The Dead and the Dark(68)

“What do you want?” Ashley asked. She didn’t have the Scripto8G this time, so there was no real way for him to respond. But she asked anyway.

The air shifted. It crackled, alive with static for a moment, and then it loosened. For the first time since he’d started visiting her, it was like he listened. He was leaving.

“Wait.” Ashley clambered to the end of her bed. “Don’t go.”

The air came alive again. The pungent scent of fuel blossomed under her nose, flickering like a dying flame. For a moment, Ashley could almost see him. She saw the shape of him, at least. A cool draft blew through the window, skirting Ashley’s hair over her shoulder, but Tristan was undisturbed.

“You’re the only one left,” Ashley said.

The air lost pressure like a plane in turbulence. There was only silence. Ashley lay back across her bed. The blankets smelled like stale detergent and dust and she wished she could just sink down through the mattress, through the floorboards, and into the dirt. She wished she could cover herself in soil and burrow until this was all over. She wished she could emerge back in January and do it all differently.

When she spoke, it was only a whisper. “I think you might be dead.”

Tristan’s reaction to this was strange. Like smoke from a field fire, Tristan emerged from the dark. His hands were balled into fists, jaw sharp with tension like he was fighting to hold something back. He walked toward her, stilted and jarring like he could hardly manage it. The sight of him made fear catch in Ashley’s throat, but she stayed calm.

“I wish I could do our last night over,” Ashley said, pushing past the way her voice shook and her eyes watered. “I would explain it differently so you’d understand. I wish I could talk to you back then.”

Tristan’s ghost was silent, as always. He stood at the end of her bed and cocked his head to the side in a curious gesture that was so Tristan it hurt.

“I would’ve made sure you knew how much I loved you. I said I didn’t, but that’s not what I meant. I just didn’t love you like I thought I was supposed to. You were my best friend. Just because it wasn’t like—”

Ashley blinked. The house was silent with night and she was left dizzy and breathless. She didn’t know what she’d meant to compare it to. Or, she did know, but she didn’t mean to think it. It was too quick, too easy to say her name.

“It’s not fair,” Ashley said. “You and me should’ve worked…”

Tristan looked at her, and she imagined him like he was before. He would sit at the edge of her bed with his hands on his knees. He’d laugh at the roundabout way she explained everything. You’re being so vague, he’d tell her. Just say what you mean.

But she didn’t know what she meant. Trying to have feelings for Tristan had been this slow-rolling thing like waves on the lake in summertime. It was happy and it was calm and she thought she could spend her whole life building up to it. They would be okay; they would last long enough for it to be real.

This other thing was too fast. It gripped her and wouldn’t let go. It crushed her under its weight and didn’t wait for her to catch her breath. It shoved her to the bottom of the lake and didn’t care if she made it up for air. It was like she was always running out of time.

“You know how I said I wanted to break up because I didn’t feel like you did?” Ashley swallowed. “I feel it now. I didn’t know how scary it was. I’m so sorry.”

Tristan’s fists clenched. Ashley wished she could see his face. The Tristan she knew always wore his whole heart in his expression, but this Tristan was only a shadow. His face was nothing but a trick of light, impossible to see clearly. He recoiled, sharp and sudden, slamming against the bedroom door. The ceiling light flickered and the curtains flapped against the window. Ashley clambered back in her bed until she bumped into her headboard. After a moment, Tristan calmed. He was fighting to stay solid, to stay with her, to stay here.

Ashley sucked in a breath.

“Do you wanna come back?” she asked.

Tristan flickered. Maybe it was an answer; if so, Ashley couldn’t understand it. It was almost dizzying sometimes, the way Tristan filled up the room. It wasn’t just sensory anymore—every memory of him sat at the surface like a coat of moss on the wood floor. Things she didn’t even realize she remembered, things she’d pushed to the back of her mind, things she’d tried to forget. “I’m glad I get to see you again.”

Tristan wavered. He reached for her, his movements stilted and jagged.

The sound of the TV broke through the quiet. When Ashley blinked, Tristan was gone. Her hand lingered in the empty air. Brandon’s and Logan’s voices droned on and the rest of the room was empty.

Ashley turned back to the TV.

Brandon and Logan had made their way down into the tunnels now. Brandon was several feet ahead of Logan, scanning the graffiti-laden walls with a device Ashley didn’t recognize.

Logan called to Brandon, fiddling with another device.

When the camera caught Brandon, everything was wrong.

Ashley narrowed her eyes at the screen. It was only a flicker of static at the edges of the TV. The infrared space was distorted, just warped enough to notice. Ashley nudged her TV, but the static remained. At Brandon’s feet, something black pooled like oil. He stood completely still, eyes wide, and Ashley recognized his expression.