Forever Blue Page 11

  A silent scream reverberated in my head. "I need to go."

  "Don't," he pleaded. "Lennon, don't. I need you."

  "Judah—" I took another deep breath. "Ruben, I can't."

  I pulled my hands from his and took off running. My feet pounded over the grass and the wind whipped back my hair as I took in big gulps of air. I could hear him behind me. He didn't try to catch up but just ran behind, waiting for me to stop.

  I ran until my chest felt like it was going to explode. I ran until I could run no longer and bent over in exhaustion, my chest heaving. I was in town. The shops were silent and dark. Footsteps fell behind me.

  "Just leave me alone," I said. "Please."

  "I can't." His voice was ragged and torn. "I need you to understand."

  I stood and looked down the quiet street. The streetlights flicked on and off. I turned and stared at my reflection in the shop window. My hair trailed down my back and my face was pale. My blue eyes stared back, wide, like they had seen a ghost, and I almost laughed at the ironic absurdity of it. "Please give me some other explanation," I said to the space behind.

  I felt his presence as he came and stood by my side. Again, he took my hand and raised it to his cold lips. In the window, I saw my hand lift as if of its own accord.

  "You're really not here," I whispered.

  I turned to Judah—no—Ruben, as he faced himself in the window. He was there. He was real. But when I turned back I only saw my own reflection.

  "I am here," he said. "I may exist only for you, but that's more than I've had in a long time."

  Chills trembled through me. I turned to face him, ignoring the image that didn't reflect what I saw. He was there. The connection that existed between us still drew me to him. He was visible. I could feel him, see him, hear him, and those were the things that mattered.

  "You're not dead to me," I whispered.

  He took me in his arms then and pressed me against him. I trembled and clung onto him as he wound his arms around me, pulling me closer and closer until I couldn't tell where he started and I stopped. That he didn't exist to other people, didn't matter. What mattered was the way he made me feel. The pressure of his body against mine. The pounding of my heart whenever he was near. That he saw me. That I saw him.

  We broke apart and he pressed his forehead against mine, tucking my hair over my shoulder.

  "You feel real to me," I said.

  "That's all I can ask. Believe me, I know how this must sound to you. I know how improbable it is, how unbelievable. I've gone through it all myself. But I see you and you see me. What could be more real than that?"

  We walked hand and hand down the street and back towards my house. The first time I ever drank coffee was when we were out for breakfast with my parents, not long before they announced their separation. I drank cup after cup, indulging in the previously forbidden drink, and by the time I left, I felt spaced out, keenly aware, but not present. That was how I felt as we walked down the street. My mind couldn't compute the facts, but I didn't care.

  "Why do you think you are still here?" I asked.

  He shrugged, not the shrug of a dead boy, a shrug like anyone would shrug. "Maybe everyone who dies is still here. Maybe they are all just wandering around, condemned to watch life pass them by, just a spectator as their loved ones carry on without them, unable to communicate with any of them, alone, their own personal hell."

  "Is that how it feels for you? Like hell?"

  I leaned against him as we walked, something within me wanting to be as close to him as possible. The fear, the disbelief, and the nothingness that I felt before, gone. The more I felt him, the more I watched him, the more I accepted who he was. How could I not, when he was right there before me? It wasn't possible that my own eyes would lie.

  "It was." He reached out and wrapped his fingers around mine. They were warm and real and alive. "But that was before you. Now, I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm here for a reason, you know? Maybe I'm supposed to do something, fix something. Maybe you were sent to help me. Maybe that's why we can communicate through your dreams."

  "You know about my dreams?" I asked, and felt the colour rising to my face at some of the situations I had found myself in while dreaming.

  He grinned sheepishly. "While you were sleeping, I crept into your room just to be close to you." At the look of horror on my face, he laughed. "Yes, I know how completely creepy that sounds but you've got to understand, I've wandered this town for months, completely alone, and then one day you walked up to me and spoke. You can't possibly understand what that felt like. I was suddenly alive again and I just had to be near you, and since you could see me, the only choice was to be around you when you couldn't. You looked so beautiful sleeping, so peaceful, and so I reached out and stroked your face and found myself in your dreams."

  "That's really creepy."

  He nodded and squeezed my hand. "I know, but I've gone without human contact for months. I'll take anything I can get."

  I leaned my head against his shoulder again, our arms looped together, and fingers entwined. Even though I couldn't make sense of everything in my head, I felt calm. "So why did you make it feel like I was drowning when we kissed?"

  "What?" He stopped walking.

  "In my dream, while we were kissing it felt like I was drowning."

  "It never felt like that for me. I'm sorry," he said and started walking again.

  "Have you ever seen another person like you?"

  "Another ghost?" He shook his head. "I hate that word, but to answer your question, no, not that I know of."

  "Well, why do you think that is? Surely if everyone who died turned into a ghost, then this place would be crowded. What makes some spirits hang around and others vanish?"

