by Sarah Beard
My eyelids fly open, and for a minute I don’t know where I am. In the ocean? At the hospital? I glance around, and when I see the Astromotts poster on the wall, I realize I’m still in Sophie’s room, lying beside her. I feel her warm body beside me, breathing deeply. As opposed to my own quick, shallow breaths.
For the first time, I saw his face in my dream. Only, it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt like a memory. And once again, the face I saw was Kai’s.
I sit up and quietly slide off Sophie’s bed. I don’t know what time it is, but no light is seeping through the cracks in her blinds. I go to Dad’s office and turn on his computer, glancing at the clock while it boots up. It’s just past five in the morning, and I feel exactly like I’ve had two hours of sleep. But there’s something I need to do so that maybe I can prove to myself that I’m not losing my mind.
I type in “missing foster kids Michigan” in the search engine and hit enter. Up comes a link for an official Michigan website that says, “Help us find these missing children.” I click it and find a database. I know Kai’s picture will be in here somewhere. I don’t know why I need to see it. Maybe I want to know if I’ve seen his picture before in another missing persons database. Because that might explain why he looks so familiar. Why I’m imposing his face on the boy who saved my life.
“Where are you, Kai Lennon?” I whisper, wincing at the ache that comes with saying his name out loud. With a pounding heart, I click on a link at the left of the screen for children whose last names start with L.
Three profiles populate the screen, two boys and one girl. No Kai though. Maybe he’s not in the database after all. Or maybe …
I start clicking through the other letters, starting with A and moving down the alphabet. My palms grow moist as I anxiously search through each page for his face.
When I get to T, at least a dozen profiles pop up. I scroll down the list, scanning the pictures for his face.
Halfway down, my heart stops.
There he is. Looking at me from a thumbnail picture on the screen.
His hair is darker, a sandy blond. His face looks more tan, a bit more worn and angry. But without a doubt, it’s him. And then I look at his name.
Zackai L. Turner.
L for Lennon.
Kai is a nickname. And Lennon is his middle name.
Why would he lie to me about his name? Maybe he was afraid I would report him if I found out he was a runaway. A shiver runs through me as I click his name to view his profile. The picture expands. There’s absolutely no question now that it’s Kai. I read the information on his profile.
Missing since December of last year. Last seen in the Upper Peninsula. Current age: 17. Six foot two. One hundred eighty pounds. Blond hair. Blue-green eyes. Other Distinguishing Features: Scar on back over left shoulder blade.
Scar. On his back.
Scar. Left. Shoulder blade.
Heat washes over me, and I push my chair back and stand up, staring at the computer screen in disbelief.
It’s not possible. Is it? No. It’s absolutely impossible. I looked for the scar on Kai’s back that night in his cottage. His skin was flawless.
But the face on the computer screen is Kai’s face. Either it was too dark in the cottage that night to see his scar, or I didn’t look high enough. But how is it possible that he survived? And why wouldn’t he tell me who he really is?
All I know with certainty is that he lied to me. He knows how much anguish it’s caused me to not know who saved my life last winter. But he withheld the truth anyway.
I grab the mouse and click print. The printer spits out a copy of his profile, and I pick it up and stare at it as I pace the room.
Zackai L. Turner. L for Lennon. L for Lowlife. L for Liar.
I clutch my stomach, fighting the nausea that’s climbing up my throat. Please don’t let this be. Don’t tell me he’s capable of deceiving me like this, of withholding the knowledge that I’ve been chasing for months. Please let him have an explanation.
If I’m going to get any kind of explanation, I have to catch him before he leaves this morning. I throw on some jeans and a T-shirt, then grab my keys and rush out to my Cherokee. My hands are shaking so badly it takes me a few tries to get the key in the ignition.
Tremors rack my insides as I drive up the winding canyon road toward the vineyard. I squeeze the steering wheel, trying to ground myself to something. A battle between pain and fury wages inside of me. Between wanting to trust him and ask him kindly for an explanation, and wanting to knock down his door and clock him in the jaw.
