My fingers twitch with another image appearing in the clouds of my imagination, and I flip to another page, this time drawing his full form. He would have been tall, but not too tall. Strong, but not buff. He would have been smart, too, but some part of me feels he would have tried to hide that. Like he didn’t want people to know.
“Too cool for school, bro,” the words are out of my mouth in a tone of voice that is deeper than my own, and followed by a bubbling laugh.
Did I really just say that?
My thoughts wander away with the possibilities of a young boy in a grave. A new thought spills into my mind, and I hate that I think it, but it’s already there. Before I know it, the sketch appears on the page as my fingers work at the image.
His father, stern and strong, but much larger than Reece, holds firm to a gun. Reece grips the gun, too, their faces both distressed and struggling. And the barrel is pointed at Reece’s chest.
My heart lurches and my ribs scream in piercing agony. I buckle over, the pencil and sketchbook falling from my lap as a burning sensation plunges into my chest. My vision blurs and moves from black to white. Black. White. Numbness to blinding pain.
Then something cold presses over my chest, right where the ache ebbs. Right near my heart. The sensation slows to a pulsing, then stops all together. I’m catching my breath as I stare at this hand. It’s the hand of a boy. And it’s on my boob.
I shove up, throwing the hand from me and look at this person invading my space.
But it’s not just any person.
It’s Reece.
* * *
I know his face because I was just drawing those features. Messy hair, dark eyes, full lips. Those eyes stand out the most, crinkled with the slightest hint of laugh lines waiting to shine.
He offers a soft, hesitant smile, but I can’t return it.
I blink. Another dead person visiting me in the night isn’t strange. This dead person, who I’ve visited often over the last few months, however, has never shown himself.
I open my eyes, but he’s still here, smiling.
I blink again.
He’s still here, only this time he looks concerned. “I didn’t mean to scare you, but you shouldn’t have been doing that.”
I shake my head. “Doing what?” I ask, not understanding what’s happening. He’s a ghost, but he doesn’t look like one. He’s not fluorescent or transparent. He’s not white or clear or floating like others I’ve seen. Reece stands before me looking exactly as I pictured.
Whole. Human. Real.
With raised full eyebrows, he angles his head to the spot next to me asking if he can sit. When I nod, he moves over and relaxes against his headstone. “You really don’t know what you were doing?”
I shake my head, because I still can’t believe this is happening. It has to be a dream. I pinch my arm, but I flinch at the soft flare of pain. He laughs while I rub at it. When I finally look at him again, he asks, “Do you believe this is real now?”
“What is this?” I croak, the words tight in my throat. This has never happened before. Did I just summon a dead person?
“You called me out.”
“No, I didn’t.” No. Nononono.
He rolls his eyes before looking directly at me and speaking again. “Maybe not with words, but you were seeking me out, and, well,” Reece waves his hands over his body and smiles.
I close my eyes trying to remember what happened, trying to think through how I could have possibly made a ghost come crawling out of his grave to say hello. I can’t understand it. Dead people usually find me.
I turn to look at him again, and he’s clearly beautiful. He’s sitting here as clear as day, just the way I am. “You don’t look like a ghost.”
He laughs. A loud, full-bellied, rich laugh. I instantly smile at him.
Note to self: make this boy laugh forever.
Except he’s a ghost. And I’m alive. And we don’t have forever.
Shaking his head, Reece says, “You mean like a ghost from the movies?” He holds out his arms first, flipping them around to inspect them, then pats down his chest. “No. I guess I don’t.”
I don’t mention how I’ve seen plenty of dead people. His eyes lower for a moment, but when he looks at me again he says, “I’m Reece, by the way. Not that you didn’t know that already.” He pats the headstone we lean against.
“Jadyn,” I whisper back.
My eyes trace the lines of his face so I can remember every last detail. His gaze does the same. I shift away from him and ask, “Will you remember me? Tomorrow?”
Do ghosts remember anything when they walk among the living? I’ve never known. I’ve never been brave enough to ask. I’ve never wanted to actually interact with any of the dead who’ve come into my room only to wake me with the memories of their deaths. But there’s something about Reece. Something comforting and easy.
His eyes move back up to mine, and whispers, “I don’t know. I’ve never been out of my grave before. Not quite sure how this works.”
I don’t want anyone to forget me. It’s a bad habit. Selfish. Malicious. I don’t care though. If they can’t love me or like me, I’ll make sure they remember me. But the fact that he might not remember a damn thing from this night is a sore reality that I might have to swallow.
Reece looks up to the stars and sighs. I watch him while he’s preoccupied, my eyes following the path of his long legs and lean torso. He would have made a handsome man in the coming years. The girls would have been all over him. I would have been all over him.
My face heats with the realization that I find Reece, a ghost, attractive.
He smirks and he tilts his head until our eyes meet. “Like what you see?”
My eyes widen. “How do you do that?” I squeak in an accusatory voice.
“Do what?”
My pointer finger juts out at him with both defensiveness and curiosity. “You know what. You say I called you out, but it was only questions in my head. Now you somehow know that I find you attractive. Do you hear thoughts or something?” I’m hysterical and flustered. Never has a guy made me feel like this before.
