Vivian Divine Is Dead (21 page)

Chapter Thirty

I
T ALL HAPPENS SO FAST
.

It reminds me of the car accident with Scars, before the car’s first flip, when the world sped up and shattered to glass around me. Now, echoing out of the tunnel, Scars’s guttural howl breaks the sky like crushing steel, and the sound of his angry voice rains down around me in dark slivers.

In the moonlight, I see Marcos emerge from the tunnel into the whipping rain, a scowl on his face as deeply creased as his soaking red suit. He stands unsteadily on the tiny, dark beach, holding on to the lip of the tunnel with one hand. With the other, he tries to find a steady place for his cane, but it sinks halfway into the sand.

Nick is pushing the boat out as quickly as he can, but we’re not moving fast enough. I grasp the side of the boat and dig my nails into the wet wood, and Nick, standing in the water beside me, covers my hand with his. Even in the icy rain, his touch is warm, and I slightly relax my cramping fingers.

Moments later, Scars climbs out of the tunnel and stands on the beach beside Marcos. He places his foot in the sand by Marcos’s cane, and Marcos steadies his cane on Scars’s shoe. For a moment, as Marcos stands there in the rain, wet and dirty and pathetic as an old, lame dog, I almost feel sorry for him. I know what it feels like to love someone and not be loved in return.
What does that do to someone after fifteen years?

But then Marcos points at us, floating in the lake less than twenty feet away, and his eyes nearly pop out of his skull. His skin flushes a deep, angry red . . . and then he explodes, and all of his evil and ugliness comes crawling out. “Get back here!” Marcos screams, his voice creeping onto the boat and sliding under my skin.

The rain pounds the water between us, and billions of circles of water swim across the surface, blending into each other in the silver glint of the moon.

“There’s nowhere to go,” Marcos yells across the tiny beach.

“Away from you!” I scream back.

Marcos says something to Scars, and Scars pulls a gun out of his jacket and aims it across the beach at us. Instantly, the distance separating us from the shore seems to shrink into nothing.

Nick, his hand still covering mine, is standing beside the boat, up to his hips in water. “Let them go,” Nick shouts into the rain, his words catapulting across the water and sand between us.

“Get in,” I shriek.

Nick turns around to climb into the boat, but a bullet hits the water beside him. Suddenly, I know it’s too late
:
if Nick tries to get on the boat, Scars will shoot him.
That was just a warning.
My stomach plummets as Scars lifts his gun again and points it at Nick, and the world slows to an unbearable crawl.

“Don’t move!” Marcos yells.

Nick freezes. He looks back and forth between me and Marcos, only his eyes moving in the rainy night. Then his hand tightens over mine, and he turns to face the beach, putting his body between Marcos and me.

“Think carefully, Nicolas,” Marcos shouts. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

“Don’t talk to me about regret!” Nick yells.

“Pull the boat in,” Marcos yells back.

Nick squeezes my wet hand in his, and then he extends his arms and grabs hold of the boat’s stern with both hands.

“That’s right, Nicolas,” Marcos says. “Pull it in.”

Nick looks at me, and sadness is so deeply etched in his face I could drown in it. “Follow the shoreline left,” he whispers. “Around the island. The boat will be there. Look for the Santa Muerte flag.”

I thrust out my other hand and grab his. It’s a block of ice. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“The boat,” Marcos orders from the shore, pulling a gun from the pocket of his red silk jacket. “Pull it in.”

“I promised I’d protect you,” Nick says, pulling his arms back and spreading his fingers. Then he shoves the boat as hard as he can.

I grab for his hand, but it slips out of mine, and Mom and I float out into the dark lake. “NICK!” I scream as we float farther and farther from him. With every inch, he fades more into the wall of pounding rain. Soon I can see only Nick’s red jersey, twisting like a matador’s cape as he tries to run through the waist-high water. Scars’s massive legs pump up and down as he sprints into the lake, toward Nick. On the beach, Marcos is hopping on one foot, desperately trying to yank his cane out of the sand and steady his gun on Nick at the same time.

