Текст книги "Hereafter"

Автор книги: Kate Brian

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 Hereafter
Shadowlands 2
by
Kate Brian

For Matt, who somehow got me through the last year in one semi-sane piece

The truth

The morning sun rose over the ocean, streaking beautiful hues of pink and purple and orange across the sky. I sat in the sand with Tristan Parrish, his hand clutching mine, and stared down at his worn leather bracelet while I listened to the sound of his even breathing and the rhythm of the waves rolling onto shore. On any other day, this would have been the most romantic moment of my life. But this was today. And my life was over.

Focus, Rory. Focus and breathe.

“So that night on the highway…that wasn’t a nightmare,” I said slowly. “Me, my father, and my sister…we all died.”

Tristan’s clear blue eyes were shot through with pain. The callus on his thumb pressed into my palm. “Yes.”

I was numb as I spoke the next few words. “Steven Nell killed us.”

“Yes.”

His grip on my fingers tightened, and suddenly a sucking void opened up inside my chest. I gasped, clinging to him as a barrage of images assaulted me one after another, like a film projected on a screen. Mr. Nell charging me, his watery eyes wild with hunger. The knife blade buried deep in my stomach. The bloodstain seeping through my shirt. The tree branches gnashing overhead. My last, choked breaths as I slowly slipped away and everything grew cold.

My heart twisted painfully and I bent forward, struggling to breathe.

“I’m so sorry,” Tristan said again. “I had to show you the truth.”

He squeezed my hand once more, and his gorgeous, chiseled face zipped into focus. If this had been any other day, I would have been obsessing about what he was thinking. Why he was still holding my hand. Whether it meant he liked me as much as I liked him. I’d be worrying over whether my palms were clammy, if I had morning breath, or if my hair was doing that insane frizz thing around my forehead it so loved to do. These were the things a sixteen-year-old girl was supposed to be obsessing about. I was not supposed to be obsessing about how I’d died.

Overhead, a fat crow cawed, swooping in and out before settling atop the roof of the white-and-blue beachfront house my family had been living—no, not living…existing—in since we arrived in Juniper Landing exactly one week ago. We’d been forced to flee our home in Princeton, New Jersey, when my math teacher, a serial killer who’d already killed fourteen other girls, had set his sights on me.

We’d followed the FBI agent’s directions to a T, driving through a torrential downpour to our new location, our new identities as the Thayer family in tow. We thought we’d made it safely down to South Carolina, but we hadn’t made it at all. Mr. Nell had found us on a lonely stretch of highway and finished what he’d set out to do. He killed my dad, then my sister, Darcy, then me.

Suddenly, I shoved myself up, spraying sand everywhere in my haste.

“Where are you going?” Tristan scrambled to his feet and reached for me, but I flung his hand away, shaking from head to toe.

“I have to tell my sister. I have to tell my dad,” I said, my voice thick with tears.

“No. You can’t,” he said vehemently. “You can’t do that.”

Tristan got in front of me and blocked my way. Behind him I could see the windows of my father’s room. The room where he slept, oblivious to the fact that his life had ended. That his attempt to protect his daughters by leaving the house we’d grown up in, the house where my mother had lived and died, had failed.

“What? What do you mean, I can’t?” I shouted. “They’re my family, Tristan.”

I tried to step around him, but he grabbed my arm, his grip so tight it sent a shock of alarm through me. I tried to wrench myself away, but suddenly a soft, soothing sensation sprang up inside my wrist and slowly traveled up my arm and into my chest. He clung to me, and my heart stopped slamming against my rib cage. My breathing returned to normal. I felt suddenly, oddly, calm.

I looked into Tristan’s pale blue eyes. They were…victorious.

A thump of fear obliterated any sense of serenity. I yanked my arm out of his grasp, his fingernails scraping my skin.

“What was that? What did you just do to me?” I demanded, backing away in terror.

His face paled. “Rory—”

“No!” I shouted, betrayal clenching my gut. “You can’t just mess with my mind like that! What are you?”

Tristan’s face turned to stone, and his eyes flicked just past my shoulder. I felt the presence of someone behind me two seconds before I collided with something solid and unyielding. A pair of strong arms closed around me, locking my limbs against my chest and picking me up off the ground, all while Tristan looked on calmly.

I screamed as loudly as I could. The only response was a seagull’s cry.

“This hurts me more than it hurts you,” a low voice whispered in my ear.

