The Ghosts We Carry

A serial fiction story for your enjoyment

written by James Rada, Jr.

THE CLASS OF ‘16

7.To Fallen Friends

Brian Peyton first sensed the pain deep in his body—a searing, relentless throb on his right side that pulsed with every breath. Each inhalation sent sharp, hammer-like jabs of agony from his ribs, rippling outward until his entire body ached. He had tried to remain lost in a fragile slumber, but as the pain intensified, it broke through his attempts at oblivion. Above the relentless ache, an insistent beeping joined the chorus of sounds that ripped him from his sleep.

Slowly, his heavy eyelids fluttered open to reveal a stark hospital room bathed in pale, clinical light. Brian’s confusion mounted; he had expected death when that car had slammed into him in Emmitsburg. Instead, he now lay in a sterile bed, barely believing he was still alive. He only felt as if he had been dead and resurrected in a state of perpetual torment.

“You’re awake,” said a soft, yet concerned, voice.

Turning his head gingerly to the left, Brian’s gaze fell upon a young woman seated in a chair beside his bed, reading a glossy magazine. Fatigue shadowing her once-vibrant features. Her short, strawberry blonde hair framed gentle brown eyes, and though he instantly recognized an attractive aura about her, the dark circles under her eyes hinted at sleepless nights and hidden sorrows.

“Where am I?” Brian managed to croak out, his parched mouth making every syllable feel as abrasive as sandpaper against raw skin.

“Gettysburg Hospital,” she replied, her tone a blend of sympathy and routine explanation. “They brought you here after the car hit you.”

A spark of recollection mingled with regret. “It wasn’t the driver’s fault. He didn’t see the boy on his skateboard coming down the sidewalk. I tried to push him out of the way, but I couldn’t get out of the way.” His voice faltered, laden with anxiety. “Is he all right? The boy?”

The woman offered a gentle nod before rising from her chair. With careful precision, she picked up a crystal clear pitcher from a nearby table and poured a cup of water, the liquid glistening in the hospital light. Cradling the cup, she brought it tenderly to Brian’s parched lips. “Sip this. You sound horrible.”

Following her silent command, Brian took a small, grateful sip as his tongue absorbed the cool moisture.

“He’s fine,” she continued softly. “Just a little bumped up when he fell on the sidewalk. I made sure he got the lesson he needed: he loves his skateboard, but he hardly ever watches where he’s going.”

“Don’t be too harsh on him,” Brian replied, his voice quivering slightly. “Some kids have to learn the hard way. I’m just relieved he’s okay.”

“Because of you,” the woman stated, her voice tight with unresolved emotion.

Brian shrugged weakly, though the motion sent another fresh wave of pain shooting through him.

“My name is Amanda Prentice, and the boy’s name is Jack. He’s my son,” she explained, her tone a mix of duty and a hint of nostalgic familiarity.

There was something almost familiar about her, although Brian struggled to place it exactly. Perhaps it was simply the sound of her last name stirring echoes of a long-abandoned past—after all, it had been nearly ten years since he had been in these parts.

“Are you a nurse here? You look familiar. Have we met before?” he asked, curiosity mingling with the remnants of old memories.

Amanda let out a soft, almost reluctant snort. “A few times. They were… about 11 years ago.”

“Really?” he murmured, the question hinting at fragments of forgotten encounters.

Her eyes glinted with a mix of nostalgia and melancholy. “My boyfriend was Jack Davis.”

At that mention, memories sharpened into painful clarity. Jack Davis—the very reason Brian had returned to Thurmont for his 10-year high school reunion. He recalled the startling message delivered to him, Will Van Sant, and Thomas Hardcastle—a wallet-sized photograph of Jack with the ominous words “I know what you did” scrawled on the back. Then the cascade of tragedy: Thomas, overwhelmed by a song supposedly dedicated to Jack, took his own life; Will, too, had met a grim fate when circumstances tied to Jack led to an accidental collision with an oncoming train.

Staring into Amanda’s eyes, Brian’s mind drifted to a petite girl, much like her, who had once been intertwined with Jack. “You changed your hairstyle,” he observed softly, as if the shift in appearance was symbolic of years passed.

“I’ve changed a lot since then,” Amanda admitted quietly.

“We both have,” Brian agreed, acknowledging their shared histories of transformation.

“Jack, my son, is Jack Davis’s son,” Amanda revealed, her words slicing through the fragile calm of the room.

Brian’s head spun, his mind reeling with the weight of revelations. “What? How? I mean, he never mentioned it.”

Amanda’s voice grew soft and pained. “I told him I was pregnant the day he died.”

As her confession hung in the air, indescribable sorrow pooled in Brian’s eyes, eliciting uncontrollable tears. “I’m so sorry. I was there when he died.”

