Ever: The Ever Trilogy, Book One (Volume 1) (14 page)

We rode home in silence. I didn’t have much to say. I’d never seen a ghost besides Frankie. I guess I just figured I could only see him. The fact that I’d just seen another one was really weird. Why had I seen her? Would I see more ghosts now?
Whoa.
That thought was disturbing.

Toby parked in his driveway and made his way around to my side of the car, again opening my door for me like a gentleman. He took me in his arms and looked down at me. His eyebrows were drawn together.

“Ev, seriously, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry. I’m just tired I guess. I think I’ll just go to bed early tonight.”

Obviously as unconvinced as I felt, Toby’s eyebrows rose.

“Seriously, I’m fine. I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

He leaned down and kissed me gently before releasing me. He watched me walk inside, a sad look on his face as he did so. I wished I could explain it to him.
All of it.

I said goodnight to my parents who were sitting on the couch, watching TV, then headed down the hall.

I was hoping to see Frankie, but I didn’t. I really wanted to talk to him. What would he think? Did he see other ghosts, too? Frankie suddenly appeared out of nowhere in the hallway in front of my room, scaring me half-to-death.

“Oh!”

At the sight of his angry face, my mood plummeted even further.

“Hey, Doll. Where’ve you been?”

“Hey, Frankie.”

I just stood there dumbfounded by his apparent anger, not knowing what to say, my inability to lie rearing its ugly head. I wanted to tell him about the ghost but couldn’t do so without telling him I’d been with Toby all day, and Frankie was clearly mad.
What is going on with him?
I looked at the floor and played with my braid.
Dammit. Say something!

“Um … .”

“Were you out with him again?”

My silence was all the answer he needed.

“Oh, Ever.” The words were said on a sigh, so quiet I barely heard them. His disappointment in me was loud and clear. Painfully clear. It reminded me of the ghost shaking her head at me. I looked up to his face but he was gone. He didn’t give me a chance to defend myself, or defend Toby, or even ask
why
he cared so much
who
I dated, or where I’d been.

That was the worst part:
why
did Frankie suddenly care so much?

It didn’t matter though. Frankie didn’t have a say in what I did, and I didn’t have a say in anything he did. Not that his options were very great.

I decided to tuck the ghost story away. The Queen Mary was known to be haunted. Surely I was just like anyone else who’d ever stumbled across an old Queen Mary ghost. Just like our waitress from lunch.

I tucked the strangeness between Frankie and me away as well.
One
of us had a life to live, and I needed to actually
live
it. Crying over Frankie, or dwelling on feelings that were ridiculous, or dreaming of a relationship that could never happen, were all a waste of time, and they were all keeping me from the life that was meant for me.

I had to
live
. Really, truly
live.
This meant taking chances, like seeing where things were going with Toby.

I fell asleep telling myself that no matter what, I would no longer let my feelings for Frankie take away from my feelings for Toby. I told myself that if the night brought me nightmares again, I wouldn’t let them dampen my happiness.

I wished for dreams about Toby, knowing that
he
could
never
be the subject of nightmares.

I’m running through the corridor of what looks like a high school hallway. I vaguely register that it’s Jessie’s school before I realize it isn’t a school at all … .

It’s a mall. An outdoor mall. The Block in Orange. The lockers covering the walls from floor to ceiling, slowly melt away to reveal storefronts, closed doors and metal bars indicating that they’re closed for the night. There are no lights on, and the dark is eerily consuming.

The shadows reach and curl toward me as I run … .

Suddenly I’m on a ship.

No, not just a ship; the Queen Mary.

The storefronts I ran past just seconds before are now staterooms. The hallway is long and narrow and seems to go on forever, like a carnival funhouse illusion. The carpet I remember liking when I had been awake now makes me feel nauseated. Its colorful, art deco pattern morphing and changing under my feet, reaching for me as the shadows did only seconds before.

The lights on the walls flicker and flash … .

The woman in white stands idly by, watching me run … .

She shakes her head again and whispers something I can’t hear … .

My breath pushes out of me in ragged puffs, and my lungs squeeze in exertion. I feel like I’ve been running for miles.

There he is. Finally.

Just a few yards in front of me.

Frankie.
My
Frankie.

My heart pounds at the sight of him, threatening to fly out of my chest and go to him. Relief floods me. I have to reach him. Everything will be okay if I can just reach him.

Faster.

His outstretched arms welcome me. I pick up my pace. I have to get to him, have to run into those loving arms, have to be near him, with him. I know that I can save him. I just have to make it to his open arms.

Save him!

But wait … save him from what?

The dream shifts again, and Frankie is standing in front of my house, arms still outstretched and reaching for me.

“Hurry,” he silently whispers inside my mind.

I run harder, faster, my legs and arms pumping, my breath whooshing in and out, in and out.

I can’t get to him.

I push harder. Run faster.

I still can’t get to him. I scream out in frustration.

His welcoming, loving smile turns down at the corners, and his arms flap limply to his sides. I realize why I can’t reach him.

Something is holding me back.

Someone.

The hand on my shoulder tightens.

“Stop running, Ever. You can’t save him.”

I know that voice. I begin slowly turning around to face the source of it, but everything shifts again.

Before I can see his face, he is gone. The front yard and my house are also gone.

Everything is white now, a blinding whiteness shining painfully bright from every inch of my world. It hurts. I want to hide my eyes.

