Kissing Midnight

by Rede, Laura Bradley

  Dev nods. “It’s hard to lose the only other guy in the family, I’m sure.”

  “And because my dad’s new girl had two sons, Enrique felt replaced. I mean,” I add, “I think he did. It’s not like he told me that. He didn’t tell anyone anything. He just…disconnected. He spent all his time out with friends, and when he was home, it was always a fight. He’d push my mom and push her until she yelled at him, and then he’d storm out. He was just looking for an excuse to leave.” An image of Enrique comes into my mind, the thick black shag of his hair hanging in his dark eyes like the forelock of a wild horse, his mouth set in an angry line. “It was like he was becoming my dad—like, to bring him back, he would be him, be all the least likeable things about him.”

  “Filling the gap,” Dev says.

  “And filling the empty place in himself, too, with anything he could think of. He had never been a hard kid, you know? He was an artist, he was into music. He was always designing some friend’s album cover or T-shirt or tattoo. But after my dad left, he started hanging with a harder crowd. Mom couldn’t keep alcohol in the house anymore because he’d take it. He got busted at school for buying some other kid’s ADD meds. My mom caught him on the old couch in our garage, having sex with some girl we’d never even seen before.” I sigh. This is just the tip of the iceberg, but I’m too tired to tell it all. Even reliving it this much makes me feel weary. “We were raised very straight and narrow.” I smile at him. “I’m sure that comes as a shock.”

  He smiles back. “What? Saintly? A good girl?”

  “Well, my family is Catholic, and we went to a school where there weren’t a lot of Mexican kids, so my mom always wanted us to represent. She was always afraid people were going to judge us. ‘They’re looking for a reason to think less of you,’ she’d say, ‘don’t give them an excuse.’ It’s like we were always fighting this undertow. It was exhausting, and after my father left, Enrique just…stopped fighting. Maybe he was trying to punish my mom for letting my dad leave us, or maybe he thought if things got bad enough, she’d have to call dad to help her deal with him or send him away to dad’s or something. Or maybe he was just trying to make himself feel better, I don’t know, but in the process he became all the things my mom didn’t want him to be.”

  I’ve slumped forward as I talk, my head bent, elbows on my knees. Dev lays his palm between my shoulder blades and rubs in slow circles. “And you?”

  “I did what I always did: tried to distance myself from trouble. Except this time, it meant distancing myself from my brother, abandoning him like he thought my dad did.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Dev says quietly. “You didn’t make him do what he did.”

  I take a deep, shuddering breath. “I know I didn’t kill him, Dev, but I didn’t save him, either. I was his twin. We were supposed to have this connection, this psychic link—and we did! Or, we always had. I should have seen it coming.”

  “No one knows what’s going to happen, Saint.” Dev’s voice is gentle. “Death always takes us by surprise.”

  “But we were twins.” I know there’s no way to make Dev understand what this means. If you aren’t a twin, you can’t get it. “We shared a womb. We came into the world together. We should have gone out together, too.”

  I mean Enrique should have lived. At least, I think that’s what I mean. But I know how it sounds: like I think I should have died, too.

  Maybe Dr. Sterling is right. Maybe I do have survivor’s guilt.

  I wipe at my nose with the back of my hand. I’m not crying. It’s like I’m too tired to cry. “And in the end, he killed himself. He cut up his arms and then swallowed a bunch of painkillers in the bathtub while my mother was at work and I was at school. He left the water running, and when I came home there was water dripping through the kitchen ceiling and when I went upstairs…” I draw in a deep breath, like it’s me who’s drowning. “You don’t need to hear this.”

  We’re quiet for a long minute. I want to tell him the rest: about seeing visions of Enrique and being sent to the hospital and all the rest of it. I feel like I owe Dev the whole truth, after he trusted me and listened to me.

  My voice comes out very small. “I saw him again after that.”

  Dev nods. His hand keeps tracing circles on my spine. “At the funeral. That must have been brutal.”

