A Decade of Lies

Blood poured out of my throat. At the far end of the alley, my mother was standing right there, under the streetlight. Two hundred yards from home. She'd come out looking for me.

At the mouth of the alley, she passed right by him. She saw the man in black, the one who had just opened my throat. And then she said she forgot.

Ten years later, she still hadn't remembered. "Just picture his face," the officer pressed her again. "You give us that face, and this case is closed." But my mother only leaned down and kissed my nineyearold sister, her face untroubled. "Those painful memories.

Let me forget them for good." "After all, I have a new daughter now." But she was lying. For ten years, she had remembered every single detail. She was only waiting.

Waiting for an answer the law would never give me. Chapter 1 Ten years dead, and my mother still couldn't give the police his face.

The officer was still working on my mother, patient as ever. "Try again." "If you can remember the suspect's face, we can really close this case." "Wren is your daughter.

Don't you want justice for her?" Nothing moved on my mother's face.

She lifted her eyes, slow, her voice flat and dead. "The failure here is yours." "Ten years, and you never caught him.

Now you tell me you can?" Something crossed the officer's face. Embarrassment. He stayed patient anyway. "I understand how you feel.

What happened to Wren that night, it shook you badly too." "But there were no cameras on that road.

Some of the evidence got destroyed during the rescue." "You're the only witness we have left." "If you remember any detail, even the smallest thing, it could be what leads us to him." While he talked, I hovered behind him, nodding like my whole existence depended on it. "Yes, Mom.

That night, what really happened.

Please, just try." "I've been stuck in this house for ten years." My voice fell on no one. "Mom, I can't wait through another ten." At last, something wavered in my mother's eyes.

Her voice thickened. "I've told you. I can't remember." "The second I start going back to that night, my heart pounds.

I can't breathe." "If I keep pushing, I'll pass out." "It's just... too much." She cried as she spoke, tears sliding down without a sound.

Like she was drowning in that same suffocating fear all over again. Her tears were real. But her voice never shook. Not once, not one word. I watched her tremble.

And just like that, I went calm. Right. I couldn't force this. All these years, my mother had done everything to drag that face out of the dark.

She went back to the alley, again and again, standing where I fell, trying to make it surface. Doctor after doctor, therapist after therapist.

She'd wake out of the hypnosis screaming, sobbing. She had clawed at herself to force it loose.

Once she knelt in a church till the dead of night, her knees gone purple, her forehead worn raw against the pew. The truth is, I hate seeing her like that.

I drifted up in front of her and tried, with everything I had, to touch her face. To tell her: stop. Stop remembering. Even if he's never caught, it's all right.

I reached out to catch her tears. My fingers passed straight through. Ten years. And I couldn't catch a single one. I couldn't comfort her.

I could only watch her say it. "I'm sorry." "I want to help. I want Wren to rest.

But I can't go through this again." Chapter 2 Honestly, after ten years as a ghost, I'd stopped feeling most things. But right then, I wanted one thing so badly it burned.

I wanted the man who did this to me to pay for it. Then again, what could I do? Nothing. I could do nothing.

I was a soul with nowhere to go, drifting through a world that couldn't feel me. At least there was my dad. Dad was a gentle man, and he doted on my mother.

I had never once seen the two of them fight. He was her rock, her right hand. Now he moved fast to steady her.

When he turned back to the officers, his voice had gone hard. "My wife has told you. She's done cooperating." "I need you to leave." The two officers traded a look.

The older one still had a few smooth words in him. "It's all right. It's not your fault you can't remember.

It's a normal response to a shock like that." The younger one's face had already tightened.

He muttered it low. "Won't even fight for her own kid?" "What kind of parents are these." My mother heard him. She didn't so much as blink.

The two officers left their cards on the table and went. They were barely out the door before Dad dropped both cards in the trash.

The moment the door clicked shut, my mother let the whole act fall away. Back then, I thought what she set down was her strength. She leaned into Dad's shoulder and went still.

Her voice dropped so low it was almost sleeptalk. "Honey.

Am I useless?" Dad kissed her and held her tighter. "If you can't remember, then stop trying to." "Even if you never remember, not for the rest of your life, I will never blame you." But the tears welled up all over again. "Then tell me.

