by Unknown
Daisy, my little sister, was fifteen.
I felt uncanny all over, like I was watching some sort of melodramatic horror movie. The noticeable tragedy happens when the main character dies quickly and dramatically, but the character you never notice is the one in the background, the one suffering the effects. Until she's completely lost it, and you're left in shock. Daisy was becoming like Benji. She had seen her sister murdered, and now she felt regret. Fear. Trauma. It was creeping in slowly, and I was afraid. Afraid for her.
The same old question haunted me. What had she seen that night?
"Could it have to do with Dahlia?" My mom whispered.
"Maybe. She never did tell us what happened that night, Lorrie. Sometimes, people don't suffer PTSD until a long time after the traumatic event, when everything has calmed down and the shock has gone away."
I only heard them talk about that night one more time after that, a couple months later.
"Why did she have to die? Why did it have to be our daughter?" My mom choked back a sob, before bursting hysterically into tears.
My father ran his hands through his hair, and swallowed a few times. He was probably tempted to cry like my mother was doing.
"Shhhhh. Daisy might hear you."
"She's suffering even more than we are..."
"We're not going to lose Daisy. Time will heal."
Lose Daisy? What was that supposed to mean?
***
The day before last, my friends had come to the park, and sat on the old, creaky swing set.
No, not Emma and Chris. But my other friends- my friends from my past as a living, breathing girl. Not my somber, friends from limbo that understood me without a word.
These friends were alive, and I yearned to be alive with them.
"Tina, I think that squirrel is eyeing you."
"Shush your mouth, Marina. I'm busy."
Marina laughed.
"With what? Stuffing your face?"
"Yes. It's very important to me."
"Whatever you say, girlfriend. Just don't blame me when that squirrel jumps on you."
"I'll throw a frying pan at him, then."
Tina said, shrugging her shoulders.
Liz spit out her water, which caused Marina to laugh even harder.
"You're not an old lady yet, Tiny Tina. You haven't even started college," Liz choked out.
I was laughing too, but they couldn't hear me. And I couldn't feel that wonderful feeling laughter brings.
The sun was shining down on the quaint little park, as children played on the merry-go-round and my friends sat contentedly under the trees. The peaceful silence was shattered when someone's phone began ringing.
"Hello? Yes, this is Marina Rossi. Is everything okay? Mhmm... Yes..."
"Marina? Everything okay? Your face is pale."
Marina dropped the phone to the ground.
"You know Tom Halsey?" She said shakily. "He.. He tried to kill himself a little while ago."
I didn't stop to hear anymore. I was running. Away from the park, away from my shocked friends, and towards an old white house.
Everyone you meet is fighting a silent battle.
***
Tom was lying on his couch, his mother by his side and his father pacing the room. His eyes were blank and cold, but he was alive.
The picture before me was like any other family that was upset or grieving. In fact, Tom's family looked just like my family had when I was murdered. Only Tom wasn't dead.
His parents didn't seem very shocked at the recent events. Why should they be? He had threatened it so many times.
His mother was on the phone now, speaking to a doctor.
"Yes. Wednesday? Alright. No, he'll be find here. Home is the best place to recover, which I think he'll agree to do. He just needs a little push."
Tom looked out the window suddenly, and his eyes met mine. I was silently pleading with him to come to the window, to talk to me as if I was still his friend that had just came over to hang out.
He turned away again.
"Dad. I don't know how I'm supposed to recover. There's no reason to recover. This life has nothing for me. Nothing. I'm a mess. A failure. A ruined soul trapped in a sick body..."
"Don't get all poetic on me, now. I didn't get very good grades in English class," his dad joked, receiving a small smile from Tom in return for his efforts.
Tom would be okay for now, I supposed. However, it was only a matter of time before now was then.
***
"You should check on him," Chris suggested. "Maybe you could help him in some way."
"It's worth a try. It's not like I have anything else to do."
Chris laughed wryly as I headed for Tom's house.
***
Tom was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He looked awful. Suddenly, he started talking.
"You can do it. You can do it right this time. They won't be able to stop you. You'll be happy, and they won't have to deal with you."
This couldn't be happening. Tom was going to try to kill himself again.
I couldn't take it. I had already lost so much, so many people, and I had realized how precious life is. Tom needed to realize it too. When you love someone, you want them to be happy. Death would not make him happy. I knew that for a fact.
Then I remembered.
There are no rules in this game.
No rules.
Tom's back door was open, and I found what I was looking for almost at once.
You can do whatever you want now. There's no rules.
Tom meant so much to me. He meant so much to so many people. Now, he just needed to mean something to himself.
"Dear Tom."
Maybe this was completely crazy.
"Some things don't make sense. But I believe in miracles, and I know you always have too."
Would he be freaked out?
"I know what happened to you , but you don't know what happened to me. I'm still here, Tom. Maybe it's completely insane, and only a strange person would believe in ghosts. I guess I'm a ghost.
But you know, extraordinary things happen every day. I guess that-"
I could never send Daisy or anyone else a note like this, because they would think it was some sort of prank. Normal people don't usually believe in exceptions to the rule.
