Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 49826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 249(@200wpm)___ 199(@250wpm)___ 166(@300wpm)
“I can’t believe I’m competing with a ghost.” I hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, but that’s exactly what this feels like. I have no other explanation for why there are so many of my grandfather’s mannerisms and characteristics in me. The man in the bed that’s me and not me; who is all that passion for?
I know myself, and I have never fucked anyone with that much passion in my life. It was raw, animalistic, almost brutal, with nothing held back. That’s not me; I never let my guard down like that with anyone. I’ve never been that invested in sex, as a release, sure, or even a fun pastime when I had the time.
But the man on that screen was not passing the time, and this wasn’t just another roll in the hay. He was gentle with her even in his brutality. He spoke to her with my voice, but that’s not something I do. But I could feel the words as if they came from me. I could see myself saying them to her in just that way.
The me on the screen spoke lovingly, gently to her; I’d just as soon tell her to fuck off as look at her. So who can blame me for my confusion, my anger? I got up and stalked around the room, agitated once again. Why is nothing making any sense around here? Why do I feel like I’d go crazy if I don’t figure this thing out soon?
Thunder clashed outside the window, and I frowned at the glass. It looks like that storm hadn’t rolled out after all. I smelt the faint whiff of my grandfather’s cigar and unlocked the door to follow it down the hall. No particular reason: it just felt comforting at the moment.
I walked over to the side chair where I’d sat reading poetry the last time I was in here. Was that only a few days ago? I sat and picked the book up, and something fell out from between the pages. I frowned when I saw my name on the envelope, and a cold shiver ran down my spine.
ELLIE
I have to get out of here. I know Mrs. Horton wants me to stay, but I can’t. This rollercoaster of emotion is too much for me to bear. My heart can’t take another punch, and I’m beginning to feel bad about doing this to Nick without his knowledge. My body and heart want me to stay, to see it through ‘til the end, but my conscience is pricking me.
Everyone expected it to be hard because of Nick’s temperament. But I was too stupid to see the danger. I didn’t care, as long as I got to be close to him. I wanted him to smile at me the way he did in the beginning. To push my hair back behind my ear when the wind blew it around like a daffodil. I wanted his heart to beat for me the way mine still does for him.
But now I’m afraid. Those questions he asked seem to mean that he is indeed putting the pieces together. His memories are colliding, which was what was expected, that he would come to the realization on his own, figure it out at least partially, then go searching for answers. I couldn’t be the one to tell him for obvious reasons; he’d never believe me. And Mrs. Horton isn’t someone he would trust.
Hal expected him to rebel against the idea if he learned the truth any other way. But that question he threw at me warns of worst yet to come. His violence is escalating and might only get worse before it gets better if it ever does. I doubt he’d be as forgiving as we hoped. And at the end of the day, who will be here for him to lash out at? To spew all his fury and hate on.
I didn’t give myself time to talk myself out of it. I couldn’t stop to think; I just went into action. Mrs. Horton will understand. Wasn’t she the one who called and told me to get out of the house because she sensed that something was wrong? Yes, she’d understand.
It was only as I made my way out the back gate of the property with my lone suitcase that I remembered Hal and my aunt. I’d forgotten all about them in my need to protect myself. I felt tears gather in my eyes as I fought not to go back. There has to be another way; I’ll ask Mrs. Horton when I get to my aunt’s old house.
NICK
My hand trembled; why is my hand trembling? On the heels of that thought, my heart started to race, and I almost put the envelope back. Nothing about my reaction made sense; I recognized the handwriting on the envelope; it was grandpa’s. So why am I so nervous about opening it? I looked toward the window where the rain and wind had picked up again, and in the distance, the sound of thunder rolling in.