Voices drift from the classroom, though I’ve lost the thread of their conversation now. Cassie told her parents. Cassie’s parents sent her away.
Theresa leans back in her chair, untroubled. “I told you, I don’t have anything that’s going to help you. I don’t know any more than you do.”
“And I should, what,” Christie says, “take your word for that?”
“Take it however you like,” Theresa says. “I’m still waiting for you to answer my question. Why was it so important to keep this from everyone who might disagree with you? Why can’t you trust this town you say you love so much?”
I can see the muscles working in Christie’s jaw. Theresa leans slightly forward, like she’s smelled blood. But Christie’s eyes shift to the hallway as she exhales, long and low, and a little of the tension leaves her shoulders.
“I don’t know.” The admission draws a laugh out of her. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, either. But my kid asked me to stop it, so.”
I hear Cassie breathe in next to me, but I can’t look away just yet.
“She’s not your kid,” Theresa says.
“She is for as long as she’ll have me,” Christie says.
“You’d go this far,” Theresa says, her voice flat and her stare sharp, “just on her word?”
“She made a decision,” Maggie says. “Just as you did. But the difference is, Cassie is still alive. She can tell Christie what she wants. You don’t know what your father would have wanted, Theresa. The only needs you’re looking out for are your own.”
Christie laughs. “Didn’t think I’d be saying this anytime soon. But Maggie’s right, Theresa. Cassie hasn’t told me everything. She doesn’t have to. I trust her.”
There’s another little gasp next to me, and Cassie’s grip falls away from my arm. She’s crying almost silently, her hands at her mouth.
“Cassie?” I ask.
“It’s so stupid.” She laughs wetly. “She’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. I don’t—Why did I think she wouldn’t notice? Of course she noticed.”
“Noticed what?” I say.
I reach out to touch her shoulder. The next thing I know, her arms are around me and her face is in my neck. I can feel her eyes screw shut against another sob, and tentatively, I reach up to run a hand through her hair.
“She m-must’ve seen the look on my face, right?” Her teeth are almost chattering with her shivers. “When I told her we had to stop the Flood. I thought I hid it. But she saw how scared I was.”
“Shh,” I breathe, my sleep-deprived brain shocked into autopilot. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“It’s me, Rose.” Cassie’s voice is muffled by my neck, but the words are clear. “I told you my parents had a better reason to hope the Flood never comes. The better reason is me.”
“Cassie—” My fingers stutter, catching between strands of her hair. “I don’t understand.”
“Are you going to arrest me now?” Theresa’s voice drifts down the hall.
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” Maggie says primly.
“Nothing illegal about getting a man drunk, or making a tape. Trust me, I wish there was.” Christie sounds weary now. “It’s time to evacuate, Theresa. And I hope you come with us. I feel for you, I truly do. But your loss isn’t worth dying for.”
There’s a pause that leaves the room, the whole building, eerily still. Without that pause, I might never have heard Cassie’s whisper.
“My prophecy,” she says. “I think it ends with my death.”
Faintly, over my shoulder, I hear Theresa’s low laugh.
“Yeesh. No faith,” she says. “The past is coming back to us, Chris. And when it does? I’m gonna be here to welcome it home.”
Twenty-Seven
THE EVACUATION
“YOU CAN’T TELL her,” Cassie informs me halfway to the lobby.
I bite my lip. “I think we should.”
Cassie’s eyes are still noticeably red, but her back is straight, her tone is determinedly chipper. “She has more important things to focus on.”
“This is exactly what she should be focusing on!” I hiss.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this, okay?” she says. “She already suspects something’s really wrong. If she knows what I’ve seen, it’ll just make things worse.”
“And if what you saw comes true—”
“If it comes true,” Cassie says, each word precise, “then I’ve had a lot of time to think about that, too. You’ve got your own problems tonight. Let me deal with mine.”
