Gifted - Prologue

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The lawn

Is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return

Gently at twilight, gently go at dawn,

The sad intangible who grieve and yearn...

~T.S. Eliot

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Prologue594Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAypT7IYc54
The Dream

"How old are you, Melanie? 15?" Ms. Stewart wondered, flipping through her file. The lady already knew her age—it was in the file. Maybe it was just protocol?

"16." It came out as barely a whisper from Melanie's lips when she replied. The room was dark and musty, leaving Melanie uncomfortable. She felt like a criminal—but she hadn't done anything wrong.

"Sweet Sixteen, huh? Did you have a big party with all your friends?" The detective was attempting to make light conversation to try and make the girl feel comfortable, but it wasn't helping Melanie to take her mind off the horrible things she had seen; it just made her even more sad—she never had friends.

"No," was all she said, head casted down as she continued to fiddle with her hands in her lap.

Ms. Stewart pursed her lips; she wasn't getting anywhere with her. "Do you know what happened that night, Melanie? Or can I call you Mel for short?"

Melanie's eyes wavered, staring down at the cold metal desk that separated Interrogated from Interrogator.

When she didn't answer, the deceptively innocent detective leaned forward, speaking in a softer tone than before. "You can trust me, you know. I really do want to help you, Melanie, but you have to be willing to talk to me."

Melanie didn't know what to say to that—the lady wouldn't believe her if she did know the truth-so she continued to remain silent.

Ms. Stewart leaned back in her chair and cleared her throat before going on, trying to go about this as lightly as possible. "Sweetheart, there's something I have to tell you. It's about your parents…"

"I know."

This shocked the detective. Ms. Stewart regarded the young girl closely. "What do you know about your parents?"

Melanie's stormy-gray eyes flicked back up to look at the detective. "I know they're dead." The words came out of her mouth before she knew what she was saying. Why was she not bursting into tears over this? Her parents were gone. Dead.

"And how do you know that?" The detective's voice echoed hollowly in the room, seeming to come from a distance. Time seemed to stand still—this always happened in the dream.

Once again, Melanie found herself saying it without thinking—without considering the dire consequences.

"I know because I've seen them. Their ghosts told me so."

Immediately after this admission, everything went dark and Melanie woke up, panting and sweating, back to reality once more.

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