Haunt Me

by Liz Kessler

  Did I waste my life?

  The question slices through me like a flash of lightning. Electrifying me, crackling through my body while the rain continues to shower me, harder, faster. I wish it could wash away my memories, my regret, my need.

  The only thing I really need now is Erin. I wish she would come, but she won’t now. Not today. If she’s not here by dawn, she won’t be coming. Somehow I have to make it through another day on my own.

  I watch the swells break over the rocks, covering the entire plinth in white, foaming water, the rain throwing darts at the ocean, poking holes in it.

  My senses are growing sharper and sharper. It’s almost as if I’m coming back to life.

  Is that what’s happening? Could it possibly be . . . ?

  The hope is an explosion in my mind. I want to share this feeling with her. I wish so badly that I could.

  I clamber back to my cave and continue to watch. As I look out at the net curtain of rain lashing against the entrance of my little house, something else comes to me.

  Another memory. Sitting in here in the rain when I was alive. I think I did it many times. I kept my notebook and pen in here somewhere. Where did I keep them?

  I turn away from the rain, the waves breaking so hard that water is seeping inside. There are parts of this cave I haven’t explored yet, and now that the thought is there, it eclipses all the others. Where is my notebook?

  I need to find it. I need to connect. I need to write my feelings down. The thought fills me with determination.

  I get up to look for it. I know it’s here somewhere.

  I know what I need to do.

  The weather changes almost as soon as I step onto the coast path. Within seconds, I’m drenched. Maybe I should have brought my coat, but I wasn’t exactly thinking about practical things like that. It won’t matter soon anyway.

  I watch my feet as I walk. The path is muddy, rivulets running across it already. They’re like the tears I won’t cry. I’m not wasting my tears on any of those people.

  Especially not Nia. Especially not Olly.

  She’ll have told him everything by now. Will he go back to Zoe? My phone beeps. I pull it out of my pocket and glance at it. It’s a text from Nia.

  I don’t open it. I just about stop short of throwing my phone over the cliff. I shove it back in my pocket instead. I refuse to give her the satisfaction of having her mocking, jeering words read.

  What will Olly think when he knows it all? What’s he thinking now? He’ll either think I’m completely crazy or that I was using the story of his dead brother to make myself sound important to the girls.

  He’ll hate me. He’ll have every right.

  Well, it doesn’t matter. Not now. None of them matter anymore.

  I climb over the stile, and I’m on the headland. My heart speeds up as I reach the path down to the rocks. Nearly there. Nearly with him. My love.

  The track down to the rocks is a river of mud. I’ll be filthy when I get down there.

  I laugh out loud. Who cares? Joe won’t care about any of it. I know that. All he’ll care about is that I’m here. That I’ve chosen him.

  I can hardly believe I was ever tempted away from him — tempted into being with Olly, with my so-called friends, tempted by the thought of having a real life. At least I realize the truth now: Joe was the only person who knew me. He’s the only one I need. I won’t forget it again.

  The rain is lashing harder. I try to pull the hair back off my face, but the wind keeps whipping it back into my eyes and mouth. I didn’t even bring my hat.

  I swipe my arm across my eyes. I need to see clearly. The rain is pouring down the track like a waterfall. It’s little more than a death slide. I don’t know how to get down it.

  The sky is virtually dark, even though it’s only midmorning.

  I pause and look out to sea in time to see a flash scorch across the horizon. Black clouds growing like an army of anger. I count the seconds, holding my breath as I do.

  One, two, three . . .

  The thunder booms. Three seconds. The storm is three miles away.

  I let my breath out. I need to do this. Need to get to him.

  “Joe!” I yell, looking across the rocks to see if he’s there. The rocks are whitewashed by frothing waves. Of course he’s not there. He’ll be in his cave. If I can just get down this path, I can inch my way along the back edge of the rocks and get to him. Then I’ll never need to leave. If I slip and fall on the rocks, well, that’ll only speed up my plans.

