Corey watches as Mr. Sarin and Sheriff Flynn walk along Main Street to the edge of town. They’re deep in conversation. She can see their mouths move, but she can’t hear them. It seems like they’re always walking the same route whenever she sees them.
When Corey turns to go back to the spa, she is confronted by a group of Lost’s students, fishermen, townspeople. A mob. Piper leads the crowd.
Piper
Do you think you’re so much better than us? You come here all high and mighty, tell us how we all misunderstood Kyra. Do you really think you understood her better than we did?
Corey steps back and hugs her arms around her chest.
Piper
We cared for Kyra. We fed her. We clothed her. We listened to her. When was the last time you listened to her, really listened? We never asked her to change. We never tried to fix her. We accepted her.
Corey (shaking her head):
Piper, you didn’t acknowledge her at all after her diagnosis. And when you did, it was only because she could be useful to you. You let her die. Don’t give me that nonsense about accepting her. You didn’t.
Piper steps forward.
Piper
We let her die? Do you even know what you’re talking about? She painted her own death. That was what she wanted. Do you know how much her visions meant to us? She told the stories that gave meaning to our lives.
Corey
She painted her own death, and you didn’t think that was a cry for help? A sign that she was suicidal? Kyra was ill, Piper.
Piper (raising her voice in anger):
And she decided that it was her time.
Piper struggles to get her emotions under control.
Piper
Yes, she was ill, and that was all the more reason to let her go. You claim to have been her friend. Would you want her to be unhappy?
Corey (stepping back at Piper’s words):
Of course I didn’t want her to be unhappy, but I didn’t want her dead. She had a right to live. To fight. To feel, happiness and heartbreak. It. Wasn’t. Her. Time.
Corey balls her fists and flinches at the pain radiating from her palm. She’s grown deadly pale. Her fingers itch to hit something, but she restrains herself.
Corey
How dare you. How dare you deny Kyra a chance to live?
(whispering)
How dare we?
Piper
You scorn her when you scorn us. Go home, Corey. Forget. It’s best for us all.
Piper and the crowd take a step forward together. They repeat the same words Piper has spoken, in a violent, angry mutter.
Crowd
Go home. Forget.
Go home. Forget.
They all step forward, moving as one, their eyes trained on Corey. Slowly, they begin to spread out.
Crowd
Go home. Forget.
It’s best for us all.
They start to circle and close in.
Corey bolts.
Letter from Kyra to Corey
unsent
Some days, I’m alone in this spa. Some days, there’s an endless stream of people. Some days, I have friends. Sam smuggles me articles about current events from the school library, but that’s all he dares to do. Aaron comes to check up on me every evening. He sends my letters. At least, I think he does. I have no way to know for sure. Maybe you never got any of them…
I tried to go for a run in the woods last night, but Dad brought me back here. He says he wants to keep me safe. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him that I don’t feel safe here. How could I? They’re burning me up with all of the painting. I want to see Rowanne. I want to be able to sleep.
I want people to care about me, not in spite of my illness and not because of it. Because of me, Cor. Just because of me.
The Mist, the Woods, the Darkness
My pulse races. My heart pounds. I push my hands against my temples and bolt.
Get away. Get out. Run, Corey.
I head into the woods.
We’ve lived through the longest night, but the days are still darkened by shadows, mournful and deep. The forest is quiet, all sounds dampened by the snow, even the snap of branches I push out of my way and the crunch of snow beneath my feet. Everything is softer here.
I won’t hear anyone following me.
I scramble toward the place where the woods should clear around the hot springs—only to be met with a dead end. I blink. Turn. More trees.
My heart skips, and I have to force myself to keep breathing.
I try to retrace my steps, but the path behind me has disappeared under a new layer of snow. The light trickles away and night creeps in. Where am I? I’ve never seen this part of the woods before. It’s as if the trees have circled me. I can’t move. I’m lost. I’m lost.
I’ll never get out.
The absence of direct sunlight makes the air colder, and when I breathe in, I taste snow. The air is a fine mist.
I run. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know what I’m doing. I have to get out. I can hardly see with the pines above me and the clouds covering the moon. The cold air scorches my lungs, and I double over and clutch my stomach.
I sprint again. I stumble and trip, hitting the snow hard. Pain shoots through my shin, while the cold seeps through my pants and crawls up my spine.
I could die like this. Running into the woods, never to be seen again.
I scramble to my feet, despite my uneven footing. Sweat gathers at the back of my neck and turns to ice. I keep walking because I have to keep moving, I have to trust my instincts. If I stop, I will freeze. But I slow down my pace.
Step by step, I backtrack. I push my nails into the palm of my unharmed hand and try to clear my mind. Focus. I follow my own footprints. I keep an eye out for broken branches where I pushed through the foliage. I have to get back to the path—and move onward from there.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I stumble into a clearing. Aaron’s cabin.
A plume of smoke rises from the chimney, and the lights are on inside.
Kyra vs. the Rest of the World
“Aaron?” Like yesterday, I knock and enter the cabin slowly, but today I’m met with the comforting warmth of a fire. Aaron has the radio tuned to a classical station, and he sits at the kitchen table, working on his miniature plane.
