I say nothing.
He keeps talking. “This is … you’re right. I don’t know if I can deal with this. I really don’t. I thought I could, and I’m the one who wanted to talk to you tonight. I mean, I’m over what happened with Kelsey, I really am. And the way I’ve acted these last few months, it’s never been about that. It’s more that … look, I know I’ve been a real dick. I can’t even, you know, apologize for that. I just am a dick sometimes. It’s who I am. I don’t know why. I don’t have a good reason. I guess I tried to convince myself that it was funny to screw around with you. Because I was mad and, well, because you have such a stick up your ass sometimes, Win, you really do.”
I exhale. “Thanks.”
“But after the other day, in the biology lab, it struck me how serious you are with all this. So none of it’s funny anymore. It’s fucking sad. And I’m sorry that I handled things like I did back then. I mean, yeah, I was pissed you screwed around with the girl I liked, but after you told me, after you explained, well, I should have—” His voice cracks. He shakes his head more. Stuffs his fist into his mouth to keep the words from coming out.
I am confused. His show of emotion repulses me. Is he apologizing for being weak? Maybe he remembers that night differently from the way I do. In fact, I’m sure he does. He was drunk and angry, and after I went to sleep, he took a bunch of Vicodin. And he did it on purpose. I know that, even if he doesn’t. I was the clearheaded one that night, but we’ve never talked about it since. So it stands to reason he might not remember things accurately.
“You need help, Win,” he says.
I smile. “Tell me how you knew the dead guy.”
Lex’s mouth gapes. “Are you listening to me?”
“I’m listening to you avoid my questions.”
“Oh, wow. I’m not avoiding anything. Okay, I knew him because I bought drugs off him. Stupid, yeah, but that’s it. He was a dealer, my hookup, small-time stuff. I invited him. He bought the booze for us. That’s why he was at that party. Now the dumb-ass went and got himself mauled by a bear or a moose or a rabid badger, go figure. This is Vermont. It happens all the time. Who the fuck cares?”
“The drugs you took that night?”
Lex throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “Yes. Happy? It’s all totally irrelevant. Why are we talking about me? This is about you. You should, you know, talk to somebody. I’m serious. And it takes a hell of a lot for me to say that. I don’t believe in crap like that. Talking about emotions or taking meds when life gets hard, you know?”
“That’s ironic.”
“Fuck if I care,” he snaps bitterly. “What I mean is that I lived with you for two years. I didn’t say anything when you had those nightmares. All those times you woke up screaming. I didn’t care that you used to do that shit like hit yourself or stick your finger down your throat or whatever. I protected you.”
“Teddy says you’ve been drinking too much.”
He holds his hand up. “Just stop.”
“What?”
“Stop making this about me! Look, when I needed help, you helped me. And when you needed it, I bailed. I did worse than that. I treated you like shit. So just let me help you, okay?”
“What do I need help with?”
“You told me there’s a wolf inside of you.”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“That’s crazy, Win.”
“No, no, it isn’t,” I say.
“How can that be?”
How can it not?
“It just is. I know. I feel it.”
“Then why haven’t you changed?”
“I’m going to. It’s just, I’ve been…” I choose my words carefully. “Stressed.”
Lex sighs. “Well, explain it to me, then. Why you? I mean, I’m not a wolf.”
“Genetics. I don’t understand it all, but it must be some kind of mutation or a recessive thing. I’m pretty sure it’s linked to hormones and physical development, like puberty, you know? But maybe the stress hormones are holding me back. Cortisol can do that. Alter metabolism. Delay maturity.”
“You have an answer for everything.”
“I’ve done a lot of reading on the topic.”
Lex pauses. “You know, you also told me what happened with your brother and your sister. How they died. Why you changed your name.”
Even though Lex didn’t ask a direct question, I also have an answer for that. I really do. I have all the right words. But when my mouth opens, my vocal cords freeze. Nothing comes out.