  I’m going to try. I crouch down, turn around, and dangle my foot over the edge, looking for the foothold. This is it.

  I stretch my foot downward.

  I’m coming to you, Joe. We’re going to be together, for good.

  What was that?

  My stupid, overeager mind is playing tricks on me. I thought I heard a voice. Her voice. She called out my name.

  I shove the notebook under the bench, pull my ragged, damp shirt closer around my shivering body, and crawl out of the cave. Picking my way along the edges of the rocks, I crane my neck to look for any sign of her.

  The sky is almost black. The waves are getting higher and angrier with every lashing of the rocks. I cling to the sharp edges of the cliffside even harder, placing each foot as carefully as I can.

  The lightning comes out of nowhere. Strobe lighting screaming across the sky. Less than two seconds later, the thunder unleashes itself so loud and long, it is as if it is coming from the core of the earth, booming out its pain.

  I’ve never seen a storm like this. It feels as if the world is being ripped apart. I think I am in the middle of it.

  “Joe . . .”

  Again.

  It’s her, I’m sure of it.

  I need to get to her. She’s coming to me. I want to run, want to throw myself at her, but instead, I have to watch every footstep, inch my way across the bank to get to her.

  “Erin, I’m coming!” I call back.

  Waves lash the rocks on every side of me. I don’t care. Nothing can stop me.

  I’m nearly there. I can see her! Her back to me, one hand clutching the top of the cliff, one leg stretched down, the other perched on a tiny rock jutting out from the headland.

  She’s searching for the foothold with her lower leg. I scramble across the rock. Another wave is coming. It’s the biggest of the set. I remember now. Olly used to count them. He said that one in seven is always bigger than the rest. This is that one.

  And then —

  I see it.

  The edge of the cliff is all mud. She’s feeling around for a foothold, but there isn’t one. She’s going to slip. She can’t fall! I need to get to her.

  “Erin! No! You’re going to fall! You’ll kill yourself!” I scream uselessly — my voice is ripped away from me by the wind, thrown out to sea like trash.

  “I don’t care!” she calls back.

  She’s letting go, leaning backwards —

  And then it happens.

  A hand comes over the top. Grasps hers. Holds tight. Saves her.

  A face appears over the edge of the cliff, blond hair plastered to the head with rain, a face filled with a level of anxiety and need and love that is only matched by my own. A face that belongs to someone who can save her, not just stand by and watch her fall.

  Olly.

  Erin’s dangling off the edge of the cliff. Both legs kicking frantically, searching for a foothold. I’m gripping her wrist so tightly, she couldn’t let me go, even if she wanted to.

  I shuffle as close to the edge of the cliff as I dare without risking sliding over the precipice myself. Then I hold my other hand out.

  “Take it!” I call.

  Erin keeps flailing.

  “Erin! Take my hand!”

  “I don’t want to!” she yells back at me. “Let me go! I don’t need you!”

  I grip harder. I’m not letting her fall, no matter what she says.

  “Erin, please! Just come back up and
let’s talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about!”

  “I don’t care what you’ve said. I don’t care why you said it. I’m not judging you. Just please, let me get you back to safety.”

  “I don’t care about safety,” she says. “I don’t care if you judge me. I don’t care about anything anymore. It’s too late to care.”

  She’s slipping. She’s going to fall in a minute. I can’t hold her indefinitely. It’s a long way to the bottom, and the waves are coming thick and fast. She won’t survive it.

  I’m not losing her now. Not after running all the way here, getting to her just in time. I won’t let it be for nothing.

  My face is wet. Tears hiding in the rain that’s falling so hard, it’s almost blinding me. Through the tears, I’m aware of her disheveled state, the wind and rain lashing at her as she scrambles to get away from me. The top buttons of her shirt have come undone, and something glints against the rain lashing down.

  No. It can’t be.

  A silver surfboard around her neck.

  She’s wearing my necklace!

