Among Us: A Supernatural Novel written by Carver Edlund

Never Say Goodbye

Lemara had lost everything.

Everything she'd ever worked for. Everything she'd built for herself. Everything she'd started but never got to finish.

Gone.

Desmond was still alive, thank God, but the relief settled around her like the cold, satiny walls of a coffin. When all this was over, he would go on without her. Forget her. Find someone else to love.

She'd lost it all. Her dreams. Her future. Her life.

Taken.

All that was left was a great, yawning grief. Bewilderment. Anger.

She didn't even know how she'd died. Drugged as she had been, her moment of death had been taken from her, too. So had her body because it sure wasn't here.

Sunlight. Warmth. Comfort. She would never have these things again.

It had been cold and dark forever.

Lemara miserably returned to her cage and lay down, all bent and cramped. What was the point of doing anything else?

It wasn't fair.

..::~*~::..

The air got chillier.

"Oh, look! Some of them are still here, and they're alive! Someone, go get Sam. He can help them," said a vaguely familiar voice, and then a draft swept over Lemara's bare skin.

She couldn't dredge up enough interest to bother with these small disturbances. Her thoughts kept right on circling the drain. She'd lost everything. Everything she'd ever worked for. Her dreams. Her future.

Everything. Gone.

"The little lady isn't here," said a deeper voice.

That one was unfamiliar and, therefore, had nothing to do with her. She tried to ignore it.

"Come on, we've got to find her," said the first voice.

That one was familiar. So familiar. It was starting to bother her. It brought to mind a dark nightclub, throbbing music, and rainbow lasers. Desmond kissing her. Desmond sliding his hands over her tummy. Desmond saying my girl with so much pride.

Desmond was alive, but she wasn't. God, it hurt. It hurt so damn much.

"Where could she be?"

A sensation a lot like heartburn forced her to sit up. Annoyed, she peered out of her cage. That voice. Whose was it?

A leggy redhead. She looked as good as she had that night, when she had tossed her long, shiny hair out of the way of her hands, laughing over pink margaritas.

"Julia?" Lemara mumbled. "What are you doing here?"

The redhead whirled toward her.

"Marr?" She knelt and peered through the chain-link, and her voice broke. "Oh, no, Marr. I hoped—I prayed—You can see me?"

Lemara nodded, sinking back to the pad, grateful that she'd solved the puzzle and could go back to sleep. "You died. You're dead. Me, too. Sucks, huh?"

"Oh, Marr. I'm so sorry." Julia touched her back.

"Careful," said the deeper voice. A man. He stared down at them with pity, his face shadowed by his cowboy hat. "You might not want to get that close. Friend or no, she's on the edge. She might not be able to understand you. She could lash out."

Lemara was too tired to pay attention. She closed her eyes. Julia's hand went in little circles. It felt nice. Warm, and solid.

"Marr?" Julia ventured. Her hand kept rubbing. Very warm. Very solid. "I know it's hard to concentrate right now, but can you tell me something?"