The Days Of Kelsea's

(21) Demi - Guesswork

(21) Demi - Guesswork

I'm back at Kelsea's house again, and I thought that it would be better, but it's worse. 

I think it's because of the dream that I had. 

- 

In the dream, Kelsea was here, in her front garden, and she was talking to me. She was smiling and she had her diary in her hand, showing her shining white teeth, and talking and talking, but I didn't understand a word she was saying. God, she seemed so excited, too. She was talking so animatedly and using hand gestures like she always does.  

I don't know why, but even though I couldn't hear what she was saying, I just knew she was talking about the diary. And I was trying my best to listen. 

And I was crying because I couldn't understand, and when I shouted out, "What?" It was is if I was trying to talk underwater - a strange sound came out of my mouth, and then Kelsea suddenly turned red in the face and her eyes enlarged so much that it was scary, and suddenly she was so angry, no longer smiling, and it seemed that steam was coming out of her head. And I screamed but no sound came out, and I was running backwards but my legs were tangled together. And she was moving forwards. And just as she was about to reach me, I woke up in a heavy, cool sweat. 

- 

Kelsea's room is just like it always was. Her bed against the wall, the characters on posters and the people in pictures overlooking it. The bed definitely looks like it hasn't been slept in - a very thin layer of dust covers the red duvet, although she's done her mother a favour by making her bed.  

I halt in my tracks as I think about Kelsea's mother. I don't understand. Wouldn't she have tried to call Kelsea? And if she tried to, and she didn't get through, then wouldn't she wonder why and come back here to find out?  

I don't understand careless people. 

Or maybe, I'm too careful. 

Of course I am not. Kelsea is missing, for God's sake, Lucy's gone too, their dad and half brother and step mother moved to Wales right after, and her mother has also disappeared from the face of the earth, apparently still in London. 

How could I care too much about that? 

I walk into the middle of the room, and look at all the paper cranes which are stuck around her window. Red, yellow, blue, green, pink, white, purple, orange. It's beautiful. Kelsea's whole room is beautiful, and although I know mine is too because art is my strong point, I always admired Kelsea's room in a strange way. I think it's because it's so small and she made the space into something to be proud of. 

When I open the wardrobe, the clothes are still there. If she ran away, she would have taken them, wouldn't she? 

That only indicates that maybe her disappearance wasn't planned.  

Or that it was, but she couldn't take the things with her. You can't take things from earth to wherever it is that you go afterwards. 

It leaves a sick feeling in the back of my throat and I have to close the squeaking doors again. The silence seemed to be muffling, but that squeak just cuts right through it. 

Or if her clothes are not gone . . . Where is she? 

Is she coming back? 

I stare at a picture of us both on a school trip to an old medieval castle, taped to the wardrobe door. It was when we were fourteen. I have to turn away before I feel anything. 

I feel like a spirit, walking through this room. It doesn't feel like I'm actually here, because I can see in front of my eyes everything which I know happened here - us playing with dolls on the floor at five, walking around reading books at ten, painting our nails on the bed at thirteen , gossiping and playfully arguing at fifteen, coming through the door after a shopping trip at seventeen. It's as if she's still here, but neither of us know.