Author's notes: So sorry this episode took so long. It turned out to be a lot harder to write than I expected, for a variety of reasons, and I'm still not particularly happy with the end product. But the challenge now is whether I can finish the season at all in a reasonable amount of time, and so unfortunately the quality/quantity balance may have to shift a bit in the coming episodes.
Acknowledgements: This episode is dedicated to Brent and Anja. You know why.
Part One
Teaser
*Linkin Park's 'With You' plays*
"Hey, guess what?"
"What?"
"I love you."
"Thanks. I love me too."
"Faye..."
"Fine, fine. I love you too. I'll see you soon."
"Hey, hold on. How about you stay in Carson? We're going to that restaurant anyway. There's no point you coming back to Rawley for just a couple of hours. How about I meet you there?"
"But I was gonna drive back and see you before the date."
"Don't. Just stay there. I'll come over and meet you in town, okay? Don't come back."
"But I'll be bored."
"Go shop some more. Buy more clothes. I'll leave right now. I'll be there soon and we can go on our date early."
"You sure? I don't mind coming back..."
"Don't. Stay in Carson, don't move, don't get on the highway. I'll see you soon, okay?"
"But Scout..."
"Just don't come back. Don't drive. For me, okay? We'll have our date tonight, it'll be great."
"I guess I could shop for another couple of hours..."
"Awesome. Just stay at Carson. I'll come find you."
"All right. I'll see you soon."
"See you soon, Faye."
And Scout Calhoun opened his eyes.
I woke up in a dream today
To the cold of the static, and put my cold feet on the floor
Forgot all about yesterday
Remembering I'm pretending to be where I'm not anymore
A little taste of hypocrisy
And I'm left in the wake of the mistake, slow to react
Even though you're so close to me
You're still so distant, and I can't bring you back
He stared up at the ceiling. The semi-dark pervaded the room like a dust cloud, and he turned his head, glancing at the curtained window. Beyond it, he could see light, just a glimmer of it, the sun rising from the lake, heralding the start of yet another day.
The days came and went. The sun rose and sank back down, and sometimes he was here, in this bed. Sometimes he was elsewhere, walking, talking. He must have eaten in that time also, though he couldn't remember the particulars of it, the precise sequence of events.
There were people at those times, trying to talk to him without much success. Mostly there were just looks, covert ones as though he couldn't see. The details were insignificant. He turned his head again, listening to his roommate's soft breathing. Hamilton Fleming was sleeping. It was 5am; most people were sleeping.
He couldn't remember if he had slept or not, either. Sometimes there were conversations, with himself, with her, and they made sense, and they made him happy, and they made things different. Was it possible to dream without sleeping? He found himself in a brief moment of lucidness, thinking about this as though he belonged on the outside, looking at the situation as a problem to be solved. As though he were reading a story about somebody else's life.
He blinked, and the world went out like a light, and just as easily it jumped back into existence, and it was as though he had never left. Or that she never did.
He was still right here, still in this time, still in this bed.
Sometimes, he thought that she was here also.
It's true, the way I feel
Was promised by your face
The sound of your voice
Painted on my memories
Even if you're not with me
I'm with you
Time passed. The light grew brighter. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, or closed them sometimes, though again he couldn't be sure he had slept. Time wasn't linear here: there was him, and there was her, and then there was eternity.
He could hear Hamilton stir, the gentle creaking of bedsprings. A moment later there was a heavier sound on the floor as Hamilton got to his feet. There was a quiet shuffle toward the closet door.
With you - now I see
Keeping everything inside
With you - now I see
Even when I close my eyes
Scout moved of his own accord. He found himself sitting up, planting both feet on the floor. The wood parquet was cool against his bare skin, and he paused for a moment, dropping his gaze.
"Hey man," Hamilton said, tentatively. He turned away from the closet mirror, halfway through putting on a sweater, one arm stuck through the wrong sleeve. It seemed as though he was trying to look and not look at Scout at the same time.
Still staring at the floor, Scout didn't reply. A moment later he got to his feet, tugged a pair of jeans over his boxers and zipped up his Rawley sweatshirt, and he walked out the door.
Behind him, Hamilton looked on.
I hit you and you hit me back
We fall to the floor, the rest of the day stands still
Fine line between this and that
When things go wrong I pretend the past isn't real
Now I'm trapped in this memory
And I'm left in the wake of the mistake, slow to react
Even though you're close to me
You're still so distant, and I can't bring you back
It was down the hall, then, and down the stairs. There were guys milling the halls already, dashing between their rooms and the shared bathrooms, getting ready for the day ahead. Was it a school day? There was a five in seven chance, he supposed. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at his bare feet as he descended the stairs. Vaguely, there was a sense of people watching. Looks of uncertainty, of sympathy, and of discomfort. There seemed to be a bubble of silence around him; not so much emanating from him as an effect of him; when he passed they grew quiet and withdrawn, looking at him with a mixture of rue and what seemed, oddly, to be a kind of respect. As though what had happened to him was something of merit, worthy of recognition. He averted his eyes and strode down the stairs two at a time.
It's true, the way I feel
Was promised by your face
The sound of your voice
Painted on my memories
Even if you're not with me
I'm with you
Early morning sunlight flooded the entrance hall. As he reached the foot of the stairs he saw Paige Bennett, half-kneeling near the opposite wall. She was a strange and beautiful sight: clad in a rose-coloured skirt and caramel cashmere sweater, a cascade of dark curls tumbling down her back.
There was a brief moment, one that he felt acutely, like an electric shock. There was another cashmere sweater once upon a time. Violet, to match her eyes.
He stood still, watching Paige as she got to her feet and stepped back. There was a low table set by the corner of the hall, heaped with cards and flowers: predominantly white ones, lilies and roses and, in stark contrast, a bunch of blood-red carnations. She would have loved those the best.
And above all that, a picture in black and white. Smiling, of course. They wouldn't have had it any other way.
With you - now I see
Keeping everything inside
With you - now I see
Even when I close my eyes
As he watched mutely, Paige turned, meeting his eyes. For a moment panic streaked across her face, a look of being caught off guard, of not knowing what to say. With a sense of mild surprise he registered that this was the first time he'd seen her after all that had happened. Where did she go? Where had he gone?
He stared at her for a moment longer before he shook his head and moved on. Out of his peripheral vision he could see her take a step forward before she faltered and, like Hamilton, merely watched as he walked away.
He hadn't quite reached the centre of the hall when he saw them.
No, no matter how far we've come
I can't wait to see tomorrow
Ryder Forrest and Josh Sutherland emerged from the opposite wing, their footsteps falling neatly into sync. Dark glasses obscured their eyes, which should have looked comical in the early morning, but didn't - perhaps given the context of things. Scout stopped, looked, and they looked back.
For the first time this morning it felt like he was being seen. Not as a symbol of what was and what could have been, not as a figure of pity or of respect, but him. He could sense himself lifting his chin in greeting.
Josh raised his hand. In the light he was extraordinarily pale, as though he were made from frosted glass. Beside him, Ryder gave a slight nod, and despite the sunglasses Scout could see his expression, the look that must have been there in his eyes. They understood. Of course they would.
He didn't speak to them, however. He merely turned away once more, walking toward the open doors, the light flowing across the treetops like quicksilver.
He stepped outside and lifted his face to the sun.
No matter how far we've come
I can't wait to see tomorrow
With you
Part Two
*Opening credits and theme song*
Rawley Boys' Academy
It was mid-morning, sunlight as clear as spring water spreading across the quiet hallways. Most of the kids were already in class.
"It's good to meet you at last," said Finn as he strode into the main hall with another man in tow. "I'm sorry it had to be under these circumstances. I want you to know... I would like to extend to you my deepest sympathies."
"Thank you," Edward Forrest replied, barely glancing in Finn's direction.
He was a distinguished-looking man, rather older than Finn had imagined. In the grave lines of his face Finn thought he could see something of Ryder, and certainly both father and son had a standoffish air that was hard to imitate. The resemblance to Faye was harder to pin down, but it was there nonetheless. The Forrests all seemed to have a particular way of carrying themselves, as though they were always the most important person in the room at any given time, and they knew this to be true.
He wanted to say all this. Speak about things that mattered, speak about her in a way that would let the other man know how much she had meant to all of them, her vivaciousness, her endearing oddities, her brutal honesty. But all those things must come later. She was his daughter; Finn was briefly glad that he couldn't understand the immensity of it, even if he had wanted to.
"Thank you for accepting my request to be put up here," Edward said. "My only other option being the bed and breakfast in town, I couldn't bear the thought of being in such close proximity to my former wife." There was a wry smile. "She's not exactly fond of me."
Finn chose to ignore the latter part of the comment. "It's no problem," he said, opening the door to his office. "We're just happy we could help."
Edward nodded again, his gaze shifting toward the interior of the room. There were four chairs set out in front of the desk, three of which were occupied. As they entered the others looked up.
They all seemed to be hiding something. Their reactions were uniformly and carefully blank, their eyes flat and reflective. Two of them got to their feet.
"Ryder, Joshua," Edward said, nodding at the boys, who after a moment sank back into their seats. Almost as an afterthought he added, glancing at the third person, "Nessa."
Vanessa Archer still looked young enough to be taken for Ryder's sister. Still more disconcerting was her uncanny resemblance to Faye: while Edward carried the distinctive Forrest air, Vanessa was the one who had the face. She was wearing oversized Gucci sunglasses, her blonde hair tucked into a demure ponytail. The fresh-faced resemblance was astounding and, Finn couldn't help thinking, just a little morbid in the course of things. It was doubtful that anyone would have told her as much, though. He couldn't think of a crueller way to twist the knife.
"Edward," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. There was a moment of silence.
Finn looked from one person to another, wondering whether to break the lull. He didn't know what he had expected - what did normal families do? Hugs? Tears? When Vanessa arrived three days ago to meet with Ryder, there had been both. But with the arrival of Edward there had been a palpable shifting of power; it felt as though they had all been turned to stone.
He was just about to clear his throat when Ryder spoke, his voice low. "Thanks for finally deciding to turn up, father."
"I told you," Edward said, "I had a business arrangement that I simply couldn't get out of. I got here as fast as I could."
"It's been four days."
Edward glanced at Ryder. "It's not like I could've done anything if I'd gotten here sooner."
Ryder stared at his father, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair. Before he could say anything, however, Josh leaned toward him, discreetly placing one hand over Ryder's.
With a glance at Josh's imploring gaze, Ryder swallowed and exhaled quietly, giving an almost imperceptible nod.
There was a trace of a smile on Josh's pale lips. He gently gave Ryder's hand a squeeze before he leaned back in his chair, casting a sideways glance toward Vanessa.
