Free Angelborn by L. Penelope Page A

her. Her face is totally serious, no trace of pity. “I do believe you. Tell me what happened.”
    I search her eyes, wondering if this is a joke or a trick, but her earnest expression convinces me, at least a little, that she’s for real.
    “Most … most ghosts” — I’m not used to saying it out loud — “they can’t touch things. Their bodies aren’t really real, you know? They’re insubstantial. But sometimes, when they get angry or super crazy or feel really strongly about something, they can.” Thoughts of Miss Sadie momentarily make my throat close up. “Natasha did. She was … troubled.”
    Rosie nods and leans in closer, listening to me intently.
    “She’s been getting stronger, over the past few months. Slamming doors, breaking dishes, making weird noises that the others could hear. Standard haunting stuff, I guess. She hated me, thought I was trying to take her place. Thought they were gonna love me more.” I snort.
    Karen and David are good people, the best foster parents I’ve ever had, but I could tell by the way that they’d glance at her photo sometimes, how they never talked about her, avoided the conversation entirely when I asked, that they loved her. I wasn’t ever going to replace her in their minds. I was just another way to give back.
    “Tonight, she was different. Stronger than ever. Too strong. I woke up, and she was on top of me. She was so heavy I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t even scream at first. She brought this knife, from the kitchen I guess.”
    My bandaged arm feels empty. The meds have dulled the pain, but the nerve damage means I’ll never use this hand again. That’s what the doctor said.
    It happened so fast, I wasn’t sure it was real at first. One minute I was struggling under her, trying to push off what felt like two hundred pounds pressing on my chest. The next minute, my arm exploded in pain. Blood spurted from the gash she opened up from my wrist all the way to my elbow. Then I could finally scream.
    I yelled as Natasha produced a lighter from somewhere. Threatened to set me on fire. She waved it over me until I kicked it out of her hand, knocking it across the room. But she got it back. David burst through the door just as the curtains caught fire. My arm, it wouldn’t stop bleeding.
    Rosie hands me a tissue. I stare at it in my hand, uncomprehending. She plucks another one from the box and dabs at my cheeks. I didn’t even know I was crying.
    “What happened to her?” she asks.
    I sniff and dry my face. “I think she used up whatever was keeping her here. I’ve seen it before. They sort of build up enough energy to do something big, then they disappear in this sort of black fire. It’s hard to explain.”
    She nods and strokes my hair. For some reason, I find this incredibly comforting. Her hand is soft, and her perfume actually smells nice.
    “Why do you believe me?”
    Rosie is quiet for a minute. I close my eyes as she continues rubbing my head.
    “I had a twin. She saw things, too.” She says it simply, but sadly. Between that and the past tense statements, I guess that her twin sister’s story isn’t a happy one.
    “So what happens to me now?”
    She straightens. I miss her soothing hand on my hair.
    “Well, I can’t stop the psychiatric hold. And I think it’s likely that you’ll be committed, at least for a while.”
    “Do you think I should lie to them?” I don’t know what I’ll say, but the idea of having to stay in a hospital for much longer makes my head start to ache. Even now, there’s a woman in a bloody police uniform staring daggers at me from the other side of the bed, and a gunshot victim in the corner rocking back and forth, laughing maniacally. The dead lurk in every corner in hospitals. It will take a miracle to convince the doctors I’m sane.
    “I can’t tell you what to do, Maia. If you change your story, you will likely be looking at an arson charge. And there’s still the self-harm.”
    Great. The