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Life's Short

"I did WHAT?" My voice rings off the headstones, and I jump to my feet. "There is no way. I would never."

"Shh. Eden." Mr. Conley scans the cemetery nervously, as if my exclamation is going to make the other bodies rise up from their slumber. "That was the official ruling. Death by suicide."

"No." I shake my head. "No no no no no." If I could cry, I'd be hysterical. My mind races. I have a million questions, but the words won't come out of my mouth.

"It's true. It was in the paper."

"How did I...you know. How'd I do it?" It was a question I didn't know if I wanted answered or not, but I had to ask.

Mr. Conley shifts uncomfortably. "Overdose. Sleeping pills." Well at least that makes sense. I clearly didn't shoot myself or something frantic like that; there'd have been clear signs on my undead body.

"Who found me?" Please, God, don't let him say it was Momma.

"Callum."

Laughter bubbles in my throat, but I swallow it back. Serves him right. "Did I leave a note?" I'm still one hundred percent positive I hadn't committed suicide.

"No. No note. Nothing. There was an investigation."

"Why? Why would I commit suicide?" I begin pacing in front of the bench. "We were getting married. I had my dog. My friends. My whole life."

"I can't answer that for you, my dear. Are you sure you can't remember anything?"

I pause and try to rack my brain. "No," I sigh. "I don't have a single memory of why I'd want to off myself." I sink to the ground and stare at the street lamp. "I would never hurt my parents like that. I'd never hurt my friends like that."

"That's what everyone said. The whole thing didn't make sense."

"Then why didn't they look further into it? Why didn't they question it?"

"They did. For a solid month, until your dad couldn't take it anymore and put a stop to it. He had to relive it over and over again, and it was killing him."

"I'm guessing nothing was ever found to dispute the whole 'suicide' thing?"

"Not one single thing. They even interrogated Callum."

Ugh. Callum. If I had blood, the mere mention of my name would make it boil. Out of nowhere, I had a thought. "I wasn't even prescribed sleeping pills."

"The bottle was empty, and there wasn't a label." Mr. Conley drops his gaze, then stares over my shoulder. "I thought you said that you were the only one like you?"

"I am?" I turn to see what's got his attention.

Mr. Conley swallows, the click audible in the silence. "Then who's that?"