The Marbury Lens (21 page)

Let me tell you what Jack believes about friendship.

There was part of me—it sounded like a reasonable voice trying to talk while being smothered beneath a pillow, or maybe while drowning—and I knew deep down that what Conner did was out of love for me. The reasonable part of Jack knew this, but still, as I chased after him—across the street and onto the flat of the beach, running, running, all along the slithering reflection of the long North Pier toward the distant edge of black water beyond its end—a stiff middle finger that said,
Fuck you, Jack, this is the way to the end of the world, here you go, just keep running,
Jack’s head was howling,
Fuck this shit.

Conner didn’t understand.

He was trying to save me, but it felt like he was killing me.

It felt like an arrow stabbing through my side.

How long ago did that happen?

“Conner! Wait a second!”

And he’d turn back and glance at me, without slowing his pace the least bit, holding those glasses tightly in his fist.

I needed them back. I had to go back to Marbury.

All I could feel was this unexplainable, desperate commitment to Griffin and Ben, two friends I’d never seen before but, somehow, I’d known forever; and, perhaps, a greater and more dreadful compulsion that drove me to need to reach some kind of final resolution between myself and my ghosts from the here and now—Conner, who I loved, and Freddie Horvath, who did something to my brain—and now I knew I was completely fucked.

If Conner got rid of them, I knew it would kill me. Here and there.

Fuck you, Jack.

So, you have this ugly choice: Save yourself or save your friendship. It’s why the shitheads who run things turn boys into soldiers: to us, the bond is more important—a flag, an officer, your teammate—the things that deserve our lives more than we deserve to hold on to them.

It’s why Seth ran away from home.

It was why Conner was running away from me.

And it was why I needed to get back to Marbury, at least one more time. I needed to save them, and save Conner there, too. Even if it meant losing.

Run away from here.

Just once.

Just a peek.

“Conner!”

Fuck this place.

When Conner was nearly to the edge of the cold water, I caught him. I didn’t want to fight, but I had to make him stop. So I leapt at him and wrapped my arms around his waist. He landed, face first in the salty mud with me on top of him.

And I don’t believe Conner intended to hurt me, but he threw an elbow to get me off his back. It caught me in the mouth and split open my lip.

Groggy and out of breath, I raised myself onto my hands and knees, watching as my blood dripped, brilliantly, into the water. It painted a constellation in red on the sand between my spread fingers. The purple glasses had broken when we hit the ground. One lens lay flat atop the shallow slick of seawater, opening a coin-sized hole that showed downward into the white-hot hell of Marbury.

Conner got to his feet, soaked and covered in mud. He stared down into the lens, the twisted frames half-buried in the muck beside it.

“What the fuck, Jack?” he said.

It didn’t sound like Conner.

I wiped across my mouth, swiping a red slash through the hairs on my forearm.

Then I saw Conner turn away from where he stood. With one hand, he scooped up the glasses and the dislodged lens and, no longer looking at them, threw the pieces out into the dark water.

A small wave came in and washed over his shoes and the tops of my hands.

The tide was coming.

At that moment, Jack gave up.

I dropped my head down into the mud. The water swept over my hair, into my eyes, and mouth.

It was over. I couldn’t go back.

It was like the universe collapsed when Conner threw the glasses into the sea.

And now the tide was coming.

“Get up. Let me see you.” Conner’s hand rubbed my shoulder. “Get up, Jack.”

I lifted my head from the water. I pulled the bottom of my T-shirt out of my shorts so I could wipe the last drops of blood from my face. A couple who’d been walking along the beach stood back, cautiously eyeing us, no doubt wondering if we were really fighting or just messing around like boys do, sometimes.

Neither one, I guess.

They turned away and kept walking after I stood up and gave them a dirty look.

Conner touched me, tried to get me to raise my face so he could look at what he’d done.

“I’m okay.” I pushed his hand away.

“Who was that in there?”

