1
Harlynn
I am death.
Death is me.
We are one.
But we’re also separate. At least, I think so. I’m not sure anymore, of where I begin and death ends. It’s all sort of blending together. Everything is now. Time. Existence. Memories.
I feel strange, like I’m starting to fade. Wither. Die. And maybe that’s how things are supposed to be.
As I lie in my bed, staring up at the ceiling of my bedroom, dark thoughts plague my mind. I feel strange, disconnected from the world, and I can’t figure out why. But I know something is definitely going on with me. I feel different. As if I’m changing. But into who?
Or what?
I shake the ludicrous thought from my head. Yes, I sometimes see dead people. Yes, I sometimes see shadows moving around in the forest. But that doesn’t mean I am something.
Right?
My thoughts drift to the feather on my wrist. I trace the wound. It’s been long enough now that the flesh is beginning to stitch back together, so I took off the bandage. However, the injury is deep enough that I’m certain I’ll have a scar. I wonder how strange that’ll be—to have a feather-shaped scar marked upon my flesh forever, to have that night forever branded on my body.
I roll over on my bed, anger biting underneath my flesh as I replay what happened that night. Well, what little of it that I can remember.
Foster kissing me.
The truck going over the cliff.
Darkness.
Then a spark of light.
Kingsley’s face appearing in front of me.
His promise to save me.
Then darkness got ahold of me again.
His lips on mine, breathing air into my lungs …
I touch my lips with my fingertips as I recall the feel of his lips pressed against mine. Then the anger inside me dwindles, shifting to something else, something warmer.
Why do I feel this way toward Kingsley? Because he saved me? Because he gave me my first kiss in the closet that night at the party? Because I used to be friends with him? Or is it because, deep down, I’ve always felt attracted to him, even when I wouldn’t admit it. And now our souls are intertwined, and I can sometimes feel what he’s feeling. Like how I can tell he’s worried in this moment. I don’t know why, but it still has me concerned.
I need to talk to him.
I haven’t heard from Kingsley since he called me from the police station, which was over a day ago. I know he was released because the detective overseeing his informant case informed everyone that he didn’t crash into Foster’s truck and send it over the ledge, that he was working with him that night. And now Kingsley is out in the world somewhere, but I don’t know where since he hasn’t called me back. I’ve tried to call him a few times and also sent him a few messages. However, he hasn’t replied. And yes, I know he told me that he might be MIA off and on for a bit due to his informant job, but after learning about how our souls are twined together, and that if I don’t solve the dead girls’ deaths, Kingsley and I are going to die, I need to talk to him. I also need to talk to him about how Beth told me that he tried to take his own life. I want to know what happened to him, want to make sure he’s okay, want to take away his pain.
What I want is some answers.
But strangely, everything has been quiet. Even Beth. So has my mom.
Death, the person I emailed, hasn’t even sent me another message as to where we should meet to discuss the afterlife. The only noises I have heard are the thoughts plaguing my mind.
Is this what death is like? Silence? Or is something else wrong with me?
She lies at the bottom of the lake, water swirling around her, wings sprouting from her back. The angel is drowning, sinking into darkness, punished for her sins. Water fills up her lungs. She can’t breathe. She is going to die. She is death—
I gasp, choking on my own breath that is trapped inside my chest.
Once I get my breathing settled down, I try to process what the hell happened.
What were those images? Who did they belong to? I’ve seen images of other people before, but I don’t think it was of a person this time.
She had wings.
An angel?
I rake my fingers through my long, wavy brown hair. “I’m losing my damn mind. I really am. I need to get some answers before I go completely crazy.”
“What you need is to talk to Kingsley.” Beth appears in my room, dripping dirty lake water onto the carpet, her skin rotting, her eyes hollow.
The first time I saw her, her appearance startled me. Now I’m used to it, which brings me a whole new set of discomfort.
I sit up on my bed. “I have been trying to talk to him,” I inform her. “He won’t call me back.”
She steps toward the bed, her bare feet leaving imprints in the carpet. “Then go look for him.”
“I don’t think I can.” I stare down at the footprints, wondering if they’ll remain there and if anyone else will be able to see them. “My parents will freak out if I try to leave the house this late. Plus, I promised Kingsley I’d keep myself safe, which probably means no wandering around this late at night.”
She rolls her eyes. “Why are you so worried about what everyone else wants you to do? You need to start making your own decisions. Otherwise, you’ll never get anywhere. And all of us will be doomed. If you don’t solve our deaths, Harlynn, not only will the killers continue to murder, but us and you and Kingsley will be doomed. Everything will be doomed.”
“I know that. Though I think you’re being a little overdramatic with the whole everything-will-be-doomed thing.”
She frowns. “You’ve never been more wrong than in this moment.”
I huff a weary sigh. “And you’re the most riddle-y talker I’ve ever met.”
“And you’re naïve, which again worries me that we all might be doomed. And poor Kingsley … his life is in your hands.”
I swallow audibly. “I know that. And I’m doing my best to figure out what happened to you and Paige and the rest of the girls, but I’m not a detective. I don’t know what to do.”
“I know you’re not. You’re much better than one.” Blood trickles from her eyes.
“I highly doubt that,” I say. “The only thing that makes me different is that I can see you. And maybe that would make me better if you’d tell me who killed all the girls, or maybe where their bodies are. But you won’t.”
She stiffens, choking out, “Because I can’t.” Water begins to waterfall down her body, coming from seemingly nowhere and pouring onto the floor. “You’re better than you know. You just haven’t discovered your true potential yet. Once you do, everything will change. You’ll be able to do things no one else has ever been able to do. You’ll be able to save so many others from evil. From death.”
“You’re acting like I’m some sort of murder detective, but I’m not. I’m just a girl who died, came back to life, and is now cursed with being able to talk to corpses. No offense or anything, but that’s not a superpower.”
“No offense taken. I know what I am,” she tells me dismissively as she sinks onto the edge of the bed. “But you have no clue what you can do yet. You’ve been marked by death, and once you start accepting that, you’ll be able to tap into all sorts of abilities.”