I hate him for it.
But I also love the feeling of being found out. It puts it all out there.
His smirk transforms into a full blown grin. “Honestly, you somehow brought me out with your thoughts. I don’t know how, but I didn’t hear you. And what exactly were your thoughts on my attractiveness?” He lifts his arms behind his head and stretches out as he asks the question.
My face gets hotter — and more than likely redder from his response — if that’s even possible.
Shoving up from the ground, I face him. Height advantage. Space advantage. “That’s all,” I say with a firm voice even as my heart tries to pound out of my chest and run back out of this cemetery. “You’re attractive. The end.”
Reece stands. It’s fast. One second he’s on the ground, and the next, he’s in front of me with my face to his neck. He waits until I look up into his dark eyes that are rich like chocolate.
“So why am I here, Jadyn?”
That’s a question I think both of us want answered.
* * *
After a stare down of epic proportions, Reece looks out towards the little town, and mutters how it hasn’t changed a bit. I turn to his headstone and confirm that he’s only been dead for a year. I wonder if he realizes this. Do dead people have a way to keep track of time?
“Do you want to go somewhere?”
He squints in my direction as if remembering that I’m here. With a deep breath, he states, “Why don’t we start with you explaining why you come here.” His points behind me, but I don’t have to turn to know where he means.
I shrug, but his gaze doesn’t waver. Reece is patient, waiting for me to answer verbally with something more than nonchalance.
“I guess I just feel like this is where I should be, away from the constant screaming and hitting.” His eyes narrow with concern, but he lets me
continue as the words rush out of me. “I mean, what’s the point anymore if my own mother can’t stand the sight of me? What’s the point of trying to do nice things for her only to be shunned to my room or out the door? I cook meals and clean the house. I do laundry, mostly because if I don’t she will only do hers. But I help and I try so damn hard, but all she gives me are her screams.” I take a moment before adding in a whisper, “She calls me a witch.”
Reece says nothing and makes no move towards me as a tear drips onto my cheek. I wipe it away quickly with the sleeve of my shirt, not wanting to feel anything in regards to my mother, but I do. I just want her to love me like she did when I was little. Before the dead started visiting.
Reece shoves his hands into his jean pockets as one black sneaker scuffs at the ground. “Some people have stories that they keep buried inside. We don’t know how much it affects them until it eats them alive.” He looks down at his grave.
“You think that’s my mom?”
He nods, but his mind is elsewhere, his stormy gaze locked on his final resting place. His thoughts are in the past as memories play over his features. Angry to hurt. Hurt to depressed. Depressed to angry. And the cycle repeats.
What happened to Reece?
My eyes land on my sketchbook to see the drawing I was working on before he burst from god-knows-where and startled the ever-living-hell out of me. I know he was shot, but I don’t know why.
He follows my gaze and tenses. Reece looks to me, his gaze burning the side of my face. My chest tightens with unease.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?” I whisper, still nervous to face his expression. My eyes remain locked on the sketch as my chest begins to burn all over again. I press a hand to the spot, rubbing.
Before I know it, Reece stands in front of me, forcing my gaze towards him. His hand hovers over mine, over my chest.
“This,” he whispers. His breath brushes against my skin like a cool breeze. It only drills in the fact that he is no longer made of warmth and blood and life.
My gaze lifts to his, and there is no judgement in his eyes. Nothing but curiosity. “I felt it.”
His brows furrow and he looks at the spot on my chest. My face heats once more as he inspects me there. The concern evident in the lines furrowing his forehead.
“I’m okay,” I tell him.
He nods, but doesn’t move his eyes from my chest. I push past him, needing space from his prying eyes, and pick up the sketchbook. I close it with a loud slap, and Reece visibly relaxes as I stuff it back into my bag.
Not yet ready to leave this place that has been my safe haven, I settle against the headstone and lean my head back to stare up at the night sky. I lift my phone out of my bag and check the time. It’s 1:15 in the morning and my mother hasn’t called. She never does, but that doesn’t keep me from hoping one night she just might be concerned when I don’t return.
“You’re shivering.” My arms cross in protest - and for warmth - and I shake my head, but before I know it Reece is next to me. “I wish I could keep you warm.” His fingers drift over my arms without touching, and it only causes me to shiver more. “Then maybe I could keep you.”
Those words startle me, and I lift my head to face him only to suck in a startled breath when I realize how close he is to me. Our faces mere inches apart and breathing in each other’s air.
I lick my lips.
His gaze lowers to my mouth. “You can’t kiss me,” he whispers.
“I wasn’t going to,” I reply just as softly.
“Good.”
Not going to lie, that hurt a bit, but I keep the sting of his words from my expression. He squints like he knows, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction even though I want to taste him, to feel him, to shove those words down his throat.
He continues to watch me while I stare into the dark, away from the small town lights behind us. “You should go home, Jadyn.”
“Why?” My voice is sharp, and I instantly wince at the sound of it, but he isn’t bothered.
