Page 98 of Shadowed Whispers

“Done what?” Tori’s voice is sleepy but laced with curiosity.

“Had a sleepover like this, at a friend’s house.” I swallow, my throat tight with a strange cocktail of sadness and contentment. “It’s nice.”

Tori turns to face me, her eyes glinting in the low light. “Really? I’m glad you’re here, Frankie. It’s nice having someone around without having to pretend to be something I’m not.”

“It’s different,” I admit, the words spilling out with an honesty I didn’t expect. “I always wondered what it was like… having a normal teenage life, even though I’m no longer a teen. I feel like I’m playing catch up. You know, friends, sleepovers, talking all night about... whatever.”

Tori laughs softly, a sound that is comforting and inviting. “We can talk about whatever you want. Boys? Music? The spooky stuff at school?”

“Maybe all of it,” I say, a smile playing on my lips. I feel a flicker of excitement at the prospect of just being normal.

“Deal,” Tori whispers, a yawn breaking her sentence. She seems to drift toward sleep with ease. “Maybe in the morning.”

“Okay,” I murmur, listening as Tori’s breathing slows to deep, even breaths.

How does one fall asleep so fast like that?

Not tired at all, I push myself up against the headboard, my eyes wandering around Tori’s room. Her mom has been inviting me here for the last two years, and this is the first time I took them up on it. Tori’s room is huge. It’s a stark contrast to the cots or beds I had in the foster homes—that was all I had, and here, Tori has an entire room.

I’m not even jealous, more thankful that she didn’t grow up the way I did. No one deserves that kind of childhood, which was the entire reason I began my little vigilante spree. Something that, for the first time since escaping Valerie, I haven’t done in months.

Valerie.

My stomach twists just from thinking her name. I try not to think about her. When I do, I get hot, sweaty, and all I want to do is?—

What is that?

I lean forward, peering into the dim light. At the foot of the bed, it looks like a rising shadow. Doors open and close downstairs, and I jerk my head toward the door, my heart racing as Abbi’s and Andy’s whispers drift up the stairs. When I look back, the darkness seems to spill over Tori’s legs.

That’s not me.

I call my own shadows and lift my hand, watching as they swirl around my fingertips. Reaching down, I touch them against the other shadows. An inky blob reaches back.

There is no way.

The darkness at Tori’s feet slowly creeps up and over her, blanketing her. Her breathing deepens, and she slips into a deeper sleep as soon as they do this, as though they are protecting her in her slumber.

I sit there for a long moment, just watching, confusion pooling in my head as I watch. My entire world slowly begins to fall apart as the pieces of the last two years begin to fall into place.

The whole puzzle isn’t put together, but all the pieces are upright.

There is but one staggering realization—I may not be as alone as I think I am.

Why does that bother me more than anything else?

Chapter 34

Frankie

I can no longer pretend that everything around me is normal.

From the moment I woke up this morning, I knew the normalcy I clung to for the last two years dissolved. The secrets I carry press down on me with a suffocating weight, an ever-present cloak of dread that I can neither shed nor escape.

I also can’t bring myself to talk about it with anyone, even though I know that would be the logical thing to do. If I could just open my mouth and discuss it, even with Tori, then maybe I wouldn’t be sitting here on campus, simmering in my own cloud of denial.

This morning, Tori and I returned to campus early. After a quick shower, I dressed in my jogging gear and hit the path, a ritual that normally clears my mind, but today is different. Today, I’m looking at everything with new eyes.

As I run along the winding path that encircles the campus, the familiar sights take on a shadowy, sinister hue under the gray morning sky. The surf crashes relentlessly against the rocky shoreline, sending sprays of cold, salty mist into the air, which settles on my skin like a ghostly caress. The towering old oaks, usually so majestic, now seem to hunch over the trail, their gnarled branches twisting like tortured souls reaching out toward the sea fog that clings to their bark.

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