Alive

by Chandler Baker

  Back in his Volvo, I sink my head into my hands. I hardly notice when the car rolls forward or when it comes to a stop a short distance down the block.

  If anything happens to Brynn, I won’t be able to forgive myself. She’s not going to die because of me.

  “Stella?” Henry taps my shoulder. I jump. I’d almost forgotten he was in the car. “I think I have something.”

  From the backseat, Henry pulls out a book. There’s no plastic slip over the cover. This one is a paperback. It’s thick with torn edges from library patrons thumbing through it. It has the weight of a book you would buy in the grocery-store checkout line, but the cover is plain and tan, the color of a fancy envelope. Red block letters adorn the front. Biting his tongue between his front teeth, Henry flips to a dog-eared page a quarter of the way in and begins to read:

  “‘Under certain circumstances, a malignant spirit may be banished through the process of binding, a technique whereby a living person places the apparition in a secure, confined area such as a bottle or a black box. There, the incapacitated spirit will linger, safe from human interaction so long as the container remains locked.’” Henry thumps the book with his pointer finger. “This. We can do this.”

  I frown. “Levi isn’t an apparition. He’s real. And he won’t fit into a bottle.”

  “No.” Henry’s eyes gleam. “But he’ll fit into a coffin.”

  I leave these items to the people I love:

  To my parents—my complete collection of Stephen King novels; a lifetime of scares that have nothing to do with your daughter for once.

  To Elsie—my room; it has a better closet and is farther from Mom and Dad, so they won’t hear you sneak out when you get older.

  To Brynn—my yearbooks and photo albums; thanks for never letting me fall too far behind. All my craziest memories are with you.

  To Henry—the past week to remember me by.

  While Henry digs in the garage for supplies, I sign the sheet of paper and tuck it in his glove compartment. In the event that I need to resort to plan B, I have to hope that someday somebody will find it.

  The crunch of shoes in the dark. Henry appears, white teeth glinting in the night. He’s smiling. In the past hour, his mood has buoyed upward into the stratosphere. “You ready to do this?” he says like we’re a team readying ourselves to make a push for the playoffs. I shrug back into his old zip-up hoodie.

  My intestines shrivel. I force my lips into a smile. I push my hands through the sleeves and am swathed again in the innocent smell of him. Sweet Henry. I told him I would try and I will, but I have a secret, and he would never let me go with him now if he knew.

  When the church comes into sight, I hold my breath, just like I did when I was little and we drove past a graveyard—breath held, feet up. I have to remind myself to breathe again, but even as oxygen returns to my lungs, it feels as if I’m still holding it. Heart thumping. Pulse pounding in my wrists.

  The deep, velvety night acts as our cover as we unload the trunk for part one of The Plan. According to Henry’s book, Levi can be bound to the spot where his body was laid to rest.

  Starting between a massive stone cross and a square tombstone the color of dusty red dirt, we tread between the makeshift aisle, through row upon row of the consecrated dead. Everything is quiet except for the dragging of metal along soil that comes from the two shovels in tow.

  I count the rows back from the church steps until we reach the fourteenth. Levi’s row. From there, it doesn’t take long to locate the thick white headstone that seems to match the color of the moon. LEVI MICHAEL ZIN. The letters carved into stone look angular and confrontational. We tiptoe around the edge of the area leading out from the stone, tracing the line where his body must lie beneath the grass.

  If anyone were to ask what events led me to this present moment, there’d be no explanation that would make me sound anything but crazy. And not crazy like a girl who calls a guy fifteen times without leaving a voice mail. Like full-on, straitjacket crazy. Even with a shovel pointed at the ground, I wonder if maybe I really am insane and have only convinced Henry to carry out a delusion that started manifesting itself way back in anatomy class that day.

  I balance the weight of the handle and drive the metal tip into the hollow earth. I try to stay focused, energy trained on churning up the ground, but I sneak glances at Henry. A curl falls over his forehead every time he buries the blade in the dirt.

  A lump rises in my throat. I wonder if they’ll bury me in this cemetery if I don’t return.