“Because it’s cold out, and if you stay, you could get sick.”
“Like anyone would care.”
We sit in silence staring at what few stars we can see. “I would,” he mutters under his breath, but I hear him.
It’s that one simple fact, those two words, that lift me. Even if he’s just a ghost. It’s the fact that someone in this moment cares enough for my safety and well-being. A breath shudders from my lips with the cold that I’m only now willing to admit to, as I rub at my arms and nod, accepting his words. I shove up from the ground, pull my bag onto my shoulders, and step down the path towards the exit of the cemetery.
I glance over my shoulder expecting to see Reece, but he isn’t walking with me. He still sits at his headstone, his gaze attached to me.
“Aren’t you coming?” I holler.
His lips begin to lift, and in a split second, he’s in front of me. “For as long as you want me.”
* * *
Reece stops in front of the coffee shop on the corner a few more blocks away from my house. Pivoting on my heel, I stand next to him while he stares inside. The store is closed. All the lights are off, the chairs pressed into the tables, the floor completely clean. There’s nothing going on in the town tonight. The world is silent except for our soft breaths.
I adjust my focus on the glass and stare at Reece’s reflection. His lips are puckered in distaste and his eyes seem to shimmer under the street lamp hanging above us. Startled, I turn to him. “Are you okay?”
Reece nods, but doesn’t face me. His lips press tight and his brows draw together as his nose flares. ”This is where it started,” he speaks softly, but his voice is filled with such ire that it shocks me.
He was shot — I remember feeling the burning penetration in my chest — but in a coffee shop? I’m missing something. He faces me and flashes a smile that curls at the edges with malice.
“No, I didn’t die here, but I may as well have.” He takes one last look around the store interior before stalking into the street. The roads are silent in the small town, so I let him go. His aggravation is apparent in the way his hands clench and unclench before reaching up and tugging at his hair. He stops on the yellow line separating the lanes when he peers up to the sky and lets loose a scream so dense with rage that it causes every hair on my body to stand on end.
One hand instinctively moves over my heart, pressing on the spot, while the other covers my mouth to drown out any groans of pain. His agony is ripping through me in sweltering streaks of blinding pain as light flashes behind my eyes. White. Black. White. I don’t want to interfere with his moment even though the sensation in my chest grows with his frustration.
Reece’s throat strains as he puts everything he has into his torment. Tears leak onto his cheek, but he doesn’t brush them away.
I want to run to him. To wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything will be okay. But I don’t know that. I don’t know what happened to Reece. All I know is that he calls to me like a shot of brilliance in my darkest night, and I’d do anything to get to him. Except that the pain of his death keeps me buckled over as his screams pierce the night like he’s letting everyone who will hear him know that he’s still hurting.
A light flicks on in a building across the street. I don’t think. I move. Forcing my body upright, I rush into the road and slam into Reece, the force so hard that it causes him to stammer backwards until he stumbles with me falling on top of him. His eyes are wide in alarm or concern or both. My eyes are glued to the light in the building above us, waiting for someone to come out and see what is going on.
“What-”
“Shh!” I slam my hand over Reece’s mouth as we wait. His lips lift into a grin under my palm as he relaxes beneath me. His hands come up around my waist, and my body coils tighter with apprehension at the contact.
My gaze gradually descends to his, and I drop my hand away revealing Reece’s breathtaking smile. “W
hat did you do?” He questions as wonder dances in his eyes.
Confused, I climb off of him to get out of his dizzying grasp. “I saved us from getting yelled at or someone calling the cops, Mister Screams in the Street Like a Damn Drama Queen,” I whisper-hiss and punch him in the arm.
He grins, rubbing where I just punched him like he’s the happiest guy in the world. “They can’t hear me.”
I shake my head while pointing up to the building. “But that light came on-”
“Probably someone getting a glass of water or waking from a bad dream.” It’s plausible, but his cries ripped through the night vividly. He must notice the confusion on my face because he adds in a tone that has lost all the humor from just a moment ago, “They can’t hear the dead, Jadyn.”
His statement chills me at the thought of how lonely the dead must feel. But it also makes me consider that maybe he wasn’t screaming because of his anguish. Maybe he was screaming with a desire to be heard. I ask him, but he shifts his gaze from me to the empty coffee shop, and I know it’s true.
Reece shoves off the ground and readjusts his shirt. “We’re not here for me.” His hair sticks in every direction, but he doesn’t seem to care. He only runs his hand through it once more before facing me. “Just tell me. What did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“You shouldn’t be able to touch me let alone slam into me like that.”
“I didn’t do anything. I thought someone heard you, so I ran.” My shoulders rise to my ears in confusion.
He watches me for a minute, as if deciding whether to believe me or not, but then points down the street. “This way?”
I nod and lead the way to my house. It’s only a few more blocks, and we arrive sooner than I would have hoped. The lights are off. My mother is more than likely passed out on the couch again next to a bottle of some liquor. I pray it’s not vodka. She’s the worst with vodka.
Beast: An Anthology Page 5