Will Wren hate me?" "Hate me for seeing who killed her, and not being able to remember his face. For never getting her justice." The room went horribly quiet.

Just my mother's breathing, pressed down small.

A long, long time passed before Dad lowered his eyes. "Don't think about these sad things." "Piper's almost out of school." The instant that name came up, my mother's crying stopped.

Just stopped. Like someone had flipped a switch. Piper is my little sister. Nine years old this year. Lively, easy to love.

So my mother rubbed her eyes and let out a small sigh. "Look at me.

Lost track of the time again." "I need to get Piper's soup on." Truth was, the day I was killed, the Reaper came to take me. But I begged. Stalled. Played dumb and pitiful.

I said I wanted more time with my mom. Maybe he pitied me. Maybe he just didn't feel like explaining. He turned and left without a word. And he never came back. So I stayed.

Ten years in that house, holding my breath. I watched all of it. In the beginning, my mother held my photo and couldn't sleep a full night through.

Later she could manage an hour, maybe two. But she still called my name in her dreams. And then my mother had Piper. So small. So soft. The treasure of the whole family.

The reason my parents found to keep living. Around Piper, around relatives and friends, they never said my name. In that house, "Wren" had become a forbidden word.

Ten years, and no one had called me by it. Not once. But when it was only Dad, my mother would say a few things to him. "This girl, Piper.

Her temper's nothing like her sister's." "Mischievous. And so sweet." Right. Piper was the light. Not me. I was the shadow. The thing that kept them frozen in place.

My mother turned and went to the kitchen to start the soup. Dad watched her go. The faintest smile touched the corner of his mouth.

Not the smile of a man who'd just talked his wife down from a breakdown. But back then, I didn't catch any of it. Chapter 3 Dad tuned the speakers.

Running water, a children's song, the warm hum of a house at ease. As if the sobbing from before, the questions that had torn the room open, had never happened at all.

I looked at my dad. Then at my mom. And for some reason, I suddenly didn't want to be in that house. I drifted out, slow.

That was when I found the two officers still there, taking a break downstairs, just outside the building. I'd seen the card my dad threw in the trash.

So I knew the younger one was named Beau Vance. He lived up to it: tall, longlegged, every line of him cleancut and righteous.

Right now he was seething. "What is wrong with this family?" "Their own flesh and blood, and they couldn't care less?" Marcus Doyle was the veteran.

He'd worked my case from the very start. He blew out a ring of smoke and let out a slow sigh. "They love their kid.

They've just... been let down too many times." My case had gone cold. They'd caught men. Then let them go. Caught them. Let them go. Every release came quicker than the arrest.

Some families can afford the best lawyers in the world. My parents' hearts had gone from the early madness, the hatred, the cursing at heaven and earth. To waiting.

To something calm. Until in the end, they seemed like bystanders.

People who only said, to anyone who worried about them: "It's over now." "Let it be." "If Wren's watching over us, she'll help us find him." Beau was still young.

He couldn't quite follow his partner's logic, not all the way. He wrinkled his nose. "Fine.

But back there, in their place, I saw a lot of littlegirl things." "Give them credit, I guess.

Ten years, and they've kept all of Wren's stuff exactly where it was." Beau didn't get to finish. Because a black SUV pulled up outside the building.

My mother broke into a run to meet it. Ten minutes ago, she hadn't had the strength to lift her eyes at a cop. Now she was running. A girl hopped down from the car.

Her smile was so sweet. The exact copy of me, back when I was alive. Mother and daughter walked off hand in hand.

Beau came back to himself and scoffed. "No wonder they stopped caring about Wren." "Turns out they went and got themselves a new daughter." The sourness in his voice.

It made me see red.

I flew at him almost before I knew it, jabbing a finger, cursing him out. "Where do you get off, talking about my parents like that." "I'm the daughter they love most." "Always have been." Too bad I was a ghost.

The kind with no power at all, kept in this world by nothing but a grudge. My hands couldn't touch a living thing. However loud I got, not a word of it reached his ears.

Everything I had, all my strength put together. It was enough to stir a single strand of his hair. A thread of cold air. Circling him, refusing to fade. No one noticed me.

So of course no one cared what I felt. So I slunk back home, sulking. Dinner was already on the table. A whole spread, all Piper's favorites.

She raved with her eyes shut. "Mom's chicken wings are the best!