  “No.” I’m almost whispering now. “I mean I saw him in the halls at school.”

  Dev looks at me sharply. His jaw hardens. His words come out carefully. “What do you mean?”

  His look tells me all I need to know. Dev isn’t up for this. He won’t understand. “I mean, I saw him everywhere. I looked for him in everything. Everything reminded me of him.”

  The muscle in Dev’s jaw relaxes. “They say the dead never really leave us.” There’s a touch of irony in his voice, and I wonder why. I can’t help glancing over my shoulder as he says it, the memory of Jesse still on my mind.

  “Did you feel that way about Kayla?” I ask, eager to shift the subject away from me.

  “Yes,” he nods distractedly, “I saw her everywhere.”

  “Even in me?” I hate to ask, but I have to know. “Is that why you asked me out, Dev? Do I remind you of her?”

  I hold my breath and pray he says no. My life is already haunted enough, without him overlaying the memory of a dead girl on me.

  Dev shakes his head slowly. “It wasn’t her I saw in you.”

  I watch him curiously. This is what I’ve wanted to know since the moment we met. “What was it you saw?”

  He pauses and rumples his hair thoughtfully. “I think it was me. I think, even without knowing what you’d been through…”

  I nod. “It marks you, doesn’t it?”

  “And sometimes you see that mark on someone else, and you know they’ve had the same brush with darkness.”

  I know what he means. I felt that same kinship when Jesse said she killed herself. That’s why I told her to meet me.

  But that’s ridiculous. Jesse is in my mind. It’s Dev who is sitting here, real. He’s the one who understands me. I savor that thought. He understands, part of it at least. Up until now, I’ve only experienced how death separated me from everyone else, made me different from all the carefree girls who had never suffered a loss. This is the first time I’ve felt that same dark power binding me to someone else, both of us members in an elite and terrible club. For the first time in a long time, I feel understood—and I feel a rush of understanding for Dev, too. This was why he seemed so guarded sometimes, why he dodged questions, why he faked being the carefree rebel while closing himself off like he was shutting an enormous door. His “dark secret” he called it. Well, I am still keeping secrets—I feel bad about that—but Dev has come clean.

  And clearly he feels better about it. He smiles and I see some of the usual spark in his eyes. “Listen, Saint, I have an idea.”

  “What is it?”

  “No…” He looks away. “You’re going to think I’m insane.”

  I can’t help laughing. I’m going to think he’s insane? I lean my head against his shoulder. Dev feels solid and warm beside me, reassuring and safe and real. “Just say it.”

  “Come away with me for the night.”

  “What?” I sit upright again and turn to stare at him. “Where would we go?”

  Dev’s smile widens. Clearly he’s glad I didn’t just say no. “I actually know the perfect place, but I want it to be a surprise.”

  “I’ve told you, I—”

  “Hate surprises. I know. But I promise you’ll like this one.” He gives me puppy-dog eyes. “You liked the last one, didn’t you?”

  I remember kissing Dev on the floor of the planetarium while the stars streaked by above us. I can’t help smiling. “It grew on me.”

  “Well, no breaking and entering involved in this plan. Just you and me getting the hell out of Dodge, taking a well-deserved break. What do you say?”

  “Well…” I don’t know what to say.
On the one hand, going away with Dev is a big deal. We haven’t slept together yet, but we’ve come close, and there’s no doubt in my mind he assumes we would if we went away overnight. I know Dev’s had sex plenty of times and, although we’ve never really talked about it, I’m sure he knows I haven’t. Because I’m waiting for someone I love.

  Do I love Dev?

  “Hey.” Dev’s breath is warm against my ear. “Or not. No pressure.”

  “I’m just thinking.” This really is the closest I’ve ever felt to Dev. It was hard for him to tell me about Kayla, and it was a risk for him to ask me this now, knowing I might say no. It’s a risk for him to love me at all—a bigger risk than he knows, considering the fact that I’m crazy.

  No, I think, I shouldn’t take such a big step when there’s so much about me he doesn’t know.

