Price scanned the newspaper one more time. He didn’t have to read it to know what it said. Folding it up, he scowled at the ugly gray headstones in front of him, lined up like jagged teeth in the dirt.
For days he waited for her to come back. Even after he quit expecting her, he thought he’d hear her. He’d turn a corner and almost catch a glimpse of her. He’d crawl into bed and imagine her next to him.
Enough was enough. He stepped to the newest headstone, the one whiter than the others.
“It’s official.” He dumped the newspaper over the top. “Everyone knows. They also know how dysfunctional your family was. Sorry.” He doubted she cared much, anymore, but she sure tried hard in life to hide that from everyone. “Listen, I don’t know what still matters to you. I hope you’re still out there. I hope you can hear me.” He stopped talking. He was rambling, and even ghosts probably got bored with that.
But she had to know. She had to know his heart belonged to her. And it always would.
“It’s only you, Kylee. All my life. And someday, when I’m good and ready, I’ll join you. We’ll be together. Like—” His throat constricted, and he shook his head to banish the tears. “Like we were meant to be.”
He paused. Was she here? Could she hear him? He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels.
“A sign would be nice. You know, so I don’t feel like an idiot, talking to a stone.”
Nothing. What did he expect? She’d moved on. Even Madame Humphrey had never seen a ghost that moved on.
“Anyway.” He couldn’t leave it like that, with his annoyance and disappointment the most prominent feelings. “I love you.”
The words softened his heart, and he exhaled. He turned around, his eyes hot, but somehow he felt lighter.
A breeze stirred up around his feet, plucking at his shirt and ruffling his hair. It whispered around his ears and caressed his neck. Price froze. For a moment, it reminded him so much of Kylee that it was almost—almost—
But no. It was just a breeze.
Amy had gotten her license and was able to convince her sister to let her borrow the car and take Price to the cemetery. Michael had been harder to convince, since he didn’t know anything about what happened. Now they both watched him from inside the car, concern on their faces. He waved to them.
Just a breeze, he told himself, even as the concentrated whirlwind of air teased and nipped at him. It accompanied him back to the car, disappearing after he closed the door.
Then again, maybe it wasn’t just a breeze.
image [https://cdn-gcs.inkitt.com/story_images/big_6172e2f932a9506e461124d65f9f5e88.jpeg]
This is the end of Kylee's story! Not ready to say goodbye? Keep reading for a sneak peek of Price's book, Reaching Kylee!
Reaching Kylee
She’s beautiful. She’s mysterious. And nobody knows what happened to her.
After his mother’s death, Price can’t wait to start over somewhere new, where no one knows him and no one expects anything from him. Even if it means cows and dirt roads and crazy neighbors.
When he learns about the neighbor girl’s disappearance, he finds himself drawn into the mystery. What happened to her? Is she missing--or dead?
But finding out the truth may cost Price more than he is willing to pay.
The girl next door is definitely not what he thought she’d be.
Chapter One
Price Hudson stood in the doorway of his bedroom and stared at the bare walls. The holes from the nails had all been filled in, but he still saw his room the way it had looked a month ago: posters of his favorite baseball players on one side, comic books piled in a corner, and a bookshelf against the far wall with more photos and memorabilia than books.
In a matter of weeks, his whole life had changed.
“Price?” His dad popped around the corner and joined him. He glanced around the room, then dropped a hand on Price’s shoulder. “Let’s go, son. The moving van’s loaded. And your friends are here.”
Price nodded, a sour taste in the back of his throat. He didn’t have friends anymore. The people he’d thought were friends were as anxious for him to go as his father was to get out.
They passed the closed guest room on the way to the front door, and Price pulled up short. “I’ll be right out.”
His father glanced at the room and only nodded.
Price took a deep breath before pushing open the door. The room smelled clean and sterile, slightly acidic with the scent of antiseptic cleaner. Price stepped all the way in, his eyes roving around the corners of the room, inhaling deeply. His fingers touched the rough plaster on the wall.
“Mom,” he whispered.
Nothing. He stood for a few heartbeats more, but there was nothing of her in this room where she’d spent her last weeks. His eyes burned, and his fingers curled into fists. “Mom,” he said again, his voice breaking.
He plunged from the room, slamming the door behind him, then stood in the hall catching his breath. This was why they were moving. Every inch of this house prompted some memory, some longing of his mother. And yet it was all so hollow. When she’d left, she’d taken every bit of joy with her.
