But when his eyes met Chloe’s, she sensed the same guilt that plagued her.
* * *
Rebecca hadn’t been up Candy Road in years—ten years, to be exact. Shutting her eyes, she imagined her son walking down the same path. The thought made her nauseous. She wrapped two hands around her mouth, forcing herself to breathe through her nose in hopes that it’d get rid of that suffocating burn in her throat.
It didn’t.
One foot in front of the other, she walked across the bridge. It felt so foreign to her. So dangerous. So thrilling. When she reached the center, she leaned over the railing, watching the town like a seagull from above. She couldn’t deny the fact that it was a beautiful view. Wishville was a painting. It didn’t look real.
Her hair spun in the wind like a delicate sheet waving from a clothespin. The breeze was fresh, with a dash of salt. She shut her eyes, listening to the waves below her, feeling the tears seep over her cheeks. “I wish I let you play soccer,” she said. “I wish I didn’t hide those photos. I wish I gave you more space.” She shook her head.
“I wish I didn’t consider you his son. I wish I thought of you as mine.”
The waves drowned out thoughts, leaving her with a clear mind. She faced the LEAVING WISHVILLE sign, staring it in the eye, as her husband and son both had. She took a few steps toward the edge, peeking at the abyss through the trees. She could see nothing there. Just a dark path leading into a world many chose not to know. With a deep breath, she turned away from the sign and wrapped her cold fingers around the bridge railing.
She shut her eyes, clearing her mind of all thoughts. Her arms trembled in the chilling air, leaving her body numb, and her mind empty. Her head was a mass of indescribable colors, floating around as indescribable shapes. She let the colors soak her mind as she planted her right foot on the railing, opened her eyes, and took a final breath.
It was so bright.
So colorful.
So warm.
And she wished it could last forever.
CHAPTER 36
hartfield
Benji floated in a thick fluid. With numb nerves he tried to move, but could feel nothing. He couldn’t tell whether his eyes were open or closed. Either way, he was positive the air must have been dyed black.
An oval of vision formed in front of him, the splattering of darkness inching away from his eyes until he could see. In that moment, all that existed was a room of white walls, and a blinding light fixture hanging above him. Gazing into the bulb, a warmth overcame him that later morphed into a burning sensation. His brain thawed, and his nerves slammed back into place. He realized he was lying on a stiff bed, his body covered with a single sheet.
The room was not only white, but close to empty. There was nothing but the bed, a fluffy pillow, a door on the right, and a window on the wall across from him. It was covered in thick, gray drapes, and Benji could sense the unimaginable hidden behind it. He sat and reached for his forehead, searching for some kind of memory.
“Please, calm down.” A man appeared at his bedside with a clipboard in hand. He was dressed in casual clothes, yet a fancy plate sewn into the left side of his chest read Dr. Bard. Benji assumed he was around forty by the way his eyes held a strange depth.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I only have a few questions.” He lifted a pen to his notepad. “Will you give me your name and age, please?”
Benji. My name is Benji. A burning filled his lungs, and he coughed. I’m fourteen. The memories flooded him in overwhelming waves, one directly after the next. The ticking in his head was gone, and he missed it. “What time is it?” He remembered Wishville, and how he left. He remembered his time with James, Sam, and Chloe. He remembered the night of May 23rd, when the mayor pulled a gun on him at the bridge. When Sam nearly fell. Raising his empty wrist, he remembered how Oliver helped him. His watch was gone, but the memory wasn’t. “What day is it? Where am I?” He ran his fingers through his hair, his brain failing him. “I don’t get it. I drowned. I died!”
“Relax,” the man reminded him. “I know you must have a lot of questions, but you need to trust that I’m here to help.” He held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Bard. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Benji stared at the floating hand. “What’s that?”
“My bad. I forget it’s a cultural thing.” He raised his arm a bit, repeating the gesture. “It’s a hand shake. Something we do here when meeting someone new.”
Benji blinked, and Dr. Bard pulled his hand away. “You’ll get it eventually.” He set his notepad on the edge of the bed. “Let’s talk about what happened. Do you remember how you got here?”
“No, but I—I’m supposed to be dead.” As Benji ran his fingers along his bandaged right arm, he could nearly hear the shattering glass. “Last night. I was supposed to die. Why am I here? Why do—”
“Give me a moment, will you?” Dr. Bard stepped to the other side of the room, planting his feet firmly by the window. With one swift motion, he pulled the drapes away.
Through that window was a world Benji never could have dreamed of. Intricate structures as imaginary as the ones in his sketchbook. Buildings that reached the clouds. Streets crowded with too many faces to count. The view merged into a single blob of energy.
But most importantly, he saw colors.
Brilliant colors. Some radiated out of windows, and others tinted the clouds in batches. He saw colors he couldn’t name. Colors he didn’t know existed.
The rising sun shined brighter than he’d ever seen in Wishville. Its rays trickled over the roofs of structures and onto the glimmering roads and walkways below. The already-radiant colors sparkled indefinitely. No ocean. No trees. Just colors. Light.
Benji gulped. “Where are we?”
“Where do you think we are?”
