Thin Space
PRAISE FOR
THIN
SPACE
“Sometimes you need a book that hurts so good, and Jody Casella’s powerful, authentically told debut is one of those books.
Thin Space
carries you through the heart of what it means to love and lose, to regret and move forward . . . and won’t set you down until long after its riveting finale.”
J
ENNIFER
C
ASTLE
, author of
Beginning of After
and
You Look Different in Real Life
“An eerie yet ultimately hopeful exploration of grief, guilt, friendship and redemption,
Thin Space
captivated me from start to finish.”
Colleen Clayton, author of
What Happens Next
“Take off your shoes and prepare to stroll barefoot through a novel richly grounded in love, loss, and the redemptive power of truth. But don’t get too comfortable, because the twist at the end will knock your socks off.”
Mike Mullin, author of
Ashfall
This book is a work of fiction.
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An imprint of Simon & Schuster
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503-531-8700 / 503-531-8773 fax
First Beyond Words/Simon Pulse edition September 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Jody Casella
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
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Interior design: Sara E. Blum
Cover design by Karina Granda and Sara E. Blum
Cover copyright © 2013 by Beyond Words/Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Cover photograph copyright © 2013 by Getty Images
The text of this book was set in Adobe Garamond Pro and Interstate.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Casella, Jody.
Thin space / Jody Casella. — Beyond Words/Simon Pulse edition.
pages cm
Summary: Consumed by guilt and secrets about his twin brother’s death, Marsh Windsor is looking for a thin space—a place where the barrier between this world and the next is thin enough for a person to cross over—in hopes of setting things right.
[1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Conduct of life—Fiction. 3. Interpersonal relations Fiction. 4. Brothers—Fiction. 5. Twins—Fiction. 6. High schools—Fiction. 7. Schools—Fiction. 8. Dead—Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.C26772Thi 2014
[Fic]—dc23
2012045691
ISBN 978-1-58270-435-7 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-58270-392-3 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4424-6814-6 (eBook)
FOR
R
ICK
, B
EN, AND
J
ANE
E
SKILDSEN
A
ll foot covering must be removed. This practice is a requirement for successful entry and not merely a symbolic gesture of humility upon approaching a sacred space.
Stones or rocks serve as an indication of the border between this world and the Other. Additionally, the stones themselves may hold magical properties. (No doubt you have heard of the Spirit said to reside in all manner of natural and inanimate objects.)
Even scholars debate about that moment when the soul enters the body, the common notion being when the mother feels the first stirrings of life in her womb. The soul’s departure (death)—if such event should occur in the same physical space—creates a permanent fissure in the boundary.
As to the nature of the environment, the personal accounts are similar in describing a cold, mist-like substance. Reports one observer: “It was like the air itself had turned to liquid ice. And long after I returned, I could still sense the creep of it in my very bones.”
Curious Accounts of the Thin Space
Edited by Sir Geoffrey Davis
Published 1848 in London by Harvey, Mavor & Jones, Inc.
Prologue
Three Months Ago
“M
arsh.”
The light was bright. Glaring. I tried to turn my head, but a sharp tug locked me in place. Ugh! Something was clamped between my lips. It snaked down my throat, so I couldn’t breathe. I jerked my hands, wanting to claw whatever the hell it was away, but someone’s fingers curled around mine and held them down.
“It’s okay,” a voice said. “You’re okay, Marsh.”
“What?” But I could only grunt the word.
I forgot I couldn’t move my head, and I tried to turn again. Which freaking hurt. I couldn’t see anything but light. It seared my eyes so I shut them, but the light kept burning. I remembered light blazing like that . . . headlights . . . looming brighter, closer. My hands twitched and I felt my fingers still clamped around the steering wheel. Felt my feet pounding at the brakes. Saw him next to me—his mouth open, his eyes wide—as the light sliced his face.
A different voice said, “Marsh?”
I forgot I couldn’t talk, but I tried. “Guh?” I said. That hurt too. Everything hurt. My leg throbbed. My chest ached like some 250-pound defensive tackle had just slammed into it. But my head—God. The pain shot from the center of my skull and somehow also tunneled in from the outside—one all-encompassing, pulsating wound. Maybe
I
hit the windshield too?
His face was a slow-motion series of snapshots: Pissed off. Confused. Scared—
And just like that, I knew. Two seconds earlier I’d thought I was in pain. But that pain was nothing. Nothing. Because now I knew.
My brother was dead.
