Only A Leap Ahead

1. Evocation

"I don't think we should continue Scarlette. I don't feel you and I are... you know, working well".

"Li-am" I struggle to say his name.

"I know Scarlette, I know. I'm sorry it was all so sudden but I can't forgive myself. I did this to you. I can't. I'm a traitor."

I look at him. Guilt in his eyes along with...now what is that? He's crying. On the verge of crying. He keeps pushing his tears away. I can say that by the way he is struggling to keep his voice normal.

"Liam" I say again.

"I don't deserve you Scarlette" he says and with that he moves towards the road. Glass shatters and headlights flash. His last words were filled with remorse.

"One" I struggle to open my index finger from my clenched fists as I lie on my bed, head towards the roof and eyes trained on my fingers, trying. I put it gently on my forehead. Pretending to expel this memory from the labyrinth of my memories. A dark cloud swirls around my finger. I stare at it. I can see it happening again, so I push the cloud away. I push it towards the ceiling ."One", I say, this time more clearly but my voice is still hoarse.

"Miss Hebrew?"

"Umm yes that's me"

"What's your name?", the policeman in front of me asks.

"I'm Scarlette Hebrew"

"And may I know how you are related to Vincent and Stephanie Hebrew?"

"Th...they are my parents...I'm... I'm their daughter", I stammer. His face...no, his eyes. Why is he looking at me like that? Why do I see...sorrow, no wait it's not sorrow, he is pitying me.

He passes me the glass of water so that it is now at my arm's reach. I gulp the water down, almost choking on it, hoping to hide any traces of irritation on my face. He waits for me to empty my glass.

He knows, I think. He knows that I am aware where this conversation will lead to.

I brace myself for it. I can't cry. Not now. No. Not now when Isabelle needs me. I clear my throat indicating the officer to proceed with what I have already assumed to have happened.

"Dead" he says.

I realize that's the only word I catch. I'm not paying attention to how, when, where. The word resonates in my mind.

Dead...dead...dead.

"Two" I say, showing two fingers to the ceiling, sounding somewhat between a cough and a sigh, my words still coming out in broken syllables. I have to admit all those mute months have taken a toll on my voice box. My voice has been pushed into oblivion by my own self and now it's hard to bring something so old, so obsolete back in this flashy world.

"Hey Abigail, Do you know calling in the middle of the night is an offensive crime? It is also called intentionally disrupting a slumber." I joke as I pick up Abigail's call.

She doesn't answer.

"Abbie? Are you alright?" I ask, confused.

"Lettie" Her voice is small. Almost like a whisper.

"What's wrong? Abigail?"

"I wanted to" she pauses to sniff. She's been crying. "Say goodbye...I guess" she laughs lightly while sniffing.

I coax her to keep talking to me but I know what's coming. I know. My intuition... It's always right.

"Abigail" my voice has picked that warning tone " Don't do anything stupid. Let's talk this out. I'm coming to your place."

She pays no attention to my words.

"Umm Lettie...I actually wrote out a goodbye for you. Literally wrote it down" she laughs again. "I know how much you love this archaic way of communicating but...I hope...I hope when my mouth doesn't speak...my words will reach you."

"Abigail Flynn! You are going to talk to me properly. And right now!" I scream on my phone. I know she's not listening. I've known her since middle school.

"Goodbye Lettie. You were everything and anything I could have asked for. You were a very good friend."

The next thing I hear is a thud.

"Three" I say, showing three fingers. I'm getting there now. My voice I mean. It feels less croaky. I push the three held out fingers towards the ceiling with all force. All these memories that I do not want to keep, I push them away from me.

The memories and I have made a deal. They are allowed to linger at the top of my ceiling all throughout the day. They can do all the necessary damage at nights, slamming me into my bed, pushing me with an even greater force than I had pushed them away with. It's enormous...the effect. And it's become a routine now. I'm haunted every night. Can't help it. Got to keep my part of the deal if I don't want to cry in the daylight, in front of everybody, in front of all those stupid pitying eyes, in front of Isabelle. So I let the memories devour me, EVERY NIGHT.