The Last Time I Saw Her

  the last time i saw her

  amber garza

  Cover: Emily at Emily Wittig Designs

  Copyright © 2017 Amber Garza

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  For information: ambergarza.com

  To Mr. Greenbaum, for believing in my talent

  prologue

  It started as a dare. A challenge.

  Innocent fun.

  But it didn’t take long for Lauren to realize it was a mistake. A dangerous mistake.

  Her pulse spiked, heat rising to her skin. Terrified, she took off running. But the ground beneath her high-heeled boots was slick and wet. Rain poured from the clouds, unrelenting, splashing her skin and painting her clothes. The liquid blinded her, sticking to her eyelashes and blurring her vision. But fear kept her moving forward. Determination thrashed in her veins.

  If ever there was a time to be brave, it was now.

  But her opponent was faster, the footsteps coming closer and closer. A squeal escaped from her lips as she neared the creek and heard the rushing of the water over the rocks. Her stomach bottomed out. She’d gone the wrong way. Not towards the road, but away from it. Panic clawed at her insides like an animal trapped and desperate to escape. Yet she refused to give up.

  She fought hard even after she was struck. Even after pain, hot and searing, shot through her head. Only after she’d fallen into the creek where her dark red blood mixed with the murky water did she finally close her eyes and succumb to the darkness.

  one

  The first time Dylan saw her, he assumed it was a hallucination. Ever since the morning he and his sister discovered Lauren’s body, her lifeless eyes and caved-in skull had haunted him. It filled his nightmares. But he wasn’t dreaming. He was awake. His mouth dried out. He watched her with a growing sense of dread, certain he was losing his mind.

  Her back was to him as she made her way down the cereal aisle, her long blond hair swishing in time with the sway of her hips. She wore pink like always, as if everything she owned was the color of bubble gum. If only her personality matched her clothes. But no one would describe Lauren Pascal as sugary and sweet. Not when she was alive anyway. Now everyone talked about her as if she was a saint.

  “Dylan?” Terry’s voice yanked him from his thoughts. He swallowed hard. “Mrs. Beatty would like help to her car.” His manager’s tone was business as usual, but his eyes were concerned and slightly curious.

  “Right.” Dylan’s face warmed, and he swiftly reached for the remaining grocery items scattered in front of him. After bagging them, he loaded the bags into the cart. Glancing up, Lauren was gone. Yep. He was losing his mind. Shaking away the image of himself in a straightjacket, he cleared his throat. “Lead the way.” He smiled at Mrs. Beatty.

  She flashed him a thin-lipped grin before stepping forward on trembling legs. Mrs. Beatty was notoriously slow, but he didn’t mind today. He patiently pushed the cart trailing her out to the parking lot. The wheels buzzed as they rolled along the asphalt. With each step, Dylan focused on his breathing. In and out. In and out.

  But it didn’t stop the visions from coming.

  Blood.

  Water.

  Pale arms.

  Wide eyes.

  Matted hair.

  He blinked, shaking his head.

  “You okay?” Mrs. Beatty asked, her wrinkled jowls quivering.

  “Yes.” His gut twisted. It was a lie he’d already told a million times today. What was one more?

  Reaching her Buick, she stopped walking. “Here we are,” she said, as if Dylan hadn’t helped her to her car dozens of times in the last year.

  After he deposited the bags into the trunk, Mrs. Beatty attempted to shove a five-dollar bill into his hand. But he refused. Some of the other courtesy clerks would take her tips, but Dylan never did. It was against store policy.

  As he pushed the cart back toward the store, a cop car drove into the lot. A shiver ran up his spine. Head ducked, he hurried forward. It was cold. Winter was in full swing, dark clouds hovering overhead. He told himself that’s all this was. The weather was causing the deep chill that bypassed his flesh and settled into his bones.

  But he knew it was more than that.

