by Hilary Duff
I’m in the backseat of the car, sitting willingly in the bitch seat because it’s easier that way to lean forward and talk to Ben and Sage.
Not that we’ve been talking. Ben grips the steering wheel like he’s going to choke the thing, and Sage stares out the window doing that weirdo thing with his jaw muscle that makes his cheek throb in and out. He’s super sullen, with his eyebrows pulled low over his eyes and his shoulders tense and hunched.
Not that there’s anything wrong with being upset, given the situation. I just mention it because it’s so not in any way how Nico would ever look, even if he was as worried as Sage is right now.
That’s the crazy thing. To me, Sage doesn’t even look like Nico anymore. At all. I mean, I know Sage is in Nico’s body and in fact looks exactly like Nico, but honestly, I don’t see it. It’s amazing how much the soul inside affects a body. It makes me want to become friends with a bunch of identical twins so I can see if the same thing’s true with them.
As much as I can’t see Nico in that body anymore, I keep wondering . . . Is there any of him there? Clea doesn’t seem to think so, so I let it drop with her, but I can’t help but think Sage would have an easier time in the body if Nico was okay with having him there. And doesn’t part of him have to be there in order to not be okay with it? And if part of him is there . . . shouldn’t he get to control his own body and not Sage?
I don’t want to think about it . . . but I think about it constantly.
“We need a place to stay,” Ben says. “I don’t have anything booked; we thought we’d all be at Transitions.”
“We never should have left her there,” Sage says.
“What were you going to do, go caveman and sling her over your shoulder?” I ask.
“I just don’t like it.”
“Of course you don’t. It would be creepy if you liked it. None of us like it. But honestly? The three of you have been chased by guys with guns and knives. You’ve had trees thrown at you. I’m pretty sure Clea can handle being on lockdown with some crazy people. And if it means she can find something out that’ll save your life, that’s what she’d choose to do.”
Sage doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks grimly out the window. Then he says, “We should stay close. We want to get there right away when ‘Spirit Bitsy’ calls.”
“Spirit Bitsy,” Ben snarks under his breath, and a second later we’re all laughing, even Sage. Then we’re all talking over one another about everything we saw until Sage cries out, “There!”
It’s good that he was looking out the window, because the little white colonial-style building with the shutters and balconies looks way more like someone’s private home than a bed-and-breakfast. If Sage hadn’t seen the small sign in front, we’d never have known it was the Presswood Inn. They have vacancies, and we get two rooms that share an adjoining bathroom. This sounds like a serious issue for me until I see the deep tub, complete with bubble bath, water pillow, and TV mounted for the best possible lounge-and-watch angle. I sincerely hope the guys aren’t planning to use the room, because it is my goal to be soaking in there until we get the call to visit Clea.
Mitch and Molly, bar-none the cutest innkeepers in the universe, give us the scoop on everything there is to do in Sedona, which is pretty mind-blowing. Hikes and bike paths and horse trails so beautiful that even I would cave and go aerobic. They also know all about the energy vortexes, and recommend yoga groups I’d love. When all this is over, Clea and I have to come back and take advantage of it all. Right now none of us want to leave the Presswood. It’ll be faster to get to Clea if we’re all in the same place, as close as possible to Transitions.
While the deep tub is beyond enticing, I decide to save it for the evening and spend the entire afternoon in the outdoor pool, with its impossible views of Bell Rock and Courthouse Rock . . . which kind of look like a bell and a courthouse. At least, that’s what Molly tells me when she comes by with homemade lemonade she lets me drink as I lounge on a floaty in the water.
It’s the perfect place to wait for Clea, who I’m sure will be fine. She’ll talk to some people, get some information, then leave. And if it takes her a couple of days to do it, I’m willing to sacrifice that time when I should be at school and instead spend it here. In the pool. Staring at giant red rocks. Sipping homemade lemonade.
