Before I Disappear

by Danielle Stinson

  Blaine’s words fly right over my head. I don’t know anything about physics, dark pulses, or wormholes, but I know my brother.

  “You’re wrong. I can feel him. Right here.” I fist my hands over the memory of the tugging in my chest.

  Blaine’s eyebrows draw together. “You’re telling me your brother managed to avoid the wormhole that devoured Fort Glory and everyone in it. And you know this because you feel it?”

  He doesn’t believe me. It stings even though it shouldn’t. Not after everything that happened with my dad. But this is different.

  This is Charlie.

  Charlie who can hear the dark pulse. Charlie who’s always been halfway caught up in a world I can’t see. I always knew there was something about him. Something special. It has to be connected to how he was able to escape when nobody else could. It has to be.

  “You said it yourself,” I say, searching for a way to make them understand. “We don’t know how things work in the Fold. There could be some other force at play. What if—”

  “Enough!” Blaine’s face crumples before he turns it to the wall. His voice drops to barely a whisper. “My family wasn’t perfect, but I loved them. I’d give anything to believe they’re still out there somewhere.” Blaine wipes his runny nose. “I want it so badly I can’t think straight. Which is exactly why I can’t let my brain go there just because it’s what my heart wants to believe. That isn’t how science works.”

  Blaine faces me, that ridiculous trapper hat clutched in his hands, and suddenly, it isn’t the kid with the thick glasses and massive backpack I see. It’s a scared-shitless little boy who misses his family.

  “I realize it doesn’t make sense,” I say softly. “But I’m not asking you to believe me. It doesn’t change what we have to do.”

  Ian nods. “We can load up and head out before dawn. With any luck that’ll be early enough to ditch our tail.”

  There’s still one major flaw with this plan.

  “With the weather like this, we’re going to need someplace safe to stay,” Blaine says, seizing on it right away.

  He’s right. It’s a problem. So I work it the way I work everything else. By taking it apart into pieces and fitting them back together in a way that makes sense.

  A moment passes before the solution comes to me. “Glory Caverns.” The guidebook I studied for two weeks before coming here had a small write-up about the caverns. They’re supposed to be a well-kept local secret. “If I’m remembering right, they’re about five miles southeast of town. That should put them inside the boundary of the Fold, opposite the wormhole. If we can find—”

  “I know where they are.” Ian’s voice is strangely tight. I study him sideways. If he knew about the caverns all along, why didn’t he suggest them in the first place?

  “Creepy cave to wait for the end of times?” Blaine sighs, drawing his knees up to his chin. “My dad would’ve so loved this.”

  SEVENTEEN

  CHARLIE

  “What about that one?” asks the little light named Sarah.

  Up ahead, a star.

  Brighter than the others.

  Weary and wise.

  Too old to be afraid.

  “Come with us,” I say to the wise old light.

  “I am tired.”

  “It’s hard to shine in the dark,” I say. “But it isn’t time to go out. Not yet.”

  The wise old light sighs.

  “Come with us,” says the little light named Sarah to the old light named Winnie.

  “Where are we going?” Winnie asks.

  I spin the silver thread between us. “To gather the lights in a silver net and bring them home.”

  Sarah reaches for Winnie’s hand, showing her the silver thread between us. All the thousands of stars.

  Fireflies trapped in glass jars to keep out the dark.

  Winne cries when she sees. “How many are there?”

  “Two thousand two hundred thirteen. We counted,” the little light named Sarah says proudly. “Charlie is keeping them lit. We’re gathering them up so they’ll be ready.”

  “Ready for what?” Winnie asks.

  “Someone special,” I tell her.

  The Black Nothing presses in around us.

  It wants the stars. It can’t have them.

  Not yet.

  I reach for the thread inside me. The one that leads to another place. Light music to drown out the dark.

  Golden Light feeds the silver threads, making them dazzle. It helps me to remember.

  Salt spray, sea-foam, and sand between my toes.

  Digging.

  Her hands next to mine. Fingers touching. Chapped lips and dirty knees.

  A single shell. Buried treasure.

  I give it to her.

  Round and white. Perfect snowflake in her hand.

  The way she smiles.

  Sand dollar, she tells me. It is special. Like you, she says.

  Like you.

  Like you.

  Like you.

  She builds a castle and she tells me we’ll have one someday. A castle made of wood.

  She packs the walls with promises, not with her lips but with her eyes.

  So beautiful.

  Cold. Wet.

  I reach into the river and pull it toward me.

  Cold wet.

  I reach through the Black Nothing.

  Through the curtains and doorways in my head. All the spaces in between.

  I press my finger into the sand.

  I write her name.

  She’s on the other side. I feel her.

  So close.

  I want to walk the rest of the way through, but I can’t be with her and keep the lights on.

  I have to stay.

  To keep the stars from burning out.

  So I leave something behind.

  Something for her to find.

  And I slip back into the dark.

  The Black Nothing screams.

  The scream goes on forever.

  I want to hide.

  Under the covers in my mind.

  But I think of the lights.

  Of her face over mine.

  The words she said to me.

  Once upon a time.

  Breathe, Charlie. Just keep breathing.

