Page 6

Ripley

The annoying sound of birds chirping wakes me from a perfect dream, and I’m not happy that this is how I’m starting my day.

I dreamt that I was able to bring Blaze Dubois back from the dead.

Not just talk to him from the other side.

After years of contemplating if I should attempt to bring him back to life, I finally went through with it.

And somehow, it actually worked.

My mind flashes through everything we did in this incredibly realistic dream that my brain conjured up.

The good.

The bad.

The filthy.

And the deliciously spicy parts.

I killed someone just to bring him back. Then, I killed another person simply because he asked me to help him fix a problem.

First, was that awful girl, Jessica. I’ve imagined doing something terrible to her for the way she’s talked about my brother and Blaze. She’s been running her mouth about them and their band for as long as I can remember.

Jessica talks about them like she actually knew them, and spent time with them.

She hasn’t. She was a groupie, at best, and was someone who hopped from one band mate's bed to another one.

The only reason she spreads lies about them and their music is because, once the band broke up and Blaze died, they had no use for her anymore.

If you ask me, she had that coming. Blaze, my brother, and their other bandmates were the most talented musicians of their time. To downplay their abilities by calling them a bunch of manwhores with instruments — if only I could kill her outside of a dream.

I’ll keep that thought locked away for a terminal cancer diagnosis.

Then, Blaze convinced me that Sheriff Donavan was a bad person, and he needed to die. He didn’t go into detail about the specifics of Donavan’s offenses, but by the genuine concern he had for this man walking this earth for another day, I believed him instantly.

Maybe I’m incredibly naive in my dreams. Or, it could have been that Blaze looked so freaking good in my head. I forgot how attractive he was when he was alive. The pictures online don’t do him justice.

The man is the definition of a rock god. All lean muscles and sharp facial features. Plus, the dark depths of his eyes are endless pools are so enchanting.

Everything about the dream felt so real. The way he touched me. How hard I came for him. The feel of the blood from my victims on my hands.

My mind is seriously a terrifying place. I should probably be concerned about my mental sanity, but I can’t be bothered right now.

I lift my arms above my head and stretch as my eyes slowly flutter open. The sound of the chirping birds grows louder, and I don’t understand why I can hear them so clearly this morning.

But when my eyes are fully open, it isn’t my bedroom that I see around me.

No purple walls or twinkling lights.

No black accent pieces or dark paintings.

No, directly above me is the old weeping willow from the cemetery.

I sit up quickly and look around. I am in fact in the cemetery, and I’m wearing the black dress I tied back together last night. It wasn’t a dream.

Blaze was actually here. The ritual worked, and I got to spend the night with him. I actually killed people, and I had sex with a…ghost.

I’m panicking. My heart is racing in my chest, and my head is pounding from the adrenaline I felt. This can’t be real life.

The memories of last night come back to me with extreme clarity. Blaze appearing through a haze of fog and walking toward me. The overwhelming fear and dread that came along with the sight of him.

How he touched me. Feeling the warm, red liquid flow over my skin. All of the mind-blowing orgasms.

Watching him walk away from me. Following him back to the cemetery when he left. Lying down next to the candles and bones I left here when he appeared. Falling asleep to thoughts of him and dreams of the next time I’d be able to see him.

All of it was real.

I miss him already. I’m not sure how it’s possible to already long for him in this soul-deep way I feel right now, but I do.

I hate that he left, but I will find a way to bring him back again. I’ll look into what he meant when he told me that Halloween isn’t the only night where the veil is thin. Blaze and his damn cryptic messages may be the death of me. Though, it’s why his lyrics are next-level and so good.

How long will I have to wait before I can touch him again? Kiss him? Taste him?

My cheeks flush at the flashes of our carnal touches last night. It’s never been like that for me before. I’ve never felt so completely satisfied by a partner.

I fought so hard against the instant attraction and pull I felt toward him. But in the end, his allure won, and I gave into him.

Well, maybe I didn’t fight that hard. It was barely two hours between when he appeared in front of me and his fingers were thrusting into my pussy. Clearly I’m incredibly easy when it comes to him.

I shouldn’t be surprised. Show me someone who wouldn’t present themselves on a silver platter if their childhood crush came back from the dead and wanted to sleep together. There likely isn’t a person in existence who would give up an opportunity like that. It’s insanity to even consider that.

I don’t regret any of it. Given the chance to do it again, I would in a heartbeat. Maybe not the killing part or being facedown in the dirt at the local cemetery, but I would definitely do the rest of it.

Rising from the ground, I collect the items I want to keep from the altar and put them all in my small canvas bag. That’s when I notice Blaze’s black leather jacket on the ground in front of his gravestone.

My heart soars at the sight.

He left it for me.

I grab the jacket and pull it on. Almost instantly, his smell surrounds me, and this jacket instantly becomes my favorite article of clothing.