  “Why don’t you take your break now?” Terry asked politely when he reentered the store. But Dylan knew it wasn’t an offer. It was a demand. Clearly, his behavior had concerned his boss.

  It had been two weeks since Lauren’s murder. Since he’d seen death for the first time.

  If only he’d stayed home.

  If only he’d never gone out to that creek.

  If only….

  But he had, and now he needed to get a grip. He couldn’t afford to lose this job. Especially since his grades sucked right now.

  “Yeah, okay.” Dylan nodded obediently and swung around.

  Sometimes he went to the breakroom, but not tonight. Just the thought of the small room with the faulty fluorescent lighting that smelled like microwaved dinners was enough to make his skin crawl.

  He needed to be alone to calm his nerves, so he headed outside.

  There were lots of girls in Fenton Falls with long blond hair who wore pink. Lauren had an entire following of them. It was probably one of them in the store. Yes, that had to be it. That was the only thing that made sense. Dead girls didn’t grocery shop. Feeling stupid, he blew out a relieved breath.

  A breeze whisked over him as he sat on a bench under the store awning, causing goosebumps to rise along the flesh on the back of his neck. Cigarette butts lined the ground in front of his feet, a trail of ashes making nonsensical patterns on the concrete. He stared at it until it blurred, almost appearing to move in front of his eyes.

  Sitting up, he raked a hand over his hair. The sun had gone down, but not to the point where the sky was black. Instead it was a dark navy blue, reminding him of the ocean. A car drove past, slowing to creep over a speed bump. At the far end of the parking lot, a flash of pink caught Dylan’s attention. His breath hitched in his throat. Her back was to him. From this distance she could’ve been anyone. But when she started walking, heat coursed through his veins.

  Lauren had a distinct walk. He should know. He’d had a crush on her since elementary school.

  Standing up, he hollered, “Hey!”

  She was moving faster now, so he took a couple of steps forward.

  “Hey!” Cupping his hands around his mouth, he tried again, even though he knew it was futile.

  A van drove past, obscuring his vision. Once it was gone, so was Lauren. Heart sinking, he sighed. Had anyone else seen her? He glanced around. Everyone was minding their own business. Was she a ghost? Was he the only one who could see her?

  If so, why?

  What did she want?

  ***

  Fenton Falls was named after the waterfall at the edge of town and the creek that ran through it. For years, the town remained small with one grocery store, a gas station, and houses spread out across the rural plains. Now it had a mall, a theatre, multiple schools and grocery stores, and subdivisions with tract homes crammed together. Dylan lived in one of those subdivisions.

  He preferred to be in the heart of the town near the high school and Fenton Market. When he was a boy his family lived in the older part, and he was happy there. But when he was in junior high his parents bought the home they lived in now. Dylan hated it. None of his friends lived nearby, and his neighbors were all stuck up and rude.

  On his way home from work, he turned down the street right before his. Slowing, he glan
ced to the right, careful that no one was outside to see him gawking. Lauren’s house was all aglow, every window lit. Her family had the biggest floorplan in the subdivision. Mr. Pascal came from money. He earned a lot as the top surgeon in town, but rumor had it he’d also inherited a large amount from his grandfather. The yard was empty, but there was movement in one of the windows.

  Afraid he’d get caught, Dylan pressed down on the gas and hurried around the corner. When he came upon his house, he spotted his dad’s car in the driveway, and his chest tightened.

  Gone was the navy sky. It was now pitch black with only a small smattering of stars. Wind whipped Dylan in the face as he got out of his truck. His parents had tried to talk him into buying a nice compact car, one that would fit the image they’d carefully constructed in this neighborhood. But he’d had his eye on this Ford truck for awhile. It fit him, rustic and in need of some repair, but overall strong and dependable. His parents had no say. He’d bought it with his own money.

  Tugging his jacket tightly around his shoulders, he walked up the driveway. A twig broke. A leaf crunched. He flinched, the skin on his neck prickling. When a figure stepped out from behind the tree in his front yard, he gasped. But then he recognized her.