I look into the bay window that juts onto the lawn surrounding the pool, and I see Ben and Sage bent over something. A card game, probably. Molly and Mitch showed us their whole stash of games, and when they pulled out the cribbage board, I could see Ben’s fingers start twitching like an Old West villain before a shootout.
I don’t get the card thing. Much better to be outside in the water. I swim a few laps to stretch my muscles, then climb back onto the floaty and contemplate the massive rocks jutting out of the earth. The more I look at them, the more I feel their magical energy, and I know I can help Clea even from here. I meditate on her success, sending positive energy across the desert. I feel it streaming out of me, flowing to her, giving her strength. Then, when I see her in my mind’s eye filled with energy head to toe, I meditate on Nico—his soul, not his body.
I sink deeper into relaxation and concentrate on sending my energy to him. I want to reach out across the divide between here and beyond. I need to know if he’s there—safe, happy, and cared for. Not here, worried about the fate of his body. I need to know he’s in a better place. And if for some reason he’s having trouble getting there or getting used to it, if he’s worried about me or his family or anything he left behind, I need him to know he can relax. We’re all okay down here, and while I might not have his soul here with me, I still love him, and we’ll be together again one day, in what to him will feel like a blink.
I concentrate hard on all that. I try to feel Nico’s spirit and energy and get peace in the knowledge that he’s out there and okay . . . but I can’t do it. Probably that’s because my meditation skills aren’t that great. I can do yoga all day and night, but sinking into myself to get out of myself has never been my strongest point. I’d just hoped that with the help of Sedona and those unbelievable rocks I could do it.
Maybe if I try harder.
I stay in the pool until sunset, but I don’t get any vibe from Nico’s spirit. I’ve barely moved in hours, but I’m exhausted from all the meditating. Isn’t meditating supposed to leave you energized? Maybe I’m doing it wrong.
I shouldn’t be so disappointed. It’s not like it’s easy to sink into a state of pure spirit so strong you can feel souls that have moved on. But Nico’s my soulmate. I thought I could reach him. It would feel so good. Now I have to wonder: Did I fail because I’m not good enough at meditating, or because Nico’s soul is stuck somewhere and can’t be reached?
“Rayna, sweetie?” Molly calls from the edge of the pool. “It’s dinnertime.”
“You serve dinner? I thought it was just breakfast.”
“Breakfast is included, but we offer dinner, too, and the boys said you’d rather stay in tonight.”
The boys. I giggle to myself. Like we’re her kids.
I climb out of the pool and head inside, where the aromas from the kitchen make my stomach scream in anticipation. I take the fastest shower in the world and zip down to the dining room, where Mitch and “the boys” are already tucking into a salad with sun-dried tomatoes and olives and parmesan and . . . I’m drooling.
“Who won?” I ask as I sit next to Mitch, across from Sage and Ben, and Molly instantly swings out of the kitchen with my own plate of the salad. I attack it. Delicious.
Ben shoots me a warning glare.
“You’re saying you lost?”
He shakes his head slightly, and I look at Sage, who’s stabbing his salad like it insulted him. I can hear the fork tines pinging off the plate. So can Mitch and Molly. They look concerned—twin worry lines crease their foreheads. I feel bad for them.
“Sage, the lettuce is already dead. Maybe you should go easy on it.”
&n
bsp; Sage stabs his fork into the middle of the plate and lifts his face just enough to sneer at me. “Maybe you should shut your mouth.”
I want to rip his tongue out.
I know Sage’s soul is struggling to keep its place in Nico’s body, but it disgusts me. Nico would never talk to me that way, and he’d roll over in his grave if he knew what his body was doing. To me it’s blasphemy.
“Who wants fresh-baked rolls?” Molly asks, leaping up from her chair.
“I told Mitch and Molly that Sage isn’t feeling so well after our trip,” Ben says pointedly. “In fact, I thought he might be better off taking dinner in our room.”
“Want to stop talking about me like I’m not here?” Sage growls.
Stop it! I scream inside my head. You’re abusing him! You’re abusing his body!
