by Gwenda Bond
“I might be able to save her,” I say, remembering what Mr. Blackwood said to Miranda. “But I have to put him back in you to do it. Are you ready?”
Mr. Blackwood blinks at me, and then I see him understand. “Do it. Yes. I can end this. I finally get to do something for her.”
I focus on matching my own strength with that of the spirits inside me, and we push together against the Dee’s hold. We push him out.
I exhale, then hold my breath. Mr. Blackwood’s head ticks down as Dee returns to his body.
I move my arms. It worked. The voices of the spirits are a soft chorus in the background of my mind now, and I know I can control them.
Miranda still lies on the stage, unmoving.
I tumble down beside her and press my fingertips against her throat to find a pulse. “Live,” I say, begging. “Live.”
I hear Gram’s voice then, apart from all the others: Lay on hands.
For the first time, there’s an image in my mind instead of just words. My grandmother in the kitchen of our house, a woman on the tile floor not breathing. Gram places her hands on the woman’s chest, eyes closed, and…
I press my palms over Miranda’s heart and call on the spirits to provide whatever good energy they can. If Dee can hurt people using the spirits, I can help them, right?
A bright river of light floods out of me, and I beg her, “Wake up! Fight!”
I lift my hands and wait. That’s all Gram showed me. I look over at Whitson’s eyes, glassy and staring into the sky. Dee’s cloaked followers don’t seem to know what to do. Either that or their master’s weakening has had an effect on them too.
Whatever the case, they are hushed, walling off the action on the stage again. I hear my dad barking commands somewhere not far off. We won’t be isolated for long. Miranda’s dad is wheeling, flailing, struggling against Dee while Eleanor grabs clumsily at his body.
And still Miranda lies there, peaceful, a sleeping beauty. I put my palm against her face and brush my thumb over the cursed mark. I want to tell her that I finally figured out how to use the spirits, and it’s because of her. I want to tell her everything.
I press my forehead against hers. The touch feels so natural. If only I didn’t also feel like my own heart is stopped in my chest, waiting to see if hers beats again.
Chapter 37
MIRANDA
At first, there’s nothing but darkness. My eyelids flutter, and it takes a universe-sized effort to see. I make out a face above me.
Grant.
A beam of light and hope zings through me… before I remember that he tried to kill me. He nearly succeeded. He isn’t Grant anymore. He’s Dee.
I drag in a ragged breath, and my lungs protest like I’m underwater. Raising my arms, I push against his chest as hard as I can. “No!” I shout. “Get away from me!”
I attempt to roll away from him, but his hands press me into place.
“It’s me,” he says. “For real. It’s me.”
I look up at him. Brown-black eyes. They aren’t flat and black. They’re worried.
“It’s you,” I say. “But where’s…”
I turn my head to find Dad nearby, his arms flailing. “Help me up,” I say, clutching at Grant’s arm. I can tell my body what to do, and it mostly follows orders. Dee isn’t controlling me, and I don’t seem to be broken, just bruised.
Grant says, “It’s Dee. Your dad said to put him back. He can end this. Miranda, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I know he’s right. It’s the same thing Dad was saying. I didn’t want to hear it, but I understood it. I understand it now. Dad is gone. He has to stay that way. With Dee back inside him, he can leave and end this. The rules of the curse. Dad’s going to use them to help me.
My heart feels like it’s breaking.
I pause over Sidekick’s body. He looks far too peaceful.
“I don’t know if Sidekick’s okay,” Grant says.
“I’ll find out after this is over,” I say, cringing at the way my voice breaks. I drag in another shaky breath. “I have to talk to Dad. I can’t know… not until afterward.”
I get to my feet and stumble toward Polly, whose arm is around Dad. He’s caught in a fit of mighty flailing. “Let go of him,” I say. “Now.”
Polly’s expression is slightly dazed, and her protest is weak. “He can’t keep the master at bay for long,” she says, releasing him. She looks like she might fall down if a breeze hits her.
“They’re not as strong because your dad is fighting him,” Grant says. I look at him in question, and he adds, “The spirits just told me.”
In this moment, that seems completely normal.
Dad’s arms windmill, and I quickly have an arm around him, supporting him. “Dad,” I say. “I’m here.”
He goes still, and I’m trembling. I look at him and see my dad there in the eyes. My heart pounds, and it hurts with every beat. “What you were saying before — did you mean it?” I ask. “There’s no other way?”
“Let me do this,” Dad says. “Let me fix this for you. You walk me to the edge of the surf and I-I will leave this island. His curse means my body won’t survive. He can’t come back if I take him with me.”
I want to cry. I want to hug him. I want to tell him how much this means. My father, the hero. Coming up with the plan to defeat a curse hundreds of years old. But there’s no time.
“Okay. You hold on to him,” I say, raggedly. My eyes burn with tears I can’t afford to shed yet. “Keep him in there. I’ll help you. I’ll be right here the whole time.”
“Yes,” Dad says. His shoulder thrashes. “We have to go. Now.”
Chief Rawling thunders onto the stage, shouting, “Clear this area.” He has a host of uniformed helpers with him, and they scuffle with the cloaked figures of the returned — to them just townspeople — trying to get them off the stage.