  “Claire, what are you doing out here?” Pressing his palm to his chest, his heartbeat thumped against it erratically. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  His sister rolled her eyes in perfect fifteen-year-old fashion. Claire had perfected the art of the eye roll at age six when he’d been trying to convince her he was a superhero. He thought for sure she would believe him. Weren’t all six year old’s gullible? And didn’t they always trust their older brothers? But without skipping a beat she’d rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, right.”

  Instead of getting angry, he’d ended up laughing. It showed self-confidence, and that was something he wished he had more of.

  “Dylan.” Stepping forward, she reached out. Her fingers brushed over his arm like a light breeze. Almost like she wanted to latch onto him, but couldn’t make her hand work. Something was wrong. “I need to talk to you.” Her gaze nervously flickered toward the house. The lights in the bedrooms were out, but the kitchen and family room emitted a soft yellow glow. From here it looked serene.

  “What’s going on?” In the darkness, Claire’s face wasn’t clear. Only the outline, the shine in her eyes, and the whiteness of her teeth were visible.

  “I think I’m going crazy,” her voice started to rise, so she lowered it. “I’m seeing things…things that aren’t possible.”

  He assumed Dad was in one of his moods, drinking and looking for a fight. A part of him was relieved that wasn’t the case, but the other part was terrified. “What kind of things?”

  “Lauren.” Her breath was a plume of white, suspended in the air.

  His stomach bottomed out. “You’ve seen her too?”

  “Too?” She asked fearfully. “That means…”

  “I saw Lauren tonight at work.” Dylan shook his head. How lame did he sound? “At least someone who looked like Lauren.”

  “It was this afternoon for me.” Claire’s voice shook. “When I got home from school I saw her across the street.” She paused. A car drove by, and lights flickered over their bodies. Claire’s face was so stricken she resembled a character in a horror movie. “But that’s not possible…right?” This last part was said with a twinge of hope, as if she wanted Dylan to convince her.

  He wanted to. But he wasn’t sure he could. His sanity was unraveling by the minute.

  “It’s not possible,” he finally said. “But how do we explain why we both saw her?”

  “I don’t know,” Claire whispered.

  Dylan shivered. It was weird how cold he’d been lately. From infancy, he’d always run warm. His mom used to joke that he had a constant fever. His skin was hot to the touch even when he wasn’t sick. But ever since Lauren’s murder, his skin was frigid, a persistent chill running through his veins.

  two

  Blond hair.

  Pink shirt.

  Porcelain legs.

  Pale white arms.

  She was everywhere. In Dylan’s dreams, she was covered in blood splatters. So dark they were almost black, painting her skin like a tattoo. When he awoke in the morning the taste of metal lingered on his tongue.

  In the daytime, her skin was white as snow. Pristine. Not a drop of blood in sight. She showed up when he least expected her. When he was bagging someone’s groceries she’d peek out from behind a display of paper towels, or an endcap filled with sports drinks. Or when he was helping someone to their car, he’d spot her on the other end of the lot. By the time he could search for her, she was gone.

  It had been almost a week since his sister had seen her, and for that he was grateful. He knew Claire had nightmares. They shared a wall, and sometimes at night he heard her muffled whimpers, the rustling of sheets and the creaking of her bed.

  She’d been the first to see Lauren that fateful morning. Her dog Potter had taken off running, which wasn’t uncommon. He was still a puppy. She’d held tight to his leash, clambering after him. Dylan was a few steps behind when he heard Claire’s terrified shriek. By the time he reached her, her entire body was trembling as if she was in the middle of a seizure. He’d never seen her like that. And even though he wasn’t very good at comforting people, he did his best. He’d held her tightly, stroked her hair, and promised everything would be okay, even though he knew it wasn’t true.

  That moment bonded them. But it also scarred them in a way only the two of them understood.

