Page 12 of The Spirit Key
When my skin starts burning, my prayers change. I know there won’t be any help, and instead of saving me, now I want to die quickly. The flames sear my face, the smell nauseating. I know enough to realize that even if I survive this, I’m never going to be the same. My husband will never again look at me with affection in his eyes. My baby will scream each time he sees me.
And then, I feel nothing. I’m still burning, but the pain has stopped. I’m so cold, though. Trying to look around does me no good. I can’t move at all, and things are getting dark. Then I see my husband standing over me, his face a mask of sadness. He leans in and kisses me, whispering how much he will always love me.
The ground shifts, and I’m scared once more. We’re moving through the trees, down to the cemetery near the brook that we loved to picnic by. When we stop, I grow more confused with every passing moment. Why are we here?
Then it strikes me. They’re going to bury me. But… I’m still alive! Why are they doing this? Why is David allowing it? I will myself to move. For God’s sake, move a finger or blink. Do something to let them know I’m not dead. Oh my God, please, please don’t do this. I’m alive. Can’t you see me? Who will take care of my son?
Please, I’m alive.
“Scotty? Scotty! Wake the fuck up!”
I jolted up, my heart hammering. What the fuck was that? My dreams had always been about drowning, and now I was having nightmares about burning to death and being buried alive? That was total bullshit. It took me a moment to get my breathing under control.
“You okay?”
I turned and found Tim kneeling in front of me, clutching the couch cushion in his hands, his knuckles white. He cocked his head and stared at me.
“Scotty? I asked a question. Are you all right?”
“Huh?” I shook my head to clear the cobwebs. “Oh, yeah, I think so.”
“You were crying out that you were alive, and it scared the crap out of me. You really need to stop doing that.” He stood, sat next to me, and wrapped an arm over my shoulder. I snuggled into his warmth, hoping to chase away the chill that was slithering through my body. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. “Not really. It was just a bad dream.”
“I got coffee made. Want me to get you a cup?”
“Yes, please.”
But he didn’t move. He sat there, rubbing circles on my back. I didn’t want him to stop, but I also wasn’t ready for him to see my feelings toward him.
“Coffee?”
“In a minute. I need to be sure you’re okay.”
Finally, he stopped rubbing, got up, and went into the kitchen. A few moments later, he returned, two steaming mugs in his hand. He placed them on the table in front of me, then returned to his seat.
I grabbed the cup of coffee and inhaled deeply. As much as I enjoyed the aroma, the first sip was heaven. He’d added a bit of cream to it, just the way I enjoyed it. “How did you know?”
Tim rolled his eyes. “Please. How many cups did we suck down to stay awake for the horror movie marathons we sat through? Or what about all the times we had to go to Starbucks to get coffee when we stayed up late cramming for Mr. Denmar’s tests? You always put one splash of cream and two packets of sugar. Then you’d get it back to the table and complain that you hate coffee.”
It was amazing how well he knew me.
We sipped our coffee in silence, but it wasn’t at all awkward. To me, it was as though the last five years hadn’t happened, but I knew it was different for Tim.
“I’m sorry.”
He knew what I was sorry for. “I know. I guess I can understand the why, but the fact that you didn’t tell anyone is lost on me.”
“Does it help if I say I regret my decision?”
“Honestly? No.” He sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t think we kept secrets.”
The look on his face spoke of the pain he’d endured since I bailed. Wondering what he’d done wrong, why I left. I averted my eyes from his intense gaze, suddenly ashamed of my nineteen-year-old self.
“RememberThe Sixth Sensewith, you know, those two guys?”
Tim nodded. “Yeah, but what—”
