The Catastrophic History of You And Me

by Jess Rothenberg

His back was completely bare and I couldn’t help grimacing when I saw how translucent he’d become—the rain literally soaking him to the bone. As if the light inside him had almost completely burned out. His words echoed through my mind.

  Don’t you know I love you?

  The answer was yes. Because I loved him too.

  He didn’t see me at first, and I came up slowly from behind, not wanting to scare him.

  “Patrick?”

  But he couldn’t hear my voice. The storm had grown too loud. So I went to him instead. Reached out even as the wind and the rain began to rub my shoulders raw. And when my fingertips finally reached his arm, an unbelievable warmth shot through me.

  I looked down, and saw that my hand had begun to glow the same pale shade of sparkly blue as my necklace, as if my veins were full of stardust. I felt Patrick’s body tense beneath my hand.

  “It’s me,” I said. “I’m here.”

  “Why?” His voice was hoarse. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

  “Patrick, I—”

  “You should go. You don’t belong here.”

  “Wait,” I said. “You don’t understand.”

  “I do.” He lowered his head. “It was stupid of me to wait for so long. I’ve held on for so many years,” he said. “It wasn’t worth it.”

  “Don’t say that. Please.”

  I felt his shoulders slump. “I knew someday you’d come through those doors,” he whispered. “And then you finally did. You finally walked back into my life after almost thirty years . . . and you didn’t know me. You didn’t know me at all.”

  “How could I?” I pleaded. “Patrick, I wasn’t the same girl.”

  He nodded. “That’s right. You’re not the same. I know that now.”

  “That’s not what I meant. You’re not listening.”

  “I was stupid to think I could ever get you back. To ever have things the way they used to be.” He paused for a moment, watching the horizon. “It’s my fault. I screwed everything up.”

  “Don’t you get it?” I said. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “I did everything wrong. You didn’t want to go for a ride that day . . . You were so scared. But I knew you’d love the feeling, if you’d only give it a chance. So I convinced you to go.” His voice cracked as he lowered his head. “It’s my fault you died. It’s my fault we could never be together.”

  “The motorcycle,” I whispered. “The nightmare was real.”

  I pressed my head against his back and wrapped my arms around his wavering soul.

  “Can you ever forgive me?” he whispered.

  I squeezed him as tight as I could. “You don’t need me to forgive you. You need to forgive yourself.”

  A giant boom of thunder echoed overhead as I felt him begin to turn toward me. Felt his hand on my cheek. And when I opened my eyes, I couldn’t believe the sight.

  Finally, I saw what he had been hiding for so long underneath that T-shirt and bomber jacket. I finally understood why he’d almost never taken it off in front of me. I could see now that the scar on his arm—as deep, and jagged, and horrible as it looked—was NOTHING

  Not compared to the rest of him.

  Patrick’s entire front torso was covered with gruesome stab wounds. Like he’d been run through again and again with a sharp knife—and it hadn’t been an accident.

  “Oh, love,” I whispered. “What did you do to yourself?” Hot tears stung my eyes as I began to trace his scars with my fingertips, leaning in to kiss them softly, one by one.

  “Sui Caedere,” he said. “I couldn’t live without you.”

  I reached up and touched his cheek. Brought my forehead close to his, so our faces were only inches apart. I looked deep into his eyes, trying to close the distance between us. “I’m so sorry, Patrick. I never meant to hurt—”

  The sky flashed with lightning, and a massive bolt struck the beach below us, igniting some of the trees. Within seconds, the island began to burn.

  “You didn’t know me,” Patrick said. “I wanted to tell you so badly, but I was afraid you’d think I was crazy.” He paused. “You know, crazier than you already thought.” He gave me a small smile, and in that smile I saw our whole catastrophic history playing out before my eyes. All the days we’d spent together. All the plans we’d made. The way he’d cried and rocked me in his arms in the minutes after the accident; how he’d begged the sky above us to let him go in my place.

  Every single moment and memory came rushing back, and I remembered Patrick’s words as my life had slipped away from me on that beautiful summer day back in 1983—the wreckage of his motorcycle still burning beside us on the highway.

