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In my dream, I was floating in the middle of the ocean. Except it felt different from floating; I wasn’t on top of the water, I was under it. Somehow, I was still able to breathe, even though there were a few feet of water above me.
I wasn’t afraid; it felt as though the water was a part of me, as though we were one in the same. Even so, out of habit, I rose to the top of the water.
When I broke the surface, I could see the stars, dimly lit in the night sky, through a heavy curtain of fog that danced over me. The wind smelled like rain. Soft music played from somewhere in the background, and I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I wasn’t sure if I had fallen asleep or not.
Glancing around, I realized that I wasn’t floating in the ocean any longer; I was lying on the sand. Looking over my shoulder, I found that I was in the same place I always ended up whenever I sleepwalked—in front of the lighthouse.
The light that shone from the lighthouse was dimly cast through the fog, but I was able to see clearly. There were three of them, all plastered against the rocks. They weren’t moving, and I knew they were trying hard to make sure I wouldn't be able to see them. I wondered if they knew that I could.
As I crept closer to them, I could see that the one on the left was fair-skinned and had dark hair, a silky shade of bluish black. All I could tell about the one farthest to the right was that her skin was darker toned and her hair was a shade of ebony.
Scarlett was in the center, which suited her personality as I remembered it, her coppery auburn hair billowing out in front of her.
The music was growing increasingly louder; it sounded like someone had turned a radio up to its loudest setting and left it there.
Even though I tried to block the music out, I couldn’t. I suddenly found myself singing along. At least, it felt like I was singing along. My voice box was producing a sound—of that, I was sure—but no lyrics came with it. Or if they did, I had no idea what the lyrics were.
I took a step closer to the girls. It felt as though the music was drawing me to them, for some reason, and I assumed it was because the source of the sound was somewhere near where they were standing.
“Scarlett,” I said. When there was no response, I repeated myself. “Scarlett, I know it’s you. You’re here . . . You’re not dead.”
Scarlett pulled herself away from the rock she had been pressed against and turned to face me, her green eyes flashing with anger. “That’s where you’re wrong, Felicia. I am dead.”