  "I really don't know. It's not like I've got anyone to ask. There was no fairy-ghost-mother just waiting to show me how it all works. Maybe they've gone to heaven or wherever people go after death, and this is hell, but rather than the fiery pit that people cram down your throat, maybe this hell is simply what you've chosen; a life away from God, if he exists. No love, no connection with other souls, just left to wander the earth. Well, not wander the earth, as it seems I'm stuck here. I've tried leaving but it's like there is some sort of a force field which surrounds the graveyard in a perfect circle. If I try to leave, it is like the world glitches and I'm set back a few paces. I'm all alone."

  "Well that must mean I must have one foot in hell," I said.

  "Never. You're an angel sent to rescue me."

  I laughed and it struck me as strange how normal it sounded. "Some angel I'd make."

  We reached my house and I looked up into those grey eyes that no longer resembled the rain, but instead, the silver lining of a cloud blocking the sun, and whispered into the darkness. "So what happens now?"

  Chapter Sixteen

  Judah - the previous year

  I could only see Cara's shoes from underneath the car, but I could tell from the way they were firmly planted on the ground that she meant business.

  "You have to come," she stated plainly.

  "I don't," I replied, but my voice got lost in the recesses of the engine.

  Cara's feet shifted closer. "It's Guy Fawkes Night."

  I wheeled the creeper out from under the Fairlane and peered up at her. She was glaring at me, arms crossed, eyebrows hunched together. From down on the ground she appeared even taller and skinnier than usual. She folded her arms and jutted out her chin, demanding an answer.

  "The guy was tortured and hanged, it's hardly something to celebrate."

  Cara rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fireworks, Judah. It's about the fireworks. When was anybody actually interested in the history?"

  "Did Ruben send you out here?"

  She sighed exasperatedly. "Since when did I follow orders from your brother?"

  I shrugged and rolled myself back under the Fairlane, replacing the image of Cara with one of sumps and filters. "Since you started spending more time with hi
m." I didn't want bitterness to soak into my tone, but it was there, mocking me as I tried to keep my voice even.

  Cara's hand wrapped around my ankle and dragged me back out. "It's been three weeks and you have barely left the house," she said, glaring down at me. "Everyone's worried."

  "I'm grounded, remember? Orders from his royal wannabe highness."

  Cara placed her hands on her hips. "Your dad's not here."

  Resigned to the fact that the conversation was happening whether I liked it or not, I got to my feet and wiped my hands down my jeans. "I'm fine, Cara. I just don't feel like going anywhere."

  "So you keep saying."

  Frustrated, I ran my hand through my hair which was already thick and matted with grease and sighed. "I just want to get this done." I nodded to the Fairlane.

  Cara smiled and batted her eyelashes. "Please?"

  "That won't work," I said as I rolled myself back under.

  Cara got on the ground, wiggled herself under and lay beside me. "What are you even doing under here?" she said, squinting at underside of the engine. She may have loved cars, but only driving them. She left all the 'greasy stuff,' as she called it, to her father and me.

  "Oil change," I replied.

  "That's what you do? Every time you're out here tinkering on this, you're changing the oil? Sounds thrilling."

  "Oh, it is," I replied dryly. "But sometimes, just for fun, I rub it with little bits of sandpaper. You should be here for that. You won't be able to look away."

  "All over?" she teased.

  "Every inch."

  It felt right, joking with her, back to the way we used to be, the way we would still be, if it wasn't for Ruben. But she didn't say much after that. I tried to ignore her lying next to me, but being wedged under the car meant that there wasn't a lot of room and the proximity of her was intoxicating. I looked sideways. She was staring straight at me with those big eyes of hers, pleading. It was a cruel tactic. She knew I would eventually give in. I never could resist her.

  "Come," she said. "You know you want to."

  "Fine." I shook my head dismally at my failure.

  She smiled and leaned over to place a kiss on my cheek before wiggling her way back out. "Good," she said firmly.

  "But I'm not dressing up."

  Cara rolled her eyes. "As if I would make you."

  "And you realise everyone will be talking about me? This town is so small that this news snippet will last years," I said, following her and sliding out from the car.

  "Well, maybe we'll give them something else to talk about." She smiled again, but this time it was coy, and for a moment I was transfixed. My heart raced. But her smile dropped when she saw the way I looked back at her, and her carefree grin returned. "We could make something up. Hey, maybe about Sienna Deacon. That girl needs some gossip spread about her."

  Sienna was Ruben's on again off again girlfriend, who I suspected didn't care for him at all but merely liked the attention dating him brought, and it was no secret she and Cara were not fond of each other. They were polar opposites. Sienna was all curves and glitter and gloss. Cara was sharp angles and planes, curse words and smoke.

  Cara sunk to the ground, crossing her legs and peering back at me. She had this peculiar way of sitting. She crossed her ankles, and then, somehow, sort of just collapsed to the ground. It was both awkward and adorable. She placed her elbows on her knees and rested her head on the fists of her hands. "What do you think? Drugs?" She laughed. "Nah, it's been overdone. And it's probably true. The best rumours are never true. A drinking problem?" She shook her head and flicked her fingers out to me, indicating she wanted a cigarette. "Everyone in this town has a drinking problem."

