By Mara Purnhagen
I will not circulate ahead with my existence, until eventually i do know my demons are restricted to the past…Being Charlotte Silver, the daughter of well-known paranormal investigators, skill my existence is different from that of different teenage women. particularly after what occurred to my mom and dad. issues replaced. I neglected promenade and deferred my immense university plans. yet I nonetheless have my boyfriend, Noah. he is every thing i'll want—if i will determine what is up with him. unexpectedly Noah is secretive.I worry it has whatever to do with what occurred to us 3 months in the past. The bruise Noah suffered in the course of a mystical assault hasn't ever thoroughly light. Now i have realized Noah is gaining knowledge of demons. And while he disappears, it is as much as me to discover him—before anything else does.
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Additional resources for Beyond the Grave
He glanced at his watch. ” On the monitor, Noah swallowed hard. Guilt flared through me and I fidgeted with my bracelet, the one Noah had given me on my birthday. I was the one who had convinced him to come along on this last-minute trip, even though four months ago I’d sworn off ever participating in another investigation. I reasoned that this was not a true investigation, but simply an outing to piece together needed footage. And it was Shane who organized the whole thing. My family was semifamous because of my parents’ work as paranormal investigators.
I heard voices,” he gasped. Shane helped him to a folding chair, and I handed him a bottle of lukewarm water. He gulped it down noisily. “There were voices. ” “Try to breathe normally,” Shane instructed. “They were real! ” “Of course we believe you,” I said. ” Pate’s face burned bright red. He wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. “They were whispering to me. They said no. ” He groaned. ” He scrambled to his feet, knocking over the metal chair. ” “We need a few minutes to take down our equipment,” Shane said.
He ran a hand through his hair. ” I tried not to look at the little bruise on Noah’s neck. It was the size of a thumbprint, and midnight-black in color, almost like the stones on my bracelet. I knew how he’d gotten it, but I didn’t understand why, after more than four months, it still remained. The other bruises had faded after a couple weeks, but this one refused to disappear. “He’s strapped in as tight as I could get it,” Shane announced when he returned from the execution chamber. “Good,” I muttered.