Symphony of Bones, L.T. Ryan [online e reader txt] 📗

knees. It kept her sobbing. It kept her from wanting to sleep ever again.

“They need you.” The boy’s voice was no louder than a whisper. “They need your help.”

Cassie felt the dream slipping away. She desperately wanted it to be over, and yet she felt as though all the answers were just within her grasp. She reached out to grab hold of the boy’s arm, but he turned to smoke in her fingers. The ground gave way beneath her, and she fell through the bottomless abyss.

When Cassie opened her eyes, she did not expect to see the ghost of the little boy standing in the corner of the bedroom. He was once again faded, transparent and unmistakably dead. She hated herself for the relief that washed over her now that he was back to normal.

This shouldn’t be normal, she chastised. He should be my age by now. With a career and a family and a life.

The blowup mattress had been unforgiving, and Cassie groaned as she sat up. Her entire body hurt, and she had a headache coming on, but for the moment, she was happy to be among the land of the living.

So to speak.

Cassie threw off her covers and crawled over to the little boy. She remembered how bright his eyes had been in her dream. In this reality, they were the color of ice.

She held out her hand. He ignored it.

“Was that you? In my dream?” She dropped her arm. “Or was that my brain trying to tell me something?”

She half expected an answer but didn’t get one. The sound of his voice was fresh in her mind, and she wanted him to sound like that again. Alive.

He stared past her. Cassie looked from Laura’s sleeping form back to the little boy. “Do you know her? Does she know you?”

The little boy’s gaze shifted back to Cassie, and with it came the memory of all the pain that had taken root inside her. The gasp that escaped her mouth was loud, and Laura’s breathing shuddered in her sleep. Cassie froze, then released her breath when her sister didn’t stir.

Guilt consumed her, but Cassie couldn’t risk looking back into the little boy’s eyes. She didn’t like what she’d felt, and even though the pain was a fraction of what she’d experienced in her dream, she’d had enough pain to last her a lifetime. She knew she shouldn’t blame herself for wanting to avoid that, but she still would.

Cassie pushed herself upright. She kept the figure of the little boy in her peripherals while she threw on her sister’s sweatshirt and tiptoed over to the door. She slid into the hallway, but she couldn’t help one last look at the ghost in the corner of her room.

His gaze hadn’t left Laura’s sleeping form.

Cassie shook her head and closed the door with a click. She felt like she had all the puzzle pieces, but no idea what the final picture should be. Putting it together would be an agonizing process, and the desperation in the boy’s voice had told her time was running out.

7

The smell of coffee hit her when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Cassie steeled herself for whichever parent she’d run into first, but when she crossed the threshold, the kitchen was empty. The sound of a hammer, muffled by the door to the garage indicated it was her father, so she poured herself a cup and followed the noise.

When she stuck her head through the opening, it smelled of sawdust and smoke. “Knock, knock.”

Her dad’s smile lit up his entire face. “Good morning, honey. How’d you sleep?”

Cassie slipped inside and found a wall to lean against. “Better than expected, worse than I wanted.”

“Those air mattresses aren’t exactly top-of-the-line.”

Cassie stretched, and they both heard her bones pop. “The air mattress could’ve been worse. I just had a rude awakening.” She took a sip of coffee. “Bad dreams.”

“I see not much has changed then.”

“What do you mean?”

Walter turned back to his project, and Cassie noticed he was using vises and wood glue to put together a small bookcase. When she looked around the garage, she noticed various projects in different stages of completion—picture frames, a chair, even a rustic staircase meant to hold potted plants. He’d always been handy, but she didn’t remember him being into carpentry.

“You used to have the most vivid dreams as a kid. Got kind of spooky once in a while. The things you’d say.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Sometimes I wondered if your dreams predicted the future or if you willed them into reality.”

Cassie took another sip of her coffee and let the burn of the liquid ground her back to reality. This was the perfect opportunity to ask her father about her abilities and if she’d had them her entire life, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not before at least two cups of coffee.

And even then, she’d find a good excuse not to ask.

“So, what’s all this?”

“A little hobby I picked up.” He straightened and dusted off his hands. Pride beamed from every pore in his face. “It started when your mom wanted a new shelf in the living room. I thought, I can make that. So, I did. Then she wanted a wine rack. Then her friend wanted a little nightstand. Now I do projects for half the neighborhood. I enjoy keeping my hands busy.”

“That’s awesome, Dad. They look amazing.”

“Made a lot of mistakes in the beginning, but I figured it out, eventually. Everyone seems to like them.”

It was nice seeing her dad like this, and with a sharp pang, she realized she’d missed out on years of happiness because of the fear burrowed deep inside her. She had focused so much on what could’ve gone wrong that she hadn’t even thought of what might’ve gone right.

Walter must’ve caught the look on her face because he leaned against his workbench and folded his arms. He didn’t look unkind, but he was a straight shooter,