He’s so focused on applying the wheels to the landing gear that I don’t think he hears me.
I clear my throat.
Aaron startles, scattering pieces of the plane across the table. “Corey! What are you doing here?”
“I…” I’m not sure what to say. “I came to see you yesterday, but you weren’t here. You—this cabin”—I gesture around me—“it looked abandoned.”
He frowns. “What are you talking about?” He looks around the room, as if trying to see what I’d seen. Everything is as it was yesterday, including his mug on the coffee table, but now his cabin looks lived in, homey.
I blink and shake my head. “I—I’m leaving early tomorrow morning. I wanted to say goodbye.”
He scratches his neck. “Oh. Okay.”
I try to find the right words. “I also wanted to ask… How did Kyra die? I promise, I won’t hurt Kyra’s memory. I don’t want to get between Lost and its beliefs. But I need closure. She was my best friend.”
This part of Kyra’s story is still hazy to me. I know the Hendersons withheld Kyra’s medication. I know the town believed that Kyra’s death was foretold, so they didn’t help her, even though she seemed to be suicidal. I know she was exhausted. But Kyra had also promised to wait. She knew I was coming.
“You saw her every day. You cared for her. You must know what happened.” Aaron is silent, so I continue. “I know you know this isn’t right.”
His si
lence lengthens until, eventually, I sigh and stalk toward the door.
“Corey.” Aaron’s voice is quiet, and I have to strain to hear him over the radio. “Wait.”
I bite my lip and perch against the kitchen counter. Aaron gets up and pulls a mug from a shelf, filling it with coffee from the pot. When he turns back to me, he has a haunted look in his eyes.
“Kyra had had enough of it,” he says, without preamble. “She wanted out. She wanted to go to Fairbanks, to find that therapist of hers—Rowanne. She wanted to admit herself into a treatment center. Life here… It was devouring her. In that sense, Mrs. Henderson was right. She was burning up.”
He holds out the mug to me, and I wrap my fingers around the hot ceramic. “What happened?”
Aaron rubs his ear. “You have to understand, Lost Creek had become a better place these last few months. Whether it was prophecy or not, Kyra’s art brought us all together, and that, along with Mr. Sarin’s potential investments, gave this town hope again. After so many years of struggling to make ends meet, hope can be a dangerous thing. They wanted to cling to it with both hands.”
“Aaron. Tell me.”
“She tried to get away. She said she was going to hitch a ride on the mail plane. She had a bag packed and everything, and she told me that she was going to get in touch with you as soon as she reached Fairbanks. She trusted you. She knew you would’ve understood her leaving.”
She trusted me. The words pack a vicious punch. I don’t know if I deserved her trust.
“What happened?” I ask, fiercer than I intend. “Did you tell anyone about her plan?”
Aaron recoils. “No! No, of course not. But it’s hard to keep secrets in this community, you know that. Maybe she asked old Mrs. Morden for help too. All I know is I followed her into town to make sure she was safe. But when she made it to the airstrip to meet the mail plane, the town was waiting. And they refused to let her go. The sheriff. Her parents. Mr. Lucas. They turned her around, quick as that. Her father brought her back to the spa. I stayed far enough away that I couldn’t hear what was said between them, but I could tell that they were arguing.
“When her dad left, Kyra locked herself in her room and didn’t come out until much later that night, after I urged her to eat some food.” He clears his throat. “She looked like she’d been crying for hours, but she smiled at me and ate every last morsel. Later that night, when I was out for my walk, I saw her sitting on the balcony, staring up at the stars. The Milky Way was so bright that night. It almost looked like she could step out onto it, like a road of stars into the heavens.”
“And then?” The radio reception fades, and soft white noise fills the space between us.
Aaron grimaces, then continues. “The following night, I went to check on Kyra and she was gone. From her footprints, I thought maybe she had headed for the highway, so I went after her. She would have frozen before she saw a car, let alone reached the next town. But as I was walking, I noticed that the path to White Wolf Lake was trampled, like the whole town had trekked out there. So I went too. They must have followed Kyra out there, or maybe they pushed her out there, I don’t know. Everyone was standing on the shoreline. The Hendersons. The sheriff. Mrs. Morden and her granddaughter, Piper. Everyone.”
He pauses. “The moon was bright that night, but it took me a moment to see Kyra. She wasn’t in the crowd—she was running across the ice. And she slipped. She fell. I don’t know if the ice was weak or broken, but when she tried to get up, she fell through. I tried to push through the crowd, but no one moved to help her or make a path. They watched. They just watched.”
His voice breaks. “She was too far away. In the time it took me to get to her, she was gone. There was nothing I could do to help her.”
I close my eyes and see the townspeople standing around the burning cabin. The empty stares. Mr. Henderson clutching Kyra’s scarf.
“They let her die,” I whisper.
Aaron shakes his head. “She wanted to get out, one way or another. But Lost wanted to protect her legacy. They wanted to fulfill her prophecies. They needed to keep believing.”