"It's just like you, isn't it?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Our daughter is... is... and you just stand there looking like it's another business appointment. How do you live with yourself, Edward?"
"Don't be so melodramatic," he said, the muscles in his jaw tensing.
"How can I not?" she exclaimed, her voice rising. "Just look at you! You'd think... you'd think nothing happened! Do you even care, Edward? Are you even...?"
"Of course I care," he interrupted her, his eyes flashing. "I'm merely pointing out the fact that there's nothing to be done now. Surely even you can see the logic of that statement, Nessa. Or did you think you could bring her back somehow with your... little displays? Is that it? Is that doing anybody any good at all right now?"
"God!" she shouted. "Are you even human? How can you sit here and say this to me?"
"Shut up, both of you!" Ryder exclaimed. "I can't listen to this!"
"Ryder..." Josh murmured, exchanging a panicked glance with Finn.
"Show some respect," Ryder spat, not looking at either of his parents as he got to his feet and made for the door. "In case you've forgotten, we're not here because of either of you. So when you finally decide to deal with something other than yourselves for once, you let me know."
The door closed behind him with a sharp click.
***
Edmund High
Jake Pratt sat in the computer lab, staring blankly at the screen. It was last period, and she was supposed to be finishing up her lab project for computer science, but she hadn't been able to make herself even touch the keyboard in the last half hour.
"Hey," Spencer Harrison said, pulling up a chair, and when she didn't respond, tapped her on the shoulder.
She jumped. "God, you scared me."
"Must be some project," he nodded at the screen, giving her a small smile. "You didn't even hear me talking to you."
"Uh, yeah," she murmured, staring down at her hands.
"Look," he said after a moment. "I heard about what happened. With your friend."
She glanced at him sharply, narrowing her eyes.
"This is a small town." He shrugged. "People find out, even if she didn't go to our school. Listen, I'm really sorry. It must be hard for you."
"Thanks," she murmured.
"You all right?"
"More or less," she gave him a shaky smile. "It's only been four days."
He nodded, looking thoughtful. The bell rang, and she got to her feet. "Listen," she said, "thanks for... you know, talking to me. I gotta go."
"Where are you going?" he stood up. "Come on, I got something to show you."
"I can't," she said regretfully, glancing at her watch. "I gotta meet Hamilton in town."
"This will only take a minute, I promise," he said. "And who knows? It might make you feel better."
"I don't know..." she said, checking her watch again.
"Come on, Jacqueline. It'll be worth it."
She looked at him. There was a teasing grin about his lips, a tiny quirk to his brow as though he already knew her reply.
"All right," she said begrudgingly, with a slight smile in return. "But just for a minute."
"Great." He grabbed his book bag in one hand, tugging on her sleeve with the other. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" she exclaimed with a small laugh as he dragged her out of the classroom and into the hall, dashing past the flood of students coming out of the classrooms. "Spencer..."
"Just follow me," he called over his shoulder, holding insistently onto her sleeve. With a resigned sigh she followed.
Moments later they cleared the crowd and approached a door in one of the side halls. "Roof access," he said with a smile, fishing a key out of his pocket and unlocking the door. "Come on."
"Where'd you get that?" she asked as he closed the door behind them and they made their way up the interior stairwell. "Students don't have access to the roof."
"Let's just say I have friends in odd places," he grinned. "Come on. You haven't been up to the roof, right?"
"No," she admitted. "I've been up on a roof. Does that count?"
"At Rawley?" he glanced at her. "I hear that's the designated making-out spot or something. You went up there with Hamilton?"
"As a matter of fact, yeah, but it's not what you think... what are we doing up here?"
He opened the door that led out onto the roof, letting in a bright flood of sunlight. "I got something to show you," he said simply, pulling her through the door.
This roof was not unlike the roof over at Rawley: a flat expanse of concrete with waist-high barriers around the outer rim. No satellite dishes, but then again, she didn't exactly expect it from Edmund. The sky overhead was a flat, glowing blue, reminiscent of a freshly-painted ceramic bowl. The sun was still high in the sky, slanting to the west in the start of its slow descent.
"So what did you want to show me?" she asked, looking around.
"Just this," he gestured toward the sky.
She glanced at him, raising an eyebrow.
"A pal of mine passed away a couple of years ago," he said, dropping his bag on the ground and walking toward the low wall that ran around the edge of the roof, overlooking the entrance of the school. "I came up here a lot after that."
"I didn't know," she murmured. "I'm sorry. Was it... sudden?"
"Yeah," he shrugged, looking out over the campus grounds. "It was a blood clot in his brain. One minute he was hanging with us and we were watching videos and having pizza, and the next... well, you know."
"I'm so sorry," she said again, tentatively taking a couple of steps forward.
"Don't be. I'm not."
She glanced at him, furrowing her brows.
"That's why I brought you up here," he said quietly, not looking at her. "I want you to understand something. My pal - Jimmy - he was having a great time. He had just gotten his SAT scores back and they were miles better than he'd thought. He'd just gone on a couple of dates with this really great girl and we were all teasing him about it, but you know he was happy. Life was good for him. And from what I hear, that's what happened with your friend too."
She gave a small, uncertain nod.
"On the one hand, you can think of this like some great tragedy," he said, still not looking at her. "There was so much Jimmy could've done, his life was all out there in front of him, and it was so good. But he went away before he could really enjoy any of it. But you know what I figured out? There's nothing better than the thought. Just knowing that your life is out there for you, knowing that you're gonna be happy. I can guarantee you the thought of it is gonna be better than the real thing when it comes along."
"That's... pretty cynical," she said dubiously.
"It's the truth," he said quietly. "Listen, after Jimmy died, I... freaked out. I did a whole bunch of stuff I'm not proud of. But in the end I did figure something out, and it's that I shouldn't be sorry that he died. I could feel sorry for his family, his friends, myself... all the people he left behind. But the one person I can never feel sorry for, not anymore, is Jimmy himself."
"Spencer..." she murmured, biting her lip.
"We all die, Jacqueline," he turned to her, his eyes a deep hazel in the bright light. "And he died in his most optimistic moment, when his life was about to open up in front him with all this happiness. That's not a waste or a tragedy, Jacqueline. It's awesome. When I go, I want it to be like that. No pain, no warning - just let my life stay at that freeze-frame where I'm looking forward to all the possibility in the world. I can't think of a better way to go."
She nodded slowly, raising her face to the sky. The words made a certain amount of sense, though at the same time the logic seemed oddly flawed, though she couldn't pinpoint why. She could feel him still gazing at her, slightly inquisitive.
"Do you..." he paused. "Do you... get it? Or am I just being really, you know, weird?"
"Yeah," she said after a moment. "I mean, I understand. Or I think I do."
He gave her a small smile, and she couldn't help smiling back.
***
The diner
The waitress popped a plate of fries down on the counter. "Butterscotch sauce on the side," she said cheerfully, winking at Pagan Leigh and Grace Banks before she hurried to serve another customer.
"I'm starving," Grace exclaimed, tucking into the fries with relish. A couple of mouthfuls later she swallowed and looked up, turning to Pagan quizzically. "You not eating?"
He shrugged, picking up a fry. "I dunno. It just feels... weird."
"Since when?" she dipped a fry in the butterscotch sauce and popped it in her mouth. "I thought we had a tradition going."
"No, I mean now," he said, lowering his voice though there was clearly no need. "I mean... with the accident and... stuff."
She swallowed her fry, glancing at him. He looked - if that was even possible - more serious than usual, deep unease crossing his eyes like storm clouds. She fought the urge to reach out and smooth the frown line from his brow.
"You know what I mean?" he asked. "It's like... I feel bad about it. Not cos I feel particularly bad for her, cos, you know, I never really knew her. But still, lots of people did, and they're all upset, and it feels like we shouldn't be sitting here... just eating, you know?"
"I know exactly what you mean," she said with a sigh, pushing the plate away. "It's like, you don't feel bad that she died. You just feel bad that you're not feeling worse."
"Exactly. I mean, look at Bella. She's completely broken up about it."
"Tell me about it." She stared glumly across the street, where Bella Banks sat on the front steps of the gas station, staring down at the dirty chamois in her hand as though she had never seen it in her life. "You know, watching her makes me feel so guilty. God, is there something wrong with us?"
"I don't know," he echoed her sigh. "Michael's freaked out, you know. He hasn't been to class in days. I mean, is that how I'm supposed to react? I just... I just don't feel that much, you know? Does that make us bad people?"
"Maybe," she said gloomily. "Who says we aren't?"
"Hey," he straightened. "Isn't that...?"
She turned to see a tall blond boy stride up to the gas station, a rucksack slung over one shoulder. Bella jumped to her feet, nearly bowling him over as she dove into his embrace.
"David, I forgot he was coming today," Grace murmured, watching her sister beginning to sob again into David Stephenson's shoulder.
"I thought he still had class at NYU."
"He does. But he's the Perfect Boyfriend." She couldn't help a small roll of the eyes. "He's taken time off school to come be supportive."
Pagan was still watching as Bella and David made their way into the gas station. "That's nice of him."
"Yeah, like I said, the perfect boyfriend. He probably knows exactly what to say, what to do..."
"How to feel," he finished for her. They exchanged a morose look and went back to staring at their fries.
***
Hamilton ran up to Jake as he saw her emerging from the entrance of Edmund High. "Where've you been?" he asked. "I thought we were meeting at the diner."
"Sorry," she apologised, fighting the urge to look back at the school. Spencer was still on the rooftop when she left. "I got tied up."
"Oh." He glanced at her. "Anything important?"
She shrugged. "Just... school stuff."
It wasn't that she intended to lie to Hamilton. But she could remember all too clearly the petty squabbles they got into over Spencer, and it simply wasn't something she wanted to deal with. Especially, she mused, when she was in such a good mood. She didn't know whether Spencer's little talk up on the roof was largely sincere or simply put on for her benefit, but either way it worked. Her heart felt lighter than it had in days, and given the context of things, it was an achievement. She smoothed back her hair and looked at Hamilton.
He was staring straight ahead, looking put out. "Okay," he said. "Um... you wanna go to the diner? Get something to eat?"
"Sure," she gave him a small smile, linking her hand through his. But as they set off toward the centre of town, she couldn't help stealing another look at his sullen expression.
Part Three
Rawley Academy
Will Krudski sat beside the boathouse, his knees drawn up to his chest. It had grown cooler in the afternoon, the sun lending light but precious little heat to the day. He stared out over the lake, the clear rippling water, the groups of kids hanging by the docks; the picture seemed familiar beyond measure and, at the same time, like nothing he remembered. It was as though when she was taken from this time and this place, she left a space behind her, a kind of ripple effect that immersed itself through reality as he knew it.