“You heard her, Cassie.” I snag her arm, hold on until she turns to face me. Her rigid smile flickers. “She loves you. She—she wouldn’t want you to be alone.”
Now that Cassie’s stopped, she can’t seem to find the momentum to start walking again. She sinks a little, the nervous energy seeping out of her.
“You wanted to know what I saw,” she says. “I saw it come. I saw it carry this town away with it. And I saw it consume me. And then I didn’t see anything. I felt cold. I—It’s never felt like anything before.”
She takes a full, shuddering breath. “Say I tell her. What if it takes her, too, because she ‘wouldn’t want me to be alone’? Or if it doesn’t, she lives the rest of her life knowing that I didn’t trust her with this. And just for my peace of mind? It’s fine, Rose. Actually, I’m tired of waiting. Part of me just wants . . .”
Her smile, inch by painful inch, twitches back into place. “Worry about yourself, not about me. Now come on.”
“Cassie,” I say, before she can finish turning around. I take the deepest breath I can around the vise on my throat. “I’m sorry.”
The hard, tired look melts away, just a little. “You didn’t make this happen.” She reaches over to my hand, still on her arm, and squeezes. “It was inevitable.”
Dropping her hand from mine, Cassie leads the way to the front of the school. Despite the haziness of the light through those dark green clouds, my eyes still water in the desert sun. In the time it’s taken Cassie to calm down, everyone has gathered out front: Alex and Felix stand next to the door, with Christie farther away, in a huddle with Maggie Williams by the steps.
“I’ll drop you off at your dad’s,” Felix is saying.
Alex shakes his head. “I can walk. You should get to your family.”
“It’s an extra five minutes,” Felix says. “Just let me do this for you.”
I take a step, but without quite looking at me, Christie calls out sharply, “Stay where you are.”
I freeze. A rueful grin flickers across her face. “Sorry, Rose. You should stand way back.”
I still can’t quite see Rudy beyond the edge of the parasol. But the limb that’s in view droops, like he’s pouting.
Maggie Williams doesn’t notice.
“Any time you’d like to let me in on this, Christie,” she says tightly. “I just backed your evacuation plan in public, you know.”
Christie snorts. “You backed me in front of one person.”
She shudders like a bird resettling her plumage. “People talk.”
“We’re starting now?” I say.
Christie, standing on the edge of the school steps, squints at the sky and points her parasol at the hazy sun. “I was counting on more light,” she mutters. “But this’ll have to do.”
It could easily be a non sequitur. But I’ve been here in Lotus Valley long enough that I assume she was answering my question.
“I’m taking a lot on faith here, Christie,” Maggie says, a little louder. “Are you really sure this creature of yours will focus on the task at hand?”
“Boss,” Felix says, his voice tight. “Not to agree with Williams or anything, but . . . Rudy’s pretty agitated.”
Christie’s mouth twitches as Maggie nods emphatically. “Feli
x,” she says. “Do you trust me?”
I expect more of a fight from Felix. But his shoulders sink grudgingly. “Of course I do.”
Christie’s lips curve into a full-blown smile. Then, slowly, she lowers the parasol.
Thick black tendrils spread from her feet in all directions, ahead and behind, reaching out until the ground itself looks like a massive hole in the earth. In the distance, Rudy’s reach expands: I see one tendril loading a startled family’s belongings into their trunk, another redirecting a passing car toward the highway, another gently prodding a reluctant man from his home.
One of Rudy’s limbs makes a beeline toward me, but with a grimace, Christie wrangles him away from the building and toward town. “Not now, big guy,” I hear her say through clenched teeth. “They’ll be here for real soon enough.”
In unison, our phones start to shiver. And then they start to shriek, blaring emergency broadcast tones all down the street.
IN ACCORDANCE WITH LOCAL CATACLYSM, LOTUS VALLEY RESIDENTS MUST EVACUATE EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY. CITIZENS SHOULD CONVENE ON THE HIGH GROUND PAST THE LETHE RIDGE HOUSING DEVELOPMENT. THIS IS NOT A TEST.
