Don't Call Me Dead

6. The Theory

"There you are!" A boy stops in front of me, his hands crossed on his chest. "At last! Where have you been? You've made such a fool of me!"

I stare at him blankly. He's just an unfamiliar teenager in ripped jeans and a tee shirt with some rock slogan on it. Yet, judging by his attitude, I must have at the very least dumped him on our wedding day or something.

Then, a memory stirs. A boy with a dog. Heart carved in bark. The bus.

"Jack?" I say.

"Well, hell yeah?" He spreads his arms, then squints at me. "Wait, you didn't remember me?"

"I do," I say. "I do now."

"Good for you." He crosses his arms again and pouts at me. "Where on earth have you been? Three weeks since you've evaporated from that stupid bus. I told Dad, I told the police, they searched this whole freaking area, not a sign of you! I'm the joke of the town now, thank you very much. I was actually dumb enough to tell Dad you're a ghost, and now he thinks I'm crazy and doesn't allow me near the woods."

"Three weeks?" Now then I remember the bus episode, it feels like it's happened just yesterday.

"Yeah, three weeks. Where have you been?"

"I'm not sure." My memories are little islands in a sea of murky water. "I don't know where I am when I'm not...here."

"Well..." he spreads his hands. "I want to help you, but you're not making it easy. I brought the cops, but you weren't there."

"What did you tell them?"

He shrugs. "That there's some tramp girl living in the woods. Couldn't tell them that you're a ghost, right?" I open my mouth, but he raises his hands preventively. "I know, I know, you're in denial." He points at the tree under which we stand. "Can you pass your hand through it?"

I reach out and make my hand disappear in the tree trunk. Then I pull it out.

"Wow," Jack breathes out. "I wish I could do that."

"I wish I couldn't."

He shakes his head as if to bring his thoughts into focus.

"Okay," he says. "What's happened in the bus? Where did you go?"

I shrug. "Back here."

"I have a theory, then," he says. "I think when we got too far from the forest, it forced you back. Which means you can't leave the forest. Which, I believe, proves that you were killed somewhere around here." He raises his hand again as I open my mouth to protest. "Wait, let's assume for the sake of the discussion that you're dead, okay? Maybe not killed, maybe your just got lost and died in the swamps and you soul can't rest until you're properly buried. Alternatively, you got killed by, say, your jealous boyfriend, and you need to be avenged to rest in peace. Have you seen "The Sixth Sense"?" He shakes his head. "Oh, who am I asking, you don't even remember your name."

"There was no boyfriend," I say. "I was in the swamps with my friend Gia when something happened."

"Oh?" He pauses. "Gia? That's something we could work with."

"But I can't remember what happened."

"Well, it's a start." He rubs his hands together. "Try to remember more. Close your eyes. Try to envision the swamps. What do you see?"

I close my eyes and try to picture the last scene from my dream. Gia, screaming about something behind my back. Something or someone? I still don't know. The black trees. The moss. The dead fall.

The hill.

"There was a hill," I say, my eyes still closed.

"A hill." Jack sounds hesitant. "In the forest? In the swamps?"

"Yes, I think so. There were trees around it. There was a door in it."

The hill in my memory is covered with bright green moss, and is lit by sunlight, yet the thought of it fills me with dread. I shudder and open my eyes.

Jack stares at me as if expecting a punchline.

"A hill with a door?" he says. "Have you been kidnapped by hobbits?"

I shrug.

"Okay," he says. "But do you see where it all leads us?"

"Where?"

"To the swamps," he says. "The answer to what's happened to you must be in the swamps."

I shake my head. "I'm not going there."

"Look, I could perhaps go with you—we've had lesson on survival in swamps at the summer camp—but it would take more than a day to get there, and my father would find out, and --"

"You're not going there." I scowl at him. "Are you crazy?"

He shrugs. "Just go by yourself, then. What do you have to lose? You're already dead."

"I'm not dead!" I snap.

For a moment, we're quiet.

"I'll go with you, then," Jack says at last. "I can't leave it like this."

"You're not going anywhere," says someone.

A tall man with a black beard steps out from behind a tree. He holds a dog on a leash. As I look at the dog, it begins to growl. I remember its fangs on my throat.

"Dad?" Jack's voice wavers a bit.

"I told you not to go into the woods," the man says. "Good thing Brownie picked your smell." He looks at me. "So, this is the 'ghost' girl you've been talking about?"

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