The Dead Don't Speak | Open Novella Contest 2020 | ✔

Chapter 4: Questionable Life Choices

"Bullshit seminar," Dane pointed out as if reading my thoughts, shifting in her seat. "None of it's that deep. At some point you'll look in the mirror and say 'shit, can't go on like this' and fix yourself. Don't need some asshole with a PowerPoint to tell you how it's done."

I wasn't experienced enough with this subject to challenge that particular statement, though I thought what had worked for Dane wasn't guaranteed to work for everyone. "Maybe it's useful for some people. I don't know."

"Objection."

I never learnt if she'd wanted to elaborate on that or not, for the speaker, a middle-aged Indian man, motioned for silence with wild gestures, raising his voice to grab our attention and make it known he wanted to get started. It took him another minute to fully silence his rowdy audience, but when he achieved his goal, he put on a bright smile and began introducing us to the wondrous world of gruesome drug abuse pictures and sub-par slideshows.

With the volunteer's tedious voice droning on in the background, I scanned the room, searching for the ghost of the young boy who'd warned me. If I wanted to talk to Liz, all I had to do was find him. My eyes roamed over the crowd, consisting of about thirty people; a small amount. Even though Liz wasn't the only one who'd unknowingly brought a ghastly companion, the Bloody Boy wasn't hard to spot. The gaping emptiness of the bullet wound in his tiny body made him stand out, and his amused, mysterious smile had made itself at home in my brain ever since he'd signed his silent warning.

He stood next to Liz, who'd sat down in a seat near the exit that had already been occupied by the ghost of a young woman, and thus she huddled against the cold, even though we currently lived in the middle of August and the room was warm and stuffy. I kept my eyes trained on Liz as she watched the speaker intently and bit my nails.

Today was my chance. The sooner I spoke to Liz about the incident, the better. I had to grab hold of her after the seminar and use my most convincing words to get her to help me. If she could see for herself how much the bloody incident gnawed at me, there was a chance she'd take pity on me and my situation. I had to try, at the very least.

The seminar lasted for two hours, but not a single word the speaker uttered stuck with me. By the time he wrapped up his presentation, I'd chewed on my nails so much it hurt, my brain still scrambling to figure out the best way to make Liz fight for my cause. Chairs scraped the floor as we got up to leave, but I didn't let anyone distract me and concentrated on my target, who had a tendency to rush out of educational spaces as quickly as possible.

I startled out of my focus when I felt Dane's hand on my shoulder; I still just couldn't get used to it. I refrained from shouting at her not to touch me, especially now that I was so on edge because a ghost wished to see me dead, and looked her in the eyes, taking in the lazy, suggestive smirk on her face.

"I'll tell you what," she stated, as if she'd caught me red-handed in the middle of a crime and felt ridiculously proud of it. "Dear Lizzie Phillips is gonna be hanging out at the library as always. If you want to ogle her some more, you should try your luck there."

I wasn't too fond of the insinuation, but I didn't want to argue and the information was useful. I made a mental note to share with Dane the next time I could get my slashed hands on edible contraband and nodded. "Got it."

Wink. "Thank me later."

"Will do." I saw Liz leave in her usual, rapid fashion and followed suit without another word, slowly trailing after her. I knew where she'd most likely be going, so I didn't need to rush after her so fast I'd risk her turning around to give me shit for chasing her. Subtlety was key, I told myself as I sauntered in the same direction as my target and her dead companion. As long as she didn't sense danger or any other sort of threat from me, I was doing fine.