  And the truth is, there’s another reason I’m hesitating. I told Jesse I would meet her and, even though I know I shouldn’t, even though I’m afraid to, part of me still wants to. I can’t explain it. It doesn’t make sense. But I’m having trouble just letting her go.

  “It’s just, there’s so much to do for the ball. It’s just two days away…”

  “Deals has got this. And we’ll be back by tomorrow evening, I promise. That will give us a whole day to help with the last-minute stuff.”

  It’s hard to concentrate with Dev’s leg pressed against mine. I stand and walk to the window. “Let me think about it.”

  “Yeah. Sure.” There’s disappointment in his voice. “I shouldn’t lay this on you. It has been a tough day. I shouldn’t push you. It’s just…” He lets his voice trail off, but I can hear what he doesn’t say. He felt the connection, too. The trust between us. “But we have forever to do this stuff, right? We can always go in the future.”

  Forever. The future. Something about the casual way he says it makes me believe it’s true. But is that a reason for me to go with him now? Or a reason to wait?

  I stare out at the cold and silent campus. A light snow is falling now. It swirls on the sidewalks and coats the branches of the trees, like long white gloves on a spindly hand. There are other reasons to leave campus, of course. Reasons I can’t tell Dev.

  If Jesse is right, I’m in danger. No, correction: we’re in danger. Didn’t Jesse say the ghost knew Dev’s name, too? How do I know whatever is after me isn’t a threat to him, too? Getting off campus is probably the smartest thing I could do right now for Dev.

  And for me, too. I want to talk to Jesse, but I shouldn’t. I can’t let myself get sucked into the madness again. I just can’t.

  Dev comes up behind me and wraps his arms around me, his chin resting on the top of my head as he gazes out over the frozen campus, the warmth of his touch seeming even cozier in comparison. “Come on,” he says softly. “Just one night. It will be our little belated Christmas present to each other.” He pulls me a little tighter against him, his body pressed to mine.

  I see my reflection smile on the frosty windowpane. This is reality, I remind myself. This is where I should focus, on the reality of me and Dev. “Well, when you put it like that…”

  “Not like we’ll be missing anything here,” he adds. “That campus is a ghost town.”

  I tense at the word ghost, but I know what he means.

  “Nobody as far as the eye can see.”

  But he’s wrong, of course. There is someone. She seems to appear out of nowhere, as if our words have summoned her: the girl in the long brown dress, the one from my dream. The one Jesse said was looking for me. She looks like something off a Victorian Christmas card, with her copper curls so bright against the crisp white snow, but seeing her is anything but heartwarming. I freeze, unable to look away as the ghost turns slowly. She raises her face, as if she can feel us watching, and looks up, right at me.

  I gasp and turn to face Dev, my face buried in his chest.

  “What?” he says, “What is it?”

  I look up into his clear blue eyes. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go away.”

  Chapter 16

  Jesse

  The longer it takes for Saintly to show, the more worried I get. Maybe whatever Charlotte was trying to warn her about got to her.

  Or maybe she just decided not to talk to me.

  I know that, technically, the second option is the best-case scenario, but it still makes my heart ache. I had been so happy when I thought Saintly wanted to talk to me, even though I knew she only wanted me to tell the one story I’d never told anyone: the story of how I died. It’s for the best, I tell myself, you probably couldn’t have helped her understand, anyway. Saintly is looking for answers about her brother’s death, but what do I know about it? I’ve had twenty years to think about it, and I still don’t understand why I did what I did. I mean, it’s not like I’ve come to terms with it. I can barely force myself to look at the clock tower, even now.

  But I do force myself to look at it, and as I watch the minutes tick by, I become more and more panicked. Should I go look for her? Should I stay here in case she comes? Am I even sure I’m here on the right day? There’s a chance I’ve lost time without realizing it and I’m a whole day off, or more. Maybe she was here yesterday or the day before, waiting for me. Maybe she thinks I’m the one who doesn’t care.

