by Mindy Mejia
I still remember the crunch of his skull, how it didn’t feel broken as I smashed the rock into it—there was no sudden give, no tremor of anything reverberating through my fingers—but I heard the pop of fracturing bone. It was a dull sound, the kind of noise that would have been forgotten in the next breath if it meant anything else and it wasn’t even the sound itself that haunted me; it was the feeling that washed through me the instant I heard that crack and saw his body go limp. Not horror. Not regret. Not even relief. It was happiness, a raw, savage joy that flooded my veins as I stood over him.
I was fifteen, I had just ended someone’s life, and I was happy.
* * *
The week started out on a crap note to begin with. Some cheerleader named Hope—why not call her Glass Half Full, you unsubtle helicopter parents?—picked a fight with me before class and of course I was the one who got suspended, not pom-pom girl. Dad was somewhere on Lake Ontario and wouldn’t be back until Saturday, so I spent the week roaming Lincoln Park with all the badassery of an unsupervised spring ninth grader. I walked the train tracks, stole Twinkies from the gas station, and finally decided to break into an abandoned warehouse, where I ran into two guys smoking weed.
Their names were Derek and Rex and they called themselves D-Rex, or rather Rex did and Derek put up with it. I’d seen them around before. They’d just gotten into town and had hung around the fringes of our group for the last month or so. One was short, the other fat. I didn’t think I had anything to worry about from some short, fat rookies, even if they were a lot older than me, so we spent the afternoon wandering the neighborhood together. Rex, the fat one, kept wanting to find things to eat. Derek, the short one, played music on his iPhone and scrolled through the crappy pictures on my old flip phone. One of them was a picture of a picture—a shot of me and my mother standing in front of the cabin. When he asked, I shrugged off a few details, touching the agate necklace I wore beneath my shirt. Yes, that was me. My mom used to take me up north every summer, before she left us.
“I swear to God I saw her the other day. Rex and I came from up north.”
“From Ely?” I spun around.
“Yeah, Ely.” I didn’t even register the glance between them at the time. “You still have the cabin, right?”
I didn’t think; I reacted. Rex knew how to hot-wire cars, so we found a rusted Ford parked in an industrial lot with no surveillance cameras. Before I knew it, we were driving out of town and it felt . . . right. Even though I’d always thought of the cabin as our place—hers and mine—it made perfect sense that she would have retreated there. The place had been in her family for generations, it belonged to her, and my dad had refused to take me there since she’d walked out. I’d just assumed he couldn’t stand the memories, but maybe they’d made an agreement without telling me. Maybe she’d been living there all along.
The sun was setting by the time we arrived and my heart practically beat its way out of my throat. I had tears in my eyes as I crept up the front walk and felt ten years old again. I’d taken the agate necklace off and clutched it in my hand for most of the drive. I didn’t know what I was going to do, if I’d clasp the pendant around her neck, throw it at her, or break it into a thousand pieces on the doorstep. The Earth took violence and decay and made agates, she’d said, so maybe I’d take agates and make violence and decay. There weren’t any lights on inside and I didn’t know the security system code, so I went to ring the doorbell, thinking the guys would hang back and let us get our angry reunion on. They dogged me right up to the door, though, and kept asking about the code. “Maybe you’ll remember,” Rex prodded. “I’m sure one of your parents told you.”
I looked from one to the other and slowly the veil of stupidity lifted. They couldn’t quite hide it in their faces and I knew then that no one was on the other side of the door. They’d never seen my mother in their lives.
“Wait,” I said, feeling a different kind of tremor taking hold. “I think they hid a copy of the code in the boathouse with the spare key.”
The walk took forever. I scanned the horizon with every step while they flanked me the whole way down to the water. Our lot was large and wooded. The nearest neighbor, a recluse name Harry, spent most of his time fishing and probably wasn’t even home. There were no boats on the lake when we approached, only a single loon bobbing like a black speck on the sunset orange waves. Our boathouse was a creaky shack on the beach and I threw open the unlocked door, knowing right where to look. A loose piece of plywood covered not a key, but the gun my mother had always hid out here because this was bear and wolf country.
I dug underneath the plywood, scraping against studs and cobwebs, finding nothing. Where was the gun? One of the guys stepped into the doorway behind me, blocking the little light that trickled inside, and I spun around and kicked him right in the stomach, sending him flying. I ran out of the boathouse but didn’t get four steps across the beach before the other one—Rex—tackled me. He flipped me over and said not to scream, that if I told them how to get in the house, they wouldn’t hurt me.
Derek walked over, bracing his gut and smiling. He wanted me to scream.
As they grabbed me I didn’t think about why they were doing this or why it was happening to me. Those were questions Dr. Mehta gave me later, the kind of questions people had when they believed their lives were worth something. It didn’t even occur to me to question them. They were animals being animals. The only refrain playing in my head was what an easy mark I’d been.
Stupid, I kept thinking. So stupid.
Rex, the fat one, held me down as Derek tried to take my clothes off. I fought and yelled at him, which was what he’d been waiting for. He started hitting me, close-fisted, over and over until even his friend told him to stop.