Yet, when he looked for the changes, he didn't find much of anything at all.
"Penny for your thoughts," a girl said behind him.
He froze. It almost seemed, in that instant, that he could have been conversing with her; that she had materialised out of thin air and come to absolve him for all the things he wished he hadn't said and done. But that fear and hope dissipated even before he had turned around. He, like all others, was no stranger to brief flights of fancy these days. And like them - most of them, he suspected - he knew better than to let it grab hold.
Nevertheless he was surprised. "Maria!" he exclaimed when he turned around, scrambling to his feet. "When... how...I thought you were...?"
"I just flew in," said Maria Ishizuka, giving him a wistful smile. "Finn called me a couple of days ago."
He barely had time to nod before she stepped forward and hugged him. The act was without preamble or pretence, and he found that he didn't expect it even though he should have, and he only managed to return the hug briefly before taking a step backwards, pressing his back against the boathouse wall. Slowly, he slid down again, patting the ground next to him without quite looking in her direction.
She took a seat beside him. "How you holdin' up?"
He merely shrugged, returning his gaze to the water.
"I tried to drop by Scout's room earlier, when I got in," she said meditatively. "But no one answered the door."
"He's probably in there. Hasn't been talking to anyone though."
"Why don't you talk to him?"
He turned slowly, giving her a measured look before he turned away again.
"I can't bear it," he said at length, training his eyes firmly on the distance.
She was silent. She hadn't changed much from the last time he'd seen her, most of her piercings still gone, with just one lone blue streak running through her long black hair. Her clothes were slightly tamer also: a pair of black jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt with Japanese kanji scrawled across the chest. She was still wearing her old sneakers, the ones that she kept having to duct tape because they were falling apart. And that had been... what? Half a year ago? He was suddenly and forcefully struck by the linear sense of time; the fact that they did not know, and would never know, what could be just around the corner. Somehow one always assumed that people would live forever, or something close to thereabouts.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked quietly.
He managed a wry smile. "Your shoes."
"As long as you have your priorities straight."
He glanced at her again, chewing on his lower lip.
"Will?" she said softly. "I'm worried. About Scout. About you too. Are you... are you all right? Do you need someone to talk to? I... I just feel so helpless here."
"Join the club," he sighed, and they fell into silence once more.
***
Ryder's room
Josh let himself inside Ryder's room without bothering to knock. "Hey," he said quietly.
"I couldn't stay in there," Ryder said. He was standing at the window, staring out over the grounds. "You know that."
"I know," Josh said softly. He closed the door behind him.
Ryder sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and slumped down on the bed. "I just thought they'd..." he said, swallowing. "Not now. I don't know what I expected."
Josh sat down beside him. "I know."
Ryder didn't speak for a long while. Finally he turned, his gaze roving over Josh's withdrawn features. "You look tired," he said.
Josh shrugged, lowering his head.
"You should get some sleep."
"I'm okay," Josh murmured, and even as he said it he stifled a yawn. He glanced at Ryder, looking caught out.
"You should sleep," Ryder said again. After a pause he looked away, adding, "You think I haven't... you think I don't notice that you've been putting me to bed these three days, and not getting any sleep yourself?"
Josh swallowed, averting his eyes. "I've slept."
"Not properly," Ryder said, his voice carrying just a hint of brusqueness. "The favour goes both ways, Joshua. I'm not the only one who needs taking care of."
Their eyes met. Ryder kept his steady; he wasn't going to take no for an answer. Josh must know this too - his gaze was wavering, with a hint of brightness that Ryder had become familiar with. It was as though Josh had just enough in him to hold the tears back, but not quite enough to not let it show. Ryder secretly wondered how he'd be able to do that at all; not break down without some sort of cathartic cleansing. God knew where he would be right now if Josh wasn't here that night, in this room, standing in the doorway like a thing forged from half crystal and half steel, telling him to let go of that jagged piece of glass.
"Okay," Josh finally said, getting to his feet. "I'll be in my room..."
"You'll be here," Ryder interrupted, gesturing at the empty bed. "Where I can keep an eye on you."
Josh gave him a measured look, but didn't say anything as he sat back down on the bed and, after a moment's hesitation, lay down on his side, drawing his knees up to his chest.
Silently Ryder drew the covers over him, all the time aware of his own breathing, the rhythm of it, falling erratically in and out of sync with the beating of his heart. Josh gave him a wan smile and closed his eyes.
Ryder drew back, and, after a moment's hesitation, went to his dresser. He looked into the mirror, but his gaze travelled past his own reflection to Josh, tucked away in a corner of the bed, one hand balling around the sheets as though it were a lifeline.
Ryder looked away, though not without difficulty. Walking quietly across the room, he sank into his desk chair and leaned back, glancing out the window. The sun was beginning to set: the sky was golden-pink, the colour of ripe apricots, fading into faint mauve around the edges.
He closed his eyes, trying to breathe it in. All of this, the moment, the colours and the light, the gap in his world as tangible as the world itself, the fact that Josh was in this room with him, trying to sleep.
And right now that seemed like comfort. Or the closest he could get, given the time and the place.
Someone knocked on the door suddenly, jerking him out of his reverie. Glancing at the bed, he saw that Josh was pulling himself up. "Stay," Ryder said, sounding more commanding than he had intended. "I'll get it."
It was his father at the door. "Gregory," he said, and if he noticed Josh on the bed he didn't give any indication. "Please. We should talk."
Ryder leaned against the doorframe and gave him a cool look. "You ready to talk now?"
"Let's not make this difficult," Edward said, his voice low. "It's a bad time for all of us. We just choose to express it differently. You ought to know that."
Ryder cast a brief glance over his shoulder. Josh looked back, his expression uncertain.
"Fine," Ryder said, turning back to his father. "Let's go for a walk."
Edward lifted his chin a fraction, which was probably the closest he got to any sort of direct acknowledgement. Without another word Ryder walked back into his room, grabbing a light jacket from the back of his chair. "Stay," he murmured to Josh as he passed. "Try and get some sleep, okay?"
Josh nodded. Ryder smiled faintly and departed, pulling the door shut behind him.
***
Hamilton paused outside his room, glancing back at Jake. "I never thought it'd be weird going into my own room," he said ruefully. "But... he's always there. During the day, I mean. I dunno what I should be doing. I don't know if I should talk to him, or if I should be bringing him food or..."
"What does Finn say?"
"Finn," he gave a short laugh. "He isn't exactly the best judge of these things either. He's walkin' around, calling the parentals, arranging god knows what, so he doesn't have time to stop and think about everything that's happened. That's how he deals, I suppose."
She gave him a funny look. "You've thought about this."
He didn't look at her as he turned the door handle. "What else is there to think about?"
The inside of the room was dank, the dense, sickly smell of ill ventilation rushing forward to greet them as they entered. Jake couldn't help wrinkling her nose as she leaned back against the door, squinting against the sudden darkness.
"Scout?" Hamilton asked uncertainly, advancing to the immobile shape on the other bed. "Scout, we just wanted to see if... if you needed anything. Food? We could grab you something from the dining hall."
There was a quiet shuffling as Scout turned his head, glancing wearily at his visitors.
Scout remained supine, giving them a shrug, or as much as he seemed able to manage before he turned away again, staring up at the ceiling. His eyes caught the light from the curtain cracks; there was a soft gleam to them, as though the light were shining from underwater.
Hamilton waited, exchanging a look with Jake. When it became apparent that Scout wasn't going to speak, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Look," he said. "We're worried about you. Not just us... I mean everyone. We really want to know how you're doing, what we can do to help..."
Scout didn't reply.
"Scout, man, talk to us."
Still, there was only silence. Scout only continued to stare up at the ceiling; he may as well been a statue had it not been the periodic blink of his eyes, the soft rise and fall of his chest.
"All right," Hamilton said finally, defeated. "Look, we want you to know... we're really sorry, man. We can't imagine what you're going through. But if you wanna... talk, or do anything... we're here. Me, Jake, Will... everyone."
Scout turned his back on them.
Hamilton bit back a frustrated sigh and looked at Jake again. She shrugged, looking half confused and half like she were about to cry. With a soft shake of his head he wrapped an arm around her and turned to go.
"Scout?" she said over her shoulder, one hand on the door handle. "Don't shut us out. We're here if you need us."
There was no reply.
***
Edward and Ryder followed the winding path beside the lake. There was a light breeze, just enough to stir the glowing water under the setting sun, but neither of them noticed.
"I see he's staying with you now," said Edward after a long lull, not looking at his son. His voice carried a deliberate blankness to it, but Ryder could tell the weight of his disapproval in the way he squared his shoulders, in the slight purse of his lips.
Ryder had expected nothing less. In fact, he had expected a whole lot more. This, for his father, was a rare exercise in restraint. "Yes," he said shortly. "We're all tired, and he needs to rest."
"You know that's not what I'm getting at."
"And you know as well as I do that you shouldn't be 'getting at' anything at all. As far as I'm concerned, father, you no longer have a say in my personal life."
"Yes," Edward said. "You'd made that rather clear the last time I was here."
Ryder saw no need to reply. He looked out over the lake again, the ripples touched with rich burnished gold. Unbidden, a wave of sharp pain crashed over him, as though all his nerve endings had been scrubbed raw. Even now, days afterward, there would be moments that he could swear nothing had changed; that she could still see the beauty in these things as well as he could. It made no sense for it to be otherwise; it made no sense that he'd be the one who could still see the gold-tipped water, the nacreous evening sky.
"I'm making arrangements," said Edward. "To take her body back to England with me."
Ryder swirled around, his mouth falling open. "You can't be serious."
"What seems to be the problem?"
"You can't!" Ryder exclaimed, his melancholy forgotten. "What about mother... the funeral's organised, we've chosen the plot already, you can't just swoop in and..."
"I don't swoop," Edward interrupted. "I wasn't aware there had been other plans made. Surely you didn't think I'd leave her here? She's my only daughter. We have a family plot for a reason, Gregory."
"I think she made it perfectly clear when she gave up your name that she wanted nothing to do with you or your family plot."
"Well, it's not exactly up to her now, is it?"
Ryder stared at his father. "What?"
"That was... that was uncalled for," Edward said slowly, swallowing. "I apologise."
There was a peculiar stinging sensation behind Ryder's eyeballs, and he jerked his gaze away. "Look," he said, his voice thick. "You're not taking her anywhere. End of discussion."
