Page 4 of All Ghosts Aren’t Dead (The Forgotten #1)

BLUE

S amuel.

He had the name of a prophet, but he didn’t look like one, at least not like any of the ones who’d come to punish me.

Those men wore long, white robes and sour smiles.

Samuel wore all black—collar loose and shirt half-unbuttoned.

His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms and the veins threaded beneath his skin.

It was the only color he wore.

Blue.

Just like me.

I sort of wanted to press my finger against those lines and trace them all around his body until I found out where they led. Of course, that’d be silly because I already knew the answer.

His heart .

I kind of wanted to trace that, too.

He sat next to me in the backseat of a black car, his legs long and arms folded. Black gloves covered his hands, and I watched the material wrinkle every time his fingers touched the frame of his glasses, adjusting the way they sat on his nose.

They were perfect circles, rimmed in gold and delicate enough I worried if I spoke too loud, they might shatter.

I did that a lot— break things.

The cords in his neck tightened with every breath he took, and I wanted to move a little closer to him, but the seat belt against my chest held me back.

His eyes flicked to their corners. They were as dark as the rest of him. “Are you comfortable?”

I blinked, and then I did it again, because no one had ever asked me that before.

Corruption isn’t comfortable.

“Blue?”

The space between my shoulders went tight, not because he was yelling, but because he wasn’t.

“I… think so,” I finally said, and his eyebrow kicked up.

My toes curled in my sneakers, the rubber edges thudding together as I squirmed.

I’d never had sneakers before—not ones like this anyway. Soft ones with long laces I could tie into bows. They curled around my feet like a hug, and I couldn’t remember a time when my toes were so… warm.

Samuel gave them to me.

He gave me new pants, too, and a sweater made of something fuzzy. It tickled the skin on my arms. I liked it so much I wanted to live inside it forever and ever.

“Yes,” I blurted, because I was comfortable, and I think maybe I was something else, too.

Samuel may have been dressed like a sinner, but he felt like something holy.

Father said holiness was something I had to earn, but no matter how many punishments Ezekiel gave me, I’d never managed it.

“Excuse me, Samuel?”

He glanced at me, and our eyes met for the tiniest second before I looked down. His stare was… a lot. It made my chest feel funny.

“What… uhm, I mean, how can I repay you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Kindness is earned.” I reached for my earlobe and tugged. “I haven’t earned yours, and I’m… I’m not sure how you’d like me to offer you penance.”

He jerked in his seat. I couldn’t see his gaze, but oh, I felt it. Silence filled the car, and though I spent most of my days alone, I wasn’t used to this kind of quiet.

“Blue,” he said. “Look at me, please.”

I swept my head up.

“Good boy,” he murmured, and I felt that thing in my chest again.

“You do not owe me anything, understand?”

I frowned. “No.”

It wasn’t just the clothes.

Samuel had taken me to a cabin. It looked just like any other I’d ever seen, but he said it was different—a safe house.

There was a shower, and soap, and a towel that smelled like fresh air.

He didn’t watch me while I undressed, or wait outside the door.

I said a prayer for Mother and Father as I washed the last of them off my skin.

They’d slipped down the drain in a bloody little stream, and I was sure the angels had found them by now.

Heaven.

Father said I wasn’t pure enough to be granted entrance, but I didn’t think I cared. Not anymore.

Samuel sat across from me in the safe house while I ate the food he offered—some kind of pasta with a chunk of crunchy bread. There were no strikes against my posture, and I wasn’t made to kneel on the ground.

Samuel didn’t know about my evil yet.

That’s why he hadn’t punished me. It had to be.

“Our safe houses were designed exactly as the name intends them to be, Blue. Safe. We have nearly a hundred spread out across the country for the purpose of offering boys like you a place to enjoy clean clothing and a warm meal. Those are not luxuries to be earned. Even if you choose not to sign the contract and join our organization, you will still owe us nothing.”

The mafia.

I still wasn’t sure what that word meant. Not fully.

It felt big when Samuel said it, important enough that I understood it was powerful.

My mouth went dry every time he said it, like my tongue couldn’t hold the weight of those five letters. My brain kept spinning around the questions I wasn’t sure I was allowed to ask.

How…

How…

How could a word so big belong to a man who looked at me so gently?

Strength shone in his eyes, but it didn’t dig into me the way power usually did. It stayed warm behind the glass circles that sat on his nose. Waiting.

His scrutiny confused me… not because I was afraid of his power, but because I wasn’t.

Samuel said they controlled the whole city, probably even the whole state. That’s why the police officer didn’t take me to jail, and why he called the other man instead—the one Samuel called Sir. That man gave Samuel lots of money to turn boys into soldiers.

I was going to be the best soldier.

I twisted the edge of my sleeve around my finger, tight enough that the tip went warm and numb. “How many boys are there?”

Samuel shifted where he sat beside me, and I felt the teeny tiniest brush of his sleeve against my arm.

“Four,” he said. “You’d be number five.”

Five .

I turned the number over in my head. I liked how small it was—that I could count it out on my fingers.