  The shovel slides in, making the sound of a pail through wet sand. The next thrust buries the shovel up to the shaft. I jerk my elbows to yank it out. It takes some maneuvering to tear out the first divot of mud and cast it off to the side. The earth wants to slurp the shovel up and not let go, as if hands are holding the shovelhead from underneath. It’s only when I can wrestle it away that I’m able to widen the hole.

  Before long, my triceps and shoulders are heavy and sore. I have only a small crater about as deep as the distance between my foot and my ankle to show for it. A fraction of Henry’s progress. I’ve never known whether it’s true that bodies are buried six feet under, but God, I hope not. I wipe the first drop of sweat from behind my ear.

  Over and over, I plunge the shovel down, and each time another prickle works its way up the back of my neck. The breeze picks up, rustling the leaves on the trees above and changing the dappled shadows below. As another clump of dirt slides off the point of my shovel, some of the drier bits are carried off in a thin tail of dust.

  It takes over an hour to retrieve the bones of Levi Zin. Both of us have to use all of our weight to pry open the coffin lid. Across his skeleton, mummy skin stretches with gaping tears like wet toilet paper. But I can still make out the threads of dark hair on his scalp and a fully intact Nirvana T-shirt draped over his carcass.

  “Send it,” Henry says. And with that, the cogs that push us into part two of the plan are set in motion. Rest in Peace, Levi, I think dryly.

  I turn away as Henry loads the remains into a large fertilizer bag.

  Soon the momentum will build. Neither of us will be able to stop it. And what Henry doesn’t know is the one thing that would kill him if he did.

  I’m capable of ending this on my own.

  I wish I could talk to Brynn one last time. I wish I could know that she’s safe and that she’s okay, but of course I can’t know any of those things. Sweating, breath shallow, I punch in the letters on my keypad to type out the ransom note. In this case, though, what’s being ransomed is me.

  “It’ll be okay.” Henry squeezes my shoulder. “It’ll be over soon.” He hadn’t liked the idea of me acting as bait, but unless we’re willing to serve up someone else’s heart on a silver platter, neither of us can think of anything else.

  He’s right, of course. It’ll be over soon. It’ll all be over. I take a deep breath.

  Leave her alone, I write, or neither of us will have what we want. Enter. I give the time. I give the place. A different time and a different place than I’ve told Henry, but still. I hit enter again. And for good measure, I include a final threat—I’ll destroy it.

  Now we wait.

  “It’s done.” I look to Henry. He nods at me, suddenly solemn. “We should have an hour.” I can’t look him in the eye. I make a mental note. The last thing I say to him shouldn’t be a lie.

  Dirt stacks up on either side of Levi’s grave. A sleek mahogany coffin lies open underneath. If Henry’s plan is successful, the physical manifestation of Levi’s soul will be confined to his casket for eternity. Except I know that it won’t work, because I still have part of it beating inside me.

  “Come on.” Henry reaches for my hand. I take it, warm and damp and unmistakably living. I crane my neck and stare up at the stars. When did I become too old to make wishes?

  I pick the brightest and send a positive thought up to the universe, hoping that I will leave my mark in some way on the world, even i
f it’s just a feeling, an invisible imprint.

  Henry and I cross the remainder of the cemetery with its scraping branches that cast shadow puppets on the ground and the plush grass beneath our feet rendered colorless in the night. Henry loads the remains into the trunk.

  As we drive to the drop-off point, I’m reminded of a Bible story I learned in kindergarten. There once were two women who lived in the same house and who both had infant sons. One had accidentally smothered her own son and so had swapped the child with the other mother’s living one to make it look as though the second woman possessed the dead child. When the second woman denied that the dead child was her own, the pair went to King Solomon for a judgment. After thinking on the problem, King Solomon called for a sword to be brought before him. He decreed that the baby would be split in two and each woman would receive her half of the child. Upon hearing the judgment, the true mother threw herself at the king’s mercy and begged him to let the imposter have the child, but to please not kill him. On the other hand, the pretender, bitter with jealousy, screamed that it should be neither hers nor the other woman’s—“Divide it!” she said.

  The tires crunch along gravel and an old railroad bridge comes into view. I’m ready to play the imposter. If I can’t have the heart to myself, then neither of us should have it.

