The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(10)
The important thing is Holden is determined to find who took Tyler away from us.
If I could help, if I knew anything at all, I would stomach being around Holden to see justice done. I just wish there was a way. And that I didn’t fear so much.
The truth is, Tyler might be hanging around because he needs resolution. I’ve thought this every day since I first saw his spirit. If the police discovered who was driving that car, it might free Tyler from this plane. It could be his unfinished business.
I’m a horrible person. I know this. I’m conflicted—wanting to see the person punished for what they did, and not wanting to. I’m just not ready to say goodbye.
A thought hits me hard and I bolt upright in bed. Tyler jumps to his feet, my plush beanbag chair not shifting or making a noise as he rises. It still weirds me out.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
I nod, letting my hair fall around my face to hide my expression. “Just had a dream.” Okay, so now I am a liar.
Tyler kept a journal. I don’t think Holden knows about it, and Tyler doesn’t know that I know about it. But one night when I was staying at his residence apartment, I saw him writing in it when he thought I was in the bathroom. I thought it was endearing—not many guys keep a diary—and I never mentioned it. Letting him have that secret for himself.
But if there’s any chance that Tyler’s accident wasn’t an actual accident, then maybe something in that journal could help. I feel slimy just thinking about reading his personal thoughts. But it may be the only lead in his case. And like Holden said, if something new doesn’t present itself, the police will file his hit-and-run away, never discovering the person who sped off that night, leaving a dying Tyler bleeding on the road. Leaving a ruined girlfriend and family behind.
I know it’s the right thing to do—regardless of my own selfishness.
“Tyler,” I say, my voice throaty. “I need something from you.”
“Anything,” he says. The shadows conceal most of his features, but his aura—the white light surrounding him—reveals the concern etched on his face.
“You kept a journal, didn’t you?”
His face pales, the glow of his aura dimming. “No. I didn’t—”
“I saw you. Writing in it.” I push myself off the bed and slowly approach him. “I think we should read through it together. To see if maybe—”
He waves his hand. “Sam, I’m right here. Don’t you think if I had any clue about who hit me that I’d tell you?”
I’m taken back. “How did you know that’s why I even wanted it?”
He huffs out a long breath. “I know how your mind works. Holden’s here, and you saw him today. He hasn’t moved on yet.” His eyes level me. “He can’t accept that it just happened, that there’s no ulterior motive. Sometimes bad shit just happens, Sam.”
“Right.” I shake my head, thinking that maybe I’m more transparent than Tyler. “But . . . he’s your brother. He just wants to help you. The way I do.” I step closer, wishing I could hold his hand, comfort him. “Don’t you want whoever did this to be caught? Maybe there’s something in there that you can’t connect, but someone looking in from the outside can. Something off, a link. Please. Just let me try.”
He turns his back to me and drops his head.
“Tyler . . .”
“I don’t know where it is.”
A chill creeps over me. “How can you not know?”
He drives a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense. “I’m starting to . . . forget things.”
Panic grabs my chest, squeezing. My gaze flicks around the room, as if I can find an answer in the dark.
“Is this why you’ve been coming to me more often?” I ask. I’m afraid to voice my real fear. That he’s starting to fade, becoming like the other ghosts I’ve read up on. I don’t think I can bear to watch him wander aimlessly, a lost soul.
My heart constricts as he turns toward me, his face pinched in worry. “When I’m with you, things are more vivid. I remember almost everything. My life. Who I am. Who I was . . .” He trails off.
I swallow. “Where do you go when you’re not with me?”
He shrugs. “Someplace dark. Full of shadows. Somehow, time doesn’t exist. I’m there for only a short while, and when I find you again, so much time has passed.” He looks at the floor. His shoe scuffs the carpet, making no mark. “And I remember less.”
Suddenly my head is light, my breaths coming too quickly. The room closing in. How can I be so selfish? With a shake of my head, I summon the nerve to go and grab one of my books.
Where the Internet was filled with accounts and speculations and ridiculous theories, it was in a small bookstore that I found the information I needed. I drop to my knees and pull out the collection of books from under my bed.
Pushing the pile over, I fan them out, and grab the one with a worn black cover and faded white lettering. The binding creaks as I open it, and the musty smell of old books hits my nose. Scrolling my finger down the table of contents, I find the chapter I’m looking for.
With a deep breath, I flip to the section labeled Intelligent Spirits.
I only skimmed the chapter before, not wanting to think about or know Tyler’s possible future. He’s nothing like other ghosts. He surpasses all other accounts of hauntings (I hate that word; makes what is happening sound creepy and not at all like what we are together). He’s Tyler. Just Tyler. Not an impression, or something left behind after a traumatic event. And so I never wanted to know any more than that. It was enough to know that he was really here, and that I wasn’t crazy.