I look to Christie, who shrugs. “It’s running on every station. And if they don’t have a smartphone or a TV—”
There’s a rush of air and a burst of sound overhead, and I look up just in time to catch the creatures from the theater, giggling and twisting through the air. “Evacuate!” they chirp. “Evacuate! Evacuate!”
“I’d been teaching Rudy to carve the PSA into walls. But this is easier,” Christie says with a chuckle. “Poor guy. He’s been practicing his penmanship for months.”
“Well.” The frozen, white-faced Maggie Williams clears her throat. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”
Christie grins. “You doubted Rudy, not me. But don’t worry. A few bags of fries and he’ll forget all about it.”
Shockingly, Maggie manages a queasy smile. “That can be arranged.”
“Then we’ll talk about it later,” Christie says. “They listen to you, Maggie. Go help.”
Maggie bristles. But there’s no energy to it. “I don’t take orders from you, Sheriff.”
She rabbits down the steps, her heels clicking, and Christie turns back to face us. “Go get your families. I’ll see you later with any luck.”
“You’re not coming?” I say.
Christie’s face drops. There’s a grim set to her shoulders. “We did the best we could, Rose. It’s time to let Rudy take over.”
“You’re not—” I’m dizzy suddenly. I wanted the Flood gone. I wanted them gone, right? “Let me try again.”
It sounds unbelievably stupid, coming out of my mouth. But sympathy floods her face.
“Rose, all I need for you to do right now is to get to somewhere safe. If the Mockingbird is right, at this point, the Flood is more focused on the town than you. But if you stay here, you’re going to get caught in this fight.” She turns to Cassie, next to her. “Sandy’s waiting for you at home. Tell her I’ll be right there.”
Cassie looks a little past her, to me. She’s giving me a warning look. I don’t need the reminder.
“I can drive you,” Felix says to me.
I shake my head hard. “I’ll walk. I need to get my stuff from Lethe Ridge.”
“Rose,” Cassie says. Another warning. But just because she’s accepted this is happening doesn’t mean I need to.
I’m close. I have to be. And these stakes aren’t just mine. Not anymore.
The Flood is ready to talk. Has been, this entire time.
So here I am. Ready to listen.
* * *
—
LOTUS VALLEY HAS exploded into a burst of activity. Families packing cars or hoisting suitcases onto bikes. Rudy’s smoky tendrils corralling pets and small children. Really, Rudy’s everywhere at once.
I catch a few familiar faces. Loreen loading as much as they can onto their motorcycle. Ace Martin and his friends, ushering a reluctant John Jonas into their SUV. The woman who threw a casserole at us yesterday, prodded along by Rudy as she tries to double back into her house.
But the Flood hasn’t crossed the border into Lotus Valley. Not yet.
By the time I get to the Lethe Ridge model home, there’s a line of headlights on the access road, driving past me and into the desert. I shut the doors to the model home tightly behind me. The Flood doesn’t like an audience.
There’s not much for me to pack, but I take it slow. Do I pretend I’m not waiting for them? Do I call to them myself? And what if they’ve already given up trying to talk to me?
My phone buzzes. Even now, already primed for something coming, it makes me flinch. But the adrenaline recedes when I catch the caller ID. Maurice.
Right. He did say he was going to call me at five, didn’t he?
I reach for it, ready to reject the call and give a quick excuse via text, but I pause halfway.
I’m trying too hard to get their attention. The Flood from the start has responded the strongest to what I’m feeling. And if anyone knows anything about what I’m feeling, it’s Maurice.
I need to see what happens if I tell him more.
I sweep the phone into my hand and say, “Hey. You never had to get a late pass, did you?”
Even when I’m trying to open up, I lead with a dumb joke. Luckily—unluckily—he doesn’t take the bait. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting. What’s on your mind, Rose?”
