Whisper in the Rain

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

GRACE

Cole managed to charm the pants off Miles' family. He was witty, animated, and had no filter on his thoughts whatsoever once you got him to open up. Truth be told, I was a little jealous. He was a kind, charismatic guy, so jubilant and full of life. I envied that about him.

Even though Cole was a sweetheart once he stepped into a friendly, safe environment, there was something in his eyes that told me he was suffering. It didn't take a genius to figure out the problem. Anthony Hopper had pulled the 'oops, didn't mean to hit your tray' trick on me more than once, and like Cole, I'd never once stood up to the guy. I just started wearing colors that didn't show stains. However, judging by the way Cole dressed, I thought it safe to assume he didn't even own a black shirt. But he would. If he knew what was good for him.

After chatting, laughing, and eating, Miles and I walked Cole home. It wasn't far; just a block or two past the high school. He stopped on his doorstep to thank us profusely before heading inside and my heart squeezed at the prospect of having another friend.

On our way back, Miles and I fell into a comfortable silence. That was one of the many great things about spending time with Miles. Yes, we talked a lot, we shared a lot, but there was never any pressure to fill the silences.

As we neared my house, the squeak of chains caught my attention and I turned to see which neighbor was letting their kid swing alone outside after dark. Beneath the safety of a flood light in someone's overgrown backyard, a little girl pumped her legs back and forth, taking her higher and higher on a rusty swing set. She squealed in delight, pigtails flying in the breeze.

"Hi!" She called out as we passed.

I waved with heart, smiling at the tiny soul, so carefree and happy. She was just swinging away, reveling in the glory and innocence of childhood.

"What are you doing?"

I jerked to a stop, realizing Miles was no longer beside me. Turning back, I found him standing in the middle of the street, worry furrowing his dark brows as he glanced between me and the swing set.

The deserted swing set.

"I was..." I considered lying, but quickly abandoned that idea. "...just being weird."

He turned, shoulders pulled back and hands shoved deeply in his pockets as he bit his lip, eying the childhood plaything.

"There's someone on the swings, right?"

I approached him carefully, wishing like hell I could trade in my ability to see the dead for the ability to read minds.

"There was. She's gone now."

His eyes stayed trained on the immobile swings even after we continued walking.

"What's it like?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "Seeing the dead, is it like you see in the movies?"

I chuckled and shook my head. "Definitely not. It's... distorted. Different with every spirit. Sometimes they look happy; like a regular person just going about their day. Others have these haunted, vacant eyes. I've seen some that were covered in blood, like they were killed violently and then just stood up and started walking around. No two look the same, no two feel the same. I think... God, this sounds crazy, but I think that how they appear to me varies depending on their mood. Or maybe their mood when they died? Or the way they died? I don't know."

"Like waking up on the wrong side of the bed," he mused , working double-time to try and process what I'd just said. "Only you're not waking up from sleep, you're waking up from dying."