Page 66 of Haunt Me

Snow drifts between us.

I step closer until the toes of my boots hit the edge of the walkway.

“Raven,” I call again.

Her arm lifts.

Not a wave.

A reach.

My breath leaves me.

The river’s too loud. The distance is too great—neither matters.

I know her.

I would know her from the other side of death.

Then, she turns and slips between the trees.

“No.”

I’m moving before the word leaves my mouth. I take the stairs too fast, one hand skidding along the railing as my boots lose traction. My shoulder slams against a post. Pain flashes down my arm, but I keep going.

“Raven!”

The trail curves away from the overlook, leading lower through the woods. I remember another path. A maintenance trail or an old access route. Raven pointed it out last time, wondering where it went. I told her we weren’t getting arrested for trespassing at a waterfall. She told me I was boring.

A chain blocks it now, but I step over it unconcerned with consequences. Branches catch at my sweatshirt. Snow slides into my boots. The river appears and disappears between the trees as I force my way lower, following flashes of darkness that could be a coat, hair, shadow.

“Wait.” The word tears out of me.

I slip on a patch of ice and go down hard on one knee. My palms strike frozen ground. For several seconds, I stay there, breathing through the nausea rising in my throat.

Something moves ahead, and I look up.

She’s standing by the river. Closer now. Her dress moves in the wind, but the snow around her is untouched.

I push myself upright.

“Raven.” My voice breaks on her name.

She turns, and the distance between us folds inward. She looks exactly as she did before the sickness hollowed her cheeks and stole strength from her body.

She looks alive.

I take one step toward her.

She shakes her head.

“No,” I whisper. “Don’t do that.”

Her lips move, but the river steals the sound.

“What?’ I step closer. “I can’t hear you.”

She looks past me.