I started walking back toward the beach. I wanted to go home, wherever that was. Jack was dead inside.

Conner followed, a step behind me. “Who was that, Jack?”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I saw you. It looked like you were running in some woods. And I saw that doctor guy, too. Freddie. I’m not lying. But the kid. He was screaming for you, Jack. I don’t know who he was.”

“Just a little kid. Griffin.”

I kept walking, wouldn’t look back at him.

“How do you know him?”

“I only know him from there. That’s all.”

“That kid was scared. He was scared and he was trying to run away from me, wasn’t he?”

I kept walking. “It doesn’t matter now.”

We didn’t talk to each other for the rest of the morning; and I felt like it, but I didn’t cry.

Of course the girls knew that something had happened between us. My lip was busted open, and I wouldn’t talk to, or even look at, my best friend. Conner and I just sat there, across from one another, sulking, facing out the train window on the three-hour ride into Harrogate. I pretended to sleep.

I tried to think of something else: about calling Wynn to tell him about St. Atticus; Nickie’s touch on my skin; Freddie Horvath.

Freddie Horvath.

Fuck! Henry Hewitt; those fucking glasses; Nickie couldn’t see anything in them; black; nothing.

She’s dead there, that’s why.

Like Henry.

Like everyone.

Like Griffin.

Fuck!

I couldn’t bear thinking about Nickie
not being
in Marbury, because I knew what it meant. Maybe she was on that train, in a sleeper. Maybe she was hanging head down on a crucifix beside a liquor store.

Why did Conner do that to me?

It was making me sick.

Shaking and pale, holding on to the seats like a drunk as I passed them, I stumbled down the aisle to the toilet and threw up.

Welcome home, Jack.

And I stood there in front of the mirror, bracing myself on the steel sink with my arms locked against the rocking of the train. It felt like the whole universe was shaking apart beneath my feet. Everything was coming open, layer after layer, opening onto an image of a fucking kitchen floor and Little Jack.

Fun game, wasn’t it?

I stared at my sick reflection in the mirror.

I looked like a crackhead.

I wanted to break something so badly, made a fist, and stopped myself from punching the glass.

I whispered, “Seth?”

Nothing.

A junkie, begging. “Seth? Please.”

I ran the water and rinsed my face.

How could she see anything in me? I was hopeless and lost. I wasn’t brave at all. And now I was acting like some desperate addict. I’d do anything to get those fucking glasses back. I’d kill to get them back. I needed to see the end, to make the end come. But there was nothing I could do.

Don’t let him turn into your enemy here, Jack.

You’re dying.

I tried to get my head clear. Call home. My hand shook so badly I could barely open my phone. I thought I should try calling Wynn and Stella, didn’t care what time it was there. I didn’t care what time it was anywhere, except in Marbury.

Look at the photographs.

Jack flips through the pictures: Me and Nickie lying in bed together.

That was nice, wasn’t it?

Do you remember that, Jack?

Jack’s middle finger.

Fuck you, Conner.

Jack, naked in the shower in London.

The time when I came back from Marbury, and it was three days later.

Fuck you, Jack.

Wait.

Phone calls.

I look through the recent numbers.

There were those two calls yesterday morning.

Henry.

Jack calls.

“It’s bad,” I said.

“Where are you, Jack?”

“On a train. Fuck. I don’t know. I’m on a fucking train somewhere.”

I grabbed a piece of paper and wiped the sweat from my face.

Henry inhaled. He was smoking a cigarette. “Did something happen to Griffin and Ben?”

“I don’t know.”

“To you?”

“Something terrible is going to happen, Henry. I need to talk to you. I feel like I’m going to die.”

“In Marbury?”

“No. Here. I feel like I’m going to die or something. And it’s happening to me here. Right now.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I’m coming back to London. I need to talk to you. Tonight. I can be there at eleven,” I said.

“I know where to go.”

“Yeah.”

