Page 91 of A Curse On Black Lake
“Then don’t consider it.”
“But what I can’t piece together is how I supposedly knowthe killer. Who else would it be?” he asks.
It makes sense, and I can’t say I disagree either. “The Spirits aren’t alwaysaccurate.”
We heard that child.
We tell you what we are given.
“Yes, well you also withhold,” I mutter.
Killian tilts his head, and the Spirits all talk at once, making my headache grow.
What we told you is true.
“It may be, but it’s not detailed.”
We were not given enough details to give them to you.
“My point exactly.”
“What are they saying?” Killian asks.
I lift a shoulder and toss myself back onto the bed. “They tell me things that they are given, but that doesn’t mean they don’t withhold details. They claim it’s because they don’t have enough details to give.”
Killian’s thumb rubs over my hipbone, and I hate how comforting it is.
I shouldn’t be in this bed. I shouldn’t have listened when he asked me to stay, but he needed someone last night, and I happened to be here. And though I’ll never admit it, I like being needed by him because I find myself feeling the same way. Wefound peace in each other last night, so maybe it wasn’t chance at all.
We’re towing a line I believe he’s ready to cross, but I can’t. My fear is this all gets worse, and it means I could lose him, and I don’t think I could handle more grief. I’m in enough pain as it is.
“God tells them?” he asks.
“There were seers in the Bible. There have been all throughout history. God used them to communicate with His people. Grams believed I’m a more modern version of one. She’s probably right, always was.”
Then, the air is sucked out of my lungs. For a moment, lying here with Killian, Iforgot.And I don’t know if it hurts more to remember all at once, or feel guilty for forgetting. How could I forget?
A tear slips down my cheek, and I nearly jump out of my skin as Killian wipes it away. I fell so deep into the well of grief; I forgot he was there.
“Eliana?”
A fresh wave of sorrow engulfs me, and I can’t speak, my throat too tight to form words. As if he knows exactly what this feeling is like, he pulls me into him, and I cry. Out of guilt, anger, and fear that I will forget her like I’ve begun to forget everyone else.
I haven’t been to see her either. What kind of granddaughter does that make me?
A terrible one.
You are not. You know she wants you to move on.
I ignore the Spirits.
“You can talk to me,” he says.
I still can’t speak. I can’t look at him either. I’m afraid it might make me cry harder.
“Mornings were always the toughest for me,” he says as he rubs my back.
“If I slept well the night before, which wasn’t often when he first died, then I felt guilty, like I didn’t deserve it because he was gone. I should be mourning him every second of the day, awake or asleep. I’m aware that makes no sense. But it’s how I felt. Then when I woke up, it would all come rushing back, and the cycle started over again.”