  That thought puts me into motion. I head in the direction of Wallace Hall. I’m not sure it’s her dorm, but most of the freshmen live there, so it’s a pretty good guess. I’m not sure what my plan is, either—I guess just to walk the halls, sticking my head through every door until I find her.

  But as soon as I’m in sight of the dorm, I see that I won’t have to search after all: Saintly is on her way out the front door. For a minute my spirits lift. She’s okay! Not only that, maybe she’s on her way to meet me! But then I see the guy step out the door behind her. It’s the same guy I saw her with in the student union, the first time I saw her. He’s good-looking, tall and well-dressed with reddish hair in messy curls. I’m sure he must be the guy Charlotte was looking for, Deveraux Renard.

  Saintly’s boyfriend.

  My heart sinks as I watch her smile up at him. She hoists her overnight bag onto her shoulder and heads for the car, where he kisses her sweetly on the cheek before taking the bag to tuck it into the trunk.

  I feel a hot spark of envy flicker inside me, but I try to snuff it out. After all, what right do I have to be jealous? I’ve only spoken to the girl once, twice if you count our little waltz in the snow. Sure, she can see me, but just because she’s the only person in my world, that doesn’t mean I get to be the only person in hers. She’s not even queer, for Christ’s sake—and I’m not even alive! So it’s not like I have a right to expectations, right? Right.

  And, if anything, shouldn’t I be happy that Saintly and her boyfriend are getting off campus? Charlotte was looking for both of them, I remind myself, so they’re probably both in danger. I should feel relieved that they are getting away from here. That’s why I went to warn her, right? She’s doing what I wanted her to do. I should just leave it at that.

  But I can’t let her go without talking to her at all. While her boyfriend is monkeying with things in the trunk, I call out to her “Hey! Saintly!”

  I know she hears me because she stiffens, her hand poised on the handle of the car door, but she doesn’t turn around.

  “Saintly!” I call again, “It’s just me. Where you going?” Okay, she probably shouldn’t answer that, just in case the ghosts are listening, but I want to know. I feel embarrassingly needy. It’s ridiculous, of course. I’ve spent twenty years alone, so what’s another day? But now that I’ve had a taste of actual human conversation, I feel like I’ll die if I don’t have more. I’m like a recovering alcoholic who’s had a swallow of vodka. I want to get drunk on her voice.

  But she barely gives me a taste. Saintly doesn’t turn around. Her voice is so quiet, I can hardly hear it above the shush of the wind. “I can’t talk,” she says.

  “Okay,” I say lamely, “I unde
rstand. You’ve gotta go. I’m glad you’re going, you know, for safety’s sake. We’ll talk more when you get back.”

  She turns to look at me, just for a second. “No, I mean I don’t think we should talk anymore.” Her eyes hold mine for one heartbeat. “It’s too… complicated.”

  The boyfriend shuts the trunk with a bang. Saintly turns away, quickly, and I know it’s because she doesn’t want him to see her talking to nothing.

  Because that’s what I am.

  Nothing.

  I stand there, frozen in place, and watch her climb into the car. I feel so cold I wonder if I’ve gotten some of my human feeling back, if talking to a living person has made me suddenly able to feel the winter wind. Then I realize the cold is coming from inside me, loneliness setting in like rigor mortis as the car pulls away from the curb.

  Only when they are out on the street do I realize I should have asked when she would be back. I should have insisted on seeing her again. I mean, it’s not like the problem is solved. We still don’t even know what threat Charlotte was trying to warn her about! And we have to figure it out because, even if she leaves campus now, she’ll have to come back eventually.

  I mean, she will, won’t she?

  The thought unfreezes my feet from the sidewalk and I start to run, trotting after the car like a dog whose owner has dumped it by the side of the road. “Hey!” I call, “Wait!”

  I’m sure Saintly can’t hear me, but maybe she can feel me somehow, because she turns around in her seat and looks out the back window. I can only imagine how silly I must look to her.