Solstice (22 page)

I shake my head and try to break my hands free. But she won’t let go, and I can’t get them to budge. “No. I haven’t.”

“Do you think he’ll be there?”

“Who?”

“Randy.” She says it like it’s the most natural question in the world. “Do you think he’ll be there watching?”

“Chloe, he’s dead.”

She doesn’t hear me. “Would you watch your own funeral? Would you want to know who came?”

The blood’s being cut off from my fingers, so I make another move and tear both my hands free. Chloe’s obviously still in shock. Maybe I should tell the nurse so they can send her home.

I shake my head. “No, I don’t think I would.”

But I see Chloe’s answer in her eyes. She’d want to watch. She would be there. Watching over the crowd. And in my mind, I see Chloe’s funeral instead of Randy’s. Her mom and dad. Her brother with his multiple tattoos. Maybe the tattoo artist, Morgan, would even come.

I look at Chloe’s tattoo, and like black worms crawling on her skin, the letters shift under my gaze. They swirl and twist, and I can’t make them out. They seem to slither off her arm, holding on by only a tendril. I’m tempted to reach out and catch them, or try to steady them at the very least. But then they settle into a string of symbols, none of which I can read. Still, my mind knows what they say. It can sense the word even in Ancient Greek.

Death
.

I look again, but the letters stay the same. Morphed from
sacrifice
into
death
. I glance down at my own tattoo, but it’s stable and solid. And it no longer matches Chloe’s. When I look up, Chloe watches me. Her eyes flicker down to my tattoo, and she smiles.

“You know what I love about you the most, Piper?”

I hardly dare to breathe, but I answer her. “What?”

She unties her bandana. Her brown hair falls over her shoulders, and she twists the bandana around in her hands. “You always believe me.”

I nod which she takes as encouragement.

“I know no matter what I do, you’ll believe me and trust me.” She reaches across and takes my hand. “And that means everything to me.”

I squeeze her hand in return and chance one more glance at her tattoo, holding my breath. But it still says
death
. A death which Chloe escaped.

I open my mouth because maybe this is the right moment to start telling Chloe everything that’s happened. “I never told you about my date,” I say. That seems like a good place to start.

Chloe just smiles. “I want to hear all about it, Piper. But can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Good.” And she spends the rest of Study Hall pretending to do homework, though all she does is trace her finger in circles over the screen of her tablet.

W
ednesday after second period, I head to the funeral. I wait for one of the shuttles in front of the school, and I keep scanning the crowd, looking for either Chloe or Shayne, but it’s like I’m in a sea of unfamiliar faces. I know almost everyone around me, but I can’t focus on any of them. I say hi to a couple of the kids in my classes, but otherwise stick to myself.

My back is already drenched in sweat, and heat presses down. But there haven’t been any reports of impending heat bubbles, and, for now, I think the city will be spared any more disasters. This still doesn’t keep other kids from talking about it, and someone even starts taking bets on when the next bubble will hit. One sophomore guy claims it will be tomorrow; he swears he’s developed some equipment in his home lab that can predict to within the minute when the bubble will form. Given the random nature of the bubbles I’ve seen so far, I highly doubt he’s right, but on the off chance he is, he could make a killing. If nothing else, the kid’s got everyone hanging on his every word, juniors and seniors included. I hop a shuttle while he’s still talking and head to the funeral.

When I walk into the church, I can’t find Chloe anywhere. But it seems the rest of the city has turned up. Every seat is taken, and the standing and greeting areas are packed. I look down the long front aisle and see Randy Conner’s family at the front. From the back of the church, I spot his seven-year-old sister with her face turned enough that I can see her eyes are dry and her lips are pressed together like she’s holding back a river of tears which she never plans to let loose. I see the backs of his parents, his mom leaning away from his dad, toward his sister, and shaking with silent sobs. And as if he knows I’m watching, Randy’s dad turns, and our eyes meet. Anger flashes there, rooted so deep it’s wrapped and coiled around every bone and sinew in his body. It tears at him and eats him alive day after day. It’s a black mold around him, smothering him and everyone he touches. And, for some reason, I remember Acheron—the river of sorrows.

I shift my eyes, not wanting to empathically share his anger, and spot Randy’s girlfriend Hannah Reed there in the front. She sits on the side opposite from Randy’s family and won’t even look their way. Her wide dry eyes scan the crowd, not seeing anyone; if she notices me, she makes no acknowledgment.

What is Randy Conner’s final sorrow? What will he leave behind on his way to the Elysian Fields?

An usher sees me and tries to find me a spot. I end up standing against a red brick wall tucked into the place where they light candles. I move to the far back corner and wait. I’ll find Chloe later, after the Mass.

Mass begins with a song. “Amazing Grace.” It’s the same one they played at Charlotte’s funeral so long ago. Charlotte had been my best friend, but I never really knew Randy at all. He was a face in the hallways and a voice at the back of the classroom. A shadow next door after my mom threatened to skin him. But when the casket begins its trek down the long aisle, the sobs coming from the crowd around me bring an unexpected lump to my throat. I feel like I should have taken the time to know him better.

The priest motions everyone to sit when the song ends, so I lean back against the bricks but turn when I feel someone next to me.

“Shayne?”

He’s dressed in black, appropriate for the occasion, and his hair’s been combed neatly behind his ears. He squeezes my arm but doesn’t smile.

“Where have you been?” I whisper, almost under my breath, forcing the lump out of my throat. I know he’ll hear me.

“Busy.”

“Will you be back tomorrow?” I can’t stand the thought of sitting through another Social Sciences class wondering where he is.