"It most certainly is not," Edward said. Despite the momentary lapse, he seemed no less set toward his way. "She's a Forrest, no matter what - who - she claims herself to be. And I will take her when I leave. You are to cancel your plans."
"Like hell I will!"
"Gregory," Edward's voice was steely. "Don't be so bloody insolent."
"You think I'm only doing this to spite you?" Ryder exclaimed, whirling on him. "I'm doing it because I know she wouldn't want it!"
"Oh? And what does she want, exactly? What have you chosen that you think will be so perfect for her?"
Ryder swallowed. "Here," he said quietly. "Mother and I talked to the board. They have agreed to subdivide the grove of trees just behind the school grounds over there, not too far out from the lake. We'll put the plot there, maybe a small monument of some sort, or a garden. She'd like that."
"You're burying her at school? That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Ryder set his jaw and simply glared. Edward looked back, the lines around his mouth visibly deepening.
"You're not her legal guardian," Ryder said, at length. "Mother is. And it'll be a cold day in hell before she lets you..."
"Oh, I daresay let isn't the right word," Edward said, his eyes narrowing. "Your mother isn't exactly a strong-willed woman, and you know that as well as I do. She'll come around to see it my way."
"You mean you'll force her."
Edward looked at him. In the light his eyes were a flat grey, devoid of discernable sentiment.
"I won't say this again," he said finally. "You are to cancel your plans. There will be a small service here, to appease her friends, but then I'm leaving and I am taking her with me. That's final."
With that, he strode on ahead, leaving Ryder staring after him.
***
The boathouse
"Wow," Maria said quietly.
Will barely lifted his head. "What."
"Look." She pointed to a spot halfway across the lake. Ryder stood there, talking to an older man in a long overcoat. "That must be their dad. He's here."
"What did you expect, Maria?" He gazed at her, the expression in his pale eyes faintly accusatory. "Of course he'd be here."
"Well, I'm glad he's here," she said softly. "Family should be together right now. They need each other."
"And walking away is clearly the best way to do that," he said.
She looked just in time to see Edward turn his back on Ryder, striding away. They watched in silence as, a moment later, Ryder looked up, stuck his hands into his pockets, and departed in the other direction.
"We all bear our sadness alone," Will said again, with a peculiar smile, as he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
"Why are you doing this to yourself?" she demanded. "God, Will, just talk to me. I come back here and everyone's like ghosts. No one talks. No one even..."
"No one even what, Maria?" he exclaimed, his eyes flying open. "What should we be doing? She's gone, we can't bring her back, and..."
He broke off. She could see him biting down hard on his lip.
"Words are useless right now," he said finally. "Everything's so useless. Even if I knew what to do and what to say - and I don't - I still don't know what you can do with them. I just... I just wish..."
She waited, but he fell silent. "Just wish what, Will?" she prompted gently, hugging her knees to her chest.
"I know this is stupid," he said after a long silence. "But I can't help it. I've been sitting here, not talking to Scout or anyone else, not because..." He sighed. "Well, I know I should be doing something else. I shouldn't just... fall apart like this."
"No, Will..." she began to protest, but he gave a small shake of the head, cutting her off mid-sentence.
"No," he said. "You don't understand what I mean. And I know it's crazy, and it's stupid to beat myself up over it, but I still do."
She frowned. "I don't know what you're saying."
He swallowed, dropping his gaze. "I think it's all my fault," he said quietly.
"What? Will, no, it wasn't... how can you even think that? It was nothing to do with..."
"I think I was falling in love with her."
She looked up sharply, but as she met his eyes she could not think of anything to say.
"It still doesn't make it your fault," she said at length, and her voice sounded faint to her own ears, like it was coming from very far away.
"Yeah, well," he shrugged, averting his face as he dragged the back of his hand across his cheek. "I know. I just... I can't help it. I can't help thinking I'm getting punished. All the stuff I've done for the past two or three years... I did a lot of wrong things. And maybe this is God's way of letting me know how much I screwed up, you know?" Burying his face in his hands, he shook his head. "I knew I wasn't supposed to have feelings for her and... maybe this is his way of telling me to..."
"Will," she interrupted, a little brusquely. "Stop that. Just... stop it. It's not your fault and you know it, and you have to stop beating yourself up over this."
He glanced at her, blinking away tears. "I just feel so guilty."
"Well, don't," she exclaimed. "God, Will, this isn't about you, okay? This thing - it's a lot of things to a lot of people but for god's sake! It isn't punishment for you liking her! If what happened to her is punishment, God certainly didn't do this to punish you, so just... just get over it!"
He looked at her, hurt and apprehension crossing his face like a tide.
"Get over it," she said, though not unkindly. "Will, we're all hurting right now and god knows I'm not knocking that. But don't make it out to be your fault when it's not, okay? Just don't. There's enough pain going around as it is, we don't need this on top of it. You don't need it on you."
He stared at her for a moment longer, his lower lip trembling. Turning away abruptly, he buried his face in his hands, letting out a strangled sob.
She shuffled closer and placed an arm around his shoulder, holding him wordlessly as he finally broke down.
Part Four
Ryder's room
When Ryder got back to his room, he found the curtains partly drawn, a mist of fine orange light filtering through the drowsy warmth. Josh was curled up on his bed, fast asleep.
He closed the door behind him, very gently, and leaned back on it, pressing both his palms against the smooth wood grain. The air felt still and restless at the same time, something that shifted and breathed with him as he stared at Josh's sleeping form.
The look in Edward's eyes stayed with him. It was a plane then, a coffin and a show devoid of meaning, a lengthy process back to England, the family crypt where she neither wanted nor needed to be.
He stood there in the fading light, with his life spread out in front of him: all of it, present in this room, with the possibilities and the worst yet to come. It felt like things were finally breaking apart in the quietness. She was gone; not just gone but soon her body also, shifted across continents, carried beyond the land and the sea and laid to rest where she did not belong, where she didn't want to belong. And all this time he would be here, and even though he understood he wouldn't be alone, that in itself posed a new kind of risk, a sense of encroaching inevitability. Almost inadvertently he found his gaze straying to Josh once more.
For a singular, panic-stricken moment it seemed entirely possible that Josh, too, had stopped breathing. Once again he could have been in that cold, sterile room, looking down at that lifeless face, and he could almost hear the cracking now, here inside of him, like thawing ice floes coming apart.
Wrenching his gaze from Josh, he turned and yanked open the dresser drawer, rummaging through its contents. He found what he was looking for within a matter of moments: a pair of small scissors, slightly blunt from the ill-fated business venture where he and Joe tried to cut up several boxes of Cuban cigars, but it would serve its purpose. Tensing his jaw, he looked up at his reflection and began to cut his hair.
It wasn't full of rage like he'd envisioned somehow. It was solemn and measured, the way he wanted it to be but didn't think himself capable of. But apparently he was. It seemed that his body understood the significance of this, more than he had trusted it to. He watched his hands, methodical, full of gravity, cutting away his untamed hair lock by lock.
He was so preoccupied he didn't hear Josh stirring behind him. "What are you doing?" Josh asked, sounding alarmed. He sat up. "Ryder?"
"D'you wanna help me?" Ryder asked as he continued cutting. After a moment he added, avoiding Josh's gaze in the mirror, "I'd like you to."
Josh sat very still, his hand worrying a fistful of bedsheets. His eyes were extraordinarily bright.
"Okay," he whispered, getting to his feet.
Ryder watched him in the mirror as he approached. For a minute they stood there, studying each other's reflection in the dying light: Ryder in the foreground, Josh behind his left shoulder, slightly indistinct.
"Here, let me," Josh said, his voice husky. He reached over and took the scissors, his hand briefly closing over Ryder's own. Ryder was semi-surprised at the warmth of it; he'd always remembered Josh's hands as being ice-cold. He slackened his grip.
Josh moved to stand behind him, his teeth tugging slightly on his lower lip as he began to cut Ryder's hair from the back. "It's going to be a little uneven."
"I'll get it fixed later."
Josh nodded and continued to cut. Ryder kept his eyes on Josh's reflection, the tense line of his profile softening. The room was silent except for the light snip of the scissors, and the sound of their quiet breathing.
***
The gas station
Charlie Banks passed David the salad over the dinner table. "How long are you staying for, son?"
David glanced at Bella. "As long as I'm needed," he said, with a wistful smile in Charlie's direction. "I hope that's not too much of an inconvenience."
"Please, you're more than welcome." Ostensibly Charlie was talking to David, though his gaze seemed to be firmly trained on Bella, who had her head down, aimlessly pushing her food around her plate. "We've got the living room couch all set up for you," Charlie continued. "And if there's anything you need - if you're feeling hungry at night, just help yourself to whatever's in the fridge..."
David, too, seemed to be paying more attention to Bella than he was to the conversation. "Thanks, Mr. Banks," he said quietly.
Charlie gave him a small smile. "I thought we got over the 'Mr. Banks' business a while ago."
David chuckled. "Thanks, Charlie."
"Well, that's settled," Charlie pushed his empty plate to one side. "Bella?" he asked softly. "Baby? You wanna go get the dessert?"
She looked up blankly, as though she had forgotten where she was. "Oh," she said. "Um... I think I'm just gonna skip dessert, if that's okay."
Charlie nodded. "Of course."
"But I can serve it if you want," Bella jumped to her feet, glancing at the others. "It's this really nice apple pie dad got at the new deli, David, you should try it, um... I'll bring it."
"Don't worry," David placed a hand over hers, halting her in her steps. "I'll get it. You just head on upstairs."
She gave him a brief, grateful look before turning to Charlie. "Dad?"
"Of course," he said. "Whatever you need."
"Okay," she murmured. "I'll be... upstairs if anyone needs me."
The others were silent as she ascended the stairs to her bedroom. David and Charlie shared a glance, the look in their eyes startlingly familiar, both in the worry and in the understanding.
Grace looked from one, to the other, and then back to the empty stairway. "Yeah," she said as she got to her feet. "So I'm gonna go get the pie."
***
Ryder's room
Ryder stared into the mirror: his hair was very short, almost shorn to the scalp. He seemed like something else now, hardened and angular, a force less easily reckoned with. He recognised that the change wasn't entirely external.
"Will's mom can fix the rest of it," Josh said softly, looking at his reflection.
"But you understand why I had to do it myself... or let you do it."
"Of course."
"Good," Ryder said and tilted his head. "I look like one of them East End football hooligans."
Josh cracked a small smile. "Yeah, you do."
"You know," Ryder said after a moment. "Father wants to take her back to England."
Josh glanced sharply at Ryder, his eyes a sudden, piercing blue in the waning light. "What are you going to do?"
"What I have to."
Josh nodded, leaning across Ryder to put the scissors away.