My chest constricted, tighter and tighter, until I couldn’t breathe and the world around me went gray. Tristan stepped forward slowly, looking into my eyes, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Why?” I gasped, trying to cling to consciousness. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’ll explain everything when you wake up,” he said gently. “I promise.”

Then his handsome face contorted and blurred, and everything went black.

Different

I came to on a dusty couch in a room that smelled like mold mixed with beer and sea salt. My chest ached, and my short fingernails had cut painful grooves in my palm. Nearby, someone laughed.

Tentatively I opened one eye and took in my surroundings. I was in a wood-paneled, windowless basement. The room was decorated with green and orange shag rugs, a dim overhead lamp that looked like a sea urchin, and several saggy plaid couches. Milling near a marble bar with ugly, torn-up vinyl stools were about a dozen kids my age, sipping coffee from paper cups and chatting with one another as if my kidnapping was an everyday social event.

I recognized several of them as Juniper Landing locals, year-rounders in what I’d previously assumed was a vacation town. There was Bea McHenry, an athletic redhead, whose wet hair was slicked back into a ponytail, as though she’d just come in from a swim. Kevin Calandro, whose fire tattoo peeked out from under the arm of a dirty white T-shirt, eyed me curiously over the plastic top of his coffee cup. Next to him was Lauren Caldwell, whose black hair was held back by a plaid headband. Two girls and a guy I’d never seen before hovered in the corner, eyeing the rest of the group as if they didn’t want to be there.

A door on the far side of the room opened, and Joaquin Marquez, the boy who seemed so intent on breaking my sister’s heart, slipped out, followed by Tristan. One of the girls in the corner, a wispy emo chick with a short blond Mohawk, followed him with her eyes, an expression of longing I instantly recognized. It was exactly the way I used to look at Christopher Kane in the halls of Princeton Hills High, back when he was still with Darcy.

Fisher Morton was the last to step out of the back room. He closed and locked the door behind him quickly, then joined the rest of the party, turning his massive shoulders sideways to slip through the tightly knit group.

My lashes fluttered involuntarily. Why had he locked the door?

“You guys, she’s awake,” Krista Parrish announced, emerging from the crowd in a pink-and-white sundress. Her blond hair, the exact same shade as her brother’s, was pulled up in a high ponytail, her blue eyes expertly lined as she frowned sympathetically down at me. Ignoring the pain in my head, I sat up straight, taking in the whole room now. Behind her was a set of stairs leading up. An escape route.

I scrambled to my feet, my heart thumping. “What’s going on?” I asked, edging away from them toward the stairs. “Where are we?”

“Don’t worry,” Krista said gently, putting out a hand as if trying to soothe a rabid dog. “No one is going to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry it had to happen this way,” Tristan said, the edges of his mouth curving down. I remembered how he’d looked at me right before I’d passed out, and averted my eyes. “We’re in the basement of the police station.”

“You kidnapped me and brought me to the cops?” I blurted.

Mohawk Girl laughed loudly.

“We didn’t kidnap you,” Joaquin said, rolling his eyes. “We saved you. You and your family.”

Krista, Lauren, and Fisher looked at me so earnestly that all the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I felt as though I’d suddenly landed in the middle of a cult.

“Well, if I’m not kidnapped, can I…leave?” I said, taking another step toward the stairs.

“Sorry.” Fisher shook his head.

My heart nose-dived. That was the voice. The voice of the person who’d grabbed me on the beach. I took an instinctive step back and crashed into the wall. My pulse thrummed quickly in my veins.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I demanded.

“We couldn’t let you tell your family,” Tristan replied.

“Excuse me?” I exhaled sharply. “You tell me we’re all dead and expect me not to tell my family?”

“You can’t,” Tristan repeated. There was all this emotion in his eyes. Longing and pleading. Like he was just trying to help. Like he needed me to understand. But at that moment, I didn’t trust it. I couldn’t.

“Try to stop me.”

I turned toward Fisher and jammed my foot down as hard as I could into his instep. He cursed and doubled over, giving me enough time to dodge past him, grab one of the wooden spindles that lined the stairs, and swing myself around and up the first two steps.

“Rory, no!” Joaquin shouted. Footsteps sounded behind me.

I tripped but hauled myself back up and kept going. I could see the light framing the doorway at the top.

“Stop!” Lauren called out. “Rory, they’ll—”

I flung myself forward, reaching for the door.

“If you tell your family, they’ll be damned to the Shadowlands!” Krista cried.

“Krista!” someone hissed.