My thumb tapped my fingertips.

One…

Two…

Three…

My mouth shaped each of the numbers, soft enough that they didn’t leave my lips. By the time I reached five, I felt him watching me. The heat started under my ribs again, low and syrupy. I liked when he looked at me like that… Patient.

“Who teaches the boys?”

Samuel’s gloved hand flexed where it rested on his knee. “We have seven instructors, each with a specialty. You’ll train in everything from weaponry to law.”

His eyes found mine. Calm, brown, and warm enough it made my throat sting. I wanted to crawl into that warmth like a blanket, but I didn’t think I was allowed.

“Are you a teacher too?” I asked.

Samuel’s jaw moved, a tiny click of his teeth like he was chewing over how to say it so I’d understand.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I’m the one who makes sure everyone does what they are supposed to do.”

“So you’re… in charge?”

For all the things that didn’t make sense, this did.

It’d have to be someone strong enough, and Samuel felt like that—like a lock that wouldn’t break, no matter how hard the world pushed.

“I’m the director, but that just means I answer for the boys. I protect them and advocate for them.”

Something nudged my ribs again. “Is it… is it like school?”

I wasn’t good at school.

Broken. Evil.

Not pure. Not pure. Not pure.

Samuel’s answer came slowly, like he wanted every piece to fit before he gave it to me. “No. Not the way you’re thinking. You’ll learn to fight, how to use a gun and a knife. Most of the boys enjoy learning how to pick locks and which laws are easiest to break.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

Violence made sense.

Knives didn’t lie the way letters did. Fists didn’t twist around in my head until they turned into shame.

I let my sleeve slip between my fingers. “And if I… don’t want it?”

Samuel’s eyes didn’t shift away. “Then you leave. The door stays open, Blue. The Forgotten is not a prison.”

The… “What?”

Samuel made a noise in his throat. “The Forgotten is what the boys call themselves.”

Forgotten.

I liked it.

It felt soft in my mouth. Not broken, just… left behind for a while.

I mouthed the word toward my sleeve where my fingers hid. Maybe that’s what I was, too.

Not gone.

Not ruined.

Waiting.

The road we followed was narrow and curved, the trees getting thicker the longer we drove. The whole world started to get real quiet. I didn’t know where we were, but I knew it was far away.

Hidden.

Maybe that’s why the boys called themselves The Forgotten—because no one missed them when they disappeared.

“Does anyone ever come looking?” I asked, eyes trained on the window and all the fog that surrounded it. “For the boys, I mean?”

“Our boys come from a world that’s given up on them. It doesn’t remember their names, let alone care enough to search for them.” His tone changed then, words a little sharper when he asked, “Is someone going to come looking for you, Blue?”

Lying is wrong.

Lying is wrong.

Lying is wrong…

… Except, I didn’t want to tell the truth because if Samuel knew about Ezekiel, then he wouldn’t want to keep me anymore.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, and I turned immediately. Panic filled my belly at the way he looked at me, like he could see all the words I was too afraid to say.

Keep me.

Train me.

My scalp started to tingle, my fingers digging into the nape of my neck. “I’m… I’m really good at rules. I promise I am.”

Don’t make me go back.

“I like to listen too, and I?—”

“Blue.”

He was close to me now, close enough that I felt his breath on my cheeks. Beneath his shirt, I watched his chest expand before collapsing again, and I did my best to mimic it.

“Good boy.”

My body got heavy, blood warm, and chest goopy.

“Good,” I whispered. “Good. Good. Good.”

He nodded, making the curls on his head bounce a little. One flopped over his forehead, all spiraled and soft looking. They were brown like the scruff lining his jaw.

“Are you good, too?” I asked.

He frowned, and his jaw got real tight. “No,” he said after a moment.

“But…”

Samuel didn’t yell or force me to confess to things I hadn’t done. He didn’t burn me or whip me or taunt me with letters I couldn’t make sense of.

He was good.

He had to be.

“You gave me new clothes,” I whispered, like maybe he’d forgotten. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

His lips pressed together, and then his hand lifted like he might touch me.

He didn’t, but I think I wanted him to.

“I’m not good, Blue. I just… try not to be worse than I already am.”

I… I didn’t understand.

Not really.

“I think you’re good,” I told him, and his eyes closed for a minute, like my words made him sleepy.

“You don’t look at me like I’m in trouble.” I tugged at my sleeves again. “You give me choices.”

His eyes popped open. “You’re not used to getting choices?”

“Sinners don’t get choices.”

“Sweetheart, if you’re a sinner then I’m the fucking devil.”

No.

“Satan doesn’t give, Samuel. He takes. You gave me lots of stuff.”

“Are you used to fighting for food?”

“Not fighting.” I shook my head. “ Suffering .”

A whole slew of curse words ripped from his throat, and though all the angles of his face got real sharp, I wasn’t afraid.

Not of him.

“You didn’t make me suffer,” I whispered.

His eyes burned, and he leaned so close to me the tips of our noses nearly touched.

“You will never suffer again, Blue,” he vowed. “Not where we’re going.”