Ryder was very aware of their closeness, the quiet charge in the air between them. A surge rose up in his chest, simultaneously of sadness and of longing. He lowered his head, just a little, hoping to catch Josh's eye. But Josh drew back quickly, turning from him and striding to the open window. There was only faint light coming from the sunset now, a narrow strip of gold playing across his face as he looked out over the quad.
"I'll have to talk to mum first," Ryder said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the dresser. "Make sure she doesn't cave. She hates him, but he's right - she won't be able to stand up against him if he's set on getting his way."
"Do you think you can convince her?"
"I'm his son, aren't I?"
Josh looked back over his shoulder. Ryder met his eyes, letting a tiny smile float up to the corner of his lips.
"I'm not gonna let him take her away," he said. "She stays here with us."
Josh didn't speak. The light in his eyes grew slightly brighter, like pinpricks of flame.
"She's with us," Ryder repeated, taking a step forward. He didn't take his eyes off Josh. "You'll support me?"
"Always," Josh whispered. But as he gazed at Ryder a shadow crossed his face, and it seemed to speak of loss and despair above other things. Ryder stared at him; Josh merely lowered his eyes and turned away.
***
The gas station
David knocked quietly on Bella's door. "Hey," he said. "It's me. Can I come in?"
There was no answer. He sighed, adjusting his glasses. "Come on, Bella," he said to the door. "What am I here for, huh?"
There was another moment of silence before the door opened; Bella stood behind it, with one hand on the handle and the other clutching a fistful of Kleenex. "Come in if you have to," she said thickly, blowing her nose.
He put his arm around her as she closed the door. "Hey," he said softly. "How are you holding up?"
"I'm sorry." She attempted a watery smile. "I didn't mean to leave you alone down there, and I didn't mean to... hole up by myself... crying..."
He merely tightened his hold as she began to weep again. "God, look at me," she exclaimed, letting him guide her to a seat on the bed. "I can't... I don't even know what I'm crying for anymore. It's been days and... god, I feel so stupid."
"You know it's not stupid," he said quietly, kissing the top of her head. "Of course it isn't stupid."
"No one else is acting like this. Like me. Like some stupid girl. I mean, look at Grace, look at Jake..."
"Jake isn't exactly the best example of a normal girl," he gave her a faint smile. "And Grace didn't know Faye like you did. You know that. So why don't you tell me what the real problem is?"
She lifted her head, looking semi-accusatory. "Are you saying I'm making this up?"
"No. I'm saying you should be feeling sad, and you shouldn't be feeling guilty about it, but for some reason you are, and I don't know why."
"David," she said with a sigh, dabbing at her eyes. "Why don't you just go and be a psych major or something?"
He laughed softly. "Think I should. Might supplement the starving artist plan one of these days."
She managed a small smile as he smoothed her hair back and planted another kiss on her temple. "Feeling better?" he asked.
"I just don't understand it. I don't know if I want to understand it." Another tear rolled down her cheek even as she attempted another smile. "I mean, look at me. I've been a crazy mess ever since... ever since we heard. Everyone's handling this better than me... god, even Scout's handling it better than me, and..." she trailed off, wiping away another tear. "What's wrong with me, David? I start crying every time someone even brings up her name and it's just... why am I, of all people, the one who's acting like this? Am I just... weak? Or too much of a girl? I don't... I don't understand why I seem to be the only one still hurting here..."
"Everyone's different, Bella," he said. "Just because they aren't crying doesn't mean they're not hurting."
"But why do I have to be the one acting like a crazy person?"
"If it's any consolation, I still like Bella the Crazy Person."
She couldn't help a small giggle. He smiled back, leaning in for a light kiss. "That's my girl," he whispered. "Bella, it's all right to feel like this. You know it, right?"
"Yeah," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, I guess."
***
Susan Krudski's house
"How are you feeling? You've been quiet all day," Hamilton said as he leaned in toward Jake on the front porch. The lights were on, casting a faint yellow glow over her features. He took one of her hands in his. "God, your hands are freezing."
"I'm okay," she said lightly, looking over her shoulder at the front door. "It's late. I should be getting home."
"I could stay... if you needed to talk or something..."
She glanced at him. "I'm fine, Hamilton."
"But... don't you wanna... talk?"
She shrugged, looking over her shoulder again. "Not really."
"Jake."
"Look, Hamilton," she sighed, turning back to him. His eyes were shadowed in the dim light; she could only make out a glint of blue, a measure of apprehension. "I don't need to talk," she said. "Okay? I just... I just want things to be like how they've been. To keep going."
"But..."
"I don't need to be coddled," she said firmly. "And right now I just... I can handle things on my own, okay?"
His fingers slipped from her wrist. "I just wanted to be here for you."
"After all this time," she whispered, "you still don't understand that I don't need that?"
He stared at her. She looked back, biting her lip. "Look," she said. "Hamilton, I didn't mean..."
"No, I understand," he said, the sound of his voice like the dry rasp of leaves. "And I wonder why I keep trying."
"Hamilton," she said, exasperated, as he started turning away. "Don't do this. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have said that..."
"Nah, it's cool, whatever," he said, his back to her. "This is how you deal with things, fine. I guess I'll just see ya when I see ya."
"Are you mad at me?" she asked plaintively, wrapping her arms around herself. "Look, I don't mean to push you away, it's just that I..."
She could see his shoulders slumping forward. "Maybe," he admitted. He half-turned; his lashes were cast downward, his profile shadowed. "But it's cool, right? We all just need..."
"Time," she finished for him, swallowing. "Yeah. I mean, I do."
"Like I said, I'll see ya when I see ya."
She felt like she should have said something else, done something to repair the damage already done. But she only found herself watching him walk slowly down Oak Street, merging quietly into the night. With a sigh she turned into the house.
She found an email waiting for her when she turned on her laptop. It was from Spencer. Despite the long day, she couldn't help a tired smile. He had sent her a zip file of MP3s, with a small note that he'll see her tomorrow. No measure of special sympathy, no additional words of comfort.
She opened the music files, plugged her headphones into the laptop, and closed her eyes. Everything else would have to come later.
***
"I'm glad you're back," Will said.
The night had fallen completely as he and Maria walked toward the bed and breakfast at the centre of town. He was wheeling his bike, and she walked alongside him, her hands stuck deep into the pockets of her jeans. The wind stirred her hair forward, shielding her eyes from view.
"I mean," he continued. "Of course... I wish you didn't come back because of this, but... I'm glad you're back anyway."
She nodded slowly.
"How long are you staying for?"
"I dunno."
He fell quiet, stealing a glance at her.
"Will," she murmured. "How is Scout? I mean, really? Have you tried talking to him at all?"
"Everyone's tried talking to him," he sighed. "At one time or another. But he either ignores you, or he just shrugs it off like... like nothing's happening. And," he glanced up guiltily, "it didn't help, me being the way I was. I didn't exactly try very hard. God, I just don't know."
"We'll talk to him tomorrow," she said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "Just hang out, try to help any way we can. I can't imagine what he must be going through. He needs to be around people who care about him."
"Yeah," he gave her a weary smile. "That sounds good, Maria. It sounds like what he needs."
***
The gas station
Later that night Bella padded down the stairs.
The moonlight pooled on the wood-panel floor, a silver smear of it, lighting her surroundings just enough for her to see where she was going. It was dark, but David's sleeping form in one corner of the living room was a shade darker still.
"David?" she whispered, walking closer. She could feel the heat of her skin through the thin nightgown, and her heart was pounding. She'd thought this would be the case, though she was also surprised at the immediacy of the situation, the way it would feel unexpectedly odd. She walked closer.
A soft sleepy noise, and then an alarmed rustle. "Bella?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. "What's up? Why aren't you in bed?"
She licked her lips as she sat down on the edge of the couch, rubbing her bare arms. "Hey."
"You wanna turn on the light?" he asked. In the darkness she could hear him reaching over to the coffee table, fumbling for his glasses.
She caught his wrist. "No," she murmured, linking her fingers through his. "David, I..."
"Bella...?"
She didn't let him finish. Instead she leaned in close, threading her fingers through his tousled hair as she kissed him, softly at first, but with an underlying sense of urgency. Her other hand travelled over his worn cotton T-shirt, across the fraying seams at the collar, trailing lightly over his chest. She could feel him start to pull back but she held on, wrapping one arm around his waist as she slid up against him, pushing him back against the pillows.
"Whoa, whoa," he demanded, flicking on the lamp. He didn't look at her as he reached for his glasses and put them on. "Bella," he said. "I don't think... this isn't the right time."
"Can't you just kiss me?" she murmured, pressing forward again, running a hand down his cheek. "I don't want to talk."
"That's what I'm worried about," he said, leaning away once more. "Bella, I know what you're going through, and I know you want to do something about it, but... I'm not sure this is the right time. Or the right reason."
"For once I wish you'd just stop thinking," she sighed. "David, you're my boyfriend, not my therapist."
He just looked at her.
"I'm feeling really bad right now," she murmured. "I don't want this psychoanalysis, and I don't want you acting like this..."
"Like what?"
"Like you're so distant. You're so far from me and I need you here. Can you do that? Just... be here for me?"
The look in his eyes softened. "Bella," he said, "I didn't mean to..."
"So just shut up and kiss me."
"I just don't want to do anything you'll regret."
She leaned in, taking his glasses off and placing them back on the coffee table. "Who says I'll regret it?" she murmured, kissing him again.
"Bella..." he sighed against her lips. "I..."
"You like me, don't you?" she whispered.
"Of course I do, but..."
"And you want to?"
He couldn't help a soft chuckle. "Again, I'd have to say of course. But this isn't about that..."
"Well, I want to, too," she kissed him again, letting her fingers run down his side and holding back a smile when she saw him half-close his eyes, looking as though he were fighting for control. "With you. It would mean something, believe me. You don't have to worry about that."
"I'm trying really hard to be the one with some semblance of self-control here, Bella, I just don't think this is such a good..."
She kissed him again, drawing her legs up off the floor as she slid into his lap, letting her hands trail down the small of his back. She could hear him stifle a sharp intake of breath and smiled against his lips, reaching over to turn off the lamp.
"Oh, hell," he whispered as the light went out.
Part Five
Hamilton and Scout's room
Rawley Lake was still in the early morning, enveloped in a thin veil of mist, conjuring up images of smoke and mirrors. The sun had just risen above the horizon, carrying with it a pale peach haze, slowly spreading into the surrounding darkness. It looked like the beginning of another glorious day.