  Wait for me forever. Wait for me, for always.

  “Always and forever,” I whispered. It was the same promise I’d made to my best friends, in a whole different life. Sadie, Emma, and Tess. All of whom would have to figure out their own paths and their own struggles and their own heartbreak. I felt my charm necklace grow warm around my neck, just like it always did whenever I thought of them. But this time it didn’t hurt. This time, the memory made me happy.

  “Is it really you?” Patrick pulled me in tight. “I didn’t think you’d ever remember.”

  War is sweet to those who have never fought.

  “I remember now.” I looked into his deep, dark, familiar eyes. “And I’ll never forget again.” All of a sudden, I felt the concrete wall inside finally beginning to crack open. I felt my frozen insides finally beginning to melt.

  “Maybe we can start over,” I said, holding out my hand. “I’m Brie.”

  He laughed a little, then shook it lightly. “Patrick.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  He smiled. “Again.”

  I leaned in slowly, for what I suspected might literally be the Best Kiss of All Time. But in the second before our lips met, another bolt of lightning crashed down, tearing us apart.

  I grabbed for his hand, but was too late—the force of it had already thrown Patrick backward over the ledge. Out of my sight.

  “No!!”

  I crawled as fast as I could to the edge. And when I looked over the side, saw him barely hanging on. I lunged for his hand, holding on as best I could.

  “Patrick!”

  The fire was beginning to spread below us. Even with the rain pouring down, the shore was now almost entirely engulfed in flames—hundreds of poor, dying souls writhing in agony.

  Larkin. Larkin’s down there.

  Fire flicked up at Patrick’s feet, and pain shot across his face. “I can’t, Brie! I’m falling!”

  I felt Patrick’s fingers beginning to slip through mine as I cried out. I reached down deep inside of me, squeezing my eyes shut to dig up every last ounce of strength I had. After what felt like hours, I finally managed to get his body halfway back up over the ledge. Gave his arm one more giant tug before pulling him up all the way and collapsing on the ground. We lay there together, gasping for air, the rain coming down in icy sheets.

  “If you wanted to go out with me,” he said, coughing, “you only had to ask.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind next time,” I wheezed back.

  Patrick sat up, and for the first time I got a good look at his shoulder. There, carved into his skin, was the same mark Larkin had had—a tiny circle with a big X right in the center.

  My mind flashed back to our first meeting.

  “I’m Patrick . . . Resident Lost Soul.”

  “You’re one of them,” I said sadly.

  “I’d do it all over again if I had to.”

  So it was true. He had bargained away his soul.

  And he had done it for me.

  I understood now that he was stuck, an eternal prisoner of the Great Beyond. He would never move on. He would never find acceptance. He would never be at peace.

  He lowered his head. “It was the only choice I had, Angel. Your life had only just begun. You deserved a second chance.” He rea
ched up and stroked my hair, which the rain had matted to my face. “It was the only way I could make it up to you, Lily. You never wanted to get on that stupid bike.”

  I could smell the fire burning closer now. It had almost reached our ledge. In less than a minute, it wouldn’t matter if the storm overhead destroyed us or not. We would still have the inferno to deal with.

  As I gazed into Patrick’s eyes, I finally understood why he had seemed so familiar from the very first moment I’d seen him in the pizza parlor. Why his voice had seemed so familiar.

  It wasn’t because he reminded me of Tom Cruise in Top Gun, and it wasn’t because he had a knack for cheese-themed nicknames. It was because—in life and death and everything in between—Patrick had always been there.

  He had always been there for me.

  And suddenly I knew what I had to do. Without a second to think, I ripped the chain off my neck and held it up to the sky. It was my turn to make a sacrifice. He’d given everything up for me, and it was my turn to give something up for him.

  Because love is worth it after all.

  “My heart belongs to you,” I whispered. “It has always belonged to you.”

  “Wait,” he said, reaching for my hand. “Angel, no!”