But the fact that Tom experienced hallucinations, and was anything but normal, only helped his case when it came to believing in miracles, in the impossible.
"I didn't get to live my life. You have to live it for me."
I slipped the note through his door, and he turned and caught it as it fluttered towards the window in the wind.
"While there's life, there's hope."
"Maybe it's completely crazy, and I'm not exactly right in the head," he whispered, "but I know what you mean."
If I had stayed a little longer, and waited for his parents to come home, I might've seen him speaking to them, like a repentant, with tears in his eyes.
"I'm sorry. You're right. I'm selfish, and wrong, and stupid. I chose to be a little fool and guard people from my problems. Or at least that's what I thought it was. I was actually just shutting everyone out. So what I'm trying to say is, I've had a change of heart. I'm going to go to therapy, and I'm going to live life 100%".
They say a simple smile can save someone's life. A note from a ghost girl saved the boy she loved.
{Eleven}
Every so often, I remember. Not in words, or any way I can understand or express. I just feel it, the way you know what a various word is and how it sounds and it's on the tip of your tongue- but it won't come out.
The memories are all there, trying to fly away from me like a kite. I just need to pull them out first.
Two years have passed. Chris hasn't been around in a while, but Emma says he's still here somewhere. Emma's still here too, but she gets more hopeful every day for Benji and for herself. I'm getting more hopeful too.
Tom is much better. He fina
lly let his psychiatrist and parents help him live the full life he deserves, and they couldn't be happier.
Every so often, I'll walk to his house, down the familiar old sidewalk, to visit him. Only my feet are not heavy, and I don't feel rushed. Because I know now that Tom did love me. And he still does. Sometimes when I see him, he'll seem to see me too. He smiles, and I smile. The whole world seems to smile.
My parents are their usual selves, keeping busy and going about their lives. The only difference is that now they'll talk about me. My dad will mention "some dumb thing Dahlia used to do" and my mother will laugh and smile fondly. I'm a good memory at last.
Jack and Allison are just as happy as they were that beautiful day in the park. They have a son now, Christopher. When I see Chris again, I'll tell him that they share a name.
There's only one person who isn't faring so well.
Daisy.
At family events, she hides away like a scared little rabbit. Her nightmares are worse, and everything scares her. When my parents talk about me, she'll quietly leave the room.
***
It was nighttime, and my parents were downstairs planning a vacation to New York. All seemed quiet and peaceful, until I ventured upstairs.
Daisy was tossing and turning like a small child with a fever. I hadn't been in her room in a while, and I noticed she still had most of her stuffed animals from when she was a little kid. Daisy never really grew up in some ways. Tragedy seems to freeze people in time.
"Dahlia! No! Wake up! No!"
She was screaming in her sleep, the nightmares raging within her. You wouldn't think anything was wrong when she was awake. Nightmares show people's hidden fears.
My hidden fear was that I would never leave this limbo. Never remember completely. I wished I could tell someone, someone living, to see how they would react. I wanted to tell Daisy. In fact, I wanted to tell her anything. I missed her like crazy, even though she was right in front of me.
I thought back to that day at the grocery store. I've said it a thousand times, but I would give anything to have said something to Daisy before I died. Like, "Be nice to my cat." Or just, "I love you."
That's when it hit me. Why had my parents stopped looking for my murderer? Why did they talk about my death as if it was a simply a tragedy, not a mystery? Most importantly, why did they talk about Daisy as if there was something wrong with her?
Because they knew. So did Daisy. So did I.
~November 5th, 2008~
I ran down the aisle, grabbing Daisy's arm as I went past. I rushed out of the automatic doors, kicking at them in a pointless effort to open them faster.
"What is wrong with you?" I spat. I was seething with anger.
"Me?!? I was helping you!" She looked at me incredulously.
"No you weren't. Just shut up."
The pounding in my head had stopped, but my vision was blurring. I kept pulling Daisy along behind me until she tugged me sharply to a stop.
"Um Dahlia? We're not supposed to go home this way."
It was dark, and we were walking past the woods on Penn Road. Our parents had told us never to go near them in the dark. Anything could be hiding within its rocky, tree lined depths.
But was there really anything there?
"You know what? I don't care! Don't tell me how to be safe when you just acted like a complete imbecile!" I screamed.
I shoved her away from me.
"Did not!"
She kicked at me, and I kicked her in return.
"This is pointless! Shut up!"
A hand shot out from the darkness.
The hand was Daisy's.
I heard a scream. Long and loud.
It was my own.
Then another one, that carried on into the night.
It was Daisy.
I fell when she shoved me, down the rocky cliff and onto the even rockier ground. She had killed me.
My little sister had killed me.
***
Emma said that the memories were all there, and that I just didn't want to remember. I didn't want to remember that Daisy had killed me that night.
"Dahlia!"
Daisy.
"I didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to do it."
I know.
Daisy reached blindly in the dark, and happened upon her old stuffed animal unicorn.
"I forgive you," I whispered.
"Thank you," she mumbled, hugging the unicorn close.
Then she fell asleep.
A darkness so empty it wasn't even black. Then came shards of light, multiplying until the darkness was gone.
I was finally dead.
I was finally alive.