He gives the smallest hint of a smile. “We’ll see tomorrow.”

“But you promised.”

“Promised what?” He reaches for a pack of matches set near the candles.

“You promised you’d be around.”

Shayne nods and strikes a match. The immediate sulfur smell hits the air. The flame flickers as he moves the match to an unlit votive candle. It takes a couple seconds, but the wick catches in a burst of light. Then he moves the still burning match close to his mouth and blows it out. “Do you have any special intentions?” He holds the pack of matches toward me.

I take them, pulling one out of the box. “What was your intention?” I ask.

His hand reaches up, brushing my arm. “I can’t tell you.”

“Like wishing on a star?”

Shayne nods. “Right. If you tell what you intend, then it won’t come to be.”

“Then I won’t tell you what I want.” But I hope he wonders.

I move the match to the box, ready to strike it when a flame flashes out of nowhere and the match ignites. I’m so startled that I drop it into the candle-holder. I stare at it, watching it burn and melt the surrounding wax until it sputters and extinguishes on its own. And then I turn to Shayne.

He’s staring at the match, now covered in cooling wax. His eyes shift to mine, and he smiles. He’s playing tricks on me. Using some god power from the Underworld to light the fire. So I take out another match, push the box closed, and prepare to strike it. Yet this time, it doesn’t ignite until I pull it across the scratchy paper. I dip it down, lighting the candle and letting the sulfur again enter my nose. And then I blow it out.

“So where have you been?” I ask.

He shakes his head and puts the pack of matches back in the recess. “I’ve been around.”

“But I haven’t seen you.” And if I haven’t seen him, he may as well not be around.

“You haven’t called me.”

He’s right. I haven’t, and I’m not entirely sure why. “You’re busy.” It’s the best reason in my mind. I opt not to mention the walk in the woods with Melina or the bedroom full of flowers from Reese. I’ll sort out Reese on my own.

Shayne nods. “Never too busy for you.”

I smile whether he means it or not.

“I almost came by yesterday,” he says.

My heart flutters. “Really?”

“I got to your front door,” he says. “I almost knocked.”

Had I felt his presence? I’d been so worried about Chloe, I hadn’t thought of much else. “Why didn’t you?”

His lips tighten. “I thought your mom might be home. I didn’t want her to see me.”

“You’re not scared of my mom are you?” Though in actuality, he probably should be. I’m scared of my mom.

“I’m not sure
scared
is the most appropriate word,” Shayne says.

“So why not just come to class?”

Shayne leans close and whispers into my ear. “It’s hard, Piper. I’m trying so hard to stay inside the boundaries, but more than anything in the world, I want to tear them down. And I can’t. No matter what that ends up meaning.”

“What boundaries?”

Shayne only responds by kissing my ear. It comes out of nowhere, and I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to the Elysian Fields. But when I look around, I see we’re still here in the church, though a small hidden corner of it. Taking part in Randy’s final blessing.

My corner of happiness vanishes when I feel eyes on me; they fill me with dread. Slowly, I turn around toward the back of the alcove. Tanni—Fate—stands next to a statue of the Virgin Mary, her eyes matching the empty eyes of the statue. Her friends stand on either side of her, sunglasses on but watching me.

The statue’s hands are extended out in front out her, reaching out to implore those who would listen. Tanni’s arms lift to match.

The church around me enters a bubble of muffled words and fades into background. Outside of the bubble exist only me, Shayne, Tanni, and her two friends.

My body tenses as rage builds inside me. “You were wrong,” I say. “Chloe did not die.”

Next to me, Shayne stiffens. “Don’t talk to her, Piper.”

It’s too late for that. Tanni’s soulless eyes look at me, but it’s like she didn’t hear me. “It’s your fault,” she says.

Shayne pulls on my hand. “Let’s go.”

I pull my hand away from his. I don’t need him telling me what to do now. “Chloe did not die,” I say. I want Tanni to hear me. I want everyone to hear me. I know I’m yelling, but I don’t care. Chloe is alive.

Tanni’s eyes shift to Shayne. “You have no reason to be here.” And just like that, he vanishes.

I stare at the spot where he was. “What did you do to him?” I demand.

Tanni shakes her head, and her hair moves from side to side in a cascade. “It’s all your fault, Piper.”

“What’s my fault? And where is Shayne?”

Tanni steps forward and grabs my wrist, and her cold steel grip is like a vise. I’m not sure why I bother struggling, but I do, trying to break my wrist free until it hurts.

“Randy Conner is dead,” she says.

I nod, and with her grip and her words and the fog circling behind her empty eyes, she’s got me. I’m rooted in place.

“And it’s your fault.”

“What is?” But something’s starting to come together inside me. A nasty itching sensation in the back of my mind. I don’t want to face it.

“You killed him.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

“You killed Randy Conner. It’s your fault.”

“How?” It’s the only thing I can manage to say.

“Someone had to die. It wasn’t his time. It’s your fault.”

I stare at her now, and I can’t pull my eyes from her face. The truth slams into me like a freight train. I saved Chloe. But at what cost? Randy was one of two hundred and eighty-seven people to die. Would he really be alive right now if not for me?

“It’s your fault.” Tanni says it a final time and then lets go of my wrist. She walks back and joins her friends at the Virgin Mary, and they fade until they’re gone.

The bubble around the world slips away, and the church is reanimated. Mass has ended, and six of Randy’s friends carry out his casket. No one has heard anything. And Shayne is gone.

My fault. I hear it in my head. Is Randy Conner’s death my fault?

I wait for the church to empty, and then I head home.