As I float farther away, I see Scars’s huge body breaking through the waves, rain battering his bald head as he bulls forward. Nick is running through the water, his body jerking backward with each incoming wave, but Scars is faster, and as he reaches Nick, rain runs into my eyes, briefly blinding me.

“NICK!” I scream as Scars knocks Nick into the water, his red jersey disappearing into the dark lake. Gunshots explode in the air, golden flares bursting across the night sky before fading into the gray rain. Every golden burst pauses the rain, and I can see each individual raindrop, frozen in the air on its way to earth.

“NICK!” I scream again and again, until I gag on the water filling up my mouth. The rain’s coming down so hard I can barely see the beach, and only the sound of gunshots and the rain whipping the water fills my ears. I can’t see Nick anymore, or hear his voice, and I have no way of knowing if he’s still alive.
He has to be.

I grab the oars and shove them into the lake. They stick in the water, so heavy I can barely hold on to them.
I won’t leave him.
I steel my legs against the boat, preparing to row toward Nick.
I have to save him.

But then I look at Mom, so helpless on the boat floor. Her skin is a layer of goose bumps in the freezing rain, and she’s curled on her side, grimacing, her skinny arms holding her stomach.
I can’t go back. She’s depending on me.

What do I do?
Indecision rakes my muscles and mind into thin strips of raw pain.
Go back and try to rescue Nick? How do I know if he’s still alive?
I look at the shore, where the rain has erased everything but a few dark spots in the field of gray.
He saved my life. And I love him.
I shiver as the icy water splashes over my legs, making the white cloth transparent.
But what about Mom? She could die out here if I don’t get her help.
My head is pulling apart, my body ripping between the people I love.
What should I do?
The rain stings my skin, but inside, every part of me is tearing in two.
I can’t beat Marcos and Scars, but I can save Mom. And maybe if I get to Nick’s cousin fast enough, he might be able to help Nick.

I force myself to drag the oars through the black water, propelling us away from the beach.
Follow the shoreline to the left.
My muscles are screaming as I haul my arms backward, my knuckles are cracking, and I can’t tell the difference between the rain and my tears. I have to squint to see a foot in front of me, and the shore is rapidly disappearing behind the curtain of water.

I follow the shoreline toward the cove, my lower back aching every time I pull back on the oars, my calf muscles cramping from pressing my feet against the boat floor. I’m coughing and choking and snot is dripping into my mouth and I want Nick so bad I can feel it. But Mom’s in the fetal position on the floor, shaking with cold, and I have to get her to someone soon.
Keep going. Just a little longer.

My fingers are slipping off the oars, but I keep rowing left until I curve around the island. When I look back, I can’t see the beach anymore. I’m scared and I’m wet and my hands are blistered from the heavy paddles, but I’ve got to keep going.

I’m rowing with every last bit of strength I have when I see a flag flapping in the wind. I stand up and wave my arms. “Over here!”

I hear yelling, and the boat’s headlights flip on, illuminating the flag of Santa Muerte, the grim reaper in a bridal gown, dancing in the heavy rain.

“GET NICK!” I yell as the boat pulls forward, engine whining. The flag of Santa Muerte sways closer.

Tears stream down my face as I squint into the approaching lights of the rescue boat.
Nick’s cousin is coming for Mom and me. We’re going home.
But it feels like my home is fading away, into the dark night
.
As the ice-cold water splashes against my face, Isla Rosales disappears into the blackness, taking Nick with it. Like he was never there at all.

As Nick’s cousin helps us onto the boat, I can only remember the last time I was in this lake, skin to skin, the ice inside me melting and floating away. I remember the stars exploding above our heads, his lips on mine, and the complete peace I felt, nestled in Nick’s arms. I remember sharing our secrets by the crackling fire, and peering through the cut in his armor, into the deep hole inside of him, and how I wanted to tell him that it was his hole, not his armor, that made him strong. I remember how I’d wanted to say, “I see your soul,” but I was too embarrassed. And now, as the boat pulls away, taking Nick away from me forever, I think that it was my soul I was seeing too, that night around the campfire. And maybe, as I got to know Nick, I got to know myself.

