by A.G. Porter
Watching from the corner of the room I witnessed Mitchell's parents fall to pieces. Tears like a waterfall fell from his mother's chin, with no end in sight. His father held on to his wife and I couldn't help but wonder who was really the stronger one. They both looked frayed; as if one more strand were pulled they'd completely unravel.
With tremendous fear, I watched Mrs. Owens make her way toward me. I fidgeted with the hem of my skirt, looking down, hoping she'd pass me by.
"Rayna," her voice croaked my name. "Rayna, will you please sit with me, if it's not too much trouble?"
If it's not too much trouble? She was worried about putting me out at her only child's funeral?
"Of course, Mrs. Owens," I responded, getting to my feet.
My mother stood as well and kissed my cheek. Her love surged through my body, giving me the strength to put one foot in front of the other.
As I moved to the front of the church, Mrs. Owens on my right and Mr. Owens on my left, I felt eyes on my back. When the parents of a killed child could forgive the person responsible for his death, believe me, it was stare-worthy. Forgiveness of that level was shocking, rare, and people took notice. It was also underserving.
I knew the risk of putting others in the crosshairs of The Shadow and his followers. It was dangerous even for a Gifted. Mitchell never stood a chance. Vance snapped his neck without hesitation or remorse.
Of course, only a select few knew the truth. We knew that Mitchell Owens, a boy with one of the purest souls, wasn't killed in a tragic car accident. It wasn't a mishap caused by a stray deer on the road or faulty equipment. It was murder.
Yet, we had to lie to protect ourselves. Mitchell's death would always be a cover up to save the lives of others. If people knew what I could do, what the others could do, our lives would be over, I just knew it.
Mitchell, being the person he was, would probably be OK with this. He had tried to protect me that night, placing himself between me and a foe he knew outmatched him. He never thought about himself. Could I say the same? Was I as selfless as him?
Finally we found a seat in front of the casket. It was closed due to the fact that Mitchell's neck discoloration from been severely broken couldn't be masked by the mortician's make up. He also suffered lacerations to the face from broken glass. The police thought it was from the impact of the car crashing into the creek bed, but really it was from being yanked through the window.
In fact, I was still healing from where the glass had cut my skin. My wrist was also in a brace and not because of anything that had physically happened to me. It was my telekinetic power. Apparently the strain of holding Patrick at bay had sprained my wrist. The doctor said if any more pressure had been applied I might have broken it. Using my powers had also given me a concussion and popped a few blood vessels in my eyes. They wrote that off to me nearly drowning in the creek.
It was an area of concern, the effects my Gift had on my body, but there were far more pressing matters. For example, Patrick, it was clear now that he was an innocent victim of The Shadow. As much as it freaked me out I had to acknowledge the fact that The Shadow possessed him.
I shivered at the thought of what that implied. Could a human do that? I was capable of many supernatural abilities, but I doubted possession was one of them. Even Nick wasn't able to do that or at least that was what he had told me when he actually answered my phone calls.
Did that only leave one last possibility? Was The Shadow not human? Was he a product of something sinister? Was he something darker than we had even imagined?
A chill crept up my spine and settled in my chest. My heart felt cold and seemed to weigh me down as if it had turned to ice. I wanted to clutch at it, but my hands were being occupied by the Owens.
They clung to me as if I were a lifeline straight to their son. I didn't dare withdraw, afraid that if I did so the last bit of their resolve would float away like a balloon lost in a violent wind. Mr. Owens had always loved me and Mrs. Owens felt I was the last bit of her son that was in this world.
I was the last person to see him alive. According to her, that meant we were connected. That meant that I had to survive and do well. She would see to it. It didn't matter if it took her last breath, she would make sure I had everything I needed. I would carry on Mitchell's memory after she and her husband were gone.