With each curve of the road, I think of more names to attach to him. Cruel. Heartless. Creep.
Beloved. Soul mate.
Callous. Brute.
My everything.
Scum. Conniving.
Beautiful. Treasure.
Deceiver.
There’s no answer. Maybe he’s already gone. Or maybe I scared him by pounding so hard on his door. I knock again, a little gentler. The quaking inside of me is virtually off the Richter scale now, and I clutch the paper in my hand as though it can absorb some of the shock. I hear the lock unlatch, and very slowly, the door swings open.
Kai stands there in the same clothes he wore yesterday, his face pale in the pre-dawn light. He looks tired, but not the least bit surprised to see me, as though he knew I was coming. “Avery,” he says softly.
“Zackai,” I say, and his face goes slack. I push him back inside and step in, shutting the door behind me. Then I shove the crumpled paper at him. “Explain this.”
He takes it, unwrinkles it, and studies it for a few seconds as he strolls over to a small dining table. He lays it down and leans over it, head hanging. “I couldn’t tell you my real name because—”
“You think that’s what I care about? Kai—Zack—whatever. That profile says you have a scar on your back in same place as the boy who saved my life.” I’m short of breath, but the words manage to rush out anyway. “You’ve been missing since last winter. And you said we met before. And the memories I keep having …” I shake my head, my throat tight. “Tell me the truth. It was you that day, wasn’t it?”
He doesn’t answer, just straightens and looks at me, his face terrified.
I can’t believe it. It is him. He’s the boy who saved my life. The boy who I thought drowned. And he knew the last couple days that I suspected it was him, but he denied it.
“I thought you were dead!” The words burst from my lips with fiery outrage. “I’ve been carrying around the burden of your death for six months. And you lied to my face! I asked you yesterday if it was possible that you were the one who saved my life. And you said no.” My whole body is shaking with fury, my heart galloping in my chest. I charge over to him and before I even know what I’m doing, my hand comes up to slap him. Before it reaches his face, he catches my wrist.
“I didn’t lie to you,” he says through clenched teeth.
“You misled me,” I snap back, trying to twist out of his clutch. “Same thing.” My throat is on fire, my eyes stinging. “Tell me why,” I beg. “Why would you lie to me? You saw how much I was hurting. Why wouldn’t you just tell me that it was you? Do you have any idea how much pain you could have spared me?” I can’t see his face anymore, because my eyes are swimming in tears. “Let go of me,” I demand.
His fingers unfurl and I fall back a step, swiping tears from my eyes. I hear him exhale, and then he says weakly, “I didn’t tell you the truth because I couldn’t. And you wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”
“Try me. How did you survive?”
His expression is defeated. Crushed. The charade is over, the game lost. His lips part, but no words come.
“They looked for your body for days,” I say angrily. “And after everyone else gave up, I spent weeks with my mom on her sailboat, combing the shores.”
“I know,” he whispers.
“No—you don’t.” He has no idea. He doesn’t know how many tears I’ve cried, how ma
ny nightmares I’ve suffered, how many hours I’ve wasted searching for his body and sifting through missing persons databases for his face. “Tell me. Did you swim back to shore and just leave?” Though, I still don’t understand how that’s possible when I saw him under the water, unconscious.
He turns away, gripping the back of a chair as though he needs support. “Avery.” My name sounds like a mournful cry. “When I said yesterday that I wouldn’t be here if I had been the one to save your life, it wasn’t a lie. I shouldn’t be here. Because when I went under the water that day, I didn’t resurface. I didn’t make it back to shore.”
I stare at him in bafflement. “Well, you obviously did at some point, or else you wouldn’t be standing right in front of me.”
He turns and hesitantly reaches out to me, like I’m a wild horse, and he’s afraid I’m going to rear back and gallop away. Maybe I will. I don’t know. All I know is that beneath all this rage, I’m aching for his touch. I desperately want him to set things right. To explain everything in a way that will make it impossible for me not to forgive him. He inches closer and rests his hands on my arms as if to steady me. Then he leans down so that his eyes are level with mine.
