Part 5

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Derrek is climbing slowly down the bank. The other one, Ben, is watching from the top, arms folded over his chest. Impulsively I step forward, place my hands on his back and shove with all my might. My hands slide right through his back up to my elbows, taking me forward through him, and I stumble on the edge of the steep embankment, screeching in shock. I barely stop myself from going over the edge. Panting, I look back at Ben. He's wearing a disgusted expression, and he runs both hands over his upper arms, as if he's trying to brush something off himself.

            He says, "Uh, I'll meet you back at the house."

            Ben looks up at him from the river bank, face pale in the faint moonlight. "What? No way! Wait for me."

            Ben ignores him. Turning around he walks back toward the house the same way Caleb and Larry just went, stumbling blindly through the forest. He sounds like a baby elephant crashing around. I look after him thoughtfully. He felt me.

            Ben is talking to himself now, obviously freaked out at being left alone. "Holy shit, can't believe I got mixed up in this crap. Damnit, I don't make enough money with this shit." He pulls himself awkwardly up the bank. Grunting, grabbing onto patches of dried grass and rocks that jut out of the dirt. His face comes up over the ledge. If he could see me right now he'd be staring at my knees. I imagine kicking him in the head, sending him flying backwards, listening to the splash his body makes when he rolls down into the river. Instead I content myself with standing right in front of him so he has to walk through me. "Ugh," he says. "This place is creepy."

            He hurries off, blundering through the forest as blind as a bat. The thought of following him back to the house isn't appealing, but what else do I do? I'm torn between going back there, and staying here in the quiet forest. What now?

Empty shock echoes through me, and I'm seized with a terrible fear. What do you do after you die? Where do you go? Will I just wander around forever now, stuck in a state of limbo? No one can hear me, no one can see me. Will I wander afraid and alone for eternity?

 I turn back towards the river, watching the water froth over the rocks. Stars reflect off the dark surface, and a sliver of moon hangs over the trees in front of me, a tiny thumbnail sized jewel set in a bed of velvet. As far as burial grounds go, I guess the river isn't such a bad place. Better this than the cold, unforgiving earth.

            My eyes slide along the bank, taking in its the length, and then I spot him. He's standing several feet down river from me. A tall boy, probably my age, shaggy brown hair nearly covering his eyes. Why didn't I see him before?  He raises a hand, shoving his bangs out of the way, and the gesture is oddly familiar. The boy walks forward along the river bank, hands in the pockets of his jeans, gaze fixed on me. He can see me.

"Who are you?" My voice quavers, hanging in the still, cold air. For a second I'm afraid he hasn't heard me, and then he smiles. He's silent until he gets closer, nearly close enough to touch. His eyes are a soft, warm brown, and he seems more vibrant than my surroundings, more real. His smile is easy, relaxed, almost comforting. Finally he says,

"I've been waiting for you for a long time, Bree." He glances from me to the river, and my eyes widen in disbelief,

"Sam?"

            Sam and I sit by the river, cradled in the shelter of a nearby weeping willow, listening to the rush of the water. An owl is hooting in a tree somewhere nearby, and the sound is haunting and a little sad. The shock of seeing him had practically knocked me off my feet. His face has haunted my dreams for so long. For years I would wake up in a cold sweat, having  heard wet footsteps patter into my bedroom. Opening my eyes to see his standing there in the center of my bedroom, fat droplets of water making "tap, tap, tap" sounds on the hardwood as they fell from his clothing and hair. His face white, eyes wide and scared. The dreams were all the same, he would ask me in a small, sad voice. "Why didn't you save me?" Over and over, "Why didn't you save me?"

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