Nothing.
chapter
twenty-four
antimatter
“Drink this.” Keith set a glass on the counter in front of me. We’d just returned from our hike.
I shot him a tentative glance.
“It’s water,” he said. The guilt in his voice was palpable. “Nothing else. I promise.”
I nodded and drank it. I still felt weak. The clock on the wall said it was after four in the afternoon. An entire day had vanished.
“You hungry?” Keith asked me.
I shook my head.
“Go lie down, then, or something. Rest. You look peaky.”
“What’s peaky?”
“Sick.”
“When will they be back?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know. Why?”
“I need to tell Gram I’m s-sorry. For hitting her.”
Keith rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You don’t need to tell her anything.”
I felt like crying, just all of a sudden. “Is everyone mad at me?”
“No. Well, Gram started in a bit with how out of control you can be, but Dad told her to knock it off. Said you hadn’t meant to break anything, that traveling was hard on you.”
“He did? He said that?”
“Yup.”
“What about this?” I touched my bandages.
Keith looked right at me. “I told them the cuts were an accident, okay? That’s just between us. Got it?”
I nodded, slid off the bar stool, and switched on the television in the living room. Pokémon was on, which I liked, but when Keith came in and sat next to me with a bowl of popcorn, I changed over to a baseball game. Only the Braves weren’t playing. It was the Red Sox, whom we both hated.
As the day faded, the front door opened and the rest of our family streamed in, loud, exhausted, and sunburned from hours at the lake. My grandfather and uncle both grabbed beers from the refrigerator and joined us. They were Boston fans, naturally. Charlie and Anna bounced around and talked about driving into town to see a movie because Anna had just gotten her license. My dad marched upstairs without a word or glance in my direction. My stomach started to hurt. I looked at Keith.
“It’s not you,” he whispered. “I think something happened while he was in New York. He got asked to leave that fellowship. That’s why he’s here. The only reason. So you just stay out of his way. You hear me?”
I nodded, but my body felt overinflated, like I’d been filled up from the inside. I clawed self-consciously at my chest, my neck. My skin flaked at the touch, a sloughing of dried blood and dust.
I felt filthy.
“I need to take a bath,” I said, and Keith nodded, only half listening. He was trying to get Charlie’s attention.
I headed back to the nautical room and entered the bathroom. I switched on the light, took my clothes off, and waited for the water to fill. The room swirled with steam. Moisture collected around my hairline.
I grimaced at my blurry reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. I hated what my body looked like. I always had. Part of the problem was an umbilical hernia that my parents declined to have surgically fixed. It stuck out like a button. I poked at it and pictured a piece of my innards pushing back out, trying to escape containment.
The tub was full. I turned the tap off and stepped in. The heat felt good on my grimy skin and I sank against the tiled wall, careful not to get my bandages wet.
I closed my eyes
and promptly fell asleep.
*
We were in agreement for once.
My dreams wanted to trick me.
I wanted to let them.
My eyes opened hours later. Day had turned night and the bathwater cold. That made me angry. Why had nobody come to check on me? I could have drowned. I’d heard of people not waking up until after they’d already slipped beneath the water. Some even died. Our neighbor Lee tried to tell me that drowning in the bathtub was just a myth, that all those people had actually been murdered by some undetectable poison; but considering the source, I had serious doubts.
Goose bumps rose across my skin as I stepped out. Wet feet on cold floor. My teeth chattered. I grabbed a towel and hustled back into the bedroom. The window remained wide open from earlier, pale curtains fluttering. I went to close it. I didn’t want anyone to see in. I didn’t want anyone to see me.
As I leaned forward, my gaze lit on the sight of the full moon. It hung deep in the summer sky, more amber than white.
My pulse picked up.
I heard something.
I leaned closer.
The sky was very blue and very dark, like the paint on my father’s luxury sedan. I’d never seen a night like it. I kept staring. The stars twinkled back in a way that let me know they saw me, too.