“I died that day,” he whispers.
The hair on my arms stand on end, and then I do rear back, shaking out of his hold. “Stop lying to me!”
His shoulders slump, then he closes his eyes and grimaces.
“Please,” I beg, softening my voice and reaching out to touch his arm. “I just want to piece things together. I want to understand.”
He opens his eyes and gives me a desperate look. “Why do you think you didn’t find a scar on my back the other night? It’s because this isn’t my mortal body.”
I stare at him. “Why are you doing this?” I whisper. “Don’t you trust me enough to tell me the truth?”
He takes a step toward me, gently takes my hand in his, and raises it to his neck. “Try to find a pulse,” he whispers despondently.
Only to get this ridiculous conversation over with, I press two fingers under his jaw where his artery is. But other than warm skin, I feel nothing. I move my fingers around, searching for a pulse, but find nothing. I look up at him for an explanation, but then realize he’s already given me one.
I don’t buy it. “Hold still.” I press my ear to the left side of his chest, over his heart. “Shhh. Hold your breath.” He does, and I listen closely. His chest is like a tomb. No sound. No vibration. Not the slightest sign of life. And then my own heart is suddenly pounding in my chest.
I look up at him again, my mouth falling open.
“I’m not lying to you,” he says, his voice tattered. “I am dead.”
I can’t grasp it. Can’t reconcile my disbelief with the undeniable evidence. But if it is true, it would explain everything. My legs start to shake, and then they buckle and I sink to the floor. I can’t breathe, as though someone has their hands clamped around my throat. My head feels tingly. The room is spinning, the walls going in and out of focus.
I feel Kai’s hand on the back of my head. “Breathe, Avery. Breathe.” His voice is urgent, worried. The room keeps spinning, black dots popping into my vision. They fill the room until it grows darker and darker, until all I see is black.
“Avery.” Kai’s voice sounds so far away. I feel his warm hand on my forehead, my cheek, my neck. His fingers on my wrist, checking for a pulse. “Avery, wake up. We don’t have much time.”
My eyelids flutter, and then slowly open. I’m on a bed. Kai is lying beside me, propped on his elbow and leaning over me.
“You okay?” he breathes.
Am I okay? Kai is dead. And talking to me. I’m definitely not okay. I feel as lifeless as he is. I gaze at his face, at the same time recalling my memories of the boy who saved my life, and my mind slowly melds their faces together, uniting them into one person.
I can’t move, can barely breathe with this heaviness pressing on me. The heaviness of finality. Of knowing the truth. The truth that Kai—Zackai—is the boy who saved my life. And because he saved my life, he did lose his own. And I love him. And he’s here now, in front of me. But he’s dead. He’s dead, and here, touching me, speaking to me, looking at me. It’s too much to carry, too much to take in, and every muscle in my body is drained and useless from the weight of it all.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He brushes away the tear that’s running down my temple. “I’m not.” And then he leans down and kisses me, breathing life and energy back into me. I’m a sailboat in the doldrums, and he’s the wind. He kisses me and kisses me, and I feel life come back into me, rushing through me, tingling and electric and humming.
He pulls away and looks in my eyes. My arm finds its strength, and I reach up to touch his face. “You,” I say, in awe of his realness, his substance, his tangibility.
This boy who has been a ghost to me, a vague and elusive memory, is here in the flesh, in front of me. I pull him close and hold him tight, this phantom I’ve never been able to catch. He’s mine now. In the snare of my arms, and I’ll never, ever let go. I crush his body against mine and cry into his ear, rejoicing, marveling, at the miracle in my arms. “If you’re … dead,” I say brokenly, shaking my head in disbelief, “then why … how are you here? How can I see you, and hear you, and feel you?”
