Cold Kiss Goodbye

Chapter One

I woke up thinking the dream was real, confused again about who was living and who was dead. Dad? Drew? Was losing them just a nightmare?

Reality made my stomach drop. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to catch the wisps of the dream before they could float away, but those dreams of mine were shadowy, elusive things. They fled like childhood monsters do at daylight. When I couldn't catch them, I turned on the lamp. My dream faded away into the bland white walls around me. The memory of the ghosts lingered, as usual.

Water murmured in the walls. I swung my feet out of bed and onto plush white carpet. On our first night in the house, Drew knocked softly on my door a few hours after his bedtime. He said it was too quiet. In our old house, we could always hear the soft drone of highway traffic. We'd had a sleepover then, like when we were little, pulling the blankets off my bed. This carpet was so soft I didn't miss my mattress. I fell asleep with Drew's noisy breathing making the strange, half-unpacked room familiar.

Fancy carpet aside, the house itself was falling apart. Fun fact I wish I didn't know: homeowner's insurance only pays out for two claims per year before they dump you. I went searching for the leak.

Some of the kids at my school think I'm into weird, dark stuff these days. The rumor mill hasn't narrowed it down, but I've heard secondhand emo, goth and Satan-worshipper, despite my tendency to wear a lot of brights. I think if I were really going down some dark Satanic road, I wouldn't worry about things like homeowner insurance.

I left my room, passing the sliver of light coming from under the door of bedroom three. Near the stairs, the door to the master suite stood open, the massive canopy bed and armoire cast in shades of grey. I didn't think Mom would ever move back into the master bedroom she's supposed to share with my father. The room still felt foreign to me. In our old house, I'd chatted with my mom as she folded laundry on her bed, I'd stretched out with a book to hide from Drew; I'd never done that here.

I could've knocked on the door of her current bedroom to tell her about the moaning from the pipes, but she'd probably ignore me. That would be another dent in the mother-daughter relationship. I'd rather pretend she didn't know I was up, wandering the house like a wraith again.

There were nightlights at the top and bottom of the stairs, shedding just enough light to make it down into the foyer safely. Our old stairs used to creak, but my feet were quiet as I crept down these steps, as if I were a ghost now too.

I left the foyer dark, pausing to look outside. From here I could see the expansive yellow front yard, the curve of our cul de sac outlined in dead grass. I could look the other way, down the long corridor that spanned our house, and through the windows to the backyard. The professionally installed playscape with rubber chips beneath the swings was drawn in charcoals, the grass around it almost black under the moonlight until it smudged into the equally dark trees.

Downstairs was silent too, the drowning water in the walls left behind me. I looked back up the stairs, which seemed to stretch away from me, long and narrow. Unsuccessful as I'd been at my original mission, at least I could have some tea now. I doubted I'd fall asleep easily after that nightmare again. I padded into the kitchen, the cold tile inhospitable under my feet. I clicked on the burner under the red Le Creuset tea pot and retired to the island to wait for it to shriek.

There's been one dream recently that I remember. In it, I was with my father and brother, Drew, on Black Friday at a big department store. That really happened, last Thanksgiving. The three of us sneaked out of the house in the middle of the night, chasing a deal on the insanely expensive vacuum cleaner my mother wanted for Christmas. We queued up at the end of a long line outside the store. The cold wind sliced through the wool pea coat I'd thrown on over my sweatshirt and pajama bottoms. Drew bobbed back and forth to stay warm, smacking into my arm.

That all happened. The other stuff in my dream - the madhouse inside the store, one housewife hacking another to death over a fantastic deal on a bedding set, gut-wrenching screams from the electronics section - that came from my diseased imagination. In reality, we surged into the store with everyone else and found the vacuum cleaner. Afterwards, while I was looking through discounted chick flicks, we wandered apart, jostled away from each other by the crowds.

In real life, we found each other again and checked out, and I went back home and slept until the house smelled like sage and cinnamon and roasting turkey. But in my dream, while we were separated, things started getting bloody. I was frantic to find Dad and Drew. I caught glimpses of my dad's unshaven face, my brother's blond hair and green sweatshirt, the top of the damn vacuum box in the shopping cart. There was always something in my way.

I'd woken up with my heart pounding, my throat dry and aching as if I'd just been screaming for them.

Even though I woke up panicked, it was still better than reality. I wanted to snatch that dream back and wrap myself up in it like I could wrap myself in my duvet. In that dream, my father and brother were still alive.

The kettle warbled, steam curling thinly up from its spigot. I turned off the burner, covered a peppermint tea bag in boiling water. Taking my cup, I stepped from the kitchen back into the long foyer, snapping the light off behind me. Blinded in the new darkness, I hesitated.

That was why I saw the boy.

A pale-haired boy my age stood at the back door, hand cupped over his eyes and pressed against the glass. His eyes widened when they met mine. He jerked back from the window.

Was the door locked? I charged toward it, desperate to get there before he could. The boy looked as if he were the one frightened. He turned and fled, bobbing away down the deck stairs. Frantic, I turned the bolt. Mom always forgot to lock doors these days.

I raced through the house, my footsteps thundering across the thin floors. I made sure the front door was locked, my fingers thick and clumsy, then ran to check the door to the garage.

The noise should have woken Mom. It would have been a relief to see someone who belonged there, someone to share in my fear and adrenaline. Instead I sagged against the wall alone, my heart skittering in my chest.

I wondered if the boy I'd just seen was real. Maybe a teenager casing houses, or hungry and looking for food.

Then I wondered if he were a ghost-- because if you haven't noticed yet, I'm a little haunted.