  This is the secret I’ve kept from Henry. I’ll still destroy Levi. I just may happen to destroy myself, too.

  Henry presses the brakes and pushes the gear into park. His headlights create a halo of light in the clearing. The bridge, copper and rusted, is decked in graffiti. Abandoned and fallen into disrepair. The Duwamish Waterway, which coils around the east side of Seattle, crashes into the canal walls below. Neither of us says a word. We just sit there for a moment in silence. Nearing the end.

  Although I never wanted seventeen to be the period on the end of my very short life sentence, I’m practically giddy at the thought of the last moments of my pain. The big finale. Soon it will be gone and I’ll feel nothing, and the idea of it is almost sweet enough to make my teeth ache.

  “Henry, I want to do this part alone,” I say. “This is between me and him. I just need a second, okay?” He starts to open his mouth, but I talk over him. I have to talk fast before I lose my nerve. Or worse, before I cry. “You can see me. I’ll be right there,” I insist. “Let me do this. Please?”

  He nods. “Okay. Fine. If you have to.”

  My smile is weak, but I try to make it reassuring.

  I unload the bag of remains from the trunk. The bag is unexpectedly light in my grip. My knees tremble. The smell of damp earth and falling leaves is pungent, but as soon as I step out onto the bridge, the sea overwhelms it. The echoing roar of water is heavy in the air.

  I walk all the way to the center of the bridge and peer over the edge: the drop is enough to kill me. The bridge is lined only in short rail ties that emit heady waves of gasoline. I gulp air, suddenly terrified. Shaking, I lift the bag to the ledge and let go. The remains of Levi Zin tumble down and disappear into the black water below. I watch, speechless, as the bag sinks below the surface.

  I catch the scent of cigarette smoke just before I hear the strong baritone of his voice.

  “If you do this, you’ll lose everything.”

  I spin around, and as I do, I feel my heel catch the lip of the bridge. I lean forward for balance. “Stay right there.” I hold out a trembling finger.

  He obeys. In the time since I’ve seen him, Levi has changed. The beauty in his face has shifted and turned into something lean and hungry. The second he appears, the swollen, tender ache in my chest subsides to a dull pinprick, and I still wonder how I’ve resisted him for so long. His hair shines with moisture and so does his skin, both hinting of the ocean at twilight.

  A cruel smile spreads across his face. He has always been the predator toying with his prey, waiting for the moment to pounce. He’s been there every second. Every moment. Waiting.

  Chills raise goose pimples over every spare inch of me.

  “Is she safe?” I ask, shifting both heels back to the brink.

  Levi’s jaw is taut. He nods. This, though, this moment of defiance, he wasn’t expecting, I realize with a rush of satisfaction.

  I back up a centimeter, conscious of the boggling heights. Starlight shines off his sodden hair, slicked sideways across his forehead.

  “You donated it,” I tell him. “It’s mine now.” I’m not sure whether I think he needs to hear it or I do.

  “It was taken from me.” He snarls.

  The water thunders below us. One step. That’s all it would take.

  “If you’ve wanted my heart all along, what were you waiting for?” I’m surprised by the sudden steadiness of my own voice.

  He lets out a cheerless, one-note laugh. He watches me, hawk-eyed. Hands shoved in his pockets, his posture is relaxed, but I notice the flex in his muscles and my own stomach clenches into a fist.

  “Doesn’t everyone deserve a final spin around the block? Once my heart’s been returned to me, I’ll be banished forever.” Levi strolls toward me. He takes another pull from his cigarette and the end glows orange. “Besides, Stella, give yourself some credit. You’re not a total bore.” My cheeks burn. It seems as if he’s about to reach out to touch me.

  This is it. I’ve run out of time. I put one foot over the rail tie and balance my toe on the narrow outer ledge. Levi freezes, watching me. Testing.

  “You’re not thinking.” His lips curl over his teeth in an ugly grimace.

  “You’re not real.”

  For a moment, we’re both stalled at an impasse. Then the silence shatters. Footsteps pound the bridge. A metallic echo. A figure barreling toward us. No, Henry. It’s too late. He’s sprinting toward us. Face contorted into a battle cry. He closes the distance in no time.

