Chapter 14
I gape. I forget to breathe. I know it’s Malcolm. My heart is thumping too hard, my throat is too tight, and my mind is scrambling for explanations. The most dire?
He’s dead. He’s dead, and he’s here now because ... well, I’m not sure, exactly, except he’s wearing the pallor of death and hasn’t moved or opened his eyes. I want to ask the entity, but I can’t drag my attention away from Malcolm.
Then, all at once, he coughs. With a fist, he strikes himself in the solar plexus, and a plume of mist is expelled from his mouth. Fog rises and swirls. He continues to hack like he has bronchitis or pneumonia. As he does, his skin returns to that lovely shade of olive. His hair gleams. He coughs one last time, clears his throat, and then looks at me.
“Malcolm?”
He gives me one of tho