“What? She was leaving!” Krista replied in a whine.

I paused with my fingers on the doorknob. My chest heaved with each breath. The Shadowlands? As I turned around, Tristan stepped into view at the bottom of the staircase. I stared down at him, barely able to make out his face in the dim light. Behind him on the wall was an old-fashioned painting of a sunset, the golden glow forming a halo around his head.

“What is the Shadowlands?” I asked.

“Will you please come back down here?” he implored softly.

“Not until you tell me,” I insisted. “What’s the Shadowlands?”

“Come down and we’ll tell you everything,” he said, reaching out with one hand. “You’re safe here. I promise.”

I glanced behind me at the door, but my curiosity got the better of me. Ignoring Tristan’s outstretched hand, I edged past him down the stairs and walked to the center of the room, trying to look more confident and in control than I felt. Stone-faced, stoic, shrewd. But inside, everything quivered. Tristan hesitated, clearly thrown that I had passed on the opportunity to touch him. Well, good. He deserved it for letting his friend knock me out.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m listening.”

“Juniper Landing is an in-between,” Joaquin began, crossing his arms over the chest of his formfitting red T-shirt. “A limbo.”

“One of many,” Bea added.

“It’s a place where people go to work through any unfinished business they have from the other world before they move on,” Tristan said. “They arrive on the same ferry you did and stay until they’re ready. Once they move on, there are two possible destinations. There’s the good, which we call the Light.”

“And there’s the bad,” Joaquin put in, a shadow passing over his handsome face. “The Shadowlands.”

“Which was why we had to stop you on the beach,” Tristan implored. “We couldn’t risk your dad and Darcy being sent there.”

“And you couldn’t think of another way?” I demanded.

Tristan’s cheeks turned pink. “I tried, but you kind of called me on it, remember?”

The warmth. The calming warmth. I realized now that I’d felt it twice before—yesterday morning, when I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown about Olive’s disappearance, and again last night when I’d started to realize the disturbing truth about Juniper Landing. Both times Tristan had used his touch, his power, whatever it was, to bring me back from the abyss.

“So why bring me here?” I asked. “With all of you?”

“We wanted to tell you about what we do,” Krista replied. “We’re the ones who usher people to their ultimate destinations.”

“We call ourselves Lifers,” Lauren said. She held up her arm to show me her leather bracelet, which slipped down almost to her elbow. One quick look around the room revealed that every one of my captors wore one. I’d noticed the bracelets when I first arrived on the island and assumed they signaled some kind of club or secret society. I’d had no idea they meant this.

“Lifers,” I repeated, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu. I’d heard that word somewhere before. “So you guys decide where people end up?”

They all laughed. Even Tristan.

“Uh, no,” Lauren said, placing her coffee cup on the bar. “Do we look like gods?”

“Well, some of us do,” Joaquin said, throwing up his hands.

Bea narrowed her amber eyes and shoved him so hard he almost fell over.

“That’s not what we do,” Tristan reiterated. “We simply act as ushers to the next realm. When someone’s ready to move on, their Lifer gets a coin,” He produced a gold coin from his pocket and held it out to me. It gleamed even in the duskiness of the room. I plucked it from his hand and turned it over in my own palm. It was heavy and thick, blank on one side with a sun on the other.

“We take the visitor up to the bridge, hand them their coin, and send them on their way,” Tristan explained. “The coin knows which way they’re supposed to go and leads them there.”

The bridge. Of course. The events of last night filtered through my brain. Mr. Nell screeching and writhing as Fisher and Kevin tossed him into the back of a pickup truck. Krista getting behind the wheel and speeding off into the fog toward the bridge on the north end of the island. His screams cutting off abruptly and the eerie silence that followed. She’d ushered him to the Shadowlands. Right there in front of me. And I’d had no clue.

I studied the coin. How could this little hunk of metal know where I was destined to spend all eternity? With a sudden flinch, I tossed it back to Tristan. Not that I had any doubts, of course. It wasn’t like they were going to ship me off to the bad place, right? Me, my sister, my father…we were all destined for the Light. We had to be.

Tristan stared at me, his eyes suddenly sad, and I felt the mood in the room shift, as if everyone had stopped breathing as one.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked Tristan. The others suddenly became very interested in the crappy oceanic art on the walls. “Tristan, why are you telling me all this? If I can’t tell my family, then why…why can you tell me?”

Tristan took a deep breath. He closed the distance between us and reached for both of my hands. I instinctively froze, waiting for that odd warmth, but this time, I felt nothing. Nothing other than the pounding of my heart.

