know so much; that we know everything, really. But we don't. We live in a world where things like Prowlers exist, and who knows what else, and we pretend not to be afraid of the dark."
After a moment's pause, Molly sat up in bed, hair tumbling over her shoulders, the covers falling away to reveal the soft sheath she had slept in. There was a sadness about her that belied the intensity with which she spoke. Apparently, she had been doing a lot of thinking this morning while she waited for him to wake up.
"God, Jack, we live in a world where what people pretend to know - so they can hide their fear - is so huge that we can't even tell anybody what's real. Nobody will believe us because they're terrified what it would mean not to pretend anymore."
He was not at all sure what she was getting at, but Jack could see how grave Molly felt these thoughts were. Concerned, he slipped out of bed in the T-shirt and gym shorts he'd slept in to avoid any embarrassment, and went to sit by her.
"I can't argue with any of that," he confessed. "But we can't change the world, Molly. At least you and me aren't pretendin' not to know all that stuff."
Her smile was bittersweet. "Yeah. I guess."
What are you pretending not to know? he wanted to ask her. But he did not dare, for fear of what she might answer.
"You know what frightens me?" she went on. "When I think about it all, the ghosts and the Prowlers, and then I wonder - if those things exist, what else is out there? What if we've just scratched the surface of what's really there?"
Jack laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. The contact was electric, and he could see that she felt it, too. He thought she might have shuddered.
"Maybe you're right," he said. "But let's take one monster at a time, okay? Besides, I'm not afraid. I've got you watching out for me."
Her smile was uncharacteristically shy. "You're something else, Dwyer."
Molly stood up quickly, as if trying to escape the intimacy of waking up together. The sheath she wore was straight and featureless, but he still caught himself looking at her a little too long.
"I'm gonna jump in the shower," she said quickly. "Then we can grab some breakfast."
"Sounds good," Jack replied.
Molly gathered up her things for the shower and went into the bathroom without meeting his eyes again. Whatever was between them would remain unspoken.
Artie's memory and spirit haunted the space that separated Jack from Molly, and so they would pretend, just as Molly had described, that those feelings did not exist.
But he wondered what else she pretended, if she was aware that her dead boyfriend's ghost watched over them.
He heard the shower turn on. A fog fell over his thoughts, a stillness with only a buzzing beneath the surface where all his questions and worries lay buried.
Though it happened almost unconsciously, that expulsion of the concerns weighing upon him was the only way he could deal with them at the moment. His questions would be answered and his worries played out, but only over time.
A voice from behind him broke the silence.
"She's pretty amazing, isn't she?"
"Ah!" Jack lunged across the bed, rolled, and came up on the other side, heart thudding in his chest, lungs heaving with panic.
Artie Carroll's ghost was across the room, hovering several inches off the ground. He looked as he had the night he died, his straggly blond hair down to his shoulders, his hooded sweatshirt ripped at the neck, hightop sneakers untied, the laces dangling beneath him, trailing on the floor. He had that innocent who-me? expression on his face, the one that had allowed him to get away with so much over the years.
"Damn it, Artie," Jack rasped, his voice sounding like the patter of water in the shower. "Don't do that! You scared the crap out of me."
The ghost held up both hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry, Jack, but think about it. What, am I supposed to knock?" He mimed knocking on the air. "Hel-lo?"
Jack's breathing had returned to normal,
After a moment's pause, Molly sat up in bed, hair tumbling over her shoulders, the covers falling away to reveal the soft sheath she had slept in. There was a sadness about her that belied the intensity with which she spoke. Apparently, she had been doing a lot of thinking this morning while she waited for him to wake up.
"God, Jack, we live in a world where what people pretend to know - so they can hide their fear - is so huge that we can't even tell anybody what's real. Nobody will believe us because they're terrified what it would mean not to pretend anymore."
He was not at all sure what she was getting at, but Jack could see how grave Molly felt these thoughts were. Concerned, he slipped out of bed in the T-shirt and gym shorts he'd slept in to avoid any embarrassment, and went to sit by her.
"I can't argue with any of that," he confessed. "But we can't change the world, Molly. At least you and me aren't pretendin' not to know all that stuff."
Her smile was bittersweet. "Yeah. I guess."
What are you pretending not to know? he wanted to ask her. But he did not dare, for fear of what she might answer.
"You know what frightens me?" she went on. "When I think about it all, the ghosts and the Prowlers, and then I wonder - if those things exist, what else is out there? What if we've just scratched the surface of what's really there?"
Jack laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. The contact was electric, and he could see that she felt it, too. He thought she might have shuddered.
"Maybe you're right," he said. "But let's take one monster at a time, okay? Besides, I'm not afraid. I've got you watching out for me."
Her smile was uncharacteristically shy. "You're something else, Dwyer."
Molly stood up quickly, as if trying to escape the intimacy of waking up together. The sheath she wore was straight and featureless, but he still caught himself looking at her a little too long.
"I'm gonna jump in the shower," she said quickly. "Then we can grab some breakfast."
"Sounds good," Jack replied.
Molly gathered up her things for the shower and went into the bathroom without meeting his eyes again. Whatever was between them would remain unspoken.
Artie's memory and spirit haunted the space that separated Jack from Molly, and so they would pretend, just as Molly had described, that those feelings did not exist.
But he wondered what else she pretended, if she was aware that her dead boyfriend's ghost watched over them.
He heard the shower turn on. A fog fell over his thoughts, a stillness with only a buzzing beneath the surface where all his questions and worries lay buried.
Though it happened almost unconsciously, that expulsion of the concerns weighing upon him was the only way he could deal with them at the moment. His questions would be answered and his worries played out, but only over time.
A voice from behind him broke the silence.
"She's pretty amazing, isn't she?"
"Ah!" Jack lunged across the bed, rolled, and came up on the other side, heart thudding in his chest, lungs heaving with panic.
Artie Carroll's ghost was across the room, hovering several inches off the ground. He looked as he had the night he died, his straggly blond hair down to his shoulders, his hooded sweatshirt ripped at the neck, hightop sneakers untied, the laces dangling beneath him, trailing on the floor. He had that innocent who-me? expression on his face, the one that had allowed him to get away with so much over the years.
"Damn it, Artie," Jack rasped, his voice sounding like the patter of water in the shower. "Don't do that! You scared the crap out of me."
The ghost held up both hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry, Jack, but think about it. What, am I supposed to knock?" He mimed knocking on the air. "Hel-lo?"
Jack's breathing had returned to normal,
Similar Books
