I looked at my parents grave, fighting back tears. It had been two months since the accident, but my internal wounds were as raw as if it had been yesterday. Not to mention I hadn't had a peaceful nights sleep since. Images of the accident plagued my subconscious, and showed no sign of moving out any time soon. I sighed as I studied the cold marble and the words inscribed on it.
Johnathan Samuel Gale 10 October 1969 - 1 June 2011
Sonya Lillian Summers-Gale 26 May 1973 - 1 June 2011
Loving Parents to Mercy Lea
My heart twisted in my chest as I gently ran my fingers over the cool stone and a choked sob escaped as I finally gave up holding in the tears. I quickly jammed the freesias I had brought into the decorative pot by the side of the headstone and stood up, wiping the dirt off my legs. I turned and walked jerkily away.
It didn't even register that freesias were my mothers favourite flowers.
It didn't even register that this would be the last time I would visit them for a long while.
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Lisa, my temporary foster parent, knocked gently on my door.
"Honey, you've gotta leave in half an hour."
I nodded at her, and she gave me an encouraging smile before closing my door again.
Lisa was a social worker who would take care of kids in the foster system until they found permanent homes. Usually they were babies or little kids whose parents didn't want them anymore. None of them ever seemed to stay for more than two weeks. I had been here two months already. In harsh form, no-one wanted a grief-riddled sixteen year old girl who lost her parents. It hurt a little when I found out that no-one wanted me, even my family in England. I knew that Lisa had been pulling some strings to try and get me noticed. It finally payed off yesterday, when she got a call saying that some posh lady in Atlanta wanted someone she didn't have to pay for to look after her kid while she travelled the country going to parties under the pretext of business. I didn't know how well it would work out, but I really hoped it did.
I quickly dressed in a pair of sorta-modest denim shorts and my cookie monster t-shirt and dropped my blue converse by the door. If mid-summer in Washington was hot, Atlanta would be a steam-pan.
It was way to early to digest anything, so I skipped breakfast went straight into the bathroom. And just about got the shock of my life. A pair of totally white eyes stared back at me from my reflection. I blinked and they were gone, to be replaced by my normal hazel ones.
What the eff was that?
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Half an hour later, I had finally banished that image from my mind and stood on the dark sidewalk with my large suitcase, waiting with Lisa for another social worker to pick me up. He would be driving me from Lisa's home in Everett to Seattle, where I would catch a plane to Denver, and finally to Atlanta.
Finally, a silver Honda Civic pulled up, driven by and African-American man in his thirties. He wrapped Lisa in a warm hug and she introduced him as Jack, who would be taking me to Colorado and meeting up with another social worker. He picked up my wickedly heavy suitcase and shoved it into the boot, with difficulty. I wasn't surprised. It had taken me and Lisa, as well and six-year-old Taylor, who was more of a hindrance than a help, just to get it down the stairs.
I hugged Lisa goodbye, thanking her for being so nice to me. She laughed it off, but I knew she was sad to see me go. I finally sat in the backseat, and got comfortable for the forty minute drive to Seattle.
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Once we had boarded the plane at the ungodly hour of six AM, we both dozed of a little, recovering from the early start. Instantly, I was overrun with images from the accident. As usual, the great headlights were the terrifying centrepiece, followed in close succession by the guardrail, falling and awful water that would suffocate me. Then just as I blacked out I would wake up, shivering and covered in sweat. This time was no different. I looked around to see a few passengers giving me curious looks, while Jack slept like a log beside me. I quick glance at his clock showed it was quarter-to-nine. Good, twenty minutes and we would reach Denver and some breakfast. I shook Jack awake and told him I was going to the bathroom. He just nodded blearily, so I grabbed my carry-on bag and walked towards the back of the plane. Once i was safely locked in one of the mini bathrooms consisting of a toilet, a sink and a mirror I splashed my face with freezing water and soaked myself in deodorant. Those dreams always left me smelling like a football player with god-awful BO.
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We had landed in Colorado and met up with another social worker called Stephen. He was in his early forties with brown hair going grey and a kind smile. We hit McDonald's, and they my food for bought for me, and we spent the next two and a half hours walking around Denver.
We finally said goodbye to Jack and boarded the twelve o'clock flight to Atlanta. Once we had settled down in our seats, Stephen began to ask me about myself, which I answered without enthusiasm. He gave up eventually, and he knew the answers already. After all, I was a ward of the state, what don't they know about me?
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We arrived at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport in the later afternoon and taken a cab to my new home. As we pulled up outside a gorgeous white twenties style house, Stephen told me my new foster mother's name was Janis, and she had a little boy called Sonny.
'Imaginative', I thought dully to myself, but I really hoped he was nice. I didn't want to spend the next two years taking care of some insufferable brat.
We climbed the steps to the double front doors and a woman in her mid twenties wearing far too much make up greeted us with a curt hello and ushered me inside, but blocked Stephen's way.
"She will be fine now. You can leave."
"I have to make sure she settles in okay!"
As Stephen and my new mother argued, I took in my surroundings. The living area was split into two by four pretty white pillars. On the left was a pale green walled dining room, with a ten seat wooden table and a cutlery cabinet. On the right was a family room with olive walls and a huge black leather lounge in front of a wrought iron fire place. In a little alcove to the side was a large pot plant and a grand piano. There was no homely feel though. This beautiful room was cold and empty.
Janis finally won the argument and shut the door in Stephen's annoyed face.
She turned to me, "You're room is upstairs on the right. Everything is there from the last one."
The last one? What the heck was that supposed to mean?
******
A/N: Imma lazy-ass, I know :3
The picture on the side is Mercy's new home in Atlanta. I have also added a picture to chapter one, which is Mercy.
Comment, vote and fan if you think I deserve it!
~Claire <3
YOU ARE READING
Ghosts
Genç KurguMercy Gale died once. She used to be a normal teenager, coasting through the middle, but now everything has changed. She hears strange voices and can see those who have died. She doesn't know if it is a gift or a curse. She doesn't know why they cho...