“Grant,” I say, “Dad and I are going to the water. Can you keep your dad out of the way?”
Grant doesn’t ask questions, though he must have plenty. Instead, he yells, “Mom!”
Sara must be with the cops, because she’s at Grant’s side in an instant. She’s no longer wearing her cloak. Even without that, I can tell she isn’t under Dee’s influence any longer. Grant must be right about the returned being affected by Dee’s struggle with Dad, because the cops are making serious headway.
It gives me hope.
While Grant talks to his mom, I get my father’s attention again. I want to talk to him about life instead of death. I grip my arm around him harder, hold one of his hands in mine.
“Those stories about us, our family. Dad, I know it wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you for anything.” I swallow a sob. “You understand?”
Dad’s head nods, a quick jerk, then smoother as he gets better control of his body.
Grant hears what I say and moves to help when I slowly cross the stage with Dad. We’re headed for the beach that gives Waterside Theater its name. The sour, rotten smell of the dead fish washing out of the sound stings my nose.
Dad talks to me as we go. I’ll stay with him as long as I can. Just like I promised.
“This is for the best, sweet… my sweetheart,” he says. “You are a good girl. Don’t be afraid. You’ve always been strong. I’ll see your mom again. It’s not so much further. This will all be over soon.”
“Miranda, this is your dad,” Grant says. “What if…”
“I know. And it’s his decision. But it won’t hurt, will it, Dad? It won’t hurt you?”
“It won’t,” Dad says, reassuring me.
Please, please, let that be true.
Grant manages his side of the support but says nothing more.
We stumble down a short flight of stairs at the back of the stage with Dad and curve around behind it. The rocky beach
meets us, a long pier thrusting out over the water nearby. Stinking heaps of dead fish are stranded on sand and stone. The chunk of moon above reflects on the sound like a long mirror, fading into the pinprick lights from the shores of the outer islands in the distance. The sloshing of the waves drowns the shouts from the stage.
Grant says, “Miranda…?”
“He’s dead, Grant. He’s right. It’s not easy, but it’s the right thing.” It’s also the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.
“Right. Thing.” Dad chokes out his agreement.
We have to hurry. Dee’s soul may be confused, depowered for the moment. That won’t last, though. I’m not even sure this will work, but Roswell’s notes said the transition from death to life can only be made once. The boundary won’t allow more than a single crossing.
“It’s a good plan,” Grant says. “He’s brave.”
I’m not surprised he figured it out, given a handful of minutes. Our eyes meet behind Dad’s head.
“I learned from the best,” I say. “I see that now.”
Dad nods, not like he agrees, but like he’s touched. “Thank you,” he says.
The surf laps at the beach, the waves a few feet away. Slimy fish are slick under my shoes, and I have to be careful with my steps. Dad’s body begins to flail again — Dee is resurfacing. Maybe he knows what’s about to happen.
We will make it.
We careen over rocks and sand and fish, tripping into the water. I hold on to Dad as he jerks. “Grant,” I say, “give me a sec.”
Grant looks reluctant, but he steps back onto the shore, leaving me alone with my father.
“Dad,” I say, “let’s go.” I take his flailing arm, fight to get his hand in mine. And together we walk forward into the surf.
“Miranda…” Grant calls a warning, but I already know. I only travel a few steps with Dad, coming to a stop with the water at my knees, splashing up my legs. I’m not far enough out yet for it to hurt.
“I love you, Dad.” I squeeze his hand. He looks at me, and then Dee is there, flat and black, lip curling.
But the eyes give way to Dad again. His features calm. Even in the near darkness, I can tell it’s him. He’s coming through for me, after all these years, and I don’t want to let him. I want to hug him to me.
“I love you too,” he says. “Always. Let go.”
And I do.
Dad walks, keeps walking, until his head sinks beneath the waves. White foam breaks over the spot where he disappears, breaks all around me. He doesn’t resurface.
Grant wades out to me and pulls me against him. I say my goodbye in the silence, wondering who Dad would have been without the curse, who I’ll be if I make it through tonight.
“It’s over,” I say. “I think maybe it’s over.”
The shouts from back on the stage spike, frantically, reaching us.
“It’s not over,” Grant says.
“Something’s happened.” I palm tears off my cheek, and I’m not embarrassed by them. I’m not embarrassed by being a Blackwood. I don’t care what anyone else thinks about us anymore.
Grants holds my hand tightly in his as we navigate through the dead fish shoreline and back up the steps to the stage. The reason for the noise becomes clear.
The bodies of the returned have wilted like so many flowers. They lay sprawled where they fell across the stage. The police officers are checking for pulses, for breath. Other townspeople join them, hovering over loved ones. The rest of the theater is quiet, the people still left in the audience not knowing what to do.
“It worked,” I say, dully. “He’s gone. And so are they. I did this.”
I spot Chief Rawling then, kneeling beside a fallen form. Sara.
“Mom!” Grant releases my hand, moving through fallen bodies to reach his parents.
I follow, afraid the death isn’t over. What if I made everything worse?
