by Jordan Ford
“Then I don’t need to be afraid anymore,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, you’ll carry me.”
“Always.”
Her gratitude made her face shine, like a radiant light that Tristan was pulled towards. Their lips met in a kiss that belonged in fairytales—to knights and princesses, to the kind of love Romeo and Juliet died for.
Tristan cherished it, wrapping his brain around the feeling of her lips, the sweet smell of jasmine wafting up his nostrils, and the overpowering emotion charging through him.
36
Young Love
Tristan floated out of the room a minute before Mrs. Thompson returned. He’d promised Helena to return after school the next day to check on her. On his way to the elevator he glanced at the nurses’ station, raising his hand in thanks. The nurse behind the counter nodded and winked at him, her face going soft with a dreamy smile.
She obviously believed in young love…like he did.
Hopefully she’d be working the next day. He needed an ally to get into Helena’s room again.
Breathing in a lungful of air, Tristan looked to the ceiling as he traveled down to the ground floor. The weight of the past few days still lingered, but it didn’t hurt so much. Helena had a long road ahead of her and he probably couldn’t be there for all of it, but he’d take her heart with him wherever he went. He was determined to win her mother over somehow, so he could be a part of Helena’s recovery. He wasn’t sure how he’d do it, but he figured he’d chat with his dad and see what they could come up with together.
The idea sat right inside of him and he smiled the whole way home.
For once he was glad to see his dad’s truck as he parked his bike in the garage. As soon as he walked into the house, he grabbed the mitts off the spare armchair and turned off the TV.
“Can we talk?” He threw the mitt at his father, who caught it against his stomach. A slow grin eased across the older man’s face and he rose from the chair, catching the baseball in his hand and walking for the back door.
They played catch in their bare backyard until the sun went down, the whole time chatting about Tristan’s dilemma. His father had a few good ideas, but all of them would be slow, time-consuming endeavors.
“There’s not going to be a quick fix, buddy. You just have to accept that.”
Tristan squeezed the baseball in his mitt with a frown. His father slapped his shoulder as they headed back inside.
“Are you sure you want to commit to her this way? It’s a big decision.”
“I love her, Dad.” He shrugged. “I know I’m young and she won’t let me just kick around here looking after her, but she’s the one, you know? She’s going to be part of my life forever.”
His dad grinned, nudging him with his elbow.
They walked into the house and made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner, his father going on about what a romantic sap Tristan had become.
Tristan laughed off the ribbing, happy to see his father’s lighter side showing through again. Maybe he would be okay after all.
By nine o’clock, Tristan was exhausted. He shuffled off to bed, staring through the darkness at his paper cranes, the heavy weight of his future pressing in on him again. He was getting ahead of himself, but the idea of leaving Helena to go off and live his life hurt. It felt selfish. At least he could stay in Burlington to attend college, and then after that…well, he’d reassess. He didn’t have to leave Burlington and go off exploring. Even after his promise to take her heart wherever he went…maybe that could just mean college classes. He didn’t need to go off on some big adventure. He wanted to be able to see Helena every day, tell her about the mundane things in life. He could leave her footprint on campus somehow. Hell, maybe he could even take her with him.
There’s no way her mother would let that happen.
He thumped the mattress with his fist.
Man, it was going to be challenging. But he wouldn’t give up.
She was worth any fight…any sacrifice.
As soon as the final bell rang the next day, Tristan raced to his bike. He ignored Mikayla calling his name, jumping down the stairs and wrestling with his bike lock. He pedaled hard and made it to the hospital in record time. He couldn’t wait to see his girl, kiss her lips, and remind her of his promise. He’d remind her every day if he had to.
Waltzing through the hospital with a bounce in his step, he walked straight to the elevators and rode up alone. The doors pinged open and he stepped out, heading for room ten, only to find it empty.
His brow furrowed and he spun around, walking for the nurses’ station. The nurse from the day before was on duty again. He approached her with a smile that vanished the second he registered her face.
Her expression broke, her warm helpful smile disintegrating with a look of such utter heartache Tristan didn’t want to face it.
“Helena?” he whispered, his heart starting to tremble in his chest.
The nurse swallowed, a loud audible sound as she guided him to the vinyl chairs lined up against the wall. Her hand was light on his shoulder, in contrast to the heavy sadness swirling around her.
He plunked into his seat, the buzz and hustle of the hospital fading to blackness when the nurse started talking.
“I don’t know all the details, and if I’m not careful I could get fired for telling you this much.”
“Where is she?”
“They arrived late last night, after my shift had ended. Apparently there was a big blowout, but her family was insistent. They left with her this morning.”
“Family? What family?”
“From England. Her grandparents arrived…and…”
“What?” Tristan could barely breathe out the word.
“Like I said, I don’t know all the details, but when Mrs. Thompson wouldn’t listen to reason about her daughter’s surgery, someone from the hospital contacted her next of kin to check on the woman’s mental stability. It’s the first step before taking things to Department of Children and Families. We’ve been noticing signs of paranoia and staff were concerned for Helena’s well-being.”
