Arise. Tara Hudson

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      I continued to study the pillow while I described the dream’s eerie details. When I finished, Joshua blew out a puff of air.

      “That’s … well, that’s creepy, Amelia.”

      “Very. And the even bigger issue is that I don’t sleep. The fact I’m dreaming at all makes me think these dreams are—I don’t know—important maybe? Tonight’s dream really makes me wonder. Everything seemed so real: the sounds, the smells.”

      “And you’re sure you saw yourself alive in this one?”

      “Well … not completely sure. The girl looked a lot like me, but there was something else about her. Something I can’t put my finger on.”

      Joshua frowned, thoughtful. “Maybe the girl was just some, you know, manifestation. Of your worries.”

      Despite my apprehensive mood, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, Dr. Mayhew. Someone’s been doing his psychology homework.”

      “My favorite elective.” Joshua chuckled good-naturedly. Then he yawned.

      I propped myself up on my elbow, glanced over his shoulder at his bedside clock, and fell back onto the bed beside him.

      “We can talk more about this later,” I said. “It’s past four already, and you’ve got a calculus final today.”

      “Don’t remind me.” He groaned, pulling his own pillow around his ears in a U shape. “Why sleep at all? I’ll probably get a better score if I just try to hallucinate the answers.”

      “I’m not going to let you hallucinate your way through your last final. We’ve been studying for weeks. So … sleep.”

      With the pillow still pressed to his ears, Joshua shook his head. But even through the fabric, I heard the muffled sound of another yawn.

      I guess I didn’t need to give him any more commands or warnings because soon, without further protest, he began to drift off. Eventually, his breath deepened enough that I knew he’d fallen asleep again.

      With an enormous sigh, I rolled over to stare blankly at the ceiling. For a while I tried to stay calm and restful. To run through a few of the calculus equations Joshua had struggled with the most. But soon, instead of numbers, my head started to spin with all the lingering questions that still plagued me.

      Several months ago I thought I’d finally solved my greatest problems. I’d begun to piece together the sketchy details of my past and gain control of my ghostly powers. I’d prevented Eli from trapping me in the dark netherworld and forcing me to become a sort of grim reaper like him. Even Joshua’s grandmother Ruth and her coven of ghost hunters had left me alone as some sort of repayment for saving Jillian’s life.

      So I’d earned a chance to enjoy whatever time I had left with Joshua, right?

      Wrong.

      Instead, my new, Eli- and Ruth-free existence had only become peaceful enough to allow another mess of problems into it. There were too many things to think about, too many issues I couldn’t resolve. Like the haunting image of my doppelgänger languishing in that dank room. Or my total inability to kiss my boyfriend for more than a few minutes. Or … or …

      “Ugh,” I muttered in disgust, but then clamped my lips shut when I heard a small hitch in Joshua’s breath.

      When he began to breathe evenly again, I carefully slipped off the bed and tiptoed to the broad window seat on the other side of the room. I curled up on the seat’s thick blue cushions, tucking my feet beneath me and pressing my forehead to the windowpane.

      Right now I’d give just about anything to feel the glass, cold and soothing against my skin. No such luck, though. I felt only the numb pressure of the pane in front of me and the cushion beneath me.

      Just two more objects in the living world I couldn’t really touch.

      Forehead still pressed against the window, hair hanging around my face so I couldn’t see anything but the dark, icy view outside, I shook my head. Then I burrowed more fully into the cushions, settling in for another troubled night spent obsessing over the things I would never be able to change.

      

      A sharp clunk rang out beneath me as someone’s foot connected with the wooden leg of the chair in which I now sat. I looked up in time to see Jillian’s eyes dart guiltily down to her bowl of cereal.

      I spared a quick glance at Joshua. He must have heard the sound too, because he glared at his sister across the breakfast table. I, however, just shook my head and pulled my elbows off the table. Obviously, I wouldn’t get to spend the morning sulking with my head in my hands as I’d originally planned. Instead, I would once again have to play peacemaker between the unwilling and the unreceptive. And these days I didn’t know which Mayhew sibling was which.

      I placed what I hoped was a calming hand on Joshua’s arm, but he’d already begun to growl a warning at his little sister.

      “Jillian, I swear …”

      “Don’t swear, Joshie,” she taunted, the corner of her lips twitching. “Mom and Dad don’t like it when you swear.”

      Joshua’s scowl deepened. “Seriously, if you don’t stop it—”

      “Stop what?” she interrupted, raising her eyebrows innocently. She turned from one side to the other as if to solicit support from their parents. The older Mayhews, however, couldn’t have been more disinterested in their children’s fight. Joshua’s dad stayed buried behind his newspaper, and Joshua’s mom focused intently on her breakfast—almost too intently, as if deliberately avoiding any involvement in her son and daughter’s endless bickering.

      So Joshua could have—should have—let the incident blow over. He could have ignored Jillian, like the mature older brother he was supposed to be. Unfortunately, our rough night had made Joshua as cranky as I was, and he decided to react.

      Before I could utter the words Let it go, Joshua, I heard another sharp crack from under the table. When Jillian immediately yelped and bent down to grab her shin, Joshua grinned in triumph. Obviously his kick, unlike Jillian’s, had met its mark.

      Upon seeing her brother’s grin, Jillian howled.

      The howl echoed throughout the kitchen, nearly rattling the silverware and cereal bowls with its force. The sound was so piercing, Jillian’s parents had no choice but to pay attention. Newspapers and coffee cups dropped to the table as the older Mayhews let out almost identical, frustrated groans.

      Rebecca focused upon Joshua first, fixing him in a gaze that could have frozen lava.

      “One morning,” she said, shoving her mug farther away from her. “Just one morning I’d like to eat breakfast without having to break up a fight.”

      I looked over at Jillian, who continued to moan in pain, albeit with a hint of glee in her hazel eyes.

      “Sorry we bothered you, Mom,” she whimpered, intentionally quivering her bottom lip. “But Joshua just won’t leave me alone.”

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