The Locket

by Stacey Jay

  I had to be ready, I had to be prepared to grab on to him and hold him tight, to physically overpower him if I had to. I was shorter and smaller, but I could do it. Knowing Mitch was about to die would give me the strength I needed. People lifted cars off their children and performed super-human feats of physical strength when the people they loved were in danger. I’d take one look into Mitch’s beautiful brown eyes, see the life still in him, and be able to move mountains.

  Two seconds passed, then three, then five, and still the locket sat quietly, unmoved by my prayers and promises.

  “Please. Please!” I brought my clenched hands to my lips and whispered into them, warm breath sneaking through tight fingers to heat the metal inside ever so slightly. But the heat faded when I pulled in my next breath and the last chance nestled between my palms grew so cold it felt like I was clutching a chunk of ice.

  There was only one more thing to try . . .

  I uncurled my hands, letting the locket fall back to my chest as I reached for the clasp. It took some time to find it beneath my wet, tangled hair and another moment to catch the tiny bit of metal beneath my fingernail, but when I did, the clasp gave under the slightest pressure. The locket’s chain slithered from around my neck as the locket fell into my lap.

  I reached down, thumbing open the clasp, not as surprised as I should have been when I saw a faded picture of me on one side and a grainy picture of Mitch on the other. The pictures were black and white, charmingly old fashioned, the kind of thing a girl couldn’t help but pick up and put on.

  The new girl, the next one in line, whoever she might be.

  I knew then that it was over. It was really over. The locket didn’t want me anymore. There weren’t going to be any more do overs. From here on out, all my mistakes were meant to last. Including this one.

  Mitch was dead. And he was never coming back.

  The realization possessed me like some evil spirit, flooding into every cell and infecting it with the cancer of despair. The tears came, fast and furious, fierce sobs that rocked through my body, tightening every muscle as they grew harder and harder. I cried like I’d never cried before, salty heat rushing down my face like the rainwater that had rushed into the drain. They just kept coming and coming, more tears than I’d known my body could hold, pouring from me as if their sheer quantity could purge all my guilt and shame and heartache.

  But they couldn’t. Nothing could.

  Dimly, I heard my parents’ panicked voices screaming for me in the world above, but I couldn’t bring myself to call back to them. I didn’t want to rejoin the living, not when the person I’d loved more than anything was dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  SUNDAY, OCTOBER 11, 4:54 P.M.

  I open my eyes to sunshine, so much sunshine, like melted lemon-drop candy smeared all over the world. It takes my eyes a few minutes to adjust, but I know where I am immediately. The old community pool, the one where Mitch and Isaac and I learned to swim, the one the city had torn down to make a bigger, better pool by the time we were teenagers.

  The smell of chlorine and sunscreen, hot dogs and melted orange Push-Up ice cream, is unmistakable. When I wiggle my toes, I can feel the hot, cracked concrete beneath my bare feet. A light summer breeze blows the end of my ponytail into my face, tickling my nose, making me smile.

  “Are you going to jump today?”

  I turn to see Mitch standing next to me. Little Mitch, the boy with tiny stick legs, teeth too big for his mouth, and short, shaggy hair that sticks up in a hundred different directions. But the eyes are the same—deep, soulful brown eyes that see right to the heart of me and know everything I’m thinking. He knows I’m scared of the high dive even though I haven’t said anything out loud.

  But for some reason . . . today I think I might be able to do it. I fist my small hands at my sides and stand up a little taller. I still only reach Mitch’s chin. I must be little too. I look down, taking in my red one-piece swimsuit with the Strawberry Shortcake on my slightly rounded belly and smile again.

  I turn back to Mitch and take his hand. “Yes, I’m ready. Let’s get in line.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks, obviously surprised. “You don’t want to go hide under the bleachers with me and Isaac?”

  “Why would Isaac hide?” I ask. “Isaac’s not afraid.”

