Shards of Black Glass (A Ghost Adventures Story)

Twenty-Seven

I sit on my bed, flipping through the pages of a book, when I hear a soft knock on my door. I get up and walk to the door, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. Who would interrupt my reading at this time of night?

I open the door, and, to my surprise, find Zak. He stands there, hands in his pockets, and stares at me. "Can I come in?" he asks tentatively, after what seemed like forever, but was probably only a few seconds. I step out of the way, and he walks past me. As he does, I inhale the scent of apples and cinnamon. Probably his shampoo.

After closing the door, I walk over to sit on my bed again. Zak is leaning against the dresser, staring down at me. "Why are you here? I was just getting to the good part," I say, and I see Zak's eyes darken at my annoyance. He steps forward, and holds out my phone, which I forgot to reclaim from him this afternoon.

"Who are these people?" he asks, and I look at the screen. A man with fluffy fawn hair and a woman with long black hair are sitting on a blanket which is sitting on snow. Two kids sit in front of them, gazing at the camera with something between annoyance and happiness. The little boy, about seven, looks exactly like the man, while the girl, who's about nine, looks like the woman. Fear and sorrow roil in my stomach, and I snatch the phone from Zak's outstretched hand.

"Doesn't matter. They're nobody." The lie falls from my lips like water, and Zak sees through it as if it actually was water. "Then why are there so many photos of them?" "You snooped through my phone!" I accuse, and he shrugs. "You didn't come to reclaim it. Now answer the question." I glare at him, and say,"They're my family, all right? I'm sure you have pics of your family on your phone." Zak's eyes grow softer, but still hold some rigidness.

"They died in a fire, didn't they? You said they all got turned to ashes when you were fourteen." Zak watches me closely, and I twitch, drumming my fingers against my leg. "Yeah. A fire that was my fault," I mutter, turning away. I feel the bed dip as Zak sits down on the edge of it, but don't turn as he asks,"How was it your fault?"

"They died because of me. I was warned, and didn't listen. It's a miracle I'm still alive," I snap back, but a voice in my head whispers, Or not a miracle. More like a curse... Out of the corner of my eye I see Zak shift his position on the bed, moving closer to me. 

"Just because they died in a fire doesn't make it your fault. Maybe the warning came too late," Zak said, his gaze locked on my turned back. I snort,"Oh, no. The warning came perfectly on time. The night before, actually. A ghost told me to get out before the dragon's belly was filled with the blood of my closest hearts. I knew exactly what it meant, since I wrote those exact words in one of my books to describe a fire that took one of my character's family from them. Stupid and stubborn, I didn't tell my family. They already knew of my strange 'dreams' as I called them, since I could never tell them that it was ghosts that actually told me these things. I didn't tell them, and didn't even lift a finger to help them as the house burst into flames. So, yes, Zak, it is my fault my family is dead."

Zak is silent, and I turn my head to look at him. His hazel eyes are dark with thought, and his fingers drum on his own leg, as if mimicking me. He looks up at me after a while, and I feel something in my chest stir.

He takes a deep breath, and asks,"Is that where you got your scars?" My blood freezes, and I just stare at Zak. He points to my back, and says,"They kind of show through your tank top." Suddenly, I sense the bareness of my shoulders, and feel Zak's breath hit my exposed shoulder blades, where a scar laces down my back.

Anger surges fire through my veins, and I snap,"Out. Get out, Zak." He blinks at me, and I stand. "Get out. Get out of my room. Now." He looks at me, a perplexed expression on his face, like he was wondering how I was going to force him. I stand there, arms crossed, and glare at him. He seems to finally get that I'm not kidding, and he stands to leave.

At the door, he turns back to look at me. I haven't moved an inch. He says,"You can talk to me, you know. I'm here, if you need me. I'll listen." His hazel eyes lock onto mine, and I look away first. "Just get out," I mutter. I hear Zak sigh, then hear the door close and click as the lock engages.

Sudden tears pound my eyes, and I fall onto my bed. I curl into a ball, and let my tears run. Liquid splashes down on my knees and bedsheets, but I don't care. All the scars on my back give awful twinges. Memories pound my brain, all asking to be recalled, to be remembered, to be noticed. I shove all the memories back into their box, which I shove back into the darkest corner of my mind. I don't need to revisit all those pains and aches.

I don't need to recall the twenty-seven people I let die.