The Darkest Part (Living Heartwood #1)(11)

“Sam?” Tyler’s voice pulls me out of my reading. I look up as he kneels beside me. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Nothing can take me away from you.”

An aching lump forms in my throat, and I swallow, trying to push all the grief and fear into the pit of my stomach. My eyes fall back to the book. The moon peeks through the curtains, washing the page in pale light. And when I read the very thing I fear, my hands tremble.

A specter can only continue to manifest itself as long as it has strong ties to the place, object, or person it’s haunting. Most are spotted one to four days after their death, but soon cross over into the “light.” Those who choose to stay on the earth plane, for whatever reason, be it refusal to accept their death, fear of leaving behind a loved one, or their unfinished business, are considered lost or wandering souls.

Manifesting requires an enormous amount of energy, and after a time, can become too difficult to achieve for the specter. If they never cross over, they become earthbound spirits. Their memories will fade, their essence will become more mist-like, as they diminish into a truly lost soul.

Some believe a darkness, such as another dimension, traps the souls, making it more difficult for the specter to manifest. It takes more energy to appear to the living, especially in the daytime. This is why most can only view spirits during the night. Flash photography can capture their essence struggling to appear, known as dark entities. Once they can no longer summon the will to manifest, they fade into the dark place, sometimes leaving behind energy that acts out in a residual haunt.

This is by far the saddest existence for a specter.



I slam the book and throw it.

Oh, God. This can’t be happening to him. I can’t let this happen to him. Tyler’s life was cut short. He lost everything and everyone. Now he’s going to fade into a nothingness. How can God let any of this happen? What the f*ck is life for, then?

Before I realize it, I’m on my feet and pacing, my hands on my head, fisting my hair. Tyler’s saying something, but my ears are pounding in sync with the adrenaline claiming my body. I’m probably freaking him out. I have to calm down. I have to breathe.

“Sam—”

My head snaps up. “Why didn’t you tell me this was happening?” My tone is accusatory, but I don’t care. I feel like he’s hiding something from me, just like he’s hiding something about him and his brother. I can’t stand the secrets. We could have been researching this for the past five months—could have been prepared.

“Sam,” Tyler says again, his voice deep, serious. It centers me. “You remember that trip we were planning?”

I jerk back, confused by the sudden change of topic. “Our honeymoon?”

He nods, a thin smile forming on his mouth. “Besides leaving you, it’s my only regret.” He settles down on the floor, motioning for me to join him. I do. “You were right.”

“About what, Tyler?” My heart is being crushed in my chest.

He looks sheepish, young. Boyish. It breaks me. “We should have gone. During our last break, we should’ve just packed up and drove. I regret making us wait.”

And like a kick to the gut, the answer hits me. I don’t know whether to cry or scream or laugh.

As much as I’m not ready to say goodbye, as much as I’m going to miss him . . . I have to help Tyler cross over. Because buried in a deep, dark pocket of my soul, I fear he walked away from the light for me. And now I have to stop being selfish. I love him too much to let him fade away into nothing.

A tear slips down my face, and I brush it away harshly. Then I glance at my clock: 3:46.

“Come on. Time for bed,” I say, giving Tyler my best witchy smile.

His eyebrows hike. “Am I sharing your bed tonight, sexy?” I can’t help but laugh, and I need to. From here on out, I have to laugh and smile and love him until it’s time. Only then can I break.





Holden

Son of a bitch.

I slam my fist on the counter, pissed. “What do you mean the case has been deemed inactive?”

The officer behind the counter stands, approaches, like she’s going to arrest me. I hold my hands in the air innocently. “Sorry,” I say. “I’m just shocked I wasn’t informed, when I specifically asked to be the last time I was here. Please. He’s my brother.”

This last part softens her a bit, and her stiff shoulders relax. “Mr. Marks—Holden—I know how difficult all this has been for you”—she looks down at her folder, flips through—“but it’s been over a hundred days. We can’t keep a case like this on the top shelf unless there’s substantial evidence to follow. There’s no statute of limitation here, so we can always follow up on new leads. But without any evidence that proves your brother’s death was anything but a tragic accident, it will be filed as inactive for now. I’m sorry.”

My jaw tightens. “So that’s it? Did the investigating officer even ask around campus? Did they inspect all the red cars? Did they talk to everyone—?”

“Yes,” she says, cutting me off. “I assure you protocol was followed all the way. I wish there was better news to give you, but unfortunately, cases like this, hit-and-runs, often go unsolved. Maybe you should seek some help . . . for you to work through your—”