“Mitch, the pool is soooo relaxing,” I say, eager to change Mitch’s drop-jawed expression. I get the sense that he and mild-mannered Molly have never seen anyone act this rude in their inn before, and they don’t know how to deal.
“Why, thank you, Rayna,” Mitch says, his cherubic face happy once more. “I can tell you I’ve spent many an hour getting away from it all in that very spot.”
I’m not sure what the “all” is he has to “get away from,” but I’m glad he looks happy again. Sage, however, is fuming. His face has turned from pale to crimson, and I wouldn’t be surprised to see smoke and ash pour out of his ears.
“I have an idea!” I say. “Mitch, let’s go out to the pool right now!”
“Don’t you think I know what you’re doing?” Sage explodes. He pounds his hands on the table and leans so far over, he almost vaults to our side. Mitch recoils so quickly he knocks over his glass of wine, which spreads a bloodred stain over their white linen tablecloth just as Molly bustles in, cooing about “piping-hot rolls!” She gasps at the sight of Sage looming over her husband and drops the ceramic bread bowl, which crashes into bits. Sage doesn’t notice any of it.
“Who are you, and what do you want from me?” he screams in Mitch’s face.
“What? I—I’m sure I don’t . . .”
Mitch does his best to shrink into his chair, and I can’t take it anymore. I jump up and get right in Sage’s face. “Stop it! You can’t do this to him!”
I feel Mitch’s and Molly’s faces turn to me, and I feel horrible that they think I’m crazy now too, but I can’t let Sage abuse Nico this way.
Sage reaches across the table and grabs my cheeks in his hand so hard I think my jaw will break. He pulls my face close, tugging me until my feet leave the floor. “You want to get in my way?” he asks. “You want to hurt me? I won’t let you hurt me.”
Ben yells at Sage to stop, but he only squeezes tighter, until I’m sure my face will crack. Then Molly takes one of the piping-hot rolls and jams it in Sage’s eye. He howls and releases the pressure on my face just enough for me to slip out of his grip. He takes two steps back from the table, panting and seething like a wild animal. Ben catches my eye, but before we can do anything Sage grabs a carving knife off the table and throws it down so hard it sticks point-first in the table. Molly screams, Mitch goes deathly pale, and Sage races upstairs. We all jump at the gunshot sound of his door slamming shut.
The two innkeepers exchange a look.
“Maybe the three of you should check out a little early,” Molly says.
She does end up changing her mind, though it takes several hours and monumental amounts of charm from Ben and me. We explain that Sage just went through a terrible breakup and he’s really not himself, which leads to all of us sharing breakup stories, a lot of laughing, then hours of charades, all of which seem to make everything okay.
That, and the fact that we agree to replace the dining room table.
After Mitch and Molly go to bed, Ben and I sit across from each other in the giant padded bay window seat. The moon is full, lighting up the majestic red rocks just beyond the inn. I gaze out at them, wishing they’d bring me peace, but I can’t find it.
“I hate what he’s doing to Nico’s body,” I say. “It isn’t right.”
“No,” Ben says. “It’s not.”
The moonlight is good to Ben. He’s always bragging about his new workout routine and how buff he’s getting, and I love giving him a hard time about it, but the truth is he looks great. Not bulky, just lean and strong. I can see the slight outline of his pecs under his T-shirt, and the shadows cast by the muscles in his arms. Even his face looks different, a little stronger and tougher. Or maybe that’s just the late-night scruff on his jaw and chin. I never saw it in him before, but he looks like someone you could lean on.
“We told Molly and Mitch that Sage isn’t dangerous,” I say. “Did we lie?”
Ben runs one hand through his hair. “I don’t know. How does your jaw feel?”
I run my hand over the tender skin. “Like we lied.”
Ben nods. “He’s getting worse. Paranoid. It’s all part of the same thing. His body’s rejecting his soul, so everything’s getting detached and confused.”
“Hopefully Clea will figure out how to fix it.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, but he looks distracted.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I just wonder . . .” He scrunches his mouth and shakes his head. “No, I shouldn’t say.”