“Leave, then,” Derek said. “I’ll teach her a lesson by myself.”
Rex stayed for a little longer, nervously checking the horizon before he slunk into the trees. As he left, I heard him tell Derek, “Shut her up, for chrissake.” In response, Derek flipped me onto my stomach and clamped his hand over my face, cutting off my voice, and that’s when I saw it. It was tucked among the other rocks forming a circle around the lakeside firepit, the place where we had built bonfires and roasted s’mores and watched the sunset over the water—heavy, jagged, the exact size of my hand. It didn’t belong in that firepit and I knew instantly what it was and who had put it there.
When I went quiet, Derek released his grip on my face so he could yank my jeans the rest of the way off. Then I grabbed my mother’s prized, four-pound agate and smashed it into his temple.
His hands flew up and I kneed him in the groin. When he dropped I rolled up and drove the rock into his head again and again until I heard his skull break. There was a gurgling sound, his muscles seized, and then nothing. I stood over the body, cradling the bloody rock in my hands, and cried tears of absolute gratitude.
I knew the answer. I understood what my mother had been telling me all those years ago. Agates can only form when something in you is destroyed, when the hollows of grief or depression can never find the light, and the sediment that accumulates inside them is dense. Their power changes you. She had changed into something that wasn’t able to be my mother, but she’d left me a way to survive. As clearly as I knew I was standing on a shore next to a dead man, I also knew she’d wanted me to find this rock.
The pool of blood spreading underneath Derek’s face seeped over the sand until the water got at it, pulling it away in streaks of deep red shot with amber. I dipped my fingers into the blood and painted it over my forehead and cheeks in a fortification pattern. Then I walked back to the cabin.
Rex was waiting by the car. As soon as he saw me with the rock in hand, blood mask congealing over my face, and murder in my eyes, he jumped in the truck and gunned it out of the driveway. I never saw him again. I kept walking until I got to Harry’s cabin and sat in front of his door, waiting for it to open while new minerals formed deep inside me, filling the
hollows with a type of strength she’d never had.
* * *
I could feel Lucas’s shock as I told the story. The wind had picked up as we walked back through the park, whipping the dead leaves into a white noise that made conversation almost impossible. Almost. I spoke in a low, monotone voice as the air slapped me in the face, stinging tears into my eyes and drying them before they could fall. I barely registered the trail ahead of us as I related how Harry had found me and the investigation that followed.
“The coroner counted over twenty contusions on Derek’s skull. They said I wasn’t hurt enough to justify murder, especially when there was no evidence of rape. I told them the truth, the truth I’d felt so shining and clear in that place and then had to lie about later so I could leave Congdon behind.
“I told them my mother spoke to me through rocks and that she’d given me the agate to kill him.”
Our group came out of the woods at the trailhead and crossed the Buckingham Creek bridge toward the parking lot. I could hear Jasper’s pants again and the click of his claws on the pavement. Bryce, still bringing up the rear, gave no sign he’d heard any of my story; he ignored me as I glanced back, one thumb in constant motion on his phone. Lucas, though, had caught every word. It was surging in his eyes, lighting them with an overwhelmed understanding. Instead of heading for the car, I steered us toward a floating dock on one side of the Twin Ponds and Jasper, eager for the detour, pulled on the leash until we reached the end of the narrow planks.
“What are you doing, Maya?” Bryce called from the parking lot. “I’m going to be late for my next patient.”
“Two minutes.”
Facing the water, I let out a breath. “I’ve never told that to anyone except Dr. Mehta.”
Lucas squatted down and leaned against the railing, staring at the pond. “Thank you.” And then, after picking at the metal for a second, “Why did you think your mother gave you the rock?”
It was impossible to explain it, the instant certainty when I saw it nestled in the fire ring. I’d felt the riddle of her life unfolding, the briefest flash of her attention and love before I was abandoned again, left with the mark of the agate and a corpse leaking out its blood. I’d never questioned the sanity of that day, not in the detention facility, or in court, or the months at Congdon that followed, but it wasn’t a reality I knew how to translate, not even eight years later.
I shrugged. “It wasn’t something I thought. It’s what I knew.”
He nodded, but he didn’t understand. I didn’t expect him to. I was about to suggest going back to the car when he surprised me by asking, “Was there much of his skull left after you were done?”
I cocked my head, curious. “No.”
Lucas looked at me for a long moment before standing unsteadily on the swaying dock.
“Good.”
We stood there with the wind pulling at our clothes while Jasper ran up and down the floating walkway, making us struggle for balance. I’d spent my life separated from the rest of the world, first by my mother’s illness, then her ghost breathing in every rock around me, and by the dead man whose eyes wouldn’t stay shut when I fell asleep. I couldn’t get rid of them and suddenly I was furious that they might keep me from knowing the one person even further disconnected from the world than I was. I didn’t want to be unreachable, not anymore. Not to Lucas.
I stepped forward, about to speak, when Bryce’s warning cut through the air.
In the parking lot I saw a streak of bright red hair. The girl from the protesters ran toward us, leading a group of cell phone—and sign-wielding fans. I stepped in front of Lucas, calculating the distance to the car, when Bryce grabbed his Taser.