I wanted to tell her right then and there about how brave he was. My lips moved, quivering with energy as they struggled under the power of those words. Closing my mouth, I kept another secret. I figured one day I'd crack under the pressure. I would absorb one too many secrets and shatter like a dropped plate of china on the floor, turn to dust, and what remained of me would be scattered by a phantom wind.
It is said there are seven stages of grief. Of course shock and denial would come first. When you lose someone it's like a super kick to the gut. It's unbelievable that something so emotional can cause such vivid, physical pain. It doesn't seem real. It also doesn't seem fair. There should be a separation of the two. Either life is going to gut me physically or emotionally, not both, not at the same time.
When Dad died, a small part of me believed it to be a terrible nightmare that I just needed to wake up from and the entire world would be right again. The moment I realized that was just wishful thinking it felt as if something reached inside my chest and pulled out a piece of my heart, a piece of my soul. I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone.
Next comes the anger and the bargaining. Saying I was angry was an insult to the rage that boiled inside of me. Was I angry with God that He had taken my father at the prime of his life? Was I angry that my dad would never see me graduate, get married or meet his grandchildren?
Yes and no. I knew that God had the power to bring my dad back. I was angry that, despite my faith, he was never brought back to me. There were countless times I would lay in the floor of my room and beg God to bring him back. I knew He could do it so why wouldn't he?
It took me a very long time to realize that my dad was in a far better place. Eventually I accepted he was gone. I just had to go through the depression, reflection, and loneliness first. It took me too long to get through it all. I wasted so much precious time being sad and angry that I missed out on all the times I could have been thankful for the life we shared.
I would try to do this with Mitchell's death, focus on the good times rather than the loss. Yet, here I sat on a cushioned church pew, listening to Brother David give Mitchell's eulogy and I all I could think of was Vance.
The only emotion that I felt right now was anger and hatred. I wanted Vance in that casket. I wanted his cold, hard body to be buried today, not Mitchell's. Just because Brother David did a good job conveying who Mitchell truly was didn't mean we could forget who he had the potential to be and that he'd never get the chance.
His mother tried to stand up there, leaning on the lectern for support, but her husband had to help her back down after a few minutes. All she did was sob and anything she managed to say sounded like a foreign language. Mr. Owens didn't even attempt to say anything.
"Rayna?" Brother David called my name.
My body tensed as every eye fell on me. It was Mrs. Owens's wish that I speak today. She said I was Mitchell's only true friend. This was based on a journal entry he made a few days before his death:
"I graduate in only a few days! This one-horse town will be in my rearview mirror and I won't look back! Ha! Yeah right! Home is home and there are so many people I'm going to miss.
Being away from the parents will be weird. It'll be cool to be out on my own, but I'm sure I'll get homesick. That isn't something that Mom will ever know. She's having a hard time letting go. She's been dabbing at her eyes for days! She acts like she'll never see me again.
It sucks that we're all going our separate ways. Leslie is going to New York. If anyone was destined to be famous it's her. She's just too cool for the rest of us, but doesn't even know it. Sara is going to
Auburn. Man, I really like her, but I have a feeling it isn't mutual. Maybe one day I can convince her that I'm not a complete nerd?or not.
Rayna, who knows where she'll end up. She's like a feather in the wind; light, free and strong. I think I'll miss her the most. She's always just gotten me from day one. She didn't make fun of my Star Wars collection; we read the same books and like the same bands. I hope wherever she lands, that's she's happy. I hope she learns to smile like she used to. She doesn't know, but that smile can lead others out of darkness."
After reading that page, while visiting her one evening, I was left speechless. I never knew Mitchell saw me like that. We had always been really good friends, but he never told me what I meant to him. It saddened me that I never told him that I cared for him just as much.
Mrs. Owens squeezed my hand. I wasn't sure how long I had been sitting there, lost in that letter, with half of the town of New Hope looking at me. Slowly, I stood up and made my way to the pulpit on shaky legs.
"I?," I began, my voice cracking.