The rest of the house was just as empty. It was odd not seeing his dad’s hunting trophies, but they’d been one of the first things to go. Mr. Hudson had completely skipped hunting season last year.
Price pulled his baseball cap down lower over his eyes as he stepped outside. His dad was talking to the movers, signing some papers on a clipboard. His little sister Lisa pulled on Sisko, their big golden retriever, trying to get him into the back of the black BMW. Price’s lips curled up in a smile; the poor dog probably thought he was going to the vet.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Price!”
He turned his head to the street. Rebecca waved to him, as did most of his baseball teammates.
The flutter of relief surprised him. He’d thought he didn’t care anymore. Or maybe he’d been afraid to care. He walked down the driveway to join them. Most of his friends lived on his street, or around the corner. They’d all grown up together.
“Hi,” he said to Rebecca, shoving his hands into his pockets. She smiled and nodded. Three months ago he would’ve reached for her hand; she would’ve giggled and pushed him away, and then let him kiss her. Three months ago he was contemplating what came after kissing.
And then the diagnosis came, and Price wasn’t sure if he pulled away or if she did, but now he felt like a stranger around her. Around all of them.
“This sucks,” Tim said. “You were our star player. What are we going to do without you?”
Price shrugged. “Hope someone just as cool moves in and takes my spot.”
Alec groaned. “I saw the old couple looking at your house. The only thing taking your spot will be a wheelchair and a bedpan.”
Everyone laughed, but Price didn’t see the humor in it. He’d gotten quite good at pushing a wheelchair around, and wouldn’t have cared in the least if he’d had to change the bedpan.
Alec stopped laughing, as if suddenly realizing what he’d said. “Hey, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know,” Price said. But he didn’t laugh, and he couldn’t bring himself to say it was okay. It wasn’t, and he remembered why he didn’t hang out with his friends anymore.
The awkwardness had returned.
“Well.” Rebecca broke it first, stepping forward and putting her arms around his neck. “We’ll miss you. Have a great, great year.”
Tim stepped up next, thumping Price heartily on the back. “As soon as you have your license, you come and visit. Virginia Beach is only an hour away. Make sure you bring your dad’s car.” They all turned to admire the black BMW.
Price nodded, already worn out from trying to act normal. “Yeah. Of course.”
He said goodbye to the rest of the team. Rebecca was sniffling, and he felt like he should say something more to her, offer her something. Condolences? Why?
“Well.” He kicked at the paved street with his toe. “It’s been great.”
“Price,” his dad called. “Time to go.”
Price jerked his head in acknowledgment. “Coming.” He faced them all one last time, a heavy feeling in his chest. “Bye.”
“Bye,” they echoed.
He walked away, wondering if that had felt as empty to them as it did to him. These were the kids he’d trick-or-treated with, the ones he’d gone camping with, egged houses with, even smoked his first cigarette with. And it was like he didn’t know them. Or rather, they didn’t know him.
He watched the house until the car drove around the corner, and then he exhaled loudly. The Price Hudson of Chesapeake was no more. Whatever his life was now, he was a different person.
“Wait till you see the house,” his dad said, his voice upbeat and cheerful, if not a bit forced. “It’s huge, bigger than our house at the Bay. Has two stories.”
“I’ve seen pictures, Dad,” Price interrupted.
“Well, I know,” Mr. Hudson said, his tone slightly flustered. “But seeing pictures and seeing the house are two different things.”
Price didn’t comment. He understood the difference. He also knew he wouldn’t care either way. They could sleep in a tent from now on and he wouldn’t care.
“Can I have a swing set?” Lisa asked. She’d been heartbroken that they were leaving hers behind, but it was so old and rusty that when Price and Mr. Hudson tried to pull it up, it just fell apart.
“Of course, sweetie,” Mr. Hudson said.
Mr. Hudson pulled off the interstate, and Price knew they must be close. He watched the houses grow farther and farther apart until miles of farmland separated the small clusters of dwellings. They turned off the paved road onto a gravel street, and Price sat up straighter.
“Tell me we don’t live on this street,” he demanded.
“What? It’s not so bad.”
“Dad!” He groaned and fell back against the seat. “I can’t ride my bike on this!”
His dad sent him an exasperated look. “You’ll just have to get dirt tires.”
Like, yesterday, Price thought. He could only see five houses on the road before it curved out of sight.