16
* * *
NO!”
Cinching Jasper’s leash and holding Lucas behind me by his good elbow, I navigated the narrow dock as it dipped and swayed. Bryce had his arms spread wide, holding the Taser and blocking the group from getting to us. The red-haired girl recognized him and, pointing at the weapon, started in on the Eighth Amendment and cruel and unusual punishment. Shouting above her, Bryce swept his arms forward, trying to make a space for us to get off the dock where we were trapped. Phones pointed at us and I squeezed Lucas’s arm. “Get ready.”
I could hear him saying, “They want me free.”
The hair on the back of Jasper’s neck stood entirely on end. He growled and shifted his weight, unsure of what to do. I choked up further on the leash, steadying him, until Bryce had pushed the fans back far enough for us to duck through.
“Excuse us. Please allow us to pass.” I tried to make myself heard as we edged forward. The closer we got to the crowd, the more Lucas stiffened against my grip. His head jerked as someone called his name, a girl young enough that she should have probably been in school, who ran forward and yelled, “I love you!” Bryce caught her just as she launched herself at us, holding her by the arms and glaring at me.
“Go!”
“Come on.” Jasper barked as I dragged him away, shielding Lucas’s face with my free hand. The red-haired ringleader began shouting at Bryce to release the girl while two more of them chased us across the parking lot, holding their phones in front of them like talismans. I unlocked the car and Lucas got in immediately, bending at the waist and covering his ears. Jasper climbed in front and, ignoring the shouted questions and yells, I asked everyone to please move back so I could pull out of the spot and return our patient to Congdon. They swarmed the car instead, holding their phones to the backseat windows and making it impossible to see where Bryce was. Revving the engine, I inched back, finally spotting Bryce in the center of the crowd. Angrily, he holstered the Taser and gestured to the road. Go.
I went. We took the fastest route back to the hospital with Jasper pacing, falling whenever I turned, and anxiously checking the windows. Lucas stayed hunched over for the entire ride, only sitting back up after we cleared Congdon’s gates and were driving through the parking lot.
Pulling up to the main entrance, I put the car in park and turned around.
“What was that?” He still looked shell-shocked.
“One of the reasons it’s not entirely safe for you out there.”
“I don’t want this.” Without warning, he ripped the sling off his arm and threw it on the floor of the car. “I don’t want any of this. Maya—”
“I know.” I reached a hand over the seat. “I’m going to get you there. I promise.”
He took several deep inhales, using the meditation breathing, and then wrapped my hand in both of his, squeezing down to the bones.
* * *
The next few days passed in a blur of emails and phone calls crammed between near-constant sessions with Lucas and updates to Dr. Mehta. I checked the ice in websites, making sure none of the Boundary Waters lakes were freezing over yet, and also monitored news sites and social media. Other than a bear sighting near Twin Harbors and photos of the last of the fall colors, it was quiet up north. I wished I could say the same for Duluth. Footage of Lucas at Twin Ponds had swept through the media, causing backlash at the protesters and throwing Congdon’s practices even further into the spotlight. Dr. Mehta had given a news conference explaining patient reintegration privileges and appealing to the public for their support.
With Lucas in attendance I held the first meeting for the search party, who were surprisingly easy to recruit. Everyone wanted to be part of the rescue effort, winter be damned. Two orderlies volunteered within ten minutes of when I sent the email and Dr. Mehta offered up one of the associate psychiatrists as the medical resource on the expedition. A U.S. Forest Service ranger named Micah was going to be our official guide and within two minutes of meeting him—and without asking—I learned that he’d grown up in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, he’d needed to find some direction after his discharge from the military, and he had no, absolutely no, problem with crazy people. Officer Miller, who was sitting in on the meeting, stifled a laugh as I shook the ranger’s hand.
I started by displaying the same picture showcased on all the news outlets and taped up on my fridge, the Blackthorns sitting on a dock together before they’d disappeared. After repeating the story everyone in the room knew, I told them the part they didn’t know—that the Blackthorns had lived happily off the grid for ten years until a few months ago, when Josiah got sick.
“It’s been twenty-five days since Lucas last saw his father and time is running out. Our mission is to rescue him before the ice sets in.”
I went over the details of the trip. Due to Lucas’s “inability” to pinpoint Josiah’s location on a map, we’d backtrack his journey starting from the outfitter’s store. Lucas would lead us to his father, our doctor could administer any emergency medical treatment, and Micah the forest ranger would be able to radio in for an airlift to transport Josiah to the hospital.
“What if he’s already dead?” one of the orderlies asked.
That question sparked a debate about whether a helicopter would be called, under increasingly extreme conditions, merely to transport a body and who was going to pay for all these extraordinary measures. The doctor suggested towing an empty canoe for the remains, but—after accidentally catching Lucas’s murderous look—quickly amended that it could be used to haul out any extra stuff from their campsite, too.
“After all,” he appealed to everyone else, careful to avoid Lucas’s corner of the table, “that’s the motto in the Boundary Waters, right?”