Best in the whole world!" I drifted to the edge of the table, sour as vinegar. "That's it?" Chapter 4 Back when I was little, Mom's chicken wings put these to shame. Way better.

Piper ignored me and turned to praise Dad instead. "Daddy fixed the speakers all by himself. That's super impressive too." A few sweet little words. And both of them were beaming.

Me, I rolled my eyes clear up to the ceiling. This kid. No telling who taught her. Nine years old and already this smooth with the flattery.

I jabbed a finger out, annoyed, and flicked her on the forehead. "Chicken wings can't even shut you up." "Keep it up and I'll take every last one." My fingertip went through her forehead.

Then through the plate. I opened my palm. Empty. And Piper, happy as anything, swept the last of the wings into her own bowl.

I pressed my lips flat. "So what." "I'm the one who loved chicken wings first." "Mom only started making them because of me!" But no one could hear a word I said.

I looked up at my parents again. Of course they weren't looking at me. They were looking at Piper. Their faces full of tenderness. I shouldn't have been jealous.

Because when I was alive, they used to look at me the exact same way. But today, something was off. I was just on edge. Maybe because I never got my chicken wings.

Maybe because of that awful cop stirring the pot. And across the table, Piper spoke up out of nowhere. "Mom, you promised.

When I get ten straight A's, you'll set up an art studio for me." She tipped her face up, blinking. "Mom, isn't there a spare room in the house?" "Give it to me." I shot up like a cat with its fur on end. "That is not a spare room!

That's MY room!" "You awful little brat, why do you have to take my room!" After Piper was born, my bedroom got locked. When she was small, she didn't understand.

She'd throw fits, begging to go in. Back then my parents would soothe her, tell her it was a secret room. She could go in when she was grown.

But the year Piper turned five, my mother forgot to lock it. She slipped inside. Went through everything in my room.

Dug all the comics out of my drawer and threw them across the floor. When my mother found her, Piper burst into tears. She thought she was about to get hit.

But my mother didn't say a thing. She just held out that one yellowed comic book. "If you like it, take it." But my mother never told Piper the rest.

This book was your sister's favorite. Take good care of it. So I watched Piper carry it off to school. Watched a boy kick it into the fountain.

Watched it swell and bloat in the water, the ink bleeding into one dark smear. And nobody knew whose book it was. Right here, right now.

Faced with Piper's request, my dad actually said something fair. "That room stays untouched." "Here's an idea. I'll wall off part of the living room, make you a studio.

How's that?" Not a bad plan, honestly. But then my mother cut in. "No." "That would just make the place feel smaller." When she said it, she didn't look at that locked door.

Not once. Chapter 5 Our apartment wasn't big. I was born here. Back then my dad was just a lowlevel guy at his company. My mom's career hadn't gone anywhere either.

They didn't have much money. It was after I died that their business really took off. But they never moved. To hold on to their memories of me, maybe.

They'd said it themselves, after all: this old place, every inch of it, was full of me. On the wall by the door, there were pencil marks. Line after line.

Starting low, near the floor, climbing up and up. Then they stopped. Fourteen. Above that, the wall was blank.

In the closet, my mother had folded my school uniform into a neat square. Collar facing up. Like I might still come home and wear it.

But now my mother set her bowl down and said it, easy as anything. "Then let's move." Dad's smile froze for a second. "Honey, didn't we agree, we'd keep—" He didn't say the name out loud.

It wasn't that he'd forgotten. The two of them had agreed on it long ago: never say it in front of Piper.

But my mother nodded, more certain than ever. "We can't refuse to move for the rest of our lives just because of the past." "As for that room..." She glanced back at that door. "No one's going to live in it anyway." She said it softly.

So softly it was almost like she was talking it over with someone still in the room. Piper's voice drowned out my mother's sigh.

She must have been over the moon, bouncing and hopping, shouting. "I get a studio!

I get to have a studio!" "Mom, can my bedroom be pink?" "Mom, when are we moving?" I looked at Piper's face. She was almost exactly like me at that age.

The thing is, once, my mother loved me so much. She always said I was her treasure. Her only treasure.

I'd mention some food I wanted, offhand, and the next day it would be on the table. However late she got off work, my mother would hold me while I fell asleep.