Scout couldn't remember if he had fallen asleep sometime during the night. He only ever recalled the generalities, never the specifics: day came and he got up and walked around. Sometimes people talked to him. Sometimes he went to class. Then night would come and he would lie down in bed and stare up at the ceiling. Sometimes, perhaps, he slept.
It was all very simple, really.
Light was seeping through the edges of the curtains, pale gold and fluid. He watched its advance with mute disinterest, listening to the sound of Hamilton's even breathing.
***
The gas station
The door creaked open. Bella shuffled into the room, hugging herself in the early morning chill and glancing quickly at Grace's still form in the other bed. Chewing on her lower lip, she quickly stepped to her side of the room and slid into bed, pressing one hand to her burning cheek.
She had barely settled in when she heard the creaking of bedsprings and froze. Grace had turned to face her, her eyes wide open.
"You're awake?" Bella murmured after a moment of silence, wearily closing her eyes.
"Yeah," Grace replied shortly.
Bella swallowed. "For how long?"
"A while."
Bella glanced at her sister, chewing on her lip again, and couldn't think of anything to say.
"You were down there with David, weren't you?"
Bella turned away, tucking her blanket beneath her chin. "Yeah. So?"
Grace gave an impatient sigh. "Bella, I'm not six years old. I know you weren't exactly down there playing Scrabble."
Bella didn't reply.
"So?" Grace prompted. "Did you... I mean, you know?"
"That so isn't any of your business, Grace."
"Fine. Just thought I'd be nice, you know. I was worried about you. Guess I shouldn't have bothered."
"I guess you shouldn't have," Bella said, petulantly, as she tucked her legs up to her chest, turned her face to the window, and closed her eyes.
***
Edmund High
"Spencer! Hey, Spencer!" Jake called as she ran after the tall boy, dodging a group of kids who were streaming out of class. "Hey," she said again as she caught up with him, swinging her bag over her shoulder.
"Oh, hey." He gave her a sideways smile. "What's up?"
"I just wanted to say thanks. You know, for the email and the music."
"No problem," he grinned. "It's not like I had to do much."
"Still, it meant a lot. So thanks."
He nodded, tossing her another grin over his shoulder. "So what are you doing this afternoon?"
"Not much. Hamilton's got this project he's supposed to be working on, so he's staying behind at school..."
"I'm shocked. That whole diner thing not happening today? I thought the cheeseburger and milkshake with the boyfriend deal was the highlight of your day. How are you gonna cope?"
She gave him a dirty look. "Only you can make it sound so awful."
He laughed. "Just making observations. Hey, since you're free this afternoon, you wanna go hang? Somewhere else, I mean? We could hit the big music store over in Carson, be back before nightfall. I gotta buy a new pair of headphones. The ones I've got are only working in one ear; 'superior stereo performance' my ass."
"I dunno. Hamilton's sort of mad at me and maybe it's not the right time..."
"He's stuck at school," he said sensibly, "so why waste your afternoon? I mean, if he's mad at you, you could get him something, smooth things over. He likes music, right?"
"Yeah, he plays guitar," she smiled. "He has this embarrassingly huge obsession with Third Eye Blind."
Spencer quirked an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "It's a date, then. I'll see you after school and we can drive over. I gotta head to class, see ya."
"See ya," she grinned as he walked away, watching him raise his hand in a lazy salute.
***
Rawley Boys' Academy, docks
Scout sat on the edge of the docks, dipping his hand idly into the lake. It was late afternoon; the water was warm to the touch, and if he concentrated hard enough it almost felt like skin. A shadow fell across him and he didn't bother looking up.
"Scout," Finn said, sitting down beside him. "We gotta talk."
Scout didn't answer, raising his head to squint out over the water.
"Look, I called your parents."
Scout almost turned, but thought better of it. He dropped his gaze.
"I'm worried about you. We all are. You're not showing up to class, we can all understand that, but..." Finn sighed. "I'm just not sure Rawley is a good place for you right now. I think you might cope better at home, at least for a little while. Spring Break is coming up soon anyway, and I talked to the Dean and we both think it might be better if you went a little early. Your dad agreed. He's tried calling you, but your phone's not switched on and... he's coming to pick you up."
"When?"
Finn darted a quick glance at Scout, drumming his fingers on the floorboards. "I said you'd want to be here for the, uh, funeral. So he's gonna come in a couple of days, stay until afterwards, and then you two can go home. Your mother is already on her way."
Scout nodded, and without another word got to his feet, beginning to walk toward the dormitory.
"Scout?" Finn called from behind him, his voice shaded with uncertainty. "Is that... all right?"
Scout merely shrugged and went on his way.
As he was coming up to the hall, he could see Will and Maria coming down the stairs. Fluidly, without seeming as though he was changing course at all, Scout took a turn and instead wandered away from the main door, sticking his hands in his pockets.
But he wasn't quick enough. "Hey, Scout!" called Maria as she spotted him, running up with Will closely in tow. "Hey," she said again. "I'm glad we caught you."
He turned and gave her a brief, bright smile. "What's up, Maria?"
She looked so taken aback that he had an overwhelming urge to smile at her expense. The sensation was odd; it felt like he was remembering something he had forgotten years ago. "We were..." she murmured, exchanging a glance with Will. "We were just wondering how you are. And, oh," she seemed to suddenly notice the small box she was carrying, and she handed it to him, looking self-conscious. "I baked. M&M muffins. Thought you might want to... I dunno. You might be hungry or something."
"Muffins, awesome," he said, turning away. "Super. Thank you so much."
"Scout," Will said, taking a step forward. "Please. Stop acting like nothing's wrong. We want to help you."
"There's nothing to help with, Will," Scout said. "I'm fine, okay? So just leave me alone."
With that, he turned on his heels and stalked away, clutching the box of muffins.
***
The gas station
When Bella got home in the afternoon, David was sitting at the counter, helping Charlie clear the till. "Making yourself right at home, I see," she teased lightly as she set her book bag down by the door.
"He's been helping out all day," Charlie said with a chuckle. "Bella, better watch it. Your boyfriend has no life."
"Yeah, because there's so much to do in New Rawley," she laughed, winking at David. He smiled back, albeit uncertainly, and she caught the look. A shadow flitted across her face, too quickly for anyone else to see.
"Got me there," Charlie laughed, patting David on the shoulder. "Go on, son. I'm sure you two have better things to do than stay here. Thanks for all your help today. Really, you didn't have to."
"It was my pleasure," David said, stretching his legs as he came out behind the counter. "Hey," he said, kissing Bella on the cheek. "So what do you wanna do now?"
"Let's go up to my room," she said, tugging on his hand. "Come on."
Once upstairs, Bella flopped on her bed and pulled David down with her. "Hey," she said again, more silkily this time, as she leaned in for a proper kiss.
"I didn't really get to talk to you this morning," he said as she pulled back. "You left in a hurry."
"Yeah, I was running late."
"So..." he glanced up. "It wasn't because of... last night? I mean, you left so quickly..."
"Shh," she said quietly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "It wasn't because of that. Last night..."
"I mean, are you okay?" he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I... I want you to remember this as something good, not..."
"I'm okay," she smiled, kissing him again. "I'm great. It was good. Really good."
She could feel him relax under her touch, palpably, as though he'd let out a breath he had been holding all day. "Good," he said. "Because I don't want you to look back at last night and regret it. I don't want that at all."
"You're so cute," she whispered, kissing him again. "We're good, okay? Don't worry about it."
He beamed, drawing her into a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in his clean scent of soap and aftershave. Her lips had curved up into a soft smile, but at the same time there was a hint of melancholy in her gaze, which she was careful not to let him see.
***
Rawley Boys' Academy, Finn's Office
"What's going on here?" Edward Forrest demanded as he strode into the room, looking around at the people already there. "Nessa?"
Vanessa Archer was sitting in a chair, massaging her temple as she glanced wearily toward the corner of the room. Edward looked up also, exasperation crossing his face as he saw Ryder and Josh standing there. "What now?" he snapped.
Ryder's new haircut accentuated the look in his eyes, a mixture of calm and steely resolve. "You're not taking her," he said, stepping forward. "And that's the end of that."
"We're not having this conversation again," Edward said. "You've already lost, Gregory. Don't make this more painful than it has to be."
"Like you even feel what I'm feeling," Ryder spat. "She loved this place. She was happy here. You're not taking her away from it."
"It's not your decision."
"You're right," Ryder said, with a glance in Vanessa's direction. "It's not. It's hers."
"Nessa," Edward said, without looking in her direction. "I'm getting mighty sick of this. You've agreed to this already. Now please tell the boy to cut his nonsense."
"I'm not a boy, mother," Ryder said quietly. "And you know this."
Vanessa lifted her head with a sidelong glance at Edward. "Look," she said with a faint sigh. "I just want this to be over, okay? Don't drag me into this. I can't deal with it."
"You agree to him today, and then what?" Ryder asked, taking a step toward her. "You send Faye back to England, to be buried in the family crypt, and you know she doesn't want that. It's not a place any of us would want to rest - it's not where she'd want..."
"Don't you dare," Edward exclaimed, his eyes flashing. "You think you're the only one who cared about her? She's my daughter, for God's sake..."
"So why don't you start acting like it?" Ryder exclaimed, his fists balling at his sides. "Get over yourself for one second, father, and look at what you're doing to us. To her. You're not taking her away, that's final. God help me, you'll have to step over my dead body to get to her!"
"And what? Leave her here like the rest of you?" Edward shouted, finally losing his composure. "You even stop to think what it's like for me? You are all here, nice and cosy and goddamnned American, but at least you're still a family. What the hell am I? Where do I fit into this? When I go back to England, what will I have with me? Nothing, Gregory. I have nothing."
The others stared. Edward's face was very white, his eyes darkened to stormy grey, and he took one step forward, for a moment looking as though he could destroy anything that stood in his way.
But Ryder looked back at him defiantly, not moving at all.
"I have no wife," Edward said, sounding suddenly tired beyond measure. "I have no son, and my daughter... my daughter is dead. If I don't take her with me, if she's not with me... then what is there left for me? Can you answer that?"
Vanessa had looked up, her eyes shining with tears. Behind Ryder, Josh pressed a hand over his face, turning away.
"I get that," Ryder said quietly. "You don't think I do, but I do. But father, this isn't about you. This has never been about you. It's what she wants - what she would've wanted. You have to understand that."
Edward didn't answer.
"You do, don't you?" Ryder said. "We're all here, dad. Don't you think that counts for something?"
Edward swallowed, turning away. "Nessa?" he asked after a moment, his voice thick.
"She would like it here," she whispered, discreetly wiping the corner of one eye. "She has friends here."
"What about in two years? Three? Five? When they're all gone?"