  The shock of it almost makes me drop her hand. I grip harder as my brain ticks around. I lost it a couple of years ago, when I was snooping around in Joe’s closet. He was out and I wanted to know what he got up to in there, what was so special about that dark corner of the house. The leather was a bit worn, and I realized a day or so later that I’d lost it. I was always convinced I’d lost it in there, but I never found it. Since Joe died, I’ve thought of it sometimes. The loss of my beloved necklace mixed with the loss of him.

  And now it’s turned up again. Around Erin’s neck.

  It’s too much to figure out right now. I need to focus on what’s happening here. “Erin, please just take my hand.” My words come out in a sob.

  And then —

  A voice.

  A voice I know almost as well as my own.

  “Erin, take his hand.”

  I allow my eyes to flicker away from Erin for the briefest of moments.

  It can’t be.

  “Joe?”

  I can see him, below us, hauling his way across the rocks as fast as he can. It’s really him. It’s Joe. Erin stops struggling for a second, and I reach down and grab her other hand. As soon as I do, she’s fighting me again.

  “You promised you’d never . . .” Joe’s voice drifts up to us. “Erin, please. Let him save you.”

  For the first time in months, I’m grateful for all those hours I spent in the gym. I tense my body and hold Erin firmly. “Keep hold of my hands and walk up the rock,” I instruct her. “Just do it. We’ll figure everything out. All of it. Just let me get you to safety.”

  Eventually, Erin sighs and shakes her head. Then she does what I say. Three steps up and I heave her over the edge, holding on to her. She’s safe.

  I can breathe again.

  As soon as we’re clear of the ledge, she pulls out of my arms and starts yelling at me. “Who the hell told you I was here? Why did you follow me? Why are you stopping me from being with the only person who really cares? The only one who understands me?”

  “Seriously?” I yell back at her. “You’re angry with me?”

  She looks at me. “I . . . I . . .”

  And suddenly I can’t help myself. There’s too much inside me, and it has to come out. “Nia told me everything. You moved into my house! The house we left because it was too painful. You sleep in his room! My brother’s room! All this time, all the things you’ve said to me, it was just a pack of lies — all of it. You lied to my face for weeks — and I’m the bad guy?”

  I pause and draw a ragged breath. Stare down the cliff at the ghostly figure clambering over boulders, coming toward us. I can still barely believe my eyes. “Is it true?” My voice is hoarse. “That crazy story Nia told me — that you had seen Joe’s ghost in the house. Is it true? Were you just using me to find out about him?”

  She hangs her head, and I know that all of it is true. Every impossible bit of it.

  “I didn’t use you,” she mumbles eventually. “I liked you. I like you.”

  “How many lies did you tell me?” I ask. My voice is gravel.

  “I don’t know. More than I should have. More than you deserved. I didn’t want to,” she says. “But what could I have said? I told you I had a boyfriend. I could never have told you more than that. You wouldn’t have believed me.”

  Her voice is like a thin reed, stretched, scratchy, broken. “You could have tried,” I say weakly, my anger already deflated.

  She pushes back a damp strand of hair from her face. “I know. I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “Erin,” Joe calls to her. He’s nearly reached us. “I can’t climb up,” he says, leaning across a boulder below us.

  Joe. My brother.

  Pale, gray, deep dark eyes, rain plastering his hair to his head, arms hanging uselessly by his sides. The sight of him takes my last bit of anger away.

  Erin turns toward him. “I’m coming, Joe,” she says.

  I take a step toward her. She steps back. No. No!

  I can’t stay angry at her. I don’t care what she’s done. I love her. We’ll work it out.

  “It’s OK,” I say. “I forgive you. Just . . . let’s talk. We’ll figure it out. All of it.”

  I hold out my hand, and she inches back. She’s getting closer and closer to the edge again. “It’s too late now,” she says, almost calm now. “I’m going to him. I’m joining him. I’ll be with him in his world. This one hasn’t got anything for me anymore.”

  And before I know what’s happening, she’s clambering back down the track. She works quickly, holding the edge just long enough to get a foothold this time. Letting go. Half stepping, half slipping down the muddy track. She’s nearly at the boulder where Joe is waiting for her.