I kick at his shin with my bare foot. “Yeah, that’ll make me let it go. Spill.”
Ben smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t want to get you upset.”
It feels chillier in the room, and I pull up my knees and wrap my arms around them. “It’s too late for that, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, I guess it is.” He sighs. “I just wonder . . . if it’s only Nico’s body that’s fighting with Sage’s soul.”
Now it really is colder in the room. I expect to see my breath when I speak. “I’ve been wondering the same thing.”
“It’s possible.”
“Is it? Clea said the soul transfer never would have happened unless Nico was gone.”
“She’s right. And yet . . .” He trails off for so long I can’t bear it.
“And yet what?”
“Nico’s gone. I saw it. I . . .”
His voice catches, and this time when he drifts off I know what he’s thinking. I can’t even imagine what it must feel like to know you’re responsible for someone dying, even if you didn’t mean it. I’m sure he feels guilty every time he looks at me. I put my hand on top of his and wait for him to collect himself.
“I just wonder,” he continues when he can, “if maybe some part of his soul is still there, inside his body.”
“Trapped?” My heart clenches as I imagine it. Nico’s soul caught in his own body, unable to control it because Sage has taken over . . . forced to sit back and watch him destroy everything he stood for . . .
I can’t breathe.
“Not his whole soul,” Ben says, “more of an echo. In some of the stories I’ve read about soul rejections, that’s how they describe it. The echo of a past soul wreaks havoc because it can’t rest if its body is occupied by someone else.”
“Can’t rest?” I think about today in the pool, and how I tried to reach Nico’s soul but couldn’t. “So you don’t think Nico’s soul can move on?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. If there is a soul echo stuck inside that body . . .”
“It would be horrible. Nico would never want that.”
“I agree. And if what’s happening to Sage is Nico’s way of fighting for peace . . . maybe we should let him get it.”
It takes me a second to understand exactly what he means. “But if we don’t do anything . . . isn’t that the descent into madness and violence and death?”
“For Sage. But for Nico, maybe it’s a journey to peace.”
It’s like Ben just put an immersion blender into my brain and turned it on high. “Wait—we can’t just let Sage get worse and worse. He’ll be dangerous. Mor
e dangerous.”
“I know. He knew it too. He told me to kill him if it got to that point.”
“He . . . what?”
“I said no. Then he told me to have him locked up in a mental institution, but it’s not like we’re family. I can’t just ask some place to lock him up and have them do it. He’d have to ask for it himself, or do something horrible and get arrested, then have a judge send him away.”
“So we’re supposed to stand by and wait for him to do something so bad he’ll get arrested? That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.”
“We need Clea to find something at Transitions,” I say. “Then we can heal Sage right away, before he gets any worse.” Even as I say it, something clangs in my head. “But wait—if Nico’s soul is fighting because it doesn’t want Sage in his body, and we force the body to accept Sage . . . what happens to Nico’s soul?”
“It’s trapped forever,” Ben says. “It never finds rest.”
No. It’s not right. Nico never hurt anyone. It’s not fair that his soul might never move on, or get the chance to be with mine in whatever comes next. When I think about it, the ache is so huge it’s impossible to contain, like trying to imagine the entire universe. I feel like I’ll explode if I try to fit it inside me.
“You really think that’s what would happen?” I ask Ben.
“I do. I think . . . I think maybe the only way Nico can rest is if Sage’s soul is expelled from his body.”
“But Sage would die,” I say breathlessly.
“What kind of life does he have now?” Ben asks. “What kind of life will he have if he does get worse, and does something horrible, and spends his mortal life locked away? What kind of life will Clea have, watching Sage come completely unglued? That’s assuming she survives. He already tried to hurt her. And you. What if he kills someone? I don’t think I could live with myself, could you?”
“We have to stop him,” I say. “And the only way to do that is heal him . . . even if that sacrifices Nico’s soul.”
Saying the words nearly kills me, but I don’t know if there’s another way.