Remember the Stars by Natalie-Nicole Bates Page A

nothing but dead silence. She had to try anyway. It took a concerted effort to press the three digits, but to no avail. The phone was indeed dead. In a last ditch effort, she pressed the zero and prayed. Nothing. No one. She was bruised, battered, and alone. The receiver dropped from her trembling hand and hung suspended by its cable, like a twitching, newly executed prisoner.
    She looked around for any sign off life on the dark street, but nothing moved; not even a breeze stirred the night. Her eyes fixed on a dark building. Her high school friend Carrie had lived there with her aunt. The aunt owned a candy store that sold delicious handmade chocolates. But the store was now abandoned. She looked back at the funeral home. There was no other choice. She needed a telephone—quick.
    Inhaling deeply, the burning smell in the air filled her lungs and choked her, causing her to gag and dry heave into the night. Her knees seemed to cave in and she fell painfully to the hard sidewalk, bracing herself with her hands at the last second.
    If she could rest, even just for a minute, she could find her strength again, she thought, as she slid forward on the concrete and rested her face on her hands.
    A few seconds—or maybe it was an hour—later, Leah struggled to open her eyes as she was awoken by hands under her shoulders pulling her to her feet.
    “It’s not safe out here.  Let’s go,” the voice commanded. A male voice, deep and dark.
    “Who are you?” she asked.
    “Just keep walking.”
    The voice vibrated through her foggy consciousness as she mechanically put one foot in front of the other. When she got to the front door of the Moreland Funeral Home, she halted. Just who was this man, and what were his intentions? If she could just get to a working phone, to a police station, anywhere but here.
    Suddenly, she was lifted off of her feet and carried through the doors before she was planted onto the carpeted foyer. The door closed behind her and the deadbolt snapped. She expected to be assailed with the cloying smell of funeral flowers, but there was no identifiable smell in the air, a welcome change from the acrid smell outside.
    Finally, her eyes fixed on the stranger’s back. Dressed in anonymous black, the man walked slowly down the dimly-lit hallway, with Leah following at a cautious distance, her fingertips gliding along the wall for support.
    Leah knew this funeral home.
    It had been the most highly regarded one in town. Moreland’s had been the funeral home of choice for several of her own family members as well as the father of a high school friend, and a teacher who had passed away from Leukemia when Leah was a sophomore.
    She passed a dark viewing room to her left, and another to the right, but she forced her focus to remain straight ahead. If she could get to the phone, she could call Logan for help.
    A recent memory assailed her.
    Logan.
    Marriage-phobic Logan.
    He was the man who should have been her fiancé, but in reality was no more than a spineless wimp with mommy issues.  Weeks before, she had issued him with an ultimatum—propose marriage by her birthday or they were through. She was sure when she arrived at the surprise birthday party at his home he was about to get down on one knee and propose before all of their friends and family. Instead of an engagement ring, he had presented her with diamond earrings. The pain she felt had been so strong it was palpable. She’s held her composure until the last guest went home , then she tossed the earrings at him and told him they were finished. It was the last thing she remembered before waking up in the gutter.
    “Come on.”
    The voice of the man sliced through her memory and she found herself standing in the middle of the funeral home’s front hallway. “I’m not well,” she mumbled as her vision swerved and she grabbed onto a wall for support.
    Wordlessly, he took a few quick strides toward her and looped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her