Page 215 of Haunt Me

“He said, this is the only way I can ever keep you safe, Pet, and his voice had dropped to a whisper. I heard the click of the safety going off, and it was so loud, because the gun was right there, next to my ear. I wanted to ask him what he was doing, but I was too frozen to speak. He said, I told you you’d die if you disobey me, and now it’s time to make my promise good. He said, I wanted to keepyou clean from the world, to keep you pure and safe, the one good thing in this sinful planet, and you have gone and soiled your soul with aboy, of all things. He said, you have broken my heart and the heart of God. He said that was what he had to do, or I would sin again and again and again, and he had done everything in his power to stop me, but I insisted on disobeying. He said he would have to die too, but he would ‘take care’ of me first.”

She pauses to take a sip of water.

I can’t breathe.

“Then he pulled the trigger,” she says. “Except, at the last minute, I remember his eyes going huge with some kind of sudden, sharp realization. Something that took place inside his mind within a split second. At the last minute, he turned the gun towards his own face. It was over within the span of a breath. One minute he was standing there, in front of me, gun pointed at my temple, and the next, he was on the ground, the carpet going red with his blood. The house was completely silent. And I was completely alone, with a corpse in the kitchen.”

I run to the bathroom and throw up violently.

I almost lost her, I keep thinking. Whenever I look at her from now all, all I can think about will be:‘I almost lost you’.

We stop talking about it for a while, watch one more episode of Wes’ wet-shirt series and go to sleep tangled up in each other.

“Are you still jealous of Wes?” Eden asks me sleepily, her head on my chest.

How can she talk about Spencer right now? I didn’t see one single thing on that screen; all I can see in my head is Eden, with that monster holding a gun to her head, while I was a mile away, drowning in my own tragedy. I should have run to her house, I should have saved her.

“Insanely,” I reply to her.

“You look good too,” Eden murmurs and falls asleep.

I don’t.

The next morning, we go for a walk by the river again, and she keeps going on with the story. She tells me how she called 911. She doesn’t remember how much time had passed. She remembers hearing screaming, and not realizing it was her. She remembers little after that, except for vague images of hospitals and people in uniform.

Her next clear memory is of Walter arriving at the hospital. Officers telling her that this strange man was related to her—theydidn’t dare tell her he was her real father yet. She was too fragile mentally. She was still frozen, un-responding.

“When I was better, we spent some months here, in New York, just me and Dad. I kept writing emails to my sisters I could never send. I’d never even known what an email was, can you imagine that?” I shut my eyes so tightly I see stars. “I kept trying to think of Solomon as not my father. This city screams of pain to me, pain and love. It’s amazing how well they go together.”

“I th-think we should stop here,” I choke.

“I think we are strong enough to go on,” she says.

“You are,” I reply. “I’m not.”

“Of course you are,” she says, with a confidence I don’t feel.

But she stops the story. I am torn between wanting to go back in time and murder that monster before he could ever lay eyes on her, or murder myself before I could be such an oblivious idiot.

“I don’t think you are thinking anything useful right now,” Eden is watching me with that knowing look on her face.

“I disagree.” Then again, she might be right. “How are you feeling?” I ask her. “I can’t fathom any universe where you would be ok after having to tell me all this.”

“Surprisingly, I am ok,” Eden replies. “I feel like a weight has been lifted.” She looks at me. “By you, I mean. Not generally, because I ‘shared my story’ or whatever crap they say on the news. The weight is now going to be carried by you as well. That’s what makes it more bearable. I think I can breathe more easily. But can you bear the weight?”

“I can,” I reply. “I do not say this lightly. Pun not intended. I can.”

“You look a bit green,” she observes.

I wince. It will pass. But her past won’t.

“And you look a bit sad,” I reply. “I haven’t seen you look sad in New York. Actually, come to think of it, I haven’t seen you look sad since your birthday.”

“Someone has been doing a good job of keeping me happy,” she replies and I just want to die.

She’s wrong; I don’t know what I’m doing, really.Sheis the one making strides towards recovery and life. I am just stumbling along, trying to keep myself out of bathrooms.

“Please,” I say, “all the credit goes to you. This damsel in distress saved herself. And me,” I add after a small pause, and she squeezes my hand.

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