Mrs. Owens looked up at me with expectant eyes. Her son was gone. She needed to hear me say something good about her only child. It was up to me to help her heal. No pressure.
"For me to say that I take peace from the fact that some day I'll see Mitchell again would be a lie," I told them and the crowd shifted in their seat, murmuring in shock. "I miss him and I'm going to miss him every day. What comforts me is the time I got to spend with him here. That time was blessed and precious; it was pure. Of course I look forward to seeing him again. We will have eternity to spend together, but not having him here seems so wrong. Mitchell loved with all of his heart. He smiled all the time to the point it was annoyingly cute. He was the kind of person that lifted your spirits just by being near him. Shortly after my dad died Mitchell invited me over this house. Do you remember, Mrs. Owens? We played board games, ate too many slices of pizza, and obliterated some Coke cans with his BB gun. He?loved. That's just who he was. The world has lost that and so have we. I'll never forget the precious time I had with Mitchell. I'll never forget his loyalty, bravery, and compassion. I'll never forget how he was always there, how he always stood up for me, how he protected me. He is a true soul and I'm so thankful to call him my friend."
Mrs. Owens hugged me tightly after I was finished. I looked back at my family, wanting to be near them, to feel their loving arms around me. Yet, I sat beside this weeping woman, this hurting mother who would never again hold her only boy. This was my place for now.
I was angry. That was the stage of grief I was stuck in, pure, unbridled rage. If Vance was here at this moment, it would take God himself to stop me from getting revenge. Perhaps having homicidal thoughts in a church was putting one foot over the line. I was straddling the fence between the light and the darkness, teetering on the brink of falling in, but on which side would I land?
Was I a match for Vance? He used his Gift in a way that I had never seen. Neither Nick nor I could harness our power like that, not exactly like that anyway. Somehow I managed it that night. It was probably enhanced by fear or survival instincts. I had just seen Mitchell murdered and Liam was at my feet in really bad shape.
I had no other choice. I conjured that telekinetic energy inside of me to protect us. I threatened the other Gifted from doing further damage. If only I had been quicker, Mitchell might still be here!
Vance had stood there, frightened, but with no remorse for what he had done. No guilt for the young life he had snuffed out. Mitchell had merely been something in his way, something disposable. I don't believe he even viewed Mitchell as a living thing, not even a human being.
He was the source of my anger. Mitchell was dead and he was still breathing. It was so wrong, so disturbing to know he was out there doing God knows what to God knows who. He was enjoying this sun kissed day and Mitchell wasn't. He was able to wake up and Mitchell couldn't.
It took me a moment to realize I was holding Mrs. Owens' hand too tightly. The poor thing didn't' even complain. Honestly, she was so distraught the pain barely even registered with her.
I could feel it, the pain that haunted her, making it's way into my bloodstream. It felt similar to that sorrow I felt when my dad was taken from us. Similar, but not the same. Losing a child was something worse than death. It was something I never wanted to experience, not even vicariously.
I shut away her emotions as quickly as I could. Today had been an onslaught of emotional warfare for me. Everyone's feelings were heightened, which meant that I had to be on high alert. It had left me drained and off my game. This is why I wasn't fast enough to shut her out without a tiny bit of her despair seeping into my soul.
A hole was ripped into my being as her sorrow hit me squarely in the chest, like being shot with a grenade launcher. My breath was caught in my throat, burning as I struggled to remember where my emotions began and hers ended. With great effort I managed to find my way to the surface before the pain consumed me.
I couldn't let her feelings win. If I did, I'd breakdown right here. With all that sorrow, all that anguish, I was amazed that she could even lift her head off her pillow this morning. How was she walking around with all that weight?
Soon we made our way to the New Hope Cemetery. It was vast, old, but humble. The Owens, like many families here, had relatives dating back to the pre-civil war era. Mr. and Mrs. Owens had pre-paid for two plots, hoping to keep the financial burden of their deaths to a minimum for their only son. Today, they had to give one of those plots to him.
