Free Disconnection by Erin Samiloglu Page A

moment and then said, “Ms. Warren, I’m Chloe’s uncle—Harold. I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but Chloe’s dead.”
    A cold chill filled Sela’s body. The birds were crying again, but this time, it was in her head, all in her head. She stepped back. “Chloe is dead?”
    Uncle Harold nodded, his expression darkening. Sela asked, “How? What happened?” How could she have died in a just a quarter of a minute? Sela had just
spoken
to her.
    The man coughed lightly and said, “They found her last night, in the river.” He paused. “Asphyxiation. She’s with the Lord now.”
    Sela could hear Chloe faintly in the back of her mind:
    (It’s so cold here. Can you come, it’s so cold…)
    Harold continued, “My brother and his wife aren’t taking this very well, as you can imagine. The funeral arrangements are presently being made, though nothing has been set in stone yet. Would you like me to call you, Ms. Warren, when arrangements are made? Or perhaps you would like to contact me for spiritual guidance? It would be a blessing for me to help you in this dark time.” He took a card from out of his pocket and handed it to Sela. The card read:
    If you want EXERCISE, try RUNNING with GOD
.
    First Gate Church. Harold Applegate, Pastor
.
    “You know,” he began, “you look very much like her. I suppose many people have told you so. That’s probably why her Aunt Iris reacted the way she did when she opened the door—she was not prepared to see a girl so similar to Chloe’s appearance.” He smiled sadly.
    The cell phone began ringing.
    Sela jumped. The familiar musical tones filled the air with its mocking familiarity. Sela was once again—for a moment—trying to remember where she had heard the song before. Perhaps she would ask Chloe the next time they spoke.
    But Chloe’s dead! Her uncle is standing here, telling me that she is dead
.
    (But I just talked to her!)
    The phone shrilled louder. Harold stood near Sela, suddenly plain-voiced when he said, “Go ahead and answer your phone, Ms. Warren. It may be important.”
    Sela nodded and lifted the phone from her purse. The bright phone looked garish in the light of the afternoon. Sela placed her thumb on the “on” button. She held it up to her ear. She answered, “Hello?”
    “Are you there yet? It’s freezing where I am.”
    It was Chloe.

CHAPTER
12
     
    S ela sat in her kitchen with her feet propped on the table, a Diet Dr. Pepper can in one hand as she went through the
Times Picayune
website on her lap top. Her eyes scanned the front page while she sipped her soft drink.
    Chloe Applegate’s oversized picture stared back at her.
    She and Chloe looked alike, Sela was willing to agree. The two girls had the same brown hair, same dark blue eyes, same heart-shaped face. Chloe, however, looked better kept, and younger. Her ride through life, her face suggested, had been smoother. Up until last night, anyway.
    “Fourth Victim,” read the headline. Sela perused the paragraphs. Goose bumps formed on her arm as she read each blaring key word. Chloe Applegate. Asphyxiated. Mississippi River. Fishhook sign.
    Sela leaned back in her chair and gulped down her Diet Dr. Pepper as if it were a can of beer.
    Weird things had happened to her before. That her parents had died in a preventable house fire when Sela was just a child wasn’t exactly the normal way to start life. And she
did
live in New Orleans, which had been known for centuries as the crème de la crème of primordial freakiness, gothic strangeness, and front-stage center for the occult.
    But today had hit the bizarre jackpot. How many people could say they had talked to a dead girl over the phone?
    It had to be a joke. Sela was convinced. A sick joke indeed, but a joke all the same. If Chloe, or whoever was pretending to be Chloe, called again, Sela was going to give the bitch a piece of her mind.
    As if on cue, the phone rang.
    Sela shivered, frozen in the chair. Why did she still