The nurse glanced over her shoulder like she was checking the coast was clear before turning back to Tristan.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but her bed was empty before I even got to work. I’m only telling you what I’ve heard from the other nurses.”
“But—” He started panting, like the air in his lungs wasn’t good enough. He fought for more while his brain turned to sludge. “Is she… Did they take… Where did they take her?”
“Tristan, I’m sorry. I don’t know for certain. My guess is that they’ve taken her back to England to continue her medical treatment there.”
He spun in his seat, gripping her hand and silently pleading, “Where in England? Can you find out for me? Can you…”
“No.” She spoke softly, her smile sad yet kind. “I’ve already told you more than I should have. Even if I dig out the records for you, we’ll only have her sign-out information. I can’t give you a specific address.”
“Family name?”
“Tristan, her mother signed her out. I have no details that will help you.”
His fight for air became that much harder. He felt like he was drowning in quicksand. He slumped forward, his elbows hitting his knees with a faint smack.
The nurse’s hand landed on his back, rubbing lightly. “Do you need me to call someone?”
Tristan shook his head, numbness working through his system.
Helena was gone. She was…
Maybe she wasn’t in England yet. Maybe they’d gone home to collect her things first!
Jerking from his seat, Tristan swallowed down the nausea tearing at his throat. “I gotta go.” He choked out the words, lurching for the elevator.
The nurse trailed behind him. He could hear her soft patter as she followed him to the elevator.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay? You look like you’re about to pass ou
t.”
He stepped into the elevator, pressing the button multiple times. It click-click-clicked as he stood there panting.
“Tristan? Will you be all right?” she repeated.
He shook his head, his eyes burning. “Not until I find her.”
The elevator doors slid shut and he closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against the metal. All he could hear was his heartbeat thrumming in his ears—a hollow, tinny sound that was trying to deafen him.
Stumbling to his bike, he tore home. His vision was blurry as he pedaled to Booth Street. He wanted to move like The Flash, but his legs were cast iron, his fingers brittle sticks as he clutched the handlebars.
He swerved into his driveway, dropping the bike in the middle of the concrete and rushing to the tall green fence. Shouldering open the gate, he ran to the house, yelling, “Helena!”
He sounded like a madman, but he didn’t care.
Pounding the door with the side of his fist, he hollered her name until his throat hurt.
When no one answered, he stumbled back, slipping down the steps and landing on his butt with a thud. He ignored the pain, scrambling to his feet and staggering into the unkempt lawn.
The house felt empty. He knew in his heart that it would be.
Even so, desperate determination made him run to the tower. He climbed on shaky limbs, his feet slipping as he carelessly sped up the vines. The window was still wide open, never closed after Helena’s heart-wrenching fall.
He slipped through easily and whispered her name. “Helena?”
All was quiet.
Creeping to the attic stairs, he strained for any noise that would indicate life, but he found none.
Tiptoeing through the empty castle, he checked every damn room until he could no longer deny reality.
She was gone.
And he had no idea where to find her.
Bile burned his throat as he wrenched the front door open and tripped onto the porch. He caught himself before falling and yanked the door closed. It slammed with a sickening finality.
She was gone.
He stumbled back to his place, looking like a drunken fool as he wove down the sidewalk in dazed confusion. He reached his house and fell against it. Slapping his hands onto the weatherboards, he let out a desperate yell and pounded the wood until his hands stung.
Gone! They took her without a word!
Did she fight to see him again? Did she cry?
He hated that he couldn’t be there for her…to wipe away her tears, to hold her…to carry her.
“I can’t carry her,” he murmured.
The thought that he couldn’t keep his promise was sickening and he bent down and suddenly threw up. The hot, sticky vomit stank of pain and misery.
“Tristan?” His father trotted down the back stairs, worry marring his strong face. He ran over to him, his solid hand landing on his back. “Are you okay, buddy?”
“She’s gone.” Tristan didn’t even recognize his voice. It was a thin, strained sound, barely audible to his thundering ears.
“Gone? What are you talking about?”
“They took her, Dad.” Tristan sucked back a sob. “She wasn’t there and the nurse can’t tell me anything, and the house is empty. And she’s…she’s gone. Her family…from England. They took her,” he screamed, hot breaths puffing out of him. “She’s… How will I ever find her?”
It was like she was dead.
If he couldn’t find her…
If he never saw her again…
He gulped in a mouthful of air, but it caught in his throat.
His coughing and hacking morphed into these weird-sounding sobs and he buckled against the house.
His father caught him, wrapping two solid arms around his body, and held him steady. Tristan pressed his quivering chin onto his father’s shoulder and held tight, crying until he was nothing more than an empty shell.
With gentle murmurs, his father led him inside, blinking at tears of his own. Sitting Tristan at the table, he puttered around the kitchen while his son sat like an out-of-service robot on the verge of shutting down completely.
37
Shut Down Mode
It did shut him down.
