I crave more.
More experiences. More connections. Just .
. . more. Being the only survivor of that accident has made me live with guilt that weighs me into the ground.
I’m happy and grateful, but I always feel guilty for every step I take.
Like the world is watching to see exactly what I do and judging me for it.
Why is it fair that I get to continue on when they didn’t?
Why do I get to have these life milestones when Nora, Tyler, and Javier will forever be seventeen?
I think that’s why I prefer to surround myself with the dead. There’s no judgment. I understand them more than I do anyone else. Maybe it’s also because I envy them. They’re free. Free of constraints, of expectations, of guilt and pressure.
After pulling myself together for the day, I head out, stopping at my family home to see everyone.
I find my grandparents sitting side by side on the couch, curled up together, with mugs of steamy coffee in their hands.
My mom sits across from them in the love seat, all of their faces conspiring and deep in concentration.
My mom pats the spot next to her as I walk into the room.
I plop down, curling my legs underneath me.
“You three look like you’re plotting your revenge against someone. Let me guess, Wyatt pranking you all again?”
My brother has been mischievous and has made himself quite the wild child of our family. A title he wears proudly. He’s especially serious about pranking us when we least expect it.
“Of course we’re conspiring against Wyatt. He needs to be removed from his position as family trickster. He’s going to give your grandmother a heart attack.”
“Oh, please with that crap,” my grandma says, waving her hand at my mom. “My heart is healthier than that boy’s! I just want to get him back and get him back good.” We all laugh.
“That boy needs to be brought down a few pegs. We’ll think of something good,” my mom adds.
“Yes, he does! Little monster thinks he’s going to get away with it, too. But we’re going to get him when he least expects it.”
My little brother, Cooper, walks into the room a moment later, his eyes brightening when he sees me. It makes me so happy when he looks at me like that.
“Roe! You’re here!”
“I am! And guess what?”
“What?” he says as he takes a seat in front of me on the ottoman.
“I think I’m gonna stump you today. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready!”
“Did you know that reindeer’s eyes turn blue in the winter to help them see better?”
Cooper’s eyes widen and his mouth drops open, pure shock written on his face. I feel a moment of triumph before he laughs. “Got ya! I knew that one, Roe!”
“Oh my gosh, you little devil! You need to stop spending so much time with Wyatt!”
“My turn! Did you know a Cuttlefish has bluuuuue blood?”
I laugh. “I did not know that one, Coop!”
My little brother runs off triumphantly.
“We’re having your grandpa’s favorite dinner tonight, Roe.
Anyone you’d like to invite?” my grandmother asks.
My face blushes even though I try my hardest not to think of Crew.
“Nope!” Knowing I need to get going, I pop up from my seat and adjust my dress.
“I’m heading into town. If anyone needs anything, just let me know. ”
“Roe . . .” my mom says, stopping me in my tracks with that concerned tone of hers. “It’s been eleven years, you don’t have to keep going.”
I give her my best smile. “I do, though. I don’t mind.”
For being such a small town, the Amberwood Cemetery is big.
Thirty-three acres house the final resting place for generations of people who’ve lived and died here.
A large iron gateway serves as the entrance, its paved sidewalks weaving through the headstones.
I pass by markers that are decades old, moss climbing up the edges, the etching faded and difficult to read, family and friends long gone, and no one’s left to keep it clean.
My heart hurts when I think about it. How we only have a few generations after our death to keep our memory alive, and then we’re dust. How long has it been since someone has uttered their names?
I make my way toward the end, the headstones getting cleaner, shinier, and brighter, the writing crisper.
My white sneakers hit the grass as I step off the pavement, walking past several plots until I see her face.
Forever frozen at seventeen. I almost wish Nora’s family hadn’t chosen a headstone where her photo was etched into it, but it’s not like I could ever forget what she looked like if they hadn’t.
How am I going to feel looking at my best friend when I’m old and grey, and she’s forever this way?
Her pretty blond hair cascades over her shoulders, her palm holding up her chin.
Her smile is so bright and happy, and she loved this photo the most. She had chosen it for her senior photo, the senior photo that turned into an “In Memory Of” page in the school yearbook.
My mom had purchased me a copy, even though I didn’t attend that year and wasn’t in it.
A dark laugh bubbles out of me. The girl who survived the crash that killed three Amberwood High School teenagers wasn’t even in the yearbook, as if I needed a reminder as to what everyone was already thinking.
“Something funny?” The voice startles me, and I turn around quickly, coming face-to-face with a ghost. My eyes fall closed for a moment as I catch my bearings. “Why do you still come here, Roe?”
“Because she was my best friend, who else is going to come here? Her parents are gone, Zach.”
“I wish you’d stop.”
“That’s too bad. I have every right to visit them, just like you do.”
“Except I wasn’t there when they died.”
“I’m not guilty of that accident, Zach. When will you stop blaming me?”
“For as long as my brother is dead and you get to keep living.”
My head snaps back like he physically hit me, tears springing to my eyes. It’s one thing to think it, another thing entirely to hear the words spoken out loud.
“I know that’s harsh, but it’s not fair. I’ll never get over losing him.”
“Would you rather we all died?”
“No.” But the rest is unspoken. He’d rather Tyler had lived than me.
“I’m sorry,” is all I can think of to say. I wipe away the tears that fall across my cheek, refusing to cry anymore. I turn back to Nora’s headstone, running my fingers across her face. “I miss you.”
Then, without looking at Zach, I leave, knowing next week, I’ll just come right back again.
That night, I can’t sleep. So, I give in to the restlessness of the night and sit at my piano, letting all my feelings out to Debussy’s “Clair de lune.” It’s melancholic, but there’s so much hope, and my heart soars as I close my eyes and let my fingers move over the keys, imagining myself dancing under the moonlight with a stranger masked by the shadows.
We twirl round and round, and although I can’t see his face, I feel more whole than I ever have before.
He holds me close, like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
If I try hard, I can smell his woodsy scent, all fire and rain.
When my fingers stop, my eyes snap open, a chill running down my spine.
I look around the room, my eyes scanning the darkness. Nothing has changed, but my skin prickles with alertness, nonetheless. I move to my front window, looking out at the pitch-black of the night. My eyes squint, trying to see something that isn’t there.
My shoulders stiffen, suddenly aware of how exposed I am, how visible I must be through the window, even though my brain is telling me there’s no one in front of me.
It’s just my body doing its best to convince me otherwise.
My pulse has already picked up, beating faster, louder, like it’s trying to warn me before my mind finally catches up.
The silence thickens around me, stretches and molds to every dark corner of my small house, deliberate and suffocating.
I should run. I should move away from the window, close the curtains, and hide away in my bed.
But I don’t.
The worst part of all of this insanity is that it isn’t fear that’s thrumming through me, it’s the creeping certainty that whatever is watching me right now feels familiar, and it’s not unwanted.
Dear Diary,
I don’t think I truly realized how lonely I was until I started looking for my stalker everywhere I go.
I only feel him when I’m in the preparation room at the mortuary or late at night in my house.
I don’t understand what’s happening to me or why I haven’t told my parents, or hell, even the police.
Which I guess is a lie. I do know why. It’s because it brings me comfort that’s different from the comfort I get from my family.
This feels warm and makes my heartbeat pound erratically in my chest. I want to open my door and welcome them inside so I don’t have to be alone anymore.
Which is insanely fucked up. Here’s my written reminder to Google if ghosts can move things around in the real world, because I haven’t ruled that out yet.