  A blinding bolt of heat crashed down, straight into the golden charm, sending one billion volts of electricity pulsing through us both. I felt myself ripped from Patrick’s arms, falling once again through time and space and stars and sky and everything in between. I fell until I forgot I was falling.

  And then the entire San Francisco Bay—and all of heaven above and hell below—exploded into light.

  CHAPTER 44

  somewhere over the rainbow

  I sat up, gasping for air.

  But the only sound that came back was the soft whirring of my ceiling fan, the little gold chain smacking against it in perfect, spinning rhythm.

  Smack whir smack whir smack whir.

  I fell back against my pillow, aching, exhausted, and so glad to be safe and warm and snuggled into my very own bed with my very own goose-down comforter. My stomach growled and I could smell something delicious cooking downstairs.

  Mmm, World’s Greatest Lasagna.

  I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, yawned, and noticed the soft glow of evening peeking in through my white linen curtains. No storm. No rain. No thunder or lightning or island on fire. There was only my clean, cottony sheets, and my perfect pillow. Everything silky soft and wonderfully smooth against my skin.

  My sheets. My bed. My wonderful, amazing bed.

  Um, hold up.

  I sat up so quickly I almost gave myself the head rush of the century. My senses were on fire, and my pulse was racing, and my heart was beating at ten thousand miles a second, and I—

  Wait.

  I put my hand to my chest and pressed down hard. There it was. A ticklish, radiating heat. Followed by an extremely determined, positively resonating thump.

  “Oh. My. GOD.”

  I had a heartbeat. As in, I had a heart. And it was BEATING.

  Before I could even begin to process what was happening, a familiar voice rang out, calling to me from downstairs.

  “Brie? Honey? Can you come unload the dishwasher before you go out, please?”

  I froze.

  Mom?

  I leaped out of bed, still in my sundress. Flung my bedroom door open and raced toward her voice. Everything felt and smelled and looked exactly the same. The scratchy sound of my shoes padding against the upstairs carpeting. The warm glow of the antique lamp my grandparents had given us years ago. The mixed-up picture frames lining the hallway. Jack on his sixth birthday, and me on my twelfth. Mom and Dad on their honeymoon. Hamloaf as a puppy. The same squeak in the same floorboard, and the fluffy white towels peeking out at me from the bathroom.

  Everything was in its rightful place.

  I darted down the stairs, skipping the last two just like always. Daylilies on the dining room table, sitting in the hideous green vase I’d made mom in seventh grade. Dad’s sunglasses on the table by the front door. The smell of lilac and Tide laundry detergent—the greatest smell in the world—filling my nose. Paul Simon singing through the speakers.

  “Hearts and Bones.”

  Mom’s favorite.

  I heard Hamloaf’s nails scratching and sliding on the kitchen floor, then the den, then the living room, running toward me, totally unstoppable. All of a sudden he was in my arms, covering me with so many doggy kisses that I thought I might pass out from happiness.

  “Hammyyyyyy!”

  He was panting and howling and barking like I hadn’t been inside the house in a long, long time. Because it was true.

  “What’s his problem?” Jack wandered into the den and flopped down onto our big comfy sofa with his Nintendo DS.

  Oh, Jack.

  My eyes welled up as I thought of Sam—his little freckled face. Missing his big brother so bad he couldn’t stand it.

  In a flash, I had leaped across the rug and landed on top of him, attacking my little brother with more hugs and kisses than I’d given him in his entire life. (And I’ve given him a lot.) He screamed with laughter and we rolled onto the carpet wrestling, neither of us feeling any pain whatsoever.

  “Brie and Jack Eagan, enough!” Mom laughed from the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands with a towel. I looked up. Her dark hair and funky cool glasses. Her high cheekbones and pale green eyes. She looked so beautiful. Immediately, I flew up from the rug and straight into her arms.

  “Brie!” she cried out as I crashed into her full force, nearly knocking her down.

  I didn’t care. I hugged her harder than I had in years. And she noticed.

  “Honey?” She felt my forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

  All I could do was nod. I was crying too hard to do or say anything else.