He leans away and trails a thumb down my cheek, his grief-stricken eyes taking me in as if it’s the last time he’ll ever see me. “It doesn’t matter now.” He glances toward the door as though he’s expecting someone. Then he looks back at me. “I don’t have time to explain. All you need to know is that I love you. In five days, you’ve given me all I could have asked for in a lifetime. So no regrets, okay? I’ve never regretted losing my life for you. And I don’t want you to regret it either. Can you remember that? Promise me you won’t forget.” He’s talking urgently, like he has one foot on the step of a departing train.
“Don’t leave me,” is all I can say, my voice desperate. “You’re not leaving now. Not ever.”
His eyes snap shut. Then he turns away from me and says, “Please don’t. You don’t understand.”
At first I think he’s talking to me, but then he opens his eyes and focuses on something across the room, like there’s someone there I can’t see. “A little more time,” he says. “Please.”
“Kai. Who are you talking to? Who’s there?”
He grimaces and slips his hand out from under my neck, holding it in the air like someone hailing a cab. His wristband comes unclasped and flies off his wrist. Before it hits the floor, it vanishes into thin air. His ring comes off next, vanishing as well.
I sit up in a panic. “What’s happening?”
He rolls onto his side, eyes squeezed tight, and groans in agony.
“Kai!”
“My time here is up,” he says weakly.
I clutch his shoulder. “No! Look at me! You can’t leave. Please!” I lie at his side and slide my arms around him, clinging to him. I won’t let him go. If I hold on tight enough, he can’t leave.
“No regrets,” he whispers in my ear. I feel his arms close around my waist. “Promise me.”
His body feels strange in my arms. Less dense. I loosen my grip on him, afraid I’m hurting him. “What’s happening?”
He doesn’t answer. Just whispers, “Promise me.”
My arm sinks into his side, and I move back, startled. I reach for his arm, but my fingers sift right through it. I can still feel him, but he’s losing substance. I try to take his hand, and it’s like running my fingers through fine sand. He doesn’t crumble away, but there’s no way to hold him anymore.
“Kai,” I cry as though my heart is being wrenched from my chest. I try to touch his face, and it feels like the edges of a feather, or a soft breeze. My vision blurs again, but I swipe the tears away, knowing that I don’t have much time left to see him.
The sunrise breaks through the window, and as though he’s woven of gossamer, the warm light sh
ines right through him. The texture of the pillow behind him slowly becomes more defined. I reach for him again, but I may as well be trying to capture the rays of a setting sun. I’m powerless to keep him here. So I gaze into his fading eyes through my tears and watch him grow more and more faint, until he’s gone.
In a daze, I find myself at the beach where Kai rescued me last December. I stumble out of my car and shuffle toward the water to where the sand is wet and fizzing with the receding tide. A wave laps onto shore, and I step into the cold water. I sink to my knees and let it surround me like a mote, willing it to numb my pain.
This is his grave. The closest I can get to him now.
As the wave recedes, so does whatever energy remains inside me. Anguish presses down on me, and I have neither the strength or desire to resist. I lie down on the wet sand and close my eyes.
The sound of waves breaking roars in my ears. Cold water surrounds me, rising to my ears and filling them with sand and salt. I let it wash over me again and again, only because I can’t move. I’m a forgotten sand castle, and I’m slowly disintegrating. Pieces of me are being swept out to sea, bit by bit, grain by grain, until there’s nothing left.
n Demoror, it’s silent on the shore of the silver lake. There’s no breeze, no rustling leaves or singing birds, no sounds or smells of the earth. Only the weeping trees with their crystal blossoms surrounding the lake, and the fine white sand at my feet. I’m alone. Utterly alone. I’m wearing my white clothes again, and my feet are bare. My wrists and fingers are bare too, stripped of all my powers. And my hands are empty.
I think of Avery, of how I left her crying and terrified in the cottage. Desperate to see her, I kneel at the edge of the still, silver water. It’s like a mirror that stretches as far as the eye can see.
“How is Avery?” I ask the water, my voice catching on her name.
I wait for the surface to ripple like it usually does before showing answers to my questions, but it doesn’t even quiver. So this is my punishment for taking the ring. I can no longer receive answers from the lake.