I’m also grateful that I have this to cover my torn dress.

The quick fix worked while I had the added cover of darkness to help hide my disheveled appearance.

Now, in the light of day, I feel exposed.

I pull Blaze’s jacket close to me as I walk home, avoiding eye contact with everyone I pass. I’m not in the mood to discuss what I’m wearing or why I still have “fake blood” on me — though it’s definitely not fake.

Opening and closing the wrought iron gate at the entrance of the property I share with my older brother was a mistake. My head is pounding and that ungodly screeching sound only made it worse.

“Hey, Rip.” I jerk my head up at the sound of my brother’s voice. He’s walking toward me, dressed in his scrubs.

I immediately sag in defeat. I was so freaking close to getting inside without any awkward conversations.

I’m interested in the reason he’s dressed for work hours before his normal shift, but I’m more concerned about getting inside without a slew of questions about where I’ve been all night or why I look the way I do. Dexter would lose his shit if he even knew half of what I did last night.

“Hey, Dex.” I blurt out, keeping my eyes trained on the ground as I try to squeeze by him on the walkway, but he catches my elbow before I get too far from him.

“Where did you get that?”

I’m not sure what he’s talking about, so I lift my head to face him. His eyes are focused on the jacket I’m wearing, and I realize my mistake.

Of course he would recognize the signature jacket his best friend wore for years.

Stupid!

I attempt to steady my voice before I ask, “Where did I get what?”

Dexter gently grips the sleeve of the jacket. I see the slight tremble in his hand move up his arm, before it rattles his entire frame. “This. Where did you get this jacket?”

I shrug. “Just something I found at the thrift store in Holland.”

“Bullshit.” There’s a force behind his words that I’m not used to from my brother.

While Dexter is nearly a decade older than me, he’s always treated me as his equal, even when he likely should have been the authoritarian in the situation.

So hearing him speak to me in a sharp tone, catches me completely off guard.

“Excuse me?”

He shakes his head, internally reasoning with himself before he drops his hand and offers me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I just…nevermind.” He motions behind him where his car is parked in the driveway. “ I have to get to work.”

“Why are you heading in so early?” I pull out my phone and check the time. “I thought you weren’t on call until tonight.”

Cautiously, he glances up and down the street. When he returns his attention to me, there is a deep crease between his eyebrows. “Someone attacked Donavan and two of his deputies last night and left them for dead in the field out by highway eighty.”

My eyes widen. “That’s awful. Are-are they okay?”

Dex shakes his head. “The deputies didn’t make it.”

“And the Sheriff?” I hold my breath, waiting for the words I know he’s about to utter. The panic already churning in my gut forces me to take in slow deep breaths to avoid puking all over Dex’s shoes.

“He’s alive but barely.” He adjusts his duffel bag that is slung over his shoulder. “They were able to stabilize him early this morning, but I have no idea what I’m about to walk into today. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” I whisper on a choked breath.

Dexter eyes drop back to the jacket I’m wearing, brows furrowed again, still silently questioning where I got it. Again, he shakes away whatever he’s thinking. Without another word, he turns and heads toward his car.

As soon as he’s behind the wheel and his door closes, I spin on my heels and bolt into the house.

Quickly, I shower before heading to my room and powering on my laptop. If I’m going to figure out when and how I can bring Blaze back, I need to start working on it now. I’m going to need him here sooner rather than later if Sheriff Donavan is still alive.

What if he remembers my face was the one hovering above him before his eyes fluttered shut?

What if I left evidence on him before Blaze and I left the scene?

What if my DNA is on the hood of his patrol car after I came all over it?

What if he tells someone I was the one who drove the knife into his chest over and over again?

I have so many unanswered questions, and I don’t have anyone I can talk to about what’s going on.

I really wish Blaze was still here.

My earlier panic returns. Dexter is suspicious of the fact that I have the jacket that once belonged to his friend.

Donavan is probably being prepped for surgery to repair the damage that my blade caused.

I’m covered in blood, but thankfully I don’t think my brother noticed any of it because he’s too focused on what I was wearing.

I need to find a way to fix this mess, and I need to do it before I find myself in a damn jail cell. As a girl who only owns black clothing, orange will not be a good look for me.

I type into the search bar: WHAT DAYS OF THE YEAR ARE THE VEILS BETWEEN WORLDS THE THINNEST.

Immediately my screen fills with articles about Halloween, Samhain, and Beltane or the spring equinox. But, there is one link that lists other names that I’ve never heard before, and I quickly click on it.

There are several holidays…where the veil between our world and the afterlife is just as thin as Samhain and Beltane. Blaze was right.

Now, I just need to hope that I don't end up in prison before then. I’ve never prayed before, but I might start if whatever god listens will keep Donavan asleep until the veil thins again.

The End… For Now