The Lance Brody Series: Books 3 and 4

by Robertson Jr, Michael

  There was only one link to the chain left. The older girl, the one Lance had to assume was the first, the one with the master’s degree in biology who had been well on her way to a PhD, was on the left end of the line, the two girls bookending the boys. She stood tall and straight and defiant, as if ready for the challenge.

  The air began to hum and fill with static. All the hair on Lance’s body stood at attention. His teeth buzzed, seemed to pulse with the wave of energy that began to blanket them. Something that might have been lightning flashed, but it was too close, not in the sky but almost directly above their heads. Lance flinched, jumping back, but the kids stood their ground, hands linked.

  “Go!” the Reverend yelled, and the Surfer charged the line, a burst of speed that seemed to flash across the distance in a nearly imperceivable moment of time. So fast that Lance did not even understand it had happened.

  And at the same time, the girl on the end, who might one day have been one of the world’s greatest scientists, who’d had such potential and had tragically decided that help was something she could never receive, grabbed the hand of the boy next to her, completing the chain.

  There was a great clap of thunder—thunder that was too close—and this time Lance screamed in surprise. The fire behind him erupted to the sky like it’d been doused with a barrel of lighter fluid, nearly knocking Lance to his knees.

  The Surfer charged full speed toward the wall of spirits, and just as Lance had the terrible thought—he’s going to go right through them!— because the Reverend was right, they were not of this world, the kids absorbed the impact, their line warping and giving slightly under the momentum, and then they bounced back like a rubber band snapping back into place. The Surfer was flung backward with a grunt that sounded more surprised than angry.

  “Again!” the Reverend yelled, this time taking a step forward himself, though it was a small one. His eyes were on Lance, and Lance could see the flames flickering in them.

  And then the Surfer made his next charge, only this time when the spirits absorbed the blow, halting the Surfer’s stride, the air around them came alive—a fresh wave of energy rushing across the beach, landing on top of them. Wind did not so much blow as it did scream, like it was being pulled away, painfully, against its will.

  Lance’s head buzzed so loudly he fell to the sand and covered his ears with his hands, squeezed his eyes shut just long enough to regain his balance. He could feel it pulsing through him, whatever force this was. Felt it stir his stomach and squeeze his heart and compress his lungs.

  Then he heard the growl, like some rabid animal caught in a snare. The noise was vicious and frantic and enraged. Lance opened his eyes and saw that the spirits had formed a tight circle around the Surfer, their hands still linked together as they inched their way closer and closer, eating up any empty space around him. The Surfer growled again, a sound that should never come out of a human’s mouth, and he struck out with hands and feet, slashing and shoving and punching. The spirits of the dead kids took the blows, occasionally slowed by the attack. But each time one of them looked as if the strike had actually caused some sort of celestial damage, a new rush of wind and energy would thump the beach like the hit of some unseen subwoofer, the fire would surge with tall, fresh flames, and the kids would push forward.

  And once the circle had tightened completely, the spirits the noose, the Surfer the neck about to snap, there was an absolute eruption of thunder, so loud that Lance was literally blinded as his head felt turned to jelly from the noise. His vision blackened, then became fuzzy, and then…

  When Lance was able to see again, he thought he might have had a stroke, or suffered some other brain injury.

  Behind the circle of spirits and the trapped, struggling Surfer, behind the Reverend, who stood and stared as his partner fought invisible forces, frozen with uncertainty and uselessness, the beach and the rest of the world beyond it seemed to be cracked in two, like a picture frame glass that had split, causing the image it covered to be skewed and uneven, two halves of an imperfect image. Puzzle pieces that did not line up.

  And the crack between the two halves widened, the wind screaming now as if a hurricane was being born right there before them all. Lance felt as though he were being lifted from the ground, floating across the sand toward the crack.

  And then it was a gap, the two halves of the beach seeming to be pulled apart like curtains on a theater stage, ready to reveal the show. Only there was no show—when the two sides of the beach pulled apart, there was…

  Nothing.

  The only word Lance’s mind could find was black. But this was more than that, and also less. It was as if the world had decided not to fill this part in. It was simply … empty. It didn’t exist.

  But it did.

  Because Lance was seeing it.

  And Lance was not seeing it.

  It hurt to think about.

  But then the spirits moved forward again, wrangling the Surfer, who was now snarling and growling and clearly understanding what was about to happen.

  And Lance understood too. He began to move forward, propelled by the wind that now seemed to be being sucked into the emptiness between the picture pieces, as if by a giant vacuum. He headed for the Reverend, who was now standing with wide eyes and an open mouth, staring at the nothingness that had opened behind him. The Reverend’s eyes darted from the blackness and then back to his partner, who Lance thought must look to the Reverend as if he was walking very awkwardly toward this new hole in the universe. Then, just as the spirits reached the point where, with another two steps, they would have begun to disappear into the gap, falling into whatever lay beyond and taking the Surfer with them, the Reverend moved. Whether out of genuine compassion for his partner or because he knew that if the spirits of the young kids succeeded in tossing the Surfer into this unknown space, the mission would be over and everything lost, the Reverend took off across the ground and positioned himself in between the Surfer and the blackness. He dug his heels in and held up his hands, ready to push. The wind whipped at his shirt and pants, plastering them against him. His hair pulled back from his head and revealed a bone-white scalp.