Even when his father called the hospital and tried to demand a little more information, all Tristan could do was stare at the wall, a numb shell.
It was hopeless.
He didn’t even know her grandparents’ names. All he had was Cambridge, England. It wouldn’t be enough—the search was too huge and there was no way of narrowing it down.
His only hope would be Helena contacting him, but he had a sick feeling that she wouldn’t be able to.
It was over.
He was never going to see her again.
He somehow made his way up to his room an hour later, stumbling inside and slapping his hands against the desk. He gripped the shiny surface, his chest and stomach aching from the crying. His eyes were swollen and tender. He rubbed at them anyway. His insides were raw and hollow.
Sucking in a ragged breath, he gazed out his window. The skeletal trees were in full bloom with spring blossoms, fresh new life reviving the trees to their summer splendor.
Tristan’s eyebrows dipped and he lurched for the curtains, yanking them across and shutting out the cheerful view. Spinning around, he eyed the cranes dangling from his ceiling. His lips formed an ugly line, a bitter growl rumbling in his throat.
Jumping onto his bed, he snatched the cranes and yanked them off the ceiling, throwing them across the room and screaming, “Why?” until his voice was hoarse.
His bedroom door flung open and his father filled the gap. His face was etched with worry, his soft brown eyes brimming with compassion.
Tristan’s knees buckled and he slumped onto his bed, bowing his head and sniffling.
“Leave me alone. Please,” he whispered brokenly, “just leave me alone.”
He closed his eyes, waiting in agony until the door finally clicked shut.
Gone.
She was gone.
He buried his head in his pillow, curling his body into a ball and closing his eyes against the paper cranes scattered on his bedroom floor. He willed oblivion to take him. He didn’t know how else to manage the pain.
Four weeks passed.
Each day was long and painful, shrouded in anguish. Tristan didn’t know how to cope with the world so he remained shut down, running on autopilot. Shuffling through the school hallways, he kept his head down and didn’t really talk to anyone.
Miss Warren tried to hold him back after class but he ignored her request, dumping the poetry book on her desk with a bitter thank you.
That poem had become worthless. How could he carry Helena now? She was no longer part of his journey. It made everything pointless.
Squirming in his seat, he checked the clock on the wall and was relieved to see he had less than five minutes until he could get out of the hell pit and return to the sanctuary of his room. He barely opened the curtains anymore, enjoying the black haven he’d created. It was easy not to think in there, to simply sleep and pretend like nothing existed.
The bell trilled, a shrill sound that made Tristan jerk in his seat. A couple of students behind him snickered but he ignored them, snatching his books off the desk and walking out of the classroom while the teacher was still yelling instructions at him.
With his head down and his hands in his pockets, he dodged human traffic and made a beeline for his locker. Slowing to a stop, he spotted Mikayla’s small feet planted on the linoleum floor and rolled his eyes.
She’d been talking to him every day, the only kid in the school who hadn’t given up on him despite the fact that he’d stopped talking. Pressing his lips together, he rolled his shoulders and steeled himself.
Shuffling up to the shiny blue metal, he glanced at the back of her head. That’s when he spotted the inside of her locker. His lips parted, a deep sympathy ripping through him.
Rotten bananas, black and oozing,
covered all her stuff. He had no idea how they’d gotten into her locker, but it almost didn’t matter. The damage had been well and truly done. Mikayla stood in paralytic shock, her petite nose wrinkled at the smell. Her chin trembled, her lips wobbling as she took in her ruined books.
Tristan knew who was responsible, but he doubted anyone could prove it.
He wanted to do something—tell her he’d kick Owen’s ass, offer to go get the custodian, place a hand on her shoulder and tell her he was sorry—but he couldn’t.
Instead he backed away from his locker, creeping out of the school before she noticed him. Like a coward, he ran to his bike, unlocked it with shaking fingers, and took off for home.
Helena would have been so disappointed in him, but what did it matter? She wasn’t around to confess to. She wasn’t there to tell him what he should have done. She was gone and he was once again lost.
38
The Shoebox
Tristan pedaled as hard and as fast as he could, swerving around traffic and making it to Booth Street in record time. He took the corner too fast, nearly bailing on the hard concrete, but managed to pull the bike into line at the last second.
Puffing like a dinosaur, he stood and pumped the pedals, zipping down the street with his eyes on his letterbox.
But then a cat jumped out in front of him, darting onto the road without any care to human traffic.
Slamming on his brakes, the bike fishtailed to a stop, the front wheel clipping the curb. Tristan’s bike wobbled and then buckled, sending him flying sideways. He smacked into the ground and rolled once, coming to land beside a tall fence. He hissed at the stinging graze on his knee, frowning at the newly acquired hole in his favorite pair of jeans.
“Shit,” he muttered, pushing himself up and leaning against the fence to check his wound.
It wasn’t too bad, just a little blood. Standing straight, he went to collect his bike and then noticed he was leaning against the fence surrounding the big green house.
