Page 18 of Lost Echoes
“Are you willing to close your eyes and follow some instructions? It could help you remember your lines.”
I snap my attention toward her. “Will it?”
She nods. “I think so.”
What do I have to lose? If I can get the lines down, everything will be okay. It isn’t like it can get worse than it already is.
“Are you willing to try?” Her eyes are pleading, and it reminds me of when Claire was younger. Not that it’s weird. She was always younger than dead. She’s never getting older. I thought. How do I even quantify that in terms of age? It just makes my head spin. “Kenzi?”
“Yes. Let’s give it a try. I need to memorize the lines.”
“Wonderful.” She gives me a warm smile. “Make yourself comfortable then close your eyes. Once you’re ready, I’ll give you instructions.”
I’m only doing this to make her happy. Inside, I know nothing will actually help. My mind is thick like a milkshake, and Laurel won’t be happy one bit.
“Are you ready to close your eyes?” Claire asks.
I resist the urge to scream. Instead, I lean back against the cushions and close my eyes.
She talks in a smooth, melodic tone. I can’t follow what she’s saying, but somehow her words relax me. My fists release, my hands fall to my sides. I feel like I’m drifting somewhere.
Her voice continues, but it sounds foreign. Far away. Like it’s dancing away from me.
My body feels like it's upside down, floating in space. I go right, left, then up and down, all around. The surrounding darkness fluctuates with more and fewer stars. Shooting rainbow stars. Far away moons.
It’s pleasant, loose, and free. I’m not trapped in this building, nor do I need to remember any lines. It feels like something important isn’t far away. Someone?
The voice is like a melody in the distance, somewhere far away, keeping me grounded.
I feel a pull toward the earth. It sucks me toward it, becoming bigger as the stars and moons grow smaller and zip away from me. I’m getting closer, closer. The movement is fast, and I could crash right into the ground, but I don’t feel anxiety about it.
Then suddenly, I find myself somewhere dark. It smells funny, like moist dirt and a damp building. There’s a sound not far away. It keeps repeating, but I don’t know what it is. Then there’s a drip, like a leaky faucet. I know that sound. I can almost feel it.
I find my footing and walk across an uneven surface, stumbling here and there. Someone’s calling my name, the voice distant but familiar. I head in that direction, though it’s so hard to see in the dark. My surroundings were brighter when I floated near the stars.
My fingers brush against a scratchy wall then pieces of furniture—a desk, a rack full of stiff clothes, sharp picture frames, hooks. I come to a doorway then step through it. There’s more light in here, though it’s still dim. At least I can see.
After blinking a few times, everything becomes clear enough. Laurel stands at the front of the room at a chalkboard, teaching kids. The chalk makes noise as she’s writing.
Scratch, screech, scratch.
It sends a shudder down my spine.
Laurel waves wildly and talks with an animated tone, but none of the kids respond. They all stand still like robots as they watch her, saying nothing. Maybe this isn’t real. Or I’m not.
Then she turns to me. “Kenzi, what are you doing in the doorway? Come inside. We’re preparing for the show.”
The show. Is that why I’m here?
She points for me to stand next to one of the other children, and I find myself obeying the order. We’re all in a perfectly straight line, all wearing crisp white hospital gowns that seem out of place in this dirty, smelly space.
Laurel resumes writing on the board. “This is going to be the best performance anyone has ever seen. You’ll all be stars.” She turns, winks at me, then continues like she never stopped.
Scratch, screech, scratch.
A pained cry sounds from another room.
“What was that?” someone asks.
