Some ghosts never die.
For William Slate, there's always been his troubled older brother Charlie. When Charlie left home in the aftermath of a violent confrontation, scars and a childhood cut short was the legacy he left behind. Seven years later...
Holy shit, did I actually manage to finish something?
To absolutely anyone who has made it this far, thank you. This story can be a bit of a downer from time to time. I'm sure some of this stuff wasn't easy to read about, and it wasn't any easier to write, so I can't express my gratitude enough. These characters have been in my head for a very long time so it's a little bittersweet for me, but I'm glad it's over, and hopefully I can start thinking about whatever comes next!
Any constructive feedback would be very much appreciated as it can only help me improve going into the future. This story is still very much a draft, and I'm always finding things that need to be fixed. Please don't feel obligated, but if you're willing to leave feedback or share your thoughts, I will be eternally grateful.
Anyways, for the purposes of this draft, Slate is complete. As-is, the final count is 66,607 words. Of that number, 191 are some variation of "fuck," so you're welcome for that.
If you're not sick of me yet, I have another story available to read on my profile. We'll Meet Again is a New Adult second-chance romance featuring ghosts, road trips, and a healthy dose of angst. An excerpt of the first chapter is available to read below!!
If you're still looking for something new to read but you're sick of hearing from me, I might also suggest checking out the reading lists on my profile, which are full of (mostly) completed stories that I have fully read and recommend. Please feel free to also comment any story suggestions that you may have! I know I'm almost always looking for new things to add to my TBR.
Okay, that's it from me! Thanks again for reading, and I hope we'll see each other around ❤️
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We'll Meet Again – Chapter One: A Ghost Walks Into A Diner
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On the night of Valarie's twentieth birthday, a ghost stepped out of the October rain and into the stale fluorescent light of the sleepy truck stop diner. The sharp jingle of the door swinging open cut through the sound of sleet drumming against the diner's windows and the late-night oldies station softly playing from the overhead speaker system.
A reflexive smile plastered itself over Valarie's face, one hand already reaching for the still-warm coffee pot stashed atop the stainless steel serving bar. Despite approaching hour five of her graveyard shift, Valarie's smile remained easy—genuine, even. She didn't have to force the warmth into her voice when she began to chirp out her usual greeting, her charcoal eyes swinging up to the diner's newest patron, "How are—?"
Valarie's smile dropped dead. A chill froze all the air in her lungs, like the newcomer had allowed the storm outside to follow her in.
The ghost's posture remained perfect, pin-straight, as her hazel eyes took in the diner's cheap linoleum flooring, faux-retro design, and gaudy purple and yellow colour scheme with a cool disinterest. The ice in her gaze transplanted Valarie to a different time and place, to the saw-toothed memory of being looked through like she had ceased to exist entirely.
Because she was a coward, Valarie dropped her gaze down to the coffee pot she was gripping too tightly, her mind already kicking into overdrive. She forced herself to release the pot's handle and wiped her suddenly clammy hands on the mustard coloured apron tied around her waist. Not knowing what else to do, she grabbed a clean mug from under the serving bar, dumped in a generous scoop of sugar, and shakily poured in the stale coffee.
She placed the steaming mug on the bar in front of her, cleared her throat so her voice wouldn't shake, and said, "Hi, Alice." The two simple words ignited a flurry of emotion low in her stomach: fear, excitement, shock all bleeding into each other. Valarie was only sure of the palpable, traitorous sense of relief flooding through her—even as she struggled to control the whirlwind of everything else.
Alice cautiously planted herself on the stool across from Valarie, moving as if she were afraid to scare her away. She wore a rain jacket that cost more than Valarie could make in three weeks of overnight shifts and black sweatpants swallowed her long, lean legs. Valarie's eyes instinctively travelled down to Alice's hands, which were hidden by her coat sleeves, probably to hide the raw, peeling skin around her knuckles. Old habits, she thought.
Steeling herself, she finally dragged her eyes up to Alice's face, only to find that Alice's gaze was already on her, expectant. Their eyes locked and any trace of disinterest disappeared completely from Alice's expression as she stared at Valarie like she was the last person on Earth. Valarie's breath hitched, her stomach twisting itself into a giant knot.
Fuck.
"Hi, Valarie," Alice said. As always, she didn't rush through the name, taking her time with every syllable. Val-a-rie. Never Val or Vee or anything that could ever make her less. It had been two years since she had last heard Alice say her name.
It simultaneously unravelled and hardened something within her. She blinked, realising she'd been looking at Alice like she was a lost husband who just returned from some war. She spared a look down the bar towards the diner's only other patron—an exhausted trucker munching on some toast as he scrolled through his phone, oblivious to the two of them.
Valarie tugged at her apron in a failed attempt at nonchalance, trying to act like Alice's presence was a totally normal thing, that she wasn't about to have a nervous breakdown. Breathe. Act like a normal person. She scanned her mind for something to say, anything to say. When she came up blank, she decided to steal something instead. "Of all the shitty diners, you walk into mine."
Too bad Valarie was normally a fucking idiot. Two years and that was the first thing out of her mouth?
Alice's chapped lips turned up in the smallest of smiles, one that seemed relieved. God, how Valarie used to be obsessed with Alice Bell's smile. "That's not the line," she said, quietly.
"No?"
Alice shook her head, relaxing enough to take a small sip of coffee, and said, "Of all the shitty diners in all the towns in all the world, I walk into yours."
"Well, shit."
Valarie didn't stop herself from openly staring, checking for any signs of change in Alice's sharp features, even as she could see Alice growing self-conscious. The only obvious change Valarie could find was the thinnest of scars shining above one of her eyebrows, illuminated by the diner's harsh light. Deep circles embedded themselves under her eyes. More tired, older, but Alice all the same. The only person Valarie could have recognized anywhere–by the sound of her voice, her laugh, the shape of her hand, from the stupid, perfect posture she wore whenever she was anxious.
The same Alice that had once looked at her and softly said I don't want you anymore like she was sharing a secret. A familiar pain rose within Valarie's chest, dulled by time and distance, but hurtful nonetheless. But, if Alice was here now, she could take it. She had survived worse than Alice Bell.
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To read on, the full story can be found on my profile ❤️