"It would still be her home," Ryder said. "More than anywhere else she had called home. And..." he glanced toward Josh. "That goes for us too. This place is home."
Josh only looked back for a moment before he averted his gaze, blinking back tears.
"Edward?" Vanessa asked quietly.
Edward stood still, his spine very straight. He had always been clean-shaven ever since Josh had remembered him; but now Josh could see shadowed stubble on his chin, the same haunted look in the eyes. In this moment, standing face to face here in the fading sunlight, Ryder and his father seemed indistinguishable from each other.
"Fine," said Edward, meeting Ryder's eyes. "We'll do it your way."
Ryder nodded. Josh could see his throat working, though his face remained largely impassive. "The funeral will go ahead as planned, then," he said. "Saturday."
"Saturday," Edward said. He turned to Vanessa. "Shall we go, then? I'd already arranged for flights and... I must make some cancellations."
She glanced back at Ryder, who gave a brief nod. With slight hesitation she got to her feet and followed Edward out the door. "I'll, um," she murmured, "call... soon. About the details."
"I'll deal with it," Ryder said. "I'll let you know."
She nodding, glancing at Edward. He, however, did not look back as he let her out and pulled the door shut. Josh could hear the sound of their footsteps echoing down the hall.
"Ryder," he whispered. "I..."
Ryder nearly stumbled. He took a small step forward, reaching for Finn's desk, his hands shaking. "Joshua," he said, his voice very faint, almost pleading.
Josh strode forward, taking hold of his arm. "Sit down," he instructed, steering Ryder toward Vanessa's chair. Ryder, however, grabbed hold of him instead, his fingers digging into Josh's shoulder with an intensity that made Josh wince. Ryder seemed to be leaning his full weight on him; when Josh looked up, he saw that Ryder's eyes were shut tightly, as though he couldn't bear the sight of the room any longer.
"Ryder?" he asked quietly, straining to keep both of them upright. Ryder's grip on him had slackened, though he did not let go completely. Josh eased him into the chair, removing the hand from his shoulder and grasping it with his own hand instead. "Ryder," he said again, watching the ashen face in front of him, the inscrutable expression behind closed lids.
Ryder opened his eyes. Josh could feel the hold on his hand tightening. "I'm all right," Ryder said hoarsely. "I just... needed a moment."
"Yeah, I'm not surprised."
"So that's done." Ryder's voice was very quiet.
"It's done," Josh said. A moment later he removed his hand from Ryder's grip and stood up, walking toward the window. "So what's next?" he asked, his tone strangely light as he averted his eyes once more.
Ryder watched him, an oddly resolute expression flitting across his face.
"Everything that needs to be done," he said.
***
Susan's house
It was nearly nightfall when Hamilton trudged up to Susan's house. He knocked on the door, rubbing his eyes. What with the semi-fight with Jake last night, and staying after school to finish a difficult history project, it had been a long day.
It was Reese Alexander, new art teacher at Rawley and Susan's other boarder, who answered the door. "Oh, hey Hamilton," he said. "Come in. We're just in the middle of dinner. I wouldn't suppose you want to join us?"
"Thanks, but no," Hamilton smiled. "I'm just here to hang with Jake."
"Jacqueline's not home," Reese said, looking at him quizzically. "She called earlier to say she's staying in Carson for dinner. Didn't she call you?"
"No," Hamilton said, with a sinking feeling in his chest. "What's she doing in Carson?"
"She's there with a classmate, shopping or something," Reese said. "Sorry, I thought you know. Did you wanna come in?"
"No," Hamilton said slowly. "No thanks. Did she say who she was with?"
"Um, yeah... let me think... Bender? Renter?"
"Spencer," Hamilton offered, his voice dull.
Reese clicked his fingers. "That's it. She's in Carson with Spencer. She said she'd be back in an hour or so. You could wait in her room if you want."
Hamilton shook his head and turned away. "I'll just go."
"Do you want me to tell her you dropped by?"
Hamilton hesitated, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Yeah... I dunno. I don't really think she wants to know I've been here."
"Hey," Reese said, coming out onto the porch and closing the door behind him. "Hamilton. I know it's not my place or anything, but... is it okay if I say something?"
Hamilton hesitated. The thought of his art teacher offering romantic advice was a novelty, one that he wasn't entirely sure he welcomed. Still, the situation seemed uncomfortably like one where he was backed into a corner. "Sure, I guess," he said unenthusiastically.
"She's dealing with it in her own way," Reese said. "I mean, we all are. And... maybe that means distance for her, you know? Some space, room to breathe."
Hamilton nodded. He had known all this, of course, not least when Jake told him point-blank last night, practically word for word. "Yeah, I know," he said shortly. "Thanks, Mr. Alexander."
He had begun to walk again when Reese spoke behind him.
"And what about you, Hamilton?"
Hamilton looked over his shoulder. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, how are you dealing with it?" Reese hadn't bothered to turn the porch lights on; he was standing almost entirely in shadow, and Hamilton couldn't see his face. "It's good to know you're here for Jake, but Hamilton, you've got to think about yourself too. You gotta know how this affects you."
Without quite realising it, Hamilton found himself staring at the ground. "Yeah," he said quietly, trailing into silence.
There was a pebble on the sidewalk, and he nudged it with the toe of his sneakers. "Mostly I'm just freaked out," he muttered. "At how quickly I'm becoming okay with this. I'd be totally fine, you know? I could go for practically hours without thinking about it. And then I'd suddenly remember and I can't believe I could've forgotten that she..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I just don't know what to think. I can't believe I'd forget, even for a moment. It freaks me out."
"It makes you wonder if you're not a good person?"
"Yeah," Hamilton said, still toying with the pebble. "Yeah, that's it. Am I crazy?"
Reese just looked at him. A light breeze swirled over the street and Hamilton shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.
"I think it's natural," Reese finally said. He walked down the porch stairs and came to stand beside Hamilton. "In fact, I think it happens a lot more than you would expect. Maybe it's just our bodies' way of dealing with stuff like this. You can only bear what you can bear, and everything else... well, that's where the guilt comes in."
"So..." Hamilton's voice was faint. "I'm not a bad person for... forgetting? Because I want to feel bad about it, I really do. I can't believe she's gone and sometimes when I think about that too hard I... I can't handle it, but most of the time I think about it and I'm fine, but I don't wanna feel fine... it's too soon... it's too soon, right?"
"What do I always tell you when I look at your photography portfolio, Hamilton?"
Hamilton bit his lip. After a moment he glanced at Reese. "To trust what I feel, not what I think makes the most sense."
"Exactly," Reese said, lifting his eyes to the night sky. "Never underestimate the power of what you feel, and how different that might be from day to day. If you need to cry and scream, then by all means, cry and scream. But if you feel nothing, then don't feel guilty about feeling nothing. It's all part of the process. It's how we deal. It's life."
Hamilton nodded slowly, swallowing. "Thanks, Mr. Alexander," he said finally, shoving his hands further into his pockets. "Sorry for interrupting your dinner."
"It's all right," Reese smiled, training his gaze on Hamilton. "Glad we talked."
"Will you... will you tell Jake I came looking for her?"
"Of course."
As Hamilton walked down Elm Street, his feet thudding lightly across the sidewalk, he couldn't help looking back. Reese was still standing in front of the gates, staring into the unseen distance.
Part Six
Rawley Academy
"Our father, which are in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done; in earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil: for thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen."
The day was very bright. There had been a light smattering of rain the night before, which had cleared up into a cloudless blue sky. A breeze stirred through the grove of trees on the side of the lake, just off the edge of campus.
Many of the kids from school had turned up, and a fair few that Josh didn't recognise. A lot of Edmund students also: Sean, Grace, even Joe, the guy who ran the underground poker games. Jake, standing solemnly beside Hamilton, her fingers laced lightly through his; and Bella, crying quietly into David's shoulder. Josh didn't remember much of it; even as he stood here the faces had already faded into a nondescript blur.
He didn't cry. Nor did Ryder. Scout, standing at the edge of the crowd with his parents on either side, merely looked thoughtful as he watched his friends and classmates go up to the podium and make small, inarticulate speeches, in turns rousing a smattering of appreciative laughter or more tears. More than once, Josh caught Finn looking in Scout's direction, the look in his eyes deeply troubled.
But that, too, was only a snapshot that seemed of no consequence. He was only really aware of the coffin laid out in front of them, the silent presence of Ryder beside him, and the light scent of early spring violets in the air.
He was the last to approach the podium. Ryder and Edward had both declined to make speeches, and when he had asked Vanessa she only fixed him with a blank stare, as though appalled that he could even think of such a suggestion.
"Um," he said, lifting his head but not daring to raise his eyes to the crowd. "Thank you for coming. I was going to make a speech, but then I realised I didn't really know what to say, or..." he forced a small smile, "if I'm gonna cry or... you know. So I'm just..."
He trailed off, taking a deep breath. "She's always told me that this song is what she wanted to be played at her funeral," he murmured. "And when we were joking around she always told me I'd have to play it, with my band or whatever."
Even though he didn't look up, he could sense the crowd shifting. There seemed to be vague confusion, a few turned heads. The band members were all here, of course, Bella at the front and Alex and Emily further back, but there would be no performance today.
"She told me this," he continued. "And I always said yes. But I think we underestimated the impossibility of it. How cruel it would be."
He hadn't meant to pause there, but he could sense something rising upwards from his chest, a dense, stifled feeling, and he found himself unable to breathe. The whole scene seemed suddenly ludicrous, the show of it, the pointless gestures no matter how well intentioned. He felt the sun showering down on him like a spotlight, cold and unrelenting. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and he wasn't sure if he said it loud enough for anyone to hear, or whether he had said it at all. "I'm sorry, I..."
Ryder stepped forward to the podium, smoothly, going to Josh's side. Josh looked up, fully aware of the panic that must have been in his eyes, the faltering words that he would not have been able to get out. But Ryder merely placed a hand on his shoulder and looked back. In the glassy light his eyes were the same shade as the sky: pure unadulterated blue, at once tender and boundless.
"So I'm sorry, Faye," Josh said, tearing his gaze from Ryder's and turning back to the faces. The lump in his throat had eased, and although he could still feel the tightness in his chest he found himself able to speak once more. "Sorry for not being able to provide live entertainment today like you wanted."
There was a round of faint laughter, and beside him, Ryder gave a tiny smile. Josh glanced at him briefly as he turned toward the stereo behind them, and Ryder's hold on his shoulder tightened, just for a moment, before he let go.
"Anyway," Josh said, and he looked up at Ryder even as he spoke to everybody else. "Here's the song. I think it'll say all the things that we want to say - that she would want to say - that I can't put into words. It's called Lucky."