I wonder if that’s something you have to perfect when you’re a therapist. How to tell someone, gently, with acceptance, to get to the point.
“So,” I say. My throat feels tight. “Happy early New Year, first of all.”
He doesn’t wish me one back. Any other day, I’d pretend to be offended. He makes a low, thoughtful sound. I’m listening.
“I’m not with my family,” I say.
“You still have time to go home, if you want,” he says. “You did a very kind thing, visiting Gaby’s parents, but that doesn’t mean you can’t—”
“No, Maurice, that’s . . . that’s the thing.” Breathe. Inhale for seven. Hold for two. Exhale for eleven. “I left the Summers’. I left three days ago.”
There’s a brief, telling silence. “And you didn’t go home.”
“I didn’t.” For lack of anything better to do, I start pacing the length of the house.
“Where—” He stops himself from finishing that thought. I think he’s trying not to scare me. That, in itself, makes my stomach clench. “Are you somewhere safe?”
I start to laugh, before I realize that makes it look worse. I’m not, really, but I’m safe in the way he means. So I say, “Yes. I’m going home soon.” Reaching the end of the bedroom wing, I turn, make my way back to the front entryway. “But my parents don’t know where I am and . . .”
And then I trail off. Rather than the reds, oranges, and sharp corners of the model house, I see cool blues and grays, a bookshelf. Two armchairs facing each other. I’m in one. Maurice is in the other.
“I thought maybe someone should know,” I finish distantly.
“Thank you for telling me,” Maurice says. At least, that’s what I think he says. My ears are ringing, watching the Past Me and Past Maurice consider each other from their respective ends of the room. I’m sitting straight, balanced at the edge of the chair. The first thing I do when I get to his office is usually to move the cushion into the curve of my back, so I can sit without being swallowed into the leather.
I catch the paperwork in my lap and realize: this is my first appointment with him.
“My mom’s my emergency contact,” I’m saying. My voice is high, formal. Not at all how I talk to him now. “And I’m on her insurance, but that doesn’t mean she can ask how it’s going, right? I’m not eighteen until January but—”
“That won’t matter.” H
e smiles, warm even back then. I didn’t expect warmth that first time. It caught me off guard. “These sessions are confidential, Rose. There are very few circumstances where I can share what you tell me here. Very few.”
Standing here, outside myself and outside my own head, I can tell that I know he’s trying to reassure me. And I can see where I’ve snagged onto those last few words. “What circumstances?”
“Ah, well,” he says. “If you could just turn the page—”
“Rose?”
That one was in the present. Present Maurice, who says my name like it’s not the first time he’s had to in the last few seconds. “Sorry,” I say. “What?”
“Do you want to talk about why you left the Summers’?” he asks.
“I . . .” My mouth is dry. My throat is dry, all the way down. I remember now. I remember what was on the next page. I see the flicker of it on Past Rose’s face.
“I can disclose the contents of our sessions,” Past Maurice says, “if in my professional opinion, you pose a danger to yourself or others.”
Past Rose laughs. It’s a sharp little sound. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I think I saw that on Law and Order.” She signs the form, indicating that she understands, and the session moves on. I can’t quite hear it anymore.
What you’re talking about, Flora had said, just four nights ago. That’s a serious condition. That’s . . .
Dangerous. And I knew she was right, didn’t I? I knew what has been waiting, all these months, to claw its way out. What I couldn’t contain anymore, back in that kitchen.
What the Flood saw in me.
“Rose,” Maurice says again. “Are you there?”
“I can’t,” I say. The hand holding the phone shakes so hard, I wonder if he can hear me. “I don’t—”
“Okay,” he says. His voice has changed again, like he’s soothing a skittish animal. “We don’t have to talk about it.”
“This wasn’t a good idea,” I say. “I shouldn’t—I—”
“Rose.” Distantly, I realize that for all of our sessions, this is the first time he’s heard me lose it. “Are you okay?”
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