She hated it. It wasn't fair to bury your child in the grave that was supposed to be yours. It wasn't fair that she had to bury him at all. It wasn't fair that on the day she buried him, the day her world was ending, that the sun was shining and the birds were singing.
She wondered why the sky couldn't be as sad as she was. Why couldn't the sky shed tears for her little boy? Wasn't he worth it? The sky's only answer was to burn her eyes with it's radiant light.
Watching the casket being lowered was nearly too much for Mrs. Owens to take and her husband wasn't doing much better. She swayed under such heavy emotions, but surprisingly, she held her own.
As we were leaving people came by to comfort her. They would say things like, "I'm praying for you," "stay strong," and "keep your faith." To me, that's the most generic thing to say to someone who is grieving. When Dad died all I wanted was for someone to just hold me, don't say anything; just hold me.
Usually, I'm more of an introvert and want my personal space, but in that moment that's all I hoped for. I could sense the same thing from Mrs. Owens. She just wanted to go home and be held by her husband. I watched her take condolences from the attendees and each one felt like a slap to the face. They meant well, but nothing anyone can say helps in a situation like this.
I have found that the pain never leaves; you just learn to manage it. How? For me, I give it to God. Do I still hurt? Every darn day. Does it rule my life? It tries. Do I try to take the pain back? Yes. Why? Because I am weak and think it's easier to let the pain consume me than it is to fight or to trust that God can truly help me.
I gave Mrs. Owens one last hug, not saying a word, but kissing her on the cheek. When we got home Mom made us a glass of sweet tea and we sat on the couch, not really saying all the things we needed or wanted to say.
She was worried; she always worried. It seemed I gave her many reasons to do so. I know she was wondering how her daughter could end up surrounded by so much danger, so much darkness.
"Just like her father," she thought.
"What?" I jumped.
"Huh?" she flinched, looking like she just got caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
"Did you say something?" I asked, my heart racing, wondering what she meant.
"Me? No. Why?" Mom frowned, her thoughts suddenly a jumbled mess.
"I just thought I heard you say something," I rubbed my eyes.
"You're exhausted, Rayna," she pointed out. "You n
eed to rest."
"I'm going to the hospital to see Liam," I countered.
"Honey, listen to me," Mom said gently, moving closer. "You've been through a lot these past few days, more than most people should endure in a lifetime. You're tired; you need to rest. I think you should stay home for tonight."
"I need to see Liam, Mom, " I argued, beginning to feel upset. "I can rest tomorrow."
"That's what you said yesterday and the day before that," she rubbed her temples, sounding warn out. "The only way for you get there is by driving my car and I won't allow it."
"What?" I yelled, standing up from the couch. "Mom, I'm going to be nineteen next week. I can go if I want. Mom, you're being?"
"A mother," she snapped, glaring up at me. "You're going to get some proper sleep tonight and that's final! Now go to your room until supper is done!"
I stared at her in shock. It has been a really long time since she had lost her temper with me.
"Yes, ma'am!" I said it in the most sarcastic way possible.
Mom narrowed her eyes at me, but didn't say anything else. Knowing that I wouldn't win this fight, I stomped off to my room as if I were a child.
I threw myself on my bed and pouted. Many terrible thoughts ran through my head as I lay there. For instance, why did Mom insist on treating me like a baby? I was going to be nineteen next week! I should be able to do as I pleased, right? Did she not trust my driving ability anymore? I mean, I have been in two car "accidents" in less than a year.
I wanted to run back out there, yell at her, tell her she was being unreasonable. Instead, my body was telling me that she was right and I was so, so very wrong. I did need rest.
My mind slowed down as I drifted off into a heavy sleep. My last thoughts were wondering what she meant by "Just like her father." Slowly, I tumbled down the rabbit hole and into my dreams. It could have been my mother's thoughts that brought it on, but I was dreaming about my dad.
"Daddy?" I called out to him.
