Shade (29 page)

Logan kept his focus on the lawyer. “It was supposed to be our night. It was my birthday, but I wanted it to be about us.” He pounded his fist into the side of his leg without a sound. “And then I
messed up. Big-time. I guess I lost track of how many beers I’d had.” After the boy repeated his words, Logan added, “Liquid Stupid was made for me.”

Stone began to pace. “Your girlfriend testified yesterday that the alcohol made you incapable of sexual intercourse. Why didn’t you just wait until another night?”

“I was afraid.” He shut his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again they burned straight at me. “Afraid of losing her.”

My mouth fell open.
Logan
, losing
me
? What kind of bizarro universe had he been dwelling in that night?

“I’d let her down before, see. I wanted to make it up to her.” He paused, and I heard the same words out of the mouth of the boy. “She was the most important thing in the world to me. She still is. But she was losing faith.”

I shook my head slowly, even though I knew he was right. I’d had so many doubts.

“I couldn’t blame her for it. All I ever talked about was playing music and being famous.” He squirmed while the translator caught up. “I wanted to show her that none of that mattered compared to being with her. I would’ve given it all up, Aura, I swear.”

My jaw trembled so hard, my teeth started to chatter. “No,” I said in a whisper that verged on a squeak.

“It was the happiest night of my life.” Logan gestured to his outfit. “Proof, right?”

After checking with the judge, Stone asked the girl translator to describe Logan’s clothes, which became part of the official record.

Then the attorney spoke to Logan. “Do you testify that you knew
what you were doing when you ingested the cocaine, that you understood the risks involved?”

My aunt shot to her feet. “Objection.”

“Overruled.” The judge gave her an odd look. “The witness will answer the question.”

“But the witness is in no position—”

“I said, I’ll allow it.” He nodded in Logan’s general direction. “Please respond.”

“Honestly?” Logan shrugged. “I didn’t know it could kill me. If I’d ever heard that, I forgot it a long time ago. But I knew it was dangerous.”

“Then why take the risk?” Stone asked.

Logan turned his head to look at me. “Because she was worth it.”

A buzz shot through the courtroom when the translator finished the statement. I covered my face, wanting to drag my skin off with my fingernails. Logan’s death really was my fault, and now with every word, he was losing the case and sealing his eternal, BlackBoxed fate.

“Thank you,” the lawyer said. “No further questions.”

I uncovered my eyes and watched Gina approach the witness stand.

“Logan, you say that being with Ms. Salvatore that night was worth the risk. The risk of what?”

“Becoming a coke addict, mostly. In the long run.”

“What did you think the drug would do to you that night?”

“Maybe give me a nosebleed. And insomnia, which was sort of the point.” Logan tilted his chin, thinking. “I knew it could make me dizzy and sweaty.” He held up a finger. “Oh, and horny.”

The girl giggled as she recited the last part.

“Did it ever enter your mind,” Gina asked, “that taking this drug would result in your death?”

“No!” Logan’s brow creased into several violet lines. “Why would I want to die? I had a great family, I had a future doing what I loved, I had the best girlfriend in the world. And it was my
birthday
, for God’s sake.” His voice choked with anger. “I had everything, and I lost it.”

I clutched my hands together so hard, my sprained wrist sent shocks of pain up my arm.
Logan, please don’t shade out.

Gina stepped closer to the witness box. “But as a ghost, you can have certain experiences. You can haunt.”

“Haunting, yeah. So much fun. If I want to be with my family, it means watching them cry. It means knowing that I put those tears in their eyes.” He looked at me across the courtroom. “As for Aura, I hung out with her after I died, and even though she made me happy, it killed me not to touch her, it killed me to know we had no future. And now, because I died, I’ve lost her.” He waited for the boy to translate, then addressed the jury. “I can’t touch, but I can still feel. And I tell you, if this were my life … I wouldn’t want to live.”

The courtroom was frozen in silence, listening to the translator’s halting recitation. My heart felt like it would leak its lifeblood if I looked at Logan another second.

“So did I know I could die?” he said. “Absolutely not. With all I had, with all I could’ve had—” He gazed at me for what felt like an eternity. “Why would I ever take that chance?”