  Levi spins deftly and catches Henry in the chest with a swift kick. He clasps Henry’s ribs, pushing him up off of his toes so that his feet dangle. Henry’s face contorts, and for an instant, I see the tormenting chest ache that I’ve been suffering reflected on someone else’s face.

  “Tell me,” Levi says. “Is this real enough for you?” I see torn edges of skin and bloody holes that gurgle for air. I don’t need a vision. I know what comes next.

  “Stop or I’ll jump.” I don’t have to say it loudly for Levi to hear. Henry’s face is white and lolls to the side. Not Henry. Please, not Henry.

  Levi aims his stare at me. Hooded eyes, dark and devilish. “You were a coward when I met you and you’re a coward still.”

  He’s wrong. I was a coward when we met, but his heart changed me. I’m not scared to live anymore. And I’m not scared to die.

  I turn and place both feet on the outer ledge. I stretch out my arms. I imagine myself on the starting block, preparing to dive. Are the swimmers ready?

  On your mark. Get set. Behind me, a dull thud. My right foot moves to take a step. I lean forward, heart over my center of gravity. I feel the pull of the ground. A flit of breeze.

  And then a hand takes a fistful of my shirt and I’m thrown sideways away from the ledge. Steel railroad tracks scrape the skin from my elbows. Henry’s figure is crumpled a few feet away.

  I scramble to my feet and run.

  I run without thinking about in what direction. As long as it’s away from Henry. The clanging of the bridge vanishes. My feet find soft ground, slippery underneath them. The road is lined with spindly trees. Downhill, curving right. Panic blocks my throat. I’m fast. But not fast enough. I can’t outrun Levi. Not forever.

  I hammer my legs, propelling myself toward the first signs of civilization I see. A cluster of sleepy houses nestled between road and water. I wonder if I should scream. Would anyone help me if I did? Would anyone believe me?

  The street’s deathly quiet, as if Levi and I are the last people left in this town. What I need now is options. The only option I can think of is to stay away from him.

  My rib cage expands and contracts painfully. Thre
e years ago I could have run ten times as far without feeling my lungs knot. I reach a stop sign at the end of the main road and turn left. Rows of the neighborhood’s wooden fences begin to wedge me in.

  “Don’t worry, Cross,” Levi hurls the words at me. “I’m patient.”

  My legs already prick and burn like they’ve been stuck by a nest of a million hornets. There’s a chance I won’t make it much farther. A good chance. There’s adrenaline, but even that can’t keep my legs moving as fast as they need to. My instincts are screaming, Fight or flight. Fight or flight. I screw my chin over my shoulder and see Levi walking toward me, slowly, like Vlad the Impaler.

  When I turn back I notice the reflection at the end of the lane ahead. As my head bounces up and down in time with my steps, the horizon bobs with it, and every so often I catch a twinkle of light or the frothy crest of a whitecap.

  An option.

  I don’t have time to wonder or confirm my theory. I use the last bit of resolve to pump power into my legs. My shoes slap the pavement, doubled by the sound of Levi’s.

  I start counting back from ten. The numbers run through my head like a ritual prayer. Anything to distract. I have to keep going.

  I cut through a lawn, trampling a well-tended crop of hydrangeas in the process. At the end of the street, I slip between two brick houses and am choked by the smell of garbage spilling out of the bins. The solid wall between Levi and me makes me feel safe for an instant, before I hear the crunch of Levi’s feet in the gravel alley. And it’s in that heartbeat that the toe of my sneaker catches the ground wrong and I sprawl forward. Rocks scrape my hands. I bite my lip against the sting and work to scramble to my knees, but it’s too late. Levi’s hand has latched onto the hood of Henry’s baggy sweatshirt.

  His breathing is a snorting snarl that tears at the space around me. I can’t breathe. He’s pulling me up by the hood and the neck of the sweatshirt strangles me. I gasp and search for air that won’t come. Tossing my head, I fight to get my fingers inside the collar, but it’s too tight. I arch back. My eyeballs roll in their sockets.