He was sitting in a chair, fishing from his favorite spot by the lake. When he heard my voice he turned and smiled at me, waving me over. My heart leapt in my chest, filled with joy that he was here. It had been so long since I saw his face. In the back of my mind I knew this was a dream, but I let myself be fooled into believing this was real.
"Daddy!" I cried and ran to him.
Dad stood up as I got closer and wrapped me in his strong arms. I cried into his chest until I couldn't cry anymore. Finally, I looked up at him and he kissed my forehead.
"Look how much you've grown!" he grinned down at me, and then kissed my wet eyes. "Don't be sad."
"I just know this isn't real," I told him, hugging him to me again.
"Who says?" he laughed, pulling me away from him so he could look at me again. "Just because it's a dream? I think you should know by now that your dreams are a bit different than the average Joe."
My mouth was dry and I felt my legs shaking with energy. There was no way this could be real. My dad was dead and this was just a dream.
"Why did Mom think that about me? That I'm just like you?" I asked him, suddenly feeling like we didn't have much time.
"Rayna there is so much you don't know about this Gift and about this world," his smiled turned into a sorrowful frown. "There have been dark forces fighting against our family for centuries. The Shadow, that's just one of many names he's been given over all of these years. He's much more than the mad man you think he is because he's not a man at all. Look, he wants you, not just to join him, but to invite him in. He wants to take over your soul because you are one of the strongest Gifted there has been in a while. You and the boy, Brian, are in big trouble. You need to find that boy and you need to protect him?..protect?.you?.him?.protect you?"
"Dad?" I asked as he shook his head.
"He won't be able to stay in Patrick much longer because while Patrick is Gifted, his body is too weak." Dad finally managed to say even though it seemed like he was struggling with the words.
"Dad, what is he? Who is The Shadow?" I asked.
"He's?"
Unexpectedly, it was as if a heavy weight had been strapped to my feet and then from out of nowhere I was shoved. Then I was falling, tumbling down faster than seemed possible. My hair whipped wildly all around me and the air stung my flesh. I squinted my eyes together as a vast lake came into view. I knew where I was going.
The water surrounded me, enveloping my body with a heavy, inky blackness. Further and further down I went, the weight on my feet pulling me down into the depths. There was coldness and then there was warmth that came with the ever-changing current. Suddenly there was something else; there were others there.
I could see nothing because of the darkness, but I felt hands on my feet then on my legs. Nails dug into my flesh as they grasped my body, hoping to be saved. That was just it, they couldn't be spared, they were dead. Even though I couldn't see them I knew it was Cassie and Sierra and the others. It was the ones I didn't save.
The Gift didn't serve them well; I didn't serve them well because I allowed them all to die. I could sense the accusations and blame emitting from their hearts, from their very souls. I failed them. This wasn't a pity party, this was the truth.
The words from their hearts bounced around my mind, ripping holes in my subconscious, reminding me of the horrors they faced. It was like they were asking me why I couldn't save them if my Gift was so great? Why were they used as pawns in a game by The Shadow? Why was I so special?
A plea of forgiveness was drowned by water running down my throat as I tried to speak to them. Gagging, I fought for breath, clutching at my throat, desperate for air. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew this was just another torture device concocted by The Shadow. Those girls weren't really here, they had moved on. He was just trying to get to me.
Just when I thought I couldn't breathe anymore I was pulled out of the water. Sputtering I looked up at my rescuer. Those green eyes were unmistakable. I would recognize that strong jaw line anywhere.
"Jayce?" I tried to say, but my words only came out like fog.
"I'm here," his words similar to mine. "Wake up."
His words were muffled by a horrendous sound, something like a foghorn. It sounded so garish that we both covered our ears, blood pouring through our fingers and running down our arms. Jayce reached for me as something out of the shadows seized his body and yanked him into the nothingness that surrounded us.
"Jayce!" I screamed, my words lost in the void, dissolving as soon as they formed. "Don't hurt him!"