  I can’t lose her. I can’t let her go to him.

  I have no option but to go after her.

  I remember. I remember it all. Everything.

  My life has come down to this moment, and it is all clear. The three of us together, linked by grief, shame, denial . . . love.

  The surfboard. The electricity of the storm.

  I was wrong. I see that now.

  I see everything now.

  I’ve theorized about it all so many times, going over and over it in my head.

  What else did I have to help me pass the hours but my thoughts?

  I thought perhaps I was here because of love. I had to experience real love before I could leave. That my life was not truly over without it. And yes, I think that is true. But it’s not the only thing.

  I see that now as well.

  It was about this, too. This guilt. This forgiveness.

  Loose ends. Unfinished business. Call it what you will. I remember now. I was wrong. I’m not the only one who needs releasing.

  He has to know.

  And she has to live.

  I’m here. Finally. Here with Joe. He steps toward me and takes my hand. I want him to hold me, want him to wrap me up in his arms and tell me it’s all going to be all right.

  But he doesn’t. In fact, he barely seems aware of me. He’s looking past me. He’s looking at Olly.

  “You can see me,” Joe says, almost in a whisper. The wind whips his words away as soon as he’s spoken them.

  I turn to see Olly behind me. “Olly?” I ask. “Is he right?”

  I’m expecting him to say, “Is who right? There’s no one here.”

  But he doesn’t. He looks straight at Joe. And then he says, “Yes. I can.”

  The moment stretches on as the realization settles around each of us. But we can’t afford to stand here gawping at one another too long. The next wave is coming. It’s going to wipe us all off the boulder in a minute.

  Is that what I want? It was. I know it was. I’m sure it was. Is it now?

  Joe pulls me to the side. “Follow me,” he says and leads the way across the boulder. Snaking along the edge of the cliff, we follow
him to the grassy dip on the other side of his rocky ledge, out of the way of the waves. “We’ll be safe here for a bit,” he says.

  The three of us huddle on the grassy knoll as the waves continue to whitewash the rocks.

  “I don’t know how long we’ve got,” Joe says.

  “How long for what?” I ask. Joe’s got this weird look in his eyes. Like — I don’t know. Calm. Serene. Like he’s come to some kind of decision. Acceptance. I haven’t seen him look like this before.

  “Joe.” Olly clears his throat. “I don’t know what this is, don’t know if it’s even real — but if it is, and if we haven’t got long, and if this is my only chance, there’s something I need to say.”

  “Me too,” Joe says. “You first.”

  I look from one to the other, as if I am a spectator at a tennis match.

  Olly takes a breath. Then he pulls himself up straighter and looks Joe in the eye. “It was my fault,” he says. “You had a headache. I was so hungover and just wanted you to leave me alone, so I told you to take the pills out of my bag. I wasn’t thinking straight. I forgot that I’d put the other pills from the party in there. You took them — and they killed you.” Olly’s voice cracks. As it does, a retreating growl of thunder rolls across the sea ahead of us. “Joe, I killed you. It was all my fault.”

  At this, Olly breaks down, sobbing so hard it almost sounds as if he’s going to be sick. Every part of me wants to comfort him. But I can’t. Not here, in front of Joe. Not when I’m going to leave him, leave everyone, to be with Joe.

  So we let him cry.

  And when he pauses, when his tears have finished racking his body and he looks up, he drags a muddy arm across his face and reaches into his pocket.

  The pill bottle.

  “I’ve carried this with me everywhere,” Olly says. His voice is hoarse and gravelly; it sounds like it’s being dredged from the seabed. “I’ve carried you everywhere.” He looks down at the bottle. “Maybe it’s time to let you go.”

  Joe is staring — but not at Olly. He’s staring at the bottle.

  “Olly,” he says, “now I have to tell you something.” Then in a whisper so quiet I could easily have mistaken it for the wind whistling through the grass, he adds, “I took the wrong pills.”