“She could’ve waited until I… I would’ve helped…” My voice catches and I can’t vocalize the rest of the sentence. If I do, I’ll start crying. And if I start crying, I’ll never stop.
Aaron puts an arm around me and speaks softly. “She waited for a long time, but I don’t think she could wait any longer. Trust me, kid, I wish she were here too.”
“They killed her,” I choke.
“They didn’t understand her. They were frightened of her. They used her. That’s what killed her.”
Letter from Kyra to Corey
unsent, kept by Hendersons
Dear Corey,
I’m not sure if you’ll ever read this, but I have to leave a note in case you come here and I’m gone, whatever gone means. I hope it means that I make it out of here alive, but if not… I still can’t stay.
And if you do read this…
You were my best friend. For so long, you were my only friend. I never said thank you for that. I know I wasn’t always the easiest person to be around. I know I pushed you away. I know you suffered for being my friend, though I hope it doesn’t feel that way.
You made my life better by being in it.
We shared so much, happiness and anger, secrets and a kiss… But it’s so hard to share fear. I tried to explain, but I knew you wouldn’t understand. I don’t think you could’ve. I know you thought I was fearless, but I never was. Until Lost discovered my paintings. And I forgot to be afraid. Those first days, those first weeks, when they kept coming to me, I thought maybe Lost had actually changed for the better. I forgot to be afraid.
But I am now. And I should have been when you left.
I lost you. I don’t know if I lost you when you left or before then. There was so much we didn’t talk about. Like those times we hurt each other and pretended later that nothing had happened.
I know I scared you, and that’s one of the reasons why I kept silent about everything I felt. I didn’t want you to try to fix me. I struggled. I still do. Sometimes the days, the nights feel endless.
But I’ve also been happy. Unconditionally, intensely happy. And I don’t think anyone ever understood that. Not even you.
I’m tired, Cor. I don’t want to be stuck here. I miss you more than I thought was possible. We should have tried harder. We both should have tried harder.
I’m tired. I’m so tired.
I hope this feeling will pass, I hope this day will pass and the night will come.
I want to see you. I still want to travel. I still want to see the world and hear its stories. I need to leave Lost.
I hope this pain will pass.
But if I’m honest, I don’t think it will. Not this time.
I know I promised I would wait for you. Please believe me when I tell you I tried. I tried for so long.
I have nothing left here. I need to find my own path.
No matter where you are, a piece of my heart is yours. No matter where I am, part of me will always be waiting for you.
I turn the page, but I’ve reached the end of Kyra’s writing. I hold the envelope upside down. A smaller piece of paper slips out and drifts onto the balcony. It’s a black-and-white sketch of the aurora borealis, stars falling to earth. And Kyra and I, standing together, hand in hand, looking up at the sky.
Belonging
Five Months Before
I put my pen on the paper and stared at the blank sheet.
Dear Kyra.
What can I tell you? I’m happier here at St. James. I didn’t think I would be, but I am.
Lost Creek was a bubble, an almost all-white, conservative town with little room for wayward girls. Compared to Lost, St. James was a revelation. There were more students here than there were people in Lost, and far m
ore perspectives on the world. To me, St. James was a constellation. To Kyra, it would’ve been a whole mythology of stories.
But how could I tell her that while she was stuck in Lost? How could I tell her that Eileen wanted to write books? That Noa read superhero stories? That there was an entire library with shelf after shelf of histories and myths and legends? I couldn’t tell her that she belonged here—and taunt her with my happiness.
“Cor?” Noa’s voice echoed through the hallway. “Practice starts in ten. You ready?”
“Coming!” I pushed the piece of paper under my books and dumped my pen in the drawer. How can I tell her that this is where we’re both meant to be, when only I can be here?
I told myself I’d go back to the letter later. I never did.
Brushstrokes
There is little left for me to do in Lost but to count the hours until morning, when a plane will take me to Fairbanks. Not everything is as it seems here, the pilot told me when he dropped me off. He was right. Nothing was as it seemed here—nor as I remembered.
I read Kyra’s last letter until I know it by heart. I leaf through her notebook again. So much is missing. There’s a jagged seam down the spine where Kyra ripped out the first letters she sent to me. But there are more torn-out pages than letters I received. What did she write on those pages? Were they letters she intended to send? Or notes she made for herself? Sketches she shared with her visitors? I’ll never know, and that makes me feel empty. How many notebooks could we have filled for each other if we’d tried?
I fold her last drawing and keep it safe in my pocket.
Lost doesn’t want Kyra’s words to venture beyond its borders. After all, it’s easier to believe in legends than in truth, and her story was carefully cultivated. I will take with me what I can. I will protect her stories.
But I wish I could do more. My hands tremble with anger.
I would burn down this spa, like Lost burned down my house and Kyra’s cabin. I would erase what Lost turned Kyra into and remind them all that Kyra’s art was never as important as she was. But there is already so little left to hold Kyra’s memory. If I torched this place, what would be left to bear witness to her? All I’d do is cause more destruction.
Before I Let Go Page 16