  “Of course I’m not.” Seven-year-old Isaac appears on my other side. His blond hair is bleached nearly white from the sun and his skin dark brown except for a single white stripe across his nose that refuses to tan. His blue eyes are full of trouble. As usual. “But I’ve got firecrackers. We can hide under the bleachers, wait until Tim’s about to jump, and set them off.”

  Tim. The lifeguard who had pushed me off the high dive. The thought is tempting . . . “But what if it scares him?” I ask Isaac. “What if he falls?” For some reason the thought of someone falling terrifies me, makes me shiver despite the heat of the summer day.

  Isaac wrinkles his nose. “He won’t fall. Don’t be a baby, Katie.”

  “Katie’s right,” Mitch says. “And my dad won’t let me play with fireworks.”

  “You don’t have to tell your dad,” Isaac says, his words a challenge.

  “He’d find out.” Mitch’s arms cross over his thin chest. “You know we’d get caught. There’s a fence around the entire pool. It’s not like we could set them off and run away. Tim would find out we did it and he’d tell our parents.”

  Isaac’s eyes narrow and his lips push into a pout. He obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Fine, then let’s just go do the high dive. Come on, babies.”

  I hesitate, suddenly not sure if the high dive is such a good idea.

  “Don’t worry,” Mitch whispers. “I’ll go first. When you see me jump, you’ll feel better.” Before I can answer, he turns and runs after Isaac, long feet flapping on the hot pavement.

  “No. No, wait,” I call after him, but it’s too late.

  Suddenly he’s at the top of the high dive, waving at me. Panic streaks through my body, but I don’t understand why, not until my eyes flick down to the pool. Oh, no. There’s no water! Nothing but concrete painted blue and white to look like ocean waves.

  “No! Don’t jump!” I scream, but Mitch doesn’t seem to hear. He bounces on the board one last time and—

  I woke up with a gasp, eyes flying wide, sucking in deep breaths, staring blindly at the muted television across the room. Colored ribbons reporting the latest headlines and stock market numbers streamed across the bottom of the screen and a woman with dark brown hair motioned at a weather map with vigorous sweeps of her arms. In the flowered chair next to the television, my gran slept, snoring softly. Next to the chair, on the love seat, Dad frowned, unhappy with whatever awfulness the news ribbon had to share.

  For a second, I wasn’t sure why I was asleep in the living room, but then it came back to me in pieces—a policewoman slipping into the drain to pull me out because Dad and Mom wouldn’t fit through the narrow drain opening, my parents half carrying me home and stripping off my wet clothes, my mom dressing me and putting me to sleep on the couch.

  I vaguely recalled awakening once before, when Sarah had come by with a note apologizing for what had happened with her and Isaac. As if that mattered now. I couldn’t care less what she and Isaac had done. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if I’d been brave enough to confess and apologize instead of lying and wishing for something to make my lie the truth.

  Mom had taken her note at the door and told Sarah I wasn’t up to seeing visitors. Then she’d broken the horrible news. I’d awoken to the sound of Sarah crying and lost it, sobbing so hard I thought I’d be sick before Mom forced me to drink a tall glass of water and take a small white pill. Soon after, I’d fallen back into the oblivion, eager for the escape from conscious thought.

  But the misery had found me, even in my dreams.

  I closed my eyes, wishing desperately that the dream had been real, that Mitch a
nd Isaac and I were little kids again and had the chance to make everything turn out differently. But wishing didn’t accomplish any more than it had the night before, when I’d passed out with the locket still clenched in my hand.

  The locket . . . it was still there, resting in a basket of my curled fingers.

  I lifted my head from my pillow and stared down at it, hating it more than ever. How dare it still exist? How dare it lie so heavy and solid in my hand when Mitch was gone? When I’d never see him or touch him or laugh with him ever again?

  I was suddenly possessed by the urge to destroy it. For real, this time. It had hurt so many people—Sarah, Isaac, Mitch, and everyone who had loved and lost him. Mitch’s death would spread grief through this entire community, dimming the spirits of a hundred souls or more, teaching people who had never known what real loss felt like how painful death could be when it came too soon. The locket had done that, and there was nothing I could do to change the past.

