Memories From a Dead Girl

That night, when all was quiet, a voice called out to me.

I followed the sound and ended up in the downstairs guest room. I listened outside the door and heard sobbing. When I entered the room, I found Chloe curled up in the bed, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy; she kept repeating my name, over and over, saying she was sorry and that she wanted me back. That she wanted to find out who killed me and make them pay. Then she sat up, tilted her head toward the ceiling, and screamed.

I winced and sat down on the mattress. More than anything, I wanted to hold my sister, and knowing I couldn't —that I never could again—it unraveled every inch of me. I was angry at so much and I didn't know how to handle it.

"I'm here," I told her. "And I'm not going anywhere, not until we figure this out."