As the jury deliberated, I stared at the BlackBox indicator light, glowing red again. Logan had left the room, and so had his translators, who
were probably enjoying a couple of pizzas and ice-cream sundaes. That had always been my post-trial ritual. I never wanted to speak for a ghost again, now that I knew firsthand the pain that lay behind a case.

“Aura.”

Mr. Keeley was standing in the center of the aisle next to my seat. He’d spoken quietly, not in his usual booming voice.

I scooted over to give him room to sit. He grunted as he eased his burly frame into the seat, and I worried about his heart. The stress of the case, on top of losing his son, must have had his cardiologist on red alert. I remembered last New Year’s Eve, sitting in the hospital with the rest of the Keeleys, waiting to see if Logan’s father would survive his first heart attack at the age of fifty.

Mr. Keeley used a handkerchief to wipe the sheen of sweat from his ruddy face. “I don’t know what to say, other than I’m sorry.”

My throat thickened. “That’s plenty.”

“I wanted to say it right, but I don’t know how.” He sat perfectly still, as if one wrong move would collapse him.

“I guess that makes two of—”

“I don’t blame you for what happened.”

“Uh, thanks.” I noticed he didn’t say “we” didn’t blame me, thereby not including Logan’s mom. “I don’t blame you, either.”

He flashed me a shocked look, then smiled in a way that reminded me so much of Logan that I couldn’t help but return it. It hit me that Logan would never have Mr. Keeley’s thick silver hair, or the laugh lines at the corners of his blue eyes.

“Touché.” Mr. Keeley smoothed the creases of his trousers, relaxing a bit. “I miss him. I’d give anything to speak to Logan directly. Or
even indirectly. He won’t talk to us anymore, or at least Dylan won’t tell us what he says.”

“That might be for the best.”

“I know Logan’s angry with me,” he said in a low voice. “But he’ll see, all this pain will be worth it if we win.”

“And then what?”

“Then Logan will move on.” He folded his hands. “And maybe, one day, so will we.”

I stared at the scuffed-up rubber knob at the bottom of my crutch and thought of everything that had happened since Logan’s death. “Mr. Keeley, one day we’re all going to move on, even if he doesn’t.”

Nodding slowly, he sat back in the seat, eyes fixed on the red BlackBox light. “That’s what worries me the most.”

Megan came back down the aisle from visiting Mickey. She stopped when she saw Mr. Keeley. “Oh. I thought you went to the men’s room. No, don’t get up!” she added as he stood to leave.

He motioned for her to sit. “I should get back to Kathleen and the kids.” He patted Megan’s shoulder. “Please, the next time you come over, bring Aura with you.”

She watched him shamble toward the front of the courtroom, then slid past me as I moved back into the seat beside the aisle. “I just talked to Mickey,” she said. “Mr. Keeley and Siobhan think they won, but Mickey and his mom are sure they’ve lost.”

“What about Dylan?”

“He didn’t say.” She sat with a sigh. “He looks almost as freaked as you.”

Of course. Dylan knew that if the Keeleys didn’t win, and Logan couldn’t pass on, the Obsidians would lock Logan up forever.

I slumped down in the seat so I could rest the back of my head. The fear was sucking all the oxygen from my brain.

A hand smoothed my hair. It was Aunt Gina, who had just re-entered the courtroom through the rear doors.

I sat up straighter. “Did they do it?”

She nodded. “Logan’s subpoena tag was taken off. He’s a free man.” The corners of her mouth turned down. “He needs so much to be at peace. If we lose this case, I don’t know how I’ll live with myself.”

A door in the front corner of the courtroom opened, and the jury began to file back in after less than an hour’s deliberation. Gina squeezed my arm, then hurried to her table.

My muscles wound themselves into double and triple knots as the court proceeded through its final formalities. By the time the defendant stood to receive the decision, I was on the verge of a full body cramp.

The foreman opened the envelope.

Liable.

As in, guilty.

Logan was free.

I sank forward, head in my arms, and wept. As the courtroom erupted with shouts of wonder and jubilation, Megan wrapped her arms around my back and rocked me, the way she had when Logan died.

It was over, almost. Logan would escape this world, escape everyone who wanted a piece of him. And we would all begin to heal.

Logan zoomed up to me the moment I hobbled through the door of the packed and raucous Green Derby pub.