Jayce was there; I knew he was really there. Somehow, he was in my dream. I wasn't sure if he was aware this was real or not, but he was there. It was some aspect of his Gift, something that neither one of us knew he had until a few months ago. When his Gift made itself known, he was thrust into a world he didn't even know existed and took to it like he'd been aware of it his entire life.
I had not adjusted so well. There was a part of me that just wanted all of this to go away; to believe it was a nightmare that I would soon wake up from. It was folly to wish for such things knowing they would never come to pass. In truth, I would take this Gift and this life a million times over if I could just protect my family and my friends from it.
"Rayna, Rayna," I heard The Shadow's voice echo around me. "Why lie to yourself? If you searched deep down you would know that you enjoy your Gift. I believe there is a certain place in your heart that takes great pleasure in your abilities. You have to admit they are quite remarkable."
I didn't want to listen to him; I didn't want his words seep into my veins. Urging myself to wake up, I prayed for release. Covering my ears and trying to ignore him I prayed with every bit of faith I had. This always set him off so I knew what was coming next.
My body was lifted and it felt like he was wringing me out like a wet cloth. I was being twisted and turned and squeezed from all sides. The pain was excruciating, but no matter how much he hurt me I still pr
ayed.
"Your feeble prayers have no power here, girl!" he hissed at me, his words like fire on my skin.
"You're wrong," I managed to say. "Prayer has power everywhere!"
"Don't you dare, child!" he warned, feeling my faith build. "I will crush you."
"You can try!" I dared him. "Please?wake me up?Jesus!"
My eyes snapped open. The window outside showed the sun was down. Looking at my clock I saw that it was 2:00 am. I had slept all day. Mom was right, I was tired and I needed to rest. Even after that intense dream I felt my body could use more sleep.
I knew that God was on my side and that He would always be there. However, the small child inside of me wanted my mom. Going into her room I crawled into the bed with her.
"Rayna? What's wrong?" she asked.
"Bad dream," I told her and she pulled me close to her.
"I'm right here, Honey," she kissed my forehead.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I whispered. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you too, Sweetheart," she kissed me again.
We both feel asleep within a matter of seconds. No more dreams of The Shadow haunted me for the rest of the morning. For now, he was locked out of my mind. I knew it wouldn't last forever, he would return and he would be ticked off about what I had done. Well, let him come back; let him bring his best. I was tired of him and his torturing. When he did come back, I'd be ready.
The air was cold, greeting me as I stepped into the hospital room. Liam lay on his back, eyes closed. His breathing was soft, but shallow as if he were using all his strength to fill his lungs with air and then release it. There was no doubt this was a dream, but something felt very real about it, as if my spirit had left my body and found it's way to his side.
There isn't much that surprises me in my dreams. Frightens me, yes, but I've come to expect the unexpected. I am by no means used to it, and I guess I'll never be.
However, what I saw now chilled me to the bone. Liam's mother sat on one side of his bed, Cynthia and Dr. Cole on the other. The scene would have been somewhat normal except for the fact that Chad stood at the foot of his bed.
He just stood there, staring at Liam like someone who had found a precious relic. There was an evil, maniacal grin on his ice blue lips. Why was he here? Just then, Wayland walks in and right through Chad. He shivers, but doesn't seem to notice that he just passed through a spirit. Is that really what he did? Was Chad really here in this room with them?
He had to be a spirit, a ghost. Chad was dead; I had killed him. Now, here he was, haunting Liam the way he had haunted my dreams. Why? Liam wasn't even there when it happened.
Suddenly Chad's head snapped in my direction. His wound, the one I had inflicted upon him that ended his life, glistened with dark red blood. It trickled down the front of his shirt and dripped to the snow-white floor, creating a black puddle at his feet.
Then he pointed his finger at me, laughing. It's never fun to be pointed at and heckled. It's even less fun when it's done by the ghost of a dead serial killer. A serial killer who's dead because you killed him.