I held my breath. So I had heard something—the language of the stars.
Listen to the moon, they said. Listen.
Yes.
I did not hesitate. I slid belly first out the window and into the night. I ran toward the New Hampshire forest with my bare feet slapping along the dirt trail, getting all sticky with sap and all stuck with pine needles. The towel slipped from my waist as I reached the tree line, but I didn’t care. I kept going. My strange body, with its jutting bones and too-long limbs and way more height than it knew what to do with, had a mind of its own.
I set my gaze on the stars again.
The moon, they told me. Keep going. Keep listening.
Fear snapped at my ankles because I couldn’t see the moon anymore. It sat too low, hidden by the trees. But I kept running. The stars said I had to.
I traveled deeper.
Farther.
Darker.
The trail before me rose suddenly, a steep pitch. I fell forward onto all fours and scrabbled my way up, using hands and feet like I was climbing the rock wall in the school gym. I grasped at roots and stones, and my legs struggled, working hard.
At last, I ascended.
I looked up.
A small clearing sat before me, full of swirling mist and bathed in a silver glow. I crept forward into the light and sighed, relieved.
I’d found the moon.
I sat back on my haunches. I strained to hear something, someone, anything, anyone, but my ears rang with the barren song of absolute silence.
I lifted my head, opened my throat, and howled.
And the wolves appeared.
Their eyes came first, many of them, shining in the darkness. My body thrummed with anticipation as a black wolf strode straight out of the night and came toward me. Its sable coat glimmered, warmed by the moonlight, but as the creature neared, I shrank back, seized abruptly by a choking terror. My heart pounded. This wasn’t what I expected. This wasn’t the type of creature I remembered from the animal preserve back in West Virginia. This was not an exotic dog or a ratty thing to be pitied.
This was a beast.
The black wolf kept coming. The oxlike power of its muscles was evident, a fine show of strength that rippled with each step. I struggled to get back onto my feet, to run, but my limbs refused to work. I knelt before it on the ground. I was naked. Exposed.
“Help me,” I whispered. “Please. Oh, God!”
It reached me with its frayed, batlike ears blown back tight against its head. The animal placed one giant forepaw on either side of my body and stood above me. Its draping tail whipped back and forth. I gagged at the ripe, rotting odor coming off its fur. I bit back the scream I knew would be torn from my throat as the beast reached down with its dripping snout. But the animal merely pressed its cold nose against my cheek, an almost gentle touch, like a sickening caress. I shuddered.
More wolves came forward. They streamed from every direction. All colors. All sizes. All somehow familiar. Brown, gray, tan, white. Even a reddish beast sprang from the shadows with a snap and a snarl to strut before me, its body lithe, its movements light with grace and swagger.
I reached out with both hands and the beasts crowded in, licking-nuzzling-keening, long ears cocked low, tails held down in deference. I touched and scratched them all, not caring about the smell or the threat.
The wolves closed even tighter, tight, so tight, until I could no longer see the sky.
chapter
twenty-five
matter
I unzip the opening to the tent and stick my head out. The party looks the same, but the atmosphere in Eden is calmer. Drunker. Sleepier. But something is wrong. Upon further assessment, I realize what it is.
Jordan is missing.
My gaze darts around the campfire, always returning to the rock where we sat. She’s not there. She just isn’t. I pull my phone out. It’s two thirty in the morning. I squint and try to make out the crowd that’s playing cards near the back of the hollow, up against the cliff wall. I told her to ask Teddy to walk her back if she wanted to leave. I definitely told her that. I know I did. But Teddy’s still there, slumped in his camping chair, staring at his cards with a deadly serious expression. He’s not drinking. He’s not high. He’s no longer playing poker. He’s playing Shanghai rummy. I know this because Teddy always wants to play Shanghai. It’s his thing. He calls it “the mother of all card games,” which I guess is pretty accurate since the game takes like five hours to finish. It’s kind of fun due to all the strategy required, and I enjoy most anything where I have a fair shot at winning, but at the end of the day, it’s still a card game. Nothing to lose money over. Nothing to get worked up about.
