Don’t Look Back(23)
Author: J. Lynn

The idea of trying again later kind of made me want to hurl.

“Okay?” Del dropped his heavy hand on my shoulder.

Unexpectedly, my vision went gray. The weight of his hand dragged me down, through the mattress, and without any warning, I was no longer in my bedroom.

But falling, over and over again, spinning through darkness. Cold, wet air rushed up, grabbing ahold of me, pulling me down, down. Falling so fast, I couldn’t catch my breath. My lungs were frozen, my thoughts on repeat.

I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die, like her.

My body stopped, not from impact, but just stopped. The black sky turned a milky, dull color. Above me there were trees painted gray. Bent over, snapped in half, their naked branches reached toward me, splaying like fingers sharpened to a point. Water rushed below me.

Everything was dead, dead, dead.

Something fell past me in a blur of red. Screams—screams that raised the hair on my body, howls that chilled my soul. And then there was nothing but silence.

Suddenly Del was leaning over me, eyes wide. He had a hold of my shoulders, shaking them. My head flopped around. “Sammy! Sammy, snap out of it!”

Feet pounded outside the room, and then my bedroom door swung open. Scott drew to a halt, his cheeks red and his eyes narrowed. “What’s going on? Why was she screaming?”

Del jerked away from me. “I don’t know. She was fine one second, and then she just got this look on her face and started screaming.”

Scott hovered over me. “Sam, say something.”

I blinked slowly, focusing on his face. “I’m going to die.”

“What?” He sat beside me, pulling me up so that I was half sitting, half leaning on him. “Why would you say that, Sam?”

I stared into eyes that were identical to mine—brown with a splash of green around the irises. Concern drew harsh lines around his. “I remember thinking that,” I said.

His eyes widened slightly, and I felt the bed dip under Del’s weight. “Do you remember anything else? Do you have your memories back?” Scott asked.

“I remember falling.” I scooted back a little and looked down. Half my shirt was buttoned wrong. Nice. There was no doubt Scott had noticed that. “And there was water, but that’s all.”

Scott’s shoulders slumped in disappointment…or relief? “That’s important, though. You should really tell that detective. Do you still have his number?”

“Why?” Del asked. “There’s no way of knowing if what she remembers is actually a memory or just a hallucination. There’s no need for her to embarrass herself like that.”

“Why do you think it’s a hallucination?” I asked, suspicious and fearful at once.

A sheepish look crept across his face. “Your mom mentioned you were…seeing things.”

I was so going to kill her.

“She’s not seeing things,” Scott snapped, pushing off the bed. “The way you say that is like she’s crazy or something. And she’s not.”

My cheeks burned. Del had a point. I didn’t know if the things I had been seeing were really memories. They didn’t make sense, and not all of them could be true. There was no way I could’ve stopped myself from falling in midair like that, and trees sure as hell weren’t gray.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scott give Del a look. “I don’t know what you guys were doing up here, but try slowing it down, bud. She’s been through a lot, you know.”

Del’s jaw popped, as if he was grinding his teeth to keep from responding.

Scott left after that, slamming the bedroom door shut behind him. Awkward silence descended. “Do you think I’m crazy?” I asked, my voice tiny.

“No, of course not…but I do think you’re confused, and that’s to be expected.” He paused, and I could feel his eyes on me. “Look, I better get going. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

I nodded.

Del leaned in, kissing my cheek, and then he stood, bumping into the bedside table, jarring the music box. It kicked on, playing a note of the haunting melody. He stared at it, shaking his head. “I hate that thing.”

“Why?”

He just shook his head again. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

After he left, I went to my desk and picked up the card the detective had left me. It had his personal cell on it, and he’d left instructions for me to call at any hour if I remembered anything. I picked up my phone, debating. What if it wasn’t real? I’d just look stupid.

And crazy.

Sitting down on my bed, I stared at his number. Stupid and crazy were worth the risk if it helped them find Cassie. I dialed his number.

Detective Ramirez answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

I cleared my throat, clenching the business card. “Hi. This is…this is Samantha Franco.”

There was a pause, and it sounded like he muted a television or something. “Yes? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” It was now or never. Closing my eyes, I prayed I wasn’t making a mistake. “I remembered something, but I’m not sure if it will help.”

“Anything at this point will help,” he said gruffly.

I told him what I remembered—the darkness, falling, and the water rushing. At first he didn’t respond, and then he did. And I suddenly felt so heavy, so weighted down by his words.

“Up at the state park, there’s a lake that feeds into a waterfall. I’m assuming you don’t remember either of those things, but we’re dragging the lake on Sunday.”

Cops didn’t drag lakes looking for survivors. They dragged them looking for bodies.

Chapter nine

I felt nauseated most of Saturday morning, having not slept much after the phone call with the detective. The rescue endeavors had turned to recovery. It was unspoken, but I knew it in my bones.

They didn’t expect to find Cassie alive.

A little before one, I snuck out. Not hard to do when Mom was still in bed and Dad was off on a golf course somewhere. Shoving my hands into the pockets of this really cute military-style jacket I’d found in my closet, I headed down the winding road. Chances were this trip would be pointless. Cassie’s parents might not even be home, but I couldn’t bring myself to call them, especially because they hadn’t contacted me once since I’d been back.

This could be bad.

Crossing the small yard, I stepped onto the tiny porch of the brick house and knocked on the front door. A crash sounded from inside, followed by a deep, husky laugh—Carson’s laugh.