  "You're horrible," I said, ignoring her outstretched hand and collecting my tools to place them back in my toolbox. My bedroom may have been a mess but I kept the garage spotless.

  "Anorexia. Nah, she's not skinny enough. Bulimia?"

  "It's hardly something to joke about, Cara."

  Cara pouted. "Her dog has bulimia?" She wriggled her fingers and I relented, pulling the cigarette packet out of my pocket and passing her one. I lit hers before I lit my own.

  "Does she even own a dog?" I mumbled, because of the cigarette bobbing between my lips.

  "I think she has one of those little mop-type things people call dogs." Cara inhaled deeply and leaned back, smiling contentedly.

  "You could ask Ruben. I'm sure he knows what she has hidden inside her house." I turned away from her when I said it, but I could still see her out of the corner of my eye and I watched for any sign of tension, of jealousy, for anything that might hint at a relationship with my brother. But Cara just exhaled and then stood, using the same method she did to sit down, by unfolding herself.

  "So you'll come?" She cocked her head to the side.

  I put the spanner away and turned to face her. She was smiling brightly. She already knew she had won.

  "Fine."

  Cara skipped over and playfully punched my arm. "Good. One Mitchell boy just isn't enough."

  The first time Cara saw Ruben and me at the same time, she never said a word. Often, people commented how much we looked alike, how they couldn't tell us apart, and asked if we ever tried to fool people into confusion of who was who. But Cara never wasted her time with such things, she could always tell us apart, and she was the only person we ever purposely tried to fool. It was just after our thirteenth birthday. I wanted Cara to come to the party, as she would have loved paintball and probably would have destroyed every boy there, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. He said it wasn't right for a thirteen-year-old boy to invite a girl to a paintball party when there were no others going, no matter how much she meant to him, but I know it was simply because Dad didn't think the Armisteads and Mitchells should mingle socially. So I arranged for Ruben and I to meet up with her at the abandoned house later that day, once all the other party guests had left with sore stomachs and eyes glazed with sugar. Birthday parties were the only time Mum ever insisted we dressed the same, so Ruben and I raced across the lawn, dressed identically, hair slicked back just like Ruben liked, and nothing on our feet.

  "Do you think she'll be able to tell us apart?" Ruben panted as we ran.

  "Of course," I said. There was never any doubt in my mind, no matter how we were styled. Cara was the only person that didn't see me as the lesser part of two. Well, that's what I thought at the time.

  "You pretend to be me and I'll pretend to be you, okay?" Ruben said, slowing down and ducking under the collapsed entrance to the house.

  "It won't work," I told him.

  Ruben walked into the room where Cara was seated on the ground, two crudely wrapped presents outstretched in each hand, our names scrawled in her messy handwriting.

  "Happy birthday! They're not much," she said and pushed them towards us.

  "Give them to us," Ruben ordered.

  Cara narrowed her eyes. She was shorter back then, her growth spurt hadn't hit yet and she peered up through a thick fringe that she was trying to grow out. She leaned forward and held Ruben's out to him. "Here," she said, shoving it in his face.

  "Are you sure I'm Ruben?" he asked.

  Cara blinked, her eyelashes getting caught in her hair, and smiled. "As sure as I'm Cara." She shoved the present into his hand. "Here, open it." And then she turned to me. "And here's yours, Judah."

  I ripped the recycled newspaper off mine and threw it to the ground as Ruben folded his and placed it in his pocket. Inside the box was a leather bracelet with the letters of my name dangling from the thread in cheap plated silver, the type you could buy at a trinket store.

  "I made them myself," she said proudly, meaning she threaded each of the letters onto the leather. "This way other people won't get you mucked up either."

  "Thanks," I said shyly, wrapping it around my wrist and twisting the ends into a knot.

  "But how did you know?" Ruben asked, not interested in the gift. "How did you know that I was Ruben and not Judah?"


  Cara smiled and got up to stand between us, wrapping her arms around our necks and tugging us towards her. "Because," she said.

  "Because, how?" Ruben asked, twisting away from her.

  "Because you're you." She nodded to Ruben. "And you're you." She nodded to me. "You're not the same. God just decided that one Mitchell boy wasn't enough."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lennon

  "I've been thinking about how I can make it up to you," Ruben said as we walked home from school together. We kept up our tradition every day except for Wednesdays when I had to go and see Grams. It was hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that to everyone else, I strolled along the lake shore alone, but to me he felt more real than anyone else ever had. He saw me and I saw him. I didn't care if no one else could.

  "Make what up?" I asked.

  "Everything," he said. Neither of us liked to say it out loud, what he was. I think it was because neither of us were completely sure, and saying the word ghost just seemed ridiculous. A ghost was something unseen, something mystical, a suggestion of a person rather than the boy who stood before me. "I want to take you on a date, buy you a gift, do the things that a regular person would do."