Translucent by Dan Rix

maybe, she’s still alive out there. Wandering around, lost. That’s the worst part . . . that tiny little bit of hope. It’s like a piece of glass right there—” he pointed to his heart. “A little piece of glass stuck right there.” His eyes teared up, and he wiped his face with his hands. “I was supposed to protect her, my baby sister . . .” He pounded the wall and sobbed into his elbow. “I was supposed to protect her!”
    I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe.
    His words closed around me like a noose.
    He looked up, eyes red. “Can you tell me anything? ”
    Feeling like my throat had sealed shut, I nodded.
    He needed to know.
    In order to move on, he needed to know.
    So I told him.
    “Your sister Ashley is dead. I saw her die.”
    Later that night I shivered on the edge of my mattress, suffering wave after wave of icy dread as I stared down into the open contact case.
    I saw her die.
    Those words would come back to haunt me.
    Emory hadn’t asked me any other questions at the party. He’d merely nodded with a vacant look in his eyes as if he sensed my sincerity . . . and sensed that I couldn’t tell him more than that.
    Maybe just knowing was enough. Maybe he would leave it alone now, leave me alone. Maybe he would be able to have closure now, and I would be able to heal. Maybe it would be enough.
    It wouldn’t be enough.
    I rocked forward and backward, chewing the skin off my lip as a little voice tormented me.
    Why’d you tell him, Leona?
    You already got away with it. Why’d you tell him?
    I shut my eyes, trying to squeeze it all out. They were only lulled right back open, my gaze drawn right back to the bottom of the contact lens case.
    You kissed him.
    Why’d you kiss him, Leona?
    Can you imagine if he knew . . .   ?
    That he kissed his sister’s killer?
    Can you imagine, Leona?
    “Shut up, shut up,” I breathed through my fists, trying desperately to warm my chilled fingers. I had left the party and hiked down Mission Ridge Road to catch a bus home, and it had been oddly cold for a September night. I hadn’t bothering to tell Megan I’d left.
    She would be furious.
    Technically, I hadn’t told Emory anything he hadn’t already suspected. I’d just confirmed that Ashley was dead . . . because that was the right thing to do. I hadn’t admitted guilt.
    He can see right through you.
    He knows .
    A quiet shuffle sounded out in the hall, yanking my gaze off the contact case. My pulse rose in tempo. I listened.
    Nothing.
    My door hung open an inch. Through the gap, just blackness.
    My parents still weren’t home.
    “Who’s there?” I called.
    No answer, no other sounds. Just my own thudding heart. I leaned over and hastily screwed on the lid of the contact lens case, in case someone accidentally kicked it over—
    My bedroom door creaked.
    I tensed and glanced up. The door inched open, creaking on its hinges until it came to rest a foot open, wobbling a little. The light from my bedroom spilled through the gap into the dark hallway, gleaming off the old pictures of family lining the walls.
    “Who’s . . . who’s there?” I stammered. “Mom? . . . Dad?”
    I would have heard their car.
    I rose and tiptoed to the doorway, paused for a nerve-wracking second, and lunged out.
    No one.
    Then what opened the door? It couldn’t have been a draft, all the windows were shut. A smell wafted through the air. Recently disturbed dust, a hint of ash—
    Warm air blew against my fingertips, and my hand recoiled.
    Petrified, I gaped into the blackness at my feet. Slowly, my eyes adjusted. On the wall, a rectangular shape came into view.
    I recognized it.
    A vent.
    I breathed out a sigh of relief.
    The furnace had just come on, blowing air through the house. That was what had swung the door in. Probably the first time the heat had come on in months, hence the smell of singed dust. Summer was almost over—it was mid-September—and the night did have a particular bite to it.
    I