Mornings, she'd sit on the edge of my bed and do my hair. She was good with her hands. My braids were always the nicest in class. But everything I'd had, Piper had too.

If anything, my mother took even more care with her than she ever had with me. I wasn't my mother's only treasure anymore.

I couldn't stop the detective's words from coming back to me. "No wonder they stopped caring about Wren." "Turns out they went and got themselves a new daughter." And his partner's long sigh. "They lost a daughter, yes.

But..." "They can't just stop living because of it." Back then, I'd nodded right along. "Exactly.

You cops get to switch cases, transfer out, catch new assignments." "My mom and dad can't stay trapped in that one day forever." "Seeing them forget me, I'm happier than anyone." So they had Piper.

So they poured more into Piper than they ever did into me. When I was little, I walked to and from school on my own. Piper had a driver. Dropped off every day, picked up every day.

My mother would never let her come home alone. Not once. I liked to draw too. I had a real gift for it. My mother never found me a teacher.

But the second Piper said she liked it, my mother brought in the best instructor from the top art school. I know she was so good to Piper partly to make it up to me.

I shouldn't have been jealous. When I died, my mother was only thirtysix. She should have had a good sixty years left. Even if I couldn't be part of them.

Even if I'd understood that all along. But watching my mother actually move forward. Something in my chest went scoopedout and hollow.

Cold air poured into the empty place and wouldn't stop. It left me shaking all over. I fought my way back and forth between my parents, drifting. "Don't move! You can't move!

This is my home." "When you're gone to the new place, what happens to me?" Chapter 6 But however hard I threw myself at them. All I stirred was a thin eddy of air.

I didn't know if my parents could sense me at all. Right after I died, they thought every draft was me. Every creak of a door. Every cry of a cat.

But now, all they did was talk it through, matteroffact. "We should move fast." "Can't keep Piper waiting." My room finally didn't have to stay locked.

Because apart from that one. Every other room stood empty. Just like my heart. With no one left in the house, all at once I was afraid. But afraid of what?

At least I didn't have to be scared of ghosts anymore. My mother watched the movers carry out the last box. She turned back for one last look at the room.

Then she crossed to the entryway. Her hand came up and touched the highest pencil line on the wall. She traced it, left to right. Just that one mark. Then she said it, soft. "Wren.

Mom's leaving now." I really did think she could see me. I even drifted closer, thrilled. But her eyes only rested somewhere vague in the room. No focus. She didn't see me.

She was only saying goodbye to herself. Or so I thought at the time. I don't know how many days and nights I drifted through that empty house. Sometimes I slept like the dead.

Sometimes I was awake, and it was still like sleeping. Once, I lifted my hand and held it up to the window. The light came through the gaps between my fingers.

More than it had ten years ago. So I was thinning too, little by little. Then, without warning. I heard the door to our place give a soft click. A burglar? I drifted over, on alert.

Standing outside were Marcus Doyle and Beau Vance, again. They knocked, and they called my mother's phone. Looked like they still didn't know we'd moved.

Beau's face was lit up. "Boss, you think this time the case is finally going to break?" "After everything." "Ten years that little girl waited.

She can finally rest." Chapter 7 Marcus Doyle had been on my case for ten years. The man had grit, I'll give him that.

His dead girl, the one even my own parents had let go of, and he was still holding on. But holding on for what? Even if he found the truth, then what?

It wasn't going to bring me back. I yawned and drifted off to sleep again. A long while later, the place stirred with noise once more. This time it was my mom and dad, coming back.

They'd picked this spot to meet, probably so the officers wouldn't come to their new house. A few days without sleep, and my mother looked worn thin.

All these years, every time the officers came around, she'd lie awake for days after.

Running on no sleep, she wasn't in a friendly mood. "Why do you people keep coming?" "All these years, and you still can't tell me who did this to my daughter." "You catch a man, you let him go.

Catch another, let him go.

Every time it's a new lead, a new suspect." "Do you have any idea what it does to a person, getting your hopes up and watching them fall through, over and over?" Her voice came fast, urgent.

But this time, even Beau didn't get impatient. He explained it, careful and serious. "We went back over the scene recently.

We turned up some leads that got missed the first time." "There's one man." "That night. Every road he took.

Every minute of it." "It all lines up with the spot where your daughter fell. Down to the second." "And there's a good chance you know him, too