Something catches my attention before I can squeeze my eyes shut to avoid the glare.

Still separated by those few frustrating yards between us, in the middle of all that blinding whiteness, Frankie lies in an unnatural heap on the floor.

The scene shifts again.

I stand over him now. Frankie’s lifeless body. Red is the only color I see against all that blinding white.

Blood. So much blood.

Frankie’s body is splayed out, his arms and legs bent around him unnaturally. Blood covers his torso, drops of it crusting on his neck and jaw line, drying into his dark hair.

I’m dreaming. This has to be a dream. Wake up!

I crumple to the floor. Cradling Frankie’s head in my lap, I scream out in agony.

“Get up Frankie! Get up!”

My tears fall, splashing onto his face. They mix with the blood and cause pink rivers to flow over his alabaster skin.

I sob and sob, screaming in agony as I hold him.

He doesn’t wake up.

“Ever.”

There it is again. That calm voice I know so well. The voice that once made my heart flutter in anticipation.

I look up to Toby’s face—once a thing of beauty—now something … else. There is emptiness in his eyes.

His hands—hands that once held me—are covered in red.

Frankie’s blood.

He reaches toward me, his fingers wet with the crimson liquid. He runs his hand along my face delicately. I can feel Frankie’s blood on my cheek.

When he speaks, his voice holds the icy emptiness of his eyes.

“You can’t save him.”

I woke up screaming. Tears streamed down my face as every horrific detail stayed with me well into waking. I didn’t know how long I’d been screaming, but my throat hurt, and almost as soon as my eyes were open, my mom was rushing into my room, my dad close on her heels.

“What is it, baby? What’s wrong?” Her voice was frantic, her gaze darting around the room as she ran to me. She threw herself onto the bed to hold me while my dad turned on the lights and checked the window, making sure it was securely locked. Then he stuck his head inside the closet—as if the closet monster had jumped out and scared his little girl. I was surprised he hadn’t gotten down on all fours and checked to see if the boogeyman was hiding under the bed … until he did that too.

“It was just a bad dream, Dad.”

“I know, Evvie, but it doesn’t hurt to check. Just humor your old man.”

“What was it, baby? Do you want to talk about it?” She pulled my hair away from my face, wiping my tears and my sweat-covered forehead with her sleeve.

I caught a glimpse of Frankie pacing outside the doorway to my room. He couldn’t come in with my parents there, and I knew it was killing him not being able to comfort me. I also knew I couldn’t tell Frankie about my dream, which meant I couldn’t tell my mom while Frankie was in earshot.

“I … I don’t really remember much of it.”

“Oh, baby, it was just a dream. It’s okay. Everything is okay. Mama’s here.” She was rocking me in that way she always did when I was a little girl, which was soothing, but I wanted to talk to Frankie. After seeing him dead in my nightmare, I wanted to see him alive. Or … well … not
alive
exactly … .

“I’m okay, Mom. I’m tired. I’m just going to go back to sleep.”

“Are you sure? I could sleep in here tonight, or we could go into the kitchen and have some hot cocoa?”

“No, Mom. Go back to sleep. I’m okay. I’m sorry I woke you guys.”

After I’d convinced them I was okay, which took a while and made me realize I must have really been screaming bloody murder—no pun intended—they left me alone.

Frankie appeared moments later. His face was tense, but it seemed even more tense than usual, like more than just concern had him disturbed.

“You lied to your mom. You can remember that one.”

I didn’t answer.

“Yeah, I thought so. Care to tell me about it?”

He sat down on the bed next to me and waited for me to explain. I couldn’t find the words. How could I explain that I’d just dreamt such a monstrous nightmare? What did it say about
me
that I could see such a violent, vivid scene in my dreams? What did it say about
me
that my boyfriend killed my best friend in my sleep?

Again, I said nothing.

“That’s okay, Doll. You don’t have to talk about it.”

Soon, my eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion.

Frankie waited for me to fall back to sleep, and in the safety of his protective presence, I slept.

W
hen the phone rang the next morning, Frankie and I were sitting on my bed, talking about nothing in particular—Frankie just trying to distract me from my thoughts, and me unable to think of much else.

“Ever,” Mom called down the hall. “Toby’s on the phone!”

We both jumped up at the sound of her voice, but probably for totally different reasons. I assume Frankie was worried she’d find him in my room, and he disappeared without another word. The mention of Toby’s name is what did it for me. I slowly made my way to the phone on my desk, regarding the receiver as if it might bite me.
Get a grip,
I scolded myself. It was just a dream! I picked up the receiver and said ‘hello’ slightly relieved that it hadn’t actually bitten me.
Ridiculous.

“Good Morning, Beautiful.”

At the sound of his voice, the horrid details of my nightmare flooded back to me.

Blood everywhere. Frankie’s blood. Frankie’s blood on Toby … .

With the images bombarding my thoughts, I was momentarily shocked into silence.

“Ever? Are you there?”

I shook my head, trying to shake away the pictures
. It’s not real. It’s not real.

So much blood … .

“Yeah, yeah. I’m here.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, okay. Can I see you tonight?”

Tonight. He wants to see me.
My first response was no, but I couldn’t think of a valid reason to give him.
Um … shoot … um … .

“Ev? Seriously, is something wrong? You don’t sound very good, and after yesterday … do you want me to come over or something?”