Chapter 4: Sleepless
Luca's apartment smelled like coffee and old textbooks. He shared the place with a roommate named Josh who was apparently visiting family for the week, which meant I got the couch instead of the floor.
Small victories.
"You need sleep," Luca said, dropping my bag by the couch.
"I need to figure out what I'm going to say to Marcus tomorrow."
"You need sleep first. You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't."
"How many voices right now?"
I listened. Counted.
"Thirty-eight. Rebecca's the loudest."
"What's she saying?"
"Same thing. I didn't kill myself."
"Can you make her quieter?"
"Not really. They get loud when I'm stressed. And I'm pretty stressed right now."
Luca went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and two pills.
"What are those?"
"Sleeping pills. The good kind. Prescription. They might help."
"Where'd you get prescription sleeping pills?"
"My brother. He had insomnia after he..." Luca's voice trailed off.
After he died. That's what Luca didn't say. His brother Marcus overdosed three years ago and Luca found him. We'd never really talked about it because what was there to say? Dead people don't come back and the living ones just have to figure out how to keep going.
Except I did come back. And now I heard dead people. And I was chasing the voice of a girl who said she was murdered.
I took the pills.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. They take about an hour to kick in and you might have weird dreams."
"My dreams are already weird."
"Weirder then."
He grabbed a blanket from the closet and tossed it to me. Then he stood there looking awkward like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.
"What?" I asked.
"Are you sure about tomorrow? About meeting Marcus?"
"No. But I'm doing it anyway."
"We could just drop this. Let the cops handle it. Go back to normal."
"My normal is hearing dead people scream in my head. That's not something I can just go back to."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah. But Rebecca won't shut up until I prove what happened to her. That's how it works. The voices don't leave until I acknowledge them. And I can't acknowledge her by pretending she jumped when she's telling me she didn't."
Luca sat down in the chair across from me. "What if Marcus doesn't know anything?"
"Then we find someone who does."
"What if no one knows anything? What if Rebecca really did kill herself and the voice you're hearing is just trauma or your brain trying to make sense of a senseless death?"
The question hurt more than it should have.
"You think I'm making this up."
"I think you went through something horrible and your brain is still trying to process it. I think hearing voices might be a symptom of that trauma, not proof of supernatural ability."
"Then explain how I knew things about the other deaths. Things I couldn't have known."
"You looked them up. Read articles. Facebook posts. Obituaries. Your brain stored that information and fed it back to you as voices."
"That's not how it works."
"How do you know? Have you talked to a doctor about this? A therapist?"
"They'd put me on medication and tell me the voices aren't real."
"Maybe they're not."
I stood up. "Then why are you helping me?"
"Because you're my best friend and even if I think you're wrong I'm not going to let you do this alone."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes it is. I don't have to believe in the voices to believe in you."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to make him understand that this was real, that I wasn't crazy, that Rebecca needed me.
But I was too tired.
The sleeping pills were starting to work. My edges felt softer. The voices were getting distant like someone had turned down the volume.
"Go to sleep," Luca said. "We'll figure out tomorrow when tomorrow comes."
He went to his bedroom and closed the door.
I lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket over me. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic outside.
Rebecca's voice was still there but quieter now. Background noise instead of a scream.
I didn't kill myself.
"I'm going to prove it," I whispered. "I promise."
Sleep took me under before she could answer.
I woke up to voices arguing.
Not the dead ones. Living ones.
I opened my eyes. Daylight filtered through the curtains. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and my mouth tasted like something had died in it.
The sleeping pills. Right.
The argument was coming from the kitchen. Luca and someone else. A woman.
I sat up and the blanket fell off. I was still wearing yesterday's clothes. Still in Rebecca's jacket because I'd forgotten to take it off before passing out.
"You can't just bring random girls here without asking," the woman was saying.
"She's not random. She's my best friend."
"The one who hears voices?"
"Don't say it like that."
"Like what? Like it's weird? Because it is weird, Luca. She's weird. And now you're getting involved in whatever conspiracy theory she's obsessed with this week."
"It's not a conspiracy theory. Someone's threatening her."
"Or she's making it up for attention."
I should have stayed on the couch. Should have pretended to still be asleep. But anger pushed me to my feet and into the kitchen before I could stop myself.
"I'm not making it up."