Conner thinks you’re crazy, Jack.

Freddie Horvath did something.

My hand shook. My stomach knotted. “I need to know one thing.”

“What?”

“Tell me if it’s real. Tell me if you’re real, Henry.”

He didn’t say anything else.

“Henry? I’m sorry I fucked up.”

I closed the phone.

When we got to Harrogate, Rachel said good-bye to me and Nickie. I was relieved when Conner walked her off, away from us. We sat in the lounge of the station and drank coffee, waiting for the next train to Leeds, where we’d catch another one down to King’s Cross.

She covered my hand with hers. “Now, tell me what’s going on, Jack.”

I rubbed a hand across my eyes. I couldn’t talk.

Nickie sat next to me. I felt her arm slide around my waist.

“Jack?”

I shrugged. “We got into a fight.”

She flashed anger for an instant. “Did Conner hit you?”

“That part of it was an accident. It was my fault.”

“What was it about, then?”

“Nothing,” I said. But I could tell she was disappointed by my lame evasion. “Guy stuff. I wish it didn’t happen. I feel like shit.”

She put her hand on my leg. Suddenly, all I could think about was last night, being with her on the floor.

“I know how close you are. You and Conner will work things out.”

“I don’t know.”

“Jack. I can’t help you if you won’t let me.” I thought she sounded angry, frustrated. I couldn’t fault her for it.

“God, Nickie.” I pulled her into me so tightly and kissed her. I nearly tipped the small table over. I’d forgotten all about the cut on my lip until it hurt my mouth, and I recoiled from the pain. But Nickie held my face and kissed me so softly. And Jack howled inside because I could feel my eyes getting wet.

Jack doesn’t cry.

“I’m sorry if that hurt you,” she said, and I saw her blush. “I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me all day.”

“I’ve been waiting for me to do it, too,” I said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like I’m losing my mind or something. All these things that have been happening to me in the last couple of days. I feel lost, Nickie. And it’s scary.”

“Will you promise me something?” she said.

“Yes.”

“Promise me you’ll tell someone about what happened with that doctor. Talk to somebody, Jack. You need to stop letting this thing hurt you.”

“I know.”

“Will you?”

“God, Nickie. I’m such a fucking failure. I bring this shit on myself.” I sipped my coffee, but it wasn’t what I wanted, wiped my mouth, my puffed lip. “I feel bad about what happened last night. I told myself I wasn’t going to do that.”

Nickie looked down. I sensed she was hurt, and I was sure I’d said the wrong thing, that she didn’t understand what I meant.

“I don’t want to fuck up the lives of people who don’t deserve it. And I’ve never fought with Conner over anything before today.” And then I said, “I don’t want to be like Mike Heath.”

“Then don’t be like him,” she said. “Remember, I told you I believed you were all those things you want to be.”

“I’m scared about stuff I don’t understand.”

She said, “You know what I think about last night, Jack? Last night, being with you, was the best night in my life. Ever.”

“All I want is to be with you,” I lied.

You’re a fucking liar, Jack.

The truth was that she was only
most
of what I wanted. “I really love you, Nickie.”

“You do?” She smiled.

“Yeah.” I looked at my shaking hands. “See what you did? How could I not be in love with you? And I don’t want to screw up your life. I really don’t.”

I put my arm around her shoulders.

Then she kissed me and whispered, “Jack. I love you.”

“But what happens to us next week when I have to go back home? I wish I could stay. I’m coming right back, Nickie. I promise.”

You’re never coming back, Jack.

Not here. Not Marbury.

Ever.

A chair slid out along the floor from the other side of the table. Conner, looking dejected, pissed-off maybe, sat down and sighed.

Nickie straightened herself and patted his hand. “Did Rachel ask you back, Conner?”

She smiled, already knew the answer.

“She wants to meet me in York for a day before Jack and I have to go home.”

“You’ll have a lovely time there,” she said.