Page 11
Story: Summer's Edge
I don’t take my pilland I don’t go to bed. Instead I take the game outside, where the whispers can’t reach me. I sit on the patio in the moonlight and spread the Truth or Dare cards on the stone table and read them one by one, discarding each one back into the box after I’ve read both sides. The patio and table are probably the only parts of the original house that didn’t have to be replaced. They’re all stone, with a fire pit on one end and a cute little rock wall lining the path down to the dock. Looking at the cards spread on the table in the moonlight reminds me of Emily. Her mother does tarot readings at the mall. Emily did them too, just for us, but she didn’t have “the sight.” According to her mother, anyway. Mrs. Joiner used to say I was an old soul and all old souls could see a little if they opened their minds.
When I told my parents that, they told me not to accept any special teas or baked goods from Mrs. Joiner. In hindsight, I find that both hilarious and sad. Emily and Ryan were always embarrassed that their mother was the mall psychic lady. I think it’s kind of neat. My father is a grief counselor and my mother is the office administrative assistant, so everyone hates and fears them.
Anyway. Emily couldn’t have thought the cards were actually bullshit, because she read them too. Maybe she was just pissed that her mom thought I had the sight and she didn’t. And maybe her mom was just pissed that Emily was embarrassed of her.
I read every single Truth or Dare card and can’t find the suspect ones from our game. I sigh, frustrated. None of this makes sense. In the distance, I can hear the sound of tiny intermittent splashes, little plunks of water, and I crane my neck and gaze out toward the dock. A dark figure is silhouetted against the bright moonlit water. Splish. Ryan is attempting to skip stones. A faint smile touches my lips. He never could quite get it. The momentum. They always start so promising and then sink. I leave the game on the table and kick my sandals off, then head down the boardwalk leading to the dock. I like the feeling of the cool, damp wooden planks beneath my bare feet. It’s old wood, uneven, dangerous. Full of splinters. Another unapologetic fire survivor.
Ryan turns around, his face flushing. “Hello again,” he says with his endearing nervous smile.
“Brain still buzzing?”
“Endlessly.”
I take the round stone and hand him a smooth, flat one. “Try this one.”
He rears back his arm and hurls my stone. It goes straight under with a loud plop. “Do you think some people are just fated to sink? Like sad little human Titanics.”
“The Titanic wasn’t fated to sink. Icebergs are dangerous and people are careless.” I sit at the edge of the dock and dangle my legs over the edge, kicking at the dark water.
“I’m glad you came out here.” He eases himself down next to me and takes my hand almost absently, and I instantly feel guilty even though I shouldn’t. Kennedy and I aren’t together anymore, and it’s a friendly gesture, nothing more. But there’s something that unnerves me about the way our palms fit together, an unsettling urge to never let go. I never wanted to feel a thing for anyone in the world except Kennedy Ellis Hartford. And I don’t now. But the feeling of Ryan’s hand in mine, his warm skin, draws a deep, aching sadness from within me. It’s been the longest year. I miss my friend. “I wanted to tell you something,” he says softly.
I turn away so he won’t see my face flush. I badly don’t want to have this conversation. I know how he feels. It would be a terrible idea to bring it all back to the surface.
But he doesn’t say that at all. What he says is, “I believe you.”
I look up at him. “You do?”
“About Emily?” He nods. “People we love don’t disappear. They stay with us.” He looks up at the sky. “Think how lonely it would be if they just vanished.”
“But the others—”
“I think they’re too afraid. I was, at first. Fear makes people lie, even to themselves.”
“What if it’s just us? What if they can’t hear her?”
He chews his lip. “You mean the sight? That shit my mom used to talk about? I wouldn’t stress that. She was a phony. I think anyone who wants to see, can.” He stares down at the water and I kick at it. A sudden hint of bitterness has crept into his voice. He bumps his forehead against mine and rests it there, and I feel the warmth of his skin, the closeness of him, the cloud of his breath at the edge of my lips. I close my eyes, my cheeks warm. I have no reason to feel guilty. If Kennedy wanted to be sitting next to me right now, she would be. She would have stood up for me when I heard Emily calling. That’s the thing about Ryan. I never question myself when he’s around. I know no one means to make me question myself. But I do.
“That’s actually the real reason you haven’t heard from me this year.”
“How so?” I draw back and study his expression.
“What I said about people not being gone? That was the result of a year of… for lack of a better word, haunting.” He looks at me nervously.
“Haunting?” I glance back at the house. All of the lights are off; everyone is sleeping peacefully.
“I thought it was in my head, that it was wishful thinking.” He stares at me intently. “But it was Emily. Is her. Sometimes it’s just a voice, or a feeling.”
“Why didn’t you call me when all this was happening?”
“Believe me, I wanted to. But I thought it couldn’t possibly be real, and it was the last thing you needed to worry about. Honestly, part of me wanted you to tell me it was all in my head. But then at the house, you heard her too, and I knew.” He falls silent.
“Because it can’t be your mind playing tricks on you if it’s in two heads.” I hug my knees to my chest, and he puts an arm around my shoulder.
“Let’s say it’s not. What did you think of that card from the game?”
“Which one?”
“One of you killed your friend. That one stood out quite a bit.”
My heart seems to slow and grow quiet in my chest. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” I blurt.
“Why?” He looks at me intently. “That card was a gift.” I start to shake my head, but he continues urgently. “I have a theory. Emily read tarot cards. I think she’s using cards to tell us what happened to her.”
