Chapter 51 Amelia
Amelia
I look up and enjoy the clear, blue sky. It’s a shame everything is coated in sand and dust out here. It really was a beautiful place. What? Who is that? I blink and take off my sunglasses. And sit up. Goose bumps dot my skin.
It’s a woman, and even after I blink a few more times, she’s still there.
She’s on the far side of the pool, hurrying toward the main house.
It’s Sunny. But it can’t be. As I watch, she stops and turns.
She’s wearing a maxi-length green sundress, large sunglasses, and a sparkling tennis necklace.
It’s her outfit, it’s her look. It’s her. Oh my God.
“Sunny?” I say in a whisper. I swallow as fear wells up in my throat. I stand and hold on to the back of the lounge chair to keep from falling. This can’t be happening, but it is. This is what I get for what I did. Maybe this is what I deserve. Ghosts return for revenge. She’s come for me.
She stops walking and turns and looks at me.
I’m shaking all over. Will she suddenly charge me, float across the pool and grab me, hold me under the water until I drown?
Impossible scenarios rush through my head.
But instead of coming toward me, she turns away and hurries toward the house.
Where is she going? What is she going to do to me?
I’ve never felt so startled and disoriented. Do I follow Sunny, ask her to forgive me, or do I simply pretend she isn’t here, that she doesn’t know everything? What would she do to me if I chased her? What can ghosts do to the person who murdered them?
I’ve decided I don’t need that Bloody Mary after all.
I start running as fast as I can in the opposite direction from where Sunny went amid the fallen branches and debris from the storm.
I run inside the pool house where I’ve been staying.
I look around at my clothes strewn everywhere, at Brett’s suitcase, open, full of his things.
My three suitcases are empty, but I don’t have time to pack.
I can replace stuff. I dart into the bathroom and grab my favorite face cream and my toothbrush.
I see Brett’s sitting on the counter and get a little pang of sadness, but there’s no time for that.
And there’s no time to take anything else with me.
I grab my purse, and my keys and my sunglasses.
I got the message loud and clear. Sunny doesn’t need to warn me again.
This is her house, and I better get out of here.
I use the side path Brett and I discovered when we first arrived and find the ornamental wrought-iron gate.
I push it open and hurry to the driveway.
My red sports car is where I left it, and, thank God, it’s undamaged.
My hand shakes as I unlock the door and hop behind the wheel.
I am suddenly sober, more sober than I’ve been this entire weekend.
Dead sober and terrified. I punch the gas, navigating around fallen palm fronds on the circular driveway.
I check the rearview mirror as I reach the end of the circle and I’m about to lose sight of Gentry House.
She’s there, standing on the driveway. Her hands are on her hips.
She’s watching me. What does she want? Oh my God.
I push the gas pedal, urging my car to go faster.
I swallow and lean forward. I want to get out of here so badly, I know I’m frantic.
I’m in panic mode. I don’t want to think about what she would do to me if she knew the truth.
She likely knows the truth, right? She’s dead. I killed her.
I glance up and look into the rearview mirror, and she’s gone. I remind myself to concentrate on the road, knowing trees are down everywhere, but I don’t see it in time. I’m going too fast. I slam on the brakes, but it’s too late.
The last thing I hear is the sound of my own scream before everything goes black.
I’ve decided most people get what they deserve in life.
But Sunny didn’t deserve to die. I’ve learned everything I could about her, even reading old newspaper articles, so I could become her, for him.
I like to help Ryan with his grief. It was unfair, and he’s still hurting.
So, I play along. It’s the least I can do for the love of my life.
Today, I’m simply wearing a green dress, like the ones Sunny loved, and a beautiful necklace Ryan gave me when we first started dating.
Some people might think it’s odd that our relationship is based on how much I resemble his dead ex-lover.
But I don’t mind. I have friends who are dating guys with much less in common.
It’s true. Ryan fell in love with me because I look like her, like she looked when she died.
Hopefully, he doesn’t expect me to stay this way forever.
I mean, I’m not a ghost; I’m alive. Since we’ve been together, I’ve read, listened to Ryan’s memories, examined all the photos of her he has kept all these years.
I’m confident I look the part. But after all her old sorority sisters finally leave here, leave our home and go back to wherever they came from, hopefully Ryan will let me be me. Kat.