Intrinsical - Lani Woodland [60]
“Brent!” I called, trying to get his attention. He gave no sign that he had heard me. “Brent!” I yelled again, stepping in his path so he would have no choice but to stop or run me over. To my surprise he did neither; he walked right through me, his eyes fixed on my dead body at the bottom of the pool, stopping only when he reached the edge, where he crouched low, gasping in horror and diving in. Cherie started screaming hysterically. Brent resurfaced, pulling my body along in his strong arms, and Cherie ran to help him.
Brent began giving me CPR. I kneeled across from him and called his name again, but he still didn’t hear me.
I had heard of things like this, that other spirits could be drawn into the death loop. Like an actor given a role, Brent had apparently been assigned the part of Steve. In this moment, he, too, was given a script he couldn’t vary from. His part as Steve had to play out to the end before he was himself again.
I didn’t want to watch, so I walked toward the glass walls and stared out into the clear night, the searing pain in my shoulder helping to distract me from the scene re-unfolding behind me.
I was grateful when the CPR stopped, and the time twist ended. Cherie’s distraught image disappeared like a wisp of smoke on the wind and Brent’s consciousness reemerged as his own. The past faded into the present, leaving Brent standing there, looking dazed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“That was intense.” He walked toward me shaking his head. “It’s very awkward playing Steve and making out with Cherie. I’m not sure if I should feel guilty or grateful.”
I shot him a nasty look but he didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. “What?” He continued. “It’s not my fault that I now know way more about how our best friends kiss than I ever wanted to.”
“Oh, shut up!” I said. I pushed down the feeling of jealousy I felt at the image of him kissing Cherie. “Thanks for the visual,” I added, wondering for a second how far they had gone and then deciding I didn’t want to know. “So you were Steve’s stand-in?”
“No, I was Steve. I thought everything he was thinking, did everything he did. It was like I was him.”
“Weird.”
“I know. Why wasn’t I me?”
“Maybe since you didn’t have a body when it happened, you had to play someone who did.” Dying again had drained me and I cradled my aching arm as I settled down wearily at the water’s edge. “What was that anyway?”
“How you died,” Brent said dryly.
“I guess I phrased that wrong,” I conceded with a wry smile. “Why did I have to go through that again?”
“A hiccup in time, maybe?” Brent scuffed his feet on the cement. “Haven’t you heard of murdered ghosts haunting the places where they died?”
“That was a rhetorical question meant purely for complaint.” I bit my lip hard. “Is my murder going to echo here for all eternity? Am I going to have to relive my drowning every night?”
Brent’s eyes wrinkled in concern. “I don’t know.”
Sadly, having listened to my grandma, I was afraid I did know. “Do you relive your death, too?”
“No, but we each died under totally different circumstances. I got invaded by the body snatchers and you went swimming with the fishes.”
“Nice analogy. The real difference, though, is that you’re not dead,” I said softly. “Your heart’s still beating.”
“Well, I’m not exactly alive either, am I?” There was an electric frustration bubbling under Brent’s surface. “You have to get past this belief that I’m still alive.”
“I know, Brent. I’m sorry. Dying again was just really hard. It rattled me.”
“Makes sense.” I was surprised at his reply; I had been expecting another sarcastic remark. “So, how did dying go tonight?” He joked softly.
I snickered. “Oh, you know,” I played along, “the usual. I drowned.” Something that had perplexed me made its way out of my subconscious. “Something was different tonight, though. I mean, I wasn’t in the groves with you before I drowned. I also skipped the whole not being able to reach my body part. Why is that?”
“I don’t know. Was anything