“We know what happened,” I whisper.
“We know what they want us to think.” He nods to the house at they. “An entire house burned to the ground on a windless night because of a suspected gas leak? Chelsea. Something still had to ignite the fire. Even if it was as small as someone flicking on a light switch. And everyone claims it couldn’t have been them. A house that big doesn’t go down by accident. Someone’s lying.”
“Who?”
He hugs himself nervously. “I don’t know. The authorities will always believe people like Kennedy and Chase. The real reason I came back this weekend is to find out.” He pulls a stiff, cream-colored rectangle from his pocket. “When I woke up this morning, this was lying next to my pillow with one of Emily’s tarot decks. I swear I’ve never seen it before. I don’t think it proves anything, but it has to mean something. And I’m sure she left it for me because she wants me to find out what happened to her.” He hands it to me, and I peer down at it curiously.
Mila’s criticism crashes back to me. Ghosts don’t work withpaper products. But as he presses the tarot card into my hand, a creeping chill runs through me. It’s from a deck I’ve never seen Emily use before. It’s gorgeously drawn in an eerie, vintage style, the color faded from use. The figure on the card is quirky, a little disjointed, like Emily’s own artwork. But the truly unnerving part of it isn’t the little details that feel off—the bloodred water of a lake, the odd stitches in the fabric of the sky—it’s the fact that the figure in the center of the card looks so familiar. The card depicts a young woman at the helm of a gilded sailboat, gliding over a crimson lake. She is draped in flowing blue robes, and a crown of jagged glass shards sits atop her head of long red hair. Her eyes are a piercing blue, and even the stubborn set of her chin screams Kennedy. Scrawled at the bottom of the card, in Emily’s handwriting, is Queen of Pentacles: trust at your peril.
I cover my mouth with my hand. “It looks so much like Kennedy.”
“Tarot cards were always a mode of communication for Emily,” Ryan says. “What if she never stopped?”
“How?” I turn the tarot card over in my hand.
“If I could explain it, I’d know what happened to Emily by now.”
“But you don’t think Kennedy could have had anything to do with Emily’s death?”
“I think this card came from Emily, and it’s a clue.” He takes it back. “It would feel like a betrayal if I didn’t take it seriously.” His eyes connect with mine. “What else did she tell us?”
“If cards were her language… she left us clues in the game.” My heart slows and quiets in my chest. “That one of us betrayed another, one kissed a killer, and one of us killed our best friend.” The words wrench my throat shut.
“That says it all, doesn’t it?” He catches my eye. “Chels. I know you weren’t involved.”
But I was involved. I was in the house with Emily, and now I’m here and she isn’t. I snap my head up to find Ryan looking at me carefully.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he says. But the words make me flinch.
“Why would you say that?”
He gives me an odd look. “Because you have to forgive yourself.” He points to the house. “They’re the ones I don’t trust. Especially Kennedy.” He looks at me nervously, and for a second, the world skips in time and we’re fourteen again. All-night phone calls, secret languages, inside jokes that the others rolled their eyes at. “We could leave them. Not look back.”
I laugh. Nervous laughter. Not the real kind. “In the middle of the night?”
He moves closer, and I feel the fear radiating off him. “Do you feel safe here now? Knowing what you know?”
“Ryan, we don’t know anything yet. The card could be a coincidence.” My voice seems to echo in the darkness.
“Wake up, Chelsea.” His voice is edged with agitation, and I feel his patience slipping away, the last grains of sand in a game timer. I’m not guessing the answer quickly enough. But his expression softens. “I’m just freaked out. I was so ready to be wrong about the tarot card. But then the game happened, and you heard Emily too, and I can’t believe it’s a coincidence.”
“Ryan. I believe you. But… murder?”
A shadow falls over his face. “Chelsea… I’ve never doubted you. Not once since we met. Do you trust me?” I glance back at the house uncertainly. I do trust Ryan. I trust my own senses. Emily is not gone, and maybe there was more to her death than what we think we know: an accidental fire, a blocked escape route, an unfortunate tragedy. I don’t know if I can accept that one of us could have intentionally set that fire. My friends are flawed, but none of us are monsters. Who would be capable of returning to this house with murder on their conscience?
“Of course I trust you. It’s the message I’m not sure of.”
He stares at me. “How could it be any more clear?”
“You can’t believe our friends are killers, Ryan.”
“I can’t?” He stares at me in disbelief. “A flick of a switch, a spark that raged out of control, panic, and then lies? You can’t even imagine a scenario where anyone could fuck up like that and not have the guts to come clean?”
“I guess.” Put like that, the world looks a bit darker. I don’t want to think of a mistake as murder. But then, I guess it’s not a mistake. Somewhere along the line, even in that scenario, a decision was made to let the house burn. To not save Emily. To never speak a word. I turn to Ryan. “I’m with you. But I’m not leaving. Stay. It’s the only way to find out the truth.”
He hesitates. “Fine. But if anything happens—”
“I said I’m with you, and I meant it. No matter what happens.”
“Good,” he says. “Because if I’m reading the clues right—”
I suddenly feel nauseous. “—someone in this house killed Emily.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11 (Reading here)
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40
- Page 41
- Page 42
- Page 43
- Page 44
- Page 45
- Page 46
- Page 47
- Page 48
- Page 49
- Page 50