The One That Came Back

I stood over the river, remembering what had happened to my sister Olivia ten years ago.

I never thought I would lose her. Especially not that night.

I stood on the overlook, staring down at the dark water below, wondering what my purpose was now. Halloween Eve had always felt different after Olivia died. No matter how many years passed, I could still remember the last conversation we had as if it had happened yesterday.

Exactly ten years ago, I had been texting her.

Olivia: Hey sis! How are you? Mom tells me you’re back in town for the next month.

Casey: HI! Yes, I’m back in town on break from college. We need to catch up. How are you?

Olivia: I’m okay. Tonight Theo and I are going to a Halloween party at Meagan’s at the Pointe. You should come!

Casey: I can’t tonight. Alex and I are celebrating our four-year anniversary. I think tonight might be the night he proposes.

Olivia: OMG NO WAY! I know we haven’t talked in almost four months, but that’s so exciting. Mom has been telling me you and Alex are settling down. Maybe tomorrow we can all get dinner?

Casey: That actually sounds great. I’ll text Mom and see if we can have dinner at her place with Dad.

Olivia: Great! Theo and I are leaving for the party soon, but text me about the details. I’ll see you tomorrow!

I’ll see you tomorrow.

For years, those words haunted me.

Tomorrow never came.

Hours after our conversation, Olivia and Theo were driving home from the party. Theo had been drinking. Somewhere along the road, their car collided head-on with a semi-truck.

Both of them were still alive when they reached the hospital.

Olivia wasn’t alive for long.

Theo survived.

A month later, he died by suicide.

My family hated him after the accident. They blamed him for getting behind the wheel after drinking, and part of me blamed him too. But anger never brought Olivia back.

What made everything worse was that, while my sister was fighting for her life, I was having one of the happiest nights of mine.

Alex proposed to me that night.

I said yes.

We celebrated our anniversary, our engagement, and everything we thought our future would become.

My phone was turned off.

At 2:39 a.m., the hospital called.

I never answered.

I didn’t see the missed calls until the next morning.

By then, Olivia was already gone.

For years, I told myself the same thing.

I should have left my phone on.

I should have answered.

I should have been there.

Maybe I could have seen her one last time.

Maybe she could have heard my voice.

Maybe I could have told her I loved her.

But instead, the last thing my sister ever said to me was:

I’ll see you tomorrow.

I didn’t get the message that she had passed away at the hospital until I turned my phone on the next morning.

There were seven missed calls.

Three from my mom.

Two from the hospital.

One from my dad.

And one voicemail I still had saved ten years later.

I never listened to it anymore.

I didn’t need to.

I remembered every second of it.

My mother crying so hard that I could barely understand her. My dad trying to speak in the background. Someone telling her to sit down.

And then the words that divided my life into two separate pieces.

Before Olivia.

And after.

I looked down at the ring on my finger that morning.

The same ring that, only hours earlier, had made me feel like the luckiest woman alive.

Alex had gotten down on one knee beside the fireplace in our hotel room. There had been candles everywhere, champagne waiting on the table, and music playing quietly behind us.

I cried when he asked me.

I actually laughed through the tears because my hands were shaking so badly that he had trouble sliding the ring onto my finger.

For a few hours, everything had been perfect.

Then I turned my phone back on.

After that, I couldn’t look at the ring without remembering what happened while I was celebrating.

For months, people told me that it wasn’t my fault.

They told me there was nothing I could have done.

They told me Olivia knew I loved her.

They told me I couldn’t have known.

It didn’t matter.

Grief didn’t care about logic.

Neither did guilt.

A cold gust of October wind pulled me back into the present.

I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and stared down at the river.

Ten years.

Ten years since Olivia died.

Ten years since Theo survived the accident only to take his own life a month later.

Ten years since my family shattered.

And nine years since Alex finally stopped trying to put me back together.

I closed my eyes.

That memory hurt differently.

Olivia’s death had destroyed something inside me.

Alex leaving proved I hadn’t been able to hide it.

A dead leaf scraped across the pavement behind me.

For a second, it sounded like footsteps.

I turned around.

Nothing.

Just the empty overlook.

The parking lot beyond it was almost completely dark, except for one flickering streetlamp near the entrance.

I stared toward it longer than I needed to.

I had felt strange all evening.

Not scared exactly.

Watched.

It was ridiculous.

Probably the anniversary getting to me.

I looked back toward the river.

“Happy Halloween, Liv,” I whispered.

The wind carried my words away.

I reached into my pocket for my phone.

11:47 p.m.

Thirteen minutes until the date changed.

Thirteen minutes until another year officially passed without her.

My screen lit up.

No caller ID.

I frowned.

For some reason, my stomach tightened.

I almost ignored it.

Then the phone vibrated again.

A text message.

Unknown: You still come here when you’re hurting.

I stopped breathing.

My eyes moved automatically toward the parking lot.

Empty.

Another message appeared.

Unknown: Some things about you never changed, Casey.

My hands went cold.

There were only a handful of people who knew about this place.

Olivia had.

Alex had.

And—

No.

I stared at the screen.

That was impossible.

I hadn’t heard from him in more than a decade.

Not since before Olivia died.

Not since before Alex.

Not since I had convinced myself that whatever existed between us had been nothing more than something young and reckless that I had eventually outgrown.

My phone vibrated a third time.

This time, there were only four words.

Unknown: Turn around, trouble.

My heart stopped.

Because only one person had ever called me that.

And suddenly, I understood.

The dead weren’t the only ones capable of coming back.