by Rachel Rust
Mateo’s mouth twists with doubt. “Why would they reference a bedroom?”
“That’s where the Stillinger girls were killed. Maybe the voice is from one of them, trying to tell us who they are.”
“It’s Lena.” I look to David, hopeful. “Do you think it’s her? She’s the only one who you haven’t—” atoned for. I cut myself off because of Mateo’s presence. David sends me a warning glare to keep quiet about his secret. But maybe the voice really is Lena since she’s the only one who hasn’t been atoned for. Eighth person killed. Eighth person saved. If it even works that way.
Mateo glances between David and me, waiting for an explanation. But over his shoulder, out the driver’s side window, I spot a man walking across the street toward us. David’s dad.
“Oh no,” I say. “David, your dad’s coming, and I think he’s kinda pissed at you.”
David looks out the window. “Shit.” He unlatches the car door. “Guess I better go back to work.” He looks back at me and I nod in understanding. We’ll meet up again later.
…
Later turns out to be midnight at the Moore house. We’re sitting on the living floor, kerosene lamplight flooding the room and knee-deep in newspaper articles. But David’s not reading. He’s watching me read. He’s been watching me since we came in the house.
“I’ll remember you in my next life,” he says.
I look up from Josiah Moore’s grainy death certificate.
“Not right away,” he continues. “But when I turn thirteen, I’ll remember you and everything we did together. I’ll give you a call. Don’t change your number.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, except I’d be like thirty years old then. Practically old enough to be your mom.”
His lip curls. “Nothing wrong with an older woman.”
I laugh and throw papers at him. “Gross, that’s not funny.”
“Then stop laughing.”
I try, but my face deceives me and my smile won’t go away. “Doesn’t matter anyway, because there’s not going to be a next life for you. We still have time to figure this all out. Because if we don’t…” You die and I forget you. The thought turns my stomach. I don’t want to forget him. I don’t want him to go through this again. I don’t want to pass on my family’s link to another generation.
Another generation…
A horrible thought suddenly hits. “Oh shit.”
“What?”
I stare at David for a long time, convincing myself that this is really my life. That I’m really in this house with this boy who is fighting to save himself. To break his curse…and to break the link between him and my family.
“If you don’t save your eighth person, then one day, I’m going to have a kid who meets you and gets wrapped up into this, too, aren’t I?” I ask, my words feeling airy and unbelievable. I don’t even know if I want a kid someday, but destiny and the Carpenter link to David’s story tell me it’s going to happen no matter what if David isn’t successful at finding that eighth save in this life.
David looks down, as though he doesn’t know what to say. His relaxed slump against the wall tells me he’s all but given up—that he’s accepted his impending death, next life, and the fact that my memories of him will eventually fade and he’ll have to befriend yet another Carpenter kid—my future kid.
“No way,” I say with a stern shake of my head. “No way am I going to grow old and forget about you, and absolutely no way am I going to subject another generation of Carpenters to this mess.” I grab more papers. “Tell me more about what you know. Tell me more about Tommy. Has he been around in all your lives?”
David nods. “Yes, he’s always there. Sometimes he’s someone I know well, sometimes he’s someone completely unexpected. Like in 1963, he was this weird farm kid named Ernest who lived near the river. No one knew much about him, but he was nice enough. He’d pop into the store a few times a year to buy some tackle. Never gave him much thought…until he tried to push me over a cliff.”
“He tried to kill you?”
David nods. “There was a boy whose canoe tipped over in the river when your grandpa and I were down at the river fishing. The boy couldn’t swim, but in order to get to him, I had to run up and over this steep bluff and there was Ernest. He tackled me, trying to send me over the edge but your grandpa grabbed my arm just in time.”
“My grandpa saved you? Did you save the boy?”
“Yep. Save number three.”
“And Ernest?”
“He disappeared that day. But a few weeks later, he stopped in the store and cornered me with an axe, warned me not to step out of line—which meant I was not to save anyone else. That’s when he told me about his link to me—that I was his free ride to being able to live eternally and not have to face his final fate.”