  It made sense that they would imagine things, possibly even hallucinate. He was no therapist, but it had to be normal, right? Their mind’s way of coping. That’s what he had told Claire, anyway. He assured her that it was all a figment of their imagination, and that everything would be fine.

  And it seemed like it had been for Claire. Why not for him? Why was Lauren following him around?

  There was a constant tremor in his bones. A trepidation in his soul. A stuttered skip in his heart. His ears were perked, his shoulders tense. He lived with the feeling that someone was watching him.

  Stalking him.

  All. The. Time.

  He couldn’t take it anymore.

  That’s why on an ordinary Friday afternoon when he spotted her across the street from his house, half-hidden behind a tree, he stormed in her direction. He ignored the quivering in his belly and the hesitation blooming in his chest. She’d been haunting him long enough. He had to put a stop to it.

  Whoever she was or whatever she was, he had to face her. Spinning away from him, she started running. But Dylan was faster, and it didn’t take long for him to catch her.

  “Who are you?” he demanded as his fingers closed around her wrist.

  Wriggling, she said, “You know who I am.”

  His stomach turned to ice at her words. “Lauren?” he croaked, and then immediately felt like an idiot. It couldn’t be. This was no ghost. Spirits were nothing more than ether. This girl was real, made of flesh and bone. Rubbing his thumb against her skin, he grounded himself. “You can’t be Lauren, so who the hell are you?” He yanked her forward and was finally able to get a glimpse of her face. Only it was fleeting. Turning her head, she tried to get away. But Dylan wouldn’t let her. Grabbing her by both arms, he pressed her up against a nearby tree and looked at her head on. Knowing she’d lost, she lifted her chin in a defiant stare. It took a minute before recognition slammed into him. Up close he could see why he’d mistaken her for Lauren. Her makeup and clothes were spot on. But there were two problems – her features were all wrong, and her hair was fake. It was a weird mix of emotions he felt – relief and anger all stirred together.

  Reaching up, he yanked the wig off her head and it fell into his palm, revealing short, spiky jet black hair.

  “Harley?”

  Sighing, she nodded.

  Frustrated, he tossed the wig onto the grass. The strands sprea
d out over the green blades, sheer like a spider web.

  “Why are you dressed like Lauren?” It didn’t make any sense. Harley was a loner. Kept to herself. Liked to remain mysterious. She wasn’t a friend of Lauren’s, so what was she up to?

  A slow smile spread across her face. With open palms, she shoved Dylan back. He teetered on the balls of his feet for a moment before righting himself. “Relax, I was just having a little fun.”

  Anger ignited in his gut. “A little fun? Do you have any idea how much you scared my sister?” And me?

  “Sorry,” she said in a bored voice. “I didn’t realize she was such a wuss.”

  The anger seared through him like a full-blown fire now. “Trust me, she’s no wuss. But you know what you are?” Dylan moved in close, his words low, his eyes narrowed. “You’re sick. Twisted. I mean, who dresses up like a dead person?”

  Without a word, she bent down and picked up the wig. Then she carefully draped it over her arm. “You’re right. This was a bad idea.” Wearing a hard expression, she backed away.

  “That’s it?” Stomach sinking, he threw up his arms.

  She shrugged. “Nothin’ left to say.”

  “How about ‘why’?”

  Blowing out a breath, she shook her head. “Look, I thought maybe you could help me out, but it’s clear that I was wrong. So, tell your sister that I’m sorry I scared her.” She made air quotes around the word sister, as if she knew Dylan was the one who was afraid. “It won’t happen again.”

  He should’ve let her walk away. She’d already pissed him off, and she was clearly unstable. But he couldn’t. He needed answers. Harley had fascinated Dylan for years. She was an enigma. Untouchable. He couldn’t help but fantasize about one day being the person to break through the mystery, to discover what was underneath. Now she was seeking him out, and he deserved to know why.

  “Wait,” he called after her. “What is it you wanted help with?”