  She pulled away and took my face in her hands. “Oh, sweetie.” She smoothed the hair out of my eyes. “Why are you crying?”

  Is it really you? Is it really truly honestly you?

  I shook my head. “Sorry,” I choked. “I just missed you so much.” I hugged her again, not wanting to let go. Ever.

  “You missed me?” She laughed, caught off guard by all the sudden affection. “Since when? Since thirty minutes ago?” She gave me another worried look. “Honey, I really hope you’re not coming down with something.”

  I shook my head that I wasn’t.

  “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?” she murmured into my hair. “I love that dress on you.”

  “What do you mean?” I said, not moving an inch. “Wearing to what?”

  She chuckled at me. “Wow. You really are acting weird. Isn’t tonight a certain big date? With a certain boyfriend?”

  Boyfriend?

  Mom motioned to the big clock hanging on our kitchen wall. “Sweetie, isn’t Jacob picking you up at eight?”

  I pulled away and felt my face go pale.

  “What day is it?”

  This time, I got a really strange look. “October fourth.” She crossed her arms. “Okay, now I’m worried. What’s going on with you?”

  I ran into the kitchen and grabbed the newspaper sitting on the counter. October 4, just like she’d said. I looked again, and a huge sense of dread crept its way up my throat.

  October 4, 2010.

  Last year.

  Then it hit me.

  I’m reliving it. I’m ACTUALLY reliving the night I died.

  I dropped the newspaper and backed away slowly. “I’m not feeling so well.”

  “I can tell.” Mom walked over and started gathering up the mess of pages. “Listen, honey, I can take care of this. Maybe you should call Jacob and cancel?”

  Jacob.

  “He’s alive?” I whispered.

  She gave me an odd look. “Brie, that’s not funny. Don’t joke about something like that.” She started unloading all the clean silverware. “Listen, I’ve got this, but I’d really like you to straighten up the kitchen
for me when you’re back later, okay?” She opened the silverware drawer and started putting stuff away. All the knives and forks clinked a little as she placed them inside the drawer. “And don’t forget, Dad and I want you home no later than eleven. I mean it, if you’re going to be even a second later than curfew, we’ll need to know.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “No buts.” Her voice was firm. “We bought you that phone for a reason. It wasn’t so you could text Sadie and the girls during class. Call us if you’re going to be late, please. Or how about this?” She crossed her arms. “Don’t be.”

  Jack raced into the kitchen like a mini-tornado, Hamloaf galloping behind him. He flung the refrigerator door open and pulled out a half-drunk Capri Sun, which I promptly grabbed out of his hands.

  “Mmmm!” I slurped. “Pacific Cooler! God that’s good.”

  “Hey!” Jack crossed his arms. “Mom!”

  “Brie, don’t tease your brother. There’s a whole new box in there; just get your own, honey.”

  I handed the drink back to my brother. “Sorry, pal. It just looked so good I couldn’t resist.”

  Right then, I heard the sound of the garage creaking open. The vroom of a car driving in, followed by the engine shutting off. Then footsteps, then the doorknob turning, and then—

  “Hey, bud? What’d we just talk about yesterday?” Dad walked into the kitchen, carrying a few bags of groceries, still in his white doctor’s coat. Hamloaf jumped up.

  “Huh?” Jack mumbled, slurping up the last of the Capri Sun.

  “Your bike?”

  Jack paused for a second, trying to remember. Then his face erupted into the cutest grin ever. “Oops! I forgot!” He darted outside to wheel it back into the garage.

  “Good day, hon?” Mom pecked Dad lightly on the lips, taking the grocery bags out of his hands. “Thanks for stopping.” She rustled through the bags. “Sweetie, did you get my eggplant?”

  “Mm.” He nodded, not even bothering to look up, thumbing through the day’s mail.

  Dad.

  I stared at him, hard, arms crossed. He was back to his old, handsome self. His hair was short, face clean-shaven. But even though part of me was dying to race across the kitchen and give him a giant bear hug—he was my dad, after all—I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.