“His final fate,” I repeat. “Do you believe in Heaven and Hell?”
“There are days when Villisca seems like my own personal Hell, so yeah I think it’s possible. Or maybe things fade to black when we die, and we cease to exist on any plane. A total blackout, like being fast asleep. Sounds scary to some people, but I think it sounds peaceful.”
“You know what I think sounds peaceful?” I ask. “You saving your last person and not dying.”
“You’re much more optimistic than me.”
I ignore his comment. “So you think this Tommy guy could be anyone in town?”
David takes out his zippo and flicks it open and closed. “Tall, short, rich, poor.”
“A woman?”
David snaps the zippo shut. “That’d be a new one.”
“Well, your Carpenter friend is a woman this time,” I say. “So maybe Tommy is a woman. He could be Rhonda at the café. That bubbly smile can’t be real. I wouldn’t eat there tomorrow, if I were you. She’ll poison you—Tommy will poison you.”
David smiles, but the sigh that goes with it tells me he’s anything but happy. “What does it matter if she did? I’m dead in twenty-four hours anyway.”
“Not if I have anything to do with it,” I say, slamming Josiah Moore’s death certificate back onto the pile of papers by my feet. I stand up and walk to David where I grab his hands and try in vain to yank him to his feet. He laughs and hops up on his own. He lets my left hand slip away but keeps a hold of my right hand. Our fingers slip together, tingling the flesh between mine. I smile through the intoxicating sensation of my stomach dropping into my feet, like I’m on a cute guy rollercoaster.
“Follow me,” I say.
“Where are we going?”
“My bedroom.”
He cocks an eyebrow.
I let him think all the dirty thoughts for a moment, because I’m thinking them, too. Tonight, might be his last night of existence in this life—the last night for us, and my hormones are dancing with thoughts of a naked farewell. A proper goodbye to guarantee he’ll remember me, and to do whatever I can to remember him.
I scan him head to toe, but my brain knocks away the rattling impulses surging through me. I can’t get naked with a boy with my grandparents down the hall. He wouldn’t have to worry about dying on his birthday because Grandma would kill him right there in my room.
Besides, farewell sex would mean that I’d be giving up on saving him. And that was not going to happen. He was not going to die on me.
“Come on,” I say, pulling him to the front door. “I have a surplus of weird shit in my bedroom, and we’re going to make them help us.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
We make it into my bedroom without incident. Grandpa is snoring and I trust what he said about Grandma sleeping like a log once she’s out.
“We should talk to them,” I suggest. “Ask them questions.”
“Okay,” David says and sits on the floor, leaning back against my bed, facing the closet door.
I unlatch the bolt and open the door all the way, then sit next to him. Our fingers entwine again.
“Are you afraid when David’s here?” I ask. The stupidity of talking to
a closet takes a backseat to me wanting answers. It’s now or never. David needs help even if I feel like an idiot. “Does he make you mad?”
There’s nothing but silence and this does not surprise me. They don’t like That Boy. They made me go to the Axe Murder House last night to meet with him so that I would know his story and his connection with the murders. So that I would be fearful of him and stay away.
But they’re wrong. He’s not someone to fear; he’s someone who is trying to help them.
“I think helping you helps them,” I say to David, nodding to my closet. “Once you’ve fully atoned, the victims will find real peace. It’s all connected…the house, the axe murder victims, and you. Once you make amends, Tommy will be gone for good and justice will be done. They think you’re a bad guy, but, really, you’re on their side. They should be trying to help you, because if you don’t succeed in saving one more person in this life, the axe murder victims have to wait another thirteen years until you can try again in your next life.”
“Maybe you’re right,” David says. “But what about Amelia? If she’s one of the ghosts you’re hearing, I have nothing to do with her or those other girls. How do we help her?”
