Famous musician, Cory Hartley, has plans to end his own life. When rekindling an old flame that never died, Cory finds himself at a crossroads, as he copes with the traumatic death of his best friend. Forced to face the past that's haunted him for a...
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"The Ghosts of the Past Will Speak to All Who Will Listen"
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Cory sat with his head back against the headrest, watching the winding road through his mirrored sunglasses. Though he was stiff, his body moved limply with each curve and turn of the road.
Alida couldn't help but to steal glances at Cory, questioning whether he had drifted to sleep. She was unable to see his eyes through the reflective lenses on his face.
Cory suddenly dropped his foot from the dashboard, biting his lip and wincing and groaning as he shifted in the seat. He threw his seatbelt behind his back, pushing his sunglasses up into his hairline.
Alida took notice of Cory's odd behavior. She assumed he was just antsy—that perhaps he craved another drink.
When his knee began to bounce and his eyes became alert, Alida realized that something was wrong. She could see his chest rising and falling—his eyes blinking rapidly as if struggling to see clearly.
"Are you okay?" Alida asked, looking to Cory in concern. He scratched the back of his head so roughly that she could hear the sound of his nails scraping against his scalp.
Cory nodded, but couldn't speak as they approached the stoplight at the intersection.
The scene before him looked familiar—it was uncanny. Cory tried convincing himself that it was a delusion, that the road leading to the intersection was not the same.
The sickening sense of déjà vu engulfed his body, wrapping its cold spiky grasp around his chest, squeezing so tightly that Cory had to fight the urge to scream.
It was creeping in at an accelerated rate—the panic was taking over and Cory couldn't escape it. Not only could Cory not unravel the grappling hooks imbedded in his chest, he also had an unfortunate onlooker.
Alida watched in horror, oblivious as to what to do, or why Cory was coming up out of his seat. There was a fear in his eyes—a terror that resembled someone that had just seen a ghost.
The green light switched to yellow—Cory could no longer fool his spectator.
"Cory, talk to me—what's wrong?" Alida started to place a hand on him, but wasn't sure if doing so would make whatever was happening worse.
"Pull over." Cory insisted as he hunched forward, his face nearing the dash. He was holding his stomach—trying to fight off the sensation of free falling.
He had been taught breathing exercises to help these types of attacks; however, those never worked for Cory.
The only thing that made the episodes pass were movement—Cory had to physically walk this off. If he didn't, he'd become paralyzed—his body would become frozen by the sudden fear that possessed him.