Her eyes narrowed into a fierce glare, laden with years of hurt. “I know. You, Will, and Thomas… you all killed him.”

“No! No, we didn’t,” Brian protested desperately, shaking his head as if to dislodge the accusation.

“That’s not what the police believed,” Amanda interjected coldly.

“Yes, they did, or else they would have arrested us,” Brian countered, his voice a mix of indignation and despair. “We were out on the railroad tracks that night. We were drinking and talking about graduation and walking on the rails, trying to balance ourselves even though we were having trouble standing on the ground because we were drunk. We were having fun, but Jack seemed depressed. He wasn’t laughing as much as usual. I thought it was the beer having an effect on him, but I guess he was trying to take in the news he was going to be a father.”

“We were going to get married,” Amanda said, her voice trembling with half-forgotten sweet promises. “We had talked about it. But he was worried about how to raise a baby. I thought he was happy, or at least okay with the idea.”

Brian’s thoughts swirled with the chaos of that fateful night. “Perhaps he was—but it was all too much. We were simply out there: drinking, laughing like fools, then suddenly running when we heard the train. If we had been sober, I think we would have thought to climb the hillside beside the tracks. Instead, panic set in, and we screamed and sprinted back toward our cars.”

Closing his eyes tightly, Brian tried to shut out the relentless images. Yet the memories flooded back in vivid, painful detail. “Jack tripped on a crosstie,” he recounted in a low, shaky voice. “He screamed for us to help. We stopped and turned back. I want to think we would have gone to help him, but I don’t know. That’s one of the things that bothers me still. We saw the train coming. He did, too. The whistle was blowing. It was so loud. We panicked and started running again. Jack got up and started running, but he’d lost too much time. I looked over my shoulder and saw the train behind him. I was so shocked, I stumbled and fell. I could see the train still coming. It couldn’t stop that quickly. That’s when I finally had the good sense to roll off the tracks and down the hill toward Sabillasville Road.”

“That’s what the police report says,” Amanda reminded him, her tone betraying layers of past bitterness.

Brian nodded slowly, admitting, “It’s the truth. They charged us with trespassing and underage drinking. It was nothing compared to knowing Jack had been killed, and we might have been able to do something about it if we hadn’t been drunk.”

Silence enveloped them, heavy with shared guilt and sorrow. Brian could see Amanda’s tears as they trickled silently down her cheeks—a mirror of his internal devastation.

At length, she spoke, her voice raw with emotion. “For so long, I hated you all. I wasn’t even sad that Will and Thomas died. I thought it served them right. Karma came for them. Like I thought it would come for you.”

“Not that it helps, but it has haunted all of us. That’s part of the reason Will and Thomas are dead.”

“It should have haunted you. Jack and I would have been happy. We would have been a family, but you took it all away. No matter what the police report said. You took away my family, and then you…” Amanda stabbed a finger in Brian’s direction. “You gave it back to me when you saved my son.”

Brian stared, numb, not knowing how to respond. Then a recent memory flickered before his eyes: a snapshot of a female DJ, her presence intertwined with a song that had been attributed to Jack Davis.

“You were at the reunion—as the DJ,” Brian whispered, realization dawning slowly. “And you sent the pictures.”

Amanda nodded, her expression solemn. “Yes.”

“Why?” he pressed, heart heavy with questions.

“I was going to expose you all—to humiliate you in front of your classmates,” she confessed. “I wanted everyone to see the pain you inflicted on Jack, a plan that began with that song.”

In that moment, Brian understood that he, Will, and Thomas were not the only souls ensnared in a personal hell born of that catastrophic night. “Then why didn’t you follow through?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“You set your own traps,” Amanda replied, her tone soft yet bitter. “After that song, Thomas ran off, and you and Will chased him. I never even had the chance to make my announcement, and what happened to them turned out to be even more tragic than anything I had planned.”

“What about me?” Brian’s voice cracked with a mix of guilt and confusion.

“You’re here,” she replied simply.

“But I’m alive,” he protested, hope mingling with despair.

“And so is my son,” Amanda said, her voice softening for a heartbeat. “Jack wouldn’t have wanted to see you all perish. You were his best friends. I didn’t wish for any of it—I just wanted justice.” Rising to her feet, she paused, her eyes meeting his as if searching for solace in shared suffering. “Now, I suppose I have it, and perhaps you do too.”

“How so?” Brian asked quietly.

“You said that on that night you wanted to save Jack but failed,” Amanda reminded, a fragile smile touching her lips. “Today, when you saved my son, you rescued a piece of him. And maybe that redemption can be enough for both of us.”

Without another word, Amanda turned and walked out of the room, leaving Brian alone with his tears and the memories of a past that refused to be forgotten.