by Casey Hays
“You still need to take me ‘round the neighborhood,” Rylin says. I listen for the revival of the music in his voice. Nothing. “Things have changed so much, I find myself lost.”
“Right.”
He takes a bite of his burger, and a pickle comes sliding out in his teeth and hangs against his chin. He grabs at it, glancing at me with a shrug and an amused gleam. I laugh.
And then, I wonder… should I ask him about the music?
The other day on my porch, we connected. I sensed it. I pushed the idea out of my mind after he left, but for the first time, I was certain he knew what I could hear—what I had heard all those years ago when we were kids.
I glance at him, look away. I’ve never mentioned the music to anyone. Not ever. But… if he knows about the music, he won’t think I’m crazy. And, well, he’s the source, right?
He is the source.
Right?
This is where I begin to second guess myself. Maybe we didn’t connect. Maybe I made all of it up, including the ridiculous idea that Rylin makes me hear music. Could my brain have conditioned itself to associate the music in my head to Rylin like I was one of Pavlov’s dogs? My brain kicks into overdrive. That’s what I get for taking a psychology class last year.
My heart picks up speed, and suddenly every irrational thought I could imagine pummels me. Maybe I really am crazy. Maybe Kane really is my make-believe friend, and my whole life is a creation of my own imagination. My mom isn’t in Portland because she doesn’t exist. And my dad? Did I make him up too?
I rein in my thoughts. I’m getting a little carried away here. I mean, Rylin and Charli both mentioned Kane. Unless I made up this restaurant and everything in it too. I whip my eyes around the room until they fall on Rylin. He peers at me.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
I want to cry. I stumble off the stool. Charli, wiping down the counter at the other end, looks up from her work in concern.
“Charli?”
“Yes?”
“Can I have my check, please?”
“Sure, sweetie.”
She tosses me an odd look and flicks it toward Rylin before she turns away. I wait, nudged up against the counter.
“Jude, you don’t look well,” Rylin says.
“I’m fine.”
I smile weakly, barely glancing at him. The music tries to invade, thrumming softly in the back of my head, but I push it off—just like I learned to do as a kid. I control it. Which makes me that much more certain that it’s madness speaking. Where else could the music have come from? People don’t arbitrarily hear music—unless they’re insane.
People don’t make up imaginary friends—unless they’re insane.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m not crazy. Kane is real.
I swipe the check from Charli’s hand. I need to get out of here.
Sixteen
I go home and lock myself in. Devan calls me. When I don’t respond, she sends a text. Then, twelve more before she and Jonas come over, pounding on my door. I ignore all of it. I just need to be alone.
A rainstorm blows in just past ten. I climb into the window seat in the den to watch the lightning crack over the roof of the house across the street. The water drizzles like transparent tadpoles racing each other down the glass. I could cry… but I don’t let myself go there.
I’ve looked at Kane’s text about fifty times since he sent it. I added him back to my contacts just so I could see his name attached to the one text, but I haven’t heard another peep from him. I read the text again.
I’LL EXPLAIN TONIGHT.
I cling to those three words as my only hope.
At eleven, I give up on waiting. I set the security alarm and climb the stairs to wash my face and tumble into a forgetful sleep. I hope for the thousandth time today that I’m stuck in a nightmare that will be over when I wake in the morning. Nothing sounds sweeter.
I lie on my side staring out the drizzling window, and a fear that I’ve been alone in this big house all my life settles over me again. Just wandering around in my own hemisphere—a lunatic. It’s chilling, and a streak of lightning that turns the sky bright as day jolts the thought deeper. A massive rumble rolls over the roof. I reach for Angelica and tuck her into me, working to control my breathing. She’s solid and real. My phone buzzes. I look at it and bolt upright in bed.
“Mom?”
“Hi, Jude.” Her familiar voice nearly brings me to my knees. I hug Angelica closer.
“Hi.”
“It’s good to hear your voice. I snuck away to make this call.” She gives a small victorious laugh. “How are things at home?”
“Not—” I cut myself off and work to keep the tremble out of the words. I don’t need to worry her with my troubles, but I plant her firmly in my mind, making her real. “I miss you. When are you coming home?”
I swallow, dreading the answer. Because for the first time in a long time, I want my mom. I need her here.
“I’ve decided to stay for the thirty day program.” Thirty days? That’s a punch to my gut. I take a panicked breath. “I’m seeing a therapist and also attending a support group for people who’ve lost a spouse. I think this will be a great turning point for me. For us. I just need you to be patient.”
“That’s really good, Mom.” I’m on the verge of crying, but I don’t know what else to say. I’m not about to talk against any kind of treatment she might need. More than anything, I want her to deal with her grief. I swing my legs out of bed and stand. “I want you to get better.”
“That is my goal. Now listen, I have plenty of money in my bank account to hold you over until I get home. Use whatever you need. Be sure to pay the utilities on the first.”
“Okay.” I choke back the tears.
“I’ve talked with Sandy Cameron. She said you can stay with them. I know you believe you’ll be fine on your own, but thirty days is a long time.”
“Mom, we’ve talked about this.”
