Free She Lies Twisted by C.M. Stunich Page A

tried to catch my breath.
    I needed a break. Sleep. I needed sleep. I raised my face and stared at the red splotches on my knees. But first I was going to shower.

    Jam es was waiting in the hallway for me when I came out but the harpy lady was nowhere to be seen. “Where's your friend?” I asked as I checked the tie on the white robe I'd found hanging in the bathroom. I think it had been Jessica's once. I didn't want to remember.
    “ She had to leave but she did give us another assignment.” James was smiling as if this were a good thing. I wished I could agree with him. I continued past him and through the foyer, past the sitting room, and through a set of pocket doors that led to the kitchen. I planned on going to sleep but first I needed something to soothe my queasy stomach. Cereal was becoming my drug of choice. I almost felt like I couldn't get through the day without it. When I opened the blue box and found that nearly half of my remaining stash was gone, I almost flipped. But I had told James he could have it. I took a deep breath and went to the fridge. James sat down at the table and waited for me to join him.
    “ So, uh, I guess I should explain things a little better.” I stared at him, the milk carton clutched tightly in my hand.
    “ You think?” I asked and tried to remember to check my temper. Taking my feelings out on him wasn't going to help but I'd be damned if I didn't say it felt good. I took a deep breath and tried to force a smile. It felt awkward against my lips, like a mask that didn't fit. “I'm sorry,” I said. James didn't ask what for, just nodded.
    “ You know,” he began slowly, as if testing the waters. I stayed silent. “It was hard for me, too, at first.” His voice trailed off in thought. I waited patiently, the sound of my spoon clinking against the china. “I couldn't stand the sound of cars for the first few months.” He held one of his hands out in front of his face and studied the minute stitches that wrapped around his index finger like a spiral staircase.
    “ Because of your accident,” I confirmed, wanting to break the quiet. A little quiet was okay but too much left room for thoughts, memories. Pain.
    “ No,” he said and his face fell. “Because of hers.” I dropped my spoon, chipping the fine porcelain. He's talking about his friend, Sydney. He feels guilty. James stood up quickly and pushed his chair in. “I think I'll check in, if you don't mind?” He flicked some of his gray-brown hair away from his face. I wanted to beg him to stay, to tell me why there was a catch in his voice that told me he blamed himself. I nodded, my mouth stuffed full of cereal and curiosity. The questions could wait, they would have to wait. James was already walking away, his borrowed sneakers soft against the wooden floor.
    I stayed at the table for awhile trying to satisfy my curiosity with food. It didn't work and I found myself in the living room staring at a painting Jessica had made. Ribbons dripped from purple clouds like rain and a girl under an umbrella hunched beneath an oak tree, her blonde hair tugged by an unseen tempest. I smiled and touched the canvas with my fingers. Jessica had liked to paint with texture as much as color. The art was as vivid to my fingertips as it was to my eyes. “I miss you, Jess,” I said as my heart contracted with longing. Death was supposed to have been my chance for a reunion but now I was dead and I was still here, still suffering, still alone. “Why me?” I asked the girl in the painting. She didn't have an answer. Why should she? After all, the girl in the painting was me.
    Movement outside the window caught my eye.
    I weaved my way through the antique furnishings in the living room and into the adjacent sun room. The white harpy sat just outside on the sun bleached patio furniture. She was strumming a harp and humming a song I knew I'd never heard before. I opened the French doors and sat down on the edge of a chipped, cement