“You know how you’ve felt all along that something was different about the island?” he asked.

My head went weightless. “Yes,” I replied.

“And you asked why you remembered Olive and the musician from the park after they were gone, while Darcy didn’t?” he said.

I blinked, thinking of my first friend on the island who’d disappeared last week without a trace. Where was he going with this?

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s because you are different,” Tristan said slowly, firmly. “You’re not like the other visitors on Juniper Landing.”

My chest constricted. “Different how?”

Tristan gazed down at my fingers for a long moment before looking me in the eye. There was no one else in the room right then. No one else who mattered. “You’re a Juniper Landing Lifer. Like me.”

“Like all of us,” Joaquin put in.

“What?” I breathed. “What does that even mean?”

“It means you won’t be moving on,” he said quietly. “You’re staying here. With us.”

My fingers slipped out of Tristan’s grip, and I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes. I had just started to adjust to the fact that I was going to some ethereal place called the Light. That I would never see home again. Would never graduate from high school or go to college or med school or do anything that I had spent half my life planning to do. And now…now I was stuck here? Forever?

“Why?” I demanded, dropping my hands. “What makes me so special?”

“You died an unnatural death,” Joaquin told me, his voice suddenly gentle. “At least, that’s the first requirement you have to meet to become a Lifer. And in the last moment of your life, you achieved the second.”

The room swam before my eyes, a wash of browns and yellows and greens. “The second? What’s the second?”

“You have to prove your selflessness. Either in the other world or once you’re here,” Tristan told me. “You used your last seconds of life to rid the earth of a sadistic killer. Even as you took your last breaths, you managed to make the world a better place.”

One last image came spiraling back to me. A slow-motion reel of me, yanking the knife out of my stomach, turning it on the man who’d murdered my family and so many others, the look of shock on Nell’s face as the blade arced toward his chest. A strangled sort of cackle escaped my throat.

“My selfless act was killing Steven Nell?” I said, aghast. “That wasn’t selfless; that was revenge.”

Tristan’s brow knit. “Maybe on some level, but—”

“This has to be a joke,” I said, looking around at the rest of them. Waiting—hoping—for one of them to crack. To start laughing and shout “gotcha!” But no one moved. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this, Rory,” Tristan said. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The room blurred in and out around me. The coffee cups scattered on the bar, the plaster cast of a jumping dolphin suspended over one of the couches, all the faces staring back at me—curious, pitying, concerned. I pressed one hand against my forehead and forced myself to focus on Tristan. Only Tristan. His perfect lips, his strong jaw, his kind eyes. Right now he was the only thing that made sense.

I took a breath.

“So what you’re telling me is, this is it,” I said, the air catching in my throat, making my eyes sting. “This is where I’m going to stay.”

“Yes,” Tristan replied, his eyes shining. “This is your new home. Forever.”

Forever

So now she knows she’s here—forever. It’s such a pretty word, forever. A promise, really. Found on so many Valentine’s Day and anniversary cards, signed in thousands of yearbooks, uttered in daily prayers. Forever is the greatest promise there is. Who doesn’t want to know that the thing they love, the thing they count on, the thing they believe in will never end? Who doesn’t hope for immortality, for the chance to live on…forever?

Well, I’ve tasted forever, and here’s what I know: It never, ever ends. Every day on this island is an eternity. The sun rises, the clueless invade, the fog rolls in, the clueless depart. It’s the same, day in and day out. The same faces, the same places, the same smells and sounds and sensations. It’s like a never-ending loop of the most boring movie ever made, and I’m forced to live it over and over and over again. There is no end. There will never be an end.

I know I’m supposed to feel pride in my work, understand and embrace that I’ve been blessed with a higher calling, a purpose—that I’ve been given a gift. And I tried to believe that in the beginning. I did. I so wanted to believe it. But it’s been so long now. So very, very long. And what do I have to show for it? Nothing. What will I ever have to show for it? Nothing. Because here, in this in-between, there is nothing to hope for, nothing to strive for, no going forward, no going back.

Or so they think. What no one on this boring rock knows is that I’m already working to change my fate. I will get out of here.

No matter what it takes.

The drive

The sun outside was piercing. I held my hand up against it and tripped down the first few white marble steps, grabbing on to the handrail just in time to stop myself from sprawling across the sidewalk.

“Rory, stop!” Tristan shouted behind me.

“Just let me go, Tristan.”

