Haunting Zoe Read Free Page A

for only a moment
before grabbing the fridge door and hoisting herself to her feet.
She steps around the glass carefully, her eyes trained on the slate
grey tile floor, and limps down the hallway to the bathroom.
    I follow and turn the corner just in time to
see her close the lid on the toilet and take a seat, a large white
plastic box on her lap. Silently I watch her clean a large gash on
the bottom of her foot then tend to her arm. I lean against the
counter and cross my ankles.
    “That probably needs stitches,” I offer
softly, not wanting to freak her out anymore than I already
have.
    She doesn’t look up but I swear she looks a
little green. I didn’t know that actually happened to people. If I
had to guess, I’d say she was trying very hard not to puke.
    She puts a band-aid over the cut on her arm
then closes her eyes tightly. Though she doesn’t make a sound, I
can see her lips moving as she counts to ten before opening her
eyes again.
    “Still here,” I say, waving my hands.
    “Why?” she asks, and her tone isn’t angry or
afraid, it just sounds tired.
    “Why what?”
    “Why are you here? And what exactly are
you?”
    She finally looks up, and her eyes are rimmed
with red, the tip of her nose pink, like she’s about to cry. I
swallow.
    “I’m here because for some weird reason you
can see me when no one else can.”
    I try not to let my irritation leak into my
voice, but it’s hard. Why, of all people, did it have to be Zoe?
This is like some bad cosmic joke.
    “Why can I see you?” she asks.
    My brow furrows as I realize she has no idea
what’s happening any more than I do.
    “Do you see dead people often?” I ask
tensely.
    She tilt her head, giving me a duh look.
    “No. You’re the first.”
    I throw my hands in the air, beyond
frustrated. I’ve spent days like this—the invisible dead guy—and
now that someone can see me, not only is it the last person on the
planet I want to deal with, but she’s completely useless to
boot.
    “Great. Just freaking great. The one person
who can see me, and she has no idea what’s going on.” I don’t
realize I’m speaking out loud until I catch her eye, and see the
silent hurt swimming there. I soften my tone. “I was really hoping
you’d have some answers.”
    The hurt in her eye is quickly replaced with
a flare of anger.
    “Well, I don’t. So maybe you should just,”
she hesitates, waving her hand. “You know. Go.”
    I raise one eyebrow.
    “Go where exactly?” This wasn’t exactly a
vacation. My options were pretty limited at the moment.
    She stands up in a huff. “I don’t know! Go
into the light or something. Shit, what do I look like? A ghost
expert?”
    I try to keep calm.
    “You look like the only person who can see or
hear me,” I answer honestly. What I should have said was thank
you , I realize a moment too late. Thank you for seeing me,
because, it means I’m not crazy. And I’m not alone.
    She sighs and pinches her nose.
    “This isn’t happening. This is some bad
dream.”
    My face falls into a frown, the last of my
anger dying away in a wash of relief.
    I’m not alone anymore.
    I hold onto that thought.
    “Yeah, that’s what I told myself too. For
days I stood in my living room screaming at my parents while they
sobbed over my picture. I thought I was losing my mind. Then I
followed them to the funeral. And I saw you.”
    And you saw me . I don’t say it out
loud, but the words hang between us like an invisible white
flag.
    She motions for me to move and I step aside.
She puts the first aid box away under the sink and leads me to her
room. It hasn’t changed much over the years. Same thick emerald
green comforter, same old high backed floral print chair in front
of a tiny TV. The only changes are a large oak desk and a laptop.
As I step further inside I realize the room even smells like her, a
distinctive smell something like honeysuckle, but not quite. It
brings back a lot of memories, things I hadn’t thought of