“Jude, please. Don’t be stubborn.” Her breath eases out in a long sigh on the other end of the line.
“I’ll be fine. Kane is three minutes away.” I pause, lick my lips. “You do remember Kane, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Her voice reflects a hint of irritation. “Why would you ask me such a strange question?”
A puff of relieved breath escapes me. “No reason.”
“Is he there now?”
“No.” I haven’t seen him since I lost my mind. Note my sarcasm, but Mom’s validation of Kane’s existence gives me back my perspective.
“I would feel better if he were,” she continues. “Let him sleep on the couch if you’re not willing to go to Jonas’s.”
“I don’t need him to do that.” I’m still not happy about her trying to arrange sleepovers behind my back.
“I know you don’t. But I do.”
I lift a brow. I wonder… what would she say if I told her Kane deserted me and that the next time I see him, I plan to beat the golden flecks right out of his head? Of course, in the next breath, he’s smiling at me, and a streak of worry runs over my first thought. I wish I knew what was going on with him.
“You’re really okay with that?” I press her. “With him sleeping over?”
I ask because, honestly, I just want us to keep talking about Kane. To make him my reality. And well, I’ve kissed him a few times now. That’s kind of a big deal.
“I see how he looks at you, Jude.” Mom’s voice stalls my other thoughts. I perk up, listening. “No one else looks at you quite like he does. I trust it.”
Her words burrow in, digging at my fragile emotions that are so raw from today’s events. I’m kind of moved by them, actually.
“We have a lot to talk about when I get home.”
“Tell me about it.” I sit. We’re silent a moment.
“Are you okay, honey?”
A tear pricks my eyes. It’s been a long time since she asked me that question. I want to tell her that until she
called, I might have been a prime candidate for Cedar Hills.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“I admire you, Jude.” I hear a tear in her voice. “You’ve always been strong, just like your father.”
I smile, and that stupid tear slithers down my cheek. If only she knew.
The doorbell rings. I take a deep breath, and an excited throb pumps through my heart. I step out into the hall and look over the railing.
“Mom, I have to go.”
“Okay. Be safe. I’ll call again soon.”
I hang up and take to the stairs. The motion light is on, and I see the outline of Kane’s frame through the foggy glass pane in the large, redwood door. His shadow leans to one side, hands in his pockets. It’s definitely him, and I hold my breath for a minute. To be honest, I’m a little scared. Something phenomenal happened last night, and all day I’ve obsessed over it, piecing every detail back into place until I’m certain of what I remember. Of course, this was in between bouts of thinking I’d gone mad. So what is he going to tell me that will make this all go away?
I don’t wait another minute. If I do, I may never let him in. I turn the security system to the off position and swing open the door.
There he is, alive and soaked to the core.
He doesn’t attempt to come in. He just stands on the porch in jeans and a tee-shirt that clings to his chest, eyes full of regret. The rain patters in the background, and he literally drips from every inch of his body. My gut reaction is to slam the door in his face, but I’ve never been one to follow my gut. I think too much to rely on such an instinctive organ. So instead, I turn and walk through the kitchen to the guest bath to get him a towel. This seems logical.
He’s in the kitchen when I return. He takes the towel, wipes his face, rubs out his hair, runs it over his arms. I cross my arms and wait.
“Jude—”
The minute he says my name, my emotions kick into high-gear. Two quick steps, and I slap him hard across the jaw. It stuns him a second and leaves my palm warm and throbbing. He purses his lips, the towel wadded up in his clenched fists, and my handprint slowly emerges in a red heat.
“I deserved that,” he says.
My resolve doesn’t last long. I cover my face and burst into tears right before I throw myself into his arms. He’s wet, but he’s also real and here. I compress every bit of myself into him, imprinting the feel of his body against mine so I’ll never forget it.
“Hey, hey.” He drops the towel and embraces me, tight and strong. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do this to you.”
I bury my face into his neck, sobbing against his wet skin. His hold on me tightens, and I shiver as the rainwater penetrates my tank top.
“They f-forgot you,” I whimper. My voice is thick with hiccups. I pull back, connect with his warm, familiar eyes. “W-Why?”
“I did something.” Eyes glistening with tears, he cradles my jaw in his palms and lifts my face. “I—I made a mistake.”
Confused fear growls in the pit of my stomach. I release a trembling breath. “What? What did you do?”
He licks his lower lip, raising nervous brows. “You might want to sit down for this.”
The last time I heard that phrase, two police officers showed up at my house to tell us my dad was dead. I hate that phrase more than any in the English language. But I let Kane guide me down the steps to the den. I climb up onto the end of the sectional sofa, tucking my legs under me; he chooses to stand, hands clasped and eyes on the ground. I don’t like the look on his face.
“What, Kane?” I sniffle, wiping a hand across my face. “Just tell me. I can’t take this anymore.”
He rubs a hand across his jaw, nervous. “None of this should have happened. I knew better, but I didn’t think.”
I furrow my brows, confused. He paces in front of the recliner. He seems scared, which scares me.
“Are—are you in trouble?”
He squeezes his eyes shut, puckering his lips. “A little bit. Yeah.”