“I don’t—I—”
“Welcome to Hartfield.” Dr. Bard set a hand on his chest.
Benji couldn’t take his eyes off the window.
“See all those people out there? They left their old lives for a better one. Abandoned their homes. Their families. All for the unknown.” He leaned against the wall. “I came from a place called Living Heights. I hated my life there, so I thought I might as well leave it behind. And here I am.” He lost his eyes in the distance. “Us ex-Heighters joke about it sometimes. It’s funny how it’s called Living Heights when we felt dead being there.” He paused, waiting for Benji to speak, but the room sat in silence. He pulled the drapes shut. “Any other questions for me?”
“Hartfield?” He shook his head. “So you’re telling me everyone who left ended up here?”
“Precisely.”
“But why wouldn’t they come back and tell us? Wouldn’t they want to let us know? What’s the point in leaving it a mystery?”
“Jeez, you sure do ask a lot of questions.” The man chuckled. “Once you’re in Hartfield, you can consider your old life dead.”
“Dead . . .” Benji frowned. “But what if—”
“I think I explained enough for now.” He swiped his notepad from the edge of the bed. “You’ll understand with time. Now can you give me your name and age, please?”
“Benji Marino. I’m fourteen.”
Dr. Bard scribbled on his notepad. “And where are you from?”
“Wishville.”
His pen paused over the paper. “Been a while since I last heard of that one.” The man tapped his fingers against the clipboard as he headed to the door. “I’ll be right back.”
Dr. Bard disappeared into the hall before Benji could ask any more questions. He slid out of bed, his feet landing on a pair of sneakers with socks wadded inside them. They were new. That’s when he realized he was no longer wearing what he wore on the 23rd. He had a pair of blue jeans on, topped with a simple white t-shirt.
As Benji slipped the socks on, a mumbling
echoed in the hall. Escalating to a shout, the door slammed open, and Dr. Bard walked in, followed by another unfamiliar face.
The boy didn’t look too much older than Benji. He was around James’s height, but his skin was so pale that Benji could see the veins running through his crossed arms. His blond hair flopped over the side of his head, forming a heavy pile of bangs. He narrowed his eyes at Benji, flinching as Dr. Bard swung an arm over his shoulder.
“Thought I was done with guide duty,” he muttered.
Benji put the shoes on. They fit perfectly.
“Meet Porter,” Dr. Bard said. “He’ll be showing you around.”
Benji held his arm out in front of him. “Nice to meet you.”
Porter didn’t move. “I’m standing ten feet away.”
“Is that bad?”
“Let’s skip the handshake.” Porter turned and opened the door to a hallway of blinding light. “Follow me.”
* * *
Benji could see.
A layer of his eyes had peeled away, leaving his sight rich and vulnerable. Everywhere he turned he could see. He could see too much. Smell too much. Hear too much. It was all new. All fresh. All paralyzing.
They stood outside the entrance to the hospital building, the end of a long concrete pathway lined with cherry blossoms. People walked by, dressed in the most ridiculous clothing. They spoke in tongues he couldn’t understand. Walked in a rhythmic pattern he couldn’t decipher. Their eyes were glazed over, bored, although vivid. This world was a new reality for them.
Buildings blocked the sun in every direction, but the light never faded. Giant boards on the sides of buildings flashed with brilliant colors. Adults in suits chatted with coffee cups in hand. Most of the people in town were elderly, some adults, and the rare child. A boy around the age of seven ran down the pathway, pivoted around Benji, and continued down the side road. He was playing tag, running from another boy slightly older than him. The older one stopped and made eye contact with Benji. He smiled.
Benji couldn’t smile back.
“It’s a lot to take in.” Porter chuckled to himself.
Faces everywhere. Faces he couldn’t recognize. How could so many people exist?
“Let’s walk. You’ll see less that way.”
Benji followed him in a trance.
“Your arm,” Porter said after a moment of silence. “How’d it happen?”
Benji squinted at the bandage. It took a moment to recall. “I broke a window.”
“How?” He struck a fist through the air in front of him. “You punched it?”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh?” Porter grinned. “Fun.”
They walked for a while. The pathway led deeper through Hartfield. The further they walked, the fewer people crossed their path. It grew silent. Birds flapped between trees. Foreign birds of exotic colors. No seagulls. The pests he grew up hating, despising, envying. They were no more.
“Where are you taking me?” Benji asked.
Porter pursed his lips, and Benji didn’t question him further. They walked until the sun had fully risen, filling the sky with new shades of colors and unique fluffs of clouds. Through a clump of buildings a few feet away, he saw something familiar.
Evergreen.
Redwoods.
Tall, slender trees.
Porter stopped, and Benji faced the stretch of the walkway behind them. In one glance, he filled his mind with an image that would take hours to process. There was so much. Too much.
He ran.
Benji ran off the concrete walkway. He ran toward the trees. The world where he lived to leave and now could not live with leaving. His shoes burned against the hot pavement. Cars came to a sudden stop. No one tried to stand in his way. Instead, they watched him with familiar eyes.
“Benji!” He could hear Porter’s raspy voice behind him. “Don’t go there! Not yet.”