Nick’s cousin wraps me in a blanket, and it’s instantly soaking in the rain, but I don’t feel the cold, or the way my knees are stinging or my head pounding. I just know that all those days in Mexico, I wasn’t a coward. I was scared, but I didn’t let it stop me. I gritted my teeth and pushed through it. And to my surprise, I wasn’t helpless or weak. I was strong—stronger than I ever knew I could be.

Epilogue

W
HEN
I
THINK ABOUT IT
now, I think about all the things I could have done differently. What if I’d run faster through the tunnel, or if I’d believed Nick in the funeral home, or if I’d rowed back to shore? Mom says I’m torturing myself. She says I need to be more like the Holy Fool in the tarot deck, ready to step off the precipice into my future and leave regrets of the past behind. “Nobody knows where they’re going,” Mom says, “until they get there.”

I think differently. I think I should have been able to see my fate from the time I got off the broken-down bus in Mexico and met the most complicated, most beautiful man in the world. I should have known that I would never end up in his arms, wrapped in seashells and pearls, but that I’d always be here, in this city of money and fame and emptiness.

When we got back to the city a month ago, the police suggested we go into the witness protection program, like the Mexican government did for Isabel, Paloma, and Abuelita, but I refuse to hide anymore. I don’t want to cower behind a wall of ice that I fear will crack and drown me. I want to live without fear, because, like Isabel said, everything, even the death of one we love, is a wound that heals over time. And then you can live through anything.

Mom’s proof of that. She’s working her way into life again, and the doctors say she’ll be back to normal soon. In the meantime, I’m spending every second by her side, helping her relearn the simplest tasks, like signing autographs and dodging the paparazzi. Teaching her the same things she once taught me.

My dad is bursting at the seams he’s so happy we’re back, although Mom said that may change when he finds out he’s not my real father. When we first got home, he hugged me for what seemed like an hour, his tears dripping down my hair, and then he said, “I’ll never ignore my little girl again.” I grimaced on the outside, but I liked when he said that. I liked the sound of it:
little girl
. Like I’m still protected and trusting, safe from a world that keeps trying to crush me, but hasn’t succeeded yet.

I’m not allowed to open my own fan mail anymore, but I secretly opened a letter from Mary the other day. They don’t allow her to send much from prison, so they blacked out everything but the last two words: “I’m sorry.” I’m learning how to forgive her, because I know now that desperation drives people to do crazy things. I should know. I’m going crazy I’m so desperate to find Nick. But the CIA claims Marcos has disappeared into thin air, taking Nick with him.

And Pierre and Sparrow, well, they begged my forgiveness, and I gave it to them. Pierre has the right to fall in love too, I guess, even if it’s not with me. I’m angry with them, and I avoid them like the plague, but they did try to save my life, after all. I still find it strange that they saw Mary, the night before I got the DVD, talking to the FBI agent with the two different-colored eyes. “He warned her that he was watching her,” Sparrow said. “He said he didn’t have enough evidence yet to arrest her, and Mary said that he never would.”

The FBI agent, it turns out, was trying to protect me. He had found out about Mary, and was trying to stop her that day in the limo. He came down to Mexico looking for me, and even followed me as far as Nick’s cousin’s house. But then Scars caught up with him, and he ended up dead in the woods. Pierre said that the FBI didn’t do enough to protect me, but Sparrow, now always glued to Pierre’s side, said that nobody thought Mary would really do what she did.

I know I should be angrier with them, and their love-tainted smiles on every magazine cover should drive me up the wall, but right now, my heart and mind are so full of Nick I have no space left to be angry. Dad said the police are looking for Nick every hour I am thinking of him, which is always. I have to believe he is still alive.

Every time I breathe, I inhale on
Find
, and exhale on
Nick
.

Find Nick.

Find Nick.

Find Nick.

I wonder what language Nick is hearing right now, if they use letters or symbols. I wonder if he can still feel my lips on his, if I’ll ever see him again, and I wonder if he thinks I’m left with no one to save me, or if he knows that I don’t need anyone to save me anymore. I can save myself.