The woman turned around. She was pretty in an effortless way. Long dark hair. Perfect skin. Yoga pants and an oversized sweater that probably cost more than my rent.
"Oh good. You're awake."
"Who are you?"
"Natalie. Luca's girlfriend."
That stopped me cold.
"Girlfriend?"
Luca had gone very still. "Ex-girlfriend. We broke up two months ago."
"We're working things out," Natalie said.
"We're not."
"We were. Until you decided to play detective with crazy girl here."
"Don't call her that."
"What else should I call her? She hears dead people, Luca. That's not normal. That's not healthy. And you enabling her delusions isn't helping."
"Get out," I said.
Natalie turned to me. "Excuse me?"
"This isn't your apartment. Luca doesn't want you here. So get out."
"Luca can speak for himself."
"Luca already told you to leave. You're just not listening."
Her eyes narrowed. "You have some nerve"
"I have texts threatening me. Photos of me taken without my permission. A dead girl in my head who won't shut up until I prove she was murdered. So yeah, I have nerve. What I don't have is patience for people who call me crazy."
"Because you are crazy."
"Natalie," Luca said. "Leave. Now."
"Fine. But don't come crying to me when this blows up in your face."
She grabbed her purse and walked out. Slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.
Silence.
Luca rubbed his face with both hands. "I'm sorry."
"You didn't tell me you had a girlfriend."
"I don't. We broke up. She just hasn't accepted it yet."
"How long were you together?"
"A year. She wanted me to stop hanging out with you. Said you were a bad influence. I told her if she made me choose I'd choose you."
"And she didn't like that."
"No."
I sat down at the kitchen table. My head was pounding. "She thinks I'm crazy."
"She doesn't understand."
"Do you?"
He looked at me. Really looked at me.
"I understand you went through trauma. I understand your brain is processing that trauma in ways that seem real to you. I understand you need help but you won't ask for it because asking means admitting something's wrong."
"Something is wrong. A girl was murdered and everyone thinks she killed herself."
"You don't know that."
"Yes I do."
"You believe it. That's different."
"Why are you helping me if you think I'm delusional?"
"Because believing in something and supporting someone are two different things. I can think you're wrong and still have your back. That's what friends do."
I wanted to argue. Wanted to make him see.
But maybe it was enough that he was here.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"Eleven. We need to leave at one thirty if we're going to make it to the coffee shop on time."
"I need to shower. And figure out what I'm going to say to Marcus."
"You're going to tell him the truth."
"That I hear his dead sister's voice?"
"No. That you found her jacket and something about her death doesn't add up. That you think someone might have hurt her and made it look like suicide. Keep it vague. See how he reacts."
"What if he gets angry?"
"Then we leave. But Sage, you need to be prepared for the possibility that he won't believe you. That he'll think you're attention-seeking or trying to hurt his family."
"I know."
"And if he gets upset, we drop it. We don't push. We respect his grief."
"Okay."
Luca pulled out a box of cereal and two bowls. "Eat. Then shower. Then we'll figure out the plan."
I ate without tasting anything. The voices were starting to get loud again. The sleeping pills had worn off and now all thirty-eight dead people wanted my attention.
Rebecca was still the loudest.
*I didn't kill myself.*
"I'm trying," I said out loud.
Luca didn't ask who I was talking to.
The Java Cup was busy for a Monday afternoon. Students with laptops. Mothers with strollers. The smell of espresso and cinnamon rolls thick enough to choke on.
Luca and I got there at one fifty-five. Early but not too early.
Marcus was already there.
I recognized him from Facebook photos. Sandy brown hair. Tired eyes. He was sitting at a corner table with a coffee cup in front of him that looked like it hadn't been touched.
"That's him," I said.
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
We walked over. Marcus looked up when we approached.
"Sage?"
"Yeah. This is Luca."
"Sit."
We sat.
Marcus studied me for a long moment. "You said you found something of Rebecca's."
"Her jacket. From a thrift store."
"Which one?"
"Saint Agnes."
He nodded like that made sense. "Mom donated her clothes last month. Couldn't stand having them in the house anymore."
"I'm sorry."
"Why'd you buy it?"
The question was sharper than I expected.
"I don't know. It caught my attention."
"And what, you want to give it back? Want me to tell you stories about my dead sister so you can feel like you knew her?"
"No. I want to ask you about the night she died."
His expression hardened. "Why?"
"Because I don't think she killed herself."