  The group of spirits and the Surfer hit the Reverend’s hands, and the man dug in further and yelled with a grunt of strength and desperation. The group slowed as they collided with him, and with this small moment of resistance, the Surfer seemed to find a second wind, a new surge of energy. He roared with frustration and managed to get a kick into the gut of the redheaded girl, causing her to lose her grip on the hand of the boy next to her. Which was enough of a weakening for the Surfer to push forward, assisted by the Reverend, and begin to slowly move the entire circle backward, away from the blackness.

  He’s stronger than them, Lance remembered the Reverend’s words. And maybe the Reverend had been right.

  No, Lance thought. And then he actually yelled it, surprising himself, screaming the word as he ran full speed toward the pile of ghosts and the Reverend and the thing called the Surfer that wasn’t really a man at all, and threw himself into the pile, lowering his shoulder and aiming for the Surfer.

  And before he made impact, as he passed through the spirits of the kids who’d ended their own lives, he was flooded with memories and emotions and parts of each of them. Birthdays and holidays. Nervousness and elation. First kisses and last dances. Excitement and fear. Family and friends. Joy and sadness. Hobbies and skills. Music. Laughter. Worry. Smiles. Doubt. Tears. He lived all their lives in a span of half a second, and he wished he could go back to each of them, wanted to hug them and be their friend and…

  And there was nothing.

  Then there was just the end.

  And Lance’s shoulder slammed into the Surfer’s chest and he let out a growl of his own and used his long legs to dig in and push and he heard the Reverend scream something he could not make out over the howling of the wind and buzz of the energy and then they were falling, all of them, over the edge of the cracked picture
fame and into the nothing. First the Reverend was gone, sucked into the void with a scream that was sliced in half, silenced, and then the Surfer followed, tangled in a knot of limbs from the spirits of the kids. One by the one they were vanishing into the void, momentum carrying them all forward and beyond.

  And that was when Lance realized he was going to fall in with them, and fear unlike any he’d ever known erased all thoughts from his mind except a strong, unflinching, undeniable will to live. There was that thought, and then there was also a name: Leah.

  Something shoved him back, as if invisible hands had reached out and thumped him in the chest, knocking him the opposite direction with unnatural strength. He felt himself flailing through the air, pushing against the wind, and then he landed hard on his back, his head smashing back against the earth.

  And then it was over.

  31

  When he opened his eyes, he stared straight into the blackness and thought for one fleeting second that he’d actually fallen in, had joined the rest of them in that other place, the gap in the universe.

  But then his vision cleared and he saw the pale light of the emerging dawn. Felt his lungs fill with air and the scent of saltwater and sand and everything living. He sat up, slowly, his world speckled with black fuzzies for a moment before his head cleared and his equilibrium settled, and he was able to stand, brushing sand from his hands.

  Everything was back to normal. He looked up the beach and saw one straight image, the two halves of the picture pushed back together as they should be, not even the hint of a seam. The howling wind had been replaced by only a gentle breeze, carrying sea mist and grains of sand along with it. The buzzing in his head was gone, replaced by a dull headache which was the result of his fall.

  They’d saved him.

  Once Lance had figured out who the young spirits by the fire had actually been—thanks in part to Leah, verifying the number of suicide deaths during one of her phone calls—he’d been under the impression his job was to help them. Another task on the list which he did not understand. Turned out, they’d been waiting to save him—even if they hadn’t known this until the time had arrived.

  But maybe we saved each other, Lance thought. Maybe, in their protection against the Surfer, and their tumble into the blackness, they’d not only allowed Lance to stay alive and free but also squared themselves with the Universe. Maybe when they’d passed out of this world and into whatever lay beyond, they’d crossed into a place where they could be truly happy—maybe for the first time ever. And now, for eternity.

  Lance wanted to believe that. Wondered if maybe wherever those kids had ended up, his mother was there, too. He hoped she would bake them a pie.

  “There’s one more thing now,” a girl’s voice said from behind him. Lance spun, completely jarred from his thoughts, and found the spirit of the older girl, the first victim who’d been standing so alone down by the water when he’d first seen her, sitting on one of the pieces of driftwood. The fire had burned away to almost nothing now, and there was only a dim glow to light her against the faded background of the beach as the first light of the sun turned the world from black to gray.

  “What?” Lance asked.

  “I’ll take her home,” the girl said. “She’ll never get there alone.”

  And Lance remembered.

  The girl was right. There was one more thing.

  * * *

  When he crossed the street, after passing through the little park where Loraine Linklatter had done yoga for the last time, he looked up the road and saw tiny specks surrounded by flashing emergency lights and people scurrying about. The scene of the accident, where the Excursion had been step one in stopping the Reverend and the Surfer, where there was probably a dead body and lots of unanswerable questions.

  Lance knew he needed to be gone before anybody could find a reason to track him down and question what he knew. He laughed at this thought. Because really, in the end, what did he know? Only that it was time to move on.

