My heart is literally breaking.

I'm hugging my boy to myself; my fingers in his hair, my other hand snug protectively around him.

I can't believe any of this is happening.

I can't believe I could have lost my son if I stayed in that house for one more minute.

I close my eyes, inhaling at his hair, and I'm aware of the bitter tears running down my cheeks.

Why me?

"Come with me. I'll take you inside." I tell Reagan who is seated very still, his fingers digging into my arms. I've never seen my son so scared. He's never had a reason to be scared. All his life, he's had two parents to take care of him and protect him, so he never had to know what fear is.

I feel like I'm letting him down. Zane would be so disappointed in me if he knew that I almost let our boy drown while I was seated in the bathtub.

I'm clearly doing an half assed job with parenting.

"Mom?"

"Hey, Reagan?"

"I don't want to go inside."

"You can't stay out here. It's not safe for you."

He pulls back from my arms to look at my face.
"The girl with the black teeth said something."

"What did she say?"

"That I can see my Dad again. She'll help me."

A tremor runs through me.
"I want you to stay away from this pool."

"But Mom, if she was right, I'll have to go into the water to see him."

"Doesn't the girl scare you?"

"She does. A lot. She has like the creepiest face ever. It's like.... Pale and weird and the skin is sort of falling off. She's scary."

"Then why would you want to go anywhere with her?"

"Because I want to see my Dad. If going into the pool with the creepy girl will help me with that, there's no reason not to do it."

Sighing, I turn to look at the pool. It's deceivingly calm; unbelievably blue.

You would never guess that I almost lost my second family member in there in a few days span.

I don't know what the hell is wrong with that pool, but damn me if I let my son get close to it.

"Reagan?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna carry you inside. I'll keep my eyes on you the entire time. I don't want you leaving the house without permission. You understand me?"

He stares at me, then he shakes his head.
"The girl was right. She knows where my Dad is. I can-"

I cut him off.
"It wasn't a request. You'll stay inside until I decide otherwise. I'm calling aunt Amber to come over later today. She'll help you feel better."

"I love aunt Amber."

"I know. Let's go inside and call her."

He hesitates, gazing longingly at the eerie pool, then he pulls himself to his feet and trots to the house.

I walk beside him, my hand on his shoulders, my sharp eyes scanning the compound.

I hope that if, and when Amber comes over, I'll feel safer; sane, less paranoid. At the moment, Reagan and I are still absorbing the greatest loss of our lives. That's why we're seeing and hearing strange things and strange people.

That has to be the reason why.

**

"What do you miss most about Dad?"

I turn to look at Reagan.

He's seated on my bed with his tablet on his lap. I don't think he's paid any attention to it in the last ten minutes. He's been very deep in thought the entire time.

Sighing, I place another one of Zane's swimming trunks in a suitcase. I'm still stashing his clothes away. My heart breaks every time I see them, so the sooner I can dispose those, the better.

"His laughter, I guess." I tell him, and he smiles.

"He only laughed when he was deliriously happy."

"I know. I miss seeing him happy." I look at him when he stays quiet. "What do you miss about him?"

"A lot....everything. I liked it when he let me sleep in your bed. I miss swimming with him; doing homework with him. He would take me with him when bowling, and I'd cheer him every time he scored. He'd run over and fist punch me when I hyped him, and we would stop by the ice cream parlour on our way back. All his friends knew me. They always said that I'd take over the swimming world after my father." He shakes his head, tears shining in his eyes. "I miss my dad terribly. I'd do anything to have him home again."

Sniffling, I dump the piece of cloth I'm holding into the suitcase. I sit beside Reagan on the bed, and I gently pull him to sit on my lap.

I wound my arms around him when he curls himself into me.

His skin is cold, so I run my hands over his arms to keep him warm.

"We'll see him again someday." I whisper when a silent tear rolls down my cheek. "We'll see him again."

"I pray he comes home tonight." He whispers back.

"Me too, baby. Me too."

***

Reagan is taking a nap.

It's the first time this week that he's taking one, so I'm beyond the moon as I watch him sleep.

He looks so much like his father.

We got that all the time, but it never hit me just how alike they look until I watch him right now.

Their nose is curved exactly the same way; their hair is the same colour and texture, and they both have the same prominent jawline.

Their eyes are arguably the only distinctive feature between them. Whereas Zane had brown, beautiful eyes, Reagan's are a shade of green; almost hazel.

I love that.

Reagan sighs deeply as he rolls over. He sleepily tugs at the comforter and he pulls it over his head. My paranoia won't let me leave him to sleep like that, so I pull the covers down to his chin before I walk out of the room. After nearly witnessing him drown in the pool, I'm very paranoid that something will happen to him.

I'd seriously die if my son got hurt.

He's the reason I'm even bothering to stay sane. If I weren't a Mom when Zane passed on, I probably would have sunk into alcoholism by now.

It sucks that I have to be strong for someone else when I barely have my shit together, but I'm honestly grateful that I have Reagan. I don't want to lose myself days after losing my precious man.

In the basement, i stack the suitcases over each other. I'm yet to figure out what I'll eventually do with Zane's belongings, but in the meantime, I'll just keep all this stuff away from my bedroom. I'm sure life will be easier that way.

It's growing so cold in here.

Ugh!

I hate the cold.

It gives me hope.

I hate that.

According to Reagan, he experiences that cold when his father is around. I'm not young or naive enough to buy that, but still, my hands grow numb when the cold intensifies.

No, they're not numb from the cold.

It's the excitement and the hope that makes my heart glow.

I know he's not here, but I could just pretend that he is. I can allow my poor heart to hope; to have faith.

I can act like I believe Reagan.

That makes my heart fill to the brim with raw feelings I have over my fiancé's death.

I miss him terribly.

"Zane?" I call out when goosebumps start to rise on my skin.

Silence.

My teeth start to chatter as the cold intensifies.

My hands are slightly shaking, my toes are curling inside the socks that I randomly picked from Zane's collection, and snot is starting to fall from my nose.

It's just so fucking cold.

"Zane?" I try again.

Silence.

Everything inside me is telling me to run.

That's what a sane person would do.

But I'm not a sane person.

I'm crazed young woman who has no idea how to differentiate reality from fantasy. I want my fantasy to be my reality so bad. I want to believe that the cold has something to do with my late fiancé. I want to believe that he's right here, in this room, looking at me.

I let my eyes flutter closed.

I focus, willing myself to think about the last moments with him. He was wearing a pair of swimming trunks and he was seated by the pool, watching me as I jumped into the water.

I've never been a great swimmer so he always insisted on being around when I went for a swim. He was paranoid I would drown.

Ah. The irony.

I remember how he quickly dived into the pool after me when I playfully let myself sink, and I distinctly recall how hard he laughed when he realised it was a prank. He didn't think it was funny but he was in a very good mood.

That was a few minutes before he met his death.

The memory brings me anguish and grief so I quickly open my eyes.

I blink, staring at the person standing before me.

His eyes are black and blank, and the atmosphere around him is stone cold. His skin is pale and weird, and it's starting to decompose around the face.

His fingers are long, bony and scary and the skin is falling off around them.

His teeth are black.

Very black.

He smells like death.

He looks like death.

I stay rooted on the spot, ignoring the frantic beating of my heart.

"Zane?"

My voice is a husky whisper.