Page 138 of Ghosted

I can’t.

My brain won’t let me.

Because that’s Alice.

That’s fucking Alice.

Everything in me stops so hard it hurts.

No.

I don’t say it. I can’t. It just gets stuck somewhere in my chest, big and useless, crushing everything under it.

She moves with the water, one arm shifting a little, her body drifting slow like she’s asleep. Like she’s going to wake up pissed that I’m staring, call me an asshole, and tell me to stop looking at her like that.

But she doesn’t.

She just drifts.

In my pool.

The one place I was stupid enough to think he couldn’t touch.

Rage hits first because it’s easier than the rest.

Then guilt.

Then grief so fucking hard my knees almost go out.

I left her here.

I fucking left her here.

My fucking fault.

Then my body moves because my head can’t.

I hit the water fully dressed.

Cold closes over me. Shoes, jeans, shirt, wraps, everything dragging at once. I reach her in three strokes and get an arm around her, hauling her against my chest.

She’s too still.

Too heavy.

Wrong in every way a body can be wrong.

“No, no, no.” My voice breaks the second we surface. “Alice. Fuck. Come on.”

I drag her to the edge, one hand locked under her arm, the other clawing at the tile. My shoes slip against the wall. My shoulder screams. I don’t feel it. I get her up first, shoving, lifting, pushing her onto the deck before hauling myself out after her.

She lands on the tile with a sound I will hear for the rest of my life.

I crawl to her.

“Alice.”

Her name comes out ruined.