No More Secrets (Book 2)

8. Reunited

I could barely keep my eyes open anymore. I felt so weak from lack of food. It had probably been two days since I had eaten, but I couldn't be sure. My mind was too fuzzy to even try.

Somewhere, there was a thump, from the other side of the wall or the ceiling. I couldn't exactly tell where it came from. I wanted to scream for help again, but I couldn't make myself move. Even if I could, I doubted I'd be able to speak any higher than a whisper. My throat was so sore from dehydration.

It must have been my imagination, but I could have sworn I heard a door open. I tried to move my head, or open my eyes, or something, but I couldn't.

Things started happening around me, noises that sounded much closer than the other side of the wall. It sounded like people moving. Talking. I felt Jenny tapping on my arm again, but I couldn't respond. I hope she knew to tell Dylan how much I loved him again. I'd never be able to tell it to him myself.

The next thing I knew, I could hear a faint, steady beeping. It was loud, louder than anything I had heard in days. I needed it to stop, but I didn't even know what it was.

I forced my eyes open, but quickly closed them again. The room was too bright. What happened to the dull light from the little window?

"Travis, please."

Dylan. That was his voice. Was I finally losing my mind? Hearing his voice in my head as I lay here, dying? But, if I die, I could come back as a ghost. It wouldn't be the ideal way to spend time with Dylan, but at least he'd be able to see me. I could still watch him grow and live his life.

"Please wake up."

His voice sounded close. Too close. I opened my eyes again, this time slow enough no to be blinded by the bright light. My gaze landed on Dylan sitting in a chair next to the bed I was laying in. He had his head in his hands, hunched over like he had been sitting there for hours already.

I smiled at him. "Dyl." My voice was hoarse, coming out as a scratchy whisper. But he heard me anyway.

His eyes snapped to mine as he leaned forward, grabbing my hand. "Oh my god," he said. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."

It was then that I realized I was in a hospital room. The beeping was a heart monitor.  "What happened? How'd you find me?"

He shook his head. "I didn't. I'm so sorry, Trav. You would have died... I... I couldn't help you. I wasn't able to do anything. This is all my fault."

I squeezed his hand. "It's not your fault, babe. We all thought she was gone for good. Just because she managed to get out of wherever she had been doesn't mean you had any control of it."

"She...? What? Who are you talking about?"

I hesitated. I thought Jenny would have told him that I knew it had to do with my mom. So I guess I needed to tell him. "My mom. This has to be about her, right? What else could it be?"

Dylan shook his head slowly, staring at our clasped hands between us. "I knew I was going to regret not telling you sooner," he started. "Travis, there's..." He paused, letting out his breath in a slow stream. "There's a lot going on in the ghost world right now. I was hoping to ignore it. I don't want to deal with it anymore, but obviously, they really want my attention."

"What's so important to them that they come after me?" I asked.

Dylan shook his head. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. They'll never touch you again, I'll make sure of it."

"Dylan..." I wasn't going to sit here and listen to him deflect my questions.

He sighed. "Okay, fine. Remember when Death got mad and I had to talk him into releasing all the ghosts?" I nodded. How could I forget? "Apparently, not all of the ghosts were freed. Some ghosts that got out still have family left behind. They want me to do something about it."

I knew what that meant. A lump formed in my throat. "Dylan, you're not dying again."

"I know, I..." He shook his head. "I don't want to. I don't want to help them. Is that selfish? Jenny and my grandma are fine. There's no real reason for me to save the others. I don't know them."

"Exactly." I was glad to hear that he didn't want anything to do with the ghosts this time around. I don't know what I would have done if he was ready to die again for them. "It's not your responsibility."

He sighed. "But what other choice do I have, Trav? They went after you. You almost died! I can't lose you because I refuse to help them."

At that point, a nurse walked in, preventing me from continuing the conversation. No matter what happens, I wasn't going to let Dylan die again. If he did, I had a feeling he was going to stay dead this time. There's only so many times he can die before he can't come back.

The nurse checked me over, making sure I was doing okay. The IV in my arm was doing it's job and everything seemed to be good, according to her. I would have to spend the night in the hospital, just to make sure everything stayed good, but tomorrow morning, I should be allowed to go home.

As soon as the nurse left the room, Dylan spoke. "The police are going to want to talk to you."

"Why?"

"You were kidnapped. You've been missing for two days, Trav. I couldn't exactly tell your boss not to call the cops, otherwise you'd be fired for real."

"Fired?" I guess that would have made sense. I did leave the store unattended in the middle of my shift. Dawn must have been mad.

Dylan started explaining what had happened after that ghost took me. How he tried to find me, but only found my car and phone at the store. How Dawn was pissed at me, but willing to take me back if it turned out that someone had kidnapped me. I guess that meant I still had a job, but they'll never be able to find the woman who took me, considering she's dead.

"What do I tell the cops?" I asked. "I can't exactly say a ghost took me."

He shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe describe them and say they drugged you or something? Or hit you over the head when you weren't looking? There's no camera footage, you can say anything, as long as it makes sense."

I nodded. "I guess, yeah. But I can't lie very well, you know that."

"Then you don't remember anything. Just waking up in that basement."

That was probably going to be the best option. The more I could "forget", the less likely I'd slip up and say something that would put me into a mental hospital. If I told the truth, I would end up there for sure.