I chew on the inside of my lip. “I don’t know how she fits, but we need to deal with saving you first. We’ll figure out how to make amends for the axe victims and find a way for you to make your final save. After that, we can figure out Amelia and the missing girls.” I stare at the closet, mentally willing them to talk to us, to help us. “Please help David. He’s not a bad guy. Help David and he can help you be at peace.”
Nothing. No sound. No haze.
“You should talk to them,” I say. “Apologize or something.”
David tenses up. “I don’t think that’ll work. And I don’t know what I’d even say.”
I nudge his arm. “Try it.”
He exhales hard. Several seconds later, he finally speaks, his voice quiet. “I should have stopped Tommy. I was there the night you died, and I didn’t do anything.” He pauses. “I’m so sorry.”
“Say it louder.”
He clears his throat, and then says again, “I’m sorry.”
The room remains silent.
“How do we know if they’re even here right now?” he asks.
The words are barely out of his mouth when the closet door slams shut and the bolt locks into place.
David jumps. “Jesus!”
“They’re always here,” I say.
I unlatch my hand from his and reach under my bed and pull out my laptop. I flip it open and search Stopping reincarnation. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
“I don’t think Google is going to help,” David says, leaning his head back on my bed.
I ignore him and hit enter to bring up the search, but nothing happens. I hit enter again.
“Maybe your key is stuck,” he says. “Hit it harder.”
I hit it harder and nothing. David presses enter and the page doesn’t move.
But then the cursor in the search bar moved backward, deleting my search terms. I hold my hands up. I’m not touching the keyboard, and neither is David. We stare wide-eyed at one another and then back down to the screen. Stopping reincarnation has been deleted, replaced with another word. One single word.
Blue.
Blue, like the little voice said in Mateo’s recording.
“What does blue mean?” I ask, unable to hide the frustration in my voice, and not knowing if I’m asking David or the unseen finger that had typed the word. “Is it blue like the bedroom?” I look up at the closed closet door. “Lena? Are you here?”
The only answer I get is my computer shutting down. As if someone has yanked out the battery, the screen goes black. I hit the power button to turn it on again, but nothing happens. I fold it back down and shove it under my bed. I jump to my feet in anger—anger over the cryptic message, anger over their unwillingness to listen to David, and anger over the hourglass of David’s life that seems to drain faster with every second.
I grab the latch on the closet lock and try to slide it open. But the bolt doesn’t slide. I hit it with the palm of my hand. It doesn’t budge. David joins me and grabs the lock, the muscles in his forearm straining against the invisible force keeping it locked.
“What the hell?” he mumbles, inspecting the lock closely.
The door rattles angrily, making him jerk back.
I pull at his shirt to make him step away from the closet door. He takes my hand in his. “I think I should stay here with you tonight.”
I nod in approval of his suggestion. If we’ve pissed something off, I don’t want to be alone with it.
…
We lie on the bed, face-to-face. So close that his body heat radiates onto mine. The lights are off with only the yellow streetlamp illuminating our space.
“Are you scared?” I whisper.
“No, death doesn’t scare me anymore. I’m just disappointed I couldn’t get it done in this life. Every time I turn thirteen and realize I’ve been reborn again, it feels like a huge setback. Sometimes, I wonder if it’ll ever end.”
“It will.” My fingers caress his cheek, bringing a small smile to his face.
“I’m glad I finally met you,” he says. “I was starting to wonder if I’d have to face this one without a Carpenter. But then one day, there you were, running into me on the sidewalk outside the store. I was pretty relieved you came to town, because it’s difficult to keep such a huge secret all to myself for so long. I was really eager to talk to you about everything, explain who I am, who you are, and your family’s history.” He pauses with an unamused laugh. “I’ve met a ton of people in my lives, but few have ever known who I really am and that gets incredibly lonely.”
“I can understand that a little. Try living with recurring dreams about a bloody mass murder all your life and not being able to tell anyone about it…at least not without the risk of getting sent to a shrink.”
He smiles and I shuffle closer to him, butterflies swarming in my stomach.
“You don’t have to feel lonely right now,” I whisper.
