Bethany Whisper Novels & Stories

Leila pulled up to Christina’s hideaway, the car’s headlights slicing through the frostbitten gloom. The house sat hunched against the snow, a dark silhouette of pine and cold secrets. She’d driven fast—too fast for the icy roads—but when your aunt called with that tone, you didn’t stop to admire the scenery.

Bethany was practically purring, her schoolgirl act back in full swing. Ryder removed his leather jacket, revealing a white T-shirt stretched over his muscles, then he threw a heavy, tattooed arm around Bethany, his thumb grazing the side of her breast with a flirty, practiced ease. "You don't look a day over sixteen, Beth. Last time I saw you, you were..." "Almost nine months pregnant," Bethany giggled, leaning her body into his heat. She was mentally stripping him, oblivious to the fact that while she was talking, Ryder's ice-blue eyes had locked onto her daughter.

My phone buzzed against my thigh for the tenth time, and once again, I ignored it. I don't want to speak to Andre until I had made a solid decision and there is no way I can do that if he's feeding me with bullshit. Almost immediately after my phone rang, it picked up again, distracting me. “Urgh, what the hell?!” I huffed, pulling the phone out of my pocket but instead of Andre's name flashing past the screen, it belonged to someone else that I didn't want to talk to. Bethany. Bethany Moss is a sophomore at our school just like I and Claire.

“To clean my ears. Maybe wash out the nonsense I just heard.” Layla laughed. “Right?” “You shouldn’t say that,” Tristan muttered. “At least he was honest. Better than lying to everyone.” Layla rolled her eyes. “Whatever.” She leaned closer to me then. Her perfume—sweet and heavy—mixed with sweat and dust and the leftover heat of too many bodies. My stomach twisted. “Let’s go somewhere,” she said softly in a whisper. Before I could answer, she laced her fingers through mine and tugged me away from the thinning crowd, pulling me toward the parking lot.

Beth winks at me. Grace motions Beth to the far corner and starts to whisper, “Beth, she’s a very shy young woman and would be best suited with clothes to mimic that”. “Yes darling, I know exactly the style”. That earlier young woman returns with some bottles of water and glasses of some sparkling beverage. She sets the tray on the table between us.

“Nope.” “You’re telling me your psychotic ex-wife is the one who recruited Whitney, coached her through it, and then bailed like a damn coward when it all fell apart?” “That’s the summary.” Beth let out a slow, incredulous laugh. “Well, that’s just real fucking convenient, isn’t it?” From the background came a voice that sounded entirely too smug: “Hey! Watch your language. The baby can hear you.” “Levi,” Beth replied flatly. “I assure you this baby has heard much worse than that—especially when Stacy is—”

Somewhere that held the beginning. And then it came to him — not as a guess. As a certainty. Like a whisper from her soul. She went back. Not to a person. Not to a house. To a place. One only they knew. Hidden. Secret. Sacred. A stretch of water wrapped in trees, so still it looked like glass. A narrow dirt path, overgrown in summer, barely visible unless you knew where to look. A wooden bench, weathered by years, placed under a leaning pine, facing the water. No signs. No markers. Just silence.

She shut them so tight she saw stars against a black field of nothingness. “Please,” she thought. “Please, somebody help me.” Jeannine heard music. It sounded like chimes, tinkling in a light summer breeze. She smelled fragrant, sweet iris flowers and phlox. The earthier scents, the cypress trees, and the bayou. She saw a woman, floating in water, wrapped in vines and roots. “St. Louis No. 1,” she whispered. “You can do it. Concentrate.” Her mother hacked at the old door again and again until a hole formed that would fit her hand and arm. She reached in and unlocked the door.

She sighed as she realized that they were now gone. "Sheshh," she said, looking at her breast. She’s not wearing anything on top aside from her bra. She could see how big it was. She just woke up like this and is still not in the mood to get out of her room, so she told them that she'd catch up later.

Bethany places a glass down in front of me and whispers, “Sorry. She likes to pull that prank with all the newcomers. Here is a glass of water. It doesn’t help much when you have a whole glass dumped down your throat, but it should help a little.” As I continue to gasp for air, I grab the glass and quickly chug down half the glass. The water doesn’t stop the burning, but it does dull it enough that I can finally catch my breath. Bethany sets a large pitcher of water in front of me as I gulp down the rest of the glass. She is a lifesaver. That stuff is horrible.