On a grassy stretch of the park, near the burbling swan fountain, a young woman worked her way through a series of yoga poses on a purple mat. An elderly couple strolled by with steaming coffees, whispering to each other and smiling. A middle-aged man jogged toward us, clutching a surfboard under his arm, headed for the beach. I stared at him until he dipped down the hill and out of sight.

Dead. All these people were dead.

Two black crows swooped in, cawing as they grazed perilously close to my ears—so close I felt the soft tip of one wing graze my skin. They swung up and across the street, coming to rest on the wings of the swan at the center of the fountain. The two of them sat there, puffing their chests and glaring at me.

“Not until you hear what I have to say,” Tristan said. He caught up with me and looked down at his feet. “Listen, I really am sorry about having Fisher grab you on the beach. I just—”

“No. I get it. It’s fine.” I paused and took in a sharp breath. “I mean, it’s not fine, but I get why you did it. You were trying to help me…my family.” My eyes welled up all over again as I thought of my dad and Darcy, how blissfully ignorant they were right then. “God. This sucks.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Tristan shoved his hands into his hair, briefly lacing his fingers together behind his head, his biceps flexing beneath the sleeves of his black T-shirt. “You should know that they won’t remember anything that happened last night, either—that Nell was here, that Darcy was kidnapped, that a search party was formed.”

I balked. “Why not?”

“No visitor who encountered Nell while he was here will remember him, just like all the other visitors who have been moved on,” Tristan explained. “Your sister and dad included.”

I shook my head slowly. “This is insane. This whole place is insane.”

“I know it seems that way,” Tristan said, dropping his arms at his sides. “But listen, you can get through this. Look at what you’ve been through already. You were stalked by a serial killer and you survived.”

I laughed bitterly as one tear spilled over. “No, actually, I didn’t.”

“No, I mean, your soul survived,” he explained, grasping my arms gently. “And it’s beautiful and strong and true. Look at you, Rory. Look what you did last night. You saved your sister. You faced your murderer and won. And now, thanks to you, he’s in the Shadowlands. You did that.”

When I looked into his eyes, I could tell that he meant what he said. That he thought I was beautiful, strong, and true. That he even admired me, and what I’d done. Gradually, my breathing began to slow, and I felt something new sparking up inside me. It felt a bit like pride, a bit like hope. It was small, but it was there.

Tristan turned me gently to look up at his house, the sprawling blue colonial mansion hovering high on the bluff overlooking the ocean to the south, and the town to the north and east.

“You see the weather vane up there?” he asked, lifting his chin.

It was a gleaming gold embellishment atop the tallest turret—another proud swan. The arrow was pointing south, and it was still as stone, even though there was a good breeze coming in off the water.

“Have you ever noticed it never points east or west?” he asked, lifting one eyebrow.

“Yes,” I told him, feeling a little rush of realization. “It never actually moves with the wind.”

“Exactly.” His smile made me blush with an odd sense of accomplishment. “If the person goes to the Light, the weather vane points north. If the person goes to the Shadowlands, it points south. That’s why it’s pointing south now,” he added, watching me carefully. “For Steven Nell.”

“Why am I not surprised?” I said quietly.

Tristan smiled, and so did I. A small, tentative smile. “Come with me,” he said, tilting his head. “There’s something I want to show you.”

I glanced over my shoulder toward the ocean, toward home. A huge part of me wanted to go back, to be with my family, even if I couldn’t tell them anything. But Darcy and my dad—both late sleepers—were probably still in bed, and I had a zillion questions only Tristan could answer. This was his home, his reality, his existence.

We crossed the park and headed down a side street toward the water. The marina was a wide horseshoe shape lined by slatted docks that opened into a large parking lot. A dozen sailboats—some wooden, some fiberglass—were moored in the sapphire-blue water, while a few motorboats were tied in individual slips. One, I noted wryly, was named Eternity.

Out on the choppy bay, I could see the ferry moving slowly toward the dock. I hadn’t laid eyes on the boat since the day my dad, my sister, Darcy, and I had arrived on the island, and I realized now that I’d never really looked at it. The enclosed areas had dozens of windows, all of which gleamed as if this run was the boat’s maiden voyage.