“Neither do you.” He moves a brown curl away from my face.
“You know, even if we didn’t have this connection, I would’ve been happy to hang out with you this summer. You’re funny and nice, and you’re…” Cute just won’t come out of my mouth, but when the corner of his mouth twitches up, it’s clear he knows what I’m trying to say.
“You’re pretty cute, too,” he says.
Before I can even blush, he wraps an arm around me, pressing into my lower back, pulling me to him. Our stomachs and chests press together, and I want to kiss him and feel his hands exploring all of me.
He presses his lips to my forehead, letting them linger there and my heart races. My body can barely take the tingles building up inside, knowing what’s coming next.
David’s lips descend. He kisses between my eyes, then the tip of my nose. His moves his lips farther down until they slide into mine, and nothing else exists.
His tongue finds mine and a small moan escapes me.
A real kiss.
Our bodies entwine as our kisses go deeper with every movement—until we become a blend of lips, tongues, hands, and rustling fabric beneath us. I want to fling myself over the top of him and kiss until our clothes fall off. But given that we have a ghost audience, and a grandmother down the hallway, I settle for over-the-clothes action.
Time fades and I have no idea how long we’ve been submerged when David pulls back. His cheeks are flushed, and his breaths are coming in and out as slight pants. He gives me a crooked smile, running his hand down the curve of my waist.
We kiss softly for a while, until I cuddle against his shoulder. We lay in the dark, clinging to one another, and not speaking. What is there to say? He has less than one day to live, and I don’t have the heart or nerve to speak of it anymore in this moment. Exhaustion and heartache plague every inch of my body and the only relief I
can find is pressing up closer to his body.
I want to listen to his heart beat while I still can.
Chapter Twenty-Five
In the morning, the sun wakes me up around eight. David’s wide awake, staring at the ceiling, and I’m not sure if he ever fell asleep.
Coffee is in the air, having filtered up the stairs from the kitchen below. I sit up, my muscles stiff and sore as though I over-exercised. David’s hand that had been around my shoulders slips down my back as I move. The touch relaxes my body and I turn to look at him.
“Thank you for staying with me.”
He takes my hand in his and curls his lip. “You’re welcome.”
“Your birthday is tomorrow. How much time do you have left?”
“Only till midnight tonight.”
Sixteen hours.
I can hear Grandma moving around in the kitchen downstairs, and it’s only a matter of time before she comes to wake me and order me to eat. I have to act normal. I have to face her and get her off my back before she invades my room to find a boy on my bed. A fully clothed boy, but a boy nonetheless.
“Stay here.” I swing my legs off the bed. “I’ll get some food and then we can discuss what we’re going to do today.”
David nods, looking sleepy. He glances at the closet door. The latch is still fully engaged. I try to unlock it and it still doesn’t budge. I kick the bottom of the door. “I’ll need my other shoes eventually.”
David chuckles and I slip out the door and then down the stairs.
Grandma eyes me unapprovingly. “Did you sleep in your clothes?”
“Yeah, I was really tired and passed right out.” After I made out with the boy who’s in my bedroom right now.
She tsk-tsks me and returns to her mug of coffee. If only she knew the truth—there’d be a lot more than a tsk-tsk coming at me. There’s a skillet of bacon and toast already on the table, and I load up a plate. “Do you mind if I eat in my room? I’m—I’m in the middle of chatting with a friend from Minneapolis.”
Grandma nods. “Fine. Just be sure to bring your plate back to the kitchen.”
From the fridge, I pull out two bottles of water. “I will.” At the table, I’m ready to grab my plate of food when one of the water bottles drops to my feet. My hands have gone limp in disbelief. On the table sits today’s newspaper. The front-page headline reads: Another Villisca Girl Reported Missing. Under the headline is a picture of a little girl with brown hair. She’s wearing a bright blue dress. The article begins by stating Juliet Rowlings was last seen at the Villisca City Park at four o’clock in the afternoon yesterday, wearing a blue dress.