I am, however, worked up over the fact that Jordan either (a) did not listen to me and is walking through the woods alone; or (b) is in the woods, not walking and not alone. I cannot reconcile my distress with the fact that if she is alone, then she can’t be in danger from me because, well, I’m here, and if she’s with someone else, then that should be a good thing. Right? That’s what I wanted, for her to be safe. It’s what I thought I wanted.
Then why am I distressed?
It’s confusing.
I am confused.
Lex comes up from behind. He does it slowly. He knows better than to startle me.
I’m still struggling to breathe. To speak.
“It must fucking suck,” he says.
I have no clue what he’s talking about. I know he’s continuing our conversation, but I’ve lost his line of thinking. I peer around some more. The roaring in my ears is back. Jordan would remember the way down the mountain, wouldn’t she? The cross-country team runs through these woods almost every day, or at least we did until this past week when the headmaster said we couldn’t. No, Jordan doesn’t have a flashlight, but it’s not like the trails are all that complicated.
“What changed your mind?” Lex asks.
I shrink away. I still don’t understand what he wants to know, but I don’t think I want to tell him, either. I can’t. My voice won’t come to me, and that can mean only one thing: I’m scared.
“You saw them, didn’t you? The bodies? I don’t understand. Why didn’t your parents get—”
“Is that Penn Riggsdale?” I force the words. They’re explosive and my voice comes out scratchy and high-pitched in a way I don’t recognize.
Lex crawls closer. He sticks his head out, too, and right, I forgot, he actually has a flashlight, a red Maglite. He pulls it from his jacket and switches it on. The beam cuts across the meadow. We both see the back of a guy walking away from us. We make out Vans. A suede jacket. Skinny jeans. A head full of dark curls. The guy isn’
t walking toward the trail that leads back to campus. He’s heading in the opposite direction. Out of Eden and past the caves. Toward the trail that leads to the summit.
“That’s him,” Lex confirms.
Penn doesn’t notice the flashlight. It’s not strong enough. Or he’s not sober enough. He turns and calls out something to his group of pretentious friends. There’s a row of laughter. The sound is jarring and cruel. Penn jogs a few steps, like he’s eager, too eager, and ducks out of the hollow. Out of my sight.
My body tenses like a hunting dog on point.
“Jordan,” I say.
Lex looks at me. “Who?”
I repeat her name. Same tone. Same urgency. Like a chant.
Or a prayer.
“That’s the girl you came up with? The new one?”
I snap, “Where is she?”
“I don’t know. She was over by the fire—”
“No, where is she now?”
His eyes widen. “What? You think Riggsdale’s going to do something to her?”
I bolt.
Lex calls after me, but his efforts are a lost cause. My legs pump hard. My feet are sure-footed. I am damn fast.
Jordan.
chapter
twenty-six
antimatter
Outside, night happened. Black sky and white stars and a giant moon.
Inside, chaos happened. The wolves were gone.
I roamed through the cabin, up and down hallways, wrapped in towels and crying. I didn’t know where I’d been or how I’d gotten here, but I was looking for someone, anyone. I craved closeness. I padded from room to room, calling out for Keith. Nobody answered. Nobody stirred. A ribbon of fear stitched through my sternum. Was anyone actually here? Had I been abandoned?
I snuck upstairs, still crying. I longed for my dog with an ache that almost broke me.
I knocked on the first door I found. No answer. I turned the knob and stepped in.
This room had shades, not curtains, and they were drawn. Fingers of weak moonlight squeezed through to touch the hardwood floor, but I couldn’t make out anything other than a figure sleeping beneath the sheets on a pullout bed. I tiptoed as close as I could. I listened to the soft, rhythmic breathing. It did not sound familiar.
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