“We did it!” He enveloped me in a violet-bright hug. “Dylan told me you were amazing on that witness stand.” Then he whispered, “And now they won’t put me in a boring little box for the next sixty years.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t even joke about that. I was so scared.”

“Me too. Talk about a fate worse than death. But it’s over now, and time to party.” He waved to Megan as she came through the door. “Hey, they’re selling five-dollar pitchers of Harp.”

“My aunt is here,” I told him, “so I better stick to soda.”

Megan pushed over to us. “Logan, look at you, all bright and shiny.”

“Do I look different?” He straightened his shirt. “I feel different.
Here, we saved you guys seats up front with my family.” We moved toward the other end of the bar, the crowd parting for my crutches.

“How do you feel different?” I asked him.

“Like something is calling me.” His voice sounded older and deeper than before. “I just hope—” He cut himself off and scratched the back of his head. “I hope it’s something good.”

His image shone almost painfully bright, despite the flickering lamps on the walls and tables of the pub. Seeing him like this, it was hard to believe he had ever shaded. “I’m sure it’ll be good,” I told him.

On the stage, Mickey sat tuning his acoustic guitar and Siobhan her fiddle.

“So you convinced them to play,” I said to Logan.

“It’s good exposure. See the flyers people are passing around? Their first gig will be so jammed.” He watched his brother and sister for a few moments. “I’m glad I could do something good for them, after all the pain I caused.”

I decided not to derail his self-inflicted guilt trip. I stopped next to an empty chair at the end of the front row. “What’s your last song?”

“You’ll see.” He knelt beside me as I sat. “It’s not the one I wrote for you. I wanted that to be for us and nobody else.”

“You knew I was awake, didn’t you?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I wouldn’t waste a stellar performance on an unconscious girl.”

Siobhan tapped her bow on the side of her chair. “Is Logan here? We’re ready whenever you are.” She bit her lip. “No rush.”

“I better go,” Logan said to me. “I don’t know how long before this peace-through-justice thing expires.” His face more solemn than ever,
he looked at me like we were the only two people in the room. “I already said I’m sorry a million times, so now I’ll just say thank you. For everything you gave me, in life and death.” He brushed his hand over mine. “Whatever happens, I’ll always love you. You’re gonna be okay.”

“Promise?”

He shook his head. “I can’t promise, because I can’t make it happen. But you can make everything happen, starting now.”

I couldn’t speak. I wanted to grab him and tie him to this world. But all I could do was put my hands around his nonexistent body in the closest we would ever get to an embrace.

“I love you, Logan.” More tears spilled over my cheeks.

“I still can’t watch you cry.” He leaned in. “Kiss me, one last time.”

I called up the distant memory of his lips against mine. But this time, I kept my eyes open.

When he pulled back, Logan passed his hand over my hair. “Don’t forget me, okay?”

He moved to the middle of the stage, a small raised platform in the corner of the pub. Megan came and stood off to the side, ready to translate for the sake of the pre-Shifters.

“Hey!” she yelled, snagging everyone’s attention. “Logan’s leaving now, so those of you who aren’t here for the cheap beer—well, not
just
for the cheap beer—come say good-bye.”

A swell of applause went up, and the crowd shifted down to our end of the pub. One by one, friends and fans came to the microphone and paid their final respects or made jokes at Logan’s expense. Cell phones and cameras came out, recording this historic moment.

I’d seen videos of other passings—though none quite like this—so
I sort of knew what to expect. When he was about to move on, Logan’s image would brighten until he turned the pale yellow color of the sun. The thought of it closed my throat.

Dylan took the empty seat beside me. “I didn’t want to do a public good-bye onstage,” he said. “We talked in private before you got here.”

On impulse, I reached over and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?” He pulled his hand away and folded his arms.

Behind me, my aunt squeezed my shoulder, but thankfully said nothing. I couldn’t handle another round of sympathy.

Finally Logan, flattered and battered by the farewells, stepped up to the microphone. “Thanks, everyone. I gotta say, this is pretty cool.” He gestured to Mickey and Siobhan. “I’ve always wanted my own personal karaoke machine.” He echoed the laughter of the crowd. “Best part about being a ghost? You can call your big brother a douche bag and he’ll never know.” Logan and Megan shared a conspiratorial grin as she failed to translate his last sentence.