Status: Complete - February 22, 2018
Haunting Grey
Twelve
The car ride home was excruciatingly long, but my father didn't seem to notice my apprehension. It was a relatively quiet drive, until we pulled into the driveway. Then he turned to me and smiled a bit.
"I'm glad to have you back, Trav," he said. "But I'm so sorry about everything you had to go through." He reaches over to touch my hair and whispers, "I'm so sorry about Natalie."
Before I can stop myself, I tell him, "I've spoken to her."
"Before she died you mean." He looks at me, an eyebrow raised. "Right?"
I shake my head. "No, in the woods, the day you called me. She looked bad. I mean, she looked—" I choke on the words. I can't say it.
"Natalie's dead," he supplies for me. "You know that. The police found her body."
"What happened to her face?" I ask.
When he looks at me, it's like looking in a mirror—same green eyes, same brown wavy hair. His lips curve down into a frown and he squeezes my shoulder.
"How did you know about that?" he asks quietly.
I search for a good enough excuse, but all I can come up with is, "The police told me."
"No, they didn't. I was there with you in the room when they questioned you. Don't you remember?" He looks worried. "Come on inside, I think you should rest a bit. You've had a rough time."
In other words, he doesn't believe me.
I nod and exit the car, go into the house, and up to my room. While I bury myself in blankets and lay my head on the pillow, I notice it smells of lavender.
It smells of Natalie.
"I'm glad to have you back, Trav," he said. "But I'm so sorry about everything you had to go through." He reaches over to touch my hair and whispers, "I'm so sorry about Natalie."
Before I can stop myself, I tell him, "I've spoken to her."
"Before she died you mean." He looks at me, an eyebrow raised. "Right?"
I shake my head. "No, in the woods, the day you called me. She looked bad. I mean, she looked—" I choke on the words. I can't say it.
"Natalie's dead," he supplies for me. "You know that. The police found her body."
"What happened to her face?" I ask.
When he looks at me, it's like looking in a mirror—same green eyes, same brown wavy hair. His lips curve down into a frown and he squeezes my shoulder.
"How did you know about that?" he asks quietly.
I search for a good enough excuse, but all I can come up with is, "The police told me."
"No, they didn't. I was there with you in the room when they questioned you. Don't you remember?" He looks worried. "Come on inside, I think you should rest a bit. You've had a rough time."
In other words, he doesn't believe me.
I nod and exit the car, go into the house, and up to my room. While I bury myself in blankets and lay my head on the pillow, I notice it smells of lavender.
It smells of Natalie.