Death's Temporary Home For Lost Souls

Chapter Twenty Two: A Pointless Death

    "Come on! You haven't been able to stop talking about him for days. The way he drew your portrait, in his bedroom, alone? You like him." She makes kissy lips. "Dare I say, you love-"

"Don't say what you're about to say," I snap, surprised at the sudden rush of anger that pitches my voice an octave higher. Because when I think about him, that's all I feel: sharp anger. "He welcomed me into his home, made me feel like I belonged, and abandoned me the second things got difficult. I should have known better. Plus, I can literally walk through him."

"Not relevant," Mem says, and I clench my jaw. "Also, I don't think that's what's happening at all. He probably cares a lot more than he's letting on. Living alone for so long can really strengthen someone's walls." Part of me wants to abandon my pride and spill my worries about the Auditor all over this counter, but I don't want Mem to get it into her mind that this is all matter of jealousy. My phone vibrates just in the nick of time and I duck my head to read the message. Immediately, my stomach performs an intense somersault. It's from my dad.

I hope ur not still mad Cara. Will you be home for halloween?

I glance at the previous unanswered messages he'd sent, of which there are probably close to fifty. A week ago I'd caved and reached out to tell him that I'm safe and have a place to stay, but that's as far as communication goes between us. Every time I think of him, of home, I remember that strange woman in his arms, smiling up at him. The way he and Mom used to be.

    "Maybe we should just write off men forever," I suddenly say. Mem raises her eyebrows. "I mean, what good are they anyway? They all lie. They all tell you one thing then do the complete opposite. I'm sick of it."

    "Well, forget Death, then," Mem says, banging her fist on the counter so hard that it startles a few customers. "You've proven that you don't need him to help the spirits in his house! Focus on that, instead. Whether Death notices or not, you're still helping people. I'd say that's a pretty important purpose."

    I sigh. "I'm trying to, but Lisa's just a kid, and Louis is still discovering new e-books every day. It's hopeless."

    "What about that other girl? The one that you say is always grumpy?"

    "Sarah?" I exclaim. If I were drinking something, I would have spit it out. "Now that's a good one."

    "Why not?" Mem's expression is dead serious.

    "Maybe because I don't want a giant hole to be ripped into my throat."

    "Come on. She can't be that bad."

    "I wouldn't be so sure..." I purse my lips. I don't know why my hands are shaking, why my head feels stuffed with hundreds of cotton balls. Why does Sarah stress me out so much?

    "In my experience, the toughest nuts to crack have also withstood the toughest hammers," Mem says gently. "You don't have to fix her. Just talk to her."

I remain silent and let Mem's words sink in. From the moment I met Sarah, she made me feel unwelcome. Wrong. Like a complete waste of space and breath. But maybe she learned that feeling from someone else. Maybe that anger wasn't directed at me. The mystery of her death deepens before me, yawning like a chasm, and I'm afraid that if I step into it I'll get lost in the darkness.

But I have to try. For me, for Sarah, and – still – for Death.

"Just for the record," I say, "I really don't want to do this."

"But you're my stubborn girl, so you're gonna do it anyway." Mem grins at me, flashing her perfect teeth, then smacks me on the butt. "Go get her!"

I leave the Neverton Nest as the sun makes its peak in the sky, and as always my heart clenches when I catch sight of the CLOSED sign hanging from the front window of Gary's Fix-It-Spot. If Gary were here, he'd tell me never to be nervous about trying to help someone, no matter how intimidating they might seem at first.