  So I do.

  I breathe.

  I stay.

  When the Black Nothing comes,

  I give it my hand.

  EIGHTEEN

  We stop at the edge of a clearing frosted over with ice. My muscles scream as the rope goes slack across my chest.

  I take a few sips of water before raising the canteen to Becca’s lips. She woke up this morning about an hour into our trek. Just sat up on the sled and started talking like nothing had happened. It makes me hope that getting her farther out might actually be making a difference. It’s one thing we have going for us.

  Maybe the only thing.

  There’s been no sign of Charlie since we set out for the caverns. I’ve searched every patch of woods, combed every inch of ground for his prints. Nothing. For the first time, I realize how big the Fold really is. Thirty square miles is a lot of ground to cover. If Blaine is right about this place collapsing, we don’t have forever to find him. We might not even have days.

  A stab of anxiety shoots through me. I ignore it and focus on putting one foot in front of the other. My shoes sink into the tracks Ian left behind. Despite the cold, he’s been shedding layers all morning. A band of hard muscle shows above his belt line as he pulls the sweater over his head.

  “You good?”

  I blink, and he is standing directly in front of me. “Huh? I mean, yeah. I’m fine.”

  Ian wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt. “Take a breather. You’ve earned it.”

  Every part of me is simultaneously wet, cold, and burning with exhaustion, but all I can think about is Charlie the way he looked in that vision. The deadness in his eyes. The pain on his face.

  “I’m okay,” I te
ll him.

  For a minute, it looks like Ian is going to argue. Instead, he readjusts the rope so it isn’t cutting into my ribs and sets off again. Sweat forms a narrow triangle down his back. He’s doing most of the work, pulling the supply sled and cutting the trail for the rest of us, but he hasn’t slowed down all day. It’s like he can’t feel the cold, or the strain, or the fear. Like he’s found some way above them.

  “I have to pee,” Becca announces. When I stop, she slides off the sled. “Thanks,” she says, and hobbles through the snow. I’m watching her disappear behind a bush when a voice wheezes out behind me.

  “Watch your back around Lawson.”

  When I turn, Blaine’s glasses are fogged, and twigs cover the tie-dye sweatshirt he dug out of the camp’s lost and found.

  “He’s not so bad.” I motion for Ian to wait up ahead.

  “That kid is a Dateline special waiting to happen.”

  “You don’t know him,” I cut back. “You just know what people say about him.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know if he started the fire that killed both his parents or if he laughed like a psycho while the flames ate them alive. But I’m not talking about some sketchball rumor. I’m talking about what he did to the mayor’s son.”

  Stomach acid rises into my throat. “What’s that?”

  “He almost put the kid in a coma. Probably would’ve killed him if the police hadn’t pulled him off.”

  “You were there?” A rock forms in the pit of my stomach.

  “No, but I went with my dad to the hospital afterward. Official pastoral duties.” Blaine blows into his mittens. “The kid looked like someone put him through a meat grinder. Don’t get me wrong. Jeremy is a class-A douchebag, but nobody deserves that.”

  I avoid Blaine’s gaze and find Ian up ahead, where he’s cutting back some bushes with his knife, making the trail a little easier for us. He sends me a wave when he catches me watching him and quickly ducks his head. It makes me wonder how many other good deeds he does when he thinks nobody’s looking.

  My chest goes strangely tight. “If it was that bad, why’d they let Ian out of jail?” I ask.

  Blaine raises an eyebrow. “The DA offered a plea bargain. It reduced Ian’s sentence.”

  “Why would they do that?” The question comes out too loud, but Blaine doesn’t seem to notice.

  He shrugs. “Maybe the mayor’s family didn’t want the publicity of a trial. Maybe because everyone who saw what Ian did refused to come forward.”

  Everything he’s saying only confirms what seventeen years have taught me about people.

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  He grips the straps of his pack. “That afternoon in the parking lot. What you did for me. It was cool. Girls like you never—What I mean is … you seemed different, like, sort of lonely or … crap. I didn’t mean that like it sounded.” Blaine claps his gloves together and breathes into his hands. “I just thought that maybe, I don’t know. We could be friends. Or something.”

  It’s the most inarticulate thing I’ve ever heard him say. I’d hug him if I didn’t think we’d both die of embarrassment.

  “Anyways,” he blazes on, red-faced. “I just figured I owe you one for—”

  “Yes, Blaine. I’d like to be your friend.”

  His eyes go wide between thick frames. “Really? I mean, yeah. Um. Awesome.”

  “But you don’t have to worry about me, okay? I can take care of myself. And if it wasn’t for Ian, none of us would be here.” I don’t know where my certainty comes from, but I’m sure Ian isn’t dangerous. The same way I’m sure that Charlie is out here somewhere. It’s a feeling down deep in my gut. Lately, those feelings seem more real to me than the real world around me.

  Blaine doesn’t look entirely convinced. “All I’m saying is you might want to think twice before you go off alone with him. Ian’s got baggage. You never know when the dark pulse might unload it on us.”

  It’s nothing I haven’t already thought of. As long as the dark pulse is in here with us, we’re all a potential threat.

  Some of us more than others.

