Hereafter. Tara Hudson

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      I shouldn’t have been surprised. My world had changed the first time he laid his hand upon my cheek—there was no reason why it shouldn’t change when he did it again.

      Yet when his hand cupped my face for the second time, we both gasped and jerked away, stunned. My fingers involuntarily flew up to the burning spot on my cheek, and likewise he grabbed his right hand with his left. Our actions may have looked protective, even defensive, to an outside observer. For me, however, they were anything but.

      The moment his skin brushed mine, a current shot through my entire body, from my scalp to the tips of my fingers. The current made the ache in my chest, and the tingles that raced along my spine each time he looked at me, seem like low-burning cinders. My heart, my brain, my skin—all of it was momentarily engulfed in flame, a flame lit only by the spark on my cheek.

      I’d never felt anything so exhilarating. Not in death … not even in life. I knew it, deep within my core.

      Joshua stared at me, rubbing his hand. He continued to breathe unevenly, as though he’d just run a long distance. Then, still gasping, he smiled. Hugely.

      “What,” he managed to choke out, “was that?”

      “I have no idea.” And I began to laugh. “Want to do it again?”

      “Hell, yes,” he growled, and lurched forward to grab my hand from my lap.

      As it had been with my cheek, we didn’t make perfect contact. Not exactly. I couldn’t feel the texture of his skin or the force of his fingers gripping mine. I felt the old, familiar pressure that always came when I tried to touch something from the living world. But I didn’t feel numb; the fiery shock came again, just as strong and fantastic as before, and there was nothing numb about it.

      We simultaneously pulled back our hands, gasping again.

      “What … what does that feel like to you?” I finally stuttered.

      “Like fire. In the best possible way. You?”

      “The same. Good.” I shrugged, almost sheepishly. “Very good.”

      “I’m pretty out of breath,” he confessed with a grin.

      “Me too.” I laughed. “Which is saying something for someone who doesn’t really need to breathe.”

      He stopped smiling and cocked his head a little to the side. I immediately regretted my words. Stupidly, I’d jerked us out of the moment and back to the topic at hand. I shook my head, furious with myself.

      Might as well quit playing around and get it over with, I thought bitterly. I took a deep breath to steady myself and cut right to the chase.

      “So, Joshua, here’s the part where you run screaming into the night, right?” I paused to stare around at the clearing, lit up by the overcast daytime sky. “Metaphorically, that is.”

      “Amelia, do you see me running?”

      I leaned back, startled. “Well … no.”

      “And why would I run?”

      “Because any sane person would think I’m either crazy … or dead.”

      “I don’t think you’re crazy.” He kept his voice even, and quiet.

      “Huh. Um. So.” I couldn’t get my brain to form a logical sentence.

      “So,” he went on to finish my incoherent thoughts, “the way I see it, process of elimination leaves only one conclusion.”

      I kept my lips shut tight and studied his face. His midnight blue–colored eyes were wide and a little stunned. He looked as surprised as I felt by this turn in the conversation. Yet he sounded completely serious, maybe even … accepting? I shook my head, bewildered.

      “You believe me?”

      “I guess so.”

      “You believe I’m … dead? A ghost?”

      Joshua blew out a long breath and ran his hand through his black hair.

      “Yeah, I kind of think I have to,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, I don’t have an explanation for the river. How you were underwater with me, but you weren’t drowning. How you were on the shore—looking pretty damn dry, by the way—but no one saw you. And how it feels when I touch you. I mean, unless you are alive. And you have gills, and you’re invisible. And you’re electrified.”

      I shrugged back. “I don’t know. Maybe I am.”

      He smiled—an unbelievably casual gesture, considering the topic. “You mean you don’t know if electrification is a common trait for ghosts?”

      I stared at him, openmouthed. Was he joking about me being dead? “Um … no, Joshua, I have no idea what is or isn’t a common trait for ghosts. This is my first … ah …”

      “Haunting?” he offered.

      I snorted. “Yes, this is my first haunting.”

      “Then I’m flattered.”

      “Joshua,” I said, rubbing my forehead, “you’re taking this awfully well.”

      He sighed, still smiling, and walked over to sit beside me again on the bench. Tingles, like little licks of the flame I’d just experienced, raced along the side of my body closest to him.

      “You know, I’ve heard ghost stories all my life. Especially ones about the bridge, from my grandma. I’ve never believed any of them, of course. But like I said before, I kind of have to now, don’t I? Because otherwise I’m crazy, and I’m talking to a beautiful, electrified, imaginary girl.”

      “I swear I’m not imaginary.” An uncontrollable grin spread across my face. “I would know if I was imaginary, right?”

      He laughed, rubbed his palm down the length of his thigh, and then raised his hand up toward heaven as if to ask the sky that same question. “Who knows? Maybe we’re both crazy. But I’d like to think I’m not just talking to myself on a park bench.”

      “Well, you probably look like you are, you know.”

      “Huh.” He СКАЧАТЬ