“Here,” Mr. Hudson said with a sigh, pulling up beside the moving van idling in the long driveway. A fence embraced the yard, split-rail, with a space on the left for the electric gate. The gate was open in front of the driveway, awaiting the arrival of their car. At the end of the driveway was a large, two-story plantation style house, complete with shutters and pillars and—
“It has a swing!” Lisa was out the door and running for the porch, where a white swing hung from chains.
The house and its wooden fence were idyllic for sure, but that wasn’t what had Price’s attention. “Dad,” he said, staring at the crumbling house next door, “how can we live here?”
His dad got out of the car and Price followed, his eyes riveted on the overgrown yard that threatened to swallow their neighbor’s sagging porch.
“Don’t judge them, Price,” Mr. Hudson said, pressing his lips together. “You don’t know what’s going on in their lives.”
Price grunted. For sure. He knew they either didn’t own a lawn mower or didn’t like to use it. “Dad, they have chickens.” He could see the coop from here.
“We’re in the country now. You’ll see lots of animals.”
As if to prove a point, a sharp wind blew their way, carrying with it the unmistakable tangy smell of animal waste. Price wheeled away, too disgusted to even complain.
“Let’s start moving boxes into the house!” his dad called after him.
“Gotta go claim my room first,” he replied. Anything to get away from that smell.
“Lisa?” His voice echoed oddly in the empty house.
“Here!” She appeared in a doorway to the left of the living room, a big smile on her face. “I found my room!”
“I’m going to explore upstairs.”
“Okay.” She didn’t budge. Maybe she was afraid Price would try to take her room.
He headed up the stairs. The first door he opened was a bathroom. Simple, with a shower, toilet, and a sink. He kept going down the hall and opened to a bedroom. He stepped inside. A window to his left overlooked the yard and street. Moving closer to it, he could see better the sagging roof of the neighbor’s house. He shook his head. A good rainstorm would blow that place over.
He turned around and opened the accordion doors over the closet. This would work.
He trooped back downstairs. “I’ll take the room upstairs,” Price said to his dad, evading the movers as they carried a couch up the porch steps.
“That’s great.” Mr. Hudson turned slightly, and Price saw that he hadn’t been talking to a mover, but to a boy, about Price’s age. “Price, this is Michael. He lives down the street.”
“Hi,” Michael said with a wave. He tossed his head, the straight, bleached blond hair falling right back into his eyes. Even his feet were tanned in his flip flops. “Tell me which boxes are yours, I’ll help you move in.”
“Oh—okay.” Caught off guard and not quick enough to think of an excuse, Price climbed into the truck and searched for something of his. Finding a box, he pushed it toward Michael while he grabbed another.
“This is heavy,” Michael grunted. He followed Price up the stairs.
“Sorry,” Price said. “We’re almost there.”
They reached the room in the corner, and Michael let his box drop to the ground. “What’s in here, anyway?”
Price shrugged. Without asking, Michael bent down and opened it. His eyes lit up at the sight of the comic books. “You’ve got tons!”
“You can borrow some.” Price sat down on the floor across from the box. “What grade are you in?”
“I’m a sophomore. School started this week, by the way. You’ve already missed four days.”
“Yeah, it just worked out that way. I’m a sophomore, too.”
“Awesome. Maybe we’ll have some classes together.” He set aside two comic books. “Play any sports?”
Price’s shoulders tightened, and he forced himself to relax. “No.” The word came out too quickly, and he winced. “I like to ride my bike,” he added, trying to soften the negative response.
“That’s cool. I’ve never really been into bike riding.”
The sound of a loud, broken muffler blasted outside, and Michael stood up to gaze out the window. “Probably want to keep this closed at night. You’ll hear them yelling.”
Price joined him, and they both stared down at the beat-up green car that parked in a patch of weeds in front of the old house. “Yelling?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I’m outside late and I hear them. Or we drive by and see the cops. They’re always fighting.”
“Figures.” Price rolled his eyes. All he could see from here was the top of the man’s head as he climbed the porch steps and disappeared inside. “So what’s their deal, anyway?”
“Don’t really know.” Michael settled himself on the window sill. “We all stay away from them. They had a daughter, Kylee. She went to school with us for a few years before she quit.”
“She quit?” Price had never known a drop-out.
“Yeah. About a year ago. And then—” he shrugged.
“Then what?” Price asked, fascinated in spite of himself.
“She disappeared. Maybe two months ago.”