  Becca reemerges. I shoot Blaine a brief nod to let him know I heard him before I help her back onto the sled. We’ve been pushing forward another twenty minutes when Ian stops at the top of a knoll. Needing a break from pulling, I drop the rope and trudge up the hill. I’m halfway to the top when a strange ache blossoms in my chest.

  The tugging. I’ve been noticing it more and more. At first, it weirded me out, but lately it’s become more of a comfort than a nuisance. I can’t explain it, but it makes me feel less alone.

  The sensation in my chest intensifies as I join Ian at the edge of another clearing. I’m about to ask him if he feels it too, when I notice his face. He’s staring down at the clearing like whatever he sees is about to change everything. His eyes meet mine, and I know it already has.

  The wind blows through the trees, freezing the sweat to my skin.

  Time slows as my gaze runs across the acres of pristine snow, narrowing in on a small section of discoloration in the perfect smoothness. At first, I can’t decide what I’m supposed to be seeing. Then my eyes adjust to the scale, and I can make out the narrow lines of a single word written into the snow.

  Not just any word.

  A name.

  ROSIE.

  NINETEEN

  “Shhh.” I pressed my hand over your mouth. You hardly ever spoke, but touching you made me feel better, and I needed that with the engine revving outside. I could identify the truck by that roar as easily as I could by the bright orange flames painted across the hood. Vinyl seats. Ashtray smell.

  The monster was back. His kind never took no for an answer.

  Tap. Tap. Taptaptap.

  “I want what you promised.” His voice shredded through paper-thin walls.

  “I didn’t promise anything.” Wood grated across linoleum as our mother dragged our only chair over to the front door.

  “You took my money.”

  “It was a gift!” There were tears in her voice, but I made myself hard against them. I’d told her not to take the money. I’d told her this would happen.

  “He’s just trying to be kind,” she’d said when we’d first met him a few weeks ago and he’d fixed our taillight. “People do things like that sometimes, Rose. Because they want to help.”

  “Not people like that.” I’d seen the man’s eyes. They were full of something. It wasn’t kindness.

  “Don’t worry so much.” She had smiled. “It’ll give you wrinkles.”

  I worried anyway. I worried because gifts like this had strings attached, and sometimes those strings found a way around your neck.

  I closed my eyes. Nothing could block out the strike of fists against flimsy wood.

  Soft hands pulled me to my feet and into the bathroom where you were crouched by the toilet. Mom kneeled in front of us, and the expression she wore was one I had never seen. It was love, and it was pain, and it made my chest ache with emotions I didn’t have words for.

  She handed me a book. “Read this to your brother,” she said in a whisper. “Lock this door when I leave.” She grabbed me by the chin. Nails dug into skin. “No matter what happens. Don’t open this door. Do you hear me, Rose?” She waited for me to nod. She left.

  You held the book, and I held you, and the world broke in half along with the front door. I closed my eyes.

  “Give me what you owe me,” said the monster in the dark. “Give me what I paid for.”

  “Leave. Now and there’ll be no trouble.”

  “I’m not leaving without the money.”

  Soft thuds and the click of glass. The lid came off our savings jar with a clatter. I knew. It wouldn’t be enough.

  “Two hundred and fifteen dollars?”

  “It’s everything I have.”

  “Not my problem. Give me what I want, or I’ll tell everyone what you are. Who do you think they’ll believe? You think they’ll
let you keep those kids if you’re homeless?”

  “I won’t do it,” our mother said. And then stronger: “No!”

  In spite of everything, I felt a flash of pride.

  But in the end the word was like the door. Too small a thing to stand against the weight of this evil.

  Everything got quiet. So, so quiet. And then came the singing. Soft and low and aching. I listened to it, and I knew that life would never be the same. That none of us would be. And I cursed our father for disappearing, and our mother for her beauty and her faith in people who didn’t deserve it. I picked up the book and read about a dog that belonged to himself. I read about his pipe and his house and his bowl of soup for dinner, and I swore that someday I’d be like him. Someday I’d have a house with a kitchen and a door to withstand heavy feet.

  I would build that house. It would belong to me, and I would belong to it.

  I read until you fell asleep in my arms, and the monster left, and the singing was replaced by a silent crying louder than any sound I’d ever heard.

  * * *

  My eyes devour every detail of the word in the snow. The shape of the R. The curve of the S. The memory of a hand trembling as I taught it how to write.

  Air leaves my lungs in a rush.

  “Rose, what is it?” Ian demands.

  “It’s Charlie.” A grin breaks out across my face. Ian’s eyes widen when I turn it on him. “He wrote this, Ian. That means…” Oh God. “Charlie!” I sprint into the clearing, halting just short of my name. “Charlie!”

  “Rose, stop.”

  My heart is pounding like a jackhammer. Somehow, someway, Charlie is alive.

  Wonder fills me as I stare at the proof in the snow. I sink to my knees in front of it, and the knot I’ve been carrying around inside of me finally starts to unwind. I can’t explain how Charlie escaped the wormhole that took Fort Glory, or how I’ve been able to feel his presence here in the Fold, but I know Charlie. This is his way of telling me he’s still out there.