  All I could do was try to ensure the safety of the future.

  “Katie? What’s wrong? Where are you going?” Dad startled as I threw off my covers and reached for my boots. They were still cold and wet, but I barely noticed. So my shoes were wet. What did it matter? Mitch was dead. That horrible fact made all the little worries of day-to-day life seem ridiculous, trivial.

  “I need to take a drive.” I stood and did a quick scan. Long-sleeved homecoming T-shirt and black sweatpants. My body was covered. That was all I needed to know. I couldn’t care less what I looked like. I couldn’t imagine I ever would.

  “Do you think that’s smart, honey?” Dad rose to his feet and I could see him debating whether or not to call for Mom. “You took a Xanax this morning.”

  The little white pill. My mom must have been really freaked. She’d never given me anything stronger than an ibuprofen, let alone one of her “only for long-distance plane flights” Xanax.

  I grabbed my keys from the dish by the door. “I feel fine. I just need to be alone. I need to think.”

  “Why don’t you go to your room? I can make sure no one—”

  “Please, Dad,” I said, pausing with my hand on the handle.

  “Mitch’s funeral is tomorrow morning. First thing.” I could see how much the words hurt my father. He’d loved Mitch so much, even more than my mom had, I guessed, as a tear rolled down his scruffy face. “I wouldn’t want you to miss that. I know it’s not going to be easy, but—”

  “Please, Dad.” I swallowed hard, trying not to think about the reality of mourning Mitch in public with his casket sitting across the room. “I’m not running away from home. I just . . . Just let me go for a drive.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Let her go, Andrew.” Gran was awake and staring at me with sad green eyes. Eyes filled with understanding.

  She knew what it was like to lose the person you loved, how it made you want to run and run and never look back. In the years since Grandpa’s death, Gran had traveled constantly, not once coming back to the house she’d shared with her husband. I’d always thought she had better things to do than visit, but maybe it had taken her twelve years to gain the strength to sit in the rooms she’d shared with the man she’d loved so much and lost to cancer.

  “Do what you need to do, Katie,” Gran said, her words sending a shiver across my skin. It was almost as if she knew about the locket . . . .though I knew she didn’t. Still, her words made me feel stronger. “We love you. We’re here for you when you’re ready.”

  “I love you too,” I said, swallowing away the burning taste of tears teasing at the back of my throat. I couldn’t cry anymore. Not until this was really over. I hurried out the door before my dad could utter another word of protest.

  Outside, my car was in its usual spot, which surprised me for some reason. How could so many things be the same when the world was so changed? How could leaves fall through the air with that pretty whispering sound? How could the air smell so clean and bright? How could those kids across the street practically scream with laughter as they raced each other down the sidewalk?

  I turned away from the two little girls on their bikes. They reminded me too much of what Isaac and Mitch and I had been.

  Inside the car, I tossed the locket into my dirty, sticky cup holder, started up the engine, and darted out of the driveway, a part of me knowing where I was going even before I took the right onto Skylar Street and headed out into the country.

  Water hadn’t banished the locket. It was time to see what fire could do.

  I pulled into the drive-in less than thirty minutes later and steered straight around to the back, finding a parking spot within spitting distance of the Pit. Lovelace’s—the corn dog shack where Isaac had been bound the night of our anniversary—didn’t just have the best shakes and dogs on a stick in the county. They also had an infamous fire pit, a sizable flame my dad had always said was a lawsuit waiting to happen.

  During the day, families with little kids roasted the marshmallows that came with the kids’ meals around that pit, warming up after a wholesome afternoon of fun at the nearby historical park. At night, the pit became a sketchier place. People from the surrounding towns clustered around the flames with pockets filled with cash, waiting for someone to come along with a pocket full of something more interesting.

  Whether Mr. and Mrs. Lovelace—two old hippies who lived in a trailer not too far from the restaurant—realized their fire pit was the place to buy weed or not, I didn’t know. But they certainly didn’t seem to mind people hanging around their fire pit. They didn’t even care if you bought food first.