It was too late. Benji sprinted between two massive redwood trees. He felt the dirt under his shoes. The sour smell of forest. Everything was familiar.
He recognized a road and slowed down. It had to be the same path. The dirt around him was moist, some areas containing miniature puddles. With the sun out, the path was much clearer. Almost beautiful. He walked the forbidden woods not once, but twice.
I have to tell them. Benji ran again. He ran so fast that it felt as though the ground might slip from under him. So fast that he might shoot into the sky and float with the stars. So fast that his thoughts nearly ceased to exist. He didn’t know anything. Not how to think. How to feel. All he knew was run.
He followed the curve in the road. Trickles of blue ocean appeared between the trees. This was the end.
He walked.
Pump. Pump. His heart beat heavily as he slowed his pace, approaching the end of the road. A few more steps and he’d run into the bridge. He’d find them. He’d share the truth with them.
He’d save them.
A cliff.
At the end of the road, there was no bridge. No island waiting for him.
No Wishville.
“You weren’t supposed to see this yet.” Porter appeared beside him, watching the waves thrash at the bottom of the cliff.
A vast ocean. That was it. Benji couldn’t form words. What could he say?
“I know how you feel. We’ve all been in your shoes.” Porter stepped away from the ledge. “But it’s time to move on. There’s no going back.”
Benji’s eyes traced the horizon. Nothing.
“They’ll come when they’re ready.” There was a softness to his voice. It was welcoming, and Benji had a strange desire to turn his back to the ocean.
“Porter?” Benji’s arms stiffened. “Where am I?”
CHAPTER 37
graduation
June 6th arrived faster than Chloe dreaded.
The gym was decorated with three years’ worth of science projects, art, and awards, none of which were Benji’s. All of Wishville shared an unspoken understanding that the boy’s name was forbidden. Not to be spoken, not to be written, and certainly not to be displayed.
After progressing down the aisle, the eighth-grade class sat in the front row. The music faded, and Mr. Trenton appeared on stage. He was dressed in a suit, a raspy microphone in hand.
“Thank you for joining us in celebrating this year’s graduating class . . .”
While he babbled over his enjoyment of teaching, Chloe studied the fabric of her red dress. She had tried to enjoy shopping for it, but by the time she left the store, her sister was practically forcing it into her arms.
The day was finally here.
“I admire every one of your students. They are all so unique, and have so much potential. I couldn’t be prouder.” Mr. Trenton cleared his throat, sending a buzzing noise through the room. Parents shrieked, and the front row of gloomy students broke a grin, although only for a moment. “Looks like even the microphone is excited.” The crowd forced a laugh, and he waited for the room to settle before continuing.
“This year has not been easy for anyone, but we’ve made it through together.” His students’ remaining smiles permanently chipped away. “It is an honor to have been their eighth-grade homeroom teacher.” A pause. “And now, it is time for our students to present their speeches.” He set the microphone on the podium with a click, and backed away to a roar of applause. Chloe didn’t clap.
We’ve made it through together. She huffed at the words.
The more people who presented behind that podium, the more uncomfortable Chloe became, and that wasn’t because it was almost her turn. Many kids had grown teary-eyed during the strangest parts, like mentions about the science they learned, or how valuable the school library was for research. Chloe cringed at the awed parents. She knew the real reason behind their emotion had nothing to do with academics, and with the
thought came tears. She held them back with a gulp.
It was her turn to speak.
As Chloe walked up the steps, she wished the night could be over. She pictured herself ripping off the uncomfortable dress, chugging a gallon of ice cream, and slipping into bed for the rest of summer.
She stood at the podium now, the rows of chairs uncountable, each face small and insignificant. She grabbed the microphone and flipped the binder page to reveal her speech reference—the outline they were required to craft as a guide. She scanned over the first section with a frown.
“At the beginning of this year,” she said, “I was shyer than I am now. I struggled with speaking in front of adults, but with the help of Mr. Trenton, I’ve had the chance to overcome these obstacles. I’ve grown not only academically, but socially. This final year has more than prepared me for my future education, and I couldn’t be more grateful for Wishville Junior High.”
She paused for a breath, using the moment to observe the crowd’s reactions. In the third row, Audrey’s mom sat wiping her damp cheek, still moved from the previous speech. Chloe’s free hand rolled into a fist, hidden behind the podium. The speeches were exactly what everyone wanted to hear—crafted with the image of pleasing the students’ families, teachers, and staff.
But they were lies.
She realized that she’d been silent for an awkward amount of time. Sam shuffled in her seat. Everyone had sat through each other’s speeches multiple times during practices, and Chloe had never taken such long pauses before.
She scanned her speech outline a final time before disregarding it.
“During this past year, I’ve lost more than I ever imagined.”
Her classmates raised their chins in unison, the gloom forming a unity between them. The truth was painful, yet something about it was oddly comforting.
“I didn’t only lose a best friend. I lost everything. My love for softball. My excitement for school. My interest in science was replaced with an interest in blame.” She loosened her fist. “We’ve been expected to pretend like nothing changed. Like we didn’t lose one of the most cheerful students in town. But things have changed. Benji’s gone. My best friend is gone.”
Leaving Wishville Page 20