He pressed Play without taking his eyes off Ryder. Here was music; here was the sun and the sky and the other pallbearers coming forward from the crowd: Edward, Finn, Will, Hamilton; yet in that moment he seemed incapable of joining them. He was aware of himself, staring up into Ryder's eyes, and Ryder was looking back at him. There were words in his gaze, tangible things, shaped from sorrow and regret and, even more than that, from hope and need.
I'm on a roll, I'm on a roll this time
I feel my luck could change
Kill me Sarah, kill me again with love
It's gonna be a glorious day
Here, then, was the culmination of everything he had ever wanted and dreaded in equal measures. Here was death, and here was life, and everything that happened in between. Josh blinked, and he could have sworn that the world broke apart and came back on itself in a slightly different way; it could have been something that was smashed to pieces and carefully glued back together again, and he didn't know if it would ever be quite right.
He exhaled and looked away. The others joined them around the coffin. On the quiet count of three it was lifted, and as the music flared they began to walk.
Pull me out of the aircrash
Pull me out of the lake
Cos I'm your superhero
We are standing on the edge
Scout watched them; he had been asked, of course, to be a pallbearer. He couldn't quite remember what he said now, or perhaps he had never given an answer. Either case, he was here, standing very still, as she moved further and further away from him, surrounded by men - boys - who either knew her very well or markedly less than he did, and he was here, merely watching.
He could feel numbness in his chest, a prickling sensation spreading down and down through his fingers and toes, and the sun was so bright that black spots had begun to dance in front of his eyes. The world was shadows and clarity in equal measures, and he no longer knew which was reality.
"Can we go?" he asked his father, his throat dry.
John Calhoun looked at him, then at his mother. "You don't want to stay until the end?" he asked gently.
Scout shook his head. The last thing he saw before he turned away was the pallbearers walking, still walking toward the plot near the foot of a weeping willow, in paces so slow that it seemed like the act would last forever, and that they would travel forever into the distance, carrying between them the weight and the burden, the girl he loved, what once had been and would never be again.
The head of state has called for me by name
But I don't have time for him
It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck could change
Pull me out of the aircrash
Pull me out of the lake
Cos I'm your superhero
We are standing on the edge
Much later, when he finally looked back on the day for what it was, he would also remember the scent of violets in the air.
We are standing on the edge
***
After the service, Finn approached Will as they slowly walked back toward the dorms. "Krudski," he said, loosening his tie. "How did it go with Scout?"
"It didn't," Will said, looking around. " I wanted to talk to him, maybe give it another shot. But I haven't seen him."
"Maybe he's gone already. I don't know, maybe it'll be for the best."
Will looked askance at Finn. "You really think so? He's not coping, Finn; I don't think he's even cried since... well, you know."
"Well, his parents are taking him back home," Finn sighed heavily. "Maybe it'll be better for him."
"Or maybe it'll be worse," Will said. "What's he gonna do back home? None of his friends are there, and you know his dad's schedule doesn't exactly leave a lot of free time. It's just going to be him in that big house with only his mom for company; I'm not sure that's a good idea, Finn."
"Staying in school obviously isn't helping, either," Finn pointed out. "Look, Will, I get what you're saying. I'm just not sure if there's anything we can do right now."
"There's gotta be something," Will murmured, staring resolutely ahead. "There has to be something we can do."
***
Rawley Academy, docks
Scout stood at the head of the docks, watching the wind stir the water. There was the sound of footsteps coming up behind him, and he half-turned with a disinterested glance.
It was his father. "Your mom's already in the car," he said. "Your bags are taken care of. Do you need anything else from the dorms?"
Scout turned back to the lake. "No," he said. "Nothing."
"I'll just go say goodbye to Finn," John said after a moment. "I won't be long. Maybe you should head on over to the car."
"In a minute," Scout said. "You go."
John nodded and started toward the dorms. A few steps on he turned around again, looking ill at ease.
"Son," he said quietly. "I'm here, okay? Your mom too. We're here for you."
Scout didn't reply. He could hear his father hesitate before turning away, his footsteps thudding across the rickety floorboards.
Looking back toward the water, he saw that the sun had begun to set once more, taking on luminous hues of red and orange, spreading a vast film of fire across the surface of the lake.
He didn't think, or tried not to think. If he turned his head just a little he would have been able to see the grove of trees in the distance still, bouquets of flowers, the fresh grave and the headstone.
But he didn't look. He turned, instead, toward the light; there was a sense of brief and powerful weightlessness, as though he were floating out here between the sun, the water, and the sky.
***
Josh's room
Josh stood at his window, looking over the lake and the solitary figure standing at the head of the docks. The sunlight coated him with a thin layer of gilt, and he was immobile.
There was a knock at his door. "Who is it?" he asked, not turning around.
"It's me," Ryder said as he entered, closing the door quietly behind him. "Just saw my father off. Mum's leaving tomorrow morning."
Ryder stared at him. There was a moment of silence.
"Not quite," Ryder said.
Josh stirred, narrowing his eyes against the light, but didn't turn around. He could hear Ryder starting to walk forward, the sound of his footfalls oddly hesitant.
"There's just one more thing," Ryder said softly.
*Bush's 'Out of This World' plays*
Josh stood very still as Ryder approached him at the window. Even without looking he could sense Ryder's apprehension; it was radiating out of him in waves. "Josh," Ryder said. "I..."
"Don't," Josh murmured, and he turned away.
"Look at me," Ryder said, his voice low.
"What good will it do?" Josh whispered, blinking back tears. "I can't."
"Damn it, Joshua, look at me."
Even though Josh had expected other things, he didn't quite expect the intensity of Ryder's voice, the measure of authority. Swallowing, he turned around, his gaze dragging over every inch of space between them, and it felt like an eternity before he found himself meeting Ryder's eyes.
When we die
We go into the arms of those who remember us
We are home now
Out of our heads, out of our minds
Out of this world, out of this time
"I don't know how to say this," Ryder whispered. "I fucked things up so badly, and I've hurt you..."
Josh could feel a tear spilling down his cheek. He made no move to wipe it away.
"And I know I don't deserve anything when it comes to you," Ryder said, and Josh could see the slight quiver in his lower lip, the obvious and desperate attempt at keeping himself together. "But..."
"Don't," Josh interrupted, wrenching his gaze away. "Just don't."
"I need to," Ryder said, his jaw tensing. "I cared about her. I loved her. And I don't love a lot of things in this stupid world or my stupid life, you know that. And now she's gone."
"Yeah, " Josh murmured, his face crumpling. "She is."
"But at least she knew I loved her," Ryder whispered.
Josh swallowed, making a move as though to wipe his eyes, but he stopped halfway and turned back to the window instead, his throat working as he stared hard into the sun, letting the light explode across his field of vision.
Are you drowning or waving?
I just want you to save me
Should we try to get along?
Just try to get along
So we move
We change by the speed of the choices that we make
And the barriers are all self-made
That's so retrograde
"I've been selfish and stupid," Ryder said, his voice shaking. "Keeping you away like this, trying to pretend it's not real, not letting you know..."
"I can't listen to this, Ryder," Josh interrupted again, his hands clenching around the windowsill. "Don't do this."
"But you don't understand..."
"I understand perfectly!" Josh exclaimed, swirling on him. "Now that she's gone, I'm the only one left for you, and you're only starting to see this and you're finally understanding what that means..."
"It means I need you," Ryder exclaimed, taking another step forward; there was hardly any space between them, his eyes firmly locked on Josh's own. " I know this now. God, I've always known it and you know it too. I can't lose you. I can't."
"I can't lose you," Josh whispered. He could feel himself trembling. "You're the only thing left for me too. The only thing. That's why we can't do this."
"Why?" Ryder demanded, grabbing Josh by the arm. His eyes were dangerously bright, his grip just careless enough to hurt, and in all their years together Josh had never seen him like this: as though everything he ever had were finally spread out in front of him, like one final and dubious hand of cards, and all that was left was waiting for the other player to fold, or else sweep the table clean.
Are you drowning or waving?
I just need you to save me
Should we try to get along?
Just try to get along
Josh could feel tears coursing down his face, but now, like that day at the morgue, it seemed like somebody else was crying. It didn't make sense that this could be happening, that he would be here, and that he would be saying these words. "She's not here anymore," he choked out. "And if we... if we let this happen, sooner or later you're gonna go away, you're gonna leave me here, and then what? And then what, Ryder?"
"I'm not gonna leave!"
"How do I know that?" Josh shouted, losing all semblance of composure. "Damn it, Ryder! How the hell am I supposed to know that? After everything you put me through? How the hell am I supposed to trust you?"
"Because I love you!"
Josh drew in a strangled breath. He could hear the sound of his heartbeat, the sensation of the sunlight washing over him in a tide of gold, and then Ryder had taken another step forward and Ryder's arms were suddenly wrapped around him, and Ryder was kissing him, desperately, as though trying to convince him of this, the one thing that both of them have known forever; should have known forever, because it had been true all this time. "I love you," Ryder gasped against his mouth, and with a jolt Josh realised he was crying too. "I'm saying this now and I know it's too late but I love you so much and you have to know... I have to let you know, I have to let you hear it... God, please let that be enough..."
And it was an odd thing indeed, to be kissed like this, to be crying and drowning and dying all at once, and it was an ending to many things that Josh thought he had known. He couldn't feel his body; it seemed as though he could have been made entirely from light.
I am alive
I'm awake to the trials of confusion create
There are times when I feel the way we're about to break
When there's too much to say
"Tell me that's enough," Ryder whispered. His eyes were amber-gold in the light, his face streaked with tears, and he seemed like someone entirely different, someone that Josh knew better than himself and at the same time not at all. "Damn it, Josh, tell me that's enough for you."
"When it's not enough," Josh murmured, pulling him closer. "I'll let you know."
As he kissed Ryder back, feeling Ryder's arms enclose him with the crushing weight of relief, he could sense the rift they were standing above, the blurring line of division. Here, then, was the inescapable void. Here were unspoken promises. Here was life, and here was joy and pain. Ryder was kissing him, and he was loved, and that was enough.
Of course it was enough.
*Ryder's voiceover starts*
'There's a part of me that's never going to understand that she's not going to be here from now on. But for the first time since all this - maybe even before it all began - I also understand that there might be something after this. Maybe even something to look forward to. Today is the first day of the rest of our lives; right now I'm not sure what that means, but I know I... we... are going to find out.'
We are home now
Out of our heads, out of our minds
Out of this world, out of this time
We're out of this time
Outside, Scout finally turned away from the water and began walking toward the parking lot, a solitary figure in the fading light.
