Inhabited

Chapter 10

It's now or never. Once that smoke goes down, the picture won't be worth it much. The little voice in my head whispers, a bad influence. Always getting me into trouble, putting me places I shouldn't be.

She's how I landed a whole weekend behind bars last year. Because we just had to see the murder house on fifth street before it was cleaned up. Yeah, that was fun. Okay, it kind of was. Not the part in jail. The part where I slipped down into the basement and into the house. Nosy neighbors, noticing a light on and getting scared. Freaking wusses.

Now or never. The voice hisses and I stagger forward, gripping my camera bag tightly between my hands. How does she have so much control over my body?

"Fawn!" Nate's voice turns my head and the one inside it draws back, grumbling incoherently, but for the time being is put in time out at the appearance of my brother. "What are you doing?"

I blink, feeling the heat on my cheeks once more. But it isn't from the way anyone is looking at me. As he approaches me with Seth ambling behind, his eyes fall on my camera bag, still clutched between my fingers.

"Let me take that." He grabs at it and though I hold on for a moment, he snatches it from me. "You aren't going back in that area until the smoke is cleared. Got it?"

I huff, my shoulders squaring as I glower at him, clenching my teeth together.

"I'm not kidding, Fawn. You've already had three asthma attacks. Don't even think about it." He slings my bag over his shoulder and returns to helping people.

Seth stays behind, crossing his arms as he presses his lips together at me. "Really, Fawn?"

I shrug. "Sometimes, I can't help it. So sue me."

Seth rolls my eyes and shakes his head. "You're something else. You know that, right?"

"I'm mom's death child." I half joke, but he doesn't even crack a twitch of his lips.

"That isn't funny." He grumbles and turns sharply on his heel, storming away from me.

Not right now it isn't. He'll laugh later, hopefully. Still, I know Seth isn't wrong. Not really. It's poor taste the half joke that was made if anything. It isn't wrong. Mom has joked before that I'm her death child. That the things that make me do what I do will be the result of her ending up on her death bed at a relatively young age.

Maybe she's right. Maybe she's wrong. Only time will tell. But if we don't come back, all of us, she's definitely going to end up on her death bed even earlier then joked about. Which means, for the sake of mama, we gotta get home.

Exactly how, though, I'm not sure. We'll figure it out. We have to. Don't we?

My heart clenches in my chest as I finally look around at all the people left. I'm not sure exactly how many were on the plane, but the pile up doesn't seem like it's all of them. I can't help but wonder just how many were lost. Just how many were ripped from this life, taken too soon, when it isn't even their time.

My eyes land on a woman sitting away from the larger group. Huddled up against a tree with her arms wrapped around her legs, she's staring back in the direction of the black smoke.

Black smoke. It's still burning. Only when it turns white is the fire out. A different voice whispers, reminding me of something I'd learned in science class. Exactly when, I'm not sure. But it's stuck with me. Guess it's a good thing right now.

I hesitate before stepping toward her, approaching slowly, nearly dragging my feet with me. Stopping in front of her, I say nothing until her eyes shift to me and raises to mine.

"My husband didn't make it." She says flatly.

Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears and her shoulders are bunched up. But there are no tear streaks on her face, nothing to tell me that she's been crying.

I furrow my eyebrows and cock my head to the side. "Are you... sad?"

I've never been good with other people's emotions. I understand Sully. I can read his face like a book. Mama is sort of easy to figure out. You know, after being her daughter for so long and all. My siblings I can guess without a problem at least seventy-five percent of the time. But the rest of the world? I barely understand strangers. I don't like strangers.

So why am I talking to one right now?

She blinks a few times and the glittering in her eyes fades away for the time being. Still unshed, still streakless. "I don't know." She finally admits, going from flat to exhausted. "It's – it's complicated, that's all."

I turn my head, searching for anyone. But no one is paying the two of us attention. My ears ring again and I reach up, pressing my fingers to the back of my skull. I'm really going to feel this in the morning.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—" she starts and draws in a shaky breath. "I'm so sorry."

I blink. "What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything wrong."

Her eyes flicker up to mine and she sniffles, her shoulders squaring. "I didn't do anything wrong." She echoes, sounding so offhanded, that it creeps me out a little.

I don't like the way it echoes in my head. Shaking it, I have to stop quickly as the movement causes another searing pain to scorch through my head. Flinching, I draw myself together, trying to keep my focus.

"I'm sorry about your husband."

That's what people say, isn't it? They apologize for some death that happened, even if they don't mean it because they didn't even know the person.

She smiles at me though, a half one that seems just as off as her words had been. Finally, the woman pulls herself to her feet with help from the trunk behind her and brushes her pants off. Without a word to me, she steps around and makes her way toward the larger group.