The Darkest Part (5 page)

If I could help, if I knew anything at all, I would stomach being around Holden to see justice done. I just wish there was a way. And that I didn’t fear so much.

The truth is, Tyler might be hanging around because he needs resolution. I’ve thought this every day since I first saw his spirit. If the police discovered who was driving that car, it might free Tyler from this plane. It could be his unfinished business.

I’m a horrible person. I know this. I’m conflicted—wanting to see the person punished for what they did, and not wanting to. I’m just not ready to say goodbye.

A thought hits me hard and I bolt upright in bed. Tyler jumps to his feet, my plush beanbag chair not shifting or making a noise as he rises. It still weirds me out.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I nod, letting my hair fall around my face to hide my expression. “Just had a dream.” Okay, so now I
am
a liar.

Tyler kept a journal. I don’t think Holden knows about it, and Tyler doesn’t know that I know about it. But one night when I was staying at his residence apartment, I saw him writing in it when he thought I was in the bathroom. I thought it was endearing—not many guys keep a diary—and I never mentioned it. Letting him have that secret for himself.

But if there’s any chance that Tyler’s accident wasn’t an actual accident, then maybe something in that journal could help. I feel slimy just thinking about reading his personal thoughts. But it may be the only lead in his case. And like Holden said, if something new doesn’t present itself, the police will file his hit-and-run away, never discovering the person who sped off that night, leaving a dying Tyler bleeding on the road. Leaving a ruined girlfriend and family behind.

I know it’s the right thing to do—regardless of my own selfishness.

“Tyler,” I say, my voice throaty. “I need something from you.”

“Anything,” he says. The shadows conceal most of his features, but his aura—the white light surrounding him—reveals the concern etched on his face.

“You kept a journal, didn’t you?”

His face pales, the glow of his aura dimming. “No. I didn’t—”

“I saw you. Writing in it.” I push myself off the bed and slowly approach him. “I think we should read through it together. To see if maybe—”

He waves his hand. “Sam, I’m right here. Don’t you think if I had any clue about who hit me that I’d tell you?”

I’m taken back. “How did you know that’s why I even wanted it?”

He huffs out a long breath. “I know how your mind works. Holden’s here, and you saw him today. He hasn’t moved on yet.” His eyes level me. “He can’t accept that it just happened, that there’s no ulterior motive. Sometimes bad shit just happens, Sam.”

“Right.” I shake my head, thinking that maybe I’m more transparent than Tyler. “But . . . he’s your brother. He just wants to help you. The way I do.” I step closer, wishing I could hold his hand, comfort him. “Don’t you want whoever did this to be caught? Maybe there’s something in there that
you
can’t connect, but someone looking in from the outside can. Something off, a link. Please. Just let me try.”

He turns his back to me and drops his head.

“Tyler . . .”

“I don’t know where it is.”

A chill creeps over me. “How can you not know?”

He drives a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense. “I’m starting to . . . forget things.”

Panic grabs my chest, squeezing. My gaze flicks around the room, as if I can find an answer in the dark.

“Is this why you’ve been coming to me more often?” I ask. I’m afraid to voice my real fear. That he’s starting to fade, becoming like the other ghosts I’ve read up on. I don’t think I can bear to watch him wander aimlessly, a lost soul.

My heart constricts as he turns toward me, his face pinched in worry. “When I’m with you, things are more vivid. I remember almost everything. My life. Who I am. Who I was . . .” He trails off.

I swallow. “Where do you go when you’re
not
with me?”

He shrugs. “Someplace dark. Full of shadows. Somehow, time doesn’t exist. I’m there for only a short while, and when I find you again, so much time has passed.” He looks at the floor. His shoe scuffs the carpet, making no mark. “And I remember less.”

Suddenly my head is light, my breaths coming too quickly. The room closing in. How can I be so selfish? With a shake of my head, I summon the nerve to go and grab one of my books.

Where the Internet was filled with accounts and speculations and ridiculous theories, it was in a small bookstore that I found the information I needed. I drop to my knees and pull out the collection of books from under my bed.

Pushing the pile over, I fan them out, and grab the one with a worn black cover and faded white lettering. The binding creaks as I open it, and the musty smell of old books hits my nose. Scrolling my finger down the table of contents, I find the chapter I’m looking for.

With a deep breath, I flip to the section labeled
Intelligent Spirits
.

I only skimmed the chapter before, not wanting to think about or know Tyler’s possible future. He’s nothing like other ghosts. He surpasses all other accounts of hauntings (I hate that word; makes what is happening sound creepy and not at all like what we are together). He’s Tyler. Just Tyler. Not an impression, or something left behind after a traumatic event. And so I never wanted to know any more than that. It was enough to know that he was really here, and that I wasn’t crazy.

“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.

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 fuck 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—”

Tossing my hands in the air, I turn my back to her and head out of the station. I don’t want to hear yet another cop telling me to “seek help.” I heard it all through high school from them. About how I was a disturbed youth who needed a healthy outlet. Fuck it.

This isn’t about me. It’s about Tyler, and making sure they only discover what I want them to.

Looking up into the overcast sky, I release a strained breath, the tension flowing out of my body. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to hear from them—maybe that some bastard had gotten picked up and questioned, or that they had a suspect in custody. Yeah, that’s what I
wanted
to hear. But hearing the case has moved out of top priority, I suppose compared to the alternative . . . It’s for the best.

They can’t ever discover the truth.

A twinge of guilt stabs my chest, but I shut it down. Sometimes the truth is better left buried. No matter what, nothing will change anything between me and my father. Or me and Sam. There’s nothing here for me now. No reason to stay.

Opening my truck door, I decide to make one last stop before hitting the road.

My father’s house is just as pretentious as it was the day I left. A huge, gaudy, two-story plantation house with dark gray stucco exterior, black shutters and doors, two car garage, hot-red Beamer in the driveway.

He was already showing signs of a mid-life crisis before Mom died. Now he’s full-blown into one. If the car didn’t give it away, the hot little blonde with tits about to topple her over sauntering up the front steps with a Victoria’s Secret bag does.