Silence.
Marcus picked up his coffee. Put it down without drinking.
"You some kind of detective?"
"No."
"Conspiracy theorist?"
"No."
"Then what makes you think you know anything about my sister's death?"
I couldn't tell him about the voice. Couldn't tell him the real reason.
So I told him a partial truth.
"I read the articles. Something doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"She was afraid of water. But she jumped from a bridge into a river."
"Who told you she was afraid of water?"
"The police."
"You talked to the cops about this?"
"They came to me. Someone's been threatening me to stop asking questions about Rebecca."
That got his attention.
"What kind of threats?"
I showed him my phone. The texts. The photos.
He read them. His face went pale.
"Who sent these?"
"I don't know. But they started right after I bought Rebecca's jacket and started looking into her death."
"You think someone killed her."
"I think it's possible."
"And you think whoever did it is threatening you."
"Yes."
Marcus set my phone down on the table.
"Rebecca didn't kill herself."
The words came out flat. Certain.
Luca leaned forward. "You don't think so either?"
"No. But no one believes me. The cops said the evidence was clear. My parents accepted it because the alternative was too hard. But I knew Rebecca. She wasn't suicidal. She was happy."
"Tell us about the weeks before she died," I said.
Marcus's hands tightened around his coffee cup.
"She'd been acting weird. Quiet. Jumpy. She stopped going out with friends. Stopped posting on social media. My parents thought it was teenage stuff but I knew something was wrong."
"Did you ask her about it?"
"Yeah. She said she was fine. Said she was just stressed about school."
"Did you believe her?"
"No. But I didn't push. I figured she'd tell me when she was ready."
"Did she mention anyone new in her life? Anyone who made her uncomfortable?"
Marcus hesitated. Then nodded.
"Her swim coach. Dylan Rivers. She talked about him a lot at first. Said he was helping her overcome her fear of water. But then she stopped mentioning him. And when I asked about lessons she'd change the subject."
"Did you tell the police this?"
"Yeah. They said they talked to him. He said Rebecca was a good student. That he was shocked by her death. They cleared him."
"What do you think?"
Marcus looked at me with something dark in his eyes.
"I think he did something to her. I think she was scared of him. And I think the day she died, she was supposed to meet him."
"How do you know?"
"Because I found a text on her phone. The police didn't think it was important but I saved a screenshot."
He pulled out his phone and showed me.
The message was from a number saved as "Coach." Time stamp showed it was sent the morning Rebecca died.
Meet me at the bridge at 7pm. We need to talk.
Rebecca had responded.
I can't. Please leave me alone.
Coach had written back.
7pm. Don't make me come find you.
I read it three times.
Luca read it over my shoulder.
"Did the police see this?" I asked.
"Yeah. They said it was probably about swim lessons. That coaches text students all the time. They didn't think it was suspicious."
"It's a threat."
"I know. But they didn't care."
I took a photo of the screenshot with my own phone.
"Can I have this?"
"Why?"
"Because I'm going to prove Dylan Rivers killed your sister."
Marcus stared at me.
"Who are you really?"
"Just someone who wants the truth."
"Why? Why do you care?"
Because your sister won't stop screaming in my head. Because I know what it's like to drown and come back different. Because sometimes the dead need someone to speak for them.
"Because someone should," I said.
Marcus's eyes went glassy.
"Everyone else gave up. Even my parents. They just want to move on. But I can't. Not when I know she didn't jump."
"Then help me prove it."
"How?"
"Tell me everything you know about Dylan. Everything Rebecca said. Everything that seemed off."
Marcus nodded.
And started talking.
Twenty minutes later we had a list. Times Dylan had shown up places Rebecca was supposed to be alone. Comments he'd made that crossed lines. The way he'd isolated her from her friends during lessons.
A pattern.
We were gathering our things to leave when my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
New message.
I see you met with Marcus. Bad choice. Now he's involved too.
Attached was a photo of the three of us. Sitting at this table. Right now.
Taken from inside the coffee shop.
I stood up so fast my chair fell over.
"What?" Luca asked.
I showed him the phone.
His face went white.
"They're here."
We all turned at the same time, scanning faces in the crowded shop.
No one looked suspicious. Everyone was focused on their own conversations, their own screens.
But someone was watching.
Someone with a camera.
Someone who'd followed us here.
And they wanted us to know we weren't safe anywhere.