To The Grave

Chapter Six

'You need me to what?'

'I need you to solve my murder.' He says it simply, like he's reciting from a grocery list or ordering from a dining menu. 'I didn't know you could see me, but now that I –'

'– Yeah, you said that already,' I interrupt, shaking my head incredulously.

Behind me, cracks of frost continue to spread, making me grit my teeth with impatience. How long have I been here? How long do I have left? Judging by the shooting bullets of ice pelting against the window, not much.

I take a deep breath and turn to face him, all but ready to force him into letting me go, but something in his face stops me. It's the flecks inside those blue eyes, turning my gut into coils. The stranger watches me in desperation, with a look that whispers of last hopes. It lingers on my skin and sinks into my bones.

Despite myself, I can't look away.

'This makes no sense,' I whisper. 'Surely you know how you died.'

His jaw ticks, making my stomach drop further.

'I remember images,' he says over the wailing wind outside. 'A car rolling down a road. A house in the middle of nowhere. A pair of eyes – brown, I think. I don't remember being scared, but I remember the pain. God, the pain. It was hot, burning my skin no matter how hard I tried to make it stop. There was a door slamming, and then darkness – a darkness so deep, I was sure I'd never find a way out. And then I saw you, and it all came tumbling back.'

Silence follows his words, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm speechless or because of the world breaking down around us. The windows next to me crash to the floor, exploding into shards of ice by my feet. I flinch away, wind threading through my hair as I look up again with wide eyes.

'I'm sorry, but I can't help.'

He looks like he wants to argue, because those eyes churn with something dark and stubborn, but then he turns his cheek and lets out a sharp breath. For a moment, I think he's going to disappear and leave me here, but then he tilts his head back to me.

'Could you just look up my name, then? Tell me what you find and I won't bother you again.'

I grit my teeth, fighting against the rules I set for myself when I realised how dangerous this game could become. Helping someone on the Other Side is the last thing I should be doing, what with the aftereffects of the fire and everything else going on right now. But despite everything inside me screaming that I should run away, despite the sinking feeling in my gut I get every time I look at him, a piece of me whispers: What harm could come from helping this one person?

Because that's what he is, right?

He's a person. Sure, he's a dead person, but I'll be dead one day too.

Before I make my decision, I look at him, considering.

If I didn't know he was dead, I'd think he looks like a normal guy – maybe even a jock type who sits in the cafeteria with a cheerleader on his lap. His hair is messy, but it works, like he purposefully styled it that way. And sure, his face is grey like every other person here, but his dark skin hints at a lifetime spent in the sun, of days on surfboards riding through the waves. It glows somehow, even here, where nothing can glow at all.

With each second I spend watching him, my resolve loosens further, melting into the ground like ice in the sun.

'What's your name?' I ask finally, releasing a heavy sigh. 'I'll see what I can find.'

I didn't know it was possible, but his eyes light up at my words. 'Atlas.'

'Atlas,' I repeat, rolling the name over my tongue. I tilt my head. 'It kinda suits you.'

A nervous, breathy laugh escapes his lips. 'You think?'

I nod. 'What's your second name?'

Atlas opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. His brows furrow and he tries to speak again, but only silence passes his open lips. I'm just about to say something when I stop, those star-like eyes rising to meet mine. They churn with an expression I can't place, and something inside of me winces at the utter hopelessness of him.

'I can't remember,' he whispers.

My brows furrow. 'What?'

'I can't remember my last name.' He looks away, jaw ticking. I bite my lip and watch silently as he begins to pace. 'How's that possible? How can someone not remember their own name? It was there in my mind one second, and then gone the next.'

Understanding sinks into my skin. I try to swallow the lump in my throat. 'How long have you been here, Atlas?' My voice is so quiet, I'm surprised he hears me.

'What do you mean, how long have I been here?' he asks.

I raise my chin. 'I mean, how long have you been stuck here? When did you die?'

At first, Atlas looks confused. He glances away, brows furrowed and lips tightened into a straight line. The wind picks up around us impossibly more, and I tighten my fists against the bitter cold piercing itself through my clothes.

'I –' He stops, despair ringing through his eyes. 'I don't remember.'

I try not to let panic sink onto my face. 'Okay,' I say calmly, slowly. 'Then what's the last major event you remember happening on earth?'

'I –' His words jut off again, falling back into thoughts.

'You need to hurry up.' I raise a hand to my eyes, looking at my fingertips now inked with blue. 'I've already been here too long. You need to tell me what you remember and let me go. I'll see if I can find anything, and in the meantime, you can try to remember. But if I stay here any longer, I can't help you. I won't be able to help either of us.'

Atlas' eyes dart back to me. 'But what if the darkness comes again?'

I shake my head, certain with the knowledge I've been forced to learn over the years. 'It won't. Now you've touched me, we're connected. You'll stay here, near to me, as long as you need to be before you can let go.'

His lips open. 'Let go?'

I wince. Okay, great subtly, Lea. I blink and try again.

'Look, that doesn't matter right now. What do you remember happening last? Like, what was the last news story you saw when you were alive?'

He shakes his head, eyes squinted as he thinks.

'Something about a Walton?' he finally says.

My heart stops. 'A Walton? You mean President Jeffery Walton?'

'Yeah,' Atlas replies, words quick. 'I remember the election and Walton winning. He won, right?'

'He did.' I nod slowly. 'Five years ago.'