A wave of sound rolls across the stage. Sudden intakes of breath — gasp after gasp — are all around me as the returned stir back to life. Some sit up drowsily. Others stretch and climb onto unsteady feet.
I listen to their laughter, their confused questions.
“It’s really her,” someone says. More laughter. The buzz of happy conversation. Shrieks. I call out, “Polly?”
“Here,” a weak voice says.
On the other side of the stage, Polly is touching her shoulders in confusion, like she doesn’t know where or who she is. She reaches back to tighten her ponytail in a gesture I know well. She stops when she realizes her hair is down instead of up.
“They’re really back,” I say. But my beginning of a smile dies when I turn to Grant and Chief Rawling.
Sara is still unconscious.
Grant shakes his mother’s shoulder, gently, as if she’s breakable. He moves to check her pupils. Her eyes pop open.
“Mom, are you okay?” Grant asks.
In answer, Sara climbs to her feet, folding Grant and his dad into her arms. “I’m so sorry,” she says, over and over. “I’m so sorry.”
Grant shifts his head over her shoulder to meet my eyes. We did it.
I nod. We did.
I don’t linger. They’re a family. I need only to look over at Bone, sitting in shock beside his dead father, to remember that I don’t have that. My family is gone now.
I squeeze Bone’s shoulder as I walk past. My steps are slow as I approach Sidekick. I ease down beside his furry yellow body, prone like he’s sleeping but too still for dreaming. I place my hand against his ribs.
I feel no movement, and part of me dies. Part of me follows Dad off the island, into the deep water, and meets the fate of the Blackwood curse.
At first, what’s left of me believes the slight rise and fall beneath my fingers is wishful thinking. It’s what I want but not reality.
It isn’t, though.
Sidekick is breathing. His ribs lift against my hand, then fall, slowly at first, then more steadily.
I hold my own breath for a moment so I can better feel his, relaxing when he groans and wriggles against the pressure of my hand. Belly scratch.
“My good boy,” I say. “Welcome home.”
The missing are returned, the natural order is salvaged, and gentle waves embrace the shore. The time to mourn what we’ve lost will come, but not tonight. Tonight, the island is all around us.
And that’s good.
Chapter 38
GRANT
I’ve only talked to Miranda once since the night at the theater, and that was on the phone. Two days ago. The phone conversation felt like a blind date, not that I’ve ever been on one. It was frustrating and stuttering, like we just met and have nothing in common. Jokes were met with expanding pauses.
Toward the end, when the silence became too much to endure, too many dead fish and insects swimming between us in its gulf, I said, “I’ll come by on Sunday?”
“Sure,” Miranda said in a weird tone that I have analyzed over and over. I’ve come up with a thousand theories to explain it. At this point, I don’t know what to expect.
But I still want to see her.
So why, when I knock at the front door of the Blackwood house, do I feel like I’m about to walk in and discover Dee sitting on the couch? Then again, if Miranda doesn’t open the door pointing a gun at me, that’s progress.
She doesn’t.
“Um, hi,” she says. She smiles at me, tentative. Nervous.
Sidekick bounds past and jumps up on me. Heavy paws land on my thighs, and I focus on petting his furry face. I’ve never been happier to see a dog in my life.
“I’m so glad he came through,” I say, looking up at Miranda.
“Yeah. So…” she says. “You want to come in?”
“That’s the plan.”
I follow her over to the couch but decid
e not to give Sidekick the advantage this time. When Miranda sits down, I carefully select the spot right beside her. I leave an inch or two between us so we’re not quite touching. Sidekick hops up on my other side and licks my hand until I pet him.
“You’re not in jail,” she says. “That’s good.”
I snort. “Because the feds had no freaking clue what to put in their report. They got out of here as fast as they could. And Dr. Whitson having your dad’s body bag at his place… it was enough for Dad to close the case. But I’m sure he told you about that.”
Her nod is tight. “He called.”
“We went to Officer Warren and Delilah Banks’s memorial services yesterday. Bone’s not having one for his dad. He’s going to live with his mom in Ohio.”
“You know that wasn’t you?” she says. “You didn’t hurt them. It was him.”
“I didn’t kill them. But it’s still hard. Knowing…” Knowing that if I’d learned how to cope earlier, maybe I could have stopped their deaths. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over that.
Miranda must sense I need to move on. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s atoning,” I say. “Even though we keep telling her we understand.”
“What about the spirits?” she asks.
“Much better.” To my relief, if I don’t want to see or hear them, I don’t have to now. I have a feeling if they need me, need to tell me something, it’ll be different. Here’s hoping they don’t need to for a long time. Maybe ever.
“Good.” Miranda pushes her hair behind her ear.
I can’t help it — I reach out and untuck it. That earns me the beginning of a flush in her cheeks. “I like it loose,” I say. “It’s nice that way.”
“Loose women are the most popular, that’s what I’ve always heard,” she says.
I really want to kiss her again. “Miranda —”
“Wait,” she says. “I have something for you.” She leaps to her feet and hurries up the hall.
Screw waiting.
I trail her the short distance to her room, meeting her at the door. I walk forward, and she backs up with each step. We end up in her room, standing close, which is all right with me.
