The Haunting of Secrets by Shelley R. Pickens Page B

can’t get it out.
So, I decide to make it a little easier on him. I finish with my
ministrations, walk across the room to get the chair from my desk
that sits adjacent to the window, and bring it over to sit in front
of Logan, turning the chair around and straddling it so the back of
the chair is between us. He is holding his head down, hesitating
for some reason.
    I sigh, already tired of this game. I’m sure
my feelings of despondence are showing. “Spit it out, Logan. Just
tell me what you came here to say,” I demand a bit too harshly.
    Logan studies his hands for a minute more,
clearly unsure of how to say something.
    I grab my gloves from the bedside table, put
them on, and approach Logan carefully. He never looks up from his
hands. Even though I’m not sure anymore that I want to know what he
came here to say, I put my gloved hands on top of his clenched ones
and wait patiently for him to look at me, all the while trying to
think of something soothing to say to him. A good three minutes
pass before Logan unclenches his hands and wraps them around mine.
The heat from his hands seeps through the gloves and it’s
intoxicating. I have never been this close to anyone, never shared
this type of intimacy. I understand better now why couples hold
hands. My heart beats like a drum in my chest, I am incapable of
hearing anything else, feeling anything else outside of this
moment.
    Slowly, Logan raises his head and he meets my
eyes. The minute our eyes meet, the nausea hits me full force.
Fleetingly, I wonder if my feelings for Logan could be some sort of
trigger for unveiling memories. But I don’t have time to ponder
that right now; he can’t see what happens when I’m encased within a
memory. I have to get out of here before the past takes over. I
stand up quickly, knocking the chair in front of me out of the way
and hitting Logan all in the same motion. Panic engulfs me; I have
no other option but to run. I fly out of the room and turn right,
not sure of where I am going, but trying to put as much distance
between Logan and me as possible. I never want Logan to see me when
I’m experiencing a memory. That would be the quickest way to push
him out of my life forever and I was just getting used to having
him around. I run down the long upstairs hall, all the way to the
attic door. Behind me, I hear Logan yelling my name, but I don’t
answer. I open the door and race through to the attic, locking it
behind me. I’m halfway up the stairs when I hear a pounding on the
door, but I ignore it. I have just enough time to make it all the
way up before I collapse. The darkness takes me and the memory
begins.
    * * * *
    I am standing over a rectangular pit in the
middle of nowhere. The only sounds I hear are the sounds of nature.
It is pitch black save the small light emanating from a flashlight
behind me. There’s a shovel beside me and I must have been digging
for hours, yet I don’t feel tired. My hands are covered in dirt. I
look down and see that my clothes are covered in grime. So much so
that I can’t tell if the clothes are darkened from the dirt or if
I’m really dressed in all black. I stare at the pit in front of me,
it stares back, an endless cavern of nothingness. The most
satisfying part is almost here. I reach my hand in my right pocket
and feel around for the lighter. I hold it in my hand, wanting to
enjoy this moment as long as possible. The lighter feels cold
against my dirty hand. After a minute, I open the lighter and flick
it to release its flame. The yellow light is beautiful,
mesmerizing. My pulse quickens as I throw the lighter into the pit.
It touches her gasoline-soaked body and immediately erupts into a
beautiful light brightening the sky like a beacon. The outline of
her body is clear now; I can witness first-hand the melting of her
skin, the destruction of every piece of evidence that could ever
convict me. I inhale the smoke of her burning corpse allowing it to
infuse me with power. I rub my