  I hadn’t eaten all day, but the thought of a greasy corn dog wasn’t the slightest bit tempting. It was as if my body had forgotten how to be hungry, how to do anything but focus on the ache deep in my bones, the physical pain caused by losing Mitch that felt like it would never go away.

  The locket remained cool to the touch as I plucked it from the cup holder and started toward the fire that burned as high and bright as I remembered. The Lovelaces’ adult son, a man who was “not quite right” but harmless except for his fascination with fire—which his parents had wisely funneled into fueling the Pit rather than torching barns—tended his flame well. I could feel the heat on my face when I was still a few feet away.

  I prayed it would be hot enough to melt silver, to destroy the misery I held in my hand.

  I stopped at the edge of the Pit, alone except for a mom and her little girl on the other side, both too absorbed in stabbing marshmallows with a wire hanger to pay much attention to me. Even when I tossed the still cool locket into the flames, the mother’s eyes only flicked to mine for a second.

  The little girl, an orange redhead like I’d been when I was small, with a trail of untended snot leaking down into her mouth, stared a little longer, but eventually she too looked back to the fire, seemingly curious to see what would happen next.

  I stood there and stared, watching the flames lick at the locket until the little girl finished her marshmallows and her mother herded her back into their car, until two more families came and left, until finally, after thirty or forty minutes, the locket began to melt. The change was subtle at first—a barely perceptible smudging that I thought was my eyesight blurring—but soon it became clear that the locket was going soft, the connection of its particles breaking apart in the intense heat. In another ten minutes or so, the process was complete and the locket a puddle of liquid metal that might eventually harden if the Lovelaces’ son allowed his fire to cool.

  A part of me hoped he wouldn’t. I didn’t want that poisonous thing to ever be solid again.

  Just in case, I grabbed one of the unbent wire hangers meant for marshmallows from the bucket nearby and stabbed at the coals around the melted silver. The liquid slipped away into the ash beneath, streaming apart, never to be whole again.

  It was over. Really over. As much as it ever could be.

  Suddenly more exhausted than I could remember, I turned away from
the flames, just in time to see the flash of lightning strike above Lovelace’s.

  It hit so close I could feel the electricity on my skin, raising every little hair, making me gasp and lift my hands as if to block a blow, squeezing my eyes shut a second too late.

  As the thunder clapped down, shaking the very ground beneath my feet, the red double of the lightning bolt burned behind my lids. Even when I opened my eyes, the image danced and teased in front of me, blurring my vision, making it difficult to understand what I was seeing until Isaac’s truck had already pulled onto the main road and started back toward town.

  Isaac’s truck. His muddy truck . . . pulling away in a squeal of tires . . .

  My mind couldn’t process the information for a moment or two. It was only when I looked across the street and saw the familiar field of cows that a seed of suspicion was planted. I looked down—taking in the black shirt and skirt, lifting a strand of long red hair, noting the absence of a certain piece of jewelry—and that seed burst open, swiftly growing into a bean stalk I would have climbed into the sky to face that ogre I’d been so afraid of when I was a little girl.

  I would face any ogre, any kid fear or grown-up misery, if only this were real, if only I was back to where I’d started and Mitch was still alive.

  I ran, first in my high-heeled sandals and then kicking them off and running barefoot along the side of the road, feet slapping against the sun-warmed pavement. The sunset still painted the sky a hopeful, gentle shade of red, but I knew the storm would hit soon. If I ran all the way, I could be halfway home before that happened and calling Mitch another ten or fifteen minutes after that.

  I might hear his voice within the hour. I might see him—alive and whole—before the night was through.

  A vicious hope swelled inside of me, making me cry and laugh at the same time, giving me a wild strength, inspiring a speed I hadn’t known I possessed. I had run over a mile and was nearly to the historical park by the time the storm hit. The sky opened up and poured, the way it had the first time around, but I didn’t mind the cutting drops.