As he turned the page he recognized the first drawing of hers he had ever seen upon her arrival at this place. He stared at the page and Frankie stared back. Gerard inspected every extraordinary detail of the picture. The shadows looked almost alive and Frank looked like his feisty little self that Gee loved so well. The next page made him gasp and almost smile as his own eye once again, confronted him. He had forgotten this particular drawing. He didn’t know quite why. Even though the drawing was in black and white he could almost see the hazel swirling inside. “Gee?” The voice startled him out of his trance and he slammed the book shut. Mikey looked at him from the small bed. “You’re…crying…” Gerard lifted his hand to his face and felt the tears for the first time. He stared at his hand. “So…so I am.” He hadn’t even realized. Mikes stood up still wrapped in Gee’s blankets and waddled over to him. He sat down beside him and wrapped his long arms around his brother’s shoulders. “I love you Gee…” “Love you too Mikes.” Ray, Bob and Frank chose that very moment to burst through the door, scaring both the guys out of their wits and disrupting the hug in the process. The newcomers looked shocked. Frank broke the silence first. “Sa…Sav…Savanna…” Mikey cut him off with a small quavering voice. “Is dead…” He lifted his head to look into Frank’s eyes. “I know.” Frankie, thankfully, didn’t ask how or why they hadn’t told him. Gerard didn’t have answers for any of these questions. Neither did she. She had seen them come into the room, seen them pick up the notebook. She had tried to talk to them, to move, to figure out why they were so sad. Then she remembered. Savanna was dead. She didn’t understand why she couldn’t speak or move but she understood whom she used to be and that she was dead. All she could do was lie there with so many questions stuck in her throat and no way and no one to ask them. When she looked down at herself she found that her chest was drenched in blood still. Her pen had been picked up from its place on her notebook and ground into her chest by one invisible hand as the other constricted her windpipe. Then suddenly she was dying again, reliving those drawn out moments of slow pain. Except this time … it was different…the hand stabbing her own pen into her former body was not invisible…neither was the one that choked her. She could see him yet she did not want to. The last person, well…ghost, she wanted to see was her father. Yet there he was, the grin he wore on his face was not a happy one. There was a hole in the side of his head and blood was still drip, drip, dripping from it. She saw him but he saw only how he had killed her and she was forced to relive it.
