Writing on the Wall

My name is Lyra. I am 17. I don't remember my family, my friends or the boy I once loved. I only know one thing. I am dead.

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5. Help

I stare at Callum and he stares back. No one speaks. No one moves. I am in shock. I thought no one could see me. Callum is the first to speak, " I honestly thought you were dead." My eyes fill with tears as I reply, "I am, I am now nothing but a spirit. But I need help. To find out how I died." Callum stares a me sadly. "You want me to help you." He was clever. He knew what my answer would be. "Yes."

He has a strange look in his eye. A look that seems to be a cross between sadness and guilt. But what did he have to be guilty about? He hadn't done anything wrong. But I don't know for sure. I have a burning question I need to ask him.

"How did it happen?"
He stares at me in astonishment. Or is he gazing through me? It's hard to tell. I ask again, "How did it happen?"

I see sadness in his eyes now. He is remembering. I can tell it pains him to recall it.
"Your parents were out. You were alone. You got a fatal blow to the head. The left of your forehead according to the police. They found your blood on a photoframe beside...your body."
I touch the side of my head as if expecting to feel blood there. There is nothing there but I can almost recall the feeling of blood running down my face. I get a sudden flashback. A flash of metal, something scarlet on my face, a sense of falling, then nothing. I see Callum eyeing me intently. "Do you remember?" he asks. I close my eyes and try to force the image back into my mind. But it slips from my grasp. Then I get a flash of my attacker. A girl. Someone familiar. Someone I know. I suddenly gasp and stare at Callum in horror. He is crying.

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