  There were no police cars or ambulances or anything at all outside the Boundary House, and based on the lack of any barrier or bright yellow crime scene tape discouraging entry, Lance could only assume that no report of gunfire had been called in when Loraine Linklatter had shot herself. Maybe he should be the one to call it in. Maybe not. He didn’t see how it mattered at this point. Somebody would find Loraine Linklatter eventually, and Lance wanted to be as far away from Sugar Beach as possible when that happened.

  He found her body exactly where he’d left it, slumped over the kitchen table. Only now, she looked different. Less real than before, as death took its toll. Lance stood in the kitchen doorway, silent and waiting.

  Daisy was sitting in the breakfast nook in the seat opposite her mother’s body. Her tiny feet were crossed, her legs swinging back and forth. She looked … impatient.

  “Daisy?” Lance said, stepping closer.

  She turned to look at him, and Lance could see her face was full of something like frustration crossed with anger. “Where is she?” Daisy said. “She should be here by now, right?”

  Lance instantly understood and felt a piece of his heart break. “Daisy, I don’t think she’s coming.” He paused, tried to think how to explain. “Not everyone … not all people who pass away stay here. I think you know that, right?”

  Daisy was still for a moment and then nodded, once, twice, before her face fell and she cried out, “But she’s my mommy and she’s supposed to be with me! Why am I here and she’s not? We were supposed to be together again now!”

  Daisy leaned forward and reached out and Lance watched as her hand passed through her mother’s head as she meant to stroke the woman’s hair. And it was then that Lance wondered if Daisy knew the truth, deep down. If, in reality, she knew that her mother had been the one to officially end her life, end her suffering. He wondered if it mattered.

  He decided that it didn’t.

  “Daisy,” he said, “there’s somebody else who can help you. She can help you cross on to whatever’s next and”—he felt a little guilty at this next part, because he had no way of knowing if it was true—“she’ll help you find your mother.”

  He said these things because Lance guessed that eternity in the other place, with or without her mother at her side, was infinitely better than being trapped in the human world alone.

  Daisy looked at him with scrutinizing eyes, as if ready to call his bluff. But then, after what felt like a very long time, she took one last look at her mother’s body, then around the kitchen, the way one does when one sells a house and is making their final departure before heading off to what’s next, reveling in memories and history.

  She moved from the table and followed Lance to the front door, where she paused for just a second, either unsure she wanted to go through with it, or uncertain she actually possessed the ability to cross the threshold.

  Lance figured she did. Now, she did.

  Daisy took a step, then another.

  * * *

  Lance said goodbye to both of them—Daisy, and the spirit of the girl who’d been waiting patiently on the piece of driftwood. Thanked them both for everything. Then he stood by the burned-out remains of the bonfire as the girl took Daisy’s hand and led her down to the water, where they both walked slowly into the surf, fading away into nothing as the sun crept over the horizon.

  Lance thought it might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  HER

  (IV)

  Leah drove her mother’s ancient VW Beetle down the driveway of her family’s home. The one where her father lived alone now—one wife and one son deceased, one daughter…

  One daughter ready to move on.

  Leah had made the decision for herself, she knew that. But she also knew that if it wasn’t for Lance, this would never have happened. She would have never been able to get the closure she needed—her father wouldn’t have either, which was maybe the most important part—or the personal strength required to leave
this place. Leave Westhaven. Leave the only place she’d ever known.

  But Lance had given her that. Some of it directly, and some of it indirectly. He’d been an inspiration to her, more than he probably knew. His bravery, his sense of duty and purpose, his desire to help and do good. Leah wanted to go on this journey with him. There was nothing left for her in Westhaven.

  Lance and she were similar in that way—they both had reached a moment in their lives where they’d been presented with a choice between moving forward and chasing the light, or staying put and succumbing to the darkness.

  Lance had chosen the light.

  And so would she.

  She loved him.

  Her father had understood. She’d chosen not to focus on Lance being such a large factor in her decision, but instead on the desire to live her life for once. He’d accepted this humbly enough. There’d been tears, though, from both sides of the table. And there’d been big hugs and wet kisses, and as she’d pulled away from him, he’d taken her by the shoulders—a lifetime of memories and hardships and forgiveness passing between them—and he’d said, “Go and live, baby girl. I know wherever you go, that place will be better because of it.”

  So she drove on, through her hometown and headed toward the highway, no destination in mind. There was only one thing left to do.

  She pulled over at a rest stop thirty miles out of town and picked up her phone to make the call.

  32

  Lance had walked maybe three miles, leaving Sugar Beach behind him as the sun climbed into the sky in the east. Sand Dollar Road had eventually become a two-lane highway, heading north toward the future, and Lance walked along the shoulder with his mind partially in the clouds.

  After watching Daisy cross over with the help of her new friend, Lance had walked a long way on the beach before eventually making his way back to the road. He knew he needed to leave, but he didn’t want to risk returning to the bus station—didn’t want to stay in Sugar Beach a second longer than he needed to. There’d been so much loss there, so much sadness.