Tristan walked to a weathered wooden guardrail overlooking the dock and the parking lot just below us. We waited in silence as the ferry slid into its berth. There were a few shouts from the dockworkers as they tied the boat off, and then the walkway was lowered. Before long, the first passenger stepped off the boat. He was a short, wiry man with thinning hair and a wide nose. He looked confused but not unhappy. Behind him was a chubby girl about my age, wearing a yellow sundress, her dark hair cut short so that it curled in a pixie-ish fashion around her ears. She was followed by a middle-aged couple holding hands, his ebony skin a stark contrast to her freckled pink complexion.

“So these people…they’re all…”

“They’re our new arrivals,” Tristan confirmed, glancing at me. “Fresh souls.”

My grip on the guardrail tightened, remembering my first few moments on the island. How Tristan had watched me so closely as my dad drove past him and his friends outside the general store. I’d felt our connection even then—this sense that somehow we knew each other, that we belonged together.

“I’ve gotten pretty good, over time, predicting who’s destined for the Shadowlands and who’s moving on to the Light,” Tristan said, leaning his forearms into the top of the fence.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

Tristan stared across at the gangway, turning so that all I could see was the back of his ear. “A long time.”

I bit my lip, feeling as though I’d accidentally crossed a line.

“Check it out,” he said, his tone light. He stood up straight and pushed his hands into the back pockets of his shorts. “Good. Good. Very good,” he said, nodding as each passenger appeared on the gangway. “Bad but thinks he’s good. Good. Bad.” Then, all of a sudden, his expression darkened. “Okay…bad. Really, really bad.”

His gaze was on a boy who looked to be a few years older than I was, with shaggy dark hair, a silver stud earring, and ripped jeans. He carried a stuffed green rucksack and wore a blank expression as he looked around at the peppy dockworkers and the carved wooden sign welcoming him to Juniper Landing. But he had a baby face, and his shoulders were hunched in a way that made me feel more like he was a victim than anything sinister.

“He looks normal to me,” I said. “Just…sad.”

“You’ll get the hang of it, the longer you’re here,” he said, looking me up and down. “You’re meant for this place, Rory Miller.”

My heart skipped a beat at hearing Tristan say my real name.

“There’s something I have to ask you,” I said, steeling myself.

“Anything,” he replied.

“What about my dad and my sister?” My voice caught. “They died unnatural deaths, too.”

A shadow crossed Tristan’s face, and I held my breath.

Please don’t take them from me. Not now. Not after everything. Please, please, please.

“They did,” he said. “The jury’s still out on them. They might stay or they might—”

“Don’t,” I said, my gut suddenly wrenching in pain. I had thought I was ready to hear this, but I wasn’t. “Just don’t.”

“But there is a chance they’ll stay,” he assured me. “We just have to wait and see.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod, trying to hold the tears back. “Okay.”

“Rory, it’s not all bad news. Being here, being a Lifer…it’s a good thing,” Tristan said, placing his hand on my back. “You’ll get to usher souls to their final destinations. You’ll be playing a huge role in their journey from life to afterlife. It’s an amazing thing. You’ll have a purpose now. A mission.”

I took in a sharp breath and looked out over the water. “I had a mission,” I said, trying not to feel suddenly sorry for myself—for the hopeful planner I’d been. The girl who had no idea she would never achieve all the goals she’d always dreamed of achieving. I was going to med school. I was going to cure cancer. I was going to make sure that no one else ever had to suffer the way my family did when we lost my mom. “And now all of that…it’s just gone.”

At the edge of the marina, I noticed a figure move in the shade of an elm tree. She flinched when I spotted her, then emerged from her position, half tucked behind the trunk of the tree, and walked off quickly, her head bowed. It was Mohawk Girl. Now I was certain she had a crush on Tristan. She looked up once, her eyes glittering black, before turning her back on me and heading for the bay.

“You don’t get it,” Tristan said, oblivious to the girl. “That’s what makes you all the more perfect as a Lifer. You want to help people. You have the drive. You wanted your life to have meaning. Now it can.”

A smile twitched at my lips. “You mean my afterlife will have meaning.”

He laughed. “Exactly.”

I gazed past Tristan toward town, studying the worn wooden shingles of the buildings on the square; the windsocks fluttering in the breeze; the joggers and the bikers and the morning strollers; the shopkeepers sweeping their walks, propping their doors open, greeting the first customers of the day.

If I had to live someplace forever, this certainly wasn’t the worst place to end up. Even so, I felt the frightening pull of the unknown in the pit of my stomach. The sharp heaviness of the truth threatening to crush me if I chose to let it, if I chose to wallow. It had happened to me once before, after my mother died. It had sucked me into the darkest period of my life, a period I refused to revisit. Even now.