Dust to Dust by Melissa Walker Read Free Book Online Page A

Images of Reena and Leo . . . and them using me for some kind of sick, twisted game. I take a deep breath. I have to play this off—Carson is sharp and I don’t want to give her any reason to keep pressing me when there’s so much I have to piece together yet.
    â€œI can’t believe you’re rambling like this,” I tell her.
    â€œCallie, stop holding out on me! You must have seen something, you must remember what you saw while you were in the coma. What was it like? Please tell me.”
    â€œWhy? So you can give a quote to Pete Green from the Post and Courier ?”
    Carson’s face looks like I’ve slapped her, and instantly I regret my harsh tone. But I’m not letting her off the hook.
    â€œYou gave him my number.” It’s a fact. An accusation.
    â€œI did,” she admits. “But only because he’s a friend of my mom’s from high school so I know he’s a decent person—he could tell your story, Callie; he’d be fair to you.”
    â€œThere is no story,” I say.
    â€œOh yeah? Well then why are we here, at the grave of someone who died ten years ago, with you acting more emotional than I’ve seen since . . . well, ever!”
    I look down at the bright green grass under our feet.
    â€œI’m not emotional,” I say defensively.
    â€œMore emo than Nick at a Bon Iver show,” she says, and I stifle a smile.
    â€œI don’t think so.”
    â€œOkay, not that emo,” she says. “But pretty close. I just want to know why.”
    Her dark-brown eyes are shining with curiosity, and I realize that this is my best friend in front of me, and she’s asking me legitimate, natural questions. I’m just not sure how to answer them. So I tell her the truth. Some of it.
    â€œI don’t know,” I say. “I’m not sure what happened when I was in the coma. A few things I remember in detail, I think.” I pause, a flash of Thatcher’s achingly kind, frustratingly distant eyes in my head.
    â€œThere’s the emo look!” says Carson.
    I glance at the ground and wipe thoughts of him from my mind before I continue. “Other stuff is more hazy. Think about all the painkillers I’ve been on.”
    Carson nods. “I know it can’t be easy.”
    â€œI haven’t taken a pill since yesterday,” I confide in her. “My dad thinks I’m still on them, but I want to stop feeling so foggy-brained.”
    No more pills. Clear your mind.
    â€œDo you feel okay?” asks Carson. “Are you in pain?”
    â€œNot really,” I tell her. “I need to get my head straight, even if it means I hurt a little. But Cars, you can’t talk to the press. Please. What happened to me isn’t even certain enough for me to tell you about it, and it’s definitely not something I want to hash out with reporters. Don’t you get that?”
    She nods, and then her eyes meet mine. There’s an apology there—I can see it plain as day.
    â€œI just think it’s such a blessing,” she says. “You almost crossing over and then coming back to life. It’s a miracle. People want to know what it was like. I want to know what it was like.”
    â€œI know,” I tell her. “And I will share as much as I remember with you, once I figure out what was real and what wasn’t.”
    â€œPromise?”
    â€œPromise.”
    Carson moves forward to give me a hug and I lean into her, relishing this affectionate touch. And I remember how in the Prism we moved around each other, with space between us. Touching was dangerous, touching was . . .
    My eyes flash open as I recall the energy pulls I felt when I was touched in the Prism. When I shared my energy.
    Suddenly, a wave of sensation starts to tingle in my toes, washing up through my body in a whoosh, a swell of energy. It starts out as a buzz, but then it escalates into an