Needless to say, I was scared out of my mind! Even though I fought Chad and won, it didn't mean I wasn't disturbed by him and the twisted, horrible things he did. The tables could have been easily turned and it could have been me with a mortal wound on my neck.
I struggled to wake up, to get away from that horrifying laughter, but the weight of sleep was too heavy. I drifted off somewhere else, some place that wasn't in my dreams, but belonged to another. For a moment I believed maybe it was Jayce pulling me away from Chad's tormenting stare, but once the smell of salt water hit my nose I knew it was someone else.
Two young boys played in an open field on a bluff. One had sandy brown hair and green eyes. The other was taller, paler, and had eyes that I would recognize anywhere; eyes bluer than the ocean that lapped against the rocks beneath them. The younger, while having different features, was no doubt Liam's younger brother.
He squealed in delight as Liam caught up to him, tackling him to the ground. They both wrestled around and the young boy got away and ran. They were dressed in thick pants and sweaters because the air was cold, I could see their breath in the air. Dew from the mist clung to their hair and skin, creating a sheen that dampened their flesh.
Despite the cold the boys didn't let that stop them from playing. They ran in circles chasing each other and claiming an old, rotted tree was the only sanctuary when they needed a rest. I watched them for a while, smiling, letting their joy fill me from head to toe. It had been too long since I had felt happiness this pure.
"It's your turn, Liam," his brother said as he stood up from the base of the tree. "You promised."
"Oh, alright, Mikey," Liam responded sighing, standing up, his young voice making me smile.
Mikey didn't wait for Liam to pursue him; he ran off straight away. Liam shouted, laughing, as he took off after him. Mikey turned and stuck his tongue out, not paying attention to where he was going. At the same time, Liam and I realized that his brother was too close to the bluff's edge. We both shouted at him to stop.
"Mikey!" Liam screamed, picking up speed. "Mikey! Stop!"
Mikey turned, fear settling in on him, but too late. He tried his best to stop, but his momentum pushed him forward. He stumbled, tripping over his feet as he fell over the edge. Liam screamed; it was a sound that I never wanted to hear again because it ripped open my soul. Liam pushed himself forward, running with all his might to the cliff's edge; I ran with him.
Both of us looked down at the churning waters. It wasn't any more than a 20-foot drop, but the rocks and waves were violent. I felt Liam's mind making a decision and without a second thought he threw himself down and into the water. My heart sank as he landed, narrowly missing a rock.
Without knowing what else to do and thinking I might be able to help I jumped in after him. All the way down I thought I heard his mother screaming. The water hit me like a cement wall, air exploding from my lungs. The waves were like icy knives, stabbing with their cold, serrated edges. They threw me back and forth as I kicked my way to the surface.
The air seemed to strangle me as much as the water had as I tried to breathe. It burned down my throat as if the air were on fire. Sputtering, I looked around, searching for Liam and Mikey. I called out, frantically fighting against the unrelenting waves.
There in the distance I saw a head bob above the water then go back down. Pushing myself forward I tried swimming toward the child. Watery hands tried pulling me beneath the surf, but I managed to move a bit further with each stroke. A small voice in the back of my mind told me that my efforts were futile, that this had already taken place so nothing I did would save Mikey.
Finally I reached the child; he was lying face down. I rolled him over, his face already blue.
"No!" I cried, pulling him to me.
A sharp pain in my chest made me release the boy. He fell beneath the water as I saw a pool of blood spread around me. Looking down I noticed a hole in my sternum. Liam, the grown Liam, held my heart in his hands.
"Liam?" I said, screaming out as he squeezed my heart.
"This is your fault," he said, the light from his eyes now gone.
I shot up in bed, clutching at my chest. Mom came into my room at exactly the same time. Her cheeks were flushed and she smiled at me.
"What is it?" I stood up.
"It's Liam," she smiled wider. "He's awake."
Chapter 4
Liam
