Free Almost Dead (Dead, #1) by Rebecca A. Rogers Page B

depressing trance. Sara doesn’t spin around or acknowledge me, at first. It’s as if she’s mesmerized by whatever’s in the miniature clouds.
    “They’re the Damaged. Neither Rosewood nor Caer want them,” she says, eventually. “They were once people who never believed in anything, their bodies so hollow not even their souls lived on. So, what little piece remains of their tainted spirit is forever trapped here.”
    That sucks. I can’t imagine what’s left of me being stuck in a fog for the rest of my pathetic existence.
    But she mentioned something about Rose and Carl? Are those people, or…? “I’m confused. Who are Rose and Carl?”
    “Rosewood and Caer,” she corrects. “They are beyond this world , beyond Lichburn. When one’s heart is judged by the Elders, they are sent either to Rosewood, with its towering glass-and-pearl castles, or they are sent to the Floating Islands of Caer, where they remain caged in the Prison of Caerisle. I would not wish the latter on any being.”
    “So , why can’t they just reside in Lichburn?” I move closer to the window, afraid that if I move too close, the Damaged might reach through the glass and carry me away. I’d be a part of them for eternity.
    “Something’s wrong with their heart and soul, something deep. A defect. They aren’t nice, but they aren’t mean. They aren’t happy, but they aren’t sad. Our laws forbid them from residing here, so they’re ingested by the ever-present fog.”
    “Like, eaten ?” I swallow a hard knot in my throat. This is like a weird-ass 1930’s horror flick. My mind begins creating fake headlines: GIRL SWALLOWED BY FOG; FACES SEEN IN THE MIST; HAZE CONTROLS CITY. Though it’s totally compelling—like, I briefly want to be chewed up for experience purposes—I have to jerk my head away.
    “They can’t harm you,” Sara says, watching the souls of the Damaged claw at the smothering expanse that contains them, “and they’re only visible during a certain time, mostly early morning.”
    “But it’s so… sad,” I say, for lack of a better word.
    “I’m afraid those are the rules.” Sara doesn’t go into detail about who makes the rules, but I have a feeling it might be the Elders she spoke about before—and I’m guessing they have nothing to do with guiding spirits.
    I watch Sara, which is kind of creepy, I guess. She doesn’t move, but there’s something intensely philosophical about her silhouette. Like she’s trapped here and knows she can’t progress to a more beautiful, peaceful place. How long has Lichburn been her home? Did her family pass on long ago, leaving her behind? Will she ever see them again?
    If that happens to me, if I end up on the same sinking ship, plummeting down, down, down to this realm, how would I feel? I can’t answer tha t. Even though I want to scream, Yes! I will miss my family and friends. Truth is: I don’t know that I would.
    “Fifteen minutes,” Sara says, breaking the stillness in the air. She steps away from the window and sits on the armrest of the sofa, wrapping a throw around herself. Does the chill of death radiate all around her? Can she feel a person dying? That’d be the worst gift in the history of gifts.
    “Will it hurt?” I realize this question might be a little vague, so I add, “Going to the Shadowlands, I mean. Will it hurt my spirit form, or my physical self?”
    Sara shakes her head. “No, it won’t hurt. I can’t describe what it’ll be like for you, though. The experience is different for each person, because each person sees the world differently.”
    That doesn’t help calm the sickness in the pit of Kn tto my stomach, or my heart pattering wildly inside my chest. Even my palms are damp. But I have to wonder what this event will be like for me. Is it beautiful? Frightening? Should I take Sara’s word that it won’t injure me?
    “He’s fading,” Sara murmurs forlornly, her eyes drooping a little more. “It won’t be much