“Kane, you have to tell me what’s going on.” I wipe my eyes, fighting my hiccupping sniffles. “Maybe I can help.”
“No.” His fear glances off with the sharp answer. “You can’t. You can’t be involved.”
“Look, something crazy happened last night.” I press my palms together, determined to pull something out of him that will make sense of the senselessness in my brain. “If it didn’t feel so real to me, I’d think I dreamed it. But you talked to me… like… in my head. You were surrounded by light, and then, you disappeared. You disappeared from my life for a whole freaking day.”
He drops his hands, and the tears stand there, goading my heart. “I know,” he whispers.
“What happened out there?” My frustration eats at me. I sniffle. “Why can’t Jonas and Frankie remember you?”
“Because I made them forget me.” His words come out in a rush that I’m not expecting, and he focuses on me, waiting for my reaction. I straighten, staring at him.
“What?”
He sighs, long and painful. “Do you remember what I told you at the club while we were dancing? About compelling?”
The conversation dashes through my brain. I remember. He had a secret. Said he could compel information out of people. That he’d compelled people to stay away from our table too. But… he was joking.
“Yes,” I answer.
He nods once. “I meant it.”
Confused, I squint up at him. “You meant what?”
He licks his lips, nervous. “I compelled them.”
Startled, I take the time to read his face in the dim lamplight. You see, through the years, I’ve memorized certain things about Kane’s expressions. Sometimes, I’m able to determine which one he’s going to slide on seconds before it appears. The one he wears now? I’ve seen it before. It’s his truth-teller face. Not a hint of evasion is written anywhere on it.
“What does that mean exactly?” I’m almost afraid to ask.
“It’s—a mind power.” He licks his lips. A streak of lightning blinks through the sunroof. It shades Kane’s black hair with a blue hue for a split second. “I can make people do things. Like forget.”
He assesses me, gauging whether I believe him. I don’t.
“Right.” I drag out the word with a shake of my head. “Inner-fantastic-ness.”
“I can, Jude.” He’s dead serious, ignoring my sarcasm. He runs a hand through his wet hair until it sticks up in a curly mess. “And I did.”
He says it so bluntly, so matter-of-factly. His truth-teller mask doesn’t budge, but my momentary relief at seeing him alive and well dissolves like melting ice into this weird place where I don’t know what to feel. It’s just too absurd. In the silence that follows, I hear the rain beating on the roof.
“Even if you could do that, why would you make Jonas and Frankie forget?”
A helplessness invades his eyes. He looks nauseous.
“They saw something they shouldn’t have.” He hones in, hands on his hips, his face a tight sheet of endurance, as if he’s just trying to get through his own words. “I had to fix it.” He looks at me, begging for me to believe him. “I didn’t mean to make them forget me. I just needed them to forget what they saw. I messed it up.”
My mouth hangs open, floored by this ridiculous story. Here I thought I was going to get real answers. Does he honestly expect me to believe he has the power to wipe out memories? I shake my head and peer at him.
“What did they see that was so bad?” I come to my feet, clenching my fists at my sides. “I mean, don’t you think making someone forget a memory crosses some kind of moral line?”
“Of course, I do.”
I sigh, exasperated, and flail my hands up dramatically. “Kane, what happened out at Spooner Lake? That’s all I want to know. Just explain the bright light. And the screeching. Where have you been all this time? And how did I hear you in my thoughts?” I pause as a thought hits me. “Were you… compelling me?”
“No.” He takes a step toward me. “No. I can’t compel you.”
My pulse beats in my throat. “Why not?”
“I just can’t.” He checks himself, heaves a sigh, and his whole body reacts to the motion. “Look, Mom and Dad are going to fix this. But they also have to answer for what I did. I have to answer for it. That’s all you need to know.”
“Answer to whom? The compeller police?”
I let that jibe hang between us. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and paces.
“Answer me, Kane.”
“I can’t!” His words are firm.
“Why?”
“Because you aren’t supposed to know any of this, Jude! None of you are!”
He ruffles up with flames of irritation, and I tense, a small anger pricking me in response. I’m the one who should be upset here. He tells me too much and virtually nothing at all in the same breath. I’m confused, and I’m exhausted. I’m tired of him avoiding the one question I want answered. I step closer.
“What happened last night?”
“I told you.”
“The light? The noises?”
He shrugs. “Maybe… that was in your head.”
“You were in my head.” I glare at him. “You, Kane.”
“Maybe… I wasn’t.” His expression wavers, and I don’t like it.
“Oh, so now you want to tell me what I experienced.” I am so irritated.
“Jude, I told you what I did. I feel sick about it. What more do you want?”
“I want you to talk to me. Let me in.” His eyes falter, so I press him. “I want you to tell me the truth. I know you, Kane. You know me. Why are you keeping things from me when we know everything about each other?”
“Not everything,” he whispers. That stings.
“Okay, fine.” I throw my hands up. “Maybe not. But if you can’t share whatever it is you’re going through with me, what’s the point of us?”
This strikes a chord with him. His lip trembles. “You have to trust me.”
