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“Nobody’s doubting you honey,” Tam said. “We’re just worried.”
“Don’t be. I’ll be fine.” My voice came out hoarse, scratchy almost, contradicting my statement.
“Did you know what I wanted to be when I was younger?” Ryder asked me suddenly. I blinked at the abrupt change of topic.
“A musician that is a horrible flirt?” I offered, and I heard him chuckle.
“I actually wanted to be a realtor.”
“A realtor?” I asked in disbelief. Most kids said something along the lines of “doctor” or “astronaut”. I had to admit that Ryder was one of a kind.
“My foster dad was one, and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up.”
“And then you fell in love with music?” I guessed.
He agreed. “And then I fell in love with music.”
“Do you sing?”
His hand lightly trailed across my collarbone leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“I do.”
“Could you sing me something?”
If I was going to die, I at least wanted to die listening to this man’s beautiful, raspy voice.
“You’re not going to die, but I do agree that my voice is beautiful.”
And then he began to sing. It was soulful, magical, as if he was transporting me to another place and time. I felt each word like a knife in my heart. He sung of love lost and hope for the future.
I could’ve listened to him all day. I might’ve, if I hadn’t felt myself start to doze off. I tried my hardest to resist the pulls of sleep, but my body was weak and weighed down.
And it was so tempting...
I only had a second to think that sleep might be a really bad idea before darkness consumed my thoughts.
* * *
I dreamtI was thirteen again, watching the truck barreling down on Ducky. I watched his body flip, like a gymnast doing a complicated routine, before his corpse settled on the ground, a puddle of blood surrounding him.
Unlike my past self, I ran towards where Ducky was sprawled. Dropping to my knees beside him, I sobbed into his hair.
His eyes snapped open suddenly. His face gradually began to shift, skin tightening over his bones to rid himself of his baby fat. Dark brown hair, currently grazing his waist, shrunk back into his head until it resembled the hair I was now familiar with.
Declan.
“Why did you do this to me?” he asked, voice devoid of any emotion. There was no lisp to his words, no stuttering.
This is what Declan would’ve sounded like if he hadn’t lost his hearing.
“I’m sorry, Ducky. I am so sorry.”
“You deserve to die.” His hand grabbed my wrist, and I let out a squeal as his fingers tightened. They were going to leave a nasty bruise.
“Declan, you’re hurting me. Please.”
“And you didn’t hurt me? You deserve this. You deserve everything that’s happening to you.”
